#I had to wake my partner up and send him off to by a carton of preseparated whites

[shojoboy]

Defusing a bomb <<<<<<<<<<<<<<< separating egg whites

[tervaneula]

Okay call me crazy but it's 5 AM and am thinking about YOUR leo x usagi (sue me/lh) but listen here... Listen.. Listen...

I love my fluff like my France fries dipped in sauce 🩷

So i thought of about one of your previous NQK chapters where leo tries to wake up but can't because he's just exhausted or burned out but he have to!

When he was with his family - after going back in the past - he somewhat had to wake up and do something unless his family would get worried about him but after marrying his honeybun Usagi?

I can imagine leo feeling guilty like " I need to do something today, something productive... Doesn't matter what " and Usagi whom sleeping next to him is like " Do you have too? " Like Usagi has no problem spending the whole day with his hubby, cuddling in bed, having a nice breakfast in bed (bet they feed each other) and doing bad flirts and top it off with saying how much they love each other as they share kisses.

You know. YOU KNOW. This has been my go-to comfort ask for over a month now and it's been so, so needed. Thank you so much for sending it. It's beautiful.

And now that I haven't been well, I needed even more comfort so I wrote a little ~800 word thing for it :') <3

Leonardo blinks.

And blinks again.

His blurry gaze sharpens slowly, the switched-off ceiling light above him coming into focus little by little. He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, finally closing his eyes.

He doesn't know how long he's lain awake just staring at the ceiling, unseeing, barely hearing the rain outside, the thoughts inside his head yelling at him to get up. Get up, be useful, get up, get up, get up.

He can't get up and he can't make the voices go away. He's stuck and he can't do anything about it, his fists clench in the sheets, a frustrated sob forcing its way out of his dry throat– 

"Mmh, Leo? How long have you been awake?"

Leonardo twitches his head to the side and sees two brown eyes glinting in the low light of the late morning, looking at him, fuzzy from sleep but intent, and a brow furrowed in concern. He tries to reply but he swallows the words instead, closing his eyes again with a barely-there shake of his head.

He hears a soft hum, feels the mattress next to him shift and soon two arms are wrapping around his neck, a warm weight settling on his chest. Yuichi nuzzles his cheek, then his neck, and presses his face against him. His fur is so soft on Leonardo's scales.

"You don't have to get up, you know," the white rabbit murmurs, voice gentle but still rough from sleep, "we've nothing to do today."

Leonardo disagrees.

"...breakfast."

"There's cereal in the cupboard and berries in the fridge."

Leonardo huffs at the straightforward reply and somehow that spark of amusement lets him finally regain control of his own body. Yuichi has trapped his right arm under him but the left one is free to move, and he moves it straight up to bury his fingers into his partner's sleep-fluffed hair. He earns a soft chitter for it and he purrs in response, feeling a sorely needed warmth spreading from his chest outward.

-

Yuichi forbids him from getting out of bed, getting up himself, and bringing a tray filled with various low-effort breakfast items with him when he comes back. There's the promised cereal along with a carton of yoghurt, a big bowl of assorted berries, a bunch of grapes, a cold coffee drink and two glasses of orange juice.

Leonardo drags himself upright and the tray is carefully set on his thighs. Yuichi burrows under the blankets, emerging right next to him and pulling the tray towards him so they both have equal access.

"Well then," the rabbit smiles, light and loving and loved. "Dig in!"

-

They finish eating, unhurried and comfortably silent, content to enjoy the taste on their tongues and the warmth of each other's presence. Yuichi picks up the emptied dishes and moves them to the floor, then turns back to Leonardo, grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess what's next?"

"We… get up?"

"Nope!"

-

It's late afternoon when Leonardo wakes up. He stirs slowly, indulgently, so very different from before, feeling warm and cosy between his mate's arms. His beak is buried in silky soft fur, his head cradled in an embrace so gentle it's as if he's something precious, something to be treasured and held with utmost care.

He's been on the verge of tears the whole morning – well, the whole day at this point – and they finally start to fall. It's a quiet cry, merely a release of the anxious energy that's finally letting him out of its grasp, a relief.

He breathes in Yuichi's scent, comforted and– and happy, he thinks, so very happy.

No matter how cruel Leonardo's mind is to him, Yuichi makes sure to never judge. They both have their bad days, Leonardo's being worse but it's never been a problem for the rabbit.

He looks at him and accepts him and is there for him, for better or for worse.

He reminds him that it's alright to take it slow. It's alright to just exist.

He loves him, his jagged edges and gooey core, the whole of him. 

And Leonardo knows he loves Yuichi more than he could ever put into words, more than his actions could ever express. 

More than there are stars in the sky. 

Leonardo doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve a love like this but for once in his life, he doesn’t question it. This good thing that he has, this new life he’s built with his family strong by his side – it’s not something to doubt, to ruin by stubbornly waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels deep in his chest that this is it. 

This is it for him, and no matter if he’s earned it or not, he will hold onto it with everything he’s got. 

(he holds onto Yuichi just a little bit tighter.)

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 16: Quench

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

“You know what amazes me,” Scully says as they walk along the waterfront. “That day we first met… I never would have guessed we’d end up like this. More than partners, more than friends.”

“I didn’t expect you to last three months with me,” Mulder admits, hands in his pockets. “Part of me wanted to drive you away, make you request reassignment.”

“And the other part of you?” she prompts, gently taking ahold of his wrist and drawing his hand out. She laces their fingers together, and their entwined hands swing between them as they walk. He likes it.

“I came to admire you,” he admits. “I read your thesis, for starters, but getting to know you personally was a transformative experience. I saw your strength, your dedication to your principles, your loyalty. I came to depend on your perspective; you were always matching me, challenging me.”

“I thought you hated that,” Scully points out.

“I definitely did on occasion,” he agrees. “But I needed it. I still do. I need your rationality and clarity and willingness to listen, even when you disagree with me. Especially when you disagree,” he amends.

“Respecting the journey,” Scully concurs.

“Exactly.” He glances down at her. “What did you think of me when we first met?”

“Hmm… I’d heard a lot about you, so that definitely colored my view in the beginning,” she says. “But walking into the basement office for the first time, I thought… well, for one, you were much more attractive than I was expecting,” she confesses. “I was actually a little awestruck; that is, until you started talking.”

“Why until I started talking?” he asks, voice amused and defensive in equal measure.

“You were really laying it on thick, playing up the ‘Spooky Mulder’ image. It seemed like you’d been alone down there for a little too long,” she says cheekily.

“I’d argue with you, Scully, but I think this time you’re actually right,” he concedes. He stops walking, gives her hand a gentle tug to guide her closer.

“Are you glad they sent me to spy on you?” she asks softly, taking his free hand into her other one.

He nods and leans down, dropping a soft kiss to her lips. “Best thing the Bureau’s ever done for me.”

“We should head back to the car,” Scully says. “My feet are starting to hurt.”

“It’s impressive, the things you manage to do in heels,” Mulder notes.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she says with a sly grin.

“Scully, please, be gentle with me,” he pleads. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hm,” Scully presses her lips together, stifling a smile. “I like when you beg.”

Jesus H Christ.

The drive back to Scully’s apartment is short, and before he knows it, he’s pulling over in front of her building, not ready to say goodnight.

Scully must sense this, because she turns to him with hopeful eyes. “Would you like to come in?” she asks. “I’ll make some tea.”

Mulder bites his lip, considering. “Are you inviting me up for a drink or are you ‘inviting me up for a drink’?” he asks.

She shrugs, smiling. “Only one way to find out,” she replies.

He has to at least walk her to her door, right? It’s the chivalrous thing to do. He might as well stay for tea…

Scully seems far more relaxed than she had at the start of the evening. She undoes the straps of her little heeled sandals and kicks them off by the door, tossing her bag and shawl onto the couch.

“What kind of tea would you like?” Scully asks, going into the kitchen and opening a cupboard.

“Uh... you have any black tea?” Mulder asks, sitting on the couch. He knows he should probably be more specific, but the majority of his tea experiences are iced and made by someone else, and he frankly doesn’t know what to ask for.

“Several, actually,” Scully answers, rearranging cartons in the cupboard. “I’m making an executive decision,” she announces, pulling out a box of Constant Comment. “Missy and I liked this one best.”

He watches her over the back of the couch as she starts the kettle, takes two mugs out of the cupboard, drops a teabag into each one. Her hair is a little mussed, and the hem of her dress is dragging on the floor without the added height of her heels. He decides that seeing her all put together at the beginning of the night is no match for watching her come undone at the end.

If only every night could be like this; them sitting on her squishy striped couch, cups of spicy tea in hand, talking about the profound and the mundane. Maybe, somehow, we can have this, he thinks. Pore over case notes on the sofa, kiss each other goodnight, wake up in each other’s arms.

He decides that Constant Comment is, in fact, a very good tea.

Cup empty, Scully sighs contentedly as she rests her head on his shoulder. “This is nice,” she says. “I wish we hadn’t waited so long to do this.”

“What, sit on your coach and drink tea?”

“Well, yes, but more than that. I meant just being together, without holding things back.”

“Maybe we weren’t ready,” Mulder muses. “We needed to grow into what we wanted and needed from each other. I know it took me a long time to figure it out, and even longer to get the courage to tell you.”

“Well, I suppose not knowing how I felt didn’t help; I was too subtle. I took what I considered a big swing in Florida,” she admits, “And when you didn’t respond I decided to back off.”

“A big swing? What are you talking about?” Mulder asks.

Scully covers her face with her hands. “It’s so embarrassing now,” she groans. “Remember when they tried to send us to that team-building conference? And I came to your room with wine and cheese?”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “Wait, was that a come-on?”

“Yes!” she exclaims. “I came in with this stupid plate of cheese and minibar wine, trying to… to telegraph that I was interested, and you just kept talking about culling techniques all the way out the door.”

“What were you hoping would happen?” Mulder asks.

“I don’t know,” Scully muses. “I was newly cancer-free, and we had just been through that whole ordeal together... I wanted to take a chance and see where it went. Maybe make out a little bit, at least? I’m not sure if... if I would have been ready for more, even if you expressed an interest. But I definitely wanted it.”

“I had no idea,” he says.

They sit silently for a moment.

“I don’t suppose... we should make up for lost time?” he suggests, looking down at her.

She licks her lips, and his eyes follow the movement of her tongue.

She tilts her chin up to him, and he places his hands on either side of her jaw. He leans in, their noses brushing as he tilts his head and presses his mouth to hers. She sighs into the kiss, bringing her hands to his shoulders.

Her lips are so soft and warm, faintly flavored with spices and orange rind from the tea, and he parts his lips reflexively. Hers follow, and the sensation of their mouths slotting together makes his head spin.

Suddenly he feels the slip of her tongue again his bottom lip and he’s in a free fall. They part with a gasp.

“Too much?” Scully asks.

“No, not at all,” Mulder says quickly. “Just surprised me. It was good,” he assures her.

“Good,” she replies, taking a deep breath. “Sorry… I feel like a clueless teenager,” she says with a huff of a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever cared this much. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling out of my depth all of a sudden.”

“I’ve never cared this much for anybody either,” he admits. “But like you said. We’ll go slow.”

She licks her lips. “Okay,” she whispers.

He angles himself towards her, sliding a hand around the back of her neck to draw her closer. “Try again?” he whispers, lips brushing hers.

“Yes,” she breathes.

He’s been holding back from this for years, he realizes; all those times his eyes caught on her lips, watching her mouth shape his name. Occupying his tongue with sunflower seeds to distract himself from what he really wanted. Leaning close, furtively whispering, convincing himself that he really needed to be in her personal space. It was all an elaborate buildup for this moment.

He has a hand in her hair, the other tentatively resting on her waist. Emboldened by her previous eagerness, he opens his mouth, inviting her in with a soft lick. She responds by looping her arms around his neck, one leg hitched across his kneecap as their tongues meet.

They kiss like kites dancing on air, ribbons twisting and tangling in the wind, all silk and cotton and hot breath. He’s not sure if he pulled her onto his lap, or if she slid across his knees of her own volition; but she’s there now, her compact body bundled against his chest. She cards her fingers through his hair, sucking his lower lip, grazing his tongue with her teeth.

Mulder wants this so badly it aches. He might die if they stop, but something below the belt is bound to make itself known, and he needs to regain control before his body gets ahead of his mind.

“Scully,” he pants, pulling back. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and his hunger intensifies. “Scully, if we’re not going to take this further tonight we need to stop now.”

She nods, lips parted as she catches her breath. One strap of her dress has fallen down her shoulder, and he tenderly replaces it with the slip of a finger.

“Don’t touch me like that,” she whispers. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I know,” he confesses. “But… sometimes I want dangerous.”

“So do I,” she says. “But you were right. We should stop.” She slips off of his lap, standing. “It’s getting late,” she say, glancing at the clock. “I have mass in the morning.”

“I hope I gave you a few things to confess,” he says, rising.

“I may add some to the list myself,” she murmurs, and his knees threaten to give way.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he warns her, picking up his jacket and walking to the door. “The more you talk, the harder it is to leave.”

“Then my lips are sealed,” she says. “Goodnight, Mulder.” She opens the door for him, rising onto her tiptoes to receive one more kiss.

It’s brief, but sweet, and Mulder impulsively pulls her into a hug after their lips part. “Goodnight, Scully,” he mumbles into her hair.

He's ascended; gotten high on her lips, floating through the cosmos.

[narukoibito]

charity work

Wow, so I wrote a published a thing after 10+ years away from fanfiction. Please check it out if you’re so inclined!

Summary: He'd only meant it as a joke, but here she was. Ginny Weasley, his celebrity crush, armed with economy toilet paper rolls and three dozen eggs, ready to commit a misdemeanor all in the name of charity. Muggle AU Harry/Ginny

Tumblr prompt: "You're famous and I jokingly left a comment on your social media post asking if you'll go egg my ex-partner's house with me this weekend, and I never actually expected you to respond, let alone show up Friday night with dark sweatshirts, toilet paper rolls, and three egg cartons tucked under your arm" & hp_fangal's version where Harry is the famous one, Shooting for the Stars.

FF.net | AO3

Harry flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh, letting his bag slide carelessly to the ground. Sirius popped his head out from the kitchen.

“You alright there, Harry?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled from his dejected position.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and turned to Hermione, who lifted her head up from her book for a moment to give Harry a disapproving look.

“He’s been brooding all week,” she announced.

“Cho?” he asked knowingly.

“He hasn’t said, but…Cho,” Hermione nodded.

Harry made a rude gesture at his childhood best friend and godfather, who sniffed disdainfully and chortled respectively.

Yes, it was indeed his girlfriend — sorry, ex-girlfriend — who was once again souring his mood, but Sirius and Hermione didn’t know yet. He hadn’t had the heart to tell them that he’d caught her cheating on him with none other than Cedric Diggory. Not only had Cedric taken Harry’s position as a starter on the school team when Harry tore his ACL several months back, but then the recruiters who had originally come to see Harry had taken a shine to Cedric, and now several teams were making him offers. Hermione and Sirius had been going on for months about how Cho wasn’t being particularly supportive during Harry’s recovery period, but Harry had waved them off. Turns out they were more right than he could have imagined, and he simply could do without the knowing and pitying looks.

“This’ll cheer you up,” Sirius said, walking over to the wireless.

“I think something’s burning,” Harry grumbled as Sirius flicked through several stations. Sirius let out a yelp and jumped back to the kitchen, but not without first finding what he was looking for.

“Now tell me, Miss Weasley,” an unctuous female voice crowed, “about your victories off the pitch.”

Despite himself, Harry perked up. Ginny Weasley was his favorite football starter since she made a huge splash going pro at the young age of sixteen — and immediately proved her worth by leading her team to victory at her first game. He may or may not have several posters of her hanging in his closet.

“Oh you heard that I cook the meanest eggplant dish on the team?” Ginny’s sweet voice lilted over the wireless. When Harry laughed, Hermione peered at him over her book again, amused.

“That’s a very…lovely quality, my dear, but no, my avid listeners want to know all about your tumultuous love life. We all know how much you enjoy playing the field…”

Harry let out an ungraceful snort.

“I did always like playing with balls, yes,” Ginny quipped. “I’m pretty good at kicking them, so they say.”

The reporter cleared her throat loudly. “Too true. I believe one of your past paramours was reportedly found writhing on the floor when you parted ways.”

“Oh no, that was simply a handsy fan who didn’t seem to understand the meaning of ‘no,’” Ginny corrected her dryly.

“Your latest lover, Puddlemere team’s Michael Corner, and you seem to have had a bit of a nasty split,” the reporter’s voice oozed with false sympathy. “The photos of him and his assistant, Lavender Brown, in a passionate embrace —”

“You mean snogging in the dark corner of a bar?”

“Oh this must be so difficult for you,” the reporter sniffed. “You seem to have such trouble holding onto a man — they seem to prefer more feminine women over your company! Tell me, does it have to do with your being raised with six older brothers? Perhaps the rowdiness of such a boisterous family environment was not conducive for healthy relationships with men?”

Harry threw a stray cushion at the wireless, but from his horizontal position, he missed.

“Miss Skeeter, I’m not sure how my upbringing has anything to do with my boyfriends deciding to be cheating gits rather than about being forthcoming about their feelings.”

“Of course, dear. Please, tell our listeners as such a seasoned veteran, how you cope with heartbreak, especially when you uncover such deceit?”

“I’m a big fan of karma. People tend to find that what comes around goes around.”

“So mature of you.”

“And if they wake up with their house egged and teepeed, let’s hope they realize the error of their ways.”

Harry could picture Ginny’s trademark mischievous smile, and he felt his own lips curling up.

“Surely, Miss Weasley, you aren’t condoning such a crime?”

“All hypothetical, Miss Skeeter. But who am I to complain if the universe takes it upon itself to serve justice? Having grown up with my brothers, I find that anything is possible if you have enough nerve.”

As the interview wound to an end, Harry felt inexplicably lighter. He even managed to shift himself to a sitting position and found himself scrolling through Ginny Weasley’s public Instagram profile. He was momentarily distracted by a recent posting of her sticking her tongue out at the camera while cuddling with a kitten, where she alerted her fans to tune into her upcoming interview with the radio host of Me, Myself, and I.

He punched in a simple message in the comments: Caught my girlfriend snogging my replacement on my uni’s football team while I was supposed to be convalescing, and now I want to help push karma along the way this Friday. Care to lend a hand?

“You’re looking better,” Sirius observed, popping his head back into the living room.

Harry tossed his phone to the side and smiled. “Is dinner even edible anymore?”

During dinner (extra “crispy” chicken Sirius calls it, mashed potatoes, and vegetables), Harry finally caved in and told Sirius and Hermione what happened. They were so outraged on his behalf, it actually dulled his own anger enough for him to admit he was difficult to be around while he recovered, and he was probably not the best boyfriend at the time. They wouldn’t hear any of it though.

After Hermione headed home and Sirius to his study, Harry receded to his room where he took a moment to appreciate his hidden poster. Then he headed to the shower, where he may or may not have decided to relax by picturing a particularly sassy redhead. When his head hit his pillow, he immediately drifted off to a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

--

Harry let out a big yawn as he rose from his last class of the day. He paused to stretch out his right leg, which had a tendency of getting stiff after sitting too long post-surgery.

As his classmates trickled out, he whipped out his phone, already pondering where to grab take-out for his solo night in since Sirius was planning an evening out (don’t expect me home tonight). A red notification blared out at him, which was odd considering his rare use and minuscule follower-ship on Instagram. He clicked on it, wondering if someone commented on his recent post of Sirius with a big, black shaggy dog.

It was a message from…

The phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

Ginny Weasley? Bringing the phone closer to his face, he stared at the message beside her smirking profile picture.

I’m in. When and where?

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. Was he dreaming? His celebrity crush since he was seventeen, the one he had just wanked to two days ago (and countless times over the years), wanted to help him egg and teepee his ex’s place?

After a moment’s hesitation, he began punching in the details of the closest station to Cho’s.

Meet around 10?

His thumb hovered over the send button. What did he have to lose? He pressed down. He swallowed hard as three hovering dots appeared.

See you soon.

“Fuck,” Harry said aloud to an empty classroom.

--

Harry couldn’t believe this was happening. Maybe someone had hacked into her account and was just having a lark. Maybe he was going to be mugged on arrival.

“Yes, that must be it,” he assured himself as he ascended the stairs to the front of the station.

“Are you H-P-Lightening?”

Harry looked around and nearly tripped over the last step. For a second, he thought he might have been right about being mugged, given the hooded figure that appeared on his right. But the figure pushed back her hood, and fiery gold-and-red hair spilling out like a curtain.

It was her. Ginny Weasley.

Standing in front of him in an oversized hoodie, a bag of toilet paper (economy size, she didn’t skimp), and several cartons of eggs. Her brown eyes glinted with mischief, and her lips were curled up in her devil-may-care smirk. She was close enough that he could not only make out the splattering of attractive freckles across her face, but he could catch what seemed to be the sweet smell of flowers.

“Er —” was all Harry could manage.

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re not him?”

“No — I mean, yes, I am. That’s me. Harry Potter.”

Her smile brightly. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Yeah, nice,” he said stupidly. “I’m a huge fan. I didn’t think, er, I never thought —”

“I seem to be a terrible influence,” Ginny laughed, and the way it made her nose crinkle sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “Since I put the idea in your head, the least I could do was help out and prevent you from getting caught.”

“Do you always rescue brokenhearted blokes on your public profile?”

“Only the really particularly pathetic ones,” she grinned back. “My publicist is always encouraging me to take on more charity work.”

“Smart,” Harry nodded sagely. “It’s good to engage with the people from time to time. Humanize you.”

She was laughing again, and he felt ridiculously chuffed that he was making Ginny Weasley of all people laugh. It did loads for his self-esteem considering Cho was always either bemused or offended by his snarky remarks.

“Exactly,” she said, holding out an extra hoodie for him. He thanked her and pulled it over this head, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be so pleased that they were matching. As he took some of the supplies from her, and they began walking, she continued, “I don’t know, your comment kind of stuck out to me.”

He glanced at her when she seemed to hesitate and was surprised when she quickly looked away, a bit of color on her cheeks.

“And the fact that you didn’t give off any stalker murder vibes was a plus.”

He laughed. “But really, thank you,” Harry said. “I was, er, brooding, as my friends and family like to call it because of Cho, and your interview cheered me up — the way you didn’t let that awful reporter get under your skin was truly something else.”

“Ah yes, Rita Skeeter,” Ginny smiled stonily. “Should have known better than to bet against my twin brothers.”

“Bet?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t believe them when they said Michael, my now notorious ex, was shifty. Swore it wasn’t true, and they bet I’d have to go on Skeeter’s show if I was wrong. They constantly goad me about my poor judgment in men, which was really what got me riled up enough to take them on. Then a week later, I caught Michael doing some yoga with his new assistant. ‘Course they tried really hard to explain why they were working on her downward dog naked.”

Harry grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said airily. “He was a prat. If he’d just broken up with me like a decent human being, I wouldn’t have had to deal with all the latest tabloids. Besides,” she glanced at him curiously, “seems like I wasn’t the only one who’s had some bad luck with romance lately.”

“Ah yes, my tale of woe. I caught my ex snogging the guy who took my starter position after I tore my ACL. All around the time when there were recruiters coming around. Her timing and choice couldn’t have been better.”  

“I’m sorry,” she said, her hand touching his arm. He felt heat shoot through him.

“Ah, it’s not really fun hanging around a depressed sod.” One side of his mouth twisted up with a touch of bitterness. “She didn’t much enjoy my moods.”

Ginny snorted. “Right, because what mattered then was her having fun.”

Harry shrugged. Aside from some awkward, fumbling, and a bit sloppy kisses, he wasn’t really sure how much fun Cho seemed to have around him. She’d always been trying to get him to talk about his feelings, like about his parents or how terrible he felt about his injury or the lost his dream opportunity to go pro. Her insistence often made him clam up or shut down.

Ginny started asking him questions about his uni and his team, and soon they were chatting like old friends about football strategies and tactics, favorite moves, new players with potential. It was very possible he revealed just how well he knew her team’s stats, but if she noticed, she graciously doesn’t comment.

“Here we are,” he realized, skidding to a stop in front of a blue house. Ginny pulled him back behind a tree. He peered at her curiously, but she was scanning the quiet street and the house.

“Doesn’t seem like anyone is home,” she announced.

“There was a game today, with a party that tends to go pretty late.”

“Well isn’t that perfect?” She smiled at him as she pulled the hood back over her head, and he mirrored her motion.

With remarkable coordination and teamwork considering they didn’t speak a word but rather communicate with meaningful glances and stifled laughter, they began decorating the bushes, garden, porch, trees, and roof with toilet paper. Then they returned to the pavement with the egg cartons.

“Care to go first, Harry?” Ginny asked, a softness in her eyes despite her artful tossing and catching an egg with ease.

He picked up an egg and hesitated. The anger and betrayal churned through him, but there was a part of him that still wondered if maybe he should let it go.

“Hm, worried you’re unable to throw from here?” she asked casually, her eyes flashing with mischief.

Was that a challenge? She gave him an assessing glance before turning to the house.

“Maybe you don’t think you can hit that awful thing,” she said, pointing at a crow sticker attached to a window, grinning wickedly.

“Watch it, Weasley,” Harry said roughly. He wound his arm back and with impressive accuracy, hit the crow sticker on the window. “Hah!”

“Seemed a bit aggressive there,” she laughed.

“That thing always gave me the creeps,” he admitted sheepishly, remembering how the shadow of the crow seemed to follow him in that room. “Now then, you may be a great starter, but what about your arm aim?”

Her egg splattered noisily right at the center of the door.

“If we only conditioned our legs, we’d be pretty lopsided.”

He laughed as they continued to goad each other with more and more difficult places. But soon, they began to throw with more ferocity, each seeming to exorcise some past demons.

His egg cracked against the porch stair where she first kissed him in the rain.

“I wish she had never kissed me.”

Her egg smashed against a different window.

“I wish I had broken things off when he kept pestering me about wearing more dresses.”

Another cracked against the roof.

“Wish I hadn’t pushed myself too far for those stupid recruiters!”

One landed against the door handle.

“What does my love life have to do with how I play, Skeeter?”

As they went through the eggs, they spouted all the things wrong with their previous relationships before moving to other frustrations until all three cartons of eggs were empty, and the house was a comically gooey, papered mess.

Harry dragged a hand through his tousled hair, dazed by how much better he felt. He met Ginny’s eye and warmed at the sight of her flushed cheeks and pleased smile. She reached out and took his hand, and without a word, he let her draw him away, leaving the tangled mess of feelings about Cho and his doomed football career behind. Her hand in his felt like the only real thing in the world.

They walked together, hand-in-hand, in comfortable silence back to the station. As they drew closer, he grew nervous and turned to face her.

“Thank you, Ginny,” he blurted earnestly.

“You’re welcome. It was really fun,” she said. She seemed to hesitate for the first time the entire evening, looking over his shoulder.

Panic shot through him — was this it? Would he ever see her again?

“Actually,” she said slowly, “I rode here. I could give you a lift if you like, instead of taking the train.”

“Rode?” He echoed, turning to follow her gaze. His mouth dropped open. There, parked surreptitiously, was a gleaming motorcycle. “Bloody hell, Sirius will love you.”

“Sirius?”

“Um, my godfather. He’s got a thing for motorcycles. Treats his like it’s a national treasure,” he explained, blushing. “I’ve been riding them since he took me in.”

Something shifted in her eyes, but it was gone so quickly that he may have imagined it. Back was the shining amusement.

“Well then, I take it you’re not afraid of a bit of speed.” She wound around him towards her ride. She opened the storage unit and tossed him a helmet. “You’ve always got to make sure you have a nifty getaway vehicle.”

“See, this is why I enlisted an expert.”

He provided her his address, and after a quick search on her phone, she mentioned she was familiar with the area. It turned out he lived close to an old friend of hers, a Luna Lovegood, who was responsible for those quirky magazines about mythical creatures that Sirius always got a hoot out of and Hermione would turn her head disapprovingly from.

Helmet secure, Ginny hopped on and looked at him expectantly. He slipped on his helmet and sat behind her. He floundered, wondering where he should grip the seat.

“You better hold onto me.” Her voice was muffled in her helmet, but it sounded crystal clear to him. “Wouldn’t want the next headliner to be how I killed a man by not practicing safety.”

“Right — hardly a way to repay you.” He tentatively slid tantalizingly closer, wrapping his arms around her middle. God she was fit. “That, ah, safe enough?”

Ginny nodded jerkily. “Yep, that’s great.”

She lifted her left leg, kicked into gear, and soon they were roaring through the winding roads of London.

Harry loved to feel the wind whip around him and the familiar rumbling underneath him. It made him feel like he was flying. But damn Ginny wasn’t kidding when she liked it fast, and he found himself gripping her a little tighter than he had expected but enjoying every moment of it — the feel on her in his arms, the elevated rush of adrenaline due to her speed. Watching the buildings, streets, and vehicles go by in a blur of lights made the night feel magical.

All too soon, Ginny was pulling up in front of his home. He hastily pulled away, hoping that his graceless way of removing his helmet would disguise his blush. She made it seem so effortless when she pulled her helmet off and threw her head back, her hair cascading down her shoulders. They smiled at each other, not sure what to say, but he didn’t want the night to end. Harry couldn’t believe his luck, and maybe he shouldn’t push it, but when else was the universe going to wink in his direction?

“Would you like to come up?” He cringed. “I can make you a cup of tea, I mean — as a sincere thank you for being both my partner in crime and my savior.”

He braced himself for the rejection.

“Oh,” she said, sounding both surprised and breathless. “Yes. That sounds nice.”

Harry led her inside, nervously watching her glance around the cottage. “It belonged to my parents.”

“It’s lovely,” Ginny smiled, walking over to the mantle.

“It’s a good thing that Sirius isn’t home — he probably wouldn’t stop pestering us if he were.” He scrambled to tidy some of the papers and books on the coffee table.

“Is that him?” she asked, pointing to a photo of Sirius with a ten-year-old Harry in his arms. Harry was laughing really hard, his wire-frame glasses knocked askew, and Sirius’s attention was completely on Harry, a wide grin on his face and affection shining in his eyes. It was one of Harry’s favorite photos, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about Ginny seeing him when he was a bespectacled, scrawny boy.

“Yes,” he said, as she continued to gaze at the photo thoughtfully. “Er, kitchen?”

She let him lead her away. “Your home is a lot cleaner than my parents’ place. Though I suppose that isn’t too difficult to achieve. I have six older brothers and all.”

“Sounds nice. It’s just been Sirius and me, sometimes a dog — he can never resist a stray — and occasionally my pseudo uncle when he needs a place to crash.”

She pulled the dark hoodie over her head, and his breath hitched when her jumper lifted to reveal a sliver of pale, freckled skin. Harry hastily set about heating up the kettle, trying to remember his train of thought.

“Can’t imagine what it would have been like with so many more people.”

“Rowdy and loud,” she said, her affection in her voice obvious. “Never a dull moment.”

“Was it hard? Being the only girl.” He rummaged in the cupboard, praying that Sirius hadn’t eaten the last of the biscuits.

“Sometimes, but it taught me to be…inventive.”

“Sneaky you mean?”

“When I had to be. They insisted for the longest time that I couldn’t play football with them, so I snuck out at night and practiced myself.”

“You certainly showed them,” Harry laughed, emerging victorious with a tin of biscuits he’d baked with Hermione a few days prior — hers had come out a bit rockish despite following the recipe exactly, but his were decent. “Did you always want to play professionally?”

“Yes.” She thanked him when he placed a steaming cup in front of her, offering sugar and milk. “What about you?”

Yes was on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he paused. “I love football. I started playing as a kid, first with kicking the ball around the yard with Sirius.”

“Were you any good?”

“Um, was the youngest starter in secondary. Was scouted for my uni’s team.”

She gave a low whistle of surprise. “A lot of promise, then.”

“Hardly compares to you,” he smiled.

“If you want, I can refer you to some of the best physical therapists. You can be back to where you were in less than a year.”

Harry stared at the steam from his cup as he nibbled on a chocolate biscuit. For some reason, the prospect didn’t seem to strike a chord.

Ginny tilted her head. “It’s just a thought.”

“Oh — um, thank you. That’s really generous,” he cringed at his word choice, “I just —”

“This thing with your ex will pass, Harry.”

“I know — I mean, it kind of already has.” He fell silent, not really sure exactly what he was trying to convey. “I was really upset earlier about the whole thing — Cho and my replacement going pro in my stead. But right now, I just feel….relief?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling foolish and confused, but Ginny sipped her tea and gave him time to sort himself out.

“I love football and always will, but don’t know if…if I was all that upset about the recruiters so much as — ” He faltered, not sure where he was going with this. She reached over and squeezed his arm encouragingly. “As disappointing Sirius.”

“Your godfather?” she asked softly.

Harry nodded jerkily. “Yes. He was best mates with my dad. Practically brothers.”

He went quiet again, lost in his thoughts.

“I don’t know Sirius, but the way he looks at you in those photos makes it hard for me to think anything you’d do could disappoint him, Harry,” she said, a fierce look on her face.

A lump formed in his throat, and he cleared it several times, feeling heat crawl up his neck.

“My dad was about to go pro when…” Harry swallowed hard, his voice thick. He reached over and took her hand in his, marveling at how small and smooth her skin was. “When he and my mum got in an accident. A drunk driver on Halloween.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t mind,” he said and meant it. He was surprised considering he never talked about his parents, but with Ginny, it came so naturally. When she looked at him like that, he felt like he could tell her anything. “I suppose — I wanted to fulfill their dream — dad’s and Sirius’s.”

He stopped, taken aback by his admission. He glanced down at their joined hands as her thumb gently caressed his knuckle. Was that why he had been so upset lately? He and Cho had been on the outs even before his injury.

“Everyone always says how I look just like him. Except for my eyes. I’ve got my mum’s eyes.”

His heart pounded in his chest at the way her warm brown eyes stared up at his. “You’ve got the greenest eyes. They’re green as — ” She stopped, blushing.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Green as?”

“Er — I’m blaming it on the relentless practice making me barmy, but I first thought green as a freshly pickled toad.”

They both burst out laughing, the mood lightening immediately. Ginny withdrew her hand to cover her face, which glowed like the setting sun. His hand felt strangely bereft without hers.

“So what is your dream?” “Erm — I don’t know,” he admitted. He thought hard about his hobbies outside of football. “I guess…maybe becoming a cop or detective? Solve crimes, help people.” “So you’re not usually the type to egg someone’s house?” she teased. “Ha! No, not exactly, but it was worth it.” Getting to meet you. “Though don’t get me wrong, I’m not above breaking rules. Had a bit of a reputation back in the day.”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “A troublemaker, are you?”

“Trouble usually finds me,” he grinned back.

They continued to talk late into the evening. Between all the banter, Harry found himself revealing a lot more of himself than he ever expected. Ginny, to his delight, seemed equally comfortable, even sharing a dark experience about a run-in with Tom Riddle, a wealthy and well-liked wealthy football team owner, which had Harry gripping his mug so tightly he nearly shattered it. But she carefully uncurled his fingers and her touch softened the edge of his anger. He never wanted to stop talking to her, getting to know her. Before they knew it, it was nearly three in the morning.

“It’s getting late,” she finally said, and he agreed reluctantly. They exchanged numbers and even took a photo together (would it be too creepy if he set it as his background?).

As he walked her outside, he wondered if it would be too strange or forward to offer his bed (he would obviously take the couch) or maybe call a cab so that she’d have to come back soon to pick up her motorcycle. He was jarred from his thoughts when he nearly walked into her.

“I had a wonderful night,” Harry said. “Best one in…I can’t even remember.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Do you think we can — do this again?”

“Have more exes who have done you dirty?”

He barked out a laugh. “Maybe not an ex, but I know a bully or two. Really, I’d love to see you again. You can even decide whether we commit another crime or not.”

Her lips quirked up. “Not sure that’ll help you become a cop, but yes, I’d really like that.”

They stared at each other, neither wanting to move away first. When the pressure in his chest grew unbearable, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began to turn and walk back towards his house.

“I guess I’d better… Goodnight, Ginny.”

Stupid berk, he fumed. So much for being brave.

“Harry?” she called out.

He turned around to see her running toward him, a hard, blazing look of determination in her face. She threw her arms around him as he opened his, automatically wrapping around her. And without thinking about his nerves, her fame, his crush that had blossomed into much, much more in only hours, he kissed her. There was nothing else, just Ginny, her lips sliding over his, her sweet-smelling hair in his hands, her body pressed against his. He never wanted it to end. After what felt like several sun-lit days, they broke apart.

He pressed his forehead against hers. “That was…”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was.”

They finally pulled away. He probably looked like a besotted fool with his mile-wide grin, but he couldn’t work himself up to care when Ginny was grinning up at him like that.

“So I’ll call you? Maybe — maybe we can get together tomorrow, er — I guess today?”

She bit down on her lower lip as her grin grew. She reached up and adjusted his skewed glasses. “Yeah, today.”

“A proper date,” Harry felt the need to say.

“I’ll let you woo me and everything,” Ginny chuckled.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

But instead of moving away, they leaned in and kissed again. They’d go their separate ways…in due time.

[brokentoasterrr]

i try to never show vulnerability on this blog because i am simply Like That, but i wrote piece of creative writing (ish) about my best friend and i want to share it so here we go

tw for death, implied smoking and drinking and a bunch of other shit. read at your own risk, essentially.

He hates onions. Onions and mushrooms. Still, he eats the noodle stir-fry I make him, with onions and scallions. And the pasta Carbonara with chickpeas instead of bacon, because I'm vegetarian and I like to cook. He eats it despite the uneven pieces of onion speckled throughout creamy sauce that clings to the pasta.

He loves liquorice. I hate it. He buys a bar of liquorice with a caramel center, urges me to try it, so I do. And I like it. But I never eat it again.

He buys a chocolate bar. I'm terrified of germs so when he asks me if I want a bite, I shake my head. The next time he buys a chocolate bar, he lets me break away a piece myself before he does, so I can eat without the anxiety. 

I'm terrified of germs, I'm terrified of becoming ill. I use hand sanitizer until my hands dry out and the skin cracks, wash my hands until my cuticles break apart. He buys me a medium fry from McDonald's, and when I use my hand sanitizer, he doesn't even look at me twice. He stretches his hand out and asks for some. When I don't eat the piece of the fry that my fingers touched, when I put them on a napkin and ignore how anxious it makes me, both to eat and to waste, he nods towards them and says, "Can I eat that?" 

When my hands start to shake because I forgot to eat before I left the house, he drags me to the supermarket. He pays for a chocolate bar, says, "It's better than nothing."

He loves orange and chocolate ice cream. Buys a five litre tub and pays £5 to share with all of us. Ten people. He ends up eating most of it, because no one wanted more than a spoonful or two. I am supposed to go vegan, but I eat some anyway.

He walks around with a lizard made out of fabric and sand in his pocket. Says it's there to keep him company. There's a homeless man at McDonald's. He gives the man the sand filled lizard, and says, "Keep it. So you won't be alone anymore."

I'm angry with my mum. She's left me and my older brother alone again. There's no food in the house and I've eaten pasta with frozen peas and ketchup for three days in a row and I'm angry. I feel neglected and alone. He offers me cigarettes, and acts like a drain in which I can pour all of my problems. He says my feelings are valid, says that love doesn't cancel out the neglect. He puts on some music and makes me laugh.

He never says hello. He says, "Good morning." He never says goodbye. He says, "Good luck."

I'm homeless. Well, not quite. I live in the spare room in my grandma's house, young with no money other than the weekly allowance that I spend on cigarettes. He lets me stay at his house for five days, lets me roll cigarettes with loose tobacco because I can't afford another packet this week. He says, "Do you want to start a business? Two pounds per packet. You get a pound if you help me roll." It sounds borderline illegal, but it's just cigarettes, isn't it? I nod. 

He owns an ATV. It's started snowing but the air is still warm enough that it doesn't lay as a loose powder over the streets, but packs together. The perfect texture for sledding. He ties a sled to the back of his ATV, gives me a helmet. I sit on the sled, he drives. It's the best thing I've ever done in my entire life.

I'm struggling in school. He says that he'll hopefully get a job in another town. The town where I want to go to highschool. He says he'll get a flat, says that maybe we should move in together. One room each, I can cook and do the dishes, and he'll clean and do laundry. He helps me with my homework. He helps me see the end of studying, and gives me something to work towards. A home with my best friend, a school I'll enjoy.

My body doesn't feel like my own. My head says he and him, my body says otherwise. He's the same. My body feels wrong and I want to crawl out of my skin. He knows exactly how it feels. I haven't showered in a week. He tells me to try to shower with the lights off. I don't smell sweaty and my hair isn't greasy anymore.

He loves orange juice. If he could, he'd probably stop eating and only live of off orange juice. I buy him a litre for his birthday, and he grins and laughs. Empty cartons stands around his room, and his fridge is filled with it. I don't like orange juice, but I like apple juice. So I buy the same brand, different fruit. 

He likes to sew his own clothes. Scrap bits of fabric, floss and some free time, and he's patched up a pair of trousers that he decorates with more patches, writes on them, sticks chains and random items onto them. I've never seen anyone sew with floss before, but he does.

He loves dogs. Walks around with dog treats in his pocket in case he runs into a good boy or girl to love for a few moments. 

He loves punk. Listens to it loudly on a Bluetooth speaker and screams along. He dances. I dance and I scream with him and I don't care who watches. When we listen to our song, we stand face to face, jump forward and backwards and scream the lyrics in our faces until we can't breathe. I hear the intro and I slap my thighs in excitement, stand up immediately. "It's our song! Come on!"

I love to ride the bike. He does too. We ride our bikes all over town, listen to our music and feel the wind hit our faces. Mine is pink and purple. Because it's not mine, it's my sister's. His is red, rusty and old. It's his mother's. 

He wears his hair in a mohawk. It's either blue or black, standing straight up, tall and stiff. My hair is green but still boring. He helps me comb it up to liberty spikes. We wear patched trousers with loud chains and soda caps that hit against one another with the tell-tale metallic jangle. People stare and take photos when they think we can't see. We stand up taller, laugh louder.

He feels alone. He's sad, and angry, and alone. It's my turn to act like the drain. So he talks and talks, smokes cigarette after cigarette and I nod as he speaks. Smoke my own cigarette and says that he's valid. What he's feeling is valid.

I move into a group home. My ceiling lamp hangs too low and I'm only 5"4 yet I bump my head against it. He helps me hang it up properly. Jokes and talks about nothing and everything as he hoists it up until I don't bump my head against it anymore.

We make chocolate truffles. Butter and oats and sugar and cocoa powder. A Swedish thing. We cover them in more chocolate and they taste better than anything we've made before.

He hates Christmas. But he buys battery driven fairy lights and sticks them into his mohawk, down to his trousers. He walks around like a goddamn Christmas tree. Because he hates Christmas but other people love it and he wants to make them happy.

He's drunk. It's Christmas Eve and he's so drunk that he has to hold onto the wall to stand upright. I'm on the balcony and he's on the ground and he looks up at me. "I'm so happy," he tells me. "Kevin, I'm so happy. I always want to be like this." I tell him to go home, drink some water and to sleep it off. He goes.

It's New Year's Eve and I'm at my girlfriend's. We drink non-alcoholic wine and cider, kiss when the clock strikes twelve. We're both tired and we go to bed before one in the morning. He calls me, he says that we're going to start a band. Our friend's new partner has a studio and it's one town over but it's okay because we're moving there anyway. "I love you," he tells me. And I tell him, "I love you too."

Our friend texts me the next day. She asks if I had seen him, if I had heard from him. I tell her no. And I send him a text. I hope you're alive, I write, call me. He never does.

Instead it's our friend, the next day. I've just showered and I'm eating breakfast with my girlfriend and her dad. My phone rings. Our friend. My friend. "Axel's dead," she tells me. "They found him in the attic." I scream. I cry. I tell her no. No, he's not dead. It's not true. She's playing a stupid fucking prank with me, she's lying. But when she says that it's true the third time, I believe her. And I break down.

I cry in the car ride home. I make a promise to myself that I'm going to live for the both of us. For three hours, I cry. I listen to music and audiobooks and nothing works to stop the he's dead, he's dead, he's gone. And I cry some more.

I cry when I wake up the next morning because I don't want to wake up in a world without him. 

I stop eating. I stop drinking. I'm nauseous all the time and the ache in my stomach consumes me and I can't eat anything because I am terrified of throwing up.

I cry so much that after three days, I get skin rashes by my eyes from scrubbing my eyes too much. Crying hurts but not crying hurts more. Every breath I take rattles and shakes and I only leave my bedroom to smoke. The staff at the group home tells me to let some light in. I pull my duvet up to my nose.

Axel means shoulder in Swedish. Every time he met someone new, he said, "Hi, my name is Axel and I'm always by your side." He never said that to me. And he never said goodbye, he said "Good luck." 

I get a tattoo. It says good luck on my wrist in his hand writing. And he remains by my side.

[exosmutfactory]

Dark Horse-Chapter One

All I know is that one day my boyfriend and lifelong best friend disappeared. No word of him from anyone. No trace of him anywhere. And after 6 agonizing months, they concluded that he is dead. So why the fuxk do I seeing him strolling around town at 3am?

[ warning: blood ]

Prologue | Part 1 ✓ | Part 2 |

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

First Encounters

Somewhere in a deep dark place, a siren blares. The noise ringing the same tune over and over again as wispy whispers from all around fill the air. If one happened to look close enough, they’d see figures shifting in the darkness. Rising to their full heights as the siren coaxes them forward like a flute to a python.

Suddenly, the music stops. Dark red neon lights brightening up the area as the six figures freeze...before their eyes snap open. The colors in all of their eyes vary from electric blue to copper brown. But one—only one—has yet to open their eyes.

While the others survey their surroundings, the last one’s eyes pop open. Emerald green eyes blinking as they step forward before turning a blood-red color; their iris shrinking down to a pupil as black fills in the rest.

“Plëasë støp ït nøw.”

////

“Hello Cherry.”

I can’t help being aware of the aged, ticking grandfather clock across the room. Something about it has always been eerie. The way the dial constantly swings from side to side; skipping by half seconds when it thinks you won’t notice. I always do. It is just the same as Dr. Kim’s watch. Always 6 minutes ahead of schedule. Forever going at the pace of its own time. You can tell a lot about a man by how he manages his time. And as that clock isn’t an ordinary object, Dr. Kim is not a simple man.

Fidgeting in my seat, I play with a spare ponytail holder; curling the band between my fingers, “Hello Doctor.”

He smiles and leans back; vibrant red hair fluttering from the motion as he crosses his legs. A notepad clutched in his left hand as he clicks a pen open with the other, “How are you feeling today?”

Wordlessly parting my lips, I hesitate for a second; something he picks up on, “I...had a nightmare.” I share.

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise; pen pressed to the paper, “Tell me about it.”

“I was walking. And it was dark,” My eyes drift to the ceiling as his pen moves, “I have gotten off of work late and had to walk home with my groceries… The moon was full and bright, but then I heard an awful noise-”

Strangely, Dr. Kim interrupts, “What kind of noise?”

Dragging my eyes back to him, I take in his leaning forward, subtly rigid form; the pen not even pressed to his paper. “A thud,” I open my palms, keeping them where he can see as I look him directly in the eye, “From an alley.” Letting a few moments go by, I utter, “Then a black cat carrying a dead mouse crossed my path.” I tilt my head, smiling a little, “You know how superstitious I can be.”

The Doctor relaxes, “Yes.” He clears his throat, pen scribbling at a brisk pace, “We all can.” I can’t help eyeing his eyebrows as he leans forward to grab something; there’s a smudge of blue outlining it. In the form of a high arch—a devil’s brow, as I like to describe it. Strange for an old-fashioned man who once didn’t even know what eyeliner was...

“Anything else you want to share?” He adds softly; expression tentative and caring-his eyes telling a different story.

I smile, looking him dead in the eye as if nothing is wrong, “No sir. Sorry for taking your time today.”

“It’s no problem,” He says with a wave of his hand as I stand up. “You are a beloved visitor here-Oh.” He pauses; checking his clipboard before meeting my eyes again, “Don’t forget to pick up your prescriptions downstairs.”

The smile on my lips grows as I shove down my emotions, “Thank you.”

I release a huge breath once I’ve exited the building; taking a wary glance back. There’s just something about the place and my doctor that has always left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe it’s my past. Or how Kim Junmyeon’s smiles used to be genuine, and his eyes pure. But now they’re just filled with-

With a shiver, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing away my nightmare.

Tightening my grip on the hefty plastic bag in my hand, I begin the long journey to the only grocery store in town. Might as well grab what I can while I still have time.

The traffic inside is horrific as always. People near shoving each other to get at the 50% off items as I carefully balance the carton of eggs in my basket.

“Watch it.” An older woman hisses, graying curls bouncing in distaste as she slams into my side with a grocery cart.

I quietly step close to the end of a shelf while tentatively rubbing my throbbing side; taking deep breaths until the pain goes away.

“Should I get the manager?”

I flinch back, spinning around with wide eyes, “Oh.” My shoulders relax, “Sehun, it’s you.”

The tall raven nods; eyes filled with concern, “Are you okay?”

A smile naturally forms on my face, “I’m fine.” I soothe patting his arm, “Although, mind helping me reach that can on the top shelf?”

Sehun sends me a playful look with a boyish grin but says nothing, grabbing the can with ease before handing it to me. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I smile even more at him; waving as he turns the corner and chuckles when he accidentally bumps into a shelf full of napkins. What a sweet kid.

Grabbing everything else I need that is delicate, I carefully make my way to the checkout. Just my luck that I accidentally bump into someone.

“Oh I’m so sorr-” I gasp turning to them; stiffening when my eyes meet empty green ones. It’s him. My eyes quickly drop down to his neck; curiosity flaring up at the two lone white braids laying across his collarbones until I feel the burn of his steady glare. I let a meek, “I-I’m sorry I’ll just get going-” My breath catches when I spot his hand moving out the corner of my peripheral vision.

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly holds up a packet of raw pork. I look at the item then back at him with a raised brow; shrinking under his cold stare. Sensing what I think he is trying to convey, I carefully reach out for it. My cold hand accidentally brushes against his piping hot one.

“Fuck.” I hiss clutching my throbbing hand to my chest. The packet drops to the floor with a dull thud compared to the one caused by Baëkhyun’s sudden movements. I literally stop breathing when he slams his hand to the shelf right next to my head; leaning back as he inches closer. His expression is full of menace and annoyance.

My gaze shifts down to his chest as he crowds my space; body tensing up as memories of the other day come back to the surface. I squeeze my eyes shut, tightening my grip on my basket. An intense wave of nausea washes over me as his breath fans over my face; the hairs on the back of my neck standing. My whole body shaking when his lips brush against my ear...

He chuckles.

He fucking chuckles and the minty breath it leaves in its wake confuses me to the core.

After a few seconds of silence, I peel open my eyes; blinking at my surroundings. Looking from left to right, the man and packet of pork are nowhere to be seen. My shoulders relax with a shaky breath. God...what was that? I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Spotting my basket a couple of feet away, I quickly move to pick it up; checking on all the groceries. Luckily everything seems to still be intact.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I make my way to the checkout; deep in thought as the ever-considerate Sehun scans my items with care. I send him one last smile before heading out; a bigger weight than the bags hanging from my arms hovering over my chest. The long walk home is spent weaving through packed crowds and looking over my shoulder every 5 seconds. Not a head of white hair in sight.

♦•—•♦•—•♦•—•♦•—•♦

“Cherry!” A warm voice greets just as I cross over the threshold; feeling comfort at the chime of a familiar bell and the fragrance of freshly baked bread in the air.

I look up into the beaming, powered-smudged face of a petite brunette stationed behind the counter, “Good afternoon Mrs. Lee.”

“It’s Mama Lee to you!” She declares as I move to the backroom to hang up my coat. “I’ve been reminding you every day you’ve worked here and you still forget.”

“I’m forever grateful for you taking me in, Miss,” I say with a bit more warmth in my voice, smiling. “Working here has been the best 4 months of my-”

“Oh no need to butter me up,” She shakes her head with a smile of her own; softly patting my arm. “Thank you for applying. You are still my longest worker up to date…” A frown that can only mean nothing but trouble forms on her face.

“Everything okay?” I asked tentatively.

Mrs. Lee sighs in resign. “Not really.” She turns her apologetic eyes onto me, “Nora called in sick and Naeun came by to inform me that she won’t be working here,” She paused, “Ever again.”

A small smile forms on my face, “I’ll manage everything, it’s no biggie.” Not like I haven’t done it before. The smile nearly fades when she shakes her head; a remorseful expression on her face, “Mr. Park wants his annually order done by tonight.”

I can feel the color draining from my face. Mr. Park is a renowned lawyer famous for his yearly gathering of business partners from all over the country. The food they require is a lot and it takes 4 sets of hands to complete the order in a week. But with me gone the past five days and the other girls unavailable…

Meeting Mrs. Lee's eye, I tie up my hair, wash my hands and grab the nearest apron; voice full of irreversible determination, “Let’s get this done.”

Just as I figured, we aren’t done until well into the night. The clock at the front of the bakery blaring a red 2:06 am.

“I’m so sorry.”

I look up at a frowning Mrs. Lee; looking so remorseful that I immediately shake my head. “It’s okay, Miss. In fact,” Grinning good-naturedly I added, “I think I’ve earned my keep for a five-day absence.”

“You don’t have to earn anything.” She sighs as I sweep leftover bread crumbs from the floor, “If you need a breather, take a breather. Heck, have a vacation. Go out and do whatever the young people are up to these days.”

I can't help the chuckle rumbling my chest. “People are up to some questionable things these days.”

“Now I don’t mean drugs and unsafe partying.” The way my cheeks warm at that last bit. “But you need to experience life too.” Her brown caring orbs turn back onto me before she steps closer; taking my hands in hers. “I don’t want you having any regrets as I do.”

A genuine smile forms on my face as I chuckle, looking down at the spotless floor. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good.” She walks away then pauses turning back around, “Don’t be quick to make me a grandmother though. I’m still too young.”

All I can do is squeak in indignation which makes her laugh loudly in turn. I turn away to hide my red face; focusing entirely on checking if I missed any spots around the room.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” She asks softly. “I could ask my nephew, or call you a cab.”

A small smile forms on my lips, “No thank you.” My gaze shifts back to her, “I’ll be okay Miss Lee.”

She crosses her arms, “Promise to text once you get home?” When I nod in reply, she looks at me for a minute then sighs. “Okay.”

Shooting her another reassuring smile, I move to put on my coat, but not to button it up which seems to make her frown. “I don’t want to get too hot,” I'm quick to explain. “Plus, it’s hard to move around when all bundled up.”

“If you catch even the slightest cold I’m excusing you from work with pay for a week.” She states; trying to be threatening in her own way.

I giggle a little as she shakes her head. “Yes, ma’am.” With a cheeky salute, I exit the warm bakery. The hairs on the back of my exposed neck rise, and it’s not merely from the cold. No, it’s the icy stare set on the center of my back that I ignore as I shove my hands into my pockets; venturing back to the store that is now merely a 10-minute walk.

Gathering just a small amount of items, I take off for my apartment. Humming nonchalantly as my bag rustles and footsteps echo down the deserted streets. Everyone who values their life never comes out after dark anymore. For the ones who like to party they either spend the night at a friend’s house or inform the club days in advance to accommodate them. And if you are the husband of a pregnant demanding wife you have to suck up the nagging and set out to keep the kitchen in stock come the next sunrise.

Suddenly, the wind blows. But there’s something off about it. The wind is air; it is supposed to fly past you with no way to truly feel it. Fully grasp it. Yet this wind feels like a caress of a hand over the back of my neck. Soothing. The kind of touch that makes you let your guard down.

Ha, I wasn’t born a mere 19 years ago.

Lifting my eyes to the sky, I take in the sight of the full moon with another planet lurking in its shadow. Its colors so dark that anyone would jokingly call it the “dark side of the moon.” If it is the dark side, how are you able to see it at all? Would you be able to see the strong surge of radiation coming off of it in waves? Or feel the damage of its water supply and wreckage of ecosystems? Or the fact that “the shadow” is 4 times bigger than the moon itself?

Once I hear that telling muffled scream; I run.

A whooshing noise slices through the air before my bag is 10 times lighter. I let the rest of it fall from my hand; jumping up to avoid a hit directed at the back of my knees.

He’s fast. As I land back on my feet and quickly roll forward to avoid another swing, I make sure to stay in tune with my surroundings. Damn fast.

Leaping back to my feet, I begin winding down street after street. The only things I hear are the pounding of my feet to the pavement and my desperate pants for breath. I seriously need to work out more.

I take towards an alleyway in hopes of losing him only to meet a dead end. But this just might work even better.

“Dønë bëing chasëd, lïttlë møusë?”

The rhythmic click of heeled boots is quite alluring. Or maybe it’s just him. And I hate him even more for it.

“Why døn’t wë gët this øvër wïth, hmm?” I keep my back towards him even as he brushes my hair off one shoulder; tracing his fingers over the side of my neck. “I’ll makë ït païnlëss før thë nïcë chasë yøu gavë.”

My heart involuntarily races at his deep and raspy voice. The seductive purr added to the end of every word he utters. Until I have to hold my breath from the awful stench coming from his mouth. God, it’s ten times worse than in the dream.

“Døn’t cry lïttlë lamb,” A slender finger from a hand I know so well swipes at the tear falling from my eye. It takes everything in me to reel in my emotions as he continues. “I prømïsë yøu wøn’t fëël a thïng—”

At the light brush of lips against my pulse point; I move. Snatching the weapon from his loose grip and kicking him to the adjacent wall. As the breath is forced out his lungs I’ve already got the saber pointed at his throat. My foot firmly pressed on his abdomen.

“I’m sorry,” I say mockingly; looking down at the shocked demon eyes that flick to a fuming green, “But that’s not how things will be going tonight.” I lick my lips a smirk tugging on them at the sight of his deadly glare. “And don’t try to act like you’re all that...” Lightly dragging the sword down to his adam’s apple, I add, “Judging from the pork you've been gathering and the slowing down of accidents lately, our little wolf hasn’t had a proper meal, has he?” I can’t help grinning at his expense as he growls; not even his stench of breath can ruin my fun. “So little wolfie is not at his full strength.” Tsking with a shake of my head, I meet his furious gaze, “You really shouldn’t have messed with this Red Riding hood.”

He snarls; green eyes calculating and ablaze. “What the fuck are you?”

I can’t help smiling at the sight of him trying to dodge the blade while simultaneously steaming on his spot on the ground, “Highly trained.” Looking over his leather blazer; black&white patterned turtle neck, and jewelry clad form with a silver chain on his face, I’m left in awe with my heart pounding. Damn, he’s hot for an evil creature happening to look exactly like…

“What do you want?” He grits out pulling me from my dangerous thoughts. His chin defiantly tilted up and dark eyes challenging even with his life on the line. How cute. Tempted by his little proposal I hum. “Tell me where Baekhyun is.”

He visibly stiffens; eyes shifting to the right as he scoffs. “What?”

“I know you know where he is,” I say in a sing-song voice, dragging the sword down to his collarbone as he flinches. “And you will bring me to him.”

The wind blows; ruffling his long white locks of hair dangling in his emerald eyes before they meet mine again. “I’m Baekhyun.”

I smile then proceed to scratch his skin with the sharp blade; raising a brow at the glittery red blood that flows from the small wound. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Baëkhyun, you had me convinced.” Purring I crouch down as his eyes widen the tiniest bit before narrowing my own. “But no one could ever,” Grabbing him by his shirt I press my forehead to his, “Ever. Pass off as him. So.” Tilting my head to the side a dangerous smile plays at my lips, “I suggest you start talking.”

The snow-white haired man keeps his lips sealed as I work on swirling the blade on his surprisingly delicate skin. Marveling at the unnatural blood dripping from the new wound. Baëkhyun all but growls out, “Who the fuck was he to you anyway?”

I pause for a moment; looking into his dark eyes, “Was?”

A cruel smirk forms on his lips; one that has dread filling my gut and my grip tightening on the sword in my hand.

Baëkhyun tilts his head, “You didn’t know?” He purrs with that damn smirk still on his lips. “He’s dead.”

Everything seems to zone out of focus in that moment as his words sink in. Baekhyun?... An image of fluffy black hair and sparkling puppy eyes flashes through my mind. A handsome face with the cutest box smile that could melt a million hearts. No. Taking in his snug form once again, I narrow my eyes; swooping down to point the blade right at his pulse point with a hiss. “You’re lying.”

An unexpected flicker of emotion swarms in his green orbs.“You asked for information yet do not believe me?” His soft tone and glimmering eyes do not match the neutral expression on his face. The two braids on his neck carelessly smearing the drying blood as he tilts his head to the other side, “I thought we had somëthïng spëcïal, Charïty.”

My body stiffens and I watch in horror as a crazed grin splits his face in half. Sickeningly loud cracks of his jaw breaking to accommodate his red monstrous mouth. Red pupils and black irises on full display as a trail of bulging red veins form under his right eye. I gulp holding the saber with both hands. This. This is the demon Baëkhyun from my vision. With crooked sharp teeth and long black claws.

Before I can even blink, I’m sent flying back to the wall at the next gust of wind. The breath knocked from my lungs as I gasp for air only to gag at the little I find. And rough hands slamming my back farther against the brick wall. Baëkhyun’s form is barely recognizable in the dark corner of the alley except for his glowing eyes. His panting rancid breath washing over my face at every exhale he makes.

Cringing at the sound of him grinding his teeth, (literal nails on a chalkboard,) I close my eyes; praying to a higher being to come save me. To help me out before I’m...devoured by a demon.

Just as an unnaturally hot tongue flicks against my cheek, a siren fills the air and Baëkhyun stills his breath. After a few moments I feel his hand release me and I slide helplessly to the ground. Not even lifting my head as his heeled boots walk farther away.

“Sorry little lamb.” He purrs along with the sound of metal dragging along the concrete. “We'll play more next time.” I catch the glint of white in his eye before the world swirls out of focus. “For now, I’ll be watching.” His smirk and glowing eyes are the last thing I see before everything goes black, “See you, sweetheart.”

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Prologue | Part 1 ✓ | Part 2 |

Not to be me but Baëkhyun is the hottest ever 😩🤧🔥

[starjeno]

destined | l.mh | 2

genre: fluff | soulmate!au, genderswap!au pairing: student!mark x female!reader warnings: mentions of mark’s ding dong, divorce, and urination word count: 2746 summary: it’s a fact of life that soulmates swap bodies. when mark wakes up in a bed that isn’t his, he’s delighted. you, on the other hand, absolutely despise it. a/n: thank you for all the support for part 1! to clarify: bolded and italicized words show a shift in the scene! feel free to send me any asks :)

you wake up with a dull pounding in your head. it feels like you’ve slept for weeks from the taste of your dry breath. pursing your lips, you try to remember if you drank anything alcoholic before sleeping, but it’s hard to come up with any coherent thoughts. it’s like your mind is filled with television static, constantly buzzing.

it’s only when you trail your hand down and feel a thick collarbone that you’re suddenly cognizant of your surroundings. you sit up, glancing at the olive curtains by the window and the sticky notes littering the nightstand to your right. you know that the color of its wood is supposed to be darker to match the headboard of your bed that’s supposed to have a slight grain and not just be a solid plank.

don’t panic, you tell yourself. maybe you're just sleepy, or still in a dream. you don’t want to create a fuss that might disturb your roommate. 

your roommate! you reach for your phone but find the device and charger missing from its usual plug point. trying hard to keep your breathing steady, you glance down, landing on the half-naked muscular frame before you.

“holy shit!”

your eyes widen with shock, and you instantly caress your adam’s apple after hearing the deep voice and looking around. no one else is here, at least to your knowledge, so you must’ve been imagining the words. as you move your hands to feel your chest, you swallow in nervousness, the thick feeling in your throat immediately alarming you.

wait. an adam’s apple? that shouldn’t be part of your body, the same way that your missing breasts should be. you pull the waistband of your sweats upwards hastily, immediately spotting something that definitely shouldn’t be part of your body.

before you can process what you’re seeing, a shriek escapes you. it’s hoarse and thicker than your own voice, and it only prompts you to freak out more. you’re a boy. you’re suddenly a boy. you -

“mark? did you see anot — ,“ a tall man slips into the room, softly stepping on the carpet while rubbing his sleep-ridden eyes. his words stop midway when his gaze lands on you, glaring at him with your hand still gripping your sweats above your waist. 

“what did you do to me?” you attack, feeling vulnerable and confused. this has got to be the weirdest dream you’ve had in a while. the newcomer rubs his shirt lazily, smacking his lips and raising an eyebrow, “what?”

you tug down the pants, causing the man’s eyes to widen in panic and disgust as he backs away, “what the fuck!? put that away!”

and you scream.

his name is yuta. he is a junior in college and shares a small apartment with mark, his underclassman and the owner of the body you’re in. currently, yuta ╾ after lots of convincing ╾ has you settled in the kitchen, legs tightly wrapped around the barstools.

“other than learning that mark sleeps commando, this is great.”

“huh?” you mumble as yuta leans over the counter, a pleased grin taking over his feature. he sways slightly as his eyes crinkle at the edges from his wide smile, “mark has wanted a soulmate for so long.”

“soulmate?” your stomach drops as you repeat the word, your face automatically contorting with disdain as it rolls off your tongue. through all your initial panic, you failed to realize that you now had to endure the week-long switch and the new lifelong partner. your tongue never tasted as bitter as it does now.

"oh yeah, mark won't talk much about it, but you should see the way he lights up when i talk about winwin. oh, winwin is my soulmate! maybe you can meet him sometime," yuta explains, all the while giving you a perfect, straight smile. you sigh a little, knowing it was going to be a little tougher to let this mark know that you weren't going to stick around.

"listen, i'm not a huge fan of . . . all this soulmate stuff," you start and yuta quits swaying, fazed by your words, "huh?"

"i mean, it's great that mark wants one or whatever but maybe he can just fall for someone naturally. without, um, swapping bodies. and we can forget about this whole thing afterward," you bite your lip. who knew that it would be this awkward to explain your views to someone. yuta simply laughs, leaning against the counter, "i'm sorry, but hearing this from mark's body with his voice is just surreal! i can't wait until mark really meets you!"

your eyes widen, "did you not hear what i just said?"

"oh i did," yuta gives you a smirk, and you're sure that if you weren't currently stuck in some random boy's body talking about the one topic you couldn't stand, especially since it's happening to you, you would definitely be interested in him. unfortunately, you were.

yuta turns around, pulling out a carton of eggs from the fridge, "omelets?"

you frown, wondering what the handsome man is up to as he pulls out shredded cheese and some various greens. his movements are fluid and relaxed, without care. watching him skillfully chop up the lush vegetables makes your stomach growl, and he laughs a little at the sound, "mark loves cheesy omelets. now that you have his body, you might as well learn what makes his tastebuds happy."

"yuta," you sat sternly as he cracks an egg onto a black skillet, "i can't do this."

he sighs a bit as he hovers over the fluffy eggs, watching them solidify slightly before tossing in the cheese and greens, "you have to. you're literally going to have a soulmate at one point or another, and it just happens to be now. don't you like the idea of finding your perfect partner, decided by the forces of fate?"

"honestly? i rather find my own partner by myself."

"wow, i see that you're taking mark's feelings into account," yuta slides a pristine plate with a golden omelet towards you. it's gorgeous and exudes a rich aroma, cheesy and fresh. you watch yuta's muscled back through his shirt when he begins to chop more leaves and sigh, "i'll just tell him. i'm sure he'll understand."

"understand what?" a melodic voice reverbs through the kitchen. it doesn't sit well with you that it sounds so familiar, so ingrained in your head. yuta looks up at the newcomer and flips his bangs out of his eyes before he gives you a flirtatious smile, "so this is what you look like."

when you turn around on the barstool, you nearly shriek. your body stands in front of you in all its bare-faced glory, adorned with a baggy sweater and leggings that bunch around the ankles. you know that mirrors and cameras skew your face a bit, but you felt unfamiliar now that you're truly seeing yourself. your eyes and your nose and your lips - so strangely placed but so fitting. your body looks you over with interest and you realize that watching you check out yourself is one of the weirdest sensations you’ve ever experienced.

besides this whole swap, of course.

yuta finishes up two more omelets quickly and sets up a plate by the stool beside you before sliding you another meal. he whips off the striped apron neatly and hangs it before looking at the both of you, "i'll let you two talk."

you silently pray that yuta would stay, but he's gone in a blink of an eye, and you're left with the spitting image of yourself. it scratches the back of its neck for a second before sighing, "i'm sorry i'm so silent. i didn't know this would happen so soon."

when he speaks, it feels like the air stills. the beat of your heart seems to pump at a steady pace, but the tingling sensation from your flushed ears and cheeks seem to intensify. his words provide a wave of comfort, of familiarity, of belonging, and you have no idea why his presence feels like it's meant to complement yours.

is this how it felt when your mom first met her soulmate? 

you watch as he settles on the stool next to you, carefully adjusting his position as to provide you with ample space.

“i’m mark, by the way. yuta must’ve mentioned it.”

"seeing how i needed some explanation for my new form, yes, he did," you reply teasingly, making mark curl inwards in amusement. his eyes kept darting from your eyes to the curve of your jaw, taking in his own features, and it makes your head dizzy. the way his gaze roamed you made your temperature rise uncomfortably, and you shift in your seat, “i’m ____.”

heaviness fills your nerves as you think about your parents. you never asked for a soulmate, and now that you apparently have one, it seems impossible to escape. the way your body seems to react automatically to his presence and how your mind hangs onto each word he says is frustrating. mark coughs and raises an eyebrow, “you, um, have a nice roommate. she’s very quiet.”

“quiet, huh? she’s anything but,” you remark, knowing the girl must’ve been shocked seeing you act strange in the morning. you feel blood rush to your cheeks as you remember how enthusiastic mark supposedly is about this whole thing. he must've had the biggest smile on his face when he explained what was happening to your roommate. good god.

"i'm going to wash up in the bathroom, we can talk on the couch?" you suggest and mark nods, his glassy eyes somehow more glazed than ever. did he expect you to be as happy as he was?

then again, most people are.

you look around quickly before mark points to the left, "by the living room, left of the closets."

giving him an embarrassed nod, you dash into the small bathroom, locking the door hastily. the pristine walls and neatly folded towels above the toilet surprise you: there's no way those two are this neat. you place your hands on the counter, leaning over the sink and taking in the body in the mirror.

mark isn’t unattractive. in fact, he’s the exact opposite. his boyish looks and charming smile reflecting back make you blush, washing his chiseled cheeks with a pink tint. the sight only makes your mind stutter more, and it takes a few breaths to remind yourself that you weren’t about to fall for someone you’ve already decided to cut out of your life. your eyes wander to the toilet next to you and you immediately freeze, thinking about the horrific scene this morning. how in the world would you be able to go to the bathroom?

your hands can’t stop sweating, and mark easily notices your discomfort as you slip back into the kitchen, heading towards the back to where he’s settled on a small couch. he cocks his head, concern washing over his new features, "are you okay?"

"um," you swallow, leaning back, "yeah, i was just wondering how i'm going to pee."

"huh?" he scrunches his eyebrows together and your heart pumps faster as you clarify, "urination? peeing? sweet bladder release?"

his cheeks grow warm and his eyes widen with realization, "oh! oh, shit."

"mhm."

"aren't there youtube tutorials?" he thinks aloud and you snort, "ah yes, the video where someone shows their experience with aiming."

mark laughs at your comment and retorts back with equal sarcasm, setting you at ease. he feels like a comfortable rhythm ╾ as if he's the name to a song that you've been searching for. his arms drape behind you on the cushions and you find that soon enough, your body is close to his. with him, you feel open and safe, which is unusual because boys don't normally make you feel this great, especially with just a bit of conversation.

then again, he is the one set in your stars.

"you're really nice, ____. i'm glad it's you," mark murmurs after a particularly heavy laugh. you shrug and squint, "what's me?"

"my soulmate. i just think you’re . . . , “ he trails off, afraid that whatever he may say may scare you away. 

you drag your palm on your sweatpants, feeling the muscled thighs below your fingers. before you can speak, mark runs a hand through his locks, giving you a smile and sighing, "i must've come off really strong, sorry. but i'm genuinely happy that you seem fine with all this. some of my friends hate soulmates, and i honestly don't know how they'll react when it happens."

when mark speaks, you wish it didn't resonate within you. you wish that his words didn't hit you as hard as they did, or that you didn't find yourself reacting to them as much as you did. he says aloud the guilts within, and you know that as much as you're drawn to him and want to stay in his company, you should really be going before you feel any worse.

"that's unfortunate," you reply stiffly and mark plays with the strands of his hair, "yeah. i don't want to seem weird - "

"you sleep with no underwear."

" - granted. but even though it hasn't even been an hour, i feel like i've known you forever," he hangs his head shyly, "is that strange? is it just me?"

you shake your head unconsciously, not sure whether his honest nature was a good thing or a bad thing. when your mom began seeing her soulmate, she was so hidden about the whole thing. her movements were quick and sly, and when she came back home, it was like she never left her spot, like her soulmate had never existed. mark didn’t feel like the kind of guy who could sneak around like that.

think about your parents. the divorce. the horrible soulmate system.

before mark could say anything else, you stand from the couch, guilt and resolve pumping through your veins.

"i should really get back to my roommate."

"that's how she left?" yuta says, his hands on the counter. mark nods, about to fan himself with his sweater but abruptly stopping.

"yeah, i figured that it's probably better for her to get her thoughts together," he sighs, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees in thought, "but yuta?"

"hm?" the taller singsongs as he arranges the newly-bought groceries on the counter.

"i felt so comfortable around her, you know? like it felt like she understood everything i meant, even when i didn’t know what i was saying,” mark’s fingers writhe with confusion and intrigue, “when you met winwin, was it like that?”

yuta hums for a bit before opening the fridge, “yeah . . . yeah, like your minds are connected.”

mark nods in agreement. while he isn’t a big fan of you knowing what his naked body looks like, it seemed like you weren’t thoroughly weirded out by the whole thing. his fingers find the familiar wooden windowsill, leaning towards the glass and letting his eyes graze the sky above.

he shifts to the side when yuta leans into the view as well, quietly adjusting himself to the spot. after a few seconds, there’s a cough, and the japanese man hangs his head a little, “mark, i want you to be a bit careful though.”

“huh? what do you mean?”

“just, i wouldn’t just start spilling all your trust into her. i would get to know her first, maybe ask about her past first,” yuta expresses. his words come out velvety and slow, still uncertain in front of mark’s new body. it’s strange talking to mark like this, and he wonders if the boy felt the same when he looked like winwin.

mark’s face is just plastered with an unreadable emotion, “why does it matter what her past is like, ____ is still my soulmate. all that i care about is her now, not back then.”

yuta sighs and smiles reassuringly. he doesn’t know whether he’s trying to protect mark or convince himself that this will all go well, but something in his gut makes him worry more than he usually does. he tells mark that he’s headed out, presumably to run more errands, and mark flops onto the couch with bliss before his eyes widen with panic.

“shit! i forgot to get her number!”

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[spiderrrling]

Partners In Crime - Tom Holland (Chapter 8)

Pairing - Mobster! Tom Holland x Reader (AU) (Mobster! Tom Holland)

Warnings - Swearing, mentions of sex / sexual themes, alcohol, smoking / drugs, slight violence

Word count -  2.6k (Sorry, I have been busy with school and writer's block)

Additional notes - Sorry for any typos (I tried to find all of them), and please give me feedback, I need it!

Easter eggs - Always ;-;

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - 

Tom stared down at the sleeping girl in front of him, she was perfect. His arms were around her waist. Holding her as close as he could, her head was resting on his chest, he could feel her hot breaths on his clothed skin.

With Y/N next to him, he felt complete, never wanting to let go of the sleeping girl. Her hair in a mess, sprawled over her shoulders and back, laying in knots and tangles that would take hours to get out. Y/N was still dressed in her clothes from the night before, gray sweatpants and what he was certain was merch from a concert. She looked absolutely stunning.

Y/N always had a natural beauty, she always joked that her beauty was her greatest weapon, to Tom it was never a joke. She was absolutely gorgeous.

Abruptly Tom's phone rang, Y/N's breathing hitched as she moved beneath him. Tearing one of his arms away from her waist he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. The screen was lit up with a picture of his best mate. Tom pushed the decline button, Y/N still waking up underneath him.

"Mgh?" She grunted, slowly opening her eyes. "Shh Y/N, go back to sleep." Tom slowly rubbed her arm, urging her to go back to sleep.

"Too late." She yawned stretching her arms. "Oh god, I slept like a child. How long have you been awake."

"It doesn't matter darling." He scoffed, gently squeezing her arm.

"Yeah it does, you need to sleep to you know?" Y/N raised her hands to her eyes trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

"Ah, did I forget to tell you? While you were gone I got bitten by a vampire." He joked, pulling her a bit closer to him.

"Vampires sleep during the day you know?" Y/N chuckled, cuddling up to him. "What can I say? I am a rule breaker."

"Who called you?" She asked. "Your brother," Tom muttered, still holding her close. "What did he want?"

"I don't know, I didn't answer." Y/N frowned her eyebrows. "Why not?"

"I didn't want to wake you up." Tom smiled at the girl. "I don't think you realize how cute and stupid you are."

"Stupid? You know words hurt, darling." He laughed, loving the sound of the nickname. "Yeah, very stupid."

"May I know why?" He looked at her with big eyes.

"Not when you call me darling." Y/N smiled for herself, she sat up in the bed reaching over for her cell phone that was laying on the bedside table. There were dozens of texts missed calls lighting up her screen.

3 missed calls from 'Harrison'

Harrison: Are you ok?

Harrison: Is Tom ok?

Harrison: Neither of you is picking up your phones

Harrison: Call me

Harrison: Tell Tom to call me

Harrison: I am on my way over, you better not be dead

"I could just show you." Y/N handed her phone to Tom so he could see the screen, he threw his head back and groaned.

"You are right darling." Y/N chuckled and started to scoot out of the bed. "Wait, where are you going?" Tom whined, reaching out his hand trying to grab her. He felt empty without her next to him.

"Harrison is going to be here soon, I want to see him." Y/N picked up one of her countless sweatshirts throwing it over her head.

"What is this?" Tom pointed to the garment bag that containing her navy blue dress. "No! Don't" Y/N called out to him, rushing over to slap his hand away from the zipper. "I-it is a dress." She looked down at the floor, heat rushing to her cheeks. "For next week."

"Did you get this yesterday?" Tom put his index finger under her cheek, forcing her to look up at him. "Yeah." She muttered softly, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear

"I can't wait to see it on you." The comment made her stomach drop, her heartbeat was ringing in her ears. "I-I should go..." Y/N's voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Y-yeah, go Haz will be here soon." Tom's eyes followed Y/N's figure as she moved away from him, there was only one thought running through his mind as she exited the room, I want to call you mine.

-

"There is my baby sister!" Harrison walked into the kitchen to see Y/N sitting on the counter, a bowl of cereal strategically balanced in her lap, she had earbuds in her ears gently bobbing her head to the music as she ate.

"Oh god, it has been forever." He hugged her tight before letting her go. "I told you to stop calling me that!"  She struggled to get the words out with a mouth full of cereal, placing the bowl next to her, Y/N turned around to look at her brother.

"But, you are." Haz smiled at her. "Proof being that you are eating cereal for breakfast."

"Why didn't you pick up the phone!"

"Because I was sleeping." Y/N smiled with a new mouth full of cereal.  

"I was asleep and my phone was on silent!" She exclaimed. "Why were you asleep at twelve?"

"I was up late, we watched a few movies before falling asleep." Y/N smiled, slowly walking next to her brother

"We?" He raised an eyebrow, looking at his sister. "Me and Tom." She corrected herself.

"You and Tom watched movies together. Just the two of you, alone?" Harrison asked Y/N swallowed before answering.

"Yeah." She whispered. "Anything wrong with that?"

"And nothing happened?"

"What the hell do you mean 'nothing happened'?" Y/N turned to her brother. "We are practically family."

"Haz?" She looked up at her brother. "Why did you come all the way over here?"

"I wanted to make sure that you were ok." He replied, smiling at her. "With everything that has been going on..." He trailed off.

"Haz, I didn't pick up my phone, why did you feel the need to come all the way out here?" Y/N's legs were dangling off the counter. "I have work here that I needed to tend to anyways Y/N."

"You are such a div." She smiled.  

-

Y/N was leaning in the doorframe of Tom's office, she knocked softly on the wood.

"Anything I can do to help?" She entered the room without waiting for an answer. Tom was sitting by his desk, there were stacks of papers and files piled on the desk.

"No, I will be fine darling." He didn't even look up from his work, vigorously typing on his laptop. "To be honest you don't look fine." Y/N strolled through the room and plopped down on the chair on the other side of the desk, she curled up in it before reaching for one of the files. "What is all of this?"

Rummaging through the files, scanning the pages for information. She looked so fucking beautiful when she was concentrating.

"The ball..." He trailed off. "Next week, it is for Miles Halter. I wanted to look into him."

"This is a lot of information you got here." She snapped the file shut, putting it back on top of the mountain of other files. "Are you sure this is only for Miles?"

"What can I say, he has done a lot of fucked up things," Tom muttered from his work. "Like what? and why is he dealing with the Lightwoods?"

"Let's just say a lot of illegal things," Tom asked her, still not looking up from his work. "And he needs the Lightwoods to cover for him."

"Why didn't he come to us?" Y/N asked as she twirled a few strands of loose hair between her fingers. "We practically own crime in England."

"He did come here." Tom finally looked up from his work. "But he didn't want to pay the price."

"What are we looking for?" Y/N pulled out another file scanning the words on the yellow paper. "Dirt, blackmail, relationships?"

"Anything that we can use if things get ugly," Tom mumbled, scribbling down a few words on a notepad. "Why would he get ugly? We are not going for Miles."

"I want to be on the safe side darling." Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.

"Tom." Y/N sighed, dropping the file on his desk before reaching over and putting the cigarette out on an overfilled ashtray. "Hey!" He exclaimed.

"You only smoke when you are stressed." She started. "And based on this ashtray, you are very stressed."

"I am always stressed Y/N." Tom reached for the carton, only to find that it was empty. Growling he disposed himself off the box into the trashcan. "The boys are going out. I am not allowed to come, but I suggest you do."

"Y/N I don't have the fucking time!" He exclaimed, he was itching for another cigarette, feeling the urge to pull the smoke into his lungs. In frustration, he opened the top drawer of his desk, looking through it, desperately trying to find something to help his addiction.  Tom sighed in relief when he found a box of nicotine patches. Pulling one out and slapping it on his wrist.

"Tom, h-how much have you been smoking?" She asked, her eyebrows tied together. "Not much, just one here and there."

"After what you just did, that was more than just 'one here and there'" Y/N whispered softly. "Y/N I am not fucking addicted." He lied to her.

"Tom you can get over this." She reached over to take his hand. "I quit, remember?"

"You quit an actual addiction darling," Tom mumbled, turning his palm over to hold her small hand in his. "I don't fucking have one."

"Whatever you fucking say, Tom." Y/N pulled her hand away from his, Tom wanting to groan at the loss of contact. "I told the boys to come collect you in half an hour, don't put up a fight."

-

"Why the fuck do we to go back there?" Tom asked, nervously tapping his foot on the floor. "We were there three fucking days ago."

"Because we fucking own Tom, and Mark is late with his books," Harrison muttered from next to him. looking down into his phone. "And Y/N begged you to take a break, also the girls are good a bonus."

"I could care less about the half-naked girls and your sister begging me to go Haz." Tom focused on the road. "What fuck happened to you mate?"

"Nothing 'fucking happened to me' why can't we just fucking send someone." Tom missed Y/N, after she left his office his mind had been stuck on her. Her sweet voice or the way she gently chewed on her lip when she was focusing.  

"Because then we can get you to relax a bit." Harrison said.

"I don't have the fucking time to relax, I have business to take care of."

"You had the fucking time to watch movies with Y/N last night," Harrison replied. "And besides, this is business."

"Piss off." He muttered, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

-

The group of men entered the dark lit room. Music pounding from hidden speakers over the room. Tom already dreaded being there, he didn't even bother to glance at the girls walking around.

The four of them sat down around their regular table,

"Hey, sweetheart," Harrison called out to a nearby waitress. "Can we have some scotches all around?" The waitress nodded and quickly took down their orders before walking away from their table, shoving the notepad in her pocket, anxiously pulling on her skirt.

"She is fit, you gonna take her home Osterfield?" Sam grinned from the other side of the table.

"She is new, who knows." Harrison's gaze moved to the main stage. "The one on the pole also looks good."

"Mgh, no I dibs that one." Sam said smiling to himself.

The waiter from before returned to their table holding a tray with four glasses filled with a brown liquid. She placed the tray on the table, quietly handing out the glasses to the men.

"So darling, what is your name?" Harrison snaked an arm around her waist, resting his hand on her ass. The action made her tense up, backing off a little bit before answering him. "K-Katie."

"Now Katie, what would it take for you to bring me your number?" Harrison gently nudged her forward. She reached into one of her front pockets, pulling up a small scrunched up slip of paper and handed it to him.

Smiling she takes the tray from the table, gently swaying her hips as she leaves the mobsters.

"Now that was easy." Harrison holds up the paper grinning like a child who has won their first award. "Might be a little slutty don't you think Osterfield?"

"Arsehole." He muttered, reaching for the glass on the table.

"What kind of party do we have here?" Mark approached the table. "The kind that is here for your books, Mark." Tom muttered.

"T-Tom, shit." The male took a few steps backward. Trying to get away from the table.

"Yeah, shit Mark. Where the fuck is my money?" Tom said. "I don't like it when people betray me."

"I-I meant to send it." He stuttered. "I-it is in my office..."

"Then I would go fucking get the money right now." Harrison threatened him. "Sam, go with him and make sure he doesn't try to flee."

"Why the fuck do I always end up doing the dirty work?" Sam muttered, scooting out of the booth. "Because I fucking tell you too." They weren't playing games with him.  

"Now, where were we?" Tom sat back down again, grasped the glass in his hand so hard he could swear he saw tiny cracks in it.

"Harrison is getting a tramp tonight." Harry chuckled. "You should get one too."

"I don't fucking want one." Tom threw the glass backward draining the glass in one go. "It might be good for you mate, it has been some time for you."

"You don't know what is best for me." Tom dropped the glass back on the table. "I don't pay you to get up in my business Haz."

"You don't fucking pay me at all," Harrison replied. "And we are partners, your business is my business."

"Mark gave me this." Sam returned to the table, he was holding a thick envelope. "He didn't specify an amount." He dropped the envelope in front of Tom, who tucked it away in his pocket.

"Can we fucking leave now?" He hated being there, Tom didn't want to be there anymore. His mind kept drifting back to Y/N. All the girls at the club were the same.

"No mate, we just got here." Harry smiled. "Besides, we should have some fun."

Tag List:  @justannothermonday @smitten0-0kitten @normanatenorma @lizziemariejackson @smexylemony @lnisme

Sorry that this is a shorter chapter, school, and writer's block has been killing me.

Please tell me what you think it helps a lot! 

I hate to beg for reblogs but it helps a lot!

[leiascully]

if you're taking fic requests (sorry if you're not) could you write a post-revival fic where william is staying with mulder and scully in the unremarkable house and mulder wakes up in the middle of the night hearing william wandering around downstairs having gotten up to let daggoo out and also he couldn't sleep and he and mulder talk

Timeline: Post Season 11Rating: PGCharacters: Jackson, Mulder, DaggooA/N:  Better late than never?

The floor creaks and Mulder is awake instantly.  Scully just mumbles and turns over as he eases out of bed.  He doesn’t know how she sleeps through these things.  Maybe she’s just more righteous than he is, or maybe it’s his lifetime of insomnia still nudging him out of his dreams.  Maybe it’s the pregnancy.  She has seemed exhausted lately.  He picks up his weapon from the bedside table and pulls a clip out of the drawer.  Better safe than sorry, he thinks as he slots it in.  They’ve had more than a few unwelcome visitors the past few years.  He slides his feet into his slippers and pads down the hallway.  At least he wasn’t sleeping in the nude tonight.

There’s definitely someone in the house.  There’s a light on in the kitchen and Mulder can see a shadow.  Daggoo is barking quietly, these little excited sounds.  He doesn’t sound upset.  Mulder creeps down the stairs one at a time, sliding the clip into his weapon.  

“It’s just me,” Jackson says as Mulder comes down the stairs.   Mulder knocks the clip back out of his weapon and tucks the weapon and the clip in separate pockets of his pajamas.  Jackson stands in the doorway to the kitchen, Daggoo’s leash in his hand.  Daggoo prances beside him, and Jackson stoops to pick up the little dog.  Daggoo licks at his face and whines.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Mulder tells him.  

Jackson shrugs.  “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Mulder says.  “But text next time.  Send a psychic message.  Postcard.  Skywriting.  Whatever.”

“I see why she likes you,” Jackson says.  “The dog needed to go out.”

“Daggoo,” Mulder says.

“Excuse me?” Jackson says.  It’s hard to think of him that way.  It’s hard not to call him William, especially when Mulder can see himself in that face.  Mulder wishes he could sling his arm around his boy, ruffle his hair, all that dad shit.  He didn’t know what he was giving up when he left.  

“Daggoo,” Mulder repeats.  “The dog.  Daggoo.  It’s a Moby Dick thing.”

“Call me Ishmael.”  Jackson nods.  “On an insane quest to reclaim your manhood.  I get it.”

“Scully named it,” Mulder says.  “Her dad - your grandfather - he was in the Navy.  It was their thing.  He called her Starbuck.”

“Like the coffee?” Jackson asks.

“Like the first mate in Moby Dick,” Mulder says.  “I take it you never actually read it.”

“Not even the Spark Notes,” Jackson says.  “I’m going to take this little guy outside.”

Mulder nods.  “I’m going to make some cocoa.  It helps me sleep.  I think it’s part of getting old.  You want some?”

“Okay,” Jackson says.  “It’s like eighty degrees outside, but why not.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mulder says.  He turns his back deliberately on Jackson as a sign of trust and gets the milk out of the fridge.  Instead of powdered packets, he reaches for a box of Abuelita and unwraps the tablet.  It clanks into the pan.  He’s learned to let it melt first, so he doesn’t aggravate his shoulder trying to whisk it into submission.  Growing older is ridiculous.  He expected he wouldn’t be able to fling himself after suspects the way he used to when he and Scully met, but he didn’t think making hot chocolate would potentially incapacitate him.  He pours in the milk and puts the carton back in the fridge.  Domestic life is much easier when all parties agree on where things are supposed to be.  At least the milk has never been a struggle.  Depending on how long Jackson stays, it might become one, but that’s a small price to pay for the opportunity to get to know his son.  Their son.  The Van de Kamps’ son.

He’s still whisking when Jackson returns, Daggoo panting beside him.

“If you’ve got any smoking to do,” Mulder says without turning, “keep it on the porch.  It’s been a dry summer.  Nobody wants any fires.”

Jackson unclips Daggoo’s leash.  “Noted.”  He settles into a chair.  Daggoo prances on his hind legs, trying to get into Jackson’s lap, and Jackson scratches behind his ears.  “That’s pretty chill for a professional narc.”

“You’re not in my jurisdiction,” Mulder says, whipping up a froth on the top of the cocoa.  He turns off the burner.  “I save my narc powers for breaking up global conspiracies that threaten all of humanity.”  

“Respect,” says Jackson.  Mulder pours the cocoa from the pan into two mugs and sets one in front of Jackson.  He puts the pan in the sink and runs water into it before he pulls up a chair for himself.   He thinks about telling Jackson that Scully used to smoke, just to shock him, but he’ll save that moment for her.  It would be easy to be overzealous, trying to catch up on all the years he’s missed.  His son isn’t a baby; he’s a young adult, and he’s been on his own.  He has to meet Jackson where he is, on Jackson’s terms, or he’ll probably vanish into the night like a heartbreaking vision.

“It seems like it’s a little late to pull the dad act anyway,” Mulder says.  “Look at you.  All grown up and manipulating minds.”

Jackson shrugs and sips at his cocoa.  He makes a face as it burns his tongue.  “It’s a living.”

“You know you’re going to have a sibling?” Mulder asks.  

“Yeah,” Jackson says.  “Congrats, I guess.”  

“We don’t have to do family stuff,” Mulder says.  He picks up his cocoa.  “You did show up here, though.  My psychology degree was a long time ago, but that seems to suggest you have some kind of interest.”

Jackson sighs.  “It’s not like this is easy, man.”

“I get it,” Mulder says.  “The last time I saw you, you were less than a week old.  I mean, the last time I saw you before your life of crime began.  I don’t have a lot of practice being a dad, and I was a shitty son myself.”  He takes a swallow of cocoa.  “Not that you’re a shitty son.”

“I am, though,” Jackson says.  “My parents are dead.”

“You didn’t kill them,” Mulder says.

“I didn’t save them,” Jackson counters.

“I know how that feels,” Mulder says.  “Believe it or not.”

“I can’t hear you,” Jackson says.  “Not like I can hear her.”

“My dad was shot by my former partner,” Mulder tells him.  “Not Scully.  A rat named Krycek, who was part of the whole global conspiracy that I kept pushing up against.  My mom killed herself.  I never called her back the last time she wanted to talk.  I don’t know if that would have changed anything.  Oh, and I shot my biological father for killing you, or so I thought at the time.  Glad I was wrong.  Also glad I shot him.”

“Fuck, man,” Jackson says, and pauses, as if he’s waiting for Mulder to scold him.  Mulder just gazes levelly at his son, trying to take in every detail.  

“You didn’t kill your parents,” he says. 

“Guess not,” Jackson says.  He wraps his hands around his mug even though it’s warmish in the kitchen.  “You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I figured you’d get to that,” Mulder says.

“You gonna wake her up?” Jackson asks.

“She doesn’t need to know you were here if you’re not planning on staying,” Mulder says, looking straight into Jackson’s eyes.  They’re shaped a little like his own.  It’s uncanny, after all those years of clones.

“You protect her,” Jackson says.

“We protect each other,” Mulder corrects.  “Twenty-five years and counting.  It goes both ways.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Jackson says.  “There wasn’t anywhere else to go.”

“We’ve got a spare room,” Mulder says.  “You’re always welcome.”

“Even if there’s a warrant out on me?” Jackson asks.

Mulder shrugs.  “I haven’t seen one.  It’s not like those DoD types haven’t come knocking before.”

“I guess,” Jackson says.

“I’m not trying to whip out my credentials here,” Mulder says, “but you ever seen one shot and faked your own death using his corpse?  And that was how far we were willing to go before we had kids.  I’m not gonna let anything happen to you if I can help it.”

“That’s hard core,” Jackson says.  

“You didn’t get it all from your momma,” Mulder says.  “Or your other parents.”

“If I stay, do I have to talk about it?” Jackson asks. 

“The fact we thought you were dead?” Mulder asks.  “Not yet.”

“That’s fair,” Jackson says after a moment.

“She’s going to be so happy to see you,” Mulder says.  “She cries at everything right now, by the way, so don’t take it personally.  I saw her get weepy at a commercial for paper towels the other day.”

“I’ll be happy to see her too,” Jackson says.  “Uh, thanks, I guess.  For not shooting me when I showed up at your house with no notice in the middle of the night, and, uh, picked your lock.”

“A skill every growing boy needs,” Mulder says.  “Trust me, kiddo, I’ve had a lifetime of stuff weirder than you to deal with.”

“That’s probably good,” Jackson says.  “I mean, you’re prepared, right?”

“As prepared as anyone can be for parenthood,” Mulder says with a wink.  He takes a long drink of cocoa.  It really is soothing.  “You ready for bed?  You got stuff?”

Jackson jerks his head toward a ratty backpack in the corner of the kitchen.  “Just that.  I might stay up for a while.  Not really tired.”

“TV remote’s in the basket,” Mulder says.  “Not too loud, okay?  Your mom needs her sleep, with the baby.”

“You sure you haven’t been practicing this dad stuff?” Jackson asks, with a lopsided grin Mulder recognizes.  

Mulder smiles.  “Only in my head,” he says.  He finishes his cocoa and puts his mug in the sink.  “Let me show you your room.”

They cleaned out his old study together, when Scully moved back in.  It’s a lot less cluttered now.  His clippings are in a filing cabinet and his books are on shelves.  There was enough room for a pull-out sofa bed, one of those IKEA creations that looks a little too modern for the space.  It’s pretty comfortable, though, or it was when they stretched out on it in the store.  Mulder pulls out the mattress and take the sheets out of the storage compartment.  He flips out the sheet, nodding to Jackson to take the other edge, and they make up the bed together.  

“Bathroom’s around the corner,” Mulder says.  “Extra pillows on the couch if you need ‘em.”

“Thanks,” Jackson says.      

“You’re welcome,” Mulder says.  “I mean it.  You’re welcome whenever.”  He turns.  “This old man is going back to bed.  See you in the morning.”

“Mulder?” Jackson says, and Mulder looks over his shoulder at him.  He can see the delicacy of Scully’s bone structure in Jackson’s face, and something of her graceful precision in the way Jackson moves.  “You’re not a shitty dad.”

“I’ll try to keep that streak going,” Mulder says.  “Good night, buddy.”

“Good night,” Jackson says.  

[v01d-anc3]

001

Austin leaned forward in his chair, completely intrigued by the show that he was finally able to watch. Hoodie was on a hunt with EJ. Most of the Proxies were out, actually... Austin was yet to get an assignment. He didn't get along well with the other proxies, so that meant he didn't have a partner yet. And it was quite obvious Slenderman didn't trust him as much as he trusted Masky. In fact, Austin felt like sometimes Slender regretted collecting him for a proxy.

Austin narrowed his eyes at the screen. The show was called Over the Garden Wall. It was a short series, but from what he had seen, it was very interesting. He quite liked the robin.

Austin jumped when Toby rolled onto the couch next to him. Toby didn't stay on the couch long before he fell off, but he still somehow ended up in one of those 'draw me like one of your French girls' poses.

"Whatchya w-watchin, Void?" Toby asked, yellow goggles glued to the screen. his voice 'ticked' when he spoke, making it sound like he stammered.

"Nothing..." Austin mumbled. He didn't mind the nickname he had donned since arriving at the mansion, but he did find it kind of annoying when people said that others should a-void him. He didn't object, though.

"N-nothing? Looks more l-like a kids show" Toby sat up and kept watching the screen. "Is this D-Disney?"

"I... I don't think so?" Austin frowned.

"Dang. D-did you know Sl-Slender appeared in o-one of the shows from D-Disney?" Toby looked up at Austin, looking like he was trying to break his neck. Toby tapped his knees continuously.

"No?... Which show?" Austin frowned, curious. Toby had finally pulled Austin's attention away from the screen.

"G-Gravity Falls. Good sh-show, that one. Very w-weird"

"... I see... I'll look into it"

"There's D-Doritos in it" Toby's cloth mask shifted, indicating he was grinning.

"... Don't know why I'd need to know that, but thanks?"

"No pr-problem! Also, c-came over here to t-tell you that we have to g-go shopping later"

"What? Why us?"

"I c-could ask the same th-thing, but it's a tr-trial thing. M-Masky is c-coming, too, to 'k-keep an eye on us'. Don't kn-know what that m-means"

"Oh, no, I have no idea" Austin rolled his eyes, but it didn't look like he did much because his eyes were pitch black now. Austin knew the shenanigans that Toby got up to sometimes. They were almost as bad as when Jeff gets arrested at times.

"I know! I'm a r-responsible person, you're t-too stupid to try and l-leave, and we're both d-dedicated people! Also we get h-hungry, too!"

Austin frowned at that, but didn't say anything. He pretended that Toby's stuttering made him think he said that, but truly he hadn't. He tried not to think too much into it.

"So, d-d-did you finally g-get rid of Jeff?" Toby asked. The show finished. Austin sighed. He had missed the end of it because Toby refused to stop talking.

"I don't know. He wasn't in my room when I woke up. Or... maybe he was under my bed, I dunno" Austin hummed in thought. Jeff was a tactical killer when he wanted to be, and he watches his victims for about a week before he kills them, to look at sleeping patterns. Apparently they fascinated Jeff, so he studied them. Jeff watched Austin sleep on most nights. Well, whenever he did manage to sleep. It was hard to sleep when a man with a grin slit from ear to ear was staring at you with unblinking eyes through the moonlight that squeezed through the gaps in the shutters. Slenderman had tried to stop Jeff from doing it, but eventually gave up when Jeff chewed/stabbed a hole through the wall from EJ's room to Austin's. EJ didn't even wake up from the commotion apparently. He did see Jeff crawl through the hole sometimes, though.

It kinda freaked Austin out.

"Huh. W-weird. Maybe h-he's out or s-something?" Toby frowned.

"Probably out killing unfortunate people" Austin shrugged, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV. "When do we have to go? Do we have a shopping list?"

"L-leaving w-when Masky g-gets back f-from the p-patrol with B-Ben" Toby shrugged, sitting up.

"So... roughly 5?"

"Maybe. M-maybe not. Never know t-till he's at th-the door"

"Which... is always 5 on the dot, whether his partner is with him or not"

"What, really?! I-I never noticed" Toby frowned.

"Well, you do get a tiny bit distracted a lot of the time when he gets back..." Austin reminded Toby.

"Th-that makes sense" Toby nodded. "Here c-can get boring a-a lot"

"Definitely"

"We sh-should go hunting a-again soon!!~" Toby giggled.

Austin sighed. Jeff and Toby were always trying to get Austin to 'hunt'. Hunting as in get out of the mansion and kill people at night. Austin admitted, he did enjoy it at least a little bit, but he felt guilty, which was, of course, normal.

"I... I guess it wouldn't hurt..." Austin mumbled softly.

"You turned s-soft again!!" Toby announced.

Austin was about to assure Toby that he had no way of getting any softer when the door opened. Ben Drowned walked in and to the couch. "Move over"

Austin shuffled over a bit for Ben to sit in his spot - the one closest to the TV - and Ben flopped down.

"UGH I hate going on patrol" Ben groaned.

"We all have to do it eventually" Masky said calmly. He then turned to Austin and Toby. "Ready?"

Austin realized he didn't have his shoes on, and quickly jumped up. "I have to put shoes on, I'll be quick"

Masky nodded once. Toby jumped up, already wearing a pair of Volley's, as Austin ran upstairs to his room. He entered his room. Austin stopped when he saw Jeff climbing through his window.

"How did you...???" Austin frowned, wondering how on Earth did Jeff get to the second story window.

Jeff fell on his face. "Ow"

Austin rolled his eyes and helped Jeff up. Jeff smiled at him, of course, then sauntered out of the room. Austin didn't question it and grabbed his black combat boots. He pulled them on then ran back downstairs. Masky was looking at his watch and Toby was bouncing up and down, seeming unable to get the ants out of his pants. Austin walked outside with the others following. The door closed and the long trek to the town began.

The walk was quiet for Austin. The other two were sending chatter between each other, but Austin was zoned out for most of the way there, except for when Toby accidentally bumped into him. Other than that, Austin remained quiet. Mostly trying to ignore the visions and voices he saw at times. Austin remembered he forgot to take his medication this morning.

When they got to town, it was dark and not many people were out. The walk seemed to have taken longer because Toby got stuck in a tree.

Masky handed Austin something, jarring him out of thought. Austin took whatever it was and looked at it.

It was a human looking mask and a hat.

"Put them on" Masky instructed.

Austin frowned but didn't object, sliding the mask on and donning the hat. The mask almost immediately made Austin sweat and feel stuffy.

"Keep your hands in your pocket and hunch over when a human comes around" Masky said, taking off his mask for the first time in front of Austin. Austin was surprised. "We don't want any attention drawn to us. We are just grown men going shopping. If anyone asks, we're flat mates. Don't look at camera's or they'll notice something off"

Austin nodded. His face felt itchy.

They walked into a small supermarket, and immediately Toby headed to the milk isle. Almost as soon as he left, he darted into the next aisle, holding a milk carton. Toby had grabbed a basket in the progress and was grabbing the usual items, like milk, bread, sugar and whatnot. Masky gestured for Austin to follow him. He did so as they walked to the meat section. Masky read a shopping list, chewing on his lip. Austin couldn't help but stare at Masky. Masky looked human without his mask on. That was a first.

"Camera's, Austin. Don't look suspicious" Masky mumbled softly.

"R-right, sorry" Austin looked away and pretended to look at things.

"Don't talk" Masky instructed.

Austin nodded in response and picked up some tomato sauce, reading the labels.

"We need some of that. Don't put it back" Masky announced.

Austin nodded. He held it quietly, looking for something else to do. Toby ran down the aisle, holding 2 loaves of bread and the basket, already full of stuff that was needed for living, including soaps and and Pop Tarts. Once Masky was done with what he was doing - collecting a small pile of meats for meals - they headed to the biscuit aisle. Toby started picking up more Pop Tarts, but Masky stopped him. He then tried grabbing Oreos, but Masky stopped him yet again, letting out a sigh.

"We don't need every single box, Toby"

"We don't have enough!"

"Yes we do"

"THERE'S NEVER ENOUGH" Toby complained loudly. A woman down the aisle looked over for a moment, before returning to grabbing a box of tea and leaving in a hurry. Masky grabbed a box of Maree's, some ANZAC biscuits and choc chip cookies before leaving the aisle in silence. Toby groaned and followed. Austin also followed.

They headed to the self serve cash register and Toby and Masky each took turns in scanning things in order to make it quicker. Austin shoved the items into bags and took as many as he could carry when they were done. They all left the supermarket and headed outside. It was even darker and colder than before. They headed down the street, back toward the forest, but stopped at the gas station.

"Toby, leave the bags out here. I want to get some smokes, and you can grab a drink" Masky turned to Austin. "You're in charge of the bags. If anyone steals anything, you will be blamed. What drink do you want?"

Austin frowned but then nodded. "A lemonade will do, thank you"

Masky nodded, placing the bags he had beside Austin. Toby dropped his, and they both headed inside.

Austin felt a little sketchy, especially since he was in a dark corner of the place. He couldn't help but feel proud, though. Masky had put Austin in charge of something, so therefore he was at least a little trustworthy. Austin planned to keep it that way. No one would steal tonight, anyway. They didn't have much of worth.

Yet Austin was wrong.

Austin jumped in alarm as someone slammed into him, shoving him against the wall and pinning him under their weight. They covered Austin's masks mouth with a gloved hand and held a gun to the side of his head.

"Keep yer mouth shut, boy, and hand over the cash" the man growled lowly.

Austin didn't have any cash. All he had was his phone, which hung in his pocket heavily. Austin felt a rush of adrenaline in his body, specifically his head. He panicked a bit, mostly because of the fact that the voice in his head was trying to convince him to let them take over.

"Stop stallin and hand it over!!"

Austin heard rustling, and knew the man had a comrade messing with the bags.

Austin had it then. Time to unleash his inner demon.

Austin closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles. As soon as he did, he was tossed back into the void.

And out came the true darker side of himself. Aka The Static.

They opened their eyes and a faint static sound was heard, their eyes now that static look.

"Shoot me" they grinned under the mask.

"What?" the attacker grunted.

"Shoot me. Right in the head. I dare you. I bet you don't have the guts. Is it even loaded, good sir? You haven't even cocked the gun" they chuckle slightly.

"How are you even talking?!" the guy snapped.

"I am inside everyone's head, Johnathan"

The man, Johnathan, gasped. He took a step back in shock. This gave the Static enough time to go completely rouge.

They punched the guy straight in the gut, causing him to double over, then they kneed him in the face. The guy groaned and cocked the gun, then aimed and shot directly between the inhabited eyes of Austin.

The guy going through the bags slumped to the ground. Johnathan backed up, staring at his now dead friend, then at the Static.

"H-how did you..." Johnathan stammered before the Static grabbed a pole lying conveniently on the ground. Johnathan cocked the gun then aimed and shot again, missing the Static's shoulder and somehow getting shot instead. Johnathan screamed in pain and dropped the gun. The Static was on him in a split second and cracked the pole over Johnathan's head. Johnathan slumped to the floor.

The Static then dropped the pole, grabbing the gun. 4 more bullets.

"This seems like a fun one to play with..." he mumbled.

He then turned and aimed the gun right at Masky as he and Toby walked out of the service station.

//Hey guys! Feedback is much appreciated!!

[notsugarandspice]

Spin for Me (Chapter 3)

Spin for me, I'll let my bruises do the talking. If you close your eyes, I'll disappear, but maybe not tonight. You're too good for this world, I won't save you.

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Warnings: Angst, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma

Previous chapters on ao3.

 There’s nothing but a nauseating dull pain when Richie wakes up the morning after his twenty-first birthday. His throat feels dry and bitter, the stale taste of alcohol and puke lingering on the walls of the esophagus. It’s a combination vile enough to send him running towards the toilet. The clear liquid hitting the water isn’t that astounding - anything that wanted to come out did so last night. Memories are a black haze, occasionally filled with snippets of the evening. Blue thong between tanned cheeks. Pink on brown. Stanley’s guffawing face. The green and red of street lights as they drove down Pine Tree Drive. His tears hitting the bottom of the tub. Plunk. Plunk. Stanley was long gone.

Richie doesn’t know how long he stays there, nausea slowly subsiding from the coolness of the toilet seat. He flushes lazily after several minutes, unable to stare into the repercussions of his own mistakes. He doesn’t get up right away, afraid that any movement would instantly trigger another vomiting fit. He thinks of how to go about the events of last night. How to talk to his friends about the importance of boundaries. How to tell his boyfriend that they just don’t work anymore.

His head eventually slowly lifts up as if on its own accord, his stomach producing terrifying sounds that can only mean hunger, but the last thing Richie wants is anything in his mouth. He pushes himself up from the toilet and stands in front of the sink, contemplating surging forward and smashing his head in the mirror. When has life gone to complete and utter shit?

Richie looks up, meeting the eyes of the ghost reflection of himself staring back. His skin is sickly pale, with a tint of purple green that people typically associate with things like mono, except he’s perfectly healthy. There are several broken blood vessels around the brown irises. The dark circles under his eyes have a deep red forming from constant insomnia and overwhelming stress. Last night was the first time he slept more than five hours in the past three years.

The acne on the hollows of his cheeks has gone into overdrive, feeding on lack of hydration. Richie bends down and splashes his face with cold water, rubbing it with amplified intensity. He opens the mirror to pull out one of Stan’s prescription scrubs and makes work of the tiny stinging beads, focusing on his cheeks. He’s supposed to leave in on for five minutes, but Richie decides to wash it off right away instead, caring very little about the long-term effects. He brushes his teeth quickly and spits out without rinsing, clinging to the relief that spearmint brings in lieu of a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Richie walks to the dresser, rubbing his abdomen absentmindedly. He hasn’t eaten well in weeks, and it shows - his stomach isn’t just flat anymore, it falls in from lack of nutrition. He picks the red t-shirt with a little pocket on the right side, spraying a large amount of cologne all around, trying to avoid showering as long as possible. Someone undressed him the night before, and he feels fresh nausea hit the back of his tongue from the image of Stanley kissing his thighs after pulling the jeans off. He doesn’t know if it even happened, it might just be a recurring memory.

Pulling on a pair of old jeans he stumbles into the hallway, zipping up on his way to the kitchen. Richie just notices a fresh smell of coffee that clings to the entirety of the living room area. He rounds the corner to the kitchen and sees Stan sitting on the breakfast table, folded newspaper in hand. The ominous domesticity almost makes him vomit again.

Stanley lifts a finger motioning not to be disturbed, and Richie rolls his eyes. As if I wanted to fucking talk to you. He opens the fridge door, ignoring the pancakes resting on the large white plate, butter melted on top. He knows his boyfriend’s schemes through and back: he does some shit-fucked move, fucks up their night, and then apologizes with greasy breakfast and a blow job. Neither seems appealing to Richie, and he ignores the food, pulling out the milk carton to pour on top of his coffee.

He sits down next to Stan on the table downing half of the mug in one go. His boyfriend doesn’t even bat an eyelash, engulfed in another boring political article, sipping black coffee from the smallest mug in their kitchen. Richie wants to throw it against the wall.

“You going to say anything?”

Stan finally lifts his eyes, a very disinterested expression on his face. “What do you want me to say, babe?”

“Don’t call me that.” He knows I hate it. Why does he insist on doing things that make my skin crawl?

“I don’t have time for arguments if that’s what you’re here for.” Stanley’s eyes shift back to the article.

Richie’s entire body fills with rage so powerful he has to dig unkempt nails inside the heels of his hands. He’s done. Done, done, done, done. Done feeling like he doesn’t deserve better. Done being with someone who wants a submissive servant for a partner. He doesn’t want anything to do with this relationship anymore. It doesn’t just make him unhappy - he is downright miserable.

Richie grabs onto the newspaper and gets up from the chair, throwing it on the floor. Stan’s expression barely changes, and he looks back at his boyfriend with an amused leer as if he expected this to happen.

“I’m fucking done, do you hear me, Stan? I’m done with this shit!” Richie knows he probably looks like a stubborn child but his throat feels tight and tears are stinging his eyes. This has to happen. This SHOULD’VE happened a while ago.

“You say that every time. And every single time you come back.” Stan leans into his own palm, probably waiting for another outburst.

“I mean it this time. I’m not sticking around. You need someone who’s going to keep up with your shit and crawl around you like a dying puppy. I’m not doing that anymore.” Richie’s voice is cracking, disturbing sounds of his suppressed sobbing filling the small apartment.

“Look, why don’t you go have a walk, and we talk later? How does that sound?” Son of a bitch.

Richie puts his hand on the table, leaning towards Stanley’s face close to get the message across. “I. Said. I’m. Leaving. Got it?” His voice is ice cold. He shivers from it himself.

Richie turns around on his heel, his head pulsating from receding anger and relief that’s shooting through every inch of his skin. He’s done something that was in the works for a while. He did this. For himself. By himself. I don’t need him and his controlling fucking words, and his manipulative ass sitting on my breakfast table every morning. Fuck this.

He goes back to the bedroom to retrieve a jean jacket and put on his most worn leather boots. There are no sounds coming from the kitchen, the only noise is Richie’s heavy breathing and the shuffling of jeans. Since the car he usually drives is Stanley’s, he decides to take a taxi instead, devoid of a specific destination. He puts his hands into the pockets of the jacket, feeling for the wallet and cigarettes. The pack is there, completely empty, but not the other item. Richie furrows his brows and then closes his eyes in realization, an image of a dollar bill on top of the black glossy bar passing through the blackout haze.

Richie sighs heavily and strolls towards the front door in haste. He doesn’t even look at Stanley, but he can feel the judgmental eyes on him, causing his hands to shake on the doorknob. The smell of fresh coffee is soon replaced with the scent of a moldy carpet in the hallway, and Richie smiles.

Eddie feels awkward. He never feels awkward. The fingers holding the cigarette are shaking, ash falling down in his lap. The pressure with which he presses the breaks is irregular, and both he and the passenger are flung forward at every red light. But he doesn’t hear the man complain as they drive around in silence, smoking, smooth rock music coming through the old speakers of the Toyota.

He’s never had anyone in this car before. It was his ma’s. He can’t afford a new one, and it fell into his hands after Sonia’s death, along with the house and anything else she owned. He sold the house a month later, and the rest of her belongings were sent to his aunt who he never held contact with. What do you mean, Eddie? Sonia would never touch you that way. Baby, she probably wanted to make sure you don’t have a disease. You know how the fags in your town are. He wants to vomit.

Eddie eventually pulls over to the bar on Collins Ave, parking in two spaces to make sure that nobody scratches the doors of the car. He can’t afford to patch it up. He looks over to the man in the passenger seat, taking a moment to observe him briefly. He sees somewhat a reflection of his own exhaustion on the other’s face. Brown-eyes’ hair is greasy, sticking to the top of his head, there are slight burns on his cheeks that Eddie recognizes as the acne medication. When their eyes meet, Eddie’s heart clenches at the raw misery and pain reflected in the dark chocolate. He knows that look. It watches him in the mirror every morning.

Look at this, Eddie, you found another victim. Why don’t you hit him? Hit him now and see if he runs. Maybe the pain won’t scare him. Maybe it will take him longer than the other. Maybe he even likes it.

His eyes start burning with approaching tears and Eddie steps out of the seat, quickly rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of the jacket. He hears the door creak and knows that the man got out of the car but he can’t lift his head from the crook of the elbow, afraid of his own mind.

“Hey, you okay?” asks the man quietly, and his voice is very close, Eddie guesses he’s standing right in front of him.

He finally lifts his head and squints a little, even though the stranger is conveniently obscuring the smoldering October sun, hanging mid-sky. The temperature rarely ever drops below eighty here. Eddie smiles in response to the warm voice, and he doesn’t want to feel as safe as he does. He doesn’t deserve to be safe.

“Yeah... um, I’m good.” Brown-eyes smiles, sunlight framing the thick black hair, and Eddie can’t help but want to know everything about him, against better judgment. I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you’d be nothing but a daydream.

Eddie starts walking towards the glass door of the bar, and there’s a typical jingly noise when he opens it, signifying their entrance. The whole place reeks of cheap whiskey and tobacco but it reminds Eddie of the club, and he instantly relaxes. It’s not sickly sterile. I hate sickly sterile.

They walk towards the orangey oak bar, taking a seat right in the middle. It’s too early in the day for anyone else to be here but Mike used to work at this joint, and it makes Eddie feel sheltered.

A bartender is in the back, and Eddie leans over the counter, grabbing a random tequila bottle. He makes a ‘that’ll do’ expression upon reading the label and leans downward again, snatching two shot glasses between his fingers. The man sits quietly next to him, looking over the small wooden pieces hanging on top of the bar top with beach paintings on them. He seems genuinely interested, and Eddie smiles at the smallest glint of shine in the other’s eyes. Eddie thinks he deserves to smile more.

“You okay with this?” Eddie pushes a full shot towards the man. His expression seems unreadable at first, something dark flashing in front of his eyes but then it’s gone, and he downs the tequila in one go.

“Yup,” says the man, popping the last letter and smiling wider than Eddie has ever seen. Eddie’s heart jumps straight to the back of his throat.

He downs his own shot, feeling the dull warmth spread somewhere in the middle of the chest. He sighs in relief and instantly refills them.

“So, are you going to tell me what you were doing there yesterday?”

The man seems taken aback for a second, confusion crossing over his features and then his mouth becomes an understanding ‘O’.

“My friends wanted me to have fun, I guess. I’m not a club person at all. Everyone thinks so, but I’m not.” Eddie just now notices how young the other’s voice is. His looks scream thirty, but his innocence is all teen. But Eddie knows how unforgiving outer layers can be. You’d know all about it, won’t you, Eddie?

He clears his throat to respond, pushing the lump further down. “Why did you let them?”

“What?” asks brown-eyes, downing another shot.

“Drag you there. You don’t seem like someone who can be taken anywhere against his will.” Eddie’s eyes trailed up and down the man’s body quickly.

Brown-eyes laughs and Eddie honest-to-god wants to jump him right there. “Looks can be deceiving. I’m tall, but I weigh practically nothing. All bones.”

“Bones are heavy.”

The man grins and pushes the shot glass towards Eddie. He notices how long and bony the other’s fingers are. Eddie feels goosebumps cover his forearm. “Are you a nurse by day?”

Eddie snorts, filling the shots again. “Definitely. I’m all about helping the needy.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and Eddie turns to see what caused a delayed response. The man sits there and just stares, searching all over Eddie’s face, then looking lower. Eddie feels his knee twitch as the stranger’s eyes get stuck on the hole there.

He nervously pushes the shot in the other’s direction but the man doesn’t move, fingers tapping against the bar in contemplation. “Gonna tell me your name?”

Eddie can’t help but smile. And he wants to, really does but he also wants nothing more than to protect this wonderful, young man from himself.

“Not yet. Why don’t you tell me about that boyfriend of yours.”

The man’s face contorts, and Eddie sees the jaw clench irritably. He wants to say that he regrets saying it but everything about last night intrigues him. Everything about you. I want it all.

“How did you know?” asks the stranger, downing another shot with an empty void in his eyes.

“He seemed like he didn’t want to let you out of his sight.”

“Yeah, he suffers from those tendencies,” says the man and his voice is strained and final, but Eddie wants to hear anything and everything. Press, press, press.

“Tendencies?”

Brown-eyes pauses for a second as if composing himself. “Manipulative.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Eddie decides to give him a break. He’s never too afraid to ask a personal question but the last thing he wants is to make this man uncomfortable.

The guy is sitting in complete silence, shoulders slouched and face staring at the empty shot glass and Eddie is about to ask if he stepped over the line when the bartender enters the room. Eddie instantly recognizes him, along with the distinct reek of a drunk man. Polly has always been like that - careless and generally very bad at his job.

Eddie quickly realizes something and is about to stop the bartender from talking, but it’s a losing battle with someone drunk at eight in the morning. “Polly-“

“Eddie! What a fuckin’ riot! Can’t believe you’re here this early in the day. Aren’t ya a night owl?” screams the bartender, leaning on the counter right in front of them.

Eddie hasn’t blushed in years, but he must be now - he feels his entire body burning. He’s secretly hoping that the man didn’t catch the name and turns his head carefully. The guy’s face is nothing short of pure fascination: mouth open, eyes wide and black eyebrows raised almost to the hairline. Eddie’s face drops into his hands.

“Fuck me sideways! I know your name now!” Eddie laughs into his hands and looks back at the man who is still grinning, cheeks flushed and eyes a little glassy. Shit, you’re gorgeous.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait a second. How come you have a client this young?” asks Polly, looking over the man darkly. Eddie suddenly wants to shield brown-eyes from view.

“He’s not a client, P.” Eddie really doesn’t want to elaborate on the implications of that word. He already senses confusion coming from the stranger.

Before the conversation gets out of hand, he pulls out a stack of cash and smacks two worn twenties on the counter. He nods towards the door and starts walking, waving goodbye to Polly. Polly works a lot with clients too. But he also doesn’t use protection, so Eddie hurries out in case the stranger is more inebriated than he looks.

Brown-eyes follows Eddie, and they both end up leaning on the car, lighting the last pair of menthol sticks that make the suffocating humidity somewhat manageable. Eddie stands in silence, simply enjoying the other’s company. He is pleasantly buzzed, feeling even more so when the nicotine spreads itself through his darkened lungs. Thoughts of his father come rushing back, and Eddie feels another episode of choking fear of death come back. But he’s not even sure he’d mind it. Dying. He’s inflicted so much pain, enough so that if hell and heaven were real, Eddie knows where he’d end up.

He feels eyes on him, and he turns to look at brown-eyes. There is some color on his face now, on both of their faces, and it makes for a nice change. Eddie doesn’t feel so empty anymore. The stranger is smiling smugly, and it makes the soles of Eddie’s feet tingle. He doesn’t want this to end. I don’t want to let you go, but I have to. I know I have to. I’m like a sleeping volcano. And you’re Pompeii.

“Hey, so I was thinking-“

“You do that a lot,” says Eddie giving the man a wink. He feels a smile tugging the corners of his mouth, and there’s something beating the inside of his stomach. It’s all too unfamiliar.

Brown-eyes laughs and Eddie’s eyes water instantly from the gratifying sound. “Right that. It’s unhealthy, I think. Nothing good happens when I do.”

“Same here.” Eddie smiles warmly, the muscles of his cheeks already used to the novelty of sensation.

“Are you hungry? There’s a nice Mexican place next to my office. We could eat there. Should open at nine.”

Eddie wants to ask him about the job. And why in the fucking hell a guy like him, with charisma and heart of gold works a stuffy 9-5. But getting to know him more might cause Eddie to get attached. And that absolutely cannot happen. No, Eddie, attachment leads to commitment and we all know you can’t do that. You can’t even commit to the same cigarette brand. Piece of fucking shit.

Eddie swallows the malevolent voice down and forces a smile. “I actually have a lot to do. I can drop you off home if you want.” Fuck. No. Bad idea, Eddie. You can’t know where he lives. Come pounding on his door begging to be loved. You can’t be loved. Piece of fucking shit.

“Oh… Okay. Um… Sure.” The disappointment in the man’s voice is as clear as the bright blue sky above them. Eddie suddenly feels the stifling heat approaching midday slowly but surely, and he wants to get indoors. The alcohol is making him sweat, so he finishes the cigarette, throwing it close to the storm drain without stopping. He takes off the jacket, feeling the tingling of burning UV light on his forearms. Brown-eyes is watching him, cigarette long gone, his hands in the pockets of dark jeans. Eddie wants to take them off right there in the parking lot. Take his skin off as you go. You’re good at hurting people.

Eddie blinks back another rising hysteria and leans on the car in front of the man, stepping closer. He can smell the unmistakable sticky sweat that’s not entirely unpleasant, a scent of strong, cheap liquor and expensive cologne. Smell of a man. It makes Eddie’s mouth water.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” He shouldn't ask, really shouldn’t. But he wants to know everything. God, everything.

The stranger smiles nervously, his eyes darting between Eddie’s eyes and lips. Eddie feels the tension resonate in his groin like a shockwave. It’s an avid reminder of how long it’s been since he’s been with someone he wanted.

“I guess you’d have to make me a promise that I’ll see you again.” Eddie’s hand involuntarily goes to the man’s chest, and it rests there, feeling a speedy heartbeat. It matches the punching of his own ribcage perfectly. It’s terrifying. There’s an intake of breath and Eddie is afraid to look at the other’s mouth. He might lose it.

“Sure,” he answers and puts the hand away. It feels cold and empty now.

He gets into the driver’s side and starts the car after a couple of tries. Brown-eyes gets in almost a minute later. Eddie wouldn’t blame him if he just walked away.

The man guides them back to his place, pointing the long bony finger in the direction of the correct turns and exits. Eddie’s eyes linger on those limbs longer than appropriate, and the stranger probably notices. A sweet strawberry redness covers his cheeks charmingly, and Eddie wants to press his lips to the color. They finally pull up to a five-story apartment building in a good neighborhood. Eddie saw a crowd of girls on the street corner so he might be wrong. The man gets out instantly and leans on the open window.

“I’m not going to live here anymore. Gotta find a place to crash. Can I see you some other time?” There is an alarming amount of hope in his voice that makes Eddie’s chest tight.

“Your boyfriend wouldn’t mind you hanging out with me?” Eddie wants to be closer. He doesn’t even care about the boyfriend.

“Nada. Kinda useless to ask for someone’s permission when you’re not theirs anymore.” The man nods towards the building and Eddie connects the dots. He said it as if he’s some sort of property.

Eddie’s palms are sweating where they’re clasped in front of him, and he wants to hold the stranger’s cold ones. Brown-eyes straightens and fishes for something in the pocket of his jeans. He takes out a business card and reaches it out for Eddie to take.

RICHARD TOZIER

Sales Associate

(305)676-9988 ext. 667

Eddie smiles at the name, something pounding the inside of his tightened throat. The logo of some nonsensical company is on the back, and so is the address of the office. It’s too much and too little information all at once. Eddie leans over to the passenger seat and waves the card in front of him, smiling.

“Thanks.” Richard, Richard, Richard, Richard. Rich.

“Okay, well, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t ever sit at my desk, but I’m gonna now. Please call.” Rich slaps a palm on top of the car and strolls to the main door. He bends down to wave before he goes in and Eddie starts driving several minutes later, tears slowly rolling down his face.

Three months will pass until he sees Richard Tozier again.

[aceprosecuties]

I must ask for Simon and Klavier shenanigans with number 53. They aren't even drunk. Klavier just wants company from his favorite bro and he's bored.

53. “Who crawls through someone’s window at 4am to go for ice cream?!”

Send me a number and a pairing!

-----

Klaviercouldn’t sleep.

Whichwas, of course, particularly annoying since he had been working all day andeven passed up going out that night in order to try and get some much-neededrest.  Unfortunately, even though he hadalmost fallen asleep at his desk hours before while at work, he found himselfwide awake as soon as his head hit his pillow.

Hespent some time tossing and turning, and even convinced himself that he wasactually sleeping at one point when really all he was doing was forcing hiseyes closed (though, wasn’t that what sleeping really was anyway…he ponderedthis thought for a bit too long).  At aroundone-thirty in the morning, he tried turning on the television, hoping thatmaybe he could strain his eyes enough to force himself into sleep.  That didn’t work, and he watched a shamefulamount of infomercials…would awearable towel make drying off after showering easier?

Soon,he found himself having a ridiculous craving for ice cream that he couldn’tpossibly ignore or will away.

Andthere is nothing worse than having a craving for something in particular andfinding none of it in the freezer.

Well, that won’t do.  Klavier knew there was a 24-hour placenearby, but found himself searching through his phone to find a potentialpartner in his hunt…forgetting (or disregarding the fact) that it was afterthree in the morning, at this rate.  Hehad been finding himself feeling more and more alone since certain partiesdecided to abscond to Khura’in, and thus wanted company more often thannot.  This was no exception.

Plus, he was just bored.  What fun was a (well-past) midnight ice creamrun without someone to share it with?

When he got to a particular name, he pressedthe call button, hoping to get an answer.

“Leave a message.  I probably won’t listen to it.”

Klavier had been telling Simon he should bemore cordial in his voicemail greeting, but Simon had refused to changeit.  Regardless, the fact that it hadgone straight to voicemail meant that Simon had turned it off.

That won’t do.

Now that Klavier had it in his head that thisnight was meant for ice cream with Simon Blackquill, there was no other optionthan to just go by the man’s apartment and knock on his door.  

And after a quick ride on his motorcycle, hewas doing just that.

Simon’s doorbell wasn’t working, apparently, soKlavier had tried knocking a few times. No answer…unsurprisingly.  Simonhad trouble falling asleep and staying asleep sometimes due to dreams andmemories, but when he was in a deepsleep, it was apparently almost impossible to wake him.  After having slept in a noisy prison for solong, he had been conditioned to no longer find outside noises disruptive.

But Klavier Gavin did not give up easily.

Simon’s apartment was on the third floor of thebuilding, so Klavier didn’t want to risk anything by employing the old “tossingrocks at the window” routine.  But, henoticed that if he could somehow reach the ladder of the fire escape, he wouldbe able to climb that right to Simon’s bedroom window.  

Thank god no one was around to see what camenext: the famed Prosecutor Gavin, beloved rock star of both music and thecourtroom, failing miserably as he tried to jump up and reach the ladder.  

And then said Prosecutor Gavin grabbing thenearest trash cans to try and use them for some added height.

He fell a few times, but eventually jumped uphigh enough off the cans to grab onto the last rung of the ladder and pullhimself up.  

The rest was just a quick walk up to Simon’swindow.

When he got to his destination, he was able tosomewhat make out the outline of Simon sleeping in his bed.  He tried knocking on the window but even thathad zero effect.  

He wondered…

Klavier grabbed the bottom of the window andpulled up, surprised to find it unlocked. But once it was opened, he crawled through, getting one of his legsthrough and then his head and then-

An ear-piercing screech.

Klavier’s hands went to his ears, and whathappened next was so fast; did HerrBlackquill always move that quickly?

Because he was soon staring down the edge of ablade.

Simon’s hair was out of its ponytail and wild,his bangs covering his eyes a bit, making it even more difficult for him to seein the darkened room.  All he could makeout was the silhouette of an intruder that Taka had so graciously warned himabout.

“Ah, Simon, it’s me!”  Klavier smiled nervously, eyes traveling fromSimon’s face to the blade pointed at him so threateningly.  

“What the-”

Simon shook his head a little so that his hairshifted out of his vision, and he blinked a few times in order to try and seeclearer.  When he finally was able tomake out the features of this silhouette as belonging to Klavier Gavin, helowered his katana…though his glare did not soften at all.

“Klavier. What are you doing?  Do you know what time it is?”

Klavier finished climbing through the windownow that he was no longer under immediate threat, and dusted himself off,smiling as if there was nothing at allstrange about this situation.

“You really ought to lock your windows, youknow.  And get that doorbell fixed.”

“Klavier.”

“And who turns off their phone in the middle ofthe night?  What if this had been an emergency?”

“It betterbe an emergency for your sake, Gavin-dono,” Simon growled, using a more formaladdress that time.  

“But of course! You know how I was exhausted allday today?  Well, it turns out that afterI got home, I must have been-”

“The cliff-notes version,” Simon interrupted.

“Well, I couldn’t sleep.  And then I had a craving for ice cream andcompany.  But I had neither.  So I thought we could go get some, right now.”

Simon said nothing for a few moments, juststaring at Klavier in disbelief.  

“Who crawls through someone’s window at 4 AM togo for ice cream?!”

“Me, obviously,” Klavier answered, not evenmissing a beat.  

“The only thing that is keeping me fromstrangling you right here and now, Klavier, is my desire to never return toprison again,” Simon said while sheathing his blade and putting it off to theside.  

“And your just absolute love for me, of course,”Klavier teased.

“But of course,”was Simon’s utterly sarcastic reply.

Simon groaned and rubbed his eyes, moving fromhis bedroom to the living room, with Klavier tailing behind him closely.  

“So how about it?  You, me, a midnight snack run?”

“It’s far past midnight,” Simon said, moving tohis kitchen.  

“It’s an expression,Herr Blackquill.”  

Simon said nothing, but opened his freezer andrummaged around in it for a few seconds. When he emerged, he had a large carton of chocolate-chip ice cream.  He opened it, grabbed a spoon from a drawer,and jammed the spoon into the treat before shoving the carton in Klavier’shands.

And then he made his way back to his bedroom.

Klavier followed again.  

“You know, not that I don’t appreciate this but…atthis point I was kind of hoping for the adventure, ja?”  He pouted a bit as hewatched Simon climb back into bed and pull the covers over himself.  Taka had already gone back to sleep afterrealizing Klavier was not at all a threat.

“In themorning, alright?  I’ll play with youin the morning, Klavier.”

“…Technically it is the morning, you know thatright?”

“Don’t be a goddamn smartass.”

“…Can I stay here?”

Simon didn’t say anything, but did just reachover and pull his blanket down on the other side of his bed, indicating thatKlavier should get in.  Of course, ittook very little time for Klavier to do so, still holding his ice cream as heslid in next to Simon.  

“If you spill any of that in here, you’rewashing my bedding tomorrow, understand?”

“Ja, ja,of course,” Klavier replied with a mouthful of delicious ice cream.  

[cattwomannn]

When batsis gets dumped headcanon

You always send me requests and I appreciate it so much! Thank yooooooou! Here’s your headcanon, my love!

•When the batfam finds out that batsis’ significant other had broken up with them they immediately go into protective mode. This was her first real romantic relationship with someone, and breakups (especially with a first love) are really hard to deal with on your own. •Bruce is the first to talk to her about the split. As soon as she saw her father she ran up to him and threw her arms around him and just cried, burying her face in his arms. Through her muffled sobs she told him that she didn’t know what she had done wrong. She thought her partner really loved her and it broke his heart to hear her talk like this. So he told her that he knew how hard it was.. losing someone you cared for is never easy but the pain would fade eventually. It wouldn’t always be this hard. Some day she’d meet the one person who’d never break her heart and all of this would be worth it. Bruce wasn’t always great at heart to hearts but his daughter thought he had done a pretty good job as she held onto him for a little bit longer. •As soon as Alfred had found out what happened he made Batsis her favorite type of tea and cookies. She appreciated it greatly and asked if Alfred would sit and eat them with her. She always thought of him as more of a grandfather than anything else and loved the older mans company, especially when she was feeling down. He always knew just what to say to make her feel better. •Dick was the best oldest brother a girl could ask for. When she told him about her recent breakup he invited her over to his apartment in Blüdhaven and they had a pizza night and a movie marathon. He let her watch all of her favorite scary movies even though everyone knew what a big chicken shit Dick was when it came to the horror genre. They even invited Barbara over to join in on the fun and the both of them would laugh super hard whenever Dick would jump or let out a shrill scream. Dick didn’t really mind though. He was just glad he could make his sister laugh. •Jason was livid when he heard his little sister had gotten dumped. How could someone not see how wonderful and irreplaceable this girl was? So he went to the grocery store, bought a carton of eggs, and went to the manor to pick up batsis to take her to her exes house to get revenge. When they got there he hoped off his bike and pulled the eggs out to show her. At first she was hesitant, but after Jason threw the first egg she couldn’t help but join in. It was thrilling knowing that they could get caught at any moment and slightly therapeutic getting to egg the house of the person who caused her so much pain. When Bruce found out what what she and Jason had done he couldn’t even be mad at them. For the first time in a week his daughter had come home with a smile on her face and for that he was grateful. •Tim and Steph had decided to band together when they found out what happened. They went to the manor and dragged batsis out of bed, sitting her down in the living room. Together they pulled an all nighter just talking, and laughing, and playing video games while drinking coffee and eating all kinds of junk food till early in the morning. When Alfred woke that morning to prepare breakfast he found the three of them curled up and asleep on the couch. (He took loads of pictures on his phone and even set one of them as his background.) •Damian, much like his father, was not all that great at comforting people but he hated seeing his older sister so sad. Whenever he’d wake up in the middle of the night to her crying he’d climb out of bed with Titus and go into her room and crawl into bed with her and just cuddle with her until she stopped crying. And Titus, as big as he was, would curl up at their feet and keep them warm. Damian didn’t know this but those times were some of her most treasured moments. Not many people got to see Damian’s soft side and she loved that she was one of the few. •Cass would constantly shower batsis with hugs. It was almost like her touch had healing properties, because as soon as she pulled her in for one she immediately felt calm and happy. All her worries would melt away when she was with the other girl. •With a family like the batfam it was safe to say that batsis soon got over the breakup. She was surrounded by people who loved and cared for her and the feelings were definitely mutual. This was all she needed in life right now and she no longer felt alone, not even in the slightest.

**************************************************

I hope you liked it! This was my first ever headcanon and also my first time writing for Batsis!

HEADCANONS AND SHIPS ARE STILL OPEN.

[gyeommine]

GOT7 As Roommates

So I was reminded of the one I did for BTS (which you could find here) and I thought this would be a cute thing to do <3

(gif credits to the original owners)

JB:

(hot ass)

he strikes me as a dad type

like he’ll be kinda protective of you, making sure you don’t stay out too late and come home at the right time.

he’ll say that it’s to keep a watch on you but he lowkey misses you.

typical dad always ends up falling asleep on the sofa.

so you always have to shake him to get him to actually go to bed.

you’ll feel really awkward when you accidentally call him dad bc he basically is

“is this a new fetish or something?” “shut up im jaebum”

also just another gross male that you have to deal with.

“leader of got7 or president of the US i don’t care, just wash the dishes”

people often mistake him for your boyfriend bc you guys are weirdly comfortable around him.

he’ll probably just walk around half naked with no shame

you’ll just throw his dirty laundry to get him to put clothes on.

does get a lil’ awkward if you’re ever upset.

will shyly admit he ordered take out to cheer you up and you chill for the rest of the evening.

he’ll get quite angry if someone has upset you or work is giving you a hard time but won’t show it.

since he’s a dad for thot7 as well, just expect the guys to often be over.

reliable dad friend roommate beom ™

you always make him cringe or make fun (in a friendly way okay)

you’ll be over sitting in a weird position on the sofa you’ll just be like “the a teaser, amirite” and poor boy would die of cringe.

with that weird dinosaur laugh he has

Mark:

(oh wow i am blind from staring at the sun)

he’s so quiet you’ll honestly forget he’s home.

he’ll just be coming out the bathroom and you’ll jump out of your skin bc when the heck did this boy get back from tour ??

it’d be a strangely quiet house.

he’s more often than not tucked away in his room on his phone.

ngl, he’d probably text you instead of shout out.

but when you guys do stuff together, there’s so much giggling than can be heard from 2 flats above and below.

you guys are organized and on it.

you got that chores and housework rota down and you both know who cooks on what days for the two of you.

you’ll be best buddies with jackson

sleepovers with the three of you !!!

he’s quiet, but boy’s trustworthy and reliable (aka the perfect roommate)

no milk ?? mark’s probably already spotted and bought 3 more cartons.

you’ll be film and music buddies.

you’ll just both be in the kitchen and you’ll hear.:

“hey (y/n) listen to this!”

and you’ll be jamming around for a few hours

you guys will also have a list of movies you wanna watch together.

and when he comes back from tour: a movie night ensues. 

overall you guys would have such a chill vibe.

if you had had a hard day at work, even just entering into your apartment would relax you completely.

if you were ever stress, he’d probably suggest going on a drive.

so at like 3 am, you’d get your guys’ chill playlist up and just drive for a while.

Jackson:

(the purest)

such a caring roommate and best friend.

he’s always checking on you and asking whether you need anything.

he’s always the first guy there to give you a friendly ear or a shoulder.

he sometimes just goes on for 30 minutes with random life advice.

it’d be super endearing.

the flat would be super loud.

it’s bc he’s so excitable about everything which makes him the cutest friend to have around.

everyone knows you guys have the liveliest flat.

and you’d always wonder how this idol that works all the time has SO much energy ??!

but such charisma wow - can charm his way out of anything.

if he breaks something, he knows exactly what to do.

fills the fridge with random organic shit.

you literally pull 3 new organic smoothies out of the fridge each day.

“where the hell are you buying all this?”

he won’t even need to label it bc you know it will always be his.

he’s also kinda protective of you.

he’ll send you like a million texts bc he’s super worried that you’re not home yet and you need to be safe

it’d be a stern side that you’d rarely see from jackson, but he cares about you a lot.

he sort of feels like it’s his duty to take care of you, bc you live under the same roof an’ all that.

“jackson you’re more strict than my real dad sometimes.”

but he’d prefer it if you saw him more as your big brother or something greasy like that.

Jinyoung:

(should i be offended by this ??)

he acts like a stressed middle aged mum with 5 small kids 24/7

but it’s just you along with the 5 kids he has with jb

the flat will always be perfection, spotless, 10/10, flawless.

he’ll live passive aggressive / sassy sticky notes to remind you to close the cupboard door or something like that.

sometimes you’ll wonder why he’d ever wanna share a flat with anyone bc he could easily thrive alone.

but he lowkey loves the company you give him.

y’all could be sitting in a room together for hours and not speak and he’d love it.

idk i could also see you guys going on walks together.

but if you ever ask him anything he’s just give you a sassy response - as if it’s a chore to live with you.

dw doods, he’s lying. that’s the middle aged mum sass.

he’ll tssk, roll his eyes a lot. 

but he’s a v good listener, and would happily let you rant about your days’ work @ him and he’ll have no complaints.

you guys will have deep convos all the time.

you’ll wake up bc the kitchen light’s on at 3 am and there’s jinyoung, sitting with a glass of water.

“what are you doing jinyoung?” “i can’t sleep.” “lol neither. so what’s the meaning of life?”

and you’ll be talking until like 6 am, by which point the glass of water has magically turned into a strong mug of coffee.

Youngjae:

(NATIONAL TREASURE. 10/10 AT EVERYTHING. CUTEST // PUREST)

this is another loud apartment when it comes to the thot7 bois.

he honestly just needs protecting, someone to keep an eye on him.

he laughs a lot and it literally lightens the flat, it’s such a good vibe.

but sometimes you don’t see him for days.

he’s either writing some sweet ass music or playing video games.

but he always appreciates you checking on him, even if he gets too shy and bumbly to admit it.

he always knows how to make you feel better even if that means just smiling and curing the world of its sins

probably wants to include you with got7 outings

he doesn’t want to make you feel left out or leave you at the flat by yourself.

and if you lightly scold him for something once, he’ll be careful to always do it and he’d be such a sweetheart.

you probably do the most work within the flat but he tries every once in a while.

he’ll get super nervous if he breaks or loses something and you’ll receive an odd text from him.

so you call him to make sure he’s okay, and he’s like “oh no, i just lost your headphones” and the relief you’ll feel.

you’re always there to reassure him if he ever feels insecure about his career or anything in life.

and it’s chill bc you know he’d do the exact same for you, it’s all around a pleasant and healthy environment.

you’ll also sneak in coco even if the apartment block doesn’t allow it.

Bambam:

(he looks so soft here. i highkey loved this hair on him)

do i even need to say that this flat is gon’ be loud as fricking heck

he’d just make random loud noises most of the time and you’d have to give him a “??? wtf” look.

don’t even get me started when yugyeom comes over.

ear muffs come free with the roommate.

i joke, but its’ actually always a hella good mood boost.

our resident meme cannot stand the thought of you ever being down in the dumps so is running around the flat doing dumb shit.

you can’t go anywhere with him bc he spends 3 hours getting ready.

“bam pls we’re only going to the grocery store just wear-” “NO”

then you contemplating going to the grocery store by yourself because bam “flawless model” bam needs to like 10/10.

but you always tell him you’ve seen him without makeup or high brow clothing and he still looks great.

pranks, pranks and more pranks.

did i mention inside jokes? plenty of those.

you guys will be like kids with your own secret handshake and a password you yell before entering the apartment.

“bam why’s the door locked?” “password.” / “but bam i-” “passWORd”

and you’d sigh, and yell “I like to dab with moose” and you’re in.

let’s just imagine the mortified look mum and dad (jjp) have when they come over for the first time and you yelling that.

Yugyeom:

(omg it’s me @ kim yugyeom aka the loml)

just accept the fact you’re going to be hearing music all the time.

you guys will have like a playlist of your fave songs and you end up just stupidly dancing and singing around the house.

sometimes he’ll clear the space in the living room and just dance.

he’ll get hella blushy and shy when you walk on him though.

that’s basically how the hit the stage dance got spoiled for you.

he’s so loud as well.

he’ll probably just yell “PABO” really loud from the other side ot the apartment to get your attention.

and you run over asking yourself why you moved in with such a child.

he’ll smile wickedly as you ask him “what’s wrong”

“nothing!!” he’ll say cutely. “KIM YUGYEOM I SWEAR TO-”

oho you guys will do a lot of childish shit, prank each other.

one of those roommate situations that everyone questions why you ever moved in together bc you’re both a bad influence on the other.

but you guys are obvs like the best of friends for sure.

it’s not fun for mum and dad (jjp) when you call them dumb names and get your ass beat.

you guys are partners in crime and it’s the cutest sHUT UP NOBODY TOUCH OR TALK TO ME.

you better believe you’ll be sitting right next to each other and still be screenshotting memes, giggling your asses off.

but you’ll be so proud and gushing over his performing and how far he’s come and awwww.

but you guys will be having the 10th pillow fight before you could admit to such mushy feelings.

HONESTLY GUYS ! i got so warm and fuzzy bc i wanna be best friends with bambam and yugyeom like you have no idea. also, i am also jinyoung. i write passive aggressive sassy notes to my brother all the time bc he does dumb shit. hope you guys enjoyed ! <3

SIDE NOTE: one of my closest friends and are I are sort of like bambam / yugyeom cross friendship. but i am so done with his shit, and he’s so done with mine  - it’s chill.