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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 years

Text

Ohana

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer’s in love with his new neighbor- and her son that’s just like him

Word Count: 3234

Warnings: Typical CM stuff (Amplification specifically), Single Parent!Reader, slight angst

“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten.” -Lilo and Stitch

Spencer remembered the day you moved in. He remembered you lugging boxes up five flights of stairs by yourself. When he saw you struggling with a heavy box, trying to find your key, he decided to be bold and help.

“You look like you could use some assistance,” he said. “I’m, uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I live right across the hall.”

“Dr. (Y/N) (L/N),” you said.

“Here, let me hold the box for you.”

“Careful, it’s heavy,” you said, shifting it into his arms.

Spencer was jostled for a moment from the weight of the box, which was labeled (Y/N)’s Books. “So, MD or PhD?” he asked you as you searched for the right key.

“PhD, I’m too squeamish to be in the medical field,” you said with a laugh. It was the most beautiful sound Spencer had ever heard. “What about you?”

“What? Oh,” Spencer shook his head, focusing back on the conversation. “PhDs.”

You stopped sorting through your keys and turned to face Spencer. “Plural? Holy shit, are you a genius or something?”

Spencer let out a small laugh before saying, “Yeah, technically. But I don’t think intelligence can be accurately quantified.”

You finally found the right key and sighed as you heard the lock click. “Um, you can set the box with the others by the bookshelf.”

Spencer turned to see a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, much like his own, with boxes upon boxes of books in front of it. Some were labeled Academics, some had the same label as the one he was currently holding, and some had Oliver’s Books scrawled across the top.

“So, uh, where are you moving from?” he asked you, following the maze of boxes to your kitchen.

You offered him a bottle of water. “Erie, Pennsylvania. I got a job at Georgetown as an Associate Professor in the history department.”

“Oh, I guest lecture there every once in a while. In the criminology department. Uh, what’s your concentration?” Spencer took a sip from the water bottle.

“Medieval and Renaissance history,” you said. “I get to teach fun classes like Medieval Weaponry and Warfare.”

“Well, maybe I can sit in on that class someday.”

You smiled at him and that was when Spencer knew, you’d worked your way into his heart and you were never leaving.

Spencer remembered the first time he met Oliver. It was 53 hours, 27 minutes, and 15 seconds since the day he met you. He was coming home from an exhausting case when he saw you trying to balance paper shopping bags in your arms while opening your door. A small boy, no older than 6, stood behind you with oversized headphones and a mobile gaming system. He had a huge backpack on his shoulders.

“Ollie, take the keys. Ollie. Oliver.”

“You need some help?” Spencer asked, setting his go-bag in front of his door.

“Spencer, hi! Um, some help would be great.” Spencer took the bags from your arms so you could open the door. “Oh, uh, this is Oliver, my son.”

“Your-your son?” Spencer asked. If you had a son, it was likely you had a partner.

“Yep, he’s my boy.” You tapped his shoulder and gestured for him to say hi. The boy gave a small wave before going back to his game.

Spencer cleared his throat. “So, uh, where’s-where’s his father?”

“California. At least, that’s where he went when he left us.” Your hand was resting on top of your son’s head. He looked just like you. “Here, can you just set the bags on the counter?” you asked after opening the door. Oliver started down the hallway when you grabbed the loop of his backpack. “Not so fast. You know the rules. Homework first, then you can play your game again.”

Oliver groaned and handed you his game. You set it on the counter next to the bags of groceries.

“So, you’re raising him alone?” Spencer asked you.

You nodded and started unpacking the bags. “Yeah. You know, it’s been hard, but I can’t imagine life without my Ollie. He’s my heart and soul.”

Spencer and you became friends quite quickly. He told you about his job as a profiler, and you told him about working at the university. He would come over after cases and watch movies with you and Oliver. He’d help you put groceries away and he’d help you with simple tasks.

He also picked up on Oliver’s eccentricities. He reminded Spencer of his younger self. He didn’t talk much about kids at school and he breezed through schoolwork. His interests seemed heightened beyond what could be considered normal for a kid his age. One day, Spencer decided to ask about it as inconspicuously as he could.

The two of you were playing a game of chess when he brought it up.

“So, Oliver seems to be doing pretty well in school. What grade did you say he was in, second?”

“Yeah, the school bumped him up a grade. They wanted me to move him up to fourth, but I know how important it is to have friends your own age. And he already struggles to make friends.”

“He does? Why?”

You sighed, moving your knight. “Check. He was diagnosed as autistic when he was three. He doesn’t quite get social cues so it’s hard for him.”

Spencer moved his bishop and took your knight. “I’m sure his dad leaving didn’t help.”

“Well, he, uh, he never actually met his dad. Leo left me when I was four months pregnant.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You waved him off. “It’s fine. It was almost seven years ago. I moved on, and I learned to balance motherhood with college. I completed my undergrad when he was only a few months old and I worked on graduate school when he was a high-energy toddler. It just proved to me that I can do anything. Checkmate.”

Spencer was enjoying a rare day off on a Tuesday when his phone started ringing. He groaned, thinking it was Hotch with an urgent case. But when he saw your name on the caller ID, his face lit up.

“(Y/N), hey!” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Ollie’s school just called me. He’s sick but I have classes and meetings all day so I can’t go get him and-”

“Are you asking if I can go get him?” Spencer said, cutting off your rambling.

“Yes! Could you, please? I’d be so so grateful.”

Spencer smiled, grabbing the spare key you gave him. “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you so much. There’s a spare car seat in the coat closet. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be picking him up. Thank you so much, Spencer.”

When Spencer got to the school, he was fidgety. He’d never spent time alone with your son before. And he wasn’t even sure if the kid liked him.

He walked into the front office and said, “Hi, my name is Spencer Reid, I’m here to pick up Oliver (L/N)?”

“Oh, (Y/N) said you were coming to get him. If I could just see your ID?” the receptionist asked. Spencer nodded and pulled out his driver’s license. “Great, if you could just sign Oliver out on the clipboard here, you’ll be good to go.”

Spencer scribbled his signature on the clipboard and the receptionist got up to get Oliver from the back office. Oliver followed the receptionist, his backpack on his shoulders and a paper bag clutched in his hands. His face was pale and he was swaying slightly.

“Hey, Ollie,” Spencer said.

“Hi, Spencer. Where’s my mom?”

“She got stuck at work, buddy. You’re gonna stay with me until she comes home, okay?”

Oliver nodded. “Okay.” He followed Spencer out of the school and climbed in the back of his car.

“Do you want me to put the window down?” Spencer offered, looking back at the boy in the mirror. When Oliver nodded, Spencer put his window down and pulled out of the parking lot.

After pulling into the parking garage, Spencer looked in the mirror again. Oliver was fast asleep, his head slumped against the door. Rather than waking the boy, Spencer unbuckled him and scooped him up in his arms.

Oliver wrapped his little, sweaty arms around Spencer’s neck as he was carried inside. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was how much he cared for the boy, but Spencer pressed a small kiss to the side of his head. Spencer dug your spare key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, setting Ollie down on the couch.

After covering him with a blanket, Spencer dug around in your kitchen for some ginger ale and crackers. After setting them on the coffee table, he heard a small voice say, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Spencer noticed Oliver watching him from the couch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, handing Oliver the soda with a red bendy straw. “What do you mean, bud?”

“I know you like-like my mom. But you’re nice to me even when she’s not here. Matt didn’t do that. He called me names when Mom wasn’t around. He said I was weird.”

Spencer knew Matt was your ex from your time working at the Erie campus of Penn State. He was the first person you’d been with since Oliver’s father. And hearing how he treated Oliver didn’t sit right with Spencer.

Spencer sighed and looked at Oliver. “I’m nice to you because I like you, too. And I was a lot like you when I was your age.”

“You were?” Oliver handed the cup back to Spencer to set back on the table.

Spencer nodded. “People still think I’m weird. But being weird is good. How boring would the world be if everyone was normal?”

Oliver smiled. “It would be pretty boring,” he said.

“Get some rest, okay? It’ll help you feel better.”

You finally managed to sneak out of work and get home. When you opened the door, you saw Spencer sitting in the chair across from your sleeping son, reading a book.

“Hey,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

“Hey. How is he?”

“He has a low-grade fever and he hasn’t been able to keep anything in his stomach. I’ve been having him nibble on some crackers but even that doesn’t stay down.”

“Oh, my poor boy. Thank you for staying with him.”

“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you, for both of you.”

The team got back from a particularly rough case dealing with kids. Hotch gave them the weekend off to recuperate.

“Anyone want to go grab a drink?” Derek offered to the group.

“Or five?” Emily added.

“What do you say, kid? You in?” Derek asked Spencer as the younger man packed up his bag.

“Oh, no, sorry. I, uh, I have plans,” he said with a smile before slipping out of the office. The team watched him hurry out of the building before sharing glances with each other.

“Spence has a girlfriend,” JJ realized.

“Pretty boy has a girlfriend?”

“Think about it. When does Spencer ever have plans? And when was the last time he didn’t stay to do paperwork when we were given the time off?”

“And he upgraded his phone out of nowhere,” Emily chimed in. “He went from one that had only the bare essentials to a smartphone he texts on all the time.”

“We need to find out who this girl is,” Morgan decided.

Spencer had been keeping you a secret from the team on purpose. Not because he was ashamed of you, or embarrassed, but because he knew the team saw him as the baby and they would be invasive if they ever found out. He didn’t want them to scare you away, he loved you too much to lose you. Though, he hadn’t said it out loud yet.

You and Spencer were walking down the street, Oliver asleep on Spencer’s back, snoring against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck.

“You have no idea how excited he is for you to see his science fair project,” you said. “It was all he could talk about all week.”

Spencer smiled and adjusted the boy on his back. “I think I’m just as excited to see his project, especially since he wouldn’t let me know anything about it.”

You reached the apartment complex and you dug your keys out of your bag. “Are you sure you can carry him up the stairs? I can wake him if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine. I got him,” Spencer whispered, moving so that Oliver was clinging to his front rather than his back. He followed you up the stairs to your apartment. When you unlocked the door, he went straight to Oliver’s room and put the tired boy in his bed. He kissed Ollie’s forehead before flicking on his nightlight and leaving the room.

“Oh, hey,” you said when Spencer came out of the room, “Is he still out?”

“Yeah. I think we might have put him in a coma.”

You laughed and kissed Spencer’s cheek. “Go get some sleep. I know you’re tired, too.”

“I’m not-”

“Spence, you nearly fell asleep at the movies tonight. Go.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. But not without a kiss goodnight.”

You gave Spencer a kiss before shooing him across the hall. When Spencer unlocked his door and flicked on the light, he saw his team sitting in his living room.

“What the hell? What are you doing here? JJ, I gave you a key for emergencies!”

“This is an emergency!” Penelope said. “You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell us!”

“Kid, please tell me she’s a single mother and you haven’t been keeping a family a secret from us for years,” said Morgan.

Spencer was still annoyed his friends broke into his apartment, but he couldn’t resist talking about you, especially when they’d already seen you. “Her name’s (Y/N), she moved in about a year ago with her son, Oliver. We’ve been dating for three months.”

“Spence, why didn’t you tell us?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked down at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I didn’t want you scaring her off. I love her. I love both of them. And you guys can be intimidating.”

“Spencer’s coming to the science fair tonight, right?” Oliver asked you as you got him ready for school.

“That’s what he said,” you told him. “And you know Spencer likes to keep his promises.”

“I can’t wait to show him my mold project!”

“Okay, kiddo, we have to go. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

Meanwhile, Spencer was in the conference room at work, worrying about the latest case they’ve been presented. Someone was releasing a new strain of anthrax in public places around the DC area.

But under his stress over the case, he was worrying about you and Ollie. Maybe that’s why he worked so much harder on this one.

He and Morgan were sent to the suspect’s house, and Spencer entered first. Looking around, he noticed his mistake. When Morgan made his way to the door, he slammed and locked the door.

“Reid, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer was infected. He knew there was a large chance he would die, but he couldn’t stop working. He needed to find the antidote. HIs breathing was getting heavier and he felt sweat dripping down his face. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

“Hey, Garcia?”

“Reid! Oh, my god, Derek told me what happened. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“That’s not important right now,” he said. “Um, can you- can you record a message for me? It’s for (Y/N) and Ollie.”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He heard her typing. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Spencer cleared the lump in his throat. “Uh, hi, (Y/N), it’s Spencer. Um, I-I wanted to let you know that, uh, I love you and…” he paused, taking a breath and blinking tears from his eyes, “and I’m so happy you let me into your life, into your family. And I want Ollie to know I love him, too. You- both of you- you’re my family.”

After that, things happened too fast. Spencer was being pulled out of the house and hosed down before being ushered to the waiting ambulance. He fell out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital.

When he woke up in a hospital bed, Morgan was sitting by his side.

“Are you eating Jell-O?” he asked, his voice cracking from being dry.

Morgan lit up with a smile. “Welcome back, kid.”

“Is there anymore Jell-O?”

Morgan chuckled. “You know, there’s some people here waiting for you.”

“What?”

Before Morgan could explain, you and Oliver burst into the room.

“Oh, my god, Spence!” You ran over and hugged him the best you could with the various medical equipment attached to him. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you scolded.

Oliver climbed onto the bed and curled up next to Spencer. “Yeah, don’t do that again,” he said. “How can I take you to Donuts with Dad if you’re dead?” He looked up at Spencer with his big doe-eyes and Spencer felt his heart break a little bit.

“You-you want me to go to Donuts with Dad with you? Even though I missed your science fair?”

Ollie nodded. “I don’t care that you missed my science fair. I just care that you’re still here.” He looked up and Spencer and wrapped his arms around his torso. “I love you, Spencer.” He gave Spencer a light squeeze.

Spencer smiled and ruffled his hair. “I love you too, Ollie.” He looked up at you. “And I love you, (Y/N).”

You smiled and gave Spencer a soft kiss.

“Ewww!” Ollie squealed, making you both laugh.

Spencer proposed to you about a year later. You’d both decided you didn’t want a huge wedding, just family and close friends. Rossi gave his backyard for you to use for the ceremony. It was simple and small, but it was special and wonderful. Spencer had flown Diana out, and you’d flown your parents out.

After the ceremony, Spencer announced that the both of you had a surprise for Ollie. He went inside Rossi’s house and returned with a manila envelope. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, in this envelope, I hold the most important document I have ever signed.” He opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. “This certificate certifies that Oliver B. (L/N) is the adopted child of Spencer W. Reid,” he read.

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “What? You’re- what?”

“Remember all those Saturdays Penelope watched you while Spencer and I went out? This is what we were doing,” you told him.

Oliver ran over to you and Spencer and wrapped you in hugs. The rest of Spencer’s team and your parents joined in. In just two years, your family had gone from just you and your son to more people than you knew what to do with. And that was more than okay with you.

“They may not have my eyes, they may not have my smile, but they have all my heart.” -Anonymous

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #x reader #em's fics

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

Elementary

falling for Ushijima was straightforward and uncomplicated—despite the complicated circumstances in which it occurred

Ushijima x f!reader

a/n: my first hq piece and it’s centered around mr. perfect himself. fluff and light angst

wc: 4k

It wasn’t until you saw Miyagi prefecture’s top ace, Ushijima Wakatoshi, walk behind your mother’s old friend that the real reason behind this meeting smacked you like a volleyball to the face. You were transferring to Shiratorizawa for your third year of high school after attending Aoba Josai for only a year because—well, because your mom decided and that was that. Like everything else in your life since your father left, your mom controlled every aspect of your life from the clothes you wore, the food you ate, the length of your hair, even the way you smelled—or so she thought.

Transferring to another prefecture in your second year of high school had been the icing on the cake when it came to your mother’s obsession with molding you into her ideal of a teenage girl. After the honeymoon stage of her remarriage was over, she decided that Tokyo was too hectic and the three of you would move back to her childhood home of rural Miyagi. Aoba Josai hadn’t been her first choice but Shiratorizawa wouldn’t accept you a month into the school year. There you met your friend, Hanamaki Takahiro, and got talked into managing the boys’ volleyball team for the simple reason that you were new and didn’t fawn over their setter, Oikawa Toru.

At first, your decision had everything to do with rebelling against your mother and joining a club she wouldn’t approve of; however, you soon found yourself enjoying the sport and befriending the team. Managing Seijoh meant you’d crossed paths with Ushijima prior to the awkward lunch you were currently having but you doubted he ever noticed you. Then again, you doubted a ‘volleyball monster’ like him noticed anything that wasn’t a volleyball or the net.

You were perfectly content with eating good sushi and drowning out the chatty women while ignoring your old rival now soon-to-be classmate but Ushijima-san turned her attention to you.

“Y/N, your mother told me you managed the boys’ volleyball team back at Aoba Josai.”

“Yes, I did.” You replied with a polite smile while remembering your mother’s outrage when she’d caught you after a game. Leave it to your mother to turn your rebellious stunt into a wonderful coincidence between you and your soon-to-be suitor, Ushijima.

“Wakatoshi, you’ve played Aoba Josai before. Do you recognize, Y/N?”

Ushijima took his eyes off his food and regarded you. The longer his olive eyes examined your face, the deeper he furrowed his brow—a clear indication he was trying hard to remember your face to no avail. You found yourself pitying him, a fact you would never admit to Oikawa, and spoke up before Ushijima could open his mouth.

“I wasn’t on the court much during the matches so Ushijima probably doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh, I see.” She then turned to her son. “Since Y/N will be attending Shiratorizawa and she has experience managing, why don’t you recommend her for a manager position with your team, Wakatoshi?”

“What?!”

Three sets of eyes were immediately on you while the pair next to you reached under the table and pinched your thigh in silent warning. You immediately lowered your eyes demurely and corrected your outburst.

“It’s just that I don’t have much experience and Shiratorizawa probably already has managers that are more than capable. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

“It’s no burden,” Ushijima deadpanned. “We need a new manager this year and since you have experience, I’ll recommend you to the coach.”

“Ah, you really don’t have to go out of your way for me by asking your coach. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with him!” You gave him an obvious forced smile and ignored the kick from your mother who read you like a book. The last thing you wanted was to manage a team that wasn’t Seijoh, especially if that team was Shiratorizawa.

“I see the coach everyday during practice so I won’t be going out of my way. He also trusts my judgement so I’m sure he’ll approve of you.”

You were sure any other girl would have jumped at the opportunity to manage a team like them but you weren’t just any girl. You were Seijoh’s ex-manager and couldn’t just switch teams like nothing. The looks of betrayal on the team’s face when they’d see you clad in the white and violet track jacket would be too much to take. Your mother, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about the Seijoh boys and dug her heel into your foot to the point that you had no choice but to thank Ushijima for his thoughtfulness.

“…Thank you, Ushijima.”

Shiratorizawa was a pleasant surprise for you. The academics were challenging but the support from your teachers and classmates made up for it. The fact that you stayed in dorms also helped ease the tension between you and your mom’s relationship. You argued less when you visited home on the weekends and even found yourself stalling your return on Sunday evenings. Your move to Shiratorizawa was almost perfect except for the whole volleyball manager situation. In the end, Coach Washijo and Ushijima approached you on the first day of school and you cowered under their intimidating gaze to accept the position.

The differences between Seijoh and Shiratorizawa were big and despite your experience, it was a struggle adapting to your new team. The team was very different from their style of play to the way they interacted with each other. You hated to admit it but they practiced long hours and it definitely showed during their matches. Shiratorizawa truly was a team that belonged in Nationals but whether you belonged there alongside them was still to be determined. Three months in and you were still struggling with the paperwork Coach Saito would demand from you after every practice.

“I need the documentation on their serves not their receives, L/N,” Saito stated shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, Coach. I’ll bring it to your office first thing tomorrow!” You bowed in apology only straightening when he walked away. Biting your lip, you noticed Tendou and Ushijima’s eyes on you and walked away mortified that they witnessed you getting chewed out once again. You ignored the whispers from the other boys as you helped put away the equipment wanting nothing more than to return to your dorm and collapse on your bed. That was only wishful thinking, however, because the paperwork on the teams’ serves needed to be done, so you scribbled away on your notebook while the boys exited the gym.

“Do you need help?”

Ushijima stood in front of you with his signature blank face as his eyes trailed down to the figures on your notebook. You looked around expecting to see Tendou only to realize the two of you were alone.

“Uh, not really. I just have to get the numbers together but thank you, Ushijima.” You went back to flipping through your notebook hoping he’d get the message but instead he sat down next to you on the bleachers and watched you work. Over the past few months, you’d realized that Ushijima wasn’t good with non-verbals. After a while he cleared his throat and you looked up knowing he was about to speak.

“I wanted to thank you for accepting the position. I know it hasn’t been easy for you but we all appreciate your efforts.” His olive orbs were earnest despite the seriousness of his voice. Praise was rare for the team members and even rarer for you. So far, Reon was the only one who expressed his appreciation of you with quick thanks, high fives, or encouraging smiles. You chuckled to Ushijima’s confusion.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to being praised by you guys—well, except for Reon. Thank you, though, for checking up on me.” Your smile was genuine and his brow relaxed. You looked at the clock and realized the lights would go off soon so you packed your things and decided to head to the library to finish your work and start your homework.

“I’m gonna head to the library to finish this. Will you be going back to the dorms?”

“Yes, to shower and study for the history exam.”

You groaned at the reminder of your exam tomorrow which you meant to study for tonight. “I completely forgot about the exam tomorrow. I should really get going so I’ll see you later!” You bounded for the door but stopped when Ushijima called after you and met you by the door.

“We can study together. I am meeting with the other third years. We can help you finish the paperwork and then study for the exam.”

Being around the other third years, Tendou in particular, made you uncomfortable but you really needed to do well on the exam so you accepted and the two of you walked towards the dorms together. That night you learned more about the boys than you had over the past three months in practice. Semi and you bonded over music and sushi, Tendou cracked jokes about Ushijima that made you burst out laughing, and Reon answered all of the questions you had about the first and second years. You were so absorbed in your conversation with Tendou that you didn’t notice the small smile on Ushijiima’s face with his gaze solely fixed on you.

It was almost curfew when Ushijima and you walked towards your dorm after he insisted on escorting you. After spending time with him and the others, you felt more relaxed by his side and the urge to learn more about him ate away at you. You asked him about volleyball and that got him talking about his dad and his parents—a topic you could easily relate to.

“My dad isn’t around either,” You admitted. “He left when I was ten. I haven’t seen him since but he was never around much before anyway.”

“You seemed close with your mother,” He observed and you chortled in return.

“She’s my only parent so I don’t have much of a choice. That and she takes pleasure in controlling every aspect of my life to mold me into the perfect daughter.”

“My mother is also life that. She was very strict about my upbringing.”

“That’s probably why they’re such good friends,” you muttered and Ushijima did something you’d never seen him do—he chuckled. It was a low rumble in his chest that shouldn’t have sounded that pleasant but it did and you grinned satisfied that you got THE Ushijima to chuckle.

“How did your mom react to you playing volleyball?” You asked sitting on the bench near your dorm while Ushijima sat next to you.

“She was against it at first and only accepted it when I showed promise in it.” While Ushijima’s voice didn’t show much emotion, you found his eyes to be more expressive and fixed your attention on them as he stared ahead lost in thought.

“My mother freaked out when she found out I was managing Seijoh. It was the one thing I fought her tooth and nail on and actually won.”

“Really? She seemed pleased when I suggested you manage our team.” You giggled at his obliviousness to the plan your mothers had hatched since that fateful sushi lunch.

“I’m sure she found some merit in me managing the volleyball team.” With that you stood up and Ushijima mimicked you once again. “Anyway, thanks for tonight.”

The corners of Ushijima’s mouth twitched into an approximation of a smile that you found amusing. “You’re welcome. Have a good night, L/N.”

After getting to know Ushijima, you found yourself relying on him more and more during practice and games. It was only natural, of course, that you would interact with the captain the most and found your closeness to him reasonable. Just as you had grown closer to him, you had also gotten comfortable with the rest of the team and vice versa. Tendou, in particular, noticed you were clinging more to Ushijima than normal during the team’s first away game of the season. He made quips about you throughout the various sets the team played.

“Wakatoshi is over there, Y/N.”

“Do you want me to get Wakatoshi?”

“Need Wakatoshi again, Y/N?”

As the evening went on, you went from ignoring him to chucking a water bottle at him. It seemed that the more you reacted to his comments the more he wanted to tease you. Tendou found the perfect opportunity after the last set when you were reviewing your observations with Ushijima on his spikes and serves. While you found the proximity of your bodies perfectly reasonable, Tendou thought otherwise and voiced his opinion to the rest of the team.

“Wow, you guys look real good together. Like a couple!” The team mostly ignored him, used to Tendou’s outbursts, but the smug look on his face riled you up and you gripped your notebook ready to launch it at his face.

“L/N always looks good. She doesn’t need me for that.”

You could have heard a pin drop from how silent the gym had gone. Everyone’s attention was on the three of you—even the coach’s, to your mortification. You avoided looking at the person who’d caused the commotion and instead glared at Tendou until you saw the rare shock on his face that quickly melted into one of his genuine grin’s.

“Haaa...if you say so, Wakatoshi-kun.” He stalked passed your side but not before addressing you. “You heard him, Y/N.”

With burning cheeks, you turned to face Ushijima, who scanned your face in confusion. The longer he stared the redder your face got until he voiced the concern eating at him.

“Do you have a fever? Your face is flushed.”

You backed away and made up an excuse about the heat in the gym before putting away your notebook. Needing space to clear your head, you told Ushijima you would send him his data from the match later before you grabbed the water bottle bag and scrambled out of the gym to the bus. You tried blaming your scarlet face on the scene Tendou had caused but your traitorous heart raced as Ushijima’s words rang in your head like a mantra.

“L/N always looks good”

“L/N. always. looks. good”

While you knew that it would be inevitable, the match between Seijoh had you more nervous than usual. The boys knew you were Shiratorizawa’s manager and most of them had taken it pretty well. Hanamaki and Matsukawa still went to the movies with you and Iwaizumi occasionally texted you about volleyball but the one who it the hardest was, of course, Oikawa. He blocked your number when you tried reaching out and Hanamaki told you to give him time so you stopped trying. Seeing him again ate at you during the bus ride to your old school and judging from the worried looks the team sent you, they were well aware of your inner turmoil.

It began with Goshiki, your favorite underclassman, reassuring you everything would be okay and walking next to you when Reon and Semi joined him until the entire team surrounded you. Ushijima walked behind you and his confident aura comforted you as you stepped into the gym and your old team regarded you with guarded expressions.

The match ended after three sets but Shiratorizawa won yet again despite Aoba Josai playing better than you’d ever seen them play. Knowing better than to avoid the team, you went to refill your team’s bottles near where Seijoh would exit hoping you would get a chance to greet them. Sure enough, they filed out the double doors and greeted you with waves and nods before Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi walked out and approached you. They smiled and joked with you despite losing and your heart felt lighter knowing you could still joke around with the boys like this. They left to find the coach for the post-match meeting and you were about to look for your boys when Oikawa rushed out of the gym before stopping in his tracks when he saw you. His usual cocky smile was nowhere to be found and instead he wore a scowl on his face which you knew meant he was upset.

“Well look who we have here. If it isn’t our traitor ex-manager.” You weren’t used to him addressing you coldly and your throat closed.

“O-Oikawa, I kno—”

“Having fun running around with that bastard Ushiwaka?” He stalked towards you and backed you up into the wall.

“I didn’t have a choice, Oikawa. I swear I wasn’t going to do it but things got complicated.”

“I don’t wanna hear your excuses, Y/N. Was this your plan all along? Manage us for a year until Shiratorizawa let you in and then run to them and disclose all our plays, strengths, and weaknesses?” Oikawa closed in on you, his ugly smirk contrasting with his pretty features. “You’re pathetic—”

“Oikawa, don’t take out your anger on our manager. It’s not her fault you lost.”

There was an edge to Ushijima’s normal emotionless tone as he stood next to you. Seeing his strong confident body made you realize you were trembling like a leaf. Oikawa ignored you and placed his full attention on his greatest enemy.

“We’ll beat you next time. Even with a traitor like her by your side we’ll win!” With that, Oikawa threw one last sneer in your direction before stalking away. With all of the fight sucked out of you by Oikawa, you kept your face lowered as you reached for the heavy bag but Ushijima beat you to it and slung the bag over his shoulder.

“Let’s go, Y/N.”

You didn’t know if it was the confrontation with Oikawa or the fact that Ushijima stood by your side but hearing him call you by your first name triggered an emotional switch within you and sobs escaped the confines of your mouth. Before Ushijima could turn around, you gripped his jacket and buried your face in it to muffle your cries; the last thing you wanted was to cause another scene. Ushijima stayed still until your cries ceased and that was when you discovered that he also radiated comforting warmth. You stuck by his side the rest of the day ignoring the surprised looks from the team.

On the rare weekends that you didn’t have volleyball or schoolwork to do, you still spent them with Ushijima—and your respective families. Your mothers had stopped being discrete about their intentions regarding the two of you but Ushijima seemed blissfully unaware. You had already accepted your feelings for Ushijima but the smug look on your mother’s face every time Ushijima would pull your chair during dinner or would wait for you to walk together fueled your determination not to show them, at least not in her presence. Years of quietly rebelling against your mother’s control made it hard to accept the fact that she was right about Ushijima.

When you weren’t with your families, you clung to Ushijima more. He was your pillar not only on the team but in school as well. You sought him out regularly until the two of you did everything together, occasionally joined by Tendou, Semi, or Reon. Having a crush on Ushijima was easy for you because no matter how much you clung to him or showed your affection with cold water, soft towels, and snacks; he would never think too much of it. He was completely devoted to volleyball and had no mind to ponder over your tentative glances, tinted cheeks, and lingering touches—or so you thought.

It was the end of the year and volleyball season had ended on a bittersweet note for the third years. While everyone else, including you, scrambled to figure out what to do after graduation, Ushijima knew his place was on the volleyball court and was deciding on what professional team’s offer to accept.

The two of you were sitting on his bed with applications and paperwork spread around the two of you. While Ushijima flipped over contracts from various teams, you looked over the acceptance letters and scholarship offers from universities. You had been on the fence between two schools—one in Tokyo and the other in Osaka—but after reviewing the scholarship money and the program, you decided on Tokyo.

“I’m going with Tokyo,” you declared picking up that school’s acceptance letter. Ushijima glanced at the letter and leaned in to read it. “It’s a good school. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“What about you? Have you decided on a team?” He turned his attention back to the various papers before fishing out a particular contract. “I just did.”

He showed you the contract for the Schweiden Adlers, a Tokyo based team, and your heart stopped. You searched his face for a hint of hesitation but, true to his character, Ushijima’s face betrayed nothing.

“What do you mean you just did?” You needed to know what he meant because your heart wouldn’t stop racing unless he disproved what you were hoping.

“Since you chose a school in Tokyo, I’d have to choose a team in Tokyo to stay by your side.” He was as earnest as ever but you needed more.

“That’s not a valid reason, Wakatoshi. You need to prioritize your future and pick a team that will let you accomplish your goals.” You choked on your words knowing that his response would most likely break your heart.

“I am thinking about my future,” he replied and your eyes were met by a burning expression you’d only seen during volleyball matches. “My goals are to play professional volleyball and marry you in the future.”

You didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. Your body was frozen on the spot but your heart thumped erratically in your chest. After his words registered, your nose began to sting and tears of joy streamed down your face. A panicked look flashed on Ushijima’s face and you punched his arm.

“How can you say that when we aren’t even dating officially?!”

“I thought we were. We’ve gone on multiple dates, Y/N.” He seemed genuinely surprised by your question and it only riled you up even more.

“You. Never. Confessed! How am I supposed to know?!” You hit him again and again letting out your pent-up frustration. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear your confession or rejection?! I’ve liked you for a while, you know!”

With a gentleness he only showed around you, Ushijima reached over and wiped the tears from your cheeks. “I like you too, Y/N. I’ve felt this way for quite some time but I figured you knew.”

You clasped his hands and brought them down to your lap. His confession warmed your heart in the way that only he could and you calmed down.

“Since when? How long have you felt this way?” Giving his hands a gentle squeeze, you asked the question you needed to know.

“The first lunch we had with our mothers. I wanted to get to know you better but didn’t know how. When my mother mentioned you managing Aoba Josai, I knew it was my chance. That was why I insisted on you managing the team. It was the only way I could get to know you better.”

You chuckled realizing that he had been uncommonly insistent that day in regard to you managing. Ushijima gave you one of his rare smiles and you acted on your impulses by leaning forward and pressing your lips on his, in a gentle caressing kiss.

Your mother had controlled everything in your life. You would fight her on certain things but, most of the time, she won. You became so accustomed to opposing her decisions that you immediately rejected Ushijima without giving him a proper chance. It wasn’t until you got to know the ‘Super Volleyball Idiot’ that you concluded your mother had been right about one thing—Ushijima Wakatoshi was the only man for you.

#hq #hq fanfic #ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima fanfic #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #ushijima fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #navs.hq

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: medical play, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, multiple orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, bondage, ruined orgasm, unprotected sex, squirting, oral (m receiving), cum eating (not yoongi for once), this was meant to be a light palate cleanser after the intensity of day ten but i got lost in my feelings in the first half and then got horny over doctor jeon in the second half i apologise

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY ELEVEN

“I think you should be a little more concerned, PD.”

Sejin flattens the two men - oldest and youngest of the house - an unimpressed look. Jungkook tries not to wilt under his gaze. “And why is that?”

Jin clears his throat, staring right back unabashedly. “Tae’s been involved in a terrible accident and you’re just waiting here. You should be rushing over to the house to save him.”

“A terrible accident?” Sejin questions monotonously, before turning in his chair to angle his monitor so that both boys can see. On the screen is a freeze frame of a very familiar scene - Taehyung crouching on the bottom of the stairs, Jin and Jungkook huddled around him.

Ah, Jungkook realises with sinking disappointment, the cameras. Once the producer clicks play on the recording, Jungkook is faced with the HD version of himself gesture excitedly, patting Taehyung on the back and pointing to the banisters.

Cheeks flushing, the youngest member of the house watches in dread as Sejin plays back the evidence of Taehyung willingly forcing his head through two banisters, ears popping out the other side as he glances up with a beam at Jin.

Having seen enough, Sejin pauses the video, and switches back to the realtime feed. “An accident, was it?” Sejin repeats rhetorically as the Taehyung on the security camera drums his fingers lazily against the wood posts, letting out a lionlike yawn. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Jungkook bites down hard on his tongue. This wasn’t how things were meant to go at all. Behind Sejin’s desk, the majority of the production van is filled with all the mess of a regular office. Stacks of paper, scribbled sticky notes on various surfaces, a large whiteboard with roughly handwritten schedules and a small game of naughts and crosses in the bottom right corner. Jungkook tries not to let his eyes dwell on the whiteboard too long. Don’t raise anymore suspicion.

Beside him, Jin shamelessly shrugs with a smile. “He put his head through the bars on purpose, sure, but he got stuck on accident.” The oldest - though still younger than Sejin himself - emphasises this distinction with a single outstretched finger and an arch of his eyebrows. “So you should go help him.”

Sejin slips his glasses off and lets them clatter to the table, pinching his brow with two fingers. “Am I gonna get there and have Taehyung ask me for the latest issue of Chinese Vogue?”

Jin stiffens, his mask temporarily shattered. “I requested that in confidence.”

The production manager throws his hands in the air in defeat. “How was I supposed to know which of your bogus requests was confidential? Just half an hour ago I got a call from my superior asking why #getjinanXL was trending. You tweeted that you wanted me to buy you extra large condoms because you ‘ran out.’”

“Well, that was obviously a joke,” Jin rebuffs easily. “You know I use Magnum.”

“How would I-?” With a huff of desperation, Sejin shakes his head to clear his mind. “No, okay, back to…”

Zoning out, Jungkook’s eyes are caught by the sight on the screen as another figure walks out into the foyer. Yoongi rushes forward once he sees Taehyung, crouching on the other side of the bars as he delicately prods around Taehyung’s face and neck. The younger man waves him away in frustration, pushing at Yoongi’s chest until he gives up and leaves reluctantly. Jungkook bites his lip and looks away.

Whoops. Staring right at him are the producer and the therapist, each as expectant as the other. “Huh?”

Sejin huffs. “Why would Taehyung intentionally stick his head through the bars of a staircase banister?”

“Tell him, Jungkookie,” Jin adds with a bump of his shoulder.

“Uh…” With a hard swallow, Jungkook’s mind whirls. “He… We were… measuring,” he finishes awkwardly. “Me-measuring Tae’s head.”

“You were measuring Taehyung’s head?” Sejin repeats flatly. “With the stair banister?”

Jungkook shrugs with what he hopes is a ‘what can you do?’ expression, laughing nervously. “We couldn’t find a ruler.”

Sejin blinks once. “Then how would you know how wide the gap between posts was? Without a ruler?”

“Oh.” Jungkook stares in barely subdued panic at Jin, who widens his eyes meaningfully, urging him to turn back to the awaiting producer. “We, um, we didn’t think that far. We’ll know for next time?”

“If you want to stay on this show, there will be no next time,” Sejin warns.

Jungkook ducks his head in shame. “Sorry, dad.”

“Y- what?” Jungkook hears Sejin cough lightly, flustered. “Please, Jungkook, that’s not appropriate.”

The youngest gives a little bow. “I apologise, Father.”

Sejin clicks his tongue. “Okay, that’s even worse.”

Jungkook glances up, brows knitting and head tilting in confusion. “...whoopsies, daddy?”

Sejin buries his face in his hands, fingers tugging at the hairline. Jungkook spots several grey strands.

Clearing his throat, Jin steps forward slightly. “Taehyung is still stuck, PD.”

“Okay, fine! Fine,” Sejin announces, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up. “But if there is a single other incident like this, I’m calling in child protective services and getting them to baby-proof this place. No more funny business. Understood?”

“No more. Promise,” Jungkook assures sweetly, heart soaring as Sejin slips past them, hurrying out of the production van and towards the front door of the villa.

The moment he’s well out of earshot, Jin claps his hands once with a victorious grin. “It was a bit touch-and-go there,” he admits, “but that’s bought us time. Quick; get the whiteboard, I’ll grab some pens.”

Jungkook grins. Like secret agents, hyung and him were. Moving quickly, the two of them manage to sneak out the whiteboard from the van, trundling it noisily across the gravel, around the back of the house.

---

“I’ll be honest,” Jimin drawls, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just chatted about this. Is the whiteboard really necessary?”

Taehyung deflates immediately, one hand still rubbing at the red marks on his jaw and ears. “What do you mean? I suffered for this whiteboard, Minnie.”

It’s crowded; five people huddled inside the confessional booth. But apart from the bathrooms and the rec room, this was the only place without live security cameras - purely because the only camera needed was the one for the confessionals themselves - and Jin and Jungkook doubted they’d be able to smuggle a very noisy whiteboard into the rec room when Sejin was directly outside it lubing up Taehyung’s neck with aloe vera gel.

While Producer Shin had been lured away by Jin with the promise of a homecooked meal, the four youngest men in the house were bundled into the garden shed, staring at a whiteboard that had barely fit through the door.

Jimin, still unconvinced, shrugs. From his spot perched delicately on Namjoon’s lap he watches the two younger men take a picture of what’s written on the whiteboard, then rub it all out. The man of the hour, Namjoon had been given the right to sit on the only proper chair in the room, the one the producer would normally sit in. Beside it, the wooden stool sits unoccupied. Jimin told the others that he was sitting on Namjoon’s lap because the stool was too uncomfortable, but Jungkook thinks there’s something deeper in the way he relaxes onto Namjoon’s chest, the academic alert but not tense underneath him.

Or perhaps being on this show has made Jungkook more suspicious.

“The whiteboard was vital, hyung,” he defends adamantly, grabbing one of the pens Jin-hyung had handed him, yanking off the cap with a satisfying click. Immediately the alcoholic smell of ink tingles his nostrils, but he ignores it, turning to the others. “What if Namjoon-hyung was a visual learner?”

From behind Jimin’s back, Namjoon adjusts the bridge of his glasses. “I- actually I learn best through listening.” His hand drops, hovers over the space both him and Jimin share, then rests awkwardly on the armchair. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Namjoon-hyung is so cute. “It’s okay,” Jungkook assures, suppressing the endeared grin that tugs at his lips, “We can brainstorm out loud, and Tae and I will just take notes.”

With Taehyung in his Sunday best (well, a button-up shirt so baggy it looked like he hat batwing sleeves) and Jungkook having dug out his glasses to look extra smart, the two of them were prepared to make this as academic as possible for Namjoon. Even after getting laid for the first time, academics were his comfort zone, and the two youngest were happy to oblige.

“First things first; what was it you had to do? Honeymoon?”

Jimin leans back on Namjoon’s shoulder so the taller man can see past. Namjoon shakes his head lightly, his purple hair in serious need of a touch-up; the natural brunette frames his face now, emphasising his brow. Jungkook wonders if he’d let him dye it a new colour, just for something fresh.

“Just husband and wife,” the academic corrects, “It didn’t specify, uh, anything else.” His voice is still quiet, as if speaking on it is taboo. One day he’ll get used to discussing sex openly, but until then, the others will meet him halfway.

“Okay, so, Y/n is your wife,” Jungkook states with a nod, “do y’all have kids? Is it a newlyweds situation? We need backstory here.”

The squeaking of a pen catches Jungkook’s attention before he even finishes speaking. To his right, Taehyung writes in sharp strokes across the board.

Y/N PREGNANT

“It’s the nineteen thirties,” Taehyung announces in a smooth voice, eyes finding each member in the room, “war is imminent, and worldwide men are preparing to be conscripted. Every moment spent with their loved ones is precious, and for General Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung pauses to draw a gangly stick figure giving a salute, “him and his wife Y/n-” this time a female stick figure joins the scene, a cartoonishly round stomach off to one side, “-have only one goal. To knock Y/n up before he goes to battle, so that even if he never returns they ha-”

“Wait, wait!” Jimin cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed. “Isn’t this too dark? Too elaborate? They’re fucking, not going for best screenplay at the Oscars.”

Taehyung deflates a second time, the hand holding the pen dropping limply to his side. “You don’t like it?”

Face stricken, Jimin waves his hands frantically. “No, no, I love it! Honestly! I just- I feel like Namjoon probably wants something a little simpler? Perhaps not so bleak?” The blue-haired man swivels around on Namjoon’s lap, his hand resting inconspicuously on the back of his neck, playing with the longer hairs there.

Namjoon swallows. “Uh, yeah, simple is probably good. Honestly, I feel a little unsure about all of this. What if I, I don’t know, drop character or get shy? Won’t it be awkward?”

Taehyung scratches at his chin as he thinks, the beginnings of beard scruff shadowing his jaw. “If we help you brainstorm, you can just memorise a basic script.”

“I guess so,” Namjoon muses, eyes fluttering unconsciously as Jimin continues to trace the nape of his neck with his fingertips. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you have your own scenes to worry about.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Two birds with one stone, we can help each other. You know; I suck your dick, you suck mine.”

“That isn’t the quote,” Namjoon protests automatically, “but- I get your point. Anyone have any advice on how I even go about this?”

Taehyung pouts. “You’re the smart one,” he points out, “I did try to help but clearly my services weren’t appreciated.”

“Oh, honey,” Jimin coos, “I always appreciate your services.” The double entendre is clear in the silk of his voice and the arch of his brows, sent with a sweet smile, and Taehyung flushes in response.

Jungkook winces, ignoring the spike of - of something green and ugly in his chest. “Okay, enough from the lovebirds, this is about Namjoon. Joonie-hyung, I would just offer to help out and join with yours but I was gonna do mine this afternoon, and I don’t think a husband would fit very well into it.”

“That’s okay,” Namjoon assures, shifting under the weight of the man in his lap. His fingers flex on the arm of the chair behind Jimin’s back, unsure. “Taehyung? Yours might work, I guess.”

Unaware of Namjoon’s indecision, Jimin suddenly stands up off his lap entirely, stalking over to Taehyung with a bemused grin. “You think our well-trained Taehyungie could be the family dog?”

Taehyung, though keening under Jimin’s sudden attention, seems hesitant. “I- I don’t know, Minnie, I haven’t really…” He trails off helplessly, casting Namjoon an apologetic stare.

“It’s okay,” Namjoon rushes out, scooting forward to the edge of the armchair. “You don’t have to, I could just do it by myself.”

It’s strange, watching Jimin so visibly caught in indecision. He hovers in the centre of the small shed, torso towards Taehyung but head twisted back to stare at Namjoon. Wanting to support Namjoon, but wanting to protect Taehyung.

Jungkook feels like an outsider invading in on a precious equilibrium. Namjoon shifts, gaze dropping. Taehyung can’t keep his fingers still as they fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. Jimin’s so still the thin silver threads of his earrings don’t even shift in the air, but his eyes flood with emotion, bottom lip twitching just slightly as he seeks for something to say.

Jimin isn’t as mean as he’d like people to think, Jungkook muses. Saving the uncomfortable decision, Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly, diverting the attention of the other three. “We could always practice? Jimin, you’re pretty. Pretend to be Y/n and give Joon-hyung some tips.”

The effect of his words are instantaneous. Jimin perks up, turning on his heel to grin down at his elder, who gasps almost imperceptibly. Taehyung’s eyes dull with something akin to disappointment. At himself or at the situation, Jungkook can’t say, but the sight of him turning to the whiteboard and swirling sullen circles of ink on the glossy surface has Jungkook’s heart breaking.

Leaving the other two to talk - Jimin resting gracefully on one of the arms of the chair, his feet dangling between Namjoon’s - Jungkook hurries forward, wrapping his fingers around Tae’s to catch his attention.

“What’s up?” he asks softly, low enough to give the two some privacy.

Sucking on the inside of his cheek, Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing.”

Jungkook isn’t deterred by the shortness of his tone, but changes tacts nonetheless. “It’s a bit weird,” he offers up, “it’s like each of us is the wingman to the other guys, but we’re all going for the same girl.”

With Jungkook’s hand still on top, Taehyung begins to swipe the pen across the board again. This time, what looks like a flower with long, pointed petals takes shape in thick black lines. Taehyung himself stays focused for a few moments of silence, until he’s ready to speak.

“But it’s not just that,” he explains in a low timbre, “it’s not just her.”

Jungkook lets his hand be maneuvered by the deft movements of the masseuse. Every part of Taehyung was so elegant, like he’d been sculpted from marble. From those slender fingers, to the slope of his nose. Lashes that brushed against his brow bone as he focused, teeth pressing just slightly into his lip, a dusky pink. “No, it’s not,” Jungkook agrees after a moment.

Taehyung lets his hand fall, Jungkook’s slipping off. With eyes hidden behind dark curls, the elder sneaks a look at Jimin and Namjoon, the two smiling and laughing, Jimin’s fingers playing with the strap of the watch on the other’s wrist lazily.

“I never know who to be jealous of,” Taehyung admits with a weak chuckle, capping the pen. “Anyways; that doesn’t matter. We’re here to help Namjoon.”

Jungkook spares a glance at the lovebirds on the armchair. “I think he’s doing just fine.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung answers shortly, eyes locked on the way Jimin curls onto Namjoon’s shoulder, the two locked onto Namjoon’s phone as he types in notes. “He’ll do fine.” Letting out a deep sigh, Taehyung scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he’s clearing the funk away. “It doesn’t matter, we’re all in this together.”

Jungkook cocks his head. “But- Well, no, this is still a competition. Technically we should be against each other, not together.”

The air leaves Taehyung’s lungs in a rushed breath. “Fuck, you’re right. I should, like, hate you, right?”

Jungkook hums with a raised brow. “I guess.”

“I should be trying to cockblock you and tell Y/n you have syphilis, yet here I am wanting to suck the dicks of everyone in this room. But also maybe hold the hands of everyone in this room. You can imagine my confusion.”

Jungkook feels his stress slip away at the genuine smile that tugs at Taehyung’s lips. Even if his eyes are still muted with sorrow, he doesn’t seem so despairing over it. The youngest reaches out to grip onto Taehyung’s upper arm reassuringly. “We could have hate sex if it’d make you feel better?” he offers up in a soft voice.

The blue depths in Taehyung’s gaze recede a little more as his smile brightens. “I��d like that.”

The two manage to hold this Hallmark moment for a little longer before Taehyung’s shoulders begin to shake with suppressed laughter. In seconds, the two are dissolving into chuckles and snickers, Jungkook throwing his head back and Taehyung hunching over with the force of it.

Across from them, Namjoon and Jimin pause their excited conversation to stare at them in bewilderment.

“What did we miss?” Namjoon asks, brow knitted but eyes wide.

“Never mind,” Jungkook deflects, heart feeling strangely warm as Taehyung grins under his lashes at him, like the two of them have an inside joke. “We should probably pack up, though, unless we want Producer Shin coming back in the middle of our top secret team meeting.”

Jimin clicks his tongue in agreement and stands up off Namjoon’s lap. Lithe like a cat, his arms come up over his head and his back arches into a stretch, eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook knows his eyes aren’t the only pair watching the way his shirt lifts to display a band of pale golden skin.

“Alright,” the porn star lets out with a relaxed sigh, arms dropping and shirt falling again, “let’s head out, then. Joonie’s sorted.”

Namjoon stands up behind him, nodding shyly. “Thank you, guys. I feel a lot better about it now.”

Jungkook and Taehyung share a look. “To be fair,” Jungkook says with a light cough, “I don’t think Tae and I really helped at all.”

Jimin sends the two of them a broad smile, eyes crinkling in good humour. “You did provide the whiteboard,” he points out. “Though I imagine your efforts to steal it without Sejin realising were in vain.”

Taehyung frowns, hand automatically lifting to rub at his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“There aren’t any cameras in here,” Jungkook offers to Jimin, “he wouldn’t have seen it!”

Jimin blinks. “Where do you think Sejin went after helping Tae out of the staircase?”

Jungkook feels the odd pressure of dawning realisation that hasn’t quite materialised. “His office,” he answers slowly, “why?”

Behind Jimin, Namjoon ducks out with a sympathetic smile. “He probably noticed the giant whiteboard missing, Jungkookie.”

The camboy opens his mouth, waits for words to come, and closes it again. “Mm,” he replies eloquently.

“Oh, we’re gonna get in big trouble, huh?” Taehyung mumbles, fiddling with the pen in his hands.

“Wait,” Namjoon offers, “I’ll tell him it was me.”

Jungkook frowns. “How does that help?”

“Sejin won’t get mad at me, he loves me. I’ll just tell him I was getting a head start on my work for next semester.”

“When did he tell you he loved you?” Jungkook asks with a pout. “He never says it back to me.”

“I didn’t- What?” Namjoon frowns. “I was just chatting to him for advice one night and he told me I remind him of his son.”

“He doesn’t have any kids,” Jimin says with a lilt of confusion.

“I think he was talking about his cat,” Namjoon admits with a pained look, “but he loves his cat, so he must love me. Anyways, I’ll tell him I was using it for study and I don’t think he’ll mind. Just clear off the board and one of you can help me wheel it back.”

Jungkook sighs a breath of relief, turning back to the board. Beside it, Taehyung is frozen with his head bent and his mouth dropped open, staring at the pen. Neither Jin nor him thought to bring a duster, so Jungkook balls up his sleeve in his palm and wipes off the-

And wipes off the-

“Why isn’t it coming off?” Jungkook asks frantically, scrubbing over the shiny lines of black. “It’s not even smudging!”

“Um, Jungkookie,” Taehyung utters lowly, curls shifting as he slowly looks up. “This is a permanent marker.”

Jungkook’s hand freezes. He steps back, eyes wide as they stare at the image drawn in thick black.

The blooming form of what looked like a lily on the bottom corner, that was fine, but the giant all-caps Y/N PREGNANT followed by a very evocative drawing of a heavily pregnant woman beside a patriotic Namjoon was going to be harder to explain.

Slowly, Jungkook swivels on his heel, coming face-to-face with Namjoon, whose eyes are almost open wider than his mouth. “Hey, hyung,” the youngest offers up with a tentative smile, “how much d’you reckon Sejin loves that cat?”

It’s late afternoon by the time Jungkook has done his penance with the whiteboard and Sejin himself, but luckily it means that Yoongi is definitely in his room when Jungkook goes knocking.

More content with his own company, the second oldest tended to retire to his bedroom early to “entertain” himself. Jungkook had assumed this was a euphemism for masturbating, but Taehyung had informed him that the doctor was making his way through an impressive collection of the Slam Dunk manga these days.

As expected, Yoongi opens the door to Jungkook on his third knock, ushering him in with a look of confusion.

“Hyung,” Jungkook begins in an entreating tone, “you have a first aid kid in your room, don’t you?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, back straightening in alarm. “Is someone hurt?”

“No, no, it’s sex reasons,” Jungkook explains quickly, eyes wandering around the room, eying up the open closet in the back of his room. “Do you have a white coat?”

“I- what? No, I don’t have a white coat,” Yoongi stutters out, face scrunched up in confusion. “What is this about?”

Jungkook hums, brushing back hair out of his face absentmindedly as he delves deeper into Yoongi’s room, checking in the drawers of the small nightstand. “I can make do without the white coat,” Jungkook murmurs to himself, before turning on his heel to face the older man again. “Do you have stirrups?”

“Stirrups?” Yoongi asks incredulously. His arms are folded over his chest tightly, though the brown loose-knit sweater loses the intimidation factor. “Why would I bring stirrups? They’re attached to the chair anyway, I can’t just pack them away in my suitcase.”

Dammit. Jungkook collapses onto Yoongi’s bed back-first, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “You need to help me, hyung. I’m determined to win fan favourite this week, so I need to go all out.”

A sigh of realization comes from the other side of the room. “Your prompt,” Yoongi remarks flatly. “What is it; nurse and patient?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open as he sits up. “Doctor and patient,” he declares proudly. “I asked if Sejin could promote me to neurosurgeon but he said it wasn’t relevant.” The thought dampens Jungkook’s spirits a bit. Even just regular surgeon would have been nice. “But anyway,” he continues, “whatever props you have would be greatly appreciated. I already googled a list of medical terms, so I’m feeling pretty good.”

Yoongi sighs again, but he shuffles over to his closet and pulls out a sizeable, bright green first aid kit, laying it on the bed. Jungkook gasps in excitement and makes room for him, but Yoongi just tuts. “First of all,” he explains while unzipping it, “these aren’t props, they’re medical-grade supplies. And you can’t have them all. I don’t trust you with most of the things in here.”

Jungkook frowns, but shrugs off the disappointment. Something is still better than nothing. “Okay, hyung,” he allows in a small voice, “thank you.”

Yoongi fails to hide the quirk of a fond smile as he takes out some of the stuff in the kit. “You owe me,” he says instead.

You have to give it to Jungkook; the dedication to his craft is impressive.

After he sent you a vague and rather concerning message about needing to see you in the gym for ‘health reasons’, you were greeted by a hand-written DO NOT DISTURB (unless you’re y/n) sign taped to the door.

Inside, the indoor gym had been transformed. Most of the larger equipment had been shifted to one side, leaving the other half open. In the middle of the open area is a weightlifting bench covered in a white sheet which you’re certain was off his bed. A comically out-of-place office chair is beside a table which Jungkook is using like a desk. The desk is pushed up against the mirror which fills one whole wall of the gym, and you can’t help but laugh at the infographics and charts he’s printed out on A4 sheets of paper and taped to the mirror.

There’s a fuzzy x-ray of some ribs taped next to a heart rate line, frozen mid-pulse like he took a screenshot off a video, which is next to a chart filled with increasingly smaller letters, like one you’d see in an optometrist’s office. Though everything is mismatched, the effort he’s put it really warms your heart.

The desk is where you find Jungkook. He sits with his back to you, typing away obnoxiously loudly at a laptop on the desk. On the screen, gibberish keysmashes fill up an otherwise empty Word document. Rather than a lab coat, Jungkook looks more sharply dressed than you’ve ever seen him in a ironed button-up shirt, pale blue. The back of the fabric is taut against his skin, clearly borrowed from a slightly smaller, or at least less jacked man. But it provides a streamlined view of the muscles in his back and shoulders, tucked into belted black pants to highlight the surprisingly narrow waist.

Kitschy or not, you’re grateful that Jungkook got some kind of cheesy medical roleplay if it meant you finally got to see him in fitted clothing.

Even though he must have heard you open the door and lock it behind you, he remains tapping away at the keys. His head tips slightly to the side, expectant.

“Jungkook,” you call out, disappointed and a little confused when he doesn’t respond. But you quickly realise your mistake. “Oh, uh. Doctor Jeon?”

Like clockwork, he spins around magnanimously on the chair, hands splayed out in a welcoming gesture. “Ah, my favourite patient. Do come in.”

So we already know each other then, you surmise. Remembering all these details was an unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome part of this week’s theme. Developing a backstory, information on the scene, almost felt like constructing a scaffold to continue. There was something equally reassuring and exciting about it. A bolt of arousal shooting between your legs, you step in to the middle of the open area, sitting awkwardly on the covered bench.

“Take a seat,” Jungkook adds redundantly, like he’s following a script. “Let me just bring your file up. Name?”

You pause as he wheels back around to the laptop, pulling up what looks like an Excel spreadsheet. “I thought I was your favourite patient,” you quip with a smirk, but unable to suppress your fondness at how much thought he’s clearly put into it.

Jungkook’s shoulders drop, but he doesn’t falter. “Of course, I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been in the field for so long, you know.” He shrugs demurely. “I was actually a neurosurgeon before this.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can catch it. “You went from neurosurgeon to doctor? Isn’t that backwards?”

Jungkook’s eyes waver, biting his lip. “I prefer the simple life,” he offers as an explanation. He shakes himself out of it, and turns back to the computer once more with a warm sigh. “Alrighty then, I’ve got your file here. It’s been a while since your last visit,” he remarks, cursor hovering over a watermarked image of a clock. “I better check your vitals again.”

You watch in bemusement as he readies himself, first sanitising his hands using a small travel-size bottle that’s in the shape of a cartoon shark, then pulls on a pair of latex gloves that had been lying on his desk. Even in the strangely comedic atmosphere, the sound of him snapping the glove against his wrist makes you gasp soundlessly, thighs pressing together in need.

Jungkook notices it, eyes darting down as he rolls his chair over. He unbuttons each cuff off his shirt and rolls them up to expose his forearms. His hair is getting thicker as it grows, and even though it’s pushed back, a few locks slip forward to frame the smirk on his face.

You swallow, neck craning as he gets closer. The bench you’re sat on clearly isn’t intended as an examination table because it’s just as low to the ground as the chair, and there’s something inside you that runs electric when he comes close, looking down at you from it. With spread knees, he places them on either side of yours and pins you there, making you gasp.

The feeling of the cold gloves on your cheekbones, pressing to keep you steady is dizzying, more so when he looks intensely into your eyes, searching with a cool professionalism that you’d never seen from him before. Though it’s new, you recognise the shift in the tension of the room signifying the true start of the scene.

In your peripheral vision, you spot his tongue darting out to wet his lips, but you’re locked onto his gaze. Jungkook smiles softly. “Eyes are healthy,” he remarks, “good to know you’ll be able to see everything properly.”

The gloves catch on your skin, one sliding down to tighten on your chin, tipping your neck back even more. You’re barely breathing, waiting for his move.

“Open up and say ahh,” he instructs huskily, and you’re responding without thought, letting your lips part and your tongue relax. Jungkook frowns. “Wider.” You feel the corners of your mouth pang as you lower your jaw as much as you can in his grasp. “Keep it like that,” he demands sternly, and your heart thuds.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just look inside. You jerk instinctively in his grip as two gloved fingers slide down your tongue, but his rebuking glare has you settling again, trying to breathe through your nose as he delves deeper, smirking at the way you squirm, legs trapped between his and eyes lidded as you feel the length of his fingers heavy on your tongue.

Quicker than you can put your head around, his fingers plunge deeper, far enough down your throat to make you gag, tears springing to his eyes. His fingers leave as you let out a little cough, blinking wetly at him in betrayal.

Jungkook smirks, not bothering to wipe the shine of your saliva off his glove. “Gag reflex intact and responding well,” he notes smugly.

“How is that a vital?” you question, voice slightly hoarse.

“It’s vital for what I’m about to do to you,” he quips with a lecherous grin, and you bite down hard on your tongue to fight the urge to tremble.

“And what is that, Doctor?” you ask instead, blinking owlishly up at him.

His lip quirks. “Don’t play coy, now, Y/n, I’ve seen the way you look at me during our appointments. Tell me; why is it that you came here today?”

You swallow, eyes heavy on him. “I’ve been suffering a strange sensation, Doctor,” you make out, your voice quieter than you intended. “Can you make me feel better?”

Jungkook exhales harshly, hands dropping to rest on your knees. “And where does it hurt, hm? Here?”

You suck in a breath as his legs spread further, coming close enough that your knees press against his crotch, the hardness undeniable. A single hand shifts up to lay against your forehead, questioning, and you shake your head. His hand skims lower, pressing firmly against your sternum where you feel your heart race against it.

“Here?” he questions, and continues on when he receives a negative. Next he veers off to the side, cupping a breast and brushing a thumb over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Does it ache here?”

You whimper, arching into his hand. “A little bit,” you offer up weakly, glad you opted out of wearing a bra in anticipation of the scene.

The answer seems to amuse Jungkook, and you shiver when you feel his other hand playing with the hem of your shirt, the gloves tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach. “I better check it out then, hm?”

You feel so exposed, the air conditioner chilling the air and the mirror reflecting Jungkook’s back as he leans in close, breath tickling your bare shoulder as his hands cup your breasts.

Without further preamble, he begins to roll your nipples simultaneously between his fingers, enough pressure to make you shiver as he studies your reactions closely. The feeling of being touched so intimately with the barrier of latex gloves feels both taboo and exciting, and without even realising you find your hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, gripping at his biceps as they flex with every movement.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Jungkook asks lowly, humming in response when you shake your head. “What about this?” Suddenly, he’s tugging, pinching them harshly enough to make your back arch to ease the pressure.

You squeal, fingers digging in deeper to the corded muscle of his forearms. “Yeah,” you gasp out shakily, “h-hurts.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop. “But you like it, don’t you?” he accuses as he continues his rough treatment. “Coming into my office, begging me to touch you like this. Fucking filthy.”

A moan slips out as you rock your hips against the bench, seeking friction for the heat between your legs. “Please, Ju- Doctor Jeon, it hurts,” you cry out, gaze imploring as you blink up at him.

All of a sudden, he pulls back entirely, hands falling back onto his own knees as he watches you. “Show me,” he instructs, eyes hazy.

You shiver, the cool air shifting over your naked torso as his stare burns molten hot. “Show you what?”

Carding a hand through his hair to push it back, Jungkook wets his lips. “Show me where it aches the most,” he explains, voice like crushed velvet.

This was a side of him you’d never seen before; neither the competitive dom nor the obedient sub. His sexual versatility never fails to surprise you, and you find yourself hopelessly lost in the calm dominant air he exudes. Shakily, you part your legs.

He scoffs lightly. “That isn’t much help if I can’t see it. Undress.”

A rushed exhale leaves you at his shortness, but you stand up and push off your leggings and panties, kicking them to the side. It’s far harder to bare yourself to him this time, and as you sit, you can’t help but hesitate.

Jungkook raises a brow at your pause, leaning back like he’s disappointed. “I’m a very busy man, Y/n,” he chastises, “these appointment slots aren’t long and if you don’t want the next patient coming in while you’re choking on my cock, I suggest you do as I say, when I say it.”

Your legs fly apart the moment his voice lowers into a growl, clenching automatically at the open air at your most vulnerable place. “Please help me, Doctor,” you plead lowly.

Jungkook curses under his breath and comes forward again, placing a single gloved hand over your core. You jerk instinctively but keep your legs open at his warning glare. Even through the gloves, he has to feel how wet you are, slicking up the latex without him moving it. “It hurts here, hm? Lie down on your back and I’ll take a look.”

Your breath picks up as you turn and lower yourself onto the white sheet, legs dangling over the end. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t come around but returns to the desk, rolling his chair away and rifling through what looks like a first aid kit. You crane your head to watch him, narrowing your eyes in confusion as he returns with what looks like two rolled up lengths of gauze bandage.

“This isn’t the usual gyno office,” he explains, unravelling one slowly, “so we don’t have stirrups. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure to keep you nice and open for me.”

Like he’s done this a million times before - though the rational part of your brain knows he’s probably making this up as he goes along - he begins using the bandage material to bind your ankles to the legs of the bench, wide enough that you have to shuffle right to the edge, spread wide. He doesn’t say a thing when he ties them, mumbling to himself like he’s recalling instructions, and slips in his fingers to test how tight they are.

He’s kneeled between your open legs now, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as he runs his fingertips over your sopping folds, eyes lidded with arousal. “Does it hurt here, Y/n?”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to scoot even closer. “Inside,” you explain, sighing in relief when two fingers plunge inside your walls, scissoring to stretch you out.

Jungkook has one hand on your thigh to hold you steady as he rocks his fingers back and forth like he’s seeking something, and the feeling of the latex, so slick with your juices, has you trembling immediately. “It’s important in this line of work,” Jungkook breathes out as his fingers widen even more inside you, “to be thorough, so just relax for me, let me in.”

The moment you try and unclench, his fingers curl and press up against your g-spot, and it’s like a line of electricity connecting all your nerves together lights up. Your legs instinctively flex in an attempt to close around his hand, but the taut bonds keep them spread, and you sob at the reminder, arms giving out so that you end up flat on your back again.

Jungkook chuckles. “Looks like we found the problem,” he remarks cheerily. His fingers continue their assault, targeted now as you writhe beneath him, and the wet sounds of the latex as he increases to three digits echo obscenely in the large room. “That’s it.”

The joints of your fingers ache as you cling onto the edges of the table for dear life, unable to stop the rising wave of pleasure that threatens to crash. It’s so close you feel it in your teeth, eyes rolling back and babbling nonsense to try and get him to go faster, harder.

Faintly, you hear the sound of him humming in amusement, and your mind conjures the mental image of him, sleeves rolled up and gloves dripping with your arousal, hair falling in his eyes and teeth glinting as he grins and brings you to orgasm. It’s that thought that finally begins to tip you over the edge, and just before the wave crests, you feel his fingers slip out.

“Looks like it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he remarks cheekily.

“No, no, no, don’t stop,” you blabber mindlessly, but it’s too late, and your orgasm washes through you as he sits back and watches the unsatisfying roll of pleasure take your body.

Irrationally, you feel tears prick at your eyes with the cruelness of his actions. “It sti- It still hurts, Doctor,” you sob, reaching a hand down to cup yourself, wanting more even as you hiss with the sensitivity.

Jungkook tuts in fake sympathy. “My fingers can’t reach any further, Y/n, if I couldn’t reach where it hurts, I don’t know how I can help you.”

Your bottom lip trembles as you blink your eyes open again, struggling to focus on him. “Use your cock, Doctor, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Is that so?” You could just about cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle jingling, and Jungkook kneeling over you, lining himself up. You can feel the tip pressed against your entrance, just enough pressure to tease you. “Too impatient for me to even put a condom on, naughty girl.”

“Fuck, I don’t care, just fuck me, Doctor,” you whine, your sentence punctuated by a strangled cry as Jungkook snaps his hips forward, bottoming out in a single thrust.

Somehow you’d forgotten just how long Jungkook was - while he wasn’t the thickest or overall largest, and even the thought of mentally cataloguing the guys’ dicks was strange - there was a graceful rising curve to his length that felt like it pierced right through you, and as he starts a punishing rhythm, you feel the air punched right out of your lungs.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jungkook growls. “Acting innocent when you just wanted my cock to fuck you stupid, hm?”

With every thrust, your body is rocked back and forth on the bench, and you feel the bandages that bind your ankles to the legs of the table loosen, a little bit at first and then enough that they slip off completely. It feels odd to no longer be tied down, and Jungkook notices how your body is suddenly shifting far more than it was before.

His pace slows down and you feel a gloved hand wrap around one of your ankles. “Do you want them back on? I don’t think I tied them so well,” Jungkook notes hesitantly, and if you weren’t wildly chasing your orgasm, you might have cooed at his character dropping away to reveal the Jungkook you’re more used to.

As it is, your mind can only care about one thing. “I don’ need them, just fuck me!” you plead, and Jungkook exhales sharply, lifting your ankle until it rests on his shoulder, holding down your hips to fuck into you once more.

With the new angle, you can just about feel him in your guts, and your mouth drops open soundlessly, the only noises escaping your lips are gasped breaths as you feel a deeper orgasm begin to build.

“Oh fuck, I’m close,” you manage to slur out, a raw scream bouncing off the walls as he lowers a hand to rub at your clit, the slippery glove only making him thumb it faster. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking-ah!”

Your sentence is cut off violently as an orgasm rips through you as suddenly and overwhelmingly as an electric shock. If you’re making any noise, you can’t hear it, your mind like white static as you sit there and let it take you. Every inch of you is singing, down to your toes, and as Jungkook continues to fuck you into oversensitivity, you feel another release, one that makes you shudder and Jungkook swear violently, spilling inside you as he grips at the flesh of your hip.

It takes a while for the blur in your mind to clear, vision swirling in hazy technicolour and whole body trembling. Jungkook must have taken the gloves off at some point, because you feel the softness of his hands as they seek out yours, gently squeezing to rouse you more.

“Y/n,” you hear him say, voice still distant. The fog dissipates more with the calling of your name, and you feel yourself tune in again, once more becoming aware of the cool breeze of the aircon on your heated skin. Jungkook leans over you, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Y/n. Have you ever done that before?”

You knit your brows in confusion. “Huh?”

Jungkook lets out a light chuckle, sitting back. He’s still inside you, barely softening, and you groan at the sensitivity of him shifting. “Look,” he guides, and you glance down to see your stomach and thighs, shiny with wetness, too thin to be cum. The liquid soaks his shirt, too, leaving dark patches. “That was fucking hot,” Jungkook gushes, his doctor persona well and truly evaporated by now.

You laugh weakly, an exhausted smile stretching at your lips. “I don’t think so? Fuck, that was a lot.”

“You were amazing,” Jungkook praises, squeezing your hands one last time before letting them go. He begins to pull out, then, and you shudder at the emptiness, remnants of his cum dripping out of you as he lowers your leg to the ground again. You sit up carefully, still lightheaded, and watch as he quickly rushes over to the desk, returning with a gauze pad damp with water from a bottle.

He uses it to clean you up in comfortable silence, though you can’t help but bite your lip when you notice he’s still hard. Just as he finishes wiping away the last of the wetness from your thighs and begins to wipe himself off, you reach out a hand to halt him.

“Doctor,” you coo teasingly, “won’t you let me clean you up? I wanna repay you for making the ache go away.”

His chest heaves as he shudders out a breath. “Really?”

You blink up at him as he stands in front of you, his cock right in front of you, glossy with your combined cum. “Don’t you wanna test my vitals one more time, doctor? Just to make sure?”

He gulps as you lean closer and lick a single stripe up the underside of his cock. It’s only slightly bitter, and well worth it for the look on his face and the feeling of his hands carding through your hair.

“I’ve got some filing to do,” Jungkook offers up, chest puffing as he slips back into his role, “if you’re going to clean me up like a good little girl, you can do it while I get back to work. I’m a busy man.”

You bite your lip as he cups the back of your neck and urges you to stand, leading you towards the desk. It’s just tall enough that you can sit on your knees below it, mouthing at his cock as he sits back in the office chair.

Giving a guy head isn’t your favourite hobby, but there’s something weirdly erotic about licking your own cum off of him as he types away, all but ignoring you. As you clean him up dutifully, you realise it’s a challenge, of sorts, to suck him off so well that he breaks concentration.

His jaunty clicks of the mouse and punching of keys continues away as he sighs lowly, feeling your lips wrap around his tip. You tongue the slit, keeping yourself steady by gripping the meat of his inner thighs and let your eyes slip shut so that you can fully focus on the minute sounds he lets out.

As you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth, testing your limits, you begin to learn the rhythm of his typing, recognising what makes it falter. His tip is sensitive, particularly where it meets the shaft, but it’s when you lap at the skin below his base and suck his balls into your mouth, tonguing at them languidly, that makes him break concentration fully.

“Hngh, fuck,” you hear him make out in a strangled voice, a hand coming down to stroke at his own length.

You bat it away immediately. “I thought you needed to work, Doctor,” you tease, “just let me take care of it.”

Jungkook groans but doesn’t protest when you wrap a hand around him and jerk him off, fingers tight around him as you suck at his perineum, making him moan prettily, the tapping of keys sparse and uncoordinated.

“Fuck, gonna- gonna cum again,” he warns, thighs tensing with the urge to thrust up into your grip.

You switch positions to suck his length into your mouth, rolling his balls in your hand and bobbing your head. Jungkook’s falling apart so beautifully, gasping out little ah, ah, ahs with every breath.

The moment you feel him stiffen up even more, you suck in a breath through your nose and swallow him down to the back of your throat, tearing up as your gag reflex kicks in.

He cums with a cry, shooting ropes of cum down your throat, and you wring out every last drop until he’s hissing and pulling away.

Jungkook helps you up from under the table with shaky hands and tucks himself away, panting. “Holy shit,” he says with a exhausted laugh, “I should have gone to medical school.”

The two of you spend the late afternoon showering and then returning the gym to its former glory. It’s not until even dinner has passed before you recall the rule of the Bangasm Bomb - a different bed every night.

You’d slept in Jungkook’s bed on the Monday night, and so you’d have to seek shelter elsewhere.

After getting into pajamas, you step out into the second-floor hallway, glancing around to see if anyone’s door is open. Jin’s is open - he’s still downstairs having a beer with Yoongi - but you’ve used his bed before. The only other one that’s ajar is the bunkroom.

Inside, Namjoon has his nose inside a book by a Japanese author you’ve vaguely heard of, and Hoseok folds a pile of laundry on his bed.

“Room for one?” you call out hopefully. The two of them have each chosen a separate bunk so they can see each other, but while Namjoon has a bottom bunk, Hoseok’s hair just about brushes the ceiling on the third and highest bed. The two of them glance up in unison, matching grins as they wave you inside.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Hoseok chimes out cheerfully.

“I was wondering if I could stay in a bed here tonight. I can’t room with Jungkook again.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm in recollection of the scene the three of you shared on Monday. “Well, we’ve got plenty of space. Pick a bed; any bed.”

It makes the most sense to choose the third stack of beds, on the far wall from the door. With only two beds instead of three, it’s easy enough to choose the top one, a perfect halfway point between Namjoon and Hoseok. “It’s not so bad in here,” you remark, tugging up the sheets so you can slip under.

“As far as punishments go, it does seem pretty tame,” Namjoon notes, adjusting a pair of thick reading glasses that balance precariously on his nose. “Though I do feel like it’s the equivalent of a naughty corner. Even if it’s comfortable, it’s the social factor that makes it undesirable.”

“It’s basically a sleepover for losers,” Hoseok surmises.

Namjoon pauses and nods. “Well said.”

You chuckle. “You two seem to be getting along well. Doing a lot of bonding in here, are we?”

“Not a whole lot else to do,” Hoseok points out. “We’ve been chatting away the boredom. Did you know Namjoon thought he could speak to crabs when he was a kid?”

Namjoon lets out a wounded noise, carefully marking his page with a bookmark before tossing the novel to the side. “I never said that! I said I thought they were trying to speak to me, okay?” The academic pokes his head out to look up at you. “Hobi-hyung is scared of Big Bird from Sesame Street!”

Instead of defending himself, Hoseok nods with an indignant pout. “Yeah, I fuckin’ am.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Wow, you’ve only been in here three nights and you’re already sharing childhood trauma? Jin’s gonna be devastated he missed it.”

“Jin had the chance to come join me and he chose not to,” Hoseok declares. “As far as I’m concerned, Namjoon is the only man in this house I respect.”

Namjoon beams, eyes crinkling behind thick frames. “Thanks, hyung. I respect you, too.”

Hoseok’s chest puffs up in pride. “You better after all the things I’ve taught you.”

Namjoon’s blush is telling. You lean forward in interest, glancing back and forth between the two. “Wait; what did you teach him?”

“Well, we’re not gonna tell you,” the dom responds petulantly, turning his nose up, “it’s a surprise for your scene together.”

You pout, leaning back onto the pillow on your bed. “That’s no fun.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun when you get to experience it firsthand, trust me.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh at Hoseok’s teasing, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the nightstand beside the bunks. “Don’t hype it up too much, hyung, I’m not that good yet.”

“You’ll get there, young grasshopper.”

You frown at the uncertain look on Namjoon’s face. “I can go ask one of the others to room with them if you wanna, uh, practice some more.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No, it’s okay. This can be my rest day.”

Hoseok sighs sweetly, rubbing his eyes. “Actually, rest does sound pretty nice. We can pick it up tomorrow. Night, Joonie. Night, Y/n.”

You and Namjoon chime out a simultaneous reply as Hoseok climbs down the stairs to deposit his pile of folded laundry on the empty bed below, returns to the top bunk, and tucks himself in.

Namjoon seems equally relieved to be able to go to bed early, curling up with a pillow cuddled to his chest. “Sweet dreams,” his low timbre calls out.

You smile fondly at your two boys, snuggled up with peaceful faces as they drift away. “Sleep well,” you offer up, before getting comfortable and letting your own eyes slip closed.

#bts x reader #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #networkbangtan #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #goldenclosetnetwork #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btswritersnet #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #bangtanidx

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a-cupof-jo · 3 years

Text

Set Up My Heart Pt. 8

PT. 7 – PT. 8 – PT.9

College volleyball player!Johnny Suh x reader

Rivals-to-lovers

Fluff and angst

Synopsis: Ever since that fateful day Sophomore year of high school, Johnny Suh had been an insufferable thorn in your side. Once you made it to college you thought the two of you would never have to see each other again. That is, until a sudden school transfer has the entire university buzzing

We’ve been seeing Y/n’s story in college, but how did she and Johnny become so combative with each other? Will Johnny’s high school story tell all?

First part to Johnny’s side of the story.

Johnny looked up as the door swung open, “There’s no way that the team will win.” Two girls walked in front of his seat as the bell ran for the start of class, “They haven’t done anything decent in 5 years.”

“Isn’t there that new girl on the team,” the second girl asked. “I heard someone say that she transferred here from across town. What was her name?”

“Class,” the teacher stood from behind his desk. Johnny noticed a girl standing next to him. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her shoulders were pulled back tight. He recognized her immediately. Y/n L/n, recent transfer from RVHS, sophomore who was the youngest starter for RVHS’s volleyball team and who had helped bring her previous team to a state championship. Based on what he had seen, she was full of herself too and reports from her former teammates stated that she claimed all the glory for herself. Johnny didn’t get along well with people who weren’t team players, “I’d like you all to meet your new peer, Y/n.”

Johnny watched as the girl gave a slight wave the small smile on her face disappearing as she looked into blank eyes and empty faces. Johnny gave a light scoff. She couldn’t have expected to be welcomed with a parade. While she may have been a big deal at RVHS, nobody cared at SJHS. She didn’t get to parade in here as if she was going to make a difference in the high school.

“Okay,” the science teacher coughed. “Why don’t you go sit by Mr. Suh?” Johnny startled as the teacher motioned to the empty seat next to him. Johnny frowned as he pulled his backpack off the seat. There were plenty of other tables for Y/n to sit at. Why did he have to give up his empty seat? He watched as she set her bag under the table and moved to sit on the raised chair.

His eyes widened as he watched the chair slide back and she gasped. Next thing he knew she was on the ground, the chair she had been sitting on lay in pieces. He heard a mocking gasp before small laughs echoed around the room. He glanced at the two girls from earlier laughing and pointing to the now splintered wood. “Are you okay?” he extended an arm towards her.

“I’m fine,” Y/n said curtly, embarrassment heating up her cheeks. She ignored his hand pushing to stand. The hand she had held to her chest came down and wiped dust off her pants. She scowled with a glance around the classroom. Laughs had turned into titters and pointing fingers turned to grab pencils.

Mr. Byun stood hands hanging by his side. He coughed, “Well, just leave that for now.” He motioned to a chair on the other side of the classroom. “You can sit by Mr. Nakamoto instead.” Yuta didn’t look up from the playbook in his lap. Soccer season was starting soon and he was already preparing. “Okay,” Byun clapped his hands as he turned back to the board. “Let’s get started. Can anyone tell me what noble gases are?”

Johnny leaned his head on his hand zoning the teacher out. He caught her eye as she glanced worriedly back at the broken chair. The intimidating look on her face from earlier had turned into a concerned, almost sad, look. Johnny raised an eyebrow at Y/n. He wondered why she kept looking back here. The chair wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe she was scared the school was going to make her pay for it. Which is ridiculous when they have probably close to 100 sitting in storage that haven’t seen the light of day in 40 years. He watched as she turned toward him again. This time her eyes narrowed and glared at him. Johnny was confused to say the least. What was with the sudden hostility? Johnny shrugged, his chin jutting out. She rolled her eyes before looking forward again. He let his eyes slide away from her and back over to the front of the classroom, Byun had moved on to explaining the periodic table.

“Under extreme pressure these gases will not react well,” Byun pointed out on the table. “Which is why we must be cautious. If we aren’t careful, these gases will turn against us and once they do that, they are not very forgiving.” Johnny rolled his eyes. He barely caught the look Y/n sent him. He sighed as he looked to the clock, only 20 minutes had passed.

The camera shutter clicked before Johnny pulled it down to his chest. “I heard there’s a new girl on the volleyball team,” a boy sitting across from him slightly twisted the lens on his camera. “She’s supposed to be good too. I heard one of the seniors talking about her though. They said that she’s not very personable.”

Kun sat next to Johnny, his hands clanking away on a keyboard, “So she’s not meshing well.” He hummed as he continued to stare at the screen. As a co-editor for the school newspaper Kun tried to stay in the know about all school affairs. “She will eventually. They still have a couple of weeks before the first tournament of the season. That’s really gonna help us know whether or not Y/n’s addition to the team is going to be beneficial or not.”

Johnny fiddled with his camera again. Obviously, Y/n had left a big enough impact on the local sports community that everyone knew about her. How could they not? Last year she started out on varsity as a Freshman. Her team had gone to the State Championships and won. She was the prodigy child, but that doesn’t answer Johnny’s biggest question. Why did she come here? RVHS had a respectable sports program and academics, SJHS’s girls volleyball team was less than respectable. “I don’t know. Y/n is a good player. We can see that from her stats, but if she can’t get along with the team then they’re going to have problems.”

“It’s her first week,” Kun gave a kind grin. “Give her some slack. We won’t come to a consensus about the team until we can watch them actually play.” He turned back to the screen he was editing. Kun was right. Johnny knew this, but he couldn’t help but remember her glare at him as she sat next to Yuta in Chemistry that morning. Can’t she get along with anybody? He didn’t even move, but she was acting like the chair breaking was his fault.

“I wouldn’t be optimistic,” Johnny shrugged and stood from his chair. Kun gave him a confused look. “I have some pictures to take. I’ll be back before class ends.” Escaping the classroom and the questioning looks of his peers, Johnny sighed before wandering away from the journalism room.

To be fair, he probably should have been paying attention in class, but all he could think about was the bomb Kun dropped on him. How was he supposed to know that Kun was going to want him to go with him to the girls volleyball team to their first tournament? They had never done that before.

“We want to be able to track how the team is doing with their new superstar,” Kun had told him. Apparently, Kun was trying to feed into all of the school drama surrounding, Y/n L/n. “You’re the best person for the job. Think of it as a resume booster, Traveling Reporter.” Johnny had rolled his eyes at Kun, but ultimately agreed, if he wanted to be editor next year, he was going to have to make some sacrifices.

“Mr. Suh, can you please tell me the answer to question 2,” Mr. Byun had a hand resting on the whiteboard and an eyebrow raised. Johnny had glanced down to the textbook. Calorimetry. Great, he spaced out on one of the most important lectures of Chemistry.

Johnny glared at the page. “Umm 8.23 to the power of 10.”

The teacher shook his head, a disappointed look on his face, “Please be paying attention, Johnny. Y/n?”

“8.314 J mol -1 K -1,” Y/n glanced up, her voice pitched in a panic.

“Correct,” Byun scribbled on the board. “Next, we are going to see if-”

Johnny couldn’t help but send a small glare to the back of her head. He didn’t understand how she could continually have no self confidence in the classroom, but be cocky and egotistical outside of that. He scoffed lightly rolling his eyes as he watched her smile at Yuta.

She turned slightly towards him. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye she gave Johnny a sour look. Johnny tried to ignore her as the class continued on, and succeeded, until a group of guys from the boy’s volleyball team met him at the door. They all spoke to each other as they tried to get closer to Johnny. “Hey guys,” he grinned as they walked out of the doorway. He glanced away from the group to see Y/n running into an open locker door as she tried to push around the group. He tried to stifle a laugh as he saw her apologize to a kid and rub the growing spot on her forehead. Johnny watched as she sent a withering look to the group before moving on to her next class.

He had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that this year’s girl’s volleyball team was good, shockingly good. It took two tournaments for Johnny to decide that Y/n was a vital part of the team and their success.

Now he watched as Y/n passed the ball up to the setter and the team made a kill. SJHS was in the lead. They had won the first set and the third set, now, all they needed to do was lock in the 4th and they would be on to the state championships. How they got there? Johnny had no good answer except that Y/n were on the team.

While his admiration for her on the court had grown, he could not say the same for in the classroom. Week after week he watched as she floundered through Chemistry and supposedly thrived in the rest of her classes. Not only that, but Y/n seemed to have a clumsy streak. It seemed like every time Johnny saw her, she was running into lockers, doors, or shelves. He could still picture the look on her face when an ice cream she was eating for lunch flew out of her hand and landed on the shirt of the girl sitting across from her.

“Game point,” the up referee called before motioning for SJHS to serve. Johnny took out his notepad jotting down the server and the point difference. 24-21, not a bad lead, but if the team messed up here their chances for state champion finals could be over. The server sent the ball floating over the net. Johnny knew that the libero’s float serve would throw any team. It was an almost surefire way of winning. Almost. The ball bounced off a hand laying flat on the court. SJHS cannot allow them to make a play off the ball. Johnny watched as the opposing them was able to get the ball to the middle hitter. His breath caught as you dived for the ball screaming toward the floor. Y/n scooped it up and gave it to the setter. The opposite side rushed to the net and before Johnny knew it the ball hit the floor on the other side of the net. SJHS had taken the point and were now on their way to the State Championship game tomorrow.

He stepped down the bleachers as the team made their way back to the locker room. His notepad crinkled as he stood down the hall from the room he watched the team go into. He needed to speak with a few members for a post he was going to write on tonight’s game and, if he’s optimistic, the state championship game. Johnny looked up as the door swung open and several of the team members came out. Y/n came into his view first, hair hanging down by her shoulders and a smile on her face.

“Hey,” he greeted the group. “Could I get a quick comment from a couple of you about tonight’s game?”

“Sure,” the girl he recognized as the varsity setter grinned a hand resting on her hip. “But please make it short and if you need a picture get my good side.”

Johnny snorted as she turned to the left, “I don’t think I want a sweaty volleyball player as the picture for my article.” He laughed as the girl swatted at him. “Great I need, you,” he pointed to the setter. “J. Lim, and.” He glanced around the group, his eyes settled on Y/n’s, “and M. Lee.” Y/n rolled her eyes and he raised an eyebrow at her, “and this should just take a few minutes. We’ll worry about longer comments after you win the state champs tomorrow.”

tag list: @beyond-gethsemane , @lanadreamie , @michplusb @qianinterprises @jaxminskale @stayctday @nanascupid

*Reposted from previous blog*

#johnny fluff #johnny angst #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #johnny x reader #johnny suh

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vintagedolan · 4 years

Text

mixtape | track five

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

*contains smut*

It took two nights for Grayson to officially give in and admit that Indiana’s bed was more comfortable than his. Although he wasn’t exactly utilizing the space the way he wanted to at that moment, considering he was criss cross on top of the comforter in front of his very stressed out girlfriend, holding out a water bottle like it was a toy for a toddler.

“Hey. You need to drink some of this.”

“Mhmm, yeah,” she mumbled as a response, blowing him off as she had been all evening, one finger tracing over her notes. He resisted the urge to pull them out of her hands, knowing he might rip them on accident.

“Dee. Stop. Drink.”

“Yeah, just gimme a sec.”

“No, cause you said that five minutes ago. Drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“Holy shit.” He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and held it over her notes, blocking her view. “Drink it or I’m pouring it.”

That got her attention enough, and when she looked up her gaze was icier than he’d ever seen it.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” He tilted it just barely.

“You’re annoying,” she grumbled, grabbing the bottle and taking a quick swig before trying to hand it off again.

“And you’re stubborn. Three more drinks, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“You know, I’m two months away from a college degree, not a two year old.”

“Then you should know how important water is,” he countered, not budging an inch. She gave in to appease him, taking three long swallows before she passed it back to him, licking her lips slowly as she moved back down to her papers.

As if he wasn’t already worked up enough.

He was trying to behave, he really was. But there was just something about the way she was so focused. He’d always found ambition sexy, but it had been a long time since he’d seen someone academically driven, and he’d forgotten how attractive he found someone with intelligence. She was right there in front of him, hair pulled up in a loose bun on top of her head with a pencil stabbed through it somewhere - she didn’t need it, she had 17 different colored pens lined up in order on top of her planner page, which was full of blocked out times and perfect penmanship. She’d been chewing on her bottom lip, a nervous habit he’d noticed, but now it was bright pink and slightly swollen, and all he wanted to do was lean over and lay her down against the bed, kiss her rough, feel her skin under his hands, get her out of that damn cudi hoodie that he’d let her borrow a few nights ago.

“Flex.”

He only realized she was looking at him when he pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Take your shirt off and flex your arm.”

“Uh… why?”

“For science.”

His ego could have burst, and he couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face after he slipped his sweatshirt off over his head. He reached over and tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it up until she was looking at him with those bright blues that he hadn’t seen nearly enough that day.

“You know, if you wanted me to get naked, all you had to do was ask.”

For a moment he tried to remember what movie or book or show he’d ripped off just then, but he got distracted when Indy smacked him across his arm.

“I need to look at your muscle structure, not drool over you.”

He deflated immediately, in every form of the word.

“Oh.” It sounded small, even to himself, and it was apparently all it took for him to finally have her full attention. She frowned, guilt immediately spreading across her entire face.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

It wasn’t often that Indiana did anything less than perfect (in his eyes anyways), so he jumped at the opportunity to milk it a bit.

“No it’s fine,” he muttered, toying with his fingers.

It worked.

It wasn’t two seconds later and she was intertwining her own fingers with his, tiny little pen marks of different colors on her skin as she pulled herself over towards him. Before he knew it his hands were on her waist and she was crawling into his lap, settling herself directly over him. She was a hair taller than him like that, and he tilted his head up to look at her, keeping his pout on his lips until she kissed it away.

“Sorry,” she murmured, lips moving against his as he traced his fingers over her sides, up under her hoodie to her warm skin. He felt her relax with each pass of his hands, the tension leaving her shoulders as she got lost in him.

“S’okay. Everybody gets a little grumpy when they’re stressed,” he hummed, thumbs running over the curve of her hips.

She pulled back from him immediately, offense all over her face.

“I am not grumpy.”

He waited for a moment, bold enough to raise his eyebrows at her but not to say anything.

And then her bottom lip was quivering, and he saw the tears welling up in the corners of her shiny eyes, and his stomach dropped faster than it ever had.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Baby what’s wrong?” He moved a hand up to her cheek before she crumpled forward onto his shoulder, her tears warm against his skin.

“I’m grumpy,” she moaned, followed by a sniffle.

“You’re crying… because I said you were grumpy?”

“No, because I am.”

He re-ran her words through his head a few times, only getting more confused.

“I’m not following.” He fessed up, bringing his hand up to run over her hair that was still tucked up in the messy bun that was tickling his cheek.

“I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out, and I get crazy with exams, I can’t help it, I’m sorry. I just… I can’t fuck this one up, and I’m gonna fail it. But that’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t be grumpy just because I’m stressed.”

The way that the worry in her voice pulled at his gut was a new sensation, something he’d never felt with anyone but Ethan, and even then it was different. He wanted nothing more than to be able to cheer her up, to make her feel better any way that he could.

“Hey. Look at me.”

She brought her head up slowly, eyes pink and irritated as she rubbed at them with the bottom of her sleeve.

“Have you ever actually failed an exam before?”

She shook her head and sniffled. If it wasn’t so sad, he would have thought it was adorable.

“Then there’s no reason to think you’re going to fail this one.”

“But-”

“What specific part are you on right now?” He kept up the bid to distract her, happy to see that no new tears were appearing.

“All the brachial muscles.”

“Brachial?”

“Arms. Arm muscles.”

He perked up, raising up an arm and flexing.

“I have those. Lots of those.”

He let the eye roll slide because of the laugh that followed it - he couldn��t think of something he’d produced that he was prouder of in the last month.

“My professor did say if we needed to look up muscle definition for reference to google pictures of Ryan Gosling, or Channing Tatum.”

Grayson wrapped his arms around her, but not before he snagged her phone and moved it out of her reach, getting another laugh from her.

“I think I would suffice.”

“You should be top of the list,” she hummed, kissing him again. He let her settle all her weight against him, which put her snug over his crotch in a way that she hadn’t been before, and he tried to think of absolutely anything else to keep himself from popping the most obvious boner he’d ever had. He felt like a high schooler again, with wild hormones that were ready to betray him at any moment.

And Indy had no mercy for him either, chasing away her worries through rough passes of her tongue against his, lips warm and urgent as she kissed him. It took all of his self control to keep himself from rolling her over, flipping her onto her back and really getting to work.

Luckily, her hands slid down his arms, over the ridges of his muscles and she hummed.

“Which one is that?” He took the chance for the distraction, looking over at the way her nails traced over his skin.

“Well this is the short head of the biceps brachii. This is the long head, and this is the pronator teres,” her fingers ran over the inside of his elbow, crossing over.

“What’s that do?”

“Pronates your arm.” He waited. “Like this.” She turned his arm so his palm was facing down.

“And you have a supinator too, which turns it the other way. It’s right… here.” She felt around on his forearm until she found a smaller muscle up by his elbow, squeezing it. Sure, he knew the basic muscles in his arms - anything he could target at the gym, plus anything important to build up for a planche. But it was incredible to him, the way she could trace a finger over his skin and mutter something to herself, another muscle, another nerve that went into it without having to look at any notes. She was content like that for a while, but eventually she perked up.

“Can I write on you? They’re skin safe pens.”

“You think I’m worried about skin safe pens?” He asked, looking down pointedly at the tattoos on his foot and ankle, the only ones she could see outside of his sweatpants.

“Oh shut up. My mom used to get so mad when I wrote shit on my hands, said I was gonna give myself ‘ink poisoning’, it’s habit.”

“My dad took me to get my first tattoo so… I think we’re good.”

The tug on his heart was a little less painful than it usually was.

“Play some Cudi. It helps me think.”

“Your wish, my command,” he teased, pulling out his phone.

She leaned him back against the pillows with a gentle push to his shoulder, moving her notes out of view and grabbing a black pen. He pulled up his Cudi playlist, letting his left arm rest against the comforter. Indy took it in her hands, moving it around with her pen held between her teeth, tracing fingertips over his skin as her mind worked ten times faster than Grayson’s probably ever had, he was sure.

Music filled the room, bringing in a more relaxing vibe as he tried to be a good model, only twitching when something tickled him - she didn’t seem to notice, so intent on scribbling the names of muscles he’d never heard of on his skin, his arm resting over her lap as she sat criss cross. He couldn’t resist tracing his fingertips over her skin where he could get to it, a gentle reminder that he was there for her, even if he was being quiet.

Ever since he could remember, Grayson had to be on the move. Had to be practicing, moving, working, doing something to keep his brain busy. It’s why he was in sports as a kid, why he was always starting new projects, always had 85 things going on in the background. But there, laid out on the comforter watching her wiggle around to the beat as she sang along, he couldn’t think of anything he would rather be doing. Even when she moved on to his ‘trunk’ muscles, made him hold his arm up and wrote serratus anterior across his ribs, he didn’t care. She never looked back at her notes, and he could tell she knew the information inside and out, but he humored her anyways, focusing in on the feeling of her fingers on his skin. Before he knew it, it was 11:30, and half of him was covered in Indy’s handwriting as he laid on his stomach and she wrote on his back.

“Done. I think that’s all of them.”

“Well, how do I look?” He peeked over his shoulder at her.

“Like a page of my notes,” she teased. “Come see.”

She tugged on his hand, leading him over to the mirror that hung behind her door. He stood tall next to her, a soft smile on his face as he looked over his skin.

“You really have to know all these?”

“And their origins and insertions,” she mumbled, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “Where they start and where they end,” she explained. “I need to go to sleep.”

“Hang on.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “C’mere.”

She did as he asked, letting him pull her up against his side a bit more, angling so they looked good in the mirror before he snapped a quick picture.

“I look like death,” she mumbled, pouting a bit.

He just shook his head and kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you in bed.”

------------------------------------------

Indy woke up to her alarm in a cold bed - which a month ago wouldn’t have been a thought in her mind. But she knew that her personal space heater had definitely fallen asleep next to her last night, considering it was him running his fingers through her hair that lulled her down. So she stood up quickly, rubbing at her eyes and following the sound of movement towards her kitchen. But on her way she saw her backpack and her stomach turned - a reminder of the exam she had in just a few hours.

The only - and probably best - distraction that she could have had was what she found in the kitchen. Shirtless Grayson, moseying around in his own little world, bed head sticking up in six different directions with slightly smudged pen ink still on half of his torso. It took him a moment to notice her there, still in his sweatshirt with her hands covered by the end of the sleeves.

“Morning gorgeous,” he smiled, small knife in one hand and an avocado in the other. “Figured I could make you breakfast before you had to leave.”

She swallowed hard. The thought of eating anything with her stomach so tight made her mouth taste like metal.

“You can get ready if you want, it’ll be a minute before it’s done.”

Indy nodded and gave him the best smile she could muster before she went back into her room. She made it as quick as she could, pulling on a pair of leggings and a bra - it was tempting for her to put Grayson’s hoodie back on, but she went the hygienic route and found a cozy sweater, burnt orange fabric soft against her skin. She gathered up all her school things, triple checking that she had a pencil and two extras, her notes and her laptop so that she could study right before.

When she made it back out to the kitchen, there was a plate waiting for her, organized quite particularly with a piece of avocado toast and strawberries, with a mug of coffee steaming beside it.

She swallowed hard again.

“Look good?” He beamed, obviously proud of himself as he started working on his own.

“Yeah, it looks great.”

Indy forced herself to take a bite after she sat down, chewing it so many times that it went soggy in her mouth. She washed it down with coffee, which seemed to go much easier. So she stuck to that, taking sip after sip until the last bit was gone, bringing her mug back down to the table, hoping she’d played it off.

But the look on Grayson’s face when she finally put the mug down told her she was sorely mistaken.

“You don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, no it’s not-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to eat it.”

“Grayson-”

“It’s not-”

“No, Grayson, it’s not the toast. I love avocado toast.”

“You don’t love my avocado toast,” he pouted.

“It’s not that. I promise,” she sighed, her stomach only tightening even more.

“What is it then?”

“I’m anxious. And I can’t eat when I’m anxious cause it makes me nauseous. And then eating just makes me more nauseous.”

His face fell from a pout to concern in an instant.

“Baby why didn’t you say something?”

“Because! You got up and you made breakfast, cause you’re cute and you’re thoughtful and now it’s gonna go to waste because my brain is stupid.”

And then he was laughing - a light sound that filled the kitchen and broke through the awkwardness that had found its home in the air.

“You’re adorable.”

She frowned, and he moved around the counter so he could stand tall in front of her, stealing a strawberry off her plate and popping it in his mouth.

“So lunch, not breakfast, on exam days. Got it.”

“Gray, you don’t-”

“Shush. You said you wanted to study before for a little while, so you probably need to get going, right?”

He was right and she knew it, but it still made her huff. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up. Now go ace your exam so we can have the rest of the afternoon, hmm? You sure you don’t want me to walk you?”

“I got it, it’s okay. Just hold down the fort here, and I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

She got out of her chair, pulled her backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her water bottle, turning back towards Grayson.

“Good luck, not that you need it. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“What’re you gonna do while I’m gone?” She mused.

“Snoop,” he teased, squeezing her hip in his hand. “Actually I might hit a quick workout.”

“In here?” She looked around. “With what?”

“All you need for calisthenics is yourself and your muscles. You know my, uh-” he looked at his arm, squinting at the slightly smudged writing from the night before. “- flexor digitorum profundus, and uh… the rest of them.”

He knew he butchered the pronunciation, but he’d do it again to get the same laugh out of her.

“Last minute review, go,” he grinned, spinning around slowly so she could see all the work from the night before. She was still laughing when he stopped and grabbed her face with both hands, kissing her with a smile before making himself let go.

“Bye,” he mumbled. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill it.”

“Bye.” Love you. She held herself back from saying it, leaning up to give him one final kiss on the cheek before she turned and headed towards the door.

----------------------------------------------------------

When Grayson took exams in ‘high school’, it usually consisted of him and Ethan sitting next to each other on the couch with their notes spread out in front of them, picking each other’s far too similar brains for the answers.

Indiana on the other hand, was a solo everything. Solo test taker, obviously, but also solo studier, solo crammer, solo sit-before-the-exam-and-panic. Which worked out in her favor when she finished the exam - first in the class every time - because she didn’t feel the need to wait for anyone to discuss it. And she was especially thankful for it that day, because she had no reason to stay in the science building any longer than she needed to. She was out of the room, down the stairs and out onto the street immediately, with the image of Grayson laid out on the couch waiting for her at home pacing her steps even faster than usual.

But when she unlocked the door, there was no 6ft italian on her couch. In fact, there was no 6ft italian anywhere that she could see, and it took her a minute to place the sound of the shower running from her bathroom as she sat her bag down. The relief of having the exam out of the way was almost euphoric as she flopped down onto the bed and stared up at her ceiling, breathing her first easy breath in a few days. She stretched her arms up above her head and let her body fully settle down as she waited for her boyfriend to reappear.

Grayson, on the other hand, was taking his sweet time in the shower, and trying to ensure that there was no evidence that he’d definitely borrowed her razor to shave the puff of his chest hair that was a little too long for his liking. Needless to say, it was another 15 minutes before he made it out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist to head out into Indy’s room to find his bag. His hair was still dripping as he leaned over and searched for a pair of decent boxers.

“Boo.”

The towel was centimeters from falling off when he practically jumped out of his skin, but Indy wasn’t about to complain.

“Holy fuck you scared me! When did you get back?!” He gasped, trying to catch his breath as he clutched the fabric around him. It was low enough to show off the V lines that Indy had first noticed while they were cliff jumping, and it had her mind derailing in a much different direction.

“Like twenty minutes ago. I think you take longer showers than I do,” she teased, propping up on her elbows so she could actually look at him.

Jesus christ.

“Hang on, let me put pants on.”

You don’t have to, she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue and just enjoyed the view.

Pants, luckily, were just some very tight and short boxers that left little to the imagination when he re-emerged from the bathroom that he’d ducked away to change in.

“So how’d it go, how was the exam?”

“I missed two.”

He blinked at her a few times.

“Questions?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“But… how… you know what, nevermind,” he laughed, shaking his head gently before he threw his towel over his hair and started to rub it dry.

“What?” She laughed with him, and a bit at him, for the adorable way that his hair had become fluffy from the towel when he tossed it to the side.

“I’m not even gonna try to understand your brain anymore. I give up, I forfeit.” He threw his hands up in defeat, and Indy watched the way it made his abs move. She swallowed hard, her skin buzzing as she tried to keep her tone playful while her stomach floated.

“You forfeit? You?”

He seemed entirely unfazed - it struck her that he was probably very much used to girls looking at him and imagining all the things they wanted him to do to them. She tried not to dwell on it, and to remind herself for a moment that he was there in front of her, in her bedroom, in boxers. Very tight boxers, with a very, very clear outline of his dick.

“C’mere.” She took her moment of vindication and ran with it, reaching out a hand for him as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants. He raised his eyebrows at her but obliged, taking her hand and letting him pull her over to the bed so he was sitting on the edge. She swung herself over into his lap, happy to feel his hands settle on her hips to hold her there, sweatpants dropping to the floor.

“Well hi,” he hummed as her arms wrapped around his neck. “Whatcha doin’?” His tone was still playful, less affected than she wanted it to be, almost like he didn’t realize what type of mood she’d suddenly found herself in. It was true that most of the time, he was making the moves - but only because he was so touchy that she never needed to.

So she kissed him before she answered, harder than usual, slipping her tongue into his mouth before he could get to hers. She let her hands roam through his soft hair, nails against his scalp as she tilted his head back to change the angle of his lips, shifting herself up with her forearms on his wide shoulders. He grunted a bit, breaking free of the kiss to press a few to her neck, his scruff deliciously rough against the sensitive skin.

When he pulled back his pupils were blown wide, eyes trained up on her face, flickering down to her neck, then her boobs, which were far too hidden under her clothes.

“I said I was gonna make it up to you,” she finally answered. “So let me.”

“Fuck yes,” he mumbled, hands immediately bunching in the bottom of her sweater. His instinct was to strip it directly over her head, but he paused as he pulled it up, looking at her for reassurance. She nodded with a soft smile, lifting her arms up as he guided it off, revealing the skin he hadn’t seen yet. Sure, her crop top had been small, and even more revealing once it was wet, but-

“This hits different,” he murmured, hands moving to hold onto her, thumbs rubbing over her ribcage on either side.

“This hits different?” She said, eyes going incredulously wide before her head fell back in a laugh, which turned into a squeal when Grayson buried his face in her cleavage for a moment just to get a reaction. He reveled in the feeling of her hands back in his hair, even if it was to pull him back.

“Can I take this off?” He kissed the swell of each boob, hands ghosting over the back of her bra as he spoke.

“Yes. Please.”

He did as she asked, flicking the clasp open with ease and catching her lips with his again as he guided the straps off her arms and tossed the black garment somewhere behind her. As soon as he could he leaned her back a bit, holding her there with his hands spread against her back as he kissed down her neck, over her collarbone and down to her boob. The angle wasn’t quite right for him to get enough of what he wanted, so he sat back up instead, vowing to himself to give her tits the attention they deserved later. He kept the next kiss slow, wrapping his arms all the way around her torso so he could press her against him, feel every possible inch of her skin against his. It was bliss in its rawest form, and he would have been mostly content to stay just like that.

His dick had other ideas, hard to the point of almost painful underneath her warmth as she settled over him, his boxers too thin to show him any mercy. Every time she shifted above him it sent a jolt of heat straight through him, and it wasn’t long before he rolled them to the side, taking control of the situation before he literally came in his boxers.

Indy didn’t seem to mind, beaming up at him as she settled on her back, her flushed skin on display above the white comforter. It was a beautiful sight if Grayson had ever seen one, and he just looked at her for a moment, tried to etch it into his brain so he’d never forget. He’d had his fair share of girls on a bed in front of him - honestly, more than he was proud to admit. It always just happened so fast, where one minute they were talking and within the weekend they were tangled up in eachother.

But Indy was different - there was an innocence about the blush in her cheeks and the way she crossed her legs a bit, like she was hiding from him even though she still had her leggings on. It was driving him insane, and it took all his willpower to remind himself to go slow, to focus and cherish every minute of it that he could.

So he climbed over her, sinking down to kiss her again and letting some of his weight rest on her, happy to feel her smile against him.

“You okay?” He asked, kissing down her jawline slowly, over to her ear and then down her neck. Her hair smelled like vanilla where it tickled his nose.

“Mmmm,” was her only response, and he took it as his sign to move farther south, brushing his lips along her collarbone. “More than okay,” she breathed, back arching just barely to meet him.

“You wanna keep going?” Please. Please.

“Do you?” She asked quietly - he could hear the nerves in her tone, and it stopped him in his tracks. He propped himself up so he had a full view of her face.

“Only if you do.”

She bit her lip, looking up at him. The hesitation was enough for him to start to move off of her, mind already trying to remember where he’d thrown her sweater so she could cover herself back up. Her hand wrapped around his arm before he could get any further.

“No wait! Wait, I do. I do want to, I promise, it’s just… it’s uh… it’s been a while.”

He’d never seen her face so red, and then she was talking over herself to try and get the words out fast enough.

“And by a while I literally mean like… years. I’m talking uh, junior year of high school. And I can tell you that they obviously didn’t know what they were doing, so I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, and I just wanted you to know that before we really, like, got into it, and…”

He stopped her lips with his, waiting until her body gave way to him and relaxed underneath his hands before he pulled away.

“Baby, I couldn’t care less when the last time you slept with somebody was, or if you know what you’re doing. You have nothing to be nervous about.”

“Says the experienced one,” she teased, but he could tell his words had given her at least a little bit of comfort.

“Just let me take care of you. You deserve it, you worked so damn hard all week, now you get to relax.”

“You’re in charge,” she breathed.

“I like that.” He flashed her a playful grin before he really got to work, kissing down to her chest and paying specific attention to her nipples to get her worked up again. It didn’t take long, and when her back arched up he slid his hands down to her leggings, letting his fingers hook in the waistband.

“You ready for these to come off?”

“Yeah. Yours too though.”

He pulled everything off her at once, jokingly backing up and tugging to make her laugh until the ends popped off her feet. He tossed them aside and moved to his own boxers, pushing them down and stepping out of them, using his foot to kick them away.

“Jesus,” Indy said, and then immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in embarrassment. Grayson couldn’t help but to bust out laughing, the kind that went through his whole body, made him clutch at his chest.

“Was that a good Jesus or a bad Jesus?”

“A good Jesus. Is bad Jesus even a thing?” She mused, laughter and excitement overriding some of her nerves as he moved above her again. His kisses started at her boobs this time and moved down slowly, almost torturously light brushes of his lips against her skin. Grayson eased her legs open with one hand, reaching up and under her thigh with the other, searching until he found her hand and laced their fingers together. It settled her in a way that only he could, and she let out the breath she’d been holding, sucking in another one when he ran his fingers over her for the first time. Her body jolted at the feeling and he pressed a kiss to her thigh.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he said, and instead of making her blush, the words just made her wetter somehow - she already felt like she was dripping. He dipped one finger into her and she forced her muscles to relax, let herself melt into the comforter as he leaned forward and started in with his tongue, small flicks at first that already had her twitching. It was obvious that he knew what he was doing, but unbeknownst to Indy he was enjoying her inexperience - it made her more reactive, made him feel special that he was the one who got to give her this. It focused him as he tried to read her body, find the right angles and spots to make her tick as he moved up to two fingers, stretching her slightly to get her ready.

“Oh god,” she whimpered, hand squeezing his so tight it was borderline painful, but he wouldn’t move it for the world as she clung to him.

“All good?”

“Yes, yes, god that feels good.”

He could practically feel his chest puff up before he dove back in with renewed purpose, eyes trained up on her as he watched, tried to find her tells so he could commit them to memory as he explored her with his tongue. He found it when her breath hitched and her back arched for a moment, and then her legs were shaking beside either side of his head, a blissful whimper falling from her lips and filling the room as she came. It was easy to work her through it, and he backed off when her legs twitched towards closing, letting her catch her breath.

“C’mere,” she mumbled, tugging on his hand until he crawled back up her body, a bit surprised when she brought a hand up to his hair and pulled his lips down to hers.

“Fuck me.” It came out as a whisper, but all that familiar Indy confidence had returned to her tone as she hooked a leg up onto his back in an attempt to get him closer to her. He groaned into her mouth, biting at her lip as his dick rubbed against her, warm and wet.

“You sure?”

She just pushed him a bit further as her answer, letting go of his hand so she could wrap both her arms around his back, fingers running over the ridges of muscles that she was familiar with now.

He reached a hand between them, lined himself up carefully until just the head of his dick was settled inside of her. Eyes on her face, he started to move, stopping when she sucked in a deep breath through her nose.

“Don’t let me hurt you, you gotta talk to me,” he said, tone suddenly serious. The last thing he wanted was to be over eager. She nodded at him, eyes still closed as she tried to relax.

“Just go slow.”

With anyone else, it probably would have taken every ounce of willpower he had to hold himself back. But his concern for her overrode his own needs, and he aired on the side of caution, moving slowly in small thrusts, gaining a bit more each time. His head was clear enough until Indy grabbed his face and brought it back to hers, leaning up for a deep kiss that had him spinning. He could have busted right there when she moaned into his mouth, nails sharp against his cheeks as her head fell back. With her neck exposed in front of him he couldn’t resist leaving his mark, sucking a quick hickey by her collarbone.

“Fuck me Gray, please, please,” she groaned, her own way of giving him the go ahead. He picked up his pace, holding himself up with one arm and grabbing her hip with the other, keeping her steady. Indy didn’t know where to put her own hands, so she settled for exploring, tracing over Grayson wherever she could reach, appreciating every inch in front of her as best she could with the feeling of him inside of her, filling her up so much she was sure she was always going to feel empty without him.

“Fuck,” he huffed out, the first sign he’d given her that she was doing something right. She tested it out, running her nails down his side, over his ribs, watching the way it made his eyes roll back just slightly, made his abs tense up. It was a race then, trying to see who could get the other to come undone first, with angles and groans and touches and whispers in each other's ears.

Grayson won.

Her second orgasm was somehow stronger than the first, and she was so caught up in the stars that she barely registered that Grayson had pulled out. He stayed close above her as he finished himself off, cum shooting onto both of their chests as he groaned, barely able to hold himself up with just one arm.

Needless to say he collapsed next to her on the bed to catch his breath as they both stared up at the ceiling. Indy moved first, finding his hand again with hers and holding on, eventually pulling it up to her lips so she could kiss each of his knuckles.

“Woah,” was the word he finally chose when enough oxygen caught back up to him.

“Good woah or bad woah?”

He rolled over onto his side at that, raising his eyebrows.

“You have to ask?”

“Well it was amazing for me, but that doesn’t mean it was amazing for you,” she explained, only making him shake his head.

“You underestimate yourself too much. It was perfect. Best first time I’ve had with anyone, ever.”

She flushed pink at his words, looking down at herself and the mess that they’d made.

“I know you just showered but… you wanna join me?”

Instead of answering, he just stood up, glad that his legs weren’t wobbly as he scooped her up from the bed, laughing at her squeal as he carried her to the bathroom.

--------------------------------------

“Earrings, you do too much.”

“It’s nothing, just something for you to have while we can’t visit. Indy helped pick it out.”

Indy offered Bekah a smile as Grayson spoke, trying to keep her mindset positive. Which was much easier said than done, considering Bekah looked like she’d lost ten pounds since the last time they’d seen her, especially with the oxygen cannula in her nose. Still, she had the biggest smile on her face as she reached inside of the massive gift bag that Grayson had put together for her earlier that day. Indy watched as she pulled out the blanket they’d found, adorned with cute little smiling pumpkins and black cats with their backs arched.

“For spooky season, you know?” It hit Indy then that it was already mid October when they were shopping earlier, and by the look on Bekah’s face she hadn’t realized it either. It felt like September had only been a few days ago.

“We love cute spooky vibes,” Bekah smiled, trying to get it the rest of the way out of the bag. Her monitors started to beep more rapidly, her oxygen levels dropping.

“Here, let me help,” Indy offered, moving to the bag and pulling the rest of the blanket out, sitting it at the end of the bed. Bekah gave her a quiet thankful smile and took a few deep breaths through her nose before moving back into the bag. It was full of small decorations that she could sit around her room, and a few halloween themed coloring books and word searches to keep her mind busy - Indy knew she liked those. The nurses had decided to air on the side of caution and have her isolate for five days prior to her surgery, which meant she would need something to keep her mind busy.

“You all didn’t have to do this,” she said, laying back against the pillows.

“We wanted to. I’m sorry we can’t come see you,” Indy sighed, adjusting her blankets and moving around some of her tubes and lines. Grayson knew she was fidgeting because she was nervous, but he didn’t say anything.

“S’okay. Don’t really want you all to see me like that anyways. Don’t really want you all to see me like this either but here we are.”

One of the downfalls of being in the medical field was knowing more than you wanted to. Indy knew the chances of Bekah’s surgery going well. She knew the percentages, knew how bad she already had to be for them to even be considering something above chemo. Her weakness, her need for oxygen, everything else. They were all major red flags on a textbook page, signs she would highlight on a case report that could be consolidated into one word - declining.

But she couldn’t quite get herself to use that word, to rationalize it when it was Beks in front of her. She seemed smaller now than she had the first time Indy had met her, and it unsettled her in a way that made her want to scream and cry at the same time. Grayson served as the anchor in the room, the solid middle ground that she could cling to and distract herself with to keep from spiraling. She wished she could physically sit by him, lean against him and feel his warmth. But they were sticking to their rules - nothing coupley in front of Bekah.

“You guys should go do something while you can’t come see me. You spend a bunch of time here, you deserve a hospital vacation,” Bekah mused, picking at a few spare pieces of lint on the blanket. “Do something together even, keep her from worrying about me for the entire week.” She looked at Grayson when she spoke that time, and Indy frowned.

“I’m gonna worry about you no matter where in the world I am, so suck it up.”

She managed enough energy to stick her tongue out, but even that seemed to take a lot out of her.

“Grayson, can you go see if Jessica can get me some water?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He jumped at the opportunity, giving them both a quick smile before he went out in the hallway in search of Jessica.

Indiana was not so quick to assume, and turned to Bekah expectantly, heart breaking as she saw the start of tears in her eyes.

“Can we uh, can we cuddle for a minute? Like we used to?”

“Of course we can.”

It was rare that Bekah asked for anything, much less physical comfort of any kind. Indy had only done this a handful of times in the years that she’d known her, and it put a pit in her stomach to realize just how bad she must be feeling to even think about asking for it. She pushed the thoughts aside, climbing in the bed next to Bekah and pulling the blanket over the two of them, wrapping her arm around her so she could rest against her shoulder. She ignored the feeling of her tears when they started to soak through her shirt. They sat in silence for a moment before Bekah finally spoke again, voice at a whisper.

“Indy I’m scared.” The vulnerability in her voice was a dagger into Indy, and it took all her power to keep herself steady.

“I know. I am too. But if anybody can get through it, it’s you. You always have.”

“This time feels different.”

“Hey, don’t think like that, okay? Gotta go in with a positive mindset.” The words felt phony even as she spoke them, but it was a knee jerk reaction that at least got an eye roll out of Bekah, which helped her to stop her tears before Grayson came back in with a bottle of water and a cup of ice.

“I couldn’t find Jessica, so I just bought one and got a cup of ice from the lounge. Is that okay?”

“I don’t drink Dasani.”

Grayson deadpanned, looking down at the bottle and then back at Bekah, then over at Indy like she could do something to help.

“Kidding Earrings,” she teased, laughing a bit when his shoulders slumped down. “But, I will give you a 30 second pass on treating me like I have cancer and opening that bottle for me.”

He did as she asked, opening it up and pouring it for her with a sympathetic smile that she would have given him shit for any other day. Grayson didn’t say a word about the way they were curled up in the bed - he just sat at the end of it, putting two and two together and realizing she’d probably asked him to leave for a reason.

When 8pm rolled around, it was hugs goodbye and promises for facetime calls if she felt up for it. But mostly it was the unspoken fear that hung over the three of them like a cloud, and it only darkened as the walls lost their color on the way back out of the pediatric wing.

By the time they made it into the elevator Indy could barely speak around the lump in her throat. So instead, she decided to hide, wrapping her arms around Grayson as soon as the doors closed behind them and burying her face in his neck.

“Hey, shhh, shhh,” he murmured, holding her close to him and praying no one had hit the button for the first floor. He kissed her hair.

“Take me to Jersey. Please.” If he’d asked her why, she wouldn’t have had an answer.

Luckily, he didn’t.

“Okay.”

He took charge then, leading them home with his arm wrapped tight around her waist. When they got to the apartment he helped her pack an overnight bag in a bid to get it done faster, slinging it over his shoulder as they headed back out into the streets, to the garage where he paid an astronomical amount to park the truck any time he came into the city.

She didn’t even bother with the passenger seat, immediately sliding across the bench to curl up next to him as they started down the road. At one point he texted Lisa and Ethan, giving them the heads up that Indy was coming back with him, but she was already asleep by then, laying down with her head against his thigh, the stress of the last few days and hours catching up with her it seemed. He kept an arm over her the whole way home, just in case.

Indy woke up to the mixture of the bumps of gravel under the tires and the sound of Grayson singing Tame Impala slightly off key above her. A sense of peace washed over her when she sat up and saw the familiar glow of Lisa’s house amongst the trees, but Grayson’s worry was filling the cab as he put the truck in park.

“I’m okay.” She answered before he asked.

“No you aren’t.”

“I’m okay enough. I just… I feel better out here. I feel better with you, wherever you are.”

He hugged her to him, breathing her in as his arms coiled around her.

“Then I’ll always be here. I promise.”

It was as if time froze in that little cab, in each other's arms, until finally the October chill seeped in enough for them to give in and head to the house. If Lisa had noticed the time they spent in the driveway, she didn’t act like it. Instead, she lit up as if two of her kids had walked through the door and not just one.

“Hi guys! How was the drive? You hit traffic?”

“Hey Ma.” Grayson went in for a mom hug - one of those things you take for granted until you can’t have it anymore. But when he let her go Lisa moved on to Indy, and it felt so close to an actual mom hug that she almost teared up.

“Ryan and Ethan are in Cameron’s room setting up the mics, but if you need to eat first there’s vegan spaghetti in the fridge.”

It was obvious by Grayson’s face that he’d forgotten about the podcast all together in the last few hours. Indy smiled at him, tried to convey with her eyes that she was fine, because she was.

“Go work. I’ll still be here when you get back,” she reassured him. “We’ll have some girl time.”

“It’ll be an hour, tops.”

“Don’t rush. Have fun.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and then headed up the stairs.

Lisa waited until his footsteps stopped, considering they could hear them all the way to Cameron’s room, and then she turned to Indy with a smile.

“So, do you need a girls night or a distraction night?”

“A distraction night?”

“Something to get your mind off things. You seem like you’re in your head. Was it your exam? Did it go okay?”

She blushed at the thought of Grayson talking about her with his mom. “He told you that?”

“Oh honey he tells me all about you. When he gets to talking about something that he loves, he doesn’t shut up. Got that from his dad.”

“Sean talked a lot?”

“Oh all the time. If you got him started on anything sports he went on for hours, and the boys always ate it up. They were mini-him’s growing up. You know they started wrestling each other when they were two years old? Actual maneuvers he taught them when I wasn’t looking - I coulda killed him when I found out.”

And with that, Lisa led on a distraction night without Indy even realizing. Stories of Sean mostly, her voice full of love with just that hit of sorrow that you only get when someone is too far away from you. Things shifted when Lisa asked about Nicole, and Indy found herself remembering stories that she hadn’t told anyone in years. The time they went camping in Georgia and skunks took over the campground, or the time she’d scored the game winning shot in a high school basketball game and her mom tackled her, right in there with her teammates.

“You know, if there’s ever anything ‘mom’ related that you need, whether it’s a haircut or just a hug, I’m always here. And that goes for when Grayson isn’t around either - my door is always open.”

“Thank you Lisa. That means a lot. More than you know.”

They were hugging when the three boys came back down the stairs, laughter bouncing off the walls as they continued a debate that was definitely a part of the pod. They enveloped Lisa into the conversation, but Indy wasn’t listening. Her attention was on Grayson alone, watching the way his nose scrunched when he laughed just hard enough, and the way he leaned his head against his mom’s shoulder when she stood by him. His eyes flickered over to hers often, and eventually he continued the conversation from right above her head, his chin resting on her, throat vibrating when she spoke.

Eventually goodnights and goodbyes were given and everyone went on to their respective rooms, Grayson grabbing her bag and taking it with them. They made quick time of their nightly routine, finding themselves in pajamas with minty breath and fresh faces in no time, eager to climb into bed and find solace in each other again.

Indy moved first, nuzzling up to his neck as soon as he opened the blanket up for her to climb in. He tucked it around her before wrapping her up in his own arms and peppering kisses along her forehead.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. Not tonight.”

“Okay. What did you and my mom talk about?”

“You mostly. And your dad. She had so many stories about him.” She traced a triangle over his chest to keep herself busy, feeling his breath filling up his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“That you lost him. And that I can’t give you him back.”

“Nobody can bring people back Dee. You don’t have to be sorry about that.”

“But I can’t even give you a little. Your mom treats me like I’m one of her kids, so when I’m here, just for a minute, it feels like I have a little bit of my mom back. And I can’t give you that. You deserve that.”

He shifted so he could see her, cup her face with his hand.

“Indiana Cross. You don’t have to give me anything but yourself. And I don’t even deserve that. You hear me? I love you. For you. Not for anything else that you could ever give me. Okay?”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do.” He leaned down to kiss her slowly, as if to make her feel his words. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

She let the weight of her head, and her heart, rest in his palm.

“I love you too.”

#SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG LMAO #pls lemme know what u think I'll love u forever #mixtape #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan #dolan twins #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins fanfiction

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fbfh · 4 years

Text

vegas lights - piper x mpdg!bff!reader

2.3k words

wlw, friends to lovers

piper x manic pixie dream girl! best friend! reader

inspired by this concept playlist from this post (i think it’s the fourth one on the post)

You and piper met at one of those fancy boarding schools

You’ve been told you have trouble respecting authority, can’t follow instructions, and have little regard to your attitude

So more specifically, you met in detention

You had shown up to school with blue and orange hair

As you expected, that didn’t go over well

Piper hadn’t done her homework again

The teacher had left to make some copies of papers, and you were sitting one seat back and to the right of piper

“Hey, since people always talk about going back in time and making one small change that affects everything, do you think the most minute decisions we make have the capacity to change everything now?”

She turned her head and saw you leaning across your desk

Your eyebrows matched your hair, your blazer was too big and the sleeves were cuffed, and pen ink was scribbled on your arms and hands

You had a wild energy, like a strong breeze that smelled like summer you find some other time of year

“Uh…”

She wasn’t really sure what you meant, and was still a little thrown by you

“Or like, is it the kind of thing where nothing we do matters and we’re gonna end up where we end up, so that takes off the pressure of moralizing your decisions and you end up making ‘better’ choices?”

Was this real?

The late afternoon sun cast an unsettling blue green light throughout the building, and made Piper feel even more like she was dreaming

“Maybe neither,” she mused, grabbing the first thing that came to mind

A new smile crept at your eyes, and she could almost see your perspective shift

“Yeah, like… the presence of someone who wasn’t there before was the thing to set everything off. Maybe it’s not your decisions as much as being there…” you trailed off lost in thought, “huh.”

You pushed yourself up, and sat on the edge of your desk

“So what are you in for?”

Piper hadn’t realized she was staring until your eyes locked with hers

“D- uh, didn’t do my homework,” she sputtered

You sighed, and rolled your eyes

“God, they’re only gonna realize humans aren’t designed for constant work when we’re all dead.”

You turn back to her

“You seem intelligent. Being smart doesn’t mean anything, intelligence is what actually matters.”

Wow

How do you respond to that?

“... I’m Piper,”

“Piper…” you repeated slowly

“I like that.”

Silence

“What’s your name?”

“What do I seem like?”

She looked confused

“What do I strike you as?”

She thought for a minute, then blurted out the first thing she thought of

“Vegas.”

You smiled

“I love that… we’re gonna go to Vegas some time. It’ll be an adventure.”

“If I had to guess for you…” you trailed off, examining every detail of her in a way that didn’t make her self conscious

“I’d say diamond. I really like Piper too, though.”

Her stomach fell

There it is, nothing more than a pretty face once again

“Oh, cause I’m-”

“Strong.”

Her eyes snapped up to yours

“You don’t seem like anyone can break you.”

She liked that a lot better

You asked her something about lunch tomorrow, she didn’t remember quite what, and that was the beginning of the two of you

You spent every minute you could together, which often resulted in coordinating your stunts with hers to end up in detention together

After a while the bmw story came up

You believed her without hesitation

“God, guys can be the fucking worst sometimes. I bet that piece of wet toast gave you the car to get on your good side then pulled a Nice Guy as soon as he realized it wasn’t happening.”

Not totally accurate, but she appreciated your enthusiasm so she agreed wholeheartedly

For some reason it felt really nice to hear you say boys suck

As the semester went on, she started to get worried

You had started talking to a guy, and she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach

She found herself having to try harder and harder to fake happy for you

She was almost surprised at how relieved she was a week later when you plop down at your usual lunch spot and denounce cynically

“Y’know that guy I was talking to? Turns out he’s not actually into philosophy, he’s a fake academic with a superiority complex.”

A weight flew off her chest

“You’re way better off without him,”

“I know! He thinks watching rick and morty is a personality trait,”

“Oh god…” she laughed

She had to fight a smile for most of lunch

To her despair, the cycle repeated again, less than a week later

Then again and again, you were seeing a new boy every week for a little over a month

As it progressed, she began to notice feeling worse, then better with every guy you picked up and dumped

She started to worry she was being a bad friend, possessive and jealous

You could tell something was off, and had mentioned here and there if she needs to talk to you she can

Every act of closeness from you made her feel worse and better at the same time

You had asked her to help you re dye your hair, this time a bright lime green, and she had no idea how she’d made it through the long night of just the two of you without saying something really stupid

It was almost graduation by now and she felt like she was going to break in half

“That’s it, I’m done with men. Never touching another one. Ever.”

She looked up at you shocked

“You can hold me to that.” you finish, a laugh frosting the seriousness of your statement

A flood gate opened somewhere deep inside her

Before she could stop it, the thought crept up on her from the back of her mind

‘Least now I have a chance with her,’

The organicness shocked her so much she almost choked on her food

“You okay Di?” you asked

Her pulse was racing and she felt panic and adrenaline coursing through her in a way she’d never experienced

“Yeah, I just have go to the bathroom,” she said, standing up quickly and avoiding your eyes

“I’ll come with,”

“No! It’s fine. I’ll be right back, stay here.”

You agreed

She rushed into the bathroom to google “does having a crush on a girl mean i’m gay”

She tried rephrasing the question a hundred times, glad she remembered to turn on private browsing before she started

She tries to calm her breathing as she gets the same answer five times in a row

“If you keep asking if you’re gay, you probably are”

One article on realizing you have a crush on your girl best friend was actually slightly helpful

It was validating, gave advice on how to act normal, and emphasized there’s time to sort out these feelings and what they might mean later

She read it three times before the bell rang

Shit

She had half her classes with you, what was she gonna do now?

She came out of the bathroom and there you were, waiting for her

“Hey, you okay?”

“Ye- uh… yeah, I’m… sick I think. That’s why I left suddenly, and couldn’t… finish lunch,” she was a terrible liar to you, and just hoped that whatever forces had gotten her in trouble so many times could convince you this was all cause of a stomach bug

“Oh, that sucks. I have an extra bag of chips if you get hungry later, and if you wanna sleep after class instead of hang out I totally get it.”

Her heart was palpitating

At least you seemed to believe it

“Yeah, I probably should… and I probably shouldn’t get too close to you- like, I should stay away from you. Cause I don’t want you to get sick too.” she knew she was rambling and had no idea how to fix it.

“Okay, text me later. I’m here to talk if you wanna.” you smiled, and squeezed her shoulder, her heart squeezing at the same time

She left in a hurry to get to her next class, for once grateful you weren’t in it

Over the next week or so, the idea of having a huge uncontrollable crush on you started to be less scary

She just didn’t want to lose you

She knew everything about you

Your favorite color, violet

Your favorite singer, someone named king princess

Your favorite food, broccoli

Even your favorite lip balm flavor, cherry

She had to set all these feelings aside and be there for you as a friend, because that’s what you needed her to be

Just for another week, then you’d part ways for the summer and she could get over this before next year

She couldn’t stop the way her heart skipped a beat when you rested your head on her shoulder

Or when you were studying last night

You couldn’t figure out a problem, and put your head in her lap declaring,

“That’s it. We’re moving to a countryside cottage and becoming an old married farming couple.”

She didn’t breathe right for a second

She somehow managed to choke out

“God, please. That can be our plan b if we fail.”

Which, unfortunately, you didn’t

You both passed, and unhappily went your separate ways for the summer

She tried to keep plans to meet up abstract, savoring that last hug on friday more than she should have

This plan will work, she’ll avoid you all summer, and come back next semester and be totally normal

It will all be fine

Or it would have if you hadn’t pressed a kiss on her cheek before she got pulled into a rented car, speeding off for the airport

Every minute between that second and seeing her dad at the airport was filled with thoughts of you

Five days had passed, and she couldn’t sleep

She had tried to keep texting you to a minimum, which only worked because of how much she was overthinking everything

Friends can kiss sometimes, right?

And yeah, you looked at her with those big sparkly eyes, but you’ve looked at her like that since she first met you

She was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and couldn’t get your stupid amazing smile out of her head

She was… overwhelmed

Her phone buzzed

Of course, it was you

She threw her phone on her bed without reading it

Her whole body was buzzy, her feelings had never been this strong

It was too much

She actually felt like she was going to explode in 10 seconds

She could feel a stupid impulse of some kind or another creeping up

A gentle tapping on her window snapped her out of it

‘It’s her’

No it’s not, she chastised herself, you’re practically on the other side of the country

She looked over at her window

It was you

Oh god

She scrambled out of bed, and threw the window open

You had already popped the screen off, propping it next to her window

“Hi,” you said,

“H-” she had no words

Time and time again you left her speechless

“Y-... your hair’s pink,” she choked out

You laughed and smiled that crooked little smile of yours, and she could feel her heart clench

“Yeah, d’you like it?”

“Yeah,” she said without a second thought

Something she’d read online came back to her in a rush

‘If you like your crush after they change their hair, you know it’s real’

Shit

You placed your hand on top of hers

“So… do you wanna go on an adventure?”

“Yes.” she answered, never wanting anything more

You laugh and lean forward, closer to her

You brush a strand of hair out of her face and watch as her eyes flutter closed

A surge of nerves pulse through you simultaneously, your hand still on her face

“Piper,” you whisper, sounding closer than before

“Hm?”

“... do you want to kiss?”

Relief floods her like nothing she’s ever experienced before

She nods twice, vigorously

Your lips connect in a moment of pure euphoria

You’re soft

You taste like cherry, and that gum you’re always chewing, grapefruit and pear and a little cayenne

Her lips are warm and soft and so inviting

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, already wanting more

Her mind is reeling

What if this is just a fling or something, what if this isn’t like, romantic kissing and it’s the kind of kissing best friends probably do sometimes?

Best friends can kiss sometimes, right???

She has to do it now, there’s no way she could possibly come back from this

She has to tell you how she feels

But how can she say it?

She can’t just blurt it out

It has to be perfect

But she also has to be able to take it back in case you say no

“Piper,” you start again

“Yeah?” she breathes

Once again you take the words right out of her, spinning them into something beautiful and easy to understand

“Do you want to be girlfriends? Like, date each other?”

She’s frozen for a second

This has to be a dream

It feels fake

She’s been dying to hear you say those exact words for months

And how much more in character could it have been than after asking her to go on an adventure

She looks into your eyes, searching for a hint of a lie

She finds nothing

And for a moment, for the first time, she sees your composure begin to crack

You look… scared

She realizes she hasn’t answered yet

“Yes!” she blurts, pulling you in to kiss you again and again

“Yes, yes, yes…” she mutters between kisses

Your giggles hit her ears, sounding different than ever before

After what feels like forever and not nearly long enough, you finally part again

“So…” you play with her hair, braiding a loose strand

“How ‘bout that adventure?”

#piper x reader #piper mclean x reader #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #wlw x reader #hoo girls

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incidentreport31 · 3 years

Text

Episode One: In the Middle of the Street TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.]

[Intro music players.]

ANNOUNCER:

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: Incident Report Number 31.

[Theme song fades to a stop.]

[click recorder on]

ARCHIVIST:

Test. Test. One, two, three. (mutters) Bloody hell, why does it smell like something died in here? Well, guess we can’t prove something didn’t, eh? The recorder seems to be working, at least.

My name is Val West. I’m the newly appointed head archivist at The [REDACTED] Institute, which documents people’s possible experiences with the supernatural for both emotional support purposes and to get recovery time off of work, school, et cetera if the trauma is deemed severe enough by their employers or other supervisory staff.[beat as they scoff] Supernatural doctor’s note, innit...

The Head of the Institute, Mr. Neil Banks, has asked me to record these accounts because, well, there actually isn’t really a good reason. [mutters] Didn’t spend eight years getting a masters in library sciences to read stories into a dusty tape recorder, but, we all have to get by.

I do, at least, have people to assist me: two researchers: Zach Zamuel-Imogen Baker, and Christine Lewis, along with, I’m told, a very well-respected psychologist: one [hesitant] Dr. Oliver Possum, who will be advising me on any cases where there is necessary psychological follow up. I haven’t actually met any of them yet, but hopefully they will be helpful.

I was also explicitly told not to look behind the bookshelf to my left, so I will be looking behind the bookshelf later today...right. Guess I should get started, then.

[Sound of papers tapped on desk to organize them]

ARCHIVIST:

[They clear their throat.] For the consideration of Ortolan Bunting Law Firm: Ayla Stephenson’s encounter with a house that did not exist and her subsequent request for thirty hours of paid time off. No date given. Fine by me. Not gonna lose sleep over improperly filled out paperwork. Well. Start? I suppose? Yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

I feel the need to start with this, so you fully understand what I’m trying to say. I have a feeling you’ll just dismiss my story otherwise. I’ve lived here going on ten years now. Moved here on the promise of a job from the same company that I still work for today: Ortolan Bunting Law Firm. I drive the same route to work every day. I mean, I looked up the quickest way on the map when I first moved to town, and hey, who am I to question that? If it works it works. No need to make something difficult when the map’ll just figure it for you that first day, right?

I guess I’m getting a bit off topic here, but my point is that I’ve been going the same way for a decade, which is to say that I know the route to and from work like the back of my hand. Sure, maybe I don’t pay attention to every detail every day, I mean after ten years, the drive is almost an unconscious thing-

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Not a great way to build up your story’s credibility but, I digress.

[ACCOUNT.]

-but I still know all the road’s quirks, even if they don’t stick out to me after all this time. I know that the first left turn light on the way lasts for about two seconds and if you’re more than two cars behind in line, you’ll have to wait a whole cycle to go. I know there’s a business center that, god knows why, has their logo done in comic sans just off to the right before I merge onto the highway. Once I’m on that freeway for about fifteen minutes, I can see this drive through coffee place on one of the adjacent streets. Every single morning the line’s backed up out to the street- you’d think there’d be a better way to do that, but that’s more of a personal gripe and certainly not the point. On my way back from work, I take a few side streets to avoid rush hour traffic on the main road- just the way the map recommended on my first day, of course, I’m not looking to get lost in the backroads. There’s a few old houses, sometimes I see elderly couples sitting out on their porches. Sometimes they wave and I do have the decency to wave back, though some of my colleagues might not believe you… I’m afraid I’ve been a bit put off by this whole experience and have been taking it out on some of my coworkers. All the more reason to give me the [THE ARCHIVIST sighs this last part out as they are once again pulled out of the story] time off that I so kindly requested.

ARCHIVIST:

That last line is crossed out. It appears that Ms. Stephenson was reluctant for her Firm to read that bit if this ever got back around to them. To be honest, the way that this is going, I’m not so sure that plea would have done anything for her, but I am, of course, to remain the impartial academic in my work here, so I suppose I’ll allow the defacing of Institute paperwork just this once, even if the scribbles are rather unprofessional.

[ACCOUNT.]

There're a few empty lots there too. I think at one point, the city wanted to buy them up and make a park, but I don’t think they ever got around to it. Really don’t think they will now. I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been going the same way day in and day out for ten years… I’d notice if something was different.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m assuming… that is the point of this report yes? [beat] Continuing on.

[ACCOUNT.]

Nothing that day was really any different, I’d say. Just drove to work, hit all the usual landmarks: waiting to turn at the light, glancing at the comic sans sign, thinking that that coffee shop is definitely obstructing traffic, the usual. Went to work, got through the day with… minor amounts of stress… I mean it’s legal work, it isn’t fun, but somebody’s gotta do it. Got off right at five, gathered up my things and left. I took my usual streets, not really minding anything, but I noticed no one was out on the porches. That’s not unusual, I know, people can be inconsistent, it’s not a big deal, but looking back? Maybe they knew something was off… I mean if I’d lived in that neighborhood I certainly would have.

[Eerie music begins playing.]

I always drive with the radio on, can’t stand being alone with my thoughts on a busy street where road rage can make its way into my thoughts. Guess I should’ve mentioned that earlier, huh? Either way it seems important that I say it’s part of my daily life. I do it every day, and I’ve never had a problem with reception in that area, so when the sound started to glitch out, I thought something was wrong with my car. It was frustrating, sure, but not a big deal, even if I don’t necessarily enjoy the sound of static more than the average person.

I went through the usual useless attempts to fix it, of course. Smacked it a few times, turned it off and on again, but nothing changed. In the end, I just turned it off as I kept driving. Figured my own thoughts were better than the white noise that faded in and out of my speaker at an unpredictable volume. Things were fine for a few minutes. I’d almost gotten to the end of the street when I realized something wasn’t quite right.

At first, I thought maybe the light was just reflecting into my eyes weird. Maybe I’d just seen something out of the corner of my eye that there was a fine explanation for. Because… I knew this road. And there had never been a house there before. I was sure of it. A whole house isn’t something that could go up in a night, but you know that, you aren’t an idiot.

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

[pretentious bastard] I’d certainly like to think so, yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

But there it was. It wasn’t right next to the other houses, a few lots down the road instead. Other than my knowledge that it wasn’t there before, though, it could have blended into the neighborhood without anyone noticing.All things considered, it was a pretty nice house. Sure, it was done up in that fancy Victorian style and therefore inherently a little unnerving, you know how those old places just seem a little haunted even if they’re perfectly put together?

Still, beyond that, it was fine. Not broken down in that sort of creepy ghost way that you see in movies, or anything. The paint was pretty well done, only a little aged from the sun, and all the wood on the wrap-around porch was together. I mean if I was building a murder house, I would’ve splintered the boards and peeled up the exterior wall a bit, something along those lines, you know? It looked like someone could have been living out of it. Totally normal.

I know what you’re thinking, that I got out and had a look, but I can’t say I did. As the sun was going down? While I was all of a sudden unsure of my own thoughts? Really? No way in hell. I’m not an idiot either. So I kept driving. As I passed by, I got this strange feeling… like I wasn’t alone on the street. I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but with how much I was already questioning what I knew, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, and I sped away, not wanting to stick around any longer than I had to. Now, when I got home, I went through stages of denial before realizing that, hey, it wasn’t my damn neighborhood, and therefore not actually a problem that I would have to deal with.

At least until I was driving back from work the next afternoon. Funny how that works… your problems don’t just disappear because you’ve chosen to ignore them. Although ignore is a strong word considering I spent all day at work worrying about whether or not I should trust myself and whether or not I would see the house again when I drove home… I could’ve gone another route, of course. Could’ve gone even one street over and left it at that.

But that isn’t how it works, is it? I was so unsure of my own thoughts that I’d rather put myself in a situation that seemed potentially harmful than not know if I was wrong or not. [beat] So I went down the same route, just like I’d been conditioned to for the last decade. Once again, the couples were inside. They had to know something was wrong, I mean I was able to realize the house shouldn’t have been there and I didn’t even live in the neighborhood. I slowed my car to a snail’s pace as I inspected all about the street that I could. Not really sure what I was looking for if I’m being honest, but when I got to the house, I’d convinced myself that, yes, in fact, it was as real as the rest of the places on the block.

I don’t think it was really a conscious decision when I stopped the car. I’d just been going so slow already and… well I’d reached my target, hadn’t I? I sat and gazed over the house for a few moments. Looking over the perfect condition it seemed to be in, to no avail. It seemed to be perfectly normal. Maybe… Maybe I was really just in my head about all of this. Was it really that hard to believe? I should’ve just left, stopped staring at this place. Sitting there wasn’t going to change the fact that it was there, whether or not I could really trust my mind.

But… then I saw the curtains in the front window move. I snapped my gaze over to where I’d seen the motion and there was a little boy staring at me through the glass. He looked off to something behind the curtain before looking back over and waving, grinning a gap toothed smile at me. I... Well I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that so… I waved back. What else was I supposed to do? In an instance, I became convinced that I’d really just made the whole thing up. If there really was someone inside and nothing untoward seemed to be going on, the kid had seemed perfectly happy after all, then it had to be a real house. And really, if it had been some big spooky master plan, then why would he have acknowledged me? I’ve been to the movie theatre. I know children in horror flicks can be creepy, but just straight up waving at me like I was just another neighbor and nothing was going on? Didn’t exactly set up the sinister mood that I figured would have come from the place.

And then a hand shot out and. The kid recoiled as it shut, looking disappointed that he’d been caught doing something it was evident he wasn't supposed to. And I snapped back into trusting myself and sticking with my gut. I didn’t like the look of that. At all. Unfortunately, my whole life, I’ve generally been prone to the third fear response rather than either of the useful ones: I freeze. This time was no different. I couldn’t bring myself to drive away.

[In the background, eerie music begins playing.]

I sat there in dead silence for what felt like hours with a vague feeling of unease hanging in the air when the door opened. A man stepped out, wearing this fine tailored suit that I’d seen clients wealthier than I would ever be wear into my office and carried himself with the confidence of a person that knows no one is going to cross them. Despite all that, his face was soft. Approachable. Kind, even. Seemed like the kind of guy that knew he had money, but was willing to help you if you’d just say thank you afterwards.

As he approached my car he called out to me: “Hello there!”

Nice and friendly. Even with the strangeness of a few moments ago and my lingering unease, I could hardly bring myself to believe that this man would do anything to me. Sure, I was still stuck to my seat in fear, but he seemed perfectly safe. Maybe that’s just what it’s like to be charismatic though, looking back. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point, but my pre-programmed social response got the better of me and I rolled down my window to meet him.

“Hi.” I said. Just a simple greeting until I could really figure out what was happening.

He put one hand on the top of my car and leaned down to meet my eyes. As he spoke, his smile never faded: “So… I take it… you can see this place?”

Well, I was so taken aback I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I just nodded. And the next thing he said, well… threw me a bit off. He stood up, brushed off his pants calmly, turned back to the house, began walking, and he just said-

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

Now there’s a profanity here that I will not repeat, but it seems Ayla’s statement finishes there.

[The Archivist sighs and shuffles their papers.]

ARCHIVIST:

There’s not much followup to be done here. Ayla gave us a street address, but didn’t actually tell us which house it was. [mutters] Perhaps she’s more of an idiot than she claims to be.

Regardless, upon investigating the street, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, though none of our staff were familiar enough with the area to tell which houses should and shouldn’t be there. In my personal opinion, this is a mere case of a poor attention span. I can’t blame Ayla, I suppose, but was it really worth coming here and telling a whole dramatic story over it?

[scoff] There are some other areas of this statement that leave room for questioning and research, such as the radio static and the house’s residents. For now, however, I will be filing this one under “Irrelevant” in my mind. End recording.

[Recorder clicks on.]

[Recorder clicks back on.]

[There’s footsteps as HR walks down the hall. They knock on the Archivist’s office door. Meanwhile, the Archivist can be heard moving something.]

HR:

[muffled] Uh, hello? I’ve got something for the Archivist.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh, uh, yes, of course. Just let me— [They curse as they are heard tripping over piles of statements.]

[A pause.]

HR:

...should I come back at a later time, or—?

[The door suddenly swings open.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right. Blimey. Sorry about that, mate. What’s all this, then?

HR:

Er, are you the head archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

That depends, who’s asking?

HR:

Your HR. I’m also an intern under Mr. Banks, which brings about a whole array of other useless titles, but for your purposes, I’m just HR. My name is Luca.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh! Lovely. Mr. Banks told me I’d be seeing you. Um, pleasure to meet you.

HR:

Thanks, you—wait, wh—?

ARCHIVIST:

[trying to change the subject] Say, why are you here, Luca? Any plans for after your internship? I mean, surely, you have a field of study, a career plan?

HR:

[slowly, growing increasingly confused] Oh, um, yeah. I, um—well, I started here—um, yeah, after my internship, I. Uh.

ARCHIVIST:

It’s alright if you don’t have a plan, y’know. Took me a while to figure all my stuff out, and, well, I got out alive, didn’t I?

HR:

No, it’s just—I know I have something, I just. Um. [desperately trying to change the subject] What are you doing in there, exactly?

ARCHIVIST:

[beat] Oh, just some housekeeping.

HR:

...and that required you to move an entire bookshelf?

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Listen, I know what this looks like.

HR:

Doesn’t he have a weird thing about that?

ARCHIVIST:

[passionate] Which is exactly why I did it! I mean, they’re not the heaviest bookshelves in the world, so it’s certainly not a matter of safety.

HR:

[mutters] As if Mr. Banks has ever valued the life and safety of his employees.

[Both are heard walking back into the office towards where the bookshelf was.]

ARCHIVIST:

[cont.] Which means there must have been something weird about the bookshelf—and I was right. See, look, there’s like a weird...hole. Thing.

HR:

...I’m guessing that’s why Mr. Banks made me bring you a shovel?

ARCHIVIST:

Hm? Oh, right, the shovel. Kind of forgot I had asked for that.

HR:

How did you not notice I was carrying it when I came here?

ARCHIVIST:

You see, within the hole, there’s this big mound of dirt, and I have reason to believe that there’s something hidden beneath.

HR:

[They sniff, then, disgusted] Oh god, why does it smell like something died in there?

ARCHIVIST:

That’s what I’m trying to find out.

HR:

Look, can’t you just...I don’t know, leave it? Like, just put the bookshelf back, spray some air freshener, and then be done with it? I really don’t want to have to write this up.

ARCHIVIST:

You expect me to work under these conditions? Having a mysterious hole in my wall with no idea what’s lurking within?

HR:

Look, I just think this is a really stupid idea. If Mr. Banks finds out—

ARCHIVIST:

He’s not going to! You— [they huff a sigh.] Would you just hand me my shovel? I’m going in!

HR:

Whatever you say.

[HR hands the Archivist the shovel.]

ARCHIVIST:

Thank you.

[They are heard shoveling for some time, before the Archivist finally seems to hit something.]

HR:

Is...is that…?

ARCHIVIST:

My god.

HR:

That’s a dead body.

ARCHIVIST:

Appears to be. [beat.] Do you know who it is?

HR:

I mean, they’re sort of hard to recognize now.

ARCHIVIST:

Perhaps the previous archivist?

HR:

I dunno, I never knew them.

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right, then. Back to work. Mind helping me move this bookshelf?

HR:

(under their breath) God, I’m gonna have to write this up, aren’t I?

[Recorder clicks off.]

[Theme music plays.]

[CREDITS.]

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “In the Middle of the Street,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Luka Miller as HR. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks so much for listening!

#ir31pod transcripts

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plush-anon · 4 years

Text

Happy Halloween Scooby Doo! Review

Muahahhhahahhahahaha! Thanks to the Walmart tradition of stocking movies for sale weeks before the intended release date, I have myself a copy of what claims to be Scooby Doo’s FIRST Halloween adventure!

…in spite of movies like Witch’s Ghost and Goblin King, holiday specials like WNSD’s A Scooby Doo Halloween (which had a haunted Scarecrow too…), BCSD’s EL Bandito (for Dia de los Muertos - obvs not the same, but most companies act like it) and Halloween, The NSDM’s Halloween Hassle at Dracula’s Castle, and the DTV short film Scooby Doo and the Spooky Scarecrow (which, ironically enough, did NOT take the opportunity to feature Dr. Jonathan Crane).

So let us take a look now at Happy Halloween Scooby Doo! and see whether this film will be a graveyard smash of a treat, or a black licorice bomb of disappointment.

Full review (and SPOILERS TO GO WITH IT) are below the cut in my new review format; if all goes smoothly, I’ll go with this for future Scooby films.

WARNING: This review is very long.

One minor note before we begin: the Special Features actually include BCSD’s Halloween, WNSD’s A Scooby Doo Halloween, and PNSD’s Ghost Who’s Coming to Dinner

...so they were AWARE this was not the first Halloween adventure of the Scooby gang, and yet still use that tag line. Hm.

Still, kudos for including them - this’ll help boost the reasons to keep this movie, if it turns out to be a real Milk Dud of a movie *ba-dum tish* :D

-----------

The movie starts off rather abruptly, actually - no slow pan over the setting, just WB Animation credit and BOOM, we’ve cut to a Halloween parade and Elvira is talking.

I’m of a mixed opinion including Elvira on top of having Bill Nye and a Batman Rogue - while she most certainly fits the Scooby aesthetic, it doesn’t feel as grand an impact after her weird little cameo in Return to Zombie Island (ugh) and I’m not sure how well the movie will balance her in wait a minute

wait just a

WAIT A MINUTE

Did - did that parade float skeleton just sing Crystal Cove as the town’s name?

oh no.

Oh No.

....also their song is terrible and they should feel terrible.

-------

Fred: We got him! Banh Mi Shop, second floor!

me: the heck is a Banh Mi Shop? *mild googling noises*

So I guess Jonathan Crane really had a craving for a Vietnamese sandwich before he enacted his Halloween scheme.

...you think he’s a lemongrass chicken type of guy or a BBQ pork guy? It’s always hard to guess at these things, esp when coffee and pumpkin spice aren’t on the table (as per fanon, of course)

-----

Velma: We have a flawless track record!

So I guess WB is just gonna ignore the past few DTV retcons established in 13 Ghosts and Return to Zombie Island?

I mean that rather defeats the purpose of them existing at all, but fcuk YEAH I can get behind throwing that retcon garbage out of canon!

And STAY OUT!!

------

Shaggy, talking about ghosts being real: I’m like the boy who cried wolf - I keep warning you but like, you won’t believe me until I finally get eaten!

Yet again, Warner Bros makes a wolf reference to Shaggy. Yet again, I am torn asunder between wanting werewolf!Shaggy in a new Scooby property, and fearing for the appearance of werewolf!Shaggy in a new Scooby property.

-------

Velma: Point is, being afraid is a waste of time!

Scarecrow, LITERALLY EXPLODING THROUGH A BRICK WALL three buildings away:

------

He’s floating through the air and t-posing to assert his dominance 🤣🤣🤣

Gods bless animation 😁

------

Daphne @ Shag and Scoob locking themselves in the van: Are you serial?

Me: wait, SERIAL? *re-reads captions* yup, that says “serial”.

Is this an editing mistake? I don’t think that works here…unless that’s supposed to be a joke on how they always do this. But then why would that be an irritating surprise, they literally do this EVERY episode 🙄

-------

Oh hey, Red Herring’s Party Screams truck has Red Herring running out of it

Could this be a hint to how the story goes? The villain appearing on a literal Red Herring?

Naaaaaah, WB’s not THAT smart

-------

So if we take @captainbaddecisions crack theory on Jonathan Crane being Shaggy’s uncle seriously, does this mean that Jonathan is using magic to fly, float fear toxin orbs around himself, and making things explode, a la the family trait of Crack Theory A?

Logically he’s probs using wires or magnets or some shit, but it’s a fun thought to entertain 😁

------

Welp, we finally get the opening credits! … with Jonathan Crane smashing through the Mystery Machine’s windshield, set to a slow poppy song straight from the 60s, and spewing the title of the film out in glittery pink mist.

All the while Scooby and Shaggy throw candy at each other, deliberately obtuse to the cloud of fear toxin enveloping their friends and the townsfolk, the steady destruction of the Mystery Machine they’re laying in as multiple cars crash into it and send it spiraling, and the general mayhem and destruction that Scarecrow is causing

Never change, guys, never change

--------

I just choked on my lemonade

There’s an article plastered to the roof of the Mystery Machine titled “Talking Dog Confounds, Ignites Ethics Debate Over Dog Labor”

ahahahahaha

-------

Annnnnnnnd there goes the Mystery Machine, tumbling in the air and over the roads with Shaggy and Scooby still inside without seat belts. Will they perish in this horrible road accident? Will Death finally come to claim them at last?

Of course not. This is Shaggy and Scooby we’re talking about - I’m almost positive they can survive anything up to and including a nuclear bomb. This is child’s play to them.

-------

So they “capture” Scarecrow… by pinning his cape to a tree with crossbow bolts.

And they do not try to at least tie up his arms or his hands in ANY capacity.

JUST the cape.

...you know, Velma, for a team with a “flawless” track record, you guys are making a hecking TON of mistakes in facing against one of Batman’s ROGUES GALLERY, ESPECIALLY with no Batman in sight, good freakin’ grief. 😩

------

Yaaaaaaaaas, this Scarecrow design is LUSH

He’s got the lank, the height, the BTAS costume colors, the elongated face with beaky nose and pointed chin and angular cheekbones, the eyebags like Gucci, the furrowed brow… honestly the only thing missing is the more reddish color hair, and even that isn’t mandatory. I love 😍

Not to mention the HOT DAYUM voice he has - low and velvet rough and so godsdamned particular in a way that could either tie in to obscuring a southern accent as in fanon or just as a stringent academic, oh my yes. He’s voiced by someone called Dwight Schultz, who’s most well known for playing Captain ‘Howling Mad’ Murdock in the OG A-Team show, and someone called Reginald Barclay in Star Trek TNG and Voyager, if any of y’all know that character in particular.

And of course, the first line he says is a delightfully wry “Oh, but I AM getting away with it,” with the sort of smirk that absolutely lends credence to why he’s a threat to Batman, and not some simpering wimp that can be defeated with some crossbow bolts in a tree.

I think I’m going to enjoy this movie at least somewhat, so long as we get to see him 🥰🥰🥰

(tho on a side note: Daphne why on EARTH are you trying to film Crane saying the meddling kids line? Do you have a video compilation of past villains who’ve done that, and you hope to add his to it? Was your phone damaged when you went up against the Riddler a few DTVs ago and you want a second shot at recording a Gotham Rogue saying it? Bc I don’t think a Gotham Rogue would be too pleased with seeing himself as a Mystery Meme on the Youtubes, you get what I’m saying?)

-------

Okay, so the floating orb things are explained away as fear toxin bomb drones somehow… despite looking nothing like the other drones and being much smaller with no visible propulsion, while also flying unassisted through and around objects to explode against places once flung…

(tho interesting note, none of them are aimed directly at the crowds, just behind them - odd, that)

But how did he heckin’ FLY at the beginning?

Yeah, they show him wearing wrist-mounted grappling hooks at the end of the intro song sequence, but they are NOWHERE IN SIGHT at the beginning - and I do mean in sight, since he emerges against a backdrop of flames. There was nothing there (see the T-pose above for further evidence), and nothing there when he FLEW THROUGH THE MYSTERY MACHINE’S WINDSHIELD AND FLEW BACK OUT AGAIN. And these things are pale silver, which stands out like crazy against the darker backgrounds, so no hand-wavy ‘they were always being used’ bullcrap we’ve seen in other movies.

Hmmm *scribbles in notepad* note to self, add notation concerning Crack Theory A on magic!Shaggy to “Uncle Crane” theory files - evidence denotes that Crane is able to fly (or at least hover in mid-air unassisted) for terrorization purposes. May boost strength of CTA by family association, lending credence to magic inheritance along the bloodline...

------

“Avocado Toast Generation”? Crane, I honestly don’t know if you really mean that, or if you understand just how much that phrase gets under any Millennial/Gen Z kid’s skin. Having seen multiple variations of your character, it really could swing either way (tho kudos on the dead switch idea - very nice 👍🏻)

Although this does lead to an interesting stand-off: Fred, upon seeing the town threatened with 3 days worth of fear toxin, immediately moves to let Crane go, while Velma stops him and refuses to consider compromising if it means Crane escapes. They both look legitimately frustrated at the other for taking the stance they do.

Fascinating~

------

Hmmm

Crane honey, I don’t know if your drones are made of flash paper and hope, or if Scooby and Shaggy are using the reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaally old candy (the stuff made about ~3 years ago most neighborhoods give out to the teenagers that knock around midnight on Halloween) to shoot them down, but either way you may wish to speak with the manufacturer about this

Then again, this IS Shaggy and Scooby - they probably could’ve spat marshmallows at the drones and brought them down with equal success and explosions

(and good on them for shooting those down! Atta boy 👍🏻)

-------

Aw dang it

1. They still have Crane captured and now in handcuffs (despite having… you know… NOT been bound by anything except cross bolts in his curtain cape thing)

2. Dwight Schultz has decided to pitch his voice higher and more nasally than what he has. Hopefully this is more of an incredulous sort of pitch than something that sticks for the rest of the movie, ugh.

Also, I think they’re framing the movie to be more Velma-centric this time around - she’s the one explaining to Crane how they tracked him down, apparently through a piece of fan mail he sent Elvira (is that the only reason she’s there? Also why was Velma examining random pieces of fan mail for toxins, Elvira probs gets hundreds a week irl) and it looks like they’re framing something up on how fear isn’t something you can pretend isn’t there. neat!

------

whajit

53rd?

53rd?!?!

ONLY 53rd?!?!?!?!

Boooo, Scarecrow’s WAY more popular than that! I call foul

---

Okay why is Daphne’s schtick so far to spit laaaaaaame slang after every sentence Velma says

I would rather this not be her schtick

Actually could she go back to filming mystery stuff, bc at least I can pretend it’ll build into the OG Zombie Island Daphne

----

Phew, his voice has returned to its low, raspy goodness

also, Crane needs to learn about personal space, good grief

(interesting clue brought up tho - Crane only steals tech that CAN’T leak his toxin, ergo it can’t be tracked until he releases it. Sensible use, given that Batman probs tracks it if it does.)

----

Velma: I’m not afraid of you, Crane. Fear is an illogical reaction to an imagined threat.

Crane:

-----

Crane: Fearless, then. Intelligent. Proud and stubborn. You remind me very much of the one person in this world I care about.

uhhhhhh

Yourself? Harley? Edward Nygma? Ichabod the raven? Idk, I’m honestly curious as to where this thread will go 🤔🤔🤔

-----

Fred, leaning against the Mystery Machine: Guys, it’s gonna be okay. She told me!

O_o

Fred? Honey? Are you sure you weren’t supposed to join Crane in the transport vehicle back to Arkham?

----

OH SWEET JESUS SHAGGY GREW YAOI HANDS

WHAT THE HECK

THAT’S WAY MORE UNNERVING THEN YOU GUYS NOT BEING AFRAID ANYMORE

(although the fact that they’re both unsettled by NOT constantly shaking or having their heart racing is honestly kind of heartbreaking. Y’all need therapy, good grief)

----

Shaggy and Scooby just chewed up candy (wrapper and all) to make themselves a Halloween costume of… what looks like barfed-up candy (ew)

Before then proceeding to dance so well that everyone around them also starts dancing in a 60s-70s era rainbow light show and giving them candy

I worry for these two sometimes - that kind of power seems to be getting to their head 😬😬😬

---

Oh hey, acid green toxic waste is spilling from an 18-wheeler onto the Fear Toxin drones and emitting a purple pink haze that envelops a pumpkin patch! That won’t do anything suspicious at all I bet!

(wait is Poison Ivy going to come into this at some point)

(also major kudos to the music here - very 80s horror synth, I like)

----

So the Pumpkins have grown faces, limbs, consciousness, the ability to fly and a lust for human flesh

And they appear to be led by the Pumpkin King of the Pumpkin Patch mentioned in the Charlie Brown Halloween special

He’s not as friendly as I pictured him being, sadly 😕

---

Why is this random ass cop coming up to FD&V to say that they’re in over their heads… AFTER the mystery’s been solved?

Like dude, you’re only making yourself suspicious at this point, go home

----

Huh, interesting - the gang are being interviewed for a tv news network while they’re considered the town heroes

Why am I getting bad vibes from this…

Eh, it’s probably nothing

----

Velma: {Shaggy and Scooby} are, um… REALLY into the Halloween spirit.

Shaggy: THIS ISN’T COSPLAY, VELMA!

I’m dying 😂

------

Holy Shit

Velma just snapped and went off on Shaggy and Scooby for acting scared and doing nothing to help wrap up the mystery

(even though these guys are the ONLY reason that the gang didn’t have to choose between setting Scarecrow free and poisoning the entire town for 3 days straight, but hey, what do I know - I’m just writing an in-depth reaction post to this movie and taking note of details like this, clearly I know nothing *eye roll*)

Last time I saw Velma critique the guys’ usual mystery solving shenanigans, it was much more low-key and without knowing they were nearby

But I’m sure that’s just a coincidence

------

What the

Bills?

Bills?!?!

Fred just mentioned that fixing the Mystery Machine was going to leave a hefty bill and that they may need to get dishwashing jobs to earn money

Which is more of a job you might expect a high schooler to get on the go and yet

They actually have to pay bills

How old are they here??!

------

wait a tic

THIS is how they introduce Bill Nye?

He just calls up Velma with no explanation other than Velma saying “Oh hey, it’s Bill Nye!”

I just - what?!?!

How do you know him so well that he can just pull up your number and call you, and then geT YOU A NEW FREAKING CAR LIKE

WHAT?!?!?!?

Was there a Scooby episode with him in the past two years where the fcuk did this come from

------

Also the car is dressed like Bill Nye

And he can talk to the gang directly as the car

So that he can solve mysteries with them whenever he wants

This… this was not what I was expecting to come about from the Bill Nye cameo

(alas, poor predictions of being Crane’s roommate, you will not come to pass this day) 😔

-------

Ooooo, purple haze throbbing on the horizon! That’s always a good sign of things to come! 😀

------

And now Daphne’s… asking Elvira to mentor her fashion wise. And Elvira’s taking her on as her unpaid intern/personal assistant.

Yooo, movie, can you pick a direction and stick with it for Daphne? You’ve gone from her spewing outdated slang to wanting a costume for trick-or-treating, and now this.

-------

Welp, now I can say I saw a giant pumpkin dog vore an old woman

I didn’t WANT to see that mind, but I guess I can say it now 😐

------

OH SHIT NO

IT TURNED HER INTO A FLYING PUMPKIN SHAPED LIKE HER FACE

ABSOLUTELY UNSETTLING, 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND

-------

At least we get a nice scene of Daphne kicking the pumpkins’ collective butt

Something normal

------

Elvira: WOW! You’re a regular Mary Sue!

*falls over cackling*

------

And now there’s a giant purple fissure opening up in the concrete to swallow the town of Crystal Cove whole

(good, i whisper softly into the darkness of my living room. Let it fall)

--------

Man, I feel so bad for this single father right now

He’s gotten wrapped up in all of this nonsense with his daughter, and he is just Distraught at being chased by Jackal Lanterns, having the town collapsing under his feet, and having to gorge jump in his sedan to get away from the worst of it

It’s okay, Mike Dad - we would feel the same way in your shoes

-------

Hologram Bill Nye is wearing Cat ears and cat whiskers/nose, and is cleaning his hands like a cat cleans its paws

Why was this the movie we found out Bill Nye was a furry

Why Warner Bros

Why would you inflict this upon us in a Scooby Doo-Scarecrow mystery

-------

Hey, can Jonathan Crane return now? The movie needs its dignity back.

------

A clue on the whys here - the town was built on top of a MASSIVE lithium deposit, with the talks to mine it being scrapped due to environmental concerns. That’s actually a decent lead in for why some

-------

Welp

The Jackal Lanterns just went full Mad Max with the Halloween Parade floats and cars

No, I don’t have any idea why either, just roll with it

-------

Nice, they confirmed that Fred’s full name is still Frederick Herman Jones XD

Also a great little action sequence with Daphne - while there’s not much movement, they frame the scene dynamically, with some good quick wordplay. Very nice.

--------

Velma has a mind palace

Aight

--------

Velma: Shaggy, I could kiss you!

Oh, to hear this as a child, when I still hardcore shipped Shelma *sigh*

------

Oh thank gods we’re going back to Scarecrow again

------

Shaggy ate some Scooby Snacks, leapt out of a moving vehicle, and onto the backs of two flying pumpkins that he promptly reined in to fly to Crane’s prison transport

...yet again, I am amazed at the sentences I am led to type for Scooby Doo DTVs

------

Ah, how very Hannibal Lector of you, Jon

Man, he actually looks very meek in normal clothes - red long-sleeved shirt and grey slacks

-----

Hmmm

So Crane ISN’T behind the Jackal Lanterns - in fact he’s outright befuddled by them. This means his whole spiel to Velma earlier about both of them being caught in the same trap was… metaphorical? The breakdown doesn’t actually go into WHY he thinks they’re in the same trap - Crane’s whole schtick is tied to accepting fear, not denying it, so why would they be the same?

Either way, someone is using both him and Mystery Inc to do something to Crystal Cove (please be Red Herring, please be Red Herring, please be Red Herring)

Actually, that reference at the beginning really WAS a red herring - they framed it as being Jon the whole time when it wasn’t. Kudos!

Additional kudos to having Jon be seen more out of mask than in - he is a looker, and I aim to look as much as I can ;)

-------

Annnnd Daphne’s now trying to convince Elvira to switch clothes with her

I don’t get it - how on earth did we get from Daphne trying to find a good costume for trick-or-treating to asking Elvira to switch oh there it is nevermind.

-----

There is literally a scene where a giant buzzsaw is slicing towards Crane

and he just

stares at it

going “huh, that’s different”

And I LOVE IT

------

And here we have another fascinating scene: Velma going to free Crane from his cell, as Daphne tells her to just leave him to die by pumpkin

I’m wondering if they meant to draw a parallel between the two here - Velma starts by reciting a nursery rhyme, then overcoming her fears in order to release madness to take control. It’s not done very cleanly - mainly bc we barely have any time with Crane in this movie - but I wonder if they meant to insinuate that Crane was like Velma once, where he refused to acknowledge he was afraid, which caused him to lose focus on his initial goals

Idk, ignore my ramblings

---

Crane, smirking: I’ll need my personal effects - extenuating circumstances.

Me, fanning myself: I’ll need you to remove yours first

(i am not even kidding, Crane is an absolute DILF in this movie and it flusters me. Stupid sexy animation)

---

YAAAAAAAAAAASSSSS

SCARECROW TO THE MOTHERFCUKING RESCUE BABY, SCYTHE AND FCUKING ALL!!!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

----

FCUK YEAH THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

HE HAS A DANCE LIKE QUALITY WITH SOME OF HIS FIGHTING MOVES

VIOLENT DANCING BRINGS THE GIANT JACKAL LANTERN DOWN BABY

THEN HE BACKFLIPS AND GYMNASTIC SWINGS INTO THE VAN

ROCK IT SCARECROW FCUKING ROCK IT

(minor note here, but the subtitles show Dr. Crane instead of Scarecrow - unsure if that’s more that the movie calls him Dr Crane or if it indicates he’s acting more heroic than villainous)

---

GODDAMNIT

THE GIANT PUMPKIN SNUCK VINES INTO THE VAN AND STOLE HIM BACK

WHEN CRANE WAS... wearing a seatbelt before, but isn’t now.

...

BOOOOO

---

Yet again, we find a Scooby movie that attempts character development, but with Velma

Unlike Shaggy’s Showdown however, I’m mixed on how successful it is.

For starters, Velma hasn’t been this cocksure in other DTVs we’ve seen, so it’s a bit odd to see it now. While not 100% out of place - after all, the gang DID capture one of Batman’s Rogues Gallery on their own - it still feels a touch forced. Compare that to Shaggy’s Showdown, where Shaggy has ALWAYS been a coward (one that, in more recent years, writers have had willing to abandon his friends for safety), so the character development there feels more natural.

The progression of events with Velma actually work somewhat okay - but again, here’s where past DTVs come to bite them in the ass. The past handful have had the gang be wrong, have had them fail, or catch the wrong guy. This makes Velma’s attitude here at odds with the other films, something that sticks more due to a character that’s appeared in the past few films as a minor inconvenience - a Sheriff who keeps telling the gang not to interfere, they’re doing things wrong, etc. If this had been a character who was completely wrong in the past AND SHOWN TO BE WRONG FOR HIS OPINIONS, while the gang never guessed wrong, this would work much better. Unfortunately, it doesn’t, and here we are.

I think it would have flowed better if Velma’s cockiness came solely from catching Crane on their own. Have a random cop character or reporter or whatever (just not the recurring cop), insinuate that the gang is in too deep with Scarecrow, that he should be handled by the adults or professionals or whatever. Velma could bristle, overcompensate, and THEN fall from her pedestal like we see, reach out to the gang and commiserate over feeling scared, and grow. Again, it’s not too far to reach for, but they handle it poorly; as a result, the outcome feels a little more shoehorned in.

It’s an honest shame, bc we haven’t had a Velma centered story since Frankencreepy, and we all remember what a hideous fcuking mess THAT was *shudders*. Still, it somewhat gets its point across, I guess.

---

Fred why did you rip your shirt off

Actually better question why do you not have nipples

---

Awwwwwww

Velma just apologized to Shag and Scoob for snapping at them earlier, and admits how she doesn’t appreciate how much they make Mystery Inc what it is

Also she eats a Scooby Snack with them and admits they taste pretty good

----

Huh

Velma’s mind palace is the Mystery Machine driving through space

Also Shaggy and Scooby are able to telepathically follow her in and communicate with her

Literally, they actually followed her into her head telepathically, and show her their memories of things she hasn’t gotten to see tonight (while also possibly enhancing her ability to remember things, given how much DETAIL she captures perfectly of things that she would maybe have glimpsed in a millisecond AT MOST)

...another tally for Crack Theory A of magic! Shaggy and Scooby *scribbles*

-------

Fred, be very very thankful that there are no people operating those pumpkins in person cause uhhhh

Those traps would be spraying red instead of orange

------

Another weird music choice - the gang goes up to fight the Jackal Lanterns, but the music is the same 60s bubble we heard earlier

Not terribly atmospheric, really

(wouldn’t a Smashing Pumpkins cover of Scooby Doo be more appropriate, or did you guys spend all your money on hiring Elvira and Bill Nye?)

------

Dang

Velma just admitted her fears and jumped into the mouth of the Mega Pumpkin, before getting Fred to use the app from earlier to shut it down, revealing it to be a giant drone surrounded by smaller pumpkin drones

This feels… counterintuitive, but I’ll try to explain at the end

---

Okay

I’ll admit it

The Whodunnit is actually pretty decent in concept

There was a sprinkling of tidbits that could be assembled for the final conclusion and still make a decent amount of sense, all to find the sheriff doing it

Only he isn’t a sheriff

He’s a former Tech CEO who was also busted by the gang years ago in a case the Sheriff kept bringing up throughout the movie - due to his prison sentence, he lost more than half his wealth and the opportunity to expand it further with the Crystal Cove Lithium deposits

He was also someone who sold tech to Crane for his fear toxin distribution, where he got the idea to frame him for it

(tho on a side note, Crane is an absolute dork and a terrible liar - just look at the email he sent XD and that profile pic, my gods)

He deliberately picked at the gang for the past few DTVs (specifically 2: Return to Zombie Island and Curse of the 13th Ghost) to fracture their confidence, undermine them, etc - all so that in one fell swoop, he could retake his fortune, frighten everyone in town away from the mines so they couldn’t interfere, frighten away the gang (while also ruining their reputation as mystery solvers), and take Crane off the docket so he couldn’t identify the CEO when he pretended to be the sheriff

This… is actually a pretty damn good plan, for a Scooby villain. He was patient, manipulative, and clever, learning how best to tie up loose ends and win back what he lost. A clever revenge story that came so close to coming to fruition, and could have honestly been sold convincingly…

...if it hadn’t been done so much better in Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed.

Yeeeaaaah, this movie basically lifts the rough framework up from that one - past mystery villain comes back to attack the gang and ruin their reputation (tho this one decides to also make his fortune back and tie up loose ends with former criminal contacts, a la Crane). Gang is embarrassed in front of the news folk, another villain is framed for it (like Old Man Wickles of the Black Knight fame), and the gang must reconcile to foil the villain for good.

Although it also??? Merges elements of Frankencreepy in it?? The movie is focused on Velma, who is struggling to admit when she’s wrong (which ties into her fear, somehow… I’ll think on that point a little) and things purportedly go haywire when she won’t bend. This… isn’t illustrated as well here, since there’s very little direct cause-and-effect from Velma’s actions that would prove this point - that insisting her way is the right, best, and therefore only way to go ends up making things worse.

As much as I despised Frankencreepy (and I DESPISED IT), it did do that part well - showing that refusing to budge on something can lead to you hurting your friends (literally, in that one), and that admitting you were wrong and need help isn’t the end of the world.

(that movie also had former villains returning to gain vengeance upon the gang using psychological warfare, hm - may need to go over that one again, unfortunately).

It’s a shame, too - the basic elements for this plot are all here, they just need to be polished and reworked a bit to make a really fascinating movie.

------

Anyways, back to the asshat CEO who just… faked being a sheriff. Because white people can get away with that so long as they have the outfit and the car *throws up hands* (the sad part is this is probably something that actually happens)

As he drives away we see a familiar silhouette looming in the cornfields, watching him approach

Velma had Bill Nye on speaker, so he could record the entire confession for the federal officers nearby (who were taking Scarecrow back to Arkham), and track the phone signal to his exact location

And right as his holographic call cuts out, we see the shadow of a Scarecrow looming over him, causing him to scream.

When the feds arrive at his final location, both his body and the money have vanished. The car still sits, engine running, before the crows leering over him from the field vanish into the sky.

-------

Now that he’s dead, the gang walks and finds themselves at a Halloween party, with friendly faces and good food. The mystery is solved, though the culprit may never be found again.

Then Daphne admits to NOT trying to steal Elvira’s costume for Halloween, but instead trying to steal Elvira’s identity and replace her.

Something that she’s apparently nearly gotten away with on past mysteries working with Phillis Diller

*sighs* movie, why couldn’t you just stick to the costume schtick? This is just… so much worse.

-----

From there, Elvira walks off to wrap things up, reveal the monster face on the back of her head sans wig (which was also a monkey), and start the credits, where we see the gang working to bring the Mystery Machine back to its former glory a la Frankenstein pastiche.

This movie… this movie is a hot mess, but at least it’s an OKAY hot mess.

It really does feel like someone started writing a decent Velma-focused movie concerning the Scarecrow and a past Mystery Inc villain interfering, but was bogged down by notes from higher-ups: Wait! Write in Elvira! Also write in Bill Nye! Hey, let’s have a Mad Max car chase with the Jackal Lanterns! And have Daphne obsessed with literally becoming Elvira! Also make reference to things that we’ll insist be explained this way instead of a way that makes sense! Great!

(seriously tho, we never find out who Crane cares about most that reminds him of Velma, what the heck?)

It’s like two or three different scripts were smooshed together without being cleaned up - stuff is said that doesn’t get resolved, the celebrity guests don’t get to breathe much and feel squished together, and the build-up for the villain feels… less impactful, even knowing that he’s been in the past two films.

It might have worked if he’d been in… let’s say like 5 or 6 DTVs in a row, speaking roles for dissing the gang growing in each (ex start with “Good job kids! But maybe next time, leave it to the professionals, okay?” and growing more bitter from there), but only 2 feels kind of meh. Still, I do appreciate the clues we got to collect together, and they all work in the final breakdown of the scheme - some DTVs can feel like they pull stuff completely out of nowhere, so kudos there.

I appreciate what they wanted to do with Velma - give her a character development arc similar to Shaggy’s in Shaggy’s Showdown. Unfortunately, it wasn’t set up quite so neatly: they blended her ‘refusal to admit fear’ with her overconfidence that she was always right, and it led to a weird conclusion. To face her fears, she leapt into the Giant Pumpkin, which… proved that she was right all along about it being fake, and that solves things somehow. It doesn’t address how she can get something wrong sometimes, it doesn’t really address what she’s afraid of (which is honestly quite good: she’s afraid of failing in a way that allows bad guys to escape justice and in a way that hurts her friends), it’s just a bit of a mess. Points for aiming the focus the right way (and in a way that DOESN’T sexualize the underage teenage girl, unlike some DTVs cough cough Frankencreepy cough cough), but it’s very very messy how it goes about it.

The movie actually balanced pretty well for the whole gang - no excessive focus on one leaving the rest in the dust (too much at least - Fred was a touch underdeveloped, but nowhere near as annoying as past iterations have been. Shaggy and Scooby were kind of meh in some places but great in others, while Daphne was just odd. I think they were trying to recapture the BCSD Daphne characterization, but they failed. Still, she did spend some good time kicking ass with the pumpkins, so that was fun.

Now for the Rogue, Jonathan Crane. If you like Crane, this movie gives you: maniacal Scarecrow, calm and creepy Crane, a brief glimpse at fanboy!Crane (he admits in his own awkward way that he’s a fan of Elvira, and later tells her he loves her work - it’s fun), and (best of all for me) a heroic Crane - one who helps the protagonists and ends up kicking ass pretty damn well, brief as it was. And while DILF Crane is always a treat, he feels underutilized in this. In comparison, Scooby Doo/Batman Brave and the Bold really utilized a lot of different aspects of Riddler, to the point he actually does feel pretty menacing by the third act. It’s a shame we don’t quite get that with Crane, but I do love seeing him 1. More out of mask, and 2. Acting as a good guy (in his own way), so he’s enjoyable on the whole.

I kind of wish that the whole movie was spent more with Crane, but again, the script is a bit of a mess on this part - the fact that he’s not completely screwed over is a goddamn miracle.

Elvira was… okay. She didn’t have much of a purpose beyond getting the plot started and giving Daphne some hooks to play off of. Bill Nye (abrupt as his introduction was) did provide some necessary elements to the mystery, as well as the tech; he wasn’t too bad by the end. (still a touch bitter we didn’t get ex roommate Nye, but hey, what can you do)

Humor was… mixed. Some good, some meh, but very few long enough to feel painful. Some bits felt extraneous at times, but they did help to build to the conclusion, so points for effort.

At the end of the day though, I’m probably keeping this more for Jonathan Crane than anyone else. It does have a lot of fanfic potential tho 🤔🤔🤔

That’s all from me tonight, folks! Hope you enjoyed my own little breakdown of the movie.

#happy halloween scooby doo #plush reviews: final thoughts #jonathan crane #scarecrow #spoilers

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 4 years

Text

Toxic Thoughts

Summary: Logan is ADHD. Songfic of Toxic Thoughts by Faith Marie. This is kind of a vent fic. If you don’t understand anything, feel free to ask!

Word Count: 1,607

Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01 @spoopy-turtle @lizluvscupcakes @more-fandon-than-friends

Logan crumpled the paper with only a few lines on it, tossing it behind him and letting it fall among the others. He didn’t turn back to pick it up, no matter how bothersome it was going to be later. He didn’t even look at it, just started on the next page. He didn’t notice the room growing dark around him, the only light coming from the hash yellow of his desk lamp.

He stared at the next page, his brain filling with thoughts of failure but unwilling to stop. He felt trapped in an endless cycle of failure but had no way of getting out. He put his pen to paper, knowing what he wanted but not knowing how to get it to come out in a manner that others could understand. So, he tried. He tried again and again and again, he tried to get his words down on the page in a meaningful way.

A knock at the door sounded but Logan didn’t hear it. He didn’t notice anything except the music blasting through his headphones and the words on the pages, the words scattered on the floor. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, slipping the headphones down and letting the music fill the room. Piano and violin, cello and oboe, Bach’s carefully planned sheets coming to life within the confines of modern technology now being set free.

Looking up, he was met with a dark room and a father standing by his side, looking over his work as he waited for a response from his son. “Dad? Did you need something?”

Virgil looked at him, a soft smile sitting on his face. “Just the evening reminder to eat, college student.”

A sinking feeling hit Logan’s stomach. It was more than just the realization that he was hungry, it was the feeling that always came when he was reminded what stage of life he was in. It was the feeling that came when he was reminded of the standards he set for himself that he was failing to meet, the understanding that he was at least three years behind his peers in both social and academic standards, no matter that he was already working through his general education prerequisites at sixteen, no matter that he was still in high school but was already starting on college. He knew he was behind, it was his driving force for most of his academic career as soon as he learned that fact. He wished he was told more about himself at a younger age, told that it was okay to not want friends, to know he was behind in social skills. He knew it wasn’t his father’s fault, after all, how could the most recent foster (adopted now) parent tell him anything during his childhood.

“Logan?” Virgil’s voice dragged him out of his thought process, reminded him of the hole in his stomach that needed to be filled with food.

Logan looked up at Virgil, putting his pen down. “Yeah, food sounds good.”

Virgil nodded. “Okay. You want anything in particular?”

Logan did. He really wanted mac-n-cheese. He also really wanted not to be a burden so just shook his head. He knew it was irrational and illogical to not tell Virgil his wants. He knew it was no use as Virgil wouldn’t see him as a burden and would love to make him food. He also knew that bad habits die hard.

Virgil nodded, his smile growing. “How about grilled cheese? Is that okay?”

Logan nodded. Grilled cheese was his other comfort food. “That’s fine.”

Virgil frowned. “Are you sure?”

Logan felt frustration bubble up inside of him like tar, something he could easily get stuck in if he wasn’t careful. He took a subtle deep breath. “Yeah, it’s great.”

Virgil nodded. “Okay. Do you want to come down while I make it or do you want me to get you when it’s done?”

Logan thought about it. He knew he would get dragged back into his hyperfixation if he was allowed to stay here. He also knew that he might lose the train of thought if he were to stop. Finally, he shrugged and stood. He couldn’t find the words anyways so why worry about losing the train of thought that never left the station. He followed Virgil back downstairs and watched as he grabbed the things he needed to make food.

“So,” Virgil attempted to make small talk, “what were you working on?”

“I need to write a poem for my english lit. class.”

Virgil nodded. “Butter or olive oil?”

“Butter. I just can’t think of any words. It’s like there’s too few parameters and too many at once.”

Virgil hummed in thought. “First thing’s first. What are the parameters?”

“It needs to be in iambic pentameter. Other than that, there’s nothing! No set subject, no set length, nothing!” He moved around the island, grabbing a glass and the juice.

Virgil looked over at him. “Would you get me a glass of that too, please?”

Logan nodded and grabbed another. “I just don’t understand why professors will assign something with so little instructions. Am I supposed to have figured out how to be self sufficient after the rest of the school system drained it out of me?”

Virgil snorted. “That’s a bit drastic, even for me, Lo.” He turned, grabbing another few slices of bread while briefly looking at his child. “It could also just be that most neurotypical people understand how to follow the bare minimum of instructions. Do you need me to pick a subject or length?”

Logan shook his head. “No, I’ll need to do it eventually and I might as well learn now.”

Virgil sighed, turning the stove off and coming to rest a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Look, when I adopted you, I knew things like this were going to happen. I knew what I was getting into even before I decided to foster you. Your thoughts and feelings are valid. It might take you a bit longer than your peers to understand yourself and that’s fine. Life isn’t a race and you are in no way a failure for taking things at your own pace.”

Logan’s shoulders shook, tears rolling down his face as he tried to screw the cap back onto the juice bottle. Virgil gently took his hands and turned his son to face him, giving him a hug. He ran his hands up and down Logan’s back in a soothing manner. “Yes, you deserve to take life at your own pace. But you also deserve to be alright, to sleep at night. You shouldn’t have to wonder why you are different and I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you sooner. I’m sorry you had to go through life thinking you weren’t good enough. You are allowed to feel the emotions you do.”

Logan clung to him, tears wetting Virgil’s shirt but neither cared. Virgil hugged him tightly but not enough that he got sensory overload. Logan held on as if he were falling and Virgil was his lifeline. When he finally calmed down, neither pulled away. Virgil still hugged him, not caring about the cold food. Logan basked in the feeling of being loved and safe.

When they did pull away, Virgil allowed Logan to do it first. He pulled his hoodie off and threw it over Logan’s shoulders, dwarfing the skinny teen in the bulky fabric. “I’m gonna finish making dinner. How about you pick out a movie and we can watch it. Your homework can wait.”

Logan nodded, moving from the counter to the living room and kneeling by the movie rack. “How about The Sound of Music?” He called.

“Sounds good to me.” Virgil called back.

Logan smiled, walking back in and hopping onto the counter. Virgil looked over at him and smirked. “That kind of day, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I think your new puzzle box came in the mail while you were at school.” Virgil nodded toward the table with a package sitting on it. “Maybe you can try to solve it while we watch the movie.”

Logan smiled. “You know, most parents wouldn’t be this chill with things like this.”

“Like what?”

“Homework being put off for no reason-”

“You are mentally exhausted and are heading toward burnout. You need other activities to recharge your batteries.”

“Other parents also wouldn’t deliberately suggest something else for their child to do when spending time together. Most would complain about the child not paying attention.”

Virgil smiled as he plated. “Yeah, well, I’m not the typical parent and you’re not the typical child. I adjust to your needs, you shouldn’t have to adjust to my whims.”

Logan’s eyes misted over and he slid off the counter to grab his plate and the package, stuffing it under his arm to grab his drink and carry everything into the living room for a family night. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen scribbling the idea that just came to him onto the paper so he doesn’t forget.

Virgil walked into the room and sighed. “I thought I said homework could wait.”

Logan shrugged. “Inspiration comes when it comes.”

Virgil nodded. “Fair.” He set his things down and put the movie in as Logan put his thoughts down on paper.

The rest of the evening was calm, eventually both ending up in the same corner of the couch as they bonded. It made Logan realize that maybe perfection might be unattainable but it’s something to strive for, even if the ultimate goal is to see the proud smile cross Virgil’s face again.

#logan sanders #virgil sanders #dad!virgil #child!logan #songfic #fanfic #adhd!logan #adhd person writes adhd character #ace writes

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mygalfriday · 5 years

Text

and i just want to love you, to love you, to love you well

{ao3}

Aziraphale is still getting used to being in his own body again when he and Crowley stumble into the demon’s flat somewhere well past one in the morning. While he’s very grateful for Madam Tracy’s hospitality, there’s nothing quite like being back in one’s own corporation, well-worn and comfortable after thousands of years of breaking it in — like a favorite pair of shoes. He’s still feeling a bit wrong-footed but after the day he and Crowley have had, it’s to be expected. Nothing a strong drink and a few chocolate biscuits won’t fix.

He sways on his feet, standing in the entryway to Crowley’s study and staring at the puddle of holy water and melted demon simmering on the floor. At the moment, he can’t be sure if his imbalance is from the stress of discorporation and an averted apocalypse or simply from the horrid images currently flashing in front of his eyes. He’d spent so long fretting over what might happen to Crowley once he was in possession of a heavenly weapon like holy water and now here he stands, staring at the evidence.

One wrong move and the puddle at Aziraphale’s feet could have been Crowley.

His stomach heaves and he shuts his eyes briefly, pressing his fingertips to his mouth in an effort to quell the sudden bout of nausea. From the other end of the flat, he can hear Crowley rummaging around in the kitchen fetching wine and glasses for them. Aziraphale clings to the sound of his voice as he mutters irritably to himself, drawing strength from the auditory proof that Crowley is perfectly safe. They both are. For now.

He evaporates the demonic remains and the holy water with a snap of his fingers. And then he sets about cleansing the whole study just in case, walking every inch of it and muttering incantations under his breath. He tidies up as he goes, gathering the papers strewn about on the floor like confetti. Strange, considering Crowley usually keeps all of his things in such pristine condition and frequently takes great joy in mocking Aziraphale’s magpie ways.

Tutting to himself, Aziraphale shuffles the papers neatly and drops them onto Crowley’s desk. His eyes fall absently to the page on top of the pile and he stops short, staring at the star system known as Alpha Centauri. We can run away together. Aziraphale goes cold, realizing with a pang that the uncharactertistic clutter is the result of Crowley searching frantically for an escape.

All this research and then he’d simply…stayed.

“Angel?”

He starts at the sound of Crowley’s voice, glancing up to find him lounging insouciantly in the doorway. Crowley holds a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. Wedged beneath his arm is a package of Aziraphale’s favorite biscuits. He’d shed his jacket somewhere between the kitchen and the study, the sleeves of his henley pushed up his forearms. Wearing a slight frown, he peers at Aziraphale over the rim of his sunglasses.

“All right?”

Mustering up a weak smile, Aziraphale says, “Oh…dandy. Just tidying up.”

Crowley glances around, sniffing the air. “Smells like you in here now. All…holy.”

“Oh.”Aziraphale feels his cheeks heat. He hadn’t even thought about how the use of his magic in a demonic space might effect Crowley. “I do apologize-”

“No, s’fine.” Crowley makes a show of inspecting the floor where the puddle used to be, peering at the shiny floor grimly. “Doesn’t smell like melted demon anymore. I’d call that a step up.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale drops his gaze to the page on Alpha Centauri once more, spotting a note scribbled in Crowley’s hand in the margin. Transport books?? His heart swells in his chest and he bites his lip, overcome with a wave of fondness strong enough to sway him on his feet again. He grips the edge of the desk to keep himself upright. When he looks up again, Crowley is watching him warily. “You said you were going to leave.”

If it had been anyone but Crowley — anyone Aziraphale had not spent six thousand years learning like a favorite book — then he might have missed the subtle stiffening of his spine or the flex of his fingers around the neck of the wine bottle. But Aziraphale knows Crowley backwards and forwards, the way an academic knows his life’s work. He sees everything — the tightening of his jaw, the slight lift of his brows, the muscle that ticks in his cheek. And so he isn’t surprised when Crowley affects a nonchalant shrug and asks, “When?”

Willing to let him pretend ignorance for now, Aziraphale says, “In the street. When we were-” He drops his gaze again, studying Crowley’s handwriting in the margin of the paper. Aziraphale had already refused to leave with him and he’d still been planning to have him along, making plans to bring all of his books too. “You said you were leaving.”

“Told you.” Crowley sniffs, glancing away. “Stuff happened.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale fidgets, tugging at the sleeve of his coat and smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. “I remember.”

He hadn’t been able to see Crowley’s face but the anguish in his voice had been enough of a clue all on its own. It’s been hours since then and Crowley has certainly managed to pull himself together admirably but Aziraphale hasn’t forgotten what Crowley sounded like when the demon had thought him lost for good. He doesn’t think he ever will.

He lifts his chin, feeling unexpectedly brave at the memory. “But that didn’t really change things, did it? You were planning to go without me anyway.” With a blush, he amends, “That is, I assume you meant I was your best friend and not Ligur-”

Crowley makes a face, nose wrinkled and mouth exasperated as he snaps tiredly, “Ligur, seriously? Course I meant you, numpty.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Hell knows why sometimes.”

“Yes, I quite agree.” Aziraphale clasps his hands together, a futile attempt to still his fidgeting. “I was hardly behaving like a friend at the time. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had gone.”

Crowley sighs, scrubbing a hand over his cheek. “I was never gonna leave without you, angel. Would’ve dragged you kicking and screaming if I had to. Fuck knows what those bastards would’ve done to you if they’d actually succeeded in bringing about Armageddon.”

Aziraphale wobbles again, dangerously unsteady on his feet, but this time he hasn’t the energy to cling to the nearest available surface until the world rights itself beneath him again. His knees buckle and he sinks down, right into the throne behind Crowley’s desk. His eyes sting and his face feels hot and it’s been so long that it takes him a moment to realize he’s about to cry. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he whispers, “I don’t deserve you, Crowley.”

Crowley makes an alarmed noise and drops all his efforts at being aloof, crossing the space between them the way he always does when he knows Aziraphale needs him. What is a simple office space compared to the continents and oceans Crowley has crossed for him before? The wine glasses clatter as he deposits them on the desk, the bottle of wine thunks heavily against the wood, and the package of biscuits winds up somewhere by their feet. Neither of them pays any mind as Crowley drops to his knees in front of Aziraphale and curls his hand over the angel’s thigh.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is gentle but slightly panicked. “Angel, it’s fine. We’re fine.”

He shakes his head, sniffling. “No, I was awful to you.”

Crowley’s grip on him tightens. “It was a stressful few days for everybody. Neither of us were at our best, yeah? It’s forgotten. Look at me.” He strokes his thumb soothingly over Aziraphale’s leg and waits for him to glance up warily. When he sees Aziraphale’s tear-filled eyes, he groans. “Don’t — don’t cry. You know I’m useless when you cry, angel.”

Aziraphale chokes out a wet laugh and says, “Yes, I know.” He sniffles. “You’re my best friend too, Crowley.”

With a tired smile, Crowley nods. “I know.” He looks away suddenly and Aziraphale blinks the tears from his eyes, watching with concern as that tiny smile fades. “I’ve always been able to feel you, angel. Out there in the world somewhere, doing your good deeds.” His lip curls and he shakes his head. When he speaks again, his voice is almost as unsteady as it had been in that pub. “And all of a sudden it just…disappeared. Like a light going out.” He sighs and it comes out more like a hiss as he grits his teeth. He looks up then, his mouth a grim, angry line. “You scared the heaven out of me, Aziraphale. Don’t ever let me catch you with those fucking candles again, got it?”

Lips pursed tightly together, Aziraphale nods and blinks back another wave of tears. “Yes, darling.”

Crowley’s eyes widen at the endearment and Aziraphale can see it even through his dark lenses. His mouth goes slack for a moment before he snaps it shut again and firms it into a tight line. He sniffs and when he speaks, his voice is a soft rasp. “Did you know, Hastur’s trademark is setting fire to things. Regular pyromaniac, he is. S’like his calling card.”

Aziraphale frowns, puzzled by the sudden change in subject but willing to go with it. “Oh?”

“Hmm.” Crowley doesn’t look at him, staring somewhere far off and to the right. His face betrays nothing of his thoughts, a blank mask that does little to put Aziraphale at ease. “And right before I drove to the bookshop and found it in flames, I’d just succeeded in royally pissing him off.”

With a sharp inhale, Aziraphale feels his world tilt again and this time, there is nothing to hang onto. “You thought-”

Crowley finally looks up and his mouth quivers so dangerously that Aziraphale can only stare, longing to brush his thumb over his lips to quell their trembling. “Yeah. Thought I’d killed you.”

“Oh, my dear Crowley. Of course you didn’t.” He lifts a shaking hand and when Crowley nods hesitantly, he slips the sunglasses from his eyes. The fear and adoration shining in equal measure through Crowley’s naked gaze is breathtaking. Aziraphale swallows but the lump in his throat won’t leave this time. “Quite the opposite, really.” He breathes in deeply, forcing the confession past his numb lips. “With you I’ve always felt terribly…safe.”

Crowley doesn’t take the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended, sighing wretchedly instead. “You’ve never been safe with me, Aziraphale. That’s the bloody point. I was so busy pushing you I didn’t stop to think what might happen if anyone actually found out-”

“You were right to push me.” Aziraphale strokes a gentle hand over Crowley’s sharp cheekbone, watching fondly as he shudders at the contact. “In fact, I wish I’d listened to you centuries ago.”

Crowley shakes his head, swallowing. “I could’ve gotten you killed, angel. Or worse, disgraced.”

“It would have been worth it.” Aziraphale smiles tearfully when Crowley lifts his head to stare at him, lips parted in stunned silence. “Crowley, I-”

Crowley shakes his head again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Don’t,” he says, his voice strangled and desperate. “Not unless you mean it.”

“I always meant it, Crowley,” Aziraphale promises. “Even when I was too afraid to say it.”

Crowley breathes out shakily, a sigh that turns into a quiet, disbelieving laugh. His eyes crinkle at the corners and Aziraphale can see that elusive dimple in his cheek as he presses a gentle, reverent kiss to his palm. He pauses briefly to nose at Aziraphale’s fingertips, dragging his hot mouth over the angel’s palm and stopping at the inside of his wrist to press another lingering kiss just over the erratic pulse there. And when he turns his head and leans up on his knees, Aziraphale meets him halfway.

They sink into each other with ease, as though they’ve had thousands of years of practice instead of longing in silence and trying not to touch too often. Crowley is warm and trembling against him, his mouth carrying a searing heat the likes of which Aziraphale has never known in the stark coldness of heaven. He still smells faintly of brimstone and burning rubber and when Aziraphale lifts a hand to cradle his cheek, he feels stubble and the smudge of ash beneath his fingertips.

And it’s perfect. Better than any fantasy Aziraphale has managed to conjure over the years because it’s real and Crowley wants him and Crowley loves him. Crowley had sat in a pub determined to drink himself into oblivion instead of facing the end of the world without Aziraphale. Crowley had driven a burning car through the M25 because Aziraphale had asked him to. Crowley had stopped time because the idea of never talking to Aziraphale again had frightened him more than even Satan’s fury.

Still kneeling before him, Crowley curls his fingers tightly around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and arches closer as though terrified of losing him even now. Lost in his kiss, Aziraphale makes a silent promise. Before Crowley and the Almighty herself, he vows that with whatever time they have left, he’ll make certain Crowley feels every bit as loved and cared for as he has always made Aziraphale feel.

Without breaking their kiss, Crowley rises sinuously to his feet and almost slithers into the chair until he’s straddling Aziraphale’s lap. His lanky legs bracket Aziraphale in, knees digging into his hips. He barely weighs anything at all, a slight weight against Aziraphale’s thighs and oh, he adores it. Wants to cradle his fragile, darling demon in his arms and keep him safe and happy always.

“Crowley,” he breathes, trembling. “I love you. I love you so-”

“Shh.” Crowley strokes his knuckles tenderly over his cheek, his eyes half-lidded and gleaming golden in the soft light filtering in from the corridor. “I know, angel.”

Aziraphale huffs out a shaky laugh into the hollow of Crowley’s cheek. “Long before I did, I’m sure.”

“Nah. Figured it out eventually though.” Crowley licks his lips and Aziraphale stares, following the movement of his tongue with interest. “And…uh, you know, don’t you?”

Aziraphale blinks and it takes him a moment to stop staring at Crowley’s mouth and realize just what he’s referring to. And then he smiles brightly, thinking of a revelation in the middle of a ruined church. “It’s as you say, my dear. I figured it out eventually.”

Crowley laughs and when he leans in again, they’re both grinning like fools. Fools in love, Aziraphale thinks dizzily, and curls his fingers into the soft material of Crowley’s black shirt. Crowley drapes his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders, leaning heavily into his chest — kissing him and kissing him and kissing him until Aziraphale feels like crying again.

They stay there, curled around one another and trading soft, wondrous kisses for a short eternity before Crowley finally drops his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder and shudders. “Been imagining this for thousands of years,” he grumbles, ignoring Aziraphale’s surprised little noise. “And when it finally happens, I’m too knackered to even take you to bed.” He groans, equal parts frustration and exhaustion. “Want to ravish you.”

A little thrill shoots down Aziraphale’s spine at the idea of Crowley leading him to bed. Of being ravished. He wriggles a bit in his seat, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s snake tattoo in apology when the demon whimpers miserably. He clears his throat, silently telling his corporation to behave itself.

“Not to worry,” he says, stroking a hand over Crowley’s back. He can feel the notches of his spine over his thin shirt and thinks fleetingly again of how fragile Crowley is beneath all that bluster and the prickly words. “Plenty of time.”

“Is there?” Crowley hides his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, defeat in his tired voice. “You and I both know they’re coming for us, angel.”

Aziraphale thinks of the prophecy tucked away in his pocket and says with confidence, “Then we’ll be ready. Trust me, my dear.”

Though he would probably deny it to Satan himself, Crowley nuzzles at Aziraphale’s ear and mutters, “Always have.”

Wishing he could say the same but knowing deep down that there were very early days when he’d wondered when the demon Crawley would turn against him, Aziraphale doesn’t try to lie. He can only try to be better now, to trust Crowley as implicitly as he had always trusted Aziraphale. It isn’t much but at the moment, it’s all he has to offer.

Clearing his throat softly, he ventures, “We could… move somewhere more comfortable if you’d prefer to sleep.”

Instead of actually replying, Crowley makes a hissing noise Aziraphale assumes must mean move at your own risk.

He huffs, settling in as best he can in Crowley’s straight-backed throne. “Yes, yes,” he says, tutting. “All right. No need to be dramatic.”

Crowley mumbles something that might possibly be insulting and settles more firmly against him, his fingers stroking the hair at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. And Aziraphale sits completely still beneath him, marveling at the feel of Crowley’s fingers in his hair and Crowley’s warm breath against his neck. This is happening. He is holding Crowley and unafraid of the consequences. If this truly is his last night alive, he must admit it’s a rather marvelous end to things.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, you said…you said it smells like me in here.”

“Yeah…”

Aziraphale bites his lip, turning over the question that’s been on his mind since Crowley had mentioned it days ago. “What do I smell like to you?” Crowley had mentioned that he smelled holy and Aziraphale cannot help worrying that perhaps it pains Crowley, like stepping into that church in 1941 had burnt his poor feet. “Does it…hurt you?”

“Hm, course not.” Crowley slurs, a hiss slipping into his words. He must be nearly asleep by now. “S’just you. Sort of…bookish and soft. Like, dunno, sunshine in a dusty library. An’ cocoa.”

Knowing Crowley would never admit such a thing out loud if he were even a bit more awake at the moment, Aziraphale swallows back a radiant smile and closes his eyes. “Oh,” he breathes, inexplicably relieved. “Good.”

He wraps Crowley tighter in his embrace and as he settles in to wait for dawn, Crowley turns his face into his neck and breathes him in one last time. “Home,” he whispers. “You smell like home.”

Aziraphale feels his fragile human heart swell. “Sleep, darling.” He smooths his palm over Crowley’s back, pressing a firm kiss into his fiery hair. “I’ll still be here when you wake.”

He holds vigil for the remaining hours until daybreak, a demon asleep in his lap and a scrap of ancient paper burning a hole in his pocket. By the time the sun rises over Mayfair, slanting in through the windows in warm yellow stripes, Crowley is just beginning to stir.

It’s the first day of the rest of their lives and as Crowley lifts his head to blink at him sleepily, Aziraphale is loathe to break the hush of dawn. But he’s been waiting hours for Crowley to wake up, sitting in the dark and missing him despite holding him as close as their human bodies will allow. In a giddy whisper, he says, “Good morning.”

Crowley grunts.

Undeterred, he confides, “My dear, I do believe I have a plan. How do you feel about… Oh, what do the humans call it?” He beams. “Roleplay, I believe.”

Suddenly far more awake, Crowley offers him a slow smirk and drawls, “Got a safeword?”

Blinking, Aziraphale begins, “What-”

“I’ll explain later, angel.” Crowley slides gracefully from his lap, his swagger returned, but there’s no concealing the hint of pink in his cheeks. He stretches lazily, yawning. Aziraphale doesn’t bother trying not to stare. “Think I can manage some crepes if you’re hungry. Then you can tell me all about your clever plan.”

“Oh. Yes.” He’d been so wrapped up in the prophecy and well, Crowley that he’d entirely forgotten to eat a thing last night. “I am a bit peckish.”

“Right. I’ll just-” Crowley jerks a thumb over his shoulder, already beginning to retreat.

“Darling?”

Crowley pauses mid-step at the endearment and he lifts a hand to adjust his glasses, realizing belatedly that he had allowed Aziraphale to take them off last night. Right before they had kissed. Crowley stares and Aziraphale takes great delight in watching the previous night return to him all at once. Running a hand through his rumpled hair, Crowley mutters under his breath, “Not a dream, then.” He clears his throat, straightening from his usual slouch. Slowly, he says, “You and I - we…”

“Yes.”

“And you’re…” He squints at Aziraphale, possibly looking for some hint of angelic guilt. “All right?”

Aziraphale smiles serenely. “For the most part. Though there is one thing that could do with improving, if you’ll indulge me.”

Crowley’s reply is immediate. “Course. What?”

He arches an eyebrow expectantly. “I haven’t much experience in the matter, but I’ve come to understand most lovers exchange a certain type of greeting upon waking together.”

Mouth dropping open, Crowley stutters. “Ngk. Oh.”

And then he’s there, crouching in front of Aziraphale again and crushing those chocolate biscuits he’d dropped last night. For the second time in his very long life, Aziraphale couldn’t care less about the fate of a few biscuits because Crowley is wrapping his strong, slender hand around the back of his neck and swooping in to kiss him heatedly. He licks into Aziraphale’s mouth with that talented tongue and the angel is silently grateful he’s already sitting because his knees go utterly weak.

They part slowly, reluctantly. Their noses brush and when Aziraphale blinks open his eyes, Crowley’s gaze is fixed on him. In the morning light, his eyes are a soft amber and his red hair seems to glow. Voice a low murmur, he asks roughly, “Better?”

Overwhelmed and wanting, Aziraphale buries his face in Crowley’s neck. Lanky arms wrap tight around him. Recalling Crowley’s soft, sleepy confession the night before, he breathes in with a tremulous smile. Leather and brimstone and potting soil. “It’s very good to be home.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #my fic

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justcallmehitgirl · 5 years

Text

Good Woman Part 3 (Peter Parker x Female Reader Smut)

Summary: Peter wants to watch you again.

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: smut, masturbation, exhibitionism, suit!porn, and language

A/N: Here’s Part 3 as promised. Please let me know your thoughts!

(4/20/20): I fixed some typos, grammar mistakes, character inconsistencies, etc. from my original posting. I also made some stylistic changes.

PART ONE / PART TWO // PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / STORY PAGE

Peter comes back a few days later, swiftly landing on your fire escape as the cool breeze of the autumn air brushes against him. He crouches down and peers into your window—the eyes on his mask adjusting to get a better look at you. He spots you sitting at your desk, hands speedily writing in a notebook as you scan the textbook splayed out in front of you. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun on top of your head, lips nibbling on your bottom lip and forehead creasing in deep concentration.

He’s surprised to see you up working so late. He presses a hand against the window, watching it curiously as it slowly swings open with a creak. You jerk your head in his direction, face softening as your eyes land on him.

The corner of your mouth quirks up, and you wave your hand, motioning for him to enter. He quickly obliges, crawling through the window and carefully closing it shut behind him. He makes his way over to you and places a hand on the back your chair. He lifts his mask up above his mouth and leans down to give you a quick kiss.

“You’re up late,” he breathes, mouth inches away from yours.

“Calculus homework,” you pout.

“Calculus, huh? I didn’t know you were good at math.”

You raise your brow, folding your hands across your chest, your mouth settling into a hard line.

“Why? Because I’m a girl?”

Peter cringes. “N—no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers. “I just meant that math is hard and I hate math, well I don’t hate it, but I’m not naturally good at it and—”

You lift a hand up, your mouth curving into a smile. “Chill Spidey, I’m just messing with you.”

He exhales. “Okay, because I think girls who are good at math is totally impressive. I’m a big supporter of girls in STEM too.”

“Cheers to you for being so progressive,” you smirk, giving him a soft, playful clap.

He blushes and clears his throat. “So I take it math’s your favorite subject?”

You shrug, turning your attention back to your notebook. “I guess it is. I mean, it’s the only subject that makes sense to me. I can’t decipher a haiku to save my life.”

“Is math what you want to major in?” he asks, taking a seat on your bed.

You chew on your bottom lip before responding, “I think so. . . I’m thinking about becoming a data scientist actually.”

“Wow, that sounds impressive. What kind of stuff would you do?” he asks, leaning forward on his elbows.

Your eyes are cast down, continuing to scribble in your notebook. You respond, “I would be analyzing company data to boost production. You see, data scientists collect, analyze, and interpret large data sets, and then they use the information to develop like, data-driven solutions for businesses. I mean, it’s not super exciting, but it’s stable work and it’s math-related. You probably think I’m such a geek.”

Peter can’t help but inwardly swoon, as he processes the fact the girl of his dreams was not only sexy as hell, but also a genius. He just eyes you for a few seconds, mesmerized by everything about you.

“Spidey?”

He refocuses his gaze, realizing that your eyes are roaming carefully over his form.

“I wish I knew what you were thinking,” you continue. “All I can kind of tell is that your mask eye things are getting wider and smaller.”

You mimic his mask’s actions with your hands, your forehead creasing.

Peter gives you a half-smile. “I was just thinking that I. . .”

“I’ve really enjoyed messing around with you, but I’m actually that loser Peter Parker who’s pined over since I realized girls were a thing, and you’re pretty much way out of my league so I’m going to leave now and never show my face at Midtown ever again. Nice knowing you, and have a goodnight!”

He shakes head, ridding the thought quickly from his mind. “I was just thinking,” he continues, “that I’m glad I landed on your fire escape.”

You beam. “Is that so? As opposed to another girl who wasn’t masturbating in front of her window?”

Peter’s cheeks redden. “Well when you say it like that!”

You reach over, playfully smacking his arm and he grins. You nod at your textbook. “I just have a few things to finish, but then, we can. . . do stuff.”

His mouth twitches, body feeling warm. “What kind of stuff?”

“Adult stuff,” you say, lowering your voice for emphasis.

He groans. “Yes, please.”

You turn your attention back to your homework, body straightening as you furiously write in your notebook. He leans back on his elbows, observing you. He watches your subtle body language, from the way your tongue peeks out from your mouth to your brows knitting. A piece of hair falls from your bun, but you quickly tuck the loose piece behind your ear, never breaking concentration as you purse your lips.

Peter wishes he had the courage to talk to you in real life before you met Spider-Man. He regrets not telling you how pretty you looked in that pink, long-sleeved blouse you wore on the first day back from summer, or how your still-life painting in art class was breathtaking.

Peter sighs, wishing he wasn’t Spider-Man right now. He doesn’t want the mask or the secrecy. He just wants to be a high-school boy discovering sex with a beautiful girl. He craves normalcy with you, desperately wanting to do cliche couple things from holding your hand in the hallway at school to stealing kisses with you in between classes to making out underneath the bleachers.

He also wants to hear you say his name when you’re in the throes of pleasure.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice shakes Peter out of his thoughts, eyes locking on yours. You smile sheepishly and add, “Sorry if I interrupted you, but you looked far away for a moment. Not like I’m a great judge of knowing your facial expressions through that mask of yours, of course, but it was just a feeling.”

Peter chews on his bottom lip, forehead furrowed as the words catch in his throat. “It’s okay,” you continue. “You don’t have to say anything. I just have one more problem anyways and then we can hang out.”

Peter nods, and your eyes linger on his for a moment before turning back to your textbook. He taps his fingers on his thigh as his eyes roam around your bedroom. He tries to absorb every detail—from your collection of Nancy Drew books lined up neatly on your bookshelf to an old Cabbage Patch doll propped up on top of your dresser. There are pictures of you with your friends from school and with your family tacked onto a corkboard, and a Harvard pennant pinned above it. There’s also a ‘Moulin Rouge!’ poster and a framed, vinyl record of Minnie Riperton’s “Perfect Angel” hanging on your wall.

It was only a couple weeks ago that he was watching you from afar, accepting the fact that you were older and unobtainable with completely zero interest in partying or dating, and now he was sitting on your bed in silent anticipation.

“Enough with homework,” you announce, shutting your textbook for emphasis.

Peter turns his attention back to you and smiles. You get up from your chair and stretch your arms over your head. You saunter over to him while Peter gazes at your naked legs. You stand in between his legs and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hey you,” you coo through hooded eyes.

“Hey,” he breathes, tentatively wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“How was your day?”

Peter shrugs, savoring the feeling of you in his arms. “It was alright, just school and patrolling.”

“School, huh? Where do you go?”

Peter silently admonishes himself for slipping. “I. . . you know I can’t tell you that.”

You laugh and shrug. “Fine fine, it was worth a shot though. So I assume you don’t want me going to your school to scope you out then?” You playfully squint your eyes at him.

“Do you think you could spot me?”

“Of course, you’re the one in the red and blue onesie,” you tease.

“Hey, it’s a tech suit, not a onesie!”

He pinches your hip, jolting your body closer to him as you giggle.

“Okay okay, it’s not a onesie. But regardless, I’d like to think that I could. . . or would be able to spot you. I mean, I know your favorite color and that you have brown eyes so it can’t be that hard to narrow the search right?” you wink.

He laughs heartily. “Just start calling out brown eyes and I’ll come running.”

“Good! My brown eyed boyyyy,” you singsong.

He smiles, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek, lips lingering as you stop singing. You stroke the back of his head, eyes bore into his mask-covered eyes. “But seriously, if I find you, would you let me know?”

Peter hesitates before mumbling, “I—I don’t know.”

Your face falls a little bit, and you look away. “I understand,” you nod.

Peter’s chest tightens at your forlorn expression, the words at the tip of his tongue: “But you already know me, okay? I’m Peter Parker, the kid you catch staring at you sometimes? The one who avoids eye contact with you during academic decathlon practice? Yeah, that one.”

But Peter swallows it back, convincing himself that it’ll be easier to just continue his rouse, pretending that you are simply two strangers that met by chance one autumn night in Queens.

He licks his lips. “If you find me, I’ll let you know.”

You look up and tilt your head. “How?”

“Well, I’ll just give you a big fat kiss,” he grins, puckering his lips in exaggeration.

The corners of your eyes crinkle. “You’re just gonna run up to me and kiss me?”

“Yup, just like this,” he responds, holding you tightly and peppering kisses all over your face, from your cheeks to your chin to the tip of your nose.

“Stop it,” you giggle, placing a hand on his chest to push him away.

He stops and rubs his nose against your cheek, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla and lavender.

“Promise?”

"I promise,” he murmurs.

You turn your head and press your lips against his—the kiss soft and undemanding. He pulls you in closer as his tongue slides against yours. He runs his hands down your spine, and your body shivers at the sensation. You pull your lips away and trail kisses along his jaw down to his neck. He groans as you stroke his length over his suit.

“I can grab my scarf,” you pant.

He shakes his head. “No, I—I want to watch this time.”

You pull away slightly and cock your head. “Watch what?”

“I want to watch you,” he whines. “I want to watch you finish what you started the first night we met.”

Your pupils flare. “Okay,” you breathe, face flushed. You slide your hands down to the hem of your shirt, grasping it tightly before pulling it over your head, letting it slip from your hands onto the floor.

His eyes roam over your bra and panties covering your most intimate parts, suit feeling tight around his dick. He cups your covered breast, massaging you through the fabric. You tip your head back and moan as his other hand brushes over the strap of your bra, pushing it down your arm. He places a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

“Are you ready?”

You nod in response. Peter scoots back on your bed and leans against your pillows. He motions for you to sit in between his legs, and you quickly comply—crawling onto your bed, eyes burning with need. You sit in front of him, pressing your back against his chest as he encircles his thick arms around your middle. He kisses the side your neck.

“No pressure, okay?”

“I know.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. You start to feel your way down your body, smoothing your hands over the tops of your breasts and stomach.

His eyes widen. “More,” he breathes, hot and soft near the shell of your ear.

You trace your fingertips over the outside of your underwear, your wetness creating a visible outline of your folds. You message your clit through the damp fabric, moaning from the friction. Peter gulps, cock pulsing as he watches your fingers move in quick circles.

“Feels so good,” you whimper.

You finally bring your fingers to the waistband of your panties, slowly pushing your hand inside to directly pet your clit.

“Please, I want to see,” Peter chokes out.

You obediently remove your hand, hooking your fingers underneath the waistband to slide them down your legs, kicking them to the edge of the bed with your feet. Your legs instinctively widen, his eyes peering down to gape at your naked heat.

“Better?”

“Much.”

You play with the lips of your pussy, teasing your center as you bite your lip. You dip your fingers inside, stopping right below the knuckle as you start to moan softly. You stroke your fingers in and out, buck your hips a bit at the contact, your fingers twisting your sheets in you tight grip.

“You’re so beautiful,” Peter whispers.

Peter runs his glove-covered hand up and down your hip, and you shiver at his touch. You bring your other hand over over your clit, rubbing and pressing it to increase the mounting pressure building inside of you.

“How does it feel?” he asks.

“So good,” you moan, your breath hitching as you hit a particularly sensitive spot, your fingers increasing speed and intensity. You grind your hips against your hand, continually slipping your fingers in and out.

“Are you close?” he whispers.

You nod your head quickly. “I’m right there,” you pant, bedroom filling with the sounds of squelching skin as your movements become more erratic.

“Oh, I—I’m cumming,” you chant, body tensing and toes curling.

You tilt your head back to cry out but Peter quickly grabs your chin, pressing his lips against yours to stifle the loud moans from escaping your mouth. Your body shakes and writhes as your pussy clenches around your fingers.

Your body goes limp in his arms, your fingers slipping from inside as you ride out your high. Peter closes his eyes, trying to calm his hardened cock.

“How was that?”

“Pretty fucking amazing,” you breathe, turning your head to kiss him as he gently cups your face in his hand.

After a few moments, he pulls away and reaches down to hold your hand. “I really like you.”

“You do?”

Peter hums in response, his head nodding.

“I really like you too, but I don’t—”

“What’s wrong?”

You look down at your entwined hands. “What is this exactly? I mean, what are we? I know we barely know each other, but I also haven’t done this with anyone before and diseases are a thing so I just want to know what this is.”

“I don’t know.”

You sigh heavily before looking up, your eyes boring into his. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“I don’t want to be either.”

“Are you?”

Peter quickly shakes his head. “No, not at all. It’s only you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he breathes, kissing your cheek softly.

Peter lets the conversation settle over you as you sit in silence together, the sound of your combined breathing filling the room. You immediately straighten in his arms at the sound of the floorboards creaking outside your bedroom down the hallway.

“I think someone’s awake,” you whisper, voice filled with panic. You untangle yourself from his arms, scrambling to grab your shirt off the floor to slip it back over you.

Peter swiftly swings his legs over the side of the bed, eyes darting over it, as images of you wanton and gasping just moments before are permanently seared in his brain.

“I wish you could stay.”

Peter turns to you, watching as you play with the hem of your shirt.

“Me too,” he whispers, standing up to head toward the window. As his fingers grasp the edge, you brush your hand against his other hand.

“When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” he responds, squeezing your hand lightly.

You nod in understanding. “Goodnight, Spidey.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Peter reaches over and strokes your hair, watching you close your eyes, relishing his touch. He reluctantly pulls his hand away, quietly opening the window to climb out onto the edge. He takes one last look at you before pulling his mask over the rest of his face and swinging out into the night.

—

It’s the next day that Peter thinks that fate is trying to punish him for all his secrecy and indiscretions. He’s propping his head up with his hand, trying to stay awake when he hears a voice next to him shake him out of his stupor.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Peter blinks before looking up from his sketchbook. He feels his heart pound at the sight of you standing in front of him, your head nodding to the empty seat beside him. You’re smiling at his politely, and Peter mentally slaps away the mental image of you naked from his mind.

“Um. . . no. . . wait, yes. . . I mean, someone usually sits here but they’re not here right now so technically no one is sitting here,” he stammers, inwardly wincing at his blatant awkwardness.

“Oh okay, it’s just that someone took my usual seat—”

“It’s all yours,” he blurts.

You smile in relief. “Thanks,” you nod, slipping into the seat next to him. You flash him another smile, and Peter can’t help but melt a little in his chair. Mrs. Randall calls the attention of the class, and you quickly turn your face forward.

Get it together, he thinks, you were just with her last night.

But that was Spider-Man, and here at Midtown, he was just Peter Parker. He wasn’t the guy all the girls crushed on. He’s been the scrawny science nerd since elementary school, and even though he was now a superhero and practically an Avenger, he couldn’t abandon the persona that everyone thought him to be.

“Today is a free day to sketch whatever you want,” Mrs. Randall announces, “but don’t just doodle, okay? I’ll be collecting your work after class.”

The class collectively groans. Peter glances over at you, watching you open up your sketchbook to a blank page.

He looks down and starts absentmindedly sketching. After a few moments, he glances over again at you, his eyes lingering on your face, your brows furrowed and lips pursed. He continues gazing at you as your eyes roam around the room, drifting over the containers of art supplies sitting on the shelves to the finished art hanging on the walls to a perfectly arranged bowl of fruit balanced on a stool near the front of the room. Your eyes finally land on something that he can’t visibly spot, but the corner of your mouth quirks up. You look back down at the blank paper in front of you and begin to sketch.

Peter turns his attention back down to his drawing, hunching over in his seat and mentally restraining himself from looking at you for the rest of class.

As time passes, Peter loses a bit of self-control, stealing another glance over at you. Similar to last night, you’re deep in concentration. His eyes look down at your sketch, the corner of his crinkling as he realizes you’re drawing a vase of daisies.

Before he loses his nerve, Peter clears his throat. “You’re really good.”

You look up, your brow raised. “Excuse me?”

“At drawing, I mean.”

Your face softens as you quickly glance down at your sketch. “Oh thank you. I really appreciate that, although I feel like I’m straddling the line between doodling and serious art.”

“Doodling is its own art form, you know.”

You laugh softly as Peter gives you a lopsided grin.

“You’re right. I’d like to think so too.”

“I don’t know if you know who I am but I’m—”

“Peter Parker,” you smile. “I’ve known who are since elementary school. We’ve had a few classes together, we have the same lunch period, and you’re also on my academic decathlon practice roster, even though you haven’t really shown up lately.”

“Right,” he blushes.

“You’re really good too.”

He stares at you blankly, and you chuckle. “With your drawing,” you continue. “Is that your mom?”

“No, it’s my aunt.”

“That’s sweet. Are you going to give it to her?”

Peter shakes his head. “No way, she’ll freak out and want to frame it and then she’ll want more and I’m not ready for that commitment. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No apologies necessary.”

Peter can’t help but swoon like a lovesick puppy.

You go back to your drawing, adamant on finishing it before the period ends. After class, you and Peter silently pack up your belongings.

“Are you going to practice today?”

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I would, but I—”

“Busy? I know the feeling.”

“The team could really use you though,” you continue, slinging your backpack over your shoulder as you walk out of the classroom and into the hallway.

“It’s been tough with the Stark Internship.”

“Oh right. You’re honestly one of the luckiest people I’ve ever met. I mean, you get to hang with Tony Stark almost every day after school.”

Peter chuckles uncomfortably. If you only knew, he thinks.

“Well, we’ll miss you at practice this afternoon, but I understand. See you around, Peter Parker.”

Peter’s shoulder slump as you turn to walk away. You take one step forward before pausing, face beaming as you turn to face him again. “I actually have an idea if you’re willing to listen.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, if you can’t be on the team then why don’t you help me prep the team? I just need help for like one day out of the week. It’s less commitment, but you’re still helping the cause.”

“Gee, Y/N. . . I don’t really—”

“If I’m being honest, Peter. You’d be doing me a huge favor, I could really use the help.”

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming. Peter can’t stop the instant onslaught of mental images popping up in his mind, from you blindfolded to your hand dipping low into your underwear, the look of ecstasy on your face as you cum. He thinks about stroking his hands up and down your body, and—

“Peter?”

He blinks, face flushed as you throttle him out of his thoughts, quickly pushing away any semblance of dirty thoughts and images into the recesses of his mind.

“You know what, I would love to help.”

Peter inwardly winces, knowing he’s doomed.

“Really? You’re a lifesaver! Just send me your schedule so we can coordinate. Here’s my number.” You grab his hand to jot it down on his palm. Your hand lingers on his for a moment before looking up at him with pursed lips.

He raises his brows. “What?”

You shake your head and let go of his hand. “It’s nothing. See you around, Peter Parker.”

And with that, you turn and hurry down the hallway. Peter sighs heavily. He knows he’s fucking screwed.

Tag list: @thatpeterparkerfan / @professionalphangirluniverse / @julimelodi / @sighharrington / @merelymarianne / @soloseb / @superspideyy / @babyjesuscat / @stardust-ghost / @oh-annaa / @iloveyouironman / @nyeddleblog / @bloominess / @itsjust-evalyn / @shawnmendes-thewriter / @cotton-octopus / @ghostofdrfluke / @imofficiallyobsessed / @charismas-world

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raineydaywrites · 3 years

Text

struck by the cupid’s bow

ao3 link in the source!

summary: Febuwhump day 4: Impaling

The excursion to get the Light should have been easy. It should have been just a nice day out with Lup's two favorite humans.

It wasn't.

It wasn't supposed to be a difficult excursion. The Light had landed at the top of a mountain, in an isolated region that was hard to reach by foot but easy in a ship like the Starblaster.

As far as they could tell, the isolation of the landing point meant that no one had gotten a hold of the Light, and very few were willing to try. The Light tended to draw people in, but that effect lessened the further away from it one was, and the danger of the climb combined with the distance meant that most people were able to resist the desire to acquire it.

So it should have been relatively easy. They weren't going to be stupid about their approach, of course, but they didn't have as much to worry about as usual, and they all had a lot of survival experience by now. This wasn't anything that they couldn't handle.

It was decided that Lup, Barry, and Lucretia would go after the object, while Taako, Magnus, and Davenport stayed on the ship. Merle had already been killed, and therefore couldn't help either way. An even split like that would ensure that both the excursion team and the ship were safe, and both parties were balanced, with each having one of the two heaviest hitters on the ship.

That kind of thinking was habit by this point, even if they weren't expecting major danger. It was just better to be safe.

Lup was excited about the mission, and who she was going on it with. She loved everyone on the crew, but they all had different personalities and senses of humor, and, while she certainly enjoyed a good party or low-brow joke herself, she liked to spend time with the two nerdiest members of the crew as well. Barry and Lucretia both had a tendency to be quieter and more serious, even if they definitely had their moments to the contrary, and while they weren't exactly overwhelmed by the louder voices of Magnus, Merle, Taako, and Lup herself, they didn't often fight to be heard either.

And Lup could admit to some nerdy tendencies in herself, (unlike Taako, who definitely had nerdy tendencies but refused to acknowledge them) and she enjoyed having time to discuss more academic and theoretical topics in depth from time to time.

Besides which, she always liked going places with Barry, even if this particular occasion wouldn't allow any alone time. It was nice to spend time with her boyfriend without the incessant teasing they had to endure at the hands of the rest of the crew. Lucretia might tease a little, but she was far less prone to teasing them about this than the rest of them were.

The Starblaster couldn't land right by the Light of Creation, given the rocky landscape, but it could get them fairly close, and it was a long but relatively easy hike from there. Lup had brought food in a picnic basket for when they got hungry, and there was a light breeze breaking the heat of the day. And when they were done, they'd be able to stop worrying about the Light for this cycle and just enjoy themselves and work on things they were interested in.

It had all the makings of a great day.

As they walked, they'd discussed the most interesting things that they'd noticed about this plane. When she and Barry started to discuss more sciency topics, Lucretia listened intently, scribbling in her journal every once in a while. Over the years, she'd developed her understanding of the scientific discussions that she, Barry, and Taako tended to delve into, but a lot of the time, she still preferred to listen in rather than contribute.

Lup wanted to encourage her to participate more in these conversations, but she could understand that Lucretia might just plain not be interested in the discussions. She hadn't studied science in school, and only minored in magical theory, so it was totally possible that she just didn't have fun talking about this stuff, and Lup didn't want to pressure her to do something she didn't like.

But every once in a while, Lucretia would chime in with a joke or suggestion, so Lup didn't feel like they were making her third-wheel too badly, and it was fun.

They got the Light without issue, but they took longer walking there than they'd expected, and they were only about halfway back when it started to get too dark for human eyes to see clearly.

Lup took the lead, as both the person with the most offensive magic of the three of them and the only one who wasn't hindered by the darkness around them. Lucretia and Barry had flashlights to carry, but those weren't nearly as helpful to them as Lup's darkvision was to her.

Their conversation died down a bit as they were making their way back. There wasn't much to be afraid of, really, but the dark was always a bit unnerving to most people, and almost everyone on the crew had at least a small degree of fear of the dark, after everything they'd experienced.

Poor Barry was one of the worse off though, and he kept jumping every couple minutes as he heard something or other rustling around.

"Here," Lucretia said, softly, to Barry, and Lup turned back curiously at the words.

Lucretia had grabbed Barry's hand to help keep him steady and moving forward, and the touch seemed to be helping to calm him a bit as well. Lup felt a quick wave of affection for both of her sweet humans, before turning back to keep a look out.

Even though there didn't seem to be any people coming after the Light, wild animals could still be a threat. And it was all the more important to be prepared, now that they had the Light in their possession.

It had an unfortunate habit of drawing people in, after all. And even monsters and animals could be affected by it at times, even if they were less prone to it, with their lower levels of intelligence. It was still a big, glowing ball of thrall to them, even if they didn't have the smarts to understand the potential it held.

It happened when they were taking a quick break to rest and get some water. They couldn't keep walking forever, after all, but still, Lup would be cursing the decision to stop there for weeks to come.

They were swarmed, suddenly, by some creatures that Lup had no name for, but they were clearly dangerous, with their giant claws and teeth. And they were bearing down on their group with a quickness.

Lup immediately moved to create a line of fire between them and the creatures, which would at the very least slow them down.

"Come on!" She shouted, and grabbed Lucretia's hand to pull her along, while Lucretia grabbed for Barry's hand.

Running through the dark with humans who couldn't see in the dark was not how Lup had wanted this day to end, but hopefully their linked hands would keep the other two a bit safer. She kept hearing hisses and exclamations of pain from Lucretia and Barry as they landed a bit off, but they hadn't fallen down yet, so they must be okay.

And then Barry made a sound that was much, much worse than the earlier ones.

Lup turned as soon as she heard the choked gasp from her boyfriend, only to see that he had been impaled through the chest on the claws of one of those creatures.

Lup and Lucretia immediately began firing off offensive spells, and the creature was downed before long, but that didn't fix Barry.

Lup dropped down to her knees to grab him, trying not to look at the wound too much. She'd seen enough to know it was fatal anyway, so she'd rather not have it burned into her memory any more than it already was.

Lucretia stood behind them, watching for any more of those things, but so far none had appeared. She kept her hands ready to fire off a shield spell, just in case.

"Sorry," Barry managed to say.

"You weren't aiming for this to happen, were you?" she said, with a teary laugh.

"No. Would rather not be doing this, actually," Barry chuckled. "Don't recommend. Still sorry though."

"Just two months left," Lup said. "It'll be fine. I'll be okay, don't worry."

She wasn't sure which of them she was trying to convince.

"Lup! I see more of them!" Lucretia warned, starting to cast.

"You gotta go, Lup. Get the Light back to the ship. I'm not gonna last much longer; don't risk it for me," Barry said.

"I'm not just gonna leave you, stupid!" Lup said back.

"I'm sorry, babe. But you have to. I'll be okay, you know that. I don't want to get you or Lucy or this whole plane killed over me," Barry insisted, tone taking on a pleading note.

"I can't," Lup said, tears starting to slip down her cheeks.

It was the first time in a long time that she'd had such a hard time leaving when somebody was dying. It had been hard, at first, to accept that they would come back and that it was best to get yourself to safety, but they'd all come to relative terms with it.

But this was Barry. And it was the first time he'd died since they'd gotten together. And the thought of spending the next two months without him just killed her. What kind of person just left their boyfriend to die?

"Luce..." Barry turned his head. "Take care of her, please?"

"Of course," Lucretia agreed, her own voice a bit choked up as well, but still keeping her eyes on the approaching creatures. "We'll miss you. See you next cycle."

"See ya both soon," Barry assured them, and then he reached down and yanked the claw out of his chest, bleeding much faster now.

"No!" Lup screamed, but he was gone before she finished the word.

Lucretia moved then, grabbing Lup's hand and tugging her back toward the ship urgently.

Lup let herself be dragged along, but she didn't turn, staring back at Barry's body and crying.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Lucretia was murmuring as they ran, and Lup barely registered it.

They kept running, and eventually Lup stopped crying, but she still felt numb.

The creatures must have stopped chasing at some point, because they weren't behind them anymore. Maybe they'd only wanted a meal.

The thought of those things eating Barry made Lup feel sick, but she was too numb for the thought to sink in far enough for that.

Eventually, they slowed, and Lucretia wrapped an arm around Lup's shoulders in the closest thing to a hug they could safely allow themselves while they were still out in the dark with unknown, dangerous creatures everywhere.

Lup realized that Lucretia was still softly murmuring comfort to her, and she buried her head in Lucretia's shoulders and let herself be guided and comforted.

Lup barely registered it as they arrived at the Starblaster, but at least it was warm and bright in here.

Lucretia shouted for Taako, who arrived grumpily, but rushed to Lup immediately when he'd had a moment to take in the scene.

Lucretia extricated herself from Lup's grip, and Lup whined at that, until Lucretia pushed her forward into Taako instead.

"I'll take the Light to the lab," Lucretia said, softly, and Lup felt Taako nod in agreement.

Taako started to lead Lup to his room, probably understanding that she wouldn't be able to bear the sight of her room, that was now basically her-and-Barry's room most of the time. Lup appreciated it, because it was hard enough to just keep moving with the images running through her head on repeat.

She fell asleep that night curled around her brother, and it helped, but she knew that nothing would fix the whole in her chest until Barry came back. Maybe not even then.

#taz balance #blupjeans #blupcretia #lup adventurezone #lucretia adventurezone #barry bluejeans #taz lucretia #lup taaco #febuwhump #febuwhumpday4

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moonlightwinterdxxix · 4 years

Text

Strawberry Teeth

~~~

“The world's not perfect, but it's not that bad,

If we got each other, and that's all we have;

I will be your brother, and I'll hold your hand—

You should know I'll be there for you.”

-Alec Benjamin, “If We Have Each Other”

~~~

There was something in particular about strawberries that made Osomatsu happy. Happy, joyful, complete, in a sense that he was coursed through by fulfillment. And although a strawberry had a lot of qualities that made the fruit stand out, from its juicy flavor exploding against the tongue, to the color that reminded Osomatsu of himself sometimes, the berry was important to him because of so much more than that.

But nothing was more important to him than his brothers.

And for the berry to assist him in exposing that fact, that was what made Osomatsu happy.

The importance of the strawberry in his mission, however, was specific. It was a fruit for a reason, because it was eaten for its nutrients, its taste, its collaboration with other foods to decrease hunger in the human body. But as much as it was that, a strawberry also served as entertainment, to add pungency to otherwise bleak treats, to behave as a dessert after a complete meal, and for Osomatsu—to make Todomatsu smile.

Even as a child, Osomatsu loved Todomatsu’s smile.

But this smile came in all shapes and forms.

~~~

They were ten, but it was still sweet.

It was sweeter than anything. It was sweeter than the candy made in Santa’s factory. It was sweeter than honey, and being called Honey by someone you loved. It was sweeter than a kiss underneath a patch of cherry blossom trees, petals blowing in the wind. It was sweeter than all those things combined. Because when you were someone’s older brother, to see your little brother’s smile was the sweetest thing you could imagine.

Most especially, when you were the cause of that sweet smile.

“Ah! This tastes so good! Thank you so much, Osomatsu!” Todomatsu took another sip of the reddened drink, pinching the tip of the pink and white straw with his little lips. His throat bobbed as he gulped down the smoothie in large gulps. After draining another one-fourth of the glass, he exhaled, raising his head to Osomatsu with stars illuminating his eyes. “Seriously, this is amazing! Who taught you to make this?”

With a light shrug, Osomatsu simply responded, “I had Mom’s assistance.” Which was true. But the flavor wouldn’t have been reality if not for his attention in their home economics lesson in school. For the first time, it was worth remembering what their teachers informed them over the course of infinite dragging seconds, as boring as it was. Osomatsu was tempted to pat his own back.

“Oh.” Todomatsu’s sweet smile was then mixed with vinegar. “And you handed her the ingredients while she mixed them up?”

He startled. “Huh?” Osomatsu waved his hands, protesting, “No! We helped each other make it! W-Well, I-I was the one with the idea to make it in the first place! Do you think I was her servant the whole way through?”

Now his smile was sour, and the stars once sparkling in Todomatsu’s eyes had reduced to dust. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, that’s all you’re good for. I’ll remember to thank Mom for the drink later.” Todomatsu took another set of swallows until the strawberry smoothie was no more than a puff of blushing ice nestling at the bottom of the glass.

Osomatsu eyed him dejectedly.

Todomatsu didn’t acknowledge it. “Anyway, I’m gonna head out, play with the toy train I picked up from the side of the road.” He stood up from the chair, and it skidded away from the edge of their kitchen table. “Take that to the sink for me, Osomatsu. If being a servant is all you’re good for.” Tittering, Todomatsu skipped out of the kitchen, whooping as he called for Karamatsu in the living room excitedly.

Without arguing, Osomatsu took the empty glass and brought it to the sink. He felt bitter.

~~~

Once, when they were twelve, the day was made of fire.

The sun was too high up, and it wasn’t shielded by its white, puffy friends. Maybe the clouds were angry, and wanted to have some time away from it. That was too bad, since the sun was such a brutal fellow entirely, being made of hellfire. It shot the world of Akatsuka District with rays warmer than a sweltering dish on Matsuyo’s frying pan, and ice was a longed reverie as it melted elsewhere, out of reach from the district’s miracle of six same faces.

“I need a drink,” complained Jyushimatsu, fanning himself with his failed quiz in Mathematics as he leaned tiredly against the wall. “Choromatsu, get something from the fridge, won’t you?”

“Do it yourself,” Choromatsu replied, as worn-out as his younger brother was. To Karamatsu, he said, “Karamatsu, get something from the fridge.”

“I can’t. It’s broken, remember?” Karamatsu sighed.

All of them sighed.

Inching his back off the floor, Todomatsu swiped his sweaty cheeks with two fingers. His skin was warm, almost like his back, and the floor he had lazed himself upon. His shirt clung tightly to his skin like epoxy. The floor was as if Helios himself had laid down on it. Friction was the worst when summer existed.

“I’m gonna find something to cool me down, anything. Don’t bother asking for some if I actually find something.” He didn’t wait for a reply to be said from the others as he left the living room, a dungeon of pyre. He went straight to the corridor, body sagged as he defeatedly placed one feeble foot in front of the other. He was heaving.

The floorboards were just as bad as the living room. Each step was walking through a field of magma.

Todomatsu cursed the heavens for their cruelty.

But for his and his brothers’ cold reputation, they probably deserved this fire.

“Psst! Todomatsu!”

“Eh? Osomatsu?” Todomatsu grimaced at the kitchen’s direction, where Osomatsu was peeping over the frame of the door. His expression was entirely brightened, like he had found a way to control the fire instead of have the fire control him. “What’s going on? Do you need me there with you?”

“Mhm, that could work. But don’t tell the others.” Osomatsu vanished behind the wall, and Todomatsu’s curiosity danced as he heard the excited footsteps of his older brother emerging from the other room. “Come on! Get in here!”

Hesitation and curiosity boxed inside Todomatsu, with the latter taking the medal. Todomatsu ignored the heat beneath his soles as he jogged over to the kitchen, away from the others’ earshot, and entered into another room with the air stinging from the summer sun. Todomatsu coughed a breath, his head spinning abruptly from the levelled irritation and fatigue that clashed against him.

“Here you go.” Osomatsu pressed something against Todomatsu’s right hand, and the fire he felt diminished and turned to smoke. Todomatsu flinched at the unexpected, and he lowered his gaze to the item in his hand—a reddish Snow cone his fingers found themselves encircling. Cold, icy, refreshing. The sun’s enemy. Todomatsu’s soul sparkled.

Osomatsu said, “I found some pennies on the sidewalk, enough for something like that. I could only get two of them, and since you were the only one who had the guts to stand up and try whatever, I thought you deserved an award.” Osomatsu slid his tongue against his own Snow cone, as crimson and chilly as the one Todomatsu resumed marvelling over. Osomatsu’s tongue returned in his mouth ruby. “Try it, little bro. It’s very delicious.”

Todomatsu tried it. And it tasted like his life had been extended for another twenty years. Soon after he was licking like he had never before, drowning out the sun with an invisible force field as it attempted to penetrate the snowfall of Todomatsu’s happiness. He smiled the whole way through, giggling at his own success, until the red ice was sliding through his fingers and down his sleeves. Todomatsu didn’t care at all.

“What’s the flavor? Strawberry?”

“Yup.” Osomatsu winked at him. “Because I thought it works well when the sun’s a pisser. Don’t you think?” But he was met with no reply as Todomatsu resumed ingesting the frozen treat. At the innocent sight of it Osomatsu chuckled, rubbing his nose. “Ah, Todomatsu. You look happy.”

Todomatsu grinned at him, his teeth all coated in the strawberry’s rainbow of hues. “I am! Thanks, Osomatsu! This is great!”

The words meant more to the eldest than Todomatsu realized.

~~~

They crammed the exams in the last period. Todomatsu wasn’t prepared, and his pen fidgeted as his hands shook beneath the sleeves of his gray uniform. The situation was slightly relatable. Osomatsu’s paper barely had any answer, but Osomatsu leaned back in his chair, watching his brother from his side in the classroom. His eyelids carried anvils. He battled against sleep. Watching adult bedroom scenes the previous night did him little favors.

Worth it though.

The bell rang. The teacher stood up. Papers travelled from the corners of the classroom to the middle, different fonts penned against the numerous sheets tainted chalk. Answers differed. Some answers shaded the box next to Japan’s name. Others had Italy. A few had France. Osomatsu encircled none. The rest of his test was scribbled with irrelevant body parts that made the reproductive system. He wouldn’t ace this history test, but that wasn’t his priority.

It was the tears at the other end of the room.

Todomatsu stormed out of the door, calling Choromatsu’s name. Everyone either judged him or ignored him. Osomatsu followed him.

The corridors of the high school littered with students comparing answers. Caring less about the insignificance of academics, Osomatsu shrugged his bag on his shoulder, keeping close to the lockers that stood poised at his sides. He ignored his friends. He ignored Totoko. He ignored the rest of his brothers. Karamatsu only dipped his chin.

Osomatsu continued down a series of stairs, two floors away from the main lobby. He took a brief stop next to the rectangular machine settled on the landing, occupied by no other desperate students. He brought out his wallet—it stunk of poverty. But the single coin of silver glistened in the paling fluorescent lighting, and Osomatsu nudged away the voice demanding for selfishness. He inserted the coin into a slot. Nothing came out. Strawberry soda was no more.

Osomatsu gave the vending machine an eye roll and a middle finger.

Rain pelted on the towering structure of Akatsuka High School as Osomatsu exited the building, readying his black umbrella. He swept over the courtyard and front, trying to identify any familiar body build, easily differed from his by its height and the floppiness of its clothes. The scenery was a disappointment, a mockery, and Osomatsu loathed it. In general, he loathed being beaten in his own expertise, to be able to make out the form of those he had once called his brothers, but now called some fellowmen.

Whatever, he told himself. The voice of selfishness surged in him, and this time he decided to let it linger. I’m going home.

He untied the coal-dark wrap of his umbrella as he entered the drumroll of the sky’s sweat. The runner caught—Osomatsu shoved aggressively. He swore in annoyance, and cursed for its inability to comply. He wrestled with the metal, unable to stop himself. He wasn’t sure where his anger came from, or how it came to be, but it was there, either way. Some said that anger added ferocity into any particle of a gesture.

His finger slid against the steel. There was a ripping sound. And then, he was reminded of how similar in delicacy skin and fabric were, and of how close in color strawberries were to his own blood.

Except they didn’t taste the same.

He took a quick trip to the nurse’s office, and he hated their smiles. It was kind outside, but he knew more than anyone how much of a toxicant he was to the eyes of others. He was hated. Almost all of them were hated, even the brother whom he had lost to the downpour and his misfortune. Osomatsu seethed to himself. They treated his wound, running a cotton ball of antiseptic against the crack in his complexion. They wrapped it up with a bandage. They told him in a gentle voice to be careful next time when playing with toys. He called it karma for his middle finger.

They gave him a lollipop, saying, “You’ve been a good boy.”

He hoped they weren’t mistaking him for Todomatsu. But if they were, he was in all awareness ready to spit on their shoes. So what if they reported him to the principal for disrespect? It wasn’t as if they were knowledgeable of how much the deed disrespected his emotions. But he was nothing to them but a boy. A boy with six brothers, and a boy that deserved nothing but regret. The school glanced at him as if he were a parasite, and only a few gave the parasite extra attention. But people didn’t stay forever, no matter how often they would say otherwise. Osomatsu grew up with that experience.

A parasite. He might as well be.

But at the end of the day, he was nothing like those same-faced fools, any of them. And he was never going to be, he decided as he wordlessly slipped out from the splenetic atmosphere of the nurse’s office. He tapped his wounded finger against the side of his pants, destination set to the exit of the school, on his way home, where he could crash and rest to the sound of his own personal amusement. He didn’t care about his brothers.

But he did. Which was why he had the lollipop in his pocket instead of his mouth, and why the coin purposed as his ticket home was no longer weighing in his pocket. Osomatsu wanted to tell himself that it was the mood of kindness that triggered him, but his heart spoke of a different alibi. An alibi that wasn’t an alibi as it was the truth.

He flicked the runner of his umbrella again. It obeyed.

With the umbrella now properly catching the drops of heaven, Osomatsu walked out of the school’s boundaries.

And saw Todomatsu at the other side of the road, arms wrapped around Choromatsu’s. Todomatsu was crying. Choromatsu was stone-faced. He offered no consolation to the youngest.

Osomatsu waited for the lights to blink red before he and a few crossed the drenched concrete of the Ward, reflecting the gray skies in wide, rippling puddles. At the other side of the road, Osomatsu let a lazy expression fall over his face as he regarded his brothers. They regarded him back, uttering silence. Todomatsu was sniffing. Choromatsu had his chin up, his mouth angular and sealed. But they had the same eyes. All three of them.

They merely waited for him to do something, say anything. But Osomatsu said nothing.

He wasn’t like them.

He didn’t care about them.

...

He missed them.

“Todomatsu, here.” Osomatsu reached into his pocket and pulled out the lollipop, its red, strawberry color mirroring the color of the blood under Osomatsu’s bandage, and the blood running in the veins of those standing next to him. He extended the small sphere on a stick to the boy cowering behind Choromatsu’s body. “Hope this cheers you up. Tests suck.”

Todomatsu hesitantly took the lollipop, glistening eyes the size of saucers. He snapped back to Osomatsu, his already reddened cheeks brushed darker as something reminiscent of a smile tugged the corner of his lips. “Thanks, nii-chan,” he said. He was suddenly very loveable, and very much happier. And at eighteen, when their lives were a war against their greed and foolishness, this was all Osomatsu could ask for.

Osomatsu tried not to smile back as he turned away to walk home.

~~~

It hurt. It hurt, it throbbed, it shed tears. Todomatsu tried to steady his breathing as he cupped his eye, pounding like an orchestra of drums as he shook violently. People were talking about him in whispers he discerned. The toneless timbre made it worse. He was humiliated. He looked so pathetic. At that, he tried to keep still, stop himself from fretting over unnecessary pain. But it was anything but. He didn’t want to make his pain so obvious, but it was.

The pain wasn’t physical. It was emotional.

“Here, Totty,” Aida said, placing a drink on the counter. Concern shaped the curves of her eyes. “One strawberry milkshake. Get better, okay? It'll work out.”

It wouldn’t. Even if he was told a billion times by anyone in existence that it would be okay, it wouldn’t. The pain in his heart was more than that of a three-year long relationship cut short into heartbreak. His issues were morphed out of a different kind of love. A more important one. There was more than wanting to share blood with someone else, when a different rip was coated in the blood of those in the same family. A family where so many people are sad. Broken. Overwhelmed by their own grief.

Todomatsu’s injured eye was crying. The other eye was misting over.

His smile was all plastic. “Thank you, Aida,” he said, as steadily as he could muster, taking the drink from the countertop. “I’ll be seeing you some other time.” He let his feet drag him out of the doors of Sutabaa, ignoring the eyes that steadied themselves on his backside, some worried, others intrigued. He was careless to their judgement—they were nothing to him. But to those whom he found something in , maybe he was nothing to them too.

Perhaps all this time, all of them weren’t anything to Osomatsu.

If that was the case, then fine. Let him find his own self-fulfilment where he wouldn’t be so much of a pain to his companions, acting as a ruthless overlord to the Matsuno borders. Todomatsu didn’t need to linger in a shredded domicile. He was better than that.

Therefore he wanted out of a world where he was nothing.

When he was out of sight from Sutabaa, Todomatsu approached the closest garbage bin and stashed the strawberry milkshake into it.

~~~

No one else was home. The bridge was busy with Karamatsu’s efforts in a pathetic poem. The bookstore was turned upside down due to Choromatsu’s weakness over females sprawled in bikinis over magazine covers. The town’s cats all had their stomachs full where Ichimatsu had passed by. And the river was a current of energy where Jyushimatsu’s arms swept energetically through them.

Osomatsu and Todomatsu were the only ones home.

But it was still a typical day for both of them.

“Niisan, you should really be more careful,” Todomatsu stated, pressing the wet cloth over Osomatsu’s purple bruise. Osomatsu flinched, failing in containing himself from the reaction over how unexpectedly the water on his skin stung. “People in Pachinko could be aggressive if you don’t hold back on your pride. You don’t...Ugh, why am I telling you this anyway?! Choromatsu-niisan has reprimanded you on this before. Cod, you never learn your lessons ever.” He squeezed the cloth, setting it back into the basin.

Osomatsu lifted his shoulders carelessly. “Meh, whatever. They’re the unlucky ones. Do they have any baby brothers to take care of them when they get beat up? Nope! That’s all me and you, Todomatsu...Ow, ow, ow!” He bit back a curse as the towel was this time laid against his shin. The discomfort crept up his nerves and made his head spin, and Osomatsu wasn’t able to help dropping it against the pillow leaning against the couch’s side. The ice bag was crooked on his forehead.

“I can’t even touch your injuries, niisan. They’re so gross.” Todomatsu shook his head. “Jeez, you’re an adult. Handle yourself better! You can’t rely on us on everything forever.”

“Hey, it’s totally in you if you want to leave me to die. Don’t deny me. You’d totally do it. For some reason it was your good nature that urged you to care for me today.”

“Meh. True.” Todomatsu finished up Osomatsu’s leg before standing up with the basin. “Alright, you stay there while I throw out this crappy water. Try to get up and I’ll add to those injuries. Take my word, you idiot eldest.”

Groaning, Osomatsu waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Thanks for the help.”

Firmly nodding, Todomatsu directed himself to the door of their shared bedroom before shutting it behind him. And Osomatsu was alone in the room again, where everything was soundless, and movement was a lie.

Now. Now, it was boring.

What to do? Crack open one of Choromatsu’s sexually inappropriate books? Munch discreetly on an unopened pack of Ichimatsu’s chips? Doodle crazy mustaches on the dudes in Karamatsu’s fashion magazines? The possibilities swarmed around his head like bees, but each time he came into account of his status, with an ice pack over his head and his leg propped on a cushion. His limbs ached with a single movement, any hair on his arm touched sending a shot of agony racing through his body. He was vulnerable, and the state of being vulnerable pissed him off.

Maybe it was a bad idea to yell about a man’s nose ring after losing ¥5000 to him. He thought he had a chance against those bulging biceps though. Must’ve been wistful thinking.

He’ll win next time. Surely. Right?

Right?

(No, he wouldn’t.)

Osomatsu deflated at his own misery.

On the other hand, Todomatsu’s phone was in reach. All it needed before it made its way to the eldest’s hands was a bit of toe skills and kicking. Osomatsu might’ve had torture radiating from one leg, but there was still plenty of power in the other. As another plus in his part, it was much closer to the phone than the other, thus the chances were more than plausible. Awesome.

Osomatsu bit his lip as he performed control over his leg. His toes struck against the gadget’s white frame, and he reigned supreme for one moment just to grumble in annoyance the following second. It scooted and slipped, sometimes getting too close to the edge of the couch, to the horror of Osomatsu. It was more from the fact that he was going to spend an hour of inevitable boredom than realize he broke the screen, expecting an outburst from his youngest brother once he learned the news.

But at his fifth try, he was overjoyed when he found the phone locking in place between his two biggest toes. Osomatsu grinned wolfishly. Success. The nose ring guy could bite his tongue now in defeat. Heh.

As he carefully drew it close to him, Osomatsu snickered at the idea that the clean and elegant Todomatsu Matsuno’s phone had been carried off by a gambler’s dirty feet. Or worse, a sibling gambler’s dirty feet. It might not be the same as moving out of the couch injured, but it was still in the position to receive a severe beating from his youngest brother. That was, if the said youngest brother wasn’t in one of his ‘feeling compassionate’ days, as he was almost daily.

He dropped the phone into his hands, swiping the screen up. Password. He grinned. He typed. And he was in. He was too familiar with his brother’s vain nature to know that the password to his phone was his own nickname. In all caps, to be exact, to add emphasis over how grand he was. Getting in wasn’t something that Osomatsu needed to problem himself with.

The bigger problem was what he saw next.

In the world of social media, one of the most common things to see was hate comments. They took physical attributes on one person and expanded them into something big. Ugly. They fussed over speaking patterns like it made all the difference when the speaker tried to convey a message. The message could be about proper judgement. And sometimes, they spoke of things that made zero sense, but the choice of words used were so strong, so power-hungry, that they were still forceful enough to jab at the one they wanted to harm.

They filled Todomatsu’s screen.

What’s up with that face? Dude, you’re trying too hard.

Does it have to be pink? That’s a freaking girl’s color. Are you sure you’re searching for a girlfriend?

This irritates me so much smh. Cringing to the core.

These are the kinds of people that when I see, I could understand why they’re lonely. Because there’s so much not to like! Like I’ve said to so many other online users, you aren’t getting anywhere. Might as well give up now before you disappoint yourself with your lack of success.

Just get out.

Osomatsu frowned. Was there anything so wrong about posting a picture of yourself online? Not to mention a good picture, where your smile was captured perfectly in HD like an actor in a movie poster, and the world around acted as if it made way for you like you were the king that ruled it? No, there was nothing wrong with that, yet Osomatsu felt his anger bubbling as he scrolled through the comments of Todomatsu’s latest image.

It was a smile. Osomatsu lived for that smile.

The comments contradicted Osomatsu’s wants.

His eyes slitted. His lips pulled back.

It was all about his little brother, but his little brother was treated as a part of a discarded wasteland. People threw rocks, hit the bullseye, cackled in triumph. Todomatsu was a slave to their jurisdiction, but he replied to none of those harsh comments. And the process repeated itself on the screen, a cycle replaying of false acumen. The phone might not have belonged to him, part of Osomatsu’s heart throbbed as if it were involved in that wretched cycle.

Those asses. Those damn asses. Each one of them, may their souls find torture the day they died. May they burn in their own words, suffer in their own threats. Their lives mattered less than all those who tried hard to find purpose in theirs. Their lives mattered less than Todomatsu’s. Their lives didn’t matter at all.

They had no say in which lives mattered and which ones didn’t. Life was life, and it wasn’t equal. But that didn’t mean that when you felt superior, other lives were inferior to yours.

Damn asses.

Osomatsu snatched the ice bag from his head, slamming it to the floor. He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa, touching his bare feet to the ground. He pushed himself to stand, ignoring the pain in his leg as he pocketed Todomatsu’s phone and limped to the door. He slid it open, and clicked it shut, trying to identify the possible whereabouts of his younger brother. He said he was going to clean out the basin, but time ticked too much for that to be his only agenda. There was more to it.

Did he already know about those horrid comments? He must've. They were the first things to pop onto the screen for a reason.

Sloshing of a wet cloth against surface made its way to Osomatsu’s auditory senses. Water ran. Osomatsu scrambled over to the toilet at the end of the hall, and peeked through the small opening left by the ajar door. Todomatsu was still inside, washing the basin, his eyebrows straight, expression blank. Eyes stared into an invisible oblivion. He showed no signs of discomfort as he rid the basin of Osomatsu’s soot. Emotionless.

But emotionlessness often acted as the shield to hide all sorts of emotions.

Ichimatsu was often like that.

Osomatsu had been, once. Karamatsu’s knuckles had been bloodied. Jyushimatsu’s stomach had been bruised. And Todomatsu’s eye had been black.

Osomatsu snarled, facing away from the toilet as he made his way to the stairs. And walking down, he was turned into a lone wanderer as thoughts and anger rocked simultaneously in his mind. All his physical pain drained off, and Osomatsu was the definition of anger, of vengeance, and a wild beast being trapped from escaping into the wild. He wanted to rip limbs from their hinges, to yank head after head from numerous necks.

That was what it was like to feed on anger. But in this situation, his anger wasn’t going to take him anywhere. He didn’t know the hidden identities behind each ridiculous username, nor was he in the position to crunch some skulls with the injuries coating his body. It was also a fight after all, that turned him this way. His brash, stubborn nature might only make things worsen for both Todomatsu, and himself.

He approached the kitchen, hoping for a glass of water instead. Would it be chilly enough to clear the fumes combusting inside? Hopefully. Probably not. But it was better this way than to turn the situation from orange to red, and find a result of severe loss on their part.

He opened the fridge. There was juice inside.

“Osomatsu-niisan, where have you gone off to?” Todomatsu arrived at the kitchen frame, and as he laid his gaze on the red hoodie of his older brother, his brows furrowed as his arms crossed. “Cod, you’re thick. Couldn’t stop yourself from messing around when I specifically told you not to, can you?” He paused, then continued to, “Um, what are you doing?”

Because Osomatsu’s hand sported a pestle, the other hand tightly gripped a mortar. It was the only thing he was aware of that their house had when it came to crushing something. For this instant, it was the ice. Huge cubes of refrigerator ice. “I’m making you a drink. It’s the least I could do for your kindness, Totty.” He flashed Todomatsu a smile. It was truthful and false at the same time.

Scoffing, Todomatsu rolled his eyes. “Oh come on. That’s the worst thing you could do for me. Having you rest on the couch is the best offer if you’re so dead-set on doing shtick for me. Let’s return to the room.” Already, he was keeping to his word as be turned to leave.

Osomatsu said, “But you like strawberry, don’t you?”

Without turning back towards him, Todomatsu said, “It’s a girly flavor.” His following silence was uncomfortably long.

Ah. So he had read those comments. Osomatsu’s fists were triggered to break someone’s nose, but he held the instinct back.

Breaking him out of it, Todomatsu spoke again. “I’m serious, niisan. We should return upstairs and let you rest. I’ll keep you company, be on my phone, then leave if you want when the others return. But we should go and let you rest a bit more.” His tone lost a ton of ferocity. Indirectly, Osomatsu had struck a nerve, but it was better to have struck it than let the nerve be damaged for too long.

“Nah, I already began, so might as well continue.” The happy-go-lucky attitude was a fool’s talent, and Osomatsu was glad to be the fool. He once more plunged the pestle into the mortar, increased in strength, and more blocks of ice cubes turned into crystalline splinters. “Sit down instead. You can still keep niisan company here.”

Groaning, Todomatsu returned to the kitchen. “Fine. If it makes you stop.”

“Good.”

Osomatsu grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and set them to the center of the kitchen table. With the pestle, he slid some of the ice from the mortar into the two glasses, equal in each. Limping, he took the strawberry juice from the fridge, and once the pitcher was with him as he stood next to the table, he poured the drink into the glasses. He settled across Todomatsu on the table after setting the pitcher down and moving the glasses to their respective directions.

Todomatsu didn’t show a sign of gratitude. Well then. He wasn’t getting out with his little secret. Not a problem. This was a moment of truth, but if Todomatsu wasn’t going to cooperate in his own improvement by letting his chest out, Osomatsu needed to play alongside it. And succeed in his own way.

Grinning at his little brother, Osomatsu said, “Wanna hear a joke?”

“Your face.”

“And yours.”

Todomatsu flinched, and glared at his brother. Daggers weren’t as sharp as that stare. “Shut up. We’re nothing alike.”

“Yup. I’m a beggar and you’re a deity. We absolutely are nothing alike.” Osomatsu leaned forward on the table, the phone’s weight in his pocket letting itself be known. “That’s why we’re in this situation in the first place. I did stupid crap, and you’re here to take care of me. And for me, that’s absolutely great. You’re a very nice guy, Totty, even if you want to kill us sometimes. You’re not perfect, but you will always stay in a place for me where I can applaud you for being incredibly awesome.”

He studied Todomatsu’s expression as he spoke—unamused. But at the same time...

The shield of expressionless.

“You’re being sarcastic. Stop it. Where is this even coming from?” Todomatsu’s back was against the chair, and his crossed arms hadn’t untangled from his chest yet. The drink remained where it was in front of him, the wetness of it beginning to mark a circle on the table.

Shrugging, Osomatsu said, “Meh. Thought it would be a good time to let you know how I feel. We don’t get to hang as much, and now’s good timing, so yeah.” He smiled, all teeth. “This is awesome! It’s like karma, the good kind! Treat me well, I treat you well, that kind of stuff! But it’s also a nice time to let my brotherly instincts kick in, ya get me? I miss my baby bro, and I wanted to let him know how I feel about him.”

The sour set of Todomatsu’s features wasn’t pleasing, but it was necessary for Osomatsu to tell what was running in his mind. He was taking in Osomatsu’s words, letting them resonate. “That’s how you feel. That won’t matter to the world.”

Osomatsu chuckled. “But it matters to you, right?” He raised his glass of juice, and it sloshed against the sides of the transparent solid slightly. “And if you ask me, that’s more important. When you’re your own person, what’s more important is the opinion of someone you care about. I mean, think about it. Won’t it suck like hell if someone you cared about hated you? I couldn’t imagine. It would make my day to know that someone in this bummed-out universe actually likes me. And you made me feel that by taking care of me. So can’t I return the favor?”

Todomatsu’s arms unfolded from his chest, dropping slowly to the table. He sighed, eyes pinned on the juice. But the fact that he didn't question nor end this apparent conversation showed how much he truly needed it. “Is that really what you think, niisan? But you’ve always called me a monster.”

“Hey, every monster has a light side.” Osomatsu rubbed his nose. “You’re no exception. And I like seeing that side of you when it shows up. It reminds me of the loving family that I grew up with, and all the fun, happy memories I’ve made with them. Those cold nights, when life was hard, I always had my brothers to look up to the same way they looked up to me. We went through a ton, bro. Light always drowns out the dark.”

Todomatsu didn’t say a word, nor did he look at him. He could’ve been a statue, barely breathing, before he said, “You’ll always be there for me when I need it, right, niisan? No matter what happens?” He was expressionless. But his voice was desperate.

Not all shields were strong enough to withhold everything.

“Yup,” Osomatsu promised, and knew it was one that would never go hollow. “Onii-chan will forever be by Totty’s side. If Totty isn’t sure about stuff, and he feels hesitant to approach, I will assure him that I will always be open for him to approach. Just the way he approaches me, despite being a stubborn one.” He winked. “So don’t worry about the trials of life anymore, okay? Count on your Osomatsu-niisan too.”

And there was a smile. A small one, but it was there, lighting his expression from a state so blank and aggravating. A sense of fulfillment coursed through Osomatsu at the sight of that sweet smile, feeling like he was more than anything. And it grew, ever so slightly, as he watched Todomatsu’s brightening expression increase like it was being ignited with fire.

Osomatsu missed that kind of expression, given how it was rare to see his brothers at their best anymore, and he didn’t stop his own smile from blooming.

“Thanks, niisan.” Todomatsu chuckled lowly and grabbed the glass before raising it, a small flush dusting his cheeks. “Cheers to us?”

Osomatsu raised his own glass. “Yeah, man. Cheers!”

They knocked their glasses of strawberry juice against each other and gulped them down.

~~~

Aka, the first original story I made for the ‘Bits of my Brothers’ series. I haven’t posted it here on Tumblr yet, so I thought I might do that now.

#osomatsu-san #osomatsu san #bits of my brothers #osomatsu matsuno #osomatsu #todomatsu matsuno #todomatsu #original #fanfic #fan-fic #benimatsu #beni #-kun age #post-movie #movie spoilers #aida #aida and sacchi #aida (osomatsu)

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

The Steinbeck Agreement

PART TWENTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of familial physical/emotional abuse please read with caution, serious angst, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Ella makes some major changes in her life, and Jess reluctantly returns to town for his mother’s wedding.

The afternoon light streamed golden through the diner windows as Liz and Luke came in, Ella leaning on the counter with her sketchbook in front of her. Too enveloped in the drawing of a field of murderous daisies, Ella didn’t even register what they were talking about until she heard them mention her name.

“...maybe Ella could do it,” Liz said, tilting her head at the young woman with dark eye makeup and EAT ME printed across her shirt.

“Hm?” Ella asked, looking up from her sketch with furrowed brows.

Luke rolled his eyes at her distracted nature. Ever since she’d moved out of her childhood home, she’d been in a worse mood, focused almost solely on her terrifying drawings. He’d had to tell her a couple times to make sure to keep the sketchbook off the counter when there were children present.

“Be a flower girl,” Liz said, a big, dreamy smile on her face. She was dressed in a long, floral red dress. “Most of the Renaissance fair crowd doesn’t have small children. But if we’re gonna have a wedding, we’re gonna have a real wedding. Can’t be a wedding without a flower girl.”

“Sorry, whose wedding?” Ella asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, sweetie.” Liz had a high, wispy voice that reminded Ella of the fairies she used to imagine playing in her mother’s garden. “We’re having it right out in the square next week. It’s gonna be beautiful, all our Renaissance fair friends will be there, and it’ll have this great medieval theme! And you could be the flower girl!”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ella began with a shy smile, but Liz only waved a dismissive hand at her, continuing.

“I can loan you one of my fair dresses,” she said excitedly, not picking up on Ella’s doubtful expression.

“Yeah, Ella. You can finally perfect your whole Bride of Frankenstein look,” Luke teased. His expression was far more pleasant than Ella could have predicted. Happy. Happy, in its simplest form, looked so strange on Luke. The past few months had seen the true finalization of his divorce and his having to watch Lorelai date some rich snob from her father’s company. But the news seemed to brighten his mood inexplicably. She was sure the laughter at her expense wasn’t exactly a drag on the day either.

Rolling her eyes, Ella shot him a pointed glance. “Y’know, you would be lost without your best waitress.”

“I’m quaking in my boots. Besides, I’ve got Lane working for me now, anyway.”

Though she narrowed her eyes at him, she could think of nothing more to say. He was right. She would never quit on him. The diner was more of a home to her than anywhere else in the world. Hell, it had almost single-handedly fed her during the worst few months of her life. Along with Lorelai’s frequent feasts of junk food.

“I can just see it, Ella! It’ll be so much fun and you’d look so beautiful!” Liz exclaimed, grabbing one of Ella’s hands in a pleading gesture.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella did her best to protest. She still wasn’t Liz’s biggest fan, despite wherever it was that she stood with Jess. The alcohol, the neglect. But Luke seemed not entirely angry about the match, especially considering his view on TJ when the two had first been introduced back in February. And Liz’s smile was so large, so radiant. Her eyes were desperate and almost kind. Heaving a huge sigh, Ella nodded. Luke was much more than her boss. And he gave a smile so rare when she agreed. She would do it for Luke, she decided. In fact, it was the least she could do.

. . .

Sat on the lumpy couch in Lane’s living room, Ella found herself smiling just a touch. The band, finally named Hep Alien, was getting better with every practice. Though the room was piled high with dirty clothes and video game equipment, and it remained cluttered no matter how many times Ella tried to clean it up, she was beginning to get more comfortable. Her king mattress was so old anyway, and sleeping on the plaid couch wasn’t much different. As she had run from the only house she had ever known, she’d packed as much as she could into her station wagon, which had once been her aunt Julie’s. It wasn’t like her old room fit much anyway. Mostly, the backseat was filled with her records, books, clothes.

Loud music making her ears ring, she sketched Lane behind the drums, living the way she had always wanted. As fun as it was watching band practice nearly every night, Ella was eager for her summer classes to start. If she played her cards right, she could graduate a year early with art as a minor. Ella’s mind drifted to the night she left, the day after she finally finished her first year of college. And, over a modest celebratory dinner, the conversation had drifted, as it always did, to the future.

. . .

two and a half weeks earlier

Tugging with one hand at the ends of her hair, Ella felt an odd mixture of distasteful nostalgia and happiness in her stomach. The lasagna tasted exactly as her mother’s had, and Ella knew Fiona had followed the recipe, scribbled in the back of the ancient cookbook, exactly. But she would keep quiet. Fiona truly seemed proud of her, beaming and giving her a hug the moment she walked through the door after work. Slowly, very slowly, Ella was beginning to accept it, the motherly love. Though occasionally it still rubbed her the wrong way, it didn’t send her spiralling into anger and melancholy as it once had.

And it wasn’t as though Fiona was a bad person. She had a sunny disposition, glossy hair, expressive eyes. Ella could understand how her father would want to marry her. But she was just too unlike her mother. Would never understand Ella the way her mother had. It still felt like bizarro-world when Fiona tried to give her advice or compliment her on her piano skills. But she could manage dinner every once and a while, and accept pride in her academic accomplishments. She was on the Dean’s List, after all.

Adam pushed his food around his plate as he spoke. From the glances they’d shared, Ella could tell he tasted the same memories from childhood she did.

“We’ve still got about a month, but I really think we can get first place,” Adam said of his mathlete competition. His voice had gotten deeper, and he was finally growing taller. Ella could tell he would end up looking a lot like Noah.

“That’s great,” Jake said, nodding with a half-smile.

“Really is,” Fiona echoed, grinning widely.

As silence fell on the four of them, forks scraped on the Corelle plates and throats were cleared. Awkward silences had quickly become staples of family dinners. Eventually, Jake began twisting his wedding ring and looked straight at Ella, who sat at his left side. The light in the peach kitchen was bright despite the cloudy darkness outside. The May evening was humid and buzzing with cicadas.

“And what about you, Ellie?” Jake asked.

Looking up carefully, Ella put down her fork and faced him. “What about me?”

“Do you have any prospects for the summer? Besides the diner?”

She shook her head. “No. Unless Patty needs me to fill in. Might start painting more. I’m thinking a small easel would fit pretty well near the window in my room.”

Narrowing his eyes doubtfully, Jake tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know. Seems like a waste of money.”

“Why?” she asked instantly.

“We don’t have to discuss this now,” Fiona interjected patiently.

Adam looked down at his plate as he ate.

Jake breathed a frustrated sigh through his nose. “You’re majoring in history. You’re living with us for at least three more years. I don’t think now’s the time for pipe dreams.”

“Hm,” Ella nodded, giving a thin, vicious smile. “It’s funny you say that. When mom was alive, you always thought I should put as much time into my art as she put into her music.”

“You were a kid. Things change. The best you can hope for is being a history teacher at Stars Hollow High, and you have to be happy with it,” Jake explained with cold logic in his voice. His eyebrows were raised in condescension.

Ella’s cheeks heated up. “Oh, so all this time you’ve just been humoring me? Telling me I had talent?”

“Not exactly. But you’re not O’Keefe, either.”

“Never said I was,” Ella snapped, standing up from her seat. “I can't do this right now. I’m buying my fucking paint, dad.”

“Hey!” he shouted, rising from his own seat and following her as she stormed into the living room towards the hall entrance. “Don’t you use that language with me, young lady!”

“Why not?! Might as well let you know how I actually talk if you’re gonna let me know how you actually feel!” she yelled back, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Jake rolled his eyes at his only daughter. “Toughen up, Ellie! You’ve only got so much time on this earth and I’m not gonna watch you waste it on your doodles!”

“Oh, and lecturing about the revolutionary war in the town where I’ve always lived wouldn’t be a waste?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least you’ll make a living! You’ll still be around people who love you, who take care of you. You’ll always be near us,” he argued.

Ella let out a bitter, humorless bark of laughter. “People who take care of me?! I’ve been taking care of you for almost five years! All of you! Especially you! When mom died, I was the one who fed us, I was the one who cleaned and tried to cook! And you did fuck-all except drink and lie around crying!”

Eyes darkening, Jake took a step closer to her and she immediately recoiled. “I lost my wife. You will never understand that!”

“I lost my mother!” she screamed, hands clenched at her sides, so hard her knuckles turned white. Angry tears snuck up on her eyes but she swallowed them back to the best of her ability.

“If I’d have known how much you’d bitch about helping out, doing what a daughter should, I never would’ve let you take that job at Luke’s!”

“Doing what a daughter should?” she asked immediately, eyebrows shooting up. Her jaw was set firm with tension.

Fiona appeared from the kitchen behind her husband, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Baby, let’s just all take a minute to cool down.”

“You brother and I needed you and all you could do was complain!” he roared.

Ella scoffed. “You needed me? You needed me to keep you alive long enough for you to find a new wife to coddle you and baby you and cry with you when you told her about your tragic high school sweetheart! Why do you think she hates you, huh?”

Her stomach did a flip when she saw the hurt on Fiona’s face from the corner of her eye, but a fire burned so hot inside her, and she couldn’t keep her words contained any longer. She’d tried to play the dutiful woman of the house long enough.

“Do not talk about my marriage!” Jake warned. “It’s none of your business!”

“Of course it’s my business! It’ll be my business when I have to pick up the pieces once she leaves you!”

“You have always been such a little brat! You were a nightmare to raise for me and for Sophia!” A vein had popped out in his forehead, and he shrugged Fiona’s touch from his shoulder.

“Fuck you!”

Crack! Ella seemed to hear it before she felt it: a sharp, searing pain as his open palm struck her cheek. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in so long, not since she was ten and had mouthed off at the dinner table. A sinking feeling struck her stomach as silence filled the room. Because she suddenly discovered she had always been expecting it. Always knew it would happen again, someday, somehow. And she’d been almost surprised he hadn’t smacked her in the months following her mother’s death. But, the levee had to break. It always did.

She brought a hand to her stinging flesh, and her father stopped in his tracks. Remorse washed over his features and he went to reach out for her. Flinching away from him, Ella felt her fingers grip at her necklace.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry, baby. I told you not to use that language with me. And you know how my old man was about-”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No.”

. . .

The final, strong bass note of the White Stripes song Hep Alien played broke her from her memories. She could see the dull sky as she packed up her car the best she could, the night crossing over into morning as she offered Adam a quick goodbye. He’d been upset, but also somewhat calm. And when he’d come to visit her a week later during one of her shifts at the diner, he told her he had always known Ella would leave. From the first night after their mother had died, he’d known. Though he knew it was fruitless to try and convince her not to feel guilty, Adam had told her not to worry. He could handle home on his own, he was confident. He’d never been slapped. And they were both smart enough to understand why.

And when she’d come to Lane in the early hours of the morning, still painfully holding back her tears with the entire contents of her life parked out on the street in the station wagon, she knew everything would change. Lane had welcomed her with open arms, of course. Had seen Ella cry for only the third time in all their years knowing each other. There was something so sweet about her new freedom, but a heaviness still sat in Ella’s heart. Constant guilt and fear for Adam, heartache over her mother, who she still missed everyday. And she felt so lost, it was all-consuming. She didn’t know what the next step was. Would she still be able to pay for college? Would she ever speak to her stepmother again? Would she even stay a history major, if she was lucky enough to continue her education? She had never been more glad for Luke’s, and for her friends. There were few comforts in her life, continued existence as a waitress, or knowing Adam was only a few blocks away in case something ever happened. She clung to the only constants left for dear life. She’d been dreaming of leaving the house for so long, but it managed to be even harder than she thought it would be. A gloomy cloud had been hanging over her for a few weeks, as she walked through her existence with an aimlessness she had never known before.

Clapping some, Ella offered a big smile and watched as Zach, Gil, and Bryan began to talk amongst themselves about the new tattoo Gil had shown up to practice with. Lane excused herself from the conversation only because of the temptation. She wanted a tattoo, really did, but didn’t want to increase the chances of her mother disowning her any more than she already had. Instead, she came to join Ella on the couch, plopping down and putting an arm around her friend. Ella kept her smile and rested her head against Lane’s shoulder. Since moving in, Ella was reminded every day of what a wonderful person Lane was. They came from such different worlds, but never judged each other, always took care of each other, helped each other with their respective escapes. Working together at Luke’s had been even more fun than Ella could have ever imagined. It was a welcome end to the long, lonely year after Jess’s departure, just she and Luke sulking around together. There was a place for sulking, but the time for it seemed to be coming to an end.

“You guys were fucking great,” Ella said, then gestured down to the picture she had just drawn. “You’re a regular Meg White up there. Really.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lane chirped, beaming with pride.

Snorting a laugh, Ella put the sketchbook aside and bit back a yawn. “Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Lane asked, brows furrowing.

It almost made her want to laugh. Over the past two weeks, Lane had asked her that question more than had once seemed humanly possible. “Yeah, Lane. I’m fine. Just a long day. Got roped into being a flower girl.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Luke’s sister. Liz. Have you met her before? You weren’t working at the diner yet the last time she was in town,” she said tiredly.

“No, I haven’t,” Lane replied. “Jess’s mom, right?”

“She is indeed.”

“And why exactly are you filling what is traditionally a role for a girl in pigtails and Mary Janes?”

Blowing out a sigh, Ella shook her head slightly. “I don’t even know. She just sort of told me...didn’t exactly ask. It’s next week in town square, so there’s not enough time. And Luke really seemed like he wanted me to and I just...I don’t know. Maybe she’s a witch.”

“Always a possibility,” Lane nodded, going along with the bit as she always did. “And have you heard from Jess lately?”

Again, Ella shook her head. “He still doesn’t have an actual phone number, and now I don’t either. Not optimum communication conditions.”

“Yeah, that’s not ideal,” Lane said, commiserating.

“I wish it had crossed my mind, but I moved out in about forty-five minutes,” Ella said, fiddling with her necklace.

A guilty look painted her features. But she’d only been out of the house a little while, maybe he hadn’t called.

“Do you think he’ll come for the wedding?”

Ella scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

. . .

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything else?” Ella asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Her chewed pencil sat behind her ear, and her hair fell in a loose, hasty braid over her shoulder. One of her booted feet tapped constantly against the tiled floor, and she smoothed over her blue skirt every few minutes. And she only looked half as stressed as Luke. The wedding was in two days, and nearly everything had been dumped on him. As a consequence, Ella had been dealing with the diner business while Luke argued on the phone with vendors who could give him the proper medieval food and decor.

The midday lull had finally come, and Lorelai stopping in was sure to bring a little sunshine. Though she had been pretty overwhelmed herself, lately. The new Dragonfly Inn opening was only weeks away.

Luke shook his head at Ella when he’d finished giving Lorelai the rundown of the week’s events. “Not right now, kid. That was the last call I had to make. At least for the time being.”

“Just say the word,” Ella shrugged, finally letting herself relax a touch, leaning her forearms onto the counter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, am I caught up on everything, then?” Lorelai chimed in, brows raised and eyes expectant.

“Yeah, I’d say so…” Luke began, but the bell over the door jingled.

A familiar scowl appeared in the diner’s entrance, and Jess trudged up to the counter with a finger pointed at Luke. “I’m not paying for a motel, so I’m stayin’ with you!”

Lorelai gasped dramatically and narrowed her eyes at Luke. “Liar!”

As he passed on his way to the stairs, Jess gave Ella a curt nod. She reciprocated, but felt unnerved by his demeanor. Was it shy? Was it angry? It certainly didn’t seem pleasant. They hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, the longest time since he had first run away to California.

“I didn’t think he was coming,” Luke muttered, watching Jess disappear up the stairs. A wistful, fond smile crossed Luke’s lips. “I went to see him in New York.”

“You did?” Ella asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah. It was a total pig sty and he may or may not be a drug dealer. But, hey, at least he came,” Luke said, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and wonder.

Sighing through her nose, Ella looked down at her feet and bit at the inside of her cheek. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, thoughts swimming around and colliding with each other inside her already crowded mind. “Yeah. At least. I’m gonna take my ten minutes. That alright?”

Luke was busy, back to his banter with Lorelai, and only gave a half nod her way. She snickered at how enveloped in each other the two of them were. Without much effort, she slipped behind the curtain and climbed up the stairs unnoticed. Nerves coursed through her, and her heart sped up in her chest. She gave two short, harsh knocks on the window of the shabby apartment door.

After waiting a moment and receiving no response, she rolled her eyes to herself. Who was she to be nervous? He was pretty much her best friend, besides Lane. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. With a new, determined quality to her steps, she walked through the front door and found him just where she expected, on his old bed, nose already buried in a book.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she plastered on a confident smirk and sat down on the end of the bed. She recognized the book instantly, her own copy buried in the pile of belongings in her car: Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck.

“The only author we could ever agree on,” she said, eyeing the book though Jess still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Pretty much,” he replied flatly, biting at his bottom lip as he focused on the words in front of him.

Sighing shortly through her nose, Ella turned to face him fully, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the familiar brown afghan. Jess unconsciously brought his feet in closer to make room for her, his knees up in the air, blocking her view of his face slightly. But she could see his hair, longer still and without any gel.

“See you’ve completely ditched the pompadour look,” she muttered. “Couldn’t handle being mistaken for an Elvis impersonator any longer, huh?”

“My God, you should do stand-up,” Jess said dryly, eyes widening in feigned amazement as he kept reading.

Shaking her head slightly, Ella let a harsh chuckle escape her lips and furrowed her brows at him. “Out with it, jackass.”

“Hm?” he asked dismissively, taking a pencil from his pocket to underline a phrase.

Ella pursed her lips in frustration. “Well, it’s obvious you’re pissed. I say we skip the passive-aggressive theatrics and you just spill it. But, hey, this is a democracy. You also get a vote.”

Rolling his eyes, Jess finally shot a glance over his knees. Heaving a sigh, he shut his book and tossed it into the open duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. In one swift movement, he mirrored her sitting position and tilted his head at her in askance.

“Have you been doing a lot of hard partying lately? Really taking advantage of this college thing? Or have you been avoiding my calls?” he asked, though he wasn’t angry, despite the sarcasm. There was a defeated tone in his voice which surprised her; almost disappointed.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she gave another small shake of her head, and she spoke firmly. “Well, first of all, I’m not required to take your calls. I asked you to call me because you fucked off to California without telling me and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been serial-killed.”

Jess gave a begrudging nod, almost preparing for a dressing down.

“But, no, I haven’t been avoiding your calls, alright? Paranoid much?”

He scoffed, but she cut him off before he could retort.

“I moved out.”

Immediately, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About two weeks ago. Wasn’t exactly seamless, and I bet my dad will disconnect my old line at some point. I’ve been staying at Lane’s with her and the band. They don’t have a phone yet. And you change your number pretty much every week, so it’s not like I could let you know.”

A smile crossed his features. “I’m...that’s great, Eleanor.”

She snorted a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, it’s so great living out of my car and sleeping on Lane’s forty-year-old couch.”

Jess shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“I guess.”

He looked flabbergasted. “I’m so proud of you.”

A blush heated her cheeks and she chuckled breathily in confusion. “What?”

“For moving out. I mean, I can’t imagine it was a quiet affair,” he said, face falling slightly.

Again, she shook her head, glancing down at the space between them on the comforter and clutching her necklace. “No. It wasn’t.”

“What happened?” he ventured without hesitation, searching her face and exposed arms for any yellowed bruises or healing cuts. Sometimes, he could give even Ella a run for her money when assuming the worst.

Ella shrugged noncommittally, throwing a glance down at her watch, then facing him again with a small smile. “Long story. I’ve only got a couple minutes left on break. You gonna be in town for a little while?”

“Until the minute the wedding ends.”

“Okay, we’ll find some time to catch up,” she said, smirking. “Luke tells me you’re a drug dealer now. You’ve gotta let me in on all your behind-the-scenes Scarface facts.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “God, Luke is such a drama queen. I’m a messenger.”

“Nice cover. Very convincing.”

“Don’t you have coffee to pour?” he shot back, defensive.

Snickering, Ella rose from the bed, smoothing down her skirt and apron. “Whatever keeps the guilt at bay, tough guy.”

“G’bye,” he muttered, grumpy, as he settled back against the wall and picked up his book again. But, just before Ella reached the door: “What time are you off, Eleanor?”

“Six-thirty. Luke’s closing up early to play wedding planner,” she said, hand poised over the doorknob.

Jess chuckled. “Pizza at Antonioli’s tonight?”

“Sure. I even promise not to wear a wire.”

The pillow Jess had thrown barely missed her as she exited the apartment, laughing under her breath.

. . .

Sighing softly, Ella ran the key along the chain of her necklace and looked down at the half-eaten pizza crusts on her paper plate. The old wooden table in the pizza place was slightly sticky, and carved with the names of various people and couples who had shared a pie there before. But, they could watch the Stars Hollow evening turn from golden to blue as the sun went down, sitting by the front window. Jess had to leave by eight, and it was half past seven by the time the stars came out. Summer had almost come, and the days were long and bright with sunshine. Chilly breezes swept past at night, but it was getting warmer still.

“So...yeah. It only took me about forty-five minutes to pack everything up. Didn’t realize how little stuff I had until I could fit almost everything in my trunk and back seat,” she said, a small, humorless smile on her face.

Jess nodded, rolling a balled-up napkin absently in his hand as he listened, his face stony. “Was it just yelling? Or did he hit you?”

Breathing another long sigh through her nose, Ella bit the inside of her cheek. “Just once. He just slapped me once. He told me not to swear at him, but I-”

“Eleanor,” he interjected, voice firm but gentle. “Once is way too much. Even a slap. It’s way, way too many times.”

She only shrugged. “I know. I mean, of course I know that. It’s just…”

Again, he nodded wordlessly. Jess knew what it was like to have a parent, or a step-parent, who used hurt as a tool. And he knew the confusion. Sometimes monsters wore masks. She didn’t have to say anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ella shook her head. “It’s not your fault. And I’m moved out now, Jess.”

“Right...and I meant what I said. I’m so proud of you, Stevens.” Jess reached hesitantly across the table, and took her free hand in his. Gave it one squeeze.

She flashed him a tiny smile, squeezed it back. Then she disentangled their fingers and tucked her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat and straightening her back. The severity left her features, a new, mischievous twinkle lighting up her hazel eyes. Her chest was less heavy, and she was glad he knew. Glad he could understand with so few words.

“Proud of you too, Mariano. This time, I didn’t have to watch you step out of a sheriff’s car when you got to town,” she smirked, picking up one of the crusts and taking another bite out of it.

He frowned. “Ugh, please don’t mention Andy Griffith. That car is my property. The only reason I even called Luke after I got to Venice was to ask about the car and he-”

Still chuckling, Ella raised her hands in surrender, cutting him off. “White flag.”

Jess offered a sardonic, lop-sided smirk. “And, believe or not, Luke will be the sanest person at the bachelor party tonight.”

“Why are you even going?” she asked, brows furrowed as she took a sip of her water, ice melty from time and the May heat seeping through the splintered wood of the front door.

Shaking his head, Jess glanced down at his watch and noticed he had only ten minutes before he and Luke would have to hop in Luke’s ancient green truck. “I don’t know. Luke mentioned me not wanting to go to Liz, and then she spent thirty minutes babbling until she finally wore me down.”

Pursing her lips, Ella nodded. “Yeah, she’s very persuasive.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at the flower girl,” she admitted, gesturing to herself.

He laughed breathily. “No way.”

“Yep. I’ll be there in the renaissance dress and all. Though, Lorelai said she would make some alterations for me. I’m going over to her house in a little while to sort out the whole corset situation.”

Jess snorted another chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Right back at ya, Mariano,” she teased. “Where on earth would TJ want to go for his bachelor party?”

“It’s a cliché I’m sure you’ll be able to guess on the first try,” Jess said with a dejected frown.

After only a moment with brows furrowed, realization flashed across Ella’s eyes and her expression turned to one of disgust. “Ugh, Jesus. A strip club?”

“I know,” he grumbled. “Believe me, I’ll be there in silent protest.”

“Mouth off to one of the owners if you get the chance, would you? For me?” she asked.

“Will do.”

. . .

“I don’t hate my mother,” Jess grumbled to Luke, rolling his eyes slightly.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, crossing his leather-clad arms. Maybe he should’ve known he would get into a fight with TJ at some point, considering his history with Liz’s past boyfriends and husbands. All it had taken was TJ hitting the Austen novel out of his hands, as he read begrudgingly in the low-lit strip club. And they’d come to blows. And Luke was pissed. They were sat down at a table in Luke’s, the diner completely dark glowing only from the streetlamps and twinkle lights in the square. All the chairs, save for the two they sat in, were stacked up on the red tables. Luke was interrogating Jess about why he’d come for the wedding anyway, if he was so mad about it. As if he hadn’t stormed into Jess’s apartment trying to convince him to come only a few days earlier.

“You don’t?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Then why did you come, anyway, if you’re so against your mother finding happiness? And it’s pretty clear you hate me.”

Jess sighed heavily at Luke’s dramatics. “I don’t hate you. I came here because of you.”

“Stop that,” Luke scolded in disbelief.

“You said it was important to you. Remember?” Jess asked, voice tight with annoyance.

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“Oh, I was listening.”

Luke stared at his nephew for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. “So, you don’t hate your mom. You don’t hate me. But, really, all it took was me coming to New York to yell at you?”

Sighing, Jess said nothing. His lips were set in a thin line, and he averted his gaze from his uncle. He ran a hand over his mouth.

Eyes widening, Luke cracked a knowing grin. “You came because of Ella? But, you haven’t been together in...what? A year?”

Jess gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah, but, we still talk every couple weeks. She didn’t tell you?”

Luke snorted. “Well, I remember her chewing you out that first time you called. Telling you to let her know you were alive. But I didn’t know you were really talking.”

Running a hand over his mouth again, Jess gave another nod.

“So?” Luke asked, prodding. “Why’d you need to come here...if you call so often anyway?”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, squirming under the questions. “Since she moved out, she hasn’t been picking up. I didn’t know what happened. I wanted to...make sure. Because…”

“What?”

“I think...I mean...I’m in love with her, alright?” Jess spit out, an anxious bite in his voice.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up, and a flabbergasted look formed on his face. “Wow!...You think you’re in love with her?”

Jess shrugged. “Pretty sure. But, I’ve been thinking that since I was seventeen. And she doesn’t believe in love, anyway.”

Scoffing, Luke shook his head. “I know she says that, but it’s crap. What do you love about her, Jess?”

“Excuse me?” Jess asked, brows furrowing.

Luke rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jess, I think it’s great that you know how you feel. And like I said earlier, I’m not gonna keep trying to change you. You are who you are. And Ella is who she is. If you’re gonna tell her how you feel, you have to do it carefully. And you have to be sure. So, tell me what you love about her.”

Scowling, Jess looked long and hard at his uncle. “What, do you wanna hold hands and skip afterwards?”

“Do you want to do this right or not?”

Finally, Jess relented. “Okay. Fine. I love that she...she’s so passionate. About everything. And she talks with her hands. And she eats peanut butter right out of the jar when she’s sick. And she hums while she works, without even realizing it. She..she cares so much about her friends and her brothers and her aunt and...I don’t know. She does everything for other people. She doesn’t think she’s a people person. But she really is. Even the way she talks to customers...you can really see it.

“And she’s such an amazing artist. She can feel art. And music. I’ve never met anyone else like that before. I can talk to her for hours...or not say anything at all. I miss her when she’s gone. Everything is...just better when I’m with her.”

When Jess looked up again, he found his uncle with a smug smirk. As Jess was speaking, his eyes had taken on a far-off quality. And though he didn’t want to be talking, his lips had started to curl upward at the corners anyway. Just from thinking of her. Luke recognized everything in Jess’s expression.

Jess shook his head slightly, jaw tense, embarrassment swirling in his stomach. “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke said lightly, almost mocking. “I’ve just...never seen that look on your face before.”

Rolling his eyes again, Jess scoffed angrily.

“Alright, alright,” Luke said, fighting off good-natured laughter. “Open two-way communication is the foundation of love…”

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