#YES I DID SEE THIS IN THEATERS FOR A THIRD TIME TONIGHT

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

[arealphrooblem]

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 4

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

“How is this art?”

Civilian had never heard of Rothko before this date, but they had assumed they would be looking at normal paintings — portraits and landscapes.

Not squares of color on a rectangle canvas.

Sure they were impressive in their size. But their simplicity clashed against the other paintings in the museum, full of intricate details and delicate brush strokes.

It definitely clashed with their idea of art. But also part of them wanted to get under Jonathan’s skin.

“Did you grow up under a rock?” Jonathan grumbled. “How are you so uncultured?”

“It’s literally two squares of color. I could paint something like that,” Civilian argued.

“Yes, but you didn’t,” he pointed out peevishly. “And even if you did, these are so much more than squares of color.”

“How so?”

Jonathan guided them closer to one of the paintings, his hand gentle on their shoulders. He positioned them directly center of one of the paintings and then stood behind them, close enough for Civilian to feel his breath stir the hair at the nape of their neck.

“To understand and appreciate this painting takes time. You have to really look.” His voice, so soft, so close, sent a small shiver down Civilian’s spine. “Rothko uses simultaneous contrast in his colors to create the illusion of light. If you stare long enough, you can see the color shimmer and move.”

Civilian squinted at the painting, trying to see what he described. At first they just remained a block of color. But, true to his word, after a few minutes, they began to see the shimmer, the glow, of the paint. Faint hues appeared in the black — red-black and dark dark blue-black. They shifted into one another, almost like a dance. It was hypnotic.

“Do you see it now?” Jonathan whispered.

“It’s . . .surprisingly beautiful,” they murmured.

“Just like you.”

The spell between them snapped. Civilian jerked around only to be met with his wicked smirk.

“So the unrefined can be taught,” he said. “You should be proud.”

“Shut up,” they snapped, cheeks hot.

He gestured to the next room. “Shall we continue?”

As they coasted to a stop on the third yellow light in five minutes, Civilian side-eyed Jonathan.

“I think this is your power — getting every yellow light.”

“That’s not a power — that’s a curse,” he muttered.

It had become a game between them. A strange, fucked up game where Civilian guessed intentionally wrong answers about the power behind his aura and he neither confirmed nor denied it.

Downplaying such power made it easier to bear sometimes, but also . . .it was dangerously easy after a month of “dating” to forget that he even had a power. The aura had turned into the background noise of their life, the way people who live by train tracks learn to tune out the noise of the trains.

Jonathan treated them to lunch every day at work, and once a week he took Civilian on a proper date — dinner and bowling (he got a perfect score compared to Civilian’s five gutter balls) or trivia night at a local bar (they both lost miserably in the sports category) or an afternoon trip to the aquarium in the next city over (their favorite date so far).

Civilian did not have any choice in the activities or any knowledge of what each date would bring, but underneath the constant layer of anxiety and frustration that coated every interaction with Jonathan was genuine enjoyment.

The dates were the only real social interaction that Civilian had outside of run-ins with neighbors and coworkers. A fact they tried not to dwell on too much.

Tonight they pulled into the parking lot of the movie theater. Civilian raised an eyebrow when Jonathan bought two tickets to Blood in the Stone but said nothing. Refined Art Museum Jonathan didn’t seem the type to like supernatural horror movies, but so much of him stayed shrouded in mystery that predicting anything about him was impossible.

Civilian, on the other hand, did not like horror movies. But they refused to let Jonathan see their trepidation. Instead, they watched the screen stone-faced and ripped the napkin in their lap to shreds. Something warm and ticklish slide down the delicate skin of their wrist just as the movie protagonist got caught up in some horrific tentacle monster and Civilian could not stop the scream from bursting out.

Jonathan’s warm breath brushed against their ear as he chuckled. His fingers slid down to detangle the twisted remains of napkin from their hands.

“Should we leave early, before you wet yourself?” he whispered.

“Why did you pick this movie?” Civilian hissed, refusing to look at him.

“Maybe that’s my power — I’m not afraid of things that aren’t real.”

“Maybe your power is being an obnoxious prick.”

He chuckled again, a low rumble in their ear, and Civilian had to bite their lip against the strange shiver that rippled down their spine.

A jump scare burst onto the screen. Civilian yelped, their fingers reflexively squeezing Jonathan’s hand. They expected him to pull away the second their death gripped relax, but his hand stayed throughout the rest of the movie, fingers casually interspersed with theirs.

Part five here

Tagging: @those-damn-snippets, @heroes-villains-side-blog

@anonymousewrites @follow-me-into-the-fog @sunnyside-world @rivalriotrenegade @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged!

[ariadnasdiary]

Hidden in the shadows - A Halloween special

Mun Ari: Hello!! Although I don’t celebrate Halloween (I'm more of a "Día de muertos" person for OBVIOUS reasons lol So! I'm not late, but rather in time!!), I wanted to make something special! It’s been years since I made something for the occasion ^^. Plus! It was the perfect excuse to share this gorgeous commission @vixen-ocs made for me! OF COURSE I HAD TO MAKE AN SCENARIO TO SHOW IT OFF :D. Cause’ in this blog we LOVE the Phantom of the Opera! Hell yeah!!!

Note: Also! Let's consider this one-shot for Diatober - day 14: possession.

Anyway, enjoy!

When the curtain goes up, the show begins. She has done it various times already, yet she can’t get used to the feeling. She can’t help but feel a knot forming everytime in the pitch of her stomach. However, she has to focus: she knows he’s watching.

But that doesn’t help with her nerves, so she pushes that thought aside. If she gets nervous, her voice won’t be able to reach the correct notes. That pisses him off, he has been taking extra care to fix that bad habit of hers. Last time, he punished her severely: by making her sing until her vocal cords felt like bleeding. 

“The curtain is about to lift, are you ready?” someone asked her, interrupting her swirling thoughts.

“Y-Yes!” she stuttered, that’s not good.

“You sure?” the staff member asked her in concern.

She knows what people say about her: how was an amateur like her able to get herself a spot in tonight’s show? She didn’t have a proper education regarding music or singing. She was a nobody, who everyone thought she "thought she knew how to sing". But everyone had their doubts: how would she be able to sing in such a big scenario, when she was so shy and stuttered whenever she had to speak to a big audience? When she couldn’t even look into the eyes of the director when she was selected as part of the show? 

“Sure! Don’t worry!” she smiled reassuringly, although she was fighting with all her might to sound confident and bury her nerves. 

The young staff member nodded and gave the sign to the rest of the crew to start the show. Everyone went to their places and so did she. 

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to Eden Opera House! Today’s show promises to be unforgivable!” the master of the ceremony announced. “This is the third call! Let’s begin!”.

The orchestra started playing the introduction melody, a round of applause was heard and everyone backstage were preparing the last details for the show.

“Today is very special you see!” the master continued “We have a special number prepared just for you! You may have never heard of her, but that makes her the most intriguing part of tonight’s show!”

She could hear the low mumbles of the audience, all curious as to what it could be. 

“Don’t let this young lady fool you! Don’t you dare underestimate her! She might be young, small and unknown! But her voice… her voice is like nothing you have heard before!”

Ari closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew the song, she knew how to sing it, I was going to go well. It better be. 

"We present you: Miss Ariadna!" 

A round of applause was heard and soon the curtain lifted. Ari opened her eyes and for a single second, she saw the public. She was scared, but remembered his words:

"Don’t look at them. Look somewhere else, never to their faces or you'll lose the little confidence you'll have".

She quickly looked at the distant vase of roses placed as part of the decoration at the very top of the theater. That should do. She bowed to the audience and then waited for the music to play. 

To think she would be standing as the main singer… not once it had crossed her mind. It all happened so suddenly…

She was visiting an old friend in the theater as she was in town for some time. He has been working there for quite some time, however things didn't turn out as she should. She wanted to have a glimpse of the theater's scenario. Her friend told her no one was working that day and she started singing to spend some time while his friend had to do some things before finishing his shift. 

It was a sweet song, one that she had memorized as it was her favorite. She sang it as it came naturally to her, she never thought of her voice as anything extraordinary, she simply enjoyed it. Who would have thought that a certain someone would be there and came to like her voice? 

When she finished, she heard an applause. She was straddled and for a moment thought it was her friend, until he spoke:

"Not bad~ considering it came from a tiny amateur like yourself~"

She didn’t hear him coming, not a single footstep. It was like he was part of the darkness, and decided to make himself noted. 

“W-Who’s there?” she asked to that darkness that had spoken to her. 

“I’m impressed there’s still someone who doesn’t know about me yet” he replied.

She made some memory and THAT rumor came to her, her friend had told her about it. It was said that within the deepness of the opera house existed a strange being. No one knew how or when he arrived, they just knew that he was already there. He dedicated himself to observe the people acting there, if he liked their talent he would help that rising star to shine. Every artist he had chosen had gone over the top. When people ask them about their secret, they refuse to speak other than: “he saw the talent in me and got me here”. Oh, but there’s also a dark side to this man: if you dared to try to tame him, trick him or go against his wishes… death was sure to come to you. Many dead bodies appeared all around the theater installations and no culprit. The common similarities of the bodies were disposed artists that had failed or pushed their luck into being liked by him. Everyone blamed him, they knew it had to be him, but there was no proof and not to mention that, how could you take justice to a phantom? Besides, it has been over a year that no talent has been chosen. People wondered when he would choose someone, but they knew he wasn’t gone. They could feel it, even if they never truly saw him.

“T-The phantom of the opera?” she asked, a little mockingly.

It couldn’t be him… right?

“The one and only~”

From the shadows she could see at the distance the figure of a man, ever so elegant as  mysterious. 

She knew she had attracted unwanted attention, a praise from him was like a curse: either a one that could end in bless or death. 

“I’m not really sure if I should be honored or scared to make your acquaintance,” she said sincerely.

She earned a low chuckle from him.

“That depends on you,” he simply replied.

She wanted to run, but she knew better that once the rumor turned to be true… she had to be careful. You shouldn't run, you shouldn’t test his patience, always listen first, and most importantly: obey. 

The lights suddenly went out and Ari shrieked in fear. She could hear him laugh and as she sought for any source of light or exit, she had to try. 

“Come”.

She didn’t want to, she was scared to have been chosen by him. Especially when she was no artist. 

Her eyes caught a glimpse of light, and another until it formed a path within the pitch dark atmosphere. 

“I won’t repeat myself” he warned her “You must know better not to test me”.

She had no choice, she followed down the candlelight path. The more she walked, the deeper she got. At a certain point, she arrived at a huge mirror, but it wasn’t an ordinary one: it led somewhere. Ari was forced to continue and she got into the very heart of the opera house.

The music started, the melody making her focus on getting ready. Sweet music notes surrounded her and she silently counted until she had to start singing. The lyrics came natural to her, after all she had been practicing them nonstop. If she could describe him: he seeks perfection and results. Under what purpose? Who knows.

After that night they met, he didn’t care for introductions or formalities. She tried to explain to him she was no aspiring artist, she only sang for fun and it was merely an impulse for that exhibition. He didn’t care, he only asked her to sing for him. SHe tried to refuse, but he had intimidated her into giving in for her sake. 

After an improvised song, the first that came into her mind, he decided to choose her to be his next pawn. And she had no say in it. 

Word after word, her voice reaching the right tone. She had worked so hard for it. She wanted to please him, so she could be safe. He had promised to let her go if her performance was flawless. That’s why she tried not to complain about the harsh training and all the sleepless nights. Not until she learned the lyrics and got everything right, she had to.

High pitches, medium ones… everything was simply going perfect. She was almost there.

Strangely, as the nights and rehearsals went, he became more insistent and had a need to get closer to her. He wasn’t hiding anymore from her, no longer instructing her from a distance, he had gone so close to her… she no longer feared the uncertainty of his appearance. Strangely enough, it made her feel at ease. 

The song almost came to an end and she discreetly looked up in the private and furthest balcony in the theater: a place only destined to him. 

He was indeed watching her: every movement, examining and attentively listening to every sound her voice made. Like the harshest critic and the most inquisitive professor. However, he was smiling. Maybe she had passed the test.

She reached the finale and after an epic end, the audience broke in joy. Applauses and ovations, some even threw flowers and the cheers made her open her eyes in awe as well as flustering her. 

She bowed and the curtain fell. Just as it did, everyone backstage gathered around her.

“How did you improve so much in such a short amount of time?”

“Did you hire a teacher? Present him to me!”

“You have such an amazing voice! Like that of an angel!”

Angel… yeah, he described her voice like that as well.

“What is your secret?”

Oh, that question…

“I have a magnificent teacher, strict… but he knows what he’s doing”.

The rest of the crew and artists prepared for the next act, and Ari was allowed to rest in her dressing room. She was nervous, what would he think about her performance?

A celebration came afterwards, right after the show ended and the public left. 

“What a successful night!” the owner exclaimed, while all his workers cheered with him.

“Did you see the amount of people we had tonight? They sure filled every seat!” someone said.

“I think it was thanks to the announcement set all around town!” another said “After all, HE chose someone else after so long!"

“Now that you mention it… who was the artist he chose this time?”

Everyone looked around, and someone suddenly exclaimed.

“Where's Miss Ariadna?”

Little did they know, she was having a hard time walking in the darkness of a long secret hallway. Taking her deeper and deeper into the very heart of the opera house. Wondering just how things had turned out since she made the mistake of showing her voice to no other than him. Singing to ease her fear and somehow feel accompanied, a song of resignation.

“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came that voice which calls to me and speaks my name And do I dream again? For now, I find The Phantom of the opera is there inside my mind…”

Taking step by step, closer where she had to go… after all she couldn’t refuse when he called for her.

“Sing once again with me Our strange duet My power over you Grows stronger yet And though you turn from me To glance behind The phantom of the, opera is there Inside your mind”

One could believe the owner of such a voice was to be trusted, but that could lead you to become prisoner of him. A mere puppet obeying his commands, to his heart’s content. 

“Those who have seen your face Draw back in fear I am the mask you wear…”

“It's me they hear”.

She kept walking, following the voice that always answered back no matter the song she dared to sing.

“(Your) My spirit and my (your) voice In one combined The phantom of the, opera is there Inside my (your) mind!”

It worked like a secret code to identify each other whenever they set an encounter. One could freak out if you hear someone replying to your songs, but at this point Ari was already used to it.

“He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera” she sang more to herself, to get ready for what was coming. It was hard to guess his mood by his voice only… 

She finally arrived at her destination. The chamber hidden meters and meters deep into the Opera House. But there’s where he hid. 

Ari doesn’t understand why he had to hide, in such a frightening place like that chamber. You could hardly consider it a home: a single yet huge bed, a huge organ occupying half the space, a single desk filled with papers and sheets of music spread every inch of the surface, bottles of inks and pens and everything hardly illuminated by candles. 

He wasn’t anywhere to be seen… until she felt a goosebump. 

“Looking for someone~?” a voice startled her coming from behind her. 

She turned around and there he was: wearing his special tuxedo, the one he apparently used every night there was a show, his gala outfit. She met him with that same tuxedo. Not to mention the mask he wore hiding half his face. The so-called Phantom of the Opera… or Kino as he had presented himself to her. 

“I guess…” she replied, shrugging “You called for me?”

“As boring as ever” Kino seemed disappointed, she had learnt that scaring people and especially her was a hobby he enjoyed. He hated it when she didn’t react like he expected.

He passed next to her and took a seat by his grand bed. Ari never knew how to behave or anything when it came to this situation where he called for her down to his hideout.

“A-Are we going to practice?” she asked, better prepare for it.

“You want to?” he asked, arching his eyebrow.

“N-Not really…but you always call me here for that” she replied, resignation echoing her voice.

He looked at her, but she looked somewhere else.

‘Never look for long to his face, he hides it for a reason and he can kill you for that’ those were the warnings his rumor had to offer her and she always took them into consideration. 

“Considering your performance tonight…” he said.

There it was, he was about to grade her. His all so strict teacher. Always seeking perfection.

“I think you deserve something regarding it”

“Is it bad?” she looked at him slightly scared.

“That’ll depend on how you see it”.

He made her a sign to step closer. Ari gulped, but did as he wanted.

When she was right in front of him, he spoke.

“How do you think you did?”

Ari thought it, but she never knew. If she thinks she did good, he’ll defer and vice versa. How was it this time?

“So?”

“I think… I could always improve?”

He chuckled. Maybe her answer was right?

“There’s always a space for improvement” he agreed “However~"

He tugged her by the waist and she was suddenly trapped in his embrace, looking straight into his face. Up close, it felt surreal. He had that mysterious yet breathtaking beauty: deep red eyes, pale like snow skin and dark hair like the very night. Yet that was her opinion… one she couldn’t share as no one had ever gotten a closer look at him. He wouldn’t allow it, he liked it to be like a shadow hidden within the darkness. She felt nervous when he was close to her, she always felt he could see deep into her soul or read her thoughts. She couldn’t truly hide anything from him… in many ways. He was always looking, he had an eye on her specially. 

“This time, you fulfilled my expectations” he said, satisfied “congratulations”.

Was that a complement? She thought those didn’t exist in his vocabulary. 

“R-Really?” she asked, seeking confirmation.

“Feel honored, none of my students got to please me like you did tonight” he gave her a smirk, one that made her flustered as was unfairly breathtaking. She hated feeling like this. 

“I-I’m so glad then” she looked down into her dress, in an attempt to hide her face. 

“For you to be satisfied with so little as a compliment” she heard him chuckling, that damn sound that made her stomach be filled with butterflies. Hopefully he wouldn’t listen to her altered heartbeat. 

“That’s too much coming from you,” she admitted.

“So you admit it?”

“Is there any point in denying it?”

“No, I like it that way”

She wanted to go and hide, she didn't like to give him the satisfaction to see her so altered by him or anything that he did or said. She felt weak all of a sudden, maybe it was the lack of energy after the relief of his approval. 

“Good, I guess… I’ll get going now” she said, but when she tried to break free from his embrace, he didn’t allow it. 

“It’s been a long night” he said “Stay here”

“E-Excuse me!?” she raised her head, surprised by the sudden proposal.

“Calm down, I’m being considerate, you know?” he seemed like he was enjoying it “You are barely keeping yourself awake at this point”

That was right, she felt her eyelids heavy, it had indeed been such a long night. 

“Consider this both an order and your reward” he said and Ari couldn’t fight her tiredness anymore. 

She sighed and allowed him to position her into his lap, her back leaning into his chest. Slowly losing the fight to keep herself conscious. He was oddly kind tonight, she couldn’t tell why. She was so tired, she could have sworn he was playing with her hair, soothing her to sleep. 

“Sleep” he said, may have sounded like a commandment, but his voice was soft and also sounded so far away from Ari. “And have sweet dreams, my angel of music”.

He could be so kind when he wanted… and she couldn’t help but love it when he was like that and when he specially referred to her like that. She would only allow him, because he was the only one that saw her talent and acknowledged it. He claimed to see her potential and he brought it into the light, he had proven it. Whatever the reason was for investing so much in her… she didn’t mind it. 

“My angel of music… you’ll be the one to make my plans come true” he smiled with a dark note Ari didn’t get to see, long lost into the land of dreams.

Besides, she was willing to let him use her for whatever purpose he had.

After all… she loved being his angel of music.

Mun Ari: The tension… I could feel it up until here!!! Part 2? Nah~ jk! I made it to be a one-shot… unless 7u7. Anyway! Thank you Vale! I love it!! Also! Is never too much to mention that the song credits goes for the creator and I don't claim them as mine! I just copy them from Spotify jeje~

[melis-writes]

What about Michael and Victoria being out in Reno or somewhere and she is pregnant and they have a three year old James with them too (Vincent, Niccolò & Verona didn’t want to come, Victoria’s parents were visiting, but James wanted to go with his parents, he’s very attached and cuddly to them) and somehow there is a shooting, whether targeted at them or someone else, and it scares little James so much and worries a pregnant Victoria and makes Michael so much more protective and both of them calm, cuddle and cozy little James 🥺🥺🥺

Oh my gosh you guys, I’m LIVING for all the kinds of parenting prompts I’ve been receiving!! 😭💓 Michael, Victoria and little James out for a day trip in Reno lets say after a lovely lunch and going to the theater later on in the evening when it all happens…🥺

“How was that, huh?” You beam, holding little James up in your arms. “Someone really enjoyed the show tonight.”

“Puppets!” James squeals, clapping his hands together. “I like the puppets, mama!”

“Oh yeah?” Michael gives the two of you a small smile, putting a hand over your waist as you both step out of the theatre. “Niccolo will want to hear all about it, God only knows how many times he’s seen the same show.”

“I’ve lost count as well.” You giggle, carefully setting James down so both Michael and you can hold his hand and continue walking. “We can always come next weekend to see another one.”

“Yes, please!” James jumps up and down in excitement before snuggling both of his parents’ arms. “Will little baby like puppets?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Michael chuckles, his eyes falling over your five-month baby bump. “Looks like we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Mhmm.” Michael straightens out his tie, beginning to lead you two down the street and towards his car. “What did you think about lunch today, little man?”

“Yummy, yummy.” James nods back at his father. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Michael chuckles, exchanging a glance with you as you laugh as well. “We can come as often as you’d like, provided I’m not working.”

“He’ll want to come every weekend and I don’t blame him at all.” You smile, looking over at your husband. “We can plan another day here with the twins and Vincent too, maybe. Aha, actually, in New York—” your eyes light up with a new idea before widening and meeting Michael’s filled with immediate concern.

The sound of rapid firing gunshots can be heard only about a block away from where the three of you are—followed by sounds of struggle coming from three men cursing at each other in Italian.

“Daddy?” Wincing from fear, James begins to panic—squeezing his parents’ hands tightly.

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” Michael ushers back, quickly scooping a terrified little James up in his arms. “Victoria, darling—come here, let’s go. We’re getting out of—”

“What’s going on—” Five more gunshots can be heard with only one sounding like it’s missed and hit something.

Somewhat distracted and looking towards the sound as you can almost swear it’s getting closer to you, Michael pulls you by your waist protectively to lead you towards the next street. “Stay close to me, darling.”

“Mama, I’m scared.” James’ eyes swell up with tears as he hides half of his face against Michael’s shoulder.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay.” You force a smile back at James while keeping your arm wrapped around Michael’s and scurrying off. “Nothing to be scared of, we’re leaving, okay?”

“O-okay.” James’ little hands begin to tremble against Michael.

“Not far from the car now, come on. I can’t believe this.” Michael rolls his eyes, “out in the middle of the street like animals.”

“Do we even need to guess who it is?” You attempt to look back but Michael pulls you in front of him, leading you to the car.

“You don’t.” Michael emphasizes, holding James tightly. “It’s not for you to worry about—I’m getting all of us home, now.”

James bursts out into tears, clasping his little hands over his ears when the third round of shots fire out—now followed by screams and police sirens wailing in the distance.

“Oh, honey.” You feel your own eyes sting with tears at the sight of James practically cowering in Michael’s arms.

“Here, baby, quickly.” Michael carefully hands you James, grabbing his car keys out of his pocket. “Get in the back seat please and lay low just in case.”

“Michael—”

“Just in case.” Michael reaffirms sternly, looking back at you for a split second as he unlocks the car. “For you, James and the baby. I won’t repeat myself.”

“Alright sweetheart, it’s okay.” You pepper little kisses over James’ cheeks, carefully getting into the back seat. “I’m here—mama’s here. We’re going to leave now, okay? It’s going to be all over.”

“O-okay, baby not hurt, right mama?” James hiccups, placing a hand over your baby bump.

“Absolutely not, honey.” You tell him with a warm smile, ignoring the repeated gunshots outside as Michael immediately steps on the gas and pulls out of the alleyway. “The baby is okay, just like you, me, and daddy.”

James nods at you, believing your reassurance but his glassy eyes and the way his bottom lip quivers as he pouts causes a tear to escape your eye as you hold your son close to you.

“The police are already here,” Michael notes, driving quickly but carefully along the road. “Everything should be fine now, but I’m not taking my chances.”

“Bad guys, daddy?” James sniffles as you wipe away his tears with your thumb gently.

“I think so, buddy.” Michael glances at James through the rear view mirror, frowning. “But it’s alright, it’s all over now. They’re not gonna hurt anybody, including themselves.”

As calm as you normally see Michael in these situations, even you’ve noticed his protective eye looking back at you and James frequently—especially on high alert and more stringent since your pregnancy to begin with.

Michael’s tense muscles don’t relax until he’s driven the two of you at least ten minutes away from the theater, and for his own sake Michael tries to ignore the sounds of little James sniffling in your arms.

“Come here, my little guy.” You help James snuggle into your coat, wrapping him up. “We’re gonna snuggle in here today—just you and me.”

“Okay, mama.” A soft giggle escapes James’ lips as he clutches onto the warm, fuzzy fabric of your coat. “We will stay warm?”

“Oh, absolutely.” You grin down at him, running your hands over the fabric of your coat. “You like being cozy with mama?”

“Yeah.” James rubs his eyes, his tears having stopped and his voice clearing. “Fluffy, fluffy.”

“Are you okay, buddy?” Michael speaks out in a calm, soothing tone.

“Yeah, daddy.” James smiles towards his father driving up front. “Mama keep me cozy. Daddy be cozy too?”

“Let’s get home first.” Michael chuckles to himself. “Then we’ll both get cozy with mama in front of the fireplace.”

“Maybe get some snacks and chocolate too, how’s that?” Your attempt to distract James from the shooting with Michael works perfectly.

“Ooooh, chocwate! Promise, mama?” James’ eyes light up with excitement and hope.

“Of course. Anything for my darling boy.” You smooch the tip of his nose. “And mama never breaks her promises.”

[appetite4savage]

No Tricks, All Treats (Phil Collen)

-

request from my sweet @zucchinigonangst for some fluffy Phil!

-

Y/N’s POV

Fall. It’s the best time of the year.

All the pretty colors outside, the smells, and most importantly, Halloween.

I always dreaded the holidays because I didn’t have someone to spend them with. Before I met Phil, I was alone during them for the most part as my relationship with my family isn’t really the greatest. Once I met him, he did everything in his power to make sure I was enjoying the season.

This is our third Halloween together. I have no idea what he has up his sleeve for this year. Last year we ended up at some crazy party one of his friends were throwing and I won’t go into detail about it, but neither of us remember how we got home. But anyway, I’m excited, and I can’t wait to see what he has planned.

I reach my arm over on the bed only to find that his spot is empty. I can hear some rattling downstairs and the faint smell of breakfast being cooked. I smile as I pull on my robe and head downstairs.

“Good morning, gorgeous!” Phil smiles at me as I sit at the kitchen counter. He slides a plate of food in front of me and kissed my lips gently. The pancakes he made for me are shaped like ghosts.

“Good morning. You’re up early.” I laugh.

“We have a big day of fall festivities planned!” He claps his hands together dramatically.

I raise an eyebrow. “Do we now?”

“Yes. And no, I am not telling you what we’re doing.” He winks.

-

After breakfast, Phil tells me to dress warm since we’re going to be outside. I pull on a flannel shirt and some dark ripped jeans with my sneakers.

“Ready?” He asks, and I nod.

We walk out to the car and drive to a nearby farm. It appears to be a pumpkin patch and maybe an apple orchard?

“So, not to state the obvious, but we’re picking out pumpkins.” He smiles and waves his hand in front of us.

“Really? Didn’t know.” I joke.

He comes around and opens my car door, grabbing my hand and leading me to the pumpkin patch.

“I want a small one.” I say.

The patch has pumpkins of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There’s small ones, giant ones, green, white, orange, you name it.

Phil, of course, has to choose the biggest pumpkin they have available. He’s struggling to walk straight with it in his arms.

“Are you.. are you ready?” He asks, and I nod.

“You’re regretting that pumpkin choice, aren’t you?” I tease and he sticks out his tongue at me.

-

The next item on Phil’s agenda was to catch a scary movie at the local drive-in theater. He tries to deny that he gets scared of them but his face often ends up scrunched into my shoulder. I have a pretty high fear tolerance so I just console him and enjoy the movie.

Tonight’s movie was interesting. Some vampire film that was originally German or something? Very bloody. Very much not something Phil would ever enjoy. But A for effort on his part.

“Babe, you can look now. They killed the vampire.”

He pulls his head off of me and looks up at the screen slowly.

“Uh, good, it’s over.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Scaredy cat.”

“I am not!” He laughs, gently shoving my shoulder as we pull out of the drive in.

“Are too. Every drop of blood had you hiding away.” I laugh at him.

He scoffs jokingly. “Whatever you say.”

-

As we pull up in our driveway and walk out, Phil stops in front of a pile of leaves. He looks at me mischievously before pulling me down into them. They fly everywhere as he kisses me, leaving me breathless between that and the laughter escaping from me.

He puts a thumb on my cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[muteddreamssilentscreams]

Thoughts I had while watching the IMAX livestream of the Jingle Ball show today

Okay Jax can really sing

Who the fuck is JVKE... oh this song

God I'd let Dove do disgraceful things to me. Holy shit she's doing the Lil Nas X cover!!!! These dancers really are the moment. Should I dress up as Jingle Ball Dove Cameron for Halloween??

Red Carpet Ad Break: Jenna Ushkowitz and Kevin McHale being real life besties is so fun. Dove is so iconic, ugh. Omg HeMo! Becca Tilley! Becca tilleys cohost!(😂) Amanda Kloots!

Is...is Ava Max lip syncing? Like I think she kinda is. Okay she's singing some but lip syncing a lot. 🤷🏾‍♀️

This experience is just reminding me of the time my mom wouldn't let me skip ONE middle school band concert to go to the JingleBall concert even though she'd already bought the tickets 🫠🙃

Ava is on but I'm literally still thinking about Dove stepping on me with those boots 🥵👢

Second time "seeing" Lauv this year hehe. Poor thing is sicky and still killing it. His look is giving a little Aaron Carter?

I feel kinda bad that JVKE only got to sing one song. Does he only have one song? Hmm.

Lauv is such a good performer. And he's hitting all the HITS. I wonder what he'll finish with. I bet I Like Me Better. Yeah, of course, how could he not.

LIIIIVVIING FOR ALL THE WOMEN IN SUITS TONIGHT

Did they just repeatedly misgender Demi or did I miss something? Okay, I literally researched this while she sang Sorry Not Sorry because I could NOT believe they would do that and apparently she's been using she/they pronouns so we good fam 👌🏾🫡 Now I can focus again. Why does their audio sound so much muddier than everyone else? Demi is ROCKING tonight.

Red Carpet Ad Break: OMG LIZZO IS GOING TO BE HERE? lol Martha Stewart is so awkward. Y'all she makes he grandkids call her MARTHA. I actually admire that part though.

How long is this whole thing gonna be I wonder. Was gonna hit up Trader Joe's tonight 🤔

Are two of the AJR brothers twins? Because the third one looks so different lol. The horn player is SLAYING this set!!!!! And okay yes when they hit the drop for Weak I smiled so big. It was joyous. But the run off stage and return with instruments was unnecessary and I kinda hated it.

Lizzo!!! Not the nails!

Okay everyone saying MSG is fucking s e n d i n g me

Why ARE men great until they gotta be great??? She really said something with that line guys.

Hell yeah BSB 2000 BREAK IT DOWN NOW!!! The boys still got it y'all. 29 fucking years damn. Uhh they have Christmas music?? Wow. The all white outfits are really working for me. Okay I would've ended on I Want it That Way but their choreo for Larger than Life is very impressive.

Red Carpet Ad Break: okay I'm over these. Let's just get to the music.

Wow Tate McCrae looks so much like Mackenzie Ziegler.

Lol not The Kid LAROI being tired of singing Stay 🤣 like I get it but you can't say it. The acoustic set was a nice change of pace and showed of his voice so well. Okay but his guitarist kinda slays.

Is Dua gonna close the show? Because that would rule

OMG Katie Holmes looks gorgeous. Okay she sucked at presenting though...

So... I guess the person in all the red carpet ad breaks I thought was Charlie Puth is not Charlie Puth because this is Charlie Puth. And he's adorable wow.

People are showing up to the theater 4 hours in?

Charlie has way too much confidence in this crowd lol its cute. Do I have a crush on Charlie Puth? Interesting, I thought the eyebrow notch was a stylistic choice but I think he just has a scar.

Red Carpet Ad Break: Zoey Duetch is so right--DUA LIPA SLAYS. And she loves to eat--FRIED POTATOES ALSO SLAY. omg hi Dove!

I'm dead at this guy in the theater he hates the ad break jingle so much but he screams when the audio goes out. Sir what do you want??

Hell yeah, it's Dua time. And she's giving HAIR. Wait this is my second time "seeing" her this year too! I'm sorry the Dua umbrella dance break 😲😍 oh and now a chair dance 😍🥵 Incredible. What a closer!!

Okay y'all the people who came in 4 hours late were actually there to see Black Panther that was supposed to start at 8:15...and Jingle Ball didn't end until 9 😳 well at least they got to see Dua, that was incredible.

In closing: can't believe I almost didn't come to this because I thought 30 bucks was too much. Didn't know I'd be there for 5 hours but it was so worth it. Loads of artists I'd never go see in concert alone and they of course played the HITS. Non stop bops? Yes please! This healed my childhood trauma of not getting to go hahaha. It's too late for Trader Joes now but that's okay we're having McDonald's tonight!!

If you read this all, you deserve an award... so, here you go 🏆

Peace and love my friends, happy holidays ✌🏾

[after-witch]

Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on

Word Count: 3646

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

 A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. It would certainly not be the first time that Chrollo had brought back something ostentatious, something glittering and expensive; something that you (if you were to psychoanalyze him, which you did, out of anxiety first and boredom second) would guess he wanted you to admire before it disappeared into the ether like so many other things he’d pilfered over the past few months.

What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on. 

At first you thought you’d misheard, your brain still pulling itself out of a dull, listless sleep. You had argued with him the night before, and the space between you on the bed was thick and heavy with tension until you had finally slid headlong into sleep. Surely he wouldn’t try to give you a gift after you spend most of the evening reminding him that you’ll never love him, or even like him, much less feel one iota of happiness in his presence.

But then he repeated the suggestion.

“Why?” Your tone is borderline acidic, and you don’t feel the need to hide your suspicion of his intentions.

Your captor had no doubt become well-acquainted with your nastiness over the months, though he rarely reacted to it with more than a tight expression, if he even gave you that. Sometimes he simply ignored you, as if you were a child having a tantrum, not his kidnapped victim.

In some ways, it was a surprising relief. In some ways, you could consider yourself lucky. Considering his abilities, considering his past, considering what he did when he left you alone in the condo or hotel or wherever he had you situated--he might well be the type to slap the attitude off your face, gentlemanly facade be damned. He could do worse than a slap, too; far worse.

But the months had gone on with only pointed sighs and looks; and despite his rationally stated insistence that you would give in to his attentions in time, you held onto your bitterness as tightly as you could. You prized yourself on it, the way you figure that he prizes his most precious steals.

He sometimes comes back with glittering jewels worth calculable fortunes, laying them out to see the way they look when the moonlight filters in through the open curtains. He doesn’t keep them for long, doesn’t display them, just memorizes their magnificence and then whisks them off.

You can relate to the gloating. But you don’t give your greatest treasures away. You, on the other hand, wear your bitterness 24/7 like an old woman clinging to her last precious mink coat, a remnant of an era gone-by. Draped over your shoulder, haughty and visible, daring him to say something when you give him a sarcastic jab in response to perfectly-polite-inquiries about this and that. The worst (but best, you think, to you) is when you feign interest in a conversation, feign some sort of acceptance of your situation, willing your hands to get closer to his as you sit on the sofa and read; only to snap back at the last moment, baring your teeth.

You hope it hurts him, to think he’s getting an inch forward with you only to have it pulled away. He deserves it for keeping you here.

Sometimes, you almost hope he would say something, do something, only because it might be a sort of reprieve. If he gets mad or slaps you, even, maybe the solid, sticky bitterness surrounding your heart might abate just a bit.

Then again, you know this saying very well: be careful what you wish for.

“I need to see if it fits.” His expression and tone haven’t changed. Polite, cordial, matter-of-fact. You hate it.

You force yourself out of bed and give the gown a glance before heading into the bathroom. He follows, picking up his own morning routine as you wash and brush side-by-side. You think he does it to seem domestic, in his own fucked-up way. You pointed this out, once, and he’d merely given you a small smile and asked: “Do you want to this to be domestic?”

Chrollo had a habit of turning your impulsive snark around on you, so you tried to plan your barbs out more carefully in the future.

“Why do you need to see if it fits?” You finally ask, words a bit muffled by the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. You force yourself to glance at him in the mirror. He’s finished, already drying off his face, pinning a wrap around his forehead.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, and you feel too caught to look away.

“For tonight. We’re going to the theater.”

The toothbrush drops from your mouth and lands next to the sink, splattering lathered toothpaste on the counter. You wipe your mouth with a washcloth, missing a bit and not caring, and physically turn away from the mirror so you’re face-to-face.

“Are you serious?”

For the moment, your bitterness slides off, forgotten on the floor. He’s never offered to do something like this before. Sure, he’s mentioned that you might go out--”it depends on  your behavior”--but the thought of “being good” for Chrollo made you sick to your stomach every time you were tempted. So you hadn’t been outside for months, not really--the brief gaps when he’d whisk you into a car, always by his side, then pull you into a new hotel or luxury condo didn’t really count.

He nods.

“Yes. Please do hurry and try it on, I’ll need time to find another if it isn’t suitable.”

You glance out of the bathroom door and back into the bedroom, where the gown sits, draped, shimmering softly in the morning light. It’s something you never would have been able to afford before--and the thought of wearing it now makes your skin tingle. What is his plan? Why is he doing this?

“But I haven’t been good,” you say, almost spitting out the last word. Last night, in fact, you’d been almost beastly--you recall the words “go fuck yourself” and “I hate you” being thrown out before you twisted in the knife by bringing up an ex-fling.

He laughs, quick and harsh. It seems like a real laugh, for once, and something in your chest twists. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard anything truly authentic from him. Or yourself.

“Maybe it’s a reward for me, to have you by my side.  You want to go, don’t you?”

The thought makes your stomach clench. But… you did want to go. Really. To get out of here, even for a night? To get sucked into some type of show, whatever it was? You didn’t entertain the idea of trying to escape or draw attention to yourself for help--you knew Chrollo would never suggest taking you if it was a viable option. He was just as likely to slaughter the entire theater if you whispered to an usher that you were being held captive.

No, no escape in the cards… at least not physically.

You shrug your shoulders and try to seem nonchalant about it, though you’re sure he can feel the way your skin is buzzing.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

He laughs, again. It’s blatantly false this time.

***

It has been… a while since you’ve done your makeup. The pile of messy makeup wipes on the counter can attest to that--this is now your third try at a full face without messing something up. Thankfully, the third time has been the charm, and you’re satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Chrollo had turned up your old makeup bag, and sliding on the eyeliner you used to wear to work, out with friends, in your old life felt surreal and comforting at the same time.

You’ve even done your hair, though it could be nicer. You haven’t bothered with anything but hasty brushing in the past few months, and sometimes you’re too lethargic and frustrated to even bother with that. But it’s styled, a bit elegant--if you do say so yourself.

You glance down at the trio of lipsticks he set on the counter earlier. They’re not a brand you ever wore--they’re expensive, something out of reach for anyone used to pulling cheap store lipsticks out of a bin. The center lipstick is a bold red, and your hand reaches for it. Brief memories of your mother gushing about red lipstick come to mind; she always associated red lipstick with elegance, the fanciest of events, and you’re inclined to agree. It feels smooth, impossibly so; praise be to expensive formulas.

After blotting it with toilet paper--old habits--you step back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The dress fits you beautifully. The fabric is soft, refined, showing you off in all the right places. You’ve taken your time with your hair, your makeup, and you really do look nice. You bring your wrist up to your nose and sniff--the perfume Chrollo had picked out for you was elegant, subtle. Rose petals and apples and white musk.

You feel a wave of nostalgia come over you that you push down. It’s too bad you’re going to the theater with your captor and not with your friends. Or your mom.

“Are you finished?” His voice calls from the bedroom.

The thought of Chrollo seeing you like this makes you feel uncomfortably anxious for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint. The gown is not exactly risque, but it’s designed to highlight your features--and while he has never crossed the hardest line in regards to your personal autonomy, he wasn’t beyond stealing kisses from your unwilling lips when the mood struck him. He said it was to help you adjust to the relationship, as if kissing you against your will would make you love him.

You don’t answer him and instead give your hair a final touch up before heading out the open bathroom door.

Chrollo is standing next to the vanity, wearing an elegant suit, primped and polished--and handsome. You can’t help but freeze in place when he gives you a once-over, slow and deliberate.

“You look beautiful,” he says, finally, a slight breathiness to his voice. There’s an authentic tone to his voice again, and it makes you feel queasy.

You try to ignore the way your skin feels heated and shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you approach him.

“Are we going now?”

He gives a soft smile. “Almost. One more thing.”

You watch curiously as he pulls out a jewelry box from his pocket, then opens it to reveal two glittering sapphire earrings. You can’t hold back a little gasp, but when you reach for them, Chrollo holds the box out of reach.

“I’ll do the honors.”

You want to say no. But you’re so close to leaving, so you simply stare to the side as he steps behind you.  He touches your ear--and you flinch. He chuckles quietly and you ignore the blossoming heat across your cheeks, both from his closeness and your reaction, while he fixes the earrings into your ears.

When he’s finished, you look up. The visage in the mirror seems like a familiar stranger. The feeling you get at seeing yourself so dressed up is familiar in some way. You think back to going to shows with your friends, or going to the ballet with your mom; your little ring-clad hand gripping hers as she hurried you past alleys on the way to the theater, your sparkling white party dress shedding glitter onto the streets. You can practically feel the way the theater always hums with anticipation, the unusual heaviness of feeling alone in a crowded room as your friends left you with the tickets while they grabbed a drink or two.

The sight of Chrollo behind you in the mirror, watching you with clear intent, breaks you away.

“We’re leaving now.”

***

“I… actually really like The Sleeping Beauty ballet.”

You feel awkward. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been in a car with Chrollo, whether your forcibly pressed against him in the back seat or in the front, blasting the radio in an attempt to prevent him from striking up a conversation as he drives you to some new destination.

But it’s the first time you’ve been in the car for reasons other than transporting you to a new ‘home.’ The first time that you’ve both been dressed up; Chrollo’s cologne wafts gently over to you, and you can’t deny that he knows how to pick a good scent.

It’s also the first time you’ve felt conversation to be a necessity, if only to find out where you were going (the opera house) and what you were seeing (a ballet).

In fact, the news of the performance makes you sit up straighter in your seat. You feel a ping of excitement, and without thinking you share it out loud.

“That’s actually the first ballet I ever saw with my mom. Do you know what company it is?”

He tells you, and you bite your lip anxiously, squaring your shoulders against the back of the seat as you start to imagine the night ahead. Then you remember the smooth red lipstick and force your mouth to relax.

You talk, instead, to keep yourself from ruining your lipstick with your nervous habit. “I’ve heard about this company’s version. Well,” you continue, “I wanted to see them perform this a few years ago, but tickets sold out so fast. I couldn’t afford the scalper prices.”

“How nice that I have tickets for this performance, then.”

“Right!” Your pitch is higher and you internally cringe. You shouldn’t sound so excited. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems focused on the road.

As the drive continues, you keep talking. Without realizing it, your voice becomes lighter, easier, and even you don’t know why you’re speaking so freely. You talk more to him on this stretch of road than you have within months, sarcastic replies and bitter responses notwithstanding. 

You talk about ballet. You talk about the history of the show. You talk about this company’s costumes--you saw them displayed in a store window and wow, were they gorgeous--and as the words come out, you feel lighter. Less bogged down by your protective anger, less heavy and hateful.

Happiness. 

It’s something that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling that your stomach rebels against, not welcoming the sudden intrusion of lightness and lift while you’re sitting in a car next to your captor. But you push your stomach’s rebellious nature down and force yourself to remember that tonight,  you get to escape onto the stage; for a little while, you can be somewhere else.

Even being in the car tonight is doing wonders for you, you think. You must be getting close--the lights of the city are brighter and there’s throngs of nicely dressed people walking down the street towards what you realize is the theater. You see a little girl holding a woman’s hand and your stomach clenches in bitter nostalgia, but the thought is pushed aside quickly enough when Chrollo pulls into a valet circle.

You don’t have time to open the door before he opens it for you, extending his arm like a gentlemen.

“Ready?”

**

You’re buzzing on the way home. Not just from the champagne--three glasses, Chrollo having subtly waved away the usher approaching your opera box with your requested fourth. Not just from the show, which was magical and lush and everything you hoped it would be. Not just from the fact that you had a night out, away from the stuffiness of whatever luxury suite you were trapped in.

But from the thrill of feeling something, anything, other than your own deep despair and bitterness. You laughed in delight at the sillier moments, the bright-yellow Canary fairy and her trills; you cried at Aurora’s pleading vision to be set free, the first time you’ve cried at something other than your own situation in ages; you clapped and even, in the end, let yourself shout out a cheery “Brava!”

Even Chrollo seemed different during the evening. No forcible hand-holding or other niceties that had given you anxiety earlier in the evening. No unbearable condescension, only the hint of a smirk during the intermission when you--instinctively, you insisted to yourself, not because you liked his company--began an excited conversation about the events of the first Act. Did he like this part? What about the orchestra? And oh, this variation, didn’t he think it was a bit too overdone on the part of the dancer, but she more than recovered by the end?

When Chrollo helps you out of the car into the private parking garage, the air is cool and crackling; everything still feels electric, the way it always does when you come home from an event. Though as the doorman opens the private elevator leading to the condominium above, you dimly remind yourself you’re not coming home, exactly.

The swift ride up the elevator leaves you feeling dizzy. Your mind feels like it’s crashing, suddenly. From the champagne, maybe--but something else, too.

The elevator doors open into the condo suite you share with Chrollo and it hits you as you take the first step inside: you’re back to where you started the night. Trapped. The transporting, glittering events of the evening fall off your shoulders like a worn coat; you’re left once again only with yourself, with your present situation--and with Chrollo.

Your cheeks feel hot and you know the tears are coming before you feel them prickle at your eyes. The urge to wipe them away is masked only by the remembrance that you’re wearing makeup, but that doesn’t stop it from running as they begin to flow down your cheeks.

It burns, and you start for the bathroom, intent on scrubbing your face and ripping off the dress--but your entire body jerks back as Chrollo grabs your arm and prevents you from taking another step.

“Let go,” you say, voice empty of anything but the desperate need to be in the bathroom, to clean your face, to be alone with your returning misery.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you back, forcing you to stand up straight as you fruitlessly fight against his grip.

“You’re crying.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” you murmur, voice edged not with bitterness this time, but sorrow. You don’t want to look at him. He’s seen you cry countless times, but you hate the way he looks at you when you do.

“Tell me why.”

You finally force yourself to look up at him, eyes blinking away the stinging tears, and you’re not surprised by his intensive gaze. He’s studying you. Analyzing. Like you’re some sort of book he can read and discover.

Maybe the champagne has loosened your tongue; maybe the night itself has loosened the tight-lipped hold your bitterness has on you. Whatever it is, you confess.

“I was happy,” you say, voice wobbling with tears. “I was--happy on the way there. I was happy at the theater. I was happy on the way home. I--I haven’t…” you rub at your eyes, smearing eyeshadow onto your fingertips. “I haven’t felt that way in months. And now we’re back and I don’t feel it anymore.” Your voice finally cracks with your last words, and you cover your eyes with one hand as crushing feelings of sadness sweep over you.

He pulls you closer to him, and you can’t fight away from his physical strength.

“Let go,” you plead. “I just want to be alone.”

You jerk your face away when he strokes your cheek with his free hand.

“Alone? Whatever for? My hypothesis for tonight was correct.”

His words make you stop pulling. Hypothesis? You sniffle and try to get your bearings, try to brace yourself. But you’re tired, and sad, and your head is swimming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He places his free hand on the back of your head and leans in closer. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his grip makes a flushed warmth bloom across your skin.

“You see,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the side of your ear. “You can be happy with me, after all.”

[taestefully-in-luv]

Always You | JJK (Two)

Summary: you and Jungkook have been best friends since freshmen year of college, there’s a lot of unsaid feelings and tension but neither make a move. what happens when his friend Taehyung (also your crush) needs a fake girlfriend?

Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader, slight Taehyung x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, roommate au, college au, SMUT (starting ch2), fluff, angst (in later chapters) slight crack, lots of drama

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, oc is a bad friend:(, sexual tension (?), body image issues, oc is feeling a lil insecure, mentions of sex, sounds of sex, crying, male masturbation, fantasy includes: spanking and vaginal intercourse.

Notes: thanks for the love for the first part…heres part 2! I hope everyone enjoys:) get ready for drama to come hahaha. If you wanted to be added to the taglist just send me an ask or whatevs, and feel free to send one if you want to discuss the story!

Taglist: @monvieesdaebak @mooniyooni @thisartemisnevermisses @giadalin @kookiebunny097 @cosmosjk @moonchild1 @just-jeon @anpanman-sonyeondan @starlight-night0 @yessii-i

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous --- Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gentleman: “A civilized, educated, sensitive, or well-mannered man.” Is how the dictionary defines the word but if you were to look up the term in your own dictionary it would just be a picture of Taehyung’s handsome as hell face.

Opening the car door, pulling your chair out, holding your hand, softly gripping your waist, making you feel like the only one in the room—Taehyung is doing everything right. Your mind should be overwhelmed with the thought of Taehyung. He should be filling your every sense, he should be the only thing you can understand. He should be. But every time his perfect lips land on the skin of your cheek, your mind somehow finds Jungkook. That son of a bitch.

There’s a string of warm lights dangling on the restaurants brick walls, and it’s almost picture perfect but one of the bulbs is out and it’s making the scene less ideal. Your eyes keep going back to the one bulb that refuses to shine. You just want everything to be perfect.

“I know I already told you…” Taehyung is sitting across from you, his gentle smile making your heart flutter, “But you look so pretty tonight.”

You know you should be gazing into his chocolate eyes but you can’t keep your eyes from shifting towards that stupid ass bulb. All the other bulbs are lit up just fucking fine but this bulb wants to be difficult. It just hasto go against everyone else. Your eyes narrow at the string of lights and you scoff. This stupid bulb reminds you of someone.

Taehyung brought you to a decently fancy restaurant, the food is alright but he says the main attraction is the monster baked cookie with ice cream melting over the top. He is excited like a child at the mention of his favorite dessert, you can’t help but smile fondly towards him.

“So…” Taehyung slides the dessert closer to you, “I never asked but how did Jungkook take the whole not really talking in public thing?”

Your eyes shoot up to the stupid bulb and you blink at it a few times. “I…” Your gaze drifts back to him. “I didn’t tell him.”

Taehyung drops his napkin at the news, his eyes slightly widening as he processes your words.

“We just aren’t talking right now.”

You wince as the words leave your mouth, but it’s true. You are a coward who is just ignoring her best friend because you don’t have the balls to face him. You don’t have the balls to forgive him and you definitely don’t have the balls to inform him that he’s out of the picture for a month. Because you don’t have the balls to admit to yourself you chose a boy over your friend. Basically you’re just a bitch with no balls!

“Yeah, he isn’t really talking to me either.” Taehyung chuckles bitterly, “He’s really against this…I mean, I knew he was protective over you but—”

“Protective my ass.” You lean back in your chair, “He’s just being stupid.”

Taehyung looks at you and frowns. It makes you want to kiss his pouting lips.

“But thank you.”

Taehyung’s quizzical expression makes you snort,

“For the compliment. Thank you. You look really handsome as well.” You smile, your hand sliding across the table to hold his. You gently squeeze and pull back, letting go. Taehyung smiles at you but something strange settles in his eyes. He’s struck with an awkward expression as he forces another smile, his lips pulled together tightly.

“Thanks y/n” He opens his mouth then closes then opens, “For doing this. Seriously, thank you.”

“Well, you’re kind of supplying me with free coffee.” You laugh into your hand.

“Regardless,” Taehyung leans back in his chair, “You’re a good friend.”

Right. Friend... But you feel optimistic you will flee this place! The god forsaken friend zone! You smile at Taehyung, grabbing your fork and cutting into the cookie with it. You stare into Taehyung’s dark eyes as you bring the fork to your lips—okay yes, you are most definitely trying to make this sexy—you open your mouth wide and wrap you lips around the piece of cookie, you never break contact with Taehyung. You chew slowly and roll your eyes to the back of your head, like the dramatic ass bitch you are. You open an eye to see his reaction, you see him gulp and a small smile begins forming on his lips.

“mmm” you moan again.

“RIGHT?!”

~~~

“We got some pretty insta worthy photos!” Taehyung chuckles into your hair as he pulls back from the hug. “I would say tonight was a success!”

Right. A success. Because this is all for show. To get this Anna girl off his back. Not because he likes you or anything. You can’t help but feel disappointed in his words.

“That’s good Tae.” Your hands linger on his back, not wanting to let go completely. “I’ll see you tomorrow right?”

“And the next day and the next day,” he teases, “And don’t forget this weekend is the pool party at my friend Jin’s house.” Then Taehyung nibbles on his lips, “Jungkook is going…so you should probably talk to him.”

You probably should of figured Jungkook is going to go…but that doesn’t stop you from feeling shocked. You should tell him he needs to lay low in public for a month but you guys aren’t talking already so do you really have to have that discussion with him?

“We’ll see.”

Taehyung steps forward and grabs your hand, “y/n…I know I said no Jungkook but I really just meant that you two aren’t all over each other in public…you don’t have to ignore him at home too…I’m sure he isn’t feeling great about it. And honestly, it makes me feel guilty too.” He admits softly, his hand feels sweaty in yours.

“He’s an asshole.” You let go of his hand, you feel your chest tighten and you hate yourself.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. I should get inside now.”

“Okay…” Taehyung leans in for another quick hug and places a kiss on your forehead. You wish you could enjoy it but on the other side of this forehead are thoughts of Jungkook. Once again, that son of a bitch.

~~~

The next few days pass quickly, you and Taehyung have gone on two more dates.

The second date felt like a movie—it was classic and dreamy. Taehyung picked you up and drove you over to the next town that was having a carnival. You walked around holding hands, eating cotton candy and laughing at his jokes. The night ended with the ferris wheel, where you two got some insta worthy pictures—one shot including his lips on yours.

It felt so surreal. He posted it on Instagram that night with the caption ‘Her’ with purple hearts and within a couple hours there were at least 50 comments congratulating the two of you.

Third date you two went to a drive in theater. You fed each other popcorn, talked over the radio’s audio and took snaps to prove your date to the world.

This week has been nothing short of amazing. Taehyung is absolutely perfect. You feel like the only girl in the world with him. Like you don’t have to compete with anyone. Unfortunately, the week may have felt amazing on the outside, on the inside it’s been…weird.

The weird part of this week is the lack of Jungkook. Your usual cereal at noon on Tuesdays didn’t happen, your usual weekly episode of My Hero didn’t happen, your usual chit chat and banter didn’t occur. Just silence and awkward passes.

It’s all your doing though…Jungkook has tried. He still sat at the breakfast table munching on Apple Jacks while you passed him by, walking out your front door to meet Taehyung. He saved this week’s episode to your list so you could watch it. He has sent you multiple texts saying he’s sorry and he misses you but you ignored them. You have purposely started putting a distance between the two of you and it makes you uncomfortable.

You remind yourself that, besides doing this because Taehyung requested it, it is also for the best.

~~~

You sit at the edge of your bed staring at the bouquet of flowers Taehyung had sent you this morning. You eye the flowers, taking in their gorgeous appearance. They’re open and full and colorful. But why do you look at them and feel disappointed?

They seem to be begging for water, so you stand to your feet and grab the bouquet. You head for the kitchen to find your mothers crystal vase so you can place the beautiful flowers in it.

Jungkook is sitting at the breakfast table, slurping on some noodles and playing on his phone. You completely ignore him as you walk into the kitchen.

You stand on your tip toes to try to reach the vase in the cupboard but it’s too high for you. God damn it, you think. There’s no way in hell you’re asking Jungkook for help, no way in hell!

*about 10 pathetic seconds later*

“Jungkook, will you help me?”

You don’t even turn around to face him, you just raise your voice so hears you. Yeah, you’re a coward. You hear the screech of the chair against the tiled floor and you shiver. Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he walks up behind you, his chest coming flush against your back and you swear if he tried to pay attention he could probably feel your heartbeat through the contact. You stay frozen as he reaches his arms above you and grabs the vase. He must of just done laundry because his detergent fills your nostrils, its clean and refreshing. He sets the vase down on the counter and he continues to stand closely behind you, his scent now overwhelming your senses.

“These flowers are pretty.” He leans down to say in your ear. His hand coming down to hold on to your waist. “But you only like tulips.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “These are fine too.”

“Yeah, they are.” He admits. “But they’re not what you want.” He squeezes your waist, then he’s backing away from your body and a chill is left behind as he gets further away. It’s like the further he walks away from you the colder you become. As if Jungkook is the source of your warmth.

~~~

It’s Saturday afternoon and you are finally done getting ready. Taehyung is taking you out to a pool party today, hosted by one of his close friends—Jim? No, Jin. You know you’ve heard Jungkook talk about him before but haven’t gotten the chance to meet him since he’s a bit older and already graduated.

You look in the mirror as you tug your oversized shirt over your shorts. Underneath is a plain black bikini but unfortunately today is not a good day—you’re bloated as hell and it shows. At least you think it does. You continue to rate yourself in the mirror when Jungkook walks past your room.

“Didn’t know you were so self obsessed.” He pops in to say.

You turn to face him and as soon as he sees your frustrated expression he knows you’re on the verge of waterworks.

“Woah woah, whats wrong?” Jungkook is quick to rush to your side. You’ve been ignoring him for a week yet he still rushes to you when you need him. You’re a god damn bitch.

“I feel fat but I have a pool party to attend to and—”

“You’re going to that too…?” Jungkook eyes the ground under his feet. He sounds disappointed.

You try to steady your breathing but you feel a breakdown coming and Jungkook can sense it too.

“You’re not fat.” He states plainly.

“You wouldn’t know with these clothes I’m wearing.” You try to reason.

“Then take them off and show me.” He’s obviously aware of the bathing suit underneath but still, his words do something strange to you.

“No, I’m ugly.” Is all you respond with.

“y/n I don’t have time for this, either show me or like, don’t go.”

“Fine!”

You begin unbuttoning your shorts, painfully slow. He watches as you fumble with the zipper as you slide it down. You drag the shorts down your legs one by one and then you reach for the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head. This leaves you half naked and feeling incredibly vulnerable.

Jungkook eyes you up and down quite shamelessly. His tongue darts out to lick his lip and he muffles a groan,

“You look fine.” He says so nonchalantly it makes you want to pull his hair out.

“Just fine?”

“You look good y/n” he says, his eyes sliding to the left. You don’t feel quite satisfied with his answer so you step towards him, getting so close he is forced to step back until his back is against the wall.

“How good?” you say, your voice dipping lower than usual, “So good you would—"

Bbbrrrr bbbrrrr bbrrrrr bbrrrr

Your phone.

“Hello? ….Hey Tae. No need, I’ll just meet you at your car. Okay, bye.” You click the phone off and throw it on your bed. You gather your clothes and put them back on as Jungkook stands there awkwardly. Once you have your things you turn to face Jungkook.

“Well Tae is here…” you motion towards the door. “Look, if you’re going to be at the party can you try to…respect my fake relationship? We wanna make it as real as poss—”

“I get it.” Jungkook snaps before walking out your bedroom. Fantastic.

~~~

“And this is y/n.” Taehyung pushes you forward by the shoulders as you stumble in front of all these new faces.

“Hi everyone.” You squeak out.

Everyone gives you a warm welcome, many handshakes and hugs later you feel well acquainted. You notice a familiar face. He’s laughing with Jin over some beers and you smile in their direction. Namjoon, a friend you met freshmen year. He notices you look in his direction and he waves you over. So you walk towards him and Jin, Namjoon handing you a drink as you get closer.

“Long time no see y/n!” his dimples light up the entire backyard. He glances between you and Taehyung, who is chatting with some others.

“You and our Taehyungie, huh?” He grins at you, “honestly, I thought you would end up with Jungkook.” You can’t help but blush at that. A real deep blush. Namjoon chuckles but his eyes hold pity.

“no no not Jungkook.” You laugh awkwardly.

“Well, Jungkook has always spoken really highly of you so I am sure Taehyung is a lucky guy.” Jin chimes in.

For some reason you feel sick at that. Jungkook speaks highly of you? Yet here you are ignoring him for another guy. You are avoiding your own best friend because of a boy. Fuck, you are the worst.

“thanks guys…well, I’m gonna go see Tae.”

You walk over to Taehyung, and when he spots you he absolutely lights up. His boxy grin taking over his entire face.

“There’s my girl,” he pulls you in for a hug and places a kiss to your head. You want to melt, you want to feel the lava of love drown you but instead you feel anxious as you notice Jungkook from across the yard. He’s got a beer to his lips and his eyes on you.

“Thanks for doing this y/n.” Taehyung also catches the pair of eyes watching the two of you. He meets Jungkook’s hard gaze and automatically Taehyung is filled with anxiety as well. Jungkook just shakes his head towards his friend and takes a generous sip of his drink.

“Everything okay?” you ask, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Everything is fine.” He says with a tight lip smile. “Just glad you’re here.” He says honestly.

A few hours pass, and the whole gang is crowded in the pool. Mostly everyone is drunk, but you are pretty sober. Not wanting a repeat of last weekend. Yikes, amirite ladies? Taehyung has his hands all over you, which you don’t really mind. The thought of him touching you was once something that might make you faint but you’ve grown comfortable. Your eyes scan the pool when you notice Jungkook is nowhere to be found. Did he go home already? Maybe he was feeling so down because you’ve been ignoring him…god, you hate yourself. You just need to talk to him. You’re a shitty friend, for sure.

“I’m gonna be right back,” you whisper to Taehyung. He only nods his head and continues chatting with his friends.

Jin’s house is beyond nice, and also huge. You are trying to find the bathroom but feel like you are opening every door but the one you’re looking for. There’s only one door left at the end of the main hall and you bet your entire ass it’s the bathroom. You reach for the door knob when you hear something muffled on the other side. Oh, it’s taken.

“Thanks for this.” It’s a woman’s voice.

“No problem.” Its Jungkook. You feel your stomach drop. What makes you feel worse is how detached Jungkook sounds. He sounds far away and broken. The doorknob begins to rattle and you try to make a run for it in time but are too late. The door is swinging open and one of Jin’s friends is walking out and in the background you see Jungkook zipping up his pants. His eyes meet yours and you want to run the fuck away.

“y/n?” Jungkook’s eyes expand twice their size as he spots you.

“I was…I was just looking for the bathroom.”

Jungkook’s face hardens, “Well, you found it.” He makes his way to pass you but you grab on to his arm to stop him.

“Wait,” you breathe in and out, trying to give yourself time to think of what you want to say.

“What is it?” his voice is somehow softer than he probably intended.

“I want to talk to you…explain to you why I’ve been ignoring you.”

“Yeah, you’re still pissed at me, I fucking get it.” He spits out bitterly.

“It’s…it’s more than that.”

“More than that? Did I do something more? What did I do? y/n just tell me…” He rocks back and forth on his heels, his eyes glued to the ground.

“You’re going to be so mad at me, maybe even hate me—”

“You know I could never hate you.” He whispers, sounding so sincere it crushes you.

You glance around your surroundings, making sure no one is around and drag him back into the bathroom for some privacy. You shut the door behind you, trying so hard to ignore the smell of sex.

“Tae thought—” you begin but Jungkook is already rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Of course Tae thought.” His tone almost scares you. “Let me guess? Taehyung doesn’t want me around while you guys are fake dating. That’s not fucking weird to you?” He grits between his teeth. He balls up his fists at his side, you see his knuckles turn white and it makes you feel uneasy.

“He made some good points…”

“Oh really?” Jungkook laughs bitterly, “Like what?”

You looked into Jungkook’s doe eyes and feel a sense of guilt, like you somehow made the wrong choice.

“He thinks we’re too close. And he’s right. It would be weird if I’m super closer to another guy while dating him.” you reason, but your face falls when you see Jungkook’s scrunched up expression.

“You think we’re too close?” he whispers.

Well, yes. But also, no. Of course not, but also yes. How do you tell Jungkook all of that?

“People always think we’re dating or fucking or—”

“Oh? And all the sudden we care what people think?” his voice wavers from the rollercoaster of emotions he is feeling.

“Jungkook wait, I’m wording this all wrong. It’s just for a month okay?”

“You wanna date him that badly? That you would throw me away?” he grits out.

“Hey! That’s not fucking fair.”

“So what? Say your little fantasy comes true and he decides he wants to date you for real? Am I still out of the picture?”

“No no, of course not…” you shake your head and reach for his hands but he pulls away.

“So then what’s the difference now?”

Jungkook has a good point but you’re at a loss for words. Too choked up to speak.

“And you know what y/n? Fuck you for choosing him over me in the first place.” And with that Jungkook breezes past you, swings open the bathroom door and is out of your view.

Jungkook has never spoken to you like that before, you stand there with your mouth hung open and tears forming in your eyes.

He’s right. You fucked up. You did a fucked up thing. You chose a boy who may not even actually like you over the one guy who has always had your back.

“y/n?” you snap your head in the direction of the door to see Taehyung standing there. A look of disappointment decorating his face.

“I was told you and Jungkook were in the bathroom…” he spits out.

“I had to talk to him, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but how does this look for me?” Taehyung speaks sternly. You did NOT need this right now.

“Tae—”

“You couldn’t even last more than a week y/n.” he scoffs.

“Listen could we just talk about this later?” you ask with pleading eyes.

“I’ll call an uber.” He motions towards the hallway, “we can talk tomorrow.”

You slump your shoulders and nod your head, tomorrow sounds like it’s for the best.

3 days have passed and neither Jungkook nor Taehyung have talked to you.

You hear Jungkook come in and out of the apartment but you’re too shy to make a move outside of your bedroom. He’s either coming from classes, the gym, Jimins, or some girls house and you’re dying to know which.

You have been hibernating in your room, taking comfort in your bed when you get a notification from Instagram.

@V tagged you in a post.

You scramble to unlock your phone so you can view the post. Once you are on the app you click on you notifs and click on the post.

It’s a picture of you eating cotton candy from when he took you to the fair on your date. With the caption:

“Missing my girl tonight”

And a bunch of heart emojis. Your own heart sinks. He misses you? You close the app and instead open your messages.

y/n 9:08pm

You miss me for the show or is there some truth behind that?

Taehyung 9:20pm

Maybe it’s both?

Taehyung 9:22pm

I am sorry for how I left things…I was just kinda embarrassed that my supposed girl was with another guy,,,in a bathroom.

y/n 9:24pm

trust me I know how it looks and im sorry…

y/n 9:26pm

If it makes you feel any better Jungkook isn’t talking to me either.

Taehyung 9:26pm

Of course that doesn’t make me feel better, he is your best friend…

y/n 9:28pm

tae, I hope we can continue this…I still want to help you…

Taehyung 9:34pm

Ill pick you up at 6 for a date tmrw: )

y/n 9:34pm

I cant wait: ) : )

You click your phone off and toss it on the other side of the bed, you squeal in excitement as the realization hits that Taehyung still wants to do this with you.

You hear Jungkook on the other side of the wall, yelling into what you assume is his headset. He’s gaming. You miss him so god damn much. He has no idea what his silence is doing to you. You try to focus your attention on tomorrows date with Taehyung but you can’t help the feeling in the pit of your stomach. Guilt. You were an awful friend and now thinking about it you are continuing to be an awful friend. If he even counts you as friends anymore.

“fuck you”

Those words ring loud and clear in your ears. You didn’t even know Jungkook was capable of speaking to you like that. It fucking hurts.

Jungkook is in his room pacing back and forth. He saw it. The insta post. And he feels like he’s losing you. Neither of you have made a move to speak to the other. He’s just too hurt and you continue to see Taehyung? You obviously don’t feel too bad about the whole ordeal. And 3 days is just too long. A week was too long, but somehow these 3 days are worse.

Jungkook grabs his phone and opens up tinder. He messages one of the girls that’s been teasing him lately. He figures now is the time to make more of a move.

Jungkook 10:00pm

Hey ;) what are you doing tonight?

Leslie 10:10pm

Gonna be thinking about you probably;)

Jungkook 10:12pm

Instead of thinking about me, come see me.

And that was it, that’s all it took. She was quick to agree and he is already sending her the address.

It’s after 11pm when you hear the front door open, you quietly get out of bed, curiosity getting the best of you. Was Jungkook leaving? But then you hear a girls voice and you immediately frown. Oh. She sounds pretty. Is that even a thing? Well, she does. And it has you feeling weird. You thought you were over this.

You hear the patter of their footsteps walking towards Jungkook’s room, the sound of his door opening and closing just like that.

You walk back to your bed feeling ashamed for spying, but now you know you won’t be getting any sleep tonight. Fanfuckingtastic.

“aaahhh…” the random girl whines out causing you to shift uncomfortably in your bed.

“More?” you can hear Jungkook’s muffled voice, he sounds strained. Probably because he’s fucking some girl a few feet away from you.

You reach over to your nightstand for your headphones when you hear Jungkook grunting as the beds headboard bangs against your wall, he groans and moans and you feel yourself getting hotter.

You try not to imagine Jungkook in these scenarios but he sounds…no, you won’t have those thoughts…you don’t want to remember. Your hand is still midair when you retreat it back to your bed.

“Fuck yeah baby.” You hear him gripe. And you squeeze your thighs together. No, this cannot be happening.

“Jungkook! Jungkook!” Fuck, she sounds so fucked out.

“Feels so good, feels so good” he pants over and over and you feel the back of your eyes burn.

“gonna come” he groans out and your chest is heaving now, your breathing becoming a chore. You can’t cry, not over this. He hates you and he’s buried in some other girl. And you want to fucking crying about it. You hear him moaning on the other side of the wall and then—

“Fuuuuuuccckk” his orgasm is fucking apparent. He’s obviously coming and you’re lying in your bed all fucking pathetic with tears staining your cheeks.

Jungkook lays in bed totally fucked out of his mind. This girl is sleeping next to him, trying to her best to cuddle but he resists. He wishes he had time to himself to think properly. He just fucked another girl and thought of you the entire time. He is 100% fucked up. Wait, wait. He needs to explain himself…it’s not like he thought of you like, sexually. It’s just you’re all that’s on his mind. Even during fucking sex. And he hates himself for it.

He decides to sneak out of bed to have a shower. He creaks open his door for any sign of life and when there is none he tip toes to the bathroom. Jungkook stands in the shower letting the warm water cascade over his skin, he just stands there lifeless.

Images of you cross his mind and he sinks to his knees, pulling them into his chest and he quietly curses under his breath. He misses you so much and things have gotten so messed up he just doesn’t even know how to fix it.

He scrubs himself clean, ridding the scent of the random girl he brought over. He sniffles under the raining water hating himself.

Jungkook dries himself off with your towel, and puts on his shorts. His chest left bare.

He exits the bathroom when he notices a light coming from the kitchen and sees you sitting at the table with a glass of water.

“oh.” Jungkook slips up.

“oh?” you wonder.

“I thought you were fast asleep.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“Just woke up.” You lie through your teeth with a strained smile. “Couldn’t sleep…”

“I know the feeling…” he admits, walking closer to you.

Jungkook makes his way to the table before pulling out a chair and sitting down next to you.

“Listen—”

“Jungkook—”

You both begin talking at the same time. Jungkook ushers you to go first.

“I…I’m still fake dating Tae.”

“I know.”

“But…” your eyes gloss over, getting choked up trying to continue. “But I am so sorry.” A few tears spill from your eyes.

“I know y/n.” he reaches his hand to squeeze your knee. You feel so much better with him touching you. “I’m sorry too…I was really harsh. And it pains me every day that I haven’t talked to you.”

“Trust me, I get it. I wanted to like, kill myself not talking to you.” Your eyes slam shut as more tears threaten to fall.

Jungkook’s face morphs into a deep frown, “You know I don’t like when you say that…”

“Right…sorry.”

“Honestly y/n…I don’t know when I will be okay with this, but I’ll respect your wishes for the month.”

“Jungkook…” Your hand flies down to his and you squeeze it but he’s quick to let it go.

“I’m mad at you right now.” He admits softly, his breathing is slow and steady. “So just give me some space.”

~~~

Like magical clockwork you hear light knocking on your front door. You scramble to find your phone and your purse to make it to the door in good time but you hear it being creaked open and the voices of two men. Shit, Jungkook got to the door first.

Ever since you started fake dating Taehyung it seems Jungkook has been keeping a distance from him. You aren’t sure why but they’ve been weird. So you want to avoid as much awkwardness as possible. You grab all your belongings and rush to the living room and find the two men sitting on the sofa quietly chatting.

“Can you keep your voice down dude?” Taehyung peers over his shoulder, looking in the direction of your room. “Would if she hears?”

“I wish she would fucking hear,” Jungkook grits through his teeth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Why don’t you just tell her?” he leans back on the back of the sofa, “She might be understanding, hm? Do it before it’s too late or I swear to god Taehyung I will tell her myself.”

“You swore you wouldn’t say shit. Just like how I swore not to say any—”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell her dude. Just give me some time to—"

Jungkook’s eyes shoot up when he hears the light creak of your bedroom door open, he waits expectantly for you to walk through.

“Hey guys,” you announce your presence and both boys look up at you and smile. Taehyung with his boxy grin and Jungkook with a tightlipped smile.

“Hey y/n, you look nice,” Taehyung stands to his feet and walks towards you, “I mean, you always do.” He stops just in front of you and hands you a bag.

“What’s this?” you take the bag and jingle it around a bit.

“just something for our date.” He grins. “You can open it later.” Taehyung glances over at Jungkook, “Anyway, let’s get going. See you later man.” He nods toward the boy and faces you again. “shall we?”

You smile up at Taehyung and take his hand in your yours and lead him towards the front door but before you leave you and Jungkook make eye contact and he frowns.

Taehyung being the gentlemen he is runs to the car before you and opens your car door.

“Feet inside?” he asks and you’re nodding yes when he shuts the door for you. He runs around the other side and enters the car himself. Taehyung settles on an old 50’s station with the volume just right. He’s humming along with a dopey grin on his face, feeling satisfied with his choice.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Let’s get some dinner first then we can do our date activity I have planned” he chuckles to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

You drive around in comfortable silence when you decide to take your phone out and shoot Jungkook a text.

y/n 6:14pm

You okay?

Jungkook 6:16pm

Don’t worry about me while you’re out with another guy

“Everything okay?” Taehyung asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“hm? Oh, yeah. Just thinking.” You reply quite honestly.

“About Jungkook?”

“What?? Why would you assume that?” your voice rises in panic.

“Well, we were all just together and I know you and him are fighting…I thought it was a safe assumption.” He laughs awkwardly.

“Oh…right. Actually, me and Jungkook sorted things out kind of but we’re still barely talking.”

“oh? Really?” Taehyungs grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“He said he will steer clear for the month, ya know, in public.”

“He—he agreed?” Taehyung coughs a few times, his head pushed back in disbelief.

“Something like that.” You don’t really know what to say, this is an awkward thing to be talking about and you wish the subject would change.

“Anyway,” you begin, “How did things with Anna escalate?”

Taehyung freezes. The color draining from his face as his knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

“Um.” Taehyung feels sweat beading on his forehead as he tries to come up with an answer.

“You know how it is,” his mouth feels dry as he tries to speak, “She just won’t leave me alone and I want to show her that I am taken so she will get the hint.” Then a sly smile spreads across his face “and I think it’s working.”

“You think so?” you raise a brow in question.

“Well, you are such a convincing girlfriend after all.” His right arm extends towards your knee and he squeezes it. “Thanks again y/n…” he almost sounds…guilty. But you push that thought away and smile at him. Your sweet smile making him feel even guiltier.

~~~

“Dinner was sooo good.” You raise your arms above your head, stretching your body, a satisfied moan leaving you as you lower your arms again.

“I knew you’d like it! Best pizza in town!” Taehyung sets his credit card in the bill holder on the table. “Ready for what I have planned next?”

“hmmm, yes.”

The two of you wait for the server to return so you can finish paying so you can leave. Once all finished up at the restaurant the two of you head back to the parking lot and get inside his car to go to your next destination.

“Your apartment?” you ask as you notice his building coming into view.

“Yes. But you’ll see.” He turns his head quickly to flash you his pearly whites.

The two of you walk to his front door as he unlocks the door. Taehyung has a two bedroom apartment but lives alone. You’ve only ever seen his kitchen and living room and you’re wondering if you’re lucky enough you’ll see his bedroom. Hehe but that’s wishful thinking.

“You have that bag?” Taehyung asks,

“yup,” you say lifting it up and showing him the precious goods.

“Great go put it on!”

You tilt your head in confusion but you see how excited he is so you walk to his bathroom and shut the door behind you. Would if it was lingerie? You giggle to yourself at the ridiculous idea.

You open the bag to find some type of clothing. First, you pull out a large white t shirt and next was an…apron? The apron was a light pink color with a pocket in the front with your initials embroidered on it. You gasp once you realize it, your heart beating out of your chest as you melt into a puddle on the floor. He got your initials on an apron? You hurry to change into the white t shirt and put the apron on.

“Cute.” You murmur to yourself in the mirror before you’re out the door and back into the living room.

“How do you like it?” Taehyung asks from behind you, surprising you with a glass of water. You take the water gratefully and gulp down a few sips before answering.

“love it, but what’s it for?”

Taehyung beams, grabbing your arm and leading you into one of the bedrooms. He stands in front of the door and bounces on his heels.

���Ready?”

“Yes?”

“Never showed anyone this room but I feel like you’re special” Taehyung giggles, “Plus I thought it was a cute date idea.”

“hmm, okay. I’m ready.” You are such a fool for this boy, his cuteness doing a million things to you.

Taehyung begins to slowly open the door revealing a room with tarp covering the ground and easels taking up space. There are buckets of paint, a variety of colors spread all across. And many, many art pieces.

“You…” you begin to say in awe, “You’re an artist, Tae?”

“Aspiring.” He chuckles a bit bitterly. “How would you like to paint together?”

“You feel comfortable enough with me?” you ask, surprised.

“Something about you….” He starts but leaves it hanging. “Let’s paint!”

You dip your paint brush in purple paint and stroke it across the canvas, the color joining a mess of other colors. That’s art, right? Fuck, you are not good at this. You sneak a glance over at Taehyung to see him painting a scenic art piece. There’s mountains and flowers but somehow in an abstract kind of way, you tilt your head to the side trying to eye it more carefully.

“Hey, no peeking!” his bottom lip jutting out in the cutest way. You just want to kiss it.

You stand from your stool and walk over to his, your eyes never leaving his art work.

“I’m trying to figure out what I am looking at. Don’t get me wrong, its super cool. But like there’s this beautiful tree with flowers but also shapes??”

“Its abstract, y/n.” his tone is light and makes you flutter. “I like it this way.” He says softly.

“me too.” You look at him, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze shifts to your lips.

“heh really?” Taehyung’s cheeks turn a wonderful shade of pink, like the flowers on his canvas.

“You really are amazing, aren’t you?”

“Me? Let’s see what you got!” He stands from his stool and begins walking over to your art work.

“No!” you stand in his way, your arms flailing above your head. “It’s not good!” You laugh and push his chest back with your hands, Taehyung wobbles in place as he laughs at your dramatics.

“It can’t be that bad.”

You finally let him walk past you, he stands in front of your canvas with his finger on his chin,

“Okay, it can be that bad.”

Taehyung bubbles with laughter and you hit his shoulder but end up laughing with him.

“I told you.” You pout. Taehyung stares at you, his eyes once again shifting towards your lips and you aren’t going to play dumb, of course you’ve noticed.

“What?” you jut your lip out even more, walking just a bit closer to him.

“Nothing, you’re just cute.” Taehyung admits. His long fingers brush against your cheek as he pushes a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Like, really cute.”

Well, holy shit. Your heart and also your vagina cannot take this.

“How cute?” you breathe out.

“So cute I could kiss you.” Taehyung walks closer, his foot bumping into yours. “But…” He looks down at the ground, guilt beginning to surface, “y/n I have to tell—”

You tilt your head up and meet his lips for a peck on the lips taking him by surprise. Taehyung knits his brows together and is about to say something when he sighs out instead. One of his hands travel to cup the back of your head to bring you closer to him and he kisses you again. He deepens the kiss. Its slow and there’s no tongue, just lips moving tenderly against one another. You feel so light and airy like you could just float away until he abruptly pulls back.

“What’s wrong?” you panic, worry filling your eyes.

“We—we shouldn’t do that.” He finally says after a moment. Why? It was just some kissing between two people who possibly like each other? It’s not like you were delusional right? It’s not like you were making this up in your head. The flowers, the apron, the dinners, the car door, the ‘missing my girl’, the way he treats you can’t just be because of some fake dating bullshit. You know he is known for his kindness but to this extent?

“Why?” you finally say.

“Because,” Taehyung drags a hand across his face, “No one’s around. Let’s just take our pictures—”

BBrrrrrr bbbrrrr brrrrrr bbbrrrr

Taehyung’s phone is sitting on the table next to where the two of you are, it’s going off and you naturally glance over.

Incoming call: Anna

Taehyung races to turn it off, his face flushing and his hands have become sweaty.

“She…she just doesn’t give up.” He chuckles awkwardly, his phone in his grasp as you hear the buzzing of incoming messages.

“Is that her too?” you ask, feeling sorry for him.

“Uh, yeah…probably.” He says, his eyes looking all over the room but never on you.

“Well, let’s see what she’s saying.” You say nonchalantly, reaching for his phone but he yanks his hand back and barks a loud ‘No’. Startled, you step away from him.

“Sorry, I just…” he rubs his neck.

“No no, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have reached for your phone like that…” Something is off, You can feel it. But you want to push that feeling away.

“Let’s just take the pictures, I need to get home soon.”

“Yeah, okay.” Taehyung forces a smile.

~~~

Something is off with Taehyung. The way he wanted to kiss you but then pulled back. The way he got super weird after Anna called. Has she traumatized him that much? Is she like a real, legit stalker who is totally and completely obsessed with him? You feel bad for the guy, he seems like he probably has trust issues or something. Maybe he thinks you might turn out to be like her and he’s scared of that so that’s why he is pushing you away.

That’s gotta be it. You roll around in your bed about to finally get some sleep when you hear music blaring through the wall. Jungkook. You roll your eyes at his choice of timing. The clock reads after midnight, why the hell is he blasting music at this time?

You rise from your bed and storm into his room. Jungkook looks surprised to see you as he is in the middle of doing pushups—shirtless.

His muscles ripple with every movement and it has you practically drooling.

“Uh, can I help you?” Jungkook doesn’t look very annoyed, mostly amused.

“It’s late, Jungkook. Can you turn this shit down?”

“Can’t. Didn’t get a work out in today…so here I am.” He rises to his feet, shrugging.

The music is some horrible rock back that you can’t stand and Jungkook knows this. He fucking knows this. Wow, he really is mad at you still.

“Listen dude,” you put your hands on your hips, “I’ve had a weird day and I just want to relax.”

“Oh baby, I can think of a way for you to relax.” He winks. You want to puke, why is Jungkook so gross.

“Ew.”

“So…how was it?” Jungkook’s eyes fall to the ground.

“What?”

“How—how was your date with Taehyung?” he doesn’t raise his eyes, they stay glued to the floor.

“It was…” you get flashbacks to the awkward date, “fine.” You finish, not wanting to give Jungkook any more reason to dislike you and Taehyung together. “Yeah, it was fine” you force a smile.

“You know I know better than anyone when you’re lying.” He says, finally looking at you again.

Fuck. He’s right, if anyone knows you and your lying habits its Jungkook. He can read you like his favorite book. And it’s like, a picture book. Super fucking easy.

“It was fine Jungkook.” You lie again.

“What happened?” his tone eases into something softer, something more comforting and it almost makes you break and tell him the truth. Almost. But not quite.

“Nothing happened. Keep the music down, I’m going to bed.”

Jungkook watches as you spin on your heels to exit his bedroom, his eyes caving and watching your ass the entire time. He has a love-hate relationship with your house shorts, they’re sexy as hell and that’s the problem.

Jungkook turns the volume down on his speakers and sits on the edge of his bed. His head falls into his hands as he thinks about your date with Taehyung. Something must have happened. He knows it. He feels it. But he can’t force you to tell him.

He lays back on his bed and his face hardens as he thinks more about your fake relationship. He wants to beat Taehyungs ass. He wish he could tell you but it’s not his place and he just wishes Taehyung will do the right thing.

While staying loyal to Taehyung is he betraying you?

~~~~

Best friend: “A person you value over other friends in your life, someone you have fun with, someone you trust and someone in whom you confide.” That’s how the dictionary would describe the word but in Jungkook’s dictionary it would just be your cute face. Everything about you is cute to him, the way you walk, talk, dress, sneeze, just everything.

Even when you look gross as hell in the mornings dealing with a nasty hangover he still viewed you as…cute.

When Jungkook first noticed you was in his Literature class that took place on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He knew you always sat in the back and took your notes without really paying him any attention. And not to sound like a cocky bastard but…why not? He obviously thought you were pretty and there was something about you…

The second time he noticed you was at some frat party where he caught you staring at him and he thought he finally might have a chance at talking to you. Or get in your pants at least. He could one and done this situation and move on with his life but much to his surprise you weren’t interested in getting dicked down by him. No, you were interested in just…hanging out. Which he wasn’t use to. Most girls just wanted to say the got with the Jeon Jungkook and don’t pay him any mind for something serious. Because apparently he isn’t the type of guy you could be “serious” with. It’s not like he doesn’t hear the rumors. He hated this honestly…but he guesses it’s his own fault.

He even playfully offered to take you upstairs that night but you refused him. Much too shy. So he got a better idea: the 24 hour diner down the road.

You ended up talking until 9 am the next morning, laughing and snorting, telling tons of stories that cracked the two of you up. He even shared deeply personal information with you that shocked the both of you. But it just felt right—talking to you. He felt like he could open his heart to you, like he was making a real friend.

Jungkook doesn’t have much of a dating history…he mostly just sleeps around and is okay with that—because he has to be. Like what was said earlier, Jungkook isn’t a guy you get “serious” with and all the girls knew that. It just started with one girl spreading the fact he isn’t the type to ‘do’ relationships. He thought this would cause girls to try harder and try to change him or whatever. But none cared enough. He guesses…he just isn’t worth it. Does Jungkook yearn for something more? You wouldn’t know because he has never voiced it. Even though he isn’t lucky in love, he did get super lucky in a friend. That’s you. He cherishes your friendship more than anything in the world and wouldn’t do anything to risk ruining it.

3 years ago

“What about you?” you smile at him with all your teeth, “What are your parents like?”

You didn’t know at the time but this question made Jungkook feel the very dread he avoids feeling.

He looked into your wide eyes and couldn’t help the sigh that escapes his lips.

“Dad cheated the whole time and moms not around anymore.” Jungkook picks at his cuticles.

You felt a pang of guilt for bringing it up…but you were too curious to stop.

“Where did she go?” you can’t seem to stop yourself from asking.

Jungkook pauses his bad habit, his fingers coming to a halt.

“Can we change the subject?” he finally says, a small smile spreading across his lips, “It’s like, uh…a touchy subject. Ya know?” he almost looks as if he feels bad that he can’t confide in you.

“I promise I will tell you about it someday.” He swears with his pinky joining your pinky. You felt content with his answer but somehow you knew he probably never would.

Jungkook lays in his bed with his head dangling off the edge. Its 10 at night and you’re still not back. You had another date with Taehyung today—he knows because he follows the both of you on Instagram and you posted a photo of Taehyung in front of a mural that’s located just downtown. He grabs his phone to check your location and unfortunately you are still in the same spot—Taehyungs apartment. He hates this. Why does he hate this? Because Taehyung doesn’t deserve you and what he’s doing is not right. But he can’t tell you that because none of this is his business. Instead all he does is piss you off and he hates himself for it.

He truly thinks the world of you, he truly wants nothing but the best for you and he truly loves you. You’re his best friend.

Jungkook starts to doze off when he hears the front door being unlocked. It’s you.

Quickly, Jungkook jumps to his feet and scurries to his bedroom door and places his ear over the wood. He hears you talking…then another voice. You’re not alone. Its muffled but he makes out what you’re saying.

“It was amazing T,” oh, you’re with Trina. “He got me flowers, took pictures of me and got all my best angles.” He hears you giggling then another voice joins you in your laughter.

“I told you! This was a great idea!” Trina says, Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“He was such a gentlemen the whole time and it…I know it’s not real but I don’t know man…it feels real sometimes.”

“Girl, he would be stupid not to have a thing for you.” For once, Trina and Jungkook agree on something.

“I would actually kill myself if he did!” you giggle.

Jungkook goes rigid at your words, his jaw clenching so hard it ticks. He hates when you say shit like that, it creates a suffocating bubble around him that’s too hard to pop.

.

Jungkook decides he’s eavesdropped enough and settles back on his bed. He lays back, his arms folded behind him. He feels beyond frustrated and doesn’t know what could cure this. Well, maybe sex? Maybe he should call up some girl…maybe that could make him feel better. But somehow that didn’t appeal to him so much in this moment when his brain is occupied of you. So he settles for himself. It’s been a while since Jungkook gave himself a handy but he’s not opposed of going for it.

The lights are off and Jungkook is deciding if he wants to watch porn or settle for his imagination. A girl he use to hook up with enters his mind and he decides to roll with it, he dips his hands underneath his boxers to feel up his hardening length. He reaches for his nightstand to squirt some lube in his hand, his cock is only half hard by the time he’s gently stroking himself. The skin on his cock is smooth with few veins decorating the length, he’s already leaking precum while his imagination starts up.

He thinks of this girl and her lips, how she looks with them wrapped around his greedy cock and he becomes even harder. Fuck, he can’t remember her name—a piece of shit move but he doesn’t care at this point. He’s stroking himself faster, gathering the precum at his tip and smearing it around. A light moan escapes his lips as he tugs on the head of his cock harder. His other hand drags his boxers down his legs as his continues to stroke himself and then reaches to fondle his balls. He groans at the sensation.

He then thinks of the girls ass in the air, her wiggling it around and begging him to fuck her. Her ass is round and plump, it jiggles slightly as she squirms below him. His hand moves quickly as his thoughts get dirtier. He doesn’t see her face just her ass and her voice sounds a lot like…yours. Fuck, he can’t be thinking of you right now. He’s pissed at you, his thoughts growing angry yet somehow his hand doesn’t stop. He’s so close it fucking hurts.

“Fuck…y/n..” he whimpers into his shoulder. He now sees your face, underneath him, your hair all splayed out. Your lips are swollen and you whine for him, begging for him to fuck into you faster. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut at that image, his hand stroking him impossibly fast as he is beginning to lose all composure. He shouldn’t be thinking of you right now, or ever—not like this. But he hears you beg for him, he imagines flipping you over, demanding you to raise your ass in the air. You beg to be punished, you beg for him to spank you, and he does. He pulls his hand back and slaps your needy ass and you whimper. He does it again and again.

He sees himself insert his cock into your pussy and he’s thrusting in and out like his life depends on it. Jungkook’s hand squeezes desperately around his throbbing member, he cries out quietly as he fucks you in his mind.

He imagines you reaching your own high, your moans and screams ringing in his ears and that’s what sets him over the edge. His cum spurts out of his swollen cock, spraying all over his hand as he begins to come to a stop on himself.

“fuck fuck fuck fuck” Jungkook is out of breath, his fantasy too much for him to handle. “What the fuck did I just….”

He sits in complete silence as his breathing comes down. Did he just? He is not supposed to do that.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#119

“No come on in and have a seat on the couch. I’ll get the door. I’m glad you could stop by. I know you boys like to get out of school as soon as the last bell rings on a Friday afternoon. So the last thing you probably want to do is a visit with the Wrestling Coach. Move over, I need to sit down too. I’ve been on my feet the entire day. I didn’t bring you here to talk to you about wrestling or PE. Let me get right to the point. I understand that you are a cum-guzzling faggot....

"He he he. Boy, I should have had a camera set up to capture your look right now. Don’t waste our time denying it. I’ve seen the video. Oh yes there’s a video. It’s you in a booth at Ruby’s Adult Bookstore on your knees taking cock after cock through the glory hole. And not just any of Ruby’s stores, but the one 45 minutes across town right off the interstate near the docks.

"So, yes, I know. Really, I suspected you were queer when you came to my gym class checking out the other boys. I’ve seen that look before. But don’t worry, I have no reason to tell anybody. So don’t do something stupid to give me a reason. Why do you go to that one? Ruby’s Bookstore? There are others closer and in a much better neighborhood. Seriously that area is not safe for a young man like you. You are what, 140 or 150 pounds? The men that work in that area are twice your size. They will chew you up and spit you out. Unless, you want that kind of man. You like big men? Don’t answer. I can see it on your face. You are so easy to read. I like that. So you like to give hard working men blowjobs before they head home.

"I know the owner of Ruby’s, and he tells me that you are there quite often. You take care of construction guys, truckers, iron workers, and so on. When he showed me the ninety-minute video of you blowing cock after cock, I was amazed. You know what impressed me? You didn’t spend much time jacking off. You certainly didn’t cum. That tells me that your focus in on pleasing men not yourself.

"Yes boy, I do play. I play hard. I play long. And I play dirty. So you were probably going to Ruby’s tonight. That’s changing. You are coming with me, and no, we are not going to spend the evening messing around with each other.

"You and I have similar tastes in men. I love big hard-working blue-collar men too. When they get done work and I get them naked, there is no feeling in the world as feeling their assholes try to accommodate my beer can dick. The thing is that I really get off on straight guys who reluctantly allow me to fuck them. That rarely happens these days. They need to be coaxed into it.

"This is where you become useful to me. I’m going to use you as bait. There are places where I am going to take you where you will be banged by a bunch of men, dirty porno theaters, rest areas, public bathrooms, and so on. Your 18-year-old cute boy looks always attracts the right crowd. Guys love that dad/son feel. While you are being the whore you are, I will find the man I want to fuck from the guys who show up. And you take care of the rest.

"A few things, first, you never interfere with my pursuits. Second, keep your socks and shoes on. You will have money secured in them to get back home when you are done, should I desert you. Third, you follow all orders men give you no matter how vile or disgusting. My orders take precedence. You’ll probably get slapped around, just deal with it. Remember, you are a filthy cunt; live up to it. Finally, you address me as Dad. I’m going to play up that you are my son for what it’s worth, and it will get guys interested in it. I would ask you if you are ok with all this, but your pecker is pitching one hell of a tent.

"From this point on, I am in control of everything. Tonight is special. The reason why I didn’t wait two more weeks for you to graduate and done with this place is because a truck driving buddy of mine is coming through town. The man is built like a brick shithouse, and I need to get my cock in him. I told him last night that I would have a ginger boy for him to fuck. He’s hot for you, like I knew he would be. He’s going to be spending the night at the vista point ninety minutes south of here, the one past the rest area. Mostly truckers and the local farm workers go there for relief. When I introduce you to him, you are going to beg to eat his ass. Sound desperate about it. He’ll probably take us up to his cab. Eat his ass good. Slather it with spit. That’s what I am going to use for lube on him. When you feel my finger trying to go in, move to blowing him. I’ll maneuver in place. When he howls from me shoving myself into him, quietly climb out of the cab and go to the other men who will probably need your services.

"How’s your ass eating? Nevermind. I am so fucking horny right now. Hell, I’m horny all the time. Get naked and between my legs. Right here. Right now. No one will come in. And just because I get hard at the thought of fucking masculine men, doesn’t mean that I will turn down your holes. You are going to give me a deep rim job and then give me one hell of a blow job. Just like you did to me at the glory hole at Ruby’s. Yeah, my beer can was one of the cocks in your video. Fuck son, I think this relationship is going to work out good for both of us. Now get your tongue in my sweaty shithole.”

[phoenixes-and-wizards]

tua headcanon (vanya’s first concert after the apocalypse):

despite being an amazing violinist, vanya’s still a bit shy about performing in front of her family, mostly because--aside from five--she’s never done it before and partly because the last time she did it, she sucked the life out of four of them with energy tentacles and caused the end of the world. you know--just musician things

when she does land a solo, she takes extra care not to tell a single soul, only practicing when they’re nowhere nearby and never the same passage twice so they don’t realize just why she’s been rehearsing so much lately

they find out anyway when one day, diego does some small-time vigilantism in an alley behind the icarus theater and finds a poster advertising VANYA HARGREEVES PERFORMS SIBELIUS, MAY 21ST AT 8PM

he tells luther who tells allison who tells klaus who tells five and ben. they don’t breathe a single word of it to vanya, and all of them spend the next twenty minutes convincing the ticket seller to spare six tickets, despite the show having sold out a month ago

luther folds as soon as the man tells him “no" so diego plucks the phone from his fingers and says "you're hopeless" in an exasperatedly fond tone

ben practically has to wrestle the phone away from diego and five once it’s clear their "polite" bargaining won’t work 

”he’s not gonna listen to you if you keep threatening to chop his fingers off!!!!!” “oH YEAH???? THEN I’M GONNA MAKE HIM--GIMME THAT PHONE BENJAMIN I’M NOT DONE DONT YOU DARE LET THAT TENTACLE COME ANYWHERE NEAR ME”

in the end, allison saves the day, as always. no rumoring, of course; just plain “hi, i’m allison hargreeves and--yes, i’m the lawyer in that movie, of course i’ll sign an autograph for you after the show. could we pick up our tickets tomorrow? four o’clock? that’d be great, jim. oh, can i call you jim? excellent.” 

she walks away with a cocky smirk while diego mutters “show-off” under his breath, but he says it fondly enough that she lets it slide

ben spends the week leading up to the concert reading about sibelius’ life and the inspiration for his only violin concerto. on some afternoons, five joins him, being the only other member of the family who actually listens to classical music

diego starts leaving dinner in the kitchen for vanya on the nights when she has to rehearse with her orchestra, and klaus drags ben to the mall one day to look for something that’ll help with vanya’s peeling calluses

luther brushes up on classical concert etiquette, making extra sure to tell his siblings not to clap after a movement ends and to give their sister a standing ovation

(”as if we wouldn’t have already. she’s brilliant,” five assures him)

allison takes them all shopping for suits and to her surprise, none of them grumble because they’re all doing it for vanya and they’ve got thirty-two years of missed concerts and recitals to make up for

on the day itself, ben ‘accidentally’ makes too much bacon and eggs and blueberry pancakes, and he loads most of it onto vanya’s plate so she’ll have enough energy to power through all three movements of her concerto tonight. vanya’s so nervous that she doesn’t even notice

when she leaves around noon, violin case on her shoulders, they all file into allison’s room and start getting changed

vanya’s nervous as fuck of course, and fifteen minutes before she goes on, she starts regretting the fact that she never told them, it would’ve been nice to have familiar faces in the audience, but hey she’s here now and she’ll simply play the best she can because damn it she’s earned it and worked too hard on this entire thing for her to chicken out now

when she steps out, she actually thinks she’s seeing things when she spots all six of her siblings sitting in the front row, wearing the largest shit-eating grins she’s ever seen in her life

out of the corner for her eye, she sees klaus giving her two thumbs-up and mouthing “you got this” as she tunes, and it’s more than enough to make her relax completely

vanya takes a deep breath, and as soon as she starts with that familiar “sol-la-re” motif, the entire audience--her family included--is captivated 

halfway through the first movement’s cadenza, ben turns to luther and whispers “how come we never went before? she’s incredible” and five’s face hardens when he replies with “because dad never let us”

diego actually sheds a tear during the second movement; allison subtly passes him a tissue, her own dark eyes damp with emotion

they’re all at the edge of their seats when vanya starts the third movement, it’s brisk tempo and syncopation more than enough to catch their attention

there’s a brief moment where vanya drops her bow and--to an outside viewer--miraculously catches it right before it falls, but her siblings see the way her eyes pulse white for a second as she levitates the bow back into her hand and resumes playing as if nothing happened, and they all trade knowing smiles afterwards

when she finally plays the final note, the audience simply lets it ring throughout the hall for a few seconds before they’re on their feet

even so, she can hear her family’s voices above the din and they look so proud and allison is crying happy tears, diego shouting “brava! bravissima!” over and over, and her other brothers all have matching grins on their faces, and oh gosh, she’s really done it, hasn’t she

they meet her in the lobby with tons of bear hugs, the largest sunflower bouquet she’s ever seen, and half-meant scolding about “why the heck didn’t you invite us, vanny? you were amazing!!!” and while five and diego argue about who gets to carry her case on the way to griddy’s, ben simply rolls his eyes and plops it onto his back

halfway to the donut shop, luther presses close to her and gives her a one-armed hug that’s slightly awkward because they’re both walking and he’s obviously the size of a house compared to her, but vanya leans into him all the same, grateful for his quiet comfort. he keeps his arm around her all the way to the shop and only lets go when klaus drags him away to look for a booth that can accomodate all seven of them

they buy her all the donuts she wants and tell her which parts of her concerto they loved best, and vanya just feels so warm, down to the tips of her toes, and it’s all because she has never felt this much love in her life before

she’s getting ready for bed that night when diego knocks on her door and pokes his head in long enough to say “i’m proud of you, you know? like really, really proud” and gives her a long hug to boot

after that day, her siblings start sitting in whichever room she’s practicing in to hear her play, and the attention is overwhelming at first, but eventually, vanya just gets used to ben reading while she slogs over tchaikovsky or luther munching on a bowl of cereal as she works on her etudes

she invites them to every concert from then on, and vanya makes something of a ritual out of plucking petals from the bouquets she receives afterwards, pressing them into a notebook and running her fingers over every single one before a show to calm her down

[tobesobri]

When the Lights Go Out (Halloween fic; 8k)

𝖆/𝖓: first off, happy Halloween yall! This is my second favorite holiday and so I really wanted to get something up in celebration of it! I’ve talked a lot on here about having trouble with writing recently and so I do what I normally do with writer’s block and I just leave what I’m stuck on and go off to write something random, which is what this ended up being. So, my writing style is definitely different and maybe not great, but this is just for fun so I don’t care! I still hope you enjoy! There’s spookiness (not too much), enemies (frenemies) to lovers, pumpkin carving, smut, alcohol consumption, and giant skeletons 💀 (oh and Harry dressed as Tarzan 🥵)

my masterlist  🎃 my askbox

𝕸ost people’s Halloween traditions weren’t too complicated; usually involving cult-favorite scary movies—ranging from Halloweentown to Nightmare on Elm Street—handing out Snickers and Kit-Kats to tiny trick-or-treaters, or just getting wasted at a friend’s haunted house party down the street. Their friend group, on the other hand, opted for a pumpkin carving contest every year on Halloween at Jason Hallow’s house, and, yes, his favorite holiday is Halloween because of his last name. And so, a few years ago when they were all undergrads together, he began hosting the annual carving contest at his house, in which they all paired up and, at the end of the night, whichever pair’s pumpkin came out the best—as judged by Jason, the resident Jack O’ Lantern expert—won whatever candy was leftover. That and marathons of R-rated horror flicks as well as occasional breaks to go out in the neighborhood and scare some of the kids while dressed in terrifying monster masks and slightly drunk off their asses from too much Tennessee whiskey.

Jason’s house was, hands down, the place to be in their neighborhood. Everyone who came by always wanted to join in on their festivities, and one year, they’d been just drunk enough to let a few of-age neighbors join in. This year, though, it was different. The stakes were higher. They were competing not only for the candy, but also for the much envied twelve-foot tall skeleton Jason had found at Home Depot which currently sat in his front yard amongst his other outrageous decorations. The skeleton was definitely the most noteworthy and had been the center of plenty group photos from just about every one of his neighbors since he had brought it home and especially tonight. In fact, every time the doorbell rang and he greeted another group of kids in his gory doctor costume—because Jason was in med school after all—every one of them squealed about how much they liked his skeleton. And so it almost pained him to have to give it to one of his friends after tonight, but if he’s being honest, he has nowhere to store it—he’d purchased it completely on a whim—and next year they will compete for it all over again anyway.

Tonight is also different because Harry and Y/N are not getting along. They all knew this beforehand, but simply brushed it off until they realized it was much worse than anyone had imagined. They had a horrible friendship—if one could even call it that—ever since they’d met as freshmen pre-law students six years ago. Sometimes they got along, but mostly, they bickered non-stop at each other, which all their friends took as misguided flirting. They got along for about six months once, after a drunken hookup, until, of course, Y/N hooked up with someone else and set off the volcano that was their relationship all over again. It had been calm recently with both of them needing each other’s help through their vigorous law school studies. So, a truce had been made and they tolerated each other at best. Tonight, though, the monsters had truly been unleashed and neither one of them had stopped picking at each other since they’d arrived.

It began on the street, when Harry took the spot Y/N had wanted to park in. Then at the door, when he asked her how her midterms were going and she felt like stepping on his toes until she crushed them. Which was perfectly logical since his was barefoot and mostly naked in his stupid Tarzan costume he’d recycled about four times now since they’d all known each other. He only wore it when the weather was warm, as he claimed, but they all had a suspicion he wore it so that he could watch Y/N drooling over him all night.

She wasn’t innocent either, in his defense, at least not this year when she came dressed in a sexy Beetlejuice costume, something none of them ever thought was possible. But she made it happen. She wore a too-short black and white vertical striped t-shirt dress—which had rips in all the right places, particularly across her chest—and a pair of neon green boots that were Doc Marten knock-offs she had found online. Other than that, she had spray painted the front bits of her hair a grey-green color and did her makeup to match the theme, dark purple smokey eyes and a green color used as contour. It looked good, she looked good, not that Harry would ever say that out loud.

Jason’s entire living room and dining room floors were covered with plastic tarps. He’d set up the usual fold-away tables and chairs for everyone. It was an easy clean-up job that wouldn’t leave pumpkin guts smudged into his hardwood floors or, even worse, the beige carpet in his living room. And, as always, he had a line up of various pumpkins on his kitchen counter—and the necessary kit of carving tools—ready to go. They usually didn’t start until nine-thirty or ten, once everyone arrived and had a few drinks in them and they had all agreed on what movies to watch. This year was a marathon of The Conjuring franchise, because Jason had spent way too much money on a box set and he would not be wasting them. Nobody objected anyway because the movies held a sentimental value to all of them. Every year since the beginning when a new movie came out, they all managed to go see it together, and also cause a horrible ruckus in the theater. Although they’d almost been kicked out a couple times, it was still some of the best memories together they’d ever had.

There was also that one year, when Annabelle Creation came out and Y/N and Harry were getting along on account of the LSATs, that they’d secretly gone home together. And then, of course, pretended it never happened.

That had been the second time they slept together, the second time she’d woken in his bed, with Harry’s annoyingly toned arm wrapped all the way around her, and the last as well because Harry got into a serious relationship their first year of law school and that had been the end of things.

Well… not completely the end. At least not until tonight.

“Okay we’re getting started!” Jason announced over both the music and the television, which someone turned down before Jason continued. He stood, wobbling, on one of the foldable chairs, for no other reason than the bottle of vodka in his hand. He was teetering on the edge sobriety and really didn’t give a fuck if he fell off. “Y’all know the drill! Isa’s handing out the cards. No whining. No trading. Or you’ll be disqualified.”

The cards in question were riddles that they had to match up with the answer. Half of them got the riddle card, the other half an answer card and that would determine who their partner was.

Y/N both wanted Harry as her partner and detested the idea at the same time. She was all for it because, well, he was hot dressed in nothing but his small piece of brown loincloth fabric hanging loosely on his hips. But at the same time, she knew they wouldn’t win together and she really wanted that skeleton.

The riddles were all hand-made by Jason on his computer and then laminated in his girlfriend’s school’s teacher lounge however many years ago. They all knew every answer to every riddle by now, but it was still a much more fun way to pair up than picking names out of a hat.

Y/N read her riddle twice, having absolutely no recollection of the answer to it, however—which was probably due to the alcohol she’d consumed herself within the past hour. She wasn’t all to blame, though, Harry had a lot to do with it too. She was still mad at him, for what she wasn’t sure, but she also could not stop herself from stealing glances at him and the only way to stop feeling so many confusing things about Harry was to drown it all away.

She read her riddle one last time: The person who built it sold it. The person who bought it never used it. The person who used it never saw it. What is it?

Her brain felt like mush after the third read and she hoped someone would find her first and give her the answer. She peeked around at people’s cards as they all tried to find their pair, some of them meeting up immediately and getting the prime pick of the pumpkins. It had dwindled down to just a few of them and she finally waltzed herself up to Harry, grabbed his card from his hand without his permission and read it.

In bold, 16-point Helvetica font, it read: A coffin.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes, shoving his card against his stupid bare chest and groaning audibly. “Figures I’m stuck with you.”

When she finally looked up at him, though, she wasn’t all that upset about her odds as she pretended to be. Not with the way his face set into a devilish, wicked, up-to-no-good look that made her want to rip him from the room and rip his useless Tarzan costume off too while she was at it.

He had also been drinking, which was made even more clear when he opened his mouth. “You’ll always be stuck with me.” And then he leaned in a little bit, his smirk widening and his eyes darkening and the sweet smell of vodka on his tongue strengthening, “Forever.”

She hated the buzzing in her stomach he caused, and hated that she liked knowing they probably would, at the very least, know each other for the rest of their lives. It had already been six years since they met and she still hadn’t managed to shake him off. And now they were finishing up law school together and getting offers to work at the same firm together. There would be no escaping him, not that she really wanted to.

The only time she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him was when he had a girlfriend. She hated seeing him in her classes, in her study groups, her circles, at her internship. He was always there, though, rubbing it in her face as she had once done to him. Hers was just a dumb hookup, partially just to spite him, and his was… well he dated the girl for entire year before they broke up and he seemed genuinely heartbroken over it. It had been serious, and Y/N had been seriously miserable the entire time. Even more so when she found out they’d split up and she just about threw a party while Harry moped around campus. She couldn’t help it, though, she’d liked him ever since they met, but then they just sort of… didn’t get along all the time.

She knew he liked her too, at least a little bit, or he’d never have slept with her twice. How much he actually liked her though was still up for debate, and so she chose keeping their weird hate-love relationship over ruining all of it by admitting her feelings for him. Plus, she liked working with him and getting his help on exams and papers too much to ruin that as well.

Y/N grabbed the third to last pumpkin, an unopened carving kit, and led the way to two lonesome chairs. They sat closest to the door, and farthest from the dining room and Jason, in their own little corner where they had enough room to stretch out given that no else had laid any claim on the other side of their table yet.

“So,” Harry began once they were settled and Y/N began opening the kit of tools, “what are we making?”

Before giving him an answer, she laid out all the tools on the table in front of them, next to their poor misshapen pumpkin, and then reached down into the side of her boot and pulled out a black sharpie; she’d learned a couple years back to start brining one. It might have been cheating, sketching her design beforehand, but Jason never outlawed it.

“I’m making Jason’s favorite Tim Burton character and you’re in charge of the guts.” She dictated confidently, slapping the sawing tool and the large orange plastic spoon in front of him so he could get started right away.

He eyed the tools for a moment, then the pumpkin, and then finally her. “Absolutely not. I’m not doing all the shit work while you do the fun stuff.”

“Thought you’d be used to that.” She half-mumbled, but he still heard her over the rest of the noise in the house. And, frankly, she was right. When they had interned together last year, she always handed off the demeaning tasks to him, like getting the coffee or making copies, while she did the much more interesting parts of the job. What she didn’t know was that she didn’t make him do anything. He always did it so she didn’t have to.  

He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, arms that her eyes—which were completely out of her control at that point—glued to immediately. He’d been working out ever since the break up and finally filled out the Tarzan costume a lot better. He’d always had a nice body, she knew that, but now… now he made her dizzy.

“I’m not doing it. Least not all by myself.”

She gave up then, mostly because she lost her will to argue against the pout of his lips and the flexing of his biceps—which weren’t ridiculously big, but they were subtle and modest and very much bigger than they had been this time last year when he’d dressed up as a shirtless baseball player. Most all of Harry’s costumes involved some level of nakedness and not much sense, but she didn’t complain too loudly. And his arms were definitely bigger now than they had been the last time she was in his bed and he was over her.

“Fine.” She groaned, grabbing the mini saw tool and then standing to begin carving a hole at the top of their pumpkin, around the stem. She made it big enough for them to be able to stick their hands inside, and then once she was finished, pulled the stem piece off and set it aside for later, chopping off some loose bits of pumpkin shreds first.

Despite his earlier protests, he was the first to dig into the pumpkin, standing as well and going hands first into the thing where he pulled out fistfuls and dumped it into a pile on the table. They went back and forth digging out the insides of the pumpkin until finally, Harry grabbed the spoon and really went in. And she didn’t even bother offering to help, and instead stared, again, at his stupid biceps and especially at his hands, which were slick from the pumpkin juice. She shuddered remembering where his hands had once been, and then pulled herself together remembering how long ago it had been and how very little interest he’d shown in picking up where they’d left off pre-girlfriend.

Once the pumpkin was fully gutted, they both sat again, and cleaned their hands off on the paper towels Jason had set up on each table.

She was the first to begin the process, sketching out the design with her sharpie of Oogie Boogie from The Nightmare Before Christmas. She’d carved the character before, but still needed a reference picture on her phone to get all the details right. And Harry watched her the entire time, memorizing her face for the millionth time while she concentrated, and sometimes he stared at her hands, too, hands he also found himself reminiscing over, to the point of needing to cross his legs so it wasn’t made visibly clear what he was thinking about. He was starting to regret recycling the Tarzan costume.

While they all worked, Jason answered the door and handed out candy about once every five minutes. The best part of their tradition wasn’t the pumpkin carving itself, but rather, the atmosphere. They loved the feeling, the adrenaline rush of it all. How messy everything would eventually get, how loud they all were. The anguished shouting when someone messed something up. The sounds of Thriller playing in the background mixed with the loud jump scares from the horror movies played all night long. It was heaven to any lover of Halloween (and they all loved Halloween).

She’d let Harry start the carving of the design, informing him what parts were staying and what parts needed to be cut away, before she ventured into the kitchen to grab them both a drink. On her way back, she paused for a moment, just watching Harry work over in their corner. The sight of him almost made her want to finally admit how she felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if he rejected her, at least then she’d know.

But then Zoe plopped down into her empty chair next to Harry and crushed everything back down like an aluminum can being recycled. She tossed back about half of her Smirnoff after Zoe had scooted closer to Harry and grazed her fingertips across his arm—the one he wasn’t using the carve the pumpkin. And at first, he ignored it, but then he set down the tool, pushed his hair back with his clean wrist and offered Zoe one of his annoying little smirks that Y/N always thought he saved just for her. But now, seeing him use it to flirt with Zoe, she felt stupid and betrayed. And stupid again for feeling betrayed.

She had no claim to him. She just had her memories, as inconvenient as they were at times. But that was nothing and it’d been so long that he showed any interest in her, in anybody, that for her to be jealous now was just pure selfishness. As much as she hated Harry sometimes, she still wanted to see him happy again.

Y/N made her way back slowly, eying what others were doing, until finally joining Harry again just as Zoe went back to her own pumpkin.

She was quiet for a moment, sipping on her drink, watching him as he got back to carving, before cleaning her throat as she finally said something, “What did Zoe want?” And she tried not to sound anything other than curious, but the way Harry glanced at her, with a raised brow, she knew she needed to be so much more subtle.

He took the other cup from her that she hadn’t drunk from and replenished his blood alcohol level. “She just asked me what I was doing after this.”

Instead of opening her mouth and being obvious, she just set her drink down and grabbed both the carving tool and the pumpkin from Harry to take over. He’d already done way more work than she had, so it was about time they switched anyway.

He eyed her curiously still, even though he allowed her to continue where he left off as he leaned back in his chair and took a break, downing what was left in his cup as she worked.

“You’re not jealous are you?” He finally asked, after a few moments to let his brain marinate in the alcohol in order to brave that question in the first place.

“No.” It was sharp. A piercing rejection he felt dig its claws deep into his heart. He couldn’t tell if she was lying or not, but if not, it hurt. More than he was willing to admit, even to himself. He wanted her to be jealous. He always did. That was part of the reason he’d gotten a girlfriend. And of course she was also part of the reason they broke up, if not all of it.

He nodded, “So it wouldn’t bother you if I went home with Zoe?”

He noticed her brief hesitation, when her hand stopped moving and she took in a breath of air, but then she settled again. “Doesn’t bother me what you do, Harry.”

Again, he nodded, still watching her just to get a sense of her reactions. Of course he had no plans on going home with Zoe. He just wanted to know. Where they stood. How Y/N felt about him. Whether she thought about their nights together as often as he did. When they were studying together and she’d shift her hair behind her shoulder and he’d get a whiff of her shampoo and be taken right back to one of those nights, and the nights that came after that when he got lost in that scent on his pillows until it eventually dissipated and left him craving more.

He tried again. One last time. If he still didn’t get the response he was hoping for, then he’d give it up and leave her alone. So, he sat forward, crossing his arms on top of the table, close enough to her now that the buzzing in her stomach reappeared even though she never braved a single glance at him. He was close enough that the smell of his cologne overtook the odor from the pumpkin. Close enough that she felt his breath on the side of her face when he spoke.

“So, I’ve just been imagining the way you’ve been looking at me all night then?” His voice was just above a whisper, and soft, caressing her ears as the sound crept its way inside of her. As it seeped into all the places the alcohol had been, although Harry was always something way more potent than whiskey or tequila. He made her head spin, made her feel everything and nothing at the same time. Made her heart flutter so much at times it hurt.

His words sunk in and all her motions stopped as she froze in place. She stopped carving their pumpkin, stopped blinking, stopped breathing. Staring blankly at their half-finished design until he was wrung out from her system completely. That never really happened, though, because he was staring at her, watching her with those glinting, impatient eyes, waiting for an answer. There wasn’t even the familiar hint of a smirk or a bit of amusement on his face anymore, either, that might have calmed her nerves. Because at least if he seemed to just be messing with her, she could play that game with him, but this was different.

He leaned forward a bit, trying to get her to look at him, to say something, anything, really. He’d be satisfied enough with her lies at this point. But he also knew the absence of an answer alone was all he really needed. He didn’t feel like he was getting ahead of himself, seeing the way her body reacted to him, by assuming that she felt, at least somewhat, the same way he did about her. Because if she’d been the one to ask if she was imagining how he’d been staring at her all night, he wouldn’t deny it.

Just as she opened her mouth, just as she had gathered enough words to form a coherent sentence, the room went dark. Pitch black, actually. The lights all around them flickering off, the television going blank, the music cutting out. And once the startled gasps and dramatic, drunken yelling had subsided, they were left in a ringing silence, so completely opposite to what they had been moments ago that it was painful for their ears to adjust to.

“What the fuck?” They heard Jason’s voice in the darkness and then, finally, a bit of light as he turned his phone’s flashlight on.

“Did the power go out everywhere?” Someone else asked.

And while everyone panicked, all Harry cared and thought about was Y/N’s hand wrapped tightly around his own on his lap. He wasn’t exactly sure when she’d grabbed for him, but once he realized she was there, he didn’t really care too much about the lights anymore. What he did care about still, however, was whether she’d ever answer his question now. If he’d ever get to hear what she was about to say just before the darkness cut her off.

A few of them stumbled about, making plans to go outside and check on things while everyone else stayed inside and waited. The room went dark for a few more moments as Jason left, but then someone else turned their flashlight on, and shined them at the ceiling so that there was at least enough light so that they didn’t have to sit in complete darkness.

If it wasn’t Halloween, the power going out wouldn’t have bothered her so much. Outages happened happened all the time. But now, in the middle of the second Annabelle movie with all sorts of other spooky shit around them, she couldn’t help but be terrified and imagine the worst. Like… what if there was a killer on the loose who had cut their power. What if the killer was chopping up Jason and the others and then eventually heading inside to do the same to all of them?

“Hey,” Harry mumbled beside her, inching closer and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, realizing she’d grown tense when her grip on him had tightened. “You alright?”

Hearing his voice again, she let out a breath of air and tried to relax. She watched way too many scary movies and this was most definitely not one of them. Just a power outage, possibly due to everyone being home and using lots of extra electricity on their lights and decorations. She had no reason to panic. Although it could be blamed on Harry as well, if he hadn’t made her an astronomical amount of nervous just before.

She nodded until she realized Harry couldn’t even see her very well. “I’m fine.” She finally affirmed, and, to his dismay, took her hand away from his.

They sat in their own silence for a while, listening to the quiet conversations around them, particularly to Zoe and Julie who were trying to look up any information they could even though their phones were slow from the lack of Wi-Fi and service.

After a little while, she found his hand again in the dark, and this time, she wasn’t afraid from the power going out, but rather what she was about to say. Because if there was ever an opportunity to spill your guts to Harry Styles, it was in a dark room where his grassy green eyes weren’t all over you, sucking every ounce of courage from your bones.

Her voice was in a whisper, and she finally looked at him, or rather in his direction. To the outlines of his face, of his nose and his cheekbones. Even though she couldn’t find the green, she knew he was there, waiting, listening.

“You haven’t been imagining anything.”

She couldn’t quite see it, but his eyebrows had hit the ceiling and before he could question her further, she continued.

“I was miserable when you were seeing Liv and so fucking happy when you broke up.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t let that stop her, “And then miserable again because you didn’t want me. And maybe you still don’t, but it would really bother me if you went home with someone else.”

The quiet almost ate her alive for the next few seconds when he said nothing and she didn’t have his features to go off of. But then, she felt him getting closer until, finally, his lips were at her ear.

“I’ve always wanted you.”  

The buzzing was back but this time it was debilitating. Especially when he faced her and cupped his free hand along her jaw. And especially when he tilted her head back slightly to meet his lips, which had pretty good aim given their predicament. She missed the way he felt, she realized, once he was kissing her. Once he had scooted closer and released his hand from her grip on his lap. Once he grabbed up the other side of her face and pulled her closer. And then her hand was left to fend for itself on his thigh, and she, almost unconsciously, drifted her touch closer and closer and closer…

He moaned softly into her mouth when she toyed with the flimsy piece of fabric tied around his waist with her fingertips. And finally, she pulled apart from him, catching her breath before whispering, “Do you think they’d notice if we left?”

He shook his head, “Don’t think I care if they did.”

And so they were off. Trying not to draw too much attention to themselves even though she slightly tripped over the leg of the chair and he tried not to giggle too loudly while helping her. His hand fell into hers again as he led the way out of the living room, down the hall and into Jason’s guest room, closing them both off from any light source completely, not that they really cared too much about seeing each other; they just wanted to feel each other again.

And as soon as Harry had closed the door behind her, that’s exactly what they did. As she wrapped her arms around his neck; as he felt his way around her waist, he kissed her like he hadn’t kissed anyone in years. Like he was a dry, cracking desert and she was a vast river flowing through him.

He took brave steps towards the bed blindly, backing her up further into the dark room and managing to not trip over anything when he finally made it to the bed. They’d both, on separate occasions, spent the night in Jason’s guest room before, which helped when maneuvering around in the dark. For instance, Harry knew that Jason kept his secret stash of condoms in the bedside drawer. Harry had no idea why, but he was thankful for it right now, when, after laying her back on the bed, Y/N had already begun undoing his costume—with such quickness, he was sure she’d studied how the thing was connected to his body so that she knew exactly how to get if off if need be—and, within the next few seconds, tossed the flimsy Tarzan loincloth out of sight.

Which left him in just the black thong he wore underneath. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have even bothered with it. But, when he had first gotten the costume and tried it on without anything, he imagined all the wardrobe slips and potential boners might not be in everyone’s best interests. So, he went out and bought the smallest pair of underwear he’d ever owned, tucked himself inside of them, and called it a day.

Those, too, were stripped from his body in a matter of seconds, or at least pushed down his thighs to where they no longer covered what they were intended to cover. But then she flipped them around, so that Harry was on his back this time, splayed across the bed and she was finally ridding him of the thong all together and not wasting any time getting her hands on him and he wondered, with how quick she was to get to this point, if she had been thinking about this all night. And if she had, then he would definitely have to whip out the Tarzan costume more often.

He seemed to sink into the mattress once he felt her mouth close on him, his eyes fluttering shut and his mouth hanging open involuntarily when he hit the back of her throat. He had no idea how he’d gone so long without her, or why either. Why had he been so stupid? Why did he let her think he didn’t want her? Why did he deprive the both of them of this? Of the way she felt circling her tongue around the tip of his cock, the way he knew she was looking at him even though he could physically not open his eyes or come down off his cloud long enough to tell her how good she felt. How much he missed it. How much he was probably in love with her, even if that might have been crossing some sort of line.

“Forgot how big you were,” she whispered, giggling almost shamefully after wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and giving him a break to actually breathe properly again.

“Think we both know that’s a lie.” He was out of breath already and he was right, although she wouldn’t feed his ego no matter what he said. Although she remembered his cock perfectly fine, she wasn’t exactly used to it. And maybe she had momentarily forgotten what he had hidden under his costume. It’d been two years since they slept together, and the first time it happened they’d been drunk.

She didn’t say anything else, just tried to hide the blush on her face—even though he couldn’t’ see it anyway—by taking a mouthful of him again. She didn’t let him come, though, of course, and he didn’t expect her to either. She never had before. She always led him get right to the edge, to where he was panting and writhing and digging his fingers into her hair, on the verge of screaming her name into the dark, and then she’d stop. Pull him from the back of her throat and leave him a sopping, moaning mess.

He’d somewhat recovered when she crawled on top of him and and sat on either side of his hips with her hands planted on his chest. And now that their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could see the curve of his lips as he smiled up at her and even the sinister little twist of his mouth just before he grabbed hold of the hem of her dress and ripped it off over her head, letting it fall onto the bed next to him. He wished they had just a little bit more light, but at the same time, it turned him on having to see with his hands instead. Having to reach up and cup her breasts in his palms and rely on his memories for a better visual than the one he currently had. And as she came down to kiss him again, there was one thing for sure he didn’t need any light or anything but his fingers to do.

He tossed her bra into the same vicinity as her dress and within seconds had his hands all over her again, and his tongue as well, wishing she was on her back so he could worship her in all the ways he desperately wanted to, but also aware that the power could flick on at any moment and he really didn’t have the time.

Not that she had asked, and maybe she just hadn’t thought of it yet, but he still, while continuing to make out with her, reached over, pulled the drawer open on the nightstand and reached inside to locate the box of condoms.

However, once he did, and he didn’t find what he was looking for, he sat up and pulled apart from her, twisting himself a bit in order to see inside the drawer. His other hand held onto her hips so she didn’t fall off of him as he searched the drawer. But, soon enough, he was laying back again, groaning as if he was in physical pain.

“There’s no condoms.” He muttered between his teeth and just that one little sentence ruined his entire night.

“It’s okay.” She assured, continuing to whisper just as he did so that no one would hear them through the thin walls. “I mean… we’re clean right? And I’m on birth control…”

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at her and trying to decide if it was a good idea or not. She was right, of course, but even so there was always a possibility. Even with condoms there was always that same possibility too. He knew one thing for certain. If he remembered correctly. There was absolutely no way in hell he’d be able to pull out, so that really wouldn’t even be an option either.

“If you don’t want to though, that’s fine.” She spoke again amongst his silence. It’s not like he would hate the potential consequences, and of course he would not hate feeling her without a stitch of anything in between them, he just needed to be reassured that’s what she wanted, truly.

“I do, just um… are you sure you’re okay with that?”

She nodded first and then, confidently, “Yes.” As she fell back into place over him, her lips came to his ear this time, “I want to feel you coming inside of me.”

His whole body shuddered, needing her more than he quite possibly ever had. And as she tucked her panties to the side and guided herself onto him, he would most definitely go outside and cut the lines himself if the power decided to come back on before they were finished.

“Forgot how wet you are…” He whispered, heart fluttering at the way she laughed while fucking him. He never forgot either, not quite. But feeling her again now, pooling around him, warm and snug, he again wondered why in the living hell he kept himself from her for so long. Sure, they didn’t like each other most of the time, but their first time together had been hot, drunk hate sex and ever since then he’d chased that feeling with other people, none of them ever quite adding up to her. He wondered if she thought the same. No one ever making her feel the way he did either. If, when she was with someone else, she thought of him instead.

He knew he wouldn’t last long the second she put her greedy hands on him, and so her being in control now was slightly dangerous. He wasn’t ready for it to be over, even if he was racing the clock, even if he could just take her home from here and do it all over again, properly. He didn’t want it to end as quickly as it started.

So, he flipped them back over, getting her on her back like he’d wanted to earlier. Slipping a pillow under her backside to get a better angle and letting her sink all the way through the mattress this time. He remained inside her the entire time, only making quick, shallow movements to avoid the sounds of their skin slapping against each other. But he gave up being careful about their noise level after she begged him to go faster, after he reached between them and rubbed his fingers over her clit to catch her up with him.

She tugged at his hair while he kissed her, breathlessly and without much of a second thought this time about how loud they were being. He assumed all their friends knew about them anyway, even if she chose to be ignorant to it. They all speculated about the secret hookups and the mindless flirting that was disguised as harmless bickering. So, he just stopped caring the closer and closer he got.

That was until he buried himself as far as he could inside of her, his hand wrapped around her throat the way he remembered her liking, and he felt the scream building beneath her skin, beneath his palm. Quickly, before her noises led to everyone barreling into the room to find out what was going on, he clasped his hand from her throat to her mouth instead. Holding tightly as she let it out, his eyes pouring into hers like a lake of shining emerald waters getting her to stay there in the room with him. So that she didn’t close her eyes and float away like he had before.

He titled her head to the side, kissed up her jaw to her ear. “Mm, I missed the way you sound.” He wanted to tell her how he thought about her pleads and her moans and her yells late at night when he was feeling particularly alone. When he wanted nothing but her, to either be inside of her, or to just have her there next to him. But all of that got caught in his throat, and instead, as he continued burying himself into her, he whispered like a growl in her ear, “Missed how well you take me.”

And although it made her moan, made her eyes cross and her fingernails scrape across his shoulder blades, he wanted to tell her that he missed how they fit together. How where he ended she began so seamlessly no one else could hardly compare. There had always been a seam with everyone else, with Liv, a visible divide between him and them, soldered together haphazardly. But with Y/N, it was smooth, flowing together as if they were the same person.

His hand slipped from her mouth as he began losing control, and soon she was the one having to cover the noises. Though, this time, she just simply pulled his lips to her own and felt all the vibrations escape from his throat against her skin, her teeth, her tongue. She breathed in nothing but the air from his lungs, and held onto his tightly as she began to unravel.

His moans quickened and quickened until she felt his release, warm and deep inside of her, just as her own gave way, until his body began to give out, until he was panting and no longer able to hold himself up over her. And so once they both descended from their cloud, once their wave had crashed onto the shore, he planted himself beside her, their chests in rhythm as they cough their breath.

And before either of them even managed to open their eyes or breathe steadily again, the surge of the power coming back on dimmed the haze. Their room was still dark, but light seeped under the door and the rest of their friends cheered from the other room as the music began again. And for a brief, stupid moment, Harry thought about fucking her again and letting her scream all she wanted, but that fantasy was cut short when he remembered their friends would soon realize they were missing.

“We should get back.” She mumbled. Although she made no sudden movements to get up. She even closed her eyes again, still off in another world.

And so Harry risked it, just for a few more moments, anyway, where he rolled closer to her and slid his hand up her jaw softly, pulling her attention toward him again as her eyes fluttered open, waiting.

“I was miserable when I was with Liv too. And we broke up because she knew I spent all my time thinking about someone else.” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, realizing for the first time that he’d probably royally fucked up all her makeup and then hoping she wouldn’t come to her senses and kill him for it.

“And who might that be?”

He smiled, sweetly this time unlike all his asshole smiles, and just as he glanced at her lips, ready to kiss her again, he was cut short.

“Yo, where are Harry and Y/N?” It was Jason, loud and clear and possibly headed their way to investigate his missing party guests who had snuck off together in the dark. Jason didn’t know that yet though, and as much as Harry would like none of their friends to find out, it wouldn’t exactly look great the two of them waltzing out of the guest room together. Harry’s curls in shambles, fresh scratches all across his back, and Y/N’s makeup smudged. There was simply no use in hiding what they’d been up to, it was written all over them.

Harry grabbed her clothes and handed them off while he went on a search for his own tiny pieces of costume. And just as they got decent again, there was a knock on the door.

“You guys in there? You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” Jason warned and Harry and Y/n looked at each other for a moment before busting out laughing.

Harry got to the door first, throwing it open to a very surprised Jason, who then narrowed his eyes when he saw Y/N come up behind Harry.

“God, not in my guest room!” He whined as Harry pushed pass Jason, a looking Y/N following shortly behind, “Now I have to clean the sheets again! I just did them yesterday.”

“Sorry, mate!” Harry called over his shoulder, glancing down at Y/N quickly to give her one of his cocky little winks. And once they had reached the main room again, as he fell back into his chair, she realized just how many scratch marks she’d left on him, and wished he’d worn a costume with a shirt to cover it up.

She drowned out all the whistling and the comments about how everyone knew she and Harry were up to something, about the bets won and lost. All she heard was Harry’s voice in her ear, telling her how much he missed her and she wondered if it was real. If he really did miss her, or he just missed fucking her. If, when it was no longer October 31st, they’d just go back to normal. Like the horse-drawn carriage turning back into a lumpy, ugly pumpkin.

Harry noticed this, of course, because he’s a law student and notices everything, but just as he leaned in to ask if she was okay, she pulled away.

“I just, uh, need some air.” And then she was gone before he could do or say anything. She used through the front door, abandoning their poor pumpkin and headed toward her car. She’d left the keys and her purse inside, but it didn’t matter. She just leaned against the passenger door and gazed up at the stars, thankful for the clear night and warm weather.  

And, of course, he was beside her not too long afterwards. She’d heard his footsteps against the pavement, knew he’d probably follow her out anyway.

He cleared his throat, half watching the same stars she was and half glancing at her. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s um…” she faltered, her eyes falling to her feet. “Think I just had too much to drink.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I—” she cut him off before he got too far in the wrong direction.

“No, I mean…” she pushed off her car then and faced him, “Are we just going to go back to how we always are after tonight? Because I don’t know if I can do that. But I never know what you’re thinking, Harry. Do you even like me or do you just like sleeping with me sometimes and arguing with me all the rest of the time?”

He continued to watch her for a moment, almost waiting for her to tell him she was kidding. But when she just ran a nervous hand through her colored hair, he realized she wasn’t.

He waited for a group of kids all dressed in various Star Wars outfits to pass by them before he began. “I guess I thought I was clear, but obviously not enough… I don’t just want to sleep with you every couple of years and pretend we don’t like each other in between. I think we’ve already wasted enough time, don’t you?”

She nodded once his words sunk in.

“Can we go finish our pumpkin now? And win the stupid skeleton. So I can take both it and you home with me?”

Again, she nodded, but this time it was matched with a smile. “Who says I want to go home with you?”

He rolled his eyes and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close enough to kiss the top of her head as he steered them back toward the front door. “Guess it’ll just be me and the skeleton then.”

They both glanced over at the giant thing stuck in the middle of Jason’s front yard, still attracting every young person like it was a princess at Disneyland, and then she looked up at him again. “On second thought, I might like to see that.”

He shook his head, opening the front door for them, “M’sure you would.”

[rosepetalgold]

indigo skies above us (smile down upon us)

Summary: After the rest of the group bails on an evening out, Roman and Logan set off to find something to do and quickly find themselves in the middle of a night they won’t soon forget.

Relationships: Logince

Warnings: Brief sexual language courtesy of Remus

Word count: 5879

Notes: Day 4 of Logince Week 2022 for the free day slot. Takes place during spring semester of junior year (3rd year) of college. Remus uses xe/xem/xyr pronouns; Janus uses they/he/she pronouns; all other sides use he/him pronouns at this point.

Read on Ao3

Masterpost

-

Shades of Blue and Red

start - previous - you're here! - next

-

Roman had a good feeling about tonight. He couldn’t describe it other than that, really, just that there was something else fluttering in his chest beyond the usual excitement of an evening out with his friends. He might call it a sense of destiny, if he was feeling particularly fanciful and didn’t mind being immediately teased by everyone except Patton.

Nights out with the whole group had become much rarer now that they were all juniors and busy with higher-level courses, and this particular evening had been planned well in advance, the date painstakingly set around exams and work schedules and theater practices and everything else they had going on.

So of course, given Roman’s good mood and the scheduling gymnastics it had taken to arrange this outing, fate had seen fit to intervene.

Patton had dropped out first that afternoon with a text to the group chat, over-apologizing for not feeling well and insisting that everyone else go out without him. Virgil had done the same about an hour before they were supposed to meet, albeit with a much less emotional text, having been called in to cover a shift at his job since half the other student workers were out with the same cold Patton had.

It was down to four of them, then, and Roman had a sneaking suspicion – scratch that, a raging certainty – that he and Logan were going to feel like third wheels to Janus and Remus. But it felt like forever since he’d gotten to go out with his friends, even if they were down two members of the group, so Roman was still in good spirits.

He shifts his weight between his feet where he’s waiting at their regular meet-up spot just off campus, fiddling the zipper of his jacket up and down and up again just to have something to do with his hands. He’s actually gotten here early for once, thanks to a plethora of reminders on his phone, too excited about the night to risk losing track of time and being late like he normally was, and now he has nothing else to do while he waits for the others.

His phone chimes and he digs it out of his pocket to see a text from Remus:

trash rat man: sry bro cant come arson beckons

Roman huffs, typing out a quick reply.

Princey: you suck

Then, because he isn’t entirely sure if Remus is joking or not,

Princey: please don’t get arrested, I don’t have the money to bail you out

Remus just shoots back a string of grinning emojis that don’t do a single thing to assuage Roman’s apprehension.

trash rat man: yes i do suck and im excellent at it

trash rat man: just ask jan

trash rat man: u wish u could suck like me

Roman gags aloud at that mental image, sure to fuel his nightmares for weeks. He did not need to hear about his brother’s sex life. He’d been unfortunate to witness it plenty before he’d finally had enough and instituted a non-negotiable No Sex rule in their suite.

“Is everything okay?”

He glances up to find that Logan has appeared in front of him and is casting him a questionable look.

“Remus just bailed,” Roman informs him, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “And that means Janus is out too, since those two are practically joined at the hip.”

“So it’s just … you and me?”

There’s something off in Logan’s voice, an undertone to it that Roman can’t quite read, but he doubts it’s anything good, and his stomach twists. Of course Logan wouldn’t want to hang out with just him, of course he has better things to do with his time. He tries his best to keep the disappointment in his voice hidden under a veneer of breeziness.

“I guess so,” he says. “We can just call it off if you want; I know you probably have lots of studying to do–”

“No!” Logan cuts him off, then bites his lip like he wants to take the word back, dropping his gaze to his shoes as he toes at the ground. “I mean, I would enjoy having the evening off and spending it with you, if such a thing isn’t objectionable to you.”

Roman pauses, a bit taken aback at the vehemence of Logan’s answer. It’s just because he wants a night away from his books, Roman reminds himself. He’s living in his very own little fantasy world if he thinks it has anything to do with Logan wanting to spend time specifically with him; he’s sure Logan would be just as happy to share a free evening with Virgil or Remus or anyone else in their friend group.

And surely that hint of a flush rising on the tops of Logan’s cheekbones is from the wind or something. No other reason. Roman needs to snap back to reality and stop looking for desperate signs that Logan might return his feelings.

“Well, there is one benefit to everyone else bailing,” he admits. Logan raises a curious eyebrow and Roman grins. “We get to do whatever we want. No one else arguing about where to go or how long to stay or when the night is over. So tell me, Lo, what kind of metaphorical trouble do you want to get into tonight?”

Logan considers for a moment.

“I don’t know about getting into trouble, metaphorical or otherwise, but the science and natural history museum is offering discounted admission to students.”

Roman can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the thought of spending his precious free time being quiet and sedate, wandering through endless galleries of things that all started to look the same after about five minutes. Some days he could enjoy museums. Definitely not tonight.

“Veto.”

“Veto? You didn’t say anything about veto rules.”

“Just decided,” he declares. “I can veto your suggestions and you can veto mine until we find something we both want to do.”

Logan most definitely does not look enthusiastic about this development and Roman fondly resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Come on, Lo. This is your first night out and away from your textbooks in, like, forever! Live a little! The whole city is at your fingertips!”

On impulse, he grabs Logan’s hand and pulls it up over his head, leading him into a spin like they’re dancing.

“Roman!” Logan exclaims as he stumbles in the unexpected movement, but he doesn’t pull his fingers free, blush deepening across his cheeks. “What on earth are you doing?”

Roman grins, entirely too pleased at his own antics.

“Trying to shake loose some good ideas. Come on, kick that big brain of yours into action. Every subpar idea earns you a spin until you come up with something fun for us to do.”

Logan stares at him like he’s declared he’s trying to grow a second head.

“I fail to see how that will further the production of ‘good ideas,’ as you put it, but, um, the library? They have a new-”

“Nope,” Roman sing-songs, giving him a twirl. “You spend like eighty percent of your life in libraries. Try again.”

“There’s a public lecture by–”

“You can do better than that.”

“I – just – what about – hey!” he protests as Roman turns him in yet another spin, but he’s smiling slightly and he still hasn’t pulled his fingers free, so Roman figures he can’t be too upset with his shenanigans. “I hadn’t even said anything!”

“Too slow. You gotta speed up those ideas.”

He gives Logan’s hand a little tug for emphasis and he shakes his head emphatically.

“Food!”

Roman pauses, definitely because of Logan’s exclamation and not because he’s just realized how Logan looks right now, face flushed and hair falling slightly into his eyes from all the impromptu dancing. Nope. Definitely not because of any of that.

“Food,” Logan repeats, seizing on Roman’s silence, cautiously pulling their joined hands down like he’s waiting for Roman to reject this idea as well. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet. Let’s go get some food somewhere.”

“Do you want to spin me to make things even?” Roman blurts, suddenly afraid that he may have annoyed Logan with his hijinks, but his friend just shakes his head. “Are you sure?” he presses. “I’m an excellent dancer, you know.”

Logan casts him a sidelong look that says he very much doubts that, but it’s teasing rather than critical.

“No,” he decides after a moment of consideration. “I’ll make things even some other way.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Logan just grins, and Roman’s breath catches because fuck, who gave him permission to look like that, all sharp smile and sparkling eyes, he’s so pretty it should be illegal, he wants to pull him close right then and there and kiss that smile right off his face–

“Who says it can’t be both?” Logan asks, thankfully interrupting Roman’s internal crisis before he can say or do something stupid like actually kiss him. He gives Roman’s hand a tug. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

-

They find a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant after a bit of searching and keep up a steady conversation as they eat, lingering until the waitstaff begins shooting Roman dirty looks for singing along to the radio. Logan waves off his offer to split the bill and pays the tab in full, and Roman’s heart leaps treacherously because that’s exactly the kind of thing that happens on a date.

But that’s ridiculous. This clearly isn’t a date. Logan hasn’t ever shown any indication that he likes him as more than a friend. Surely they’ve paid for each other plenty of times before and Roman just can’t remember. He needs to get his head out of the clouds and stop reading into things before he ruins what is shaping up to be a perfectly pleasant evening.

Logan, who is clearly having no such dilemmas, is in a noticeably better mood now that he’s had some food and seems much more open to doing something more exciting than visiting museums and libraries. Logan and Roman’s Fantastically Grand Adventure Around The City, Roman coins it as they set off to find something to entertain themselves with, and Logan just sighs and tells him that when he’s done coming up with ridiculous names, it’s his turn to suggest an idea for what to do next.

It does turn out to be a grand adventure, if Roman does say so himself.

He takes Logan on a tour through one of the local neighborhoods known for its street art, the two of them keeping up a running commentary on the murals decorating the walls and buildings before visiting the space open for graffiti artists to tag and trying to find anything done by Remus.

(They pick their favorite pieces and engage in a light-hearted debate about which is the best until their arguments get so preposterous that neither of them can keep a straight face and they declare a draw.)

For his next turn, Logan chooses to wander until they find a food truck he deems suitable and they order dessert to satisfy his craving for something sweet.

(Roman sticks churros in his lip like tusks and pretends he’s a walrus and it’s ridiculous even to him, but it makes Logan laugh, so it’s worth every second of looking like an idiot.)

Roman drags Logan on a wild hunt around the city searching for a fountain that he knows exists somewhere but can’t find, and they make a game of seeing if they can locate it without using their phones.

(They do. They toss coins in and make wishes and for once Roman doesn’t even have anything to wish for, because what could be better than this?)

Logan detours them to take a walk down by the river and peoplewatch, Logan making characteristically blunt observations about others and Roman making up increasingly fantastical stories about any stranger who catches his eye.

(At some point, Logan grabs his hand, maybe to lead him across a crosswalk or pull him out of someone’s way, and the press of their palms against each other and the way their fingers loosely intertwine feels so natural that Roman doesn’t even realize they’re still holding hands until some time later.)

By the time they end up back at their meet-up spot, Roman feels giddy, almost drunk on the feeling of the night, on Logan’s smile and his laugh and the way his eyes light up when he has a particularly clever quip to something Roman has said as they banter back and forth, and he doesn’t want the evening to end.

“Let’s go one more place,” he blurts as they stop beside his car. He can sense Logan getting ready to ask where, or maybe to glance at his watch and say it’s late and that he should be going, so he doesn’t let him get the chance to do either.

“A surprise. And I know, I know you hate surprises, but you’ll like this one, I promise. No crowds or bright lights or noise or anything. Please? For your favorite Prince?”

He expects a protest, or even an outright refusal, but Logan just shrugs and nods, stepping up to the passenger side door.

“Alright.”

Roman fumbles to unlock the car, a little incredulous at his easy acquiescence and sure that at any moment Logan is going to change his mind and decide he needs to go back to his apartment and recharge away from people and the commotion of the city, but he just slips into the car and primly buckles his seatbelt, ready to go.

Well, if Logan doesn’t want the night to come to an end either, Roman isn’t about to question it.

He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car, flipping the radio onto a low volume as he navigates out of the city, but he needn’t have worried; even after talking all night, the conversation flows easily between them, everything from the antics in Roman’s theater class to current events to the melanistic squirrel Logan had seen on campus the other day, and the drive passes quickly. About halfway through, Roman turns off the highway and onto progressively more rural side roads, and they’re only a few minutes from their destination when Logan seems to realize how far they’ve gone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been out this way,” he comments, peering out the window, and Roman winces as he glances at the time on the dash. Good thing it isn’t a weeknight.

“I know, sorry, I should have asked if it was okay with you to go this far. I know you like to go to bed early.”

He sees Logan shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t mind. Being up late one night shouldn’t do too much harm to my circadian rhythm. And I was promised a surprise I would like by my favorite Prince, after all.”

My favorite Prince. Nerves are suddenly battering Roman’s insides and part of him wants to just pull a u-turn and head back to the city right now, because what if this is a stupid idea? What if Logan doesn’t like it? What if he’s just wasting both of their time and they’ll have to suffer through a painfully awkward drive back?

Those thoughts would just have to go fuck right off, he decides, steeling his resolve. He knows Logan. He knows he’ll like this, and even if he doesn’t, it’s not like they haven’t worked through approximately four thousand disagreements before. Everything will be fine.

A few minutes and one painfully potholey road later and they arrive at their destination.

“We’re here!” Roman announces, too loud in an attempt to squash any nerves that might creep into his voice. Logan stares out the window at the empty pasture at the end of the dead-end road where they’ve parked, the surroundings dark except for the moonlight.

“And where, exactly, is here?”

Roman doesn’t answer, just scrambles out of the car and around to Logan’s side, pulling him out of the car and out across the fallow field, lighting the way with his phone flashlight so they don’t trip too badly. Logan stops after a few dozen feet, tugging his hand out of Roman’s grip and refusing to go any farther, his expression souring for the first time all evening.

“Come on, Roman. Tell me why we’re here. If you wanted to play some kind of prank on me–”

“No!” Roman protests immediately, surging towards him in an attempt to reassure him, only to catch himself and pull back from touching Logan without a sign that it’s okay to do so at the moment. “This isn’t a prank; I wouldn’t do that to you. And I know it still isn’t perfect, not like it would be if we drove further, but at least there’s less light from the city here–”

Logan is shaking his head, clearly confused, and Roman cuts off his own rambling.

“Look up.”

Logan does, and a soft gasp falls from his lips as he gazes up at the myriad of stars glimmering above them. Roman briefly sends a thank you to any higher power listening that it’s a clear night, because he hadn’t even bothered to check if it was overcast before starting their drive and he has a sneaking suspicion that Logan would not be impressed if Roman had kidnapped him and driven him nearly an hour away just to look at some clouds while standing in a field in the middle of nowhere.

Just a guess.

“Look,” Logan says, pointing. “There’s Polaris, colloquially known as the North Star, although other stars have been known as the North Star throughout history due to the wobble in the earth’s axis of rotation. It’s part of Ursa Minor, or the Little Dipper, and of course there’s Ursa Major, or the Big Dipper, and over there is Orion…”

He’s still going, drawing various shapes in the air with his finger, but for all the world Roman can’t tear his eyes away from Logan, features cast in gentle moonlight, so excited as he spills an endless stream of knowledge, bouncing on the balls of his feet with unrestrained happiness.

He’s more captivating than any star could ever be.

Eventually he comes to a natural pause in his catalogue of constellations and Roman seizes the opportunity to coax him back to the car long enough for them to find a fleece blanket in the emergency breakdown kit Patton had gifted him last Christmas. Roman shakes it out and lays it on the ground so they don’t have to sit in the damp grass, and after assuring Logan that yes, he knew the person who owned this land and no, they wouldn’t get in trouble for being here, they settle onto the blanket.

The allure of stargazing must win out over any lingering trepidation about potentially trespassing, because Logan is already back to talking a mile a minute as he lays down, something about the lifecycle of stars, and for a moment Roman can just stare at him, utterly transfixed by the gleam of happiness in his eyes, until Logan complains he’s blocking the view and tugs his arm, telling him to lay down in a way that Roman would normally tease is bossy but right now is just hopelessly endearing.

He situates himself down on the blanket, careful to leave space between them as Logan continues to speak rapidly. Now that he’s looking up at the stars and not at Logan, he’s able to actually focus on what he’s saying, and he tries to understand it, he does, because this is clearly important to Logan and he wants him to feel listened to, but the science of all of it is going right over his head, so he settles for making the appropriate ahhs and mmm-hmms at regular intervals.

Logan pauses after some time, sitting up to dig something pokey out from underneath him.

“Roman,” he scolds lightly, and Roman starts, wracking his brain for what he could have possibly done, what breach of stargazing etiquette he has unwittingly committed. “You’re barely even on the blanket. You’re going to get wet from the dew on the grass. You should scoot over. I’m not Remus; I don’t bite.”

Roman obligingly shifts a little more onto the blanket, although it’s a bit of a moot point since dampness has already crept through the back of his jacket. There’s a moment of silence as Logan takes advantage of his upright position to stretch out his shoulders and neck, and there’s no pressure to fill the quiet, but Roman figures since Logan has shared so much of his knowledge the least Roman can do is return the favor a little.

Nervously clearing his throat, he points at one of the constellations he actually knows and begins recounting the Greek mythology associated with it. He’s sure Logan probably already knows most of it, if not all of it, but Logan just nods along enthusiastically, occasionally interjecting with an additional tidbit of information, so apparently he isn't too put out by Roman derailing his more scientific lecturing.

And then Logan lays down again and Roman stutters mid-tale, mind going absolutely blank for a moment, because Logan is pressed against him from shoulder to hip, the warmth of his body almost shocking compared to the cool night air even through several layers of clothing.

It doesn’t mean anything, Roman reminds himself as he fumbles to pick up his story again. Friends were physically close like this all the time – hell, he was physically close with his other friends like this on movie nights and whatnot all the time – and it didn’t imply any sort of more-than-platonic feelings. And even if Logan was typically more reserved, he had gotten more comfortable with physical displays of affection from everyone in their friend group in the last year or two. That’s all this was. It was a small blanket and Logan didn’t want to give up his spot so obviously when Roman moved over they were going to touch. Nothing more to it.

(Even if it really, really feels like there’s something more to it.)

He somehow manages to get through the rest of the mythology he’s narrating, even though his heart is racing so fast he’s surprised Logan can’t feel it where their arms are pressed together, the closeness of him an exquisite kind of torture, but Roman can’t even imagine shifting away.

“You talk more,” he croaks artfully when he finishes, because if he has to channel any more brain power into trying to tell a coherent story he might just implode. “I like hearing you talk about space.”

Logan is silent for a moment, clearly hesitant.

“Are you sure? I know that I often get carried away talking about such interests and that it can sometimes be boring or annoying.”

“I’m positive,” Roman assures him. “You never bore me, Lo. You could talk about whatever you want until the sun comes up and I wouldn’t care.”

“Alright,” Logan says after a long pause. “Just tell me if you change your mind.”

He starts in again, still a little timid at first, but it’s barely a minute before his enthusiasm is back in full force and he’s gesturing excitedly as he talks about some kind of new theoretical subatomic particle and its role in the universe.

It’s a long time that they just lay there, Logan talking and Roman occasionally interrupting with a comment or question while the stars slowly shift above them, but Roman doesn’t mind. He meant what he’d said; he could stay here listening to Logan discuss astronomy until dawn without a single complaint, even if it means slowly going insane trying not to overanalyze every time Logan moves and his arm presses against Roman’s a little more.

Some things were worth going crazy for, after all.

“Look!” Logan interrupts himself suddenly, pointing. “A meteor!”

It is, a brilliant white shooting star streaking across the sky, there and gone in an instant, and for the second time tonight Roman finds himself in a position to make a wish and yet he still can’t think of anything he could want that would make the night better.

“Most meteors are actually quite small, about the size of a pebble or even a grain of sand,” Logan informs him. “They are quite tiny and seemingly insignificant, and yet they leave such a remarkable impression. Isn’t that beautiful?”

“Yeah,” Roman says quietly, his eyes shifting away from the stars, and he can’t help the way he sounds almost reverent as he gazes at Logan’s profile in the moonlight. “It’s stunning.”

Logan turns his head to meet his gaze and there’s nothing but a breath between them as they stare at each other for a long moment, and then something shifts ever so slightly in Logan’s expression, eyes darkening, and his gaze shifts down to Roman’s mouth, his own lips parting slightly, and yes, this is everything Roman wants and he’s not ready and this is perfect and it’s too much and he wants it so badly and he can’t–

He turns back to look at the sky, heart racing so fast he almost feels sick.

He’s such a damn coward.

“Tell me more about the space in between the stars,” he says hoarsely, trying for some semblance of normal and failing miserably. All that acting training wasted, apparently. There’s a long pause before Logan starts in about the vastness of space, more subdued than he’s been all night, and guilt wrenches through Roman’s chest because no, Logan feeling bad or being anything less than radiantly excited about space is absolutely not permitted.

He shifts his hand, letting it brush against the back of Logan’s, and when that doesn’t elicit any negative response, he skims his thumb along the top of Logan’s, a silent apology. For a moment, there’s nothing, and Roman is about to draw away when Logan’s fingertips brush back against his, dancing against Roman’s for a moment before he turns his hand and fully laces their fingers together, giving a little squeeze.

All while never missing a beat in his explanation of dark matter. Roman feels like he’s about to have a heart attack and here Logan is delivering a full dissertation on the mysteries of the universe. It’s wildly unfair.

Eventually, after what could have been five minutes or five hours for all Roman can tell, Logan falls quiet and a comfortable silence settles between them, nothing but the hum of the night insects and the occasional hooting of an owl off in the distance.

“It’s getting late,” Logan finally says after another indeterminable amount of time. “We should head back.”

Roman murmurs an agreement and they pick themselves up off the ground, Roman trying to ignore the way the absence of Logan’s hand in his feels like a loss as he attempts to stretch some feeling back into his stiff body. Turns out laying on the ground for hours on end with only a thin blanket for cushioning was not as comfortable as it looked.

“So, this was a good surprise?” he asks, pretty sure he knows the answer but feeling the sudden urge to double-check that Logan hasn’t just gone along with it for Roman’s sake.

“Yes,” Logan replies distractedly, still craning his head back to gaze up at the sky as if he hasn’t just spent the whole night looking at it, and Roman’s heart squeezes with affection. Then he seems to actually register Roman’s question and drags his eyes away from the heavens.

“Yes. Yes! This was a good surprise,” he laughs, and before Roman can process what’s happening, he’s grabbing Roman’s hand and pulling him into a spin like Roman had done with him at the very beginning of the night.

A laugh of pure delight spills out of Roman’s mouth and he seizes Logan’s other hand, sweeping him into an impromptu dance, leading him through unchoreographed steps in the damp grass and vocalizing music in between laughs, and Logan is laughing right back, the sound bright and clear in the still night air. Roman has so rarely ever seen him like this, entirely open and carefree and happy, so blindingly happy as he spins away from Roman and then right back again, and that familiar warmth that Roman always associates with Logan has been blooming in his chest all night but now it’s spreading to his head, his stomach, his fingertips until it’s all he can feel.

They slow after a few minutes, movements getting smaller and smaller until Logan is only a breath away, one hand still held in Roman’s grip and the other resting lightly on his back as they sway gently back and forth. And then he blows out a contented sigh and closes the few inches between them, practically melting into Roman’s chest as he tucks his head onto his shoulder.

And maybe Roman shouldn’t, maybe he’s misreading the signals because he wants them to be something they’re not, maybe he should bite back his words and go on pining for Logan from afar, but there’s something about the evening that makes him feel bold and invincible, as if no bad can come to either of them while Logan is wrapped in his arms, warm and trusting and bathed in starlight.

“Logan,” he says, voice barely above a whisper in the still of the night. “You can say no, of course you can always say no, but – can I kiss you?”

Logan pulls back abruptly to stare at him, although he stops short of breaking free of Roman’s loose grip, and the surprise written across his face makes Roman’s stomach turn with butterflies and he almost backtracks right then and there, almost laughs it off as some kind of joke, but he steels himself, waiting with his breath caught in his throat for Logan’s reply because if he doesn’t hear the answer then he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering what it might have been.

Then Logan’s lips twitch up into a tiny smirk and jesus fucking christ, Roman can’t even breathe–

“I don’t know, Roman, can you?”

All of Roman’s breath huffs out in an incredulous laugh at the breathtaking, maddening, perfect man in front of him.

“You–”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as Logan tips forward and presses his mouth to his.

Logan’s lips are cold and chapped and his glasses dig slightly into Roman’s face and the angle isn’t the greatest and it is by far, without a doubt, the singular best thing that has ever happened to Roman.

It’s nothing more than a press of their lips, really, and Roman has kissed others far less chastely than this, but none of them has ever made him feel this way, like all his thoughts have gone silent and all the breath has been stolen right out of his lungs and all the world has disappeared except for him and Logan and the stars above them.

They break apart after a moment and Roman can’t help but laugh as something occurs to him, tightening his grip slightly on Logan as he pulls back, hurt clear on his face.

“No, not you, Lo, that was amazing and wonderful and I would very much like to do it again,” he rushes to reassure him, and his face relaxes. “But I just realized that we have a whole observatory on campus and you’re an astrophysics major and you’ve seen the stars with a very expensive telescope, like, a billion times before, and I thought it was a great idea to take you to a field in the middle of nowhere to go stargazing.”

“Well,” Logan says quietly, smiling softly as he rests their foreheads together and gently squeezes Roman’s hand. “I would much rather watch the stars with you.”

And really, when he says things like that, what can Roman do but kiss him again?

-

Logan dozes off on the car ride back to campus, head leaned against the window and fingers loose where they’re laced with Roman’s on the center console, and given how late – or early? – it is, Roman doesn’t blame him.

Roman, on the other hand, has never felt more awake.

He’d kissed Logan. He’d kissed Logan. Or, actually, Logan had kissed him first, but still. He’d kissed Logan.

He can’t stop grinning the whole drive, and he’s glad that there’s hardly any other cars out because his mind is more than a bit preoccupied with reliving the memory of Logan’s lips on his and not focused on trivial little things like speed limits and stop signs.

But they make it back to Logan’s apartment building without any accidents, so Roman can’t feel too bad about not being the best driver in the world. He gently shakes Logan awake, which merits him an adorable look of sleepy confusion before Logan remembers where he is, and Roman walks him up to the door of the complex.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he says, which is the understatement of the century, but he doesn’t know quite what else to say, considering he never thought this was how the evening would end or that he’d even ever get this far with Logan. He’s half-convinced he’ll wake up at any moment and discover this has all been a dream.

Logan nods through a yawn, expression open and unguarded as he blinks sleepily.

“I also had a very enjoyable time.”

“Well, I’ll let you get some sleep,” Roman says a bit awkwardly. “I’ll text you tomorrow?” he asks, and Logan nods again. “Okay. Sweet dreams, Logan.”

He steps back to leave, but Logan’s hand catches his and he stills, casting him a questioning look. Logan plays with his fingers, not quite meeting his gaze.

“I believe a goodnight kiss is a traditional way to end such an evening?”

His voice trails up into an uncharacteristically unsure question and Roman can’t help the smile that spreads across his face even though Remus would call it disgustingly besotted and sappy.

“Alright, since you ask so nicely.”

Logan starts to backpedal, eyes widening, and Roman shushes him quietly.

“I’m just teasing, Lo,” he whispers. He raises one hand slowly, giving Logan plenty of time to pull away if he wants to, and gently cups his cheek, brushing his thumb featherlight across Logan’s cheekbone. Logan presses into the touch as his eyes flutter closed, chin tipping up expectantly, and Roman kisses him, soft and sweet and slow as if they have all the time in the world.

Tomorrow, he knows, they’ll have to talk about this new chapter of their relationship, work out what it means and how they’re going to define it and who, if anyone, they’re going to tell and a thousand other details.

But for now, as he kisses Logan, the stars above still continuing their slow wheel in the sky even underneath the light from the city, he doesn’t have words. All he has is the warm, sure feeling that this night is nothing if not a promise of good things to come.

[ssahotchhner]

angel of spite

hi, i wrote a quick little something about the reader intentionally making hotch jealous as revenge. i hope you like it (: i'll be working on a few requests in my inbox next. i also finally made a masterlist which i'll link below!

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

You supposed you should have known better than to spite Aaron for staying at the office too late, again. You had simply texted him that since he was going to be working late to not expect you to be there when he got home. Maybe that had been unfair to him, and you were normally so patient with his work schedule, but the last three nights in a row he had promised to be home for date night and continually cancelled last minute. Tonight, you had gotten angry when he texted you yet again, apologizing and saying he would be back late.

He tried calling you over an hour after you had sent the text message, having just then seen it in the throws of a difficult case, but you didn’t pick up. He tries to push down the flare of annoyance he feels, after all, this was the third time he had flaked on you. But still, you were acting like a child. He also knew part of the reason you were doing this was because you knew it would piss him off.

All he wanted at the end of a hard day was to see you waiting in bed for him with open arms. He put on a big show of being the dominant one in the relationship, but both of you knew Aaron became putty in your hands when you gently scratched at his scalp and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. You purposely took that away from him, knowing it was one of the only things that could get him through a tough work day. The more he sat at his desk trying to work, constantly checking his phone to see if you’d called or texted again (you hadn’t) the more angry he became. In fact, he stormed out of the BAU without saying goodbye to anyone without finishing his report.

He called you over and over again until you started sending him straight to voicemail. And so by the time he’s able to make an educated guess about what bar you’re in, his rage ripples off him in waves. He flashes his FBI badge to the bouncer to get inside without waiting in line, something he’s definitely not supposed to do, and heads up the elevator to the rooftop. Once up there, he heads straight to the bar. He scans the room quickly, but you’re nowhere to be found. Until, across the room, sparkling golden crescent moons dangled from someone’s ear. Aaron knew those earrings, he had bought them for you for your birthday this year. And standing in front of you is a broad, tall man. Not as tall as Aaron, but he was built a bit wider than Aaron, as if to make up for it. You sit on the arm of the couch, you look relaxed, your legs open just enough to get the man that was in front you salivating.

When your eyes settled on him, you couldn’t help the cocky smile that lit up your mouth. Unbridled fury filled his face when he saw the lawyer in front of you that was clearly wondering what you’d let him do to you in bed. You sigh as Aaron begins walking over you and turn to look at the lawyer, “I’m really sorry about this.” You say, cutting off whatever he was saying.

He frowns at you, “What?”

But Aaron was here now, “Hi baby,” You say sweetly, “I didn’t think you were going to make it tonight.”

He gives you a withering look as if to say I’ll deal with you later, before turning to the lawyer. “This is Ronnie, he’s a lawyer.”

Ronnie stared from Aaron, who was still silent, to you and back again. “And… who is this?” He refers to Aaron.

You open your mouth, but Aaron speaks first, “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU. I’m also her boyfriend.” He gives the lawyer a look that anyone in opposition to the unit chief had experienced many times over the course of his career.

I’m sorry, you were mouthing to Ronnie from behind Aaron’s shoulder. “She didn’t mention a boyfriend.” Ronnie says.

You sigh, leave it to you to pick the one guy in this room that would decide to challenge Aaron Hotchner rather than just apologizing and walking away, “Oh, you idiot.” You murmur.

Aaron tilts his head to the side in an almost predatory way, “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”

“I’m suggesting that the lady obviously doesn’t want you since she didn’t mention you, Mister FBI.”

“Oh, God help us.” You shake your head and say into your lap and the next time you look up Aaron’s fist has connected with the man’s face and whiskey had splashed on the floor and your ankles. At that your eyes widen, “Aaron, what the fuck?” Aaron had given many men that flirted with you a firm talking to, sometimes escalated to yelling, but never in the entire time that you’d known him had Aaron physically hurt anyone who had advanced on you.

Aaron puts a firm hand on your wrist as a commotion begins to gather around the two of you and pulls you away. He doesn’t speak as he practically drags you out to the back door, down several flights of stairs and out another door behind the building. Once the cold night air hits you, you pull your wrist away from him, “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Did you want him to fuck you?” He practically growls.

“No,” You say, exasperated, “Aaron, we play this game all the time, you’ve never hit someone.”

“You’ve never deliberately gone out of your way to flirt with someone else.”

It was true, you supposed. You always let the men come up to you if they were interested, but you never were the one to initiate. Why would you when no one would compare to Aaron anyway? Today you had come here with specific intentions to speak with someone that would piss off Aaron. “You’re right,” You admit softly, “I’m sorry, I just… I wanted you to feel what I’ve been feeling.”

“Do you think I enjoy coming home late and not spending time with you?”

“Yes, I do! You love your job!”

“So you behave like a child because you’re jealous of my job?”

When he says it out loud like that, it sounds ridiculous and your eyes water, “Yes.” You say quietly, “Because I need to make sure you still want me just as much as your job.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Honey, of course I do, but I can’t control when I have more paperwork or a heavier caseload than usual.”

You feel deflated and stupid all of a sudden with the condescension that’s written so clearly on Aaron’s face. “Whatever, let’s just go home.”

“Sweetheart—“

“I don’t want to talk about it. Did you drive the SUV here?”

He looks at you hopelessly and then sighs, “Yes.”

You let him walk a couple of steps ahead of you the whole way, not wanting to let him hold your hand if you were close enough. He did open the car door for you, but you didn’t look at him as you climbed in.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t consider your feelings more this week when I cancelled our dates.” Aaron says. You remain quiet. “I’m nearly certain I’ll be off work this weekend. I’ll make it up to you then.”

You can’t help the roll of your eyes, “You have to stop making me promises that you can’t keep. We all know you’ll probably get a case in the middle of the weekend.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Aaron, I’m not even mad about you not being here all the time. I accepted that when we first started dating. I just hate when you promise you’ll do something and then you don’t do it. We planned this dinner weeks and weeks ago and you swore to me you’d get it off. And then we had to reschedule the reservation three nights in a row and you still didn’t show. Then you do show up, but only for the chance to be mad at me and condescend me which just tells me that you could have left work tonight if you wanted to. That’s why I’m mad.”

He supposed you were right. He had ended up leaving work early because he was upset with you. He knew that hadn’t been your intention, you had expected him to quietly stew in his anger until the next morning or until you had come home that night. But he had done it all the same, unable to bear even the idea of you flirting with another man in his absence. He figured it had to do with previously being cheated on because of his job, but he knew you would never do that. Knew that your relationship wasn’t fundamentally broken in that way, could tell by the way adoration still glowed in your eyes when he came home every night. But if he wasn’t careful, he wondered if you ever would. Just the thought had his knuckles whitening as he clenched the steering wheel. It was this thought that had made him punch that lawyer back at the bar.

When you arrive home, you get out of the car without waiting for Aaron, unlocking the door before he’s even out of the car and heading inside, heels in hand. Jack was sleeping at a friend’s house tonight as it was supposed to be date night. You don’t slam the bedroom door, but you close it as Aaron is walking down the hallway which in his mind is the same thing. He stops in the middle of the hallway, wondering if he should go in anyway. A minute later, he hears the intro to The Phantom of the Opera blaring from your bedroom.

He sighs, “Fuck.” He murmurs to himself and turns away from the room. Your mutual love of the theater had been something the two of you had bonded over early in the relationship. Aaron had learned quickly there was a specific stage performance of Phantom of the Opera that you turned to for comfort. If he ever came home to it playing, he knew you had had a bad day. Rarely, though, had you put it on after a fight with him.

He heads to the kitchen and turns on the electric kettle figuring he’d better come into the bedroom with your favorite tea if he was going to brave it at all. He sits down as he waits, resting his head in his hands. The two of you rarely ever fight and so Aaron is still trying to figure out how to do that with you in a productive way.

The kettle switches off and he pours the boiling water into your favorite mug, dunking your favorite tea bag before leaving it to steep. He takes a deep breath before picking up the mug and walking to the bedroom. When he enters, you don’t look at him until he stops by your nightstand, noticing he brought you tea. The gesture is sweet and so you sigh and pause the show.

“Hi.” You say softly to your boyfriend who’s still standing next to you.

“Hi.” He says gently, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You say, and he knows it’s a test.

“For making promises I know I can’t keep. For leaving work early after I told you I wouldn’t be able to solely to punch whatever man wanted to sleep with you. For patronizing you.”

You cover your hand with his, “And I’m sorry for flirting to intentionally make you upset. You know I’d never actually do that, right?”

Aaron looks down at your hands, “I saw the way you had spread your legs for him, just a little bit, and I…” He sighs, “I never told you this, but my last wife cheated on me because I wasn’t around enough and seeing you like that, I guess I just…” He trailed off shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“Baby,” You say softly, eyes wide, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea… I never would’ve done that if I had known.”

“I know.” He gives you a small smile.

“Why don’t you come lay down and tell me about your day?”

His smile grows and he crawls into bed, laying his head in your lap and your fingers begin combing through his hair as he talks about the case.

[keltonwrites]

Where no one knows your name

How many times is a person meant to make new friends? When I moved into an apartment in DC with an absolutely iconic girl from Craigslist, I wrote in my journal, “you never know when you’ll meet your next bridesmaid.” Charmingly juvenile, as I was 24 years old. Ironic, as I never had any bridesmaids. And embarrassing, knowing I wrote something that’s surely been embroidered on a bachelorette party t-shirt by now. My point was: you can meet people you fall in love with anywhere, anytime, assuming your heart (and calendar) are open. Now my heart and calendar are open and I am one of Elizabeth Bennet’s sad sisters, cloying and desperate for attention while everyone at the ball ignores me. Meeting people here is unnerving and hapless and eye-clawingly vulnerable. My first new friend told me she was moving away in a few months. Do you invest deeply in hopes of another faraway friendship? Do you just go back to waving as you pass on the street? I like this girl! What an embarrassing thing to have to say to someone! Do you just invite people to every and anything like a lunatic? I can’t even remember to call the people I am forever-and-ever in cahoots with. I’m also deeply bound by what I’ll call the Movie Trap: say it’s 3pm during not-a-pandemic, and you get the urge to see a movie. You look at the showings, and there’s one you really want to see at 7:15. You think to yourself, “I should make an effort,” and you text a friend. “Hey, you wanna go see This Cool Movie at 7:15 tonight?” No one ever says yes. Don’t give me an example of when someone has, because it’s always one of these answers:

“Oooh, I’m actually seeing it with Kate tomorrow - wanna come?”

“Can we go to the 9pm showing? Stuck at work.”

“Yeah but let’s see Movie You’ll Fucking Hate instead.”

Now maybe I’m just lighting flares guiding you to the worst parts of my personality, but this drives me nuts. No, Liz, I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go tonight. At 7:15. So I can be in bed by 10. And you’d have to drag my dead body and prop open my eyes to get me to see something like Marriage Story in theaters. The Movie Trap is a big reason I usually hang out by myself, or I make plans weeks in advance. (Don't I sound like a blast.) Just the idea of being like, “I like you! Wanna hang out in October?” makes me want to collapse into a puddle of sad adulthood. Which is why on Friday at 4:30pm, when a girl I’d met a week prior asked if I wanted to grab a drink, I just said yes. I put on a pretty dress, did my makeup, put stuff in a purse, and drove the 25 minutes to town. It was really fun! And how novel to have new contacts in my phone like “Maggie blue house” and “Jess concert friend” — a throwback to the days of “Greg guy on L train” and “Devon ad party.” The very concept of not knowing someone’s last name or even needing it, and a year from now updating their contact info and smiling at your origin story. But for the most part, no one is in our phones. In terms of phone numbers collected, here is the list:

Two friends we knew prior who thank god you guys exist.

New friend who is moving away.

New friend who is game to drink tequila and ride mountain bikes.

Neighbor-not-yet-friend who I really fucking like and am not sure how to cross hang-out threshold with.

​Not to say there aren’t any other prospects or people I’m platonically gaga over, but I don’t have their phone numbers. There are honestly a lot of people like this because when you live in a small town (and you’re from the Midwest) you say “oop, sorry” to every person/object you bump into, and you say “hi :)” to every person you see. These are the rules. If I drive by you and don’t wave, it’s because I was so deep in a daydream I probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. This isn’t acceptable, because in our urgency to tattoo our vaccination status on our foreheads so we can make friends, it turns out just driving by someone can be a viable strategy. A few days ago, a man was driving by our kitchen window and then our driveway, and then he reversed back up to the kitchen window and started waving. Ben went outside — it was that kind of wave. The man had seen from his car a smokejumper emblem on the back of a truck in our driveway. “Hey, are you a smokejumper?” We aren’t. But my dad was, and he was in town visiting, accompanied by the emblem on the back of his truck. The guy said we should drink sometime. Numbers were not exchanged. We’ll call that a node, because it’s not quite a connection. And it’s mainly nodes, waiting to be connected, to have relevance. But first, no matter who you’re trying to befriend, you have to answer everyone else’s Do I Care Quiz. The quiz is employed by 93% of locals to determine how they feel about you existing within their personal 50-mile radius. The first question is non negotiable:

1) Are you visiting?

Variations on this question include “how long are you in town?” or “what brings y’all to town?” or my least favorite and most insulting, “did you just finish Jeeping?” I know I have blonde hair and say y’all, but how dare you. (Also, to be clear, you can own a Jeep, customize your Jeep, mod out your Jeep, and love your Jeep, but you’re not Jeeping until you drive too fast through a tiny town so you can hurl your Jeep over a mountain pass without ever getting out of it.) So the answer to “are you visiting” is “no, I live here.” Which brings us to the next question, my favorite for how loaded the gun, kneeling in the grass, scope on, target locked it is.

2) Are you part-time or full-time?

The first time I answered this question, I didn’t realize it was essentially like asking how someone voted in the 2020 election. The judgment was cocked and ready and the palpable relief/joy/or at the very least, tolerance, exuded by answering “full-time” was like when the sun comes out from behind the clouds on a 40 degree day. I was fine, but wow that does feel better. The third question though does not have a standard hoped-for answer. This is where nodes turn to connections turn to phone numbers.

3) What brings you here?

It seems like the best possible answer would be saying you work in town, and you’re going to begin construction on displaced-worker housing to ensure the people who run this town can actually live in it. We’d have everyone’s phone number. Saying you’re a writer who works remotely and bought a house from a legendary and beloved local who could no longer afford it is really something you keep to yourself. But in the interest of making friends, I just word vomit my entire history. We might as well find out at the onset if I make your eyes roll back into your skull. Not at all threatening that all it takes is a single social signal misinterpreted to be the absolute death knell of my ability to make friends in a town of some 1400 adults. In fact, I’ll share one such interaction. I was hiking with Cooper, about 5 miles by foot away from my house. I was on a trail, crossing a sloped meadow, and a group was traversing up the hillside to the trail. I said hi, where y’all coming from. One girl answered and we talked about the trail. She eyed me up and down. “Did you just move here?” “I did!” “I served your family last week,” she said. “Oh,” that phrasing. “Must have been my in-laws.” “Heard you bought Jack’s house. Such a bummer when locals like that are forced out.” “We didn’t even know about his house,” I said. “We were looking at another house and he asked his realtor if he could get us to come see his house. We just loved it, and him!” She had no emotional reaction to this. “You moved from California?” she asked. (Dangerous question.) “Yeah, got these sea level lungs, haha,” attempting to disarm with humor was a failure, “but couldn’t be happier to be out of California.” “It’s not like this all year. Winter’s really hard here, you’re in for a rude awakening.” “Well California’s the last place I lived, but I’m not from there. I’ve lived in brutal winters. At least Colorado gets sun!” I laugh with cloaked loathing. “It’s different when you live at altitude,” she said, like no human aside from her had ever been literally anywhere. “Are you trying to go around?” She indicated the path behind her. “No, y’all go ahead, just gonna wait to give you your space. I’m sure you’re faster than me.” “K, good luck making it to the lake." Maybe she was thirsty. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she just has vicious delivery, but it felt like every blade of grass was leaning against the wind to listen. She was with four other people and not one of them said a word. I left that interaction not wanting to see another human ever again. But that interaction, and her intimate knowledge of exactly which house I lived in, made me want to decorate like we lived in a gingerbread house, all candy canes and plum drops, screaming to any passerby that we’re friendly. One of the mayor’s first questions to me was “what are you going to do to the house?” There are rules here about what your house can look like, and I kept emphasizing we bought the house because we loved it, not because we wanted to change everything about it. And now, instead of wanting to decorate the interior, I want to put up shades so we don’t contribute to light pollution, I want to hang a sign by the water spigot saying “grab some if you need” for hikers and mountain bikers, I want to paint a sign for the wild mint by our door that says, “I mint to tell you to take some,” because our neighbors were openly panicked they wouldn’t be able to just grab mint from the cabin’s garden anymore. Without question, COVID makes things harder. Dinner parties feel like dares. Dropping cookies off at someone’s house feels invasive. Grabbing a drink feels like the ultimate sign of trust. But at least we have nodes who can connect who can think to invite us and who can see that despite having lived in California, we’re not all that bad. In the meantime, I’ll be painting signs about water and mint, hoping to garner the benefit of the doubt from the so beautifully, earnestly, and waiting-to-see-if-you’re-worth-it doubtful.

Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites — high altitude relocation and renovation in a tiny mountain town.

[beatricethecat2]

"Chill for a minute! You're making me nervous," Myka says.

"I'll not miss the performance because of a third-rate watchman," Helena huffs.

"Abigail said she'd sort this out."

"Abigail got us into this."

"She didn't slug him."

"He tackled me."

"You grabbed the book and ran."

"And I'd have succeeded were it not for that wandering child," Helena gruffs. "Who brings a child to theater?"

"You wouldn't have brought Christina?"

"Were she old enough and properly dressed, yes. That child was in dungarees."

"They probably came to see the exhibition not the matinee—"

"We're not dressed properly either," Helena grumbles, swiping dirt off a pant leg.

"Theater's not as formal as it used to be. And you did put your hair up," Myka says, flashing a feeble smile.

"And now it's mussed. It wasn't much to look at to begin with." Helena fusses with her bun.

"Hey, I think you look really nice," Myka says, reaching over, stilling Helena's hands.

"This is hardly theater attire."

"It's the Oregon Shakespeare Festival not the Met Opera."

"Attending the theater used to mean something." Helena's hands drop to her lap.

"It still does, but not corsets and gowns." Myka raises a brow. "Would you have worn a dress if this was a real date?"

"I very well may have. I'd certainly have made more of an effort."

"A nineteenth or twenty-first century effort?

"May I not embody both?"

"Yeah, but I'm just noticing you sort of default to the nineteenth when you're around me."

"And you disapprove."

"No. It think it's kind of sweet. I like that you don't have to hide who you are with me." Myka bumps her shoulder into Helena's.

"And to think, I once yearned to live in a future such as this. I'd no clue how exhausting it'd be being out of time."

"It'll get easier," Myka says, meeting Helena's unsure gaze. She leans towards Helena and Helena follows suit, their lips nearly touching when a door slamming in the distance halts the action.

"So, um...when's the last time you saw Shakespeare?" Myka asks, recomposing herself.

Helena thinks back. "Hamlet, in Stratford; Sarah Bernhardt as lead. We'd travelled specifically to see her, as it was unusual for a woman to play a male's part. She was her bombastic self, but watching Shakespeare translated into French was odd. I may have opinions about the American accent as well."

"Oh you will."

"Flipping through those gravures on display really took me back. Then the cabinet cards...are you familiar with those actors?"

"No."

"Such a shame," Helena says, pushing up from her slouch to sit upright.  "Ellen Terry, she who worked so very hard to elevate the acting profession for women and men; Lillie Langtree, the beauty who pulled her reputation up from the mud through her craft; Violet Vanbrugh, locked in competition with her sister for the spotlight...celebrities, one and all, yet seeing them now, they feel like lost friends." 

Helena sighs deeply and looks away. "When I snatched the book, my mind was no longer present. Hence the guard getting a jump on me."

"It's going to work out," Myka says, flashing a comforting smile.

"How exactly is Abigail remedying this? I heard little of your hushed conversation earlier," Helena says, narrowing her eyes at Myka.

"She's convincing them to put it back so we can swap it with a copy she's sending."

"Could she not have done so previously?"

"With Artie out of town, she's scrambling to keep up."

"How exactly is she convincing them?"

"She's, um..." Myka looks down at her lap and adjusts her wrist watch. "Do you actually need to know?"

"I do now," Helena says, swerving in her seat to face Myka.

"She's posing as your therapist."

"And I'm a babbling idiot."

"No...our pitch is you're obsessed with Victoriana."

"Convenient," Helena grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you want to see the play or not?"

"What do you think?"

"I think we wouldn't be here at all if Abigail hadn't asked us to snag volume nine of 'The Illustrated Library of Shakespeare.' And I think she'll fix this for now so we can see a play like two normal people who see plays. We'll worry about the book tomorrow."

Helena's scowl stays firmly in place.

"I'll make it up to you tonight at the hotel," Myka says, eyes pleading.

"Placating me for performing the Warehouse's bidding is not in the least desirable—"

"Ooh, look, he's coming out," Myka says, patting Helena's leg as she rises to talk to the head of security. "Stay here."

Helena stays put but her scowl grows all consuming.

-END SCENE-

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

Bering and Wells: Field Trip ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 7 Title: Oregon: To one thing constant never

Summary: With Warehouse staff stretched thin, Myka and Helena are asked to dash from Myka's parents to The Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The pickup hits a snag when Helena, lost in memories, bungles the retrieval. Emotions run high when Helena reveals an unshakable impulse that threatens their newfound bliss.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6

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

BONUS SCENE

The next day, in the parking in the lot of the festival, freshly off the phone from the Warehouse, Myka turns to Helena.

"Artie's booking us a flight. He wants us to bring the book in person—"

"We are not altering our plans again," Helena sneers. "He can pick it up from us."

"I think he needs it sooner," Myka mumbles. "It'll be quick, just a day or two. Maybe we can push our bookings up?"

"As if that's worked in the past."

"True," Myka says, shoulders slumping as she sighs defeatedly. "Then we'll skip Mendocino and head straight to San Francisco from there. I'll grab some of my stuff since we might stay in the city longer." She turns the key, revving the car to life.

"I'll drive to Mendocino and meet you in San Francisco. You go on to the Warehouse."

"But Artie said you can come," Myka explains, looking over her shoulder, backing out of their parking spot. She puts the car in drive and moves towards the exit.

"There's no reason for me to do so."

"But you haven't met Abigail. Or Steve, really. Plus Claudia's dying to see you—"

"Myka, I can't."

Myka steps on the brake and turns to face Helena. "Is this a Regent thing? Because Artie wouldn't have said you could come if you couldn't."

"It's not a Regent thing."

"Then what?" Myka huffs.

"We've not time to discuss this now."

"Then tell me the abbreviated version."

A honk from behind jolts them both.

"Alright, alright!" Myka grumbles, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

"You go on. I'll follow our plan," Helena says. "I wish to feel the land shifting underfoot, as if Elizabeth, Christina, and I had made our way through California in my own day."

"Wouldn't that have been on a train? Or a carriage maybe?" Myka asks.

"Is a car not the modern equivalent?"

"I guess," Myka says, her face the picture of concern. "You know, most of San Francisco was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. There's not much left from back then."

"No matter. It's the spirit in which it's encountered."

"Then I want to 'encounter' it with you."

"Then have them pick the book up from us. You're not obligated to obey their every beck and call."

"I guess not," Myka says, frowning as she stops at a red light.

"Their prerogative led us to rush here, waylaying our plans," Helena presses.

"And the plays."

"Which we may have seen, in our own time, had we not been browbeaten into a retrieval—"

"We weren't browbeaten, we were helping Abigail—"

"The light's green."

"I see that," Myka grumps, the car jerking forward as she presses on the gas too hard. "So that's why you won't come with me? You're mad we came here in the first place?"

"It more than that. My relationship with the Warehouse must remain distant. Better if I retain none at all."

"How exactly is that going to work? Because I live there."

"I'd rather not discuss this while you're driving."

"Then I'll stop." Myka flips her turn signal and veers left at an intersection. She swings into a parking lot turns off the engine. "You said I'm your One. That we're partners."

"You are both of those things to me."

"But you can't come to the Warehouse, maybe ever? Explain." Myka shifts in her seat to face Helena as fully as possible.

"I've come to understand distance may be the only remedy for certain...triggers."

"What triggers?"

"Where to start?"

"Anywhere, really," Myka gruffs, holding onto Helena's petulant gaze.

"A hundred years in bronze weighs heavy on one's soul."

"You were fine there before."

"Was I?"

"You said it was your tether!"

"I'd have said anything to—"

"Gain access, dupe everyone, and destroy the world. I know." Myka scowls. "But you wouldn't do that again."

"That's no longer my vice," Helena says.

"Then what is?"

Helena looks off into the distance. "A secondary plan, utilizing artifacts catalogued since my bronzing."

"W-What kind of plan?" Myka says, her back straightening.

"One in which Christina would be returned to me."

"Wait, you tried again when you were there?"

"How could I not?" Helena laments. "I've hatched countless schemes since."

"But you said you'd made peace with not having kids."

"Moving forward. But I may never find true peace with Christina's passing. Apparently, it's not uncommon."

"How do you know?"

"At the precinct, after particularly gruesome cases, they conducted psychological evaluations. I'd breezed through most, but one in particular, concerning the death of a little girl, was difficult to shake."

"Oh, Helena." Myka scoots forward and takes hold of Helena's hand. "What happened?"

"I recounted my story, albeit heavily modified, and learned about triggers. Avoiding them entirely was an acceptable solution, so the Warehouse...but you? You were a conundrum."

"I was a trigger, too." Myka slips her hand from Helena's but Helena grabs it back.

"You remained a symbol of hope, of all that was good in this world. I ached to be near you but feared disappointing you again. When you turned up in Montreal, I was drumming up the courage to approach you."

"But you weren't there yet."

"I wasn't," Helena says, squeezing Myka's hand. "Asking you to separate yourself from your home, from your calling, was difficult to justify. But after hearing of your illness, nothing else mattered but being by your side."

Helena cups Myka's jaw and strokes her cheek with a thumb. "But I must protect myself, and you, from those demons."

Helena shifts closer and guides their lips together. Their kiss lingers until Myka's phone rings.

"Artie," Myka says, answering in an instant. "We can't come. We'll keep the the book safe until someone can pick it up—"

Myka moves the phone away from her ear at Arties loud volume.

"Ok, ok! But H.G.'s not coming. Put me on a flight."

Myka places her hand over the microphone and glances at Helena. "He said Mrs. Frederic's there and 'needs it yesterday'—"

She's interrupted by Artie chiming in.

"I'm not taking a flight with two connections because it leaves tonight! Put me on a red eye."

Grumbling emanates from the other side of the phone.

"Five-thirty's fine. Send me the details."

More grumbling, then silence. Myka hangs up the phone.

"Artie seems his usual congenial self—"

"I'm really proud of you," Myka blurts, turning to face Helena again.

"Whatever for?" Helena asks, head tilting, brow furrowing.

"For fighting your demons on your own. Though I wish we'd been doing it together."

"From now on, we shall," Helena says, meeting Myka halfway as she leans in for another kiss.

Hands reach across the console, twining in hair, groping at necks, arms, shoulders, as if the space between them is too great.

Minutes later, a tap on the window jerks them apart.

"Ma'ams, bank won't open again until 9AM," a man says as Helena rolls down the window. "I'm going to have to ask to come back tomorrow."

"Bank?" Myka croaks, scanning the parking lot, eyes locking on a glowing sign at its entrance. "Oh, bank."

"Terribly sorry officer. We pulled over to take a call before becoming...distracted," Helena explains.

"Just a security guard, ma'am. But I'd appreciate it if you move on. I didn't want to disturb you but my manager's going to wonder why you were here so long."

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. We'd have been stealthier were anything afoot," Helena says with a wink.

"Helena!"

"Just reassuring the boy."

"We didn't mean to....we were just..." Myka stumbles over a more direct explanation.

"We've been granted one more night together before our separation."

"But we do have a hotel room."

"And mere hours before I'm to deliver you to the airport."

"True." Myka's lips push together, her face contorting into one of a new understanding. "Not enough hours. We should go."

"Thank you again for accommodating us," Helena says to the security guard.

"Um, sure?" he says as Helena rolls up the window.

"We'll make this work," Myka says, slipping a hand over Helena's thigh as she drives away. "I know we can."

"I adore your enthusiasm," Helena says, covering Myka's hand with her own, threading their fingers together.

-END-

-TBC-

NOTES: A quick reminder - this Christina is the daughter of Helena's original "One" back in the 1800's - Elizabeth. I think that story is in the second installment of this series. Also note this text probably pretty rough as I'm out of town and have sporadic internet (remember DSL?) and so haven't been able to use my usual text checkers (let me know if anything's super bad!) I'm putting it up now so I won't fuss over it as I'd like to not fuss over *anything* this week. Also, the first manip is one of my favorites - there's only one I can think of that tops it, but it's not public yet (I think you'll know when you see it.) Anyway, here are some of the people HG mentioned. And here are some of the amazing panoramas of the SF earthquake. Also Sarah Bernhardt - look her up, she was *quite* the character.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Post-Moments

a ‘momentary’ follow-up ... of sorts ...

Our Moments: Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max) Chapter 5: Shadowed Grey Eyes Chapter 6: The Warmest Thing I Own Chapter 7: Fancy Paper Napkins Chapter 8: End of the Road (post-Redux/Redux 2) Chapter 9: Post-Moments

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

First thing back was her sense of smell. It took nearly a week but suddenly, as she walked, unannounced but never unwelcome into his apartment, she stopped, the look of surprise on her face made him immediately laugh, then tilt his head, “you shouldn’t be that surprised to see me here. It’s my apartment.”

Ignoring his statement, she quick-stepped his way, burying her face first in his shirt, then, pulling him to her level, into his neck, sniffing like a bloodhound on the trail of some erstwhile criminal with a bag of treats. So taken aback by the invasion, he simply stood there, letting her take several deep inhales before finally reaching for her shoulders, “you keep breathing like that and you’ll pass out.”

Twisting her head, she gave him a quick kiss, then dropped back flat-footed, forcing him to once again look down at her while she looked up, “I haven’t been able to smell you since day 12 of ‘IT’ so I’m making up for lost time.”

She’d told him, finally, after he’d repeatedly offered her tempting foods to try to coax some weight back on her bony frame, that she hadn’t been able to smell anything, and therefore, taste anything, for awhile but she’d never stated the exact day until now and standing there, already changed into jeans and a t-shirt, an epiphany of sorts smacked him hard upside the head, “what? Day 12?” Ignorant idiocy settling in, “Shit. You sat through a steak, my famous garlic mushrooms, six tubs of ice cream, and all those M&Ms I kept feeding you and you couldn’t taste a thing? The amount of money I could have saved during those months I tempted you with anything I could find while, really, it all tasted like sawdust.” Feigning irritation but failing miserably as he scooted closer, kissing her forehead, “what a crock of shit.”

“I got …” being generous for his sake, “hints of flavor.”

“Fuck, woman, we’re having a steak and ice cream orgy tonight. I’m going shopping.”

She stopped his movements with hands on arms, “hey, let me go taste something and see if that came back as well before you waste all your money on cow foods.”

Following her to his kitchen, “both things really do involve cows. That’s rather unnerving, actually.”

With a grin, she found a cookie, then, tasting it, she shook her head, “I’d save the cow for another day.”

Mulder, wondering if his earlier suggestion of Mexican for dinner was still appropriate, he decided ‘no’, then, “well, how about we taking a smelling tour of DC and eat toast for dinner?”

He got a well-deserved backhand to his chest, “we are eating at Papadapoulous’ House of Salsa tonight because you’ve been talking about that place ad nauseum all week. Get your coat.” When he didn’t move, she nodded, giving him a smile, “we can do the smelling tour after, okay?”

“Deal.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Taste came back ten days later. Just as Mulder came out of her bathroom, about to announce that no one should go in there for 35 to 45 minutes, Scully took a sip of his ice tea and spit it right back out, soaking her shirt and the floor in front of her. Mulder forgot his comment and flew over to her, socks sliding on the polished wood floor, “what happened?”

Feeling like a complete and utter moron, she first retrieved a towel to mop both herself and the floor, then looked at her partner, “I stole some of your ice tea and I could taste it and it scared me, if you can believe it. I wasn’t expecting anything and suddenly there was something and my first reaction,” beginning to laugh at the whole situation, “I spit it out. I didn’t even think to swallow it.”

Mulder shook his head, “are you sure we’re still talking about ice tea and not dirty things?”

He could almost hear her brain suddenly shift gears, brakes squeaking, mind two steps behind, “what?”

It was his turn to laugh, pulling her into a hug, soaking wet shirt and all, “I’ll give you two minutes to think about it, then I’ll explain if necessary.”

It took almost four seconds before, “I’ve never been a spitter, Mulder.”

That worked entirely too well for him and dismissing all but his hairy-moled, make-up caked fourth-grade teacher from his mind, he held her another minute then moved back, calmed down again, “you should go change your shirt.”

“No wet t-shirt comments?” Her sassy retort told him both that she knew what her swallowing comment had done to him and what the wet t-shirt mention would. She was evil. She knew it. He knew it. He loved it.

“Just go change. Tonight, we shop for steak.”

Loving him to pieces, she reached for his elbow, playing with the sharp bent end, “so, I know we just had Mexican a few days back but now that I can taste things, I desperately want salsa and a Margarita.”

“Large?”

“The biggest one they fucking sell, pardon my French.”

Their kiss was much longer this time, Scully’s fingers firmly twirled in his shirt by the time they were done, Mulder’s hands curled around her ass, “then can I make you mushrooms this weekend?”

“Pounds of them. Extra garlic and butter,” suddenly swallowing, “yeah, we need to go eat.”

“Lead the way.”

&&&&&&&&&&

His arrival at her house that Friday night with grocery bags was, oddly, the first time her body reacted to him. They’d been making out, to use the juvenile-y appropriate term, but nothing more, Scully still recovering, Mulder still nervous about 12000 things between and surrounding them both.

But seeing him standing there, in her door, goofy smile and slipping bottle of wine in hand, she felt something. It was a fast twinge but it was familiar but surprising and her widening eyes told him something but he wasn’t sure what and he didn’t ask.

Had he asked, he may have gotten an answer that would have necessitated bringing fourth-grade teacher back … but instead, he walked in, setting bags on counter before turning, “hungry?”

For the first time in months, she appreciated the underlying double-meaning he hadn’t intended, “yes. Very much so. How long do the mushrooms take to cook?”

“At least a few hours.” Pulling things from bags, “but I bought appetizers and,” holding up several National Enquirers, “reading material. Let’s see if we can find a case somewhere in the tropics. I could use a ‘vacation’.”

Only Mulder.

Mushrooms cleaned and slow-cooking, they nibbled their way through eight different kinds of cheeses, each one a symphony to Scully’s previously deadened tongue. She may have let slip a ‘hhhmmm’ that could have possibly been interpreted as a moan by one Fox Mulder but he didn’t comment and she kept doing it.

He was glad he wore the looser jeans tonight.

They chuckled and argued in tandem while thumbing through the papers Mulder brought: telling stories, tossing theories, debunking nonsense. Finishing the first bottle of wine slowly, Mulder offered a second but Scully shook her head, “save it for dinner.”

Agreeing, he moved to stir the crockpot, then returned, towel over his shoulder, licking his fingers from the buttery sample he’d eaten in the kitchen, “They’re getting there.”

Second twinge, this one longer, had her lower abdomen contracting in a tickling giggle kind of way. The shiver up her spine caused her to visibly vibrate for a moment but Mulder, luckily or unluckily, not noticing, sat back down, returning to the ‘Owl that carried off a family of four in their camper van’ story on page 26.

What the hell.

Then again, he was licking his fingers.

The third zing when she returned to this thought was not as strong as the second but made her smile nonetheless, which Mulder actually did notice, “what?”

She pinked-up instantly, having forgotten the heat of a blush across her skin, and hands to cheeks suddenly, “just … a little too much wine.”

He moved his hand to her pulled up knee, squeezing it, “we don’t have to open the second one. It’ll keep.”

“No. No. I, uh, I, … I’m fine. I … I’m fine.”

Gibbering idiot more like it but whatever.

&&&&&&&&&&

If sex were food, Scully decided, it would be that steak. Mulder went for broke, filet and strip, buttery smooth, medium rare, warm, pink, juicy, perfect blend of garlic and butter, rosemary and pepper. Between the taste; the sight of Mulder across the table; the smell of wine and smoke; the look of him, messy-haired and smiling, relaxed three feet from her; the feel of impending summer breezes through the window, she tipped into sensory overload, eyes shutting as she tried to bring herself back to some kind of alignment.

Then, eyes still closed, she heard his voice, “hey, you. Ya’llright?”

The tinging vibration hit her full-force, arm hair standing on end, neck flushing, nipples tightening, a thousand images of him and her, himandher, flashing through her mind, driving the feeling shooting from stomach to clit to soul in speed of light, circuitous fashion, “yeah. Yeah. Just enjoying.”

Her voice was all over the damn map with those four words and Mulder, knowing her better than he knew himself, tilted his head, finally understanding exactly what was happening, “I can see that.”

Quaking quieting somewhat, she shifted in her chair, hoping to relieve some of the pressure she was feeling, pressing down on the cushion like she was seventeen and at the movie theater with her boyfriend, begging silently for him to touch her and simultaneously thinking about touching herself when she got home. Not able to look him in the eye, however, she cut another piece of her steak, praying she wouldn’t choke.

Shifting himself as well, watching her hips search for a good spot against the chair, he kept any comment to himself. He hadn’t pushed anything these last weeks, knowing she was recovering, finding herself again, situating ‘us’ and ‘we’ into a previously accepted solitary status quo of ‘I’ and ‘me’.

But, fuck, he had been tempted and tonight, seeing her like this, pushed his resolve to the breaking point. If she made one more sound in her throat, he truly believed he’d explode under the table, a quiet yet uncontrollable manifestation of four years and infinite wishes. “More wine?”

“Yes, please.”

She fought herself the rest of the meal, making stilted, dinner time conversation that they both saw through, both breathed through, both suffered through.

Dish cleanup and pajama changing quieted her down, her mind focused on other things for a little while but once they’d sat down on the couch, lights off, movie in, ice cream waiting in the freezer for later, she became acutely aware of his proximity to her. He’d offered her half the afghan, shifted the coffee table a little closer for her feet to rest on if she wanted, kissed the top of her head just as the opening credits began. She, in turn, had to keep reminding herself how to breathe evenly.

Sensory overload was kicking in again, the smell of him, his radiating heat, his voice as he contributed oft-placed comments on police procedurals happening on the TV. Her hand found its way to his thigh, fingers playing with the inside seam of his cut-off sweats. His own landed on her flannel pants, roughly same distance between allowable knee and forbidden juncture.

Her voice surprised her, “Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your stance on third base?”

Slowly, he found the remote and paused before swinging his gaze in her direction, “Yankees or something else?”

Her inhale shuddered, “not the Yankees.”

His hand immediately slid from allowable to not-so-forbidden now, caught between viced thighs, “this third base?”

Confession tumbled from her lips, “I haven’t done anything or felt anything, really, in months and suddenly you walked in today with grocery bags and that stupid grin of yours and you smell fantastic and something kicked in and,” wiggling out of necessity to attempt to … whatever …, “I don’t recall the last time I was this …”

Mulder finished her sentence with a grin, “horny?”

“Yes!”

Somehow, he lifted her bodily onto his lap, his chest to her back, hand sliding effortlessly down the front of her pajamas, finding the sweet spot before she had time to so much as offer the feeble word of ‘bed’.

Then she didn’t care.

At all.

Focusing mainly on his fingers, warm, quick, unexperienced but willing to learn. Instead of following, she led, whispering once to move a little to the left, whispering again to go harder, arching her back as she came in under a minute, body shuddering, twitching, before settling back down.

Over her shoulder, his husky voice sounded in her ear, “can I be next?”

It took all of nine seconds to stand up, drop her clothes to the floor, order him to lift up, pull his pants off, then climb on, already wet, already slick, already taking him inside with a slip and a slide.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Her giggles made him smile, her rosy cheeks made him happy, her warm skin within lips reach made him dizzy but above all else, her panting breath against his neck made him ecstatic, knowing she was alive and well and would be for the foreseeable future. When she finally calmed down, knees digging into the couch springs, skin glued to skin, she pulled herself back, sweat running down Mulder’s chest where they had been pressed together moments earlier, “I had planned for that to be a little … less …” waving her hands around in wordless definition, “that.”

“Was perfect to me.”

Kissing him lightly, then resting forehead to his, “one day, this will all be organized and we’ll make it to the bedroom.”

Hands back on her bare ass, “highly doubt that but it’s nice to have a plan.”

Sitting back, she reached out to him, lightly running her fingers along his hairline, feather-touch making his eyes shut, “I think we should do that again later.”

About to ask why not now, he had an epiphany of sorts and looking at her, square and jokingly judging, “you want ice cream, don’t you?”

This time, her nose scrunched up when she smiled, nodding with enthusiasm, “kind of. But I promise, you’ll always beat out ice cream after today … mostly.”

Pulling her down for a kiss, he then squeezed her thighs to nudge her off him, “come on, woman. Let’s go clean up so we can have dessert.”

“I love you, Mulder.”

“You just love my Rocky Road.”

“That, too.”