#(which is to say my cat turned me into a pretzel to get my pillow from me)

[isa-ah]

OH NO

[kpopfanfictrash]

Pride and Fidget Spinners (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash , as part of the You’ll Never Shop Alone (YNSA) collaboration with @underthejoon and @suga-kookiemonster

Creative Content Contributor: @underthejoon, for this amazing banner

Rating: 18+

Warnings: oral (female receiving), dirty talk, big dick (it’s seokjin, duh), everyone in this fic is a brat, seokjin talks about fair lending

Genre: Rom-Com / Smut / Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 18,623

Summary:   Seokjin has always prided himself on being the top mall kiosk salesman. His turf, the spot nearest to the fountain, is due to him being the undisputed best in the game. At least, until you arrive and throw his world into chaos.

[ cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

I GET KNOCKED DOWN, BUT I GET UP AGAIN 

YOU ARE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN

I GET KNO –

SLAP. Seokjin’s hand finds the buzzer, tuning off his alarm to burrow further under the covers. Sunlight streams through the open windows, pricking the back of his eyelids but Seokjin refuses to look. He can sleep for five more minutes. Five more minutes will not kill him.

Somewhere else in his apartment, a bedroom door slams. Wincing, Seokjin pulls his comforter higher. His roommate, Min Yoongi, spends most of his time annoyed with the world – but especially in the morning, and especially before having coffee. Loud banging continues, along with the sound of facial products hitting the sink. Groaning out loud, Seokjin pulls a pillow over his face.

Unfortunately, he is now awake and unable to slip back into his dream. It was a good one, too. Something about Iron Man and that hot barista at the mall Taehyung is crushing on. Squinting into his pillow, Seokjin abruptly sits up and tosses this on the floor.

“Fuck!” he yelps, throwing up a hand.

Every day, Seokjin somehow forgets to close his blinds before sleeping. Groping his way into the bathroom, Seokjin ruffles a hand through mussed morning hair. Turning on both taps in his shower, he waits for the water to warm and stares at himself in the mirror.

Clapping both hands to his face, Seokjin drags down the side of his cheeks. Getting older is weird.

Before he can get too hung up on this fact, Seokjin steps into the tub. “I GET KNOCKED DOWN,” he sings, lathering himself with soap. “BUT I GET UP AGAIN!”

Once out of the shower, dried and with a towel wrapped around his waist, Seokjin wanders into his closet. The sight dims his spirits a bit, seeing rows and rows of neatly pressed suits. Seokjin stares them each down in turn, knowing blinking is a weakness.

Reaching past them, he sighs.

The one at the front is navy, pin-striped and stares at him mockingly. Seokjin remembers wearing that one on his first day of work, nearly three years ago. He remembers how proud his parents were of him when he called them on his way home.

Seokjin’s heart sinks at the memory. That first phone call overlaps with another, less pleasant one. The one after his company decided to move their programming center out of his city. Seokjin was not one of the engineers selected to go. He was – rather unceremoniously – let go.

Let go. Seokjin snorts at the memory. Let go is such a nicer way to say fired. Fired has the ring of burnt smoke to it; it stinks of crumbling foundations and all hell breaking loose. If a company wants to yank one’s livelihood out from under them, Seokjin at least feels they should have the decency to call it what it is. Let go.

Shaking his head, Seokjin pushes past the suit to grab a white button-down. It has been nearly six months since that second call. Four months since his severance ran out and Seokjin realized he needed a job. Three months and three weeks since he began working at the Fidget Funk – even thinking the name makes Seokjin wince.

If someone had told him three years ago that he, Kim Seokjin, with his fancy degree and multiple years of experience, would ever be working a glorified mall job, Seokjin would have laughed in their face. He would have asked what they were smoking and if he could share – and yet. Here he is.

Frowning at himself in the mirror, Seokjin zips up his pants. Perhaps the worst part is that Seokjin was not upset when he was ‘let go.’ He was not actually disappointed by the firing, which disappointed his parents even more. When Bob and Karen from HR sat him down in that tiny, white room and handed him a tiny, white packet, Seokjin could not stop grinning.

His colleagues thought he had been kept when he left the room. That is how much Seokjin hated that company. His pure joy at finally leaving was enough to make up for the sucky way it happened.

Honestly, Seokjin was not surprised when he was fired. His entire last year he worked there, Seokjin spent most of his free time designing apps on his phone. No wonder they let him go, come to think of it. He was hardly their employee of the year.

Grabbing both wallet and keys, Seokjin shoves these into his pockets. Stepping into the hall, he glances at Yoongi’s room. “Yoongi!” he calls. No answer. “Hey! Min Yoongi!”

Continued silence, apart from the harsh thud of bass.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Seokjin tries again. “MIN YOONGI!”

The door at the end of the hall opens, hitting the wall. “What?” With a yawn, Yoongi drags a hand through his hair. Bleached blond strands fall about his face. “You said 10:00 AM. It’s 10:01.”

“Right.” Seokjin looks at him pointedly. “But I need to have the kiosk set up by 10:30, or else Bertha gets pissed.”

Yoongi walks past him and frowns. “Who’s Bertha? I don’t remember you working with anyone named Bertha.”

“I don’t.” Seokjin shrugs. Today is one of the rare days their work schedules lined up and – amazingly enough – Yoongi agreed to carpool. “Bertha is the name of my fidget spinner display. She’s temperamental.”

Yoongi groans, shutting the door. “Dude, you need to get a hobby.”

“I do have a hobby!”

“Then, get a girlfriend,” says Yoongi, sliding his keys from the lock. “You have way too much free time on your hands.”

“Do not,” Seokjin mutters, shoving both hands in his pockets as they walk to his car. “I’m working on loads of stuff.”

“Oh, really?” Yoongi flips his phone. “Which amazing app is it today? Let me guess. The one which meows every time a cat comes near? Or, the one which ranks all the apps in your phone from most to least used? Or, maybe –”

“Hey!” Cutting him off, Seokjin pulls open his car door. “You left out Alliterate! The handy app which suggests words which start with the same letter as yours – for casual alliteration.”

Yoongi stares over the roof of his car. “Dude, who would buy that?”

“English majors. Dramatic teenagers writing letters in the eighteenth century.”

“Seokjin.” Yoongi slides into the passenger seat. “You don’t give a fuck about any of these ideas, and therein lies your problem.”

“Oh, really?” Seokjin sticks his keys into the ignition. The car is sweltering, baking from having been left in the sun all morning. “Unlike you and your SoundCloud rapping?”

“Exactly unlike me and my SoundCloud rapping.” Grinning, Yoongi buckles his seatbelt and looks over at Seokjin. “Speaking of which – I have a new track to play.”

“No.”

Turning on the engine, Seokjin winces when a red warning light appears. He apparently needs an oil change soon but – with what money?

“Yes.” Yoongi reaches out, already hooking up his phone. “Just these two hooks, okay? Tell me which one you like more.”

Twelve minutes later, Seokjin pulls into his unofficial parking spot at the mall. “Will you look at that?” he says, turning off the engine. “We’re here! Time to go sell those fidgets!”

Rolling his eyes, Yoongi pushes open the door. Shoving his white Auntie Anne’s visor further up on his head, he glances around. “You’ll be sorry,” he says, slamming the door. “You’ll all be sorry!” Yoongi yells at the empty parking lot.

Patting him once on the back, Seokjin walks inside. “You know that I like your music.” Seokjin shivers when they both hit the AC. “More than like it, in fact. You’re too good and you know it – your head is inflated, and I have to take you down a peg.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Yeah, because all this pretzel rolling is inflating my ego. I’m basically Kanye, pre-Kim. Or Kanye, post-Kim. Say what you will about the guy, he’s remarkably consistent about how good he thinks he is.”

Snorting, Seokjin quiets when they pass by Kay Jewelers. Both men swerve to avoid eye contact, since they never know when what’s-her-name will be working. Seokjin makes a face. He always forgets her name, but the Kay Jewelers girl is usually after the dick of someone in the mall. Both he and Yoongi have been on the receiving end of that hunt before.

“Alright.” Coming to a stop at his kiosk, Seokjin lowers his gym bag to the ground. “Here is where I bid thee adieu.”

Yoongi continues walking. “Bye.”

“BYE, BEST FRIEND!” Seokjin yells, waving as Yoongi crosses the food court.

Several heads turn, and Seokjin continues waving until his roommate is gone. Grinning, Seokjin returns to his kiosk. Unlocking the metal grating, he pulls this up to reveal a brightly colored display. The morning routine is standard. Inventory, balancing the register, ensuring all displays are functional. Each time he passes the front, Seokjin sees his name on the register.

The kiosk’s top salesman, three months in a row.

It might seem like a silly thing to be proud of, but Seokjin is at a point in his life where everything has gone wrong. Everything he does seems to become a failure and even though he hates this job and hates these fidget spinners (okay, that’s harsh – no one hates fidget spinners), at least he can succeed at this one, small thing.

Selling shit to people they absolutely do not need.

Leaning against the counter, Seokjin crosses an ankle to wait. The mall opens on weekdays at 11:00 AM, prompt. Some places are open earlier – like Java Joe’s, the coffee shop, and maybe the gym – but Seokjin’s kiosk is standard mall hours. Rubbing his eyes, Seokjin glances longingly in the direction of Java Joe’s, but there are only five minutes until the mall opens. He needs to remain where he is.

Pulling his phone from his jacket, he shoots off a quick text.

Seokjin: yo [10:55 AM]

It takes a moment for Namjoon to respond.

Namjoon: what do you want? [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: nothing!!! [10:56 AM]

Namjoon: … [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: ok fine [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: I’ll come clean [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: are you doing the morning shift at T-Mobile [10:56 AM]

Namjoon: …. Yes [10:57 AM]

Namjoon: why? [10:57 AM]

Seokjin: do u think… on ur next break… u could bring me some coffee?? [10:57 AM]

Namjoon: get it yourself [10:58 AM]

Seokjin: pleaseeee Joon?? I never ask you for anything! [10:58 AM]

Seokjin: Chad called in sick, so I’m here all alone : ( [10:58 AM]

Namjoon: sigh. Fine – can you hang on until 1? [10:58 AM]

Seokjin: : ( [10:58 AM]

Namjoon: ur the worst but fine, I’ll try to get away sooner [10:59 AM]

Seokjin: THANKS JOON [10:59 AM]

Seokjin: grande iced Americano, no milk [10:59 AM]

Namjoon: u wouldn’t treat Yoongi like this [10:59 AM]

Seokjin snorts, shoving his phone in his pocket. He absolutely would treat Yoongi like this – problem is, Yoongi rarely responds. He usually spends his work breaks engrossed in his music. If anything, Seokjin is the one who brings coffee to him.

The first two hours pass by at a glacial pace. Seokjin regularly looks at his watch, wondering why the day is moving so slowly. True, it is a weekday but there is usually steady traffic. Stay at home parents and high school kids with nothing better to do than spend their summers at the mall, drinking Orange Julius’ next to the fountain.

It took Seokjin two months to convince his boss to put in for this spot. Next to the fountain is prime mall real estate, since you need to pass by it in order to reach anywhere else. Which is why it is strange that Seokjin has had zero customers.

He is still frowning when Namjoon appears at his workplace, iced coffee in hand. Namjoon wears his T-Mobile manager uniform, complete with a badge which declares his name and title. Kim Namjoon, Assistant Manager.

“Two?” Seokjin fake gasps, holding out a hand. “All for me?”

“Nope.” Namjoon only gives one to him. “One is for me.” 

“Rude.” Seokjin sniffs, turning to survey the mall.

“What is? The fact that I brought you coffee?”

“Sure.”

Namjoon laughs. “What’s up with you today? You seem super distracted.”

Squinting at the fountain, Seokjin shakes his head. “I don’t know. Things have been so quiet today. Is there something going on? A deal at Woodbury mall, or something?”

“Hm.” Namjoon’s brow furrows. “Not that I know of, I – oh, wait.” He straightens, glancing across the food court. “When I was walking over here, I did see a new kiosk. Maybe they’re taking some of your customers?”

“A new kiosk?” Seokjin looks up in alarm. “Where?”

“There.” Namjoon points behind a browning, potted plant.

Seokjin peers in the direction Namjoon is pointing. In his line of vision stands a brand-spanking-new kiosk. The sides are all pristine, gleaming and white, with the kind of bright-colored accents designed to draw people in. Neat boxes of toys line the shelves, almost as pretty as Seokjin’s own display.

Groaning, Seokjin sinks to his kiosk. “Drones?” He glances at Namjoon. “How are fidget spinners supposed to compete with fucking drones?”

“Dunno.” Namjoon takes a sip of his coffee. “I first saw them this morning, but they’re getting pretty good business. Nearly tripped over their salesgirl on my way here. She’s cute,” he adds, glancing at Seokjin.

Seokjin glowers. “Cuter than me?”

“Maybe.” Namjoon shrugs.

“Impossible.” Seokjin glares in the direction of the kiosk. On one side, he can barely make out the shape of a worker and based on what he sees, Seokjin begrudgingly thinks Namjoon might be right. You could be cute.

Namjoon drains the rest of his cup. “Well. Gotta go,” he says cheerfully, clapping Seokjin on the back. “Breaks don’t last forever. Hope the rest of your day picks up.”

“Thanks,” Seokjin mutters. “Hope so, too.”

Namjoon leaves, returning the same way he came towards the T-Mobile store. Seokjin continues to glance at the competing kiosk, staring with envy at its remote-controlled helicopters.

Up until now, the competitive landscape at the mall has been easy. There is a guy on the second floor selling Proactive but other than that, Seokjin has never had real competition. Until now, it would seem.

Rather than be turned off by this fact, Seokjin tilts his head. The only reason he lasted as long as he did at his prior company is because of how competitive he is. Even if Seokjin does not care about the product, he still works tirelessly to be called number one. He should stop by and check out the competition – just to be certain there is no real risk.

Seokjin’s phone buzzes, revealing a text from his boss. Lisa will be here at 5:00 PM, meaning Seokjin only must hold out a few hours before he can see the new kiosk.

Only a few more hours until he knows what he is up against.

Lisa’s arrival at five means Seokjin is afforded a half-hour break. He uses this to grab food, bothering Yoongi at Auntie Anne’s before moving on. Dinnertime at the mall is typically crowded and Yoongi tends to throw mustard if Seokjin overstays his welcome.

Not wanting to ruin his button-down, Seokjin wanders in the direction of your kiosk. He eyes this as he approaches, finding the reality of the situation to be worse than he feared. The drones you stock are cool and what is more – they are all beautifully displayed. The stand might even rival Bertha.

Crossing both arms over his chest, Seokjin examines the kiosk. The products are neat, all of them aligned in carefully placed rows. The fingers on his right hand twitch, really wanting to touch the remote- controlled helicopters, but before he can move –

“Can I help you?” you ask, bright and cheerful. Seokjin flinches, gaze darting to you.

Fuck – seeing you up close, Seokjin’s jaw nearly hits the ground. You are gorgeous. There is no other word for it. The smile you give is infections; it makes him want to smile back. More than that – Seokjin finds himself wanting to be the reason for that smile, but no! Straightening his spine, Seokjin reminds himself that you are the competition.

Looking at you, his scowl deepens.

Your own smile falters. “Did you want me to take that one out?” you ask, pointing at the drone. “Show you how it works?”

Seokjin shrugs, as though he could not care less. “I’m not here to buy, actually.”

Now, it is your turn to look confused. “I – uh, okay.” You squint. “Then, why are you here?”

Seokjin realizes how creepy he sounds. In your eyes, he has wandered over, stared at your merchandise for a prolonged period of time and then announced he was not here to buy. A grade-A creep rivaled only by that one flasher who lurks in female footwear.

“Uh…” Backtracking, Seokjin jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I work at that kiosk, actually. I’m Seokjin.”

Unimpressed, you glance in this direction. “Y/N. And – uh, okay?”

“I stopped by to say hello. And to see what you’re selling.”

As he speaks, you read the name of his kiosk. Your upper lip twitches as slowly, you return to looking at him. Seokjin is unnerved by your smile. For some reason, he has the sinking suspicion he is the butt of your joke.

“Oh,” you say, tone entirely different. “That kiosk. Brandi mentioned you.”

“Brandi?”

“My boss.” You wave towards the middle-aged woman on the other side of the kiosk. Seokjin thinks he has seen her around before. “She said you’ve been selling pretty well the past couple of months. Great job.”

Seokjin tries not to seem smug – there is an undercurrent to your tone which screams subterfuge. “I mean, yeah,” he says carefully. “Things are going pretty well for us.”

“Strange, then.”

“What is?”

“Strange that we’re doing so much better than you.”

Someone could scrape Seokjin’s jaw off the dirty, child-scuffed floor. You smirk at him, tapping two fingers against the pretty, floral sleeve of your tunic. If Seokjin did not know better, he would think you were flirting with him.

Except you just fucking insulted him.

“I…” Shaking his head, Seokjin’s voice is strangled. “Mall traffic has been slow this morning. No big deal. I guess once you’ve been around longer, you’ll know that.”

“Hm.” You purse your lips. “I don’t know – things have been pretty crazy for us today. We already ran out of a product. Wild, right?”

Seokjin’s mouth dries, his ears starting to buzz – all evidence of his pure hatred of you. Obviously. It could not be anything else.

“You ran… out of something? Already?”

Seokjin’s voice squeaks on the last word, making him cringe.

“Not bad, huh? Although, I guess once we’ve ‘been around longer,’” you mock with a grin, “we’ll get more lulls. Must be nice.”

In the face of his clear disbelief, you have the nerve to wink.

Seokjin begins to see red. “Yeah,” he croaks, recovering himself. “Beginner’s luck is nice, too.”

Your smile disappears. “How long is your break? I don’t think my kiosk could afford to have me gone for so long.”

Not looking away, Seokjin shoves the rest of his pretzel in his mouth. Chewing exaggeratedly, he watches you wince. “Sorry,” he mumbles around cinnamon-sugar bread. “Thanks for the reminder. I do need to be getting back. Can’t have my kiosk without its top salesman.”

Nose wrinkled; you continue to stare. “If that’s your idea of finesse, I think they can manage without you.”

“Please.” Seokjin gives you a pointed look. “I’m literally dripping with finesse.”

Your lips twitch, suppressing the gesture. Seokjin is impressed by your stoicism, since he knows he is a good-looking guy. That much is a non-debatable fact. Even if it were not, he can see by the way your gaze lingers, that you like what you see. And still – when your gaze returns to his face, your expression is artfully composed.

Fuck, Seokjin realizes. You really are going to be competition.

“Is that all?” Blithely, you turn. “Did you just stop by to see how much better we’re doing?”

Seokjin scowls at your arguably perfect behind. “I came to see how much product you have left, yeah.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you grin. “Why? Worried we’ll sell out before you can buy?”

“No.” Undercutting his conviction, Seokjin glances again at the helicopter. “I’ve got my hands full, thanks.”

“Ri-ght.” You draw out the word. “Then, you should probably get back to the, uh – Fidget Funk.”

Seokjin’s ears turn red with embarrassment. “I will,” he blurts, spinning around on his heel. “You have fun at the Drone Dome – fuck,” he mutters, coming to a stop. “That’s actually such a cool name.”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks away. All the way across the food court, your laughter rings out behind him. Upon reaching his kiosk, Seokjin glances over his shoulder. You are not paying attention to him, already engaged with another customer and Seokjin’s stomach slowly sinks.

He might be in trouble – and in more ways than one.

Seokjin arrives the next day ready for battle.

Before, he was unprepared – caught off guard by your wily ways, but no longer! He is Kim Seokjin, crusader of goals and defender of the kiosk. The fact that Seokjin does not care about fidget spinners does not matter. They are his unfortunate chosen weapon and so, he will die upon this metaphorical sword.

Leaning against his kiosk, Seokjin spins a toy in one hand. Smiling and nodding at everyone who passes, he tries not to seem creepy or make eye contact for too long. This is the number one rule of kiosk sales – be deliberate, but approachable.

Most kiosk salespeople fail here, never ascending past the first stage of selling. They leer at shoppers, approaching women with earbuds in, or spraying perfume without asking. Not Seokjin. Seokjin is the very image of class, one ankle crossed over the other.

Seated at the food court is a large group of collegiate girls. At least, Seokjin assumes this based off one girl’s University sweatshirt. They sit clustered around Starbucks drinks (a slap in the face to Java Joe’s!), giggling every so often and glancing at Seokjin. Despite knowing they see him, Seokjin pretends not to care. Every so often, he pushes a hand through his hair and angles himself in the light.

Eventually, he knows one will come over and when they do, Seokjin will whip out the charm. A shadow steps into his path, blocking the sunlight.

Seokjin frowns. “Get out of the way,” he says, bored. “I almost have a sale.”

Arms crossed; you glance over a shoulder. The group of girls glare at you, clearly perturbed at having their view interrupted.

Snorting, you return to Seokjin. “Oh, please. So, what – you’re a pedophile, in addition to creep?”

Jerking upright, Seokjin scowls. “I am not a pedophile. I’m just trying to make a sale.”

“Of what kind?” you ask pleasantly.

“Fidget spinners.”

“Hm. Could’ve fooled me.”

Shrugging, you take a long sip of your coffee. Seokjin tries not to linger on the way your lips wrap around the straw.

I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says stiffly. “Now, move. You’re blocking my light.”

“Whatever,” you yawn, leaving. As you enter the food court, you give Seokjin an excellent view of your backside walking away. “We’ll still beat your sales target today, anyways!” you call back.

Glaring at your retreating head, Seokjin holds out for as long as he can before dropping his gaze to your ass. Waggling fingers over your shoulder, you disappear behind the potted plant. The college girls resume looking at him but now, Seokjin finds he does not care.

Really, he should be thanking you. As soon as you are gone, three of the girls wander up to his kiosk. Seokjin sells five fidget spinners in one hour, thanks to the jealousy your presence provoked. Rather than be pleased by this fact though, Seokjin becomes even more agitated. He does not like feeling in your debt.

The next time your shifts overlap, determined to get even, Seokjin switches tactics. He parks on the opposite end of the mall, necessitating he should walk by your kiosk. Yoongi complains about this, but Seokjin merely ignores him.

Slowing as he passes your kiosk, Seokjin waits for you to look up.

Both elbows leaned to the counter, you scroll casually through your phone. When your gaze flicks up, taking him in – you blink.

“Oh, come on,” you groan.

Waving to Yoongi, Seokjin veers in your direction. “Oh, hey!” He stops at your display, nonchalantly stretching his arms overhead. “Having a good morning?”

Gaze darting to his pants and back up, you almost seem flustered. “I – how tight are those jeans?”

Seokjin’s grin widens. “What, these old things?”

Turning around, Seokjin checks out his own ass, as though surprised by its appearance. He is rather proud of his legs, actually. There is a reason Seokjin spends so much time in the gym with Jungkook. His newly bought skinny jeans show off his best assets. Not to mention how satisfying it is to see you rendered speechless.

Your gaze returns to his, smoldering. “There’s a tag still in the pocket, genius.”

“Oh.” Grandly, Seokjin plucks this off – fuck, that just cost him an entire week of spending allowance. “Well, there you go. Wouldn’t want to distract from the view.”

Jaw clenched, you seem as though you want to say more, but hold yourself back. “Great.”

Seokjin smirks. “Isn’t it?”

Whirling around, you pretend to be busy but Seokjin can tell your register has already been counted.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your kiosk?” You glower, glancing over your shoulder. “I’d hate to waste any more of your time standing here.”

Seokjin’s grin broadens. “You’re right,” he agrees. “That’d be a shame. See you around, Y/N!”

Happily, he turns and walks back the food court. With each step his grin widens, imagining you watching him leave. The rest of his day is spent in lazy self-satisfaction.

As it turns out, Seokjin should have been warier. Your silence was not acceptance of defeat, but a determined self-call to arms. The very next day, Seokjin walks past your kiosk and nearly spills his drink down his shirt.

You stand off to the side, bent to display a generous amount of cleavage. Seokjin’s jaw drops, unable to look away. He realizes how inappropriate he is being when you look up and see him.

“Seokjin!” Straightening, you wave.

The action makes your breasts bounce, causing Seokjin’s pants to feel tighter.

Yoongi snorts at his side. “Good luck, man,” he says, patting Seokjin once on the back before walking away.

Seokjin is left alone, facing the wiles of his enemy.

“Hey,” you say, raising both brows. “Seokjin? Are you okay?”

Forcing himself to move, Seokjin walks robotically forward. He does not allow himself to look below your collarbone – fuck, you must be wearing a push-up bra. There is no other way a single day could cause such a dramatic transformation.

Unable to help himself, Seokjin sneaks another peek.

When he looks up, you are smirking at him. “See something you like?”

The tips of Seokjin’s ears turn crimson. “I – what?”

“The merchandise,” you say sweetly, waving a hand. “We just got in a few new toys over the weekend.”

Seokjin has no response to this, having momentarily forgotten what words are.

Your lips twitch. “Is something wrong, Seokjin?”

Seeing the teasing look in your eyes, Seokjin fumes. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, jaw snapping shut. “I’ll just be on my way, then. Lots of… fidgets to spin.”

Turning around, he dramatically walks off.

He cannot help but feel oddly unsettled, throat burning in a way which does not make sense. Anger, he tells himself. The emotion is merely annoyance. It is completely natural he would hate his competitor. Natural, for him to think about what their lips would look like shut up by his.

It takes two weeks for Seokjin to enact the next phase of his plan. Which is – dramatic entertainment. Basically, phase two involves Seokjin researching fidget spinner hand tricks for hours at a time on YouTube. It reaches to the point where Seokjin is in near hibernation. Jungkook sends him texts every so often, asking when he will return to the gym, but Seokjin is a man on a mission and cannot be stopped.

He starts off slowly, learning the simple fidget spinner hand transfer. Next is the hand twist, rated Difficulty Level Two by the most known YouTube star. From there, learning the around the back is easy. This maneuver is more complex – it involves Seokjin physically throwing the fidget spinner over his shoulder to catch in the other hand.

Once Seokjin can control two fidget spinners at once, he deems himself ready.

Phase two goes into action on a busy Saturday afternoon. Seokjin hijacks the Fidget Funk’s speakers, hooking up his iPhone to the horror of his co-worker, Lisa.

“Oh, no,” she groans. “Please tell me you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing.”

“Are you thinking I’m doing a fidget spinner trick show?” Seokjin adjusts the sweatband on his forehead. “Alright, then. I won’t tell you.”

“God, how embarrassing.” Lisa slumps low in her chair. “Well, at least do it before Chad gets here.”

“Noted. What song should I use?” Seokjin flips through his playlist. “Hero by Enrique Iglesias? Whatcha Say by Jason Derulo? The Cha Cha Slide?”

Lisa stares in disbelief. “What vibe are you going for, exactly?”

“None of those?” Seokjin frowns. “What about All Star by Smash Mouth?”

“How about Cotton Eyed Joe?” Lisa offers. “That seems more fitting with all of… this.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, Seokjin selects a song to press play. The first notes of Everybody by Backstreet Boys plays through the speakers. Lisa groans and slumps even lower.

At first, no one notices Seokjin at all. People sidestep him, focused solely on getting to the food court but then, Seokjin executes a perfect shoulder throw. A kid stops to watch. His mom stops too, trying to drag her kid forward but failing in her mission.

“Hey!” Seokjin beams, switching the spinner from one hand to the other. “Want to see more?”

The boy nods and before long, Seokjin has managed to gather a small crowd. Over the ooh’s and ahs of children, Seokjin converses with their moms.

“Fidget spinners are proven to help concentration in both kids and adults,” Seokjin says with a hand twist. “One of my friends was telling me a story the other day. He and this AVP at his office are both tactile people and remember better while doing something with their hands. So, they end up having this entire meeting while playing with fidget spinners from her office.”

The moms all laugh, moving forward to let their kids pick out a toy. By the time the day ends, Seokjin has beaten all previous sales records. He has also managed to capture the attention of most people in the mall – including you.

And Namjoon, who stops by before closing.

“Dude,” Namjoon laughs, leaning one arm to his kiosk. “Why are you being so extra lately? It’s just a temp job. Who cares?”

“I care, Namjoon.” Seokjin bristles. “Is it so wrong to want to do well at my work? To want to improve the sales of my peers. Frankly, Namjoon, I’m insulted you would –”

“Hey, Kim!” you yell, passing by. “Heard you’re trying to break into show business!”

Seokjin abruptly stops talking. “Trying?” he calls back. “I’m already there. Were you able to catch a performance?”

Rolling your eyes, you walk backwards. “Of course, I did! The whole fucking mall saw you, Seokjin. Your music was so loud, people physically moved in the food court.”

Seokjin’s grin widens. “What’d you think?”

“I think you should stick to sales.” Shaking your head, you try not to smile. “Anyways, just wait until you see what we’re doing this weekend. It’ll make your lame tricks look like nothing!”

“Can’t wait!” Seokjin cups both hands over his mouth. “I love to watch lofty dreams come crashing down!”

Shaking your head, you turn around and disappear into the mall. Once you are gone, Seokjin returns to Namjoon.

“What?” he blinks, seeing his friend’s smug expression.

Namjoon’s smile widens. “Oh, nothing.”

“What?”

Namjoon merely laughs, grabbing his smoothie and turning away. “Good luck with that, man!”

Seokjin stares after, not understanding but deciding it is not worth his while. Namjoon always thinks he knows so much – granted, he usually does, but that is not the point. The point is Seokjin does not and so, he should not worry about it now.

The next day is busy, which means Seokjin barely has time to consider the performance you mentioned. He is again covering for Lisa, who failed to show up. Chad and Seokjin are the only ones covering the kiosk, which Seokjin despises because Chad is his least favorite co-worker. Lisa may be flaky, but at least her presence is tolerable. Chad is always going off on tangents about who wronged him on Twitter that day, and why.

Chad is also terrible at customer service – no surprise – which means Seokjin must handle all returns and exchanges. A tedious task in itself, let alone with Chad’s monotonous voice in his ears. In fact, the morning is so busy, Seokjin barely remembers to eat, let alone visit you.

It is the sound of cheers over the food court which make him look up.

Midway through a transaction, Seokjin pauses to glance at your kiosk. You and your Manager – Brandi – stand before it, navigating two competing drones in the air. It seems several people are betting on which drone will win.

Rolling his eyes, Seokjin returns to his customer. Smiling blandly, he hands the woman her money and ignores the wild cheers growing steadily behind him. It makes Seokjin’s teeth grind, realizing you might be drawing a bigger crowd than he did.

Unable to stop himself, he peers over his shoulder. Seokjin’s eyes widen. Above the food court, a helicopter loops circles around a remote-controlled plane. They no longer seem to be racing, dive- bombing the crowd and swooping up at the last second. Kids squeal in excitement, running around underneath.

Seokjin scowls, slamming shut the register. His mind revolts at the knowledge that your show is better than his – also, there is the maddening fact that Seokjin wants a drone for himself. Huffing under his breath, Seokjin turns away.

Before he can tell Chad he is going on break, a scream pierces the crowd.

“MOVE!” Seokjin hears your voice above the rest. “KIDS, MOVE!”

Seokjin whirls around, spotting the helicopter spinning out of control. Kids duck from its path, their hands held overhead as the helicopter sputters, dips and sputters again. Steam curls from its top, clearly not responding to the remote you hold in one hand.

Worse than that, the drone is headed in their direction.

“Chad, move!” Seokjin yells, diving out of the way.

Chad looks up just in time to see the helicopter crash into their kiosk.

Fidget spinners fly every which way. From his spot on the floor, several hit Seokjin in the back of his legs – he winces, curling into himself. Chad’s sputtering continues above as the slow whir of helicopter blades begins to wind down.

Seokjin hesitantly looks up. The kiosk above him is chaos. Nothing seems to be broken, but his carefully placed display – Bertha! – is entirely out of whack. Brightly colored boxes lie on the floor, shelving hanging precariously off the sides of the kiosk.

You dash into view, skidding to a stop inches away from his nose. “I’m so sorry!” you cry, a useless remote held in one hand. “I don’t know what happened, I swear.”

Your gaze darts to Seokjin’s, still lying prostrate on the floor.

He slowly pushes himself to stand, staring in shock at the disastrous kiosk. Seokjin expects to feel angry. He should feel pissed, since all his hard work was erased and now, he will have to spend several hours cleaning it up, but – nothing.

Well, that is not entirely true.

Seokjin wishes he could wipe that look of distress from your face. “It’s alright,” he says, still looking at you.

Surprise flickers over your expression.

Chad steps out from behind the kiosk. “Oh… my… god,” he says, eyes wide.

“I’m really sorry,” you repeat, face twisted in agony.

Before you can continue, your manager appears. “Go back to the kiosk, Y/N,” she says, sighing. “There are a bunch of customers to take care of. I’ll handle this.”

It appears you wish to say more, but a stern look from Brandi is silencing. Giving Seokjin an apologetic look, you turn on your heel to walk across the food court.

Brandi waits until you are out of earshot before looking at Seokjin. “I’m sorry about the disruption,” she offers.

Seokjin tears his gaze away. “It’s okay.”

“What?!” Chad stomps out to point a finger at Brandi. “It is not okay! You and your dumb drones wrecked our display!”

Brandi looks at his finger, unimpressed. She glances at Seokjin. “You can throw that helicopter away. If anything of yours has been damaged, let me know. We’ll pay for it – just send me an itemized receipt by the end of the day, okay?”

Seokjin nods, a bit thrown by the interaction. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

Brandi looks at him thankfully, turning around to return to her kiosk. Once she is gone, Chad whirls on Seokjin.

“Man, what the fuck?”

Bending, Seokjin picks up a lone fidget spinner. “What do you mean, what the fuck?”

“They should’ve…” Chad trails off, shaking his head. “Done more. I don’t know. They should’ve cleaned up the whole area, or something!”

Seokjin snorts, replacing the toy on the counter. “Relax,” he says. “It’s not like anything is seriously damaged. We just need to re-stock the display and besides, they don’t know how to do that. It’ll be faster if we do it.”

“Even so,” Chad mutters. He begins cleaning up, casting an angry glance in the direction of the Drone Dome. “They should still fucking pay.”

“They will, if anything’s broken,” Seokjin says simply.

He then tunes Chad out, putting himself to work. Re-stocking Bertha takes a while but, in the end, Seokjin is happier with its order. He keeps thinking you will stop by after your shift, but you do not. Perhaps you are too embarrassed to do so, or maybe Brandi warned you not to go near them again.

Whatever the reason, Seokjin cannot leave before closing. When he finally passes kiosk on his way to the gym, everything is closed, and you are nowhere in sight.

Seokjin lingers a moment before he moves on.

SLAM.

Seokjin drops his barbells, the sound echoing through the gym in a satisfying way. Several women on the elliptical look up in annoyance.

“Sorry!” Seokjin calls, wiping sweat from his neck.

Although the women continue to glare, they return to their workout. Jungkook snickers into the sleeve of his t-shirt, biceps bulging beneath the tight fit of his clothes. Pulling a power bar from his pocket, Jungkook waves at the weights Seokjin discarded.

“Give me ten more.”

Seokjin glares. “Go choke.”

“Can’t.” Unwrapping his snack, Jungkook takes a large bite. “Told my current hook-up that was just for her.”

“Gross.” Seokjin groans, bending to grab the weights. “I didn’t need to know that.”

Jungkook grins, displaying chocolate and teeth. “Ten more,” he repeats.

Despite several muttered curse words under his breath, Seokjin obeys. Dropping the weights again on the floor – in direct defiance of the no weight-dropping sign – Seokjin grabs his knees with both hands.

“Alright,” he huffs, squinting at Jungkook. “I don’t care anymore if I’m in shape. I care more about snacks. Snacks and alcohol.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that.” Jungkook takes another bite. “I’m using one of my free guest passes on you, so you better be worth it.”

Rolling his eyes, Seokjin takes a long swig from his water bottle. Despite this, he still follows Jungkook as they walk to the treadmills. Jungkook is right, he is doing Seokjin a favor by letting him work out for free. Truth be told, Seokjin hated Jungkook when he first began at the mall. Jungkook was young, good- looking and got tons of attention – male and female, alike.

He was the competition.

Over time though, this distrust dissolved and somehow, Jungkook is now one of Seokjin’s closest friends. When he is not annoying the hell out of him, that is.

Throwing his wrapper in the trash, Jungkook wipes both palms on his pants. “So.” Stepping onto a treadmill, he turns the speed to three. “How’s it going with drone girl?”

Seokjin follows suit. “She knocked over my display today.”

“Like, on purpose?”

“Nah.” Seokjin shakes his head. “On accident. She was doing a demo and one of the helicopter drones broke. Crashed into my kiosk.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Still – annoying. Increase your speed.”

Seokjin obeys. “Eh,” he huffs, beginning to jog. “I don’t think it was on purpose. But still, she’s just so frustrating.”

“What’s frustrating? Increase your speed again to four.”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin says, following suit. “She’s frustrating. She has this way of looking at me, you know?”

“Looking at you in like, a creepy way?”

“No…” Seokjin’s feet pound the treadmill. “She’s a tease.”

“Sounds hot.”

“She keeps messing with me.”

“You keep messing with her.”

“She made fun of my fidget spinners!”

Jungkook bursts into laughter. To add insult to injury, he barely seems winded at all by their run and Seokjin is panting.

“Dude. Fidget spinners suck. I’ve heard you say that on multiple occasions.”

“Sure, but she doesn’t have to say that!”

“Whatever, bro.” Jungkook grins. “Sounds to me like you want to fuck her.”

Seokjin is so startled, he nearly trips on the treadmill. “I do not.”

“No judgement here! Do it once, get it out of your system.”

“I don’t want to fuck her, Jungkook.” Seokjin glares in his direction. “She hates me. And I hate her!”

“O-h,” Jungkook says knowingly. “So, you’re in love with her. I get it. Increase your speed to five.”

Seokjin obeys, face turning beet-red. “Jungkook,” he growls. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

Reaching out, Seokjin turns the speed on Jungkook’s treadmill to eight.

“Hey!” Jungkook yelps, breaking into a sprint. He manages to keep up, pushing a hand through his hair. When Seokjin rolls his eyes, Jungkook grins. “Nailed it.”

Seokjin returns to his machine. “Besides, you’re one to talk,” he mutters. “Aren’t you in love with the juice girl, or something?”

On reflex, Jungkook glances over his shoulder. Seokjin can tell by his lovesick expression he is right. Juice girl only started working recently at the gym and from what Seokjin can tell, Jungkook is entirely smitten. He has never been subtle about the women he likes, but with juice girl, Jungkook seems to have met his match.

She is completely immune to his charms. Seokjin cannot help but feel sympathy for the guy. Or – at least, he does until Jungkook returns to him with a grin.

“So.” He wriggles his eyebrows. “How hot is kiosk girl, anyways?”

“No.” Seokjin reaches out to increase Jungkook’s incline. “You’re not going to fuck my mortal enemy.”

“Well, if you’re not going to.”

“Think about juice girl!” Seokjin yells – entirely unintentional, but he is running out of breath.

Jungkook retaliates by upping his speed. By the end of their sprint, Seokjin feels like collapsing. He steps off his treadmill with wobbly legs, feeling as though he has just run a marathon. Not that Seokjin would ever run a marathon, of course, but he can imagine. Jungkook follows suit, hopping down from his machine.

“Good workout.” Jungkook wipes his forehead with a towel. “Wanna come over and hang? Hoseok from Foot Locker is gonna come, too.”

Seokjin nods, taking a sip from his water bottle. “Yeah, okay.” He glances again at the door, but your kiosk is too far to see. “Sounds good to me.”

As they walk towards the locker rooms, Jungkook chatters aimlessly but Seokjin cannot stop thinking about you. While he showers and changes, Jungkook’s words replay in his mind. The idea of Seokjin having a crush on you is insane. The two of you have barely exchanged one nice word since you met.

Still. Snapping a towel free from his neck, Seokjin continues to wonder. He does think about you an awful lot. Usually, he is thinking of new ways to annoy you, but that is more than he thinks about anyone else. Chad, for instance – or Lisa.

Frowning, Seokjin slams shut his locker. He cannot ignore the initial attraction he had for you. If you had not been his competition, Seokjin would have probably asked you out.

The moment he thinks this, he freezes. Maybe this is why you annoy him so much – Seokjin is attracted to you and can do nothing about it.

Under any other set of circumstances, this fact would be enlightening but things being what they are though, nothing has changed. You still hate him. Seokjin still finds you his competition.

Staring at his locker, Seokjin’s lips twist.

“Seokjin!” Jungkook yells from the door. “You coming, or what?”

Jerking himself free from his thoughts, Seokjin picks up his bag. “Coming!” he yells, pushing you from his mind.

Seokjin has the next two days off work. He uses this mainly to work on his apps, pouring time and energy into working the kinks from his latest round of updates. In between each stroke of his keyboard, he is thinking of you.

Seokjin hates Jungkook a little, for pointing out the obvious fact that he likes you. Before that, Seokjin took his fixation with you at face value. He did not like you; he was just annoyed by you. Now, though.

He cannot help but wonder.

Exhaling loudly, Seokjin slumps against his kiosk. His manager is off once again – honestly, that dude never works – and Seokjin is stuck working with Chad. Absently, Seokjin twirls a spinner around his finger.

“You okay, man?” Chad breaks the silence.

Shaking his head, Seokjin stares into space. “Oh, yeah. Just a bit preoccupied, that’s all.”

“With what?”

Seokjin shrugs, not feeling like talking.

Chad is one of the few people capable of getting under his skin without saying a word. It is something about the way Chad stands – chest puffed, gaze lazy, as though the world owes him something. He always wears a backwards cap, even inside and Seokjin suspects a receding hairline to be the cause. Whatever the reason, Chad always has a chip on his shoulder.

He seems to be compensating for something. Although what he could be compensating for, as a white male in today’s economy, Seokjin has no idea.

“Hey.” Voice lowering, Chad nods towards the food court. “I know something which might cheer you up.”

Seokjin straightens when he realizes Chad is staring at you. Anything which cheers Chad up could only have the opposite effect upon Seokjin.

“What?” Seokjin asks, suspicious.

Chad leans in. “You know the bitch who ruined our display a few days ago?”

Seokjin’s jaw tightens, hearing you called a bitch. “What about it?”

“Ha.” Chad laughs, not hearing the clear warning in Seokjin’s tone. “Don’t worry about paying her back. I got this.”

Alarm bells go off in Seokjin’s mind. “What do you mean by, ‘I got this?’”

“Let’s just say it’s taken care of.”

“No.” Seokjin drops his phone, standing up from his chair. “Let’s say more. What the fuck did you do, Chad?”

Chad blinks at him in surprise. “Whoa – chill, dude. What’re you pissed about?”

Seokjin pauses, uncertain. It is not as though he knows you, not really. But still – Seokjin remembers how sincere you looked that day, apologizing for the display. You did not mean to injure their kiosk; he knows that much.

“Chad…” Seokjin mutters in warning.

He does not get further before screams erupt from the food court. Seokjin’s head whips sideways, spotting the source of the commotion. Once again, a drone is loose in the mall. Like two days prior, a rogue helicopter flies over the food court. It seems out of control, dive-bombing people at random and sending them running.

Seokjin’s mouth drop. Before he can move, the drone careens towards the ground. A girl stands alone next to the frozen yogurt place, holding her cone and staring at it in terror. Her eyes widen, fixed on the drone and Seokjin moves on instinct, darting into the crowd.

Before he can arrive, the girl’s mom appears to yank her to safety. Her cone spills in the process, mint chocolate chip on the ground, but at least the helicopter misses, swooping and diving again. Seokjin’s eyes narrow, realizing the drone moves much too fast to be out of control.

Glancing around, Seokjin realizes Chad is on his phone. When he sees Seokjin looking, Chad waves at him with a grin.

Seokjin’s stomach heaves. Before he can move, you are barreling towards him.

“YOU!” you yell, pointing a finger. Several people between you look up in surprise.

Seokjin blinks, also pointing at himself. “Me?”

“You!” you gasp, skidding to a stop. “What the hell did you do to my drone?”

You are holding several remotes in your fist, Seokjin realizes. Apparently, none of them are working. The helicopter swoops dangerously close to you both and Seokjin ducks out of the way.

“What did I do?” he blurts, staring upwards. “You think I’m the one behind this?”

“No, shit!” you yell, dodging the drone.

“Y/N, I –” The chopper dive-bombs again and Seokjin groans. This is not going to make you believe him, but he needs to do something before someone gets hurt. “Fuck it!” he yells and takes off.

Sprinting away, Seokjin hears you yelling behind him. Ignoring you, Seokjin leaps onto a table. He is not sure how Chad is controlling the helicopter – possibly from his phone, but Seokjin would not put it past him to have someone stationed elsewhere in the mall. Based on the depth of his vengeance on Twitter, Seokjin imagines Chad to be petty.

All Seokjin knows is he needs to stop the drone and a sure-fire way of doing that is getting the drone from the air.

Above, the drone does a loop before dive-bombing a cluster of girls exiting the lingerie store. The girls squeal, scatting in every direction as the helicopter pulls from its spiral. Leaping into the air, Seokjin’s fingers barely brush a wing before falling back to the ground.

“SEOKJIN, GET BACK HERE!”

Ignoring you, Seokjin continues pursuing the drone. “Sorry!” he yells, dodging a woman. “Y/N, this isn’t what it looks like!”

Your footsteps pound behind him, catching up. “It looks like you hijacked one of your drones!”

“See!” Seokjin glances over his shoulder. “I told you it wasn’t what it looks like!”

“Huh?”

“Aha!” Seokjin leaps into the air. Fuck – he barely misses. Crashing again to the ground, Seokjin takes off running. He uses his next jump to leap onto a table.

A guy looks up from his hot dog, mustard dribbled onto his chin. “What the f –”

Seokjin leaps into the air, fingers grazing the wing of the helicopter. Eyes narrowed, Seokjin swears as his heels hit the ground. A mother nearby covers the ears of her child.

“Sorry!” Seokjin yells in response.

A hand grabs his arm. “Kim Seokjin!” you blurt, whirling him sideways to face you.

Seokjin glances over your shoulder in distress. “It’s getting away!” he blurts, shaking free to sprint towards the fro-yo.

Your mouth drops, but you follow. “What are you doing?”

Not having the breath to answer, Seokjin runs faster. For the first time in his life, he is grateful Jungkook pushes him so hard at the gym. Jumping again in the air, Seokjin thinks he has done it – until you jump suddenly in front of him, swatting his hand.

“Hey!” Seokjin yelps, stumbling as he hands. “What the fuck, Y/N?”

“Mine!” you yell, darting forward.

“Wait – Y/N!”

Grumbling, he chases after you. The two of you must look ridiculous, racing around the food court. As you pass Auntie Anne’s pretzels, Seokjin swears he can hear Yoongi cracking up at the register.

One second, you are ahead of him and the next, Seokjin is. He runs faster, pumping his arms as he spots the drone by the fountain. Cutting you off, Seokjin puts on a sudden burst of speed and leaps into the air. His fingers wrap around metal, yanking the helicopter from the sky. As he descends, Seokjin cannot help but laugh – until your hand finds his elbow, pulling him sideways.

Seokjin yelps, stumbling when his feet hit the concrete.

There is a dangerous, teetering moment where you both hover at the edge of the fountain – and then he falls, taking you with. Seokjin yelps, soaked to the skin when a water jet hits his face. A second splash follows as your butt hits the water.

If feels like a scene from a movie; that moment when a song cuts at a party. One second, everything is happening and the next – nothing.

Slowly, Seokjin pushes himself to sit in the water. The trickling sound of the fountain fills his ears, one of his hands resting on something which is definitely not a penny.

“Gross,” Seokjin groans, seeing the wad of pink gum.

His pants are soaked, so is his shirt and Seokjin does not even want to imagine the state of his hair. Removing his hand from the water gum, Seokjin looks up.

You glare back at him, making Seokjin recoil.

At least the drone is down.

Seokjin can see its red wings submerged in the water, bobbing genteelly in the waves of the fountain. Slowly, the sounds of the mall filter back in. Someone nearby snickers and someone else starts to clap. In his peripheral, Seokjin can see a few teenagers recording and slowly, he closes his eyes. If he goes viral, there is no way his manager will keep him.

You seem to realize the same thing, glancing around you in panic. Seokjin realizes your situation is noticeably worse than his, since you were wearing a white t-shirt when you fell. The material sticks to your skin, making each curve of your body apparent.

Seokjin swallows, understanding crashing into him with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt.

He likes you.

Fuck. Seokjin likes you, and he is a giant idiot.

Snickering at the food court grabs Seokjin’s attention. It appears he is not the only one to have noticed your shirt. At least your bra is white, but this does not seem to matter to fifteen-year-old boys.

Glancing down, you inhale and cover your chest. Seokjin awkwardly tries to stand, rushing forward to help but slips in the process, nearly falling again. It does not seem as though you desire his help anyways, springing to your feet with tears in your eyes.

Teeth chattering, you hold one hand before you. “Stay away,” you blurt, wet strands of hair plastered against your face. As though unable to help yourself, your lower lip quivers. “I fucking mean it, Seokjin. Stay away from me.”

Seokjin’s feet falter beneath him. “I…” Staring at you, he slowly nods in defeat. “Okay.”

You bend, scooping the helicopter into your arms before turning away.

Giving him another scowl, you climb from the fountain. Your sneakers make squishing noises against the linoleum as you stalk through the food court. Seokjin continues to stand there, ignoring the water jets which repeatedly hit his kneecaps.

His stomach sinks, watching you disappear.

Logically, Seokjin should go and find mall security. He should explain to them what happened before they find him, or worse – before he goes viral on the web. Less logically, Seokjin wants to run after you. He cannot simply leave things between you like that.

At the very least, he should find you a dry t-shirt. Maybe Hoseok could get him one from Foot Locker.

Because this is partly his fault. Seokjin was not the one who took over the drone and he did not push you into the fountain, but you only reacted that way because of how Seokjin has treated you. It was not a wild leap of thought to assume Seokjin was the culprit.

Before he can think about this further, a laugh breaks through the crowd. Turning around, Seokjin sees Chad running towards him.

“Wow.” Chad skids to a stop at the fountain. “That was incredible. Did you see how wet she was? And guess who got it all on camera?” He winks, waving his phone.

“Did you?” Seokjin speaks pleasantly, although he is starting to see red. “Can I see that?”

“Sure.” Chad grins, handing over the phone.

Accepting the object, Seokjin promptly throws this into the fountain.

Chad’s mouth drops open. “What the fuck?” he blurts, watching the metal sink to the bottom.

Seokjin brushes off his hands. “You’re fired,” he says, stepping out of the fountain. Water drips from his shirt, splashing the ground at his feet.

Chad’s eyes bug. “You can’t fire me, asshole. You’re not my manager.”

“Maybe not.” Seokjin shrugs and walks past. His hands open and close, curling into fists. “But he likes me better than you and he’ll believe me when I say this was your fault.”

“You dick!”

“That’s right,” Seokjin mutters. He glances at your kiosk, only to find it empty – Brandi must be helping you to clean up. Something twinges in his chest, knowing this is partly his fault. “I guess I am.”

One week later, Seokjin cannot stop thinking about you.

He tries to forget. Truly, he does but this proves itself to be more difficult than he realized. Seokjin did not understand before, how deeply you integrated yourself in his life. He did not realize how much he looked forward each day to your banter, to hearing your laugh whenever he passed by your kiosk. The past month has been bearable only because of your presence.

Slumped at the counter of Auntie Anne’s pretzels, Seokjin stares forlornly across the food court.

“Either smile or move.”

Seokjin turns to Yoongi in confusion. “Huh?”

“Either smile,” Yoongi repeats. “Or move. You’re bumming out all my customers.”

Seokjin glances at the empty food court before him. It is 10:00 AM. “What customers?”

“Exactly. All my customers are scared off by how sad you are.”

Seokjin manages a weak chuckle. “Trust me, my face is not what’s driving your customers away. If anything, it’s your latest SoundCloud mix.”

Yoongi frowns, perturbed. “Take that back.”

Seokjin winces, seeing the genuine hurt on his face. “Sorry, man,” he mumbles. “I’m just not in a great mood today.”

“No shit.”

Seokjin cracks a smile. “That obvious, huh?”

“Much in the same way climate change is obvious to everyone but the Cheeto.”

Stifling a laugh, Seokjin quickly sobers. “I just… I don’t know. I thought she’d hear me out, at least.”

The entire past week, Seokjin has parked at the opposite end of the mall from your kiosk. It makes his morning walk shorter, but somehow lonelier.

“So, this is about her, huh?” Yoongi lowers his elbows to the counter. “She’s gone incommunicado.”

“Yeah, it’s about her. I guess I can’t really blame her for being mad at me.”

“No?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “I was kind of a dick.”

Yoongi snorts. “She was a dick, too.”

“Yeah, but I started it.” Seokjin takes a sip of his coffee. “I was the one who approached her all weird, called her the competition. That set a tone.”

“Okay.” Yoongi tilts his head, thinking. “So, what’re you gonna do about it?” 

“I’m going to do nothing about it.”

“Then stop complaining to me.”

“I’m not complaining!” Seokjin looks up and sighs. “Alright, maybe I’m complaining a little. I just… wish I’d realized I liked her sooner.”

“Who cares about that? Tell her now!”

“But she hates me.”

“She hated you then!”

Seokjin glares and takes another sip of his coffee – sputtering, he chokes, “Oh, shit – that’s hot.”

“Hey.” Yoongi gives him a look. “She thinks you messed with her job. That’s way different than wearing tight pants, or putting on a fidget show, or whatever.”

“Fidget spinner show, Yoongi. Fidget show sounds like something else.”

“Both are lame,” Yoongi says. “And my point still stands. She’s mad at you now because of something you didn’t do. Now, move your elbow – I need to clean that spot before lunch.”

Seokjin obliges, dutifully removing himself from the counter. Drinking his coffee, he stares out at the food court. Up until now, Seokjin thought he was doing the noble thing. He was respecting your wishes by giving you space. You said you did not wish to see him again.

Yoongi is right, though. You said all that laboring under a misconception. More than respecting the words said in anger, perhaps it is better for Seokjin to tell you the truth. Maybe pretending to be noble is just another way of chickening out.

Because if Seokjin explains everything to you and you still do not care, it means he is alone in all this. His feelings are one-sided and everything before now was merely a rivalry. The spark Seokjin feels when he looks at you, the burning desire to kiss you – if you knew all that and still hated him, then Seokjin would be alone.

Seokjin exhales and looks up. “Gotta go,” he says, slapping the counter. “See you after your shift?’

“Wait!” Yoongi catches his arm before Seokjin can leave. “Bracelet buddies?” he grins, holding up the pink cat charm wound around his wrist.

Seokjin groans, dutifully rolling up his sleeve to showcase the pale pink alpaca. “Bracelet buddies,” he says glumly.

Yoongi gave him the gift several days ago; payback, he said, for all the women Seokjin has sent his way with the promise of a free pretzel. That used to be Seokjin’s way of scoring dates at the mall. At least, before he met you. Seokjin is obligated to wear said bracelet for three months, or else Yoongi will send their friends pictures of him sleeping with his mouth open on the couch.

If he is being honest, Seokjin does not entirely hate the bracelet. The alpaca is kind of cute, but Yoongi cannot ever know that. Waving goodbye, he manages to scowl and keep up appearances when he heads towards his kiosk.

For the next several days, Seokjin continues to wimp out.

Kind of.

While he does not actually explain what happened, he tries to make up for it in other ways. On Monday, he overhears you telling the Kay Jewelers girl the legs of your stool are too short. As a result, Seokjin volunteers to work late and stays long after closing. Before he leaves, he goes to your kiosk and switches your stool for his.

On Thursday morning, your shifts overlap. Seokjin sees you yawn passing his kiosk, mentioning to Brandi you did not sleep well the night prior. Ducking behind his counter, Seokjin does not make eye contact.

Still, he stops by Java Joe’s on his break and begs Taehyung for coffee.

Taking the long way back through the mall, Seokjin visits your kiosk. It is the first time he has tried talking to you since the Great Fountain debacle. As you come into view, Seokjin swallows and forces the words from his lips.

“Hey.” He comes to a stop at the register.

You freeze when you see him. “Um. Hi?”

Seokjin holds the coffee tray out like a shield. “I was at Java Joe’s and Taehyung brewed too much espresso. Lisa doesn’t drink it, so I was wondering if you wanted it?”

Your lips part, staring at him for a moment.

When you do not immediately respond, Seokjin starts to sweat. “You don’t have to take it,” he says quickly. “I can give it to someone else. It’s too much for me though, and you were on the way back from the shop…”

Trailing off, Seokjin wonders if this entire endeavor is foolish. The tray he is holding is full – four, small cups of espresso which cost an hour of pay. Of course, you do not need to know that. You only need to know that he thought of you.

“I – yeah,” you say slowly, reaching out for a cup. “Thanks, Seokjin.”

Seokjin blinks, since your response was almost cordial. Before he can get too excited about this, Brandi appears.

“Wow, thanks!” she enthuses, grabbing a cup. “That was so nice of you to do this.”

“Right.” Seokjin deflates just a little. It is not as if he does not want Brandi to have espresso, but he was hoping for a shared moment with you. “Just spreading the love – or caffeine, as it were. Anyways…” His laughter trails off, gaze darting to you. “Guess I have one more cup to distribute. Enjoy!”

He turns around too fast for you to respond.

Each step he takes, Seokjin half-expects to hear you call out behind him. If this were pre-Fountain Incident, you probably would have. An insult, or horrible pun – something to let Seokjin know you were watching him walk away, but now there is only silence.

This goes on for a week. Seokjin continues to do nice things for you, passing by in the hopes you will say hi. He holds his breath and hopes you will speak first, but it seems you are determined to continue icing him out.

Seokjin supposes he cannot blame you for this. It is not as though you were friends, after all.

He has almost accepted the idea that you will continue being strangers when one day, Seokjin looks up and finds you at the register.

All words instantly die in his throat.

If he thought he was in the process of getting over you, Seokjin was sorely mistaken. The days of silence have not lessened his want, but only intensified it. It makes him swallow, uncertain, which must be a first. Out of all his friends, Seokjin is not the one to call shy.

Tentatively, you smile and Seokjin realizes he still has not spoken.

“H-hi,” he stammers.

Your shoulders seem to relax at his nervousness. “Hi. Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Seokjin says, slamming his register shut. “Lisa is on break, but it’s been a slow afternoon.”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Same. Guess we finally found those lulls you were on about.”

Seokjin chuckles under his breath. The space between you falls silent again.

“I, uh…” Twisting your hands before you, you seem unsure what to say. “I haven’t seen you around, lately.”

Seokjin’s heart stutters. “Oh. I guess.”

“That’s kind of my fault,” you say. Seokjin’s gaze drops to your hands, which continue to twist. He finds the gesture oddly endearing. “I was the one who told you to stay away.”

Arching a brow, Seokjin turns towards the register. He does not know what to say without being rude. Yes, seems like the most obvious answer, but that could be construed as impolite. Casually, he sneaks a peek sideways. You are right, though – this is partly your fault, also. Even if the other fault is his own.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I don’t blame you for saying that, though.”

“You don’t?”

Curiosity laces your tone and Seokjin looks up, surprised to see a question mark in your gaze.

“Brandi told me Chad was fired,” you add.

Seokjin stills. “Yeah. He was.”

You pause, as though waiting for an explanation. When none comes, you narrow your eyes. “He was the one who messed with that drone, wasn’t he? Not you.”

“I – yeah, I guess so.”

Exasperation enters your gaze. “Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did!” Seokjin protests. “I told you when we were chasing after the drone and you didn’t believe me!”

“Oh,” you say, wilting a bit. “Right.”

Seeing your face, Seokjin softens. “Look, it’s not a big deal.”

“Is it?” you ask in disbelief. “I yelled at you in front of the entire mall for something you didn’t do, and you’re saying its fine?”

Seokjin’s lips quirk. “Well, when you put it like that.”

When you roll your eyes at the ceiling, he laughs. Weirdly, it feels good to have you disparage him a little. It feels as though you are on even footing again.

“I mean, it’s not like we were friends,” Seokjin continues. “Why wouldn’t you think it was me?”

“Hm.” You blink, taken aback. “I guess you’re right.”

After another long moment, Seokjin adds, “We could try to be friends now, though. If you want.”

You bite down on your lip. “Are you giving me a formal offer, Seokjin? Should I sign on the dotted line somewhere?”

“I can make a contract if you want. All good peace treaties are in writing.”

“Is that what this is? A peace treaty?”

“Of a sort.” Seokjin raises a brow. “I can’t promise to stop kicking your ass in sales, though. I was born talented.”

“Or, maybe it’s Maybelline,” you shoot back. “I wouldn’t want you to stop, though. It’s been too quiet around here without you blasting Backstreet Boys.”

“Liked what you heard?”

“Who doesn’t like Backstreet Boys?”

“Monsters.”

“Agreed.”

“Wow.” Seokjin’s brow furrows. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever agreed with me.”

“I know.” After a moment, you frown. “It’s oddly unsettling.”

Seokjin laughs – a short, surprised burst which makes you smile. “Well...” Trailing off, he finds himself unsure what more to say. “Is that why you came over?”

“Let’s see.” You lift a hand, ticking things off on your fingers. “Tell you I know you didn’t sabotage my job. Check. Ask to be friends? Check. Oh,” you add, as though only remembering. “There was something else I wanted to say.

Seokjin waits, holding his breath as you start to lean in.

Angelic, you smile. “I lied before,” you say. “We aren’t having a lull. See you around!”

Dropping a wink, you turn to walk across the food court. Seokjin watches you go, legs having effectively turned to jelly in your presence. It is unfair that you have this effect on him. Slowly, he lowers himself onto his stool. It would seem the two of you are friends now.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Seokjin wonders what he has gotten himself into.

Over the next couple of weeks, Seokjin stops by your kiosk more often. He learns your usual morning coffee order – a grande iced Americano – and occasionally brings it along. You seem to have switched to the morning shift, he notices. Before, it was about fifty-fifty which time of the day you showed up.

At some point, Seokjin explains about his former job and current app development side projects. This turns into a running joke of him bouncing ideas off you.

“Okay,” you say, folding your hands across a wan food court table.

Seokjin takes a sip of his coffee. “Okay, what?”

“Okay, what’s today’s app idea?”

Seokjin snorts. It is 10:00 AM and neither of you must be at your shift yet but somehow, you both managed to arrive early.

“What about this?” Seokjin leans back in his chair. “Angry birds, but – instead of birds, its photos of friends that you upload yourself.”

“Pass.”

“Hm. A Bachelorette fantasy league app?”

“Hard no.”

“Okay, so this one is a kid’s game.”

“Go on.”

“A kid’s game where you change the oil of your dad’s car as fast as you can.” 

You snort, nearly spilling your drink. “Seokjin! That’s a terrible app idea.” 

“Bonus points if you spill no oil on the driveway!”

“Seokjin!”

He grins. “Yeah, Yoongi said it was bad, too. I don’t get it.”

“Please.” Shaking your head, your smile fades the longer you look at him. “I don’t believe any of those are your actual idea, though.”

“Huh?” Seokjin blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Those are just the ideas you tell people to make them laugh,” you observe. “It gets them off your back, so you don’t have to say your actual idea. You know, the one you really care about.”

Seokjin pauses, mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You arch a brow. “I get it. That’s how I am with my writing. Freelance doesn’t exactly pay for dreams, does it? I tend to downplay my favorite ideas, so then if they don’t work out – hey, at least it wasn’t something I cared about. You know?”

Seokjin is not quite sure how to respond. In only a few sentences, you have looked inside him and summarized his thoughts. No one – not even Yoongi, whom Seokjin has known for years – is able to read him as well.

Inhaling gently, Seokjin leans back from the table. “Well,” he admits. “There is this one idea.”

“Oh?”

Nodding, Seokjin considers where to begin. “Do you know what fair lending is?”

“Not really, no.”

“It’s the unbiased treatment of customers by banks.” Seokjin pauses and, when you do not seem bored with the topic, begins to speak freely. “It ensures financial institutions provide uniform services, regardless of bias.”

“Gotcha. So, it’s like equal opportunity but for banks?”

“Kind of, yeah.” Seokjin exhales. “Basically, I want to create a fair lending app. There is a lot out there to help with credit decisions and stuff, but I want to put it all in one place. I want to break down the ‘non-biased metrics’ banks use and warn people how there could be bias involved.”

Your frown. “What do you mean?”

“Take income, for example.” Seokjin grips his cup tighter. “The vast majority of people below the poverty line are minorities. So, if a bank has a hard and fast income requirement for a loan, they inadvertently discriminate. It’s why a variety of factors are mandated to assist in … what?” Seokjin blinks, seeing you staring. “What is it?”

Hiding a smile, you shake your head. “Nothing, it’s just a cool idea. I think you should do it.”

“But then who will make bachelorette fantasy app?” Seokjin jokes, ducking his head.

“Someone else.” You wait until he looks up. “Do the fair lending app.”

Seokjin finds he cannot think of another joke. “Alright,” he says slowly. “It’s a plan.”

You nod, sipping your coffee as silence falls in between you. It is unnerving, how easy it is for Seokjin to talk to you. With most people, it takes him a while to show his true colors but with you, he finds he cannot be anyone else.

Glancing at his watch, Seokjin realizes how late it is. “Shit,” he mutters, jumping out of his seat. “It’s nearly 10:30.”

You wince, standing as well. “Damn, do you have to open today?”

“Unfortunately so.” Seokjin grabs his coffee. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay, Y/N?”

“Okay,” you say, waving when he turns out of sight.

Seokjin does not hesitate to walk away. He curses himself the entire way to his kiosk because he is becoming much too comfortable with being your friend. Enough that he keeps catching himself thinking about more.

It is hard not to think about his hands wrapped around yours on your coffee cup. Hard not to imagine carpooling with you in his car to work. Seokjin tries to be on his best behavior but still, the fantasies worm their way in.

It is why he has created several rules of conduct around you. First and foremost is never stay for too long. The second Seokjin feels himself becoming attached, he leaves. Like now, for instance. Seokjin does not really have to be at the kiosk before eleven but the way you were looking at him made his heart beat out of his chest.

Self-preservation, he reminds himself.

The rules are working until Taehyung throws a party.

“Saturday night,” Taehyung grunts, slamming Seokjin’s coffee order on the counter.

Seokjin blinks, reaching up to take both cups. Lately, Taehyung has been in the worst kind of mood. This mostly seems to stem from his hot co-worker who will not take him seriously. All the guys in the mall gave him shit about it before, but the kid really does seem to like her. Which sucks, since Taehyung has a reputation and the pretty barista clearly has heard of it.

“The party is at your place?” asks Seokjin, glancing up at the counter.

Taehyung nods. Loud enough for his co-worker to hear, he adds, “The party will be at my place this weekend! Can’t wait to see you there, Seokjin!”

Seokjin snorts, shaking his head. “You’re whipped, man,” he whispers. Then, loud enough for the female barista to hear, he adds, “I’ll be there! In fact, everyone should come!”

The girl does not react, busy at the register and Seokjin shrugs.

Sorry man, he mouths to Taehyung before pushing open the door. Making his way through the mall, Seokjin walks past your kiosk – only to see you deep in conversation with another guy. Seokjin does not recognize him as your co-worker, but he does recognize him from the gym.

Occasionally, Jungkook talks to him before they work out. Seokjin never found the guy threatening before.

Seeing him now though, the oddest sensation unfurls in his stomach. He does not want you talking to this guy – the desire flashes through Seokjin’s mind faster than he can stop it. Before he can turn around and leave though, before Seokjin can separate himself from the situation, you look up and smile.

“Hey, Seokjin!”

“Hey, Y/N.” Plastering a smile on his face, Seokjin forces himself to walk towards your kiosk. “And you are…?” he asks, looking at the stranger.

The guy grins, unconcerned. “Hey, I’m Josh.”

“Cool.” Seokjin returns to looking at you. “Are you coming to Taehyung’s party this weekend, Y/N?”

Everyone at the mall knows who Taehyung is. He is a staple for anyone who drinks coffee – and chances are, if you have stopped by Java Joe’s in the past three days, you are invited.

Your eyes widen. “I was thinking about it.”

“Cool.” Seokjin casually leans an elbow against your kiosk. He forgets about the wheels though, and as a result, the entire thing starts to move. Frantically attempting to right this, Seokjin nearly spills his coffee in the process.

“Anyways…” he mutters, ears turning scarlet.

You clamp your lips tightly together. “So, you’re going to be there?”

Seokjin nods. He has no idea what he is doing. He has no idea what Josh is doing, since he has not said a word since introducing himself.

Glancing at him now, Seokjin is reminded of Chad. Not because the two look anything alike, but because they both have that air about them. That condescending, could-bench-press-you-in-seconds look. Seokjin bets that, at some point in the past ten days, Josh has worn a snapback.

You are standing close very close to him, though. Seokjin cannot ignore this fact.

“Cool.” Your gaze lingers on his. “Then, I guess I’ll see you there?”

Seokjin nods. “Guess so. We’ll see!”

He turns, walking away and overhears Josh ask you details about the party. Gritting his teeth, Seokjin uncurls his hands from their fists. You are not his to be jealous of, he reminds himself. He has no right to be angry if you decide to date someone else. But still, Seokjin’s mood remains sour for the rest of the day.

You do not visit at the end of your shift. If could be because you are genuinely busy. Or, it could be something else. Or, someone.

Seokjin has the next two days off. He uses them to work on his fair lending app, getting a good bit of coding done in his apartment. Your voice plays in his mind as he works, telling him to go for what he wants.

Seokjin is tired of working at the Fidget Funk. He is tired of waking up every morning, going to a job he hates and feeling as though he is doing nothing with his life. What was supposed to be a temp job has stretched into months and Seokjin needs to act for anything about this to change.

There is only so long he can complain before doing something about it.

He wants to do what he loves; wants to do something he cares about – not this. Sometimes, making that decision is the hardest part.

The night of the party, Seokjin drives there with Yoongi. Yoongi, surprisingly agrees to come with little coercion. Usually, Seokjin needs to drag his taciturn roommate to social events. He was easily convinced tonight though, which results in Seokjin being more nervous than normal.

As they enter Taehyung’s apartment, he pauses on the threshold.

If he had your number, he would have texted to see if you were coming, but Seokjin does not and so, he could not. Wandering into the room, Seokjin winces when no one removes their shoes. Parties are always strangely barbaric in that regard.

Taehyung’s apartment with his roommate, Jimin, is much larger than his. Seokjin remembers Taehyung saying Jimin came from money but does not remember specifics. Jimin is a night nurse at NorthShore Medical center and often stops by Java Joe’s in the morning for coffee. Other than that, Seokjin does not know much about him.

Walking inside, Seokjin realizes Taehyung has downplayed Jimin’s wealth. There is no way they could afford this place on a nurse and barista salary. A bunch of people are outside – because there is an outside; a large balcony overlooking the city – chatting about nothing over the rims of their drinks.

Yoongi disappears as soon as they enter, heading off to god-knows-where. He leaves Seokjin alone, who shifts his weight about nervously. Glancing up, he spots Namjoon in the kitchen and hastily rushes towards him. Finally, a familiar face.

“Joon!” he calls out.

Namjoon waves, re-filling the cup in his hand. When Seokjin reaches his side, he hands another to Seokjin. “Hey,” Namjoon nods. “You just get here?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin scans the party again, red cup in one hand. “Is everything c –”

Cutting himself off mid-sentence, Seokjin stares when you walk into the room. Everything he wanted to say falls from his brain to the floor. It is not unlike that one scene in She’s All That, when Laney comes down the stairs and Freddie Prinze Jr. loses his mind. Seokjin cannot think, looking at you.

A red cup is in your hand, matching the red gloss on your lips and god, Seokjin cannot stop thinking about kissing it off.

He swallows, hard – and then notices the guy at your side.

You laugh, turning sideways to Josh. Because that is who it is, of course – the same muscle- bound jock you were talking to at the drone kiosk earlier.

Jungkook appears as well, clapping Josh on the shoulder. Seokjin scowls, swallowing a larger sip of his drink than intended. First, this guy tries to steal his girl and now, his best friend. Eyes widening, Seokjin straightens. Shit, you are not his girl. He needs to stop thinking that way.

“Seokjin?”

Seokjin realizes Namjoon is staring at him. “Uh, yeah?”

“You trailed off in the middle of a sentence and have been hard-core staring at that girl ever since. Is – oh!” Namjoon’s eyes light up. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“That’s who?” Seokjin hastily swallows his drink.

“The girl! Fountain girl!” Namjoon shoves him. “The one you’re head over heels for!”

“Okay, fountain girl is a horrible way of describing her. And yeah, maybe that’s – shit, shut up,” Seokjin hisses. “She’s coming this way.”

Namjoon snorts into his drink. You are, indeed, waking towards them but Josh is no longer beside you. Craning his neck, Seokjin looks over your shoulder but does not see the guy anywhere.

“Hey.” You come to a stop right before them, glancing at Namjoon. “Namjoon, right?”

Namjoon sticks out a hand. “Yep. Y/N?”

You take this, stifling a smile as you shake. “Yeah.”

“And, of course, you know Seokjin.” Namjoon grins at Seokjin’s flustered expression.

“Uh-huh,” you say, offering him a tentative smile. “We go way back.”

Feeling somewhat nauseous, Seokjin takes another sip of his drink. “Y/N and I are friends.”

A flash of something – uncertainty? Annoyance? – crosses your features. “Right,” you say carefully. “Friends.”

Your expression remains stubborn though, and Seokjin wonders if he has done something wrong. Changing the subject, he glances around the apartment. “Have you been here before, Y/N?”

“No,” you confess. “But damn – which roommate won the lottery?”

Seokjin grins. “I know, right? I can show you around if you want.”

You blink, taken aback by his offer and Seokjin wonders if that was too forward. Well, fuck it – he is not getting anywhere by being subtle.

“Yeah,” you say, recovering yourself. “I’d like that.”

Pushing himself off the counter, Seokjin says goodbye to Namjoon and plunges into the party. He continues to look for hot gym guy, Josh, but does not see him anywhere. It is unlikely you came here together, but not impossible. Perhaps the two of you are dating. Perhaps you like him and want to date him in the future.

Seokjin is so busy running through what-if scenarios, he does not notice you looking at him.

“Right, so Taehyung and Jimin’s rooms are that way.” Seokjin leads through the crowd. “Aka, that hall is off limits. This is the living area and well, you already saw the balcony.” Steps faltering, Seokjin looks sideways at you. “Did you see the balcony?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Scared of heights?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, then you’re lucky.” Seokjin mutters, pushing open the sliding glass door. “Luck you never met that dick, Jared Karinsky.”

Laughing, you follow him out on the balcony. There are only a few other people outside and, once the door slides shut, it feels as though you are trapped in another world.

“Who’s Jared Karinksy?”

Glowering, Seokjin takes a sip of his drink. “Some dick who knew I didn’t like heights, but still brought me to the top of the jungle gym. Then, he left me there. It took two hours for my brother to find me and get me back down.”

Laughing, you lean against the railing. “I take it that didn’t help?”

“It did not,” says Seokjin. “If anything, my fear was worse after.”

You grin, draining the rest of your cup as the wind ruffles your hair. It makes Seokjin’s heart ache a bit to look at.

“Well, I have to say –”

The glass door slides open, interrupting whatever you were about to say. Josh’s head pops out. “Y/N!” he grins. “I was looking for you.”

You slowly turn towards the interruption. “I... oh. Hey, Josh.”

“Are you busy?” Josh glances between you and Seokjin.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Seokjin feels oddly foolish. It seems obvious now, that you came here with Josh. You must have been making a beeline for drinks when you ran into Seokjin in the kitchen. Seokjin assumed, then. He thought you were free. When he grabbed you, he was yanking you away from the guy you really wanted to be with.

“Not busy.” Seokjin drains the rest of his cup. “Not busy at all. Have fun,” he mutters, brushing your shoulder as he moves towards the door.

When he leaves, Seokjin does not look back and so, he does not see your lips part. He does not watch you stare after him with equal parts frustration and anger. All Seokjin sees is the kitchen before him, full of alcohol for him to consume. Alcohol he will need to get through the rest of this party.

He is almost to the kitchen when a hand grips his arm, yanking him around. “What the fuck was that?” you say, brows furrowed.

Seokjin stares at you, alarmed you are in such close proximity. “I – huh? What the fuck was what?”

You scowl, leaning in and Seokjin leans back. “That!” you demand, waving vaguely at the balcony. “Why did you run away?”

“Run away?” Seokjin’s gaze darts towards the offending location. “I thought you wanted to talk to that guy?”

“Why would you think that?” you ask, brows furrowing further.

“I…” Seokjin finds himself at a loss. “I don’t know. Didn’t you come here with him?”

“With Josh?” You wrinkle your nose. “You mean – my cousin, Josh?”

“…cousin?”

You nod, looking at him incredulously. “You thought I wanted to talk to my cousin, Josh, as opposed to you?”

A lightbulb clicks in Seokjin’s mind. “I – he’s your cousin?”

“Yes, he’s my cousin.” Scowling, you take a step closer. “But even if he weren’t, why would you just leave like that? We were in the middle of a conversation!”

“I don’t know!” he blurts, gaze narrowing at your tone.

Out of the two of you, Seokjin is the one with the right to be angry. You are the one looking so damn good tonight and currently yelling at him for something he does not understand.

Vaguely aware they should not have this argument in the middle of Taehyung and Jimin’s kitchen, Seokjin grabs your wrist and tugs you into the hall. The forbidden one, next to the bedrooms. Realizing this, Seokjin keeps going and decides to beg forgiveness later.

Dropping your arm, he whirls around to find you mere inches away.

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?” he accuses, pointing a finger. “For that matter – why didn’t you ask if I was going to the party tonight? If my presence is so important to you.”

Glaring at him, you bat his finger away. “You asked me first! Besides, I thought it was obvious I wanted you here. You know… because of the… and…”

“Because of the what?”

Somehow, you have gotten very close to Seokjin. The tips of your toes are just brushing his. Electricity crackles between you, making Seokjin’s heartbeat oddly erratic.

Glowering, your gaze darts to his lips. “Oh – seriously? Shut up and kiss me, you ass!”

Grabbing your face, Seokjin does just that. His lips crash into yours, the kiss muffled and urgent as he backs you to the wall. You groan, hands fisting in the back of his t-shirt. Seokjin cannot think beyond his hand resting on your jaw, then sliding into your hair, then moving down to your ass.

He cups you against him, head reeling from the sudden warmth of your mouth, your body and the urgency of your touch. Seokjin has never wanted someone so badly. Each brush of your lips leaves him wanting more, an endless desire alight in his veins.

Your mouth opens, tongue flicking with his as Seokjin’s heart nearly explodes. He cannot breathe – each breath mingles with yours, leaving him dizzy and parched.

“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to lean his arm to the wall.

You stare up at him, breathless and confused. Your chest continues to rise and fall, lips swollen from the wanton press of his mouth. Seokjin cannot look away.

“I…” He exhales, glancing towards the living room. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You nod so fast, you nearly hit your head on his chin. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Seokjin reaches down, grabbing your hand. “You good with my place? It’s only a few minutes drive.”

“Yeah,” you answer, following him down the hall. “Roommate?”

“Here. At the party.”

“Good.”

Dragging you into the foyer, Seokjin digs his phone from his pocket. Letting go of your fingers, he shoots a text off to Yoongi, telling him not to come home. He can face the consequences of that later. Shoving his phone in his pocket, Seokjin opens the door.

“Do you have a coat?” he asks, looking at you.

“Nope. You?”

“Nope.” Seokjin shuts the door to the hall and the noise of the party fades. “This way?”

“Sounds good.”

When you move to walk past, Seokjin grabs your hand – he cannot help himself. Pushing you against the wall, he relishes your muffled exclamation of surprise and kisses you fiercely. Thoroughly. The way he has wanted to for so long.

Hands sliding into your hair, Seokjin feels you arch against him. Your hand is on his hip, pulling him closer and Seokjin cannot stop thinking about your hand on other places.

When he finally breaks away, you stare at his lips. “That’s…” You swallow, voice sounding strangled. “Fuck.”

Seokjin grins. “Come on.”

Grabbing you again, he pulls you into the elevator. The entire way down, the air between you is electric. Seokjin shifts his weight and you follow suit. Raising a hand, you rub the back of your neck. Seokjin’s skin prickles when he sees.

When the door dings, opening into the lobby, you suddenly come to life. Newly determined, your hand wraps around his and pulls Seokjin outside. He practically throws his keys at the valet, wondering how on earth he is going to survive the drive home without touching you. Thank god he only had that one drink tonight. It would have been torture to be so close to fucking you and then not.

Startled by the thought, Seokjin realizes the truth of the matter. He is going to see you naked. Whirling to face you, Seokjin blurts, “This isn’t some random thing. You know that, right?”

Surprised, you glance at him. “I – what?”

“This.” Seokjin steps closer and his peripheral, sees the valet hop out of his car. “I really like you, Y/N.”

Staring up at him, you blink. “You do?”

“Of course, I do! You thought I didn’t?”

“I thought you hated me.”

“Of course, not!” Grabbing his keys from the valet, Seokjin opens the passenger door. He waits until you sit before crossing to the driver’s side. “Why would you think that?” he asks, sliding into the seat.

You stare at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Seokjin pulls out of the driveway. “I’ve liked you for so long! I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Uh! Could’ve fooled me.”

“Are you serious? I was such an idiot in front of you! What other explanation is there?”

“That you’re an idiot!” you answer, scowling. “Are you seriously saying that was your idea of flirting?”

“I mean… well, no, but…”

You snort, facing forward. “You’re so bad at this.”

“At what?”

“This!” you insist, gesturing between you.

“Oh, come on! Like you’re Juliet, or something.”

“Who?”

“Juliet! Of Romeo and Juliet!”

“They… Seokjin, they died in the end!” you say incredulously.

“Well, what do I know?” Seokjin makes a sharp right, pulling into his parking lot. “I never finished reading that play, actually – fell asleep a third of the way in. What I’m trying to say is that you’re also shit at this.”

“Oh, really?”

“You said you never wanted to speak to me again,” Seokjin reminds, throwing the car into park.

Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “I apologized for that.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to be friends!” Seokjin shoves open his door and exits the vehicle.

You exit as well, slamming the door shut. “Well, it seemed like the next logical step!”

“No.” Seokjin strides forward. Caging you against the car, he growls, “The next logical step would’ve been admitting you liked me, too.”

“Too?” You blink, stuck on the word. “So, you admit you like me?”

“Never said I didn’t.”

These last words are muttered against your lips, Seokjin cutting off further retorts with a kiss.

Arching upwards, your hands twine around his neck. Seokjin’s mind stutters, unsure what to think. His brain is a vague mess of swear words and exclamation points when his lips move against yours. It is hard to grasp the fact that you are here, with him and wanting him the same way he wants you.

Breaking apart, Seokjin rests his forehead to yours. “Okay,” he manages. “I know you said you wanted to leave with me. I know you got in my car and drove all the way here. But – because I want to be sure – do you want to come in?”

Breathlessly, you laugh. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Withdrawing, Seokjin takes your hand. “Then, let’s go.”

Climbing the outdoor stairs to reach his apartment, Seokjin pulls the keys from his pocket so he is prepared to enter. He does not check his phone, certain Yoongi has texted him multiple epithets about where he can stick his ass.

Bracing his hip against his door, Seokjin jiggles the key to shove it open. Once you are both inside, Seokjin half-expects you to wrinkle your nose. It is not as if his and Yoongi’s apartment can ever compete with Jimin and Taehyung’s.

You do none of this, though. Stepping inside, you place your purse on the counter and glance around curiously. “You live with that guy from the food court, right?” you ask, turning around. “Yoongi?”

Stepping forward, Seokjin crushes his mouth to yours.

You inhale, the noise caught by his lips when your hands slide up his back. One of your legs curls around his, rubbing your core against the meat of his thigh. Seokjin’s head spins, gripping your ass to push you against the counter. You make a muffled noise, gasping when Seokjin hardens into your crotch.

It is embarrassing how ready he is for you. All it took where a few whispered words about how badly you want him and here he is, rock-hard and on edge. Admittedly, the noises you make are not helping.

“Shit,” Seokjin breathes, kissing down the slope of your neck.

You arch your throat, allowing more access. Your skin tastes of berries and something else – probably a perfume Seokjin does not know the name of. The warm press of your core to his leg leaves Seokjin reeling.

“My room?” he gasps, hand dragging up your side.

Frantic, you nod. “Yes.”

Bending, Seokjin grips your legs and lifts you against him. He stumbles towards his bedroom, realizing too late you are heavier than he thought. Maybe Jungkook was right about adding weight to his reps. Kissing you again, Seokjin staggers into his bedroom and drops you on the bed.

Laughing, you grab your top to yank overhead. There is some skepticism to your gaze, as though you expected him to fall short in carrying you. Seokjin’s ego flames in response. Growling lowly, he rips off his shirt and descends on the bed. Parting your legs, he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“Take off your jeans.” Seokjin looks up.

You blink. “What?”

“I wanna eat you out.” Seokjin cocks a brow. “Or, is that too much?”

“No,” you glower, undoing your buttons. “Go for it.”

As you shimmy your jeans down your legs, Seokjin’s mouth dries at the sight of your panties. He did not imagine them to be lace. He did not imagine them to be quite as revealing as they are. Slowly, Seokjin reaches out to peel these aside. You inhale, arching on the bed. Seeing your pussy like that, laid out before him, he can hardly breathe.

You are wet for him. Theoretically, this makes sense, but Seokjin did not think he could make you wet. Did not think he would ever see you as drenched as you are, the lace in the middle much damper than the rest. Pressing another kiss to your knee, Seokjin inhales and makes his way higher.

Flicking your clit with his tongue, he teases at more. You mewl, curling inwards and Seokjin pushes your legs down. He sucks the length of your folds, getting you good and wet before he returns to your sex. You arch again, pussy clenching even through there is nothing inside you.

Smirking, Seokjin takes pleasure in this fact. Your folds are glistening, ready even though has not touched you yet. He has not even pushed a finger inside that tight, wet cunt of yours. Lowering his head, Seokjin’s tongue curls over your clit. He turns needy, licking until your hands fist in the sheets on either side of your body.

“Seokjin,” you groan. “Please.”

“Please what?”

Seokjin leisurely sucks on your clit, pulling it between his lips. His other hand drifts to your cunt, tracing in circles.

You moan beneath him on the bed, arching to try and push him inside. Seokjin memorizes the visual – the black lace of your bra barely hiding your nipples, hair splayed on his comforter with his hands on your thighs.

“I need more.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin lazily traces your pussy. “Want me to finger you?’

“Fuck, yes.”

“Mm.” Seokjin sucks your clit until you cry out from pleasure. Releasing you gently, he sits back on his heels to rub with his fingers. “I could probably make you come like this, though.”

Reaching underneath your body, you unhook your bra. Seokjin stares in awe at your chest, bared before him. “Probably,” you agree. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to come inside me?”

Seokjin’s teeth grit, the words going straight to his cock. Already, it pulses against the tight fit of his jeans – when he feels how wet you are, Seokjin cannot stop imagining himself inside you. Grabbing your wrist, he brings your hand to his crotch.

You inhale when you feel how hard he is. “You’re so… big,” you murmur. “Will you even fit?’

Seokjin smirks, bending until his lips cover yours. “Not yet,” he agrees, spreading your legs with one hand. Stroking your center, he wets himself with your arousal. “That’s why I gotta stretch you out first. Get you ready for this dick.”

“O-h,” you gasp, mouth a perfect o as Seokjin’s finger pushes inside.

It is a tight stretch. Seokjin feels a bit light-headed, imagining something so tight and wet wrapped around him. Withdrawing, he pushes a finger inside you again. Rolling your hips, you force Seokjin deeper and he clicks his tongue, hand grabbing your waist.

“You don’t get to be in control,” he instructs, finger sliding back out. Adding another one, he slowly fucks you again. “You just have to lie there and take it.”

“Good,” you breathe, two of his fingers inside you. “Finally. I’ve been wanting you to yank my panties down and fuck me for weeks now.”

Seokjin’s jaw clenches – shaking his head, he is certain he must have misheard. “What?”

A smile curls your lips. “You heard me,” you say sweetly, pussy squelching as Seokjin’s fingers slide in and out. “You’re so hot when you’re mad. Why do you think I teased you so much? Wanted your dick in my mouth to shut me up.”

Heat blazes through Seokjin’s veins. He has never been this turned on in his life – hearing such sinful things from your angelic lips. Sitting back on his heels, Seokjin frantically undoes his jeans.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he mutters, pushing them past his ass.

Yanking out his cock, Seokjin wraps a hand around his girth. He rubs himself roughly, ignoring the pre-cum dripping from his reddened tip. Already, he is steeling himself to not come inside you. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you watch him touching himself, lips parted in awe. Seokjin stares back, realizing you are as tuned on by him as he is by you.

Your gaze darts to his face. “Condom?” you ask, voice unsteady. “I don’t think I’ll last long once you’re inside me.”

Nodding, Seokjin grabs one from his drawer. Ripping open the packet, he rolls this on. Lowering an arm to the bed, Seokjin positions his cock at your core. As badly as he wants to be inside you, there is something so tantalizing about teasing. Spreading your legs, Seokjin rubs his cock to your clit and watches you twitch in response.

“Seokjin,” you groan, arms sliding around his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Need you to fuck me so good,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Cock at your entrance, Seokjin slowly pushes inside. “Like that?”

“Mhmm.” You nod, breath hitching slightly. “Like that.”

“There?” Seokjin pushes in a bit more, moaning when your walls flutter around him.

You are squeezing him so fucking tight, Seokjin wonders how much more you can take. He is aware of the fact he is big. It would not be the first time a girl could not take him; would not be the first time he gave up and ate the girl out until she came.

“No!” Eyes flying open, you grab Seokjin’s wrist when he starts to withdraw. Lips parted, you stare at him in a daze. “Please keep going,” you beg. “Don’t wanna stop.”

Seokjin arches a brow. “You sure? Sure it feels good?”

“Good?” You stare at him with a fucked-out expression. “Oh my god.” Wrapping both legs around his waist, you push Seokjin in deeper. “You’re stretching me so good, baby. Can’t wait until you’re pounding this pussy.”

“Fuck,” Seokjin hisses, gaze darkening. “I think I somehow got harder.”

“I know,” you laugh, somewhat dreamily. “Felt your cock twitch inside me. So fucking hot.”

Seokjin continues to ease inside you, inch by inch until your eyes start to water. Biting down on your lip, you urge him on and before long, Seokjin bottoms out. He stops there, panting at the feeling of being so deep inside you. Glancing down, Seokjin sees your pussy split by his cock and cannot contain himself any longer. He slowly pulls out.

“What…” Grasping for his ass, you panic a bit. “Seokjin, don’t –”

Grabbing your knee, he slams back inside you. The two of you groan at the same time. Him, because he has never felt anything as tight and wet as your cunt and you because his dick is so large, your body is trembling.

“God.” You fall back on the bed, chest bouncing. “I fucking knew you were big. There was no other way you could be so annoying.”

Seokjin withdraws, reliving the sweet sensation of thrusting his cock in your tight pussy. You are so warm and so wet – now that you have been stretched, you mold easily to him.

“Fuck,” you gasp, lifting your hips to his.

Seokjin toys with you. Slowly sliding in and out, he brings his thumb to your clit and starts rubbing. “You thought I was annoying, huh?” he breathes, lips hot in your ear.

Nodding, your hands fist in the sheets. “Still do.”

Chuckling, Seokjin captures your lobe with his teeth. His hips roll against you, pressing you into the mattress. “Mm. Know what I think?”

“What?”

“You talk too much. Flip over.”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“Thought you wanted me to shut you up?” Seokjin presses a sweet kiss to your mouth. “Now, flip over, so I can fuck you senseless.”

Withdrawing, he ignores every inch of him which screams to stay put. It is worth it though, when you finally flip onto your stomach and stick your ass in the air.

Inhaling, Seokjin runs a hand up your drenched pussy. Your lips are swollen, messy with slick from him eating you out. Lifting himself onto his knees, Seokjin grabs his dick and pushes against your center. Slapping your clit a few times, he hisses when he feels you tremble beneath him. Hands soft on your hips, he slides into your cunt.

“Ah!” you gasp, head thrown back from the motion.

Wrapping your hair around his wrist, Seokjin thrusts into you again. He can feel every inch of your cunt, feel the tight squeeze of your walls on his cock. God, you are driving him crazy. Thrusting harder, Seokjin cannot separate the sensations before him.

Your ass pushing back on him, the way your moans fall from your lips. The tight wetness of your heat, his cock disappearing in and out. Leaning down, Seokjin slides an arm around your ribcage and pulls you against him.

He continues to fuck you like that, cock entering your body at a punishing speed. You feel so good pressed against him, nipples hard as they peek through his palms. Seokjin’s lips find your neck, sucking a hickey into your skin.

“Fuck,” you groan, walls tightening around him. Your bodies bang together, his cock fucking you open in a way which barely seems decent. “Fuck – Seokjin – yes! Oh my god, yes.’

“Yeah?” His grip tightens around you. “You about to come on my dick, baby?”

“Yes!” you gasp. He is basically holding you up at this point, fucking you senseless. “Oh – oh! I thought… you – mmph – wanted! Me – fuck! Quiet!”

Chuckling, Seokjin slides a hand between your legs. Finding your clit, he begins to rub with his fingers. “Changed my mind,” he grunts. “Wanna hear you scream my name so loud, you wake all my neighbors.”

“S-Seokjin!”

Your legs start to shake, trembling with your impending orgasm and Seokjin is not doing much better. The only thing holding him back is the intense desire to feel you come wrapped around him.

“C’mon,” he groans, angling his hips even deeper. “Wanna feel this tight, little pussy come on my cock. Can you do that, baby? Can you?”

“Yes,” you gasp and then you are coming undone.

Seokjin groans, biting your shoulder when your pussy clamps down. Your orgasm is so intense, Seokjin is surprised he can keep you against him. Pushed over the edge, Seokjin shudders when he lets go and releases into the condom. It goes on for so long, his cock aching as you take every last bit of him.

Slowly, his hand falls and strokes down your side. Lips brushing your neck, Seokjin exhales and gently withdraws. Everything is over-sensitive, each inch of his body buzzing with satisfaction. Tying the condom into a knot, Seokjin tosses this in the garbage and sees you roll out of bed.

His stomach twists. “Where are you going?” he blurts, wincing at how needy he sounds.

It is only – you look so fucking beautiful. Hair messy and lips swollen, traces of arousal lingering on the inside of your thighs. You smile at him, as if sensing his nervousness.

“Where’s your bathroom?” you ask, sheepish.

Seokjin exhales, relief coursing through him. He points to the left. “Over there,” he says, collapsing on top of the sheets. His dick is limp, soft in his lap, but looking at you, Seokjin is already thinking about more. “Want me to show you?”

“That’s alright,” you laugh, turning around. “I think I can make it to the closet alone.”

Grinning, Seokjin falls back again. “Come back soon.”

“Okay.”

Glancing at him over your shoulder, you sneak another peek before disappearing.

Seokjin stares at his ceiling for a moment before he remembers his roommate. Wincing, he reaches down to fish his phone from his jeans. Unsurprisingly, there are several missed texts from Yoongi.

Yoongi: k lol [11:01 PM]

Yoongi doesn’t matter won’t be sleeping anyways [11:01 PM]

Yoongi: too busy eating dessert ; ) [11:01 PM]

Groaning, Seokjin plugs his phone into his charger. He guesses this means Yoongi found someone else to hook up with. Rolling over in bed, Seokjin starts when you open the door.

“Hey.” You smile, almost embarrassed. Walking towards him, you bend to scoop your underwear from the ground.

“Whoa!” Seokjin blurts, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you into the bed before you can get dressed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting on clothes,” you laugh, curling into his side. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Mhm.” Seokjin’s nose nuzzles your hair. He is not sure why, but something about this feels right. Having your limbs entwined in his, your hand resting soft on his chest. He feels warm, satisfied by the thought of being near you.

Sleepily, you smile. “I’m not allowed to get dressed tonight, is that it?”

“Nope,” he agrees, heart soaring the longer he looks at you. “Something that good needs repeating.”

Laughing a little, you curl tighter around him. “Does that mean you want to repeat it?” you ask, uncertainty to your voice.

Sliding two fingers under your chin, Seokjin tilts your head up. “Yeah,” he says, quiet. “I can’t think of anything I want more, to be honest.”

“I – same.”

Laying your head on his chest, you are quiet for a moment as Seokjin basks in the silence. Then, he exhales and adds, “I mean, aside from trouncing your sales targets, of course. I always want to do that.”

You snort, shoving his side. Seokjin pulls you in closer, grinning widely. It is a lie, of course – right now, there is nothing he wants more than to be with you.

[ COLLABORATION MASTERLIST FOUND HERE ]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[papipopsicle]

AFTERTASTE PART FIVE

Pairing: Archie Andrews X Reader

Genre: fluff and some angst

Summary: In which two best friends since childhood test whether sex and friendship can co-exist without causing conflict. Including OC's Flick and Cherry, a bisexual and lesbian in a sapphic relationship who are best friends of Y/N.

Song: Candy by Doja Cat

Warnings: swearing, minors consuming alcohol

Words: 3.6K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

     Y/N lasted two weeks before thoughts of even throwing the bet came to mind. She had been strong so far; making sure to wear her tightest outfits and highest heels, being extra touchy-feely with Archie and not reacting to his moves in the slightest. Her personal favourite moment was sitting on his lap at the Twilight Drive-In and giving him a hard-on whilst Kevin and Betty sat next to them non the wiser.

But now, on day eighteen, she needed reinforcements. The redhead realised his attempts were failing miserably and he couldn't help his reactions to Y/N’s provocative movements. He turned it up a notch, becoming rather possessive of the five foot blonde knowing she enjoyed that side of him. He carefully walked the line of teasing and taunting like a tightrope, always whispering in her ear and letting his hand rest on her inner thigh under the table. And now, Y/N found herself wanting to pounce him whenever he caught her eye. It was getting out of hand, so she called for the only two people who could possibly help.

"Have you tried doing the bend and snap?" Cherry asked out of the blue, her head rested on her girlfriends lap as the three watched Clueless from the comfort of Felicity's bed.

"Babe," the blue haired girl said with a sigh and took a handful of M&Ms, "I love you but I don't think our answer lies in a two-thousand's rom-com."

"Hey, it worked on you, didn't it?" The brunette grinned smugly and leaned up to kiss the girl above her, earning a handful of chocolate to be launched in their direction and a disgruntled groan from the blonde sitting beside them.

Y/N pouted, "Please stop reminding me how single I am."

At this, the two girls pulled away and sent her the same bewildered look, "You wouldn't be if you told that hunky ginger you're in love with him!" Flick barked, a hand playing with the hem of her partner's shirt whilst the other flew up in desperation.

The y/h/c girl sent her friends an incredulous glare, it only growing when their shared 'you know I'm right' smile made an appearance. She took a handful of sweets and irritably shoved them in her mouth, "I am not in love with Archie Andrews... I just want his body on my body... in a variety of ways, and locations... multiple times."

"Right, so let me just get this straight," Cherry sat upright and gathered her hair over one shoulder, she paused the film and sent the petite girl a serious look, "you really think a no-strings-attached relationship can actually work? Have you even seen Friends With Benefits? It doesn't work! Sure it's all fun and games now but it's only a matter of time before one of you catches feelings and shit gets real. Then we'll have to pick sides, obviously you automatically get us, but I really liked Archie, he was promising..."

"What my gorgeous girlfriend means, is that we won't have this relationship ruined because you two can't keep it in your pants. We've put a lot of work and effort into this ship and it isn't going to waste, this isn't some TV teen drama shit, there's no need to wait until season 6 to actually be happy. Don't be Lydia and Stiles." Flick rounded up, taking the remote and pressing play.

Y/N simply sighed and slouched against the pillows, her attention turning back to the TV as she sulked, "I came here for your advice, and honestly now it feels like my moms are telling me I can't have sex with my hot best friend because they ship us too hard romantically. How can sex ruin a friendship? That's like saying extra sprinkles ruin ice cream! Anyways, none of that matters unless I win this stupid bet."

"You know Y/N/N, asking a lesbian and a bisexual whose only ever been with a girl on how to seduce a boy isn't exactly your best move." Cherry commented, snuggling under her blanket with a near-empty bowl of mini-pretzels at her side.

"My advice? Just be yourself, dumbass. Clearly for some weird reason he's into that, so it's only a matter of time until he gives in and this insanity will end. Boys think with their dicks and have a lot less will-power than us. For fucks sake, he's sprung when your name's mentioned in passing conversation, clearly he wants to bone your brains out. Wait it out, you're one stubborn chick when you want to be, you got this."

Two days later, on one rather fateful Friday night, Y/N found herself in the midst of a party thrown by none other than the Blossom twins. It had been a while since she'd spoken to either of them, but since their entire year was currently making out on the couches, the invitation wasn't all that strange. She and Betty had spent the evening getting ready whilst rocking out to the cheesiest music known to their generation. The smaller blonde wore a little red number with lace cutouts, and only managed to convince her taller friend to ditch the mom-jeans for a conservative royal blue knee-length dress. Baby steps, she told herself whilst trying her best not to cut a deeper neckline in the mass of material.

Betty Cooper had absolutely no idea what was going on between two of her three best friends; and although she'd always been silently jealous of their closeness, she was used to it and didn't think twice to question it. Y/N spritzed her neck and wrists with her favourite perfume, Daisy Dream, and gave herself a final once over in the large mirror beside her wardrobe.

With perfect timing, like some magical intuition, Y/N’s phone buzzed, notifying her their ride was outside. She grinned at the taller girl and slipped her black Louis Vuitton's on, "Ready, m'lady?"

"I-I don't know, Y/N/N." Betty panicked, wringing her hands together as a worrisome look etched onto her face, "What if my mom sees us leave? She'll kill me if she finds out we're going to a Blossom party."

"She won't. And even if she does, she'll only see us getting into a car with Cherry and Flick, just tell her they invited us over for a girl's night or something... Stop worrying about the future, and start living in the now! You look smokin', I look hot, we are not wasting my precious work on Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore again, capisce?" Y/N didn't allow even a millisecond to pass before dragging the taller girl downstairs with her where they met Polly and Ren.

The four took a few quick photos together and hightailed it out to the red convertible sitting on the edge of the drive. Polly switched places with Flick and the happy couple sat in the back on each other's lap, leaving Y/N and Betty sat beside them like two spare wheels.

When the group of girls arrived, Cheryl graciously directed them down to the basement. Thoughts of being led down to a torture chamber came to mind as the redhead opened a large squeaky door, but those died down when the smell of liquor and sound of house music hit them like a brick wall.

So now, an hour into the night, it was just Betty and Y/N standing at the side of the room with a red solo cup in hand. Polly ran off to find her beloved boyfriend as soon as she arrived and Y/S/N just so happened to find herself hitting on a nearby houseplant. 'Flicky' were playing beer pong, well cider for them, against Reggie and Moose, and were winning with only one cup standing.

The petite girl, who still stood below her friend even in four inch heels, was about to save her sister from some terrible mugshots, but a strong arm stopped her in her tracks and pulled her back into a muscly chest.

"Where'd you think you're going, gorgeous?" A deep voice breathed in her ear, and a second later she ripped herself away from the boy, instantly recognising him and wishing to be the other side of the building right now. Though her actions were quick, the brunette pinned her to the nearest wall and stared hazily into her wide chartreuse-coloured eyes. Y/N actually laughed at the irony of the location, finding it funny that the last time she was in this position it was rather enjoyable.

"Fuck off, Chuck." The girl took another sip of her drink, not bothering to pay the boy any attention because that's exactly what he wanted. Though, when his arms moved from the wall to around her waist and neck, forcing Y/N to look up at him, she felt like punching the stupid smile off his smug face. But with one hand stuck at her side and the other holding her drink, she simply settled for chucking her remaining vodka-lemonade at the boy.

He chuckled cynically and wiped his face down, eyes darkening as he pushed himself against her with even more force, "Now, now. That's no way to treat the best fuck you've ever had. Why don't we go find somewhere quiet, for old times sake." He commanded, his tone leaving no room for questioning or any form of verbal consent.

But Y/N scoffed and chucked her now empty cup at his face, "Do you really want to be known for rape, as well as leaking a fifteen year old's sex tape, that you were a part of let's not forget?"

He sighed and brought a hand up to cup her face, coarse fingers gripping her jaw achingly tight, "Y/N/N, aren't we past that? I was mad and you embarrassed me in front of the entire football team, what did you expect me to do? Can't we just forget about that?" His other arm aggressively tugged her closer, "C'mon, you know you want me, slut."

Y/N had her eyebrows raised intolerably the entire time he spoke, and when she realised this had no affect on him, she cocked her head ever so slightly. That word felt so good coming from Archie's lips weeks ago. But with Chuck's intoxicated breath panting down on her made up face, she felt completely and utterly violated, physically and mentally.

She hid the look of disgust as best as possible and simply let her best fake alluring smile grace her features; Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck and looked ever so sweetly into his darkened eyes, "Clayton, we were together for what, eight months? And somehow, in that entire time, you never made me orgasm, not even close. I feel sorry for any girl, or whoever else who has to put up with your shitty oral. Don't you ever, ever use that word against me or any other girl. Don't touch me, you do not and shall never have consent to touch my body, remember that." She smoothly spoke, her voice laced with sugar-coated venom.

Using his drunken and shocked state to her advantage, Y/N unhooked his arms and rushed off to find one particular individual. She fought through the endless crowd of teenagers and after ten minutes of searching, Archie was nowhere to be found. A light tapping on one shoulder caused the y/h/c girl to spin on her heels, ready to slap a bitch if it were another jock.

But thankfully it wasn't, and Y/N let out a sigh of relief when her eyes found Betty's figure. She took her taller friend by the arms and asked, "Have you seen Archie at all? There's three fucking gingers at this party and I can only spot two."

"Last time I saw him he was in line for the bathroom, and that was around five minutes ago." The taller blonde said, peering down at her friend in concern as a hand smoothed down her signature ponytail instinctively, "Is there anything I can help with?"

Betty's question almost flew right past her as she searched for the toilet queue, but thankfully she managed to make out a few words, and quickly put two and two together. Y/N shook her head and finally looked at her friend, "It's alright, but one of us is about to lose a bet, I'll tell you who once I find out."

Betty's expression contorted at that, and she began to feel an uneasiness settling in the pit of her stomach. The Cooper girl did her best to hide her jealousy along with her crush on Archie. She'd always viewed Y/N as the unwanted cog in the machine, but as the months went on she couldn't help but feel like a spare part.

With that, the petite girl marched off and soon found herself pushing through throngs of her drunken classmates until a head of fiery-red hair poked up above the crowd. He was joking and laughing with Reggie, both wearing giddy smiles whilst sipping from from their cups every so often.

Y/N was used to being easily knocked, because she was so tiny in relation to the 6 foot something masses of muscle she called her friends, so it came as no surprise when someone practically rammed her right into the middle of the boys' conversation. Luckily, being the gentleman he was, Archie's arm instinctively wrapped around her waist to steady her toppling body. Their chatting ceased and it took Reggie no less than a second to start talking to someone else, leaving the red-haired boy looking down in confusion at his best friend.

"You okay there, Tiger?" He asked, gingerly hooking a few strands of her y/h/c hair behind her ear, making Y/N crane her neck up to watch him intently for a moment. She bit down on her lower lip and let out an intoxicated little giggle, "My knight in shining armour, however will I repay you?"

Archie breathed out a deep chuckle and smirked, "I can think of a few ways..." he all but muttered. Y/N’s thoughts flickered back to just moments ago in the lull of silence, and that was all the boy needed to lead her out of the packed basement. He saw the look confliction in her eyes, not quite understanding it, "has something else happened, Y/N/N?"

"Do you remember last spring, when I finally broke it off with Chuck... and then he, you know?" She tried to clarify, but her words wavered and fell short.

"Released a video of you two without your consent and only got suspended for a week?" Archie almost growled his voice felt so heavy. He hated remembering their relationship. Not only because he wanted Y/N to be only his, but because he was forced to see his best friend humiliated and heartbroken all at the same time and couldn't stop it.

"That's the one." The girl looked down, unable to meet his eyes as her mind raced back to one of the darkest weeks of her life. But she pulled herself away from the horrible memories, "Look, it happened and I can't change that, but I really don't want to be around him right now."

"We'll go back to mine right now, Tiger." Archie affirmed with his hand now cupping her made up face, bringing her gaze back to his own.

"Woah, didn't realise you two were a thing." A slurring Reggie turned back around and winked at the pair with his usual cheeky smile, "Don't worry, I won't tell."

Y/N giggled and hiccuped at the same time, "Fuck off, Reg."

"Hey, if you hurt her, Andrews, I'll knock you into next year." The Asian boy only partly joked with his best friend.

The Robins girl pulled herself away from the wall and wrapped her arms around Reggie, "My hero!"

"Yeah, yeah." He hugged her back, not too hard though as in his drunken state he was scared he might snap her in half with all his muscular might. "I love you too, Y/N/N."

She gave him a sweet peck on the cheek before returning to Archie's side, clasping his hand in her own and leading the both of them away from the raucous party. Nobody seemed to notice in their happy little haze, even if they did, most people assumed the two were sleeping together anyway.

"Does it bother you at all?" Y/N small voice called as they walked down the narrow roads back home. She didn't know whether the answer would be something she wanted to hear, but it had been bothering her for the past minute or so.

Archie's brows furrowed, slightly more sober and completely not understanding his companion's train of thought, "Does what bother me?"

"That people assume so much about us? That we're sleeping together? That we're a couple?" She pondered.

"Not unless it's something that puts you in a negative light, otherwise I really couldn't care less about other people's opinions. Everyone has them, but the only ones that matter to me are my friends and my family's." Archie reassured her.

Y/N giggled at her own joke, "I thought you were going to say they're like assholes?"

The boy looked at her incredulously.

"Everybody has one." She grinned and wrapped her arm around his waist as his own found its way to her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth. The rest of the walk was silent after that, cool summers air bringing an ease to Y/N's tipsy frame. Twenty minutes must have gone by before they saw the Andrews' household finally in view, it was anything but awkward though. Their hands clasped swinging between them, the girl's feet beginning to ache from the regrettable choice of five inch heels.

They shared giggles and passing comments that wouldn't make sense the next morning, gleeful smiles hanging from cheek to cheek. Before Archie had the chance to hunt for his key, the front door opened with Fred sending the two teenagers a short look of annoyance.

"Get in already." He rolled his tired eyes, not wanting to question why his son's best friend was currently looking up at him with hidden adoration as she slipped off her shoes.

Y/N hiccuped and sent the adult an apologetic smile, "Sorry if we woke you, Freddie."

"I couldn't sleep anyway, kid, don't worry about it." Fred gave her a kind smile and felt her small frame hug his own. He returned it as always and after a few moments, let the teenagers carry on upstairs. The girl immediately went into the bathroom and found her small bottle of cleanser under the sink, removing her heavy make up before returning to her best friends room.

Y/N couldn't help but gawk at the sight her eyes were greeted with, the redheads body clad with tight boxers with his warm bedside lamp lighting the room, and his muscular build, perfectly. Her hands lightly traced his back, making Archie jump before leaning into her touch.

"I'm still going to win this bet," She whispered, shutting the bedroom door and pulling the boy down to his bed with her, "but Arch, can I ask you something?"

Y/N's head nearly reached the wall as the redhead towered over her, hot breath tickling her skin while he rest himself against her without putting any weight down. "Of course." The words floated from his lips so easily, knowing his whole life he'd do anything or answer whatever she wanted.

"Do you think we're meant to be more than friends? I think I've finally realised it's not that we were never and will never be romantic in each other's minds, it's always been that way but we've just never really known." The Robins girl seemed so sure of her words, staring up into his amber eyes with so much honest admiration.

He watched her for what felt like forever, not knowing whether it was the alcohol in them both or just that the little game they were playing didn't matter anymore, and decided to throw that away. A short gasp fell from Y/N's lips as Archie caught them, rolling over and pulling her on top of his chest.

"You're right, I've always wanted us to be more than friends Y/N/N, ever since Leonardo went missing when we were in sixth grade and you kissed my cheek when I found him." Archie propped himself up and returned that same gesture. She stole a kiss but he didn't let it end, running his fingers through her curled blonde hair.

"Arch?" Her small voice called out, sitting atop of his torso still in her revealing red dress. He nodded back with the biggest smile, unable to control the pure joy as her next words tumbled into the world, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

"I don't have a choice, since I lost the bet, do I?" He mocked, smile not falling as she hit his chest and rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course, yes, I'll be your boyfriend."

PART SIX

[blarrghe]

"I called you at 2am because I need you" for... is it too indulgent to ask for Dorian x Anders?

never too much! Decided on a straight sequel to the last one, so here’s modern au resident!Anders and politician!Dorian after a long shift. --

He had three hours left in his shift when he got the text from Barb. He looked suspiciously down at his phone when it buzzed. Barb’s contact was in his phone with a little butterfly next to her name, to match the tattoo on her ankle and the bright and fluttery nature of her personality. He liked Barb, but she was almost definitely asking him to cover her shift, and he debated opening the message for several minutes before doing so with a reluctant sigh. Barb was going through some things; messy divorce, two little kids to look after all on her own, the pay they made here and the stress that came with it. 

“Can’t find a sitter, can you take a shift?” read the first text, Anders was going to say yes anyway, but then two more came in, buzzing in quick succession. “unless you want to babysit? I’d give you my pay!” bright, chipper texting tone, accompanied by several hopeful looking emojis, “and brownies! 🍫” Barb did make really excellent brownies. He considered taking her up on the second offer, but he really wasn’t sure he had the energy for kids who weren’t bed-ridden or in need of medical care. He could turn on Fun Doctor Mode like a lightswitch for the kids down in pediatrics, but kids who wanted to refuse bedtime and stay up watching TV they weren’t mature enough to handle? He shook his head, half smiling over the offer of brownies, half frowning over the decision he’d made before he even opened the first message. Barb deserved to get the time with her kids, anyway. 

“I’ve got you covered.” Kissy face cat emoji, knife and fork emoji. 

“Lifesaver!!!!!” every single colour of heart.

He pencilled his name in on the clipboard for the next rotation, and began to regret the fact that he’d so quickly stuffed down the pastry Dorian had brought him earlier as he tried to remember if he had enough coins in the pockets of his coat for both a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and the bus home. He didn’t, but he’d have more luck charming the bus driver into a free ride than the vending machine into giving up its snacks, so he went to his locker and fished out the last of his bus money. 

The rest of his shift went by in a blur of activity, up and down halls as his white-soled shoes squeaked and squawked along the linoleum floors, up and down stairs that were faster than waiting for elevators, thankless pages from doctors all across the sprawling hospital, avoiding his shift supervisor in case she asked about Barb. Then Barb’s shift was much the same, for the four and a half hours after that. It was nearing two am when he finally staggered out to the bus stop, and well past it by the time he arrived home — on foot, because the bus driver had not, in fact, let him ride for free. Just what he got for putting hope into the kindness of strangers. One kind act was, apparently, the extent of his daily karma allotment. Fair enough — he could still almost taste the honey of that pastry on his lips; either an uncommonly good morsel, or he was just drastically underfed. The latter, but the pastry-giver was certainly more than he deserved.

Shit. Dorian. He’d asked him to call. Anders looked blearily at the clock on his stove as he kicked off his shoes and plodded over to the cabinet to dish out some kibble for Ser Pounce. The cold tile floor was a welcome relief on his worn out feet, though the fact that he could feel it at all was a testament to the grave state of his socks. Ser Pounce pounced down from his perch above the cabinets to give some love and a swath of shedding cat hair to Anders’ legs, then nibbled at his food while Anders opened his fridge to try to figure something out for himself. He sniffed at the milk, decided it was probably still fine, and then poured it over a heaping bowl of sugary cereal. Yeah, he’d have made a pretty shit babysitter. 

Anders took his bowl with him to his bed, flopping down on the lumpy mattress with a sigh that fully emptied his lungs, and pulled out his phone. He opened his message history and pulled up the conversation with Dorian. Not much there, but what there was made him smile. Mostly short, friendly messages. No emojis except for the one he’d stuck next to Dorian’s name in the contact page — a snake, not his first choice, but he’d embarassed himself by asking the man which one he’d like when he first scored his number, and snake was what he’d picked. Anders would have gone with the diamond, or the little tophat, or maybe the cat with hearts for eyes…

Anyway, then it had turned out that Dorian was a very formal texter. Proper punctuation and fully articulated words and all that. Anders had spent far too many minutes in their text-based conversations together fretting over how immature it would come off to use an abbreviation for laughter versus spelling out the words “haha”, or if even that was too juvenile. But he and Dorian were both all sarcastic humour and chastising bits of flirtation, and he also fretted about the tone of that without it. 

“you up?” he wrote, then hovered his thumb over the send button for thirty or so seconds before deciding that it was worth the shot. Worse came to worst, Dorian would reply with a friendly apology and an offer to chat the next morning. He was dependable like that. 

“Depends, is this a booty call?” came the almost instant reply. Alone in his room, Anders blushed. 

Blushing emoji, monkey covering his eyes emoji, sweat-smile emoji… delete, delete, delete. “No, just miss you,” DELETE, definitely delete. He tried typing some other things. “Just got in, but thinking of you…” no. “You wish lol” haha? Neither. He erased the message and began again, but then the phone screen lit up with “Dorian🐍”, buzzing as it rang. 

“The little dots were driving me mad. Did you just get in?” His voice was like honey, too. 

“Yeah, covered for Barb.” 

“Again?” 

Anders leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes as Dorian’s concern blanketed over him. “She couldn’t find a sitter.” 

“You’re too nice for your own good.” Dorian scolded him gently through the phone, and it probably said something unhealthy about Anders that hearing Dorian admiringly call him nice made the whole last five hours of life-draining overtime and bitter walk home worth it. 

“She offered me brownies,” he shrugged the compliment off, “what can I say? I’m a sucker for chocolate.” 

“I’ll remember that.” Dorian purred, causing Anders to almost second guess his response to the idea of a booty call, exhausted or not. “So, not a booty call then?” Anders groaned inwardly, wishing it were, but no. Not unless Dorian wanted to talk to him on the phone the whole way over to keep him from falling asleep before he arrived, and even then.

“I just — uh…” he was going to say something about the book, but he hadn’t actually had time yet to look at it. His heart rate quickened with panic, he needed to find something to keep Dorian on the phone. “Thanks for the visit today.” Yes, because that warranted a phone call at three in the morning. “Sorry if I woke you…” 

“Nonsense. I’m always awake at this hour. It’s a terrible habit of mine.” Dorian did indeed sound very wakeful. Probably also very disappointed in the grogginess of Anders’ own voice. 

“Mm,” Anders muttered, his eyes closing under the warmth of Dorian’s voice through the phone again. 

“But you sound awful.” 

“Ran out of bus fare,” Anders explained, “had to walk… long day.” On a better night, Dorian might listen to his work gossip and share some rants of his own; they made quite a pair, both always seeming too short on time and too packed with stress to get out much, both always angry with their bosses — though Dorian was frustrated by beaurocracy constantly getting in the way of his efforts at world-saving, while Anders’ patients gave him fulfilment enough, it was just that his pockets were perpetually empty and all his managers were slave drivers. 

“Why don’t you have a bus pass?” Dorian sighed at him. A bus pass was a hundred bucks up front at the beginning of the month, and with payday always landing two weeks after but every other bill needing to paid right then too… but he didn’t really want to explain that particular predicament to Dorian, who had a flashy suit for every day of the week and a car that cost about as much as Anders was worth in medical school debt. “Well, you can call me next time. I’d give you a ride.” he purred on that note too, having fun with his double entendres. Anders chuckled. 

“I’ll keep you in mind,” he promised. Though the thought of begging his quasi-boyfriend for a ride at two am made him shudder. Still, not quite a lie; he always seemed to have Dorian on his mind at the end of a long shift. 

“Since I have you, dinner?” The inflection of the question was a little high. Anders crunched on a mouthful of cereal with his eyes still closed and mumbled something unintelligable. “You’re off Friday, aren’t you? Do me a favour and don’t pick up any more shifts. I have a place in mind I think you’ll like.” 

“Mm?” He thought about the kind of places Dorian would think were good spots for a dinner date, and was very glad that he couldn’t see the blue-tinted milk running down his chin. 

“It’s a surprise.” Back to low purring, that nervousness or whatever it had been apparently gone again. Anders liked the warm flirtatious tone, but the little breaks into uncertainty were what kept him coming back for more. So much in common. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Anders “mm”’d through his mouthful of cereal in the affirmative. 

“Amatus?” Even his pet names were classy. Anders would go with “love” if it weren’t so close to an unthinkable state of being, or “babe” if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian outshone that by a mile with amatus. His thoughts were all cat-with-heart-eyes emoji at the sound, and not much else.  

Anders swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Get some sleep.” 

“Mm.” Anders moved the bowl from his lap to the cluttered chair at his bedside, and leaned deeper into his pillow. “See you Friday, Dor” Dor, was that really the best he could do? 

He heard Dorian hum contentedly on the other side of the line, “looking forward to it.” he said. 

“Night, love.” Anders muttered, then very very quickly he hit end call, and shut his eyes tight. 

[the-quiet-winds]

The Buffalo’s Inferno

[Everyone’s been waiting for this, right?

Mild angst. Some rude words. Discussions of death.] Katherine, for lack of better words, had not been having the greatest day ever.

She can’t really explain why, but she’d been in some weird sort of mood that made everything feel horrible no matter what it was. She had shooed Argyle out of her room when he had come creeping in for pets, she had nearly yelled at Anne for how long she took in the bathroom this morning, and actually had sternly asked Anna to turn her music down.

Finally, when the house seems stable enough and Katherine feels she might just be okay, she slips downstairs in search of a snack. Situating herself at the kitchen island with a bowl of fruit, she tries to calm her mind.

But, when you live in a house with five other women and a cat, calm and peace aren’t exactly easy to grasp. Granted, her guest isn’t the worst person it could be, but she really had been looking forward to some alone time.

“Hello, love,” Jane greets, sitting down next to Katherine and accidentally jostling her in the process.

“Hi,” Katherine mumbles, not looking up from her bowl.

Jane frowns at Katherine’s unresponsiveness. “What’s up, love?”

“Nothing.”

“Kat,” Jane says, but she uses that voice. The one that usually makes Katherine’s stomach feel like butter as she promises to fight away all the nightmares and keep Katherine safe and ensure that nothing will ever hurt her again.

Today, however, it just feels so patronizing and almost a sort of lie as she continues to say, “come on, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Katherine insists, hoping the slight bite in her voice would ward off Jane finally.

But her mum is too sweet and loving to leave her alone when something is so clearly bothering her. Jane’s hand sweeps softly through her hair, coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Come on, love,” Jane whispers. “Just talk to me.”

Katherine slams her hand on the table, rattling her bowl and startling Jane out of her skin.

“Why can’t you just be normal?”

“Kat, what-”

“Why can’t you just be normal?” Katherine nearly shrieks, hot tears streaming down her face. “Why do you insist on being so… motherly all the time?” She moves towards her room. 

Jane follows. “Kat, you’re my daughter and-”

“I’m not your daughter!” Katherine explodes, jumping to her feet. Words are flying out of her mouth faster than she can truly contemplate. “You’re not my mum, that’s what you wanted,” she jams a finger into Jane’s chest with enough force to push her back, Jane’s eyes wide and almost scared. “I hate you!” Katherine all but screams, retreating up the stairs to her bedroom, holding the door, as she screams, “I wish you weren’t my mum!”

With the final declaration, she slams the door.

She buries her face in her pillow and pretends not to hear Jane’s soft pleading for her to open the door, which is quickly replaced by tearful apologies and promises to change.

Then, there’s nothing, and Katherine falls asleep crying into her pillow.

---

The first thing Katherine realizes when she wakes up that afternoon is the house is quiet. Silent, even. She checks her clock on the side table - there’s still an hour until they leave for the show, so why is everyone so quiet?

She drags herself off the bed and into the bathroom to scrub the tear stains off of her cheeks. As she pats off the water, Katherine can’t help but notice the different smell that lingers in the bathroom. Just a different kind of cleaning product or something, that’s all.

She brushes it off and heads downstairs.

Aragon and Parr are curled up together on the couch, talking in hushed voices. Anne and Anna are similarly discussing something at the kitchen island, taking tiny pretzels from a bowl and popping them into their mouths intermittently.

Katherine approaches them, somewhat hesitantly. “Where’s Jane?”

Anne raises an eyebrow. “Who knows?”

“She had to be upset earlier, why did you all let her leave?” 

“Jane? Upset? What else is new?” Anna grumbles, stealing another pretzel.

“What are you talking about?” Katherine asks.

“Jane is always upset, Kitty,” Anne says. “If we never let her leave when she’s upset, she’d literally never be out of this house.”

“We should get going,” Cathy butts in. 

Katherine checks the stove clock. “We still have another hour till call.”

“Did you seriously forget?” Aragon asks.

“Forget what?”

“What has gotten into you today, Kitty?” Anne asks. She sighs, then, “we have our meeting at the theater, like we do every first show of the week.”

“Oh, right,” Katherine says, knowing full well she has no idea what they’re talking about.

“Come on,” Aragon says. “Maybe Jane won’t be late to this one.”

“Or completely screw us all,” Parr snipes.

Katherine is sure she has absolutely no clue what is going on - did they really all think so little of Jane? Were they finally being honest?

She dwells over these thoughts the entire ride to the theater, but then she starts to question why. Jane had been too protective, too motherly toward her, even though, by some odd technicality, they were on some sort of sisterly status.

Every previous notion she had of Jane flees as soon as they reach the theater, where the woman is sitting on the stoop, smoking a cigarette.

“Glad you all decided to show up,” she drawls, dropping the butt to the ground and putting it out with her shoe. “Lets get this over with.”

“You shouldn’t do that before a show,” Aragon says, and Jane just rolls her eyes.

They all enter the theater, Jane not even waiting for the others, and Katherine can’t help but notice the ambiance feels different, less warm, even though everything seems identical. 

Katherine follows the others as they sit down on the stage, and she can’t help but notice that Jane sits different. It’s a tiny thing to observe, really, but usually Jane sits with her back straight, legs crossed, like a ‘proper woman’, as she would tease. Today, however, she looks like she doesn’t care, sitting in the complete opposite way.

Katherine knows the way she’s sitting is a stupid detail, but the fact that Jane barely glances in her direction doesn’t go unnoticed either.

Throughout the whole meeting, Katherine is completely lost. She can’t figure out why she’s even there, since almost all of the stage manager’s questions are about Jane and her ‘behavior’ over the last week. Whether she had any altercations with the other queens (apparently Jane and Aragon had had a blowout over the car), whether she had used any substances (a moot question, considering she still smelled like the cigarette from outside the theater, and Anne manages the courage to point out her noticing of one or two empty bottles of gin in the garbage (this confession earns her a very dirty look)), and, oddly enough, whether she had come in contact with any sharp objects in the last week (other than the knife used to cut up some snacks, no).

Then the questioning moves to the other queens - how had their weeks been, and had they had any problems.

Katherine pretends everything is fine, when inside she is screaming. This all seems so wrong-

“Time to get suited up,” Anna jokes as they stand, heading towards the dressing rooms.

That’s when there’s more wrong, Katherine sees. 

Jane’s area, normally full of fan art and pictures with the queens, is empty. There’s not a single item, save for the tiny makeup pallet and half-drunk coffee, that even shows anyone is there. 

Katherine follows her into the dressing room, causing the woman to raise an accusatory eyebrow. “You following me, Howard?”

Howard. Not Katherine, not Kat, not ‘love’. Howard.

“No, just trying to-”

She cuts herself off at the sight of her spot in the dressing room (that’s her spot in the corner!) filled with someone else’s stuff.

“Wrong room, you dolt,” Jane hisses.

Anna squeezes past Katherine, stock-still in the doorway, and sits down in the spot that should be Katherine’s.

She feels her eyes bugging out of her head. Everything is so wrong and-

“God, maybe get some brain cells to go with your ass,” Jane drawls sarcastically before shutting the door in Katherine’s face.

As if in some sort of trance, triggered by all of the collective thoughts of every single thing that feels wrong with today.

She sits between Anne and Aragon in her ‘new’ dressing room and starts through her normal routine. At least that was still the same.

With three minutes to curtain, they all convene backstage. Katherine lets out a tiny sigh of relief as she notices all of her fellow queens look the same.

Or, they do, until Jane walks in.

Gone is her grey and white dress with low heeled boots, the one that Katherine thinks makes her look like an angel of some sort. Instead, she wears long black tights, classic rivets down the sides, with boots heeled higher than Cathy’s. The tights connect to a tank top also in black, wrapped up in a leather sort of biker jacket. Her hair doesn’t flow gracefully, instead piled up to give her some sort of false short cut, curled and sweeping over part of her face, the makeup around her eyes nearly making her look like a vampire.

She doesn’t look anything like Jane, and Katherine is terrified.

“Stop your gawking,” Jane whispers harshly.

Katherine looks anywhere else very quickly.

They’re ushered on stage as the band starts the intro, and Katherine tries to do everything she knows as they start the show.

“Divorced.”

“Beheaded.”

“Murdered.”

Katherine’s head almost explodes right there, and she nearly misses her cue to say her line.

Luckily, enough of the first song is the same that Katherine can fall into a rhythm, but when their individual introductions start, she can barely wait to see what Jane’s was.

“Jane Seymour, the only one he truly loved,” she sang, but sarcastically. As if she was bitter about it.

“Rude!”

“But did he really love me? I guess not. I’m not as nice as you thought. He took a knife to my gut just to have my son.”

Katherine fights with every bit of her resolve to keep her expression neutral as this revelation unraveled in her head.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes too much, and she finds the room spinning and spinning before she drops to the floor in a dead faint.

---

“Katherine.”

“Katherine, wake up.”

Kat slowly blinks to consciousness, and she finds herself on an oddly comfortable couch.

Next to the couch sits Maria, a sheepish smile on her face as she watches the actress slowly comes to.

“Wha-”

“You fainted,” Maria says softly. “Do you remember that?”

It slowly starts to come back to Katherine - Jane’s attitude, Jane’s new costume, and, apparently, Jane’s new story.

“You fainted and they brought you back here, put on an alternate,” Maria continues. “I have the show off so they asked me to watch you.”

“What’s going on with Jane?” Katherine mumbles out as she sits up, rubbing her forehead. 

“Jane? She seems about the same.”

As Katherine’s head begins to clear, the dull roar of the show through the monitor filters to her ears, just about at the end of Anne’s song.

She turns it up just slightly, hoping that she’d at least get Jane’s comforting vocals to soothe her worried mind.

Oh, how we hope to be let down.

“Weren’t you the one he ‘truly loved?’” Anne taunts.

“Well, that’s what I thought,” Jane says, and Katherine can almost hear the snarl in her words. “But here’s a story I’m sure you all should hear.”

“Oh, blah, blah,” Anne rebukes. “You got stabbed, well so did I.”

“And me!” Another voice puts in, and Katherine is sure that’s supposed to be her.

“I had been in labor for three days when Henry gave up on me,” Jane says, low and dangerous. “He decided the possibility of a son was more important than the woman he loved,” she spits the last word, “and took a knife to my stomach to get my son.”

Katherine audibly gasps, and Maria looks confused.

“You seem like you’ve never heard this,” Maria says. “It’s all she talks about. It’s why she’s always mad… why you all have those meetings?”

Katherine can only nod and wait for the familiar piano to start.

It doesn’t.

Instead, Maggie’s electric guitar roars, and whoever is covering for Maria starts plowing into the drums. 

Basically, it’s the opposite of what Katherine was hoping to hear. Where there should be a soft, yet powerful ballad that Katherine likes to close her eyes and roll up in as if nothing else in the universe matters, especially when she’s held in Jane’s warm arms, listening to her mum’s heartbeat as the soft song lulls her to sleep.

But this, this is just wrong.

Instead of singing about loving Henry despite his flaws or how much she misses her son, Jane sings in a very clearly false excitement about what she refers to as, “their fling,” followed by the declaration of a pregnancy.

That’s when it gets worse.

Jane’s angry. More angry than Katherine thinks she’s ever heard her be. Her vocal range is pressing into the higher octaves as, like some kind of dark rock star, she belts in her upper range about being betrayed and given up on, and how she, “just wants to-”

She’s cut off by the other queens, all is quiet, then she starts singing again, the chorus once more, before the song ends.

Katherine sits up and grabs her phone off the table next to her, immediately typing, ‘Jane Seymour,’ into a search bar.

She clicks the first article that pops up and scrolls down to, ‘Issue and Death.’

The article seems mostly familiar to Katherine - Jane becomes pregnant in the winter, carrying well into the summer and going into labor in October.

But instead of two days and three nights of labor, a royal birth, eleven days of sickness, then death, it couldn’t have been more different.

According to this article, on the third night, Henry had become so paranoid over the physician’s reports of the possibility of the son being stillborn, he consented to the removal by cutting open Jane’s stomach.

In her last moments, after her son had been born, Henry never visited, the article read. Edward had been taken to the king and Jane died cursing his name with weakening breath as she bled out right then and there.

It sends a chill down Katherine’s spine, this report. 

Then, another part of her whispers, she can relate.

Jane had been betrayed in the worst possible way by a man she thought loved her. 

So had Katherine. 

She’s so absorbed in her thoughts that she doesn’t even realize how much time has passed, and the show is ending. She knows she has to talk to Jane.

Katherine pokes her head in the hall just as the queens begin their walk down, but there’s a lack of energy that Katherine is so used to seeing. They all just seem tired. Drained.

“You alright, Katherine?” Cathy asks her gently.

“What was it tonight?” Jane butts in brusquely. “Another panic attack?”

“What? No-”

“I don’t know why they even let you perform,” Jane drawls lazily, leaning against the wall. “You can barely ever keep yourself together.”

“Mum-” Katherine winces as she realizes her mistake, but it’s too late.

“Are you crazy?! I’m not your bloody mum!” Jane laughs. Actually laughs, a biting, bitter sort of laugh. “As if I would ever want to be.”

Katherine needs to snap Jane out of whatever trance this is. She needs her mum, her real, amazing, lovely mum.

“You are,” she finally says, seeing Jane beginning to head down the hall. “You just don’t know it.”

“You must be more stupid than I thought,” Jane says sharply, “because I’m only a mother to my son, but I was robbed of that chance. But you,” she shoves Katherine back, “you got to know him more than I ever did. So don’t you come up to me with any of this, ‘you’re my mum,’ crap, because guess what, Howard,” Jane towers over her now, “no one loves you.”

With the final blow, Jane turns on her heel and storms down the hall.

Katherine’s knees give out beneath her and she crumbles to the floor.

“Mama, please.”

Jane does stop at that, turning around but not coming closer. “Grow up, Katherine Howard,” she says lowly. “It’s about time you stop asking like a damn child.” She disappears into the dressing room with the snap of a door.

Katherine begins to shake as she cries into the stiff carpet of the backstage floor. What had she done? She had been ungrateful, that’s what, and now she had lost her mum. Jane had just been trying to take care of her like always, with those soft words and the gentlest of hugs. 

But Katherine had been unappreciative, acting like some stupid child instead of Jane’s devoted daughter.

She had been Katherine Howard, not Katherine Seymour, and now she is cursed to live in whatever Hell this is forever. The Hell where everyone is terrified of Jane, where the show is so different and so wrong, and, of course, where Katherine has no mum.

No one comes to help her. No one comes and lifts her into their arms and gives her something to cling to while she sobs.

She’s alone. Wholly and completely alone. 

Her tears drip off of her face and into the carpet of the backstage hall as she mourns for everything she’s lost.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” she manages to whisper, even though Jane can’t hear her, and doesn’t care.

She stays there for longer than she thinks should be possible. At some point, Anna or Anne or Parr or Catherine or even Jane should have come out of their dressing rooms and found her pathetically laying on the floor.

But no one comes, and Katherine doesn’t care. She stays there on the floor, tears falling into the stiff and unforgiving carpet.

Jane’s words maliciously ring in her head as the world begins to disappear around her, until she can only make one more broken refrain of, “Mama, I’m sorry.”

---

When Katherine forces her eyes open and her nerves begin to fire again, she finds herself on her soft, albeit slightly crumpled, duvet.

How did she get home?

She lifts her head off the bed and turns to the window. Mid-afternoon sunlight streams through the pane, where surely it should be well and truly dark.

That’s when it all hits her at once - the bowl, crying herself into a nap, the dream-

Jane.

Oh God, Jane.

She honestly isn’t sure if she’s thinking about scary-murdered-Dream-Jane or her lovely mother, but regardless, she needs to make this right.

She races to Jane’s room, not even knocking before opening the door.

Jane is sitting on her bed, propped against the headboard, working on some embroidery. At the sound of the door opening, she looks up, and Katherine swallows the lump in her throat at the dried tears she sees on Jane’s cheeks.

“Kat, I-”

She doesn’t finish that sentence. In fact, she barely has time to put the embroidery safely on the bedside table before Katherine is in her arms, all but in her lap, whimpering out apologies between wheezing, broken sobs.

It takes several minutes for Katherine to calm down enough to take little breaths, which is when Jane finally asks, “what happened, love?”

Katherine frantically shakes her head, and Jane gently hushes her, running her fingers softly through her hair.

“Later,” Kat chokes out.

“Okay,” Jane whispers soothingly. “That’s okay.”

There is some more silence, then Jane kisses Kat’s forehead and smiles, pulling Kat back just enough to meet her eyes. “I love you, my little Seymour,” she promises.

Katherine’s eyes well with tears, and she buries her face back in Jane’s shoulder. But amongst the nearly incomprehensible whimpers, one phrase is strong and understandable.

“I love you too, Mama.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list: @spookabeth @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @delilahbrixrwoods @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

[notbang]

that cat’s something i can’t explain

read on ao3

1.

“Rebecca,” Nathaniel says in surprise when he spots his girlfriend weaving through the Mountaintop lobby, flour-dusted apron and all, making a very determined beeline in his general direction. “What’s going on?”

As soon as he says the words, he expects her haughtiness—an affronted why can’t a humble pretzel maker visit her lawyer lover on the top floor, perhaps, or something equally colourful. The closer she gets, though, he can see she’s vibrating with something other than deliberately cloying indignation.

“What’s going on,” she says emphatically, dropping her phone on the front desk with enough force that its momentum slides it towards him, “is that if I had to be subjected to this monstrosity, then so you do you.”

He stops the phone before it can ricochet off the edge of the counter, eyebrows raised as he unlocks the screen.

“Now that we know a love of the theatrical arts is something which we both share—”

“Wouldn’t say ‘love’,” Nathaniel interjects.

“—we can have these very important cultural discussions together.”

He makes it approximately twenty seconds into the video before he turns it off.

This isn’t the first time he’s found himself completely miffed by one of Rebecca’s outbursts, but even in his bemusement it’d be disingenuous of him to paint it as one of her qualities he considers skewed towards the negative. There’s always been something so captivating in the way her feelings tend to command the entirety of her tiny frame, expressing endlessly outwards, always making her seem so much more than what she is.

Still, he’s at a loss for what to offer her in return for her obvious discontent, and he settles for stating the obvious, well aware she’ll hand him precisely the response she was looking for soon enough.

“Don’t see it?” he offers, tone tentative and polite.

Predictably, she scoffs at him, jabbing two accusing pointer fingers in his direction. “Ha. Don’t see it. I wasn’t planning on it, was I? But then they had to go and make it terrible, which is how they reel you in! And not just plain old terrible, either—it’s, like, the uncanny valley, haunt-your-dreams kind of terrible that cancels out how terrible the source material already is, because that’s how negative integers work, for some reason, and now it’s like this… furry train wreck I can’t look away from,” she finishes, gesticulating wildly and scrunching up her hands into frustrated little cat claws.

“Did Nathaniel finally admit he’s a furry?” Maya whispers with conspiratorial glee, popping up unannounced on Rebecca’s immediate left.

“Ugh, Maya, go away,” she groans.

“You don’t work here anymore—you can’t just boss people around,” Nathaniel says, before straightening his shoulders and adding pointedly, “Maya, go away. Please.”

Rebecca raises her eyebrows as the office assistant pushes her glasses up her nose, pouts and scampers away. She leans across the desk to give him a blatant up-and-down. “Wow, look at you—dolling out pleases like you’re Oprah or something. So cordial, yet commanding. It’s kind of sexy, in a Miss Manners kind of way.”

“Don’t you have a storefront you should be manning?”

“I’d be able to hear the fire alarm from here,” she defends, then pushes up on her tip-toes to plant a kiss on his right cheek. Nathaniel pauses in his photocopying, ears pinking, then reciprocates with a brief press of his open palm to the small of her back.

He clears his throat. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he calls after her, but he’s certain she doesn’t hear him, already having summoned Maya back, strangely intent on correcting her opinions on something involving, if he’s heard correctly, Taylor Swift.

2.

When he makes his way down the hall back to her bedroom, still towelling his hair, there’s a message notification waiting on his phone from Rebecca.

“What is this?” he asks, waving his screen at her.

She doesn’t even glance up from the novel she’s reading, a stray lock of her hair looping around her finger in an absent spiral. He watches the movement for a moment, transfixed, until she disengages the curl to flick the page over and finally responds. “It’s Hermione after she messes up her Polyjuice potion in Chamber of Secrets. Obviously.”

“Okay.” Then, after a beat, “Why am I looking at it?”

“Because Paula doesn’t understand musicals or Harry Potter or memes, so it had to go to you by default.”

“Do you understand memes?”

“Plus,” she says, ignoring him, “you’re, like, romantically obligated to find every message I send you entertaining.”

He plugs his phone into charge before joining her on the bed, shuffling as high up on the pillows as he can manage to keep his toes from skimming the end of the mattress when he stretches out. It’s not entirely successful, but if he bends at the knees a little and curls on his side, he knows from past experience he can make it work.

“Am I, just. Even the ones composed entirely of emojis?”

She grins. “Especially the ones composed entirely of emojis.”

Rebecca ditches her paperback in favour of wriggling into his warmth, murmuring her contentment when he slips an arm around her waist to draw her close and drop a chaste kiss onto the crown of her head. Her hair’s still damp and smells vaguely floral, like her shampoo, and he lets his lips linger there, breathing her in.

His phone vibrates twice on the nightstand.

When pulls back to peer down his nose at her, she’s not-so-subtle in her attempt to conceal what she’s cradling innocently between their chests. He sighs, feigning exasperation. “You just sent me a cat emoji, didn’t you?”

“I absolutely did not,” she says solemnly, then, dissolving into laughter under his scrutiny, confesses, “It was more like five. And I think maybe a llama by mistake?”

3.

“It’s like they didn’t even try,” Rebecca announces loudly in the vicinity of Nathaniel’s ear, rudely jerking him back from the precipice of sleep.

“Oh good,” he sighs, blinking his eyebrows higher up his forehead in the darkness. “This again.”

He grunts out his disapproval as the bedside lamp clicks back on, casting half the apartment in dramatic shadow as it burns his retinas with its unexpected blinding light.

“And I’m just saying,” Rebecca continues, oblivious or in the very least unconcerned with his state of obvious discomfort, apparently immune to any such adjustment period of her own, “did anyone consult TS Eliot before reinventing his heartfelt poetry as a vaginal yeast infection in musical form?”

Nathaniel’s nose wrinkles to match the pre-existing scrunch of his face. “What?”

“Never mind, it was a whole a thing. My point is, no film is an island unto itself. People signed off on this. Multiple people looked at those designs and said, you know what’s gonna add a layer of appeal to a musical that already has no plot? Stripping it of its one redeeming feature—AKA the crazy 80s hair—and replacing it with horrifying, humanoid heads that somehow manage to look furry and bald at the same time.”

Even if Nathaniel felt remotely qualified to comment on the topic—which, for the record, oddly flattered though he is at Rebecca’s pervasive belief that he might be, he decidedly is not—it’s late, it’s a weeknight, and he really just wants to sleep.

“If you hate it so much, rewrite it,” he says before pointedly rolling away from her with a yawn and yanking the covers up over his shoulders.

She follows him, flicking him hard in the back of the neck where his nape’s still exposed above the blanket. “Not cute, dude. You don’t get points for that one anymore. And you can’t ‘rewrite’ CGI. Even if you could, a thousand rewrites isn’t gonna change the eyesore that I—nay, humankind—have been subjected to.”

Nathaniel buries his face in the pillow and groans something that resembles her name before it gets jumbled in its muffled pass through the cotton.

“Rebecca,” he says once he’s resurfaced, trying again, tone still undeniably clipped as he scrubs a palm across his face. “I have a deposition first thing tomorrow. Do we really need to have this conversation now?”

She wilts visibly, chagrined, eyes flicking to the clock at his bedside that may as well have ABSURDLY LATE splashed across its interface in red LEDs. “Sorry,” she says meekly, officially rebuked, sinking back into the sheets and switching off the lamp.

The room is blissfully silent save for the collective electronic hum of his appliances, but despite the stillness, Nathaniel finds himself unable to drift back off. Without opening his eyes he pats around beside him until his fingers connect with the phone he’d known with every fibre of his being she was still holding, confiscating and discarding on his nightstand, out of reach.

“Go to sleep,” he admonishes.

“I was just—”

“Sleep,” he repeats, voice gruff with exhaustion, enfolding her firmly in his arms as a preventative measure, practically able to hear her calculating the device’s retrieval in the dark.

4.

“What are we dealing with, here? Minor song lyric alteration? Beloved song exclusion? Reinforced misogyny? Racially insensitive miscast?”

Nathaniel startles at the sound of the door opening, Paula spilling into Rebecca’s house like she lives there and depositing her bags in the entryway with a dramatic thud.

Rebecca, by comparison, is unperturbed by the intrusion, swivelling on a breakfast stool to look at her friend and shake her head. “We’re not talking misdemeanours here, Paula. We’re talking big league. Like, DEFCON-5.”

“Oh,” Paula says. She clucks in feigned sympathy and shoots a knowing glance in Nathaniel’s direction. “This is about the singing cats, huh.”

Even focused as he is on rinsing out her blender, he doesn’t miss the way Rebecca shrinks guiltily away from him in his periphery.

“Did you call an early morning emergency meeting of your girl mob to discuss a movie trailer you didn’t like?” he asks, careful to keep his tone light.

“It’s gurl group, but you know that, and no—Valencia is in town for her sister’s birthday and Heather’s working at this Home Base today and Paula’s new job means she has to like, actually do work now, so breakfast is the only time all of us were free.”

As if on cue, Heather and Valencia sidle through the open doorway.

“Oh, he’s here?” Heather drawls with an exaggerated grimace when she spots Nathaniel. “Looks like you’ve already found someone to rant about your dumb movie to, so I’m gonna just—”

Her attempt to pivot on the spot and leave is thwarted by the arm Valencia loops through her own, catching her before she can re-cross the threshold.

Nathaniel wastes no time in whipping his head around to aim an aha look in Rebecca’s direction, and she’s just as quick to defend, “Yeah, okay, so it’s on the agenda. Amongst other things.”

“Is that so. Like what?”

“Like… topics I don’t know about yet because nobody ever responds to my requests to send me their items for the agenda.”

“God, no more agendas,” Paula grouches, reaching for a mug from the overhead cabinet. “Or meetings. My entire life is meetings and agendas and scheduling conflicts. Can’t we just have a good old fashioned rendezvous? I feel like nobody ever rendezvouses anymore.”

“Ooh, or how about a tryst,” Rebecca suggests, waggling her eyebrows.

“Girl, you know I love you,” Valencia says, “but I’m not trysting with you. I have a fiancée.”

Heather hums, drumming her fingers against the countertop as she hoists herself up onto a stool. “So full disclosure, Hector and I saw the Cats revival with his mom last year, and I liked it. I think the lack of plot worked in Hector’s favour.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Rebecca says, wistful.

“You liked The Lion King,” Nathaniel feels obligated to point out. “That’s technically about digitally rendered singing cats.”

“I tolerated The Lion King because of my deep fondness of the original and because I knew I could bully you into seeing it with me because of its zoological themes,” she corrects. “Anyway, that remake’s issue was that it had no soul. This remake’s issue is that it’s, like, demonically possessed, or something. Which, to be fair, cats, as a species, generally are.”

“Rebecca,” Valencia begins, voice all saccharine and scathing, “need I remind you of one of the many occasions you broke up with this one—” She jabs a thumb in Nathaniel’s face, making him frown. “—with the intention of adopting an entire shelter’s worth of felines?”

“That was a different time,” Rebecca dismisses. “I was punishing a version of myself I wasn’t proud of by resigning her to the fate I believed she deserved.”

Nathaniel tilts his head, bemused. “Huh?”

“Oh, she wanted to be a crazy cat lady,” Heather translates, enunciating loudly, “because she couldn’t bone you in the stationery closet without feeling bummed about it anymore. Just, like. While we’re on the subject of trysts.”

“Heath-er,” Rebecca hisses, kicking her ex-housemate in the shin.

Parsing their less than stellar communal romantic track record with a group of women all too happy to gang up on him afforded the slightest opportunity isn’t high on Nathaniel’s to-do list for the morning, and a flick of his wrist to check his smart watch is all the excuse he needs to make a timely escape.

“On that note,” Nathaniel says, snatching his car keys off the counter, “I’m going to leave you ladies be.”

The conversation barely dips as he sees himself out.

5.

“So in between your being typecast as our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, you didn’t happen to don, say, a unitard and leg warmers, did you?”

“What?”

He knows he should be used to this by now—this tendency towards unexpected tack-changing that he’d liken to a dog with a bone, if the cliche didn’t feel somewhat inapt, considering. It’s not like he’s unaccustomed, after all this this time, to Rebecca’s one track mind. It’s just that up until this point, most of the tracks she’s been fixated on treading have usually, admittedly, served his own interests as easily as her own.

“Just checking, because for the record, it’s kind of a massive deal breaker for me.”

She flops into his side, not entirely-unpleasantly sticky, or in the very least, skin virtually indistinguishable from the slick of his own. Rebecca’s ability to pick up intelligible conversation immediately post-coitus is a talent he does not share, and as the golden fog of afterglow suffuses through his bloodstream he takes his time meandering back towards the realm where articulation is possible, content in the knowledge his bedmate will happily barrel on without him until he catches up.

“Just kidding,” she seems to feel the need to clarify, even in the absence of any protest on his behalf. “The knowledge that you were a theatre kid is such an aphrodisiac to me that it well and truly trumps any potential feline faux pas.”

“Wasn’t a theatre kid,” he corrects, the response so automatic he’s not sure it counts as cognitive function.

“Agree to disagree,” Rebecca says, earning herself an exasperated sigh.

Once the drumbeat of his pulse has slowed in his ears, he cracks an eyelid, suspicious of the lack of movement and sudden cease in chatter from the woman sprawled out across his upper torso. Rebecca’s gazing up at him as if she’s been patiently awaiting his full attention, chin resting on her stacked hands, a lazy, satisfied smile stretched across her features.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate Cats,” Nathaniel tells her with amusement after stretching to peck her on the mouth, “you kind of talk about Cats a lot. Some might even describe you as off-puttingly passionate on the subject. Not me,” he backtracks at her incredulous glare, tucking her hair behind her ear with affection. “I find your aggressive diatribe charming.”

Suitably placated, she drops her head back down against his shoulder. “They do say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

He skates his hand down the bare expanse of her back, letting it settle in the dip between her hips. She undulates with the caress, thighs parting and sliding to bracket one of his. If she’s gunning for a second round he’s still got his refractory period to contend with, but there’s always other ways to keep her occupied, his loose-limbed lack of focus notwithstanding.

She doesn’t push it any further, though, apparently content for now in her own come-down, and he’s just about to give in to the pull towards sleep when it occurs to him what he’s neglected to ask.

“Did you?”

Rebecca’s even breaths, which up until now have been fanning rhythmically across the damp of his throat, catch and falter enough that he takes note of their telling absence.

“Hmm? Did I what?” she deflects, and his eyes narrow at the way she doubles down on the suggestive patterns she seems intent on tracing across his pectorals.

Determined not to be swayed, he shifts beneath her, laughter rumbling through him and muscle mass quaking like tectonic plates beneath the surface of his skin. “Oh, you so did,” he grins, pleased to have been on the money with his flicker of suspicion, eager to bask, as always, in any correct insight he’s managed to garner into his girlfriend’s endlessly multi-faceted brain. “This whole time there’s been incriminating photos of you somewhere wearing tacky fake-fur and an unseemly wig. There’s no hiding your shameful history, now—the cat is out of the bag.”

Rebecca smacks him on the chest, unimpressed, and he can see every telltale corner of her mouth at which the scowl fails to conceal the twitches of her laughter. “So what if my vendetta is somewhat rooted in past trauma? It doesn’t change basic fact, which is that the mere existence of Cats—animal, musical or movie—is a plague against mankind. And for what it’s worth, I didn’t need the wig—my early adolescent frizz was unseemly enough all on its own.”

Where late-night exhaustion-fuelled irritation existed only a few evenings prior, Nathaniel finds himself suddenly capable of only overwhelming fondness. “I think you would have made a very fearsome cat,” he tells her seriously. “All feisty, and nimble.”

He takes two locks of her hair, twisting them up into faux-ears on the top of her head until she bats his hands away, failing miserably at stifling her giggles.

“Stop that. You’re one adjective away from me adding myself back into the Mountaintop text chain just so I can make Maya’s week.”

“Uh-huh. Because I’m the one between us whose levels of preoccupation are concerning.”

He rolls her beneath him, nuzzling his nose against hers in an exaggerated way he can tell irritates her to no end given the context, but muscle memory wins out and she melts into it, the frown lines easing from her forehead as she moulds her mouth against his.

It’s only a matter of time before she’s pressing insistently against him, appetite predictably reawakened, and every sordid pun he could torture her with right now tingles at the ready on the tip of his tongue. But then she sighs into him with a kind of giddiness that sends his mind shattering into static, and as he nips and noses his way down past her belly every teasing thought disintegrates into the ether as he touches her until she’s arching, unraveling, drawing out his name in what can only be described as a delighted purr.

[sheaellisdelaney]

cover me (with 1000 kisses)

Who: Shea Delaney & Eleanor Wood

When: 7/22

Where: Shea’s apartment

What: Eleanor comes over

Warnings: Little space to cope, mentions of drug addiction

Shea was missing Eleanor, that was the only real way to say it. She wanted to be around her more and more. Things were just easier with her around. Shea knew that things had changed. When Eleanor was around, Shea knew that the other was safe and protected and so very much hers. Ever since the night that Eleanor had been drugged and it set in just how much she cared for her, it'd been harder to not have her around.

She'd set a timer for exactly an hour from the time she texted Eleanor back, very keen on keeping the other to the time she said. Then she'd set about taking a shower, figuring it was the easiest way to kill time. Her blanket fort from the other night was still up in the living room and every time she thought to take it down there'd be just a certain twinge of pain and she'd leave it up, just in case. And as she got out of the shower she once again found herself debating taking it down. It wouldn't be too hard to reconstruct later and the extra pillows and blankets could certainly be put to better use while Eleanor was over.

Eleanor isn’t sure how serious Shea was about having her in her home forever but she knew to at least pack for a couple days. She throws in different pajamas, undies, a blanket, and her stuffed cat and climbs out her window. She doesn’t even look back as she walks off the property and finds her Uber. 

She’s chatty- nervous, thinking that if she talks she can be in control.

And is relieved when they arrive. It had been less than an hour but she still likes the idea of 1000 kisses so when she knocks she’s grinning wide, thankful it doesn’t hurt to do that any longer.

Shea is still debating whether or not to take apart the pillow fort when there comes a knock on her door. She smiles, bouncing a little on her feet. Her ankle and knee are still fucked to hell, so she's still out of work, but she's getting around a lot better than she had been. She was still limping and would probably be better if she actually used the crutches she'd been given, Shea was too stubborn and independent for such. So, instead she just dealt with the pain.

Heading to the door, she pulled it open, delighted to see a smile on Eleanor's face. "Princess!"

Eleanor is careful with her movements but is immediate in wrapping the other girl up in her arms. “I know I’m not late but I’d still like to give you 1000 kisses. Nice reference by the way.”

Shea wraps her arms around Eleanor and pulls her gently into the apartment, just enough to close the door. Yeah?!" Shea is almost vibrating with excitement at that. It had been mostly a joke, she'd never actually figured Eleanor would agree, even if she had been late. But she was thoroughly excited she was getting them anyway. "Thanks, I was listening to Rent earlier."

“It would be my pleasure.” Eleanor promises, starting already to place light kisses across her face. “I’d like for you to tell me there’s a computer in that fort so we can snuggle and watch the little mermaid. And so I can properly give you all the kisses.”

Shea can't help but giggle at the little kisses to her face. "There can be, real quick!" Her voice is pitched slightly higher than usual, a childish hint to it all as she bounces a little. "Should I go get it?"

“Yes! Go. I’ll be right here.” Eleanor smiles, watching her happily. She seems less pained and it was s good look on her.

Shea nodded excitedly and headed off to her bedroom. Her laptop had taken to living on her bedside table, as she spent most of her days in bed, it was easier. She returned quickly, moving to plug it in  near the pillow fort, glad she'd left it up.  "Snacks?"

“Are you hungry?” Rachel peaks into the fort and easily sets the laptop off to the side. “I’d really just like to kiss you.”

"Might be later. Grabbing snacks now means we don't have to later. Less getting up and interrupting the kisses. Right?"

“You’re the smartest. Snacks are great and water, maybe?” Eleanor makes her way to the kitchen.

Shea giggles a bit and goes into the kitchen with Eleanor."Fruit snacks and pretzels maybe?" She asked. "Have juice boxes now too." She mumbles as she opens the fridge, grabbing a couple water bottles and then a handful of juice boxes. What good was a Disney movie without juice?

“Those sound great. The butterflies or the sticks?” Eleanor helps by grabbing the juice boxes. “You know exactly how to make this perfect. Are we ready?”

"Only have butterflies." Shea liked eating pretzels with ice cream and sticks broke off too easily in the ice cream, so she only bothered to buy the others. When Eleanor took some of the juice boxes she smiled a bit, blushing a bit at the compliment. "Yeh!" She nodded, grabbing the box of fruit snacks sat on the counter, she found she didn't forget about them if she left them on the counter and she liked her snacks where she could get to them easy.

“My favorite!” Eleanor brings the items into the fort and then waits back for Shea to get inside first. “Get comfy. I’m gonna snuggle you so much!”

Shea crawls into the pillow fort, making herself as comfortable as possible. Almost every extra pillow and blanket out of the apartment had been used to construct the fort, including the cushions off her couch. There was also a stuffed red panda that Shea grabbed once she was settled in properly. While she wasn't entirely in little space she could feel her hold on her actual self slipping and had a feeling she'd lose that grip entirely the more she they settled in but for once she didn't mind. Shea knew she was safe with Eleanor.

“You certainly know your way around fort building. A priceless skill that I’m quite envious of.” Her nose scrunches up a bit, noticing the red panda. “Will you cuddle my stuffie for me?” Eleanor climbs out quickly to grab her stuffed cat and then she spoons Shea happily, placing the cat in her arms before starting up the kisses again. “Her name is Cat.” Eleanor whispers in her ear, moving to kiss the woman gently before moving to start at her shoulder.

"Thanks." She gasps slightly when Eleanor mentions her own stuffie. "Of course!" Even though she knows this requires Eleanor getting up, she can't help but whine when she does so. Shea happily takes the stuffed cat, giving it a kiss on the head. "Hello Cat. This is Rud." She made both stuffies wave before adjusting her hold on them to cuddle them properly. She also wiggled to press back into Eleanor, giggling at the kisses.

Eleanor finds the scene before her adorable and precious and she likes that Shea trusts her to see it. “I haven’t kept count of all the kisses I’ve given so far.” She places another kiss to her lips. “What’s off limits, babe?”

"It's okay. You can start now, yeah?" Shea kisses Eleanor back before her eyebrows scrunched together at the question. There was no doubt she was slipping further into little space which meant there were a lot more limits about to be put into place and she had to think about that. "Anything below the waist. And everything stays on." Had she not been so close to little space things would have been different. Shea would have been far more open to clothes coming off, even for just the sake of just giving Eleanor more places to kiss. But at the moment, she isn't.

“So your cheeks?” Eleanor starts counting off kisses as she goes from one cheek to the other. “And your nose?” She continues. “Forehead. Top of your head.” Eleanor continues, even doing butterfly kisses before rounding off the rest of the kisses to her lips and the stuffed. “1000 kisses for my sweetest girl.”

Shea finds herself giggling with each kiss, just happy to be with Eleanor. Happy to be cuddled up with her and getting kisses from her princess. "Princess kisses are best!"

“And you’re the only one who receives them.” She promises, snuggling her in close. “Except stuffies, they need kisses too.”

"Am special?" Shea asks looking at Eleanor curiously.

“You’re the most special person I’ve ever met, sweet girl.”

"Am? Princess sure?" Shea isn't sure she believes her. She wants to, but it's a hard thing for her to believe.

She kisses her nose and smiles. “I’m the most sure about you than anyone or anything else in this world.”

"Okie." She nodded slightly, smiling at Eleanor. "Movie now?"

Eleanor kisses her forehead and moves so that she can get the little mermaid up and playing on the laptop. Once she presses play she gets back to holding Shea’s but her eyes are on the screen.

Shea settles back into Eleanor's arms, adjusting the stuffies in her arms so that their heads are turned to the screen too and able to watch. "Rud likes Lion King better, water no good."

“I hadn’t met Rud when I chose the movie. Should we switch to The Lion King?” Eleanor sits up.

Shea shook her head, whining when Eleanor sits up. "No, is okie. I like it. Rud is okay."

“Okay.” She nuzzles into her. “Cat doesn’t like water either.

"Cat favorite?" Shea yawns a little, reaching around until she finds a blanket and trying to pull it over them, though having issues with being the little spoon. With a huff she drops it and looks at Eleanor. "Please?"

“Cat loves Snow White because she likes to wander outside in the woods. She’s really brave.” At her pleasing she pulls the blankets up and over, doing her best to do a slight tucking in of Shea. “Are we napping or getting cozy?”

"Rud brave too!" She pressed kisses to both stuffie heads, snuggling closer as Eleanor tucks her in. "Not sleepy!" Shea protested, even as she bit back a yawn.

“I’m sure Rud is.” Eleanor holds back a giggle at Shea who won’t admire her very apparent sleepiness. “Okay. Let’s keep watching then baby.”

"Yep!" Shea settles back into Eleanor as they continue to watch. It isn't long before she's lost her battle to stay awake and is quietly snoozing in Eleanor's arms, stuffies held closely to her chest.

Eleanor finished the movie, holding onto Shea with intentions of protection and warmth. She stays awake, having had trouble sleeping as of late unless with Shea so it doesn’t come surprise her when she falls asleep too.

Eventually, the lack of background noise wakes Shea up. It is then that she realizes ho in pain she is, the combination of whatever pain meds she took before wearing off and sleeping in one position causing her body to scream. "Princess," she whines as she turns over to face her, shaking Eleanor a bit.

Eleanor shoots up, eyes opening quick. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” She tries to untangle herself from the blankets with all her tossing and turning.

Shea grabs Eleanor, trying to get her to stop moving. "Is okie. Just hurt."

“That’s not okay. What do you need? How do I make it better. Medicine, where is it?”

Shea slumps a little, feeling a bit like she's being chastised. "Bathroom. Not bad stuff." She pulls her knees up to her chest, only to wince and let them extend again. Shea had slept on her bad side and it meant weight had been on her bad knee. She whined as she tried to find a comfortable position to sit in.

“I don’t know the difference between bad stuff and good stuff.” Eleanor whispers, nails digging into her hand. “Tylenol?”

"Bad stuff in bedroom." Shea admits quietly, simply nodding at the clarification Eleanor offers.

She gets to the bathroom and looks got the best pain reliever she can find and then she gets s glass of water. “Here baby. Take this.” She puts the pills in her hand and the glass to her lips.

Shea does as she's told, making sure to finish the glass of water before finding a package of fruit snacks. With her good leg bent up underneath her and her bad leg stretched out but bent slightly, she sets Rud and Cat in her lap and opens her package of fruit snacks. She is very particular, sorting them out by color in her hand first and then eating them in number order from fewest number of gummies to most, humming quietly to herself as she does.

Eleanor just watches her quietly. Watching how she sorts through the colors. “It’s a little late for sugar don’t you think? You won’t be able to fall back to sleep.”

Shea pouts as Eleanor speaks. "Not lot! Just little." She does however resist the urge to grab another package of fruit snacks, instead grabbing the pretzels. She's far too aware, even in little space, that having an empty stomach with pain meds, even not her bad ones, often leads to not feeling good. Is snacking her best bet? Probably not, but it was something.

“You need to eat something for filling and of substance. I can make you toast?” Eleanor can’t sit back down till rather panicked.

"With peanut butter?" Shea asks, still munching on pretzels. Her head tilts as she watches Eleanor. "Princess okay?"

“Yes! With peanut butter of course.” Eleanor leans down to kiss her head and after a minute calls out. “How do you want it cut, baby?”

Shea smiles, giggling a bit at the kiss to her nose. She finds herself singing quietly to herself while she waits, making Cat and Rud dance. "Triangles!" Shea calls back.

Eleanor cuts the toast into triangles and gets another glass of water. “Here. This will help your tummy. I’ll hold Cat and Rud so they don’t get dirty.”

Shea pouts a little but hands over the stuffies in return for the plate of toast and glass of water. She eats slowly, still humming to herself.

Eleanor just takes care of the animals, kissing them on their heads and snuggling them. “Does it taste okay?”

"Yep!" Shea nods with a smile, teeth still full of peanut butter. "Thank."

“You’re welcome.” Eleanor licks at her thumb to wipe away some peanut butter from the girls face. “I’m really sleepy, baby.”

Shea giggles, squirming away from Eleanor wiping the peanut butter off her face. "Sleep soon?" She eats a little faster, yawning a bit herself.

“Please.” Eleanor nods, hopeful that maybe she could get some real sleep with her best girl.

"Okie." Shea does her best to speed up her eating without choking on it or gluing her mouth shut with peanut butter. She's starting to doze off every time she pauses too long between bites, which slows her down and instead of finishing she set the last of her toast down. "Sleepies."

Eleanor doesn’t mean to make her feel rushed but sleep had been hard and she isn’t sure she can take care of her the way she deserves in this very moment. “One more sip of water baby, and then we’ll go sleepies.”

Shea just nods and does as she's told. Then she's making her way out of the pillow fort, whimpering as she stands up, not entirely able to put weight on her bad leg. She slowly makes her way to the kitchen to deal with her trash and wash her hands. She has to rest then, bent over the counter to support herself with her leg off the ground. It's killing her, even without the weight and she wants to get rid of the pain. She wants to dose. And it makes her angry that she wants to. Her fist connects with a nearby cabinet before she can stop herself, the sound of cracking wood pulling her all the way back to reality. "Fuck!"

Eleanor doesn’t expect her to leave so much as she expected her to drink the water and lie down. But she goes with it and follows her to the kitchen, staying a bit away as not to overstep her process. But then there’s fist and cabinet swinging from the impact and then Eleanor is breathing heavy in hopes to keep herself calm. “What is it? Is it your leg or your hand. Let me see.” And she’s pulling at her hand to look at, staring at Shea nervously. She’s not sure if it’s her reflex to stay on top and ensure Shea’s fist can be caught if she tries to hit her or if it’s to keep herself in the moment and Shea has the ability to do that.

Shea hadn't realized Eleanor had followed her. She doesn't fight Eleanor taking her hand, even if she knows it's fine. "My hand is fine." She grumbles, flexing her hand and wiggling her fingers to prove it. "The cabinet, however," Shea traces the crack that had formed in the wood with her other hand. "Has seen better days." Shea sighs, still leaning on the counter in an attempt to stay off her leg. "My leg is killing me. I need to dose. I don't want to."

Eleanor lets it go as she starts moving it around, and she just nods stuck in her spot. Her eyes follow to the cabinet and the girl swallows. “I, um.” What if telling her no turned badly? Eleanor doesn’t think she can handle that. “Okay.” She whispers

Shea tilts her head as she watched Eleanor. The response is off. It's not the Eleanor she knows. She's scared and Shea doesn't like that. Shea hops up onto the counter, letting out a whimper before sighing. "What's going on princess?"

“I’m just tired. I don’t want you to do drugs. Please don’t do that.” And though it is delayed she flinches at the sudden movement.

"I don't want to either." Shea sighs, looking down at the ground. "I didn't mean to scare you."

“I’m not scared. You didn’t do anything. It’s okay. I’m okay.” She doesn’t mean to but instantly begins pacing. “Nothing else will help?”

"Princess, don't lie to me. Please." Her voice is quiet and she can't watch Eleanor pace, so she just keeps her eyes on the ground. "No."

“I um. I guess. You should do what you need to I guess.” She’s just blinking now trying to get herself together so she can be there properly.

"I don't want to. I don't want this. I like being all here, with you." Shea sounds desperate and pained. She doesn't want to dose, even if it's the one thing she knows will help. "Can I hold you?"

“I don’t. I can’t .” She feels like she might be sick at the idea of being touched. “Can I hold you?”

Shea just nods as she slides off the counter, groaning slightly as her bad food hits the ground. "Where would you like that to be?" As much as she'd prefer it to be in her bed, she wanted to give that control to Eleanor.

“Your bed. I need to. I really need to sleep. I just need to hold you.”

Shea nods, slowly stumbling her way to her bedroom. The bottle of pills is staring her in the face. Flopping face down onto the bed she knocks the bottle onto the floor with a hard swipe of her hand, not watching where it lands. She'll probably regret it later, but right now she wasn't going to risk it.

Eleanor gets beside her, pulling blankets over them. She needed the extra level of safety. “I’m going to hold you now.”

Shea let Eleanor pull the covers over her but didn't actually move to roll onto her side. Instead she kept herself on her stomach, it took the most pressure off her bad leg. "Okie."

She can’t hold her in that position so Eleanor just takes her hand. “Okay.”

Shea knows it's not the best position but the reality is, she can't afford to make her bad leg worse. Anymore pain and she'd have to dose. "Sorry." She mutters, turning her head to look at Eleanor. "Too much pain."

“No need to be sorry.” Eleanor manages before shaking her head. “Just lie down, no need for moving. I don’t want you hurting even more.”

[calm-studios]

Chapter 28

“And nothing comes close To the way that I need you.”

I couldn’t get Ashton to explain to me what he meant last night, but he seemed quite bothered by it. I tried gently coaxing him to tell my what he meant by people like him don’t get to keep people like me, and I tried not getting my hopes up about the insinuation that he wanted to ’keep’ me, in some aspect. What ever that means.

By the time we dragged ourselves out of the shower and into bed, which was met with more firsts for me, I was back to trying to wrap my brain around all of this.

Ashton gave me a clean shirt of his to wear to bed, looking sheepish again when he offered it to me, it seems to be something that’s become a thing for him, and I can’t help that little spark of affection in me that finds it really endearing.

It’s something so small, but it seems to be so big for him.

Every time I’ve gotten into bed with Ashton, it’s always been shrouded in a shitty situation, whether it was the nights he would call me when whatever was wrong with him was torturing him again, or the two times he had stayed in my bed.

One being after he had just finished crushing my heart for a month and the other when I had the man I’d trusted for two years use me as a punching bag.

But last night was nothing like that, there were no black clouds looming over us, no barrier there to keep us from getting too close, it was pleasant, comforting and felt almost normal, or as close as normality could get with someone like him.

Just thinking about what happened last night has my whole body blushing, everything from undressing each other to when he kissed me against the wall and what happened after, I still can’t believe it happened.

That mouth of his… Dear lord.

With this new reality where I don’t have to push him away any more, I have no reason to say no to him if I don’t want to, I’m trying to figure out how to adjust.

What is my relationship with him if it’s not this cat and mouse game with us?

I’m not naive enough to think we’re even close to being together in a literal relationship — or that there’s even a chance of that, but I can’t even tell if we’re friends? What do you even call what we are?

I don’t know where things will go from here, but I know I’m far too attached to not throw myself in the deep end and hope I can swim.

I’ll gladly take all of the uncertainty and insanity that comes packaged with a warning label when it comes to him, because he’s the one thing that’s managed to make me feel alive and like I’m not just existing.

He’s the technicolor explosion in my world of black and white, and he’s not the only one that’s hooked.

We fell asleep that night wrapped around each other like some kind of deformed pretzel, and while Ashton fell asleep quickly I found myself fighting to stay awake as long as I could, I don’t know when I won’t feel like I have to be worried that he will just disappear and act like none of this happened, but I hope it’s one day soon.

I can’t even bring myself to think of the notion of how capable he would be of hurting me with that, when he disappeared before I was definitely deeply hurt but now he has the power to absolutely devastate me, and I can only see the risk getting worse the longer I’m around him.

It was strange waking up that morning in his bed, the brief moment of panic I had when I woke up alone quickly subsided when I heard him in the shower and I found myself curled up against his pillow smiling to myself like an absolute dipshit because yet again, this was real and I wasn’t dreaming.

Every other morning I would wake up in his room, I’d leave not long after, always feeling the need to keep distance between us and keep boundaries there, or like my purpose was served and I was no longer needed until he called again.

But not this morning, and I’m not sure if I could ever go back to how it was before.

I hear the shower turn off, and it’s only a couple of minutes before I hear the door opening and I can’t help myself from having a small peek over the pillow.

It was a terrible idea.

Ashton walked out of the bathroom with steam billowing out behind him, a towel clung low around his hips with his damp skin looking as tempting as a tall glass of ice lemonade on a sweltering summer day.

His soaked hair was all strewn about, some clung to his forehead, and I squeeze the pillow tighter when he drags his fingers through it away from his face.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to have the tolerance to look at this man and not want to choke on my own tongue.

What the hell does he possibly see in me?

I kind of understood it, when I was with Andy, chalking it down to some kind of thrill for him that I was so resistant, but now that I’m willing he seems even more interested and just like with everything else with him, it’s confusing.

I wish for once my brain had an off switch, because it’s ability to throw all of these doubts and insecurities around my mind at the drop of a hat always steal my ability to just enjoy something and live in the moment.

I find myself wishing more frequently these days that I was more like Ashton.

“You’re staring”

I’m snapped out of my mental ping pong match by Ashtons voice, coming back to reality to see him standing at the end of the bed with a smug lopsided smile.

I groan inside my head, burying my face into the pillow to hide my embarrassment.

I feel the bed shift as Ashton chuckles under his breath, and keep my face hidden away when he crawls up the bed to hover over me on all fours.

“Always hiding from me little mouse” he tutts, and I flinch when cold drops of water hit my neck.

“Ashton get off! You’re wet!” I whine muffled into the pillow.

“Already done that, why do you think I was in the shower?” he teases.

I whine painfully into the pillow.

Why did he have to tell me that? Now that’s all I can see in my head and it’s enough to make my toes curl.

Ashton shifts again, the covers being ripped away from me and then he re-positions himself above me, gripping my shoulder to turn me on my back, and I keep my arms wrapped around his pillow, keeping it against my face as it rolls with me.

“Abby… let go of the pillow”

“No I’m fine like this, but thanks anyway” I reply muffled again, contemplating my options on suffocating myself with it instead of letting the image of him hovering over me, wet and in only a towel killing me first.

“Abby…” he warns, his voice dropping to a low playful tone “let go of the pillow or I’m going to go have my breakfast instead”

I hold my hand up giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up “Great idea, you go do that, I’ll be up soon”

He sighs, but I can hear the smile “Alright, have it your way then”

I wait patiently as I feel the bed move and shift again, but my whole body seizes when I feel Ashtons warm hands slide up my bare thighs and push my t-shirt up below my chest.

Uhhhh…

I twitch in surprise when I feel his warm lips press against my stomach, mixed with the sensation of his cold damp hair tickling my skin and gasp.

“…Watchya doin?” I drag out nervously into the pillow, gripping it tighter.

Ashton hums thoughtfully against my skin, dragging his lips down to under my bellybutton, running his hands down my thighs, squeezing and groping the flesh as he does.

“Getting my breakfast” he coos, and I can feel his lips pull into a smile against my skin.

Excuse me?

My stomach contracts as he kisses and nips across my lower abdomen, sliding his hands under my knees and parting my legs.

“Shouldn’t you do — do that in the kitchen?” I ask with my voice jumping when he attaches his mouth to my hip, sucking against it and lapping at it with his tongue.

The weight on the mattress shifts again until I feel him position himself between my legs, while he drags his mouth over to my other hip chuckling against my skin “Didn’t know you were that adventurous love, I’m happy to do this in the kitchen if you want”

I may have had spur of confidence last night, but unlike his, my confidence never sticks around for long.

And I can tell Ashton is back to bathing in amusement at how incapacitated he makes me. He switches from sweet to cunning so quick I’m going to need to see a chiropractor.

I wish I was able to do that to him, that I had it in me to be just as brazen and alluring, instead I’m hugging this pillow so tight I’m sure it’s going to pop any second and send feathers flying everywhere.

His hands ghost back over my thighs before sliding to my inner thighs, massaging them as he inches them higher and I’m struggling to breathe, not just from smothering myself but from the ability this man has to melt me into a puddle in seconds.

I just about yelp when his teeth grip the hem of my underwear, lifting it up just to let it snap back down before his lips trace slow open mouth kisses across my pubic area over to the top of my thigh.

I think I’m about to pass out.

His fingers dig into my inner thighs just as his lips drag slowly up my heat over the fabric of my underwear, my whole body tensing as I gasp, throwing the pillow from my face and trying to breath in all the air I can.

Ashton pauses lifting his face to look at me with a cocky smirk, as my wide eyes stare back at him “Damn, I was hoping you weren’t going to let go of the pillow so I could finish”

“You did that on purpose” I huff, wanting to glare at him but still feeling far too frazzled.

He shrugs, pulling himself to crawl up my body until his hands are either side of my head and his legs are resting in between my own “I wanted a kiss and you weren’t moving the pillow, decided to kiss somewhere else”

I frown up at him, finally catching my breath “You could have just said that’s what you wanted”

He clicks his tongue, giving me a cheeky look as he lowers his face closer “Now where’s the fun in that?”

I press my lips together to hide my smile “You’re terrible”

He tutts me again, nudging his nose against my own “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember you saying I was amazing”

“There you go being modest again” I quip, nudging his nose back.

He presses his lips tenderly against mine, capturing my bottom lip between his own with an affectionate hum before pulling them back “They’re your words not mine love”

I smile up at him, looking over how serene and relaxed he looks with a few strands of his hair loose around his eyes and lean up before I can question it, giving him a peck not having the same confidence with my kiss as he did.

He grins, leaning his face closer “Do that again”

I can’t help but match his grin and repeat the action, and he leans further until his lips are a hairswidth from my own “And again”

He basically has his lips against mine as he smiles against them “Again”

When I go to do it a fourth time he presses his lips back against mine, starting a slow lazy paced kiss as he leans down onto his elbows and relaxes against me.

We lay like that enjoying the feel of each others mouths dancing against each other in indulgent unhurried motions, as I bring my fingers up to smooth through his damp hair, that was now drying.

He pecks my lips before pulling away and burying his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a contented sigh “Kissing like that feels weird”

I give him a strange look even though he can’t see me, technically it was to the back of his head “Weird?”

He sighs again as I continue stroking my fingers through his hair “Yeah… I usually only kiss someone if I’m fucking them, and even then I don’t really do it. It’s strange doing it just because I like how it feels”

I crease my brows, trying to decipher if that’s an insult, compliment or neither.

It’s hard to comprehend that small acts of affection seem so foreign to him, whereas sex seems as casual as eating dinner. Whereas with me it’s the complete opposite.

I stay quiet, continuing to comb through his hair and try to consider what he means, does he mean good or bad weird? I know he said he likes how he feels, but is it uncomfortable for him because it’s a new different feeling for him?

Does he like the kissing but dislike the feeling that comes with it?

The first time I met Ashton he only kissed me, and we weren’t having sex, or maybe that was because he thought we were going to have sex in the bathroom? But what about walking back to his house on the second night I saw him? He kissed me against that brick wall and said he’d been wanting to all night?

Was it strange for him back then too? Out of character for him?

Or what about all the times he’s kissed me in the last twenty four hours, or even when he said he wanted to kiss me the first night I came here?

Was that weird for him to?

“Abby” he says, lifting his face to look down at me.

“Mmm?” I hum back, my brows still creased as I try to figure out the million questions in my head.

“Stop over thinking it” he raises his brows at me to further his point, before pressing a quick peck to my lips “C’mon, let’s get up, I’ll get us some food”

I watch him as he crawls off of me, and shuffles off of the bed to stand and walk to his bedroom door, unlocking it, which I’ve noticed is another habit of his — locking his bedroom door of a night.

When he leaves the room it dawns on me, that he’s intending on just walking around in the bloody towel for god knows how long today, and I palm my face running my hands down it.

I am so screwed.

[scrumptiousdonutangel]

All

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

You are enough by sleeping at last, Good old days by macklemore and kesha, Blood//Water by Grandson, Eyes to the sky by Jon Bellion, High hopes by panic! at the disco, and Cowboy casanova by Carrie Underwood (I know its alot of genres)

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

TOM HOLLAND

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

“We looked carefully, but saw no apparitions”

4: What do you think about most?

This is going to sound full of myself, but i think about myself alot. I just like to self reflect and try to improve whatever i think can be improved upon.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

“No problem, I can try to make it work”

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

with. I live with too many people to be sleeping nude.

7: What’s your strangest talent?

I can scream EXACTLY like a horror movie. I had to pretend to be a murdered scream for this real life clue thing once and it was awesome

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)

Girls…. are absolutely goddesses and I fall in love with every one.

Boys…. are devilish jokers I wish I could stop falling for.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

I think so? There’s a guy who likes me and would send me poems about “some mystery girl” who I’m like 98% sure is me

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

probs like last week

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

I have zoophobia actually, I love animals but they give me a huge amount of anxiety so I’ve been trying to get over it

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

I- I don’t know

13: What’s your religion?

I’m a christian, I actually got saved last year around this time!

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

Swimming

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

behind. always.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

Lately it’s been Sleeping at Last. They’re so calm but meaningful I love it

17: What was the last lie you told?

“Nooooooooooo, hahahahahaha, why would I like you???? No offense I mean you’re really… uhm. nevermind. no, I don’t” 

18: Do you believe in karma?

Abso-fuckin-lutely

19: What does your URL mean?

nothing really

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

I’ve been told they’re the same thing: I’m a really caring and sympathetic person which makes me good with people but also too trusting and gullible

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

TOM HOLLAND

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

no, but I lowkey really want to??? when I was little I read about it in nancy drew without even fully realizing what it was and I always wanted to try it

23: How do you vent your anger?

Usually by working out? I always joke that I don’t work out alot, but I bike/swim/walk/dance/do a ton of random muscle workouts pretty daily

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

I have a collection of lipsticks if that counts

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

it depends on the person, but I personally prefer video chatting just cause it’s easier to read body language

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

I feel like there’s ALOT of room to improve tbh

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

nails on a chalkboard ; dude anyone with a deep voice (no matter what they identify as) has my heart in a second of speaking

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

probably the usual “what if this had worked out” with a previous crush

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

yes. also yes. (don’t judge me)

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

my pillow and my bed

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

stale air. it is summer and hot. please send help.

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

this is gonna sound terrible, but probably in our car? I have so many bad memories and I hate driving it with a passion

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

west coast

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

Shawn mendes, no doubt

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

Helping other people

36: Define Art.

An expression of emotion so strong it makes the viewer also feel emotion

37: Do you believe in luck?

yes

38: What’s the weather like right now?

hOt

39: What time is it?

early evening

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

yes, not yet cause I barely ever drive

41: What was the last book you read?

the Odesseye

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

no???

43: Do you have any nicknames?

Way too many. My latest was “miracle” given to me by a ton of adorable middle schoolers who couldn’t remember anything but the first three letters of my name

44: What was the last film you saw?

the greatest showman

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

A sprained ankle

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

Yeah, it’s a long story but this one I think tried to have sex with my finger

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

dude I always do. Jane the Virgin is television gOLD

48: What’s your sexual orientation?

Right now I identify as either bisexual or pansexual 

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

just small ones about who I like (that weren’t true and complicated friendships)

50: Do you believe in magic?

I don’t know

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

yeah, I’ve been trying to get better at it

52: What is your astrological sign?

Saggittarious

53: Do you save money or spend it?

I spend money way too easily, I’ve been trying to learn how to save more

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?

A pretzel 

55: Love or lust?

love

56: In a relationship?

I wish

57: How many relationships have you had?

None that I’d like to count

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

nope

59: Where were you yesterday?

At a bonfire

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

ohhhhh yeah

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

nope

62: What’s your favourite animal?

cats.

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

Friendship wise it’s just asking how their day is and asking if their doing okay. Romantic wise, I am soooo mean to people I like so usually just teasing them and buying them food

64: Where is your best friend?

right now at her home hopefully

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

@sophietheadventurer @s1n-am0n @darhwolf @undead-aesthetic @xqueenofpunsx

66: What is your heritage?

Mostly irish but my dad’s side has a heck of a lot of russian cause my great grandma is from Ukraine

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

sleeping like a wimp

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?

mcdevil

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

Nope

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

I don’t know actually, I try to be the type of person I think a person NEEDS, so I would probs be pretty different if i was my friend

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

drown with the dog cause I can’t swim for crap but I’ll die trying

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

a) I would only tell a couple people at first, the rest I’d tell farther in b) spend time with my family and friends and travel a whole lot/probs write ALOT c) I’d be more sad I didn’t have more time with the people I care about

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

love, I already don’t have trust let’s be real

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

Good old days by macklemore just cause it’s amazing 

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

I’d give them out but like I already have way too many unknown numbers calling me

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

Two people who connect on a mental/emotional/spiritual level who can be completely themselves with each other and don’t have to spend all their time together, but cherish every single minute

77: How can I win your heart?

food and musicals

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

I think in a lot of ways it can, but that’s a whole debate in and of itself

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

coming back to the same summer camp every year

80: What size shoes do you wear?

7 and ½

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

“Now the only extra she is is dead”

82: What is your favourite word?

chimney (long story)

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

falling in love

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

“It’s not a look” or “oH honEy nO”

85: What’s the last song you listened to?

“God made girls” It’s been stuck in my head for ages

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?

it changes almost daily but right now it’s a bright pink

87: What is your current desktop picture?

subtle gay art

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

That’s a hard question, too many horrible people alive

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

Someone irl asking my sexuality (i am very very deep in the closet)

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

Probs go back to bed I’m a tired chick man

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

Telepathy

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

this one specific car ride I had with my sister when I was younger

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

my entire life as a thirteen year old

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

tie between Kesha and Shawn Mendes

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

Greece

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

not that I know of but most likely yeah

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

wayyyyy too many times

98: Ever been on a plane?

yes

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

I would probably freeze up and say nothing

[killprettymagazine]

Never Again - An Edible Marijuana Horror Story

“Never again” is a phrase that you should utter with decreasing frequency as you mature: You should learn from your mistakes.  When you’re a kid, the world is full of sparkly phenomena, and you have not yet accrued enough disappointments to employ skepticism in investigating the seemingly endless sources of sparkle.  When you’re nine-years-old, for instance, you may not have yet learned that candied apples are detestable pieces of shit.  Imagine a giant apple that you can hold on a stick, like a king with a goddamned scepter, encapsulated by a reflective deep red coating.  Just the sound it must make when you bite into it, that crunch – you’re left with no choice but to force your parent or legal guardian to buy you one.  Then you try one.  It turns out that you can’t eat this magical apple like you would a regular apple, expecting each bite to be covered by a proportionate coating of candy, because hard candy doesn’t break like that; it shatters into many hostile shards of candy that annihilate your teeth.  It turns out, shards.  It turns out that if you wanted to, you could theoretically break the apple and use it as a fucking weapon.  And all that work and torture went into unearthing the most flavorless, soul-crushing apple variety: A Granny Smith.  Is it any wonder that so many of us develop trust issues as adults?

Sometimes, after experiencing a never again situation, you’re struck by a wave of amnesia and get pushed back into a neutral pre-trauma state.  Unfortunately, when this happens, the universe is burdened with the task of correcting you in a more memorable manner.

A few months ago, I suffered a bout of this type of amnesia during an ill-fated trip to a pot dispensary.  While there, I was brazen enough to pose the question, “Why don’t I ever get edibles when I shop here?” 

(As a side note, yes, I used the word “shop” in this context: While I am an avid believer in the medicinal benefits of pot, whose properties are vastly complex, visiting a dispensary sure doesn’t feel very medically official. You’d be hard-pressed to find a medication called “Alaskan Thunderfuck” at a conventional pharmacy). 

After interacting with the budtender at the dispensary - whose white lab coat, long Zen master’s beard and cosmic presence made me feel like I was talking to God - I got home and prepared for an epic night.  I purchased a ribeye that was so beautiful that I felt like I should apologize to it for the mess in my kitchen.  I was going to cook it sous vide at 130 degrees and then sear it to perfection in clarified butter.  Coltrane’s Giant Steps.  16-year-old single malt Macallan.  Porn, probably.  I ate half of one of the grown-up lozenges that I procured and risky-business’ed my way into the shower.

As I dried off with a towel, I felt the first signs of tingling in my toes; a very welcome sensation. About 20 minutes later, as I was tinkering with the immersion circulator, I still only felt the tingling.  “Shouldn’t I be giggling by now?” I wondered, “I’m preparing a bath for a steak while wearing a robe and I have a mustache.  I look like I’m about to fuck this steak.”  But my high seemed to be reaching stasis and I was not about to settle for the smooth jazz of evenings after dropping $25 on a single piece of meat.  I popped the other half of the lozenge in my mouth and proceeded with my grooming routine as the steak-bath reached temperature.

By the time the immersion circulator reached 130 degrees, a smile appeared on my face.  “That’s more like it,” I thought, “now I can honor the bull that was sacrificed for this evening appropriately.”  I would have never guessed that the next five hours of my life would consist of scrotum-gripping dread.

The first signs of trouble appeared as I removed the steak from the butcher paper in preparation for its bath.  I unwrapped the packet and stared in horror at the practically pulsating piece of flesh that I was about to consume.  I must have stared at the thing for the better part of five minutes.  “Oh, Christ,” I thought, “Not again.  I’ve already been through this – I’m not going to become a vegetarian.”  But I could not tolerate the idea of eating this steak so I wrapped it back up and returned it to the fridge, where I hoped it would be safe from whatever awful force was possessing me.  I opted for a couple of potatoes that I “baked” in the microwave.

As the potatoes cooked, which could have occupied anywhere from a few minutes to several weeks, I noticed that I could feel my heart beating in my chest without touching it.  “Does it always do that?” I wondered.  Suddenly concerned, I elected to take my own pulse; I placed my index and middle fingers on my wrist and started counting.  I kept losing my place and had to start over, again and again, which it turned out did not help my anxiety.  But I’m not a quitter; I would take my own pulse come hell or high water.  As I counted, it occurred to me that I had no clue about what constituted a normal or an abnormal pulse.  “Who do I think I am,” I thought, “a fucking doctor?”  But I continued to count for some reason.  My efforts were then interrupted by a heinously loud siren, which catapulted me out of my kitchen chair.  “JESUS CHRIST!” I exclaimed.  I no longer had to check my pulse; I knew that it was off the charts at this point.  I was on the verge of weeping from fear – then I realized that my potatoes were done.

I opened the microwave door to retrieve my potatoes, which now resembled the wrinkly testicles of a 90-year-old, and realized that I did not have enough saliva in my mouth to move my tongue, let alone to eat potatoes – the driest of root vegetables.  I shut the door, imprisoning the potatoes in the microwave.  It was time to lie down.  

“This lozenge is very, very mellow,” the budtender at the dispensary said.  “You’ll hardly notice that you’re high,” he said.  “One might not even be enough for you,” he said.  As the second half of the lozenge high-fived the first that was already reclining in a La-Z-Boy somewhere in my amygdala, I fantasized about finding that budtender, yanking him by his wizard’s beard and screaming, “IS THIS WHAT YOU MEANT BY ‘VERY, VERY MELLOW,’ YOU FECKLESS TURD?”  I wanted to strap him into a “good vibe” equivalent of an electric chair and pump him with the strongest possible current of good vibes until he exploded into a supernova of ineffectuality.  Because I wasn’t mellow, I was going to die.  I’m not using the phrase “going to die” to indicate that I was in any actual danger, nor in a histrionic Morrissey sense (…and you go home and you cry and you want to die).  No, as far as I knew, I was dying. 

I’ve danced around the rainbow of anxiety experiences in my life, including several shades located in the “bad pot trip” wavelength.  Most pot anxiety I’ve experienced, while often terrible, is usually short-lived: You smoke, the effects come on and intensify rapidly, you panic, you take a benzodiazepine (at least if you’re me) and 15 minutes later you’re back to watching cat videos on YouTube and eating pretzels.  Easy as pie.  This, on the other hand, was like some archaic form of corporal punishment – like being chained to a giant rock and then pushed off a cliff into the sea.

I was now curled up in the fetal position on my bed, my whole body trembling violently; I was a six-foot vibrator.  “W-w-when will it stop?” I might have said out loud.  The Ativan wasn’t working.  It occurred to me that I had no idea how much time had elapsed since I had placed the tiny pill under my tongue so I grabbed a small alarm clock that was on my nightstand and placed it right in front of my face on the opposite pillow.  It looked like the clock and I had just finished making love.  Then I realized that tracking time might not be such a great idea so I buried the clock under the covers and proceeded with my trembling regimen.   

At this point, my anxiety was so severe that my perception of reality started to waver; I felt like I was in a movie or a dream.  I was so scared that nothing around me seemed real and, every time I thought my fear could not become any more severe, I was proven wrong.  “Aren’t I supposed to be enlightened by now?” I wondered.  I was hitherto under the impression that if I would experience a state of fear that was adequately extreme, I would ultimately be led into a state of oceanic tranquility and be one with the cosmos.  “That Alan Watts didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about!” I thought. 

It was now 1:23 AM according to the clock that I hid under the covers.  My anxiety was not letting up and I was hallucinating.  I needed to talk to someone, preferably a human.  I needed to hear something other than my auditory hallucinations or the sound of my absurdly dry “NPR” mouth, the latter of which was really starting to grate on my nerves.  I didn’t want to call any relatives because I was worried about being chided for my weed blunder.  I called one of my friends but he was busy.  Then I suddenly remembered a recent conversation with another friend who, upon learning that I was going through a bad breakup, made the mistake of telling me that I could call him whenever I wanted if I needed to talk. 

“Did I wake you?” I asked.  “Umm, no,” he groaned in response.  “Yes, I did.”  Silence.  “I’m having the worst anxiety attack I’ve ever had.  I’m gonna die.”  “You’re not going to die.  Just breathe.”  The conversation consisted mainly of me proclaiming that I was going to die and my friend telling me that I was not dying.  He eventually tried to distract me by transitioning to other subjects but I could not focus on what he was saying.  At one point, it occurred to me that he was talking about Jeff Goldblum for a reason that was beyond my comprehension to such an extent that I considered taking another Ativan.  If I was going to die, I really hoped that my last conversation would not be about Jeff Goldblum.

After about 40 minutes on the phone, multiple references to Jeff Goldblum and several hundred “I’m gonna die’s,” I felt an internal release.  Finally, after about five hours of swimming through the rectum of the psychedelic spectrum, I was free.  I suddenly realized that my friend was still talking.  Eventually, noting my silence he asked, “You doing better?”  “I think so,” I said, “I’m starving now.”  I remembered that I still had those delicious wrinkled potatoes.  While cradling the phone on my shoulder, I walked over to the kitchen and opened the microwave door.  The potatoes looked like Guantanamo Bay detainees.  I suddenly remembered Obama’s quote, “…under my administration the United States does not torture” and started laughing maniacally.  I couldn’t breathe.  I tried to share this thought with my friend.  “I’m going to sleep,” he responded.  I continued laughing when I got off the phone.  I ate the potatoes and went to sleep, occasionally bursting into laughter in the dark. 

The next day I woke up and treated myself to a ribeye breakfast.  As I chewed the steak, I reflected on the events of the previous evening and wondered, “Was that a valuable experience?”  I concluded that it might have been but only in the crudest sense.  It would be like saying that the experience of intentionally hitting yourself in the balls was a valuable experience because it taught you not to do that.  Would you really have to be doubled in pain to figure that one out?  Still, I can say with gusto that I would sooner wipe my ass with a cactus than ever ingest another edible.  Never, ever again.

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 21

-----

When Holtz woke up the next morning, she groaned.

“I got way too drunk, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” said Abby. Holtz felt a cold bottle of water pressed against her forehead. A bottle of pain reliever she suspected was lovingly being placed next to her chest.

“Bless you,” said Holtzmann, whimpering.

“I had to call Kevin to come get you upstairs after we got Patty and Cheyenne a cab,” said Abby. “You wouldn’t listen to me or Erin, but you couldn’t complain when you were being picked up and carried. Although you did bang on him a few times with your fists. I think it amused him.”

Holtz whimpered again and popped two of the pain reliever into her mouth and took a sip of the water before turning on her back.

“Please tell me I didn’t do anything that warranted my picture being placed on the wall behind the bar or the police being called.”

“Not this time. You were quite happy up until the point that Patty had to pull you away from fussing out a woman when you were way past tipsy.”

“What about?” frowned Holtzmann.

Abby sighed. “You overheard her say something about how disgusting it was that I was there at the bar drinking when clearly all I had was a glass of water.”

“She deserved it then,” shrugged Holtz. “You can’t just sit at home.”

“Not when someone’s got to drag you back home after you started singing Pink’s anthology at the top of your lungs at the table. You were putting on quite a show.”

“AGAIN?”

Abby nodded.

“You even got Cheyenne and Erin to join you this time. They made good backup seat dancers.”

“... At least I wasn’t alone.”

Abby laughed to herself and patted Holtz on the shoulder. Holtzmann took that moment to put down the water and medicine on the bedside table beside her. She went frigid when she heard Abby cough loudly with what sounded like an irritated throat. She reached up and felt of her wife’s forehead, ignoring the flinch Abby made as she did so. She was very warm, and her skin was flushed.

“You’re sick.”

The brunette sighed, which made her cough again. “It’s just a cold Holtz. I probably picked it up last night.”

“Probably from the lady that was fussing about a pregnant woman being in a bar. I’m going to call the doctor and see--”

“It’s just a cold.”

“You have a fever, Abby. You remember the conversation we had with the nurse a couple of months ago about immune systems being suppressed when you’re pregnant?”

“Ugh, I hate when you’re being overprotective,” said Abby, getting back under the covers. Holtz snorted at that, pulling the comforter and sheet over her own head and got forehead to forehead with her wife. It was then she noticed that Abby was completely dressed and had taken the blanket off the bed and wrapped herself in it.

And was still shivering. Holtzmann sighed, shaking her head.

“You’ve got chills, Abs. I’m really calling the doctor.” Holtz got out of bed. “You should have gotten me up sooner, even with the hangover.”

“Then you’d turn into a worrywart, which is what you’re doing now. You need to rest too.”

“Yes, but there’s a reason. You’re actually not well,” Holtzmann said, going into the bathroom. She came back with the digital thermometer from their first aid and sick supplies. Holtz pulled down the covers and handed it to her wife. Abby pulled the covers back up and the blonde heard the beep of it being turned on. She grabbed a quick shower and got dressed, putting her hair up quickly. She came back out and found that Abby had poked her head outside the comforter. Holtzmann looked at her wife, gesturing to the thermometer on the bedside table.

“102.3.” Holtz went to the other side of the bed and started to hand her the Tylenol bottle. Abby shook her head. “I’ve already taken them,” she said. “I’m not a complete idiot. Just one that’s really tired of physicians.”

Holtz nodded, feeling slightly sympathetic. But only a little.

“Can you go wake Erin up?” asked Abby. “She fell asleep on the couch after Kevin got you upstairs. Didn’t want to get near her again since I could possibly still be contagious.” “It’s a little too late for all of us if it’s the flu,” said Holtzmann. She decided to be a little mean to her wife. “You do realize honey that the flu can cause premature labor, don’t you? Shall I start packing?”

“I’m burning every single one of your mix tapes,” said Abby. “So help me Jills.”

Holtz grinned and skipped once or twice out of the room. Erin was still asleep on the couch, snoring a little. Holtzmann went over and shook her shoulder.

“Go home, Gilbert.”

“Ugh,” said Erin, wincing as she woke up. “Why--” Holtz shook the Tylenol bottle still in her hand.

“Want one?”

“Five,” she mumbled, moving some hair that had gotten stuck to the side of her face. Holtz handed her two and sat down the bottle.

“Might want to get your sick supplies ready,” said Holtz. “Abby’s picked up something. I think it’s probably the flu. She’s got a fever and she’s shivering.”

“Wasn’t that last client of ours sick too?” Erin said. “The one who kept seeing a floating cat.”

“Yeah, she was probably hallucinating the cat part. But that floating vapor she was not,” said Holtzmann. “And that’s probably where the flu was picked up from.” Holtz looked at Erin when she heard her laugh.

Erin pointed down to the coffee table in front of her. “I think someone was already ahead of you.” Holtz looked down and saw two pills on a napkin, a bottle of water, and a small pack of pretzels. “That’s not fair, I didn’t get any pretzels,” pouted Holtz.

“That’s because I’m her best friend and you’re just her wife,” said Erin with a small smirk. She stuck the two pills back in the Tylenol bottle and opened the water. She took the other two and picked up the snacks. Holtz gestured to the pretzels.

“I could fix breakfast if you’d rather have some eggs and bacon than stale salty bread.”

“I’m good,” said Erin. “I don’t think I can stand bright lights at the moment, but I’m good. You two going to need anything?”

“The ability to kick whoever gave Abby the flu despite the fact that she got a flu shot?”

“Not all flu strains are covered, you know that.”

“I do remember college biology, thanks.”

“Go make some tea, make sure she’s comfortable,” said Erin.

“I’ve got to call and get an appointment,” Holtz said automatically. She noticed her cell sitting on the coffee table. She went to grab it when Erin put a hand over hers.

“Let Abby make it. She already feels helpless as it is these days.”

Holtz hesitated, knowing the logistics of such. That would mean Abby wouldn’t call and--

“Stop thinking,” said Erin.

“That’s like telling me to turn off my life.”

“She’ll do it if she feels it's necessary,” Erin said. “And don’t turn off your life. You two are cute together.”

“Not planning on it honey bear,” winked Holtz. “I have a family to take care of. Someone got to look after you and Patty.”

Erin scoffed at that. “You mean someone’s got to look after you and Abby and Patty. Which is what I do.”

“I think out of all of that, Patty’s the one looking out for all of us,” said Abby, walking into the room. She had wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She coughed a little to clear her throat of congestion.

“Morning Erin.”

“You are sick,” said the redhead. “Come sit Abby.”

“I thought I’d come relax on the couch a while,” sighed the brunette. “Anyone want to watch a movie?”

“That’d be better than going out in all the people shopping like crazy,” said Erin. “Thanks for the pretzels.”

“I’ll make some popcorn,” said Holtz.

“Not in the lab please,” said Erin.

“We do have this little thing in the kitchen called a microwave Erin,” said Holtz. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with it, but...”

Erin stuck her tongue out at Holtzmann, who grinned and went off to the kitchen.

“You want some tea?” Erin asked Abby gently. “I could make us some.”

“I’ll do it,” said Holtz. She started filling up the kettle and putting it on the stove.

“I was going to say that’d be nice, but my wife beat me to the punch,” said Abby. The popcorn was already popping and it was starting to smell good, what little she could actually smell through the stuffiness in her nose.

“You need to be resting,” said Erin. “You’re just starting the onset of symptoms.”

“I am sitting down, so I am resting,” said Abby. “I just want to think about sickness and babies as little as possible over the next couple of hours.” Erin nodded and picked up the remote for the TV off the coffee table.

“Pick us a good one at least,” Abby said, getting comfortable.

-----

They ended up watching Gravity, which had turned into a discussion after the movie about the science and whether it was plausible with all the new advancements in the field of aeronautics. It ended up starting a debate between Erin and Holtz which left Abby smiling at her wife and best friend’s banter. Her head was on a pillow in Holtz’s lap, and it didn’t take long for her to drift off, all wrapped up in a couple of blankets. It was only when they heard a slight wheezing sound did they realize that Abby had fallen asleep.

“Took her long enough,” said Holtz softly, looking fondly at her wife. She tucked a loose strand of her behind her ear.

“I think she was enjoying the movie and the discussion,” said Erin. “She likes Sandra Bullock.”

“Pffffsh,” said Holtz. “You didn’t see us watching The Heat. She liked Melissa McCarthy more.”

“I’m sure,” said Erin, amused. She looked at Holtz. “At least with the new laws about maternity leave fully in place now, you two are going to get 12 weeks of paid time off from the city for the baby after it's born. It’ll help get some more movies in.”

“You going to tell Abby to take maternity leave?” said Holtz. “Because I’m not. It was bad enough getting her to limit her time around our equipment and the lab.”

“You both need to,” said Erin. “To spend time bonding with your child.”

“Is it bad of me to want to run when I think about us and childcare? I mean, a kid, Erin. Changing really stinky diapers. Learning to make really crappy mac and cheese. Wait, I like really crappy mac and cheese. Uhh... Feedings every two to three hours. Never sleeping again. Actually trick-or-treating on Halloween instead of buying candy at half-off the next day.”

“Mmhmm,” said Erin. “A beautiful child with really cute dimples and curly brown hair all dressed up in a lab coat telling everyone they’re a scientist.”

“Of course. Each year, a new female scientist,” said Holtz. “That’s obvious Erin.”

They both sat still when Abby went into a coughing fit in her sleep. But once it was over, she settled back down. Holtz rubbed her shoulder.

“I’m going to have to start investing in mini lab coats.”

“Honestly Holtz... are you really going to try to have a kid yourself after this? Like, really soon after?”

“Well, that wasn’t personal at all, Gilbert.”

“Sorry. Abby told me that since you two really didn’t think you had time with fertility and such. But don’t you think you need to devote a little time to raise this one for a little while?”

“The thought has occurred to me, yes.”

“And?”

“Everything’s still up in the air,” shrugged Holtz. “This one’s still cooking. Anything could happen in the future. I could get pregnant. I could not get pregnant. There could be a miscarriage. Maybe Abby has the second one. Or Patty could win the Nobel Peace Prize. Or you two do for the Yates-Gilbert Equation. Maybe I lose a leg in the lab. Maybe Patty loses a leg in the lab. Poor Patty. Or--”

“I get the point, Holtz.”

“Good,” yawned Holtzmann. “Ms. Nosey.”

Erin gestured in the air. “I’m not trying to. I honestly just need to know these things for the business. Personally, you and Abby could have 15 more kids and I wouldn’t care.”

Holtz flailed and pretended to put a hand over Abby’s ear that was facing up.

“Not in front of the pregnant woman.”

Erin leaned her head to the side, realizing something. “You really... you don’t want to get pregnant, do you? You like Abby being pregnant.”

Holtz looked sheepish. ‘I did... in the beginning. But I have discovered I have enjoyed watching the experiment grow from the outside. I’m not violently opposed to the idea by any means, and I’m pretty sure Abby is intent on me getting pregnant just to get back at me for the fact that she did get pregnant. So yes to your observation. Both of them.”

“Revenge... children.”

“No, revenge gestation. There’s a difference.”

“I swear you two are like children yourselves,” said Erin, shaking her head. Holtz pushed a piece of hair back behind Abby's ear.

“Which is why we’ll be the best or the worst parents ever.”

“I’m seeing family Halloween costumes,” smirked the redhead. Holtzmann shrugged.

“You know, you should really talk to David about you two having a kid. Then everyone could grow up together. Abby really likes the idea of our kids growing up together.”

Erin shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“You-- you don’t want kids?” asked Holtz. Erin leaned forward and looked to see if Abby was still asleep. She leaned back, relieved.

“David and I talked about it. Honest talk, I didn’t just agree with him. And neither one of us are really kid people. We like the idea of taking a vacation when we want. No school plays, no constant sickness, no babysitters. Lots of wine bottles in the fridge. We like the quiet.”

Holtz looked skeptical over her glasses.

“But no drawings on the fridge, juice boxes, and homework. No gold stars for achievement and you teaching them physics at a young age. Science fairs that you know they’d win just out of the sheer awesomeness of their mom.”

Erin looked wistful for a moment at Holtz’s words.

“I know when you’re lying Erin.”

She sighed. “You sound like Abby.”

“It's because we’re thinking the same thing.” Holtz paused. “I’m probably the worst person for this, but talk to him. Really, really honestly Erin. You want to do this.”

Erin looked down at her best friend, who was still in deep sleep. Even all covered up, she could tell Abby’s left arm was wrapped around her abdomen, holding her child like she should be. She sighed.

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” said Holtz. “You said they were going to be gone all weekend?”

“David won’t be home till Sunday night.”

“Want to watch another movie? I’m kind of stuck here for a little while.”

“Sure,” said Erin, smiling. “You are comfortable.”

“Napping on Abby is way better,” said Holtz. “But it’s my turn to be the pillow.”

<– Prev | Next –>

[runwildwithme]

Feathers, Part 3 - An Elsewhere University Tale

Hello again!! As always, many, MANY thanks (or should I say much appreciation? ^_~ ) to @charminglyantiquated for the use of her  @elsewhereuniversity setting. This place is so much fun to play in!!

(Also. you guys. you guys. I am Bad at Tumblr, so I haven’t like. responded to anyone. BUT! I have read every single tag and comment y’all have left on parts 1 & 2. Much hand-flapping was had. as was bragging. i have bragged Quite A Lot to various irl friends.)

And I’m now here with part 3 of Feathers for your viewing pleasure. ;D  (Part 1 is here, and part 2 is here.) 

Previously:

‘Call me Thirteen.’

You take it all back. This stupid, stupid boy. He’s going to get you all killed. Heavy on your shoulder, Barnes laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Part 3

You lead them back to your dorm, keeping on eye on Thirteen. The campus is deserted, and he's exactly the sort of idiot to keep looking back on the cusp of an adventure.

When you get to Dorm 5, you usher the others in.

Not-Jenna stays outside.

You look at her in askance, and she shuffles, abashed.

Oh. Right. She tried to steal you, and instead she ended up following you. The balance of power has shifted between the two of you.

‘Be welcome in my hall,’ you tell her, and she executes a perfect curtsy, even in skinny jeans. Barnes chortles and preens at your hair before pushing off your shoulder.

You let Not-Jenna pass through the doorway, and when you close it you lay down a line of salt. 

 ‘This abode is closed,’ You tell the door firmly.

When you turn to join the others, you find Thirteen watching you.

‘You're the Crow Girl, aren't you?’ He asks.

The Crow Girl. You like that. You aren't the only one who's made friends with the crows, but you specifically apparently well known.

‘Girl Who Sings to Crows’ Barnes caws at him. He goes wide-eyed.

‘Even the crows from outside can learn human words. Elsewhere crows aren't so strange.’ You tell him.

Cat-Eyes, already going through cupboards in the kitchen, snorts.

‘That's a dirty lie, Crow Girl.’ She says, and pops a pretzel in her mouth.

‘Ah, but it's comforting to hear, isn't it?’ you quip, and she and Not-Jenna both give you an appreciative chuckle.

‘...I'm missing something,’ Thirteen decides.

‘The Fair Folk can't lie, and since I can, I'm not one of the Gentry.’ You explain, and then add, a little louder and carefully enunciated, ‘Not that I would ever claim to be.’

He looks doubtful, so you wave at Not-Jenna.

‘Feathers is right,’ she tells him. ‘We can trick, and deceive, omit certain truths, twist and bend others until they break all on their own, but we cannot lie.’

Thirteen does the thing with his jaw men do when they're uncomfortable and don't want to show it.

‘You said ‘we’..?’

Oh. Right. Freshman.

You point at Not-Jenna, tell him , ‘That's not Jenna. We call her Not-Jenna.’ You give him a minute to work out the grammar, then add ‘Original-Jenna is Away.’

He just goes ‘oh’.

Cat-Eyes, entire torso in a cabinet, mutters ‘oh, he says.’  

‘Well, what's your name, then?’ He snaps.

She stands up, a mesh netting of pixie oranges in her hands (you are... not sure where those came from).

‘I'm called Cat-Eyes. From Dorm 3.’

He's very clearly heard of her. His soft ‘oh,’ from earlier makes a reappearance.

Cat-Eyes rolls her eyes, and goes back to raiding your cabinets. (Oh, you get it. It's Tuesday, she's raiding. Of course she’s going to find all sorts of good stuff.)

Later, when you've salted all the window sills, laid out a bowl of cream for Cat-Eye’s cats (the cats Cat-Eyes belongs to, maybe?), a larger-than-usual portion of whipped cream vodka for the Dorm 5 Brownie, and consolidated all of the bedding in the living room, Thirteen finally asks you where everyone else is.

‘If they're smart, they never came back from break. I'm sure most people have just ...forgotten about Elsewhere. Of the people who didn't, it's possible some people got lucky and made it to the library, or the science center. The chemistry and bio majors are probably all fine, but that doesn't mean they'll be any kind of help. The fair folk tend to leave them alone, and the science department might not be willing to risk that treaty. Especially since Names have been stolen. There’s maybe a few other groups like ours in pockets around campus, but maybe not. A lot of people will have been stolen today.’

He nods, thinking. He tells you, slowly, ‘The rules are changing.’

You hum. ‘Maybe, maybe not. There’s a long and storied history here of people being stolen, and there's precedent for stealing back what's stolen. If we’re very brave, and very clever, we stand a chance of putting things right.’

He looks at you like he thinks you're lying again.

You turn so you're facing him, grab and hold his face in your hands to make him listen.

‘Be brave, be clever, be quick. There is no time for caution, for regrets. Be reckless. When you play Their games, bargain nothing you cannot afford to lose. Be respectful. Never say thank you or sorry or please. Do not eat or drink anything They give you. Watch your words, for they can be binding. Promise nothing. When there comes a time you forsake this advice, be very sure it's worth it.’ You tell him, and there are centuries in your words.

‘These are the rules. These have been the rules for as long as the Fair Folk have been around. The rules of Elsewhere may be changing, but these rules are not.’  You hold his face a moment longer before you let him go. He's pale, but a little less shaken.

‘Be brave, be clever, be quick,’ he murmurs.

From the other side of the room, Not-Jenna hums, and Cat-Eyes tells him, ‘Just so.’

---

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing you do is check the salt lines, and then exchange the empty glass of vodka for a full cup of milk.

When you’ve finished making your rounds, you settle back down in the pile of blankets to dig up your phone. Emergency of the Underhill variety or not, your parents are expecting to hear from you, and you do not need them sniffing around Elsewhere.

You have to roll Not-Jenna over to get at your phone, but she just grumbles sleepily at you. (Right when you start to think she’s been in the human world too long, she does something other to remind you that no, actually, this is not a someone, this is a something. The sounds that she makes definitely aren't reproducible with a human throat. Or recordable with human technology, for that matter.)

You open your phone, type in your password, and then immediately close it. You reopen it. Stare at the date.

‘Cat-Eyes. Cat-Eyes, wake up and check your phone.’

The only sign she's even remotely aware is the solitary finger that extends upwards in your direction.

‘Cat-Eyes, get up.’ You hiss.

Her head shoots up, your tone of alarm finally enough to rouse her.

‘Who's dying?’ She's not even joking a little bit.

You waggle your phone at her.

‘Check your phone.’

‘Oh my god fuck offffffff-’ she groans, all alertness gone. She starts fumbling for her phone all the same, though, which is good for her. You’d have started throwing things, otherwise.

‘It's day fucking two of the fucking fairy apocalypse, six-fucking-thirty on a Wednesday fucking morn-’ her grousing cuts off as soon as she sees it.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Yeah, ok, waking me up was fair. Three for three?’

You nod. She sits up, looks around, and lobs her pillow -hard- at the tufts of short brown hair emerging from a pile of blankets to her right.

Thirteen comes awake with a yell, arms flailing.

‘Oi, freshie. Check your phone.’

By the time Thirteen has also confirmed that his phone still thinks it's Tuesday, Not-Jenna has woken up as well.

You discuss it as you and Cat-Eyes put together breakfast, and then as Not-Jenna and Thirteen take care of the dishes.

You all decide that it's possible that's it's still Tuesday because the Powers That Be of Elsewhere consider Dorm 5 to be your Domain now, and you've always been at your best and brightest on Tuesdays.

More likely, though, you all agree, is that the Powers That Be are no more happy at the prospect of the rules changing than the humans are, and now all of Elsewhere waits with baited breath to see how things shake out.

This presumption (presumption, not assumption, because to just presume you are the heroes of this story is arrogance, sheer arrogance of the highest order, and yet-) the presumption is supported when you venture briefly out of Dorm 5, and the rest of Elsewhere U still appears as though Tuesday has not yet passed.

(You sung Barnes down from another tree, asked it, ‘What day is it, Barnes?’ and got ‘Thieving day!’ in response. Still Tuesday.)

You and Cat-Eyes are both supremely uncomfortable at this, Not-Jenna is not saying anything so carefully that you can't help but be sure that she knows more than the rest of you do and either cannot or will not tell you.

Thirteen is blasé, because he's applying logic your situation.

‘Well, I mean, it was Tuesday when the theft occurred, and Tuesday when we realized our Names were stolen, so shouldn't it be Tuesday when we steal them back?’

Which. Yes. Rule of three and all that, but this is big magic. Also, why you? Just because the three humans of you are fae-touched? There are many others (were, anyways) who are fae-touched. Because you were almost stolen away? But that's not right either- you're at least eighty percent sure whatever it is that likes Cat-Eyes so well didn't attempt to take her, and anyways, Not-Jenna certainly wasn’t stolen away.

(except for how she was, just a little bit, by you, but that wouldn't count, not by the Court’s reckoning. She tried to steal you and failed and followed you back anyway- that she's yours now, a little bit, is ...weregild is the closest concept humans have for it, you think. Just Desserts, maybe.)

Maybe that you all have something ...not watching over, but watching you, certainly. But even that isn't quite right, because the fae that wanted Thirteen wanted him for a snack, and that's a different sort of watchful.

(One might think Not-Jenna wouldn't fit here, either, but Original Jenna has been Away so long that you'd be very surprised indeed if she wasn't more fae than human, now; it would be very stupid of her if she didn't keep track of the thing living her former life. The continued presence of Original Jenna on the missing lists the Administration Building keeps, not the deceased list, indicates she isn't stupid at all.)

You and Cat-Eyes gaze at each other uneasily.

‘The library?’ You offer. The librarians are a host unto themselves.

(This has always been true, but certain podcasts have certainly not helped.)

Cat-Eyes nods at you, and even Thirteen, willfully ignorant as he is, makes agreeable noises.  Not-Jenna looks nervous, which she should (Librarians: host unto themselves), but you're going to need her knowledge, her instincts.

‘The librarians know you,’ You tell her.

‘I know.’ She mutters. From her hunched shoulders, that's apparently part of the problem.

You shrug at her.

‘Sometimes things suck, and we still have to do them.’ Unsaid is that this is part of being (or at least pretending to be) human.

She gets her bag.

---

The Library looks like it's expecting a war, which is ..probably fair, you acknowledge. Inconvenient in the meantime, though.

Still, that's a lot of barbed wire.  You don't need to turn around to know Not-Jenna's frowning impressively hard.

You all drift to a stop about five feet before the mess of wire.

‘It sorta reminds me of Sleeping Beauty,’ Thirteen says. ‘With thorns and all? All the library needs is a dragon on the roof.’

‘Yes,’ Cat-Eyes drawls, ‘please, give the librarians ideas on how to be scarier, that's exactly what we need. We're in luck, though- we don't need a sword to cut down these vines.’

‘That's good, considering they aren't really vines,’

‘Well, Thirteen, this isn't really barbed wire, either.’

Cat-Eyes has glasses on (cat eye in style, of course) when you look at her, and her eyes glint strangely through the distortion of the lens.

She walks up to the barbed wire, hops to the left on one foot, and walks straight into it.

You eyes supply a vision of blood and torn flesh and a face screwed up in rictus-pain, and then she steps back, completely unharmed. Next to you, Thirteen is gone pale as you are.

‘Ayup, grade-A nasty fuckin’ glamour, that is,’ she supplies, and oh. Of course. The Court wouldn't tolerate that much metal, even in the hands of the librarians.

(That much metal- weaponized metal- would be an invitation, more than any sort of prevention.)

‘Monkey see, monkey do?’ You guess, because Cat-Eyes is brazen and bold, but not stupid, so you doubt that she has three extra pairs of glasses on her. Also, even if she did, neither you nor Thirteen have any practice at seeing through glamours. You wouldn't be able to read the twists of magic, of intent, to know where to step to avoid traps.

She nods, starts forward again, but you catch her shoulder.

‘Cat-Eyes, wait. Are you dressed right?’ You ask, and what you mean is this: you can't see anything that's inside-out, and you're reasonably sure her underwear aren't either.

She stops, looks down at herself, tugs her shirt off, and drags it back over her head inside-out. Thirteen makes a small, strangled noise.

‘What about you guys?’ She asks.

‘Not-Jenna’s fine, and I’m always dressed right on Tuesdays,’ you tell her as you pluck at a bra strap.

‘Thirteen, you need to be wearing something inside-out. It keeps you from being pixie-led.’ Not-Jenna tells him.

He stares, visibly decides now is not the time to ask, and then his shirt goes the same way as Cat-Eyes’.

‘I’ll take you all through one at a time. There's a lot of tricky bits,’ Cat-Eyes tells you.

After a brief discussion, it's decided that she will take you first, then Thirteen, and then Not-Jenna.

(This requires extracting a Promise from Not-Jenna to neither steal nor allow Thirteen to be stolen whilst you and Cat-Eyes are away. Much rules-lawyering occurs, as well as the agreement to procure a Nokia phone at earliest convenience after the current adventure for Not-Jenna to mess around with. You predict explosions.)

And then you're off, and you feel like you are playing the most elaborate, high stakes game of hopscotch you have ever heard of. (Considering where you are, this is saying something.)

You hop, duck, weave, twirl, crouch, bounce, backtrack, curtsy, and tiptoe through the glamour.  There were some spots that even you could see the glow of a glamour about, and you resolutely do not wonder what awful bit of magic the librarians have set for unwary travelers.

On the other side, Cat-Eyes rests for half a moment, and then she's headed back to get Thirteen.

You stay as close to the wire as you can. You know that the librarians probably have people on watch, and you don't want them deciding you're a threat. That would be ...bad.

It takes nearly half an hour for Cat-Eyes to get you all through, and she's sweaty, squinty-eyed, and panting by the end. Your little bottle of painkillers makes a reappearance.

You wait a few mints more to let her catch her breath and rest her eyes, and then you approach the library.

Slowly. You approach the library slowly.

Thirty feet from the doors, a voice rings out from a second floor window.

‘Be you friend, or be you foe? Announce yourselves!’ The voice demands.

Jeez. They're really going for tradition.

You yell back, ‘I am called Feathers, sometimes Crow Girl, and we come as friends!’

The glass doors of the library swing open, and you stifle a snort as Cat-Eyes swats Thirteen when he takes a step forward.

After a beat of silence, you call up, ‘We seek knowledge. Will you welcome us into your hall?’

You detect movement from inside, and then a librarian is standing just inside the threshold.

‘So long as you neither mean nor offer harm to me or mine,’ the man says, ‘Be welcome in my hall.’

The tension goes out of your little group. Well, Thirteen still looks tense, but that's because he's spent his first semester being totally ignorant of everything even remotely important. Honestly. Hospitality rules aren't even an exclusively Elsewhere thing.

(Hospitality rules aren't even an exclusively fae thing- there are plenty of cultures that have stories of such rules.) (that have such monsters, really.)

You lead your group in, Not-Jenna bringing up the rear. She really is nervous about the librarians.

You think you might actually have trouble when the librarian catches sight of her. He tenses, and immediately puts himself in front of you all, blocking the second set of doors that lead into the library proper.

‘Why,’ he starts, quiet but thunderous, ‘Would you think it a bright idea to bring her here?’

‘We come- as friends- seeking knowledge.’ You repeat. ‘Do you retract your offer of Hospitality?’ You ask, voice slow and even for the first sentence, sharp as screams in the dark for the second.

If this man retracts Hospitality, there will be consequences, and you won't even have to stick around to see them enforced. You know this. He knows this.

As things stand, if you left now- even without violence- there'd be even odds on unfortunate things happening here, especially with both sides of Elsewhere as on edge as they are. You'd rather be allowed in, though. You weren't lying when you said you you came seeking, and you don't actually want the deaths of how ever many people are here for sanctuary on your hands. (You're not that fae-touched yet, at least.)

Slowly, slowly, he steps aside. You wave your group though the doors, nod as he makes the ‘I'm watching you’ gesture (you'd expect nothing less), and step through.

[happyhappyhappyplace]

All the hate in the Ereri and riren fandom is really getting me down :( Could u help remind me how awesome the ship is, because a lot of people think that riren makes the characters ooc. My whole life has been a lie... Not really lol, just need some reasurrence that riren can be shipped for good reason. riren/ereri it doesn’t matter! Whenever people want to reduce a ship down to where the peen goes, I’m a little concerned because 1) there is more to sex than penetration and 2) there is more to a relationship than sex! So whenever people fight over ririviviviivivireererereri nonsense, I make up my own positive headcanons: Eren loves ice cream, but Levi is lactose intolerant so he gets sherbet. Eren likes the ostrich on the carousel, Levi likes the tiger, but both are fond of the wonky eyed horse. Levi doesn’t like it when Eren buys oversized sweaters because Levi likes to borrow Eren’s sweaters so that just means it’s three times too big for him. Ah, who are we kidding, he likes those too. Levi is remarkably good at winning goldfish at the ring toss. Eren’s aquarium is overcrowded. Both claim to like creepy horror flicks, but somehow have never made it an entire movie without turning it off. But only to makeout, not because they were scared or anything. Eren is banned from most putt-putt golf courses, especially the one with the windmill. In protest, Levi stole three boxes of golf pencils. At the beach, Levi sunburns easily. Eren writes, “I love you!” on his back in sunscreen. Eren tells the waitress it is Levi’s birthday so they get free dessert. Levi hides in Eren’s armpit when they sing him happy birthday. Levi is really good at “crack the whip” in roller and ice rinks. Eren crashes into the snowbank. Levi’s Valentine’s Day cards to Eren have stenciled letters on the front. Eren’s explode in glitter. Eren spends Valentine’s Day cleaning up the glitter. Because of his insomnia, Levi takes catnaps during the day. Eren rigs up a hammock in the backyard and often finds Levi there, the watering can on the ground and his large gardening hat still on. Now which one of those mini headcanons is ereri and which one is riren? I can’t really tell. Oh, I have a good one: Eren thinks Levi’s nose is adorable, and sometimes when Levi is talking to him, Eren will space out and then slowly raise his finger up and press the tip of Levi’s nose and say “Boop!” (He does the same thing to his mother’s cat.) Sunday morning is banana pancakes morning. Whenever they’re in the car, the rule “driver chooses the music, shotgun keeps their mouth shut” is the first thing that goes out the window. They settle it with rock paper scissors instead. Levi always winds up eating the pickles out of Eren’s cheeseburgers and the olives out of his pizza slices. Levi likes the regular goldfish and Eren likes the flavor blasted, but they fight over the pretzel all the time. They end up sharing it on the couch with a movie on. Eren eats all the food in the house and won’t buy more until Levi throws money at his head and makes him leave. He laughs all the way down the street, but Levi waits until he’s around the corner before laughing. Eren is pretty good at video games, so when he’s gotten a good streak, the only way to break him out of it is for Levi to join the game and kick his ass. This is only used in dire situations as Levi doesn’t like to mess with Eren’s ego too much. Levi always buys silly string and sprays it on Eren on their birthdays. Even though it’s a pain in the ass to clean up, it’s worth his reaction. When they go on an airplane, Eren likes the window seat and Levi secretly prefers the middle because he can lean on Eren and he’s small enough not to get squashed. Eren always gives Levi the little snacks claiming that he doesn’t want them, but when Levi puts one in his mouth Eren kisses him to get it back. Levi pretends to be annoyed, but he always goes along with it. Levi normally doesn’t like PDA but has been known to make out with Eren shamelessly if someone makes a homophobic comment. Eren and Levi have a little unspoken competition to see who can carry the other more places. Eren talks in his sleep and Levi pretends to be annoyed about it, but he actually finds it very cute. Levi really likes it when Eren wears bright pastel colors. Flower crowns are a plus too. Both Eren and Levi (though Eren more so) get jealous pretty easily and if someone flirts with Eren, Levi tends to be very blunt and specifically points out they are together. Whereas Eren gets really touch-feely, such as throwing an arm around Levi’s shoulders, waist or grabbing his hand. Even, going as far as kissing him- on the cheek or mouth. Eren has a habit of chewing on his pens when he’s thinking. Levi tries to get him to stop, but after a few weeks Eren catches him doing it. He teases him about it for a month. Levi never starts a tickle fight, but he’ll finish one. When they watch a movie together, Eren throws whatever snack they have into the air and Levi has to catch it in his mouth so it doesn’t make a mess. Eren always sits on Levi’s lap, which is a good idea at first, but as Eren gets taller, Levi gets squashed. Eren picks up Levi’s habit of holding cups funny and Levi thinks it’s adorable. Levi got glasses before Eren did, and Eren would steal them off his face and wear them around the house until his vision got worse and he realized he could see better wearing them. They went to the eye doctor the next weekend. Eren still does it every once in a while. Eren loves playing with Levi’s hair. Levi is bisexual, so Eren made him a bracelet that alternated black links and the colors of the rainbow because “it’s as gay as you are!” He learned that there are bisexual colors the next day. Levi only takes it off to shower. Eren likes drawing butterflies on Levi’s binders. On laundry day, Eren and Levi have a sock fight to sort the socks. Levi almost always wins. They switch iPods for a day every week. When one of them has a bad day, they blast Taylor Swift and jam out until they can barely move. If it’s a really bad day they get ice cream first. Whenever they go to a restaurant, no matter how fancy, they always get into a game of footsie that escalates into a full on foot war. Eren tends to win these, but most games remain unfinished. Sometimes when Levi is reading a book Eren likes, Eren will read over his shoulder and poke him in the side if he closes it. Eren mouths words of songs to Levi that he thinks represents their relationship. Eren and Levi wear matching shoes every once in a while. Hanji is the only one who’s ever noticed. When Levi stays up late working, he uses Eren’s stomach as a pillow. Eren loves apple juice and leaves empty bottles everywhere around the house. Levi doesn’t mind that much because he thinks watching Eren drink it is so cute. Levi is left handed and always wears his watch on his right. Eren wears it on his right hand as well, but he is right handed. Eren has ADHD and has to take medication for it. Levi gives him extra hugs when he’s on the come down. Eren tends to get out of control angry but Levi’s always the one to calm him down. Levi has a tendency to fall asleep in his desk chair working, but Eren’s learned to see when Levi’s about to fall asleep and lifts Levi into bed. Levi always complains about the mess Eren makes when he’s doing art, but secretly Levi enjoys the gentle curves of concentration between Eren’s eyebrows and the way he sticks his tongue out when he’s focusing on little details. Eren and Levi have a neighbour who complains constantly about their noise levels, so just to annoy them, Eren buys a dog whistle and blows it every once in a while during the night and complains to the neighbour upstairs that their dog keeps them awake. Levi says Eren shouldn’t do it, but he really finds it funny when the neighbour was completely baffled about their dog. Eren has a tendency to leave paint streaks on his cheeks, and Levi never says anything about it. Levi isn’t a really big fan of dogs due to hair, but when he comes back to Eren cuddling a puppy, he decides he can live with it. Eren snores, and Levi finds it cute until he realises he really can’t sleep with Eren’s snoring. Levi ends up kicking Eren during the night to make him shut up.

Many many many different posts

[nour386]

Tagged by @radioactivedelorean (I’m judgiung you SO harshly for this)

rules: answer these 85 statements & tag 20 people

the last:

1. drink: Water

2. phone call: Vet appointment

3. text message: I was asking my friend if he still could adopt my kitten

4. song you listened to: Taylor Swift - 22

5. time you cried: .....into my pillow 

have you ever:

6. dated someone twice: pfft 

7. kissed someone and regretted it: PFFFFFT

8. been cheated on: OMG 

9. lost someone special: I’ve been jaded for years, I have but I don’t know how to work with the feelings. I never really addressed them. 

10. been depressed: did you mean “first four years of high school?”

11. gotten drunk & thrown up: I don’t even drink the alcohchcohclohl 

favorite colors:

12. Red

13. Grey

14. Gold

in the last year have you:

15. made new friends: Heck yeah!

16. fallen out of love: I mean? I admitted to a crush? but then again it might have just been me wanting to see him irl again. he turned me down so maybe? but not really no.

17. laughed until you cried: about the only way for tears to fall without a persona collapse.

18. found out someone was talking about you: not really?

19. met someone who changed you: 

20. found out who your friends are: YEAH!

21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: AHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHA

general:

22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: all but 1. I added him because of a Pokemon trade thing.

23. do you have any pets: three cats

24. do you want to change your name: I like my name

25. what did you do for your last birthday: um.....good question

26. what time did you wake up: 10 am

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: getting ready for bed (I had a late night at uni)

28. name something you can’t wait for: my psychometric exam results to arrive

31. what are you listening to right now: Neverland/Nano uploaded by Tokyo Otaku Mode on youtube.

32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: Yes actually.

33. something that is getting on your nerves: Politics

34. most visited website: Tumblr, and youtube

35. hair colour: Black

36. long or short hair: long (I’m growing it out!)

39. piercings: none

40. blood type: what’s a blood?

41. nicknames: Nour

42. relationship status: as single as....um.....hm....there really should be a saying for this

43. zodiac: Capricorn!

44. pronouns: He/him

45. favourite tv show: Over the Garden Wall

46. tattoos: None

47. right or left handed: Right

48. surgery: apparently I had ingrown toe nails when I was really young?

49.piercing: why is this here twice?

50. sport: um.....soccer? track? idk

51. vacation: I went on a three day camp with some friends at uni. Does that count?

52. pair of trainers: several.

more general

53. eating: nothing. might get a bowl of pretzels later tho

54. fav drink: Aloe vera or Ginger beer

55. what you’re up to: Answering these questions. also doing some graphic design work

56. waiting for: me to finish the graphic design work to go play kingdom hearts. 

57. want: A hug

58. get married: uhhh......hopefully?

59. career: I have a graphic design job, but I don’t have anything long term planned out yet.

which is better:

60. hugs or kisses: Hugs. hug me tightly and never let go.

61. lips or eyes: Eyes

62. shorter or taller: shorter, I’m not a smol!

63. older or younger: Younger

64. nice arms or nice stomach: ummmmm arms for cuddling purposes

65. hook up or relationship: relationship I guess?

66. troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant, don’t want to get in trouble.

have you ever:

67. kissed a stranger: lol No. I barely hug my friends.

68. drank hard liquor: I have never seen a liquid

69. lost glasses/contact lenses: nope

70. turned someone down: no

71. sex on the first date: I've never dated

72. broken someone’s heart: might have done so in passing?

73. had your heart broken: lol what heart?

74. been arrested: no

75. cried when someone died: uhhhh.........no

76. fallen for a friend: yes, but  I think it was more of a thing where I missed seeing him?

do you believe in

77. yourself: ahahaha 50% of the time

78. miracles: work!!

79. love at first sight: no, I can find someone attractive, but you gotta earn that romance. 

80. santa claus: He never got me anything so no

81. kiss on the first date: I mean....maybe work ourselves up to it? and not right after a meal probably?

82. angels: Yes

83. current best friend’s name: ......Tim? (I can’t tell if I have some friends in higher regard than others? I see them mostly equal)

84. eye colour:dark brown.

85. favourite movie: uhhhhhh Moana

and now to tag 20......just anyoen who sees this.