#I also posed for his position and the spoon hand just to figure out how exactly to make this because my brain just could not work without i

[eudikot]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RITSU!!!

Textless version:

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Dick reached as high as his eleven year old legs could take him, towards a set of pots in the cabinet. It wasn’t enough, but Bruce stepped over to help him, setting the pots down on the kitchen island.

“Okay,” Bruce said. “Review the rules for me again?”

“Alfred gives us three ingredients,” Dick explained, “and we have to make something that has all three in it.”

“How much time do I get?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“And I have to present it, right?”

“Yeah. Alfred’s the judge.”

“And then?”

“He puts the dish that loses under a cover, and we wait for a dramatic reveal.”

“Oh, drama. Good.”

Dick gave Bruce a look. “I’m gonna be the announcer.”

“I thought you were doing it with me?”

“I’ll be a contestant too.”

“Is that going to work?”

“Oh yeah,” said Dick, smiling brightly. “It’ll be great. Ready to start?”

“I guess.”

Dick ran to the other side of the kitchen, flipped off the light switch, did a quick twirl, and flipped it back on. He slid into the middle of the kitchen on his sock feet. 

“Good evening!” he said, in his best commentator voice. “And welcome back to Chopped at the Wayne Tower penthouse. I’m your host, Dick Grayson, and today I’ll be competing against Mr. Bruce Wayne!”

Dick struck a confident pose, motioning for Bruce to do the same. Bruce half-laughed and stepped forward into what Dick recognized as his Batman-overlooking-the-city stance. 

The image cracked Dick’s persona, and he laughed so hard he had to bend over and breathe for a few seconds. He got back to business. 

“Let me introduce you to our judge, the honorable Alfred Pennyworth! Let’s give him a round of applause, folks!”

Alfred gave a solemn nod from his place at the dining room table. Dick ducked to the other side of the island, clapping his hands loudly to simulate a fake audience. Bruce joined in.

“Contestants, grab your baskets!” Dick pulled his own cloth covered basket, the one Alfred prepared for him, from the island counter. It had some heft to it. He wondered what was inside. 

“Let’s take a look! Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce flipped open the matching basket on his counter and lifted out a glass jar. “Cherries,” he said, holding them up. 

“And?”

“Chocolate chips.”

“And last?”

“Uh.” Bruce examined another jar, this one plastic, and set it back down. “Cinnamon peanut butter.”

“Hm,” said Dick. “Interesting. A dessert round.”

“Oh yes,” Alfred confirmed. 

“Do you have the stop-watch?”

“I do, Master Richard.”

“Okay then— on your mark, get set… go!”

Dick ran towards the pantry, but Bruce stepped in front of him, blocking the way. 

“Hey!” Dick complained. 

“Sabotage,” said Bruce, grinning, before he let Dick pass. 

Dick pulled the bag of pancake mix from a shelf and scooted sideways, holding it behind his back so Bruce couldn’t see. Unnecessary, he realized, since he was going to announce his choice anyway. 

“Dick Grayson takes an early lead in speed! He has selected a bag of breakfast mix! Mr. Grayson, what do you plan to make?”

“Waffles!” said Dick, answering his own question. He slid over to the fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk and a container of heavy whipping cream. “I’ll be making chocolate chip waffles using the cherry juice for color and flavor, with the fruits themselves on top.”

“What about the peanut butter?” asked Bruce. 

“Flavor for whipped cream.”

“Oh. That’s clever.”

“No copy-cats. That’s cheating.”

“Right.” 

“What about you, Mr. Wayne? Ideas?” Dick pushed himself off the island and held a spatula up at Bruce’s face like a microphone.

Bruce held up a packet of something. 

“Ah!” Dick nodded in approval. “Can you tell us— why Jell-O?”

“It has instructions on the box.”

“You make good points.”

“I’m using the Speed-Set method. It’s highly technical.”

“I’m sure it is.” 

“But I’m still not positive it’s going to set in time.”

“I guess we’ll see?” said Dick. “It’s a good idea anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Alfred will taste this jello, and you will taste defeat.”

“Okay.”

Dick ran back to his island with a mixing bowl stolen from Bruce’s side of the kitchen. 

“Hey!” Bruce complained. 

“Sabotage,” said Dick, grinning. 

Dick stirred his milk into the waffle mix, then dumped in a generous pour of cherry juice. The mixture turned a delightful shade of bright pink. Dick left it for a few moments to slide back to Bruce’s side of the room. He overshot slightly and collided softly with the counter. 

“Whoops. Mr. Wayne, how does it go at station number two?”

“Well,” said Bruce. “I’m using the cherries in this jello, but I don’t really know what to do with the other two ingredients.”

“Thought process?”

“None.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I bet chocolate and peanut butter go together,” Bruce mused. 

“Yeah.”

“But in what?”

“I dunno.” Dick stepped back into the kitchen center. “Time?” he yelled.

“Eighteen minutes left,” said Alfred. 

Bruce hurriedly shoved a few glasses of red jello into the freezer. Dick returned to his station to pour his chocolate chips into his mixture. 

He pulled the waffle iron from the cabinet under the counter, sprayed it with the bottle of no-stick, plugged it in, and waited for it to heat up. While he did, he wandered over to Alfred’s table with his spatula. He held it out to Alfred. 

“Judge Pennyworth, your impressions?”

“I believe this will be interesting if nothing else.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I have not decided at this point.”

Dick nodded. “Time?”

“Fourteen minutes.”

“Oh, I better get back.”

Waffle iron ready, Dick gave his pink mixture a final stir and poured it in. He did spill some over the side of the bowl, and the counter, and the iron, but that was okay by him. The waffle iron steamed cheerily. 

Dick rummaged through the drawers for a whisk. He added vanilla and powdered sugar to his cream, then scooped in a few spoonfuls of peanut butter, then began to whisk as quickly as possible.

While he did, he went to investigate the other side of the kitchen. 

“Mr. Wayne! Have you formed a plan?”

“I think I’m going to make hot chocolate. With peanut butter.”

“And jello?”

“Served with jello.”

“That doesn’t really… go together.”

“I’m aware. It’ll have to do.”

“Okay, I guess. I gotta flip my waffle.”

Bruce nodded. Dick spun around a few times, just because, and flipped his waffle. He returned to his whisk. 

“Time?” Bruce called.

“Eight minutes.”

“Thanks.” When Dick looked over, Bruce had the milk. Bruce poured it into a mug, studied it for a few moments, and stuck it in the microwave. He hesitated again before punching in a number.

One minute. Dick shrugged. He didn’t know how long to put it in either. Alfred always made the hot chocolate at home, and before that, Dick’s dad. Bruce’s guess was as good as his. 

The microwave hummed as Dick’s whipped cream began to peak. He hummed along with the microwave in satisfaction. 

“Six minutes,” said Alfred. 

Dick’s waffle came out just fine, if not as pretty as he wanted. The chocolate chips that landed on the outside of the waffle marred the color a little bit, but the rest was suitably bright, and Dick liked it.

He set the waffle on a plate, stuck a few cherries on top, and slid to Bruce’s side again. Wait until the last moment to put on the whipped cream, he figured. That way it wouldn’t wilt. 

“Mr. Wayne appears to be stirring in chocolate chips and peanut butter,” Dick narrated. “Any comments, Mr. Wayne?”

“I hope my jello set.”

“I do too. Are you going to pull it out now?”

“I suppose.” Bruce stepped over to the freezer and removed his glasses. The red at the bottom of the glasses jiggled a little bit over the cherries settled at the bottom.

“Hm,” said Bruce. 

“I think it set.”

“Maybe.”

“One minute,” said Alfred. 

Dick heaped on a dollop of peanut butter whipped cream and set his plate on the table in front of Alfred. Bruce followed with a glass of jello and a gently steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Time,” said Alfred.

“Folks, it’s time for Judge Pennyworth to make his comments. Judge Pennyworth?”

“I comment,” said Alfred, “that this is surprisingly competent on Mr. Wayne’s part.”

Bruce took a bow. 

“We’ll start with Mr. Grayson’s dish. It’s a lovely color.”

“Thank you,” Dick said, smiling. 

“And for taste…” Alfred scooped off a section of whipped cream and nodded thoughtfully. “This is very nice. Let us taste the waffle.”

Dick beckoned Alfred onward. 

“This also is very nice,” Alfred decided. “Well done, Master Richard. We will now move to Mr. Wayne’s dish. Hm. Jello does not go with hot chocolate.”

“I know,” Bruce groaned. 

“But the fine glass goblets are a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“Your jello does appear to be set.”

“Thank God.”

“And this hot chocolate is ah,” Alfred took a sip, “a little flavorless, actually. I might suggest more chocolate next time.”

“Hm,” said Bruce. “I will take that into account every other time I do this.”

“Your sarcasm is unappreciated. If you could both leave the room?”

“Okay!” Dick grabbed Bruce’s arm and pulled him out through the living room and into the hallway that led to the bedrooms. 

“Was it fun?” Dick asked. 

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“As long as you’re having fun, I’m having fun.”

“I am ready,” said Alfred’s voice.

They hurried back into the dining room, where Alfred sat at his table with a large, covered platter in front of him. 

“Yes!” Dick exclaimed. He hopped in front of the table with his spatula. 

“Before we show a winner, let’s talk about our experience. Mr. Wayne! You put on a great show today. Why did you join this contest?”

“Oh thank you, I was forced to be here.”

“Forced by your love of cooking?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you proud of your dish?”

“I am, actually. That’s the best I’ve done in years.”

“I can confirm,” said Alfred. 

“You’re in fine form today,” said Bruce. 

“Okay!” said Dick. “Whose dish… is on the chopping block? Judge Pennyworth?”

Alfred lifted his cover to reveal a goblet of jello and a mug of hot chocolate.

“It was a hard decision, but alas, one I had to make.”

Dick grinned. 

“Bruce Wayne! Gotham nobility, the guillotine has come.”

“Dark,” said Bruce. 

“You have been chopped.”

“Okay.” 

“I receive honor and glory as my prize.”

“You receive clean-up duty,” said Alfred. “Both of you.”

[thdorkmagnet]

Light of the Sun and Stars Chapter 45: Quest for Love (and a Sandwich) (Preview)

Summary: His whole life Marco Diaz has been raised by monsters, living under the cruel rule of their leader, Toffee. But one day Marco escapes into Mewni where he meets a magical princess and Mewman like himself, who begins teaching him all about her world. Together they will learn about life, love, and the lights within each of them, as they change their world forever.

Chapter Synopsis: The time has finally come for Tom to confess his feelings to Janna! But when he struggles to form words around her, he asks Marco for help and the solution they come up with is... less than expected. Let’s just say it involves a sandwich. 

Check out my other stuff on Fanfiction!

Index

“Finally, after all this time, I can reveal my greatest dish,” Kelly whispered dramatically. She had given the entire worthless kitchen staff the day off so she could work in peace and not have to worry about greedy chefs trying to steal her secret recipe out from underneath her. She had only been working at the castle for a few weeks and had already learned how many of them had the same strive and ambition she did, just too inexperienced and lazy to pull it off. She had already started to whip them into shape though, they had stopped crying every time she yelled at them at least. So that was decent progress.  

“Are you sure?” Marco asked, staring down at the boiling pot in awe, the lid covering the contents inside, the hooded teen beginning to doubt if he was ready to face what lay within. “What if it’s too soon?” 

Kelly shook her head, her brow furrowed in concentration. “No. This is it, Marco. But I need you to be ready in case something goes wrong. Can I count on you to be my sous chef?” She turned to him with a grim look, waiting to hear his response. 

The boy nodded vigorously, putting on his best game face. “Yeah. I’m ready, Kelly.” 

“Good,” the green-haired girl responded, slipping on an oven mitt and placing it firmly on the handle of the lid. “Then, here we go!”

Both her and Marco simultaneously slipped on large metal masks to help shield their sensitive faces. Kelly also placed a smaller one over her snoozing boyfriend Tad, who was asleep in her hair as usual. She made sure the mask was down over his face so she wouldn’t have to worry about him catching fire. The two teens then shared a masked look with each other an unspoken trust passing between them before Kelly ripping the lid off the boiling pan. 

A layer of hot steam rose off of the boiling mess inside: red, hot mist that formed a skull in the air before fading. Marco flinched and positioned himself behind Kelly, his protective instincts making his body move against his will. The Woolett girl showed no fear however, even making the fool-hardy choice to lean over the boiling mess of liquid so she could examine it closer. Her expert eyes slowly skimmed over her own concoction to make sure it was finished. 

“Is it… done?” Marco asked, his voice shaking fearfully. Kelly had already briefed him multiple times how her super secret recipe could possibly explode if not made properly and he would really prefer not to burn alive if he could help it, he had plans later that day. 

“Looks like it,” Kelly replied thoughtfully. She whipped out a spoon from her apron, holding it just an inch over the bubbling soup. “But there’s only one way to know for sure.”

“Hold on a second,” Marco said, stopping her just before she could scoop up a bite. He reached down under the table and hefted a heavy fire extinguisher onto the counter, making sure it was ready in case something went horribly wrong. “Okay, go.”

Marco frowned seriously as he watched the spoon of questionable contents rise to his friend’s lips, Kelly lifting up the fire shield so she could sip her creation. The hooded teen studied the Woolett anxiously as she smacked her lips a few times, clearly considering the taste carefully. He relaxed a bit when she didn’t burst into flames but still felt the need to ask, “Well?”

Kelly nodded before saying, “Not bad.”  

“Yes!” Marco exclaimed cheerfully, ready to celebrate with all the intensity and vibrancy his friend deserved in this moment of triumph. “You did it, Kelly! I knew you could! Your super secret recipe is a success!” 

“Whoa, whoa, Marco,” Kelly said, trying to call her friend down a bit. “I know this is a big moment and all but now is not the time to start freaking out. I mean I’m the only one who’s even tried it yet, I have no idea if it’s that good.”

“I know, I know,” Marco said quickly, his tone apologetic for just an instance before returning to his peppy brightness. “I’m just so happy for you, Kelly! I mean it’s taken you months to make this stuff! You should be proud of yourself for sticking with it for so long!”

Kelly nodded, all humbleness leaving her at the praise, feeling her ego only grow with every word. “Well, it wasn’t exactly easy to make the hottest, most delicious stew of all time. But I did it.” She absentmindedly started to stir the red hot stew, talking out loud as she worked. “I mean just finding the right ingredients for the stew was a challenge in itself. Most people said volcano peppers couldn’t even be heated without them exploding but then I’m not most people, am I?” 

“And no one but you would’ve figured out the trick to cooking them," Marco admired, hoping to boost his friend’s confidence even more with the praise. The trick had been simple in the end, just keep it at a constant simmer for three months straight. Only Kelly could have cracked that code.

“Well after working with Roy for long enough, I learned a few tricks to avoid exploding food.” The Woolett shuddered at the multiple memories of her previous place of employment. But she perked up as she continued to brag to her friend in a mischievous tone, “And now this stuff is gonna make pain pepper tacos taste like ice cream in comparison.” 

Marco cringed as he remembered the feeling of his tongue melting, asking hesitantly, “Isn’t that kind of unsafe?”

Kelly shrugged. “Relax, Marco. I’m not Roy. I would never make something that could endanger someone’s life.”

The Woolett was cut off as a burst of flame shot up from the pan, the two teens screaming and jumping back to avoid being burned alive. The fire continued to crackle for a few seconds before it slowly died down till it was just hot steam rising off the now-ruined stew. Marco and Kelly blinked in disbelief, the hooded teen about to voice his shock when they heard a familiar person call out. “Marco! Marco, are you there?!” 

“Tom?” Marco looked around in surprise for any sign of his friend. “Where are you?” he asked when he failed to spot him right away.

“Look in the pan,” came his answer and both teens hesitantly approached the boiling stew. Only now the surface of the liquid had a familiar face on it. “TOM! What are you doing in Kelly’s secret stew?!”

“Ruining everything,” Kelly mumbled in annoyance, shooting the demon boy a hated glare.

“It’s an old demon trick,” Tom explained quickly, only for his tone to turn panicked and dire, “But nevermind that, I need your help!”

“Why didn’t you just call him?” Kelly snapped. 

“No time! It’s an emergency!” Tom shouted, his voice shaking with worry. 

Marco gasped. “Don’t worry, Tom-” The hooded teen struck a dramatic pose before proclaiming, “I’m on my way!”

“Uh, what about my stew?” Kelly crossed her arms, sending chilling glares to both boys. 

Marco locked eyes with the Tom image before saying, “Uhh, I’ll help you remake it later.”

Kelly groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Fine, whatever, just go.” 

“Thanks Kelly, I owe you one,” Marco said running from the room. The Woolett looked sadly over at her ruined creation, Tom’s face now gone but her once-delicious stew now a burnt and inedible mess, grieving for all the hard work that had been wasted thanks to one friend’s mistake. She let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the counter so she could stare sadly into the bubbling pot. 

Marco poked his head back into the kitchen, giving the girl a sheepish expression, before asking, “Uhh Kelly, one more favor?”

Kelly raised her head and slowly looked in his direction, her eyes full of anger and death. “What?!” she snapped to him in annoyance. 

Marco gave his friend the most apologetic look he had, his fingers tapping nervously on the doorframe as he asked softly, “Um, can I please borrow your dimensional scissors?” 

The Woolett glared at him for a few more seconds, the boy giving her a puppy dog look back. The intense staring contest continued for a few seconds before Kelly gave in, throwing her head back and letting out an annoyed groan. “Fine, you win! You're lucky I can’t stay mad at you!” She stomped over to the teen and practically shoved her scissors into his hands. “Here, take it.” 

“Thanks Kelly,” Marco shouted gleefully, giving her a quick hug before running from the kitchen, yelling over his shoulder, “I promise I’ll make it up to you later!” 

Kelly just sighed and went back to work, disposing of her ruined batch of secret stew and cleaning up her messy kitchen, grumbling the whole time about how inconsiderate Tom was and how she couldn't believe she considered him a friend and how no one appreciated a royal chef, somehow her boyfriend Tad sleeping blissfully on.

[snowdice]

The Things We Never Mentioned (Part 3-Final) [Part of the Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters: Logan, Patton, The one EMT from the last chapter

Summary:

“Believe it or not, academia and relationships are not mutually exclusive.” That was likely true, Logan knew. It was also not the problem.

The problem was his ability to move things with his mind, a blue suit he kept in his bag, and the mountains of red files he kept hidden in his apartment. No one knew that Logan was Bluebird, the cities resident superhero. He hadn’t even told his parents and he wasn’t planning on doing so. Sharing such a secret with anyone was a danger to everyone involved. He refused to do so.

At the same time, he knew that starting a romantic relationship with anyone who didn’t know the truth, was unfair to that person. Inevitably they would find out and there would be a disastrous fallout, but beyond that, starting a relationship on a foundation of lies was a horribly cruel thing to do to another person.

These two conflicting rules Logan followed had never posed an issue for him before recently, but…

But he did like Patton.

This is a three-shot dealing with events set before my story Sometimes Labels Fail set about a month and a half after the mini fics A Coffee Shop Meet Cute and A Coffee Shop Incident Report.

Notes: Superhero AU, Surgery, Medical Procedures, Drugs for Medical Purposes

Part 1  Part 2

Awareness came in waves for Logan.

At first there were just impressions of voices, but no understanding of any of the words. The sharp smell of disinfectant tingled at his nose and he strung together with bits of memory that he was likely in a hospital, but that knowledge faded as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Next, he was jostled a bit and then he could feel himself being moved while the click-clack of wheels met his ears. He cracked open his eyes briefly to see the long rectangular lights in a hallway’s roof. Someone spoke but he just hummed and closed his eyes again.

Then, he woke briefly as just a bit of sunlight was starting to stream through the windows, opening his eyes for just a moment before closing them again. Things were starting to hurt just a bit now beyond the fog of whatever drugs were in his system. He tried to struggle against the drowsiness that seemed to creep through his veins, not particularly content with the sensation, but a hand touched his shoulder. “It’s okay,” a voice said softly and for some reason he believed it and let himself be pulled back under.

He listened for a bit the next time he woke. He could hear the steady beat of the heart monitor and a whispered conversation a small distance away. That was probably a good sign. Though he had yet to try to move, his body ached and smarted, especially his chest and lower abdomen. Luckily, the pressure of his mask was still on his face. With a breath, he blinked open his eyes. He moved a bit and a face was immediately hovering over him.

“You’re awake,” Patton said. Why was Patton here? He racked his brain, a vague memory of Patton dressed up as a doctor coming to mind. In fact, he was wearing a doctor’s coat now. Was he a doctor? Logan didn’t know he was a doctor…

That didn’t matter right now. He wasn’t Logan right now.

He cleared his throat, but it still came out a little hoarse. “I am.”

“Your mask was not removed,” Patton said, face serious in a way Logan hadn’t seen it be before. “You had a couple of people making sure of that.” He nodded at a woman sitting in a chair on the other side of Logan’s bed.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I was one of the EMTs on scene.” Yes, Logan thought. He remembered her if only through a pain filled haze. “I was tasked with upholding the mask courtesy.”

“Thank you,” Logan said, but then he blinked up at Patton. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Patton bit his lip. “I was your surgeon. You, uh, said a couple of things when you were out of it.”

Logan swallowed. “What did I say?” he asked.

“Nothing that reveled much other than that you know me.”

Logan closed his eyes and sighed. “I see.”

“If you feel you are well enough and are willing to sign the release form for me, I can leave and let you two have this discussion in private,” the EMT offered.

He nodded. “That would probably be for the best.” She produced the papers and he quickly signed them. With a brief nod to Patton, she was gone.

Patton slowly sat down on the edge of Logan’s bed, angled so Logan could see half of his face. “I won’t ask your identity,” he started, “but I do have to admit I… figured it out. Not many people know me by name, but don’t know I’m a doctor.”

Logan felt his throat tighten. “I see.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the heaviness of knowledge hanging in the air around them.

“You never mentioned you were a doctor,” Logan said softly.

A melancholy smile ghosted across his lips. “I like to pretend sometimes that I’m not,” he said. “I go to coffee shops or parks and just exist. I read books and talk to interesting mathematicians,” his smile got just a little bit more genuine as his eyes flickered to Logan’s, “and I try to forget for a couple of hours all the responsibilities I have in these walls, all of the things I see, the feelings I can’t escape when it’s all over and I’m alone.”

“That’s…” Logan said. He didn’t know what that was. Patton always seemed so cheerful. He was always ready with soft smiles and warm touches, but he did not seem happy now.

“I…” he said when Logan didn’t move to say anything else for a long moment, “I’m pretty good at pretending. I can forget that I know this. But…”

“But?”

“Will you let me drive you home?” he asked. “I know you can’t stay here long, but you’re hurt and I… I would like to make sure you get home okay.”

Logan paused to think, but there was really no reason to refuse at this point. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“I feel I should be the one thanking you.”

“Please don’t.” Logan was frozen, unsure what to do in this situation, but he wanted to do something. Before Logan could devise an action to take, Patton seemed to shake off whatever emotion had had ahold of him and turned to face Logan fully. “I’d like you to eat something before I release you and then I have some cloths for you that should fit in my locker.”

Logan agreed, and he was quickly handed a package of applesauce and a carton of milk. When he found he was still hungry, Patton brought him a sandwich. After that, Patton checked on his wounds briefly with intense eyes and gentle fingers. He seemed reluctant to leave him alone to go get the cloths, but Logan tossed the empty apple sauce container and plastic spoon into the trashcan with his powers, carefully hiding the wince as everything inside him ached at the action, and he left.

Patton came back with a bag of clothing and without his doctor’s coat and removed the IV before helping Logan get to his feet. Logan’s ribs ached horribly at the movement, but he schooled his face. Patton gave him a suspicious look at the lack of pain on his face.

Logan changed into the clothing in a small bathroom that he was pretty sure was only for staff and stuck the mask into the bag the cloths had been in. He watched Patton’s face when he exited the bathroom, but there wasn’t even a flicker of surprise.

“Here, sit,” Patton ordered, making Logan bristle just a bit at the tone even though he was probably right.

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Logan argued, his face twisting up.

“Please,” Patton said softly and oh, Logan wanted to argue, but he couldn’t when he caught sight of the expression on the other man’s face. He sat in the chair and let Patton fuss a bit over him before he wheeled him into the hospital parking lot. If Logan was being honest, walking to the bathroom had worn him out and the parking lot was quite a distance away, so it was likely best that he hadn’t walked even though it wounded his pride a bit.

He gave Patton directions to his apartment complex. He pulled into some of the street parking outside the building. “You live closer to the hospital than I do,” Patton commented. “I live on Monroe.” He fed the meter a few coins before coming around to help Logan into the apartments.

They took it slow, but Logan was still trying not to pant when they finally made it to his door. “How many ribs did I break again?” he asked once the door closed behind him.

Patton frowned at him and herded him toward his couch. “Four,” he replied. “So, make sure to take it easy.” Logan nodded and leaned back against his couch exhausted. Patton looked around. “Your apartment is… very tidy,” he commented. “Do you have any blankets or pillows?”

Logan hummed. “Hall closet.” Patton walked away and came back with what was almost certainly his entire blanket and pillow collection. “I’m not that cold,” he protested. Patton ignored the protest and positioned the blankets and pillows around him to make a sort of nest and pulled one of the blankets over him. Okay, he had to admit that was sort of nice. He relaxed back into the couch.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Logan said.

“Water at least,” Patton fretted.

“Patton,” he said. Patton blinked at him. The faucet in the kitchen started running and a glass of water zipped into his hand, Logan being careful to keep the water in the cup despite the speed. Using his powers hurt a bit less this time at least.

“Right,” Patton said. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but then he stopped and looked away. “Do you need a doctor’s note or anything for work or school? I could get one for you.”

“I didn’t have to be anywhere today. All I have left to do is grade which I can do from my couch. Also, I wouldn’t want people to be able to trace things back to you. It’s unlikely anyone would look, but you are on record for having done surgery on Bluebird last night.”

“I was going to forge Doctor Walter’s signature on it. He forgets when his glasses are on his face half the time. If someone ever brought it up to him, he’d just assume he forgot about writing it.”

“Should the man be working as a health professional then?”

Patton shrugged. “No.”

Logan laughed and Patton smiled back at him, but it faded slightly at the edges after a moment. “Well, if you really don’t need anything, then I should probably go.”

Logan paused, an ache in his chest not due to the fractured ribs. He didn’t need anything from Patton, but he really didn’t want him to go. “Of course,” Logan said anyway. Patton after all, had his own life to attend to.

Patton nodded and grabbed his bag. “Here are instructions for homecare,” he said, setting down a packet of paper on Logan’s coffee table. “Follow them, please,” he requested.

“I will,” Logan promised.

“Good,” Patton replied, “I… hope you feel better soon.”

“I’m sure I will. From what I understand, my doctor was very good.” Patton gave him a half smile and turned to the door. Logan stopped him before he opened it. “You said you’d be willing to forget this ever happened,” Logan said.

Patton paused and turned back to give him a tiny smile. “Of course.”

“I don’t want that,” Logan said.

Patton blinked at him a few times before a larger smile graced his face. “Okay then,” he said. “Um, I left my phone number on the instructions in case you needed anything medical related. So, call me if you need me?”

“I will,” said Logan and then he paused. “Also, if you are at any point worried, you can feel free to come back and check on me. If you aren’t busy.”

He looked relieved at the offer. “I’ll do that,” Patton said. “I’ll bring you something to eat for dinner, so you don’t have to cook.”

“That would be nice.”

“Okay,” he replied and bit his lip before opening the door and stepping back into the apartment hallway. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Logan said. He closed the door behind him. Logan had a long time to think that day and the days after while he healed, even while trying to grade his student’s exams on time. Most of those thoughts were about Patton. He had two rules, you see, that were almost always in conflict, but…

But they weren’t for Patton anymore.

Thanks for reading!

The next part of the Relabeled; Refiled prequel series is  Logan’s 25 Step Plan to Ask a Boy Out.

[peachymess]

He chose friendship

After finally having visited the final exhibition in Tokyo myself, I’m left with a lot of thoughts. First of all: the exhibition was amazing! All the coverage of it does not do it justice! The videos made for this event, were stunning! And they have several important artifacts from the story on display in 1:1 scale that just gave me all the feels. Armin’s book, pages open, was lying less than two meters away from me, for instance! I wasn’t even aware they had his book until a few days beforehand, when I saw an image of it by pure chance! I went 4 times, and I could go again. A+!

Anyways, I’ll gush about my trip later. Right now, I want to tell you guys about something I picked up on that I really want to share. You see, I didn’t expect a lot of answers going in; the coverage had already show and told us what the exhibition was all about. And no, I still have no clue what that ending sound is… But I – quite surprisingly  – think I found the answer to the question posed on Armin’s wall. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Red background, seashell in hand. The nerve wrecking words: “is it truth or friendship that he has chosen to believe in?” like the truth is now in opposition with his personal relationships…

Well, I’m here to tell you I know the answer. Let’s just skip right to it: Armin chose friendship.

Here’s why:  

Truth is fleeting. It changes from person to person, based on the deciphering key we use to read the world around us. Truth is a construct. It is what we decide it is. Take Armin’s speech to Annie about good and bad people; it’s the same thing: one person’s action is in truth, both a good thing and a bad thing – depending on who’s looking. If Annie had chosen not to help Armin, she would – in truth – have made a non-beneficial choice. To Armin. However, that same choice, was a beneficial one – to Annie. Her choice is both beneficial, and not – but not both. Just either or, equally, depending on point of view. Two realities, both true. Truth is truly fleeting.

…That’s one way of seeing it anyways. I’m not here to start a philosophical discussion with you. I do, personally, largely subscribe to the abovementioned way of seeing it. However, whether you do or not, is irrelevant here. Because, the exhibition (and the story of SNK) very clearly, tells its visitors that this is how truth works in SNK. The notion of truth being fleeting, is explicitly confirmed as (ironically enough) true, for the SNK universe. As a matter of fact, the entire exhibition seems to have as objective to make you understand just how amputated your understanding of life is, if you lead your life with “one truth” as your compass. The exhibition fronts the duality of reality seen from “growing up inside the walls” vs “growing up outside the walls” almost to an awkwardly spoon-feeding degree. “Truth” is the weakest card, we get it.

As you enter the “paths room”, this is literally the writing on the wall:

By now you know,

that the “truth” is not the only one

in this world.

 But one thing that is for sure

Is that you were born here

 So, you can continue

to choose your own reality.

So, you can carry on progressing

until you burn out the life

you’ve been born with.

What I’m trying to say here, is that after setting Armin’s dilemma up in a way that’s supposed to sound difficult, the exhibition gives the answer away by thoroughly deconstructing “truth” to the degree that it’s barely tangible enough to “choose”.  

Listen, when you read the question, you wondered, didn't you? What the answer would be? Or if you didn’t, didn’t you at least entertain the idea that both “truth” and “friendship” are strong contenders for Armin’s core? Because they are. Almost; Armin is soft for his friends and for general kindness. He has a very human, very gentle side to him. The same side that dreams of far away places where lights dance in the sky and where you can walk on miles and miles of sand and ice – and much, much more. But he also has a cynical side to him, one that says the end justifies the means and that he should throw anything way (including love and kindness) on a personal level if that’s what’s required for the greater good. This side shoots women in the face without hesitation when, in the grand scheme of things, it is beneficial. The same side sees the benefit in having his friend eaten if he poses a threat to all mankind (sidenote: just because he can see such a benefit does not mean he wishes for it; I can see the benefit in going to the gym but it doesn’t mean I want to go). Basically, there is a duality in Armin: he is both full of love for life and people, and simultaneously ready to throw it away and turn cynical in order to pursue what’s “right”. So when those two sides are set up against each other, which side comes out on top?

That’s basically what the question at the exhibition is trying to make you think; that the current events of the story is making it impossible to hold on to both – that the “truth” is that he has to oppose Eren in order to achieve a positive outcome – or that the only way to hold on to Eren is by directly acting against his better judgment.

However, it’s easy to poke holes in this supposed problem: for starters, “truth” is not a strong representative for Armin’s cynical side at all. If there’s one character who’s explicitly opposed a fixed truth, it’s Armin (read: his speech to Annie). His strong desire to communicate with others also tell us that he’s open to the idea that things may look different from others’ point of view. Armin isn’t pursuing truth, because he doesn’t believe it’s fixed. Actually, it’s almost the opposite: he already knows his own truth, so he keeps trying to seek out others’ in order to expand/change his own. Basically, Armin already know the lesson that the final exhibition is trying to teach us: that “the truth” is a weak concept. So between “truth” and “friendship”, Armin will have no problem picking actual human relations with high chances of a positive outcome (based on context), over… something that can’t even really be pinpointed; truth. Hell, it even changes from person to person, so what truth would he be choosing?

 “Ok, so maybe they phrased that badly. The point is he has to choose mankind or Eren, right? That’s still the issue.” Nope. They worded it exactly right. Because the “truth” is, Armin doesn’t know where Eren stands. He can’t choose to go against Eren for the greater good, before he knows that the two are even opposites to begin with. Armin’s theme for this arc has been that he doesn’t feel like he understand Eren any more. We see him struggle to try to figure out precisely if Eren IS opposing the greater good or not. As of chapter 120, he has yet to know the answer to that. In other words, the “truth” option is NOT “I have to go against Eren”; it’s “I still don’t know exactly where he stands and thus what is the best action to take for the greater god. I will have to keep digging until I know enough to make a choice on what to do”. It’s still possible that his search would lead him to the fact that Eren needs to be opposed, eventually, but at this point in time, he doesn’t know that, and thus – since he has already “chosen to believe in” either – it cannot mean “opposing Eren”, as neither “friendship” nor specifically “truth” contains “Eren is bad”. Thus, the only one of the two option that opens up for decisive action, is “friendship”; ultimately, “truth” vs “friendship” looks like this: either Armin chooses to trust and back Eren, or he chooses to keep wondering where Eren stands. If not for any other reason than good story telling, it’s time Isayama put Armin on a decisive path, to push the narrative along.  

As a digression, I’d like to say that I’m aware that the last two or three chapters seem to lean so heavily towards Armin trusting Eren that I’d almost say we’ve been shown the answer already – but I see a lot of you are still worried, and that’s why I’m adding in my two cents on the matter. I already beforehand wanted to believe he chose friendship, but it was only once I experienced the exhibition myself that I saw just how obvious it was.

Anyways, back on track: that’s why I say they worded it exactly right; Armin’s dilemma is not “opposing Eren fore the greater good” vs “discarding his better judgment to prioritize his personal relationship with Eren”. Armin’s two core personalities are not being put up against each other, so they can’t say they are. They (and by “they” I mean Isa/editors/those that worked on the exhibition) are simply playing off the theme of the arc: the fear that Armin has had – and that many EMA fans have had – which is that the truth about Eren will turn out to be that he’s gone off the deep end and needs to be opposed by the two people who love him the most. For a while, it also was made to look like it was likely the case (all to scare us, mind you). “The truth” sounds scary on its own – but even more so when they’ve built up a contextually contained denotation that it means something bad. By saying “truth”, they are using the decoy of fear to distract us from the fact that it’s an empty threat – for all the reasons listed above.

Another digression to make the dilemma sound even less scary: every major character whom had a wall dedicated to them, got an equally ominous rhetorical question written next to them. Look at it like the splash text at the end of each chapter; it’s just there to quicken your pulse, remind you of the stakes and make you want to keep reading to find the answer. Also, the color red is used to identify the Eldian side throughout the exhibition and is used to singnal “belonging to Eldia” - it’s not there to ask you scary questions you don’t wanna answer (while I’m sure it IS there to make you feel nervous about the fate and righteousness of their side vs Marley - again, to blow the “right and wrong” out of the water). 

Anyways, if Armin’s two cores were set up against each other, it’d be an interesting match for sure… but that’s not what’s happening here. Truth has got nothing on friendship in this context. Armin chose friendship. Because friendship… is magic.

[booksandgalore]

Mirrors of Pride [Yandere!BTS]

Foreword:

Taehyung's company is enjoyable when he isn't contemplating about the different shades of black-and-white filters. Sure, he cares too much about the number of likes he has on social media.

And, yes, maybe you have to reject taking pictures of him everytime he hands you his phone, but true friends stay with each other no matter what. You just need to overlook his growing vanity, and ignore all the warning signs when he starts talking about someone non-existent.

Author’s Note:

It’s my first time posting (cross-posting) a story on Tumblr! Bear with me as I navigate how to link, edit my layout, etc. Though if you do have an tips and/or pointers on how I can make my blog look more appealing, haha, then I’ll take them. Do leave a comment if you enjoyed it!

1

The blueberry gelato you purchased was going to melt soon, but you couldn’t even taste it until Taehyung had some pictures of himself with your gelato and his. Currently, you had snapped over fifty pictures, in different angles, too, and you got out of your seat to take more. The sweltering heat made your baby hairs stick on your forehead and all over your cheeks.

”Okay,” you said, handing his phone back. “What do you think?”

You stood behind his chair as you watched him scroll through the photos one-by-one. Taehyung kept zooming in on his face, only to pinch his fingers back out and focus on a minuscule detail like a wrinkle on the right sleeve of his clothing.

“Can you take more on your phone? Maybe it’ll be different,” he requested, peering up from his device to look at you, his neck craned back.

You ran your fingers through your hair and felt the sweat of your scalp through your fingertips. Although you took a shower this morning, you were going to have to shower again later.

Breathing deeply, you brought your phone out of your back pocket and snapped a picture of him in this position. Taehyung immediately took a scoop of his strawberry gelato and held the spoon to his lips. You took a picture, and another when he closed his eyes but still had the uneaten gelato close to his lips.

Then, a drop fell onto his chin. It dribbled down. You were about to grab a tissue off of the table to give it to him until he mumbled that you should continue. You did as he asked. The sound of the camera shuttering was all you guys heard for the next three minutes as Taehyung continued posing in different positions.  

“You’re welcome,” you said, plopping down onto your chair. You reached for your dessert and found that it was half liquid. You looked over at Taehyung’s gelato; it was in the same state as yours, and you sighed.

Opening up Instagram on your phone, you started to slouch. Posts about vacations in California, Rome, and Beijing filled your timeline. Or was it feed? You were confused by the verbiage ever since Facebook bought Instagram and honestly where was the FAFSA police when you needed them? These "broke" college students shouldn't be out there living it up. And why were they on vacation when you still had two weeks of spring semester left? Did they take their finals early? When you were done, you handed your phone to Taehyung, who took it eagerly.

“Appreciate it,” he said. After browsing through the photos you took of him, he placed your phone down on his lap as he smiled at you. “I mean it. Thank you.”

You observed the silver rings on his fingers as he tapped on the table in a seemingly rhythmic beat. The rings were pretty. Maybe you should copy some of his style.

“You’re going to Korea soon, right?” You leaned back against your chair and splayed out your legs. A trickle of sweat ran past your neck.

It was really hot outside, but Taehyung wore a dark blue dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and had a black t-shirt inside that was revealed when the first two buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned. He also wore black ripped jeans. Wasn’t it hotter when you wore darker colors? Beauty was pain, you guessed.

“Only for one month in July.” Taehyung leaned back in his chair as well. “Why? Are you going to miss me?”

“No,” You shook your head, “you’re going to miss me.”

At this, Taehyung laughed loudly, his eyes crinkling. “Get KakaoTalk so I can text you without getting charged there.”

”Why? So you can spam my phone with pictures of yourself? You already have a mirror.” You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Also, how can I get KakaoTalk if you have my phone?”

”You mean this?” Taehyung showed your device in his hand, but he made no attempt to give it back to you. “I can just figure out your password.” He was typing in a random combination of numbers until he unlocked your phone successfully.

Startled, you rose up from your seat as he shielded the phone away from you.

“Relax, I’m transferring the photos you took of me to my phone!” he said, huddling himself into a ball. The people around you stared at him briefly before chatting to themselves.

With the slit of your screen showing through the opening in his posture, you glanced down, realizing he was going through your Snapchat messages and replying back with a selfie of himself. How typical.

“Taehyung...” You grasped his shoulder. “I’m not getting Kakao if you’re being like this.” It was a fake threat, but he didn’t need to know that. Honestly, you wanted him to stop because Hoseok was in your contacts and you knew Taehyung wasn’t fond of his step-brother. If Taehyung found out, when he already confessed these deep feelings of disdain about Hoseok to you, then you weren’t sure what he would do. He had a vanity problem already, and some slight possessive attachment in his friendship with you.

However, Taehyung continued mass replying to your friends.

”Taehyung,” you tried again, shaking his shoulder roughly. He didn’t budge. “Alright, I guess I’m gonna get your phone.”

He straightened up and stared at you. “I don’t have anything to hide, (Name). You know me. Do you have something you want to hide?”

“No.” You swore your heart skipped a beat when the lie rolled out your tongue.

“Then we’ll look at my phone together. It’s only fair, right?” There were moments where Taehyung sounded peculiar, and this was one of them. Was it something in his tone, or was it this… aura that he emitted? Either one led you–dare you spoke of it lest you became a bad friend who misinterpreted things and blew them out of proportion–to be cautious of him.

”Here.” Swiping his phone off the table, Taehyung placed it on your palm. ”The password is two, five, six, eight.” He wasn’t taking his hand away from yours, so you inputted with your free hand the code he gave you. The rings on his fingers provided a cool sensation on your skin despite the ongoing heat from the sun.

“You can check my texts," Taehyung suggested. "You can read through them."

You bit the inside of your cheek while you hesitantly tapped on his conversation with Taeyong, a mutual friend. There were Korean characters you couldn't decipher. The words were too advanced, and you only learned the language when Hoseok taught you sporadically. However, you did catch onto these English memes Taehyung and Taeyong shared with each other. You thought you were invading Taeyong's privacy somewhat as Taehyung encouraged you to keep scrolling.

"See, (Name)?" His eyes bore into your own. "I've got nothing to hide."

"Yeah, me too," you blurted back, letting him keep his phone and yours for now. You returned back to your seat.

Friends need to accept all the aspects that come with a person whether good or bad, you reminded yourself of this as Taehyung scrutinized the photos in your camera roll, eyes trained on his appearance and whatever it meant to him as he explored the saturations and color schemes he could use.

You observed your friend for a few more minutes before redirecting your thoughts to the final exams coming up. The stress to think about the exams rather than on the behavior of your friend had eased your mind considerably. Soon, you began to daydream off-topic about fast cars and towering mansions as Taehyung continued to edit his pictures.

Smiling unconsciously, you then remembered how you were a bit vain yourself. You had three thousand, one-hundred-seventy-five dollars and thirty cents to your name before. The rest of the money was in your latest Fila shoes, and in the latest iPad Pro that you cradled to sleep every night. When your three thousand, one-hundred-seventy-five dollars and thirty cents to your name dropped to a staggering fifty-dollars, you had promised for a new year, new you, and you made a resolution to curb your materialistic tendencies in the middle of sweet old July of last year.

“I’m going to change,” you declared to yourself, browsing through self-improvement articles online. You had another tab open, but you swore on your mother’s grave that you were just living vicariously through a YouTuber’s shopping haul and nothing more.

“I’m going to change,” you said to Taeyong and Jimin, your two closest friends, as you all painted random animals on a canvas. Hoping it will restrain the temptations of eating out and watching movies, you tried to love your newest hobby.

But people didn't change easily.

After all, we make money to enjoy money, you would say as you received your paycheck, the thickness of the envelope sending a familiar rush of adrenaline through the palms of your hands.

Soon summer break had ended and you were left daydreaming in your classes about the salary you'd get from becoming a doctor. You’ll have a stable job and a stable life, your mother would remind you in the living room every so often. You would doodle on the edges of your notes and wish that time could past by faster because you were stuck in a world where you were just you and the you then needed to step up from a measly five hundred bucks. Your fingers couldn't sprint against the piano keys as well as Jill, nor could you code websites in your free-time like Mr. Full-Ride classmate Jaehyun, but you did have money and it was what kept you going.

Money was entertainment. Money was activities. Money was the awe-struck gaze your parents looked at you with when you paid for the restaurant bill at a family outing. Money was whatever you wanted it to be, and it was breathtaking, inspiring, motivating, and, damn, your eyes were bleeding green, huh?

“How do you do it?” you had asked. “How are you so happy the majority of the time?”

“I’ll show you how,” Taehyung replied, one hand holding the strap of his backpack. He took out a hand-held mirror from the first zipper and gave it to you. “You have to love yourself.“

"And how do I do this...loving myself thing?”

“(Name), it’s simple.” He sighed, leaning closer to you to observe himself through his own mirror, a light red tint on his cheeks. “You think to yourself, you are everything you ever wanted.” Almost reluctantly, he peered up from the mirror to look at you, but you felt as if he never truly looked away, as if he was still tracing the contours of his nose and the outlines of his eyes, his lips, through the glare of the glasses perched on your nose.

“Beauty is on the inside.” He sighed again, placing a hand over his chest. “But it can also be made.”

You noticed the slight pout on his lips as he stashed the mirror away. He had never changed since high school. Always staring at himself as he walked past anything reflective, anything that resembled him, and you––

You had been snapped out of your memory when Taehyung voiced out a question.

"Should we go now? We have class tomorrow with Professor Smith at nine in the morning."

"Hm?" You blinked. "Ah, yeah, we should."

You threw your gelato in the trash and bidded a goodbye, heading off to your home. Developing a friendship with Taehyung was a journey, to say the least.

[next chapter]

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- Part 2 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

thank you so much for all the positive responses i recieved after posting part 1 of my stepbro fic!!  y’all nasty hoes truly have my heart. here, without further ado, is part 2 ;) 

PART ONE 

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships, fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, drug mentions, alcohol mentions, blowjobs/facefucking, fingering, choking, rough sex, loss of virginity, dirty talk

word count: 7.2k 

tags: @alicecooper19 @blackfyrez @bbyduncan @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @satansapostle @trelaney @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning @wroteclassicaly @langdonsinferno @ritualmichael @dvngers @ccodyfern @starwlkers @xtheinevitableprophecyx @americanhorrorstudies @sodanova @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @rhibbons @sojournmichael (sorry if i forgot anyone!!)

i.

You blinked twice, lifting your fists to your eyes and rubbing away the last remnants of sleep as you rolled onto your back with a groan. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room reasonably dim, but you could see fragments of warm morning light spilling out from the edges, casting long sunspots along the bed.

Something felt wrong.

You turned your head slightly, directing your eyes towards the wall opposite you; you were met with the vacant stare of curvy brunette model, dressed only in a leather jacket and panties, and all at once you realized where you were.

Michael’s room.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The memories from the night before came flooding back to you like a tsunami: Michael’s large hands groping your sensitive flesh, his soft lips on your hot skin, his hooded eyes looking up at you from between your parted thighs.

Holy ever loving mother of christ.

You shot up from beneath the blankets, scrambling from the bed and meeting your bare feet with the carpeted floor. According to the clock on Michael’s bedside table, it was 9:30 am. You saw the bong beside it, blackened chunks of weed still left behind in the metal bowl, reminding you of how you’d even allowed yourself to go through with something so utterly stupid.

This was not good. This was really, really not good. You were granted some relief when you noticed that at some point the night before, you’d dressed yourself again before falling asleep (in your fucking stepbrother’s bed! What if someone had walked in?, you thought with a shake of your head). You left Michael’s room as quickly as you could; as soon as you got into the hallway, your senses were overtaken with the smell of sizzling bacon- your father always made a point to cook breakfast for everyone on the weekends, hoping that would somehow better establish a family dynamic.

You stopped in your room to change into a pair of sweatpants and oversized t-shirt, figuring your parents might be suspicious should you come downstairs in last night’s clothes. Then you headed down to the kitchen, attempting to compose yourself as best you could.

Your father was standing behind the stove, mixing a bowl of pancake batter while Miriam worked the coffee machine; at the table sat Michael, hardly looking up as you entered, distracted by something on his phone. You looked away before he had the chance to make eye contact.

“Look who’s finally decided to join us,” said your father playfully, spooning a ladle full of batter onto the iron pan.

You gave him a weak smile. “‘Morning.”

“How did your date go?” asked Miriam as she poured a stream of black coffee into her favorite mug.

“Uh, it was okay.”

You were far from in the mood to explain what had happened the night before, so you decided instead to play it cool for now and then never mention the boy again.

“What did you two do?” asked your father.

“We went to dinner and then he took me bowling,” you said shortly, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions. You walked over to the counter where your father had laid several strips of bacon out on a paper towel, picking a slice up and biting into it.

“Hey, wait until everything is ready,” he laughed. As he looked at you, you saw his eyes fall to your neck, and instantly his smile faded. “What’s that?”

Oh fuck.

Your skin went hot, your father walking out from behind the stove to come closer to you.

“Are those hickeys?”

“Um…”

How could you have forgotten about them? You shot a sidelong glance to Michael, who, not to your surprise, was smirking as he watched the scene unfold.

“I wouldn’t have expected this from you, (y/n).” He placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly as he appeared to be pondering what to do with you. It wasn’t like he was used to dealing with this sort of thing. “I, uh, I hope you didn’t, um. I hope you were responsible with whatever you chose to do with that boy.”

This was his way of asking if you’d worn a condom. You cringed, skin crawling at the thought of your father imagining you in that way.

“Dad! Ew! Nothing like that happened!”

You heard Michael laugh quietly to himself as he took a sip of his orange juice. You were going to fucking kill him once you had the chance.

“I’m just saying this as your parent, (y/n). You know, when I was your age, my girlfriend had a pregnancy scare, and-“

“-Please stop,” you pleaded, face twisting up in disgust. Your cheeks were hot, and you were certain you’d never wanted to die more than you did in that moment.

Miriam cleared her throat. “Coffee, (y/n)?”

“No thanks.” You weren’t positive you’d be able to stomach anything after the series of events that had led up to this morning. “You know, I actually don’t feel well.”

You turned around, and your father said nothing, likely because he was too shocked by his discovery to face you right now; you didn’t even want to speculate over what he’d say if he found out who had really given you those hickeys.

Your stomach turned. If you’d thought things were bad before, they were about to get a whole lot worse now.

//

It was a little past 6:30 when you’d finally gathered enough courage to confront Michael; it had to happen eventually, no matter how much you dreaded it, and you knew there was no way Michael would initiate the conversation first.

So that was why you’d found yourself outside his bedroom door, knuckles making sharp contact with the wood as you absently held your breath.

You heard him shuffling around inside before he opened the door, and inwardly you groaned at how completely delicious he looked, golden hair in disarray from his mid-day nap (which he indulged himself in almost every single day, whether or not he’d actually done anything tiring).

His eyes sparkled as they sized up the hickeys- his hickeys- on your neck, jutting his hip out as he leant against the doorframe.

“Those are some bruises,” he drawled, reaching out to run his rough fingertips over the purpled skin, and you drew back. “No wonder dad is pissed.”

You nearly recoiled in aversion at Michael’s usage of the term “dad” in reference to your father; somehow, it made things seem so much more depraved, so much more perverted.

“Yeah, and I’m sure he’d be even more pissed if he knew that you gave me them,” you snapped.

He cocked an eyebrow at you, taking a few steps back to allow you room to enter; even Michael was sensible enough to know that this was a conversation that had to be had in private. You followed him inside and shut the door behind you, pressing your back up against it and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Michael,” you said sternly, before realizing that you actually had no idea what you’d been planning to say. You paused, eyes darting around the room as you sought to look somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t Michael’s stupidly beautiful face.

“(Y/n),” he said, mimicking your pose in an act you didn’t think was intentional. His voice was low, maybe even seductive, and right then you knew you had to nip this in the bud.

“Michael, what happened last night— it can’t happen again.”

His expression barely changed, and you couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of disappointment at his apathy.

“How come?” he asked, sounding as blasé as somebody asking what time it was. Did he really not see the issue here?

“How- how come? How come you shouldn’t fuck your stepsister? Are you being serious right now?” It was hard keeping your voice hushed now, but you were trying your best.

“You didn’t really seem to have much of a problem with it when you were cumming all over my tongue.”

The way he looked at you, with that predatory, cocky grin, was enough to make you want to curb stomp his pretty face into the ground.

“Well, I have a problem with it now. So let’s just agree to never mention it again, ‘kay?”

“Fine by me,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “Now can you leave? I’m trying to play fortnite.” He pointed over to his desk, where his laptop sat open, attached to a pair of enormous gaming headphones.

You rolled your eyes halfway into your skull.

“Really, Michael? That’s all you’re gonna say?” You tried to swallow the frustration that was beginning to build up in the back of your throat, to no avail.

What had you wanted him to say? Wasn’t this better, for him to be compliant with you?

“What else did you want me to say?” he said with the smallest hint of attitude, sitting down at his desk and picking up his headphones. “Did you want me to beg you to change your mind or something? I’ve got plenty of other girls I can fuck besides you, (y/n).”

He punctuated his sentence by slipping his headphones over his ears and turning his back to you.

Wow. You gaped at your stepbrother, mentally taking back the thought you’d had the night before that maybe, Michael wasn’t such a dick after all. He most definitely was a dick, and nothing was ever going to change that.

Just as you were beginning to leave, Michael peered at you over his toned shoulder, lifting up one side of his headphones and parting his plump lips to speak. This better be good, you thought, freezing in place as you anticipated whatever it was he was about to say.

“Make sure to shut the door on your way out.”

ii.

On Monday you decided to ditch school after fifth period, for no reason in particular. Maybe it was the fact that everyone and everything seemed to make you think of Michael, and it was all starting to nauseate you- you had at least one of Michael’s friends in every single one of your classes, and were constantly running into girls who’d been involved with Michael in some way or another.

You’d caught yourself in the midst of some truly nasty thoughts while in biology class, sitting with your cheek propped against your palm as you glared contemptuously at some blonde girl; Michael had fucked her when you were both juniors, which you knew about only because you’d overheard his friends talking about it.

Apparently, she gave really good head.

Slut, you’d thought, before the wave of guilt crashed over you and you bit your tongue. What the hell was wrong with you lately?

You had an acquaintance give you a ride home, knowing your father and Miriam would be working until much later, and would therefore never find out about your little act of rebellion. You planned to wrap yourself in some blankets, then perhaps watch a few episodes of some shitty tv show, and then take a nap. Maybe at some point you’d even steal some of Michael’s weed, if the mood struck.

“Isn’t that (b/f/n)’s car?” said your acquaintance as she pulled into your driveway.

You turned your head to the curb, where she was looking. Her observation was correct: the car parked there was, in fact, your (ex) best friend’s car, a sage green Honda from the late 90’s, her telltale pine air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror.

Your heart dropped.

“Looks like it,” you said softly. Before your acquaintance could ask any more questions, you opened the door and stepped out onto your driveway, offering a rushed thank-you as you ran up the steps leading to your porch.

You rifled through the front pocket of your backpack to find your keys, unlocking the door with shaky hands. Apprehensively, you went inside, body numb as you prepared for what you already knew was waiting for you; from the upstairs hallway floated a strange, muffled sound, and if you hadn’t already had your suspicions, it probably would have taken you a second to figure out what it was.

You listened for a moment, rage building up inside your belly with each noisy clang of Michael’s headboard banging against the wall.

That. Fucking. Asshole.

You stormed up the stairs and into the hallway, where the sounds became even clearer- you could hear the animalistic grunts of a boy (Michael, obviously) paired with the annoying, high-pitched moans of a back-stabbing bitch.

“Fuck, Michael, harder,” you heard your best friend moan, and that was when your anger bubbled over.

Stalking towards Michael’s bedroom door, you beat your fist against it with such aggression you almost thought the wood might splinter, hoping to scare the shit out of them if nothing else.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Michael?” you yelled. There was no doubt in your mind you were coming across as some sort of rabid, jealous bitch. Maybe you were a rabid, jealous bitch. You didn’t care. You were sick of Michael, sick of his bullshit, sick of the way everybody seemed to fall at his feet but you.

You were a fucking idiot for letting yourself succumb to his seduction, just like every other girl. You were just as stupid as the rest, falling for his bullshit like you had.

There was a girlish squeal and a soft thud, as you assumed your best friend was jumping to her feet and hastily dressing herself. You didn’t hear much from Michael, and you could practically visualize the nonchalant position he likely was in on the other side of the door: reclined amongst his rumpled sheets, smooth torso glazed over in sweat, arms bent behind his head without a care in the world.

The mental image was definitely a beautiful one, you had to admit.

Unexpectedly, Michael’s door swung open, and out rushed your ex best friend, tears in her eyes as she brushed past you, clothing unkempt and wrinkled. She smelled like a rancid mixture of body odor, Michael’s cologne, her own cheap Victoria’s Secret body mist (what is this, middle school? you remembered thinking the first time she’d worn it), and pot.

She was a complete and total mess, which you supposed should give you some sort of consolation.

You had the sudden urge to call after her, say something mean and biting and bitchy, something that would remind her of what a shitty friend she was for choosing dick over her childhood best friend, but you refrained.

The front door slammed shut and you were left standing in front of Michael’s bedroom, backpack still slung over your shoulder. You were seething, splotches of red flashing in your vision, while Michael, of course, was entirely composed.

He wore only a pair of blue boxers, sitting with his back up against the headboard.

“You knew I had this period off,” he said coolly, not bothering to look up from his phone as he scrolled through it, his face illuminated by the blue-tinged light of the screen.

“Well, excuse me for not knowing that you use your off periods to fuck my friends, Michael,” you retorted. Of course you’d chosen the worst possible time to skip school.

“I don’t always fuck your friends on my off periods. Sometimes I fuck other girls.”

Ha ha.

“I don’t get it, Michael. If you supposedly have all your little groupies jumping on your dick, why don’t you fuck them? Why do you have to fuck the one person I asked you not to?”

He flashed you a wry half-smile, lifting his hand to run his fingers through his now-stringy blond hair. “Well, for one thing, she’s got big tits.”

He’d definitely only said it to get a rise out of you, but his lewd response pissed you off all the same.

You sneered. “You’re disgusting.”

He snorted, in a tell me something I don’t know sort of way. If there was one thing about Michael you could credit him with, it was that he was self-aware.

You walked across the hall to your bedroom, fists curled at your sides, blood pressure rising. You wished Michael didn’t have such control over your emotions, wished you could match his level of indifference, match the way he never seemed to be affected by anything. But you couldn’t.

When you finally fell asleep in your bed, lulled by the suburban midday white noise coming through your window, you dreamt of him.

Goddamn it, you’d thought, looking into those hooded blue eyes as the blackness of sleep faded slowly into moving images.

I can’t even escape him in my dreams.

iii.

Most mornings you were so groggy, you could hardly process your surroundings; this morning was no different, your eyes bleary from sleep, just barely slits as you struggled to keep them open.

You shuffled past the bathroom, mouth contorting into an ugly yawn, when you were forced to do a double-take.

Standing in front of the sink, with only a thin white towel draped around his narrow hips, was Michael. The towel was so low it almost looked like it might slip off if he moved too much, and his lightly tanned skin was dotted with fat beads of water from the shower- your eyes followed a droplet that was traveling downwards, moving past his navel and alongside the trail of soft blond hair beneath it.

You almost tripped over your feet at the sight. Michael, to your dismay, noticed.

“G’morning,” he said through a mouthful of toothpaste, bending over to spit a wad of white foam into the sink. His hair had darkened from the wetness of the shower, forming into curls on his forehead and the nape of his neck. All of the sudden, you felt faint.

Well, at least you didn’t need caffeine to wake you up now.

“What are you looking at?” Michael asked with knit brows, feigning confusion when it was obvious he knew damn well what you were staring at. He’d undoubtedly done this on purpose, waltzing around with his dick nearly out, all along intending for you to see him like that.

If it’d been his goal to get you flustered, it had worked.

You coughed, forcing yourself to look only at Michael’s eyes as you spoke, cheeks prickling hot with discomfort (and, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, arousal). “I was looking at all the puddles you made on the floor. You better wipe them up before I get in there.”

You thought this was a fairly good save, though you were sure Michael could see right through it. Either way, though, he seemed vaguely dissatisfied with your response, clearly having expected a far more entertaining reaction from you. You were pleased with yourself for not giving him one (for once).

You worried, though; when Michael had a plan, he stuck to it. And if that plan was to get under your skin, you could only imagine what sort of things he had planned for you next.

iv.

The next week consisted of the same thing over and over: Michael would do something to get a rise out of you, and you would subsequently try your best to ignore him.

He ate all your favorite food from the pantry, even the snacks you knew he didn’t like. He stayed in the shower until all the hot water was used up. He strutted past your room half-naked with the confidence of a male swimsuit model. He’d made it a point to have a different girl over every night, making sure to be loud enough that you couldn’t fall asleep.

The entire time, you stayed mute. The last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of upsetting you, even though you were gradually losing your ability to hide your irritation.

Eventually, you knew, you weren’t going to be able to hold back any longer. Michael was walking on a thin line, and at any moment now, that line was going to snap.

One night, you overheard him talking to his friends about some rager they’d be attending that weekend, and Michael seemed reasonably excited (or, at least, as excited as he could make himself out to be, what with his perpetual indifferent attitude and all).

“I stole my stepdad’s Hennessy and replaced it with iced tea,” Michael had boasted, before loudly cursing due to someone killing him on whatever stupid game he was preoccupied with.

Your father hardly drank, but that didn’t stop him from purchasing expensive liquor to display in his cabinet. It wasn’t the first time you’d known about Michael stealing it, but it was the first time that you were actually contemplating ratting him out.

You weighed the pro’s and con’s.

Pros: Michael would get grounded; this you were 99 percent sure of, and it would feel euphoric to get back at him after all the shit he’d put you through.

Cons: He’d probably make your life a hundred thousand times more miserable once he found out.

Still, you couldn’t shake the picture in your mind of Michael holed up in his room, pouting like a candy-deprived little boy while all his friends were out getting shitfaced.

You were tempted.

Very, very tempted.

Fuck it, you thought, as you made your way downstairs to the living room where Miriam and your father were watching TV. You dragged your sock-covered feet on the ground as you entered, assuming your best concerned expression before walking into their line of sight.

“Hey, (y/n),” said Miriam, as you blocked the TV with your body and folded your hands behind your back like you were about to give some sort of presentation.

“What’s up, kid?” said your father. He’d been acting awkward ever since Saturday morning. In all honesty, you couldn’t really blame him.

“I really hate to be a snitch, but- in school, they taught me that if you’re worried about someone, you should tell a trusted adult,” you said with faux-distress, rocking on your heels. You really had to play this up.

You watched as Miriam and your father exchanged glances, their eyebrows furrowing and lips curving down at the corners. “What’s going on, honey?” said Miriam.

“Well… I’m really worried about Michael, guys,” you said, sucking your lips into your mouth for a moment to stop yourself from laughing. “I heard him on the phone earlier, and he was telling his friends how he stole dad’s Hennessy for some party he’s going to.”

Your father’s eyes widened, and his features contorted into a scowl. “Oh, is that so?”

You nodded, pretending to wipe tears away from your eyes with the corner of your sweater sleeve. “He said he replaced it with iced tea so you wouldn’t notice.”

“Goddamn it, Michael,” muttered Miriam.

“Thank you for letting us know, (y/n),” said your father. He seemed about ready to kick Michael’s ass, and you knew your attempts at getting Michael in trouble had been successful.

You smiled.

v.

“You. Fucking. Bitch.”

Your bedroom door swung open, and in came an incredibly vexed-looking Michael, jaw tight and sharp, the veins in his forearms bulging as he balled his hands into fists.

You looked up from your laptop and gave him a triumphant smirk. For the past hour, you’d been listening to him getting chewed out by Miriam and your father downstairs in the kitchen; the exchange had been so entertaining that you’d almost been compelled to make some popcorn for yourself while you listened.

“What happened, Michael?” you asked, batting your eyes at him innocently, even though it was evident that he knew you were responsible for him getting in trouble.

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. “Oh, please. Don’t try to act all innocent now.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, deciding to drag this nonsense on for just a little longer, just so you could cause Michael a bit more frustration.

“I really appreciate how concerned you were about me, to the point where you felt the need to rat me out to mom and dad.” His voice was thick with sarcasm, and you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself.

“Oh, c’mon Michael. I was just looking out for my big brother,” you said mockingly, blinking up at him. “Besides, getting grounded every once in a while builds character. And you definitely need it.”

“Is this because I fucked (b/f/n)? Are you really that fucking jealous?”

The word jealous coming from Michael’s mouth made you feel as though you’d been struck, but you refused to let him see that it had bothered you.

“Are you really so much of a narcissist that you think this is because of jealousy?” you said, as if it were the boldest assumption in the world for him to have made. “You’ve been nothing but an asshole to me for the entire time you’ve lived here and I’m fucking sick of it.”

“So you admit it, then?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He took a few steps forward, coming dangerously close to your bed, and anxiously you swung your legs over the side in preparation to kick him out. “You did this to fuck with me.”

“Well, why the fuck else would I have done it? You really think I give a shit about you stealing my dad’s alcohol?”

“You’re such a fucking bitch,” he sighed, matter-of-fact, and you pushed yourself up off the bed.

“Get out of my room,” you demanded, jabbing a finger towards the open doorway over Michael’s shoulder.

He lingered where he stood for a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips like he was contemplating something.

“Did you hear me, Michael? Get out of my room,” you repeated, coming closer to him, trying your hardest not to look anywhere but his face, and most certainly not the pale gray sweatpants he was wearing.

He poised an eyebrow. “Or what?”

“Get. The fuck. Out-“ you placed your palms flat against his chest, giving him a hard shove- “Of my r-“

His large hands wrapped around your wrists with ease, and in a matter of seconds you were pressed up against the wall furthest from the door, his face mere inches away from yours. Your breath hitched, wrists twisting under his firm grip, but you weren’t sure you wanted to escape.

Jesus Christ, not again.

“I said, or what?” His breath was hot against your cheek, the sweet, sharp scent of cinnamon gum invading your senses. Your heart began to race, that familiar throb making itself known between your thighs again; it was taking everything inside you right now not to crash your lips hard against his. God, were you disturbed for still wanting him. “What are you gonna do if I don’t leave, huh?”

You grunted, using your last remaining bit of pride to try and wriggle out of his grasp; in turn, he pressed himself against you, trapping you between his upper body and the wall.

“Michael, stop…“ you said weakly, eyes fluttering when he let go of one of your wrists and traced his hand up between your breasts, landing on your throat and squeezing lightly around the hollow of it.

His lips curled up evilly- he knew you were loving every second of this.

“Are you afraid if I don’t leave that you won’t be able to resist me again? That I’ll make you cum like that night in my room, when you were practically begging for me to touch you?”

You whimpered as his lips ghosted your jaw, the hand that still held one of your wrists gripping tight enough to bruise. “Or are you afraid I’ll make more of these on your neck?” he continued, moving his head down to drag his tongue over the hickeys he’d left, which, at this point, weren’t much more than fading splotches of yellow.

“Oh god…” you choked out, and he held onto your throat with an added force. “Michael.”

“Hm?” he said, sinking his teeth into your shoulder through the fabric of your t-shirt, making you jump.

“Fuck- Michael… fuck me.” You were shocked at the audacity of your words, words that you hadn’t even planned to say, but it was too late now to take them back. He snickered against your skin, sending shock waves through your body.

“What was that?” he asked, dropping your wrist to slide his hand up your shirt and take a fist full of your left breast. You sighed, his thumb making circles over your stiffened nipple as he began to suck fresh bruises over the old ones on your neck.

“I hate you,” you murmured, using your now-free hands to grab at the front of his shirt and pull him even closer to you. “I said fuck me.”

“But- I thought you said we couldn’t anymore.” He was kneading your breast now, his touch possessive and rough as he tweaked at your sensitive nipple with his fingertips. After he’d given your left breast some attention, he moved to your right one, giving it the same treatment.

“I know,” you breathed, yelping when he applied an especially painful pinch to your areola. “I changed my- fuck!- mind.”

He moved his hand from your throat to your lips, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him, allowing him to slip his finger inside, wrapping your lips around it greedily. He pressed it down firmly on your tongue, and you moaned at the taste of his salty skin on your tastebuds.

“Before I fuck you,” he said lowly, admiring the way your spit-glossed lips looked enclosed around his thumb. “I think you should apologize to me. For getting me grounded.”

“M’sorry,” you managed, the pad of his finger pushing firmly against the back of your tongue, gagging you.

“Not like that.”

He pulled his finger from your mouth and removed his other hand from under your shirt, taking hold of both your shoulders and guiding you down to the floor. He backed away slightly, allowing you room to kneel in front of him, which you did without complaint. You looked behind him towards the open door, and he followed your gaze; when he saw what you were looking at, he caught on, walking across the room and shutting it.

When he returned to you, his hands were already at his crotch, palming himself through the form-fitting gray material. You were ashamed at just how much your mouth was watering at the thought of what was being held inside.

“Open your mouth,” he said, and you did, with embarrassingly little hesitation.

He tugged his sweatpants down, and then his boxers, bringing his cock into full view: it was massive (which almost disappointed you- did everything about Michael have to be so utterly perfect?) and thick, dark pink in color with a leaking tip that was flushed deep red.

Holy. Shit.

It was the first dick you’d ever seen in person, and you supposed you were lucky, because it was very much so easy on the eyes. No wonder so many girls wanted to fuck him.

He took his shaft in hand and guided the head of his cock to rest on your lower lip, smearing the bead of precum as he did so. “Maybe this will teach you not to run your mouth so much.”

He slipped himself inside, hissing at the warm, wet feeling of your mouth around him. He was big, so big that you almost feared that your mouth might split apart at the seams, but you held yourself together, a vulgar choking noise escaping your throat as he brushed the back of it.

“So what do you think? You like the taste of cock?” he teased, positioning his hand at the back of your head as you placed yours on either side of his torso. You started bobbing up and down his length, just like you’d seen in porn, hoping to god that you were doing this right.

From the way he tilted his head up towards the ceiling, eyelids flickering open and shut, you figured you couldn’t be doing too badly.

“Fuck,” he grunted, encouraging you to increase your speed, the tip of his cock reaching further down with each thrust of your head. You sputtered, his length making it impossible for you to gather any oxygen through your mouth, and so carefully you inhaled through your nose. He threaded his fingers through your hair, tugging you forward so that he was buried deep in your throat, saliva beginning to pool in the corners of your mouth and dribble down your chin.

“You like sucking my cock?” he asked you, voice dripping with condescension, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.

“M-mhm,” you tried, fingernails digging into his sides and forming crescent moon-shaped imprints there. He snapped his hips forward once more, making you cry out as he imposed himself on you even deeper, his balls slapping crudely against your chin.

“Thaaat’s it,” he said between pants, yanking at your hair and stinging your scalp. “Show your big brother how sorry you are.”

You blushed at this, tears streaming from the edges of your eyes and traveling down your face. From the way he shoved his cock into your mouth without mercy, it was clear that he didn’t care that it was your first time. You liked it, though, how he handled you so carelessly- it made your cunt throb with such intensity that you were squirming, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the sensation.

He pushed the entirety of his cock into your throat one final time before pulling out, veined length gleaming with saliva and spouting droplets of thick precum. You watched, mesmerized, as a silvery string of spit stretched from your swollen mouth to the head of Michael’s dick, only breaking when he took his shaft into his hand.

“It’s always the virgins who act like the biggest sluts,” he said under his breath, waving his hand to indicate for you to rise.

You complied, rubbing your knees in an attempt to regain feeling in them after they’d been digging into the hard wooden floor. Michael observed you for a moment, a smug expression settling across his face as he reveled in your defilement: the pornographic mixture of spit and tears covering your face; your saliva-slick lips, which had darkened to an angry shade of red; your now-disheveled (h/c) hair.

Then he gave you a stern frown, almost appearing half-drunk from the way his eyes drooped with lust. “Go get on the bed.”

You could hardly stop yourself from biting your lip, fresh arousal pooling itself in the pit of your stomach at this assertion of dominance. Obediently, you crawled onto your bed and over the pale lavender floral bedspread, your entire body practically vibrating with excitement.

You settled yourself on your back, surveying Michael as he finished taking off his sweatpants and boxers. Once he was mostly undressed, he followed suit, the bed dipping slightly as he knelt at your feet; he looked majestic right now, towering above you while he pumped at his massive cock, tousled waves of flaxen hair framing his angelic face. You spread your legs slightly, fingertips tracing along the waistband of your pajama pants, and he took the opportunity to move up the bed so he was between them.

“You’re a bad girl, aren’t you? Giving your virginity away to your stepbrother,” he chided, leaning forward to give you a better view of his perfect face as he scolded you. He grabbed the hem of your oversized shirt and tugged the garment off over your head, tossing it off to the side haphazardly and leaving your upper body exposed.

He groped your tits, aggressive and without finesse; your cheeks prickled in slight humiliation when he shoved them together and then let them go, running his tongue over his teeth as they bounced obscenely before him. You knew you should be offended by his demeaning actions, that you shouldn’t be letting him degrade you like this, that your willpower should have been so much stronger than it was.

You knew all of this, and yet something inside you was preventing you from stopping, just like the first time.

You were confident there’d be a next time, too. And a time after that one, and a time after that one. You couldn’t control yourself around Michael, that was a given.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants, he took a minute to tease you, easing the cloth material down your hips and just barely revealing the top of your smooth pelvis. You wiggled your lower body, urging him to carry on, which subsequently only made him prolong his torture. When he finally pulled your pants down far enough to show off your panties, he paused to toy idly with the lace before abruptly disrobing you in one swift motion.

“Fuck,” he said, awestruck, manhandling your hips so that he could get a better view of the arousal coating your pussy. “You really liked sucking my cock, huh?”

He pulled apart your outer lips, putting the lush, pink skin inside on display; with his fingertips, he spread around your sticky essence, using it to form slow, deliberate circles over your pulsing clit.

“You should be ashamed,” he growled, easily sinking two fingers past your entrance until they were seated at the knuckle. “Soaking your panties at the thought of being split on your stepbrother’s cock.”

You let out a desperate moan, bucking your hips forward so you could feel more of his long fingers inside you. He added a third finger, which was more than last time, but the burn that this invoked was welcome- you liked the pain, wanted the pain. In fact, you wanted more.

“Michael,” you whimpered, grinding down on Michael’s skillful fingers, chasing the pleasure you knew only he could give you.

“What was it you were asking me to do earlier?” he asked, drumming his fingers on his jaw as if he were contemplating something. “Oh, right, you said, fuck me, Michael, fuck me, please. Right?” He brought his voice up a few octaves to imitate you, a self-satisfied grin crossing his face when you rolled your eyes.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mumbled, whining when he brought his fingers out from you, making a show of licking them clean.

He hoisted your hips up, gripping his thick shaft and running the head of his cock through your folds, making a point to add extra pressure over your clit. You shuddered at the feeling of his warm skin against yours, rolling forward inadvertently, desperate to feel him inside.

He clicked his tongue, lips twitching at the corners. “So fucking needy.”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you griped, stretching your arm out to run your fingers along Michael’s cock, but he shooed your hand away.

“You want your big brother to fill you up? Fuck you good?” He brought his cock to your entrance, allowing the tip of his cock to settle at your opening, not yet pushing it inside.

“You already know I do.” You were growing impatient, the ache of your cunt becoming almost unbearable. You should’ve known he’d pull this shit with you, the fucking asshole.

With that, he slid inside you, smirking at the way your jaw unhinged in a silent scream as he stretched your tight, virgin walls for the first time. He was huge, so you’d expected for it to be painful, but in an instant the pain faded into mind-blowing pleasure as he filled you to the hilt, balls resting against your round ass.

Your cunt spasmed around him as it tried to adjust to the size, and you let out a pathetic, breathy whine.

“Oh fuck,” he grunted, jerking his hips back a few inches before thrusting all the way inside, causing your eyes to spill over with tears, a weak cry escaping your throat. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, forehead already starting to shine with sweat as he assumed a rhythm to fuck you with, one that was perhaps a bit too intense for your first time, but you weren’t about to complain.

“So- fuck!- fucking tight.” It seemed like he was trying his hardest to keep himself together, and you stifled a giggle, almost feeling cocky from how he was breaking down just from the sensation of your warm, wet cunt around him. “Shit.”

“You like how your little sister’s pussy feels?” you taunted breathlessly, and his fingers dug harder into the padded flesh of your upper thighs as a warning.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he said through grit teeth, one hand flying up to curl tightly around your throat while he continued his assault on your cunt.

He pounded inside you ruthlessly now, fueled by the attitude you’d given him, reducing you to a shaking, writhing mess below him. The sound of slapping skin filled the room, melding seamlessly with the mindless string of profanity passing your lips; your forehead was streaked with sweat, but you were too fucked-out to even garner the energy to wipe it away.

“Oh god- oh fuck- Michael,” you sobbed, and he shifted more weight onto the hand on your neck, using his other hand to brace himself over your shoulder as he impaled you deeper.

“Nothing to say now, huh?” he said between grunts, fucking you for all he was worth, your body nearly going limp as he pushed you to your limits.

You were so wet that his cock slid and out of you without any resistance; it still hurt, just a little, but you wanted more, wanted him to wreck you, wanted him to make you his. You’d never experienced such sheer, unbridled ecstasy in your life, and you were willing to give yourself up to him if it meant you’d be able to feel only a second of it again.

“You gonna cum? Cum all over your big brother’s cock?” He was struggling to speak now, eyes sealed shut, porcelain skin flushed a deep pink. He looked beautiful, god-like, even, and without thinking you caressed his face.

Your cunt clenched around his cock, enveloping him in your walls, and you threw your head back as the coil in your stomach unraveled and unraveled and unraveled and then, finally, snapped.

He followed soon after, releasing his thick load inside you and warming your insides; looking down at you with those pale blue eyes, you saw something unfamiliar flicker behind them as he reached down to move a damp strand of hair away from your face.

“God, what the fuck are we doing?” he laughed, rolling over so he was lying beside you, still out of breath. You shrugged, eyes heavy, unable to come up with a good answer to his question.

You weren’t sure that there was one.

[batskulldrag]

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

chapter thirteen is here. this one contains Romile, and plenty of fluff

Chapter Thirteen: Out of Hell by Skillet      

Virgil fluttered nervously past Roman for the third time. Roman watched as his nephew peered out each window and retreated back to the couch. Virgil drummed his fingers against his laptop and chewed the band aid on his stationary hand.

               “You ok Billie Stylish?” Roman asked, sitting down beside him.

               “Sure. I’m fine.” Virgil didn’t look up.

               “It’s going to be ok.” Roman put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Payton has laughed his last laugh. And he will spend the rest of his days being beaten up in prison.”

               “But what if Payton accuses you guys of being child rapists or something? Then he’s going to win because everyone always believes him, and he’ll have ruined your lives. Or he’ll lose anyway, but still manage to ruin the three of you, and I have to live with the constant guilt that this is all my fault for getting you into this. And Uncle Patton and Uncle Logan are going to be quiet about the whole thing while silent resentment grows, because everything was fine until I showed up. Or worse, they’re not, and they’re just gonna forgive me for bringing this plague down on them.”

               “That’s quite the soliloquy.” Roman patted him on the head. “And that’s not going to happen. Payton can accuse us of whatever he likes, but I know a secret.”

               “You can blackmail him?” Virgil jolted up.

               “No, it’s like this. You remember how the bastard always told you that people always side with the adult?”

               “Yes, that’s why I’m worried.”

               “Well, first of all it’s a fallacy. Secondly, what is true is that people tend to side against the man who is in prison for trying to murder a child.”

               “He wasn’t trying to kill me.” Virgil’s heart audibly sank. “Was he?”

               Roman leaned back in surprise. Payton probably hated Virgil, at the very least he didn’t love him. And the viper had put him in the hospital more than once. Yet, Virgil was still hurt to think that Payton wanted him dead. Why should he care what Payton wanted?

               “I don’t know.” Roman hugged him. “He trapped you in a burning building. If he wasn’t trying to kill you, then it just means he’s not a murderer per say. But at the very least, it means that he didn’t care if you died. And that’s not your fault. That’s on him.”

               “I’m sick of being upset about this.” Virgil made a sound halfway between a scream and a sob. “I know he doesn’t care about me. Why is it still a gut punch? Why do I even still care at all?”

               “Humans feel.” Roman rubbed his back softly. “And feelings never make sense.”

               “I hate it.”

               “Come on, let’s go do something to take your mind off things.” Roman patted him on the shoulders. “It’s about time you got to be a kid.”

                                                                               #             #             #

               Virgil chewed on his hoodie strings as the crowd gathered around the tour guide.

               “Sacred of ghosts, Sweeny toddler?” Roman teased, ruffling his hair.

               “I ain’t afraid of no ghost.” Virgil sneered.

               “No, but I bet they’re terrified of you. We might not even see any with you around.”

               Virgil laughed softly. Two hundred uncle points. Roman put his arm around him and they walked up to the guide.

               “Two spots in your tour please.” Roman said as he produced the fairs with a great flourish.

               “Oh, you again.” The guide exhaled. “And you have a kid with you. Great.”

               The guide took the money and Roman contentedly fell into step with Virgil in tow.

               “He doesn’t like you.” Virgil taunted. “Did you steal his boyfriend?”

               “Virgil, a man does not steal a life partner, nor does he win one. He woos one.”

               “Woo. Woo.” Virgil added with a straight face and a straighter voice.

               “And the tour guide simply doesn’t appreciate me practicing my improv while I’m on his tours.” Roman explained. “Although, he is a very nice fellow. We both work as nude models at the portraiture class. He’s straight, so I had no chances.”

               “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Virgil mimicked.

               “You’ve been watching a lot of sit-coms?”

               “I can’t sleep some nights, so I just YouTube deep dive. And now I know how to make a life like moose out of old newspaper.”

               “Chamomile tea. Try some before bed, or warm milk.”

               “You make it sound like conspiracy theories aren’t good for me.” Virgil grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Did you know that there was this one lady who made her victims into soap, and she used the soap. But the worst part was she also turned them into cake, and she ate the cake.”

               “Remind me to get you some video games, something less… horrible.”

               “I thought video games cause violence.” Virgil smirked.

               “Sure, and vaccines cause autism. Pencils cause bad handwriting, spoons cause fat people and gays in media cause gay people.”

               “Yeah, I’m gonna murder a bunch of people because I’m playing Pokémon.” Virgil sneered, damn he was good at it. “It has nothing to do with the school system that does nothing to stop bulling, or the extremely abusive dad y’all sent me home to every day. It was the video games, Linda.”

               “What kind of Pokémon did you have?” Roman changed the subject away from Payton.

               “I had a Mew, a Haunter and a Psyduck. And a psychic type Evee.” Virgil sighed. “I went with the mind powered ones and all the ghost types.”

               “That sounds fun.” Roman beamed, finally one nice thing in this little boy’s life.

               “My dad broke my computer, and any other device that had my game on it.” Virgil looked at the ground. “I think they starved to death.”

               Why is it that whenever something good happens you show up to ruin it? You snake in the machine, I hate you. Roman silently scripted a call out letter to Payton.

               “Hey, it’s Dr. Picani.” Virgil derailed his train of thought.

               Roman looked over and spotted the familiar blond-haired doctor now wearing a brown T-shirt that displayed the Scooby Doo gang and khaki cargo shorts. More importantly though was the fact that his now exposed arms showed off an array of tattoos. Roman rubbed his eyes, no way. No way did this man, this doctor have tattoos. No, it was far more likely that he had a twin brother, and that was who they saw now.

               “He’s got ink.” Virgil squeaked in awe. “Let’s go say hi to him.”

               Virgil grabbed his hand and darted towards the doctor. He was alarmingly strong for a kid who only weighed a hundred pounds.

               “Virge, wait.” Roman said in a hushed voice, pulling the emo back. “I’m not sure we should.”

               “Are you a-scared of the doctor?” Virgil laughed.

               “No, he was in my still life class last week…”

               “OOOOOO, you’re embarrassed to talk to a guy who has nudes of you.” He was incorrigible. “Maybe if you ask nice, he’ll give the pictures back. Or are you afraid he’ll post it on social media?”

               “I’m not embarrassed for me, he ended up getting really upset and I consoled him afterwards.” Roman explained. “I’m worried if I talk to him it’ll put him in an awkward position.”

               “SUUUREEEE.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Cause the dude who strips down and poses isn’t the guy in the awkward position.”

               “Why do you suddenly turn into a kid now?”

               “What’s the problem?” Virgil shrugged. “So he got upset, big deal. I cried in front of him a few times and I’m not embarrassed to talk to him. If you refused to talk to anyone who’s seen you naked or who’s gotten frustrated with painting, you’d have to be a hermit. Just like if I avoided everyone who has seen me crying about something, I wouldn’t be able to leave my room.”

               “You’re stunningly sharp.”

               “Hey! Dr. Picani!” Virgil yelled, which Roman didn’t think he could do, as he waved over to the doctor.

               Picani waved back and approached them. His legion of tattoos becoming clearer. Unsurprisingly, if anything about this could be considered unsurprising, most of his tattoos were from cartoons. The one that struck Roman in particular was the image of Lady Rainacorn wrapped around his left arm from shoulder to wrist. His right arm displayed a group portrait of Clifford, Courage, Scooby Doo, Blue, some green dog that looked like a stuffed toy who he didn’t recognize and Goddard.[1]  

               “Hey Virgil.” Emile greeted happily. “Hi Roman.”

               “Awkward indeed.” Virgil looked over at Roman with raised eyebrows.

               “Good evening Emile.” Roman added cordially. “Are you out ghost hunting as well?”

               “Yeah, I figured I should get out. And this sounded like a nifty idea. What brings you to this haunted cul-de-sac?”

               “We live here.” Virgil said smoothly with an air of villainy. “Well, lived here. We’re the ghosts that haunt these streets.”

               “Aren’t you the cutest thing?” Emile ruffled Virgil’s hair. “It’s nice to see you so excited.”

               Virgil scowled at the sidewalk as his face turned red. The tour guide started walking and they followed him in quite precession. Roman rubbed his hands in anticipation of their first stop. Now he had two people to impress.

               “I didn’t know you had ink.” Virgil pressed Emile. “And I really didn’t know you had that much.”

               “Yeah,” Emile looked at his arms. “I’ve got a couple of books worth of it. Lady Rainacorn is new. I think it’s healing up nicely.”

               “Did it hurt?”

               “Not as bad as my first one did.”

               “What was the first one?”

               “It was actually Clifford,” Emile showed them the portrait. “I got it to cover up a dog bite.”

               “Really?” Virgil leaned back in surprise.

               “Yeah, he was old and sore, and I tried to pet him. Still got me good.”

               “That’s awful.” Roman added.  

                “It’s ok.” Emile shrugged. “He was a good boy, he just got old.”

               “Alright our first stop.” The guide had everyone gather around. “This building stands abandoned due to the ghosts that torment anyone who dares try to live in it. The house was built atop an Indian burial ground. The spirits buried here cannot rest because of the desecration to their sacred place.”

               “That is wholly inaccurate.” Roman added loudly. “The tormentors of the building are remnants of the poor souls who died their when it was used as an unlicensed hospital in the eighties. The proprietors mismanaged their facility horridly and would even go so far as to steal supplies from the actual hospital. They would go on to receive more unwelcomed visitors from beyond in the form of men and women who died as a result of their theft. Malpractice insurance really didn’t cover that one.”

               “Really?” The guide looked bored. “Who are you tonight Roman?”

               “Dr. Roman Brown. Paranormal expert.” Roman put his arm around Virgil. “I’m here with my ward.”

               “How’d you get a kid?” The guide expressed genuine confusion and revulsion.

               “I’ve had Virgil for a time now, I caught him trying to pick my pocket. Poor creature lived on the streets.”

               “Really?”

               “Yes really.” Virgil retorted. “I was abandoned as a baby on the steps of a Catholic church. But they believed that I had demon’s blood in my veins and sent me out into the streets to fend for myself when I was four.”

               “You’re half demon?”

               “Maybe.” Virgil shrugged. “Who’s to say? All I know is that there are a lot of things that keep trying to pull me into hell.”

               “Really?” The guide scoffed.

               “Just last month a hand shot up out of the dirt and grabbed my ankle.” Virgil continued flawlessly. “I fought it as it tried to drag me under and broke my foot in the process.”

               Virgil pointed at his walking boot. The crowd murmured in astonishment. Roman’s heart swelled with pride.

               Defeated, the guide took them to the next stop.

               “Virgil, that was beautiful.” Roman said quietly. “The way you flawlessly wove your cast into the narrative as proof was inspired. I’m so proud of you, I may weep.”

               “I got good at lying.” Virgil looked at his feet. “I learned from the best.”

               “Never mind Payton.” Emile patted him on the shoulder. “You can just have fun making up stories tonight. Be a kid.”

               “Are those doctor’s orders?” Virgil looked up at him.

               “They are now.” Emile stood up straight.

               Roman noticed an indent in Emile’s shirt. It looked like a stud in his navel. Did he have piercings as well? Who was this man?

               “Here we have the next stop, it may not look like much, but Kim and Jim’s Bar and Grill was built on top of the remains of the old mortuary and is plagued with strange events to this day.” The guide explained, you could tell he hated this job.

               “Yes,” Emile chimed in. “There was a gruesome series of experiments in the mortuary and now the woods are inhabited with the results. Terrifying amalgamations made of severed limbs. Hands attached to feet, heinous arm-leg monsters and every other combination that doesn’t include a face. Stripped of their identities they roam around helplessly.”

               “And at night, when the drunks go home,” Roman added. “You can hear them crying. They’re in so much pain.”

               The audience and guide looked at them, baffled.

               “Of course.” Virgil suddenly said, gesturing towards Emile. “Dr. Emile Vankmen. Parapsychologist. A true credit to his field.”

               There were many nods. The tourists didn’t really care for a believable story, they wanted a good story. And by the sniped snakes of a gorgon salon, that is what they were going to get.

               They went through the stops, trumping the guide’s every tale with a gruesome murder, demonic happening or cartoon plot line. The crowd was eating it up and Virgil was teaming with energy. He seemed to be absorbing it and converting it into power.

               “Virgil is having fun.” Emile laughed.

               “I know,” Roman beamed. “We uncles know how to let one become a kid.”

               “Are you related to the other two?”

               “No, we’re just especially close.” Roman recalled fondly. “I cheated for Patton for a month while he was dealing with his mother’s death. Of course, without him knowing.”

               “How did you do that?” Emile looked confused and slightly impressed.

               “I wrote a few essays in character as him.” Roman brushed it off as if it were nothing. “I’m always up for a chance to practice my vocation.”

               “Virgil, don’t let him cheat for you.” Emile looked down at where Virgil was.

               Emphasis on was, because he was gone. Roman felt instant panic. He had lost Virgil! He had lost a traumatized child with anxiety! Virgil was probably terrified! What if he was hurt?!

               “Where did he go!!??” Roman yelped. “He was just here? Virgil!?”

               “Ok, ok.” Emile held up a shaking hand. “Maybe he walked to the front of the group.”

               Through their panic they heard Virgil scream, then the tour guide and a few tourists scream.

               The worst had happened! Roman ran to the front of the line and saw Virgil on the ground laughing while the guide stared at him irately.

               “Virgil!” Roman grabbed him. “Don’t do that again! I thought I lost you!”

               “Sorry.” Virgil relented rather easily. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I, I hadn’t considered that you’d notice I was gone.”

               “Well, I did.” Roman walked back to their place in the group, holding Virgil’s hand. “I want you to stay where I can see you. It’s dark and you don’t know the neighborhood, something might have happened to you.”

               Virgil was quiet as he looked at the sidewalk in confusion. He was probably wondering why no one was hitting him. In fact, he was probably wondering why Roman cared what happened to him. Roman sighed, he didn’t know how to un-traumatize a kid, all he really had to go off was how Logan had been after everything came out. And Virgil and Logan were drastically different characters with very different abusers. So, that wasn’t much of a comparison.

               “Virgil.” Roman put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled. But you really scared me, and I don’t want you wandering around where I can’t see you.”

               “You call that yelling?” Virgil looked confused. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry.”

               “Ok. Let’s continue our tour.” Roman wrapped his arm around him. “But now you have to hold my hand.”

               “Whatever.” Virgil rolled his eyes and smiled.

               “And to this day, no one knows the cause of the building’s collapse.” The guide pointed at a vacant spot where a house had once been.

               “Actually, that one was us.” Emile interrupted, feigning embarrassment. “It was how we found out about Virgil’s powers.”

               “He has powers now?” The guide raised an eyebrow.

               “Yep,” Virgil picked up. “Demonic powers made the whole building implode. I can control them much better now.”

               “He had a nightmare that manifested itself into physical form and started haunting us.” Emile continued. “It picked us off one by one until only Virgil was left. Last thing I remember is just… blackness. No sound, no light. I don’t think I could even feel anything, then next thing I knew, I was just back and there was no more building. Not even rubble, just what you see now, with Virgil standing in the middle of it.”

               “Yes, I remember that night.” Roman joined in. “A hideous creature started roaming the halls. It was six feet tall, completely black and had no face. Well, no face on its head. But it’s chest. Right where men have a navel, it had a mouth. And when it opened that horrid maw a vertical slit went up to its pencil thin neck and showed a ribcage. A ribcage broken down the middle that it used as teeth. A long red tongue cleaned saliva and blood off the jagged ribs as it drooled in anticipation of its next meal.”

               “And the smell.” Virgil added solemnly. “It reeked of decay. Of maggot filled puss and blackened flesh. Not like cooked blackened, more like dead five times over blackened. And he enveloped his prey in darkness like a spider cocooning its next meal.” Virgil gagged, for real. The little one had just made himself sick.

               “And he took the other two.” Virgil looked at the crowd. “I was the only one left, and just when I was sure that I was gonna die alone, with only that, that thing as company, I felt this sensation in my gut. Like a burning. And it went through my whole body and a moment of realization overcame me. This heat was natural, familiar. I realized what I was, who I was. And that thing, well, that thing was gonna pay for what it did. So, I focused my energy, my hatred, my courage on it and the whole building came down around us, and the thing was sucked into the ground, leaving me standing in an empty lot.”  

               “Let’s just move on.” The guide was even more unimpressed with them.

               Virgil made faces behind the guide’s back for the rest of the night. Emile did as well. Roman sent him a few ungentlemanly hand gestures and internally called him a bitch. He had no taste for a good horror story. Heathen. That was an excellent description and a lovely climax.

As the night went on Roman noticed that Virgil was walking differently and always stood on his good foot whenever they stopped. When they were moving, he would either limp very slightly or hop on one foot, which he tried to cover up, but really couldn’t.

               “Is your foot hurting?” Roman asked, fairly aware of the answer and the lie that Virgil would tell.

               “No.”

               “Yes, it is.”

               “That’s a neat trick. Can you tell me if my neck hurts next?”

               “Alright, come on.” Roman picked him up.

               “What are you doing!?”

               “I’m going to carry you.”

               “Like hell you are!”

               “Come on, you really mean to tell me that you don’t want a piggyback ride?”

               “I’m an adult.”

               “You’re a teenager at best.”

               “That’s still too old.”

               “But someday you’re gonna be too big to carry.”

               “Yeah, yesterday.”

               Ignoring him completely, Roman slumped Virgil over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and kept walking.

               “Have you been sleeping better lately?” Emile asked, lagging behind slightly so he could see Virgil’s face.

               “Yeah. I guess.”

               “He,” Roman interrupted. “Has been watching horrific true crime stories on his computer.”

               “Oh, sure. Say nothing about the newspaper moose.” Roman assumed that Virgil was sneering.

               “Well, they proved that you shouldn’t be on your computer before bed.” Emile offered.

               “Uncle Logan told me the same thing.”

               “Wikipedia’s sleep routine doesn’t help him sleep though.” Roman accused.

               “I’m telling him you called him that.”

               “He knows.”

               They apprehensively arrived at their last stop.

               “This cemetery is a hot spot for paranormal activity.” The guide explained. “It is home to The Tunnleberry Vampire, the bipedal dogs and the ghost of many a deranged Civil War general. The most famous of which resides in that mausoleum over there.” He pointed to a large grey building with carved angels out front. “Legend has it that he was betrayed in battle and rose from the grave to exact his revenge on those who betrayed him. His lieutenant who spear headed the mutiny was found suffocated to death inside the general’s empty casket. The general’s body was never found.”

               “I believe the vampire was just the cemetery caretaker in a mask.” Emile interrupted. “He wanted to increase tourism in these parts to drive up the value of this graveyard so they couldn’t sell it.”

               “And those bipedal dogs turned out to be a pair of really hairy dudes banging.” Virgil shuddered. “I think it’s scarred onto my retinas.”

               “But that mausoleum.” Roman said seriously. “There is definitely something about that place. Something that haunts me. Something that despite all my years of ghost hunting still strikes me as the most unnatural event I have ever been unlucky enough to witness with my own eyes.”

                “Of course, there is.” The guide sighed.

               “It was back when I was still trying to get my paranormal business off the ground.” Roman dove into the story. “My then partner, and senior ghost hunter, Luigi Verd, was by my side the entire time. True blue he was, I’ll always remember him. We found ourselves in this graveyard investigating a series of disappearances around town. Mostly just troubled teens, alcoholics, and the homeless. But a life is a life, and a mystery is a mystery indeed. So, we set up.”

               Roman took a pause to let them get sucked in.

               “I was doing most of the lifting, as Luigi was recovering from a head injury. He had healed nicely in the hospital. The only sign of trauma was a stitched-up gash along his forehead. He was excited to have a scar to show off.” Roman looked at the ground sadly. “Or so I thought.”

               He could feel their anticipation.

               “Just as I had set everything up for our séance, we were hoping to ask the dead for a clue about the living. Anyway, just as I had finished these hooded men burst into the tomb. They were clad in floor length, red robes with their hoods pulled up to block out their faces. Before I could even react, two of them had me by each arm and they forced me onto one of the coffins and started tying down. And Luigi, who was like a brother to me, he just watched. They didn’t even go for him, but he just watched them bind me. I called out to him, and in response. He…” Roman took an exaggerated gasp. “He pulled out the stitch on his forehead. And his skin fell limp, but behind it where I expected flesh to be was more skin. And he pulled his face off as if he were removing a mask. And under the mask, under the face of a man I had known my entire life was this… this stranger! This figure who I didn’t know from Payton, slowly pulling the hide of my friend off his face. Wearing Luigi as a mask! The stranger laughed at me! He laughed at the brutal terror that welled up inside me! And he pulled out a long sharp knife…”

               “I was at the cemetery myself that night.” Virgil took up the story. “Following the dudes who were nice enough to not have me arrested for picking their pockets. In my childish mind I had sworn a life debt to them in that moment. But, little did I know that I’d be paying it off that night. Because that was when I heard the screams.”

               Mimicking Roman’s style Virgil paused and took a breath.

               “Being seven, whenever fight or flight came up in my brain I would normally fly. But that night, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why, I chose to fight. I sprinted towards the source of the screams and found the tomb doors closed to the outside. But did that stop me? No, with whatever strength a half-starved kid possesses I threw myself into the door and just kept slamming into it. I was in a frenzy! I just kept bashing into that door with all my weight. Seventy pounds of skin and bones ramming the door like there was no tomorrow.”

               “That’s where I came in.” Emile joined. “I had hit an alligator, literally there was a tiny alligator wrapped around my tire and was trying to fix my tire when I heard both the screaming and the constant thudding. I too ran to the source and saw a small child, bruised and bloody, hammering his fragile body into the concrete doors. The first thing I did was wrestle him away from the door before he killed himself. Then, I forced my tire iron between the crack in the two doors to pry it open like a lever. It budged open an inch, but then the men inside swung it open to see what was going on. I fought them as best as I could, even managing to break one’s arm. But then their leader pulled out this whip, made out of bones, human spinal bones and he snapped my weapon out of my hands while I was still reeling from the shock. Next thing I knew I was being chained to the floor.”

               “They took this distraction in their stride.” Roman shuddered. “And with Virgil and Emile dealt with they turned back to me. The knife wielder tore my shirt off in one swipe and drove his knife into my chest. Just when I thought I was done for I realized that he wasn’t about to stab me to death. Instead he slid the knife down towards my stomach, he was skinning me!”

               “I did the only thing I knew how to do.” Virgil jumped in. “I played dead. And miracle of miracles, they bought it. The one with the whip bent down to check on me, and I bit him. I sank my teeth into his wrist like it was the most delicious prime rib known to man. He fought me with his free hand, but no number of blows was making me spit that fucker’s arm out. I dug in until I hit bone, I ground my teeth to widen the wound, I sunk in until I was certain that he and I were one…”

               “And I took the opportunity to dislocate my thumb.” Emile jumped in on cue. “And slid out of one of my wrist restraints. With my free arm I put Virgil’s new chew toy in a head lock, he didn’t put up too much of a fight, as now he was woozy with blood loss. He collapsed, and Virgil started rooting through his body for the keys. Another robed guy came at me, so I did the worst thing I could think of. I grabbed his groin and I pulled with all my strength. He doubled over and Virgil tossed me the keys.”

               “With this madness going on, the leader had stopped trying to skin me and was now running towards the other two.” Roman took the reins once more. “He flew at Emile with the knife and they engaged in battle. Meanwhile, Virgil freed me, and I took the leader from behind. Emile dodged a stab and the leader fell into his own weapon. I took it from him, and Emile took up his tire iron once more. And.” Roman stopped. “Knowing that we couldn’t go to the police for fear of how deep this madness runs, without any other options. We… we finished them off.”

               “With that done. We sealed the tomb and vowed never to speak of it again.” Emile added. “And then we took Virgil to a hospital.”        

               “I had a collapsed lung.” Virgil added happily.

               The crowd applauded them and even the guide looked impressed. Emile and Virgil were satisfied, but Roman had one more trick left.

               “And,” Roman added, pulling up the hem of his shirt. “Here’s the receipt.”

               He pulled his shirt up to display a long scar that went from his sternum to his navel, well past his navel actually. The scar took the place of the more traditional bellybutton. It was still visible in the evening light. The scar itself was horrid looking. It was jagged, narrow in some places and bore the impression of skin grafts in others. It folded in slightly at his stomach giving a clear picture of how deep it was.

               The crowd gasped. Virgil squeaked in surprise and Emile looked on baffled (and hopefully impressed to be seeing Roman’s physique a second time.) Roman laughed to himself. This had been an excellent improv session and he had managed to both impress his nephew and a rather charming doctor.

               At the end of the tour Roman had done the gentlemanly thing and walked Emile to his car. The three of them laughed about their story telling talents and the tales of terror they wove.

               “Well, this is me.” Emile stopped at his car. “Thanks for walking me to my car. I didn’t want the cult to catch me alone.”

               “Of course not.” Roman agreed.

               “So, stop me if I’m intruding.” Emile started hesitantly. “But how did you get that scar?”

               “It’s far worse than the story.” Roman sighed.

               “Now you have to tell us.” Virgil bopped his shoulder.

               “Ok. I was born a conjoined twin.” Roman sighed. “They had to cut us apart. Remus, that’s my brother, has the same scar. Well, at least a similar one”

               “You both made it? That’s amazing.” Emile looked impressed. “Also, your names are Roman and Remus? Like Romulus and Remus?”

               “I hate it when people get that reference.”

               “Whatever would they have done if you were triplets?” Virgil taunted. “Hey, we all have Italian names.”

               The two adults laughed at Virgil’s observation.

               “Oh.” Emile started. “Would you two like a ride back home? I think Virgil over did it with the walking.”

               “That would be lovely.” Roman lit up slightly.

               “Woo.” Virgil said softly to Roman.

               “Now Virgil,” Roman said as he buckled his seat belt. “What would you normally do if a stranger offered you a ride home?”

               “Fight him to the death.” Virgil said plainly.

               “Ok, the correct answer is to say no and run away.” Roman disregarded that comment.

               They pulled into the driveway and saw that Patton and Logan were home already.

               “Thanks for the ride Dr. Picani.” Virgil said quickly as he darted out of the car.

               He was inside in a flash, no doubt to tell his parents everything he had been up to. Good. Roman exited the car with a bit more grace.

               “Thank you very much for the ride back, Emile.” Roman said graciously.

               “PSHSHHSHH.” Emile swatted the topic out of the air. “It was nothing.”

               There was a pause.

               “I had a good time hanging out with you.” Emile said timidly.

               “I had a good time with you too.” Roman felt himself blush.

               “I know there’s still the court case and everything…” Emile blushed as well. “But after that, when there won’t be any conflict of interest… are you single?”

               “Completely.” Roman answered.      

[1] The dogs are Clifford the Big Red Dog, Courage the Cowardly Dog, Scooby Dooby Doo, Blue from Blue’s Clues, Gir from Invader Zim (Hi Marie Pippins, that one’s for you) and Goddard from Jimmy Neutron

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

The Perfect Moment (Chapter 4)

Summary: When Cyrus is assigned to create a modern re-telling of “Romeo and Juliet” for English class, he decides to produce a movie. His stars, however, may pose some trouble. Will he finish his movie on time?

If you’d like to be on the tag list, please let me know here or send me a DM or a message! Or, you can also find my story on AO3 and subscribe!

Thank you!

(Last time, the chapter didn’t show on the tags so I figured it might have been because of the links. So, I’m trying not to add any in but if you need the other chapters, just go on my tyrus perfect moment tag or DM me!)

Despite his little accident, Cyrus was still ready to continue filming the next day. Time stopped for no one and neither did his deadline. If he was to become a real filmmaker, he couldn’t let something as small as getting hit in the face with a basketball and a bleeding nose stop him. Besides, his dad had taken him to the hospital the day before to make sure his nose wasn’t broken (it wasn’t).

So, the next day, after filming a short Dance scene at the gym (which Andi had decorated), he gathered his cast and crew and headed off to the park to film one of the most important scenes in his movie.

(And by cast and crew, he only really meant Buffy, T.J., Andi, and Jonah. The others were done shooting for the day and had gone home.)

“Okay! In this scene, Logan will do his monologue while watching Quinn from afar,” Cyrus explained to them. “Buffy, you’ll stand at the gazebo and look contemplative. Jonah, your camera will do a wide-shot, with T.J. close and Buffy in the background.”

Jonah gave him a thumbs up.

“Andi, will you fix Buffy’s makeup, please? We’re starting in five.”

The equivalent of the infamous balcony scene, Logan and Quinn agree to meet up. Quinn sneaks away to the gazebo and Logan follows her after. Then, the two do their individual monologues and then their confessions.

“You ready?” Cyrus asked T.J., who was standing on his spot, reading his script.

He was dressed in a lavender button down, black slacks, matching suit jacket, and a purple tie to match Buffy’s purple cocktail dress.

The taller boy shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be. You know… as long as Buffy doesn’t kill me after.”

Cyrus chuckled. “Well, then, you’ll be thrilled that I replaced the kiss with a hug.”

T.J. scrunched his face, looking disgusted. “She really would have killed me then!”

Shaking his head in amusement, Cyrus stepped forward and reached up to take hold of the purple tie.

“Your tie is all crooked,” he stated, fixing it. Then, he smoothed T.J.’s suit jacket, picking off some stray lint. “There, all handsome.” He looked up to smile at the other boy.

T.J. was red as he stared down at him.

Cyrus’ eyes widened in alarm. “Are you okay?!”

He placed a hand on the other boy’s forehead, wondering if he had a fever. Was he sick?! Had Cyrus been pushing him too hard?!

Despite his panicking, T.J. just chuckled and shook his head. “I’m fine. Really. I think it’s just a little hot out.”

Well, that made sense. It was a little humid that day. They better wrap up this scene so they could all go home soon. Plus, they all had a pretty long day at school. And it was Friday!

“I’ll get you some water, then! Don’t want my star to be dehydrated!”

And with that, he bounded off to get T.J. a bottle of water. (He was well-prepared with snacks and hydration!)

…….…….…….

He practiced his monologue all night, in front of his cat. Sure, Simon didn’t give a damn about the words he was saying to him as long as T.J. gave him his dinner, but still, he had felt confident.

So, when the time came to shoot, T.J. was proud to say that it went flawlessly. Okay, maybe he stumbled once and forgot a few words the second time, but by the third and fourth take, he had perfected it.

“Cut!” Cyrus called out. “That was great T.J.!”

His heart swelled with joy at the other boy’s compliment.

“Buffy! Get ready for your scene!”

As they moved the cameras closer to Buffy’s spot, T.J. found himself staying by Cyrus’ side. He subtly leaned in and pressed their shoulders together while the other boy adjusted his camera. Cyrus briefly turned his head to smile at him before going back to his task.

“Okay, Buffy! You ready?”

“Yep!” The girl gave them a thumbs up.

“And… action!”

“Logan… where are you?” Buffy said out loud as she looked out into the distance. “Is this really okay? Can we be together like this and not hurt our friends?” She sighed, loudly. “Does it really matter whether you’re in their team or not?”

Buffy’s voice droned on in T.J.’s ears. He knew he should be watching her because everybody else was. But, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cyrus.

The director’s concentration was firmly on the camera screen, barely breathing as his teeth subtly gnawed at his lower lip. He had really plump lips that stood out whenever he pouted. 

Not for the first time, T.J. wondered what it would be like to kiss Cyrus.

“Cut!”

His voice broke through T.J.’s thoughts. Realizing what was just running through his head while staring at Cyrus, he blushed.

“Okay, that was great!” Cyrus called out to Buffy, oblivious to T.J.’s red face. “One more take! This time, try to act a little more…dreamy! You’re in love, remember? You’re daydreaming about him!”

T.J. knew all about daydreams.

Then, Cyrus turned to him. “We’ll do two more takes and then we’ll do the next scene, if you want to look at your script again.”

“Okay!”

He was smiling but on the inside, he was groaning. He and Buffy were supposed to hug in this scene after spewing some flowery stuff at each other.

But, he had to keep remembering that he was doing this for Cyrus. It was all for Cyrus. Just like in all of his other scenes, he just had to pretend that the person in front of him is the person he liked…which was Cyrus.

So, while Buffy continued to film her scene, T.J. read through his script again, memorizing and feeling the emotions behind those words. And even though the words were cheesier than The Spoon’s mac-and-cheese, they were words written by Cyrus…and he had a way with them that just reeled T.J. in.

Soon, he found himself standing under the gazebo, Buffy across from him and Cyrus in between them, explaining what he wanted them to do.

Walk to Buffy. Stand close. Take one of her hands and put it against his heart. Then… hug.

“Ready? And… action!”

T.J. got into character and sauntered over to Buffy. “Quinn,” he called out.

Buffy spun on her heels and smiled at him. “Logan. I thought you would never come.”

“Of course, I would.” T.J. took a few steps forward. “I promised you I would.”

“Are we doing the right thing? Keeping us a secret from our teams? Our friends?”

“You know what will happen if we tell them. They won’t forgive us.”

“I know but…”

This was the moment when T.J. was supposed to take Buffy’s hand and put it against his chest. So he reached out to do exactly that.

“Cut!”

They both turned to Cyrus, confused. Neither of them made a mistake on their lines.

Cyrus sighed. “You’re standing too far, T.J.”

The athlete looked at the distance between him and Buffy. It seemed like a respectable distance. He took a step forward.

“Like this?” he asked.

Cyrus left his camera to walk up to the both of them. Situating himself in between, the shorter boy gently placed a hand on T.J.’s back and pushed him closer to Buffy, who took a step back. Cyrus took her arm and pulled her back in her original place.

“Like this,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

Buffy looked up at T.J., lips in a tight line and hands clenched in fists at her side. He knew that she was holding herself back from punching him in the face and running away.

“Buffy, why do you look like you want to punch him?” Cyrus asked, looking at her. “You have to be in love!”

“I’m sorry! But his face…”

T.J. sneered. “Yours is no work of art either, Driscoll.”

“Why you-.”

“Guys!” Cyrus stepped in between them. “This is supposed to be the perfect moment and you’re ruining it!”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Perfect moment?”

Cyrus sighed again. “In every story, there is a perfect moment. The timing is right, the mood is set, and everything else fades away into the background. It’s the moment that captures the audience and sticks in their memory the most. This is the scene where Logan and Quinn pledge their love for one another and swear not to let anything get in between them. The perfect moment! So, please… get this right? For me?”

He was practically pleading at that point and T.J. felt guilty that his lack of romantic chemistry with Buffy was causing problems.

“I’m sorry, Cy, it’s just… really hard,” Buffy explained, looking sorry. “I mean… look at him!”

She gestured at T.J.’s face.

Cyrus looked up at him. T.J. grinned. And Cyrus blushed and cutely looked away.

“I see nothing wrong with his face,” he stated. “In fact, he looks quite handsome... and you’re very pretty!”

T.J. resisted the urge to blush. 

“How about this?” Cyrus continued. “Close your eyes, both of you.”

“Why?” Buffy asked.

“Just do it, please.”

Obediently, T.J. shut his eyes. It took a moment but Buffy must have closed hers too as Cyrus cleared his throat and began to talk.

“Now, imagine that the person in front of you is the person you like.

T.J. pictured it in his head.

Cyrus standing in front of him, wearing that cute eye smile as he looked up at T.J. like he was the most amazing person in the world.

“The words on the script are the words you want to say to them.”

I’d give it all up for you. The team. My position. Everything if it means I can be with you.

“Picture how they look at you when you do. Are they happy to hear you say those words?”

No, Cyrus wouldn’t be happy. He knew how important basketball was to T.J. and would never let him give it up. In fact, he would probably be angry if T.J. tried. He would still look cute, though. Like a puppy trying to bark.

“How do you feel about them?”

T.J. would still give it all up if Cyrus asked him to.

“Now, open your eyes.”

T.J. obeyed and the first thing he saw was Cyrus looking up at him with a soft smile.

“There’s the look I needed,” he said, turning his head away to look at Buffy too, who now looked less tense than she was earlier. “We’ll resume in five, okay? Take in those feelings just now.”

He patted them both in the back before walking back to his camera. T.J. watched him go, worried because Cyrus just looked stressed out. He wanted to help him.

“Let’s get this right this time, okay?” Buffy’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned his head back to look at her.

The girl no longer looked like she wanted to kill him, which was a relief, honestly. That would make this scene easier to act out when she wasn’t glaring at him. It was just so easy to banter with her. He supposed that that was just what their relationship would always be like.

“Yeah, definitely. We should,” T.J. agreed. “I don’t want to make this any more difficult on Cyrus.”

Buffy flashed him a strange look. “You know… you should just hurry up and make a move.”

That caught him off-guard and he immediately felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “W-What?” was all he could manage. “W-What are you talking about?”

Buffy snorted. “Oh, please, you’re not exactly subtle. Practically everyone knows.”

His throat was suddenly dry and he swallowed. “E-Everyone?”

Buffy shrugged. “Everyone with eyes.” Her eyes softened. “Look, T.J., I may not be… fond of you.” She wrinkled her nose. “But, me and everyone else can see that you care about Cyrus. And Cyrus cares about you, too. Trust me, I’m his best friend.”

He almost felt touched at that. But, that didn’t mean she was right…was she? Could Cyrus care about him in the same way? Or maybe it was the kind of care that he felt for all of his friends. Cyrus was a caring person, after all.

“I don’t know…”

Buffy snorted again and punched his arm. “At least try to make a move on him or something!”

He resisted the urge to rub his arm (damn, this girl could punch!) and, instead, ran a hand through his hair.

“I should…” he agreed. “But… what should I do?”

Buffy snorted again. “Well, don’t expect me to help you there.” She smirked. “Unless you beg.”

T.J. huffed. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll figure it out myself.” He hesitated before asking in a soft voice, “You think he cares about me?”

Buffy laughed. “You… are… oblivious,” was all she said before punching his arm again.

…….…….…….

“They seem to be getting along well now,” said Andi, looking towards the gazebo.

Cyrus followed her gaze and watched Buffy laughing before punching T.J. in the arm. From Buffy, that was practically a sign of affection.

Something twitched inside his chest and Cyrus turned away to look at the script again. “T-That’s good,” he said.

“You okay, Cy?” Andi asked, concern in her voice.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seem… bothered.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted before clearing his throat. “Anyway, we should start soon.” He turned back to the two under the gazebo, ignoring the way his chest twitched again. “Get ready!”

The two paused their conversation and got in their place. Cyrus positioned himself behind the camera and checked to see if Jonah was ready, too.

“Okay… Ready… And… Action!”

Up ahead on the gazebo, T.J. began.

“Quinn.”

Buffy turned around smiled. “Logan. I thought you would never come.”

“Of course, I would.” T.J. took a few steps towards her. “I promised you I would.”

Buffy looked down at the floor. “Are we doing the right thing? Keeping us a secret from our teams? Our friends?”

T.J. moved a few more steps closer until he was at the spot Cyrus had shown him. “You know what will happen if we tell them. They won’t forgive us.”

“I know but…”

T.J. reached out to take Buffy’s hand.

Cyrus’ heart was pumping hard and fast against his chest as Buffy raised her head to look at T.J. And, there it was… the look. The look that Cyrus wanted. The soft, loving look that spoke volumes, even through a camera screen.

“I’d give it all up,” T.J. said.

Buffy’s lips parted, slightly, in shock at the declaration.

Cyrus felt himself swallow as he zoomed in on T.J.’s face.

“I’d give it all up for you. The team. My position. Everything if it means I can be with you.”

And with those last words… T.J. leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Buffy, who wrapped her own around his torso.

Cyrus felt the breath leave his lungs at the sight.

It was beautiful.

Perfect.

And, then, T.J. lifted his eyes to look at him. The look brought him back to reality.

“C-Cut!” he managed to call out.

The two broke their hug and stepped away from each other.

“T-That was great!” he called out, with a small smile. “We’ll do one more take from another angle! Great job, you two!”

He turned his back to them and slapped his cheeks a little. They felt way too warm. He needed water.

…….…….…….

After two more takes of the gazebo scene, Cyrus had T.J. and Buffy do a few scenes around the park for a montage.

They took a walk around the park while holding hands. Sat on the swings while talking (they didn’t have a script for this one but Cyrus wasn’t planning on having any conversation for the montage anyway so the two just talked about basketball). And sat by the pond, watching the ducks.

It was cute. Adorable. Sweet, even.

It stressed Cyrus out, for some reason.

But, after all that was done, they packed up everything and got ready to go home. 

It was Friday so they weren’t shooting over the weekend. His project was due next Friday so he had a max of three or four more days to finish shooting everything. Plus, Mr. Spencer had asked him to re-write the last scene and so far, Cyrus hadn’t come up with anything.

“You okay?” T.J. asked, breaking through his worries.

The jock was walking him home, still dressed in his formal clothes but with the suit jacket neatly folded in a bag. Both tripod bags hung from his shoulders, as they didn’t want to go back to school to return them so Cyrus was keeping them and the cameras for the weekend.

“Yeah, just… worried,” he confessed.

“About what?”

“Not finishing this movie on time.” Cyrus sighed. “I have to start cutting the clips and editing tonight. In fact, that’s what my weekend will consist of.” He let out a frustrated groan. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

T.J. gently bumped his shoulders with his. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure you’ll finish on time, you never leave anything up to the last minute like I do.”

Cyrus felt his lips twitch into a smile.

“And I can help you, if you want.”

He raised his head to meet T.J.’s gaze. “Really? You would?”

“Yeah, totally! I mean, I’ve never edited a video before but if you tell me what to do, I can learn. I wanna help!”

Cyrus considered it. T.J. had been a big help to him throughout this entire week. And he just couldn’t resist when the taller boy looked so hopeful and excited.

So, he agreed.

Fifteen minutes later, they were both on Cyrus’ couch, glasses of lemon water sat on coasters on the coffee table and laptop computers in each of their laps. Cyrus showed him how to scroll through the clips, pick out the best clips, write them down for Cyrus to keep track of later when he edits, and move them to a new folder.

Side-by-side, with headphones on and barely any space between them, they spent an hour doing exactly this and mostly in silence, the only sounds coming from the clips and the scratching of pencils against paper.

A few times, Cyrus couldn’t help but peek at T.J. from the corner of his eye. And each time, he felt that same twitching in his chest that he swore to ignore. But, how could he when seeing how seriously the jock was with helping made him feel all warm and fluttery? It wasn’t T.J.’s grade on the line, but he was taking precious time to make sure Cyrus would pass with flying colors.

T.J. turned his head to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Cyrus blinked and realized that he had been staring too long this time. “Sorry, I spaced out,” he half-lied before removing his headphones. “I’m a bit tired now. Let’s take a break.”

He moved the computer from his lap to the coffee table and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. He felt T.J. moving beside him. Soon, a shoulder pressed against his.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to T.J. “Thank you for everything. Once this is all done, you are definitely getting free milkshakes from me.”

T.J. grinned. “It’s a date.”

Cyrus blushed and looked away. He knew that T.J. didn’t actually mean a date. But, his heart was weak and he tried to quell the brimming hope threatening to take over.

“Besides, I’m having a ton of fun,” T.J. continued, oblivious to Cyrus’ turmoil. “Maybe I can help you with your next video project, too?”

Cyrus’ body betrayed him once more and he felt his ears heating up. Nonetheless, he turned to the boy next to him and smiled.

“Really? I won’t let you back out, you know.”

“I won’t back out,” T.J. swore, looking serious and determined.

Cyrus laughed. “What if it’s a film about two men falling in love?” he joked.

“I’d still star in it.”

He blinked, surprised. “Really?”

T.J. nodded, eagerly. “If it means helping you out, Underdog, I’ll play any role.”

Ahhh, he was so sweet. Cyrus wished his heart would stop beating so fast. It was way too loud and he was afraid T.J. would hear it.

They continued working on cutting clips throughout the rest of the afternoon until night fell. Cyrus’ parents arrived on time for dinner and they invited T.J., who accepted the invitation. They talked about Cyrus’ project, asked T.J. questions about school, and whatever topic came up.

After dessert, T.J. announced that it was time for him to leave for home as his curfew was approaching.

Cyrus walked him out. “Thanks, again, T.J.,” he said as they both stood out on the porch.

The jock grinned. “Any time. If you need me to help you out more this weekend, just let me know. I’m working until 3 tomorrow, but I’m free for the rest of the day and Sunday.”

“I’ll make a note of that, thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.”

With one last wink, T.J. turned on his heels and walked away, not realizing that he left Cyrus’ heart doing somersaults.

Tag list:

@lemon-boy-tj @homosexualearthworm

@disastrxlogy

@new-to-the-phandom

@tyrusgoingfast

@tj-cyrus

@multifandom-bxitch

@completelysterling completelysterling

@spike-heels

@thedampjofangirl

@i-am-confussion confussion

@buffyshirley

[pentopello]

hiya! thanks for doing this ask meme :) If it isn't too much trouble, i'd like to request number 12 and 13, please! Thanks again in advance ❤

thank you!! and sorry for taking so long! finals are done at least, and i should be able to get back to writing now!

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

13. things you said at the kitchen table

12.

(in a hotel room while on a case; pre-relationship)

Michael’s just on the brink of sleep when Allen starts talking. It’s nothing more than murmuring at first, a little bit of added narration to the notes that he’s taking and the calculations he’s making. It’s really just a reflection on the day’s events, nothing vital, but Allen had told him that he’d needed to get it all down before he could go to sleep tonight and that Michael needn’t stay up.

So Michael had gotten in his bed and under the covers but hadn’t focused too hard on sleeping. Sometimes it was nice just to close his eyes and let things be.

Allen stops after a while, and Michael hears him close his notebook. Michael figures he’s done and about to go to sleep as well, but then Allen sighs and starts talking.

“It’s beautiful out tonight,” he says quietly like he doesn’t want to wake Michael up. “New moon, clear skies. The stars are probably radiant. I bet if I walked outside, went out to that clearing, I could see the Milky Way.”

There’s a pause again, but Michael doesn’t really hear anything except for Allen’s breathing, so it’s a safe bet to assume Allen’s just sitting there, not really doing much beyond thinking. It’s a little odd that he’s talking to himself, but Michael doesn’t dwell on it. Allen’s Allen.

“Can’t help but wonder what you see when you look up at the sky,” Allen says barely above a whisper, and Michael has to strain to hear him over the rattle of the heater. “I’ve got my perspective, of course, but you’ve been there, up in the sky. Closer to the stars than I’ll ever be. Our experiences are so…different.” The sound of fabric shifting briefly. A minuscule change in position meant to aid the process of thought.

“I want to know what you feel,” Allen continues, still quiet. “I want you to understand the same wonder that I do what I track the stars across the sky, delve deep into the great unknown. How at home I feel beyond the atmosphere as you must feel among the clouds. I don’t know why I want that so bad, but I do.” He trails off, emotion entering his voice, which he attempts to balance out by what Michael presumes is him tracing patterns on the surface of the wooden table. It’s another faint sound, continuous but new.

“There’s already so much going on,” Allen says. “It’s a little strange to give small things like that—little wants, little impulses—the time of day, but I keep coming back to them.” Another pause. "You told me that you’re better when I’m around. Do you still feel that way?”

Michael wants to sit up, to tell him yes, absolutely, but with the way the question is posed, he knows it’s not meant to be answered. He probably shouldn’t be listening, because he’s not meant to hear this, but there’s no way for him to give Allen the privacy he needs.

“I want to be the kind of man you see in me, Michael,” Allen says, “but I can’t help but feel like recently I’ve been doing all the wrong things. How can I keep you honest if I can’t even keep myself honest?” He sighs. “I feel like I’ve been lying to everyone—even myself. I told Mimi it was the job, you know. That I couldn’t just walk away from the work I was doing here, but it’s not just that. I tried to deny it for a long time, but I couldn’t walk away from you either, and I don’t know what that means. I think I’m falling in love with you, but I don’t know! I’ve never felt this way before, and it’s a little terrifying.”

Allen’s silent for a moment, and Michael can’t tell what he’s doing, but then he hears him set something down on the table, probably his pen, and the resettling of fabric, Allen leaning back in the chair.

"I guess I’m saying it now because I’m too scared to say it when you’re awake.” Allen sighs, light and resigned. “I wouldn’t even know what it would mean if I had the courage to tell you. What it would change. What I would want it to change. Maybe I’m supposed to keep it to myself. I don’t know.”

It’s silent, then, for even longer, but then Allen stands and walks towards the door of the hotel room. “Good night, Michael,” he says softly and then he’s gone.

Michael waits for a few minutes to pass after he hears the door lock shut before he sits up and stares at the table where Allen has been sitting. He’s probably out in the parking lot, stargazing as he often does.

It’s really a strange opportunity that’s fallen into his lap, to learn that his feelings towards Allen are reciprocated. Kind of. He can’t just act immediately though. Too early and Allen won’t be ready. He’ll react poorly, and then things will be even worse. Too late and he’ll have missed his chance. He scrubs his hands over his face and groans. There’s no use trying to figure it out now. He’s too tired, and any plans that he comes up with won’t be any good. He flops back down onto the bed and tries in earnest to fall asleep.

He’ll figure this out. He has to.

13.

(living together, at least part of the time; established relationship)

It’s a cereal kind of morning. It’s the kind of day where they don’t have any early obligations, so they get to eat breakfast together, but it’s also the kind of day where they still have to go to work, so there’s no time for them to prepare anything particularly fancy.

Allen presses his spoon into the wheat mush in his bowl, the individual pieces now formless in the milk. It has no personality, but it doesn’t really taste bad, so he tries not to think about it.

Across the table, Michael loudly crunches away at his own bowl, dry. His milk is kept separate in a glass on his placemat.

It strikes Allen, suddenly, how surreal this whole situation is. He’d never even imagined having something like this strange domesticity in his life when he’d first started developing feelings for Michael. He hadn’t even imagined it when they’d just begun to navigate their then-fledgling relationship. It colors so many of their interactions now, even the things that aren’t explicitly intended to be romantic, and Allen hadn’t even realized it for months.

Now that he has, though, he can’t stop the flood of questions from entering his brain.

What happens if someone gets suspicious? How have expectations changed on him as a partner? Is the normalcy of the relationship supposed to feel this normal? And what about the future? Where are they headed? Are there going to be the traditional landmarks? Or do they just keep going as they have?

"What do you think is going to happen to us when this is all over?” Allen brings up the question aloud.

Michael freezes and then slowly lowers his spoon into his bowl. “This?” he asks cautiously.

“Project Blue Book,” Allen clarifies. “It’s going to end someday. It has to. Either it’ll be terminated or we’ll be removed from it, but one way or another, we’ll stop being colleagues.”

Michael rests his arms fulls on the table. “I suppose that is something of an eventuality. If we don’t die first, of course,“ he says, humorously. "What’s your point?”

Allen sighs and really tries to think about it. What is his point? “I guess it’s just that as long as we’re working together, it’s easy to spend most of our time together, but that gets a lot trickier if we’re not.”

“Huh,” Michael says and chews his lip thoughtfully, but he doesn’t provide any other response.

“Do you have any thoughts?” Allen asks a little impatiently. “Is this something that’s occurred to you before?”

“I suppose so,” Michael says with a shrug.

“It didn’t bother you?” Allen asks.

“I like to live in the present,” Michael says, but he doesn’t quite meet Allen’s eyes.

“And when the present changes and things aren’t as easy as they are now?” Allen asks.

“I wouldn’t say they’re easy now,” Michael says, “but I’d like to think that I’d do what’s necessary to make it work.”

What’s necessary.

It occurs to Allen, then, that this is absolutely something that Michael’s thought about before. He’s too careful to leave things up to fate, and Allen wouldn’t be surprised if Michael’s carefully plotted out each possible future and figured out ways to counter each adversity their relationship might face.

Michael is confident in his preparedness, and that’s why he isn’t worried. Allen figures that maybe he shouldn’t be either, then.

“Look. I love you,” Michael says. “You know I do. I’m not with you just because it’s convenient.”

Allen reaches across the table and takes one of Michael’s hands in his own. Maybe it’s a little too soon, a little too early in their relationship to be thinking about forever, but it feels a lot more tangible now than ever before. He leans over to press his lips to Michael’s knuckles.

Michael lights up, any residual tension draining from his shoulders, and Allen knows that Michael understands he feels the same.

[ohthathurt]

Bring Me Home

Prompt: You were away for a while and I missed you so much that I kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety…sorry? 

Also inspired by this art

Heaving up his shoulder bag, Liam absently rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, digging into a travelling bag in front of him on the trolley for his water bottle. Flying sucked balls. Obscene as that description may be, it was God’s honest truth and he couldn’t wait to get out of the airport and into a private car that took him to their flat. His and Zaynie’s flat in New York.

He had just landed a few minutes ago and thankfully it being a late flight there weren’t as many people milling in and out, which always set Paddy on edge, sticking to Liam like Velcro. Baggage claim done, he followed his security out towards the arrivals gate and out of the airport’s exit sliding doors.

This time, no paps were present to document his entry into New York because of obvious reasons but Liam was grateful for them, he was sure he looked a mess. Face wrinkled with however little sleep he could manage and hair sticking up on all ends thanks to the residual hair wax, he was surprised no one gave him the stink eye.

He dropped heavily onto the soft seats of the car, a black sedan with tinted windows, and immediately curled up to go back to sleep. From the front passenger seat, he could hear Paddy look back at him and scoff but Liam ignored him for the sweet call of slumber and dreams full of happy amber eyes.

It was much later that he jolted up as he heard a sharp rap against the window that his face was currently smushed up against, haphazardly wiping off any drool that may have accumulated.

He looked around in a daze and he found the car was parked in idle in a narrow alley behind a building. The flat’s back entrance, then.

It was already beginning to be sunrise so he pushed himself out the car door and walked towards the building’s back entrance, an inconspicuous looking door with matte black paint on it. Liam wobbled his way through the door and robotically made his way towards their flat. A quick swipe and the security checks were sorted as he finally stepped into his home.

The smell of vanilla and dog food welcomed him as he sleepily chuckled, so Zayn was sneaking Rhino in behind his back. Their dogs, more like babies, weren’t always allowed in the flat whenever they lived here, due to Rhino’s tendency to run in open areas and Loki loved the gardens at their LA mansion.

But Liam stopped short of their living room, the coffee table a mess of comics and coasters, sheets of paper strewn around no doubt filled with mindless lyrics or wordless melodies. His heart ached to hear the soft pads of feet across their plush carpet, a wide grin with a scrunchy nose and lively eyes. He longed for those thin, wiry arms to wind around his neck, his husband a light weight in his arms as he jumped up to greet Liam.

All he wanted was to bury his nose in the soft, raven hair and breathe in the familiar but still intoxicating scent of Zayn.

God, he’s such a sap, if his husband was here he’d get a roll of the eyes and a scoff but still with a hint of rosy cheeks. Even after all these years, Zayn still loved to hear how much he meant to Liam.

With a shake of his head, Liam forced himself out of his head. Right, first things first.

He took long strides towards their bedroom, the door half open with the king sized bed in view, and all clean white sheets. Unlacing his shoes, he kicked them off in a hurry outside the bedroom’s entrance and made his way towards the wardrobe room. Of course, they had a wardrobe room; where else would Zayn keep the innumerous clothing items he received on the daily.

Liam flicked on the dim orange light of the tiny space and made his way towards the far left corner, where his own drawer of things was situated. Swiftly sliding it open, he reached in for a small velvet pouch. He shook its contents out onto his palm with a small smile as he finally slid on his wedding band.

Now he felt complete. Now he felt like Liam, just Liam, or as Niall called him, Mrs. Zayn Malik.

With a huff at the memory of his best friend taking the piss out of him, he exited the small room and his eyes zeroed in on the bed. Finally, his own bed.

After a quick use of the washroom, he took his cellphone out and sent a customary reached text to his husband, before shutting it off. He planted himself face down on the bed, practically groaning at the memory foam as it hugged his body. Blindly, he reached for Zayn’s pillow and cuddled it close to him, the scent of his husband still a remnant on it.

With a small sigh, he switched onto his side and curled up into a foetal position, before finally drifting off.

***

Light danced across his eyelids and Liam groaned as he absently remembered he forgot to shut the blinds. He fluttered his eyes open carefully, the sunlight almost blinding him and found that he was in the same position he slept in.

With a loud grunt, he shifted onto his back, only to find a dull ache present in his left shoulder and his back. He’d probably have to call his trainer in to check that over before he went back to his weight training.

After an agonizing hour of moving himself around for enough blood flow to ease his pain, he was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, a bowl of oat bran cereal in front of him and his thumb scrolling busily through his twitter mentions.

He chuckled at the few memes, apparently him and Niall were fodder for ‘1d memes’ nowadays, and smiled at the warm yet manic compliments left by his fans.

He exited out of his own twitter page and typed in a name he’s not ashamed to admit that he Googles more than his own. Zayn Malik.

Switching to an update blog on Tumblr, he found a flurry of new pictures of Zayn who was currently in Milan attending a Louis Vuitton show. His husband was holding several poses, dressed in a sleek, aubergine-coloured tux with black trims, shiny black shoes and hair an artful mess of inky black.

In each picture, Zayn held a similar pose, the achingly familiar smoulder and the mandala-covered hand on the lapel of his suit jacket. Liam’s heart threatened to burst with affection as he scrolled through more pictures of his husband, in every angle possible. God, but he was beautiful. And God, did Liam miss him terribly.

He also longed to see the familiar black ring on the left hand, right above the mandala tattoo. The same ring that he had purchased back in 2013, with the help of his and Zayn’s sisters. The same ring he had then presented to Zayn with a tear-filled speech that neither of them could get through.

But there was no use longing for something that was well far off in their future. He heaved a huge sigh and shoveled the last few spoonfuls of his breakfast, dropping the bowl in the sink to wash later.

He looked around the lonesome flat, figuring out what to do. The comics on the coffee table looked inviting so headed over to pick a few up.

**

Evening approached quickly and Liam found himself utterly bored and surrounded by crumpled up white papers. Lyrics scrawled down and scratched over, a funny looking doodle that was supposed to be Watson and Loki playing in the grass and just Zayn’s name signed over and over again.

The flat now looked a bit of a mess; the couch was obviously stained with a large yellow spot from where he had accidentally spilled some beer earlier in the day. His crumpled up papers littered the living room floor and a few reached across to the entrance of his bedroom, from where he had lobbed it in frustration, when lyrics and melodies escaped him.

He was pretty sure there were dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen sink and a flurry of crumbs on the kitchen floor and counter from when he had dropped the box of cereal clumsily. He’d mostly cleaned it up but there were still some obvious signs of trauma.

His dirty clothes from the airport were lying half in and out of the laundry basket and their washroom a mess from when Liam took an hour long hot shower without bothering to clean up the steam stained windows of their shower.

So he was a bit of a mess, but his husband’s absence was getting to him. He couldn’t even call him because he didn’t want to bother Zayn and worry him with the fact that he couldn’t even handle a few weeks alone.

Thick scruff was now growing freely over his jaw and he hadn’t changed into any proper clothes for two days now. He was still in the same pajamas and shirt that he threw on after the shower yesterday.

Liam thought of a way to pass the time when a framed picture of a family on the far left wall in the room caught his eye. He grinned widely, jaw cracking due to lack of use.

He checked the time and it was just past dinner in the UK so he whipped his phone out and dialed Safaa on Skype.

It was answered quickly as a familiar wide grin filled the screen and a screeching “Bhai!” from none other than Walihya.

Liam grinned, “Hi monster, what are you doing on your sister’s cell?”

Walihya only switched to a smug grin, “I got to it first so I get to talk to you first.”

“Alright, smart arse, how’s it going there? You get the contract yet?”

His sister-in-law bit her lip nervously before answering, “No, but I’m scared I’m not gonna get it.”

Liam scoffed, if there was someone as persistent as her on a project, it would surely get done. He told her so and watched in amusement as she blushed lightly and switched back to her scream-talking.

But soon a scuffle broke out and Liam could make out heated girlish whispers as the phone jerked around violently before a sweet smile on a serene face greeted him. His little one.

“Hi Saf,” Liam all but cooed at her and watched her scrunch her nose up, just like her brother.

Safaa giggled, “I’m not 8 anymore, Bhai. You still greet me like I’m a child.”

“You are a child! You’re my itty bitty little widdle cuddle monster.” He teased her relentlessly, enjoying the sweet smile morph into a more sarcastic and deadpan look. She looked every bit as unimpressed as Zayn does when Liam wants him to wash his own socks.

“Excuse you, I’m a teenager!”

“Yeah, only sixteen!”

“Yeah, and sixteen is pretty grown up.” Safaa looked smug as she stated.

Liam laughed, “Is it really? So tell me, O wise one, what all can you do at sixteen?”

She put on a mischievous smile, “Didn’t Bhaiyya fall in love with you at sixteen?”

Liam sobered up, “Safaa, don’t go looking for that now, you’re way too young!”

But the little shit grinned widely still, “Oh so now I’m too young for this when you two were probably off shagging at – “

“Safaa!” A shout resounded from behind her and she instantly cringed as the phone was passed and Trisha appeared on the screen beside her.

A small, “Sorry, Mum” was quickly whispered as she scampered somewhere off screen, probably to her bedroom to sulk in shame. Liam felt guilty for teasing, she was a sensitive one, his Safaa, and he didn’t want to see her shamefaced like that.

He quickly greeted his mother-in-law who was smiling gently at him before he addressed the issue of his youngest sister-in-law.

With a tinkling laugh and a hand wave, his protests soon died down as she continued, “Don’t worry, darling, she’s the spoilt one, you and Zayn never let me or Yaser scold her.”

He relaxed as their conversation soon took a turn towards Liam being alone and Trisha tutted quietly at his dejected expression.

“Do you want to catch a quick one over to Bradford, jaan? You can keep us company until Zayn is done.” She offered gently, an invitation that made him feel warm in his gut and a strong sense of belonging in his veins.

He thanked her but rejected the invitation politely, he wanted to stay here and wait until his husband came back. Besides, Zayn was supposed to be here in two days.

Soon, he was hearing lectures on his unkempt appearance that he accepted with a winning grin, all the while wondering if she’d faint at the sight of the flat.

After a while, he was saying his goodbyes, a whispered, “Bye, Maa, love you” that made Trisha’s eyes shine suspiciously with tears.

The sight made him miss his own parents, who were barely a call away for Liam but he didn’t want to disturb their time at Ruth’s house, where they were probably busy doting over Ashton.

He slumped down onto their cream coloured couch, appreciating the feeling of drowning in the cushions before his stomach rumbled uncomfortably.

With a pained groan, he heaved himself up off the couch, rubbing a hand at his sore back, and made his way towards the refrigerator.

Expecting a mostly empty fridge with suspiciously old take-out food, he pulled it open and gaped in surprise at the number of Tupperware containers.

He took one container out and edged it open, sniffing at the contents and smiled surprisingly at discovering it was Zayn’s homemade Karahi chicken.

He excitedly ducked back into the fridge to find a wrapped package that turned out to be naan and moved towards the stove where he hurriedly heated everything up.

Soon, he was sat on their couch in the living room, tearing up at the taste of the familiar food. God, now he was crying over a plate of Karahi chicken. But he couldn’t help it; he missed his husband too much.

***

Liam was about to burst into tears; he was currently sat on the carpeted floor with crossed legs, facing the flat’s main door. A blanket, which Zayn favoured during cold nights, was draped over him, covering his head, shoulders and arms, pooling out onto the floor around him.

In his right hand, he clutched a well-worn shirt of Zayn’s , which used to belong to Liam but didn’t fit him anymore. In his left hand, he gripped at his cellphone, willing it to ring so that Zayn could inform him that he’d landed. He took turns every few minutes, alternating between smelling the shirt and checking his cellphone.

All he had gotten was a “On my way to the airport :)” text and in the next few hours Liam had worn a dent into their lovely carpet and had messed up the flat some more. He was pretty sure his bottom lip was threatening to wobble at this point.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he heard an electronic beep come from the door, as the red light on the door turned to green and door knob jiggled and twisted.

An excited yelp left Liam as he sat up straight, eyes wide and trained on the door as it swung open to reveal a tired but beautiful Zayn. His head faced the floor as he edged his way in, a bag on his shoulder swaying heavily that he dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

But he soon looked up and stopped short in his tracks, mouth agape at the sight of Liam on the carpet.

For some reason, Liam didn’t have the energy to get up to greet his husband because his limbs weren’t cooperating, so he stayed on the floor and continued to stare hungrily at his husband, seeing him after so long.

Zayn finally snapped out of his shock and moved towards his husband, a concerned expression evident on his face. He kneeled down in front of Liam and cupped his cheeks before whispering, “Liam, you okay, jaan?”

But Liam only made a noise that sounded a lot like ‘meep!’ and leaned into Zayn’s touch heavily, his eyes closing at the touch.

A dozen thoughts whirled through Zayn’s mind, almost all of them concerned and worried for his husband, as he stood up again, heart wrenching at the noise Liam made at the loss of touch. He reached down to hook his arms under his husband’s armpits and pulled him up and with a bit of difficulty, Liam was upright but swaying dangerously.

He nuzzled sweetly into Zayn’s neck, who accepted the warm touch but continued working to get Liam to the bedroom. It was only when he stepped aside that Zayn got a view of the flat.

It looked like Loki had run through it without supervision. The little hyper dog was privy to such behaviour which is why they only isolated him to their LA mansion or his in-laws’ house in London.

Now, Zayn gaped at the mess, couch cushions thrown on the floor, days-old dishes lining the kitchen counter and what looked like a trail of dirty clothes leading up to their bedroom.

What in the world, how did this - ?

He turned his head slightly to look at his husband who was now endearingly staring back with a dreamy expression. Liam blinked slowly at him, his eyes looking unfocused and feverish but a beautiful smile graced his soft features.

Oh no, thought Zayn as he realized he had found the culprit at last. Liam James Malik (as of 2014) was the one who had made an absolute shit of a mess of their flat, their house.

Zayn groaned internally at the sight but his worry for his husband overwhelmed any other thoughts. He needed to sort Liam out first.

Avoiding the mix of clothes and crumpled papers on the floor, he led Liam to their bedroom, kicking aside the mess to avoid either of them stumbling. He pushed Liam towards the washroom, tutting at the sight, and undressed himself before doing the same to his husband.

Liam realized in his half-sleep daze, that he was being undressed by a very naked Zayn. He giggled and patted his husband’s cheek limply before slurring out, “I like where this is going.”

Zayn huffed at him, before he bent down to slip Liam’s joggers off, before quickly leaning over and turning the hot water tap on. He gently guided Liam towards the spray who hooted adorably at the feeling of hot water touching his skin, before joining him in the spacious shower.

What was supposed to be a quick wash and rinse became a battle of limbs as Zayn continuously batted of Liam’s wandering hands and groping fingers that frankly made him blush a little. After a soapy victory, he rinsed himself and Liam off, before reaching out for the towel on the handle bar – only to find it used and slopped over near the laundry basket.

He groaned under his breath, and awkwardly hobbled his way towards their linen closet (something his mother absolutely insisted on them having) and blindingly grabbed a few towels for him and Liam.

When he went back to the washroom, he was greeted to the most adorable sight of Liam, sopping wet with hair dripping on his forehead, body leaning against the wall of the shower, seemingly asleep.

Zayn laughed gently before draping Liam with soft, fluffy towels, drying him with gentle touches and loving pecks all over his face.

Deciding to forego clothes, it was only the two of them, he all but dropped Liam onto their bed, who bounced comically once and twice on his front before going still, breathing deeply.

It was only now that Zayn finally looked around and was reminded of the mess Liam made. God, and he was the slob?

A quick text to for housekeeping to visit them the next afternoon, he too dropped heavily onto the bed, the exhaustion from the flight and taking care of Liam getting to him. Throwing a careless arm over Liam’s waist, he murmured a quiet, “Love you, jaan” (a goodnight tradition they insisted on since being married) and buried his face into a pillow, falling fast asleep.

**

Clearly Zayn was underestimating just how grateful Liam was for taking care of him and his mess, as he lay staring at the ceiling, panting heavily in the aftermath of his husband waking him up with a phenomenal blowjob. His husband lay smugly beside him before he bounded up towards the washroom, all too excited to start the day.

Zayn laughed a little hysterically before chasing Liam into the shower, intent on finishing what his husband started.

**

It was nearing noon in New York as deliciously golden rays of sunlight splashed across the floor of their living room. It bounced off the glass of the coffee table and lit up the hints of yellow in Zayn’s eyes. Liam stared intently at him, taking in the light scruff littering a delicate yet strong jaw, nose ring glinting in the sunlight, and eyelashes fluttering prettily as he looked down at his art pad on which he scribbled and scratched distractedly.

He sighed as he continued admiring his husband’s beauty, hands and arms artfully decorated with carefully chosen tattoos. The black ring sat snugly on his ring finger on the left hand, complementing the mandala. He was wearing a shirt that belonged to Liam, the neck of which was stretched out due to years of use and loose Batman boxers that were a gag gift from Niall on Liam’s 20th birthday.

Joke’s on you, Niall, he wore the shit out of them.

Zayn continued sketching oblivious to Liam’s staring, a fact Liam loved about him; whenever Zayn sat down to sketch something, anything, he was always so absorbed in his activity that he often forgot that he was maybe sat in a radio show where he was supposed to participate in an interview or even at Ashton’s Christening where he had sat for hours in front of the baby’s crib, sketching out the soft features.

Finally, Liam urged his body to move, his need to be close to Zayn overriding any other thought. He crossed the span of the living room in long strides before dropping to his knees, ignoring the little jolt Zayn gave as he finally noticed Liam.

Before he could figure out what Liam was doing, his husband lifted the loose shirt gently before unceremoniously shoving his face under it.

Zayn jumped at the sudden move, gawking at the round shape of Liam’s head under his shirt.

Okay, he had finally lost it, his darling, beautiful, intelligent husband had gone off the –

But Zayn’s internal ramblings all ground to a halt, as he felt soft lips reverently kissing the skin on his stomach, and strong, tattooed arms wound around his waist to grip possessively and hold him in place. Liam breathed in deeply as Zayn sat frozen, unsure of how to proceed.

When a minute passed and Liam’s breath stuttered as he felt those lips purse and tremble dangerously against him, Zayn laid a careful hand on his husband’s shirt covered head.

A mumbled ‘Missed you’ on his skin didn’t go unnoticed by Zayn as he finally relaxed, letting Liam do what he had to, to deal with the unnecessarily constant and painful distances between them. He hummed lightly, cherishing the feeling of lips quirked into a smile as Liam felt more than heard the vibrations of Zayn’s voice.

Yeah, he was gonna be fine now.

[dovechim]

Omg the yoongi drabble!!! Uhhh but i’d greatly appreciate it if you can write a scenario where yoongi is sleeping next to his gf (Other character) but y/n comes over seducing him, making him fuck y/n on the same bed that his gf is sleeping on PLEASEEEEE

 ➾2.3k

➾ yoongi x reader, smut (duh)

➾ warning: infidelity, unprotected sex

“You shouldn’t do that,” Jennie is fretting and wringing herhands as she watches you finish up your makeup in the mirror. You’re justapplying your final coat of mascara, making sure there are no flecks of blackunder your eyes, but it’s futile because you know it’s going to end up all overyour face by the time you’re done with tonight. “It’s wrong, and you know it.”

“Do what?” You pause to frown at her. “Don’t worry, this mascarawon’t clump, I’ve used it a thousand times before. What it isn’t though, iswaterproof, and that could pose a problem for tonight…” 

Jennie glares at your reflection from behind you, and you closethe tube with a sigh. “Look, if you wanna try and keep score, she stole himfrom me first. So technically, she’s in the wrong.”

“I thought you were better than all this ‘goalkeeper doesn’tmean you can’t score’ shit! What happened to girl code??” 

You adjust your breasts in your push-up bra, making sure the vof your cleavage peeks out enticingly. “And I thought you were more supportive thanthis! Stop trying to moralize me when all I’m trying to do is get some dick.” 

Jennie takes a deep breath, about to go on some feminist rantabout girls supporting girls, but you just toss her a casual wave beforeescaping out the door, your panties already dampening at the thought of just howyou’re going to seduce Min Yoongi.

When you arrive outside his house, there’s no answer even afteryou knock on the door, and the cold air is starting to penetrate through yourtight spaghetti crop top and skirt. Deciding that he wouldn’t mind- he’s knownyou for nearly half his life anyway- you dig out the key he always keeps underhis mat and unlock the door.

You head to the kitchen to deposit your tub of ice cream- your(very flimsy) excuse for coming to see him today- but he’s most probably asleepbecause even the sound of the door closing doesn’t send him padding out of hisbedroom.

So you crack open the door slightly and peek your head in, onlyto have your heart sink to your toes when you comprehend the image in front ofyou- Min Yoongi is spooning his girlfriend, and has his nose buried in herhair.

Fuck, this throws a wrench in your well-laid plans.

Solbin is curled up on her side, and his body fits perfectlyaround hers. The sight of his hand on her waist sends jealousy coursing throughyour bloodstream, and you reluctantly run your eyes over how silky her goldenbrown locks seem to be. You note the lack of dress for the both of them- Solbinis only wearing a thin lacy camisole and barely there panties, so you can seeher ass cheeks hanging out, and Yoongi is shirtless with boxer briefs only.

The open crack of the door that lets in a sliver of light landsperfectly on Min Yoongi’s face, and not only does it illuminate his featureslike a spotlight, it also stirs him from his sleep. He blinks his eyes open totake in your figure standing by the doorway, a look of jealousy- that youimmediately swap for a more neutral greeting instead- on your face.

“______?” His hoarse whisper comes deep from within his chest,and he pushes himself to sit up, careful not to disturb his slumberinggirlfriend in the process. “Wh-what are you doing here? You didn’t tell me youwere coming over.”

“I-I brought some ice-cream,” you say lamely, and immediatelybite down on your own lip. The sight of Min Yoongi cuddling with his girlfriendimmediately erases any trace of the seductive lines you’d practiced in themirror just hours before, and you wonder how you’re ever going to get him tosleep with you at this rate.

You decide that there’s just too much physical distance inbetween the both of you for this to work, so you cross the room and sit on hisside of the bed, with one leg tucked up underneath you. Your short and tightskirt rides up to just underneath your underwear, and your sitting positionallows Yoongi to glimpse your pink underwear peeking from between your legs.

If only he weren’t still groggy and not paying attention to youat all.

You curse under your breath, feeling immensely awkward and outof place when he keeps glancing at Solbin to make sure she’s still sleeping. “Whatthe fuck are you doing here? Solbin’ll flip if she catches you on the bed, let’stalk outside instead.” 

Panic surges through your veins, because the moment he suggestsgoing outside is the exact same moment that some fucked-up part of your braintells you that you’ll be conceding to her if you agree with this.

So you put on your most pitiful expression, sticking your lowerlip out as you feign a look of pain on your face. “My tummy hurts.”

“What?” He strains to hear your small voice, scooting across thebed as his eyes dart down to your midriff. You catch the small jolt of surpriseas he sees the lacy crotch of your pink panties, and it gives you theencouragement you need.

“My stomach hurts, can you rub it for me?” 

It’s not the most bizarre request he’s ever heard from you,considering he used to give you back rubs and massages when you were havingmonthly cramps. Key word is used to, since he had to stop being so touchy withyou ever since he got together with Solbin. 

“You came all the way here just to-“ he breathes out through hisnose in a drawn out sigh, but he can’t say no to your imploring eyes andbeckons you to scoot over. His muddled brain still isn’t fully awake yet, andit reasons with him that the sooner he makes you feel better, the sooner he cango back to sleep. He positions himself against the wall, as far from Solbin aspossible with his legs open and gestures for you to take your place.

You almost can’t believe this is happening as you press yourback to his chest, letting your legs fall open naturally once you’re between hislegs. Yoongi immediately places his hands on your waist, attempting to slidethem under the waistband of your skirt. But the tight material of your skirt isunforgiving, and there isn’t even an inch between the waistband and your skinfor him to slide his hand under. So you nudge him nonchalantly, trying yourbest to keep the quiver in your voice.

“G-go from underneath, Yoongi.” You can feel him freeze behindyou as he registers what this would entail, and hurry to make it sound lessincriminating. “My skirt’s too tight, and you wouldn’t want me to take it off here, right?”

You’re making absolute sense, there’s no loophole in yourreasoning whatsoever, so he has to say yes… right?

Instead of answering, Yoongi moves his hand between your legsand you feel his touch hovering above the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.He makes it all the way up to your core without making contact when heaccidentally brushes his knuckles against your panties, and you know he’sregistered how wet the material is just by the stiffening of his frame behindyou.

His breathing is harsh against your neck, but he continues tofeign ignorance and push his hand up your skirt so that it rests on your lowerbelly. Yoongi starts applying gentle pressure to your abdomen, rubbing incircles and the warmth of his hands travels all the way down into your soakedcore.

“Yoongi…” You murmur into his ear, letting your lips brushagainst the shell of his ear. “Yoongi, lower.”

He follows your directions by moving his fingers down a tad, sothat they brush against the waistband of your underwear. By now your legs havefallen open even more, resting against his own and your skirt has ridden up sothat he can see the pink material of your lace panties.

“A-are you feeling better?” His voice comes out in a chokedhush, and he shifts to make some room between your bodies, which can only meanone thing.

You accidentally on purpose make contact with his crotch, onlyto feel the hard evidence of his betrayal against your lower back.

“Mmhm,” you let your voice come from your chest in a breathywhine. “But I need you even lower, Yoongi.”

The scouring heat of his erection against your lower back lendsyou the courage you need to place your hand over his and glide them into yourpanties in one smooth motion, and the moment his fingers encounter the slimy,slippery crotch of your underwear, he exhales sharply.

“Yoongi, I lied to you just now,” you turn around to mouth athis ear even as his fingers start to stroke your pussy lips ever so gently. “Mypussy is all wet and tingly, and it aches, and I need you to make it better.”

Your name comes out in a garbled moan from his lips, and fromthe corner of your eye you can see him swallow hard, the Adam’s apple in histhroat bobbing. He starts to turn his head toward Solbin’s sleeping figure again,but you distract him with a well-placed suckle to his neck. 

The wet slick on his fingers beckons him, and against his betterjudgement, Yoongi allows his fingers to slide inside you, and all the regretvanishes when your walls close in around him almost immediately.

“Mmhmm yes… Yoongi right there… my pussy aches so much,” you egghim on a little further, putting on your most innocent voice that you know heloves. You’ve seen enough of his porn stash to know that he gets off on theillusion of innocence, and the role of ruining and corrupting such chastity andpurity.

His fingers are massaging your walls, and his palm is pressedright up against your clit. Right from the beginning you can already feel howyou’ve drenched his hand, and the smell of your juices are already beginning topermeate the air. It would be so easy for Solbin to just roll over and catchthe two of you, Yoongi’s fingers buried deep in your pussy, and the thoughtitself makes you clench around him harder.

“Yoongi, you feel so good,” you pant against the dip in hiscollarbone. “But I need more Yoongi, my pussy feels so empty.”

Yoongi’s eyes dart over to the other side of the bed, then tothe sight of your spread thighs. “Wh-what can I do baby?”

He’s all yours, hook, line and sinker.

“I need your cock Yoongi. My pussy needs your cock to fill itup, it’s so achingly empty, daddy.” 

All your cards are on the table now, and you thank your luckystars that he happened to leave his laptop over at yours that one night. Atthis point you’re just repeating all the lines of his favourite pornos (allfiled and saved under faves- men are such simple creatures) right back at himin a sugary sweet whisper.

You can feel him hesitate a little behind you, so you decide youneed to speed things up and reach back to massage his bulge for a few seconds. “Daddy’sso hard for me already?” 

He acknowledges you with a low grunt, and you take it as consentto pull down his boxer briefs, freeing his length. His hands tighten aroundyour waist of their own accord, and he lifts you up so that you’re sitting onhim and not the bed.

Yoongi’s hands are still around your waist, and he’s breathinghard against your neck. Before he has a chance to think about what he’s doing,you reach down and pull your panties to the side before taking his cock in yourhand and sitting down on it, sinking down to the bottom in one go.

“Fuck,” the single word is uttered with such force against yourneck as you squeeze your muscles around him. The sensation of having him spreadyou apart like this, entirely bare and raw, makes you wish that Solbin weren’ton the same bed so he could flip you over and pound your pussy.

“Bet she doesn’t let you inside bare, does she?” Now that he’sfinally inside you, your confidence is restored enough to taunt him a little.

“Fuck no,” Yoongi murmurs as he hedges a thrust into yourdepths. “You’re so- fuck- wet babygirl.”

“Only for you, daddy,” you giggle girlishly into his ear, onlyfor the sound to be caught in your chest as he moves you up and down his lengthwith his arms alone, hips aiding him by flexing ever so slightly. 

“Does that pussy feel better now?” He hazards a little moredirty talk, because fuck it, he’s already buried balls deep in you, what’s afew more filthy words going to do?

“No,” you pout at him, reaching down to fondle your clit even asyou can feel him start to throb inside you.

“W-why?” His voice catches in his throat as he watches you touchyourself.

“I need your cum in me, daddy.”

And with that he explodes deep inside your pussy, painting yourwalls white with his semen that drips down over his balls as his girlfriendslumbers on, oblivious, beside him. 

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

WARNING: Sailor Moon and related characters ©Naoko Takeuchi. Story/plot © me! Mostly based on the first season of the original anime (esp. Rei's personality), also the manga/Crystal. Rated T for some light sensuality and language.

This is a series of five fluffy oneshots, plus a bonus sixth chap. Enjoy! See below for more notes.

Act 1. Ami: Solve For Why?

Poor Usagi Tsukino had been studying for hours. All her life, school had been something of a challenge; grade one was the last time she could remember being as effortlessly adept as her classmates. Year after year, her best friend Naru had very little trouble with their classload, and she struggled with even the simplest concepts. Nevermind how her genius-level classmate Umino did, but he was clearly a special case. She had no hope of ever getting the material to take root in her head at this point. As much as she really wanted to be better, it just wasn't sinking in no matter how long she stared at the pages. So she defaulted to one of her usual depressurizing exercises.

"Usagi…" Ami Mizuno's voice was less than enthused, but still managed to sound patient even while it also sounded exasperated with her short attention span. "While I appreciate the balance and dexterity it takes to hold that pencil on your upper lip…"

"Thank you," Usagi replied through her teeth as she stared at the ceiling, twitching the lips back and forth to keep said pencil from falling off. "It's a real talent!"

"But we really should get back to studying. The test is in four days!"

Whining, she finally sat up, catching the pencil. "Come on, Ami! I can't do this! Face it, my brain is a bowl of oatmeal and nothing's gonna stick in there except a spoon!"

"Oh, Usagi…" But she wasn't disappointed or angry, the way her mother would have been. The crease in her noble brow and the clarity of her blue eyes told a different story: one of concern. "You really need to pass this. Your grades are so low! I just… I don't want to move on to ninth grade, and look back at you still being in eighth. That would be truly unfortunate."

"I knowwwwww…" Slumping downward, she looked at the pages. "Just feel dumb all the time."

"You aren't 'dumb'. Which is an inaccurate word, because it means you are incapable of speech; we both know you're highly accomplished at talking." That did make Usagi snort, and Ami leaned down catch her gaze before she smiled at her. "You're actually a very bright girl, Usagi. I just think you need… well, I don't know. Confidence, maybe? Or focus. Maybe you could try ginkgo!"

Her head tilted slightly to one side. "Does that really work? I mean, I'd try anything if it made me smarter."

"Well, that isn't exactly how it works. But some scientists do claim it enhances one's powers of retention."

"Ohhh." Not that she understood the difference; it still sounded like 'smarter' to her. Her mouth twitched upward. "Ami, why are you so nice to me when I'm such a dope?"

As she turned a page backward in their textbook, she said easily, "You're the leader of our team. I have to be nice to you." But the slight smirk when she glanced up again betrayed that she wasn't serious, and Usagi relaxed. "Now then, back to problem four…"

"What team?"

It was a shock to hear another voice in the room. Ami and Usagi both blinked a few times before turning to where Naru Osaka was sitting with her pencil dangling out of her mouth. They both gaped, having forgotten she was there because she was just quietly reading through the material.

"Pardon me?" Ami asked.

"I asked, what team? You said something about a team. I didn't think you played any sports."

"O-oh!" Usagi burst out.

"Oh, what?"

"Well…" Instead of either trying to figure out how to explain the situation to their friend, or telling her the sad news that she'd been forgotten in lieu of their somewhat more intimate conversation, Usagi just laughed. "The team of Usami! You know, Usagi and Ami? Since we… well, we've both got… oh, we were just kidding! D-don't worry about it!"

Naru raised an eyebrow at the way both of them were fidgeting, but then shook her head and turned back to her book. "Sometimes, Usagi, I really think you're losin' it."

                                              ~ o ~

Not that she was kidding. Usagi really was the leader of their team. Every so often, having a secret identity was something that she forgot about. Understandable, since it had only been a part of her life for a few months.

She needed a moment to take stock of her positioning. Left boot forward, gloved fists upon her hips. Shoulders thrown back and chest forward, back straight. Long blonde pigtails trailing out behind her on the slight breeze — she loved it when the breeze could ruffle her skirt and her hair, it made her feel so much more heroic. Satisfied, she cleared her throat very quietly, then shouted down into the night.

"Stop right there, Nega-trash!"

The abomination with mottled fur snapped its face up to look at her from where it stood, crouched over a hapless citizen. Lips pulled back from fangs into a snarl as it readied to drain the metaphysical energy from her body. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ami getting into a similar pose, so she decided not to wait any longer.

"I am Sailor Moon! Champion of justice! On behalf of the moon…" Leaping off the ledge, she executed a quick flip in midair that seemed so effortless to her now. Even if she wasn't always the best heroine, the moves came a lot easier to her now that Luna had unlocked her potential; it was only too bad that she couldn't translate that poise and confidence into her civilian life.

"I will right wrongs, and triumph over evil. And that means you!"

That had gone according to plan. Once she had delivered her line, Ami stepped out and said hers: "And I am Sailor Mercury! You're through here, you rapscallion!"

Rapscallion? Maybe they should go over their superhero banter after this battle. But either way, it was time to go to work.

That particular enemy didn't put up much of a fight. Today, their defeat came easily, and Usagi was left with the odd feeling of having extra time on their hands and that she and Ami had cheated somehow. On other days, they would wind up running for the hills, or flung around by their hair, or tied up, or flattened… the possibilities were endless, and Usagi's least favourite part of being a Senshi. The victories usually made up for that. Fortunately, their powers kept them from sustaining any lasting injuries most of the time, but now and then there would be a little residual bruising that carried over into their 'daily lives'. Rough stuff. She was glad not to have to deal with that this time.

"Whew!" Ami panted once Jadeite had vanished, done with his grandstanding for the night. They were leaning back against a pillar in a square near Akihabara, both eternally grateful the fight was over. "I… I need to sit!"

"Here…" Usagi put an arm around her as they walked over to the steps of a building and took a seat. Today, Mercury definitely had to do the most flipping around between the two of them, so she didn't mind supporting her. Once sat down, she sighed and patted her shoulder.

"Thanks," Ami panted as she wiped her forehead clear of sweat on the back of her glove.

"No problem. We Sailor Senshi have to stick together!"

They simply stared up at the sky for a few minutes and caught their breath before Ami asked, "Usagi?"

"Hm?"

"Well, I was just thinking… do you ever think we'll be able to stop the Dark Kingdom for good? It's awfully taxing, just the two of us standing against the forces of villainy."

Nodding, she leaned back to look at the stars as she pondered. How many were there above them? A hundred, a thousand? She didn't know anything about astronomy, and didn't want to ask Ami for fear she would actually answer. A brainy girl like her was too smart to bother trying to educate a dimwit like herself. Maybe that was part of why she felt herself wanting to give up so quickly when they studied together.

"We'll be fine. We're pretty strong, right?"

"Yes, but it would certainly be nice to have more teammates. Didn't Luna promise us that she would find the other Senshi eventually?" Ami's frown was more concerned than anything. "I don't want us to be defeated. It would leave Tokyo defenseless."

"Wow," Usagi sighed, hanging her head. "You're a way better leader than me. All I was thinking was that I don't wanna die."

That made the frown deeper, and she turned to look at her, laying a hand on her forearm. "You mustn't think that way, Sailor Moon. All we can do is our best to fight the enemy; if that isn't enough, then we have given our lives in service of others. Isn't that the most noble way to meet our fate?"

"Way to get all deep on me." Ami did smile a little with humour, though the topic was too dark for either of them to truly laugh. "But… yeah, you're right. It's just hard; we're kids, Ami. I want to fall in love, get married, get a job. Maybe see Paris. All that stuff before…"

"Oh, I do understand; so do I. And we'll do those things if we have time. And if we don't, then this is the most important use of that time."

She couldn't answer right away. Ami was right. She felt selfish for wanting to argue against her, especially when she didn't have a decent argument. "Yeah, true."

"Okay. Let's go home and finish studying for-"

Throwing up both hands as she stood from the steps and began to walk away, Usagi exclaimed, "GOD, Ami, not tonight! I need sleep or I really will kick the bucket way too early!"

"Sailor Mercury is right!"

They both looked over their shoulder to see a violet-furred cat perched atop a nearby wall, eyes gleaming in the relative darkness. Usagi groaned. "Should have known you'd side with her, Luna. But I'm so sleepy!"

"There can be no rest when you're handling both Senshi duties and your future on Earth!" Luna's paws made a soft tmp as she landed next to them. "It is quite late, but you can at least go over your books for a few minutes before bedtime! Now let's get a move on!"

She din't miss the way Ami snickered very softly into her hand as they went on their way. Privately, she wanted to trip the both of them for being so mean, but she was way too tired to even try. Maybe she could go crash at Naru's place…

                                              ~ o ~

The night before the test had arrived. Every evening before, as long as they weren't called upon to defeat the forces of the Dark Kingdom, she and Ami had been up cracking the books — or that is, Ami was cracking the books. Usagi was bouncing between reading random manga, fidgeting, snacking, pacing the room, and idly wondering what was on television. Naru had enough of trying to get the information through Usagi's thick skull and had given up to study on her own. Ami got impatient with her a few times, as well, and though Ami's "shouting" never really involved raising her voice or using unkind language of any sort, the night before had resulted in a teary breakdown that left the slightly-taller Senshi patting her leader and offering her a handkerchief.

Now was crunch time. Usagi was starting to get the most simple concepts, but it was as if her brain were stretched to its absolute limits instead of just gearing up for the tough stuff.

"You can do this!" Ami encouraged her. "Where does Y go?"

"Y bother?" she tried to joke with a hopeful smile. Ami's face didn't change from its stern-but-patient expression. That was starting to drive her crazy; she almost wanted her to snap at her again. "Okay… um, here?"

"No."

"Here?"

"Sorry, no." After a pause, she sighed. "Alright. We can take a break. If you don't need it, then I certainly do."

Letting out a long, slow sigh, she whined, "Ami, you should give up on me and go home. I'm a total reject! Like, I'm really trying and I just can't make myself care about a bunch of stupid numbers!"

"Think of it another way. This isn't about what you want to be doing and what you don't. It's a necessity. Like taking a bath, or doing your chores. They may not be the most fun of activities, but they're important for your life, aren't they?"

"Hate chores, too," Usagi muttered, lips pouting.

"Alright, alright." Thinking another moment, she held up a finger. "Imagine you're buying the latest Sailor V video game. You really want that game and have been dreaming about it since you read about it in Nakayoshi. But in order to get it, you have to save up your allowance for a few weeks. It's not easy because you like to eat sweets at Fruits Parlour, or buy hamburgers or other fun things."

She had to work hard not to grumble "Are you calling me fat?", but instead kept listening to Ami.

"But if you do the hard work, force yourself to save your yen and avoid the temporary pleasure, you can eventually get the reward. Your game."

"Yeah, I mean, I get what you're saying. But what's the reward here? Just passing a class? It doesn't matter. I'm not really good at anything; I'm not even that good at being a Senshi, I'm just the only one with the tiara. So even if I finish high school, what's next? University? I'm not getting into any of those with my grades! And if I did, what would I study? No idea, I can tell you right now." Sighing, she slumped down against the table. "Mom's right. Everybody's right; I'm just… useless, lazy, and pointless. So maybe I can do that thing you said and sacrifice myself for the planet. If I suck at life, at least I can do something with my death."

The room was quiet for a few seconds. Usagi finally spared a glance over at Ami, expecting her to sternly tell her to get back to work, because her whining wasn't helping. Which was very true. But instead…

She was crying? Why crying?! That was the weirdest reaction she could have! "Ami? What's wrong?"

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Usagi…" Her hand swiped at her eyes. "I just hadn't realised… how little you think of yourself. And it really isn't fair."

"What do you mean? I don't…" After an awkward second, she got up and moved to her dresser to retrieve a packet of promotional tissues from some new store in the neighbourhood, popping it open and offering one to her friend. She took it, blotted the rest of her tears away, then smiled up at her. It was so watery and laced with emotion that Usagi could only glance at it out of the corner of her eye.

"You're an absolutely wonderful person, Usagi Tsukino. So what if you aren't as w-well-read, or adept at arithmetic as some? That isn't a measure of your character. You're very smart in your own way."

"No way," she laughed softly, even though she did feel a slight warmth in her chest from the mild praise.

"Yes, way! Goodness, you have an innate sense of how to strike the Enemy that I can only hope to cope with through my strategising — and I can only do that thanks to years of chess matches. You've never played chess in your life, I'm fairly certain, and yet I never outshine you on the battlefield. Something's working in that brain of yours, even if you don't want to see it. And that's not even getting into… how kind and generous you are, how thoughtful. I've never had a friend so loyal as you in all my life, and if you think that's 'pointless', well then… you can just think again!"

By the end of that, Ami had hopped to her feet and begun shouting. Usagi felt an odd mixture of reactions, both chagrin from being scolded and her heart pounding from how sweet her tutor-and-comrade was being. Over nothing! Her own eyes were plenty wet by now, and Ami had stopped blotting the tracks from her cheeks.

So Usagi stood and took the tissue from her fist with a couple of tugs. Then she began drying the moisture away with gentle pats while Ami shivered.

"It's okay. Wow, I'm so dumb, I didn't think… I didn't mean to make you cry just because I'm such a whiner! Can you… can you forgive me?"

Her sob turned into a chuckle toward the end. "See there? I'm crying over n-nothing, and shouting at you, and y-you're apologising for nothing. You're so sweet…"

When Ami embraced her, she was caught completely unawares, and could only catch her and pull her in close, fingertips gouging into the back of her shirt, raking through her short bobbed hair. Somehow, even though she had known her less time than her previous best friend, Naru, this brainiac had become equally important. Crucial, even.

"Ami, thank you so much! I'm sorry for b-being so… w-waaahhhh!"

Of course Ami's first reaction to her bawling was to laugh. As often as Usagi broke down in a puddle of childish sadness, no one was ever surprised. But this time, no one was chiding her, or asking her to tone it down. There were only soft lips pushing into her forehead, gentle hands caressing the sides of her face.

"Shhh, shh. I didn't mean to shout; that was unbecoming, and probably didn't make you feel like you had any more self worth. You simply mean a lot to me, Usagi. More than you might expect."

"Why? I don't really understand… I m-mean, I know what you said, but I don't really see how being nice makes me different from anybody else."

"Because you don't have to be nice. You're a Senshi; you could use your powers for evil, and yet you do not. You use them to fight the true evil in this world. And that… is as noble as the policemen and armed forces. They get medals for their service; we don't even get to tell anyone we're doing it. More than that, you were already doing this before we met, and all on your own! So… I think you're very brave. Nobody could tell me otherwise."

"Brave? That's…" Swallowing hard, she looked up into Ami's eyes. "But you're much braver than I am! I've never heard you complain about going out on patrol, or having to fight Nega-dweebs!"

"I'm not brave. If I were… I'd…" Her words cut off.

"You'd what?"

"It's nothing." But when Usagi's gaze didn't waver, Ami looked down toward the floor between their bodies, at Usagi's fuzzy bunny slippers and the carpet beneath them. "You know… those things you've felt about Tuxedo Mask?"

"Tuxedo Mask? I mean… um, sure, but what things?"

"How brave and fearless he is. Beautiful to you, both because you like how he looks in a suit, and because of his heroism. It's not just one or the other, right?"

Usagi nodded without needing to think about it much. "Yeah, exactly. It's like, that Mamoru guy who keeps hanging around is cute, too, but he's a real jerk. I'd much rather have a chance with Tuxedo Mask, since he's the total package instead of… well, half a package."

That got Ami to giggle a little, at least, and Usagi chanced a tiny smile. "I've felt that way, too. I really have. Just… I'm not brave or I would have been able to say it. That's all I meant."

"Well…" The idea that they both were interested in the same man did throw Usagi for a loop. Jealousy was beginning to tingle behind her temples. However, Ami was her friend, and their friendship was very important. Much bigger than petty jealousies or worries about some guy she'd never said more than five words to. It was hard for her to do, but she forced herself to say, "Then if you feel that way, you should tell him how you feel. Like… I've tried with Tuxedo, but I keep getting tripped up on my words, and we're in the middle of a fight… but you shouldn't hold back! I might talk faster and more than you, but your words always come out a lot smarter! S-so… so I wish you the best of luck!"

This silence was longer, heavier. Ami crossed to Usagi's window, wiping her tear tracks away. Usagi followed, but didn't quite touch her; merely stood within arm's reach, to one side and watching.

"What if… he… isn't a 'he' at all?"

"Huh?"

"I'm not brave. I merely do what my higher cognitive functions tell me to; self-preservation. Because admitting my feelings to myself means I ought to admit them to the other party, and I can't tell her or else I'll… risk everything. And that isn't anything like courage, it's just… protecting myself."

Somewhere in there, while doing her best to keep up with it all, she did catch that one word Ami might not even have meant to say: "her."

"Wait, are you… Ami…" The way her friend's entire frame tensed up and she gripped the window ledge sent a panic through her, so she hurried to squeak, "Sorry!"

"What are you sorry for this time?"

"No, I…" Clearing her throat, she tried again, "Do you have a crush on a girl?" No answer. Fidgeting, she whispered, "Do you… have a crush on… a girl I know?"

"Decidedly yes."

"Is it Naru?" Her head shook from side to side. By now, Usagi was beginning to feel lightheaded, but she persevered. "That only leaves me. But I mean, if you liked me you would have… said…"

Finally, Ami turned around with her eyes wet. "You already act like you're disappointed, s-so I'll get my things. This really wasn't how I meant to tell you! But now the cat is out of the bag. I apologise, Usagi."

The blindsided blonde watched her collecting her books for a few seconds. Everything felt like it was happening so fast, but seeing that made her drop to her knees and grasp both of Ami's arms.

"Don't go. Okay? Don't… I'm just… really wigging out right now, but I promise it's not- I don't think you did anything wrong."

"Never said I did anything wrong. Just… it isn't right for us, either. We're both Senshi, and it's such a bad idea-"

"Hey, whoa, whoa, that's not…" Realising she wasn't even sure what she had been about to say moments before, Usagi tutted and leaned in closer to Ami. "I mean, I've never thought about… girls… in that way before, but like, not everybody's the same. I've heard of this! I think… yuri? S-so if we have a word for it, that means it has to happen once in awhile, and if you're one of those people, then that's… that's great! I mean, good for you!"

At the last line, one of Ami's eyebrows twitched up and she had to suppress a smile. "Oh? You're congratulating me on being attracted to women? That's probably a first."

"Well hey, I mean, I just learned something new about my friend! Getting to know a friend is a positive thing, right?" Both of their cheeks were a little rosy now. "I just never… well, of course I like girls, but I don't know about like-liking them, it's… but I did think you were really pretty when I first saw you…"

"You did?" That seemed to shock Ami out of her self-loathing. "Oh no, why would you? I'm so plain…"

"Nuh-uh! You're mega cute!" Ami's blush only got worse, and Usagi realised she was basically hitting on a newly-out lesbian, so she dipped her head slightly. "U-um, if that's okay for me to say. But I… I don't know what to do with this information exactly, but you can bet I'm not mad, or uh… sad? I don't know."

Both of her shoulders rose and fell. "To be honest, I never gave much thought to dating either gender until recently. Even with these feelings, it's still less strange for me to think about women than men, but the whole idea of dating anyone seems… unattainable for me. Since my interests are so nerdy and uncommon."

"Well, I think your interests are cool. Just way over my head." She stuck her tongue out, and Ami giggled again. Then she leaned a little closer. "Do you, um, maybe want a hug? And like, to sit back down? Because you look like you might faint."

"Yes," she admitted with a weary nod, accepting the embrace. Usagi didn't hold back; maybe she was a teeny bit less comfortable hugging her, because now she knew what it could mean to Ami, but at the same time she also knew in her own 'higher cognitive functions' that nothing had really changed. She and her partner-in-crime-fighting were still friends, and could still study together. It just might mean a little more to Ami than it did before.

Once seated by the table again, Usagi didn't take her arm away from around her. And Ami laid her head on Usagi's shoulder, humming contentedly as they arranged the books to look through them again. Much to her own surprise, she didn't mind this. Ami fit together with her as snugly as Y fit into the equation.

Y fit into…

"OH! I got it — that's the inverse! Right, Ami?"

"Very good!" Ami laughed, and Usagi clapped her hands in triumph, then pumped both fists in the air which only made her laugh harder. "See? All you needed to do was stop overthinking it so much. Not that I intended for my sexuality to be the necessary distraction…"

Sticking out her tongue, she said, "It works as a pretty good one, I guess. This time. But hey, at least I'm finally getting somewhere! Go, me!"

"You are. And to the victor go the spoils!"

When she kissed Usagi's cheek, it nearly sent her scrambling away, but she managed to fight down her reaction to a mighty blush and a dopey laugh that made Ami grin even wider. "Th-those are definitely spoils! I feel spoiled!" She still wasn't sure about returning the affections; she definitely bore her friend no ill will for having them, but knowing whether or not she felt the same was another story entirely! After a second or two, she reached up to cup her cheek; that seemed safer. "Um… I'm not really sure what you want from me…"

"Oh, this is fine," Ami reassured her. She sounded so confident; it was impressive, given how vulnerable she had seemed when confessing. "Please don't think I'm requiring anything further. My feelings aren't your feelings, and assuming otherwise would be silly."

"But… I do think you're really…" What else could she say? At a loss, she kissed the top of Ami's head, and heard her cooing, which immediately made her giggle stupidly. "This is so weird, but it's also… nice? Does that make sense, or am I nutso?"

"Don't feel weird. I love it. Even if it's only temporary… it's very sweet of you to indulge me."

"Um… do you wanna try some other stuff? Like, I know I sound like I'm about to implode, but you're my friend, and like… I don't know, if this is just a 'Class S' phase thing…?"

"It isn't in my case," Ami assured her, though she didn't look offended that Usagi had brought it up. "I'm very comfortable in knowing that I find both men and women attractive. Some girls go through a phase like that of liking other girls before they become women, I suppose, but I'm at least reasonably certain my phase is permanent."

One hand behind her head, she laughed, "Hey, that's cool! You know yourself better than anybody else does!"

"Yes," she laughed lightly. "As for 'trying stuff'... I'm also not sure I'm terribly interested in those activities. Which made it difficult to be sure I like girls, to be fair, since I'm undecided on whether or not I want to have sex with either gender."

"SEX!" Usagi burst out. "I meant like, maybe kissing or holding hands or something!" They both giggled, more from relief on Usagi's part.

"Well… if you did want to kiss me, I wouldn't be opposed. In fact, I'd love that very much, but I wouldn't dare ask it of you if you aren't interested in trying."

Both of Usagi's shoulders rose and fell. "Why not? Even if I don't end up liking kissing girls, at least I'll get some practice before I kiss a boy."

"Mm. Then go on; practice away."

At first, Usagi wasn't sure what she meant. Go on? And do what? But when she got the sense that Ami was waiting for her to move, her slow brain fully realised — she was supposed to kiss Ami. Not the other way around. Was she really alright with that? Though it would be a bit wishy-washy to back down after she had made a point of telling her that she would try things out with her if she so desired. Which apparently, she did.

"Oh," Usagi breathed when she was cupping Ami's cheek. "This feels… I dunno."

"Bad?"

"No way! I just didn't think I'd ever be… on this end." By which she meant, Ami was reclining just enough so that Usagi was positioned above her, looking down into her patient, canny eyes. How was she supposed to play the more 'masculine' role when she had no experience with that?! Ami's little bow mouth was parted very slightly, waiting, willing. She leaned down…

It was far better than she had any right to expect. Really, she had expected for it to feel weird, like kissing her brother or something similar, but Ami's mouth was so sweet and vulnerable, completely at her mercy, that connecting it with her own was just… easy. Even without knowing what she was doing! When she began to move her mouth a little, she heard a hum of approval that got her trying more, kneading her lips back and forth, breathing softly along her cheek as their heads tilted in opposite directions. Hands came to rest on her chest, and she slipped her own around Ami's waist, feeling that was somehow the best thing for her to do.

And she didn't hate it.

"Nhh!" she burst out when she felt a tongue prod her bottom lip, drawing away. "Whoa, what was that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Ami piped up, blinking a few times and covering her mouth. "Was that too forward? My reading told me that was the next progression…"

"You've read about this?!" Then she shook her head and pushed her hands into her cheeks. "Wait, of course you have. You study up on everything. But wow… okay, that was… really interesting, and like, better than I thought…"

Those soft, properly-warmed lips pushed into her cheek again, and Usagi sighed. "What did you think it would be like?" Usagi didn't want to answer. Eventually, when no answer came, she nuzzled her jaw and whispered, "I enjoyed myself. And if you did, we could try it again sometime, but not tonight, I should think. You'll want time to adjust."

"Uh-huh…." Another cheek-peck. "Wow, Mizuno-chan, you're such a temptress."

"I am?!"

"Well… okay, maybe not. But you are super confident, and didn't seem scared at all, which helped somehow. Like, I wish I had that going for me!" This time, she was the one to lean over and kiss Ami's forehead, which earned her a closed-eyed coo that made Usagi's stomach do flips. "Oh my GOD, you're so cute!"

Again, she squawked, "I'm cute, too?! Goodness!" While Usagi was laughing, she cleared her throat. "We really should get back to studying… but… I also wouldn't mind incentivising our study habits with a new reward system."

"Yeah? You mean… if I get one right, I get a kiss?" When she felt Ami nod under her chin, where her head was nestled, she whispered, "And I didn't even think I would want that like, five minutes ago. Now I'm not sure! But… j-just for tonight… what if we just assume that I like it and I'll figure out if I was confused tomorrow?"

"Mmmhmmm," Ami hummed with clear and pronounced pleasure. "I find this to be an acceptable proposal, Usagi. Let's begin."

Which is how Ami somehow got Usagi to her first math score that was above a 70. Their "reward system" was going to lead to a period of adjustment, and they'd have to do continual assessments of the situation as they went along. But not everything could be solved with the scientific method. Sometimes, it was pure chemistry.

                                               THE END

                                              [Next: Rei!]

MORE NOTES: Basically, blame Yamino for pointing out to me several times over the years that Usagi can basically be shipped with anybody. She's such a hapless lesbian (Usagi, not Yamino, who is a very cunning lesbian). So my idea for this, rather than trying to balance a 5tp fic that would end up being WAY too long and cut into my other writing projects, was to do a series of one-shots depicting what I imagine Bun-head falling for each of her close friends would be like. Feel free to only read the one(s) that interest you!

First, a couple of notes:

1. Each oneshot is its own separate "verse". This isn't Usagi burning through each Senshi in turn, they are "what if?"s independent of each other. So if you're wondering why one character doesn't have strong feelings of jealousy about her hooking up with another in the next "chapter", that's why. (Also you're more than welcome to pick the one you like best and accept that one as canon, rejecting all others haha)

2. Don't forget that this is taking place in the early 90s, so a lot of the technology and references won't be modern. Also that I'm going to try to keep Japanese terminology to a minimum but also I'll try to italicise it so you at least can more easily spot the words you need to look up (if you don't know them). I left everyone's names in American order (IE: Usagi Tsukino would be Tsukino Usagi in Japan). Even though I was a big fan of the DiC dub when I was small and I'll drop quotes from it, no, Sailor Moon isn't set in America and they don't go to Crossroads Junior High.

Anyway, I hope you like it (or at least one of them)! I tried to balance the five ficlets to be of similar length and definitely gave them each equal consideration; none of them were "rushed", trust me.

Tsuki ni kawatte, oshiokiyo!

Jessex

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Her name was Becca, and she was nothing like Paisley.

It was a Monday evening in early March 2016 and we’d driven down to the Pacific Ocean in the dark to sit on weather-beaten Adirondack chairs and swap stories about our artistic ambitions. We squinted at the blinking lighthouse in the distance with our hoodies up while waves crashed and slithered amongst the barnacles below. Becca was my first-ever Tinder date, an ultra-voluptuous blonde who literally bounced with positive energy, and it seemed like she was legitimately into me. As I stood gazing at her mixed media pieces, hung all over her Victoria living room, I couldn’t help but compare her to my ex. In almost every relevant way, she was the complete opposite of the woman I’d just finished devoting half a decade of my life to.

“Where did you get all these words in the background of your paintings?” I asked, leaning in close to read them. “Do you source them all from the same place?”

“John Grisham novels.”

I snorted. “Really? That’s so random. What’s the relevance there?”

“I just get a kick out of John Grisham novels, that’s all.”

A few hours earlier I’d been bored at my sister’s house, jonesing for pot but determined to take a few days off, when I came across Becca’s profile. In one of her photos she was sprawled across the hood of a car in an intriguingly short dress, while in another she crouched like a rap star, flipping her blonde hair to one side. She was thoroughly West Coast, with environmentalist sensibilities, and her energy was contagious even through a screen. I found images of her posing with signs that read “OIL FREE COAST” and “UNITED AGAINST ENBRIDGE”. One mixed media piece simply said: “LIFE’S DOPE”. I knew that I was still an emotional disaster zone but figured at the very least we could have some fun. She just seemed like a good person to know.

Back in the Kootenays, things were in flux. Part of me was ready to give up and head back to the coast, the other part was hopelessly addicted to being a Nelson Star reporter. I’d never felt more professionally fulfilled than working under Greg, and I had a huge amount of respect for Ed and Kai. We’d begun having team editorial meetings, mapping out our ambitions and refining our story lists, and I loved sitting around a table with journalists I respected. Not only that: we had just received news that the Carpenters were preparing to transition out of the job, so I figured all I had to do was hold on for a few more months and all my workplace angst would float off into the ether. Their exit would be a giant boon to my mental health, and I greedily envisioned a future where I was free of their meddling bullshit. It wasn’t comfortable, how much I hated them, and it was turning me into someone I didn’t like.

Meanwhile I’d found temporary housing with Niles, who had chosen to forget our spat over coverage of his pot dispensary. I emailed him desperate the day Paisley asked me to move out, and received a reply almost immediately.

“Love’s a bitch, then you move in with your wing nut pal. Consider your pillow fluffed, buddy!”

Becca loved hearing my stories about Nelson, especially ones that featured weirdos or freaks. I knew that she would fit in perfectly, though she’d never been there before, and I regaled her with tales of everything from the Andrew Stevenson bank robberies to my experiences at Shambhala. The one downside of my whole adventure was that I’d become stupidly addicted to cannabis, and it was messing with my ambitions. I wanted to get control of the situation, mostly because I didn’t want to be enslaved by my cravings but also because my financial situation was absolutely fucked. She giggled at my earnestness as we lay facedown on her bed.

“I quit smoking for a few months there. It’s really hard for the first few weeks, then it gets way easier.”

“I haven’t made it more than a couple days since I got to Nelson. Paisley and I kept trying to quit but we never could. We were fucking hemorrhaging cash and begging our parents for help all the time.”

“So how long has it been since you smoked now?”

I thought about it. “Almost 24 hours.”

She laughed. “Well, I’ve got some really awesome bud here if you change your mind. I won’t judge you.”

I was ashamed by own relief. It was one thing to crave escape when I was feeling like shit, but these days I couldn’t even enjoy the moments that were good. Here I was totally enraptured by this girl’s presence and stoked on my chances of engaging with her physically, and still I was hung up with my own mental gymnastics. I kept telling myself it wasn’t a real addiction, it was just a dependence, but the fact was my body went into panic mode without it. My mind was a barren landscape that only cannabis could populate with greenery. 

Becca straddled my lap while she lit the joint, letting her body roll in sultry undulations. She wasn’t shy or coy; she had an overwhelming personality and wasn’t afraid to deploy it. It felt like being under the spell of a shaman or a genie. In a way, it was like hooking up with a female version of myself. 

Between tokes we kissed aggressively, surging into each other, while I dragged off her clothes.

“Wait,” Becca said, as I yanked at her bra. “I feel like I’m being mauled.”

I stopped, breathing hard, while she took another toke. “You shouldn’t just paw away all intense like that, you know? You gotta make a little show of it.”

My consciousness was just beginning to soften as she hooked her thumb under one strap and let it drop to her elbow. She had a look on her face like she’d just swallowed a spoonful of ice cream. She playfully murmured a little ditty, wagging her barely concealed tits in my face, letting the cups droop off her chest to expose nipples that looked like dark pink chocolate chip cookies. I lunged towards them hungrily but she pushed me back with one hand, amused at my enthusiasm. 

She enjoyed telling me no.

“We’re not doing this your way,” she said. “We’re doing it my way.”

The Kootenay Goon

[stoffelees]

Deserving of Acceptance: Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Title: Just Relax

Rating: Teen and Up

Chapter Warnings: Mild Language

Word Count: 1801

Summary: In which Daya thinks she can get Sans to chill out.

<Previous   First   Next> Read on Ao3

It was dark. It was always dark. Like the world didn’t want him to see, just feel. But not seeing was worse. He could hear movements. Not directly, of course not, just the results. Papers shifting, a chair scraping. The thing that moved made no sound. His skull was damp and his phalanges were trembling. He tried to raise a hand and wipe away the sweat but his arms wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t move. Panic started to swell up in his chest, in his throat. He couldn’t breathe.

“pap?” It came out choked and garbled. Was that even his voice? He knew it was but it didn’t sound like himself.

There was no noise, no feeling, but he knew he wasn’t alone. And whatever it was that was with him was right near his skull. It inhaled and sound came out in a hiss, ‘ù͠s͠҉̵e̴l̴e̴͜s̢͡s,’ ‘ḑ̡i͏̀şg̡̀͟ư͢s̡͟t̷̸̨i̸͢n̶͟g͏͘͞.’ Pressure starting building on his chest, the voice was all around him, it wasn’t just around his head but inside his skull. Feeling came back full force. His ribs were creaking, bending, he was going to break. He thrashed and gripped his head, digging his sharpened phalanges into the bone.

‘S̡͠s̴̶̷s͏şa̛͝n͏s͏͞...’

‘S̡a͏҉҉n̡s...’

“Sans!”

Eye sockets flew open and his brain tried to comprehend everything around him at lightning speed. He was on a couch, there was a human standing over him and his hands were restrained. Immediately he shook her off and glowered, “shit! you trying to give me a soul stutter?!”

Daya stepped back and cradled her arms, “You were scratching yourself, I was afraid...”

“afraid of what, that I was going to damage something?” he sneered. Pushing himself up into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the side of the couch, he looked for the blanket that had apparently found a new home on the other side of the room.

She huffed, “No Sans, I was afraid you were going to really hurt yourself. And what’s a ‘soul stutter’?”

Rubbing his face to finish waking up, he paused in the middle and opened up his fingers to allow one eye light to stare at her. “really? you’re going to start this early?”

“Well, I figure you’re probably not going to tell me why you were trying to tear your skull apart. So you can at least tell me what a soul stutter is.” The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile.

He dropped his hands into his lap in defeat. She was right, he wasn’t going down the rabbit hole of trying to explain what that nightmare was. “it’s when the soul pulse that sends out the magic in our bodies stops. usually it’ll start right back up, but sometimes it results in a permanent irregular rhythm.”

“What happens if it doesn’t start back up?”

“we die.”

She looked thoughtful, “Oh, okay, I think I get it now.” She walked away without looking at him and disappeared into the bathroom. Sans craned his neck to follow, a puzzled look taking over the irritated one.

Daya reappeared with a bottle and a cotton ball. “Hold still, this is going to sting.” Upturning the bottle on the cotton ball she reached over the couch and began patting the soaked fuzz on his scratches.

“ow! shit! why would you do that!?” He tried to scramble away but she had set the bottle down and had a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Oh stop, you’re fine. I don’t know if monsters can get infections but I’m going to make sure you don’t.” Pulling her hands away she chuckled, “There, all better. Now go wash up and we can talk about what to do today over breakfast.”

Tilting his head back he gave her an incredulous look, “what are you, my mom? and what do you mean ‘what to do today’?”

“I have the day off,” she smiled. “I figured we’d do something on your first full day in the human world.”

“monsters have always been in this world, it’s not just yours,” he sassed back.

“Alright, yes. On your first full day on the surface and not behind a fence. There is that better?” A resigned sigh left her as she walked to the kitchen.

“heh, sure.” Getting up and popping his vertebrae back into place with a stretch he headed to the bathroom to get the dust off his phalanges.

By the time he emerged there were two bowls, a half-gallon of milk and a generic brand of cereal sitting out. Daya was already eating and looking at her phone.

“so, what do you normally do when you have a free day?” Sans sat down and poured himself a bowl. It took quite a bit of willpower to keep from just inhaling the food; it had to have been over a day since he’d eaten.

“Sometimes I like to go to the park. I just sit and watch really.”

“...sit and watch what exactly?” he scoffed.

“Everything. The clouds, animals, people are pretty interesting. I like to just pick random people and make up stories about them.”

Stopping mid-chew he stared blankly at her before continuing to eat.

“What? Don’t tell me you never sit around and just watch the world go by.”

“well yeah, but that’s because i have to keep an eye out for anyone trying to kill me.”

She set her spoon in her empty bowl and got up to put place it in the sink. “Well that settles it. We’re going to the park. You’re going to sit and just relax. Nothing is going to try and kill us.”

“whatever you say sweetheart.” He turned his full focus back on eating. She was going to be a handful today.

By the time they had made it to the greenery in the center of the city and Daya had found her favorite spot, Sans had managed to pull a few annoyed groans from her including one due to him announcing he was going to ‘park’ it right here.

Daya was currently weaving a story about the elderly woman sitting on a bench nearby with her purse in her lap. Sans was only half listening, catching bits about being a widow, having grown children who had moved away, and how the woman dreamed of bringing her grandkids to this park. He was busy staring at a bug that had been trying to climb up a root of the tree they were resting against but continued to fall on its back. It had done this twice already and was going for a third after righting itself. Determined little fucker.

He hadn’t noticed the silence or how Daya was watching him until he suddenly felt her eyes on him. Taking his attention from the bug he turned to her direction, “what?”

“I was just thinking...”

He cut her off, “that’s dangerous.”

She sighed, looking up into the tree as she continued, “I was thinking about how monsters and humans really aren’t all that different. We both just want to live our lives in peace and enjoy the world. We both have families, jobs, goals. I mean, the only real difference is that monsters have magic and humans don’t.”

“humans have magic.” He was scraping patterns in the dirt as he spoke.

Full focus snapped to him, “I’m sorry, you can’t just drop something like that... what?”

“heh, humans have magic. it’s just so deep most can’t access it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

He took a quick gaze around when the idea came to him, “think of it in terms of skeletons.” The quirk in her eyebrow caused a chuckle to rise from his chest. “yea, okay. so first we have to ignore the fact that i’m a monster in the shape of what could be confused for a human skeleton.”

Reaching down he placed a phalange in the path of the bug coaxing it to climb on before bringing it closer to the two of them and leaning back on the tree.  “humans are like this beetle here. it’s soft and squishy on the inside but it’s got this super hard exoskeleton to protect all those important vulnerable parts. all your magic is in your soul, and your soul is completely surrounded and protected by your organic fleshy bodies.”

“I think that could be construed as the nicest thing you’ve ever said about people,” she giggled.

Eye lights rolling in their sockets he chose to ignore her and continue. “monsters, on the other hand, are like those birds over there,” the beetle flew off as he held his hand up and pointed to a flock of pigeons that had gathered around a young man, likely due to the bird seed he was tossing. “we’ve got some of that organic matter too, but it’s soft, frail and held together by our magic. our souls are made of pure magic like humans, but the magic is also flowing around us. we might seem bigger and stronger but we’re super frail.”

A somber feeling came over him, “it’s why we’re so different when we die. humans leave a complete husk when their soul leaves, but that soul is still complete with magic so it can persist. monsters... when we die, all the magic holding us together disperses leaving only dust. without that magic our souls can’t remain whole and so they shatter. i don’t know what happens to human souls, but monsters don’t even have the option of believing in a happy fairytale of an afterlife.” Bony arms rested in his lap, a defeated look taking over. He glanced over to see Daya had adopted a similar posture. Knees pulled up and chin resting on her knee caps.

“Have you ever lost anyone?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Sans’ voice caught in his throat before he squeezed the words out. “no one important. you?”

“Kind of. I was supposed to have a sister, but she died after only a couple days. My parents never told me how. I was super young when it happened, so I don’t really remember a whole lot and it doesn’t make me sad. I guess it’s hard to miss someone you never had.”

He snickered, “yea, I can relate to that.”

Suddenly Daya was on her feet and it almost looked like she was striking some sort of pose. “Well, we didn’t come out here to be depressed; we came out to have fun!” Hand reaching down to help him up, she was radiating energy.

White eye lights had blown out and had to be coaxed back into empty sockets. She really was good at scaring the daylights out of him. “yeah, alright. what did you have in mind?”

A grin stretched across her face as she helped him up. “Have you ever been to a zoo?”

<Previous   First   Next>

[my-mystic-messenger]

Usually you would send these in as asks, but I still haven’t fully figured out how Tumblr works myself and I’ve been chilling on this platform for years! I also take what I can get, cause someone was actually nice enough to give me a request and I’m happy to please! I also kinda hella loved the idea :D so here you go, I hope you like it @animeawakens

|| REQUEST ARE (ALWAYS) OPEN!! ||

Zen:

♬ after you officially got together it took weeks until he let the two of you share a bed

♬ it's not that he doesn't trust you – although you do like to get hot and heavy – but that he mostly doesn't trust himself

♬ sometimes he even went as far as to send you home in the middle of a make out session because it got too much for him to handle

♬ whenever you did sleep over – because he just couldn't let you go – you slept in the bed and he slept on the couch

♬ meaning; you never got a good look at him sleeping

♬ after about two months he finally lets you stay over and you two share a bed

♬ sleeping with Zen is extremely comfortable

♬ he's a great big spoon but doesn't mind being the small one either

♬ his hair can get a little tricky when he opens it up, but if that means you get to cuddle him, you can endure a little hair tickling your nose

♬ what you can't endure is Zen's beauty

♬ one day you're awake before him and you decide to actually get up instead of trying to sleep again

♬ you roll out of bed and turn around to get one last glance at sleeping Zen, since you've never really seen that

♬ it's almost like a punch in the guts

♬ he is drop dead gorgeous!

♬ if you didn't know better you'd think he was posing for some sort of photoshoot right then and there

♬ one of his arms is resting on his chest while the other is effortlessly resting above his head

♬ his white hair runs down his chest like silk as he lays on his back

♬ on top of that his face is relaxed, peaceful, untouched

♬ just watching him breathe in and out like this is mesmerizing

♬ one part of you is almost angry at how effortlessly beautiful he is

♬ the other appreciates it enough to get out your phone and snap a quick pick

♬ “Jaehee will so appreciate this...”

Yoosung:

★ you and Yoosung moved in together much later than both of you would have liked to

★ he had to finish school and starting a vet clinic by yourself was near impossible at his age

★ after a while though, you couldn't stand being apart and while money was short, you moved in together

★ luckily Jumin invested as a wedding gift and so the clinic came to be

★ money was no longer an issue and so you moved into a bigger, nice apartment together

★ at first everything was great, even sharing a bed, which neither of you had ever done before

★ looking back on it you realized it was due to stress that your sleeping arrangements worked out

★ the second his head hit the pillow Yoosung fell asleep like the dead

★ however, once he'd gotten used to being a vet and the stress reduced, his annoying sleeping habits kicked in

★ for one, he's a horrible blanket hogger and you woke up more than once during the night because you were shivering without your blanket

★ at the same time you also found yourself waking up from being smothered and that was the biggest problem

★ it was easy to buy a separate blanket set, but getting rid of squid Yoosung was a near impossible feat

★ once he'd wrapped his arms, sometimes legs, around you, there was no getting rid of him

★ only only did you feel smothered, but you began growing hot rather soon as well

★ that boy felt like a hundred degrees wrapped around you

★ when you told him about it he felt extremely ashamed

★ you attempted to sleep in separate beds for a while, since you had work too and being completely drained of energy due to lack of sleep wasn't an option

★ it didn't work out

★ suddenly you felt cold and empty without your little octopus wrapped around you

★ after about a week you craved and climbed into back during night

★ about an hour later Yoosung had moved in his sleep and slung his first arm around you

★ half an hour later he was once more completely wrapped around you

★ you just sighed contently

★ “Much better...”

Jaehee:

♨When you and Jaehee first moved in together it was as 'best friends'

♨ you each had your room and did it for 'practical reasons'

♨ it was just 'easier to split the rent and chores'

♨ for anyone who didn't notice, those were all keywords for you weren't quite ready to admit to yourself and each other just how gay you were for one another

♨ eventually you got drunk and made out though and the cat was kind of out of the bag

♨ so you decided to confess and move into the same room

♨ the spare room remained a bedroom, but mostly for guests or just in case things got too much

♨ Jaehee is practical that way

♨ anyway, now that you were finally sleeping in the same room, arrangements had to be made

♨ the closet space had to be shared and a bigger bed had to be bought

♨ you went shopping together and Jaehee had so much fun you fell in love with her smile even more

♨ the first couple of nights you didn't really focus on how Jaehee slept, to be honest

♨ most of it was either spent cuddling or making out or...well you know what new couples do

♨ a lot of exploration, to put it that way

♨ the fun kind

♨ after all the excitement of a new relationship died down you finally settled and calmed a little

♨ really, that is where your relationship began

♨ it was also then that you first stayed awake for a while to just look at her

♨ Jaehee was always trim and tight, even now that she wasn't working for Jumin anymore

♨ she was organized and focus

♨ but when she slept, all of it went away and her face evened out, relaxing into something so pure

♨ she slept on her stomach, face buried into the pillow

♨ it looked utterly adorable

♨ she also drooled a little and you couldn't help but chuckle at how cute and innocent it made her look

♨ almost childlike, really

♨ she was very embarrassed when you brought it up, but you assured her you didn't mind

♨ after that night you put a box of tissues on her nightstand so she could wipe any remains off

♨ “You should always be as relaxed as when you sleep. I'll make that happen one day.”

Jumin:

♛ while Jumin was allowed to watch you sleep early on in the relationship, the sentiment wasn't returned

♛ you weren't allowed to share a bed for the longest time until he finally craved

♛ morals were overrated anyway, right?

♛ when you first shared a bed you couldn't really believe your eyes

♛ the second he laid down, it took him a maximum of five minutes to fall asleep

♛ frankly, you found that incredible

♛ sure, he worked until very late and was probably exhausted, but it wasn't just the speed that surprised you, but also the position he slept in

♛ it was a picture book sleeping position

♛ he lay on his back, blanket pulled up high with both his hands clasped and resting right below his chest

♛ through the entire night, he didn't move an inch

♛ Not. An. Inch

♛ you knew that some people called him heartless and cold, but you hadn't expected him to actually sleep like a goddamn vampire!

♛ you actually had nightmares about this

♛ dreaming about him sleeping in a coffin, suddenly waking up with red eyes and fangs bared at you

♛ in his defense, the dream did turn out quite nice

♛ another positive aspect, you totally used his chest as your pillow, arm thrown over his middle

♛ “Hmm, better than any silk pillow ~ ”

Saeyoung/Seven

☼ sharing a bed with him is a plain mess

☼ you love him still, of course, but you spend many nights waking up at least once

☼ at first everything is fine, when the two of you go to sleep

☼ you spoon or cuddle up face to face, the typical couple sleeping positions

☼ then you actually fall asleep and things start to get messy

☼ when it first happened you didn't think much of it

☼ you woke up the next morning and Seven had spread out over the entire bed, leaving you with close to no space

☼ it was alright though, you understood

☼ he'd been a single person and you were guilty of starfishing at home yourself

☼ you figured he'd eventually get used to sharing his bed with another person and adapt

☼ you figured wrong

☼ in fact, things became even worse from there on

☼ not only did he basically corner you on your own half of the bed, eventually you found yourself waking up to your face kissing the floor

☼ you tested out different things, from sleeping on the different side of the bed to giving him sleeping pills to knock him out

☼ it didn't work, you always ended up either corner or on the floor

☼ eventually you bought a pull-out bed so now when you fall, you fall onto another mattress

☼ on the plus side; you've learned to fall asleep really quick after

☼ you also learned to see positive things even in negative situations

☼ “Sometimes I don't even wake up anymore! How cool is that?”

Saeran:

☀ Sharing a bed with Saeran took ages

☀ he probably wouldn't have minded, but you did

☀ the therapist had said to give him some space, let him heal

☀ physical contact in general was a tender topic, let alone sharing a bed

☀ it was a rather intimate thing, even without having sex

☀ you really didn't want him to push you away or feel caged

☀ it was about half a year into your relationship that he asked you to sleep with him

☀ even in bed, you stayed on your side, not touching him at first

☀ especially when you first turned over too look at him sleep

☀ really, it broke your heart

☀ he slept in a fetus position, making himself so small it must have been uncomfortable

☀ he also didn't look relaxed or calm like you would expect a sleeping person to look like

☀ even in sleep, he looked troubled

☀ maybe even more so than in real life, where he constantly wore a mask, you realized

☀ you actually found yourself crying at his fate

☀ he woke up one night, hearing you sob

☀ for a moment he just stared at you in confusion, but apparently he understood

☀ without a word he scooted closer and cuddled up to you

☀ it almost made you cry even more, the way he tried to hide himself in your embrace

☀ from then on you held him every night, his face buried in your chest and your fingers brushing through his hair

☀ you didn't cry anymore, he didn't look as pained

☀ “I like our new sleeping position much better, you know?”

Jihyun Kim/ V

📷 moving in with V was equally easy as it was hard

📷 even with Rika out of the picture it still felt like she was present

📷 there was a side of the closet unused, a free shelf in the bathroom and decoration too feminine to have been chosen by V himself

📷 even when your things started to fill these spaces it didn't feel quite right

📷 it just felt so much like she was still there

📷 you hated that feeling, and it made you feel insecure

📷 especially when you first came home late and V was already sleeping

📷 you stepped in and it was obvious that he'd shared a bed before

📷 painfully obvious

📷 he neatly slept on his side of the bed, but his arm was stretched out, reaching for something

📷 you figured it was Rika

📷 you slept on the couch that night

📷 he asked you about it the next morning, but you dodged the topic

📷 when the same thing repeated itself again about two weeks later, he didn't let you off the hook

📷 so you explained

📷 he was shocked and embarrassed with himself

📷 there was a bit of truth to it, it had been the position he's slept in with Rika

📷 but he'd gotten over her thanks to you, and hated having hurt you like that

📷 without you asking him, he gets rid of everything that once belonged to her

📷 from there on he pulls you to his chest, holding you close through the night

📷 both of you finally have what you always needed

📷 “Thank you so much, V.”

|| REQUEST ARE (ALWAYS) OPEN!! ||

little side note, I’m sorry this took so long. I went to sleep shortly before I got your request and while the first couple of peeps were easy to write I constantly struggle with V so it took a while. I still hope you guys like it :3