#mess-free stamp

[acornsalessealsstamps]

[wacky-wonders]

made stamps of my favorite bands ✌️

[scribefindegil]

Every time I interact with a social service I learn about more bullshit eligibility requirements that make me want to rend something to pieces with my teeth

[electronicgalah]

Current mood:

[dragonfoods]

One thing that kind of gets on my nerves is when an author not so subtly tells you how you are supposed to perceive their character

[auxtism]

the stamp vs the results

[headkiss]

it’s christmas (this is gonna be a nightmare)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve puts a little too much pressure on himself to make this holiday a magical one. or: 4 times steve messes up your first christmas together, +1 time it's perfect.

word count: 7.4k

content: established relationship, one injury (no blood!), some kisses, a lot of steve's thoughts, and a love confession <3 fluff all around!!!

a/n: a full length fic!! it's a christmas miracle!! thank you to the anon who sent the ask that inspired this fic and to all of u for being here. i love u, happy holidays <3

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Steve Harrington doesn’t know too much about what exactly a perfect Christmas looks like. He has his parents to thank for that.

What he does know is that this year has to be just that: perfect. Because this year he has you.

Though you went to high school together, you and Steve properly met in the summer. Right at the beginning of it, where the evenings still have a chill of wind but the sun cuts through it with welcomed warmth. Robin convinced him to take her to the flower shop just outside of town, and you’d been behind the counter to greet them.

Robin recognized you, and she chatted your ear off while you helped her pick a bouquet with the sweetest smile Steve had ever seen and he felt like an absolute moron for never having noticed you before at school. But he noticed you then.

He’d forced Robin to wait for him in the car while he stayed back, bought you your own bouquet of flowers from the store as if you weren’t the one who’d made them, and asked you on a date. Steve fumbled the whole way through, pricking himself with a rose thorn and cussing mid-sentence, but you still said yes.

You’ve been together ever since, and Steve feels incredibly lucky for it. Lucky for how kind you are, how well you fit in with his friends, how much the kids (Max, especially, though he won’t call her out on it) like you. Lucky for being allowed to grab your hand, to kiss you whenever he wants.

And, on the nights you stay over that grow more frequent with each month, lucky to have you fill the space in the Harrington home that usually feels so cold and empty.

So, maybe the holidays make him extra sentimental, maybe he cares a little too much about making sure it’s the best damn Christmas you could have. Maybe, for once, he’s actually looking forward to it all.

Robin startles him into the present — leaning on the counter at Family Video — with a stiff poke to the cheek. “Dude, I can literally tell you’re thinking about her by the look on your face. It’s kinda gross.”

He scoffs at her, even though he probably was making a face. “Sounds like jealousy to me, Buckley.”

“Shut up, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know each other! I deserve compensation.”

Steve hangs his head dramatically. Robin is never letting that go. Ever.

“My friendship isn’t enough for you?” Steve says, placing a hand over his heart, “You wound me.”

“You annoy me,” she says, flicking his arm.

“Ow- whatever. You’ll be free of me in like five minutes.”

Steve checks his watch just to be sure. Robin’s closing by herself today, and while Steve would normally just stay and bother her anyways, he’s got plans that involve you and takeout and napping together on his couch.

As if the thought conjures it, you walk through the door, the bell jingling cheerily above your head, Steve’s car keys dangling from your fingertips. (Yes, he lets you drive the BMW.)

“Thank God,” Robin says when she sees it’s you. “Please get rid of him, he’s getting on my nerves.”

You smile and walk towards Steve, who immediately tosses an arm over your shoulders and pulls you in close, stamping a kiss to the side of your head.

You turn your head to the side and look at him, “What did you do?”

Steve gasps, “Me? Honey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

You send him a wink, and Steve grins. He fucking loves having you with him, being able to speak without speaking. Your hand grabbing his and squeezing says I missed you, his squeezing back says me too.

“Okay, please remove your public displays of affection from the store and leave me alone with the overplayed Christmas song radio station, thank you.” Robin announces.

“Don’t miss me too much, Robs. I know it’ll be tough,” Steve says, guiding you forward.

“Good to see you, Robin!” you wave on your way out.

“You too!” And just before the door closes behind you, Robin’s voice rings out; “You’re my favourite half of the relationship!”

Your smile widens. Steve is the best thing that’s happened to you, and his friends becoming yours is one of the greatest bonuses you could ask for. It’s like his life made room for you as simply as the ocean’s tide pulls in and out. Gentle and certain.

He catches the keys when you toss them to him, and Steve’s mood just seems to lift and lift on the drive back to his place with you in the passenger seat, Christmas lights lining the streets glowing on your cheeks.

Yeah, he thinks, this Christmas is going to be perfect.

-

1.

That weekend Steve calls you and tells you to be ready by noon and to dress warmly. He doesn’t tell you much else besides his usual ‘see you soon, honey’ or ‘miss you’ murmured sweetly through the phone.

As instructed, you’re dressed in a pair of jeans and one of your favourite knitted sweaters, your brown leather jacket overtop and socked feet stuffed into your Doc Martens. Though you feel plenty warm, Steve will probably fuss over you and hold you close for body heat anyways. And, well, you’d never be opposed to that.

Steve’s BMW rolls into your driveway exactly one minute past twelve, and by the time you walk outside to meet him, he’s already standing on the passenger side of the car waiting to open the door for you.

“Always a gentleman,” you say, kissing him quickly on the cheek.

You slide into the seat that’s become yours for the most part, and Steve ducks down to kiss you properly on the mouth before pulling back, “Mm maybe not always.”

He closes your door and you laugh lightly, your face a little warm even though he’s been your boyfriend for months now. You don’t think you’ll ever be unaffected by Steve Harrington’s charm, ever be used to it being aimed at you.

Of course, you knew of him in school, but knowing the real thing, the kind, caring boy who’d been buried under King Steve back then, is probably the greatest gift you’ve ever had.

Steve drives with one hand just above your knee, his thumb running back and forth over the stitching in your jeans. Still, he doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you, his only hint was to “pay attention to the radio station.”

It’s playing Christmas music. Like that narrows things down a whole bunch.

You chat the entire way. Steve asks you how the flower shop is doing (“Poinsettias are flying off the shelves”), you ask him who he got for the group’s secret Santa this year (“Max. I’m going to need your assistance”). It’s so easy to talk to him, to laugh and joke and not have to worry about what you say or how you come off.

You never knew being with someone could be so easy until Steve.

Eventually, he pulls into the long driveway of a farm. A Christmas tree farm, to be exact, if the wooden arch you drive through is to be trusted.

“What are you planning, Harrington?”

He shrugs, his hand squeezing your knee, “Thought we could pick out a tree together. Put it up at the house. My parents aren’t gonna be around — shocker, I know — I figured we’d do it together. Make it our own.”

Steve pats your leg before letting it go and putting the car in park, his palms dragging over his thighs like he’s suddenly nervous.

“Our first Christmas tree,” you say quietly, almost to yourself, a smile creeping onto your face. He really is sweet. “I love it. Let’s go adopt a tree, Stevie.”

He flashes you a smile before getting out and jogging around the hood to open your door for you. You’ve learned to wait for him to do it since you’ve been together. The last time you tried to open your own door he made you close it again just so he could be the one to open it.

Before, you’d never really cared about that sort of thing, but Steve has single-handedly raised your expectations.

He grabs your hand and leads you towards the classic red and white barn, following the signs painted simply with a tree and an arrow pointing you in that direction.

When you turn the corner and see the selection of trees, however, Steve pauses.

There are maybe seven trees left, none of which are very impressive upon first glance. Their branches are skinny and the pine needles leave a lot of space to see through them. It’s safe to say these aren’t the Christmas trees Steve was hoping to surprise you with.

He was sure there’d be something better left, at least. And he’d been wrong. Minus a point on that perfect Christmas, he supposes.

Still, he walks you to the selection, the farm’s employee greeting the two of you as you walk up; “Hey y’all. Good afternoon!”

“Hey man,” Steve starts, “you wouldn’t happen to have any more trees left, would you?”

“Sorry folks, this is all we’ve got. Most people like to get ‘em early.”

Steve’s hope dwindles, and you can see him deflate a little bit.

You, however, don’t mind one bit. You tug on his arm to get his attention, and Steve turns to look at you, brown eyes shining like honey in the sunlight. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “Even the little trees need homes, right?”

He shakes his head with a small smile. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you tend to talk about plants as if they have feelings. You do it when you tell him about the flowers you sell, too.

“Right as usual, honey,” he decides. “Pick your favorites.”

So, you wind up with two small Christmas trees rather than one full one, and there’s a small victory in it when you and Steve strap them both to the top of the BMW without too much of a struggle.

Another victory when you sing along to ‘Last Christmas’ and hold out your fist as if there’s a microphone in your grip to get him to join you. Admittedly, it isn’t a very good rendition, but Steve loves it all the same.

You have a way of turning things around for him, even without knowing it.

When you get back to Steve’s, he brings both of the trees inside and sets them up before bringing down the bins of ornaments and lights from the attic. He only shouted once when a spider crawled over his hand.

Having two trees makes it easy to turn decorating into a lighthearted competition. You both claim one as your own and decorate them with string lights and tinsel and ornaments. Steve’s mom would probably have an aneurysm seeing them used so haphazardly.

Though by the end, your tree is definitely prettier, Steve still feels like he’s won something as you lean your back against his chest and his arms cross over your own, keeping you there.

As a kid, he wasn’t even allowed to do the decorating. Mrs. Harrington had to make everything look picture perfect, and Steve’s hands didn’t help with that. Not according to her.

Today couldn’t feel more different from those memories of his childhood.

“Yours is better,” he tells you, chin perched on your shoulder, his voice low in your ear.

Objectively, it probably is better (your prior experience with arranging plants was an advantage), but you don’t actually care about that.

Today felt like a little glimpse into the future you and Steve could have. It’s easy to picture it: your own apartment, buying decorations you both actually like, setting it all up together every year.

“I think they’re both brilliant,” you say.

And while today wasn’t what he was picturing, wasn’t what he’d hoped for with his ideal holiday in mind, Steve finds that he can certainly live with that. Your adorable little clap when you’d finished decorating was enough to cement it.

It’s only one thing. He’s got plenty of chances to be perfect later, he guesses.

Steve dips his head and kisses the top of your shoulder over your sweater.

-

2.

You stay over at Steve’s that weekend. You’re both off work, and you find yourself spending your days (and nights) off with Steve more and more.

In the morning, you blink your eyes open slowly, naturally. No alarm set, your boy wrapped around you. It’s how you’ll spend every morning someday.

The sunlight sneaks through a crack in the curtains, cutting a line across Steve’s blue bedding. You squint at it, shifting onto your back gently. Steve’s arm remains slung over your waist as you move, his knee against your leg. You roll your head to the side to look at him, a smile creeping over your mouth at the way his cheek is smushed into the pillow, his lips pouting and hair a mess over his forehead.

Mornings have easily become your favorite time to spend with Steve. He’s cuddling you in some way every single time without fail, even when he wakes up. His voice is all low and gravelly from sleep and it feels like an honor to get to be the one to hear it like that. Usually, you spend an hour in bed with him after waking up. Laying together, talking, kissing. Sometimes (often) more.

You’d stay put right now if you didn’t have to pee so bad.

Slipping out of bed without Steve noticing proves a challenge, his arm tightens over you in his sleep, his brows scrunching. You whisper a soft “I’ll be right back.” He mumbles something incoherent, but his arm relaxes and you’re able to sneak away.

On your way back from the bathroom, you pause and take a peek out the window. You gasp happily at what you see: snow. A bright, white layer blanketing the ground sparkling in the sunlight.

You turn back to the bed and let yourself fall to it with a bounce, earning another grumbled protest from Steve, but there’s no way you’re going back to sleep now. You trail a hand up his arm to his shoulder, giving it a small shake, “Stevie, wake up.”

“Hm?” his eyes scrunch before opening. “What happened, honey?”

“It snowed!”

“Yeah?” he huffs a laugh at your excitement, his hand searching for yours in the sheets.

“Yeah, and it’s so pretty. We should go out before it melts.”

“It’s winter, sweetheart. Not gonna melt that fast.”

“Steve.”

“Okay, okay,” his hand leaves yours in favor of wrapping itself around you again, and he uses it to tug you close again. “Just five more minutes.”

His nose is pressed to the top of your head, and he breathes you in, smiling to himself. Mornings are Steve’s favorite, too. Only when they’re spent with you.

Secretly, he’s also happy about the snow. He was hoping mother nature would be on his side so that he could check yet another holiday item off his list with you. Hopefully one that will turn out nicer than the tiny trees you’d ended up with.

It’s definitely more than five minutes by the time you get Steve to get up and out of bed. You attempt to get him outside right away. He stops you with a: “No snow-related activities on an empty stomach!”

So, it’s a rushed breakfast of bagels and coffee provided by Steve, and then you’re gearing up and heading into the back yard.

The cold bites at your cheeks, and the tip of Steve’s nose is pink within minutes, but you love it.

There’s a snowman built together, snow angels made that get ruined when Steve rolls himself on top of you and steals a kiss or five. Naturally, all there is left to do is have a snowball fight.

You start it when you’re still on the ground, a hand sneaking into the snow to grab a handful and pressing it to the back of Steve’s head. He gasps, and you take the opportunity to push him to the side and get up.

“No fair!” he calls. “I was distracted and you went for the hair.”

“Your fault for not wearing a hat, babe,” you laugh.

“Oh, you won’t be laughing for long, honey. You’re in for it.”

And just like that, you’re running around like kids in a schoolyard, hiding behind trees, slugging snowballs at each other and cheering when you manage to not miss.

Steve silently thanks mother nature or the universe or whatever made it snow for the wide smile on your face, your eyes shining with mirth.

At one point, you’re suddenly distracted by something in the trees, and the snowball is out of Steve’s hand before he sees you start to look towards him again.

It hits you square in the face.

A quick “Ow” comes out of your mouth, though it really doesn’t hurt that bad. Your first reaction is just to let it slip, but Steve’s heart sinks to his stomach.

“Shit, honey.” He runs over to you and cups your face in his hands, his mittens soft against your skin as he brushes the snow from your face. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to get you in the face.”

Minus another point, for sure. Perfect Christmas: -2.

“I know, don’t worry,” you tell him, because he clearly is worrying.

“You okay?” he checks. He literally winces when you sniffle, frowns when he sees the way your eyes water. “Honey. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, Steve, I’m fine,” you reach up and grab his wrists, squeezing them over his jacket. “I’m only crying ‘cause it got my nose. It doesn’t actually hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you assure him. “Didn’t you used to play sports in school? Thought athletes had better aim.”

“I was a swimmer, baby. No projectiles involved.” He smiles softly when you laugh, but he can’t stop himself from asking one more time. “You’re really not hurt?”

“It’s just a bit of snow, Stevie.”

His eyes run over your face anyway before he nods. Then, he dips forwards and lightly kisses your cheek, the other, the tip of your nose, and your mouth.

“Well now I’m certainly all better,” you say against his lips.

Steve pulls back but doesn’t go far. “I think this snowball fight is over.”

“Buzzkill,” you tease.

He bends down and picks up a handful of snow before shoving it in his own face.

“Steve!” you laugh.

“There, now we’re even,” he says, snowflakes clinging to his lashes.

You let him lead you inside after that, his arm draping over your shoulders, yours hugging his middle as you walk across the yard.

Once you’ve both shed your layers of coats and boots and hats and mittens, Steve takes you upstairs and runs you a bath to warm you up. He apologizes another two times when he looks at your face for too long, and you have to kiss him to stop him uttering another ‘sorry.’

Hell, if it’s gonna make him this sweet on you, you’d probably take a snowball to the face any day.

Eventually, when the bathtub is full, a layer of bubbles over the surface, you coax Steve into joining you. He leans against the side with you between his knees, back settling into its home against his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

Steve runs his hands over your shoulders, presses kisses into your hair. All along he’s reminding himself that the next thing will go right. He won’t be throwing anything, at least.

-

3.

The next weekend Steve calls you again. He asks you to be ready in the evening this time, but still keeps things vague other than the fact that you’ll be outside and need thick socks.

You have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind, but he’d called it a ‘redemption date’ over the phone and even though you truly don’t think he has anything to redeem himself for, you don’t want to spoil his plans, so you play along.

He comes to the front door when he picks you up this time, knocking gently as if you hadn’t been waiting for him by the windows.

“Hi, honey,” he drops a quick kiss to your lips, “had to come and approve your outfit. Don’t want you getting cold and stealing my jacket again.”

He’s lying, really. Steve fucking loves draping his own jacket over your shoulders and seeing you pull it tighter around you. When that happens, he braves the cold, but he figures that probably won’t be smart for spending hours outside.

“Aww, but yours is so much warmer than mine,” you pout jokingly.

Steve simply grabs your thickest jacket from a hook by the door and holds it out for you to slip your arms into.

As suspected, he drives you to a skating rink. He chose one a town over from Hawkins, where they have twinkle lights strung above the rink and rainbow Christmas lights lining the boards. Steve smiles when you gasp lightly in delight at the sight of it. The brightness cutting through the already dark night sky.

Steve guides you over to the skate rental booth first, bumping his hip into yours when you attempt to pay for the rentals. “As if. My idea, my wallet.”

“You don’t even let me pay when it’s my idea, either.”

“Well, that’s just chivalry, babe.”

You roll your eyes at him and thank the man behind the booth when he hands you both your skates. As you walk towards the lockers and cubbies set up nearby, you lean up and kiss Steve’s cheek, his light stubble scratching your lips.

“Thank you for this,” you say.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he tells you. “Though I should warn you that I’m not very good at this.”

“What? You, not good at something? Please.”

“No, seriously. I’m like bambi on ice.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder weakly, “Don’t worry. I’m probably even worse.”

Steve grins. So far, so good. This one will be perfect. Well, as perfect as it can be considering his skating skills.

You sit on one of the benches and Steve puts both of your shoes in one of the cubbies. He ties his own skates first before kneeling in front of you to help you with yours. He knows how to tie them, at the very least.

He helps you slip your feet into the skates first, then tightens the laces on one before peering up at you and checking, “Feel okay? Not too tight?”

“It’s good, Steve. I feel like Cinderella.”

“A perfect fit! She must be the one!”

“Dork.”

“That’s prince dork to you.”

Steve finishes up with your skates, squeezing your ankle before setting your foot down and standing back up.

On the ice, neither of you are very graceful. You hold onto the boards most of the time, and Steve stumbles and nearly falls every few strides, but you’re laughing and having fun, so who cares?

So what if you get lapped by multiple people on the rink, including children? So what if you get some side eyes for being too slow or in the way? Neither of you can bring yourselves to be bothered.

Best of all, Steve keeps a hold on your hand the entire time. He literally saves you from falling with his grip on your hand squeezing and pulling you up straight.

However, your hands being clasped also means that, inevitably, when one of you goes down, you both do.

It happens after a decent amount of laps; your toe pick catches on a dip in the ice and it’s all it takes for you to lose your balance. Steve somehow twists himself to catch the brunt of your fall.

He expected that to come with some pain, a couple bruises, maybe. Instead, his wrist twists painfully against the ice as he falls, as if he’d tried to catch himself with it, and he can’t help the hiss of pain that comes out when he lands.

“You okay, honey?” he asks you.

“Of course I am. I landed on you, Stevie. Are you okay?”

He tests his wrist out by flexing it, wiggling his fingers, and he tries to hide it but he winces when he does, a sharp pain shooting up his arm. “M’fine.”

“Bullshit, I saw that wince, Harrington.” You manage to get back up on your feet and hold out a hand for him to grab, “Up, I’m taking you to the ER.”

“No, no. I’m good.”

“Steve.”

“Baby.”

“Come on, you don’t want to make it worse, do you?” you urge him. “Plus, I’ll only keep worrying and bugging you about it until you let me take you to the doctor. Your wrist is already swelling, babe.”

Mostly because he doesn’t like the thought of you worrying about him, Steve agrees.

When both of your skates are off (your doing, this time) and given back to the booth, you reach into Steve’s coat pocket and grab the keys to the BMW. He doesn’t protest, and that alone tells you he must be hurting more than he’s letting on. You even manage to open your own door for once.

Steve’s quiet on the drive to the hospital, his hand resting limply on his leg. His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezing shut every so often when a burst of pain comes. You do your best to avoid any pot holes or bumps along the way.

Once there, you make him sit in one of the waiting room chairs, “I’ll get the check in forms and everything. Stay put, yeah?”

“Your wish is my command,” he says, trying to joke. His voice wobbles a tiny bit, though.

It’s at least an hour of waiting before someone can see him (and that’s including your many pesterings to the front desk). You don’t mean to be a bother, but you’ve never seen Steve injured in any serious capacity, and it’s messing with your head.

He took the weight of that fall to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. The way he pays attention to things like that is one of the many reasons you love him.

You love him. You haven’t said the words to each other yet, but you’ve felt them for a long time already. It’s hard not to love Steve Harrington.

Finally, the doctor takes him back, and you follow. After an x-ray and some prodding, he determines that it’s a sprained wrist and that he should keep it wrapped for a few weeks to make sure it heals. They give him a prescription for some mild painkillers, too, for the first couple of days.

You breathe a sigh of relief knowing it isn’t broken, but Steve’s shoulders are still slumped.

He’s in pain, sure, his wrist now wrapped up in a tensor bandage, but really he feels defeated at messing yet another thing up. Third strike.

Steve lets you guide him back to the car and drive back to his place. You’ve decided you’re staying the night to take care of him, and as much as he hates looking weak or feeling useless, he’s glad to have you around.

You dote on him back at home, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer after making sure he’s settled on the couch, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, bringing him meds and water.

“Honey, it’s just a sprain. Please stop fussing and sit with me.”

His brown eyes shine a little, and you could never say no to him when he looks at you like that.

You sit beside him and he drops his head to your shoulder, your hand coming up to play with the strands at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp gently. His uninjured hand rests on your thigh and squeezes.

“Best painkiller ever,” he says.

-

4.

Steve has convinced himself that nothing could possibly go wrong this time around.

His plans for today involve staying at home, just you and him, no outside forces to deal with or avoid. So much less potential for failure. That’s what he thinks, at least.

Steve knows nearly every piece of you, so, obviously he knows you like to bake. You’d made him a cake for his birthday, and every so often you bring him other treats from home. Naturally, that meant that there was no way he was leaving out Christmas baking.

He’d considered doing gingerbread houses, and then remembered that the last time he tried that in a competition with the kids, his house was nothing more than a messy pile of gingerbread slabs. One with a bite taken out of it.

So, considering his past failures this holiday season, he’d settled on something that he thinks — hopes — is really hard to mess up: sugar cookies.

His mother’s collection of cookbooks had never been used for more than decoration until now. Steve searched through them until he found a recipe, wrote down the ingredients, and bought them at the grocery store to make sure he had everything.

In school, he never did much studying, but he reread the hell out of that recipe in order to get at least this one thing right.

The tensor bandage is still wrapped around his wrist, which is fucking annoying, really. He has to adjust it every day, and it’s hard to do with a single hand. He much prefers when you do it for him, sealing it with a featherlight kiss.

Worse, the thing still hurts, and you refused to let him drive and put more strain on it than necessary, so you took the bus and walked the rest of the way to his house.

He’s got all of the ingredients and tools laid out on the island when you ring the doorbell. “Hurry up, Harrington, it’s freezing!”

Hurry he does. He lets you in and helps you unwrap yourself from your bundle of a scarf and hat and mittens and jacket. Steve dips in to kiss your cheek, your skin cold against his lips. “Wouldn’t have to freeze if you let me come get you.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself for no reason, I’m fine,” you grab his uninjured hand and kiss the pads of his fingers, “and I like these hands.”

He smiles at your words, smug, “Yeah, I know you do, honey.”

You shake your head at him, but you’re smiling all the same, “I take it back. Your ego is getting too big.”

“Nooo, it’s just the right size,” he winks.

“Don’t you have plans, Steve?” you ask, changing the subject. “Getting a little off track, aren’t we?”

“Later, then,” he says, taking your hand with his good one and leading you to the kitchen.

You pause at the entryway of the kitchen, scanning over the things on the island, two aprons Steve must’ve dug up from somewhere hanging from the knobs of the cabinets.

“Tada,” he says, “we’re making cookies.”

“This might be my favourite one yet, Stevie.” You walk over and grab one of the aprons, leaving the other (a pink floral number) for Steve. “I’m in charge, though.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, taking the other apron without a complaint. “This is your kitchen today, chef.”

“Mm. That has a nice ring to it.”

“Chef honey,” he says, planting a kiss where your neck meets your shoulder, breath warm even through your shirt.

You get started after that. Predictably, you make a mess with flour on the island and mixing bowls strewn about the surface. You get distracted with a bit of a flour war somewhere in there, Steve smudging it onto your cheek, you onto the tip of his nose.

When it’s time to roll out the dough and cut out the cookies, Steve grabs a handful of cookie cutters from one of the drawers, setting them onto the counter with a small clang. They’re all holiday themed. Candy canes and snowmen and Christmas trees.

“Someone’s prepared,” you say, bumping your hip against his.

“I run a serious establishment here, baby.”

“I thought I was in charge.”

Soon enough, after sneaking bites of raw cookie dough and cutting out as many cookies as you could manage, they’re placed into the oven, the timer set.

You end up in the living room, a random channel playing on the TV while the cookies bake. It starts innocently enough, just sitting next to each other, shoulders and thighs pressed together.

Then, Steve’s good hand wanders, starting above your knee and moving up and up until he’s squeezing the top of your thigh, tracing patterns with his thumb. When he speaks a husky, “Come closer?” how could you ever say no?

So, somehow, you’ve ended up straddling Steve’s lap, his injured hand resting loosely on your waist, the other pressed in between your shoulder blades to keep you close. Yours are in his hair, running through the strands, tugging even.

It grows heated fast, and all of a sudden you’re making out like a pair of teenagers, Steve urging you to press further down in his lap, to writhe there while his mouth works yours until it’s all you can think about. All you can feel.

The room feels warmer, Steve’s jeans tighter over his lap, your chest bumping against his, hearts racing. Even just kissing him feels better than anything you’ve ever had in the past.

He kisses you like he’s starved everytime, sometimes a ravenous hunger, like now, or, when he’s gentler, something tender and soft. A sweet tooth.

The cookies are long forgotten. The timer sounds and nobody hears it. You would keep going forever, if you could. But then there’s the smell that hits your nostrils. The smell of something burning.

“Steve?” you say against his mouth.

“Uh-huh?” he breathes.

“Do you smell that?”

He pulls back, and it’s immediately after you say the words that the alarm goes off, piercing through the air, killing the mood, much to your dismay. Even more to Steve’s.

“Fuck,” he groans.

You’re both rushing to the kitchen then. You, fumbling off his lap, him beating you to the kitchen and frantically taking the baking sheet out of the oven and turning the thing off. You grab a towel from the counter and start fanning beneath the alarm to get it to go off, and when the cookies are dealt with, Steve joins the efforts.

Eventually the thing stops beeping, and you both rest your arms. The room still looks a little cloudy, the cookies black at the edges.

Steve doesn’t say anything, only rests his elbows on the island and slumps his head, defeated.

He’s so frustrated with himself. Not for kissing you. No, he could never be mad at that, but at the outcome of his final attempt at a holiday date going south again.

You frown at him, walking over and placing a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “Steve? You okay?”

“I just- I messed it up again.”

“Hey, I’m as much to blame as you are. It takes two to tango, as they say.”

He huffs a weak laugh, picking his head up and twisting to look at you. Your pretty face, eyes nothing but kind. Fuck, he loves you, and he just wanted to show you that. To make Christmas as magical as it's supposed to be.

“I really wanted it to go well, you know?”

You realize then that he’s not only talking about today. That he’s been putting this pressure on himself all month to make plans and something has happened every time. You don’t blame him for that, if anything, it makes your heart ache with adoration.

“Steve, it doesn’t matter to me. Things happen, it’s okay,” you kiss his bicep lightly. “I’d rather things go a bit wrong with you than to have them go right with someone else. You are the best part.”

“I-” love you, he almost says. But he doesn’t want the first time to be like this, in a room that still stinks. “You’re the best part for me too, honey.”

You decide that next time, it’s your turn to do something for him.

-

+1

Steve comes home from work on Christmas Eve, eyes tired and feet hurting despite having worn relatively comfortable shoes today.

He’d tried to get the day off, tried to be able to spend it with you in bed for hours and hours and not getting up until the afternoon. Keith had other plans for him.

He even tried to dramatize his wrist injury. Still, he was forced to go in.

Walking up the driveway, Steve sees the glow of lights inside filtering through the curtains. He’s fairly certain he hadn’t left any on, but he also knows he’s often wrong about these things, so he shrugs it off and goes inside.

There’s noise coming from the living room. Crackling of the fireplace that he barely ever uses, music playing quietly, and then he hears you humming along.

“Honey?”

“Yup, it’s me!”

You know where the spare key is, Steve’s the one who told you the information and encouraged you to use it, but you’ve often been too nervous to do so. Not today, it seems.

While Steve was at work, you’d set up your plan for him.

He follows the sound of your voice without much of a thought, a moth drawn to a flame. When he turns into the living room, he stills.

There are strings of warm white Christmas lights hung about, the fireplace is actually housing a fire, and in front of it is a fort made up of red and green and white blankets and pillows. Some plaid, some with snowflakes, all Christmas themed.

“Did you do all of this?” he asks, walking slowly to where you stand by the fort.

“Figured it was my turn to organize a date, don’t you think?”

“Baby. This is all really sweet, but wha-”

You cut him off, “Uh-uh. Let me explain.” You reach for Steve’s hands, and he meets you in the middle willingly. Suddenly nervous, you shift your weight on your feet. “I thought we could do presents a little early.”

His brows scrunch, “But Christmas is tomorrow.”

“Please?” you ask, squeezing his hands once.

And, really, Steve would never say no to you. Especially not when you’re saying ‘please’ all sweet and delicate like that.

“Okay,” he says. “Yours is in my room. I’ll go grab it. And change; I smell like Family Video.”

“‘Kay, Stevie.”

You kiss his cheek before he goes for good measure.

Steve is confused the entire time, wondering what it could be that you’re up to, but he does as he said he would. You’d been wearing a set of pyjamas (one he loves on you; a soft baby blue pair of shorts with a matching sweater), so he goes for one of his pairs of plaid pants and a plain t shirt before grabbing your messily wrapped gift bag from where he’d hidden it under his bed.

Back in the living room, he finds you now settled on the ground of the fort, which you’d lined with fuzzy blankets and the biggest of the pillows. His gift is sat beside you, a gift box wrapped in a lovely bow. Your skills of wrapping bouquets are transferable, he’s learned.

He joins you, sitting across from you, but close enough that your legs tangle and knees bump.

“You go first,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he scratches the back of his neck, handing you the gift bag. “Let me explain it before you say anything.”

That grabs your attention, but your plans aren’t about his present to you, really, and you know you’ll love it no matter what because Steve knows you better than anyone.

You lift out tissue paper first, uncovering multiple different things inside the bag, also wrapped. It pieces together as you go. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, your entire skincare routine, a couple of pyjama and underwear sets.

“It’s so you don’t have to bring an overnight bag every time you stay over now. I, um, cleared out a couple of drawers in my dresser and the bathroom.”

“Steve,” you look at him, heart squeezing. It’s so thoughtful, so him, and you surge forward you wrap your arms around his neck and breathe into his skin, “I love it. Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Perfect.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do,” you sit back into your spot. “You know I hate carrying things.”

“I never let you carry anything, honey.”

“Exactly,” you nod. Now, you hold out his gift for him to take, “Your turn.”

You watch Steve’s hands as he tugs the bow undone, then lifts the lid of the box.

Nestled inside are four delicate ornaments. A Christmas tree, a snowman, an ice skate, and a plate of cookies. One for every date he’d planned for you.

Steve frowns at them, not because he doesn’t like them, but because he doesn’t quite understand where you’re going with this.

“I thought it was time we started collecting our own ornaments. For our place, one day,” you tell him.

“They’re lovely, but honey you- you really wanna remember these things?“ he shakes his head, more at himself than you. “I messed ‘em all up.”

“There’s one more thing in there,” you say quietly.

The thing you're nervous about. A thing you’ve never said out loud before.

Steve finds it beneath one of the ornaments, a small piece of paper folded up. When he opens that, his heart stutters in his chest. Written in your handwriting are three words: I love you.

He blinks away from the paper to look at you, though his thumb continues to trace the words absentmindedly. “Honey-”

“I love you, Steve. Okay?” You shift closer, kneeling at his side, your hands coming up to frame his jaw, your fingers kind against his skin. “I don’t care that things didn’t go how you planned. I mean, I would rather you didn’t require an ER visit, but the point is that I don’t need things to be perfect. And I know you’ve been hard on yourself trying to make them so.”

He lets go of the paper and reaches up to grasp your wrists, his thumb finding your racing pulse. His uninjured hand holds on tighter than the other.

“Thank you for trying for me,” you continue, “for caring. But no matter what happens, things are perfect for me. Because I get to do them with you. Got that, Harrington? You’re perfect, and I love you, and-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. It’s a simple but firm press of his lips against yours, but it says enough.

“I fucking love you too, honey,” he says, his forehead against yours, lips only a breath apart. “You saying all of that it means — you mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he nods. Steve pulls back the tiniest bit to be able to see your face fully, his sweet brown eyes locked on yours. “I wanted our first Christmas to be perfect, and I didn’t wanna let you down, but you’re right. They were perfect, because you’re here. And I love you for bein’ here.”

“As long as you’ll have me,” you say. You push his hair off his forehead before letting go of his face and sitting back, “Why don’t you give those ornaments a try?”

“On those trees?” he asks, eyebrows lifted, voice joking.

“Steve.”

”Okay, okay.”

He picks up the skate first. Surprising, considering that one had ended in a physical injury for him, but you say nothing and watch him walk over to your little trees by the window. You join him, sitting on the arm of the couch nearby while he scans over the tree.

“Pick a spot, handsome,” you encourage. “There’s really no wrong answer here.”

He goes to hang the first ornament, hand wavering before setting on a branch.

“Well, maybe not-” Steve tackles you onto the couch before you can finish. You dissolve into giggles as he pokes at your ribs, his head on your chest.

Steve’s done keeping score.

Perfect Christmas. That’s it.

⁺̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇⊛̇̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇

thank you so much for reading!! if you enjoyed please please consider leaving a comment and/or a reblog and letting me know what you thought! it would mean a bunch of<3

[jinxthequeergirl]

The ol Switcharoo (pt1.)

Stan x reader/ Ford x reader

Summary: you liked to assume you knew Stanford Pines better then most, but when you return to him after am extended trip you aren't sure you really do

Warning: NONE, she's looking as all hell and I apologize, it's mess I know but it's a start ok

Chat feel free to tell me is this is a dumb idea

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

You where a weird kid growing up.

A fact you wouldn't deny. Even as a child you knew you where diffrent and what intrested you was odd. You embraced it. You loved all things creepy and crawly. While most kids your age had posters of there favorite superheros or cartoon characters while your room was plastered with that of monsters and ghouls.

Things from Dracula all the way to the Mysterious Mothman decorated your room, they were the movies you had on repeat books you stuffed your nose in. You loved it all. As you got older, you loved them more, thrusting yourself into science to prove they could existed in the natural world that they DID!

The supernatural world was out there and you where going to explore it. Even as a kid you would be caught monster hunting always running headfirst into adventure no fears.

Your mother was supportive of your every decision regardless of if she believed it lead anywhere or not. She was more happy you where just passionate about something at all and was eager to send you to college.

That's what led you straight to Stanford Pines. The man you would proudly proclaim as your best friend. You'd met during one of your shared classes in college, quickly finding out you had almost similar interests and ideals, everything he had to say fascinated you. And he was more then happy to have someone so eager to find the supernatural with him.

Soon enough you where inseparable. (Y/n) and Standford there was no stopping the pair of you two through all of college whatever you two went through you went through together ups and downs everything was shared. Adding fiddleford to the mix and your trio was complete.

You where of course the first person he had asked to move into his house in gravity falls to further your research together.

"This place is incredible Fordsie I mean think of how much is actually out there!" You exclaimed gesturing to the untamed woods of Oregon from the roof of the house. Ford chuckled adding the finishing touches to a page in his second edition journal before offering it too you for your stamp of approval.

You gladly accepted the book. "And just think about everything else there is to come once we get the machine up and running!" You took a pen of your own and scribbled something in, nodding in agreement to his statment before sitting down beside him.

You took in a breath of fresh air and exhaled a sigh of relief. Ford copying your action. "To think I almost would have never made it this far." He said staring up at the darkening sky.

"Well let's not think like that fordsie, everything that almost stopped you from coming here got you here didn't it?" You said as if you where asking the stars that began to speckle the sky.

He looked over at you. "Everything happens for a reason sixer. Plus you got me out of it didn't you?" You joked nudging him with your elbow.

"That It did." He mused while watching you stare up at the sky with content. He gave a soft smile. Of all the great mysteries in the world, you became his favorite. It didn't matter how well he though he knew you you still surprised him every day.

That was in the spring.

Everything about your life with Ford felt new, exciting, and perfect. You felt like your bond was stronger then ever, over the summer and fall. The perfect balance of cool and calculates and a fearless risktaker. You filled in for eachother where the other lacked completing eachother perfectly. Making your adventures flow smoothly.

Ford found himself thinking like this about you more often, stealing long looks at you when he thought you weren't looking. Standing closer to you, the trash in his room became filled with crumpled ink work of your likeness.

You had enjoyed the sudden burst of closeness you two had shared over the months you'd been in Oregon together it certainly didn't go as unnoticed as he had hopped it did.

He was a smart man, that was the one fundamental truth about himself no one could deny. But he was utterly clueless when it came to his own feelings

"Oooohwe you got it baaAAD don't you Stanford?" His face flushed at fiddlefords sudden outburst of excitement. "What are you talking about!?" He asked in a sharp hushed tone quickly averting his gaze from you only a few feet away.

"Standford I have known you almost ad long as you and y/n have been friends and I'm no expert but I do think I recognize how you look at them has changed."

"I pfft.. I wouldn't...that's my bestfriend-" He fumbled for his words face flushed a deeper red then before as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Mcgucket! Fordsie! I'm head up to bed for the night! Don't stay up too late." You chimmed in with a yawn.

"Hahah! Yes very good y/n! Very good get good rest for not let the gnomes bite! Ahaha" Ford blurted. You laughed as you continued up the steps.

Fiddleford laughed once where had va ished from sight. "I'm just making an observation...I'm not saying you lay awake at night thinking about her. But your secretis safe with me." Ford let out a sigh of relief at fiddlefors reasuring words they wherent up much longer before both retiring to their rooms. Stanford proceeded to lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling.

"Oh no."

When the winter rolled around things began to change. All the good memories you had together seemed to suddenly get lost and where instead replaced with something bad.

You remember sitting next to fiddleford staring at your bestfriend fall asleep in the middle of the floor waiting for something to happen. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

You where the first tobask the question both of you had been thinking. "If this thing can offer Ford everything we need to know about starting up this portal...then I say the risk is worth it...right?"

You chewed on your inner cheek staring intently at the man on the floor.

Since the winter rolled around and Ford had met this mysterious "muse" You felt a sense of unease fall over the house, Ford had suddenly become distant always away with the being. "Are you jealous?" Fiddleford pipped up turning away from Ford.

"Jelous?" You chucked. "Of what? There's nothing to be jealous of! Or even a reason to be jealous! If Ford wants to abandon his friends for some interdemensinal being that he wont share much about or even introduce us then fine by me!" You huff out the words folding your arms over your chest.

Everything went downhill pretty fast or at least that's what your memory served, by the time you where ready for the first test of the portal all the way to fiddlefords accident with the machine your new exciting life unraveled before your eyes.

He wasn't functioning the way he used

"Fordsie...I think we need to take a break."

He was pacing infront of you rappedly tapping a pen against his temple. "We can't stop now! We are to close."

You frowned, he was different now no doubt this wasn't the same Ford you had be friened only a few years ago, this wasn't the same Ford you had grown to love. He was far more distant now, all the little things he thought went unnoticed by you completely stopped. He kept his distance now. He was losing sleep because of this now, if it wherent for you he wouldn't even be eating.

"Ford I'm serious! Fiddleford got hurt...I don't think it's a good idea to continue we need time to stop and clear our heads!"

"My head is clear y/n! With bill by my side I know we can-"

"STANFORD PINES."

Stan stopped in his tracks. It had been a while since you had referred to him like that. He turned to you watching you pinch the bridge of your nose. Since when did you look so tired? And where you...angry with him?

"Stanford our friend was hurt because of this , it's time to take a step back and to reevaluate before someone else gets hurt...we need to get out of this house...maybe out of gravity falls for a while."

Ford stared at you for a while and you stared back for some reason in only a few months it felt like the both of you where looking at strangers. You watched as the gears turned in Fords head before he spoke up.

"Your right."

You perked up at his words taken aback by them.

"I think it would be in our best intrest if we both went to see our families for some time."

Again you where surprised by the words that left his mouth. He'd never spoken to you about his family you had always assumed they wherent close. At the same time part of you hoped he'd want to vacation with you somewhere warm away from the snow. So place that would bring back the real Ford.

"OK, we can do that." You said offering a warm smile.

That night Ford helped you pack so you could catch the first bus out of gravity falls that morning, he promised he'd be leaving the next day.

It was quiet while he helped. He wasn't joking with you or excitedly retelling one of your adventures from the summer.

Your mind still kept wondering back to how this could be the same person. Maybe this was who Ford was all along and you where blinded by the thrill of adventure.

"Promise to write?" You asked

"I promise."

"I'll see you in a few weeks."

Still you knew things would be better when you both returned from a long over do break. You watched a bundled up Ford wave you goodbye from the snow as your bus pulled away and you sighed.

Ford frowned as he watched your bus drive into the distance. This was for the better right? He could see the worry and pain he had seemed to be causing you which was never his intention. He didn't want to lie to you just to get you away to take care of yourself but if that's what it took to do just that.

You eneded up returning when the snow had melted in gravity falls. You hadn't meant to be gone that long, your family had begged you to stay and your mother needed the help around the house, you had wrote Ford like you promised but it seemed like the mail was eating up your letters. Either way you had been well rested and eager to return to your friend and to work. You took a hopeful deep breath once your feet hit the gravity falls soil.

"StanFord!? Are you home yet!?" You shouted, pushing open the door to the house. You were met with silence.

"Fordsie!?" You stepped further in carefully. You noticed all of the science equipment and creatures you had collected over the past year or so had been moved and almost put on display. You heard a floorboard creek, and you stayed silent, pressing up again the wall by the door, ready to either surprise your friend or scare an enime.

The door swung open and a familiar face appeared yelling welding a baseball bat.

You screamed, falling back onto yours, butt. "FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME ITS Y/N!!!" You shouted, holding your hands up to shield yourself. He stopped yelling and lowered the bat. "Y/n?...."

"Yes, it's me. Please put the bat down!"

"What are you doing here?" He asked, placing the bat down and staring at you. "I live here with you, remember?"

The man seemed to stare at you like he was trying to figure out why he knew you. "Y/n! That's right!" He helped you up.

"I wasn't away for that long, was I fordsie?" You chuckled.

"Oh uh no no it's not that...uh come inside. we have some uh catching up to do.." You raised your eyebrow at him now, getting a better look at him. Something was off.

But you followed him to the kitchen, hoping your doubt and worry would wear off soon.

"Hey by the way...would you mind calling me stan from now on?"

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hi! Can you do Hoshina x reader who is shy and quiet but comes out of their shell once they get comfortable and familiar with him?

Just Curious (At First)

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

Synopsis: When a shy yet skilled fighter transfers to the Third Division, Vice-Captain Hoshina Soshiro barely spares her a second glance—until he learns she's close friends with his long-time rival, Gen Narumi. What starts as curiosity quickly spirals into something deeper, as Hoshina finds himself drawn to her quiet strength, unexpected humor, and the warmth she reveals only when she feels comfortable.

Warnings/content: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader, fluff

The air around Tachikawa Base felt different. Not worse—just unfamiliar.

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag and walked through the gate, shoulders squared and gaze steady, even if your stomach knotted in that way it always did before something new. The Third Division wasn't foreign territory, not exactly. You'd trained here once, during your earliest weeks as a Defense Force recruit. But now, it wasn't a temporary visit. It was home.

A permanent reassignment. Your choice.

The First Division had no shortage of elite fighters, and truthfully, you were ready for a change. A slower pace. Fewer eyes. Fewer expectations. The Third Division needed experienced soldiers to help train up the growing number of recruits, and when the call went out, you volunteered before the request could finish loading in your inbox.

You liked Koto Ward well enough, but... something quieter felt right now.

Maybe, if you were honest with yourself, you just needed somewhere you could breathe.

"Transfer paperwork confirmed. Welcome to the Third Division," said the clerk at the base gate, stamping the forms with a brisk nod. You gave a polite smile in return, fingers curling slightly over the folder. A few soldiers passed behind you, laughing loudly. You instinctively stepped aside.

This wasn't your first division, but it wasn't foreign ground either. You could do this.

The next few days passed in a blur of briefings and reintroductions. A few squad leaders remembered you from old joint drills. Most didn't. That suited you fine.

You kept your voice even and your demeanor calm, showing the new recruits how to disarm a mid-sized Yoju without fracturing the armor plating or panicking. You demonstrated restraint, control. You kept your comments short, your posture closed.

You weren't antisocial, exactly—just... quiet. Thoughtful. You saved your voice for when it mattered.

You didn't notice Hoshina Soshiro watching you until day four.

It was during a morning session on blade combat, when one of the rookies flinched too early and nearly sent his katana flying into another trainee. You stepped in, steadying both boys, showing them how to reset without freezing.

And out of the corner of your eye—him.

Hoshina stood on the edge of the training field, arms folded, a toothpick in his mouth and a faint look of amusement—or was it curiosity?—in his eyes.

He didn't say anything. Not then.

Later that evening, as you finished a quiet dinner in the mess hall, you passed him in the corridor.

"You're the First Division transfer, right?" he asked, voice casual but sharp. Focused.

You nodded, pausing. "That's right."

"Huh." His eyes flicked over you once, unreadable. "Didn't expect someone like you to be tight with Narumi."

Your brows lifted slightly in surprise. Not many people brought that up so quickly. "You know Gen?"

"Unfortunately." A pause, then a faint smirk. "You two friends?"

You shrugged lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah. We go way back."

"Didn't peg you for his type." He scratched the back of his neck. "He's loud. You're... not."

"I'm used to it."

That made him laugh—just once, a soft, amused breath. "Guess you must be."

He stepped aside to let you pass, nodding in polite dismissal, but there was something lingering in his eyes. Something sharp behind the smile.

Curiosity.

You kept walking, pulse steady. It wasn't the first time someone questioned your friendship with Narumi. It probably wouldn't be the last.

But for some reason, Hoshina's interest felt... different.

You didn't know it yet, but that conversation was the first thread.

The beginning of everything that would follow.

Hoshina didn't mean to think about you again.

But two days after that passing conversation, he found himself glancing your way during a strategy meeting, watching how you quietly listened while the others bickered over simulation outcomes. You sat near the edge of the room, not isolated, just... observant. Your hand flicked lightly against your notebook as you jotted something down—quick, neat, deliberate.

You nodded once when Captain Mina gave you a task. No complaints. No spotlight. Efficient. Reliable.

And you were friends with Narumi Gen. Loudmouth, storm-in-human-form Narumi. That fact bounced around in Hoshina's head like a loose marble, refusing to settle.

After the meeting, he approached you again.

"Hey. You free?"

You turned your head, blinking. "Depends. Why?"

"Just curious." He walked alongside you, matching your pace without waiting for an invitation. "So how'd you two even meet, anyway? You and Narumi."

You didn't answer immediately. That was something else about you—silences never felt awkward, not even when they stretched. Eventually, you tilted your head.

"Training camp. Before division assignments. He insulted the book I was reading. I insulted his haircut. Instant friendship."

Hoshina huffed a laugh. "Sounds about right."

"He's loud, yeah. But he's not what people think."

"Oh? And what's he really like?"

You arched an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just trying to gather dirt for your ongoing rivalry?"

He smirked. "What rivalry?"

"You two can't even be in the same room without passive-aggressively insulting each other's sword technique."

"That's just how we bond," he said, then paused. "But if you happen to spill any embarrassing stories, I wouldn't say no."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched faintly at the corners—an almost-smile. And Hoshina noticed. Of course he noticed.

Over the following weeks, your paths crossed more often.

Sometimes by chance—training drills, equipment checks, late-night walks between quarters—but increasingly by Hoshina's design. He didn't make it obvious. That wasn't his style. But it became a little habit: checking the training schedule to see which squad you'd be assisting, adjusting his route to pass by your sparring sessions, lingering in the break room just long enough to catch you on your way out.

Every conversation seemed to start the same: Narumi this, Narumi that. But the topics never stayed there.

It wasn't that Hoshina particularly cared about Narumi's embarrassing teenage habits or what kind of convenience store snacks he hoarded during missions. In truth, he already knew more than he wanted to about his so-called rival.

But the truth was—he didn't know how else to talk to you.

You were quiet in a way that made him second-guess himself. Not in a cold or dismissive way, but... careful. Measured. Like someone who didn't waste words, who didn't offer pieces of themselves unless they had a reason to.

And Hoshina—who was good with a blade, good with tactics, good with knowing when a kaiju would strike—found himself fumbling every time he wanted to start a conversation with you.

So he latched onto the one thing he could use as a bridge: Narumi.

It was easy. Familiar ground. Pretend he was digging for dirt on an old rival. It gave him an excuse to approach, to linger, to ask questions without seeming too invested.

But somewhere along the way, those questions shifted.

He'd start with a sarcastic jab about Narumi's stupid sunglasses collection or how he probably texts with too many emojis—but then you'd respond with a little smirk, a raised brow, and somehow the conversation would drift.

To your favorite childhood show.

To how you once spent an entire weekend trying to teach a rescued crow how to mimic a ringtone. To the fact that you secretly preferred stormy days to sunny ones—not because of the weather, but because people stayed indoors and it felt quieter.

And Hoshina found himself… wanting more.

Not more Narumi stories.

More of you.

You weren't shy the way some people were. You weren't afraid. You just took your time.

You waited to feel safe.

And with him, little by little, you were starting to.

One evening, as the sun set over the base and cast long shadows across the practice yard, he saw you sitting on the edge of the low concrete wall, a bento box in your lap, a stray cat curled at your feet.

He should've kept walking. Let you have your peace. But instead, he said, "Didn't take you for a cat whisperer."

You looked up. "He's not mine."

"He looks like he thinks he is."

You chuckled softly. "Most animals are better company than people."

"Even me?"

You paused. Then shrugged. "You're okay."

He let out a breath of amusement and sat down beside you, not too close. Comfortable.

And for a long moment, neither of you spoke. The cat purred. The wind shifted. Something settled between you then—quiet, easy, real.

And Hoshina realized with a small, almost imperceptible frown…

He hadn't asked about Narumi once.

It started with the laugh.

Not just any laugh—a real one. Unfiltered. Sudden. Loud in a way that startled both of you. You'd been walking side by side after a patrol check, Hoshina telling you about a story from when he was still a recruit. The story wasn't even that funny.

But the way you snorted halfway through his sentence—so unexpected, so out of rhythm with your usual soft tone—made Hoshina stop in his tracks. You clapped a hand over your mouth instantly, cheeks flushing.

"Sorry," you muttered. "That was... louder than I meant."

He blinked. Then grinned, slow and easy. "Didn't know you had it in you."

You looked away, flustered, but not retreating. And something shifted in his chest.

It happened again a few days later—only this time, it wasn't laughter that caught his attention. It was the way you crouched beside a beat-up vending machine outside the base, cooing softly to a stray gecko tucked beneath the metal casing like it was some kind of rare treasure.

"They're good luck, you know," you said without looking up.

Hoshina stared. "That thing's missing a tail."

"It'll grow back."

You gently reached out and nudged the gecko toward a safer spot behind the building. When you stood, brushing your hands off on your uniform, you didn't even seem to notice the way Hoshina was watching you.

Or maybe you did. You just didn't mind anymore.

He started seeing it everywhere after that.

The way your shoulders relaxed when it was just the two of you. The way your voice dropped into something low and amused when you were teasing him—barely audible sarcasm, so dry it took him a second to register it as a joke.

You didn't talk a lot, but when you did? You had opinions. Strong ones. About game mechanics. About poorly written female characters in TV shows. About how mint chocolate was not "real dessert" and anyone who thought so was just wrong.

You got passionate. You rambled when you were comfortable. He noticed how your words sped up when you got excited, and how your hands moved more than usual. He noticed how, when you were really thinking—really focusing—you stuck the tip of your tongue out, just a little, between your lips.

He noticed all of it.

He noticed you.

And he fully stopped pretending it was about Narumi.

There was a moment—late one evening, after a long day of training and a longer one of paperwork—when Hoshina looked up from his half-finished report and realized he'd spent the last five minutes just... thinking about you.

Not anything dramatic. Not anything romantic, even.

Just... you.

The sound of your voice when you greeted him that morning. The way your hair fell over your brow when you sparred without tying it back. How you'd frowned in concentration during a strategy meeting, then mumbled something sarcastic under your breath that only he caught.

His pen stilled in his hand.

"Shit," he muttered, staring down at the paper.

Because it wasn't curiosity anymore. It wasn't about rivalries or recon or understanding some odd, unlikely friendship.

He liked you.

He really liked you.

The slow, inevitable kind of like—the kind that built itself up without asking permission. That sneaked in through all the small details and settled into your bones before you even realized it was there.

And now that he'd noticed?

There was no un-noticing you.

Once Hoshina realized how he felt, everything changed—and at the same time, nothing did.

You didn't notice anything different. He still met you in the hallway with a casual nod. Still made snarky comments about Narumi just to see you roll your eyes. Still walked with you after drills like it was an accident, not the result of a very deliberate timing of his steps.

But now he was aware of it.

The way he found excuses to pass your squad's training field. The way he let others handle the paperwork if it meant he could be on-site when you were supervising the new recruits. The way your presence steadied his nerves, even on days when kaiju reports flooded in faster than his team could respond.

He wasn't subtle—not to himself, anyway.

And that was a problem.

Because you weren't like the others. You didn't fall for charm. You didn't chase attention. You were shy around people you didn't trust, and even now, after weeks of working together, Hoshina knew you hadn't let many people in.

But with him, you'd started to open up.

Just a little.

And he didn't want to do anything to scare you back into that shell.

So he kept it simple. Careful.

"I brought coffee," he said one morning, holding out the cup like it was nothing. Just a habit. Not a softening of the heart that made him remember how you liked yours—black, with just a splash of oat milk.

You blinked at him, surprised. "Thanks."

"No big deal." He shrugged. "You looked half-dead yesterday."

You took a sip, smiling faintly. "That's just my face."

He chuckled. "Harsh, but fair."

You fell into a rhythm, as usual. Comfortable silences. A few offhand jokes. You told him about the game you'd just finished—something with a tragic ending and a character death you hadn't recovered from yet.

"Why do you always pick the depressing ones?" he asked, watching you speak more with your hands than your words.

"Because they mean something," you said, almost automatically. Then you hesitated. "I like when stories feel... real. Messy. People who are trying their best, even if they're scared."

He didn't reply right away.

But something about the way you said it stayed with him long after the conversation ended.

That night, as he sat on the rooftop with a can of soda and the city lights flickering in the distance, Hoshina thought about your words.

People who were scared. People who tried anyway. People who didn't show all their pieces right away, but offered them slowly, like something fragile.

You were opening up to him. Little by little.

He could see it in so many different ways. And maybe you didn't even realize it. Maybe you weren't there yet.

But he was.

Fully. Completely.

No more pretending it was about Narumi. No more excuses.

He was falling. Hard.

And now, for the first time, he began to wonder—really wonder—if maybe you were falling, too.

The shift was subtle at first.

A longer pause after your conversations. A second coffee, handed over without a word but with your favorite pastry tucked under the lid. Hoshina never said he got it just for you — but he never brought anyone else breakfast, either.

You noticed. He could tell you did.

He wasn't sure if it was your slight double-takes, the flickers of amusement in your eyes, or the way you started lingering, too — just a few extra seconds, waiting for him to fill the silence like you wanted him to.

So, he started pushing his luck.

"Training's done early tomorrow," he mentioned one evening, walking beside you as the sun dipped low behind the base. "You doing anything after?"

You shrugged. "Nothing important."

"You like ramen?"

You blinked. "I'm human. Of course I do."

"Then come with me," he said. "There's a spot in Tachikawa. Not too fancy, but solid pork broth. Good spice level. The guy behind the counter pretends not to know Narumi."

That made you smirk. "Sounds like a wise man."

He grinned. "I think you'll like it."

You didn't say no.

That first outing wasn't technically a date. Just two colleagues grabbing a bite. That's how he phrased it, and you didn't challenge it. But the tension was there — electric, unspoken.

You opened up more that night.

Told him about your first kaiju kill. How it still showed up in your dreams sometimes, but not like a nightmare — just a moment you couldn't forget.

He listened, quiet and steady, not offering platitudes or praise. Just presence.

And when you both left the ramen shop under a warm yellow glow, your arms brushed. Neither of you pulled away.

After that, the "accidental" run-ins happened more often. Too often to be coincidence.

He'd find you outside the barracks, feeding that same stray cat — now fat and confident and clearly adopted, even if unofficially.

You'd spot him waiting by the vending machines during your break, already cracking open your favorite canned tea before you could even swipe your ID.

One night, you texted him first.

You: That new kaiju docuseries drops tonight. The one with the real flight footage? You: Don't tell anyone but I cried at the trailer. You: …Wanna watch it?

He answered faster than he should have.

Hoshina: Only if you provide popcorn. Hoshina: I'll bring tissues.

That night, you both watched the screen more than each other. But when a shadowed explosion rocked the footage and your hand accidentally brushed his, you didn't move away.

And neither did he.

It was after a long day of drills — summer heat clinging to every breath, both of you sweaty and sun-drenched from sparring under a brutal sky — that he finally did it.

You were both sitting on the low wall near the edge of the practice yard. You were barefoot, boots tossed beside you, shirt clinging to your back from the effort.

He looked at you. You looked at the horizon.

And something in the stillness felt right. 

"I've been thinking," he said.

You glanced at him, one brow raised. "Dangerous."

He smiled, then looked down at his hands. "Yeah, well... it happens. Rarely."

You chuckled softly, but he didn't laugh this time.

Instead, he turned to face you fully. "I like you."

You blinked.

His voice stayed quiet. Unforced. Honest. "Not just as a squadmate. Or someone who helps me keep Narumi humble. I mean... really like you."

You didn't look away. Didn't fidget. Just watched him, like you were waiting for the punchline. When it didn't come, you tilted your head.

"And this isn't about him?"

"Not even a little," he said.

Silence stretched between you. The air buzzed with something electric, something new, even though everything else around you was exactly the same.

Finally, you spoke.

"I thought maybe you did. But you're hard to read sometimes."

"Right back at you," he said with a soft smile. "So I'll say it clearly this time: I want to take you out. A real date. No mission talk, no Narumi slander. Just us."

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then, slowly — like it cost you nothing and everything at once — you nodded.

"Okay."

And the way you said it — like it was a quiet promise — made Hoshina's chest feel like it might crack open.

Not from battle. Not from pain.

From hope.

Masterlist

[woso-dreamzzz]

Languages

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Jessie Fleming x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You don't want to speak your English

In Canada, almost everyone speaks English as their first language. It's simple and easy to communicate and even those from the French-speaking provinces can speak English too.

At Chelsea, the team was from all across the world so the blend of accents and languages made it difficult to communicate sometimes.

But, Jessie's biggest challenge to date after leaving Canada, is communicating with you.

You're Magda and Pernille's little girl so you speak Swedish and Danish. You were born in Germany though so Jessie supposes you speak German too despite how little you are. Your English is practically non-existent to Jessie's ears though.

Either you can't speak it just yet or you're refusing to because the only English Jessie's heard you speak is the word 'no' when Magda tried to feed you sweetcorn at lunch a few weeks ago.

You communicate exclusively with your mothers in a different language to English despite the way Magda's pressing you to speak it.

You're sweet though, a loveable little girl with a lot of energy and a penchant for stealing footballs.

Jessie just wishes there was another way to communicate with you, especially when you wander over to her in the queue for lunch with a plate.

"Huh? What's up?"

You're look up at her with big wide eyes and smile. You say something and Jessie just stares.

"Sorry, what was that?"

You repeat the word again and present Jessie your plate.

"Oh...wow, cool plate."

Evidently, it's the wrong thing to say because you stamp your foot and repeat the word.

Jessie's still drawing a blank.

You switch what you're saying now - another word Jessie doesn't understand - and then you say something completely different again.

She still can't understand you and she can clearly see that you're getting annoyed with her.

"Er..."

"Maybe," Comes Magda's pointed voice," If you spoke your English, princesse, then Jessie will understand you."

"No!"

That's your favourite English word and Magda rolls her eyes, taking your plate.

"She wanted the chicken," Magda explains with a laugh, placing your desired meat on your plate.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be. Princesse knows she should be practicing her English."

"No!" Your little voice insists and Magda looks down at you fondly, a hand coming up to stroke through your hair.

"Yes. You should be practice your English."

"No!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Nej!"

Magda sighs, shaking her head softly before taking you back over to your lunch table with Jessie trailing after.

Now that Jessie's looking out for it, it becomes much more obvious to her just how often you blend your languages. She's not an expert on Swedish and Danish but she can recognise German and has to smother her laughter on many occasions when requests for food or questions are done by using at least two languages.

You jump between words easily and without even batting an eye and it seems only Pernille's the one completely fluent in Princesse speak.

You're getting better though, branching out to one or two words of English every so often when it's just you and Jessie.

You're steadfast in your refusal to speak English to Magda outside of your usual one word answer of 'no'.

Currently, it's you, Jessie and Pernille in the break room.

Everyone else has either already gone home or, like Magda, stuck in meetings or doing media. Pernille and Jessie are free to go home but Jessie's coming over after training is over and Pernille and Magda share the car so you're all waiting for Magda to finish up so you can finally go.

You're sitting on the floor with Jessie, playing around with girl-swan and girl-moose. You stop playing for a moment, frowning to yourself before calling out to Momma in a jumbled mess of Swedish, Danish and Germany, pointing to the bag of toys on Jessie's other side.

"Ask Jessie, princesse," Pernille says and you huff.

You make your request again to Pernille but she gives you a look.

"Jessie's closer," She says and you pout.

Jessie braces herself for the jumbled mess of languages about to come out of your mouth and the mad scramble to guess what you want before you get annoyed.

You open your mouth.

Jessie readies herself.

"Building blocks, please Jessie," You say," In the bag."

Jessie's mouth hangs open in shock.

You frown at her, pointing this time. "Building blocks, please."

Mutely, Jessie hands them to you and you beam.

"Going to be a castle," You tell her earnestly," And we can knock it down!"

[acornsalessealsstamps]

[bratkook]

deep six: dancing with death. (m) jjk

part one. part two. v-day drabble

pairing. biker!jk x reader genre. smut, fluff warnings. infidelity (but its ok i promise), protected s*x, oral, jungkook is kinda whiny and that itself deserves a warning, they're just fluffy and mushy and love each other they just dont know it yet word count. 12.2k summary. you've always known to stay away from the tombstone patches, told they were the enemy, that you'd be betraying your club if you chose not to listen. but an unsuspected friendship makes you think that maybe not everyone was as bad as you were made to believe. author’s note. hihiiii, this is a prequel to the deep six series! aka how jungkook and oc start their friendship and have it blossom into what it becomes in part one of deep six. i truly love these two so much, something about their forbidden love and how jungkook is tough and dangerous but oh so sweet to her makes me fucking melt!!! ok hope u enjoy it bye ily muah

The world is a constant blur, days merging, memories hazy and bleeding together in your mind. The only time you enjoy the blur is now, sitting on your bike as you flow through the streets. Exiting Cobra territory made you feel free, the streets widening up the further you got, allowing you to cruise without the fear of getting swiped by a careless driver. 

Your eyes fall shut briefly, taking a slow breath as you try to push the earlier feelings away. Minho was having a bad day, a deal he had hoped to make to start running ice falling through, the man in charge deciding to go with a neighboring club instead. It wasn’t your fault the man thought Minho was too hot headed and messy to not find a way to mess this deal up, wanting a club with more reach, more connections and reliability than the Cobras could offer. That didn’t stop Minho from treating you like it was your fault, doing what he did best before barking orders at you to go for a run, desperately needing alcohol to drown his emotions. 

The earlier fear still rattles you, leaves your fingers trembling slightly as they clutch the handles and accelerate. He couldn’t hurt you here, and that's all the comfort you need at the moment, finally pulling into the familiar parking lot of the bodega. There’s a few cars parked inside, a lone scooter tossed by the sidewalk, and a shiny black bike parked by the entrance. 

You eye it for a moment, always checking for visible tags that let you know if the bike belonged to a club that had the Cobra’s high on their hit list. It’d be easy to act dumb if it was, no identifying items on you, knowing better than to roam the streets without Minho with a serpent stamped on you. 

When you find nothing you decide it’s fine, knowing you were on a time crunch to get what he wanted. With another slow breath you step off your bike, already feeling your earlier nerves fade away as you enter your comfort space. It seems odd to consider it one, but something about the buzzing fluorescent lighting and peeling laminate made you feel like an individual. 

Music plays through a portable speaker by the cashier, the worker greeting you with a smile that you return before you turn down your favorite aisle. That’s when you spot him again. The Deep Six member in the same spot he was in the last time you saw him a few weeks ago. It had been a close encounter then, not realizing who he was with your boyfriend standing outside. But his arms are revealed to you now, markings on his skin making it clear what club he belonged to, leaving no room for confusion. If that somehow wasn’t enough the giant patches on his vest and the glimmering rings on his fingers spell it out, literally. 

You approach him slowly, not sure if you trust him but not fully on edge like you were before, knowing Minho’s watchful eyes weren’t observing your every move. Without the ticking bomb a few feet away you allow yourself to slightly relax in the presence of him, assuming he had no idea who you were, clearly too focused on his candy selection. 

Sure you were on a run for Minho but you always pick something up for yourself. A small smile is already on your lips as your eyes land on the sour straws, ready to pick your flavor of choice, only to find it completely empty. Instantly you know the culprit is the man next to you, remembering the way you had reached for the same candy last time you saw him here by chance, and as you turn to stare at him you see his palms cradling four packets of the sour straws, a teasing smile on his face as he meets your eyes. Greedy. 

“Sorry,” he breathes out, sounding anything but, trying desperately not to laugh and failing as he makes his way to the front to pay. You don’t even respond to him, admitting defeat as you settle on the green apple flavored ones before you return to your earlier task, finding a case of Minho’s favorite beer and paying for it. 

The heat welcomes you once more outside, loading up the beer and candy into the saddlebags on the side of your bike, already forgetting about the candy thief from inside. 

“Hey, Snake!” A voice cuts through the air, making you freeze as you search for it, finding the Six standing by the shiny black bike you had spotted earlier. He reaches into his pocket, still smiling as he pulls out the blue raspberry sour straw packet, tossing it your way with ease. 

You catch it with both palms, momentarily stunned at the small gesture and at the fact that he clearly knew you were associated with the Cobras. The rumble of his engine snaps you out of it, smiling slightly as you look up at him once more, a breathless thank you escaping your lips before he is smiling back and peeling out of the parking lot. 

When you live the life you do, constantly on edge with a paranoid boyfriend questioning everyone’s intentions, it's hard not to let his way of thinking affect your own. Even as you sit back at the clubhouse, holding onto that packet of candy, you can’t help but wonder if maybe the Six’s seemingly sweet gesture was a trap. Maybe he was testing to see how gullible you are, stupid enough to interact with him, to use you to send a message to the Cobras. It wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s reign made you an easy target, knowing you had a lot of enemies that would love to make a lesson of you. 

It's been so long since anyone has shown you genuine kindness with no strings attached, and as you finally enjoy your treat, you can’t stop the warm feeling of hope in your chest that maybe not everyone was as bad as you were made to believe. 

You don’t return to your comfort space again until two weeks later, on another run for the club. Minho seemed to think if he gave you pointless errands to run you’d be satisfied, content with the loveless relationship and mundane everyday life. It was his way of keeping you on a leash, making you follow orders and letting the lead slacken up, only tightening it back up to remind you he was all you had. But you’d take the small moments of peace wherever you could get them. 

The lot is empty today as you pull in, the only car belonging to the worker inside. The moment of solitude only lasts for a minute, a loud rumble cutting through the air as another bike pulls in beside you. You tense up immediately, whipping your head to assess the situation, spotting the familiar Six too lost in his thoughts to realize you were here. He furrows his brows as he takes off his helmet, adjusting the large rings on his fingers before he glances your way, jumping slightly when he notices it's you. 

You eye him curiously, hands coming up to the key in the ignition, ready to start it up and tail out of here if he made a move. Minho had made a claim of some other club trying to ambush a deal earlier today, an unlucky hangout being the only one hurt, but without an identifying patch it left him on edge more than normal. So far the Six didn’t make you feel like you had to be wary, but you couldn’t be so sure. 

He seems to sense it, his arms raising up in surrender as he stays on his bike. “It’s okay snake, I don’t bite.” He smiles at his own stupid remark, but it slowly falls off his face when he sees the stoic expression remains on yours. “Seriously though, I’m just here for some smokes and a treat. I can go somewhere else if it really makes you this uncomfortable though.”

“Why aren’t you somewhere else to begin with?” you bite back, still not trusting that he wasn’t trying to trap you. 

Jungkook just sighs, hand coming up to ruffle up his helmet hair. “It’s nice to get away sometimes. This is neutral grounds, you know as best as I do that anything club related done here is a death wish.” He lets you process his statement, seeing the way you continue to eye him, your gaze tracing along the patches he wears. The large tombstone taunts you, torn and a little rugged on the edges, showing just how long he’s been wearing it. “Why aren’t you somewhere on your side of town?”

You purse your lips, looking away from him as you pull your hand away from your key, getting off your bike, deciding this conversation was better to have inside your little safe space. “Like you said, it’s nice to get away sometimes.” You hook your helmet over your handle, reaching the bodega’s door and holding it open as you look back at him. “You coming?”

He seems to snap out of it, quickly hopping off his bike and jogging your way, saying a quick greeting to the worker before going down the familiar aisle. He smiles when he sees you next to those damn sour straws. 

“Those must be your favorite huh?”

You give him a quick glance, seeing the smile on his lips before you turn back and grab a packet of the candy. “They are, so try not to take all of them at once again.”

He lets out a soft laugh, reaching forward and grabbing a couple of the same. “I gave you one last time, which says a lot because I don’t really like sharing.”

“A Six that doesn’t like sharing? That’s not surprising.” Your words are light, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you turn around and continue roaming the aisle. 

“Not as surprising as a Snake trying to tell me what to do.” The crinkling of plastic fills the store as he rips open his packet, taking a bite of a sour straw as he tries to hide his own smile when you give him an eye roll. 

“I’m not technically a Snake,” you mutter out, finger tracing along the chocolate bar you were contemplating grabbing. It wasn’t a lie, you didn’t wear the patch, you weren’t granted the perks of being a part of the club, nothing you said held any weight on the decisions they made. You weren’t a Cobra, you just belonged to one of them. Though that didn’t seem like the wisest thing to tell him, you knew the history between Deep Six and the Cobras, and telling him you belonged to Minho of all people would put you high up on his list of people to hurt if he had bad intentions to begin with. 

“Oh? You just like to hang on to the back of one then?”

“Something like that,” you sigh, deciding not to grab the extra treat, turning to look at him fully once more. “Are you gonna keep calling me a snake?”

His tongue prods along his cheek as he looks down at you, eyebrow slowly cocking up. “What would you rather I call you?”

“Y/N.”

He nods slowly, letting your name settle into his mind before he was reaching his hand out, the golden glimmering rings spelling out SIX shining in the light. You eye his hand for a minute before grabbing it in a gentle handshake, seeing the way he smiles before saying his own name. 

“Jungkook.”

Jungkook was proud of his club, wore his patch with pride, did everything he could to show his loyalty. So why was he starting to tell white lies to his brothers, making up excuses to justify why he was going to the bodega on neutral grounds directly after finishing a job. He knew what would happen if they knew who he was talking to, slowly befriending. His only rational excuse was the fact that you had said you weren’t technically a Cobra, and although he’s not sure how well that would hold up to the rest of his members, it was the only excuse that helped ease his guilt. 

He was currently sat on the small sidewalk outside of the bodega, elbows leaning on his knees as he glanced around the empty lot. You had been meeting here once every week or so. He had started to take note of the typical times you’d be sent on runs of your own, choosing to coincidentally run into you at the same time. You had yet to arrive today though, leaving him waiting for fifteen minutes, wondering if maybe you wouldn’t be showing up today. 

Just before he decides to head out, you pull into the lot on your Dyna, a smile on your face when you spot him sitting on the sidewalk like a child. 

“You’re late,” he calls out, grabbing a packet of candy and tossing it your way when you get off your bike and head towards him. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware we had a time set for our little play dates.” You open up the candy, taking a bite and shutting your eyes at the sour taste. Jungkook laughs at your expression, patting the sidewalk beside him for you to settle into. 

“I can’t be left unsupervised, you should know this by now.”

You laugh now, taking a look at the bodega and the surrounding area. “Nothing seems to be destroyed, I think you do just fine unsupervised.”

He leans back on his palm, raking back his dark hair as he stares into the sky in thought. “I tend to cause psychological damage, not too big on destroying property.”

“Got it. So you torture people?”

Jungkook chuckles, turning to look at you slightly, a small twinkle of mischief flashing in his eyes as he smiles. “Exactly.”

You can only laugh, not exactly sure how truthful he was being with his little joke. The both of you made an effort to not discuss the intricacies of your clubs, not entirely sure what it was that you both did for them, knowing things would get too messy and tangled up if you did. Instead you talk about yourselves, knowing small anecdotes of each other’s childhoods, recounting stories of when he took a few tumbles on his bike when he was just starting to learn to ride, ones of you before the life of the Cobras was all you knew. 

It was a brief moment of normalcy, being able to talk to someone else, laughing over dumb jokes while sharing candy. It made you forget how twisted all of it was until you returned back home. 

Jungkook just appreciated having a new friend, someone to talk to about things that didn’t have to do with his club. He just wished he could talk to you in moments that lasted longer than the brief bodega hang outs. So as you both finish up, loading up your bike with the items you were told to come pick up, he takes a leap of faith. 

“Hey, can I—uh. Can I have your number?” He looks uncharacteristically shy as he asks this, one hand rubbing along the back of his neck. “To arrange our play dates,” he adds jokingly, a small smile on his lips in hopes of softening the blow of potential rejection as he reaches for his phone and hands it over. 

You freeze instantly, staring at his device as the voice in your head tells you not to, screams that this would get you in trouble. But the hopeful look on his face is enough to shut it up, grabbing his phone with a nod. “Sure, but uhm, I can’t text often.”

His brows furrow slightly at the tone you use, watching the way you type in your number and text yourself. Something about it made it seem like you were nervous, and the only thing he can assume is that the people you were around would grow curious over who you were texting. 

“Why? Scared your Snake friends would be pissed that a Six is texting you?” His tone is playful, but as you hand him his phone back, the look on your face makes his smile slowly fade away. 

“My boyfriend, specifically.”

Jungkook feels his heart drop at the revelation. He knew you were most likely involved with a Cobra, having seen you the first time you met on the back of one’s bike—more specifically, Minho’s bike. He had just assumed you were Minho’s chosen girl for the day, but if you were mentioning a boyfriend now, Jungkook could easily piece together who exactly that is. 

The third cardinal rule of his club replays in the back of his mind, “Never get involved with a Cobra”. It makes his head hurt, desperately trying to find a deeper excuse, a loophole to allow this to continue. It shouldn’t mean anything, you two were just friendly, barely even toeing that line as it was. But just knowing you were spoken for, by the leader of the Cobras especially, made the guilt he already felt for speaking to you get worse. 

But he does his best to shake it off, drowning out his thoughts as he takes his phone back and shrugs. 

“We’re just two people who share a love for sour straws, but if it makes you feel better you text me whenever you want.”

You don’t text him for a while, the fear of your tiny little secret being exposed keeps you from responding to the text you had sent yourself from his phone. There was also the small feeling of guilt festering in your stomach, feeling like you had lied to him by keeping your relationship a secret. All he had assumed from the get go was that you liked to hang around Cobras, but you noticed the way his face had changed when you mentioned a boyfriend, and you can only imagine how he’d react if you told him your boyfriend was the leader of the Cobras. 

You find yourself staring at your device any chance you get, hidden in the bathroom of your place, lounging on the couch in the clubhouse, until you finally get the courage to send the first text. It makes your heart race, saving his number under your best friend's name, changing the emoji at the end so you know the difference, going as far as putting his messages on do not disturb. Clearly hiding, keeping him a secret. 

Jungkook knows it's wrong, because he’s keeping it a secret too. But once that first text was sent, they never stopped. He responds when he has time in between club duties, knowing you’ll reply when you get a moment alone. Your messages are short, random conversations that never crossed any lines, but he meant what he said, taking full advantage of having your number to coordinate your play dates. 

The guilt you feel slowly fades away with each passing day, becoming comfortable in your ways as you let him know what days you’ll be on that side of town, and before you know it, your hang outs become your favorite thing. You slowly start to consider Jungkook your friend, another rare slice of peace in your messy life. It makes you feel like your younger self, excited to speak to a cute boy and laugh until your cheeks hurt. 

And it should make you feel icky to have these thoughts about someone who wasn’t your boyfriend, but your relationship with Minho had been romantically dead for years now, not able to remember the last time he did something for you that didn’t solely benefit him. So you choose to enjoy the small flutters in your stomach that occur around Jungkook, allowing yourself to sit closer to him each time, friendly touches beginning to get more courageous while still toeing the line. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind it, he thought you were pretty and would let you trace the patches on his jacket or analyze his tattoos up close if that's what you wanted. You were the one with a boyfriend, who was he to tell you what was right or wrong for you to do, he wasn’t one to judge or pull a morality card on you considering the things he does in his club. It was all mostly innocent anyways, even now as you stand a good few feet away from each other, respective candy in each other's hands, attempting to toss them into your mouths. 

It was innocent. 

“God, your aim is horrible!” you laugh out, feeling the candy hit your forehead and bounce right off. 

“What are you talking about? That was a clear headshot.” He has that charming smirk on his face as he says it, tongue flicking against his lip ring while he laughs too. 

“You’re not trying to kill me Jungkook, we’re trying to see who wins first.” You swat the remnants of sugar off your face as you reach into your own bag for a piece of candy, motioning for him to be ready. He gets into position, slightly bending his knees and angling his head back with his mouth open, ready to catch whatever you throw. With a small snicker you grab four small pieces of candy, aiming right for his face with one eye shut and sending them flying. Jungkook is totally unsuspecting until suddenly, he’s being pelted all over his face, his eyes squeezing shut at the shock. 

“Dude,” he laughs, eyes finally opening up to spot you cackling away, perfectly content at your little stunt. 

“Okay, okay sorry. For real this time. I got it, I can feel it in my bones.” Jungkook should tell you no, say you wasted your turn and deliver payback, but you look too happy right now for him to do anything but smile and nod as he gets back into position once more. He sees the way you bring your hand close to your face, shutting one eye to try to aim, tongue slightly poking out in concentration before you toss the candy across a few feet of distance. 

Jungkook doesn’t even register that the candy successfully landed in his mouth until you’re gasping in shock. That’s when his eyes widen, his mouth shutting as he begins to chew, standing up straight and feeling his heart start to warm at how proud you look at having beat him. He closes the distance between you, extending a hand out for a high five that you gladly give him. 

Now that you’re closer, you see all the sprinkles of sugar on his face. It dusts along his cheekbones and the top of his nose, looking like small freckles on his skin. You give him an endearing smile as you cup his face and swipe it away from his skin. You do it without thinking really, tips of your fingers gently flicking away the evidence of your tiny prank. 

Jungkook’s chest tightens at the soft gesture, eyes wide as he watches you, too scared to move, almost like it would startle you or make you come to your senses and remember he was a Six. He chooses to just focus on how soft your hand feels against his cheek, how sweet you sound when you say he looks like a mess, your eyes filled with what he hopes is the same adoration he has as you look up at him, a lot closer than you need to be.

Jungkook knows all the sugar is gone now but you’re still there, thumb rubbing along his cheek, tracing the scar under his eye while your gaze lands on the piercing on his lip. He holds his breath when you look up at him once more, and maybe it's his wishful thinking but he swears the way you look at him tells him to make a move, so he does. Slowly at first, wanting to give you a chance to deny his advances, but you meet his lips before he can close the distance himself.

The innocence is gone now. Jungkook had felt something brewing with each of your interactions, chalking it off to pure friendliness, but he knows a small spark had been lit the second you started speaking to each other. 

The kiss burns, the guilt and betrayal to his club clawing at his mind but he doesn't care, welcoming it as he deepens it, sliding his hand into your hair and focusing on the way you let out a soft breath as he does so. It makes your mind spin, your hands gently looping around his neck to bring him closer. You don’t have time to think, too enveloped in the way his piercing feels against your lips, how his fingers softly rake through your hair, how he takes a deep breath when you kiss him back harder. 

It's brief, a small moment of weakness led by temptation, but you can’t deny how you both feel exhilarated, wide eyes and smiles on your faces when you pull back. "You taste like candy," you giggle.

“Your favorite,” he mumbles, still close enough to nudge the tip of his nose along yours. His voice is low as he lets reality settle, slowly inching back, his eyes meeting yours and seeing the small clouds of panic start to form around you. Reality seems to be hitting you too, fear of what would happen to him if Minho ever found out, or what would happen to you if he even had an inkling. A small harmless crush had just passed over into dangerous territory. 

“Hey,” Jungkook starts softly, hand gently coming to rest on your shoulder to bring you back to the present. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“No, but it does,” you groan. It did mean something, it didn’t matter how small it seemed, but you know the kiss meant something. Your small panic had nothing to do with being unfaithful, you knew Minho cheated on you with any girls who were willing to show their loyalty to the club, and if it kept him off of you then you didn’t mind it. You were scared to put Jungkook in danger. “It means something and my boyfriend’s crazy, he’ll kill both of us if he finds out.”

“I know he is.” He shrugs, looking directly at you, seeing the shocked look on your face at his admission. 

“You know what?” you whisper. 

“I know he’s a psycho. I kind of put two and two together when you mentioned a boyfriend. It is Minho right?” When you nod slowly, still unsure how to respond he just continues speaking. “But look, I know. All of it. I know I’m not supposed to be speaking to you, let alone kissing you and enjoying it, but it happened. I know it’s wrong, that I should feel bad and I don’t, but I also know where my loyalties lie within the club and what rules I’m willing to bend. If you’re saying it means something, then it does.”

You can only stare at him, feeling the clouds of panic start to fade. “But I'm telling you, I know what's at risk and I won’t be using it to harm you.”

“I mean…it is both our asses on the line,” you mumble out, still feeling his hand on your shoulder. He smiles at your words now, making you slowly smile back. 

“So, we’re taking it to our graves?” His voice is light again, the playful tone you were used to back. When you nod he smiles wider. “Cool, should we kiss on it?”

Jungkook laughs when you shove his shoulder with a cackle, rolling your eyes as you step back, walking back into the bodega to get what you came for. “You’re so unserious. Get away from me.”

The issue with this imaginary line being crossed is that it leaves you thinking “what’s next”, constantly wondering just what else you could get away with. One kiss shared turns into two which turns into five, given so casually it feels like second nature. It seems like both of your guards have dropped now, more at ease with each other, touches getting as bold as they could in public. 

“Are you sure my skin isn’t gonna burn off?” you joke, laughing when Jungkook gives you an eye roll. His jacket is in his hands, shaking it off before he’s swinging it around your frame, helping you slide your arms into it. He had jokingly said it would swallow you whole, and you honestly just wanted an excuse to be closer to him so when he suggested you try it on you couldn’t deny him. 

“You might burst into flames, so just drop and roll baby.” He snickers when you playfully glare at him. Jungkook looks down at you with a smile, his hands smoothing the collar before he’s taking a step back to admire how the large leather jacket looked on you. The patches cover the arms and back, his first initial, last name and rank displayed over the left breast pocket, something your finger comes up to trace absentmindedly.  

“I don’t know, the jacket suits you. You sure you don’t wanna become a Six?”

“Very funny Jungkook. They’ll be putting a Cobra on my tombstone when I’m dead.” 

He waves you off, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Let me live in my fantasy world, yeah?”

“Your fantasy world involves me being a Six?” you giggle, looking up at him with a sly smile.

“Don’t kink shame me. Now smile for the picture,” he sings out, bending down as he extends his arm out, ready to take a selfie. You had yet to take photos of you both, too scared to be caught by Minho, but you allowed Jungkook to document your newly formed friendship as much as he wanted, knowing he had less to worry about when it came to snooping. 

Your arms wrap around him, the tombstone patch on display as you both smile widely for the picture. He looks at it with a cheeky grin, mumbling out how cute he thought it was before putting his phone away. 

“Do you need the usual for your run today?” he asks, knowing Minho always had you stocking up his alcohol. 

“Not today. I’m technically supposed to be locked inside our place. A few Cobra’s headed out of state this morning for a meeting.”

Jungkook hums, having briefly heard of an arms deal happening out of state, he just hadn’t been aware it was the Cobra’s doing. “Why didn’t you go with?”

“Too risky.” You lean back against the textured wall of the building, still cozy in his jacket. Minho loved to have you right by his side at all times, so if he said it was safer for you to stay here then you wouldn’t question him. “He has to make sure his prized possession stays safe.”

Jungkook laughs, slinging an arm around you and bringing you to his side obnoxiously. “Well you tell him I have that covered.”

“Jungkook, he’d cut your tongue out. Stop it!” you cackle. 

“I’d like to see him fucking try,” he grunts out, enjoying the way you playfully swat at him. He’d like to think he could have Minho’s head served on a silver platter if he ever got close enough to put his hands on him. 

“What about you? Any fun club plans after our playdate?”

Jungkook sighs, a smile still on his face. “Nope. I’m officially clocked out.” Your laugh is felt against his side, only making his smile widen. “I just have to stop by the clubhouse to grab something before heading home.”

“How far is the clubhouse from here?” You’re looking up at him with a twinkle in your eye, your smile still as sweet as can be, but he senses some undertone that he hopes he isn’t imagining. 

“Not far, about 20 minutes. Why? You want a tour?”

That was all he had to ask before you were following his bike down the busy streets on his side of town. His jacket is still on you, providing you with a small sense of security, knowing if anyone spotted you they’d assume you were with him. It leaves you at ease, entering the secure lot of his clubhouse, coming to a stop beside him and glancing around as you take off your helmet. 

It’s empty, a few cars parked around that looked like they were in need of repair, but no other bikes or lingering people. Jungkook steps off his bike, motioning for you to follow him, excited at showing you his favorite place. 

As you follow his lead you instantly see how different Deep Six’s clubhouse is compared to the Cobras. The space is taken care of, decorated thoughtfully, a space made for business as well as hanging out with their friends and families. Touches of the club are nestled around, a large Harley on display on a far wall, a frame showing the timeline and evolution of their patch tucked between other photos, and the most obvious and slightly obnoxious ode to the club comes in the gallery wall displaying all of their mugshots. Cute. 

“It’s nothing fancy,” he mumbles, spreading his arms out as he stands in the middle of the main room. A brown tufted leather couch is right behind him, a giant pool table behind it and a fully loaded bar to the right. 

“Compared to ours it sure is.” The Cobra’s clubhouse was made for business only, the meeting room was kept in pristine condition while the rest of it was only made to be nice enough to house drunken members and whatever hangouts were in the process of joining. 

“Really?” When you nod he just frowns, approaching you to grab your hand and pull you along, trying to show you more. “I’ll show you my space.”

“Your space?” you wonder, smiling when he squeezes your palm lightly, leading you down a hall to the right. A few doors line both walls, different ranks tacked on the middle of them, coming to a stop in front of one that says Road Captain. You had never really paid attention to his rank on his jacket, never really caring to read anyone’s rank in general, but seeing it displayed on this door let you know just how deep his involvement in his club was. 

“Only ranked members get private rooms.” He sounds almost bashful as he says this, grinning before opening up the door and switching on the light. A desk is on the right, paperwork neatly stacked in piles, a dresser is along the other wall with pictures tacked onto a cork board right above it. His bed is in the middle, sheets a dark gray and neatly made. It’s nestled between two windows on either side, letting in the slowly setting sunlight. 

You step into the room, walking to the dresser to look at the photos he has tacked up. He looks younger in some of these, hair messier and longer, no piercing or tattoos yet as he leans on his bike, another member attempting to put him in a headlock. They’re all club photos for the most part, the only one standing out is a photo of a teenage looking Jungkook holding up a diploma with what you can only assume is his parents beside him. 

“Cute,” you mumble out, smiling as you turn back to face him. It was odd to feel this calm around him, so used to the faint ticking heard in your head, reminding you that you were running on borrowed time, forced to interact in small bursts. With Minho completely occupied, the ticking disappears, allowing you to fully enjoy the moment for what it was. 

“I didn’t expect you to be sentimental like this,” you tease, smiling at the way his eyes narrow at you as he approaches, his tongue poking at his cheek as he fights a smile. 

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmurs, standing a foot away from you now, peering down at you with an aura of playfulness surrounding him. Your hands reach out to gently play with the material of his shirt, tugging him even closer. Jungkook could feel the tension, the same slowly growing tension that had been brewing with each day spent together. He can only watch as your hands slowly trail up his stomach, gliding up to gingerly rest against his chest. 

He wanted to kiss you, wanted to feel you gasp against his lips, but the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel like he had suggested showing you his clubhouse to be a total sleaze. Jungkook knew the line had grown blurry, kisses and touches shared with ease, but he wasn’t bold enough to assume you’d be okay with taking anything further. So when you decide to make the first move, leaning up to ghost your lips over his own, he can only hold his breath, eyes fluttering shut when you softly press them together. 

Your hands rest on his shoulders now, holding yourself steady as you kiss him, feeling the way his body melts into it. You pull away with a soft smack of your lips, inching back slightly. “What other surprises do you have?” 

Jungkook holds in a groan when you start to pepper kisses on the corner of his mouth, trailing them down his jaw, gently nipping the skin of his throat right below his ear. You giggle when he shudders, his hands gripping your waist, fingers tightening around you. 

“If you let me, I can show you.” His voice holds a tinge of unsureness, wanting for you to be okay with this without sounding pushy. But Jungkook had been thinking of this since your first kiss so he couldn’t help the desperate tone laced between each syllable. 

“Show me. Show me whatever you want,” you whisper, hand coming up to cup his cheek, looking up at him through your lashes. When his eyes meet yours he finally lets his resolve crack, attaching your lips once more in a heated kiss, finally feeling you gasp against him. 

Jungkook is a little ashamed to admit how easily this was affecting him, his heart already racing in his chest, stomach fluttering with each shared moan, bulge growing in his jeans when your hand slips into his hair and pulls. His hands slide down the material of his jacket you have on, pulling it off your body and tossing it aside without a care. He feels you smile against his lips at the action, clearly enjoying the way his hands roam along your body, desperate to touch you in ways he wasn’t able to before. 

It’s an eager dance to his bed, blindly stepping back as he guides you to it until your knees buckle against the mattress, giggling as you flop onto it. Your arm rests back to hold you steady, other hand gripping onto his shirt to yank him back over you, reattaching your lips in a heated kiss. 

Jungkook laughs into the kiss, his arm wrapping around you to haul you further up the bed properly, slowly pushing you back until you’re flat against the bed. His body settles over you, the cute visual of his hair framing his face is the first thing you see when your eyes flutter open as he pulls back. His eyes are hooded as he stares at you, his hand coming up to gently cradle your jaw, thumb rubbing along your bottom lip as he smirks before dipping back down. 

He kisses the corner of your mouth, following the same trail you had left on him earlier, smiling against your skin when you shudder as he nips your neck. Slowly, his hands slide down your body, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt and tugging it up to reveal your stomach. 

“Can I take this off?” he mumbles, eyes peering up at you for confirmation. When you breathe out a yes, he slides it further up, helping you slip out of your shirt fully before you’re settling on your back again. A thin bralette covers your boobs, lacey cups revealing a glimmer on your nipples that has him tilting his head in curiosity. 

You catch what he’s looking at, smile spreading on your lips as you reach up to touch his jaw, finger gently tapping along the small mole he has below his lips. “I’m full of surprises too,” you mumble, smiling wider when he boldly cups your chest, thumb swiping at your pierced nipple through the lace. 

“I can see that,” he mumurs, voice low and raspy, making your stomach flip. He looks at you once more, brow cocking up in question as his fingers toy with the fabric. You nod your head, knowing what he wanted, allowing him to slip the straps off your shoulders before he’s sliding a palm under your back to properly unclasp your bra, giving himself the perfect view. 

Its hard to ignore the small burst of confidence that surges through you when he groans, eyes hooded while he leans down to pepper kisses down your chest. It had been such a long time since you’ve felt truly desired, since you’ve been kissed delicately, had hands touch your skin so gently it tickles and leaves you breathing out a laugh. So you relish in it. You shut your eyes and enjoy the way Jungkook presses wet kisses to your skin, you let yourself gasp in pleasure when he wraps his lips around your pierced nipple and sucks. 

Your hands instinctively slip through his hair, fingers yanking his thick strands as he hums against your skin, tongue flicking along the piercing. Jungkook feels the way you jut your chest further out, back arching at the sensation. A deep groan escapes you as his palm comes up to cup your other breast, the cool feeling of his rings sending a shiver down your spine. 

He smiles as he pulls back, cocky with eyes twinkling with mischief as his fingers playfully dance down your body. 

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers reach the waistband of your jeans, teasingly dipping past it as he lifts a brow in question. He needed clear boundaries, not wanting to cross any lines. You find it cute, how despite the fact that you’re laying here, chest heaving with anticipation, eyes surely wild with desire, he’s still wanting to make sure. 

“Can I?” He repeats his earlier question, features soft as he waits for your answer. 

“We need to even out the playing field first Six,” you tease, smiling when he chuckles and points to his shirt. You nod, staring up at him from the bed as he kneels up, staring right at you as he reaches behind his neck and yanks the shirt off of his body. 

Your blood warms up further at the sight of him, seeing his muscles flex under his tattoos as he straightens back up. Jungkook tilts his head slightly, biting on his lip ring as he fights back the smile at your clear admiration. The black marks his skin, some tattoos looking darker than others, showing you just which ones were recent additions. 

The owl on his chest looks the brightest, edges still crisp, shading looking rich in the skulls beneath each wing. They seem to move as Jungkook takes a breath, snapping you out of it as you look back into his eyes. 

“Is this even enough for you?” he jokes, smiling wide when you nod in confirmation, your eyes following his movements as his hand returns to your jeans. You watch with bated breath as he unbuttons the top, slowly pulling down the zipper before his hands hook into the waistband and starts to tug. Your hips lift from the bed to help, allowing him to pull them off, tossing them to the side along with your shoes and socks. 

You can feel your stomach flipping with nerves, the worry of doing something new with someone new, the small clouds of insecurity rolling in, wondering if you looked good in this angle, if maybe Jungkook preferred you to look a certain way or wear cute underwear with bows on the front instead of the black regular cotton ones you currently have on. 

It all settles down as he drops lowers, eyes looking up at you as he presses kisses onto your hips and slowly tugs your underwear down, clearly not paying any mind to them. A trail of goosebumps blossom down your thighs, following your underwear as he pulls them off too. He stands up once more, eyes swimming with want as he sees you. 

“Let me get a good look at you,” he murmurs when he notices the way your arms begin to want to cover yourself up at being fully exposed. He thinks it's cute how shy you seem now, eyes bouncing away from his as he takes his time drinking you in. With your eyes diverted, he thinks it's a great time to dive in, his hands coming down to grip your palms while his face nudges its way into the crook of your neck to kiss your skin, smiling at the way you gasp and laugh at the ticklish feeling

“Jungkook!” you giggle, feeling his hands pin your own down on the bed, his mouth traveling down your body as he guides your hands into his hair, letting you know he wants you to keep playing with the strands. Your finger twirls his hair around, feeling him smile against your skin as he descends once more. 

“Everything about you is so pretty,” he mumbles into your stomach, eyes peering up at you while his hands return to your hips, slowly sliding down to your thighs to grip the flesh. Wet kisses smack into your skin, leaving a trail on each hip and down your thigh until he’s suddenly biting. He laughs when you gasp, your fingers tugging his hair on instinct when you look down with a shocked expression. 

“Looked so good you had to take a bite?” you joke, smiling down at him, feeling the fluttering in your stomach when he winks. 

“Oh I need more than just a bite,” he groans, fingers tightening their hold on your thighs before he presses a kiss directly onto your mound, slowly sticking his tongue out to gently flick along your slit. 

Jungkook loves the way your breath gets shaky as you exhale, a soft moan of his name reaching his ears when he gently parts your folds and teasingly flicks against your clit. A part of him knows this might be the one and only time he’ll ever get to experience you like this, the only time he’ll see you flush on his bed, gasping for more as your hips roll into him. So he wants to store every moment in his brain, keep it locked away until the next time he misses you. 

“Fuck Jungkook, that feels good,” you moan, fingers locked in his hair, keeping him close as he ravishes you. The praise makes his ego grow, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking with the perfect amount of pressure. It makes your stomach tense, short little zaps of electricity flowing through your body with each flick of his tongue. 

“Good, I just wanna make you feel good.” He leans back a bit, admiring the look of your sodden folds for a moment before he's letting a glob of spit drip from his mouth directly onto your clit. He bites his lip as his fingers spread it around, coating his digits as he circles your entrance. His eyes meet yours again, brow raised in question, smiling when you nod in response. Slowly, he pushes forward, eyes focused on your reaction, seeing the way you bite down on your lip as his finger sinks in. 

Jungkook tries not to let his mind get carried away when he feels your walls fluttering around his digit, already imagining how you would feel around him, feeling his cock aching in his jeans as he sinks a second finger in to properly stretch you out. With each thrust of his fingers his mind wanders further, the need to see you falling apart leading his mouth back onto you, the combining sensation making you moan louder. 

The stretch of his fingers has your head spinning, eyes falling shut as you mewl on his sheets, fingers raking through his hair. “More Jungkook, please,” you whimper, not able to get enough of him. 

The desperation lacing your voice makes Jungkook’s heart flutter, ready to comply with anything you want. He moans against your folds, a third finger adding to the delicious stretch. The wet clicks of his fingers thrusting into your drenched pussy fill the room, and it's the greed living inside of Jungkook that makes him want to thrust into you faster, make it so that all you can hear is the sound of your pleasure. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when he curves his fingers upwards, tickling the sweet spot that makes your eyes roll. That’s when you feel the familiar cool sensation of his rings once more. You were used to feeling them on your arms when he playfully pulled you around, used to the feeling of them on your cheeks when he gripped your face before kissing you, but feeling them against your cunt each time he thrust his fingers forward, it made your body burn up with lust. There was something about having the name of a club you were told to stay far away from pressed against you salaciously that only made the waves of pleasure you feel crash over you even harder. 

“Mm, close Jungkook,” you whine, your free hand sliding up your body to tug and pinch at your nipples. Jungkook peers up at you from between his thighs and the visual of you playing with yourself while he ate you out has him making a mess in his underwear. He doesn’t even care how easy it is for you to make him this needy, knowing you were enjoying yourself because of him was all that mattered. 

“Wanna feel you baby,” he mutters out, lips shiny with your arousal, fingers scissoring inside of you, feeling the way your walls tighten around him. Your hands grip his hair tighter, making him hiss, a breathy laugh hitting your messy folds when you guide his mouth back onto you. 

Jungkook knows you’re right on the edge, the craving for your release making you arch your back, moans of his name slurring together with pleas for more more. All it takes is a few more flicks of his tongue for your climax to crest, the prettiest moan he’s ever heard reaching his ears as you gush around his fingers. 

“There you go, good girl,” he groans, pulling back as he licks his lips, staring at your trembling body with eyes swimming with lust. His thumb replaces his mouth, rubbing your swollen clit, enjoying the way you writhe at the slight overstimulation. 

“Ah, ‘Guk,” you whimper. And the new nickname has him smiling, loving the way it sounds coming from you so much he almost doesn’t want to stop. It takes your small hands coming down to grip his wrist for him to finally pull away, your soft giggles of enjoyment coming to a halt when he slips his fingers into his mouth. 

“Told you I needed more than just a bite,” he teases, making an absolute show of licking his fingers. “What about you, are you satisfied?”

You lift yourself up with one arm, the other reaching forward to grip his belt loop, tugging him closer as you look up at him through your lashes. “Mm, no I don’t think I am.” His abs tense when your finger trails along his skin, toying with the button on his jeans, slowly popping them open and pulling down the zipper. 

“Then I need to fix that,” he mumbles, tongue flicking his lip ring as he stares down at you, watching the way you reach down to palm at his bulge. Your face lights up at his words, a smile spreading on your face as he helps you tug down his jeans, obviously eager. Jungkook’s smirk only deepens when your eyes widen once you finally release his cock, a small gasp escaping you at the size of him. 

Pearly beads of precum collect at his tip, swollen and aching for your touch, so when you finally grasp his length and swipe your thumb along the bulbous tip he lets out a deep groan that has your core clenching. 

“Fuck, babe.” He grunts when your palm starts to slide up and down, his eyes focused on the way you slowly inch forward, your tongue peeking out to gently lick his tip. Jungkook knows he’s in trouble, already feeling his body react to your touch. All you had done was give him a few teasing touches and his mind was already spinning. Its an inner battle as he watches you take more of him into your mouth, his jaw dropping at the warm feeling, hands clenching by his side when you moan at the taste of him. 

“Y/N,” he groans, “you’re gonna make me cum too fast.” You pop off of him with a wet smack, a saccharine smile on your lips as you giggle. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Your head tilts as you question him, hand still lazily pumping his length. 

“It is when I want to fuck you first.” That makes your hand finally stop, brows raising in interest. Your free hand slides up his body, carefully cupping his face, guiding him down to kiss you. 

“Then fuck me, Jungkook. I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips, feeling him groan against you as he kisses you harder. You know what you mean. You’re his for the night, despite how strong your connection with him is, the reality was that as long as Minho had his claws sunk into you, there would never be a chance for you and Jungkook to delve deeper into this relationship. But this tiny bubble you were both in was enough for you. 

The energy is different than what you’re used to, the both of you smiling through the kisses, soft words whispered against skin as you help him take off his jeans. Jungkook’s laugh is infectious when you gasp at the sight of his thighs, the double headed wolf tattoo catching your attention immediately, praising it under your breath before he’s kissing you once more, telling you he’ll let you properly see it later as his hands grope your sides. 

“How do you want me?” you mumble, gently nipping his lip. 

“If it was my way I’d have you in every position I could think of. You tell me, baby.” If Jungkook let his selfish desires take over, he’d tell you he wanted you to ride him, let you bounce on top of him and use him while he got to watch your pretty face. But he can’t be that selfish, even if the small pestering voice in his head tells him that this might be his only chance to. Still, his eyes are soft as he pulls back, ringed hand caressing your face with a tenderness that makes your heart clench

“Can I ride you?” Your voice is timid, just above a whisper, but it makes Jungkook shut his eyes and groan. You see, he wasn’t corny, didn’t believe in fate or anything like that, but for a brief moment Jungkook's convinced this was meant to be. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning forward to rest his forhead against yours. “Yes, please.”

The way he begs makes your pussy ache, hips instinctively rolling up into his, enjoying the way he hisses, rutting his cock against your inner thigh. The beads of precum leak off his tip, leaving a small puddle by your hip, smeared around as he repeats the action. 

“O-okay,” you gasp, biting down on your lip as you peek at the visual, trying not to get lost in the way he teases himself. “Let me ‘Guk, wanna feel you.”

He nods, tendrils of hair tickling your face as he kisses you again before leaning back. You try not to stare but it's so hard when he looks like that, length hard and bobbing as he rummages through the drawer by his bed, a sheepish smile on his lips when he plucks out a shiny square packet. 

Your heart races in your chest as you sit up, coming onto your knees and crawling to the head of the bed, gently patting the space next to you. Jungkook’s quick to settle beside you, back leaning against the small headboard, large hands reaching to grab your hips and hoist you over his thighs. A small laugh escapes you at being manhandled, the toned muscles of his thighs felt underneath you, his cock poking at your belly from your proximity. 

Your eyes are glued to it, watching in awe as he pulls out the condom and carefully rolls it on, a small sigh meeting your ears. 

“Can’t wait to feel you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw, your hand meeting his around his cock as you lift your hips just enough. His free hand finds your hip again as you guide his tip to your entrance, teasingly circling it, slipping the tip inside for a second before popping it back out, the two of you gasping at the feeling. 

“Mm, sit on it,” he groans, brows pinched together as he nudges his nose into your neck. Wet kisses mark your skin, his hand getting tighter on your hip when you repeat the action again before finally sinking further down. Your walls clench around him, the stretch making you whine. You had seen his size, knowing just how big he was, but now that he’s inside of you and you feel it, you pace yourself. 

It's unintentionally torturous, the warm tightness slowly enveloping more of him and all he could do was clench his jaw and grip you harder. Jungkook is patient, fighting every urge he has to thrust up or sit you down fully. Instead he murmurs praises into your skin, tells you how good you feel, how good you’re doing, that you’re almost there until you’re butt rests flush against his thighs. 

A shuddering breath hits his shoulder, your face coming up to stare at him properly now. He’s staring at you with hooded eyes, mouth slightly opened as he gasps when your walls flutter. 

“So big,” you mumble, kissing him gently, lips ghosting over his, hips slowly lifting an inch before coming back down. 

“I know, baby. Take your time.” He groans, kissing you harder, teeth clicking together in his haste, breathing into each other. Jungkook felt like he was dreaming, some sick fantasy teasing him while he slept, giving him a taste of you before reality would settle in and snatch it all away. But you don’t usually feel this way in his dreams, don’t dig your nails into his shoulder as you quicken your pace, your wetness dripping down his cock and pooling at the base. And Jungkook is glad that he prefers reality over his dreams for once. 

“Oh god ‘Guk,” you moan, skin slapping together with each rise and fall of your hips. His lips are coated in a sheen of spit, swollen from your kisses and gentle bites, but he gives you a smile, clearly enjoying your reaction to him. 

“Does it feel good baby?” he murmurs, voice deep and raspy at the edges, his hand sliding up your thighs, pressing into your tummy with a tilt to his head. “Feel nice and full?”

You shudder at his question, feeling the pressure of his palm, and you swear you can feel the tip of his cock nudging into it. “Y-yes, so good, so full. Just wanna fuck you forever.”

He hums, feeling your words deep inside of him. It makes him melt into the headboard, hand traveling further up until he has a handful of your tits in them. Jungkook plays with them a bit, finger pinching and twisting the hard buds, tugging gently at the silver bar, hearing you moan at the sensation. 

“You can fuck me whenever you want,” he grunts at a particular drop of your hips, the wetness aiding in your pace. 

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he groans, thumb rolling along your nipple, softly rutting up into you. “Just text me whenever you want it. Pretty face, delicious pussy, I’ll always be here for you.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you giggle, throwing your head back as you get lost in the motion. Jungkook laughs with you, arm scooping around your back to pull you closer, his mouth kissing up and down your neck, teeth grazing the surface with the urge to suck but he knows better. 

“Just for you,” he breathes into your skin, feeling you laugh again. 

It feels like nothing else matters, not the potential consequences to this, no worry about what this meant for your special friendship. All that matters is that Jungkook is grabbing you like he can’t get enough of you, kissing you like his life depends on it, not shy at all at vocalizing how good it all feels. 

“Wanna cum,” you gasp, cupping his face, seeing the way he focuses on your lips as you speak. 

“Yeah? Tell me what you need.” He bends his knees slightly, pressure on his heels as he fucks up into you. The jiggle of your tits makes his mouth water, caught in a daze. 

“Need you to touch me.” It's the softest plea, tone dripping and needy, making Jungkook nod immediately. He bites his lip as he trails a hand up your chest, over your neck until he’s cupping your jaw, his thumb rubbing along your lower lip. With a gentle tap, you’re opening up, eyes locked together as you wrap your lips around the digit and suck, giving him a teasing bite as he tries to pull it out. 

He smiles at you, bringing down his soaked thumb in between your bodies until it reaches home directly onto your clit. The sudden touch makes you gasp, bundle of nerves swollen and sensitive, and its almost too much. But he’s gentle, easing you into the feeling, only applying more pressure when you finally relax, falling back into the delicious rhythm you have going. 

Jungkook can feel the coil tightening inside of him with each pulse of your pussy, walls clamping around him on each lift, making an absolute mess as the arousal drips onto his balls. 

“More?” He quickens his finger, circling your clit faster, paying close attention to your reaction. 

“Oh, fuck. No, like that. Just like that.” So he does, jaw dropped open as he watches you get lost in it all, bouncing on top of him as fast as you wanted, using him just like he wanted. Your thighs burn but it feels too good to think about stopping, the beginning signs of your orgasm licking at your skin, encouraging you to fuck him faster. You can hear how messy you’re leaving him, the squelch of your pussy blending in with the moans and thumping of the headboard. 

“Close, fuck—ah,” you stutter and gasp, brows pinched together tightly, only able to stare at him as you start to fall apart. He looks at you in awe, breathing in time with you, matching each gasp and moan, thumb slipping around in your slick. It's the accidental flick of his that has you tumbling over the edge, nearly shrieking out his name as your high comes barreling at you. 

Jungkook curses under his breath as you tremble above him. Your hand curls into his hair, yanking him forward into a messy kiss as you moan unabashedly, his thumb continuing to flick along your puffy clit for another minute to work you through it before he’s clutching onto your hips and controlling your speed. You’re still twitching at the aftershocks, small sparks kissing your skin and leaving you in a comfortable haze as you tangle your tongue with his, pulling back with a smile so sweet. 

“I wanna see you cum Jungkook,” you kiss him again, teasing him as you pull away and watch him chase you for more. “Made me feel so good, want you to cum for me.”

Jungkook groans, nodding as he wraps his arm around you, pushing off the headboard until the air is whooshing around you and your back is meeting the sheets once more. He cages you in easily, arms under your back, cradling your head as he buries his face into your neck and surges his hips into you. 

Your breath leaves you at the change in position, legs wrapping around his hips, shuddering as his pelvis nudges your sensitive clit. He doesn’t care how desperate he looks, fucking you like he was starved of affection, the need to cum taking over all of his senses. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Your nails dig into his back, scratching along his skin, making him groan into your ear. His thrusts grow more sporadic, shallow, losing their grace as your purposefully clench around him. 

“Oh shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” He whines, voice breathy against your neck, and you swear you’ll cum again. 

“Yeah? Cum for me, c’mon,” you whisper, grazing his back and tightening your walls again. He nods against you before he’s leaning back, giving you the view you so sweetly asked for. His thick brows are furrowed on his forehead, eyes heady with lust, and a deep groan of your name spilling past his lips as he cums. Your feet urge him closer as his hips stutter, rutting into you to milk his orgasm as he fills up the condom. 

The room falls quiet for a moment, the both of you catching your breath, hearts slowing down as the high settles over your bones. And then he’s laughing, flopping back over you and tightening his hold on your body. 

“Why are you laughing?” You giggle too, hands running through his hair as you smile in a love sick daze. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard,” he admits sheepishly, kissing your warm skin, leaning back with a childish smile as he kisses your nose and ever so slowly starts to pull out of you. The sound is filthy, core sensitive and messy, and when he fully pulls out you can’t help but close your legs. 

He simply laughs, hand softly rubbing at your calves before he’s getting up and disposing of the condom. 

You’re still in that same foggy haze from earlier, even as Jungkook returns with a damp cloth to clean you up, all you can do is hum in thanks as you melt into his sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to settle in beside you again, holding you close, hand tickling the skin of the thigh you have hooked over his hip. 

“You have such pretty legs.” It’s a soft compliment, almost like it wasn’t meant to escape him. But when you look at him with a sincere smile he continues. “If you were mine I’d beg you to wear skirts all the time just so I could stare at them, touch them—“ he grips your thighs playfully, smiling at your laugh, “I’d be able to flick it up so easily and fuck you in it.”

Your laugh is louder now, your hand playfully swatting at his chest at how quick he was to get raunchy. 

If you were mine. 

That phrase repeats in your mind, sounding like a sweet song that you’d never get tired of hearing. 

“I’ll wear one at the meet next week,” you promise, running your hand over his chest. You knew you’d be seeing him there, able to freely ogle at him with all the neighboring clubs gathered together in an attempt to keep the peace. You might not be able to interact like you usually do, but just seeing him was enough. 

Just as he’s about to reply, the sound of a familiar engine cuts the air. You freeze instantly, wide eyes staring at Jungkook, seeing the confused look on his face. He lifts a hand up, motioning for you to stay as he sits up straighter, ears perking up when he hears the front door of the clubhouse open up. 

“Stay here. They won’t come in here but I know they saw my bike so I’ll get rid of them.” You can only nod as he hurries into his clothes, buttoning his jeans in a haste and deciding to forgo his shirt and shoes as he all but runs out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

The haze you felt earlier is long gone, anxiety settling into your bones once more, realizing just what sort of situation you were in. Jungkook seemed to think the golden rule of staying away from Cobras was fine with you, but who knows just what kind of loyalty the Six member in the other room holds. 

All you needed was one man hell bent on loyalty to come barging in, and you don’t even want to think of what would become of you. Your heart rattles in your chest as you sit up too, eyes glancing around the room to find your pile of clothes. 

You can hear them mumbling in the main room, Jungkook’s laughter sounding out as he jokes around with his fellow brother. You can only imagine what he’s telling him, maybe explaining why theres a second bike parked next to his, or giving his reason for being shirtless and disheveled at the clubhouse this late in the day. Whatever is going on, you know you shouldn’t wait around to see how it plays out. Being with Jungkook makes reality pause, fade away and leave you to believe that things were meant to be this easy. 

But that's not your reality. 

You knew you wanted this to happen, could still feel the butterflies in your stomach as you remember the way he kissed your skin. But you couldn’t let the line be crossed this far again. You’re not sure karma would be too kind to you the next time. 

As quiet as you can, you slip out of bed, carefully putting your clothes back on and looking at the desk in the corner. Before you overthink it, you grab the pen and notepad he has resting on top of paperwork, scribbling out a quick note before you’re returning to his bedside, yanking up the curtains and wiggling the window open to slip out. 

Back in the main room, Jungkook is sitting on the bar stool, Hoseok resting against the counter as they both joke around. Jungkook is thankful that Hoseok doesn’t seem to ask too many questions, knowing very well that he must have some girl in the room, but he wasn’t nosey enough to want to know who. 

“So you’re not gonna introduce your friend?” he jokes, giving Jungkook a coy smile, enjoying the way his younger friend blushes and shoves his shoulder. 

“No you weirdo, you fucking scared her by showing up like this. Why the hell are you here anyway?”

Hoseok cackles, pushing away from the counter and walking towards the meeting room. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be a cockblock. I forgot to grab some paperwork.” The way he says it makes it seem like it was work documents, contracts that needed to be signed instead of files detailing the amount of guns they’d be receiving in the next drop. He disappears into the room, returning a few moments later with the folder in his hand. “I’ll be out of your hair now.”

And he does just that, waving goodbye and stepping back outside. But as he approaches his bike he realizes the bike he had seen next to Jungkook’s was missing now. 

Jungkook is none the wiser as he walks back to his room, a smile on his face that falls when he doesn’t see you on the bed. The sheets are a mess, your clothes are missing, his curtains are drawn up and his window remains cracked open. He steps closer now, a white sheet of paper catching his attention on his desk. 

Thanks for the tour, I think your room might be my favorite<3 Remember, we take this to our graves. We’ll kiss on it over sour straws soon x

Ps. I’ll see you at the meet, I’ll be the one in the short skirt. 

Maybe it's the sick hopefulness he feels in his chest, but Jungkook can’t help but smile as he thinks this won’t be the last time afterall.

[rottenpumpkin13]

What info has Kunsel scarred AGSZC with? (+Turks for bonus points!) 😈

Sephiroth: "Kunsel informed me that Hojo talks to a framed photo of me when no one's around. I have not known peace since."

Angeal: "Kunsel told me SOLDIER's mess hall eggs don't come from chickens....or any recognizable bird. But I can't discard the free breakfast they provide everyday because that would be a waste of food, so I've been giving my omelet to Zack every day. He thinks I do it because I love him."

Genesis: "Kunsel casually mentioned in passing, conversationally, that Shinra's cafeteria once tried to "cut costs" by replacing the chocolate in Loveless-themed desserts with a synthetic alternative that, in high doses, causes 'mild hallucinations'. I demanded to know how many hallucinatory dessert monologues I have unknowingly given. Kunsel refuses to say."

Zack: "Kunsel told me he saw Reeve walking around at 3am the other night wearing wizard robes and taking life advice from a robot cat, so now I'm trying to figure out how I should ask Reeve to be my life coach."

Tseng: "Kunsel sent me a detailed, time-stamped report of every moment Rufus has tried to assassinate his father. It's a thick 712-page binder. I'm still not sure if he expects me to do something about it."

Reno: "Kunsel informed me that he saw Tseng and the VP making out in the executive elevator, so now Rude owes me 1200 gil because I fuckin' knew it."

Rude: "Kunsel told me that he technically doesn't exist. Shinra's records lost his enlistment paperwork after some intern accidentally filed it under Wutai war casualties. I talked to a man that doesn't exist. I still feel unwell."

Cloud: "Kunsel once sent me a full itinerary of the President's affairs, categorized by day, location, and security breach risk. I asked where he got this information. Kunsel simply said "I know things" and refused to elaborate. He makes me deeply uncomfortable."

[leashybebes]

Oooh #31 to help distract you and also, good luck!

single parent au, my beloved! and now i'm going to bed. more of these tomorrow, hopefully!

There's a voicemail waiting for Tommy when he lands after his first flight of the shift. It's only thirty minutes old but his heart sinks when he hears, "Hi Mr Kinard, this is Stephanie, I'm a receptionist here at Central Elementary."

He covers his other ear with his free hand trying not to spiral.

"I'm sorry to say that Lila was involved in an altercation with another student - "

"What the hell," he murmurs. Lila's a little sassy - blame him for that, sure - but an altercation?

" - no one was hurt, but emotions are running high so we're asking the parents of both those involved to come pick the girls up for the day."

Tommy groans and heads towards his captain's office.

—

Buck stares disbelieving at his phone after he ends the call with Robbie's school. His baby girl, fighting? He can hardly believe it. She - alright, she may have inherited some of his more over-dramatic qualities, but she's a little angel.

"Uh, Bobby?"

"What's up, Buck?"

"I'm gonna need to take off for like…half an hour. Apparently Robbie got in a fight at school?"

"A fight?!"

"An altercation," Buck says, sounding the word out doubtfully. It sounds like a lot for a five year old. "They said she isn't hurt, but. Yeah. They want me to pick her up for the day."

"Okay, well just take her home," Bobby says. "We'll manage without you, and you know the firehouse is a treat."

"Thanks, Bobby," Buck calls over his shoulder, already jogging towards the parking lot.

—

Tommy hits traffic and the normally short drive to Lila's school takes him twice as long as it should. By the time he gets there, the pick up lot is empty aside from a Jeep, whose driver side door is just opening to reveal a tall, good looking guy in - Tommy blinks as he pulls his truck into an empty spot a few spaces over - an LAFD t-shirt with BUCKLEY stamped across the back.

Tommy gets a sinking feeling when the guy heads for main reception. Tommy catches up to him as he reaches the desk and hears him say, "I'm Roberta Buckley's dad, is she okay?"

"Oh, Mr Buckley, hi! If you can wait right here, I'll fetch the principal."

"Before you do," Tommy interjects. "Stephanie, right? Got a feeling we might be here for the same reason. Lila Kinard's dad."

Buckley glares at him while Stephanie disappears into the office. Tommy raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Can't believe your kid started a fight with my kid," Buckley grumbles.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you'd already spoken with the principal," Tommy says, hackles rising.

"Robbie's a good kid!"

"So is Lila!"

Buckley scoffs and Tommy bites his tongue. Much as he would love to right now, he's not going to start a fight with another parent at the school reception, so he folds his arms and looks away.

—

Lila's dad is a fucking asshole, Buck decides. Thinks he's sooo superior just because he can fold those huge arms over that broad chest and look away when Buck's working up for an argument. Thinks he's sooo great with the cleft in his chin and his stormy blue eyes and the stray curl on his forehead, like the jackass is cosplaying as Superman or something.

He's distracted from stewing in his own frustration when the door opens and the school principal - a friendly but steel-cored woman who he only knows as Mrs Jonas appears, Robbie on one side of her and Kinard's demon spawn on the other. He does have to grudgingly admit it's very cute when Kinard goes onto one knee to catch his kid as she flings himself in her direction with a cry of daddy!

He sets his big hands on her shoulders and looks at her seriously.

"What's this I hear about fighting, huh?"

"We made up!" Lila insists.

"We did," Robbie chimes in. "We did, daddy!"

"That so?" Buck asks, scooping Robbie up in one arm to look her over. Her braids are a bit of a mess and she has that redness in her cheeks that means she's been mad or crying or both recently, but she looks otherwise okay. He has to admit Lila's in the same condition, nothing too bad, but a little rumpled.

"Gentlemen," Mrs Jonas interrupts. "My office, if you would?"

—

They wind up taking the girls to the playground after their joint interview-slash-dressing down from the principal. Turns out Buckley - Evan - isn't so bad. Tommy can't really fault him for going a little all guns blazing where his daughter is concerned. Actually, he kinda likes it.

They'd both struggled to keep straight faces when the reason for the altercation was made clear to them - can firefighters fly? One strong vote for yes, one equally strong vote for no, two stubborn little girls both equally devoted to their dad's good name, and boom. Tinderbox.

The girls seem to be firmly over it now though, chasing each other around the playground and shrieking in excitement at having the place pretty much to themselves. It's maybe not the most effective parental response to fighting in school - 'fighting' in this case mostly meaning yelling and a little shoving - but Tommy can't bring himself to take it too seriously. He'll talk to her more later about using kind words and keeping her hands to herself, but the conflict resolution skills of a pair of five year olds seems to have gotten them past the worst.

Evan arrives back at the bench where Tommy's keeping an eye on the girls, with a takeout coffee in each hand. He passes Tommy one and sits next to him, giving Tommy a soft smile before he turns his attention to where the girls are whispering together intensely.

"Looks like we might have playdates in our future," Tommy suggests.

"Looks like," Evan says, with a sunny smile.

[purplecritter]

theories/thoughts/analysis about touchstarved 2025 demo

So uh, I did a long analysis post back when the first demo dropped. I won’t repeat things that I already wrote there but I have some more thoughts especially with the changes and additions they made + several of the scattered official tumblr posts that followed the demo release!

Also heads-up, I will edit this with the daily routine posts from the devs' account if they're relevant, since I already commented on Mhin’s, but apart from those I won’t touch this anymore afterwards 🙏

(Spoilers under the cut)

Kuras

His new red choice… Really amps up his association with fire, and it seems to be directly linked with how close we are to him: if you didn’t get the red choice you still feel it, but you’ll miss this line: “I realize it’s more than physical warmth. The sensation calms my nerves and quiets my mind—the closest thing I’ve ever felt to a comforting embrace”. One thing is interesting though: the red choice was unlocked during my Unnamed playthrough, but not during my others even if I picked the same choices. I tried again picking the opposite choices with my Unnamed and still got that red choice, so I’m pretty sure it depends on your origin, not your relationship with him. Since, as of now, Kuras hasn’t yet revealed his true nature to us (I suspect Eridia more or less knows, though), it would make sense that specifically the origin about detecting hidden supernatural presences would notice earlier than the others.

The dev answered a question on their tumblr about Kuras, “Kuras came through the Shroud because he loved humanity. He’s had human friends, colleagues, and lovers… all of whom he’s destined to outlive. Each person he’s loved—and lost—left an indelible stamp on him.” The stamp part caught my attention; since we feel his powers more whenever when get closed (physically, but moreso emotionally), I wonder if he can… channel? That affection into energy. Kind of how deities are fueled by their followers’ faith, perhaps an angelic being like Kuras is fueled by emotions?

A bit of relevant lore was posted on the dev team's tumblr: “Divine Teacher — The Senobium's folklorists note a curious pattern in humanity's oldest tales. Though the details vary, these stories share a common theme: an otherworldly teacher, bringing the divine gift of knowledge. Alchemy and literacy, art and war...supposedly this being shared all that they knew with the earliest civilizations. In some tales, the otherworldly teacher is a loving, benevolent figure. In others, they are a harbinger of chaos and ruin.” as well as the quote “Hope. A strange concept, after so long seeing myself as the agent of ruin.” Prometheus is the obvious parallel, due to his association with fire (though I would hope Kuras still has his liver intact), but there’s many versions of the Theft of Fire; in the Book of Enoch there’s fallen angels who shared knowledge with humans, too; and undoubtedly several more myths about inhuman figures sharing knowledge. Mhin says that “[Kuras]rarely does [take payment from patients]. That just means he’s paying down the debt elsewhere” which could be related to his distaste for dealing with the Senobium… I wouldn’t even be surprised if he had a hand in creating the Senobium (his robes are white too, and he does collaborate often, yet he isn’t afraid of retribution for messing a little with its members from what we can see of his ending scene), and he had all the time in the world to witness how the knowledge he gifted was used for worse things that he could’ve hoped for :(

Kuras, like Ais, keeps on his own for the most part, though they don’t dislike feeling close to people: Ais actually dislikes isolation but he’s probably too jaded to want to bother interacting, while Kuras actively craves closeness (it’s part of the reason he has a free clinic methinks) even if he knows it will hurt him when he loses it.

Leander

Leander’s group is now called The Adderstone. The symbology of an adder stone, aka witch stone, is definitely a bigger hint at Leander’s unique connection to magic, whereas previously the Bloodhounds evoked the feeling of a mercenary group with a penchant for investigations. In the new demo Adderstone is defined as “a semi-precious mineral that draws out poison”, which also makes me think of his constant disposition as a confident protector and his tendency to disregard the riskier aspects (ie, he wouldn’t care about getting poisoned himself). The Adderstone’s meaning is still vaguely reminiscent of my previous thoughts about the Bloodhounds: Hounds are a breed specifically intended to track something specific (or someone specific) by scent, and in the new metaphor that something/someone is the poison that Leander and his mercenaries are drawing out, hunting.

Adder stones are sometimes also symbolically tied to snakes, some sources saying they were created by turning dead snakes into the stone, others say that the ring-like formation was made by a hardened bubble of saliva when snakes joined together… All quite nicely tied to the recurring Ouroboros symbol in Leander’s outfit and merch!

“I’m no prior or curator. I’m not much for paperwork or pencil pushing. And honestly, I don’t even think those robes come in my size.” I am reminded of an old post by user @/toeridiaorbust about how Leander and the Bloodhounds Adderstones clothes are a direct color inversion of the Senobium’s robes.

“If you want nothing but guidelines, improper policies, and needless bureaucracy, you know where to go […] The Senobium won’t help you. They’re more likely to torture you than to lend you a hand.” Now this? Makes me wonder if his prominent scars are connected to his loathing towards the Senobium.

“But I’m not going to wait from word from on high […] These are our streets. We make our own luck here […] I founded the Adderstones to help people like you.” connects to the “as above, so below” tagline that was in his posters in the first demo and first hinted at him creating the Adderstone as an alternative to the Senobium.

The lore snippet about him on the dev’s tumblr doesn’t add anything that we don’t know from the new demo about Leander and the Adderstone, but there’s an interesting part at the end: “Locals speak praise for the charming leader whose seemingly benign reign extends even below the city streets into the shadowed depths of the Silent Crypts.” Considering all of his symbolism about the cycle of rebirth (I went into detail in my old analysis post), the fact that this references a crypt of all places doesn’t feel coincidental… We haven’t heard of the location yet from what I can remember, but I would bet that it’s connected to Leander’s hidden curse / source of power.

In an old post, the devs confirmed that “The magically talented son of an old Hightown family, Leander was expected to join the Senobium when he came of age. Instead, he packed up his bags twelve years ago to chase his own dreams” which matches with his own words in the demo: “I grew up idolizing the Senobium. I wanted nothing more than to join their ranks, to learn magic from the best, to make a real difference. I was young and blinded by the legends and the legacy. I was so damn naive. All it took was one trip here, to Lowtown, to show me the truth.”

“I won’t leave you, and you won’t leave me” + “How would you feel about being on a leash?” + “You can decide how to thank me. Or I can decide for you.” he’s not beating the yandere allegations.

“It’s not every day I find something that truly challenges me” we already knew he likes being challenged, which is pretty much his whole relationship with Ais. It’s interesting because with MC, he tends to prefer when they defer to him, trust him, take the flower and hold hands…. I think both things are a way to reaffirm his confidence: a challenge surpassed is proof that he’s strong enough to face what he has ahead, and having people trust him (in Kuras’ words, even willing to put their lives on the line for him) is a different way to feel that kind of influence.

The new scene of him coming into MC’s room with the excuse of having information about the curse, it feels like a contrast with the other characters’ ending scenes. Everyone shows a little about themselves, their attitude or their habits, but Leander feels like he mirrors MC. Even asking him about his relationship with the others, he comments on what we say about them rather than speaking up about them unprompted.

I initially didn’t think much of it so it may be nothing but it’s worth mentioning anyways: while chatting with Leander nearer the ending, he can say “How would you feel about being on a leash?” which is easy to dismiss as just him being a little freaky, but then I recalled after the first encounter with Vere, when the MC remarks that they could share his fate and get “leashed” by the Senobium. I doubt Leander would intentionally let MC in the hands of the Senobium, considering his animosity towards them, but it’s still a chilling thought that feels like foreshadowing...

Vere

re: his bad/secret ending, I appreciate that he shows some restraint this time around. I’m now pretty certain that you can only get the option to “Reach out to him” (red choice) versus “Resist him” (neutral) if you played along with him at least a little bit; while “Surrender” (bad ending) is only unlocked if you don’t have his approval and you say that if you can’t find a cure it’s over for you (rather than “I’ll keep looking”).

In two posts on tumblr (here and here), the devs posted a couple of peeks at Vere’s living space. “Candles flicker in the waning light, illuminating a crowded desk at odds with its gloomy surroundings.” and ���Few in living memory know why the Senobium built the secret prison where Vere is kept. What do you think happened to the other prisoners?”. Given it’s described as a secret prison, I’m torn about it being located in the entertainment district where we first found him. One one hand, he was shackled there and it was morning, the Senobium cleric hadn’t yet come to fetch him. On the other hand, it feels like a weirdly dangerous place to put the deathly charming Monster in? No other buildings can be seen from the window, which is either just to not clutter the view or it’s a tall building, a spire taller than the rest, which would only leave the blue sky visible from that angle. The three items that mainly occupy his space are candles (I would’ve thought he would be able to see in the dark, perhaps just not comfortably or perhaps he likes the atmosphere they create... or they're not there for his benefit, but that of his captors), books (I could swear there’s a full picture of his sketchbook somewhere but just considering this sneak peek of it here, I think it’s the one in the middle of the desk… As for the books, he doesn’t like puzzles, I’m not sure he would be the studious type, so my bet is on them being entertainment), and shackles in his bedroom and by the desk. This last detail feels particularly invasive, as the implications are that someone is scheduled to keep an eye on his routine, dictating when he is allowed bedtime and when he can read/draw/brush his tail (there’s a little brush and mirror in the shelves). There’s also some handwritten papers on his desk, I wonder if he’s allowed to send letters or if he just writes them? One additional detail caught my attention: doesn’t the decoration in the chair by his desk look remarkably similar to the design of Kuras’ earrings? Though there’s different additional elements for each, they both are a circle with three drops underneath it… Which makes me even more convinced that Kuras played a significant part in initially capturing Vere. The comment about “What do you think happened to the other prisoners?” brings to mind Vere’s insistence that if the Senobium realized what the MC is, they’d be leashed as well. I don’t doubt that other Monsters have been kept by them in a similar manner, perhaps some of them also were offered a way to end their suffering by Vere, like he did with MC in his secret/bad ending.

In a tumblr post by the dev team about his lore: “Bloodstained Snow — The Senobium's archives hold countless records of stories that defy belief. One ancient report recounts the haunting of a remote village by what is described at first as a god, and then as a demon. Heavily redacted, the papers depict a team of researchers hunted by a self-proclaimed deity that transforms into a malignant entity. After the beast succumbs to freezing conditions, its ultimate fate is unknown-doubtlessly lost with the pages removed from the report.” I would bet that this is (part of) the reason why Vere dislikes snow… Apart from that, it’s interesting that Vere presented as a god first. History is written by the victors, and I wouldn’t take this recounting as the full truth. If he approached the village like he did with us, at first charming (if a bit unnerving, but deities can afford that) and then started preying on people’s trauma/insecurities, it’s not much of a stretch that they’d label him a demon—and to be fair, his monstrous form doesn’t inspire much safety either. I wonder if he first caught Kuras’ attention (or wrath) by proclaiming himself a god?

I’m also still thinking of Vere being a foil for Mhin: both hunt Soulless, he does out of obligation and they do presumably as a choice in line with their ideals; one leans completely on his Monster side and lets it leak through nonchalantly, the other despises Monsters and hides their own unnatural skills; Vere puts on airs to hide his thoughts, overwhelming you with (effective or not) charm, while Mhin is standoffish and avoids opening up by… well, avoiding you.

Ais

The Exile notices “Not many scars, though. Strange. Save for one cut along his brow, Ais is unmarked for how seasoned he acts.” In a post on tumblr the team answered a question about this particular scar: “Ais’s scar serves as a memento of his first day in the human realm, a stark reminder of all that can be lost. His gang imparted a lesson he’ll never forget, and he returned the favor in kind.” What feels more likely to me, is that he passed through the Shroud with his gang, they had a serious disagreement and/or they betrayed him (we already know from the character sheets and other hints that he doesn’t like being alone, I feel like it’d take something serious for him to turn his back on them), fought and he got injured during this confrontation. Then he found (?) Ocudeus, and we can assume from the fact that the red-eyed woman who lead us to the Seaspring still had visible marks of her previous health, that the Seaspring doesn’t restore wounds, so the wound was already there and didn’t get healed. I don’t think it’s likely that Ais has regenerative powers (also, his knuckles are bruised constantly, and he bleeds when MC bites him).

Leander also says that Ais “doesn’t see humans as equals”. Humans, by their very nature, can’t realistically be a match for the power of a Monster, so Ais wouldn’t consider them on the same level as him. In the same line of thinking, he seems to like more when MC can hold their own, and I feel like it’s connected to his trauma about being betrayed: if people can take care of themselves (like Vere, who’s as dangerous as Ais, and Leander, whom he respects), if he gets betrayed by those he likes, then at least he won’t have to hold back and it will be a fair fight.

When Ais says his old gang “took a walk”, the Exile wonders about this “He knows how to scare people, and he expects submission, but it’s uncommon for someone so used to being in power to be so… alone.” The Exile also has the most positive reaction by far to the Soulless in the Seaspring. When talking with Mhin, the Exile says “[Ais’] Soulless seem to like him though […] There’s a big difference between Ais’ Soulless and that many-eyed Soulless [that attacked me].” Being playful (perhaps even being in groups) isn’t a behavior they usually display, and I wonder how much of that is because they share being under the influence of Ocudeus so they're not hostile to what they consider allies, and how much it could be Ais’ doing instead: if he feels so alone, I would bet that he would (subconsciously or not) use the bond with the Groupmind as a way to feel less isolated, and those feelings impact the behaviour of the Soulless.

Ais talks about “a time where Leander’s resolve will be tested, same for anyone in this plane or the next” I think that the Adderstones remind him of what he had, or could have had. He sees something of himself in Leander, but Ais is jaded by his previous experience. I now wonder if the assassination attempts are his way to test him, make sure he’s ready for whatever comes, something that he feels like he lacked when he was left alone?

The lore post about Ais on the official tumblr reads: “Death Knell — Whispers echo about a fearsome Monster within the Shroud, their overwhelming power and authority stretching across the realm’s underworld. Few have seen the face of this infamous ruler. As Monsters continued to abandon the Shroud to seek thrills in the human realm, the being stayed behind, devouring forsaken domains and Monsters alike until no challenges were left. Now, as the being seeks conquest elsewhere, Monsters stir in anticipation of impending carnage.” This also could reference the time where [everyone’s] resolve will be tested; I wonder if it’s a general comment, about Monsters as a whole (Ais himself likes a good challenge), or if Ocudeus specifically is working towards something. In England, there was a tradition to ring the so called passing bell from the church when someone’s death was imminent; then the death knell when they passed away (there’d be additional rings to signify gender, and age, so that people could get an idea of who it was); and finally the corpse bell when the funeral was being held. If we want to read too much into the cool moniker, perhaps Ais is not meant to be the harbinger of chaos, but merely a warning sign.

The Unnamed will comment about hearing a faint heartbeat pulsing underground, when they first approach the land near the Seaspring. Earlier they also comment about feeling a kind of thrumming in Eridia itself, I wonder how far Ocuseus’ influence expands? Is it limited to where its Groupmind members are?

Leander says that he’s known Ais for around six years, which considering Kuras says that Ais is a recent arrival, could be that he’s passed through the Shroud into Eridia for less than a decade even?

Mhin

They’re EVEN MORE of a nerd in this version. Clearly knowledgeable about Soulless’ biology, even though they deny having studied anatomy or medicine. In an older post on the devs' tumblr, “Mhin was forced to apply their anatomical knowledge to violence in order to survive. After years of bitter experience, they learned to fight with agility, elegance, and surgical precision. Even in Eridia, their skills see more use in combat than healing.” which again makes me think they maybe didn’t formally study them, but being an apprentice to someone isn’t out of the equation (perhaps even Kuras, the Divine Teacher?). Them saying to an Alchemist’s red choice “It’s been a while since I had someone answer [my theories]” hints that they weren’t always alone in leading a life like this, before. Like Leander says about them, “Vulnerability doesn’t get you much except heartache.”

“Something about them is strange, unlike any human or Monster I’ve ever met. I can’t quite place my hand on why, and that’s a first” is what an Unnamed says when first encountering them. Not human, not Monster, but a mix of both—Not enough Monster yet too far gone from Human. A post on the devs’ tumblr depicts Mhin (partially?) transformed: they’re still clearly recognizable, it could be they’re just mid transformation but considering the comment from the Unnamed, I don’t think Mhin can become fully a Monster (like, say, Vere’s shadow fox is also kinda incorporeal but more shaped): it is said that Monster gain more control over their human form as time progresses, so Mhin has probably only recently become like this. The description of “a tar-like substance leaking from their eyes and bony extrusions” matches their pin designs as well as their “costume” in the official 2024 Halloween art, and the tar/blood leaking from their eye matches the pastry on the official 2025 Valentine’s Day art (bottom right corner).

Ais calls them “dove” and considering their Monster form seems to be quite the opposite, black ichory feathers and all, makes me believe that Ais has seen them shifted sometime and is poking fun at it. Or I’m just reading into it too much and it’s about them having white hair and Ais defaulting to bird nicknames for some reason.

The Exile comments “It’s one thing to strike down Soulless. They’re creatures of instinct, aggressive and dangerous to everyone. But Monsters are lucid, thinking beings—beings that Mhin seems to loathe.” It feels like their hatred is brought on by how familiar they are: they know the thoughts that compel a Monster (hence their insistence that MC seeks help from someone less dangerous than them) and they hate that they’re their own thoughts.

In a recent post detailing their daily schedule, it seems to me that Mhin doesn’t sleep, or barely does. I’m more inclined to say that it’s a consequence of their nature, that they haven’t accepted (so they still want to sleep, even if they can’t or don’t need it), similar to how Kuras doesn’t really eat.

Since they both compete in the same field, I wonder if Mhin and Vere first met while hunting Soulless? Do they ever meet while on the same contract, or do they run in different circles?

I don’t think they mentioned this in the first demo, but Mhin says they grew up in Eridia. Which really surprised me, because in the pre-release content they’re referred as “outsider” and “outcast”… Unless that’s changed in the rewrite, maybe they were cast off when they were young, or maybe they weren’t physically exiled but rather their family/group of origin estranged them? “Eridia wasn’t perfect, but it used to be a place worth living in” also could be said in a more subjective sense, Mhin didn’t lead a perfect life but they were satisfied with it before. Moreover, Leander says about them “I’ve known them since they arrived here.” Perhaps they grew up in Eridia, left at some point, and came back later? And when asking Kuras about Mhin, he says “Like you, they’re a recent arrival.” though that could just be that Kuras has a different concept of time, considering he’s centuries old. In any case, I highly doubt it’s just an oversight from the team because so far every detail is very curated. There’s something here about Mhin’s timeline that I can’t quite put my hands on yet.

Now the juiciest bit of info about them yet in my opinion, is on their tumblr lore drop from the studio: “Lost Expeditions — In a bygone era, before Eridia became the last beacon of humanity, there was Lovent. Yet where a bustling metropolis once stood, there is now only a blasted crater and empty ruins, blanketed by fog. The inhabitants, and large chunks of the city, had vanished into thin air. Over the following years, scholars flocked to the ruins in search of answers. Like the Loventians, they disappeared without a trace, and none ever returned.” Lovent is also referenced in another post, as “The previous largest city, Lovent, was the epicenter of the first Fogfall. In the century since, Soulless and Monster incursions destroyed most cities, leaving Eridia as the largest remaining one.” It makes me wonder, if Mhin maybe did grow up in Eridia, went to Lovent either in time to be caught in its destruction, or afterwards to investigate it. It’s possible that this is how they became a Monster… In the description of their flower, there’s also a reference to “barren wastelands to ruins perpetually shrouded in Fogfall” which is way too similar to “empty ruins, blanketed by fog” to be a coincidence. It’s possible that they physically entered the Fogfall/Shroud, and what emerged wasn’t fully them anymore.

Thanks if you read so far, as always I’m always happy to read other thoughts about it all or if I missed something 👀

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.