#and frankly there are barely even any vibes

[qqueenofhades]

Kind of want to write an academic AU. Do I know for what ship/fandom? Nope. Do I have any plot besides mundane suffering and/or disturbingly specific catharsis for me? I do not. Have I written fic in ages? I have not. And yet. Here we are.

[kedsandtubesocks]

Sunday Sunlight

michael “robby” robinavitch x f!reader

summary: a glimpse into a slow cozy day with you and your growing little family

word count: 1.8k

content warnings/tags: 18+ only, girl dad!Robby, toddler fic, mentions of unspecified age gap, reader is pregnant, cozy & sweet fluff, husband!Robby & married goodness, introspective moments (thoughts of self doubt and internal struggle), parenting themes, jealous Robby with a splash of protective tenderness, soft domesticity vibes, light baseball discussion

a/n: my first ever fic for the Pitt & I’m so grateful getting to write it for the A Doctor A Day Writing Challenge [ #5 “tell me the truth, am I losing you for good?” + black] thank you so much @letsgobarbs @clubsoft & @ananonymousaffair for hosting this! And a sweet extra thanks to @jolapeno for cheering me on & giving me the push to post this

Robby didn’t believe his days could ever look like this. Soft warm spring light fills a cozy living room. The faint sounds of the Pirates game is on the tv -

And his daughter happily takes his full focus.

Her toys litter the carpet with no regard for any foot traffic and frankly, Robby doesn’t care that much either.

Your little girl is happily engrossed with the toddler hospital checkup playset Abbot got her this year for her birthday. She’s been obsessed with it, barely knows what she’s doing, but Robby can’t tear his eyes away from her.

Especially now as she readily tries to fix her Winnie the Pooh bear lying ready for examination on the pull out countertop.

Her face scrunched up in deep concentration looks exactly like yours as her chubby little hands clumsily put on the stethoscope.

“What’s your diagnosis, doc?” Robby asks her while he slowly sits up to move closer to her.

“Sick.” She quips simply, and his lips twitch amused.

“Did you check his heart? Make sure he’s okay.” He gently touches the center of the stuffed bear’s chest. Immediately his daughter, instead of using the stethoscope, leans down to press her ear against his chest.

Robby can’t help it, he laughs.

“Good, that’s a good start.” He reassures her.

Gently, he moves the colorful child sized stethoscope to sit on her properly. She eagerly roams the diaphragm all around the fuzzy bear’s tummy, diligently searching for something with it.

“Try to find the heartbeat.” He tells her patiently.

Robby then makes the familiar heart beat thump himself with a hum. Her eyes bloom surprised, becoming little bright stars.

She’s so smart, so damn quick. Immediately her sharp gaze flickers up, realizing it’s him making the noise and not the bear.

“Papa!” She cries indignant.

“Not me, mister bear.” Robby innocently replies, tapping the poor plushie patient.

So stubborn, a trait she definitely inherited only from you and not an ounce from him, his daughter shoves the poor bear away and stomps towards Robby where he sits on the edge of the couch, opposite to where you sleep.

Seven months pregnant again and peacefully napping, lightly snoring even though you swear you don’t, you’re the picture of ease and steal Robby’s heart all over again.

When his little girl eagerly arrives at his side, Robby reminds her to stay quiet to make sure you get to rest.

Bubbling with curious eagerness, his daughter nods then presses her tiny hands against his face, checking for a fever the same way he does when she’s sick.

Robby feels as if his heart just might melt from his ribs.

It seems like only yesterday she was keeping you and him awake at all hours of the night as a newborn, so tiny in his arms as Robby went through singing two lullabies to get her to sleep. Now his baby is readily growing as her own little person, bright and curious.

“Check my heart.” He says with a watery grin while she tries listening to his chest.

Then, as if remembering something, she perks up and scurries back to the playset. His eyes perk up seeing her grab an otoscope and hurry back to him.

A burst of pride swells in his chest.

“Papa, say ah!” Gathering a composed sternness, he holds back a laugh while his daughter uses the toy otoscope, used to examine the ears, to check his throat.

But listening to his little girl, he does as told and she peeks inside examining him with the toy.

Then she makes a face, scrunched up and confused.

“What?” He questions curious now.

As caring and sweet as his daughter is, Robby knows exactly how mischievous she’s becoming. The smirk and tiny giggle she gives, he knows she’s up to something.

“What d’ya find, doctor?” He asks her again. She pays her father no mind and grabs a pack of play bandaids from the kit.

Wearing the most amused smirk she hurries back to him, the colorful stereoscope bouncing against her neck. Determined and with a firm step, his daughter arrives before him.

Patiently she then places one of the bandages on his lips. Her diagnosis? For him to stay silent.

“All done!” She announces bright, giggling proud, like she’s made the most hilarious inside joke.

Robby’s lips fight hard against a grin and the bandaid. He moves to take it off when his daughter spots him.

“Nah uh, papa! Rest.” She says with a firm head nod, he blinks stunned at her.

“Bossy… definitely your kid.” Your warm sleepy voice emerges. Gently you sit up from your nap, shoving away the small blanket.

You look so fucking god in his old black penguins hockey t-shirt, especially with your belly growing more and more. Slowly sitting up, you reach for him. Like you’re the extension of him, effortless and without any question, Robby gently draws you towards his side letting you now rest your head against his thigh.

“Mama!” Your daughter cries happy and loud, sliding towards you on the couch.

“I help papa!” She declares.

“Good job, sprout. You’re the doctor of the family now.” You playfully poke her nose.

She giggles triumphant. Robby then watches his little girl throw her small body over your tummy, hugging you and the baby as much as she can.

“Sissy, I help.” She’s been eagerly announcing everything to her little sister once she learned the baby could hear everything.

You finally glance up at Robby grinning at him. Noticing the bandaid on his lips, you gently peel it away before your daughter notices.

“Yeah you do, baby. You’re already such a good big sister wanting to take care of everyone.” You gently tell her through a yawn.

Robby wonders if this moment could shatter at any moment, like it’s too pure and good for him, too precious to believe it’s his.

But when your hand moves to rub his arm, your touch grounds him.

His eldest daughter suddenly squeaks happily, and you snicker. The baby must have kicked.

“Your baby sister is playing kickball in my tummy. Gonna give us a check up now too?” You offer, sitting up more. You now lean against Robby’s shoulder, and he happily welcomes your warmth.

Your daughter now babbles scurrying to the playset and grabs a random wooden spatula that somehow managed to sneak into her toy collection.

Deeming that important to her care, your little girl scurries back and presses her face against his black shirt.

“Sissy, no kick mama.” She orders.

You burst out laughing, and Robby covers his with a quick cough.

“I think she’s got the making of a good physician already,” you tell him.

“Her bedside manner could use some work.” Robby snorts, and you snicker.

Top of the 5th inning and Pirates are still tied zero to zero against the Astros. His daughter now yanks the playset closer to the couch allowing Robby to examine more of the tools.

He’s always been impressed by this thing. It’s rather accurate, makes him appreciate whoever made it.

“They even got the right buttons on the EKG machine, it’s pretty crazy.” He says messing with the toy set.

“I don’t know what kind of kid would want to be playing with this and not legos or barbie dream house or something else.” He lets the comment slide out a bit low.

Robby’s already torn when he thinks of his little girl’s future - if she’ll end up wanting to practice medicine or not. If that colorful stethoscope she wears will one day match his, black and professional.

A quiet sigh escapes you letting your hand rub his back now.

“She plays with both… plus I think she likes knowing she gets to pretend to be a grown up and help people like you.”

He lets your words sit gently and decides not to keep digging into this tangled topic.

“I still can’t believe there’s even multiple syringe and scissor options.” He chuckles, changing the subject.

“Might as well have included some clamps and blood bags.” Robby adds and then picks up one of the toys.

It takes him a moment to realize he's been rambling out loud mindless thoughts about this damn toy set for the game to be in a new inning now.

You’ve gone quiet now, and his eyes flicker down to you leaning against his chest.

“Alright,” he begins with a sigh.

“Tell me the truth… am I losing you for good?” He means it half jokingly.

Robby still can’t believe how lucky he is to have you, his absolutely gorgeous sweetheart. He’s holding his breath still, waiting any minute for you to wake up and realize you got stuck married to an old man like him.

Hell, just last week Robby had to calm himself down when the cashier had no fucking shame flirting with you, even as you wear Robby’s ring on your finger and have his second baby growing in your belly.

It’s almost as if a part of him is waiting to fully lose you, let you slip away from his fingers.

Your hand curls against his face now, rubbing against his bearded jaw as you draw him closer.

You place the softest kiss on his lips.

“Not at all,” you tell him gently. “If anything you hook me in more and more, Robinavitch. You’re stuck with me.”

A warmth collides in his chest like an unleashed sea.

Robby smirks, humming content as he places a kiss against your head.

“Love ya, kid.” He warmly tells you, sliding his arm around you.

And he does.

He adores you so damn much, didn’t think it was possible to love you any more but you love to prove him wrong.

His eldest daughter, now bored with the doctor's playset equipment, currently sits on the carpet floor fiddling with a colorful whale toy.

The pirates, now up to bat, suddenly hit a home run. Even through the tv, the ball is sent flying with a solid whack.

Robby cheers appreciatively, and your daughter immediately perks up eagerly scrambling to him with excited eyes as she bounces holding onto his arm.

“Papa, good?” She asks, picking up the excitement from the game.

“Yes baby girl, very good.” He grins.

“See,” you pat his leg affectionately, “No need to worry about her.”

“You’re gonna play baseball for the Pirates right, sprout?” You ask your daughter.

“Yup!” She says bright, probably not even realizing what she’s agreeing to as her focus stays on the TV.

That makes him laugh.

He’s never felt older and younger all at once, like a multitude of lifetimes has collided into him a beautiful cosmos shining bright.

All his girls together right before him, and he’s never felt luckier.

Robby wants to carve out this moment forever, letting it crystallize around him and soak in this warmth. One he wants to embrace and never let go.

[madlori]

On Tommy Kinard

"It's not that I don't like Buck and Tommy, it's just happening so fast, he's underdeveloped!"

*clears throat*

Here is a recap of what we know about Tommy. And this is just off the top of my head, I didn't rewatch anything.

He was closeted at the 118 before and found the atmosphere repressive. He (probably) acted like a dick to fit in. When presented with the chance to make things better, he took it, and developed positive relationships with Hen, Chim and Bobby.

He was in the army and trained there as a pilot.

He knows Muay Thai and has a set up in his house.

He likes to work on cars and has a lift at his house (where TF does he live is my question - he has some nerve being agog at Buck's loft if he has a muay thai gym and a car lift)

He is down for violating departmental policy at the drop of a hat (has done so on at least two occasions) to help a friend and has no problems fucking with the fire chief.

He is a nerd. He likes pub trivia and has incorrect Star Wars opinions, and can keep up with Chim in the movie-quoting department.

His favorite movie is "Love, Actually" and he likes craft beer and monster trucks.

He came out when he transferred to Harbor and felt comfortable enough to stop lying about who he was.

He follows MMA and has friends in Vegas who like him well enough to hook him up to a frankly insane degree.

He'll risk his own life and engage in helicopter skulduggery to save people he doesn't know...I mean, apart from doing that for a living.

He'll take time out of his day to give a tour to the cute boy who called him up and offer to give that boy flying lessons (a significant time investment) which was probably maybe about more one on one time with said boy.

He yearns for the belonging and found family that the 118 became after his departure and probably befriended Eddie hoping to earn a plate at the cookout, aside from just clicking with him.

He likes Eddie and Chris a lot and they like him. Chimney also likes him.

He was attracted to Buck right away and was emotionally aware enough to pick up on Buck's jealous feelings over Eddie and his friendship, even if he was surprised that it was him Buck wanted to get to know.

He respects and values Buck and Eddie's friendship and wanted to make sure Buck knew that.

He's brave enough to shoot his shot by planting one on a dude.

He's a lil bitchy but also generous and ready to throw in with this insane guy who's inviting him to a family wedding after 0.5 dates.

He showed up to a bachelor party when he was on call because Buck asked him to, then showed up in turnouts after fighting a fire for like 12 hours yadda yadda we all know this part.

He has got it BAD for one Evan Buckley, who he only calls "Evan" which according to LFJR is a conscious decision by the writers, which fascinates me.

He was willing to take a chance with a man just discovering his sexuality BUT wasn't willing to put himself through that if the man in question wasn't ready for it. When Buck showed him that he was, he was all in.

He does NOT take his coffee like that.

Oh and

He's a beast.

This is VASTLY more information than we knew about ANY of Buck's previous girlfriends with the possible exception of Abby. Even Taylor did not get this much development over 20 episodes (things we knew about her: she was an ambitious and ethically flexible reporter, did not eat fudge, had a dad in jail, and sometimes jogged for exercise, she was capable of being nice and did love Buck, I believe). And as for it being fast? Sometimes it just be like that? A relationship doesn't have to have year(s) of buildup. Sometimes people do just meet, like each other, and start dating, in fact in the real world that's usually what happens. It's in TV Land that you have to have eighteen seasons of UST before pulling the trigger. Most of the time in reality people just vibe off each other and decide to go out and THEN they learn about each other.

And they've got a great start. You'd think they'd barely spoken by how a few naysayers are talking about it - the loft scene was like a solid five minutes of very open conversation, the Cringe Date seemed to have gone well and again, open and honest (if cringey) conversation before Cockblocker Eddie showed up, and the coffee meetup was again....open and honest conversation. They're not gonna show us long scenes of them exchanging firefighting stories and workout preferences (I mean, I'd watch that, but it's not what the show is about).

In conclusion, anyone saying he's poorly developed or the relationship is "out of nowhere" either is being willfully obtuse or has ridiculously unrealistic expectations for relationships and/or what constitutes character development.

As for whether they have chemistry, that's a matter of subjective opinion. Given that a TON of people watched that harbor tour scene (even when it was posted as a sneak peek) and started going "wait...what's going on here...are they flirting??" might be a clue. People were talking about Bi!Buck maybe happening with Tommy based solely off that clip of the harbor tour and what they were seeing between them. And imho that loft scene was crackling. But we all see things through the lenses of our biases, myself included.

Got that off my chest, whew.

[cinnaleaf]

「 In Your DMs | One Shot 」

summary: you read jude’s DM on insta but never responded, thinking that was the end of it—until he spots you at the club & decides he’s not letting it slide

warnings: club setting, alcohol use, sexual tension, light themes of public attention/fame, language wc: ~4.9k 💌: i forgot who requested this but it’s here song inspo: BADGIRLERA x iBXRHM ft JAHKOY

The music in the club hit you first, followed by the strobe lights slicing through the dark, smell of spilled liquor, and bodies pressed together, pulsing against the beat. Your friend, Bri, pulled you through the mixed haze of vape clouds and smoke from a fog machine with a manic grin, way too eager for the night ahead.

“Our table is this way. Hurry up!”

You followed her lead, clacking your heels against the floor while your other friend, Tasha, trailed behind complaining about how she wasn’t standing all night in heels. The bouncers barely glanced at your crew when all of you strutted into the VIP section.

“Ooo okay, this is nice” Tasha slid into the booth, looking around to scope out the scene. Little did you know, Jude was also there, eyeing you from the minute you stepped in.

Bottles of tequila and vodka were already lined up on the table, untouched. You barely had time to sit down before a guy dripping in loud designer saw your table from across the section and started his approach. You clocked him too: probably mid 30s, big shiny watch, sleazy, and probably more interested in showing off his Amex Black Card than any real conversation.

“Your new sponsor is on his way” you whispered to Bri, smirking when she immediately started flipping her hair out of muscle memory. “Let’s hope he’s worth the pitch.”

“Ladies” he eyed the bottles on your table, smelling too strongly of oud cologne. “Looks like you could use a little more” You leaned back, tuning out while scrolling through your phone as he started the same routine you heard from so many other men: ‘I know the owner’, ‘Let me take care of that for you,’ yada yada. You let Bri and Tasha handle him – it wasn’t your vibe, and frankly, it wasn’t your problem. This wasn’t your first rodeo and guys like him always thought a heavy tab would buy them permanent attention. Not that you minded it; if burning through his card meant you didn’t have to touch your own, then so be it.

You tapped on the Instagram icon, scrolling through your profile, which was a mixture of travel pics, reels, highlights, and photo dumps until your thumb paused over a post from three weeks ago at a yacht party in Miami. Your skin glistened under the sun in a figure hugging bikini while you posed on the deck. Jude’s like stood out like a sore thumb. He liked plenty of your pictures before, but this one seemed to spur him on enough to like it within the first 5 minutes of you posting – with a DM following shortly after:

Been waiting for you to post again so I could slide in 👀 You’re beautiful. Let me know if you’re ever free?

Boo. Lame. Corny. Predictable. You rolled your eyes so hard when you saw the message, not even bothering to respond. You knew how this story went. A follow here with a few likes, a DM there, and before you knew it, you’d be getting ‘owwkayed’ on a gossip page that had way too much time on their hands. The thought of it made you want to gag, so you left the message unread but not unseen.

Tasha nudged your arm, pulling you out of your Insta scroll. “Oh my god, is that Jude Bellingham?” Her voice pitched higher in a tone that meant she was about to embarrass you.

“Huh?” you muttered, not bothering to look up just yet.

“That’s Jude Bellingham” she hissed, jabbing her acrylic nails into your ribs. “Near the DJ booth!” You were surprised you didn’t notice him before. He was tall and hard to miss, one hand holding a drink while the other tapped to the beat against his thigh. “He just winked at someone,” Bri added, craning her neck. “Or at least, I think that was that a wink??”

Tasha shook her head in disbelief. “How is it possible for him to look even better in person?” You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes while staring at the untouched alcohol and assorted mixers in front of you. Jude wasn’t a stranger to you outside of your likes. You clocked his comments on your mutuals’ posts, and even been to a party or two where you were pretty sure he was lurking around. Then there was the DM you left in your inbox like the corny attempt it was.

“You’re embarrassing yourselves” you muttered, ignoring the way Bri kept looking at him from across the room.

“Embarrassed?? Girl, that’s a man worth embarrassing myself over.” Bri leaned forward, slowly sipping her drink while gawking at Jude, who was now eyeing your table. “I wouldn’t even be mad if I ended up on a gossip site for that one. What are they going to do?? Cry about it???” You froze for a minute to give her the side eye. That’s the exact reason you were trying to avoid types like him, no matter how good he looked in person. It was too much attention, too many assumptions, and definitely too much drama. You sipped your drink instead, the alcohol burning your throat enough to distract you from Bri’s yapping. 

Across the way, Jude was leaned back against the DJ booth with his eyes locked on your table. You were perched on the edge of your seat, phone in hand, while your friends kept stealing glances at him, giggling behind their drinks. Jude smirked, taking another sip. You hadn’t looked up a single time or even flinched in his direction. It didn’t surprise him – you hadn’t looked twice at his DM either. Even though he was one of the biggest names in football, you paid him no mind – unlike the girls always trying to latch onto him.

“Jude, babe, do you want another drink?” A voice rang out from a girl hovering way too close. He didn’t even know her name, nor did he care to learn it. She latched onto him earlier, trying to touch his arm every chance she got so she could throw herself into his space. He stepped aside, nodding politely while trying to keep his focus on you. 

“No. I’m good, thanks.” he spoke in a tone that discouraged any follow ups, which led to the girl pouting and standing next to him dumbfounded before finally taking the hint and walking off. When Jude’s attention went back to the VIP section, he caught sight of the guy hovering over your table. Jude thought he looked like a try hard who didn’t know how to cover a tab properly. His jaw tightened when he watched you tilt your phone a little while the guy gestured at your friends. He flagged down a passing bottle girl, making her stop in her tracks when she realized who he was.

“Hi!” she said, smiling flirtatiously. “What can I get for you?”

He leaned down slightly to meet her height, nodding toward your table. “See that table over there?”

“The table with the guy doing the most?”

“Yeah that one,” Jude smirked. “Can you send over some bottles to them? Dom, 1942, and whatever else is good. Add their tab to mine.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what do you want the bottle service sign to say?”

Jude shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “One of the girls over there never responded to my DM so make it clear I’m still interested. She knows who she is.”

The bottle girl laughed, eyeing the table again. “Got it. I can do that!”

You weren’t paying much attention to the guy loitering at the table now that Bri and Tasha had him preoccupied. The drinks were finally kicking in, so you stood up to stretch, swaying to the bass of the music playing over the sound system, but then the bottle girls rolled up with sparklers crackling in the dim lighting – illuminating a path while carrying over a bucket filled with bottles.

“Oh shiiiit” Tasha shouted while standing up. Bri took out her phone to record the whole thing, doing an over the top “Wait..who sent this?!” act in the camera like she hadn’t seen this done a dozen times before on your nights out. You weren’t questioning it either. Someone paid, so who were you to interrupt the flow of endless drinks? You grabbed a sparkler from one of the bottle girls, waving it in the air while your other hand cradled a bottle of 1942.

“Real fine bitch, she ain’t gotta edit out the Getty!” Bri screamed the lyrics of the song currently playing, turning her phone around to record you dancing with the bottle in your hand. You tipped your head back, drinking straight from the bottle while the music bumped around you. Just as you were handing the bottle to Tasha, her jaw dropped and she grabbed your arm. “Wait, look!” she yelled, pointing over at the bottle girls holding up the sign. You turned with the sparkler still fizzing in your hand, squinting at the light up board they were waving in the air. At first it didn’t make sense, but then the words clicked clear as day:

HE’S HIM! RESPOND TO HIS DM!

You froze while your friends jumped around excitedly, trying to piece together what was going on.

“So who is it?” Bri smacked your shoulder. “That’s for you, Y/N. I know that’s for you!”

Tasha grabbed your wrist. “Wait. Is it him? Is it– oh my god it’s him, isn’t it??”

You couldn’t even process what was happening, let alone have time to come up with a lie. The bottle girl pointed toward the DJ booth and your stomach dropped. Jude’s legs were stretched out lazily in the VIP dance section with his head tilted enough to let you know he was watching the whole thing. He gave you a confident, cocky smirk and raised his glass toward you like he already won you over, but you weren’t about to play along that easily.

“Y/N!” Bri shrieked, grabbing your other arm. “What the fuck, why didn’t you tell us he’s in your DMs?!”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your body felt hot and the tequila wasn’t helping. Instead, you grabbed the bottle of 1942 and took another long swig to drown out whatever was about to unfold tonight. “He’s nobody special. He’s just some footballer. I’m not impressed.”

“Liar.” Bri crossed her arms, grinning. “You’re lying, and it’s all over your face.”

You ignored her, but they were both going into full meltdown mode, squealing and swatting each other while pointing at Jude, who hadn’t stopped watching you. Eventually he got up, taking his time as he walked toward the VIP tables. “Stop looking” you hissed, grabbing Tasha’s phone before she could take a video. Neither one of them were listening as Jude walked closer.

“Not to freak you out” Tasha whispered, “but he’s coming over.”

You kept your head down, pretending to scroll through your phone to try and play it cool.  Jude stopped near your table, just long enough to make sure you noticed him out of the corner of your eye, even if you were pretending to pay him no mind. 

“Y/N” Bri whispered urgently. “He’s looking at you.”

You refused to look up and instead sipped your drink while he hung around in your peripheral vision. He laughed in a mocking way and eventually sat at a table nearby, perfectly angled so he could keep you in his line of sight the entire night no matter where you were in the club. You tapped your nails against your glass, irritated he was slowly getting under your skin. You weren’t about to sit there being ogled like a trophy when you could be on the dancefloor, having a good time while ignoring him.

“Can we dance?” you stood up abruptly, pulling your dress down with one quick motion.

Tasha groaned instantly and threw her head back against the booth ready to complain. “Ugh..Y/N my feet are already killing me. Can’t we just sit here and do a cute little club bounce to the beat instead?”

“No. I came here to dance, so let’s go!” you urged, swaying to the beat to tempt her onto the dancefloor. Meanwhile, Bri was still stuck on the DM you failed to mention. “Y/N! He’s been after you and you just ignored him??” She shot up from her seat, scandalized, pointing her finger between Jude’s table and you. “I saw his likes but he slid in your DMs and you said NOTHING?”

You gave her an annoyed look, rolling your eyes. “Can we stop talking about Jude? Would you want to deal with being associated with him? I don’t want to be a part of that circus.”

Bri checked Jude out over her shoulder, watching him laugh and talk with friends at his table. “Girl, yes! I would happily look like a clown for that. He could take me to his circus and I’d be front and center juggling his balls if it meant I could–”

“Okay, we’re done!” you cut her off, waving your hands around. “Are we dancing or not?”

“I already said no,” Tasha whined, sliding further in the booth. “I’m too cute to move and my ankles hurt. Go dance for both of us.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed Bri’s arm to walk over to the VIP section of the dancefloor behind the DJ booth. Bri was already swaying to the beat before you made it to the dancefloor, then she glanced back and turned toward you. “Y/N.. you know he’s still watching you, right?”

“Bri, please shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just saying! He’s been looking since we sat down. If you don’t want him..I’ll–”

“No, you absolutely will not” you cut her off, not allowing her to finish the sentence. When you reached the edge of the VIP dance area, you felt the heavy bass moving through your bones while lights strobed enough to make it hard to see beyond a few feet. You thought it would drown out Jude’s stares, but Bri made it her mission to give you play by play updates. Just as you were getting into the music and melting your hips into the beat, Bri spoke up for another update. She really couldn’t help it. “He’s still watching,” she sang in your ear.

“I don’t care” you continued dancing, not bothering to turn around to see what she was talking about. You didn’t need to confirm that Jude was extremely attracted to you. It was blatantly obvious the moment he positioned himself in a spot that gave him a front row seat to whatever you were doing. You could feel his eyes tracking the moves you made, but the longer you danced, the easier it was to forget about him – until the crowd shifted and suddenly he was there right next to you. Jude didn’t touch you, nor did he speak. He just stood there, drinking his drink like he wasn’t wreaking havoc on your girl’s night out.

“Are you lost?” you finally spoke up, tilting your head toward him without stopping your movements.

Jude grinned, nodding his head to the beat as he started inching closer to you. “Nah. Just enjoying the view.”

You glanced at him from above, brushing your hips lightly against him. “There are plenty of views here. Pick another one.”

“Why would I do that when I have the perfect one in front of me?”

“Corny” you quipped, still doing your best to not give him much at all. Jude stepped closer and dropped his voice enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. “You didn’t reply to my DM. Why?” You turned your face to him fully, laughing about him being so bothered by an unanswered instagram message of all things in the world. “You’re still on that, huh?”

“Hard not to be when you ignore me on purpose.”

You smiled and took a step back, but he answered your step back with a step forward of his own. “You’re really persistent Jude. I’ll give you that.”

“When I see something I want, yeah.” His gaze dropped and raked over your body. “And I want you.” You hated how much you reacted to that. You felt dizzy from the warmth of the alcohol swirling around in your stomach, combining with your butterflies. But you held your ground.

“Hmm..well..good luck with that” you turned around, pressing back into the crowd but Jude moved around to block your path.

“You’re not going to make this easy are you?”

“Jude, I’m not a jersey chaser. I’m sure you’re used to ‘easy’, but easy isn’t really my thing” you bantered back, which made him laugh in an irritatingly attractive way.

“I never said you were a jersey chaser. I do like a challenge though.”

The two of you were drawing more attention now. Clubgoers were looking and nudging each other while chatting, probably trying to figure out why Jude Bellingham was chasing some random girl around the VIP section. You should’ve cared but the drinks were doing their job. All you could focus on was the way his eyes stayed on yours and how he moved closer every time you stepped back, locked in a game that neither of you wanted to end.

“I hope you know you’re not as smooth as you think you are” you tilted your head, crossing your arms.

Jude smirked while stepping into your space, not caring who was watching. “And you’re not as carefree as you’re pretending to be.” 

He really did look even better up close and in motion. The way his lips curved into a smile made you want to run away to collect your resolve immediately, but you persevered and turned your back to him instead, swaying your body in tune with the music. The shift gave him an unintentional view of your dress creeping up as you moved, so he took the opportunity to step closer, brushing his hand against your waist as he leaned into your ear. To anyone else catching glimpses under the strobe lights, it looked more like he was kissing your neck – Tasha clearly thought so. She was slack jawed back at the table, frozen in drunken shock. Meanwhile, Bri was too busy sweet talking the DJ into switching the music into an amapiano mix to notice what was happening in front of her.

“You smell good” Jude voiced low against your ear with his lips so close, the words tickled your skin. “What is that? Coconut?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know” you answered, still not missing a beat but you were a lot less steady on your feet the more he spoke in your ear.

“Yeah” he replied simply, weighing his words with enough insinuation to let you know he was going to be a problem for you all night. You turned to face him with your back against the railing and Jude’s hands fell from your waist and onto the rails to cage you in without touching you. All you could see was his sly, smug grin in front of you while bodies moved to the beat in the outskirts of your vision.

“Why are you wasting your time?” you asked him, dropping your gaze to his lips. They weren’t something you would’ve been focused on any other time, but the liquor was coursing through you by this point and clouding your decision making skills. Jude’s eyes dropped to drag over the neckline of your dress, giving him a full top view of your cleavage before he snapped his eyes back up to look you in the eye. He leaned in closer, crowding your space just enough to make you part your lips in a silent gasp.

“Wasting my time?” he repeated the question rhetorically. “I have your attention, so is it really any time wasted?”

You tilted your head up to meet his cocky tone with some cockiness of your own. “I’m only here because you’re standing in my way.”

“If I moved, you’ll just keep ignoring me, yeah?”

“Yeah” you drawled, mocking his insinuated answer from earlier. Jude’s gaze was almost too much but you refused to back down. “You’re not irresistible in the way you think you are. I’m not going to hook up with you just because you’re Jude Bellingham. I really don’t give a fuck.” 

He gave you a wolfish grin, moving in even closer. You could feel his breath against your cheek when he spoke again. “Then why are you still here talking to me? Ask me to move around.” 

You scoffed, crossing your arms while looking past his tall stature to look at literally anything else other than him. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Yeah? Is that right?” Jude’s voice dipped into a teasing, amused tone. He tightened his hands on the railing, brushing his knuckles against your sides while tilting his head closer toward your neck so he could hear you better. “If I left you alone right now..what would you do? Go back to scrolling on your phone so you can pretend you don’t notice me?”

He was getting under your skin now, mostly because he was right, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m just trying to have a good time with the girls. Don’t make it weird Jude.”

“I’m weird for wanting to talk to you in person? You never responded, remember?”

“I did you a favor” you retorted. “I saved you the embarrassment of me rejecting you. I know that can hurt an ego like yours.”

Jude laughed against your neck, making you shift your body posture in the small space. “I don’t think you would’ve rejected me.”

“No, I definitely would’ve. I have standards.” you countered. That was true for the most part, but Jude going back and forth with you for this long had you intrigued. He really wanted you and he was pulling out all the stops to make it happen, which was kind of hot.

Jude tilted his head back toward your ear. “Why are you dancing with me then?” That was a good question. Why were you still there, dancing to the beat with him, letting him stand close, talk this much, get so far? You didn’t know – so you stayed quiet and rolled your hips to the bassline that had just dropped, moving closer to him with every beat. He could tell you were starting to crack, so he wrapped his arms around you, just enough to pull you close, but loose enough to let you decide how much closer you wanted to be. “Nothing to say now, huh? That’s what I thought. What’s your move after the club?”

“Good question..” You pretended to look around for your friends to give yourself time to come up with an excuse about how you had plenty of after club plans, but when you looked down to see the way his big hands flexed against your hips, you answered honestly instead. “I don’t have any.”

Jude’s grin grew wide, making him flash his teeth under the strobe lights. He had you right where he wanted you and he knew it. “You could…” he started, leaving the rest hanging in the air just to see how far you’d let things go. You rolled your tongue against your teeth, taking in the way his smile climbed higher into his cheeks when his eyes locked on yours. The smile threw you for a loop and you caught yourself staring at his lips longer than you needed to once it turned into more of a smirk, which he noticed immediately. 

“...I could what?” you asked, feeling your resolve slowly start to slip.

“You could come with me” Jude tightened his hands across your hips and you stumbled a little, instinctively reaching your arm over his shoulder to catch yourself.

“And why would I do that?” you asked.

“...Why wouldn’t you?” Jude already knew your answer. You wouldn’t be still standing there if you weren’t interested in the slightest. He was so close to you that you could see his lips quirk upward into another smirk, growing even wider when he caught you stealing another glance at his lips. Instead of calling you out, he let his eyes drop to your lips in return.

“I don’t trust you” you finally answered, yelling over the music. It didn’t hit him nearly as hard as you wanted it to. You could feel Jude’s curls brush up against your temple when he leaned in to make sure he heard you correctly. “Trust me with what?”

You giggled drunkenly, trying to shake off the effect he had on you. “Trust you to not be like every other guy in my DMs.”

Jude pulled back enough to look you in the eye, shaking his head at your refusal to just give in. “I’m not like every guy in your DMs,” he answered confidently like he was so sure there wasn’t anybody better than him trying to entertain you. “You’d know that by now if you answered..” Jude trailed his hand down to caress your lower back. He was right. There wasn’t anyone keeping you as interested as you were right now. But who would you be if you gave in that easily?

You tilted your head to the side, letting the silence stretch into knowing glances. His eyes darted to your lips again and you leaned into it, contemplating letting him kiss you, but just as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, you cocked your head back with a sly smirk on your lips. Jude had a surprised look on his face and loosened his grip, laughing to conceal the fact that you beat him at his own game. You pulled out your phone, entering your code and tapping at your screen until you opened the Instagram app. Jude’s jaw flexed in the dimly illuminated light while he watched. Once he realized what you were doing, a smirk of his own appeared on his face. You opened your DMs and scrolled until you reached the one he sent weeks ago, typed your reply and hit send. You gripped his bicep to make him lean down within ear shot, letting your lips brush against the edge of his jaw purposely while you spoke. “Check your messages” you teased before stepping back and removing yourself from the loose hold he had on you. He stood there frozen, but then turned his head to watch you saunter off back to your section, swaying your hips more than necessary to give him a show. When you met up with Bri and Tasha back in your section, they dragged you down to the table to badger you with questions.

“So what happened? What did you do?” Bri asked.

You smiled and reached for your drink. “Nothing serious,” you answered flatly, which made them want to question you even more. Tasha squinted at Jude from across the club then turned her head back to you. Just as you were about to take another sip of your drink, she grabbed it from you. “No sipping, more spilling please. Why is he smiling at his phone like that?”

You snatched your drink back, shrugging. “I just told him to check his DMs.” They had no idea you had Jude wrapped around your finger at the moment, so you tried to play it cool. Bri’s mouth dropped open and Tasha gasped dramatically, smacking the table for extra dramatics.

“Check his DMs?” Bri repeated loudly. “You responded?!”

“Maybe.” You swirled your drink and slowly sipped while meeting his eyes across the club. You could see Jude smirk when he put his phone in his pocket and slowly made his way back to his own table. He sat there, talking to his friends while laughing it up until he caught you looking at him from your seat. He could see you twirling the straw around your drink with your tongue, caught in the act. He angled his head, smirking at you and mouthed something to you while pointing his thumb toward the exit. You couldn’t make out what he was saying through the darkness, so he stood up and started dapping his boys up before slowly making his way over to your table. You tried to ignore him at first, pretending you were doing something on your phone even though there was no reason for you to still be playing hard to get, seeing as you just virtually agreed to spend the rest of your night with him.

“Sorry to interrupt...” Jude flashed a cheeky grin at Tasha and Bri that had them crumbling on the spot. “I’m taking Y/N off your hands for the night. I hope that’s alright?”

Tasha and Bri squealed in unison. “Please! Take her. She’s all yours.” They both shoved you out of your seat in a hurry. “Go. GO!” You cut your eyes at them but Jude gave you no time to argue and stretched his hand out.

“You ready?” he asked, eyeing your frame from head to toe. 

You nodded, slipping your hand into his without any other words. Jude led you through the club towards the exit, and you took one last glance over your shoulder to wave at Bri and Tasha who were losing their minds. You giggled, turning back just as Jude leaned into your ear when you reached the exit.

“Let’s see if I can live up to your standards.”

[gimmethatagustd]

christmas warfare | ksj

You will win the neighborhood’s “Best Christmas Decorations” contest and rub it in your ex-boyfriend’s face, by any means necessary. Seokjin will win your heart back, even if it means surrendering his crown as King of Christmas Decorations.

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Exes to lovers, Christmas, small town, smut, fluff, humor, light angst

Word Count: 14,487

Content Warning: References past parental death, alcohol (everyone is drunk for like the entire fic), drunk driving (DO NOT DO THIS), drunk sex, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, tsundere vibes

A/N: Please enjoy some Christmas in May. Part of A Hyung Holiday Collaboration, banner credit @sailorsoons

Soundtrack: Action Figure - WayV

The only thing fun about freezing your ass off at the annual winter market is the mulled wine. You’re wearing leggings under your pants, a thermal shirt under your hoodie, and a thick parka on top of everything, yet the decorative mug of hot mulled wine in your gloved hands is what’s keeping you warm. You can feel the heat of the cup through your gloves, and the alcohol is doing a great job warming up your face and chest. 

It’s been over three years since you last went to the winter market in your hometown. Standing in the middle of downtown, shivering despite the layers as some lady rams into your ankle with her kid’s stroller, reminds you why you always hated going. 

“Do you think dad would like this?” Malik holds up a wooden clock. It’s hand-carved by a local artist, the intricate designs creating the image of a lush forest across the clock’s face. 

Malik is your stepbrother, but you’ve loved him as though he’d always been a part of your family, despite only joining when your mother married Reggie during your sophomore year of college.  

“Yeah, I think so.” You take a small sip of your wine, trying to make it last the rest of your time at the market so you don’t have to spend money on a refill. “Might inspire him to carve something like it.” 

Between starting your new job and settling into your new house, buying Christmas gifts has been at the bottom of your to-do list. Quite frankly, you don’t have the time, not to mention it’s hard. What can you possibly buy that your parents can’t just get themselves? Or that they don’t already own? At least Malik is a teenage boy. You can’t go wrong buying him video games and crew socks with marijuana leaves printed on them. 

He patiently waits while you slip your credit card from the little pocket on the back of your phone case. It’s funny being the adult in this relationship. You’re twenty-seven and still needed your mom to go with you to buy your house, but Malik stares at you with appreciative eyes because you’re the one with a salary to pay for all the gifts. 

“So, are we gonna do it?” His round, innocent eyes narrow into slits. He’s barely got the clock tucked away in his shopping bag before he gets hyper again. 

“No.” 

Malik’s slitted eyes remain, this time accompanied by a pout. “But you said-” 

“I lied to you.” You hold your cup above your head, and you both pretend Malik isn’t tall enough to reach it without even trying. Being the oldest, yet shortest, sibling is bullshit. 

“But they’re gonna come back soon!” 

“Didn’t mom say they want us to go find them?” 

Text messages in the family group chat are reminders that the two of you are supposed to find your mom and Reggie inside the bookstore. It’s family-owned, like most of the shops downtown. Your hometown isn’t tiny, but it’s a somewhat secluded suburb located about an hour outside of the city. Even calling the center of your town’s “downtown” area doesn’t feel right; it’s far too small to be a true “downtown”. There are no skyscrapers or busy city streets, just local shops and a large outdoor music venue that doubles as the location for the winter market and the Christmas lights showcase when it’s too cold for concerts. It’s a stark difference from living in California for the past three years. 

Malik lets out a few more huffs and juts his bottom lip out even further. He knows you’ll give in, and you do. 

“Fine, you little shithead.” 

You hold out your mulled wine, and he grabs it with eager fingers. Though, his squeal of glee is abruptly cut off by a scowl. You press one gloved hand to your mouth to suppress your laughter and snatch your mug from Malik with the other. His face is twisted in disgust as he follows you through the crowd of equally-bundled-up market visitors. 

“I told you you’d think it’s disgusting.” 

Malik grumbles at that, unwilling to admit that you were right. Instead, he adjusts his earmuffs and pouts some more. 

You’re not worried about Malik’s attitude. By the time you reach the bookstore, he’s already forgotten that he’s supposed to be mad at you. No, there’s something else you should be worried about as you push open the door. 

A light ring of a bell indicates that the two of you are entering the store, making the woman at the register lift her head.

“Happy Holidays!” She says with a bright smile. “If you’re here to sign up for the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest, it’s in the back, near the children’s section.”  

You have no intention of competing against your neighbors to win some stupid prize for having the gaudiest decorations draped over your roof and across your front yard. On the other hand, your parents live for this type of shit. That is why you and Malik weave through the aisles of books until you’re met with a small group crowded around a long table. Sign-up sheets are already overflowing with names. It’s all the wealthy stay-at-home moms in their too-tight yoga pants and $2,000 Canada Goose parkas, sipping mulled wine and plotting how they’ll destroy their competition because they have nothing better to do with themselves while their husbands fuck their secretaries. 

Well, maybe you’re being a bit dramatic, but you’ve got your fucking MFA degree, so can anyone blame you? Besides, these are the people you went to high school with. You think you know at least a little bit about what’s going on in this stupid town. 

Although some things have changed in the three years you’ve been gone, most things feel normal. And some things feel normal when they shouldn’t. 

“Seokjin!” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that Malik betrays you. You did call him a shithead not even five minutes ago, but it still stings to watch your little brother launch himself at your ex-boyfriend. The teen’s gangly arms wrap around Seokjin in a sideways hug. The force of the hug nearly spills Seokjin’s wine, but the mug is quickly taken from his hands by none other than your mother. 

It’s rather insulting, actually, seeing your parents crowded around Seokjin. Your mom is holding his mug like it’s a newborn child. The movement is quick, but you think Reggie lifts his hand from gripping Seokjin’s shoulder once he notices you’ve arrived. 

Ridiculous. 

“Hey, bud!” Seokjin beams down at Malik. He murmurs something to the teen before gingerly picking a few pieces of white fuzz that had nestled in his hair, making his hi-top fade look like it had snowflakes dusting it. “Were you rolling around in the fake snow?” 

Malik ducks his head at Seokjin’s teasing. “Nuh-uh.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. It looks pretty comfy, doesn’t it?” 

You know you’re staring at him. You know it, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from his crinkled eyes as he looks down at Malik with an adoration that never disappeared, even once you were hundreds of miles away from here. It takes you a moment to recognize what he’s wearing wrapped around his neck. The scarf has a pattern of various shades of blue and silver snaking around each other like the swirls in marble. It’s handmade. You know this because you’re the one who knitted it. Seeing Seokjin wearing a gift you made for him nearly five Christmases ago makes the air you breathe in stall in your lungs as though you don’t remember how to exhale. 

Hands that you know are soft rub Malik’s upper back in soothing circles. Seokjin is the only person you’ve seen calm Malik down. No matter how hyper or sassy the kid is, there’s something about Seokjin that neutralizes him. 

It’s because he’s so sweet and gentle, you think to yourself. 

You blink, and the thought is gone. 

Malik finally lets go of the death grip he has on Seokjin; Reggie is the next victim, which is no surprise. With his newfound freedom, Seokjin does exactly what you don’t want him to do. He looks at you. 

“Hey, Y/N.” 

The utterance is breathy and soft, clearly only meant for you despite the cheerful crowd around you. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak despite having seen him twice already since arriving. Seokjin’s eyes still crinkle, his perfectly-straight teeth shining in a smile that somehow manages to meet his eyes. He has always been kind and attentive, as though he was put on this earth to make sure life is a bit more bearable for everyone he meets. 

You’ve known Seokjin since the two of you were twelve years old, and you’ve never seen him run out of that energy — not even at the end. On the other hand, no one expects that level of sweetness from you, and you’re thankful for that. It’s not because you’re a mean person, but because you’ve had a hard time establishing yourself. Being back home makes you feel like a kid again. San Diego allowed you to develop yourself as an adult separate from your family. Without that separation, it seems as though you’re regressing. It feels like someone else is standing in front of Seokjin now. You’re sure your face is devoid of emotion; the thousand-yard stare he used to tease, no matter how many times you told him the phrase was about going into battle. Right now, though, a battle doesn’t feel too far off from whatever the fuck is going on inside you. Or maybe indigestion. 

Whatever it is, you tell yourself it’s not adoration. 

“Y/N! Just in time for the contest sign-up.” 

It’s a blessing and a curse when your mom yanks you by the wrist toward the crowded table. She doesn’t allow you to respond to Seokjin, but you’re not sure if you would have said anything anyway. The action pulls you away from staring at Seokjin’s plump lips, the feral part of your brain frantically remembering the shape his lips make when he says your name. It’s a dangerous slope you’ve clawed yourself up twice already since being back in town. 

The first time was at the grocery store. Your dramatic ass swears you could have caught pneumonia from hiding in the frozen section to avoid your ex-boyfriend, but there was no way you were going to confront him with no makeup and wearing three-day-old sweatpants. You were lucky at the grocery store; he hadn’t seen you (or, at least, you don’t think he did).

The auto repair shop was another story. It’s impossible to avoid your ex when you’re both stuck in a tiny room waiting for the mechanics to finish up with your cars. You spent most of your time in the bathroom which, now that you’ve had time to think about it, was a terrible idea. Thankfully, the receptionist is an old friend of your parents. The old woman was kind enough to let you know when you could come out of the bathroom once Seokjin left. You could cry some other time over the fact that Seokjin probably thought you had some kind of gastrointestinal malfunction. Lovely, right? 

“Mom, I’m not signing up for this,” you groan and try to twist your wrist out of her grasp. It’s called boundary setting. You highly recommend it. 

“Oh yes, you are. This is your first year with your own home!” She screeches louder than Mariah Carey singing Christmas songs over the bookstore’s speakers. “It would be silly not to.” 

“I’m pretty silly. A real hoot.” You earn a glare for that one. 

You love your mom, you really do. It’s her incessant need to shape you into a miniature version of herself that you struggle with. For nearly thirty years she has been unsuccessful, but nothing has stopped that woman from trying her best. You have to give her some credit, though. She’s got determination and grit. 

You tell yourself it’s your love for her that guides your hand toward the sign-up sheet. The only pen available is shaped like a candy cane, and the plastic is warm from whoever was using it before you. That realization makes you shudder. You wish you had a bucket of hand sanitizer to dive into. Where’s a mall Santa when you need one?

“See, even Yoongi signed up.” Your mother points to a signature higher up on the page. 

The bastard. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re already reaching for your phone to send your best friend a scathing text message when an arm is slung across your shoulders. 

Yoongi has his dark bangs brushed forward so they peek out from beneath the floppy Santa hat snug on his head. The hat goes well with his ugly sweater. “Merry Elfin’ Christmas!” the sparkly text on the front of the sweater demands. He doesn’t even care about Christmas, but he loves to dress up for the occasion. 

“Yup, I did. And I hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked ‘cause I’m pulling out alllll the stops this year.” 

The guy buys a townhouse with the tiniest front yard and he suddenly thinks he’s the Christmas King. 

“Nah, not the Christmas King. That’s Seokjin hyung.” 

With a grimace, you shove Yoongi’s arm off your shoulder and try not to think about the fact that you’d voiced your frustrations out loud without realizing it. “Seokjin is the Christmas King? What the fuck does that mean?” 

“Y/N, can you please stop cursing so much? We’re in the children’s section, for Christ’s sake.” 

Yoongi clucks his tongue while waggling a finger at your mother. “Tsk, tsk Mrs. L/N, you’re the one cursing now.” 

Whatever weird shit your mother and Yoongi are going on about is none of your business, so you take a slow step backward, ready to escape. The opportunity never comes, though, because another person slips into the conversation faster than you can get away. 

“Ah, the King himself,” Yoongi deepens his voice to sound more dramatic than you know he already is. For a guy who works in tech, he’s always had a larger-than-life personality. With the candy cane pen in hand, Yoongi shoves it near Seokjin’s face, the hooked part standing in as a microphone. “Tell us, Seokjin hyung, how does it feel to be the winner of the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest for three consecutive years?”  

Seokjin quietly laughs at the sudden attention, but you know he’s uncomfortable by the way the tips of his ears turn bright red. His eyes meet yours for a moment before he’s quickly looking away. 

“Oh, Yoongi-yah, leave me alone.” He rubs the back of his neck, but his grin never falters. 

“Since when did you like decorating for Christmas?” You immediately regret how you spit out the question with venom you didn’t know you had in you. If Seokjin’s ears can get any redder, you swear they do. 

“I, um—” 

“Mr. Kim got super into decorating one year, and Seokjin helped him out.” Yoongi comes to Seokjin’s rescue. He nods his head at Seokjin and they share a look that makes your stomach twist. 

You have another question: when did your best friend and your ex-boyfriend start sharing looks? 

“Mhm,” Seokjin confirms. “After he… Um, well, I guess I’ve just kept it going.” 

At the mention of Seokjin’s father, the twisting in your stomach morphs into nausea. You feel like utter shit and the silence that follows makes you feel even worse. Not only have you killed the Christmas cheer by making everyone remember the recent passing of Mr. Kim, but the reality that you’ve missed a lot in the three years you’ve been gone hits you in the gut. At one point, you’d have laughed at the ludicrous idea of there being things about Seokjin’s life that you wouldn’t know. Now? He has entire traditions, and a reputation behind them, that you aren’t even aware of. It hurts. It hurts because you’ve always been the one who knows Seokjin the best. 

Of course, rather than apologize or do something comforting to fix the situation, you listen to the impulsive, angry part of you that’s still hurt. 

“Well, don’t get your hopes up for a fourth year,” you say with your arms crossed against your chest. “‘Cause I’m winning this.” 

Yoongi lets out a loud snort that you remind yourself to fight him for later. “You? Do you even own Christmas decorations? I thought California city life was too good for that. What did you decorate with? Palm trees instead of wreaths? Leave sunblock and sugar-free, reduced-fat cookies for Santa?” 

His snickering would continue if your mom didn’t intervene. 

“When we visited Y/N last Christmas, it was funny to see Santas on the beach!” Your mother’s winter wonder and innocence can never be trampled. You’re impressed, even if it’s annoying sometimes. 

“I’m sure it was fun,” Seokjin agrees with her softly, but he’s still looking at you. 

You want to tell yourself that you don’t feel shy under his gaze, but you can’t lie, even to yourself. So you look away before further emotions threaten to bloom in your chest. 

“Y/N will have to get used to a real winter again,” your mother continues. She’s not wrong, but the comment feels like just as much of a jab as Yoongi’s. “Speaking of that! Reggie needs to check your car’s tires before the snowstorm hits. We should probably head back home.” 

Yoongi and Seokjin say their goodbyes to your family, and thankfully Seokjin cuts his gaze from yours. Your mug of mulled wine is still halfway full, so you thrust it into Yoongi’s hands before following your parents and Malik into the maze of bookshelves. It’s not the worst way to run into your ex, but that knowledge doesn’t make you feel any less like shit on the car ride to your parents’ house. 

Despite previously agreeing to spend the rest of the evening with them, you work on your boundary-setting and decide to go home. It might be the wrong decision, but you stick with it because your pride has already been hurt once today. Returning to an empty house (quite literally empty, since you barely have any furniture to fill it) seemed a lot more appealing before you stood in the middle of your living room, alone and in the dark. Your apartment in California had been tiny. A two-bedroom house in the suburbs feels like a castle in comparison, and you’re not sure what to do with the space. It’s not like you have anyone to share it with. 

With a sigh, you toss your coat onto the couch and kick off your shoes. Your socks are slippery against the wood floors as you shuffle to the bathroom, nearly running into the wall on the way because it’s dark and you don’t know the layout like you knew the layout of your apartment. You feel like you’re having a sleepover with no one, like this is a stranger’s house. The lack of furniture and decor makes you feel like you’re merely a guest. If you’re just a guest, though, you’re not sure where home is. 

Gradually, you fill the space and your mood improves without you realizing it. 

The spare bedroom turns into a craft room packed with shelves whose cabinets hold color-coded yarn and knitting needles. Knitting patterns and fantasy books practically burst from the bookshelf. A loveseat with blankets piled on top sits in the corner. It’s your “reading nook” when you want alone time, and doubles as the location for your bi-weekly “stitch and bitch” — a knitting group you created to make an effort to reconnect with members of your community. It’s mostly all your old lady neighbors and a few teens who have old souls, but the bitching is good nonetheless. Any gossip is fun gossip, in your opinion. As long as it’s not about you. 

Your bedroom is less chaotic, only decorated with photos of family and friends, as well as a few music posters. The wall where your desk sits is reserved for your college friends — most of them moved out of your hometown after graduation. There are a few photos of your friends from graduate school, but those two years were less about fun and more about surviving your master’s thesis. Your graduate school friends are also scattered around the world. It’s a bit sad, not to have your closest friendships nearby, but Yoongi makes up for that. He has always nurtured the parts of your soul that needed comfort when parents failed to do so. When your parents got a divorce, Yoongi was there for you — even before Seokjin. 

So it’s natural that you call your best friend in a panic on a Sunday morning when you realize it’s less than a week before Christmas and the outside of your house is bare. You’ve spent all your time decorating the inside. 

It’s not that you forgot about the outside; no one can shut up about the stupid contest. Your neighbors already have their decorations up. Some are simple while others are more involved. You try not to think about the “King of Christmas Decorations”, but it’s hard not to check on his progress when he lives across the street from you. 

No one told you that Kim SeokSeokjin had also recently bought a house… literally across the street from the house you bought less than a month ago. 

“I thought you knew!” Your mother had clucked her tongue at you to hide the smirk you knew she wanted to throw in your face. She, Reggie, and Malik helped you move into the one-story house nestled in the quietest suburb just outside the city limits. You want to be offended, but there’s a tiny part of you that’s curious. About what? You’re not quite sure.  

Yoongi was right that evening at the bookstore; you don’t own any Christmas decorations. That doesn’t stop you, though. Your town is small, but there are plenty of stores around to get everything you need. 

When Yoongi arrives at your house, you have boxes and shopping bags full of decorations scattered around your kitchen and living room. It was hard to decide if you wanted to go cute or gaudy because you didn’t know the preference of the judges. Did they want something creative? Or something that truly screamed Christmas? Using your neighbors as references was impossible. The varying aesthetics were too chaotic to find a pattern in. And you couldn’t just copy Mr. King of Christmas. 

“Don’t you think you’re being a little bit unreasonable?” 

“Unreasonable, Yoongi? Unreasonable? You think I’m being unreasonable?” You watch your friend lean back in his chair with his fingers tightly gripping the edge of the kitchen table.  

“I just meant—” 

“What else do you think?” You shake the string of multicolored Christmas lights in your fists. The twisted wiring had taken you nearly twenty minutes to untangle. “That I’m being hysterical? Is my uterus floating around in my fucking body, Min Yoongi?!” 

Yoongi’s eyes narrow and he lets the front legs of his chair slam back onto the kitchen tile. The thud echoes against the bare kitchen walls and down the empty hallway. 

“That’s not fair, and you know it.” 

Your best friend is probably the most caring person you’ve ever met in your life, but he sure knows how to strike fear into your heart. It’s that deep voice, you figure. The finality of his tone leaves little room for argument, so you choose to hang your head in shame instead. 

He’s right; it wasn’t fair for you to yell at him. You both know your frustrations are misplaced. And maybe, maybe, you are being a little bit unreasonable. 

Not that it’s your fault. 

Buying a new house was the next on the list of adult milestones you were meant to accomplish before you hit thirty, according to your mother. You tried to tell her that being thirty in the 90s was very different than now, but her expectations never shifted. Thus, neither had yours. It all worked out fine, though; the path was practically laid out for you from birth. Graduate from high school, then college, then graduate school to get your MFA (that one put a slight wrinkle in your mother’s plans, but she couldn’t deny that the job you scored as a lead editor for a well-known fashion magazine wasn’t impressive). In the midst of all that, buy a new car. Get a dog (Muffin, the two-year-old corgi). 

Albeit, those milestones were manageable. You’d always loved school, so the degrees were a given. Cars were a necessity in your town; the public transportation was so shitty it was nearly nonexistent. And who didn’t want to get a pet? 

But now it’s time for The Big Three, the ones you dread the most. 

Get married. 

Buy a house. 

Have a kid. 

The Big Three are the most important milestones after getting a degree and are meant to be completed in that order. One, two, three. The end. No questions asked, no negotiation. Your mother has spent her entire adult life on this, setting you up for success. No millennial nonsense! No avocado toast instead of a house! No pets and succulents instead of human babies! 

And, to be perfectly honest, you’d been okay with that. At least, for a little while. The Big Three didn’t seem too scary or unrealistic for a little bit because you had someone you planned to share those future milestones with. 

Keyword: had. 

Now that person is standing on a metal ladder propped against his house to give him the additional height he needs to string up the most beautiful Christmas lights you’ve ever seen. Even with the bulky winter coat, you can see how broad and lean his back is, shoulders shifting beneath the material when he lifts his arm to secure the string of lights. You can’t see his face, but you know his cute button nose is probably bright red, just like his plump lips probably are from the strawberry chapstick he always wears when it gets windy and cold. 

And here you are clutching your less-impressive Christmas lights in your fists in a house you were supposed to have bought after getting married to him. 

“What’s winning the contest going to do for you?” Yoongi’s previously strict tone softens as he reaches over to cover your hand with his much larger one. “If you want to talk to Seokjin hyung, just walk over there and talk to him. He’s quite literally a stone’s throw away.” 

“I have nothing to say to him.” You jut out your chin, and Yoongi is all too familiar with the unhinged look of defiance in your eyes. “I’m going to win the damn contest because I win at everything, not because of him or anything that has to do with him, thank you very much.” 

The dark-haired man lets out a long, overly-dramatic sigh. You both know you’re in denial, but Yoongi has learned that he needs to let you crash and burn so you can learn life lessons the hard way. 

“Fine.”  

“Great! Now help me put up these stupid fucking lights.” 

As was true for his entire life, Yoongi swallows any further protests and does whatever you want him to do because he loves you. He’s the older brother you never had and you are not above taking advantage of the soft spot he has for you. It’s all for good! But still. 

“What are your decoration plans?” You stomp into your snow boots while Yoongi wrestles his hand into a glove that is entirely too small for him.

“Can’t tell you.” 

“Are you for real?” 

“The realest.” 

With a huff, you fling the front door open. If Yoongi wants to be difficult, he can shove his freakishly large man hands into those little gloves all day without getting any help from you. You’ve got lights to put up. 

The snow is fresh; it’s the only time you’re somewhat willing to put up with it. There’s something about the crunch of undisturbed snow beneath your feet that makes you feel all tingly inside. Perhaps it’s because the rest of the world is muted. The sky and ground meet with their color drained out of them, turning into an expanse of white only interrupted by the reddish-brown bricks of houses peeking out of the snow. 

And the reddish-brown color of a certain neighbor’s jacket that you fail to see makes his way across the street. 

You’re laying out the multi-colored lights on the bushes lining your front yard when you hear the crunch. You know it’s not Yoongi because the poor guy is still inside struggling with his gloves.

“Good morning.” Seokjin clears his throat. It must be the first time he’s spoken to someone today because his voice comes out gruff and strained. It’s his old man voice, you used to joke. 

You clutch the lights in your gloved hands to have something to hold onto as you turn to face him. You were right — his cute little nose is bright red and his lips shine with chapstick. You wonder if it’s the same chapstick he’s always used. All it would take is a kiss to find out. 

Banishing that thought is harder than you expect. 

“Good morning.” You sound more confident than you are.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to join in on the contest after all,” he says with a small smile that makes you melt despite the cold. What are you, Frosty the Snowman? 

If only he wasn’t so nice. It would make this so much easier. 

“I’ve been busy.”

Seokjin hums at that, a small nod of his head. You’re both probably recalling how Seokjin spent college making sure you ate in between study sessions and slept enough to feel rested for exams. You couldn’t have survived college without him, even though the school the two of you attended was in the city — only an hour away from home. 

“Editorial work, right?” The question may seem like meaningless small talk, but Seokjin’s leaning forward with an eagerness you’re shocked by. You shouldn’t be, though. Everything about your ex-boyfriend has always been genuine. 

“Mhm, a fashion magazine.” You look down at your baggy, dingy gray sweatpants shoved into your dirty snow boots. “Makes a lot of sense, right?” You say with a small laugh. 

Seokjin joins in, those pretty eyes crinkling once again. “If I remember correctly, you certainly had an eye for a good outfit when you forced me to go to those fraternity parties.” 

“Ughh, don’t remind me of that,” you groan. Memories of little black dresses that barely covered your ass and see-through tops flash before your mind’s eye. You hardly know who that person was. 

His comment also drudges up memories of your bodies sweaty and pressed against each other as the two of you danced to the trashy music college kids play at house parties. You remember the way Seokjin’s hands cradled your waist, how strong and big he felt when you leaned your head back against his chest so he could bend down to kiss you while you continued to grind into his crotch.  

Fuck, you’re going to lose your goddamn mind if this man doesn’t stay away from you. 

“You looked really good,” he compliments, and you assume it’s to make you feel more confident in your new job. But then he continues, “You still do.” 

You don’t know what to say to that, but your mouth usually makes decisions before your brain can. “So do you.” 

Seokjin seems shocked even though he was the one to lead the route this conversation is taking. You’re not lying, though. Seokjin looks different, but not by much. He looks bigger now. He’s more filled out as he grew into his adult body. It makes sense. The last time you had a real conversation with him was when the two of you broke up halfway into your first year of graduate school. 

It was mutual, supposedly. You wanted to stay in California; he wanted to stay home to be with his father. Long distance wasn’t working, so you offered to take a break. You thought he’d fight for you, but he’d simply… agreed. 

“Okay.” 

Your relationship must not have meant much if he could agree to end it with one word. 

Later, Yoongi would point out that you were the one to initiate the end of the relationship. You probably confused Seokjin, Yoongi insisted. But you can’t get over the fact that you weren’t worth fighting for. 

You and Seokjin stare at each other in the silence of the winter wonderland surrounding you. He looks so cozy and warm, buddled up much better than you are. You got rid of all your winter clothes when you decided to stay in California after you graduated from your master’s program. You’d genuinely believed you would never move back to your hometown. 

And here you are, after accepting a job with better pay and the opportunity to spend time with Malik before he goes off on his own, too. 

Standing in front of Seokjin with rosy cheeks and a look that feels familiar, a lot like affection and… maybe something else, painting his face. You’re tired of trying to figure out how you fit in this community again without regressing. And how Seokjin is meant to fit in, too. 

Without thinking, you reach out to touch the edge of his scarf. The yarn is warm from his body heat, but you can’t feel it through your gloves. 

“You kept it?” You don’t want to ever admit that you locked away everything that reminded you of Seokjin. You couldn’t get rid of any of it, but you couldn’t bear to look at photos or wear the jewelry he bought you. 

“Of course.” He reaches up to catch your wrist before you pull away. “You made it for me to wear, didn’t you?” You swear you can see the sparkle of the morning sun shining on the snow in his eyes. 

You wish the two of you weren’t wearing gloves. 

“I couldn’t find the ladder, but I found this step stool that we could probably— Oh, hey hyung.” Yoongi stops a few feet away from you with a stool in hand. You can see his eyes lock onto Seokjin’s hand wrapped around your wrist, but neither of you pulls away. 

“I was, um, just checking on Y/N’s progress.” Seokjin finally lets go of you and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

“Trying to cheat?” Yoongi teases, placing the step stool in front of the lone tree in your yard. You don’t think it’s going to be tall enough for him to drape the strings of lights around the lower branches, but you’ll let him figure that out on his own. 

“I would never,” Seokjin scoffs. “Besides, it might be nice for someone else to take the crown.” He shoots you a wink and you feel your chest constrict. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Yoongi’s attention is on the tree now, so Seokjin turns back to you. 

“I don’t want to keep you out in the cold any longer than you need to be,” he admits softly. “I’d love to find a time to catch up if you’d like.” 

You’re nodding your head before you can stop yourself, and the grin that lights up Seokjin’s face makes standing in the cold feel much more bearable. He ducks his head in a silent goodbye and crosses the street. As Yoongi said, Seokjin is a stone’s throw away, but it feels like that side of the street is worlds away. 

You should have known “catching up” would be a complete disaster. 

As usual, your mother decides to meddle in your business without your consent. It leads to an extremely uncomfortable Christmas “party” that ends up just being your family, Yoongi, Yoongi’s boyfriend, Hoseok, and Seokjin. 

You spend most of your time in the kitchen hovering near the sugar cookies Malik. You and Hoseok take turns mixing each other experimental cocktails with whatever alcohol your parents have in the fridge because you both get nervous at parties, even one thrown by people you trust. The kitchen is the safest place for introverts. 

“Looks like the mad scientists got a little too enthusiastic about their experiments,” Reggie calls you and Hoseok out with a chuckle. Malik appears around him with a smirk, always looking forward to teasing you, too. 

You wrap your arm around Hoseok’s waist and squeeze him close, shooting Reggie a pout.

“Hey, we’re not as bad as Yoongi,” Hoseok insists. 

Yoongi is in the living room clutching a red solo cup of straight whiskey. The longer you watch him talk to Seokjin, the further left you can see Yoongi lean.

 Spending a night like this, with drinks and snacks and cheer, is nothing new for your little group. Well, Hoseok is a new addition, but otherwise, there’s nothing unusual about your family and friends getting drunk together and having a good time. Your mom was always “the cool mom” (her words, not yours). She was okay with you having your friends over. Once Reggie came into the picture, your house became even more of a safe space for your college friends to hang out without feeling like your parents were going to kill the vibe. 

But things are different now. 

Alcohol in your system makes you more social, but you stick to Hoseok until your mother is beckoning you toward the record player halfway through the night. 

“Do you know how to fix this?” The record is skipping. You don’t mind Nat King Cole, but he’s not great when his music is stunted like this. 

“Mom, you know I don’t have any idea how this works.” 

You’re drunk and whiny; it’s nothing she shouldn’t expect. You wish you knew what was going on because suddenly Seokjin is flanking your right. The first thing you notice is that he’s very sober. For some reason, it bothers you. 

“Oh, Seokjin, sweetie.” Why is your mom calling Seokjin sweetie? “You have a record player. Please, can you fiddle around with this?” 

Seokjin is obediently nodding his head because your mother has always adored him. She likes him more than you; you’ve always been convinced of that. But you have little time to think about it when your mother starts to walk away. Right before she’s out of earshot, she stops in her tracks to look at you over her shoulder. 

“Oh, would you look at that?” 

You follow her gaze to see something red and green hanging from the ceiling. It takes you a while to figure out what it is because you’re more curious about how your mother managed to get something to hang from the ceiling. Your thoughts are disrupted by Seokjin clearing his throat. 

“Do you think your mother is trying to tell us something?” he muses. 

And then it hits you. 

“Oh fuck, that’s mistletoe.” 

Seokjin full-on laughs this time, but you’re mortified because you think you might do it. You really might lean in just a little bit further, stand just a bit taller on your tiptoes, and part your lips with a swipe of your tongue… 

“Y/N…”

The raspiness of Seokjin’s voice makes you open your eyes. You hadn’t realized they were even closed, but you also hadn’t realized you were posed to kiss Seokjin under the mistletoe, just as you’d imagined. Your brain was thinking, but your body was acting without you knowing. What is wrong with you?

You jump back as though Seokjin is a live wire you’ve managed to zap yourself with. Without a word, you turn on your heel and frantically search the room for the one person who can save you from trying to drunkenly kiss your ex-boyfriend. 

“Yoongi, you need to take me home,” you slur into his ear. You’re both clutching each other like Jack and Rose debating death. 

“I’m drunk,” he says plainly. 

“Yoongi, Yoongs, the precious love of my life, soulmate, please.” By this point, you’re about to lose your mind because you catch Seokjin’s eye. He’s standing frozen in place at the record player and you want to die. “I just tried to kiss Seokjin, I need to get out of here.” 

Now it’s time for Yoongi’s eyes to bug out of his head. He’s lucky Hoseok is swept up in a game of dominos with Malik so he can slip out the front door without hearing his boyfriend flip out on him for agreeing to do something very irresponsible and dangerous. 

“I really don’t feel comfortable doing this,” Yoongi grumbles as he inserts his key into the ignition. The pickup truck sputters, so he has to restart it a few times before the engine fully rumbles to life. 

It’s a terrible idea, but you tell yourself home is only a few miles away. What can happen in a few miles? The answer is a lot, but common sense slipped out the door after your fourth glass of wine. 

“You’re fine, Yoongs! You’re the safest driver I know.” You want to think you sound convincing, but the few hiccups that disrupted your otherwise smooth sentence make a facade of sobriety a bit hard to swing. “If we get pulled over I’ll just show the cops my tits.” 

“Jackson is not going to appreciate that.” 

Jackson, the preacher’s kid who grew up to be a cop. It’s hard to bribe the cops when everyone knows everyone in this stupid town. But that also means you know that Jackson saw his fair share of tits when the two of you were in college, preacher’s kid or not. 

Yoongi crosses his arms over the steering wheel and leans forward. It takes him backing out of the driveway and nearly hitting the old lady who owns the bookstore and her dog before you both realize he’s forgotten to turn on the headlights. 

You hope he’s wearing his contacts. 

The air inside the truck is hot and stuffy and reeks of whiskey. As you rush to leave the party, Yoongi accidentally brings his red solo cup with him. It’s nestled between your thighs because there’s already a water bottle and a stack of empty Starbucks coffee cups in the middle console cup holder. It’s so painfully bisexual of him. The smart thing would have been to dump the whiskey out, but neither of you is very smart. 

“You need to clean out your car. This is so gross.” You’re pretty positive you’re sitting on something sticky, but you don’t want to investigate for fear of freaking yourself out. “Aren’t you rich? Why do you live like this?” 

“Shut up,” he hisses with a heavy breath. “I’m trying to focus.” 

Yoongi parks in front of your house with no issues (not counting the bookstore lady). The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, collecting yourselves. A lot goes unsaid, but it’s Yoongi and you know you don’t have to verbalize how to feel for him to know that you feel like shit. 

“Sooo…” he starts slowly, bloodshot eyes staring down the street. 

“Yeah.” 

You look out the window, the twinkling of Christmas lights attracting your attention. Seokjin’s house is a beacon of light shining through the darkness. A little sign in the yard prompts visitors to tune into a specific radio station. Your curiosity overpowers your desire to just jump out of the car and sabotage the whole setup. You reach over to adjust the radio, switching over to the channel the sign calls for. 

Yoongi gives you a strange look, but he’s too tired to question you, and would rather wait a few seconds to find out what’s going on. 

Christmas music filters through the speakers and you’re almost disappointed. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but this channel is just like any other station. It’s the holidays, after all. Christmas music is expected. Any hint of disappointment melts away, though, when you hear Yoongi gasp. 

“Holy shit, look at that.” He gestures to Seokjin’s house. “Am I fucked up or are the lights going to the beat?” 

Yoongi’s fucked up, but he’s not wrong about the lights. As the music plays, the lights draped across Seokjin’s house change color to the beat. It almost looks like the lights are singing the songs themselves. It’s a beautiful light show and unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

“How the fuck did he do that?” you whisper. 

Yoongi shrugs. He’s back to crossing his arms over the steering wheel with his chin resting on top. The angle gives him a better view of Seokjin’s house around your shoulder. 

“Yeah, you’re not gonna beat him,” Yoongi puts bluntly. You don’t have it in you to argue. Part of you knows Seokjin deserves to win for this. It’s creative, cute, and interactive. Never would you have come up with something this cool.

The peaceful moment is interrupted by blinding white headlights as another car pulls up behind Yoongi’s truck. 

“Fuck, is that Jackson?” Yoongi breathes into his palm to attempt to smell his breath. 

You roll your eyes and try to make out what type of car it is through the mirrors. “The entire truck reeks of alcohol, bro. There is no hope for you.” Not to mention there’s a whole open cup of alcohol in your lap that you’ve nearly forgotten about. 

“Or you,” he challenges you through a pout. “You’re the accomplice. You made me do this.” 

Luckily, it’s not Jackson who approaches your window. You lower it despite the cold so Seokjin can speak. 

“Glad to see the two of you are alive,” he smirks. 

“How did you know we were here?” You can’t help but stare at him, this time because you’re envisioning him coming up with such a cool fucking decoration. 

“You left without Hoseok, so I assumed that meant Yoongi was coming back,” Seokjin begins, flashing Yoongi a smile that your friend tries to ignore out of embarrassment for getting caught. “And you seemed pretty intent on getting out of there after trying to woo me under the mistletoe.” 

This time it’s your turn to internally panic with embarrassment. Seokjin doesn’t give you any time to recover before he’s opening the door. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Where are we going?” You question him, but you still follow. You’re a little wobbly on your feet. You bring your weight down on a patch of ice and nearly bust your ass, and Seokjin holds your elbow to right you again. 

“First, I’m getting you inside. And then I’m driving Yoongi back to your parents’ house to pick up Hoseok, so I can drop them off at home too.” Seokjin was always the designated driver when you went out with your friends. He wasn’t against drinking, but he preferred to suffer through parties sober if it mean he could take care of his friends when they had no one else to watch over them. 

Yoongi reluctantly exits the truck and slides into the passenger seat of Seokjin’s car with plenty of grumbles to express his annoyance. He doesn’t even bother telling you goodnight, but you’re not worried about that. 

“Keys, please.” 

With his arm wrapped around your waist, Seokjin leads you through your front door. You try not to think about how strong he feels pressed against your side. So maybe you lean in a little more than you need to and let your body go slack a little more than necessary, but who needs to know that? 

Seokjin has never been in your house (why would he have?), so you mumble out directions to arrive at your bedroom. You’re too drunk to worry or care about the state of your house. Did you have bras thrown all over the place? Was your vibrator put away? You have no fucking idea. Whatever Seokjin sees won’t be anything he’s never seen before, you decide. 

He gathers some medicine for the headache you’ll inevitably have in the morning, as well as fetches you a glass of water, while you change into your pajamas. It’s a routine you’re familiar with, even if you haven’t engaged in it in years. 

“I put medicine and water on your nightstand,” Seokjin explains softly, even though you saw him set everything down. “You can call me if you need anything, you know that, right? If you need anything at all. I’m here.” 

“Yuuuuuup, you are here, in my house.” You blink up at him but your eyes have a hard time focusing on his face.

“Mhm, I am,” Seokjin confirms, and his smile makes your chest feel weird. “But I meant, I’m here for you.” 

“It’s nice.” You know exactly what you’re saying, but it’s like your brain can’t figure out how to tell you that it’s bad. “We were supposed to be here together.” 

He chews on his bottom lip and you want to bite him. Instead, you twist beneath the covers to get comfortable and tell yourself to behave. It’s just the alcohol, right? That’s it. 

You’re not sure if he understands what you’re trying to say. And if he has a response, you don’t hear it. You’re already floating off to dreamland with a nasty hangover to follow you once you wake up again. 

In the morning, the medicine and water are greatly appreciated, and you find yourself feeling more taken care of than you have for the past three years. 

Still, you’re terrified of walking outside and seeing your ex-boyfriend-turned-neighbor after he was forced to tuck you into bed the night before. It’s embarrassing, to say the least, no matter how caring Seokjin is and how familiar the two of you are with each other. So you’re thankful that you manage to slip out of the house without running into anyone, and you hope that your shopping spree is equally as uneventful. 

Silly of you to forget that Target is a dangerous place. 

The bright lights are hypnotizing. That has to be the reason why you always walk in with the plan of buying one thing and end up spending a hundred dollars on what? You don’t even know. Not this time, though. You’re determined to stick to your shopping list. No wiggle room allowed. It helps that your shopping list is short; all you need is a package of white string lights. They’re the final touch to the candy cane-themed decoration for the tree in your yard. The judging is in two days and you’re determined to have something presentable, even if you already know Seokjin’s display is going to kick your ass.

Likely due to the stupid contest and how small your town is, the aisle with all the outdoor decorations is surprisingly bare. There’s only one package of white lights left, and it’s currently being eyed by the last person you want to see. 

“No, you cannot have those.” You march over to Seokjin with confidence that you’re pulling out of your ass. “I need these more than you.” 

He looks up at you with the same sparkles in his eyes that you saw outside your front yard, so you know it wasn’t because of the fresh snow. “Do you?” He asks with a grin, shifting the package from one hand to the other. 

Without answering him, you reach out to grab it, thinking you’ll catch him off guard. But Seokjin has a firm hold on it, so you end up tugging without getting much slack. 

“SeokSeokjin, let it go,” you grumble, trying to yank on it. Seokjin doesn’t budge and the sparkles remain. 

“No.” He’s beaming at you and it makes you furious. This time Seokjin tugs on the package. He’s much stronger than you, so his movement sends you stumbling forward. You crash into his chest, head tilted upward to meet his eyes. 

“You didn’t even say please,” he murmurs, and fuck you’re getting that feeling you had at your mom’s phony Christmas party. But now it’s Seokjin who leans forward and you’re the one frozen in place. 

You can feel yourself getting lightheaded from a lack of oxygen, but you can’t bring yourself to breathe when Seokjin’s lips ghost over yours. The touch is so light you almost can’t feel it, but then you feel his breath on your cheeks and you can smell the fake strawberry scent of his chapstick, and, fuck, his lips are slick enough with the chapstick that his bottom lip sticks to yours for half a second when he leans a bit too close. 

You pull away with your eyes even wider than they had been under the mistletoe. 

Seokjin lets go of the package with a chuckle. “You can have it.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat and grins as you hurry down the aisle. “Hope you’re feeling better, by the way!” 

You don’t bother looking back. 

Needless to say, you give up. 

The White Light Fiasco was enough of a sign that the crown was never going to be yours and you should have seen it all along. By the time you’re hovering over the spiked punch bowl at the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest party, you have made peace with the fact that you are positive the president of the Home Owner’s Association is going to announce that Kim SeokSeokjin wins this year’s contest. You are fine. It’s fine. Clearly, this decorating thing is not for you and that is fine. 

You haven’t seen Seokjin since the White Light Fiasco and that is also fine. It’s not like you’ve been stressing out over it or anything. It’s not like you keep having recurring dreams about his warm body pressed into yours as he tucked you into bed or anything. 

“So, are you ready to take the cake?” The way your body involuntarily tingles at the sound of his voice is honestly pathetic.

Seokjin pours himself a cup of punch and smirks as he lifts it to his lips. You give him a roll of your eyes, but the amusement in his expression never fades. 

“It’s obviously going to be you again, radio boy.” You don’t have time to say anything more because the Association’s president takes over the mic. He stands holding a rather ridiculous trophy on the stage of the auditorium. It’s a golden Santa Claus about the size of a baby. 

“Seriously? That is the prize?” 

“It was a golden gingerbread man last year.” Seokjin chuckles beside you. “You also get a hundred dollars cash, so that’s nice.” 

You’re pretty sure you spent more than that on all the stupid fucking decorations. Now you really aren’t interested in winning. (And not just because you know you’re not going to. Obviously.) 

“Thank you, everyone, for participating in the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest!” The Association’s president drones on about whatever nonsense homeowners are supposed to care about, but you’re not ready to be that type of an adult just yet, so you don’t pay attention until it’s time for the winner announcement. 

“Better get your game face on, radio boy,” you whisper out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t see Seokjin’s reaction because, again, the president interrupts you. 

“And this year’s winner is…” Cue cheesy drumroll. “Min Yoongi!” 

“What?!” You whip your head around to look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on the stage. “What?!” 

And sure enough, there’s your best friend in his stupid “Merry Elfin’ Christmas!” sweater making his way up the stairs to stand on the stage with his new golden Santa and one hundred bucks. On the screen behind them, a photo of Yoongi’s townhouse is projected for everyone to see the winning decoration. 

“You mean to tell me that Yoongi fucking won this contest because he had a twelve-foot-tall skeleton left over from Halloween, so he sat it on his front yard with a giant Santa hat on it. And that’s it? That’s all it took?” 

Seokjin just looks at you with a shrug. “I guess so.” 

“You should have fucking won!” You throw your hands up, nearly knocking Seokjin’s punch out of his gasp. Noticing his jostled cup reminds you that you’ve left yours somewhere. “You had the cool radio thing and the dancing lights. Who else could have figured out how to do that?” 

“I’m sure lots of people…” Seokjin mumbles, but you cut him off. 

“No, no, that was dope and Yoongi is just, he’s just,” you huff, words escaping you. 

“Your best friend?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t deserve to win!”

Quite honestly, you’re shocked by how intensely you feel about this turn of events. Maybe it’s because you’re drunk, but you think you’re valid! It doesn’t help that Seokjin breaks out in full laughter now, windshield wiper sounds galore. Maybe he’s a little bit drunk, too. 

“What’s up, party animals!” Yoongi brandishes his golden Santa and red envelope that you assume holds his prize money. 

“You’re stupid,” you say with a pout. 

“You’re jealous,” Yoongi quips and sticks out his tongue. “Maybe if you stopped complaining about Seokjin so much, you’d have time to befriend all the cool kids in the neighborhood and they could have voted for your decorations instead.” 

You shoot a quick look at Seokjin with a bit of fear in your heart, but he’s all smiles, his teeth bright white against perfect pink lips. Of course, he is. You’re the cranky one here. 

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. Looks like you might be replaced as the best friend by a bunch of teenagers,” Seokjin teases. 

“I mean, Yoongi’s got the maturity level of one, so it makes sense.” 

“Hm, he does, doesn’t he? Still playing with dolls and everything.” Seokjin gestures to the golden Santa and the two of you wheeze through laughter. 

A petty, selfish part of you is thriving; it feels good to gang up on Yoongi with Seokjin. It feels the way it used to feel. It feels normal.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Yoongi huffs while tucking the Santa under his arm. “Let’s get out of here before they try to take a picture of me and put it in the monthly newsletter.” 

It’s Christmas Eve, but you still question why the Association made the punch so strong. Sure, it’s after five o’clock, but it feels too early to be drinking. Your first step outside is onto a patch of black ice. In a panic, you squeeze onto Yoongi’s hand to steady yourself, fully expecting a grumbled protest in response from your touch-averse friend. But the grumbles never come. Yoongi is already halfway to his truck and you’re squeezing the life out of Seokjin. 

“Please be careful.” You watch his breath turn smokey white in the air. It’s an attempt to not stare at his lips, but you’re failing at that, too. “Malik has told me many times that he’ll murder me if I hurt you. I’d guess you getting hurt on my watch would count, even if it’s not my fault you’re clumsy.” 

You’re thankful half your face is wrapped in a scarf. Hopefully, it masks your embarrassment because you want to tell him that he’s already hurt you. With a nod, you carefully slide into Yoongi’s truck and make a mental note to talk to Malik about toxic masculinity.

“Why did we ask you to drive?” 

You try to angle your legs so Yoongi can reach the gear stick without sticking his hand between your knees. You’re sitting in the middle console, in place of water bottles and coffee cups smashed between Yoongi in the driver’s seat and Seokjin in the passenger’s seat. If there wasn’t half a foot of snow in the back, you would have just ridden in the bed of the truck, like you used to do.

Yoongi doesn’t bother sparing you a glance, too focused on safely navigating the snowy parking lot. “Because your car is in the shop and Seokjin refused to drive.” 

“It’s a Porsche,” Seokjin says with a sheepish look, not fully meeting your eyes. “I don’t want it to get dirty.” 

Yoongi launches into a heated lecture about why it doesn’t make sense to own a car in the Midwest if Seokjin’s not prepared to face the elements with it, but you’re only paying attention to how close Seokjin is. You’re practically sitting in his lap. The weird angle has your legs half-draped across his knees and your torso twisted so his arm is looped around yours to hold you in place when the truck jostles down the icy road. 

You’re not sure who moves first, and later you’ll decide that it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it happens. 

It’s not as cute as your first kiss with Seokjin. That one had been picture-perfect and so cliche it kind of hurt, in a good way. It was an ice cream date at the shop in town that Seokjin’s aunt owns. It was cold and sweet, maybe a little bit sticky but you didn’t mind. You remember the way Seokjin held your face with shaking hands, not because he thought you were fragile, but because he was nervous. 

This time you’re both shaking, but you think it’s probably because the shocks on Yoongi’s truck are shot. 

Seokjin’s lips are just as soft and plump as you remember, and you remind yourself that it hasn’t been that long. In a whole life, three years is nothing. But it certainly felt like forever. 

He tastes sweet like the spiked punch; you’re sure you do, too. You hope it makes him think of that ice cream date so many years ago. You expect this kiss to be just as chaste, but then Seokjin is pressing his palm against the nape of your neck to pull you closer and you’ve got your fingers digging into his thigh to steady yourself. You may have made a sound, or maybe it’s just incredibly obvious that you’re making out with your ex-boyfriend in a truck that technically only fits two people.  

“Get out! Get out get out get out!” Yoongi bellows. He slams on the brakes, making all three of you lurch forward. “I hate you both!” 

You swear you hear a dog start barking in the distance as a response. Only a small part of you feels bad. 

Seokjin practically falls through the truck door once he figures out how to use the handle, which sends you tumbling after him. You both collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter as Yoongi speeds away, holding out his middle finger through the window as he drives.

“We’re never going to hear the end of that,” Seokjin wheezes, dropping his keys multiple times before finally unlocking his door. You don’t question why you follow him into his home when yours is only across the street, and he technically hasn’t verbally invited you over.  

You both barely have your outerwear off before you’re shoving Seokjin against the wall with a strength you didn’t know you had. You find that it’s easy to kiss him again, and there’s no hesitation as he kisses you back. You tug on his bottom lip with your teeth, pulling back and enjoying how he chases after you by leaning forward. 

“We should,” Seokjin pauses to groan into your mouth. You’ve got your leg in between his and you’re pressing your thigh directly against his cock which you now know is already fully hard. That knowledge makes you feel irrationally smug. “We should talk.” 

“Later.” You want to sound commanding, but your voice comes out as a breathy whine when Seokjin presses back against you, bringing his thigh between your legs. He grinds into you, his fingers bruising your skin when he squeezes your hips to hold you in place. 

You’ve only slept with one person since breaking up with Seokjin, and it wasn’t anything worth noting. The sex was bad, and it made you realize you needed an emotional connection with the person you were sleeping with if you wanted it to be any good. So you can barely keep it together when Seokjin flips your positions, and now you’re the one pressed against the wall. 

“Later will be too late,” he breathes into your skin before running his tongue along your throat. “We. Need. To. Talk. Now.” He punctuates each word with a sloppy kiss along your neck, eventually reaching your shoulder. 

You try to respond, but every time you open your mouth you moan. Seokjin sucks your skin so hard it’s almost painful. You already know you’ll have dark hickeys scattered across your neck, shoulders, and chest by the night’s end. You want to decorate him, too. 

You make quick work of removing Seokjin’s shirt, nearly popping the buttons off as you frantically undo them. Shirtless, his skin is hot and flushed. You run your fingers down his sternum, letting your thumb drag against one of his nipples on the way down. The action has him tensing against you, and the alcohol in you makes you giggle. 

“Still sensitive,” you muse. 

Seokjin groans a response, something that sounds like a mix of arousal and annoyance. It’s cute. It’s familiar. You’ve played this game before, just under different circumstances. It feels good to know that you still know how to rile him up, even when so many other things have changed. 

“What do you want?” Seokjin pulls your shirt over your head and slides his hands behind your back to tweak the clasps of your bra. He doesn’t undo the hooks — just plays and waits. 

You tilt your head to capture his lips, sucking them so aggressively that they’re puffy and pink, and shine with your spit when you pull away. 

The look he gives you isn’t what you expect, and it catches you off guard so much so that your mouth falls open. It’s something in his eyes. They’re gentle and bright despite the heaviness of alcohol that should be weighing them down. No, there’s a sober clarity to them that practically sobers you up, too. It’s not the lustful, carnal gaze you were expecting. The softness of his expression makes the floodgates open up, as much as you internally scramble to hold yourself together. 

“I want you to love me,” you answer truthfully through weak tears. “I still love you and I fucking hate it because you… you…” With anyone else, it would feel pathetic to beg someone to care about you, but Seokjin is different. He feels like home, no matter how complicated home is to you. No matter how angry you were, you never stopped trusting him. 

Seokjin practically melts in your arms. Removing his hands from your bra, he chooses to cup your face instead. Your tears trickle in between his fingers. You’re sure it feels gross, and probably looks gross, because your makeup is getting washed away, too. But Seokjin doesn’t flinch when he holds you; he merely watches you with wide eyes. 

“I do love you,” he speaks softly, but loud enough to hear over your sniffles. “I never stopped loving you, baby.” 

The term of endearment makes your eyes flood with even more tears. This is the most unsexy you’ve ever felt in your life, and yet Seokjin leans forward to kiss your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, and your lips until every inch of your face is covered in his kisses. 

“But you said okay.” You’re squeezing his biceps, digging your nails into him so deeply you know you’ll leave marks. You don’t mean to hurt him, but you need to keep it together. You need him here. And even though you’re not making any sense, Seokjin understands. You can tell by the way he holds you against his chest and how fast his heart is beating against yours.  

“I shouldn’t have ever let you go.” He shakes his head solemnly, and you think you feel his own tears when he presses his face into the crook of your neck. “I thought it was what you wanted, but I should have tried harder. I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not trying.” 

There’s a part of you that wants to remain angry. The hurt became familiar; it was dull and ever-present. But Seokjin’s love is familiar, too.  

“I love you,” Seokjin repeats. He says it again and again, planting kisses down your shoulders. He tips your chin up, forcing your head backward so he can kiss along your throat and across your collarbones. “I wanted to give you space, but it was hard. It was really hard.”

You slide your hands up until your arms are around his shoulders, forcing him to lift his head and look at you. He wipes away your tears once the two of you realize more aren’t coming. 

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with a boner and I’m over here sobbing,” you say with a stuffy laugh. 

Seokjin looks down at his crotch before returning his gaze to your face. He gives you a shrug and a goofy grin. “It’s not the first time I’ve made you cry during sex.” 

“Kim SeokSeokjin,” you gasp and give him a light slap against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’d say something like that. We aren’t even having sex.” Even though it’s tactless, his jokes have always managed to ease any tension that builds inside of you.

“But we could be,” he says with a smirk. He receives another slap, but there’s nothing in his expression that tells you he feels any ounce of remorse. If anything, you’re unintentionally instigating him. 

“I thought you said we needed to talk.” 

Another shrug, and then you’re being tossed over the same shoulder you were just slapping in annoyance. “I decided later is okay.” 

You can’t be mad when Seokjin gently places you on his bed, nor when he eases you out of your remaining clothes. You definitely can’t be mad when he pushes your thighs forward and gets comfortable between your legs to press a kiss against your pussy. 

“Since you forgot that I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, and you already can tell from the tone of his voice that you’re in trouble. 

“Seokjin, that isn’t—” 

“Oh, but it is what happened,” he stares at you from between your thighs with a raised eyebrow. “And I’m wondering if there’s anything else you forgot about me.” 

You shudder as he drags his tongue up your lips, dipping slightly to push through to your clit. He flicks at it a few times and your leg involuntarily kicks his shoulder. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you groan into the arm you have draped over your face. You’re fucked if the twitching has already started and all he did was flick the tip of his tongue for half a second. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

It’s spoken so softly that you have to lift your arm to look at him again, but he’s now focused on spreading your lips apart. With you opened up, even more, he leans in to suck your clit with those strawberry-red plush lips. Every flick of his tongue makes your leg jiggle, but he keeps a strong grip on your thighs to prevent another kick from flying his way. 

It’s messy; Seokjin always liked it messy. He lets saliva mix with your arousal and uses it to lubricate his fingers before he eases two inside of you.

“This okay?” He lifts his head for a moment and you feel bad because you did forget how caring he is. It used to confuse you as to why he checked in on you while you fucked, but after sleeping with someone else who was far less thoughtful, you were unbelievably grateful. 

“Mhm.” You can’t trust yourself to speak in a coherent sentence as Seokjin goes back to sucking your clit. 

He alternates between swirling his tongue around you with his mouth closed, maintaining the suction that sends tingles throughout your body, with open-mouth licks that cause him to breathe heavily against your pussy, allowing you to hear his moans and experience just how affected he is by you. 

You moan his name as he drags his fingers against your g-spot repeatedly, easily building up the fire that burns beneath his mouth until you’re digging your nails into his hair and cumming so hard you feel like sobbing again. 

You don’t, thank god, because you can’t bear to see the smug look on his face when you prove him right. But that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t prickle at the corners with the threat of tears. 

In true SeokSeokjin fashion, he doesn’t let up until you are crying, though, because he wants to be right. No one has ever made you writhe from overstimulation the way Seokjin does. You know you’ll have bruises on your thighs from how hard he has to hold you down, and you accidentally pull his sheets from his mattress with how tightly you squeeze them, just to have something to grab onto that isn’t his hair. 

He props himself up on one arm as he hovers over you, using his free hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You don’t want to know what you look like, but Seokjin will say you’re beautiful regardless. 

“How do you want me?” He asks against the shell of your ear. If the goosebumps down your arms mean anything, it’s that you don’t care one way or another. 

“I don’t care,” you admit, turning your head to the side to grant him access to your neck for more kisses. Kisses, so many kisses. You’re greedy for them. Three years’ worth is missing and you’re demanding them. “Just fuck me, please.” 

It’s not sweet or romantic by either of your standards, the way Seokjin sits back to strip off his remaining clothes. It’s honestly not even carnal when he kneels between your legs. The only thing you can think of as he slowly slides himself inside of you is that this — the sex, Seokjin, all of it — feels reassuring. 

If Seokjin has always felt like home, then having his body, sweaty and hot, stick to yours as he picks up the rhythm of his thrusts feels like some kind of validation. It’s validation, affirmation, a statement that tells you, yes, it was the right decision for you to come home. 

You want to slap yourself in the face because how corny is it to think, this is where I belong, while your ex-boyfriend is balls deep inside of you? 

“You’re doing that thing.” 

Seokjin tries to speak with a level voice, but his words come out with a gasp as you clench around him. It’s not your fault your body is reacting this way. He should be blamed since he’s the one who decided to suck on his thumb before bringing it down to circle your clit while he fucks you. 

“Wha-what, fuck, what thing?” 

“That thing where you look at me like you’re in love with me.” Seokjin props one of your legs over his shoulder to angle your hips better. “Like under the mistletoe and at Target.” 

You want to tell him to shut up so badly, but you’re all moans and that’s it. 

His cheeks are dusted pink, his sweaty bangs are brushed off of his forehead, and his eyes are bright with mischief. Too many parts of you are at war with each other when you drag your nails down his forearms. It’s hard to use your brain to sort through it all when you feel your orgasm knock the air out of you. You desperately reach for Seokjin, pulling him forward to squeeze him as you shudder through the remaining waves. 

“I am in love with you,” you finally choke out. 

If Seokjin cums because of your confession, that’s no one else’s business. 

When it’s all over, you keep your legs wrapped around his waist, preventing him from getting up. Cockwarming isn’t something you’ve ever been interested in, but right now you can’t bear the idea of him separating himself from you. It’s been too long since you’ve held him, and even though the two of you have a lot you need to talk about, you need this more right now. 

“Need to clean you up,” Seokjin murmurs into the crook of your neck. When he tries to untangle himself from you, you squeeze your legs around him even tighter. 

“Later,” you repeat your earlier sentiment. 

Seokjin lets out a weak laugh. The warm puff of his breath makes your already hot skin prickle.

“I’m going to crush you.” 

“Crush me then.” 

“Kinky.” 

Despite your spike of annoyance at his teasing, you agree to a compromise by allowing Seokjin to roll the two of you onto your sides. It’s impossible not to melt into his embrace when he leaves gentle kisses just below your ear and along your jaw. 

You already know you’re doing “the thing” again, though Seokjin’s eyes are closed as he nuzzles you, so he doesn’t notice this time. It has nothing to do with what happened under the mistletoe or at Target. If you’d known what your expression looked like the morning after he tucked you into bed, as you swallowed the ibuprofen he’d left you on your nightstand — that is what “the thing” looked like. Yes, you’re in love with Seokjin, but it’s not because his gaze makes you shy or your body yearns to be close to him. It’s the little ways he cares about you, even when you’ve been too stubborn to let him in. 

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs against your skin and his hold on you tightens. You attempt to mumble a response, but the soft praises he’s cooing are a soothing lullaby. 

When you eventually wake up to the winter sun weakly shining through the gaps in Seokjin’s bedroom curtains, the headache pounding against your skull is the only regrettable consequence of the night before. That fact should be more surprising than it is, but you remind yourself that this is how it should have always been — with you waking up to the tickle of Seokjin’s hair as he snuggles against your chest.

“Merry Christmas.” Seokjin must have felt you stir because he lifts his head to give you a chaste kiss. 

“Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.” 

Seokjin snorts and dips down to rest against your chest again. “Yes, that’s what I said.” 

“What time is it? Oh fuck, my parents expected me to come over.” 

You try to scoot out from beneath him, but Seokjin holds you down. It’s then that you realize you’re wearing clothes. You’ve got on a t-shirt you’ve never seen before, soft and so large you’re swimming in it, and a pair of boxers that have been folded a few times at the waistband to keep the clothing around your hips. You must have slept deeply if Seokjin could clean you up without you knowing, although you vaguely remember soft words of encouragement as you tossed and turned. 

“It’s okay. I told them you’re with me.” Seokjin nuzzles against your neck and you swear you can’t breathe. 

“You told them…” 

“That I invited you over this morning to exchange friendly neighbor gifts.” 

More like exchanging bodily fluids, but you decide not to say that. It’s Christmas, after all. 

“But we both know your mom is going to see through that,” Seokjin admits with a grin. You can’t see it, but you can feel his teeth against your skin. She probably will see through Seokjin’s lie; it’s an uncanny mom ability, it seems. It makes life more difficult to navigate, as far as you’re concerned. 

“What in the hell is wrong with her?” You can’t really be mad at her desire to meddle, but you won’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she’s the reason why you and Seokjin are back together. Well, if you’re back together. That’s probably one of the agenda items for the “talk” you’ll eventually need to have. 

“I would have told you that she’s been plotting our reunion for literal years, but you’ve spent the last two months running away from me.” You know the way he says it is all in jest, but you feel a pang of guilt stab your stomach anyway. He’s right; you never gave him the chance to even attempt to reconnect. 

In your silence, Seokjin forces himself out of bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him sort through dresser drawers. 

“Seokjin,” you blurt out when he pulls out a fresh pair of briefs. “Who do you spend Christmas with?” 

He gives you a small smile and an even smaller shrug. “No one. It was always just me and dad.” You’re sure the look on your face isn’t as controlled as you originally thought because Seokjin’s ears burn bright red. “It’s okay. I don’t mind, honestly. It’s nice to just have some time to myself.” 

You know he’s lying. You didn’t date him for five years and be his friend for longer to not be able to tell when he’s lying. It’s a lie because his ears are red and he doesn’t look you in the eyes when he talks. 

You let out a hum and push yourself up to sit on the edge of his bed. Hopefully, you’re subtle when you bury yourself deeper into the t-shirt swamping your form just to breathe in more of the laundry detergent you remember once washing your clothes with. 

“Will you come with me? To my parents’ place?” You force yourself not to cave under Seokjin’s intense gaze. “And then maybe we can… talk…” 

It takes only a few steps for him to stand before you, his index finger tilting up your chin. Seokjin leans down to slot his lips against yours, still just as smooth and chaste, but longer and deeper than the one before. The closeness makes you shudder, and you do your best not to make a noise when he finally pulls away. Comfort. He’s always brought you comfort. 

“Only if Yoongi’s willing to drive us there.” 

You scowl and swat Seokjin out of the way. “Are you kidding me?” 

“Nope,” Seokjin says with a laugh, letting the “P” pop as he slings a towel over his shoulder. “I was so serious, I don’t want my Porche to get dirty.” 

He’s clearly about to shower — something you need to do, as well — but you feel too shy to ask him if you can, too. The man just had his tongue shoved in your pussy and you can’t ask him for a shower. What was all that, about comfort? You’re being ridiculous. 

“What do you do when you have to go to work?” You take a look around his bedroom for the first time. Your clothes are neatly folded on top of the dresser; it doesn’t surprise you how orderly everything is. Seokjin’s house looked like it was plucked straight out of HGTV. 

“Make Hoseok drive me. Here—” Seokjin tosses you a towel. You catch it and give him an appreciative smile, but he’s rifling through his dresser again. “You can join me if you want,” he says without looking you in the eyes. His ears are still red. “But I want to give you something first.” 

You shift on the bed to give Seokjin room to sit down beside you. He looks silly with a towel around his neck, shirtless in a pair of boxers that you just realize match the ones you’re wearing. In his hand is a small pouch. It’s velvet, the ones that typically hold earrings or other jewelry if not in a box. You wouldn’t be able to describe how you feel with butterflies somersaulting in your stomach even if you wanted to. 

“Um.” Seokjin can barely get his words out and he’s only just started. “This was dad’s. I don’t really wear, well, I guess it’s just that, hmm…” He drops the pouch in your hand and clamps his mouth shut. “Can you just open it?” 

It seems that silence is a good option, so you undo the drawstring at the top and slowly let the object inside fall into your hand. It’s a ring. A thin, silver band. The color is dark enough that it almost looks deep charcoal. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Seokjin whispers hoarsely like he’s afraid to use his voice. “I wanted to give it to you before… Well, before. And now that dad’s not here, I kind of thought, I don’t know.” Seokjin purses his lips as he lets out an exhale that sounds like a hiss. 

“Thank you. It’s beautiful, Seokjin.” It’s the simplest response, but you know it’s what Seokjin needs to hear. Simple, straightforward, and nothing difficult to interpret. The two of you have always balanced each other out. When Seokjin blabbers, you know how to rein him in. You’d like to think that it’s similar to how Seokjin can calm Malik down. You hope so, at least. 

As corny as it is, the urge to kiss him floods your senses. Despite the pressures around you, you’ve never been one to limit yourself. Self-control is self-sacrifice, but there is nothing sacrificial about bringing your lips to Seokjin’s. No, it’s quite the opposite. You feel life bloom inside of you when you press hard against his mouth at the same time you slip the ring on. Just your middle finger because Seokjin said it doesn’t have to mean anything. 

But it does. You want it to. 

His fingers press into the nape of your neck and you try to hold back a moan because it’s Christmas and you’re supposed to be giving Malik video games and marijuana crew socks right now. 

“We should shower.” Seokjin is the voice of reason that murmurs softly against your lips. It’s been three years, yet you fall in place with him so easily. 

You nod, making your noses rub against each other. It’s without protest that you allow him to lead you into the bathroom. It’s cute, the way he shows you around, pointing out where his skincare products are and showing you how to turn on the shower even though he’s going to be there to do it for you. And when the shower doesn’t turn into a carnal mess but instead is an opportunity for Seokjin to wash you, you realize he’s putting you together rather than taking you apart. You don’t need it; you’ve always been whole, even without him. But it feels good to be touched with care. It feels good to let Seokjin wash the hurt away. 

taglist

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

[skzthelomlhehe]

A lustful collab

Masterlist Total Masterlist

Tag reqs: @arestoucries

Genre: music, fluff, smut, romance, slice of life.

Warnings: sexual descriptions (as the genre suggests)- fingering, harsh language, bleeding, first time, unprotected sex.

Description: In love with your voice he asks for a collaboration. You invite him to your studio but seeing how he was gonna be late you decide to do... Questionable things. And alas he walks in on you doing that cuz you're dumb and forgot to lock the fucking door and things get spicy hehe~

A/N: Heyy! This is my first time writing at Tumblr and also my first take on smut that isn't roleplay lmao the story itself is mostly fluff with smut in between. Hope it doesn't get too stretchy eeee- I literally came up with the plot while listening to connected fr and got even more inspiration from MOVIE by JUNNY srs! anyways~ hope this little delulu one shot can feed yalls delulu hearts~ also PS: A warning is given before the smut starts JUST IN CASE idk why I added it but I did lmao

Vibe with:

It was a beautiful autumn noon. Birds chirping, people probably at home napping or at work or whatever. The street was empty and you were inside your room working on your new song at your parents' house. After a while of humming and singing, you put down your guitar and took off your headphones before looking out the window of your room.

A quiet and peaceful afternoon painted with golden hues of the pretty sunset. Perfect time to record your song. So you decided to take your things which included your guitar, phone, a big tripod and a black foldable chair.

You headed out to the yard with your hands full of stuff barely managing your balance and not accidentally tumbling over and risking every bit of fortune you spent on your set up.

Upon reaching, you successfully manage to put down your stuff in the correct position which was unusual given your extraordinarily clumsy nature. But oh well, luck was just on your side. After you were done with all the silly little labor you finally sat in your chair and started recording. The melody flew gracefully, your guitar cooperated and didn't buzz as your hands guided each note, your voice obeyed your pleas and didn't crack but escaped your lips soft and smooth. The rhymes flowed by as if it were a river devoid of any bounds and for once you didn't feel disrupted or out of breath. Everything went down smoothly which was, once again, quite unusual given your tendency of taking a thousand takes.

All this while, your eyes remained shut as if naturally. You couldn't open them and frankly, neither did you want to. You preferred the soft breeze that tickled your skin, making your hair flow just the tiniest bit. As your song came to an end, you slowly opened your eyes and switched off the recording. Just as you were about to check the video you just took, you were startled by a soft clap followed by a deep, husky yet smooth voice. One that you knew a bit too well. "That was so beautiful! You've got an amazing voice, mate!" The voice spoke out. You looked up, utterly shocked thinking your ears were playing tricks on you. But when you did look up, your heart skipped a beat. In a good way obviously!

There he stood, an averagely tall man, eyes sparkling as if millions of stars were held in them, the dimples at the end of the corner of his smile made you feel like you would drown in them and you honestly don't complain. His hair curled perfectly into a neat fuzz. These details, you knew it too well. A bit too well. Christopher, a well known musician who was the heart throb of many. He's your idol, someone you look upto a lot and also the one who inspired you to go against your family's disapproval and start a career in music. If not for him, you wouldn't be here making music right now.

you quickly put down your guitar on the chair and grabbed your phone stuffing it in your pocket while rushing to him who was standing behind the fence out on the sidewalk. "O-oh gosh thank you...! You flatter me!" You said flustered. You could feel your face getting hotter. Shy? Embarrassed? Flustered? Anything that falls into the similar synonym spectrum, you felt it.

"I'm serious! You make a great deal of a singer." He said, his smile Perking up hiding his eyes. He extended out his hand in a gesture of a shake, "I'm Chris by the way. Just moved here a few days back, nice to meet you!" And almost immediately like the silly fangirl you were, you held his hand, albeit gently unlike those psychos who don't know personal space and bowed "I-I'm Y/N!! It's very nice to meet you too sir!" And with that you just buried your self-esteem deep inside the ground. Sir? Seriously? You could do better Y/N.

Upon blurting out whatever you said, you were met with a rather charming chuckle. You looked up to see the man in front of you laughing, still holding your hand and covering a teeny bit of his smile with his other hand. "You're a funny one, Y/N!" He said, still having the after effects of the little laugh. He let go of your hand, you felt a little disappointed when he did so but you didn't bother to make an expression out of it. "So it seems you live around here? Ive heard you sing but never really saw you before." He spoke, possibly making small talks. "Ah no I used to live here. This is my parents' house, I come by every other week. I live 3 blocks away actually." You spoke quite calmly even though there was a storm raging inside your mind. But no one needs to know that except you and me right? Moving on!

"Ahh~ I see~ well! We'll still be seeing each other some time, no? Can I have your number? I don't really have many friends my age round here." He pulled out his phone and held it in front of you expecting you to type your number in. "o-oh sure..!" You took his phone rather abruptly cuz once again you're clumsy cuz why not~ and typed your number in. You made a quick call from his phone and saved your number in his. You handed him the phone before taking yours out and saving it as well. "great! So I'll text later yeah? I gotta run now, but I'll see you later?" He spoke, looking at you expectantly. You just nodded with a bright smile. "That's that then! See ya, mate!" He cheerfully bid you goodbye, turning away and looking at you one last time with a wink and waving his hands in a peace sign.

That was when you went into a faze. And the next thing you know, you're lying in bed, your stuff neatly organized. "So uhh... I was singing in the yard, someone came, said I sang great, the someone so happed to be my fucking crush and idol and he asked me for my number and he said he'll text me... He... He asked... He ASKED FOR MY FUCKING NUMBER OH MY FUCKING GOD IS THIS A DREAM?!?!?!" After taking your sweet sweet time processing whatever happened you started kicking your feet like a teeny tiny little girl in Love even though you're a fucking (your age) year old woman. (Y'all freaky minors I see you so you better get going)

And then all of a sudden amidst your delulu moment, you get jolted awake to reality by a text notification. When you open your screen your face lights up into a bright ass smile, heart in your eyes and just- delulu all over again.

And just like that you snatched yourself a date (not really) with your favourite local artist! How lucky aren't you? Anyways~ you looked at the clock and it was 4:16 pm already. You rushed up, swifting through your closet only to find nothing wearable. "Do I really not have anything here??? Why did I take everything there with me ugh!!!!" You whisper yelled cuz after your little yelling sesh earlier the last thing you want is for people (especially Chris) to think you're crazy. After failing to find anything wearable you quickly grabbed your things and drove off to your studio.

After a lot of deciding you finally found an outfit you wanted to wear and quickly headed into the shower. And after managing to shower, get dressed, put make up on and do any other finishing touches you were finally ready! You took one last look at yourself into the mirror and felt extremely self satisfied. The clock showed 5:35 pm and it takes about 15 minutes to get there by taxi and the last thing you want is to be late. So you hurried down and got yourself a ride and right to the cafe you went.

You've been to this cafe for a good long while now. It was your favourite spot to chill and the bells attached to the door was always a calming welcome for you. This time although, that same ring sent shivers down your spine. And you didn't know why. You were, as usual, greeted by a gentle young man who was pleased to see one of the regulars back again.

"a single seat again?" He asked as you entered. You shook your head, "not this time boy! I've got company" and soon a giggle left your lips followed by a confused, curious and pleased 'oh?' from the man. He smiled and led you to a comfortable seat. A perfect seat is what you considered it. A big glassed window which gave the perfect view of the lit up streets outside. The cafe was warm and cozy like its name. You took your coat off and draped it over the chair lean before taking a seat. After few minutes of waiting which seemed like hours your clock showed 5:56 pm. You were starting to get worried. Was he gonna ditch you? Were you gonna get stood up by a person you admire so much?

As you let yourself spiral into your overthinking, you were brought back to reality with a knock on the wooden table, "hello? Anyone there? Earth to Y/N!" You looked up, blood rising to your face making it warmer. "A-ah yes! S-sorry about that. I sorta uh... Lost myself there, heh." You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear albeit quite faint. "Right, it's all good!" The man took a seat in front of you, "lovely view." He said, looking out the window. "Ah... Lovely indeed." Your awestruck fangirl eyes stayed glued to this man's face, observing every little detail. His beautifully curly brown hair, big lips that stretched into a smile, that deep and gorgeous dimple that dug at the end of the corner of his smile. Lovely... He was more than just lovely.

"So... Which one of the view is lovely here, exactly?" You didn't realise he was looking at you. His right elbow rested on the table while his tilted head rested on his palm, his face painted with a shimmering smile.

You were dazed by the view in front of you, "You..." You muttered, your head falling off your palms, "N-no I mean both! I mean- no- the outside- or like no uh maybe both? Uh- ah! I don't know!" You hid your face within your hands and heard a soft chuckle. That chuckle tickled your ears turning them bright red.

After much awkward blabbering you guys finally got down to business. Having discussed a few of the details, you guys agreed to meet on the weekends in your studio since his new studio wasn't fully done yet. You both decided to discuss further details and make a contract on Saturday at your studio.

Time passed by in the blink of an eye. Before you know it, you guys have had chatted endless conversations in the meantime. Gotten much more closer. And before you knew it, your phone display showed 8:35 AM on a Saturday morning. Chris was supposed to arrive at 12:30 pm, grab lunch with you and then work on the song.

You looked around realising your room was a total mess. You had 4 hours to clean everything up, shower and get ready and you were quite determined.

You cleared everything up, every Speck of dust lying around was removed in what felt like an instant. You quickly took an everything shower. Washing your hair, shaving, skincare etc etc everything.

After all was done, you checked your phone again. The time showed 12:23 PM. You felt content, giving your chest a light pat of approval. You put on some casual clothes and put up your hair into a messy bun. You patted on some powder, a little blush, tad bit of eyeliner and some soft lip tint to tie it all together.

Just when you were done with everything, you heard your door bell ring. Anticipation grew with each step you took running to your front door. "coming!" You yelled.

Opening the door felt like opening it to a beam of light. You were greeted by a warm smile and a "Hey, pretty!" In the softest most endearing tone youve ever heard. It was like music to your ears. You replied with a "hey handsome~" as a giggle left both your lips.

You knew better than to delude yourself but right now... For a tiny bit... You wanted to think this was more than just some collaboration and something perhaps a little more special. Although getting to Collab with this man was a great deal of honor in itself.

You guys drove to the restaurant in his car. The way his veiny hands glided on the steering wheel made you feel things. The way he spoke, the way he sat there driving, the way he laughed, the way the wind ruffled his hair ever so softy, everything made butterflies rage inside your stomach.

You guys vibed to some music, both singing in tune as he drove. At the restaurant you both chatted while waiting for the food. Chris, curious of the food you were having, took a small bite and regretted immediately with how spicy it was. He coughed "good- lords! How do you eat that?" You chuckled. "or you're just too much of a baby to handle even this little bit of spice? You even have food on your face!" "Eh? Where?" He scanned through the corners of his lips trying to wipe the food away. Watching him struggle, you took a piece of tissue and leaned in to wipe it for him. It felt like time stopped, like some kind of a cliche rom com movie. You both stared at each other for a few moments before he cleared his throat. You sat back down clearing your throat as well.

After the lunch, you both came back to your place. For a second it was awkward but that tension was soon killed as he initiated a small talk that dragged into a conversation.

Getting home, you both talked about the collab. You both jotted down a small contract that his manager would review later to confirm it. But you guys were too excited to wait for any of that and decided to start working on the song.

You both presented ideas you guys had come up with in the meantime. While he took a look at the sheet of printed paperwork you switched on your computer. Time flowed like a river with clear path.

"Should we make some alterations in that part?" He spoke, pointing his pen towards the lit up computer screen. "Which one? This?" You moved your cursor towards the line and selected it. "No not that one, the one below. Here this-" without much thought, his hand trailed to the mouse and placed right about your hand. He clicked the line he had originally pointed to, "I think we could make it a little more feely here-" he paused and realised where his hand was. He looked at you, your face flushed a cute shade of pink. Seeing you, his face, too, flushed in a soft blush before he abruptly took his hand away. "R-right yeah we uh we could do that"

You looked away, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you bit your lower lip feeling a slight sense of disappointment having him pulled away. His hand was big on yours, the warm weight of it felt comforting. You've had your hand held by a lot of people, family, friends, exes. But this particular moment made you feel like your hand was on fire and frankly, so was your entire body.

You felt a wet slick in your lady down there. You quickly excused yourself to the restroom. You had considered that maybe it was... Something else ... But you had thought maybe it was just your period coming a day earlier. But once you had made it into the restroom, you realised, it was, in fact, what you had anticipated and that anticipation was definitely not your period.

You went back, things seemed a tad bit awkward. You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all. You hated the tension that had been created just because of a trivial matter like mistakenly putting his hand on yours while reaching for the mouse. Although the tension was there, you guys still managed to get some work done. After a while, Chris got a call from his manager asking him to get home since it was already 9:12 pm.

Time sure flew. You wished time would stop so you could spend more time with him but you knew you couldn't. So you swallowed down your disdain and walked him to the exit bidding him goodbye. It was bitter, but it is what it is.

You went back in finding yourself in a faze again. You could barely make sense of anything that was happening. You saved the progress on your computer and went straight to bed because frankly, you didn't have any energy left for anything else.

(just imagine some spicy stuff cuz idk how to write a wet dream 💀)

The next day, you woke up to your kitty feeling extra soaked. You groaned thinking it was the after effects of the wet dream you just had. But to your utter surprise and absolute agony, it was none other than that annoying cousin you despised. That's right ladies, you got your period. Periodt.

You took a quick shower before cleaning up last night's mess. You knew your cramps were about to HIT today. And you dreaded it. You could barely move around the entire day because of the excruciating pain you were in. No wonder your sex drive was so high and you felt pain in your waist for the past week.

Time ticked to 6 PM and it was about time Chris arrived. And just on time, you heard your doorbell ring. You tried your best not to look too groggy. You opened the door to his bright smile again, all the tension out the window. You smiled back, your abdomen almost on the verge of busting.

"Hey... You alright?" He asked, his eyes glistening in concern. "Y-yeah... I just got my period today and the cramps are wild." You replied. "oh... Then... Should I leave? I mean-.. I don't wanna cause you any more pain" you couldn't believe how painfully nice he was. Gosh he was just... So considerate. But you didn't want to miss this opportunity. You didn't want to wait an entire week. "No! No it's okay! I can do it! Don't worry!" You blurted. "alright then. But let me know if you're in any pain ok?" He wanted to make you feel comfortable and just him being so considerate made you feel like you could get through a thousand cramps.

You nodded before letting him in. You guys started working on the song again. But unfortunately, as optimistic as you were before, you couldn't help but feel the pain resurface ever so often. The pain felt harder each time it returned. At some point you couldn't help but groan, clenching at your tummy.

"Are you... Are you ok? You don't look too good." He held your shoulder ever so softly. "Ye-yeah I just... Need to use the restroom real quick. I'll be back." "Sure, take your time."

Just as you were about to stand up, your legs gave out and you tripped. Chris, who was right there, happened to catch you in time. Had you fell, your head wouldve went straight to the corner of the table cracking it open. Your heart raced. But, you couldn't tell if it was out of fear or the fact that you were practically groping his chest. Or maybe it was both.

You got up in a rush, your head felt fuzzy. "ah im- im so sorry! I didn't mean to!" "No- no it's alright! You were about to fall so I just... It's okay I don't mind... I mean... Uhh I would mind if it was some random person who just got all over me without permission but uhh what I mean is it's alright I didn't think anything of it..." He looked away turning his head, his ears a bright red.

You hurried off to the restroom and locked the door. "Stupid stupid! You stupid girl! Agh why did you have to fall on him??" You whisper yelled. Your hands still felt warm from the sensation. Your nipples had perked up and you felt aroused out of your mind. But you didn't want to feel it. You didn't want to be a creep and make him uncomfortable.

Time skip ...

A month had passed now. You guys got even more closer now. In the meantime you had many more physical contacts that ignited sparks within you. The sessions didn't last in tensed awkwardness anymore and you guys were having fun.

You were checking out your calender as usual to check out if you had something important in the coming days. Your period for this month had ended two days ago, you were supposed to have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday and the rent was due on Thursday. Everything was checked out. You looked at your phone that showed 10:34 am on a Saturday.

You suddenly get a text and your face brightens up when you see the sender of it.

If this was a while ago, you would find it illegal to even think of getting coffee with THE Christopher. Asking him to bring along coffee and having him treat you to pastry as an apology just would've felt illegal and a faraway day dream. But here we are.

You flopped down on your bed, scrolling through the gallery in your phone. It had endless pictures of Chris. Even more of him than you, your family and friends combined.

You squealed with every picture as you realised again and again how attractive he was and this very man was coming over every other weekend for a collab. It was just... So unreal to you.

{Warning: here the smut starts so if you're not ok with that please skip until you see a divider. Thank you.}

As you were thinking of all this, you found yourself feeling a tad bit aroused. You put your phone down as you glided your hand through your body gradually sliding in down inside your shorts.

You rubbed your clit that had been a swollen bud and your hole had been leaking ever since, thirsting for a little action. You pulled your shirt up revealing your breasts as they bounced and you pulled your pants down. Your pants hung by your ankle as you slowly rubbed your entrance gently.

It throbbed. It wanted more. You started thrusting your finger in. First your middle, then both your middle and ring finger and soon your index as well. You gradually became a moaning mess. Occassionally calling out Christopher's name under your breath as you fondled your boobs.

Oh how you wished he were here with you. As you were in your moments of pleasure laying unbeknownst of anything, a thud jolted you awake from your fantasy.

You looked towards the door of your room realising the clear view of your kitty you had put on to anyone who stood there. Horror overcame you as you realised who was standing at the door. Chris. His bag had fallen, possibly due to shock of seeing you like that.

His face was utterly surprised. You quickly closed your widely spread apart legs scrambling to hide but it just didn't work out. "h-how are you here?!" You asked, shame and guilt overcoming you. "We-well the door was unlocked and I called out to you but you didn't hear me an-and I just-" his face brightened red. You looked down unknowingly and realised he had a painful bulge that looked like it would pop out any moment now.

"y-you... Why are you..." You pointed, he looked down and quickly hid it. "I'm oh lords I'm so sorry! I didn't-"

As if your body moved on its own, you got off the bed and walked closer to him. He stumbled as you did, "wha- what are you-"

"don't you..." You shut him off, "don't you feel repulsed? You heard everything didnt you?" "I- I mean I did hear you... Calling my name but.. uh.. no no... I ... I don't feel repulsed... Not in the slightest!" He blurted out. You weren't usually the bold type but today, for some reason, you felt unstoppable. You took the bag of coffee from his hand and set it down on the shelf near the door. "So... You're turned on by what you saw?" He looked away turning his head before softly nodding. That nod in itself made you even bolder. You slowly glided your hands to his shoulders, letting your arms rest around his neck as you leaned closer making him flinch.

"Come on, Chris... Look at me..." You whispered. "N-no I..." "But... I want you to look at me." You looked at him with sparkly eyes. He looked at you clenching his fists trying his best not to lose himself.

"Do you... Want to touch me...?"

"I shouldn't..."

"it's not about should or shouldn't... Do you want to? Or not?"

He clenched his jaw, unable to speak anything. You leaned in closer to his face. "if you don't want it... Push me away right now..."

And with that, you leaned in even more. Both of your lips not even an inch away from each other. You could feel his warm breath against your skin. You felt so... So turned on. You'd have thought he would push you away. But to your utter surprise...

He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in to a kiss. You flinched and were caught off guard but soon gave in to the passionate kiss. He was rushed, but not too much. It felt good. Your lips touched in perfect harmony. You mewled as you felt his tongue on your lips. Without any complaints you let him in.

Your tongues twirled in a beautiful rhythm. Your breaths clashed with each other. You grabbed onto him a little tighter, pulling him in towards the bed. He pushed you on the bed, kissing you again.

You broke the kiss, unbuckling his pants revealing his throbbing member. His dick was nice and long. Perfectly thick and girthy. You panted at the sight of it and your pussy throbbed. You wanted him. You want to take him.

You got up and pushed him down on the bed as you got on your knees. "Can I...?" You asked and he nodded biting his lips. You could see it in his eyes. Just how eager he was. He huffed as you blowed softly on his tip.

You rubbed it against your soft cheek making him groan. He was already overflowing with precum. You slowly glided your finger through his member. It both scared and aroused you to see his size and how veiny it was. It was throbbing and flinching every now and then.

"just... Do it alreadyy.." he begged and you couldn't wait to comply. You slowly started shoving it inside your face. Licking every bit of it. He threw his head back grasping onto your hair, pushing your head further down. You moaned again finding it incredibly hard to take it all in.

You choked as his tip hit the back of your throat and he let you go instantly. "Ah! Im sorry! Are you ok?" He asked pulling you closer to your face cupping your cheeks. "Yeah.. I'm.. I'm okay. I just don't have much experience with deep throating." You spoke still catching your breath. "it's ok if you don't want to. I don't wanna force you to do something you don't enjoy."

"no it's alright. I want to do it. So just relax." You went back to his groin. This time, taking it slow. Rubbing his member and licking the tip slowly preparing to him all in. Steadily you start putting it inside your mouth. It felt weird at first and you felt overwhelmed but you were determined. You wanted him to feel good.

It gave you immense pleasure when you heard his groans and moans. "Fuck baby you're so hot..." He moaned under his breath. That just aroused you even more. You went back up to his face, kissing him passionately. He pushed you down on the bed and took off his shirt.

Good lords that was the most sexiest and hottest thing you've ever seen. He soon made his way down between your thighs. First kissing your inner thighs along with soft bites that sent shivers down your spine. You yelped a moan when you felt his fingers circling your poor swollen bud and moaned even more when you found him licking it. You thanked your soundproof walls. You thanked yourself who worked endlessly to afford that soundproofing. It just meant you could moan as much as you wanted.

"Shit... Chris... Im... Fuck im so close...!" You mewled. He came up to your face, kissing you relentlessly again as if he was just going to devour you. "can... Can I put it in..?" He asked with these adorable puppy eyes. You felt his tip rubbing against your entrance. "yes.. god... Yes please... I need to Chris... I need you so much... Fuck just put it in already..." You moaned. You couldn't take it anymore. You needed him. You needed him so bad.

"but... There's no condom? Should I go buy some?" He said pulling away and almost getting up. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer. "Fuck condoms just do it! Im safe." (A/N: please use condoms even if you're safe. Your partner might not be safe 💀)

And without much ado, he started shoving it in. It was your first time. You didn't expect it to hurt so much. A drop of tear trickled down your face as you gasped in shock. "agh... Ah fuck... Fuck fuck fuck that hurts ngh..." You cried. It hurt. It hurt so much. You could feel your hymen tearing apart. Blood trickled down your hole. "fuck... Im sorry... Just... A little more... I promise it'll feel better..." Chris reassured you. He pulled you into a tight hug kissing your shoulders and neck. You cried in pain. It was even more painful than you had imagined.

You wrapped both your hands and legs around him. It was painful, but you wanted to keep going. After a while, it was in. His whole dick was completely inside you, wrapped by your walls. "I'm in... Im in..." He huffed. A wave of relief flooded over you. It hurt, but it was starting to feel a little better now.

He gently started moving. Each thrust started making the pain leave your body. And before you knew it, you were overcome by pleasure. Once what was a cry of pain turned to cry of pleasure.

You moaned loudly over and over again calling out his name. "Fuck angh Chris...! Aah... That... That feels so good nngh.." you moaned.

He thrusted inside you, relentlessly. "good fuck baby you feel so damn good... Oh gosh you're so pretty... You're so beautiful... Fuck I love you so much..." He moaned back. You were caught off guard. "you... You what...?" Another tear trickled down your face. Your heart raced like crazy. "I... Im sorry but... I just happened to feel it I... I don't know..." He stopped thrusting feeling hesitant. You smiled before placing a soft kiss on his lips. "Why'd you stop, silly? I love you too... I always have... It feels like a dream to be here like this with you..." You pull him closer. He sniffles, his eyes teary and he smiles before kissing you and thrusting again.

He hugged you, kissing and sucking on your nipples leaving hickeys where only he can see. You suddenly felt a knot form inside your belly. And you knew what it was. "Shit Chris... Im... Im close... Im so close..." You mewled. "I'm... Im close too... Let's... Let's cum together yeah?" He groaned. "Yeah... Yeah let's do that..." You huffed.

Before you know it, his pace fastened and so did both of your grunts and moans. The room filled with noises you made and the noises of skin slapping, kissing and sucking.

And at last, that knot loosened and you felt yourself flinching and trembling and reached your climax. He quickly pulled it out and came on your belly before falling on you. Both of your pants unsteady. He turned to lay down on the bed, your head on his arm. "Fuck... That felt so good..." He huffed. "Yeah... It did.."

.......................

{smut ends here lmao}

After a while of laying there and catching up on breathing. You both decided to take a shower together and clean up. Having done that, you both made your way to the bed and laid next to each other.

"So... You like me?" Chris asked as he caressed your head gently. In embarrassment, you hid your face in his mascular chest. "We-well... I've been a huge fan of yours for a while now and... I've always liked you but... Ever since we've met... I couldn't help but develop feelings more than that of a fan to her idol..." You replied shyly.

"that's... Quite nice to hear actually..." He smiled. You looked at him, your chin rested on his chest. "what about you?" You asked.

"hmm... I've actually seen you before. You performed in the 'Railway Bar and Restaurant' right?"

"Oh yeah... I did. Don't tell me... That was the first time you saw me?"

"I did! I was amazed by your performance. Shortly after I saw you all over my tok tik and tube-you (names are funny cuz I'm pretending to be funny hehe). I really liked the music you made and I wanted to meet your for the longest time. You caught my eye like none other. So when I met you again, I couldn't help but feel this... Attraction towards you."

Your face flushed red. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. It felt like you were dreaming. "So... What are we now...?" You asked, unsure if you should ask to begin with. "I don't know... What do you want us to be?" He asked. "I... Kinda want us to date..." You spoke hesitantly. It felt illegal to ask him that.

But surprisingly enough again, he chuckled. "Sure let's do that." You looked at him in disbelief. He was smiling. And he wasn't lying. He wasn't kidding, he wasn't playing. He really wanted it too. You couldn't help but giggle. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and then on your lips.

Time skip again....

Another few months later, the collab was finally done and posted. It turned out to be a super hit. Both your and his fandom went crazy over it. At first you both wanted to keep your relationship private but one day a fan saw you guys on a date in a cafe. You were scared his fan would be mad and throw a tantrum but what you didn't expect was that she would start squealing and saying how she was expecting it because of the collab.

A few weeks later you guys came out public. There were two sides of the fans. One side was toxic. They bashed you both for the choice you made. But the majority were nice and supported your decisions.

It was overwhelming, to say the least, but you guys were together and that's what mattered. Both your families loved each other as well. Although your family was a bit hesitant at first, they soon caved in to both your career and your relationship.

Things were looking up and you were happier than ever. Your face was all over different social media platforms, in a good way. Your popularity increased significantly and people loved the music you made.

Now the rest of the story? That's for you to write :3

This is the end of "The lusfut Collab" and I hope you guys enjoyed it! See you again with another oneshot! Byeee!

[thejolteonmastertj]

Legend & Fi Are Best Friends Y’all

One of my favorite HCs/Plot-bunnies is Legend even has heard the Master Sword’s voice before, during his first adventure as a kid. Grew real attached & even had full conversations with her…

… but as he grew older he began to assume it was all his imagination.

Nobody in his era knew the sword was supposed to even have a voice, the knowledge had been lost to time. Even if he pieces together the fate of his predecessor based on the state he found the blade in—He’d have had no proof that the pungent air of melancholy & mourning surrounding the blade was literal…

… Until he meets the Chain.

He doesn’t even make a big deal about it—It’s all very subtle. Soft adoring gazes & a few particularly telling blink-&-you-miss-it details.

Young Legend may or may not have ever even told anyone, (specially not Zelda, he didn’t want her to think he was a kid!) but he might’ve felt expected to grow up fast & caught on to that talking to inanimate objects is very childlike. I get the feeling he would’ve kept it to himself for the most part.

It’d be pretty easy to pass-off even. It’d barely even need to be a secret. Guys using personable feminine pronouns for boats, planes, cars, even, yes, swords has been very much a thing through history. Any slip-ups on the Vet’s part would simply be interpreted in this manner, he could even keep outright talking to her once in a while…

… but there’s still a difference between a grown man personifying one of his prized tools & a child bonding with an imaginary friend. It just wouldn’t be the same.

The bittersweet wonder, relief & vindication Legend must’ve felt when he learned one of his longest-allies wasn’t a mere figment of his imagination after all.

Lookat how ready & willing—thrilled even Legend is to not just speak to Sky’s Master Sword, he’s also the only one aside from Sky shown so far to like, actually talk to her as if she’s a person. The other Links—even Wild refer to the blade as an object.

That’s a dude that’s definitely heckin spoken to his dang sword before. He does it so easily, there’s zero awkwardness,

idk, it’s just… these are the vibes I get.

From his facial expressions alone frankly. 🤭

[honeyangelkiwi]

Coachella Weekend 2 | H.S.

Plot: A bet is made on whether Harry will address his album being leaked during his second set at Coachella…

Sexual content: fingeringish (f receiving), grinding, teasing, subrry

Word count: 3.1k

I started writing this the day after this performance and then set it aside and got distracted haha. I don’t remember exactly what he said on stage, and quite frankly I don’t care to look it up. You’ll get the gist, it’s only a few words here and there. Maybe posting this here will finally get me to finish the second part.

I wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to top last weekend. His performance for weekend one completely blew me away. He wouldn’t let me see anything, saying it had to be just as much of a surprise to me as it would be for everyone else, which was very annoying. I’ll admit though, it made the performance so much better.

I almost forgot how much of a flirt he can be on stage. The little smirks, smiles, and not so subtle touches that drove me to so much pent up frustration that I jumped right on him when he came off the stage. I have a feeling tonight will be much more exciting.

The vibe from the crowd tonight is so much better. It’s been vibrant and buzzing all day and we all know why. Weekend two is nothing but harries. The lineup hadn’t been announced yet when weekend one tickets went on sale. However, as soon as the lineup dropped and everyone realized H was headlining, they came in full force. Nothing impresses me more than his fans and their dedication to him.

That leads us up to right now. H and I are sitting in his trailer in the artist village just lounging around while everyone else is out watching artists across the site. We wanted to stay back though, knowing he would get too much attention no matter where we were out there.

We’re sitting on the couch, watching the piece of shit YouTube live stream, but not really paying any attention to it. He’s laying back against the arm of the couch with one leg up on the couch and the other on the floor, my back pressed to his chest while he rubs soft circles into my left hip.

Both of us lay in robes, too lazy to get fully dressed even though he is on in two hours. That wouldn’t matter anyways because he, again, won’t let me see what he’s going to be wearing tonight. Knowing Lambert and Alessandro it will be nothing short of amazing and mouth watering.

“What do you think you’re doing H?” I question when I feel his left hand start to pull my robe open a bit and slip under it. He doesn’t say anything and continues his hand up, gripping the thin band of my barely existent panties.

Just the feeling of the pads of his fingertips on my skin heats up my body like a wildfire. I know the game he’s playing, he does it often. The game where he loves to work us both up, teasing not just me, but both of us, to the point it almost physically hurts. Just for him to go on stage and act like a whore in front of the world.

The result usually ends with me begging him to fuck me as soon as he gets off of stage, dragging him to the nearest secluded…ish spot so he can finger fuck me until we can get somewhere more private. He may act like a whore on stage, but behind closed doors we’re both filthy.

I gasp sharply when his fingers dip down to brush my clit lightly. My hips involuntarily shifting up to chase his fingers when he starts pulling his hand away. “Harry, please don’t do this tonight. I have a feeling I won’t be able to handle it.” I plead softly, knowing that since he’s already started I don’t want him to stop.

I feel his chest move as he chuckles at me. “C’mon babe, I know you don’t want me to stop. You were wet before I even started.” He whispers into my ear. His lips brushing up and down my neck with his breath tickling me, sending goosebumps erupting across my entire body.

I let my head fall back onto his shoulder, exposing more of myself to him. His lips start planting soft kisses up and down my neck, stopping to suck a bruise where it meets my shoulder.

His left hand moves up my body to my breasts, taking a handful while his free hand pulls the tie of my robe and lets it fall open, completely exposing me to him. I only had on panties, and a shiver ran through my body when my hot skin was met with the cool air conditioning of the trailer.

While his left hand starts playing with my freed nipples his right pulls my underwear to the side, and he runs his fingers from my opening up to my clit, spreading the arousal around between my legs. I couldn’t help the whimper that fell from my lips at the all of the stimulation he was giving me across my body. Enough to start a knot forming in my belly, but not enough to be chasing a release.

The soft sounds coming from me cause his hips to shift up and grind into my backside, allowing me to feel how hard he was from the little bit of work he was doing. Knowing this is what he loves doing I open my eyes to glance at the clock and see he has to leave shortly.

Mad at myself that I let him play his game I grab his hand that's still running up and down my heat and press his fingers to my clit, forcing them to rub in quick, harsh circles. Immediately my eyes shut again and a loud moan fell from my lips, drowning myself in the pressure that I needed to push me towards my end.

Harry, being the man he is, let me do what I wanted for all of a minute before pulling his hands away from my body. I wanted to scream, but before I could he was already flipping me over to straddle his lap, slamming his lips to mine.

I couldn’t help the moan that escaped passed my lips and into his mouth, the way he tastes never getting old to me. His hands grip tightly onto my hips, pulling them further into his lap, allowing me to feel how hard he is through the little barrier between us.

I weave my fingers into his hair and tug on the roots as I roll my hips into his to get some more friction. I know he can feel the wetness seeping through my panties. The slippery fluid dampened his briefs and surely let him feel how much he’s worked me up.

He groans into my mouth, pushing his tongue into mine and licking into it like he’s searching for more of the taste. A hand comes up to the back of my neck pulling me into him more and he obscenely starts sucking my tongue between his lips.

He pulls his mouth from mine and moves his face into my neck, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses, and starting to suck a bruise into my sweet spot. “Baby, please.” I beg, knowing and not knowing what I’m asking for.

My head is so far into the clouds that I don’t realize he’s pulled his mouth off of my skin until he’s gently pushing me off him. As he stands up he looks down at me with a smirk I could slap right off his face.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me H!!” I huffed angrily at him. I know I’m more angry at myself for falling into his trap again, but I could help it. He’s irresistible.

“Sorry babe. It’s about time for me to go get changed and make sure Lizzo gets her coat for tonight.” He shrugs like he hasn’t also worked himself up. I raise an eyebrow at him and glance down at his hard cock before looking back up at him.

He just smiles at me, popping those dimples out laughing. “Nothing I can’t take care of love.” And truly, fuck you, Harry Styles. As I’m about to snark back some quirky comment an idea pops into my head, and now I’m the one smirking.

“Are you gonna mention the leaks tonight?” I ask and watch his eyebrows furrow. “I am, why?” He responds back, confused because we’ve already talked about this yesterday.

“I bet you won’t. You’ll get up there and chicken out.” I taunt him. He’s too predictable. I know what I’m doing. If he wants to play games, then we’ll play games.

“Babe, I’ve told you already. I’m going to bring it up. I would never be rude to them, but I want to say something.” He sighs, rolling his eyes. He’s probably tired of me bringing it up, but I know he won't say anything. He would never make his fans feel bad, even if they did listened to the leaks.

“How about if you say something you fuck me and if you don’t… I fuck you tonight.” I say with the biggest smirk on my face. I know Harry can’t turn this down. Mister cocky and confident until he’s the one under me.

The shock on his face is something I wish I could have gotten a picture of. He stands speechless for a minute, mouth falling open and snapping shut a few times before he finally answers… or whimpers. From that alone I know I’ll be winning this bet, but it’ll be fun to see how he attempts to win anyways.

He walks up to me with a big smile on his face, like he didn’t just let it slip how much he would like to be the one bent over tonight. However, I also know he can’t deny a good competition between us. “Looks like we have a deal baby. I hope you’re ready for what I’ve already got planned.” He says and gives me a soft peck on the lips.

He steps away and turns towards the bathroom, undoubtedly to take care of the issue he caused himself and to get dressed and meet Lambert. I sit myself back down on the couch, thinking about the ways in which I will have him begging for me.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as he comes back fully clothed… kind of, in small shorts with a tee shirt layered over a long sleeve shirt. His hair is hidden under a bucket hat and his clip firmly attached to his shirt. It never ceases to amaze me how good he looks in something so simple.

Without any shame I slowly drag my eyes down his body, letting him see the look I’m giving him. When I get back up to his face he simply smirks, steps up to me and gives me a kiss to the forehead. “I’ll see you in an hour, love.” He states and heads out the door.

********

Harry Lambert and Alessandro have really outdone themselves this weekend. The pink leather, the cherries and strawberries… and the initials on Harry’s ass have me ready to drop everything and suck his dick right on stage in front of everyone.

He truly has no business looking as good as he does. The way his abs have been flexing as he dances around on stage is disgustingly attractive. During Carolina he came over to the side of the side stage where VIP was and gave me a big, teasing, cheesy grin.

“This is for you baby!” He yells at me. I couldn’t hear him since he yelled it away from the mic, but I could make out what he said. He does that often when he’s on stage. He turns around and gives his focus back to the crowd and continues on into Woman.

After Woman the high energy dies down a bit as Elin, Sarah, and Nyoh come up to the front of the stage to sing Boyfriends with Harry. His little speech last night ran through my head and made me laugh.

He steps up to the mic with his guitar and clears his throat. He takes a glance over at me and smirks, raising his brows playfully. I gulped nervously because I really didn’t think he would be saying anything. I catch Sarah nudging Elin and giving her a look with wide eyes. I guess I’m not the only one surprised by him.

“Respectful kings and queens…” he starts and trails off a bit as the crowd goes insane by the way he addresses them. As they continue screaming I see it. The hesitation flashes across his face and he looks over at me again with wide eyes and a nervous twitch of the lips. I feel the smirk spread across my face realizing that, even though there is still half of the show to go, I’ve won this bet.

He visibly gulps and shakes his head chuckling. “We’re going to play a new song for you, one that I’ve only performed once. Here’s Boyfriends.” He spares another glance my way, this one being much darker with his face on fire.

I quick a look towards Sarah and Elin and see them trying not to laugh and I know for sure that they had a bet on if he would say something or not also. The rest of the show goes by fairly quickly and the anticipation to get my hands on him has been growing and spreading like wildfire through my body.

The stage goes red and the old Kiwi intro starts. I am so glad he brought it back because there is no other feeling of the build up during this. He goes to grab a water bottle and all of the fans start going crazy knowing what’s to come.

He looks at me as he comes running down the catwalk, smirking and pointing at me. “You better not throw that water on me Harry!” I shout at him. I know he can’t hear because of the in ears, but he can read my lips. He simply laughs and turns to throw it on the fans opposite of me.

As the bridge comes around I take it as my cue to head to the side stage to meet him as he runs off. 10 minutes later and he’s finishing Sign of The Times and running off stage. As he approaches me I open my arms and let him pick me up, swinging us in a circle.

“I still can’t believe that was my first festival!” He shouts over the still screaming crowd. He leans in to kiss me but I pull back. When I look up to his face and see him pouting I chuckle at him. “I think you need to go shower and change baby, you’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

His face drops even more, eyebrows raising and lips parted slightly, wet and shining from having licked them. “Oh haha, you remember that little bet.” He speaks lowly, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact.

“Mhm baby, I do remember. It seems like the band thought the same thing.” I say laughing and sliding my arms down to his hips, giving them a squeeze. “What happened? Why’d you back out at the last minute?” I ask, rubbing circles into his ferns.

“I don’t know. Just kind of choked up I guess.” He shyly mutters and I can’t help but give him a quick peck to the lips. He may seem overly confident on stage, but he's still just a cute little baby most of the time. He smiles down at me and kisses my forehead, wrapping his hands around me to pull me in for a hug.

For a moment we just stand like that backstage, embracing each other, forgetting that there are 50 people around us running around to deconstruct the stage and get everything set up for tomorrow. His face is buried in my hair, his sweat is sticking to my skin and he smells, but I don’t complain. Moments like these are meant to just live in for a bit.

After a few moments I slip my hands from his hips to his plump ass and give a firm squeeze. The whimper that came from his lips was low enough that only I heard, and it went straight to my core. I could feel him harden against my lower stomach already.

“Go get showered baby. Be a good boy and wait for me on the bed naked.” I whisper into his ear. His hips shift and rub against me and he moans softly, only for me to hear. “Hm, maybe you purposefully didn’t say anything because you wanted me to fuck you tonight.” I say to him, my voice having dipped down and dripping in honey.

“And if I did?” He says and steps back with a smirk. I cock an eyebrow at him, glancing down to the bulge in his pants. He unashamedly looks down and rubs his hand over himself. “I would say you better do what I say if you want my cock in your ass tonight.” I snapped at him.

His mouth drops open and his hand snaps back to his side. He turns around and starts walking away, but not before looking back at me with eyes blown in lust to tell me loves me. I look around and catch eyes with Sarah and Elin and see them laughing, knowing they saw the encounter.

“See you guys tomorrow!” I yell over to them and we all share a look. They know how H and I are. Not by choice initially, but when Harry came into rehearsal the first time a few months back with red cheeks and a limp, the whole band kind of guessed and teased him about it.

They waved back and I turned to make my way back to the trailer. Taking my time knowing how worked up he’s gonna be by the time I get there.

bully me to finish the second part

[waterfallofspace]

Hello! Just wanted to say that reading your fics has reawakened the t/m/a hyperfixation in me. I am loving it so I must thank you for that XD

Since you asked for prompts, would you consider writing J/on trying to push through a massive dust allergy in the archives? Maybe he forgot to take his meds and is still trying to quietly tackle the monumental task of organizing G/ertrude's hellscape of an office by himself. Unfortunately for him, it doesn't go to plan ^v^"

Have a good day/night! 🧡

I'm glad!! it's such a hyperfixation for me too haha~ thank you for the prompt, I hope I managed to do it some form of justice!~ this is early days though, so do be warned that Martin and Jon will not have the uh, more friendly vibes we know of them from later!~ <3 which did actually hurt a little to write ;-;

Malfunctions

The one in which Jon experiences some... bodily malfunctions.

Word Count: 3.5k Characters: Jon, Tim, Martin

“Boss?” 

Jon waves a hand for Tim to enter, barely glancing up from the paper he’s scouring. If he’d have known what kind of state the archives was in when he was offered the position… well he’d still have taken it, but he might have negotiated a better pay. 

“-about it, right?” Tim says, seemingly the end of a sentence, not the beginning. 

Wearily, Jon looks up, groaning softly as he realizes Tim has definitely been talking this whole time. “Apologies, I was… a bit preoccupied. Would you mind repeating that?” 

Tim simply shrugs, giving Jon a winning smile. “It can wait till later. What’s got you so distracted? Another case not workin’ on the laptop?” 

“Quite. It’s frankly unbelievable, the state Gertrude left these archives in.” Jon starts, clenching the paper slightly in his hands. “Boxes and boxes of files and paperwork, all scattered and randomized and don’t make any sort of sense- You’d think someone with such a meticulous system of numbers would bother making it a usable one!”

There’s a slight chuckle from Tim, but Jon hardly even registers it. 

“And then the fact some won’t even record- Not to mention the fact they’re mostly just rubbish fiction, it’s starting to feel like her entire existence was aimed at making my job as difficult as possible,” Jon finally trails off, slightly out of breath. 

Tim chuckles at this, giving Jon a playful smirk. “Much as Gertrude may have been a bit of a waste of an archivist by the end, I don’t really think you can blame her for your laptop not recording properly.” 

“I can blame her for whatever I damn well please…” Jon finds himself muttering under his breath. Tim’s raised eyebrow proves he heard it, but neither of them acknowledge this. Instead Jon simply nods, letting out a long sigh.

“Anyways,” Tim continues, gesturing to the file that- Jon didn’t even notice he was holding. “Found another one fallen behind a shelf, figured you’d want to know about it.” 

Another weary sigh, followed by Jon nodding for Tim to leave it on the nearest pile of boxes. What Jon meant was for Tim to set it on top of the boxes so he could go check it out once he was finished here. What Tim did, however, was drop it on top without a care in the world. 

A plume of dust rises from where the file hits the box, drifting around into the office air. Tim immediately coughs a few times, waving a hand in front of his face in an attempt to clear a bit of it. Jon, on the other hand, winces visibly, fighting the urge to pull his shirt over his face. He settles for running a knuckle under his already twitching nose. The slight itch that he’d been fighting since this morning spreads into a burning tickle, and it takes everything he has not to sneeze. 

“Woah,” Tim exclaims, still coughing slightly. “Bloody hell there’s a lot of dust around here.”

“Seems cleanliness was hardly one of Gertrude’s strengths either,” Jon replies, each word bringing him one step closer to the brink.

Mind over body, he does not have to sneeze. He’s not allergic to dust, and his eyes are not beginning to water. He’s a professional, damn it. And professional archivists, head archivists, are not taken down by something as simple, and common, as dust. 

“I mean I knew it was bad in storage,” Tim continues, seemingly oblivious to the struggle Jon finds himself fighting through. “But I figured at least in your office it would be a bit cleaner.” 

“I haven’t had a chance to get a deep clean done,” Jon retorts, feeling annoyance start to creep into his tone. “I’ve been quite busy, if you hadn’t noticed.” 

Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, “Right, right, wasn’t making a comment on your work ethic or anything. Honestly I just figured Elias would have sent someone to do it for you or something.” 

“I know,” Jon offers, softening his tone. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit…”

“Yeah,” Tim replies. His smile is back, but it seems a touch more genuine this time. “We’re all pretty stressed. Gertrude left us a hell of a mess to clean.” 

“Quite literally,” Jon says, giving a small smile of his own. “And yes, Elias did offer, but there’s hardly been a reasonable hour that I haven’t been here cleaning up hehh– her mess.” 

It’s only for a second, but Jon feels his entire body go slack as the sneeze begs to be released, teasing up the edge of his nose. He manages to turn away from Tim enough to pinch his nose for a minute. It does nothing against the deep itch that’s beginning to creep up into his ears and eyes, but at least for now it stalls the sneeze enough for him to turn back. 

Tim, for his part, doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, he’s standing in the doorway, holding up one hand with the other hovering in front of his face. At first, Jon can’t for the life of him figure out what the hell Tim’s doing. Is this some form of practical joke? 

It takes him right up until Tim gasps, with Jon nearly jumping to his feet at the sudden noise, before he realizes. 

“hiehh– hiH’YIESHh’ooo!” 

Jon finds himself damn near envious of Tim. He always seems so carefree and unashamed. Those were never qualities Jon shared, even with something as trivial as this. His own nose throbs fiercely in response. 

“Wheew,” Tim sighs, lowering his hand with a dramatic sniff. “Sorry ‘bout that, not normally that affected by dust, but I guess if there’s enough it’ll get to anyone!” 

There’s a beat of silence, Jon finding himself physically incapable of response. The tickle’s damn near unbearable. His entire being is aching for the release. He knows there’s no point in fighting, it’ll just make it worse when it finally breaks free, but still. A boss should be able to control themselves. The Head Archivist should be able to control their own body. 

“What, no blessing?” Tim mocks playfully after a moment of silence passes. He pauses slightly when Jon still shows no sign of response. Finally, Tim seems to get bored, waving a hand in front of Jon’s face as he chuckles out, “Boss? You still in there?” 

It’s barely a breeze, but the movement is enough to stir the dust in the air around Jon’s face again. Imperceptible to anyone else, but Jon sees the particles begin to swirl. It’s just enough to break his focus, and he hardly has time to pinch his nose before the sneezes begin to break free.

“hh’nGT–! ah’gNDt–!” 

“B-less you boss! See, that’s how you respond when someone sneezes-” Tim begins, trailing off slightly as Jon shows no signs of stopping. 

“ah’gNT–! gNNT’ch-! hh’gNDTchh-! Good lord... h-hehh– ah’dNGT–iuh!” 

“Bless you some more, wow you really-” 

“hH’NNGT-iuh! ah’knDGT-dhh!” 

By this point Tim has the decency to look concerned, reaching across Jon’s desk and pulling the tissues closer. Jon blearily grabs a handful, pausing for a series of desperate sounding hitches before ducking into the pile for a few more tight stifles.

“Damn, boss,” Tim says, seemingly a bit lost for words. If Jon’s misery wasn’t the sole cause, he might even find that a bit entertaining. It’s hardly a common occurrence for Tim to be speechless. 

“‘Scuse mbe. I’b fide-” Jon begins, noticing Tim wince at the congestion in his voice. Can’t really blame him for that. 

“You certainly sound ‘fide’,” Tim mocks gently, moving the tissues closer again. Jon blushes slightly at this, taking a few and turning away politely to blow his nose. Tim, for his part, seems unfazed by this, simply waiting until Jon finishes to resume his taunting. 

“That was a hell of an attack, never knew you were so allergic to dust!” 

“I’m not,” Jon starts, almost by instinct. Tim’s immediate raised eyebrow confirms there’s really no way out of it this time. “Alright, maybe a little, but it’s usually not nearly this bad. I juhh… hehh– eh’GNDt–iuh! Excuse me. Just forgot to take my medication this mor- enGT-uhh! Excuse me. This morning.” 

Tim looks a touch taken aback, staring at Jon with a face Jon can’t quite place. Almost… concern, but with a bit of respect? 

“How do you function like this?” 

“It’s not normally like this,” Jon replies, massaging the brink of his nose gently. “That’s the point of the medication. I simply was in a rush this morning, and it slipped my mind to take.. t- take… hH’ENGT-dhh! ah’kNDt-iuhh! Excuse me. To take some. Then with your little file incident-” 

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” Tim interrupts, giving a bit of a smile. It’s equal parts sheepish and mocking. “If I’d known you were so allergic, I’d have been a lot more careful.” 

Jon fights back his lecture about ‘carelessness in the archives’, and instead settles for a deep sigh. “It’s alright. No way you could have. Like I said, it’s usually quite manageable.” 

“Well,” Tim continues, “It’s still quite early. You could run home and grab some medication, I’m sure the archives can survive without you for a quick hour or so-” 

“I appreciate the suggestion,” Jon cuts him off, “but I’m fine. I am perfectly capable of running my archives.” 

Tim simply shrugs. This is obviously a battle he doesn’t feel like fighting. Jon gives his nose another rub, shivering slightly at the lingering tickle that’s steadily only growing worse. 

“Ihh.. If there’s nothing else?” 

“Nope! That was all. I’ll leave you to it,” Tim replies, starting to exit the room. Just before he leaves though, he turns on his heel and gives Jon another winning smile. “Oh, and I’ll be sure to tell Martin to pick up some more tissues.” 

Jon just grimaces, half certain Tim’s simply trying to get a reaction out of him. But knowing the man, he’ll do it just to get some entertainment. Still, telling him not to would just be ensuring it happens. There’s really no winning here. 

Thankfully, Tim closes the door as he leaves, and Jon finally has at least enough privacy to let out another small fit without prying eyes. 

“hH– enGdt-iuh! eh’gNT-uhh! ah’ngxT–! eiH’ZSHhhuh! Good lord…” 

The last one breaks free, and Jon silently hopes Tim was far enough to not hear it. It’s mortifying enough that Tim’s witnessed what he has, he certainly doesn’t need to see or hear anything further. 

Sheer power of will carries Jon through the next two statements relatively uneventfully. Sure, the recording has to be rapidly paused once or twice, but that’s simply a slight malfunction that he quickly corrects. On audio you should hardly be able to tell. 

One such… malfunction, however, does manage to slip onto a tape. Of course it had to be one that would only record on the damn tapes. Jon internally (and perhaps externally) curses the  statements for refusing the digital plane. A slight hint of editing could remove this error in mere moments, as he perhaps did with a few others. Instead, he sighs deeply, ignoring how damn itchy that sigh was, and rewinds the tape. 

“Statement of Elyse Williams regarding unusual activity in her attic. Original statement given March 21st, 2011. Audio recording by Johh…” 

Jon pauses for a second, collecting himself and stalling off the impending interruption. 

“Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Mahh… hH- h’nDGxt–dhh! Christ.” 

The tape clicks off again, and the whirring sound of it rewinding sets Jon’s teeth on edge. Head archivist of the damn Magnus Institute! What kind of archivist, head archivist, can’t even control themselves long enough to record a statement. 

With the next go he manages to make it almost halfway through before another interruption.

“It was then that I saw them, crawling all… all around my… hihh– eh’knDgt! ek’nGDt–dhh! Good lord.”

This time he doesn’t even bother rewinding, settling instead for grabbing a new tape entirely. He’ll record over this tape later, but with so much to rewind… it would simply be a waste of time to do it now. 

“Statement of Elyse Willaims regarding unusual actihh… activity in her attic. Original statement gi- hh’nXGt! given March 21st, 2011. Audio reco- eh’ngDT–dhh! Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head… hhh– Head Ar… Archivistofthe- hk’ZSHHieuhh! Goddamn it!” 

There’s a timid knock at the door, and it takes everything Jon has not to throw something at it. Letting out a low groan, Jon clicks the tape off and calls out, “Come in, Martin.” 

As expected, the door swings open to reveal Martin with a collection of boxes stacked in his arms. He seems to hesitate slightly in the doorway, futilely attempting to control the concern and worry lacing his features. 

“S-sorry to bother you, I was just looking over some of these files and had a few questions about the research you asked me to do- oh, but you’re recording and I should have checked and I’m-” 

Jon sighs loudly, cutting off Martin’s rambling. “It’s fine. I was… taking a break. What are the questions?” 

Martin starts off on them, most of which are fairly trivial and Jon finds his headache beginning to grow. He manages to sneak a couple of silent stifles, passing them off with a light cough or simply timing them when Martin’s preoccupied. 

“Martin-” Jon finally interrupts, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He can pass it off as the headache that he does have, but he can’t help but admit it might have more to do with the blooming tickle. After a pause he continues, “make a list of the questions. Tim and Sasha can handle most of them, and the ones they can’t I’ll answer or pass on for Elias to answer.” 

“Oh, r-right!” Martin stutters, gathering up the boxes into his arms again and heading for the door. He pauses, once again lingering at the entrance. 

“Is there somethh… something else?” Jon asks, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The tickle is growing unmanageable, and he has mere minutes to get Martin out of his office. 

Martin’s still standing, fidgeting with the boxes as he seemingly builds up the courage for something. Irritating at the best of times, of which these are decidedly not. Jon can’t help but sigh, though he does notice a slight shudder run through Martin at the sound. 

He can’t linger on this however, as the sigh pushes his nose over the edge and he finds himself ducking into his wrist for a tightly contained- “hk’nGDT!” 

“Oh, bless you Jon!” Martin says. Apparently able to form words now. Perfect timing. 

“Thank you, do excuse me. Now, are you just planning to wait in my office for the remainder of the workday?”  

The tone is harsh, and he knows it. There’s a pang in his chest as Martin’s face falls for a moment, but Jon quickly crushes it. He’s wasting time, and lord knows they don’t have enough of that to spare. They should both be working. The tone is warranted. 

Despite this, Jon finds himself softening slightly when he speaks again. “Is there anything further I can help you with, Martin?”

“N-no, not really, just the questions, I’ll make the list like you said,” Martin rambles, still not moving towards the hall. Jon raises an eyebrow, not missing the way Martin blushes slightly. 

“O-okay… well… yes, there is… well-” 

“hk’gNDt–dhh! Excuse me.”  

“Bless you, that’s actually- that’s uh, that’s actually what I wanted to…” Martin trails off, setting the boxes on the ground and rummaging through one of them. He produces a box of tissues along with a handful of travel packs, and Jon curses Tim under his breath. 

“So I take it Tim told you to… t-to… hk’nGT–dh! Excuse me. Tim told you to bring those?” 

Martin mumbles a blessing, but lets Jon finish his sentence otherwise uninterrupted. There’s another awkward silence as Martin stands frozen, eyes wide as he seems to be running through a million possible answers in his head. 

“He- he did mention something, yeah,” The answer finally comes, Martin blushing slightly again as he places the box on Jon’s desk. “But um… well, you’ve also been- it’s uh, it’s not exactly been… subtle?” 

The tone pitches up towards the end, and Jon feels the heat begin spreading over his own face in return. He wants to say something, make some form of denial, but… he’s not an idiot. And at this point, denial might be a bit out of reach. 

Case in point, Jon finds his breath catching again, his mouth falling open slightly. Martin takes notice of this, and timidly holds out a travel pack, offering a warm smile that Jon merely glimpses as his eyes begin to flutter closed. He accepts them, weighing the embarrassment of accepting help with the mortification of letting this fit out into his hands. 

“Thankyou-” Jon manages, breathy and high, before he ducks into his stapled hands, tissues pressed in them. 

“hH’nDGt–dhh! hk’gnDXt–uhh! Excuse me. Oh god… I’m gon- gonna… hH’DZSHHhuhh! eh’zzZSHhhh’oo! hH’DZSHhhuh!” 

The last of the fit breaks free, and Jon finds himself blushing behind his hands. 

“Bless you a lot, Jon, Christ. Are you alright?” 

“I’b fide-” Jon starts, still from behind his wall of tissues. There’s no point in attempting any discretion now, and he gives Martin an apologetic glance before swivelling in his chair and blowing his nose. It barely helps the itch, but it does help reduce some of the congestion before he speaks again. 

“I’m fine. Please do excuse me, that was-”

“Quite the show!” Martin interrupts, laughter beginning to seep into his tone. It doesn’t feel cruel, nor does it even carry the tone of mocking Jon had grown so accustomed to from Tim. This laughter feels… almost light. As if he’s included in the joke, instead of being the subject of it. Despite himself, Jon feels the hint of a smile ghost his face. 

No. It’s unprofessional, and… he has to be mocking him… just, he’s better at hiding it. That's worse than Tim's blatant lack of respect. At least he doesn't pretend to... to care.

“I suppose. Now, back to work,” Jon says, letting the ice dip into his voice. 

Martin blushes a bit, beginning to stammer again, “R-right, of course, well I just- I mean, I didn’t mean- I’m just- I don’t want to pry but… I wasn’t- uh, are you sure you’re fit to work right now…?” 

The question is almost whispered, Martin’s voice dropping off in what might be… concern? Jon finds himself biting down the urge to reply. To tell Martin that no, he’s not fit to work, he needs to go home, and that he just feels… miserable, to put it frankly. But no, it isn’t concern. It’s… pity. It has to be pity. 

“I am fine,” Jon begins, standing from his chair. “I am more than fit to continue my work, and more than that I am capable of continuing to act as your boss. This is nothing I can’t hahh– hH’NdXGt–dhh! Nothing I can’t handle.”

Martin whispers a blessing, but goes a bit pale while doing so. Jon feels that familiar pang start in his chest, the one that says… maybe you went too far. Honestly, he’s not even sure why Martin brings that out of him. Tim mocks him all the time, Sasha even can cast a glance and throw a joke but… somehow when it’s Martin it just… 

“S-sorry, you’re right, I’m sorry-” Martin’s rambling cuts through Jon’s thoughts just in time for him to see Martin beginning to walk into the hall. 

“No, I’m sorry Marti-” Jon starts, but finds it comes out merely a whisper. The door closes, and he hears Martin’s footsteps retreating down the hall. 

Well, that’s that. Jon grabs a handful of tissues, choosing the box Martin had brought for… well because it’s closer. That’s why. That’s the only reason why. 

He blows his nose a few times, letting out another stray “hH–dnGt’uh!” into the soft folds. After a few rounds of this, he clears his throat, and finds the quality satisfactory. He still sounds a bit rough around the edges, but on such an old device you should hardly be able to tell. 

Clicking on the tape again, Jon starts the statement over from the beginning. Again. He pointedly ignores the guilt beginning to fester in his chest, devoting himself entirely to the recording. He was merely being the boss, doing what he needed to do. Martin was speaking out of turn, and had to be reminded of such. 

Still… he makes a mental note to thank Martin for the tissues next time he sees him. Suppose maybe he’s not entirely useless after all. 

“Right, now then,” Jon says, grabbing his papers and placing the recorder in front of him. 

“Statement of Elyse Willams regarding unusual activity in her attic. Original statement given March 21st, 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.”

[panlight]

With all the Wicked and Wizard of Oz stuff going around lately I was thinking about how every long-running TV show usually has a Wizard of Oz inspired episode (the first one that comes to mind for me in Scrubs, but I know others have done it). And then I was like, oh how would they do it for Twilight?

Bella's obviously Dorothy. Genuinely afraid they'd try to make Jacob Toto. Hopefully they'd be smarter and less racist than that. Could see a writers' room being like "werewolf, lion, basically the same, right?" but he might be a better fit for the Scarecrow, though? At least in the sense of early series happy go lucky Jacob, without a care in the world, the fun one, etc.

(Frankly they all could use more brains, but . . .)

Edward's the Tin Man, because he's frozen and has no heart as an evil undead vampire unworthy of love, sadface. And like, tin can be shiny??

Yeah, okay, let's go with Edward as the Tin Woodsman, Jacob as the Scarecrow, and Mike as the Cowardly Lion because he's the third suitor, such as it is, and that's how I think a TV show would go about it. I think you can get to "golden retriever school friend = lion" just as easily as werewolf and Jacob teased him for getting sick at that movie (although he was actually sick and not throwing up from the violence, still).

Feel like they would make Alice Glinda the Good. The question is who is the Wicked Witch? There are several "women who aren't super nice to Bella and thus are Bad" to choose from (Rosalie, Leah, Lauren, Jessica, Victoria, Jane, etc). Part of me thinks they pick Rosalie, and then instead of flying monkeys it's just her Monkey Man, Emmett. But I could also see Jessica or Lauren cast as the Wicked Witch, or even someone like Victoria or Jane.

And again this might not all be literal. It just might be inspired. Like the Scrubs episode, one doctor needs a heart for a transplant, a nurse tries to find the courage to commit to having children, another doctor needs the 'brains' to write and deliver a speech at a medical seminar that will be picked apart. It could be something like that where like Mike-as-Lion needs the courage to ask Jessica out or whatever.

I guess the other option is to not use the suitors at all, and just use the Cullen boys as the three companions? I think Edward's still the Tin Man, but I'm torn about how to sort Jasper and Emmett. Gut says Emmett is the Scarecrow but Jasper's whole vibe is not Cowardly Lion at all. Then again, he's described as the barely contained violence of an angry lion, so the lion can work thematically in THAT sense? Alice still Glinda, Rosalie still the Wicked Witch. Carlisle as the Wizard??

Thoughts? How would you imagine an "inspired by the Wizard of Oz" episode of a Twilight show to go? SURELY someone has done this in fanfic, anyone know of any examples?

[cherryredribbon]

i like to think about the specific ways each member of the batfamily protects their secret identity

bruce: obviously, we've got the brucie wayne thing going on. also helps that through a very meticulously planned gala almost entirely for this purpose, bruce wayne and batman (dick is under the cowl, having way too much fun pretending to be batman) were photographed together. the general consensus is that these two are on-again-off-again exes, as the picture caught bruce staring unimpressively at dick!batman while dick is full grinning.

dick: both nightwing and richard grayson have active and fairly popular social media accounts. and whilst the nightwing account openly responds to any news, comments, or posts about richard grayson, the richard grayson account resolutely and absolutely ignores any and all mentions of nightwing.

considering the accounts have similiar feel-good fun vibes, (as is the case when ran by the same person) the general public has taken this to mean that the two have unpleasnt history. are they ex-lovers, bitter rivals, or worse? the gothamites certainly dont want to know, not wanting to disturb what is frankly a fragile peace between their two golden boys.

jason: doesnt. openly and loudly states that red hood is infact jason todd, bruce waynes dead son who was killed in one of jokers sprees. the internet does not believe him, and even the ones that do are unconvinced after dick and bruce do a press conference expressing "their sadness that people are impersonating their darling baby brother and son, oh tears tears tears" this absolutely drives jason into a fit of rage and that really doesnt help his case either because jason pre-pit was a darling baby that said things like "robin is magic :D"

tim: has a open and public feud with red robin that takes up way too much time but god dammit he is committed now. to the wider internet timothy drake and red robin are bitter twitter rivals that hate each other because one day tim deliriously tweeted "gotham is so silly like our vigilantes are named after restaurants and are 12" or something along those lines but to the batfam who watched as tim frantically tweeted from two seperate accounts tim and red robins feud is something is he thought of and executed within the same minute

damian: i really think the only thing keeping damians identity is just the widespread denial that this little kid who is barely 5 feet tall could be robin. like everyone has kind of a sneaking suspicion, it is definitely a popular conspiracy theory, but at the end of the day not even the local gothamites want to admit that this little kid with a sword could be robin even tho ALL the evidence point to yes. tim and babs also occasionally checks on the whole secret identity thing but both of them know there is nothing more powerful than denial.

[barisistill]

Hi! Your writing is amazing! I want to start writing fanfiction but whenever I try it seems bland? Flat? Idk it feels like there isn't enough to describe what's going on and it just feels like everything is rushed.

I get that practice makes perfect, but other than that are there any tips you might have?

I'd really be grateful if you could, and sorry if this is worded weird (I'm not good with asking for things lol) anyways have a good day and remember to drink water !!

First off, thank you SO much for reading my fics, and I definitely hope you join our little guild of writers still clinging desperately to Barisi in [current year]. You have no idea how much it means to be told my writing is tip-worthy!!

I can give a few philosophies that I use as guides, but these are just ways I've developed my own writing style over time—I'm sure plenty of people think these choices suck.

Overdo the first draft: In my first draft, I just throw in every detail that seems even potentially relevant—thoughts, feelings, details about the room, the lighting, how characters are positioned, etc. This gives me a robust starting point so, for the most part, I'm not trying to figure out what's 'missing' later. I'm just taking out the trash. It made my first drafts feel like they took forever to write in the beginning, but over time I started to be able to anticipate what would be trash and not write it down in the first place.

Trim the fat: I used to have my fics overloaded in crap that didn't matter and repetitive phrasing, etc. because I had an attitude of "Well, I spent the time writing it, so it would be a waste to not include it." This only hurt the work in the end. If something fundamentally sucks, I just accept that it sucks and pitch it.

I'm nothing if not indulgent in establishing general vibes: I generally keep sentences that ONLY give an action to a minimum. There are a million ways to enhance sentences—throw in what a character is thinking or feeling, take a spin on a metaphor, toss in an adverb or two. I find that this helps me keep the pacing from feeling rushed. For example, I would change the following, because it doesn't do anything to establish the mood or general vibe. It's just A happens, then B happens, then C happens: "It was the middle of a hot day, and Carisi was sitting on the couch in Barba's office while Barba was sitting as his desk. They were barely getting any work done." I would change it to something like: "The midday sun was cutting harsh stripes of light across Barba's desk, and the air conditioning unit was giving a half-hearted performance. They'd long since shed their jackets and vests, ties loosened and sleeves rolled up. Carisi sprawled across Barba's couch, while Barba had kicked his feet up on his desk, having lost his shoes sometime since Carisi last looked over. Carisi tried to read the same paragraph of a witness statement for the third time before tossing his folder in the general direction of the coffee table." Is this overkill? Perhaps. Not my problem.

The "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" Principle: If I'm on the fence about keeping or tossing a detail, I ask myself why I care about that detail. If I can't come up with a decent reason, then I pitch it. To use the last example: "The midday sun was cutting harsh stripes of light across Barba's desk [time of day], and the air conditioning unit was giving a half-hearted performance [it's hot]. Barba's desk was a rich mahogany, and there were two chairs across from him. They'd long since shed their jackets and vests, ties loosened and sleeves rolled up [they're so hot that they're a little undone]. Barba was wearing a blue shirt and green tie, while Carisi was wearing a white shirt and gray tie. Carisi sprawled across Barba's couch, while Barba had kicked his feet up on his desk, having lost his shoes sometime since Carisi last looked over [it's a lazy sort of heat]. The leather couch probably cost more than Sonny's rent. Carisi tried to read the same paragraph of a witness statement for the third time before tossing his folder in the general direction of the coffee table [they aren't getting any work done and it's too hot to care]."

Similes are out, metaphors are in: A metaphor almost always gut-punches me more than a simile. I literally just say that A is B, rather than A is like B. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, so I just follow my heart. Some out-of-context examples: - Rafael Barba was nothing if not a self-serving martyr, a savior who couldn’t resist the sound of his own crucifixion.  - What a small price to pay, Sonny thought, when he was moonlight touching the ocean. - Rafael was a storm chaser, and being with Sonny was like standing in tornado country. (it's a halfsie, shhh) - Rafael cut himself off, not wanting to show his cards, but knowing it was time for him to either go all in or fold.

If someone does something bad/bizarre/out of character, ponder on why: I once heard a critic say, "Every time a character does something baffling, we can't just throw up our hands and say 'bitches be crazy.'" Sometimes the narrative takes care of it if the bad/weird decision is part of the plot itself, but sometimes it's just a single moment. One way I deal with this is by suggesting things that might drive that bad/weird decision (especially if the characters themselves aren't exactly sure why they're doing what they're doing). Some examples (with a little context explaining why they're bad/weird): - Maybe it was in his blood, this desperate faith in destiny. Or maybe it was just that he had spent so long being alone that the promise of someone made for him had become too seductive to resist. ^^^ (Barba wants to find his soulmate even though his job and parents' bad relationship makes him logically aware that it doesn't always end well) - She moved her hand to cup his face. He couldn’t help but lean into her warmth, maybe because of the bite of the autumn breeze, or maybe because it was the same warmth that once flowed through Sonny’s veins. ^^^ (Rafael leaning in to Sonny's nonna's touch at Sonny's funeral, even though he doesn't know her) - Sonny came equipped with anatomical features Rafael hadn't requested, and didn’t want to look at. Maybe it was an occupational hazard, or maybe he just wasn’t as modern as he pretended to be.  ^^^ (Um... Rafael orders a Sonny robot and he mistakenly comes with sex upgrades that make Rafael uncomfortable even though it's totally normal in this universe)

Write from the POV of one character: I believe that @margoblack taught me that this is called "third person limited POV." I do this (sometimes, not always) for a couple of reasons. First, as a reader, it can get tedious (in my OPINION) to read multiple characters' thoughts and feelings at once, especially when there are multiple characters with the same pronouns—and especially especially if it's nonstop (i.e. within the same paragraph or sentence). As a writer, omniscient POV limits my use of pronouns because I have to constantly clear up which "he" I'm talking about. That usually results in 1) overusing their names into oblivion 2) using 'the detective/the attorney," "the taller man/the shorter man," "the other man," etc. which I personally don't jive with or 3) forcing the reader out of the story to go back and sort out who the hell was doing what. Second, me trying to write a bunch of characters' thoughts and feelings at the same time makes for a disjointed and confusing narrative. I try to avoid forcing the reader to have to backtrack to be able to follow the story.

Use suggestion as a way to keep the other characters from feeling flat when writing from a single POV: Speaking of POV, not having access to the other characters' emotions/decisions can make them feel flat. I use the same suggestion method I mentioned previously to sneak-attack dimension onto the NPCs and dolphins. Examples: - Rafael sank back into his seat with drugged-up relief at hearing maternal reassurance, or maybe just that the attention was back on Sonny. - Carmen found Sonny’s eyes, flicking to Rafael and back, biting her lip like they were sharing a private joke. - Barba was still smiling at him, not quite like he was laughing at him, but something adjacent, like he was delighted by Sonny’s floundering.  - The dolphins were especially active, maybe because they weren’t fighting a strong current tonight.

Writing accents is like a comedy skit with a song—it has to be good or it's bad: IN MY OPINION, reading accents can become grating really quickly and rip me out of the story. I trust readers to know what most characters sound like (bc this is fic) or otherwise trust them to be able to map voices onto the characters' dialogue based on something I mentioned once. For example, I trust the reader to do the rest if I said a character has a lisp or a Japanese accent or a toddler can't pronounce her R's yet. THAT SAID, I am not immune to Sonny's accent. But I try to keep any accents and other verbal variations to a minimum and in contexts where it makes sense. For example, I write out Sonny's accent sometimes when he's talking to his family or when he's joking around or emotional (I'm not a linguistic expert, but those are instances when my accent thickens). Examples: - “Ma,” Sonny cut in. “I was gettin’ there. Raf has kidney stones.”  - "Jesus, keep your voice down, Carlos’s mom is in the fuckin’ office," Sonny hissed. - "I'm trying to see about farm work. Any knowin’ who might need a hand for a couple days?" - "And Nonna, god, she'd be furious right now. Yellin' at me in Italian about how I'm doing everything wrong."

Write human beings: My #1 goal in writing—if I achieve literally nothing else—is for my characters to seem like they could be real people with feelings and personalities and backstories. Especially because I write the same handful of characters over and over, it gets grating to write the same 2-D traits from the show with zero expansion. Like, we get it—Rafael is biting and performative, Sonny is brash yet sensitive. Now do something with it—they don't need to live their whole lives having sex, talking about work, and making lawyer jokes. Add little human details: - Sonny telling Rafael to close his eyes before turning on the light in the morning - Rafael being irritated with a customer service person and having to remind himself to be nice, that it's not their fault - Sonny pressing a cold water bottle against Rafael's neck as he walks by to make him jump Stuttering and hesitating dialogue, interruptions, italics for emphasis: - "Okay," he said. "Okay. We're gonna... we're gonna deal with this. Later. For now, we're gonna put a pin in it, okay? Just... put a pin in it." - "I'm alone," she said, the words emerging between ragged breaths. "I have no one left. No family, no—" / "You have me," Rita interrupted. - Liv was probably rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. "He's willing to reopen the case if you can bring sufficient evidence." Callbacks to details that describe a real past: - Rafael tried to forget all the details Sonny's family would never know he’d accumulated. The color of Bella’s high school graduation dress. The name of the boyfriend that Gina brought home for Christmas in 2011. The fact that Bella liked ‘Bells’ and Teresa liked ‘Tess’ but Gina hated ‘Gigi.’  - Rita held Camila steady, rubbing firm circles on her back the way she had when Camila was a fussy baby. - Marlene's laugh was dry. "Honey, I've lived on this coast for fifty-six years, and I even remember most of ‘em. I've seen red tides that killed everything for miles. I've seen hurricanes that rearranged the entire shoreline in a couple of hours. A few dead sturgeons? Not exactly keeping me up at night." Jokes: People tease and joke around. Not every single line has to be significant to the narrative and not every joke has to be about their stupid fucking jobs. Be normal during sex: Without the characters having conversations or joking around during sex—or at LEAST having some compelling internal dialogue—it just turns into a stale blur of forgettable "oh yeah baby harder just like that you were made for me fuck yes fuck oh my god please fuck kiss me here touch me there hanky panky." Let characters have flaws: Mary Sue's and "I don't like that the show made X Character this way, so I just ignore it" aren't my favorite. I know it stems from writer turnover, but I tend to take the characters' inconsistencies in the show at face value—cognitive dissonance rather than "they would never do that." Rafael is an impulsive martyr and can be an asshole in a way that isn't endearing, Liv is a hypocrite who puts too much pressure on everyone else and has weird opinions about disabled people, Fin used to be homophobic and transphobic and now he's the poster child for absolving the fact that the show is copaganda, Sonny was an overcompensating douche who couldn't keep a girlfriend to save his life for a while and now he's a mid lawyer. In my OPINION, it's more fun to engage with imperfect characters who are layered and inconsistent, who yell sometimes and make tongue-in-cheek jokes and have opinions that I don't agree with.

Women are not allergens: Take or leave the rest, but for this one specifically, I am speaking directly to you, dear reader: if you want to write porn, write porn. If you want to write stories, write women. They are SURROUNDED by women—Rafael's mother and grandmother, Sonny's immediate family is canonically two-thirds women (plus two canon nieces), Liv and Amanda (and Jesse and Billie), Carmen, Rita Calhoun, Melinda Warner. OCs are also permitted to be women. Any variation of "It's kinda hard to write women when we write fic centering two men in a relationship" is um... let's call it a 'you' problem and not an 'us' problem.

Other things that just make writing fic more fun (that usually come with time): - Develop some 'things.' My things are Barisi pressing their foreheads together a lot and finding literally any excuse not to use a condom. - Make some OCs who show up as minor characters. I used to use the same names consistently for minor characters, but recently I've fleshed out Belle and Yasmin, who just pop in as things like nurses and Carmen's friends, and I now I look for excuses to use them. - Related, it's fun to make inside jokes, even if they're just for yourself. Reference your own headcanons, your friends' headcanons, other fics, other writers' names. MargoBlack, @chiazu, and @malevolent-muse especially reference other writers, and it's a nice way to connect and make writing feel less like a solitary activity. - It's cliche, but don't get caught up in the numbers game. Just write what you want to write. My favorite fic of mine is "1929 post-stock market collapse, pre-dust bowl farmer!carisi x former stockbroker!barba" AU, which—believe it or not—is not something the general public is itching to consume. - Also cliche, but leave kudos and comments. Nobody is getting paid for this shit in anything but encouragement. It's like a "pay what you can" event—no, you're not obligated to give anything, but you're kind of an asshole if you don't. And finally, if you read this whole post, please get your head checked. XOXO, Regina George

[deep-sea-anemone]

Random One Piece Headcanons, Part One: Dancing

(Zoro+ Sanji+ implied Zosan)

Zoro and Sanji are both really good at partner-dancing

Sanji grew up learning ballroom dancing in Germa as part of his royal upbringing (he'd have to dance with dignitaries and such). It wasn't something the genetic modifications were designed for so he could actually keep up with his siblings and was the lessons he looked forward to the most (though that might not be saying much)

His mother was always bedridden so they never got to dance together but little Sanji would always show off what he'd learned and tell her that he couldnt wait for her to get better so that they could dance together

The Baratie taught Sanji about swing (and other) dancing. Before then he hadn't known there was any other way TO dance. (Imagine for a moment the Baratie after hours. All the chairs and tables are pushed against the wall to make room for a dance floor. Some of the staff play instruments, the sound is...not great, but it's lively and full of energy and soon Sanji is being spun around the floor by the staff-and it's exhilarating, like nothing he's felt before, and he realizes just how much passion there is outside of the world that he left behind. Picture the party scene from The Titanic, that kind of vibe)

Whenever they celebrate, either on land with new friends in a post-battle celebration, or just a lively night on the ship, he's always the first on the dance floor.

He pulls random strangers (mainly women, but not always-he just wants to dance is all) away from staying back in the shadows near a wall and soon has them laughing and smiling as he spins them around. He has the biggest grin and the most magical look in his eyes and they almost fall a little in love with him-until he opens his mouth anyways

Zoro doesn't really dance. He usually just watches from the sidelines, enjoying conversation and booze.

He is a master swordsman however, so he is quite light on his feet and has good balance, which is why when Sanji pulls suddenly pulls him off his feet to the tune of Brook's violin on the Sunny one night he doesn't completely embarrass himself

It does take him a minute, the cook pauses to show him where he needs to put his feet and normally Zoro would complain that HE should be the one leading, not the cook, but he's being swept around at a breathtaking pace and Sanji has a slightly maniacal grin in his eye and it feels so SO close to the way they fight and Zoro has to admit he doesn't hate the way the adrenaline makes him feel.

He let's Sanji lead cause frankly he's barely keeping up, and he has no idea what he would do if he were actually handed the reins.

He still won't dance with strangers, it's too awkward and really not his style, but he doesn't mind the happiness burning in his chest whenever his nakama coax him over to dance with them

One night after a battle, several of the Strawhats are fairly roughed up, but it's still a victory worth celebrating so Brook plays something slow to match the calmness of the candlelight and the crews just slowdances instead. Sanji and Zoro wind up paired together and yes, they were bickering just moments ago and normally they'd be giving each other the stink eye, but Zoro hurt his foot and Sanji is exhausted so Zoro let's his weight fall on Sanji for support and the cook just lets him and tlas they sway they share a look that's so SOFT that neither of them wants the night to end

Neither of them can solo-dance for shit

Sanji just kinda jerks his limbs around and the people surround him quickly learn to give him a few feet of space cause even he isn't quite sure what he's doing.

Zoro kinda just...stands there and rocks back and forth. Chopper tells him to be more enthusiastic so he soes that thing where you put your hands up and keep them still but still dance with the rest of your body. Usopp kindly asks him to stop

Sanji's excited cause Nami always seems to want to dance with him, but really she's just trying to get the cringiness to end

Whenever Zoro and Sanji stand next to each other alone during dances, one of their nakama will make sure to push them towards each other so they will dance together instead. That way no one has to experience the second hand embarrassment of watching their cringeworthy attempts on the dancefloor

Zoro and Sanji don't really mind. They're relieved to have each other during those moments so they don't have to suffer the awkwardness alone.

And...dancing together really isn't the worst anyways. Far from it, actually. It's not that different from fighting, after all, and that's something they do best.

[eledritch]

hey! are you playing the new dragon age? thoughts!

yes, I finished it!

I have.....a lot of thoughts, but what it boils down to is that while I'd recommend the game (it's generally quite fun as a game, polished, gorgeous environments, combat that is overall fun & dynamic, & it actually made me care about Solas so that's a point in its favor) and I think it's amazing that it exists after such a long & fraught wait, it was disappointing for me in several big ways:

1. I didn't like Rook's character (someone said it feels like a JRPG in the sense that the protagonist is kind of already a defined personality meant to serve as more of an anchor to the party characters and I agree; it felt like Rook got minimal characterization & development throughout). I wish we'd gotten to play Rook's origin story and/or had way more dialogue choices. The flatness of Rook as a PC consistently made it tough for me to get engaged with this game the way I have with the other DA games.

2. Yikes @ Taash & all of the nonbinary/trans rep in the game. I wanted to love Taash so fucking much, you guys. I could not. Every aspect of Taash's character fell flat for me (except their design, that's great), especially their coming out scene with their mom (I thought Shathann was a super interesting character and I felt like the game did not want us to like her, much like DAI wants you to dislike Dorian's dad...but only one of these parents is worthy of disdain). I think the game also does an astonishingly poor job at trying to make a storyline about intersectional identity. Don't get me started on how Qunari, particularly the Antaam, are portrayed in the game...

I also played as a nb Rook and those dialogue choices all felt weird (& sometimes viscerally cringe & HUH) to me too, it only felt affirming when other characters used they/them pronouns for my Rook and bro that's the BARE MINIMUM. so I was just totally disappointed and also confused as to how this happened, given that I've really loved Trick Weekes' writing in the past.

3. There is a lack of inter-party conflict and the romance leaves a lot to be desired. I do think that especially by Act 3 this game does have some ~Dragon Age Edge~ to it (I liked a lot in Act 3, big Mass Effect vibes...at the same time tho, why does a Dragon Age game have Mass Effect vibes?? They've always felt so distinct to me in previous games; less so here). But I get why people were upset that, for example, your Rook can't be a jerk or even critique other characters (though Rook does have a lot of dialogue with what felt to me like an unintentionally condescending tone). They do try to create a confrontational dynamic between Lucanis and Davrin but that felt forced and unconvincing to me.

Because of this, because I never felt like I really knew my companions' core beliefs or flaws, and I wasn't able to argue with them or change/challenge any of their beliefs, I didn't feel very attached to many of the companions. I do think Emmrich was quite well written, and Neve is good too, but I romanced Davrin and I gotta say, the romance in this game was weirdly minimal (in my experience at least). You can't talk to your companions whenever you want. You can't give them a little kiss whenever you want. This is a core aspect of DA games for me so it was a bummer not to see it in Veilguard. There ARE a lot of cool cutscenes and interactions between the other party characters, but Rook is just a witness to those, kind of standing on the sidelines or awkwardly interrupting. Which comes back to the problem of Rook in this game! (For me, at least.)

4. This game's approach to slavery or lack thereof is a glaring issue. I could write a whole essay on this but I won't do so here. Suffice to say: I thought this was handled poorly and in a frankly cowardly way, considering that this game was so big on inclusion and social justice. I played as a Shadow Dragon elf Rook and there was ONE conversation about how "being an elf in Tevinter must be hard" (DUDE...). We do not see slavery in Tevinter except in a few codex entries (one by Dorian which...I HAVE THOUGHTS) and allusions, random NPCs here and there, and "uh oh gotta help the Dalish," etc. Fenris's absence haunts the narrative HARD. This is a big problem and I haven't seen a lot of talk about it, but especially since slavery also existed under the Evanuris, and Solas is supposedly anti-slavery, the way Veilguard consistently swerves around slavery is wild.

Idk, it just feels shitty that they devoted the resources to hiring diversity consultants to write a nonbinary character (presumably, because most of the dialogue about that reads like a DEI statement) but they did not devote time and energy and nuance to including slavery in the narrative in any meaningful way. Although maybe it's for the best that they didn't, given how not nuanced a lot of the writing in this game felt to me.

So, yeah...some things I liked about it and I do think when it comes down to it, Veilguard is a good game, but it's not a great Dragon Age game, and it's certainly not the DA4 I personally wanted :/ I am planning to try to replay it and maybe my thoughts will develop more after that, because believe me I wanna give this game all the chances.

[tobiasdrake]

Ranma Reboot 01x06 - Kodachi, the Black Rose

We get Kodachi before Shampoo? Huh.

Man, I do not remember the order characters were introduced in. I know Shampoo's before Ukyo. Pretty sure the whole Chestnuts on a Roasting Fire arc is before Ukyo too.

(Is the Chestnut arc and the Hiryu Shoten Ha arc the same arc or different arcs? I can't remember. I'm pretty sure the Chestnut arc is about fucking up Happosai, but I thought the Hiryu Shoten Ha arc was also about fucking up Happosai.)

Anyways. Kodachi, the Black Rose! Out of all of Ranma's suitors, Kodachi is also present!

As a practitioner of a martial art centered around rhythmic gymnastics, Kodachi represents our first foray into one of the Ranma franchise's favorite recurring ideas: "Normal thing that exists but it's a martial art now".

Thus begins our foray into the weird and wild world of such things as martial arts ice skating and martial arts tea ceremony.

This town is absolutely fucking obsessed with coming up with new and esoteric ways for teenagers to beat the shit out of each other. It's frankly dystopian. XD

Akane is empathetic to the plight of her fellow athletes. She barely even understands what this is about but she is ready and willing to avenge the fallen honor of her classmates, who were unfairly ambushed outside of the ring in a completely unsportsmanlike--

...

I mean, they started that fight. The three of them jumped St. Alcoholism's ace 3v1 and injuring her. Ranma picked the wrong side in that fight.

But....

The Furinkan girls are already beat to shit when they ambush Kodachi, and Kodachi pulls this shit when Akane replaces them. She owns up to it during the fight.

This is actually the ambush they were talking about, when they said she ambushed them earlier. Ranma seemingly picked the wrong side of that fight but ended up vindicated for it.

This is why trying to intervene in a hostile situation already underway without context is hard. If the girls had managed to successfully dogpile on Kodachi's face, the right thing to do would have actually been to stand by and let them do it. But I think most people's instincts, if they saw three people kicking the shit out of a fourth and knew nothing about the situation, would be to jump in and stop it.

Ranma was counterintuitively making a good call when he hung back and let this play out. He didn't know enough to get involved in what was clearly a grudge between rival teams, and only stepped in once Kodachi had already won and was being unnecessarily violent to her vanquished adversaries. He didn't really pick any side, except the side of "You shouldn't keep hitting someone who's already down."

...

Oh, uh, I should probably explain that. I'm sure it was very funny for the three people who got it.

Kodachi's school, St. Hebereke, is named for the word へべれけ hebereke which means piss fucking drunk. Just. Absolutely goddamn wasted.

For the record, Furinkan, seems to be a composite of 不倫 furin which means adultery or impropriety and 感 kan, which is the impression or feeling or general vibe of a thing. Kodachi attends St. Shitfaced School for Girls while Ranma goes to Seems Like Adultery High School.

The official English name for St. Hebereke is St. Bacchus, naming it after the Greek deity whose domain is hedonism and wine. Staying on theme without literally calling it Piss-Drunk Girls' School. Meanwhile, Furinkan remains untranslated as Furinkan High School in official English sources.

Look, Ranma, if you're not going to tell Akane the truth she deserves to know, then you don't get to be offended when she's all cuddly with her new pet. What women do with their cuddliest of critters in the privacy of their rooms is no business of yours.

(But you really should tell her. Of course, now you're verging into "in too deep" territory where the fact that you haven't told her already will plunge you into the fires of outrage right alongside Ryoga. You and Ryoga are officially co-conspirators on this now, man. You should go think about that.)

I love how hard this is for Akane. Specifically, I like that the part she's struggling with in getting Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics down is the rhythmic gymnastics part. Akane can do martial arts but this is a whole different and equally complex field of athleticism.

Soun, also, should probably tell his daughter about this. But he is such a non-character that I'm half-convinced he's on sedatives most of the time.

Plus he might assume she already knows. This family is getting kinda used to random animals turning out to be Transformers: Perverts in Disguise.

(Shampoo is just around the corner!)

To my knowledge, they've never really explained why Ryoga is proficient in rhythmic gymnastics. His ability to teach Akane this skill comes right the fuck out of nowhere.

I have to just assume that Ryoga was on the rhythmic gymnastics team for the all-boys school he and Ranma went to. They're gender-segregated; men are considered to be less flexible and agile, and therefore society has decided that it would be unfair to make them compete against women. But Men's Rhythmic Gymnastics is a thing.

So, for where Ryoga picked up this skill... I guess he's just. It's a thing he does. And it makes him an interesting choice for Akane's teacher because. Like.

Ranma calls it out here. Akane is a masculine character. She is very boyish, something Ranma teases her about. She's an aggressive powerhouse who muscles through her problems. She's never gonna win a Traditional Femininity Contest against any of her rivals in the show. Well. Ukyo. But most of her rivals.

So having her learn this feminine sport from Ryoga, who is also an aggressively masculine character but has at some point learned how to come at it from that angle? There's something really interesting in that.

Incidentally, Akane's boyishness was a terrible miscalculation on Kodachi's part. Akane struggles with rhythmic gymnastics and is going to have a hard time out on the stage because of it.

But bare-knuckle brawling?

Yeah. You're in her thunderdome now, bitch. You'd better run.

NOT THAT WAY

New suitor unlocked. Goddammit, Ranma.

In Kodachi's defense, she does stand out from the crowd for one simple reason. Akane, Shampoo, and Ukyo all have marriage contracts with the guy. And Kuno... is an idiot who doesn't understand how Jusenkyo curses work even when the rest of the school kinda gets it.

Kodachi's the only one who. Like. Is just here because she met this guy and he seems neato. That's it. That's all there is to her dynamic with Ranma.

But in a way that kind of makes her more unhinged because. Like. She goes just as deep down the rabbit-hole of deranged obsession as Akane's other rivals but there isn't, like, a legally-binding life-path that Ranma is denying her by shunning her affections. She just thinks the guy's neat.

Kodachi isn't driven to extreme behavior by circumstances surrounding her and Ranma. She's just a weird freak. A full-blown sex pest ready and willing to force herself on the target of her affections.

Much like Kuno, Kodachi is a profound demonstration of the weird shit that wealth and privilege does to people's brains. Kodachi is entitled.

She's entitled to victory in her favorite sport, which is why she thinks it's okay to disable her competitors outside the ring so that she can hog the spotlight when the day comes.

And she's entitled to lovers. Your compliance isn't a factor. If she wants you, then the poison princess has spoken.

It's a world of NPCs and Kodachi is playing single-player.

So far, Akane has caught Ranma sneaking into her room at night to sexually assault her and making out with a girl that just attacked her in her bedroom on the roof of said bedroom that same night.

At least, so far as she understands those situations.

It's frankly incredible that she still wound up falling for what frankly, from her perspective, looks like an absolutely reprehensible clown show of a man.

And so begins the Kuno Double-Team. You can feel the gears turning in his head even before you know they're related. Though it's ironic that Kuno thinks Ranma won't just juggle Kodachi and Akane when... y'know... that's what Kuno wants to do with Akane and the Pig-Tailed Girl.

And his sister is so like him too.

Wagering Ranma as the prize of a martial arts contest without any input from him.

This isn't the exact same thing Kuno did to Akane, but it's in the same category of things.

(deep breath)

We'll... see how I feel about this after next episode. But.

I thought I remembered this, and was not looking forward to it. This is, as I recall, the beginning of the marginalization of Akane as a fighter. We've spent two chapters hyping up the confrontation between Akane and Kodachi, but a sudden freak accident means Ranma's going to fight Kodachi instead.

I recall the series having a lot of Ranma fighting Ranma's rivals and Ranma fighting Akane's rivals, but not a lot of Akane fighting Ranma or Akane's rivals. I might be remembering that wrong, though.

Maybe I'll feel differently after the next episode plays out. But this is the twist in the arc that I was dreading arriving at.

[lucysgraybird]

pairing: billy the kid x veterinary student!reader

warnings: none? mild anxiety?

a/n: yes i did write this to deal with my own academic issues. i am however a politics and theology major so idk what vet school is like at all it just fit the vibe for the story

Veterinary school was, quite frankly, beating your ass. It was a seemingly never-ending stream of deadlines and test dates, and you stumbled home to your dorm each night (or early morning) with barely enough energy to brush your teeth before falling into bed for a couple hours of sleep.

Fridays were a reprieve from this monotony. On Fridays, you made the hour-and-a-half drive out of the city to your boyfriend Billy’s farm, where you'd spend the weekend resting and helping him tend to the animals. You had called him on Wednesday and told him you couldn't come this week because you had too much work, and because you were in a miserable mood that you didn't want to bring into his house, but he'd insisted that you come out. He said that, one, he wanted you in his house no matter what mood you were in – he had, in fact, called it “our” house, which sent your heart soaring every time you thought about it. He also promised that he would make a space where you could work without being disturbed, and he had sounded so earnest that you simply couldn't turn him down.

Thus, on Friday, directly after your last class of the week, you threw your weekend bag into your car and drove down to the farm. Your Fridays ended blissfully early, so it was just before noon when you arrived.

Taking advantage of the unseasonably warm day, Billy was taking care of a rusty gate hinge in just a button-down, forgoing his usual canvas jacket. You strode up to him, checking that he wasn't handling anything particularly delicate before you spoke.

“Finally worth it to fix those hinges?”

He'd been bemoaning the state of his gates all winter, but there had never been a point to fixing them – the past months had been so wet and cold that even if one issue did stay fixed, it was almost certain that another would crop up.

A half smile curved across his face at your teasing as he stood.

“Well hello to you too,” he said. There was a laugh playing at the edges of his words.

“Hi, baby,” you acquiesced, standing on your tiptoes to peck him on the lips. “How was your week?”

“Better now that you're here.”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him with your shoulder as the two of you meandered up to the house.

“Seriously, Billy.”

“I'm bein’ serious! It was a fine week. Not much happened besides the sun finally showin’ her face, so there ain't much to report out on.”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed. “How's Britta doing? Is her hoof looking any better?”

Britta was a cow who'd had an infected hoof the last time you were there. You had taken care of it, welcoming the opportunity to practice what you were learning in school, but had been wracked with anxiety all week that you had done something horribly wrong.

“She's back to her old self, just clopping around and terrorizin’ the bull,” Billy said. “You did a wonderful job, darlin’, I really can't thank you enough.”

“You thanked me plenty last weekend, I promise.”

Once inside, you hung your sweater up and turned to your boyfriend.

“I really hate to do this, but I have to get some work done. Am I gonna be in your way if I sit in the living room?”

“You wouldn't be in my way if you sat smack in the middle of this hall, Y/N,” Billy said. “I'll move ‘round you. Don't worry about it.”

You settled on the couch with your laptop and got to work, focusing on the flashcards you had made for your exam the next week. True to his word, Billy left you undisturbed, mostly finishing work outside to give you some quiet space. You didn't even notice how much time had passed until Billy was handing you a plate with a sandwich and chips and settling next to you with his own. The light in the room had changed from the brilliance of midday to the dusty gold of mid-afternoon. You rubbed your eyes, dry and tight from looking at your screen.

You shut your laptop and set it aside. “What time is it?”

“Just past three,” replied Billy. “I figure it's a little late for lunch, but we can just eat a later dinner to make up for it. Plus, I'd wager you haven't eaten anything since before dawn.”

He was right, of course, and you sunk your teeth gratefully into your sandwich. Billy leaned back next to you, one leg tucked up so he could balance his plate on his knee. You eat in silence; Billy turns to you when you've both finished.

“So,” he said, “I've yet to see that foul mood you mentioned on the phone.”

You cringed, having hoped he wouldn't bring that up. “You don't need to worry about it-”

“Careful, darlin’, or I'll start thinkin’ you're trying to avoid me.”

He was teasing, but your head still whipped up to look at him in alarm.

“No, it's not that, I promise. This week has just been so crazy and I didn't want to bring that to you, and-” You nearly overturned your plate in your rush, and just barely caught it before it shattered on the floor.

Billy set his plate on the coffee table, and you followed suit. He took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs slowly over the thin skin of your wrists.

“Slow down, Y/N, ain't no one on your tail. You wanna talk about what's goin’ on?”

His tone was so gentle and his eyes so concerned that it made you want to cry, though you weren't sure why. Maybe for worrying him, maybe from exhaustion, but whatever it was, it was constricting your windpipe and threatening to spill out into the world.

Billy noticed even though no tears had fallen yet, and he sighed.

“C’mere, honey, I'm sorry for asking,” he said, tucking you into his side and pressing a kiss to your hair. “How badly do you actually need to work?”

Once you trusted your voice to be steady enough to speak, you said, “I have an exam on Monday that I need to study for, and a project I want to get a head start on. Plus my readings for next week.”

“‘kay. And will anything blow up if you take the weekend off? Have you already studied for your exam?”

“I've covered all the topics and I think I know it, but I can never be sure. I can't take the whole weekend off.”

For some reason, that was the straw that broke the camel's back, and tears began to roll down your face. Billy tucked his chin over your head and pressed you closer to him.

“What if you took just the rest of today off, and tomorrow morning?”

“I don't know-”

“Can't see how you're goin’ to get good studying in if you're cryin’.”

And damn, if he wasn't right about that. He just held you while you regained your composure, rubbing his hand absently over your bicep. The business of the last week finally caught up to you in something other than anxiety, and you felt your eyes begin to drift shut. Billy, though he couldn't see your face, somehow sensed you starting to drift off and eased you both into a lying position on the couch. He had your head on his chest, and the steady beat of his heart and rise and fall of his breath lulled you into a peaceful sleep.