#and i don't like that snow comes in fucking october here

[dewarism]

me when fall: ☹️

me when hockey back: ☺️

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 17 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, mentions of OC thinking Jungkook was going to hurt himself in October, mentions of Hobi, explicit content: nipple/breast play, hickeys, praising, teasing, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, balls sucking, a bit of mouth fucking, hair pulling, fingering, unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

☆word count: 9k

☆a/n: I don't want this to be the end no :') thank you for accompanying me on this journey. I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it, and I hope it stays in your heart like it will for sure stay in mine <3 thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, December 19th

It snowed for the first time of the year this afternoon. 

It had been forecasted for a week now, but you still smile as you walk out of the exam building along with Nabi, a blanket of snow covering the ground. Students are milling around, throwing snowballs and building snowmen as their cheeks turn rosy, and their breaths turn into clouds that slowly lift towards the cloud-covered sky. 

It’s not snowing anymore, but it’s supposed to start again over the night, which you reckon might disrupt your plans of driving home tomorrow with Taehyung, Ariane and Jungkook. You think your mother would be relieved - the apartment will be crowded for two weeks, and you know she likes her space.

At least she doesn’t have a boyfriend this year, and so it’ll only be the five of you. It’s not like you aren’t used to sharing a roof with the three others though - you’ve been good at it this semester, especially considering that you and Jungkook have been sharing a room, and Taehyung and Ariane another.

Which left your old room as a guest room for the nights Jimin and Sera get too drunk with you to make their way home.

Your relationship with Jungkook has slowly evolved over the weeks and months since you’d run home thinking that he was going to hurt himself. You’re now fully dating, or at least you tell so to everyone that asks you where you’re standing when it comes to Jungkook.

You know he does the same anyway, even if you haven’t really stated to each other that you are boyfriend and girlfriend yet. You don’t think it matters - your relationship with him has been going on for far longer than just a few weeks, and the absence of a label doesn’t scare you in the slightest. Not when you fall asleep and wake up next to him every day, his first and last words of the day always love confessions uttered against your skin.

It’s a side of Jungkook that you like. The way he’s demonstrative of his affection, not caring if your brother is watching whenever he hugs you or kisses you. Taehyung has cursed the two of you repeatedly for it, but there’s just some beauty in the carefree act of loving each other in front of the very person you thought would end you that you both can’t let go of.

Speaking about that, your relationship with Taehyung has been… strained, since October. You haven’t really been able to forgive him for what happened that night he threw Jungkook out of the apartment, and he hasn’t quite been able to forgive you for hiding your relationship with Jungkook from him. You think he’s a little hypocritical for it - he and Jungkook have had no trouble resuming their friendship despite the fact that you and Jungkook are now a thing. But you don’t mind. 

As long as Jungkook is happy, then you are happy too.

“You coming to Yoongi and Namjoon’s tonight, right?” Nabi says as you walk down the path, your shoes crunching on the snow.

You chuckle. “You think I’d miss Yoongi introducing his boyfriend?” you say. “Hell nah. Of course I’ll be there.”

Nabi laughs, slightly shaking her head. “It’s not like you haven’t seen them together at the gym.”

She’s got a point, but you still want to see gym guy - Mikey, you’ve now found out - out of his natural habitat, aka the gym. 

“Is Jungkook coming?” she asks.

You nod. “Later though. He’s going out for drinks with his friends, and he said he’d meet up around eleven.”

“That’s late,” she comments.

You playfully push her. “We’ll probably be going until three am, I think eleven is fine.”

She laughs, though her eyes sparkle as she looks at you, with excitement and amusement you know is reciprocated in your own gaze.

Tonight will be one for the books, and you just can’t wait.

You have to head to your apartment first, to take a quick shower and grab the drinks you’ve bought for the evening. Nabi tags along, chilling with Ariane in the living room while you get ready. You get out of the shower ten minutes later to see that they’ve been joined by Taehyung.

The absence of Jungkook brings a pout to your lips, even though you know he’s just with Jimin and Eunwoo at Jimin’s apartment, pre-drinking for the bar.

“What’s up?” Taehyung greets you. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile. He takes it in stride, looking away from you to focus on Nabi and Ariane’s conversation while you make your way to your room to do your makeup quickly. Soon enough you’re ready to go, and you stop by the kitchen to grab the drinks - different flavours of lemonade with alcohol, like maybe it’s summer and the snow outside is but a mirage.

“Let’s go!” you say as you reach the living room next, and Nabi nods as she jumps up from the couch, meeting you near the door.

“I am so excited Y/n, you have no idea,” she says, and you laugh as you nod approvingly.

“Let’s go see what that Mikey is made of.”

Her laugh doubles up, and it follows you outside after you’ve put your coats and boots on. You’ve decided to walk to Yoongi and Namjoon’s place, and Nabi lets out a happy yelp when it starts snowing again.

“It’s so pretty!” she says, motioning to the fat snowflakes that are lazily falling from the sky.

You fully agree with her - there’s something magical about the first day of snow. It fills the air with excitement and joy and nostalgia for the days when you were younger and the first snow meant the beginning of the Christmas season, which you reckon might have always been your favourite season after all.

“It really is,” you agree with Nabi.

She nods wisely, and then throws you a look. “Did you know Ariane’s grandfather was French?”

You actually did. Ariane told you it was the reason why she’d decided to do a semester abroad in Paris, and that her grandfather had also been the one to name her. 

“Yeah, she told me all about it when we went out to the karaoke bar,” you say, referencing an outing that had taken place in early November, when your relationship with Jungkook still felt fresh.

Not that it doesn’t anymore. You reckon being with Jungkook will always be refreshing to you - he’s the oasis in the middle of your desert.

“Oh right,” Nabi lets out. “That time you lost your voice for five days straight.”

“I did not!” you cry out as she bursts out laughing.

You, as a matter of fact, did lose your voice, but it was only because you and Jungkook had gotten too drunk and you were screaming more than singing by the end of the evening.

You spend the rest of the walk to Yoongi’s apartment bickering with Nabi, laughing as you reminisce about the good times you spent over the last few months. And there have been many - Jungkook fits right in with your friend group, and you’ve been hanging out with all of them on multiple occasions, Taehyung, Ariane, Sera and Jimin even tagging along some of the time.

You get to Yoongi’s apartment at the same time as a flustered Seokjin, who admits he had to sprint to make it in time because Ria complained about his tardiness. He’s clutching two rosé bottles for dear life - Ria’s preferred alcoholic beverage now - and he explains he was late because of them. Though you know Ria probably wasn’t actually upset with him in the slightest, you still find it weirdly endearing that Seokjin ran.

It’s proof that he’s utterly obsessed with your friend, much like she is obsessed with him, too.

“Well then let’s get in,” Nabi says, and you follow her inside the building, and then up to the apartment in and of itself. 

The door is unlocked when you get there, and you walk in, taking off your boots in the hall before making your way to the living room, where your friend group is all gathered already.

The first person you notice is Mikey, and he politely smiles at you as Ria throws herself at you and Nabi, hugging you both tight to her chest.

“Congrats on finishing your semester!” Ria says. 

You thank her, and she takes the drinks you’ve brought from your hands so that you can take off your coat, putting them down on the coffee table where all available alcohol is waiting for you all. And there’s a lot - you would think a lot more people are coming tonight, but it really is just the seven of you, and Jungkook later.

You reckon it’s just another sign that tonight will be one for the books.

You start the evening by ordering dumplings, and you grab one of the lemonade drinks as you wait for the food to arrive, sipping from it as you talk with all of your friends. Mikey remains silent by Yoongi’s side, though you notice the way they’re holding hands, and you smile at the sight.

Yoongi is shining. His eyes are sparkling like you’ve never seen them do before, and he looks like the sun personified with Mikey by his side. He deserves the happiness, every single ounce of it, especially after what Hoseok put him through.

For some reason the thought reminds you of your old friend, and you wonder how Hoseok is doing on his side of the country. Has he found the solace he was seeking for? Though you’d long hated him for the way he’d ghosted everyone, tonight you reckon you forgive him.

You forgive him for what he put Yoongi through, only because it allowed Yoongi to experience this relationship now, a much needed relationship that’s been healing every jagged piece of his heart.

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of the sweatshirt you’re wearing - Jungkook’s shirt - and you pull it out, immediately smiling when you see that Jungkook texted you.

[5:57 pm] JK: am tipsy

[5:57 pm] JK: can’t wait to see you later

You laugh at his text, replying quickly to make sure to drink water, and then you put your phone away, focusing on the conversation again.

“That’s just because you’re jealous I can make good music!” Yoongi is saying, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, though the laugh on his lips tells you that they aren’t truly fighting.

“You say you make good music but none of us has ever heard your music, Yoongi,” Ria says, finger pointing at him like she’s scolding him. 

“You’ve never showed them your music?” Mikey intervenes.

Yoongi blushes, eyes falling to the floor. “Well, uh, I just never had the occasion to…”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Namjoon says. “Pull out the receipts, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shakes his head, looking around for salvation. He meets your gaze, but you only shrug your shoulders, a mischievous smile on your lips. You’ve been curious about his music too, so you certainly won’t be the one to encourage him to hide it for longer.

“I hate y’all,” Yoongi grumbles.

“I mean, you don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” Mikey says next to him, resting a hand on Yoongi’s thigh as Yoongi grabs his phone.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Yoongi reassures him, and they look at each other for a few seconds.

It’s intimate, and you look down at your drink to give them privacy. A few seconds later, the living room fills with the intro of a song, and your gaze widens when the lyrics start, all in Korean. You don’t think Yoongi’s the one singing, and you’re proven right when a rapper comes in, and you recognize Yoongi’s voice.

“Bro, what?” Seokjin lets out.

“Shhh!” Nabi says, and Ria fake-glares at Seokjin, who just purses his lips, visibly holding a laugh in.

The song is good. More than that, the song is moving, the emotions running high all throughout it, up until the end, when the instruments all stop except the piano, giving a melancholy ending to the song.

“Yoongi!” you let out. “That shit is fire.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, his cheeks turning deep red.

Mikey is smiling next to him as everyone congratulates him, and before you have time to listen to more of his music, Namjoon receives a text saying that the food has arrived. He goes downstairs with Seokjin to bring everything up, and a minute later you’re all eating at the kitchen table, Ria sitting on Seokjin’s lap so that everyone can fit around the table.

The evening unfolds with more music that Yoongi composed, songs he claims he wants to put in an EP he’ll release next year. You’re reeling at the beauty of his talent, and though he still turns red every time someone compliments him, you know his smile means he appreciates it, and is probably relieved that you all enjoy his music. 

You reckon Mikey helps, encouraging Yoongi whenever he looks too embarrassed, and you’re so happy for your friend you feel like crying. Or maybe that’s because you’re on your fourth - fifth? - lemonade and the alcohol has started messing with your brain.

Time flies, and Jungkook texts you that he’s on his way while you’re playing Jackbox on the TV, the laughter so loud in the small living room that you’re convinced the boys might get a noise complaint by the end of the evening. You’re excited to see Jungkook, deadly so, and you decide to meet him downstairs, needing some fresh air anyway.

The snow is still falling outside when you make your way downstairs. The streetlights colour it in neon orange, and it covers the ground in a soft blanket. You wait in the hall of the building, watching the world outside and thinking about how everything has changed in a year.

If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be dating your brother’s best friend now, you would have told them that they were crazy. 

Now you know there’s nothing crazy about you and Jeon Jungkook. It just makes sense. 

Jungkook arrives sometime later - it’s hard to tell if it’s been a long time or not when your head is swimming in alcohol. He smiles brightly the second he sees you, opening the door to walk into your arms.

You hug him tight to your chest, hiding your face in his neck as his arms snake around your waist. He smells of home - you’ve realized he’s become your home now - and you relax in his embrace, letting him sway you from side to side gently.

“Hey there,” he greets you with his softest voice, the one that’s reserved just for you.

“Hey,” you reply. There’s a silence as you tighten your hold on him, and then you pull away to meet his gaze. “I’m drunk.”

He laughs, pecking your forehead. “I’m tipsy. But I drank lots of water like you said.”

You nod approvingly and then return your head to his neck. Unable to resist, you lightly bite at the skin, and Jungkook yelps, jumping out of your arms.

“What was that for!”

You eye him up and down. “You look yummy.”

He snorts, grabbing your hand to pull you in. “Oh, you’re drunk drunk.”

“I’m not!” you insist, though you’re fully aware that you are.

It’s not like it matters - you know Jungkook will take care of you.

And he does - he gets you water as soon as you get inside, your friends greeting him in a chorus of hellos. He waves at them, forces you to sit down with the glass of water, and you sip from it as he grabs the beer Namjoon offers him. 

Namjoon and Jungkook’s friendship has blossomed over the last two months. They’ve gotten really close, often hanging out just the two of them, which you think is adorable. They apparently have more in common than you thought, Namjoon coming from a rich family as well.

Nothing like Jungkook, but still.

Jungkook sits in front of you on the floor, and you immediately slide down from the couch to sit behind him so that he can lean against your chest. You wrap your arm around his dainty waist, smiling softly as you peck the top of his head.

He glances at you, eyes gleaming with happiness, and then resumes his conversation with Namjoon.

This, you think, is happiness. This is the kind of scene you see in movies when everything is resolved after a long journey. It’s a coming of age - your coming of age, despite the fact that you aren’t a teenager anymore. 

You just know that, when you’ll be old and grey and reminding yourself of your college days, this is what you’ll think of. Jungkook’s presence amongst your friends, the gentle ambiance of the snow outside, the smiles and the laughter and the music filling the air. Everything - you’ll remember everything with vivid clarity when it’s time to go, knowing that this moment, and all of those related to Jungkook and your friend group, have forged the person that you’ll become.

The thought brings tears to your eyes - happy tears - and you blink them away as you hug Jungkook tighter. He looks back at you again, smiling softly, light filling those big doe eyes of his that you’ve been in love with since a certain power outage.

To think that your whole relationship with him started because of that outage - where would you be now if it hadn’t been for that?

“What?” Jungkook asks softly. 

“I love you,” you reply.

He grins, that adorable bunny grin of his that steals your breath each time. “I love you too.”

You know it - it’s been a law of your universe since you ran back home that October night, when you realized that your love for him was far more important than your brother being upset with him.

In truth, you think your love for Jeon Jungkook might have been the reason why you were put on this Earth - your purpose, if you will. Like the Fates weaved your story with his, until one can’t exist without the other.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tuesday, December 24th

Christmas Eve has been fun. You’ve been laughing around with Taehyung, Ariane, Jungkook and your mother, sharing way too much food at the dinner table. Good food - your mother has always been a good cook, whenever she finds the time to actually come up with a meal. Jungkook helped her too, and you haven’t missed the approving glances your mother has been throwing him all evening.

Ariane has received her good shares of those too. You can tell your mother is happy for both you and Taehyung, which makes you feel bad that you initially thought it was good that she’s currently single.

She deserves love, too.

You’re in the bathroom, sometime after midnight, mind swimming with the eggnog drinks that your mother made for everyone, when your phone buzzes in the back pocket of the mom jeans you’re wearing. You pull it out, blinking a few times, and your gaze widens when you focus on the text message you’ve received.

Mostly, your heart falls to your ass when you see who texted you.

[00:24 am] Hobi: hey, merry christmas! just wanted to text to apologize for dipping in april? that sucked of me and yeah, it’s christmas so i thought it was a good time to apologize

You reread the message a few times, wondering if you’re the only one that’s received an apology. You highly doubt you’re the one that needed it after all, and when your phone buzzes again a few seconds later, with a text from Yoongi, you realize you’re not.

[00:24 am] Yoongi: you’ll never believe who just texted me

You slide your phone open, ignoring the conversation with Hoseok to head straight to the one with Yoongi. You type your reply, worrying at your bottom lip as you send it.

[00:25 am] You: i know the fuck he texted me too

[00:25 am] You: how are you feeling?

Yoongi doesn’t reply right away, and you decide not to reply to Hoseok either, instead stuffing your phone back in your back pocket before washing your hands. You return to the kitchen after, where everyone’s been waiting for you to play your turn in the game of Ticket to Ride you’ve started at midnight.

You can’t believe Hoseok texted you. It feels like a ghost coming back to haunt you, reminding you that you’d been friends with benefits, albeit on a break, this time last year. Perhaps that is why Hoseok chose to text you too - you meant something to him to a certain extent.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asks as you frown, trying to remember what it is you wanted to do in the game.

You blink once, meeting his gaze. “Yeah.” You nod, repeating the word, and then you pick up two green wagon cards.

Jungkook lets it slide, focusing on the game too, and you all but forget about Hoseok’s text when your mother gives you another eggnog drink. You finish the game a little while later - Ariane winning grandiosely - and then you all head to bed after wishing each other a last Merry Christmas.

Jungkook plops down on your childhood bed as you walk into your room, and you close the door, leaning against it as you smile fondly. He props his chin on his hands, looking at you. 

“Tonight was fun,” he says.

You nod, smile growing wider. “It really was. But wait until tomorrow, that’s where all the fun is.”

Indeed, you’re going to visit your grandparents’ house tomorrow evening, along with all of your uncles and aunts and cousins.  It’s tradition every year, and it’s the first time you’re bringing someone. You’d be a little anxious, if not for the fact that you know your grandmother is already obsessed with Jungkook from everything your mother told her.

“I can’t wait,” Jungkook says, and the soft curve of his lips tells you he means it.

You cross the distance between you, lying down on the bed next to him. Jungkook shifts, opening his arms for you to slide into his embrace, and he holds you tight, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“I mostly can’t wait to give you your gift tomorrow morning,” he adds, his mouth moving against you. He pulls away, rubbing his face to take out from his mouth the hair he clearly almost swallowed from talking against your head. “You’ll be so happy.”

“You really didn’t need to give me a gift,” you say.

“You think I haven’t noticed the suspiciously large box with my name on it under the Christmas tree?”

You shrug. “Maybe it’s from Taehyung.”

“It’s written from peach.”

You snort, laughing against his chest. “And what about it?”

“You’re allowed to get me a gift but I can’t get you one?”

You nod forcefully. “Yeah. You already got me that dress anyway.”

He laughs, rolling on his back. He pulls you with him until you’re lying next to him with your head on his chest. “That was almost a year ago, it doesn’t count.”

“It does,” you mumble.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling deeply in his chest. “You’re adorable, I love you.” He pecks the top of your head again. “Besides, what did you get me?”

“What did you get me?” you ask, gaze narrowed as you look up at him.

His next peck lands on your forehead. “Not telling you.”

“Well then, I’m not telling you either,” you smugly reply.

He laughs, tightening his hold around you. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your heart stops in your chest, and then it starts again on a wilder beat you hear echoed behind his ribcage.

“I love you too, Kook.”

“Luckiest man alive,” he whispers, and it’s rhetorical, not asking for a reply. 

All you do is grin as you start tracing idle shapes on his stomach. You fall silent - the kind of comfortable silence you can only share with him - up until you remember Hoseok’s text. It makes you prop yourself up on an elbow, and you meet Jungkook’s gaze.

“You’ll never guess who texted me earlier.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Who did?” 

“Hobi,” you reveal.

Jungkook’s gaze widens. “The guy you used to fuck?”

You roll your eyes, pinching his side. “Yes. But mostly Yoongi’s… ex?”

“You did use to fuck though, I heard you guys.”

“Oh my God, Kook.”

He offers you a shit-eating grin. “What?”

“You’re annoying.”

He pulls you on top of him until you’re straddling him. “But you love me.”

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him. “But you’re annoying.”

His hands, now on your hips, tighten slightly, and your brain chooses this instant to zero in on the spot.

“Do you know how much it drove me crazy?” he says, and his voice is suddenly low, husky, shooting warmth right to your core. “I fucking wanted to beat his ass.”

You cock an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side as a smirk appears on your lips. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He forces you to circle your hips, and you’re not surprised to find him already getting hard. “I’d imagine it was me instead.” It’s Jungkook’s turn to smirk, and he sits up to kiss you, his tongue pushing into your mouth once before he lies back down. “And then when I was fucking Shelly and you were touching yourself?”

You’re turning molten, like you’re metal melting in a forge. “Yeah?”

“That’s when I knew that whatever I’d promised to Tae didn’t matter anymore.” He grinds into you. “I needed to have you, one way or another.”

You crash your lips on his so hard you taste blood. He’s quick to slide his hands under your shirt, and he fumbles with the fabric until you part to allow him to take it off your body. You’re only wearing a red bralette you bought before finals, and Jungkook’s gaze darkens at the sight.

“Shit peach, you’re always so fucking hot.”

“One way or another, you say?” you repeat what he said earlier.

He looks confused for a heartbeat, and then he nods. “Yeah. I was into you already then, as you know, but damn every time I touched myself all I could think about was you.”

“Outrageous,” you tease as you circle your hips once more.

He grunts softly. “Oh, peach, don’t pretend you weren’t thinking of me too.”

You lean forward, sucking on his lower lip, your tongue then flicking at his piercings. “Oh, you know I was thinking about you,” you say against his mouth.

You move down enough to find his neck, your teeth teasing the skin before you suck on it, yet you refrain from leaving a mark.

You don’t want your mother asking questions tomorrow.

Jungkook grunts as you lick at the spot, and then move back up to nibble at his jaw. His large hands on your waist caress up your flanks until he reaches your breasts that he shamelessly cups, his fingers immediately searching for your nipples. He pinches them, hard enough to hurt, and you moan out loud, hiding your face in his neck.

“Careful, peach,” Jungkook warns. “We wouldn’t want your family hearing us.”

You bite at his neck again and he hisses. “What did you just say?”

“Fuck,” he groans, and it sounds like a growl. “Now I want to fucking ruin you.”

You straighten, your hands landing flat on his chest to hold him down. “Why don’t you let me have my fun tonight?”

His dark gaze surveys you carefully as you climb down his body until you’re sitting on his legs. You grip his thighs and then slide your hands up to his clothed erection. You run a hand along it and then move up to push his shirt up, revealing the strong muscles of his abdomen. You graze them with your nails, and Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut as your other hand returns to his dick.

“How should I please you tonight?” you ask.

You lean forward and, unable to resist, you suck a hickey on the spot right above the hem of his pants. Jungkook instinctively bucks his hips in response, and you smirk as you sit back on your heels again.

“Someone’s impatient,” you tease.

“Peach…” he warns.

“Be nice,” you say. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

He takes a sharp breath, and then nods curtly. You bite at your lower lip, a smirk teasing the corner of your lips.

“Good boy.”

He groans, but then you’re ridding him of his pants and boxers, and his dick springs free, slapping his abs. He looks just as pretty as he always does, the large vein running up his dick begging to be licked. You don’t even resist - you immediately bend down, tracing it with your tongue up to his tip, which you circle once before pulling away just enough to grab the base of his dick.

You stroke him slowly, meeting his gaze. His cheeks are flushed with arousal, eyes shining with lust and desire, all of it for you. You feel powerful - you have him wrapped around your finger, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s with that thought that you finally take him in your mouth, not breaking eye contact. He clenches his jaw to hold a moan in, and you take him as deep as you can, your eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

You pull almost all the way out, hollowing your cheeks as you suck on his tip, teasing his frenulum with your tongue. His dick twitches, but you’re holding him tight, keeping him in place.

You get to work, bobbing up and down, drooling all over him. You use your drool as natural lube so that you can jerk him off in time with your motions, and Jungkook grows infinitely hard in your mouth, so much so that you wouldn’t be surprised if he came.

You wouldn’t mind - he always tastes good for you, and the thought of it is making you soak through your panties to the point you think your pants might even be affected. But then again, Jungkook always makes you so wet.

No one’s ever fucked you as good as him after all.

You take him all the way in, and Jungkook thrusts up, grunting as you moan around him. His hands are in your hair, and he’s been guiding your movements, though always allowing you to pull away to breathe when you need it.

So when you decide to pull away so that you can suck on his balls, he lets you do it. You reward him by jerking him off quickly, your grip tight on his dick just the way you know he likes, and he fists at the sheets of your bed, fucking into your hand.

Right before you think he’s about to come, Jungkook pulls you away. He’s panting heavily, and you barely have time to breathe before he flips you on your back, climbing on top of you so that he can kiss you. 

The kiss is ravishing, languid, all tongues and saliva and his teeth digging into your bottom lip. You barely can contain your moans when he drives your legs apart with a knee he then presses on your clothed core, and you can’t help but grind on his leg, searching for much-needed friction.

Jungkook leaves your mouth to leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck, and then on your clavicle. He sucks a purple mark underneath it, and you arch your back in his touch as he cups your breasts again, massaging them.

“Peach,” he says as he’s looking at your necklace where it lies between your breasts. “You’re so perfect.”

And then he’s pushing your bralette up enough to have access to your nipples. His mouth closes around one while he pinches the other between his thumb and index, and you lose your hand in his jet-black strands, pulling on his hair just a little by reflex.

His tongue circles your nipple, and then he licks at it twice. It hardens in his mouth as you hold your moans in, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he shifts to your other nipple, offering it the same treatment.

“Take this off,” you breathe, pulling at the fabric of his shirt.

Jungkook raises his head, meeting your gaze. His lips are glistening with his saliva, and he looks so devilish you think you’d be able to come just like that.

“Take it off for me,” he teases.

You roll your eyes despite your lips curving in a smile, and you pull his shirt off, throwing it on the floor. You rake your nails on his back - lightly, not hard enough to leave a mark - when he returns to your nipples, devouring your breasts like a man starved.

“I fucking love every part of you, you know that right?” he says when he pulls away.

You nod, but he’s already going down your body, reaching for your pants. He takes them off, and to your surprise, he takes your panties off too, leaving you naked and gleaming when he pushes your thighs apart to look at you properly.

“So pretty…” he praises.

You want to tell him to fuck you, that you don’t even need foreplay right now - you’ve been feeling your juices dripping out of your pussy for a while - but he doesn’t leave you time to speak, immediately diving in, lapping a large stripe from your entrance up to your clit. He swirls his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and you put your hand over your mouth to muffle your moan.

“Silence, peach,” he reminds you, and then he circles your clit again. “I really don’t want your mother to look at me differently tomorrow morning.”

You don’t have anything left in your brain to say that she wouldn’t care, and maybe that’s good - you’re pretty sure she would, as a matter of fact, care.

“Sorry,” you apologize.

Jungkook shoots you a quick glance, and he pecks the inside of your thigh lovingly, miles away from the lust transpiring from this moment. “I love you,” he breathes against your skin, and then he’s back on your pussy.

He eats you out like he’s a demon come from hell, and soon enough he pushes two fingers inside of you, fighting against your tightening muscles. You take a deep breath to relax, and a few seconds later he arches his fingers, rubbing them on the most sensitive spot inside of you. It makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and your mouth falls open on a silent moan as he starts fingering you, quick and hard, always rubbing your g-spot. He times his fingers with his tongue, and it’s no wonder he’s dragging you towards an orgasm at eighty miles per hour.

It’s no wonder it hits you like a slap to the face when he sucks on your clit hard, and your thighs close around his face as your back arches off the bed, your climax hitting so hard you feel like you’re swimming in the night sky, amongst stars and galaxies and nebulas.

You’re shaking, thighs trembling, as he milks your orgasm out for so long you think you’ll die, but eventually his fingers leave your pulsing walls, and he licks them clean. You watch him, your eyelids heavy with the ecstasy invading your bloodstream, and you feel fucked out, your mind like cotton as he positions himself between your legs.

“Have you had enough?” he asks, teasing your entrance with his cock. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

You reach for him, fingers grazing his chest and abs. “Shit, Kook.”

He grins wickedly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeat. You chuckle lightly, and then you glance around. “I do want you to fuck me,” you whisper, “but my bed creaks a hell of a lot.”

Jungkook shrugs, picking you up in one swift motion that makes your mind swim even more. The room spins around you as Jungkook carries you off the bed, and then he sits you on the floor. He grabs a bunch of pillows, arranging them in a makeshift bed on the floor, and then he motions at it, a proud smile on his lips.

“Voilà,” he says.

You snort. “You’ll fuck me on this?”

He smirks, picking you up to lie you down on the pillows. It’s a little unsteady, but when he positions himself between your legs again, you forget all about it.

Even more so as he rubs his dick on your clit, and meteorites erupt in front of your eyes.

“Yeah I will,” he says. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

You gulp, your throat suddenly dry with arousal, and you nod your head. “Fuck me, Kook.”

He doesn’t need more to push in, and he sheathes all of himself inside of you. Or at least all that fits, and he’s quick to put a hand over your mouth to keep you from moaning. You bite at his palm, and he startles, moving his hand away.

“That was mean,” he says, a pout appearing on his swollen lips.

Fuck, you love him so bad.

“Sorry,” you apologize.

He narrows his gaze, bending down to steal a quick, gentle kiss on your lips. “No you’re not,” he says.

“I’m not,” you agree.

He pulls almost all the way out, leaving just an inch of him in. “And for that reason, I’ll fuck you until all you remember is my name.”

He pushes all the way in again, and you bite your lip to refrain from crying his name out. It becomes much harder when he starts pounding into you, and soon your room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, and of the squelching your pussy makes every time he fucks into you. It’s clearly loud enough for everyone in the apartment to hear, but faint music is coming from Taehyung’s room, and you know your mother sleeps with foam earplugs in.

You can only hope they don’t hear you when you moan Jungkook’s name. He gently rests his hand against your mouth again then, though he’s quick to push a finger in instead. You suck on it, teasing the pad with your tongue, and Jungkook grunts as he jack-hammers you, so much so you fall off the makeshift bed.

You both don’t care - you don’t even think Jungkook realizes. He’s too busy rearranging your gut, and you’re too busy trying to not moan like you want to do. Jungkook keeps at it for a while, strands of hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, but his pace remains unforgiving, a reminder that he has a solid cardio from all the hours he spends at the gym.

Eventually, Jungkook gets bored of the position, and he pulls out. You get a glimpse of his wet dick before he flips you on your stomach, and he’s quick to fuck into you again, the new angle so good you feel like you’re floating somewhere between your body and the ceiling.

His forearm is next to your head, and you hold onto his wrist as he pounds into you. You know he’s nearing his high when his motions grow unfocused, slower, and soon he bends down, grunting against the side of your face as he releases his load deep inside of you, painting you white.

You hold onto him as he comes, circling your hips to prolong his pleasure, up until he stops you with a hand on your waist. He pecks the side of your face, and you turn your head to be able to kiss him properly. It tastes like the sweat that’s collected on his upper lip, but you don’t care. Not when it’s his sweat, and you are so obsessed with him you wish you were under his skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts when he pulls away from the kiss. 

He pecks your cheek again and then straightens to search for something to clean you up with. He reaches for the tissues on the night table, and he takes a bunch of them that he puts against you before he even pulls out.

You both manage to avoid making a mess, and Jungkook lets you go clean up first. You put on his shirt, as it’s long enough to be a dress on you, and then you head to the bathroom, where you take a quick shower. Jungkook goes next, kissing you deeply before leaving your room, and you wait for him under the covers of your bed, your heart still beating wildly from the sex.

As it always does when it comes to sex with Jungkook.

Jungkook comes back about five minutes later, and he slides under the covers with you as you’re on your phone, looking at the conversation with Yoongi.

He still hasn’t replied, and though that worries you, you know he’s probably just busy with his own Christmas celebration.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asks as he molds himself to your back, an arm wrapping around your waist.

You turn on your back, going in for a soft kiss that settles your heartbeat in your chest. 

“Yes,” you reassure him. 

You glance at your phone again and then switch to the conversation with Hoseok. “I don’t know what I should say.”

Jungkook blinks a few times like he needs it to focus on your screen, and then he reads Hoseok’s message. “I mean…” he lets out. “He seems genuine.”

“I know, but it’s weird no?”

Jungkook purses his lips. “Why?”

“Because I’m with you now,” you explain.

His eyes widen. “Oh, is that because of what I said earlier?”

You nod, worrying at some dry skin on your lower lip.

“Oh, peach,” he says, and he pecks your forehead. “I really don’t mind if you want to reply. I was only teasing earlier.”

You cock an eyebrow, not entirely believing him. He smiles sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Were you?”

“Well…” he trails off, turning on his back as he looks up at the ceiling. “I was jealous, yes. But as you said, he mostly is Yoongi’s ex. What you guys had hasn’t mattered for a really long time.”

He’s right. He’s entirely right, and it reassures you, enough so that you don’t feel guilty for replying to Hoseok, right before you decide to turn off your phone for the night.

[2:37 am] You: hey merry christmas! no worries:)

You put your phone away, and then you turn to face Jungkook, wrapping your arm around his dainty waist as he wraps his around you, one of his biceps a perfect pillow for your head. You sigh in contentment, knowing that you are right where you’re supposed to be in the world - by Jungkook’s side. 

Home, wherever he is.

You fall asleep with love in your heart, shining bright on you despite the dark, winter night outside.  

Monday, December 30th

The restaurant is crowded, lively chatter and clinking utensils filling the atmosphere with the type of life only the holidays can provide. Taehyung sits at the head of the table, a bright smile on his lips as your mother explains to Ariane and Jungkook how you come to this restaurant each year when there’s a special occasion.

By that, she means your and Taehyung’s birthdays, as you spend hers on the camping trip.

“We started when you were what?” your mother says, looking at Taehyung. “Fourteen?”

“Thirteen,” he answers. “We came with a bunch of friends from middle school, and Y/n was complaining the whole time.”

“I was not,” you say, pouting slightly. “You were just ignoring me the whole time because I wasn’t cool enough.”

“You really weren’t.” Taehyung’s teasing remark earns him a slap on the arm from your mother, and Ariane telling him to shut up. “What! She was just obsessed with One Direction, it was annoying.”

“And what about it?” Ariane says. “One Direction was a good group!”

Horror inches into Taehyung’s gaze. “Not you too.”

Ariane rolls her eyes, but then the waitress stops by your table, taking everyone’s order. An easy conversation follows, your mother telling you about interesting cases she saw at the ER over the last few months. Jungkook looks appalled when she mentions certain of them, his eyes about to bulge out of his head.

“You’re good?” you let out, patting his thigh reassuringly. 

“We’re supposed to eat after she’s told us all of that?” he asks, his widened gaze sliding to you.

You snort. “Yes, we are.”

He sits back in his chair, folding his arms on his chest. “Damn.” You just laugh even more, and he looks at you again. “It’s not funny!”

“It is,” you insist. “You’re adorable.”

He glares at you, though his eyes are gleaming with too much amusement for you to believe he means it. “So are you.”

“Right right,” you say, at the same time as Taehyung fake-gags. 

“You guys are disgusting,” your brother says. 

“And you think you’re better?” your mother intervenes. “You all should listen to him when he calls me and gushes about Ariane.”

Taehyung flushes red as Ariane leans towards your mother. “Oh? What does he say?”

“Namely that he thinks you’re the love of his life, and that he wants to marry…”

“Stop!” Taehyung interjects. “Fuck, mom, this is not necessary.”

He’s so red he looks like he might pass out, and you can’t help but laugh at his expense. “Don’t worry, Ari, he’s always been a hopeless romantic.”

“I’m not!”

Ariane laughs, and she rubs his back. “You are. I love that about you.”

Taehyung’s distressed features turn into a soft smile, and you roll your eyes teasingly. 

The rest of the dinner goes well, all of you eating your fill. Jungkook finishes your dish when you declare yourself defeated, and you speak with your brother without any animosity for the first time in months.

It’s relieving, far more than you would admit it. Or perhaps it’s because he’s invited you to the party one of his childhood friends is hosting, which he never did before. You know it’s because Jungkook is his closest friend now, but you still appreciate the invitation, and the party that comes with it.

Taehyung’s always partied the hardest surrounded by his friends, and tonight is no different. It’s a night of drinking and revelry and bright smiles, loud music to accompany the chatter and drinking games and everything that makes a party a good party. There’s a hot tub, and you and Jungkook spend far too long in it accompanied by Ariane, Taehyung and two of his other friends, taking turns rolling in the snow before jumping back into the hot tub.

The stars shine on and on above you all, and though it’s freezing outside you think they might allow you a piece of summer in the winter night.

You head home before Taehyung, walking hand in hand with Jungkook. You’re both tipsy, even maybe a little drunk, yet it doesn’t deter you. Not when the night is beautiful, and you have Jungkook next to you.

“I still can’t believe you got me that frame,” Jungkook says as he notices you looking up at the stars, your eyes going over the Orion constellation.

Indeed, you got him a star map of Valentine’s Day last year for Christmas. It’s beautiful, and Jungkook grew teary-eyed when you gave it to him, telling him that it was a map of the night you’d fallen in love. He promised he’d hang it in his room the second you returned to your apartment, and then he sheepishly gave you your gift.

Your reaction to his gift was… much less wholesome than his. You were outraged, telling him that he was crazy to spend so much money on you, and Jungkook just shrugged his shoulders, telling you you deserved it.

You still think he’s crazy. But over the last few days, he’s slowly convinced you that it’s going to be fun, that you truly do deserve the gift…

And who would say no to a trip to Bora Bora?

“I’m sorry,” you let out. “You fucking bought first-class plane tickets to go to Bora Bora. My gift looks like nothing compared to yours.”

“It’s not nothing!” Jungkook insists. “It’s the most sentimental gift I’ve ever received.” He smiles at you, his big doe eyes swimming with love for you. “It’ll forever be my favourite gift.”

You can’t help the smile that curves your lips upwards as your heart warms in your chest. “You deserve it,” you say, and you mean it.

Jungkook deserves every proof that people do love him. That his parents don’t know shit when it comes to him - you’ll try your best to shower him with all of the love your heart holds, every day of your life with him.

“And you deserve the trip,” Jungkook says. “You always work so hard in college, I just want you to relax for a while.”

“With you,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Obviously.”

He pulls you in, interrupting your walk, and he kisses your forehead softly. Your heart grows even warmer, so much so that you think flowers are blooming in your soul, like a garden bursting into life.

You get home together with him, your mother seemingly fast asleep in her room from the soft snores that come from behind her door. You make your way to your room, and Jungkook plugs in your old fairy lights, even though they’re so dim now you barely can make out anything.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says as he sits on your bed.

You sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “What for?”

“For everything,” he replies, and he wraps his arms around you to pull you into his chest. “Getting to love you is the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“Oh, Jungkook…” you trail off, looking up to see the silver lining his gaze.

“I love you more every day, peach,” he whispers. “It’s… it’s a gift.”

You cup his cheek, tilting your head backwards as you pull him down. The kiss is soft, gentle. The kiss is everything that makes Jungkook Jungkook, and you you. It’s the months of struggle that led to so much beauty, it’s the knowledge that, wherever you’ll go in this life, he’ll be by your side.

It’s the knowledge that he’s the one for you, and you’re the one for him.

When you pull away from the kiss, what seems like an eternity later, Jungkook pulls out his phone from his pocket. You watch him curiously as the device lights up his features, and a second later, your room fills with the first chord of Chasing Cars.

Of your song.

“Cuddle?” Jungkook asks.

You can’t say no to those big, doe eyes, and you lie down with him, your head on his chest.

“You know,” Jungkook says when the first chorus starts. “Ever since you showed me this song, it’s been my favourite.” He pauses, pecks the top of your head. “Not that I didn’t know it before. But it makes me think of you now.”

Just like it makes you think of him.

“It does?” you let out.

You feel him nod more than you see him. “When I marry you, I want it to be the song we dance to.”

Your gaze widens, and you prop yourself up on an elbow so that you can look at him. And despite the dim light in your room, despite the blurriness in your gaze from the happy tears he summoned, his beauty shines for you. So bright, a proof that he’s the Sun in your life.

He’s the astral body you were meant to orbit.

“When you marry me?”

His arm tightens around you. “Yes, when I marry you.”

You smile, brighter than a summer day. “You’ll be my husband.”

“And you’ll be my wife.”

You laugh, a crystal clear sound that heals whatever wounds were left from the months apart. From that night Taehyung punched him and kicked him out. From every time you thought that your timing didn’t align and that maybe you weren’t meant to be in this universe.

But you are. You’ve always been meant to be, haven’t you?

“Let’s start by calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend, shall we?”

He pouts. “M’kay, then. Girlfriend.”

Another laugh tumbles from your lips, and you put your head back on his shoulder. He runs a soothing hand on your back, while you trace random shapes on his chest, and you think this is it.

This is a moment that will be forever engraved in your memory, to look back on whenever you have a bad day. A first moment - though it’s hardly the first - of a long line of events that will make up the story of you and Jeon Jungkook.

The song reaches its last chorus, and your heart, beating in sync with Jungkook’s, reaches the nirvana of you and him.

If I lay here 

If I just lay here

Would you lie with me, and just forget the world?

And you think, perhaps your story was already written in between the lines of your favourite song - a story of resilient love, and of promises of forever. Perhaps it was written between the first verse and the chorus, or perhaps it was written in the melody. It’s hard to tell - you just know it’s become a law of your universe. 

Now, you’ll lie with Jungkook, and maybe you’ll even forget the world. It’ll just be him, forever.

And you’ll spend the rest of your life chasing cars around his head.

Prev

☆☆☆☆☆

I am so emotional please do not touch me :') I can't believe this story is over. I hope you guys loved the ride - let me know what you think about this last chapter <3

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[roosterforme]

Beer Boy and Sugar: The First Lost Year (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader)

Part of the Lost Years series for Beer Boy and Sugar

Warnings: language, longing, angst (series fits chronologically between Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time)

Banner by @mak-32

Year One

"Bradshaw."

Bradley was pulled out of his comfortable daydream when he heard Natasha Trace call his name. He looked over at the only friend he'd managed to make since he moved to Rhode Island for flight training five months ago. It turns out, nobody much wants to talk to you when you're a bit of a miserable prick. 

"Yeah?"

She nodded back toward the hangar and said, "Captain Price wants us to use the simulator."

"Right," he replied softly. Once she was gone again, he turned to look out at the rough Atlantic Ocean and shivered in the late October air. He was freezing cold. He was always fucking freezing cold here. He missed Virginia. He missed being warm in his bed in his fraternity house. He missed you.

"No," he whispered, closing his eyes and focusing on some deep breathing. "No. You can't." Every thought of you was painful, and he needed to get past this. He kept promising himself that one day, he would wake up and be on the other side of this ache, but he was such a damn liar. Deep inside, he knew better. 

How was it supposed to stop hurting when all he could think about was you, equally cold in Chicago, wrapped up in his Grateful Dead shirt and listening to their songs? It had already snowed there; he checked the weather frequently. He memorized the University of Chicago campus map and thought about where you might be, always afraid you were in a library study room. With someone else. Because the only thing worse than thinking about you cold and alone was thinking about you moving on with someone new. But you were perfect. Bradley's perfect Sugar. Of course you didn't need to be with him to be happy. 

Eventually he turned toward the hangar and walked through the frigid wind. He completed the simulation perfectly in almost no time. Trace was every bit as good as he was, and Bradley silently rejoiced whenever they were paired together. She was serious but not too serious. She was smart but never cocky about it. She didn't waste a lot of time talking if she had nothing to say. She reminded him a lot of you. 

He wasn't interested in her as anything more than the friend he desperately needed right now, but it was hard to open up to someone new when he could only think about one thing. There were a handful of really attractive women here, but Bradley found himself unable to focus on them. Besides, he finally understood that quality always beats quantity. You started teaching him that lesson as soon as he felt the urge to paint his bedroom door white. 

He avoided the tables full of students in the cafeteria, picking one off to the side instead. He figured if he gave the appearance that he didn't want anyone around, then they would leave him alone. He was only mostly successful.

"Can I join you?" 

When he looked up at Trace's dark brown eyes, he nodded and pulled his tray a little closer to him so she could sit on the other side of the table. "Yeah, sure."

She ate half of her food before she said anything. "Hey, thanks for not being creepy."

He looked at her calm face in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged and said, "Some of the other guys are a little creepy towards me, Hayes, O'Malley and Butler. They think it's funny to mess with the girls."

"Seriously?" Bradley asked, setting his fork down. "Which guys?" He wished he didn't feel the sudden urge to break something; he'd been able to manage this feeling for a long time, only letting it surface when he wanted to pound Jeff to bits for touching you. It would probably feel good right now if he let this emotion take over for a little bit.

"Don't worry about it," Trace replied easily. "It's nothing I can't handle. I just don't like eating alone if I can help it, because then they come over."

Bradley nodded, picking up his fork again. If there was anything you wouldn't like, it would be Bradley losing his place in the Navy because he couldn't manage to stay out of a fistfight. "You can eat with me whenever you want."

Her muttered, "Thanks," was so soft, he barely heard it. He wanted to tell her not to thank him, but the silence between them felt pretty nice. She took a few more bites before she asked, "So what's your deal, Bradshaw? You're awfully quiet for someone who can pass all of the exams on the first try and makes the simulators look easy."

He laughed. "I could say the same about you."

"I guess," she replied, "but I'm always the one initiating conversation with you, not the other way around. It's a girl, isn't it? You miss your girlfriend?"

She didn't ask it unkindly, but it felt like a slap to his face. He swallowed hard, once again wondering why this hurt so fucking bad after five goddamn months. But he'd never tried to actually talk about you with anyone else. Maybe it wouldn't be as hard as he thought it would. 

He cleared his throat and looked down at his tray. "There used to be a girl. I think maybe she thought she was doing me a favor when she dumped me. Or maybe she was just trying to protect herself. And I can respect that."

"Ouch," came Natasha's soft voice, and Bradley had almost forgotten he wasn't alone. "You were in love with her." 

It wasn't phrased as a question, and once again Bradley felt like she physically hit him. He had never admitted it out loud before right now. "Yeah. I was in love with her." He set his fork down one last time before he met her eyes. "I'm still in love with her."

Later that night, he cried himself to sleep, dying to hear you call him Beer Boy and push your fingers through his hair one last time. Dying to ask you why he couldn't have two dreams.

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

You were twenty-two years old. You lived in one of the most exciting cities in the country. And you were single. But you never really felt like going out when the other graduate students invited you. Every time you did go, you ended up at a bar that was way too loud or a frat house that was way too uncomfortable. Nobody knew how to play beer pong correctly, and every guy was wearing a backwards cap.

It made your heart ache.

"Hey." 

You looked up from your computer to see Jared staring at you with a smile on his face and his hat spun backwards on his head. "Alex and I are going to one of the library study rooms and then out to get a beer. You coming?"

Both of those things sounded amazing, actually. But not with him or Alex. Not with anybody at this school or in this city or even in the central time zone. You shook your head. "Thanks, but not tonight. Maybe next week?"

Jared looked dejected. "Aww, come on. You're too pretty to be sitting here working alone." He probably though he was being charming, but he was nowhere close to the level of sweetness you were used to.

You sighed softly and shook your head again. "Thanks but.... maybe next week."

When he finally left, you tried to return your attention to what you had been working on. There was no shortage of classwork or research to keep you busy seven days a week here, and that was a very good thing. Because it was days like this one where you started to think about Bradley and you couldn't stop. As soon as you let the memories creep in, you were done. 

You closed your computer and sucked in a ragged breath. Through the blurry tears filling your eyes, you pulled up the bottom of your hoodie and ran your fingers along the soft, tie dyed cotton of the shirt you were wearing underneath. If you closed your eyes and thought about Virginia, you could almost believe the shirt still smelled like him. You could almost hear him sing what had become your favorite song.  

"Shit," you muttered, standing and shoving your computer into your backpack. You would finish working from your dorm room. You just needed to get out of here right now. 

The icy cold air smacked you in the face as soon as you walked outside. Apparently it started snowing in October here. It had been snowing steadily for days. You missed Virginia. You missed the stupid Beta house. You missed the way Bradley felt like your own personal furnace when he cuddled with you. Sometimes you thought you'd made the worst decision of your life.

The urge to cave and call him as soon as you got to your room and cranked up the heater was so intense. Then you remembered that you broke his heart and your own with a handful of sentences and the admission that you loved him. Well, you still loved him, but he almost certainly hated you. And that was fine. That was completely okay as long as he was focused on keeping himself safe instead of thinking about a long distance relationship. He had a dream bigger than you, and he deserved to live it out.

You curled up in a ball on your bed and listened to Easy to Love You by The Grateful Dead exactly eleven times in a row while you cried. You did the math in your head; that was just over forty minutes of crying. Last week when you broke down, it was closer to an hour. Maybe things were on the upswing now. Maybe the pain would start to fade. It had already been more than five months since you left his room while he sat on the edge of his bed, agony written on his face. 

"Why?" you asked yourself angrily, certain nobody else would ever make you feel as good as he had for the handful of months you'd spent together. He taught you a lot about yourself, and now you understood the importance of giving someone a second chance. How crucial it was to look past the surface. 

You buried your nose in the fabric of the colorful shirt, turned the song on one more time, and fell asleep with unshed tears and a tightness in your chest. When you woke up the next day, you found more snow on the ground when you put on your boots and jacket and headed outside. You remembered exactly where to go, because you'd seen it so many times before. You headed for the tattoo parlor near campus with a pocketful of cash and the hope that this would make you feel better and not worse.

Once you were lounging back with the Grateful Dead shirt pulled up, you pointed to your math tattoo. "I want it just below this one. It's a specific song lyric. And I want it in this font."

The tattoo artist looked at your skin and then the words you'd written out before checking the font you were pointing to in his binder which happened to look a bit like Bradley's tidy script. 

"The Dead," he said with a smile. "I dig it. I can do it for a hundred bucks."

You nodded and handed him the cash, and just a few minutes later, he got to work. If he thought you were crying softly because of the pain from the needle digging into your flesh over and over again, then that was fine with you.

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

I'm fine. We are all fine. Year two is up next.

PART 2

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[konigsblog]

captain's punishment .

summary; you're lost in a mission, price is angry and frustrated when you finally arrive back to base, teaching you a proper lesson the right way, and punishing you for being immature.

trigger warnings; degrading, rough sex, price is mean, exhibitionism (slightly), blowjobs, gagging, hair pulling, spanking, shit writing (message me if i missed anything) mean!price x f!reader, female anatomy (afab)

read more?

to say price was upset is an understatement. he expect better, especially from you. you'd been in the tasks force for years, you were a sergeant, someone who knew better than to get lost in the middle of a mission.

he'd thought you'd died, finally hearing your voice after a few days, getting your radio to work. “this is dove, come in.” you tried, muttering out your callsign.

price was in the middle of a rescue mission, searching for you, your voice ringing in his ears. “dove? where are you?” his voice was stern and cold, you could sense the anger behind the façade of being calm. “safehouse, i'll send my location.”

you were happy to be found. living off a couple things you'd found in the safehouse, the windows smashed in and allowing octobers harsh and unforgiving wind to breeze by.

the sound of the snow crushing against his crimson stained boots, the soles engraved with blood. as soon as he was on the concrete, his footsteps became louder, alerting you of his arrival. “you here, kid?” he'd call out, his gun pointed up as he scanned the area before his gaze landed on you.

no one else was behind him, it was a solo rescue, knowing he'd find you and come back in one shape, with you clinging to his arm. his gaze hardened, gritting his teeth as he put his gun down. “fuck, dove.” he cursed lowly, under his breath, smoke coming from his mouth, unsure of whether that was the smoke from his cigar or the affects from the cold weather.

“'m sorry, price..” you averted your eyes from him, avoiding eye contact before his glover hand grasped at your jaw, forcing you to look into his eyes. “you stupid? never remembered you to be this immature. should've told us immediately.” price towered above you, you were safe against a couch, old and tattered.

big doe eyes stared up at him, clearly guilty. “my radio, didn't work.” you looked into his eyes, seeing you all vulnerable beneath him was something he'd never experienced. you were a strong soldier, unable of making mistakes, something he'd never expected from you until now. it made him feel something; it made his cock twitch and throb, sighing lowly.

“wanna make it up to me?” suddenly the atmosphere changed. his bulge became more visible, more prominent. you nodded shyly, his hand still lingering of your jaw til it moved to his fly. unzipping it, maintaining eye contact, seeing the desire inside your pretty and adoring eyes.

his cock springed from his boxers, half hard, slightly dripping with precum. he nudged it against your soft lips, pushing inside, groaning when you wrapped those lips around him. john's hand immediately grasped at your hair, pushing you further onto his length til you hit his base, letting out a gag, your nose tickling his pubes.

dragging you off his size, tongue flat against his shaft, head thrown back. he let go of your skull, letting you set the pace. your fingers wrapped around his girth, not meeting due to how wide he is. swirling your tongue around the tip and sucking on his generously, taking his precum and tasting it on your pink tongue.

“fuck..- girl, that's it, you slut.” he grunted loudly, gazing down at you and admiring you, the way you dragged your tongue along each vein, moans muffled, hypnotised to the metallic and bitter taste of his semen. you whined, feeling as he pulled your hair, yanking you off his dick and forcing you back down. using your throat like a fleshlight, addicted to the sounds of your struggle.

“want your cum, sir..” you coughed, whining. “mm', bet you want it inside that pretty pussy, don't you?” a whimper left your lips, nodding your head eagerly, rubbing your thighs together. “spread those legs then, butterfly.”

you leaned back against the couch, shuffling your pants off and spreading your legs. you bit your lip, hiding the sounds you wanted to let out, feeling as he traced your slit over the material of your panties, soaked and ruined. “all wet f'me.” a chuckle escaped his throat, ripping your panties off in one swift movement, causing you to squirm and squeal.

he didn't even prepare you, slowly easing into your pussy, pulling your shirt up as he bottomed out inside you. grasping at your tits and squeezing them, fully revealing your tits, his tongue encircling your hardened nipples.

full and thick balls slapped against your tight ass, which each thrust making you clench around him, unable to think of anything other than your mean captain. “had my eyes on you for a while, soldier..” he breathed out, beginning to slam into your wet pussy as his pace increased.

you mewled for him to slow down. hairy ballsack knocking against your ass, girthy and meaty cock stretching out your pussy. it was painful, yet the pleasure took your mind off it, taking over any concerns about the pain. the sensation burned in your stomach, arching your back further into him.

“such a naughty girl, aren't you? not listening to your superior, huh?!” price became more upset, grabbing you by the scalp and forcing your head down again the comfort of the couch. he started to pound into you painfully, making you choke on a sob, eyes glistening slightly.

feeling so fucked-out already, the texture of each vein lugging against your gummy and soft walls was pleasurable. his radio began making sounds, the voice familar, gaz. “y'alright, sir? haven't heard from you.” and to make it worse, he didn't stop. “yeah, at the safehouse, sending my location for helo” he spoke, the sounds of skin slapping and moans loud, definitely heard by kyle.

“s-sir-” he put a finger to his mouth, silencing you. you couldn't stop moaning and they only grew louder as you grew more needy. knowing that helo would be here soon, you knew you would have to get this over with quickly. throwing the radio onto the coffee table, starting to ram into your swollen and sore cunt harder, faster, meaner.

“fuckin' be quiet, such a loud girl, aren't you? you want them to hear you? whore.” you gasped out, his thumb stimulating your clit, rubbing it over and over again yet pulling away everytime he thought you were coming closer to your orgasm. he wanted to drag it out, make you weep and beg him, pleading for your release.

his broad hips smacked into you again, repetitive skin slapping sounds filling the rooms silence, your noises probably heard from outside the building. his grip on your head tighten, other hand running up your waist to your breasts, running back down to your hip and squeezing. his grip tightened as he held you like a ragdoll, using you like a fleshlight, his pace coming to a stop. “if you're so desperate, fuck yourself back on my cock, dove.”

you cried out, bouncing yourself back onto his weeping length, his grasp tightening more as your walls pulsed around him. “n-need you” your pretty eyes that he loved to look at rolled to the back of your head, shut tight as you clenched around him. his tip grew red and angry, signalling that he was about to come.

panties were stuffed into your mouth, the taste of your arousal quietening your whining. you could taste the sweetness on your tongue, his thumb rubbing your clit again, causing you to squirt all over him. you came around him, milking him for all his thick cum.

it oozed from your precious hole, tight and spilling potent semen from it. your chest rised and fell as you caught your breath, pulling out your cunny and grabbing his belt, spanking your painful pussy, the cries you let out making him chuckle. the material of the belt causing a ‘thwap’ sound to echo throughout the four walls, continuing to abuse your cunt, still annoyed after that mission.

“m' sorry, sir!! please-, sir-!” he spanked your thighs a few more times, slapping your clit once before pushing you up. “hm', think i've taught you a lesson, dove?” you nodded, wanting a long and cold shower to wash of the dirt sweat and grime from your skin. he pulled you up, grabbing your pants and telling you to put them on, having to wear your soaked panties beneath them.

your belt looped through the loops, tightening it before the you heard the helo. the loud sounds of it approaching alerted you two, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out with him.

sighing as you sat down, smiling at soap who looked st you confused. it was pretty obvious what happened; your hair a mess, clothes messily and sloppily put on, clearly in a rush. and your mascara was smeared, you swear you could see ghost smirking, a low laugh leaving him quietly.

“lass, your fly's undone.” johnny had a huge grin on his face, smirking at you with a look that told you ‘i know what you did’ “o-oh, i didn't notice." wincing as you felt your cunt ache and throb, fixing your pants, embarrassed as everyone knew what you and price were up to, minutes prior.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

41. “Sleep.  I’ll keep you safe.”

This one hurts so good

Unedited fic is unedited. Set in 1918, at the end of the war when Matt is trying to limp his way through the absolute slog of shit that was the proto-blitzkrieg of the last months of the war. Alfred is trying to pretend he's not avoiding trench duty at the Meuse–Argonne because of the trauma of the American Civil War. I was inspired by my Canadian great-grandfather coming home with American buttons on his coat instead of British or Canadian maple leaves that I inherited and made into earrings, lol.

October, 1918

“Give me a hand, Mattie, fuck.” Alfred cursed all the way up as the tailgate of the troop truck dropped. He was stuck on the single cobblestone that managed to give any traction under the three inches of mud. But it may as well have been concrete, for all he could leverage himself out. In the silvery light of the following truck waiting for its turn to round the corner of the checkpoint, Matt was only a hunched-over figure and a pair of gloved hands that grasped him by the wrists and managed to swing him free. His pack landed with a thud ten seconds before he did, and he was pulled roughly to his feet, and his ass finally found a bench. Almost instantly, the cold wood bit through his layers. Matt had disappeared down the benches and into the dark shelter of the canvas cover.

A‌ soldier, looking beat to shit, offered him a light, and he handed out cigarettes, bribing his way into goodwill. They were all lightly dusted in snow, and sleet battered collars turned up even as it got dryer.

“You’re under Lieutenant Williams, yeah? Where’d he get too?”

Weary soldiers nodded up under the cover.

“Mattie!” Alfred handed his cigarette to another man and cupped two hands over his mouth to shout over the engines. “What’re you avoiding me for? Get your sorry ass down here before I‌ start telling embarrassing stories about you.”‌

No response, no movement. Soldiers looked confused.

“Well, kiddo, guess I’m just going to have to start telling folks about—”

“Just what the fuck is so important—”‌ Matt appeared, just like that, steadying himself on the shoulder of one of his men. They glanced up, a little protective, a little annoyed. Alfred didn’t register it. Matt was a trembling pillar, his face a bright, sharp point above his uniform like a flame over a candle dyed dark with soot.

“You look like shit.”‌ Alfred raised a hand to grab Mattie’s shoulder and he slapped the hand away with a dark expression. The message was clear. He was a leader here, an officer of the ‌British army, not Alfred’s baby brother. Another word and Alfred would be tossed off the back of the truck to enforce the silence.

"Don't use me as a distraction to get out of combat." Matt snapped and disappeared back under the canvas, and Alfred let him. At least it was warmer there. He wasn't avoiding anything.

Soldiers stared at him, and he felt sweaty despite the fall air. He wasn't avoiding anything. Just because he'd had six planes shot out from under him in as many weeks and the thought of another stint in a trench made him want to die didn't mean he didn't care. He offered up cigarettes with a smile, bribing his own Americans up with him.

“Headed up to the line anyways,” He made small talk with the soldiers around him, as popular for his cigarette supply as he was for the chocolate constantly in his coat pockets. Some of them were Americans, volunteering before the US joined the war. Boys from New York, Wisconsin, and other places had easily slid across the border without needing real paperwork. The convoy slid north on the icy roads, following the advance to leapfrog ahead of the infantry currently on the front line and pushing forward to relieve the men presently fighting their way back into Belgium. He dozed between them, one of them. He didn't much like his own under a British flag, but it felt... Solid somehow, that it was with Matt. At least it wasn't the sour old fart. He was thinking about Christmas when he was startled awake.

He awoke to coughing. Everyone had a bit of one, the rough soldier’s coughs that everyone had at some point. But this was horrible, and it was constant, drawing into someone’s lungs. And he recognized it. Alfred was instantly on his feet, weaving through the legs of sleepy men. He flung open a canvas flap and took the lantern swinging on the canvas, support in hand.

Matt was sitting, barely supported between two soldiers, his helmet off, the pale of before replaced with a violent flush, mouth open to breathe, trying to suck in air. His chin was tucked into his chest, and the coughing had not stopped.

“You don’t look so good, sir.” One of the sergeants said. Matt looked up.

“Just cold.” He said, trying to smile. “Everyone’s just cold. We’ll get moving and warm up, eh?”

The laugh he forced just turned into more coughing. Alfred stood there, lantern in hand. The soldiers around Matt looked protective, staring at him like he was an enemy they needed to hide their vulnerable commander from. Then, one sidled up to him. A boy from Wisconsin with a crop of ruddy curls. He pat Alfred on the arm and knew instantly he was a mechanic’s son from Green Bay, nestled right against Canada’s belly on the Great Lakes.

“We took the edge of a gas shell last week, and he’s been coughing like that since. Won’t listen to anyone and get a rest because there’s a shortage of officers.”

“Christ’s sake,” Alfred muttered. He sidled between bodies and inserted himself between his brother and one sergeant. He popped Matt’s helmet on and got close. The professional kind of close, resisting the urge to cradle Matt like he had their entire lives.

“There’s a casualty clearing half a mile up the road. Get fed, get dry, get some sober sack time, and I’ll make sure I get you in a goddamn staff car and back up the line before they’re assaulting anything, all right?‌ Hand to God, I‌ will get you back up here if you get some fucking rest.”

Matt was still, sweating now and fading to pale. He was shaking. And then he nodded.

“Hallelujah, you stupid bastard.” Alfred muttered.

He got Matt down the end of the truck as it jolted along, hands under his brother’s arms. His coat flapped open, and Alfred batted it away from him, annoyed.

“Button your fucking coat before you get pneumonia.”‌

A deep, curdled-chest cough was his response.

“Can’t.” Matt gasped. “Got caught on a bit of wire while we were digging funk holes, tugged right off.”

Alfred sighed.

“Okay, you poor dumb fuck. Give it here.”

Matt looked confused, and Alfred resisted the urge to feel his forehead. Instead, he shrugged his great coat off.

“Swap me.” He said. Matt just stared. Alfred huffed.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m used to it.” He said and crossed his arms over his unfastened coat. “I‌ was fucking born cold, I’ll die cold, and there’s not fuck all anyone can do about it in between.”

“Except give you a decent fucking coat you melodramatic shit.” Alfred was this close to smacking upside the head. He felt guilty for even having the thought as Matt exploded into coughing again. He dipped forward, collapsing into the bench at the far end of the truck bed, and Alfred gripped him by the waist, suddenly frightened he’d vomit or tumble over the tailgate and into the mud-churned roads. He pulled him back and took the opportunity to pull his coat off and wrap him in the better American one. Matt glared the entire time, but words were constricted by the endless wheezing when he went to speak. Alfred shoved his arms into the coat sleeves and buttoned it up, the American eagles shining in the lantern light. Matt glared daggers for a split second before he dragged in an inhale so violent he gagged. Every other soldier in the truck looked away. Alfred's chest hurt just listening.

At the next crossroads, American Red Cross nurses half-staffed the Casualty Clearing Station, and Alfred gave their commander his best, crooked, beaming smile and a wink. They gave him one of the visitor’s huts with a stove, a corrugated roof and two cots with clean sheets. Matt could barely stay on his feet. The mud sucked at his boots, and Alfred hauled him along. He considered picking Matt up entirely but wasn’t fully convinced the brass knuckles he’d mailed Matt years back had been lost somewhere along the way and wouldn’t end up embedded in his kidneys. At least not the way Matt was glaring.

He deposited Matt on a bed, dumped water from the pitcher and wash basin into a tin pot resting on the stove and cranked the stove as high as he could. It’d been almost 200 years since he’d needed someone to boil water and strange herbal plants and shove him and all the steam it could produce under a blanket.

Matt immediately listed to the side like a poorly loaded plane.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Alfred hadn’t even sat down yet. “Don’t be stubborn. Just breathe some fucking steam until you don’t sound like you’re about to die.”

“Sorry,” Came a very faint croak.

He frowned and peeked under the wool blanket. Matt had collapsed onto his side, and his eyes were squeezed shut, breathing too shallow to make him cough, but it still didn’t sound like he was getting enough of it.

“Hey.” Alfred pushed what was left of Matt’s damp curls off his forehead. He looked so strange with hair this short. It’d been shorn when Francis gave him up, and the look on him still made him look just as abandoned, even fully grown and in British green. The thought was as gone as quickly as it came.

“You are burning.” Alfred pressed a hand to his forehead. Matt’s eyes hadn’t opened. He made a gentle sound of acknowledgment but didn’t speak, like it didn’t surprise him.

“Have you had the flu yet?”‌

“No.”

“Is this—?”‌

“No.” He said. “This just… happens sometimes. I‌ didn’t take the pills because I just— wanted some sleep.”

Still wearing Matt’s coat, Alfred stuck his hand in the pocket. Unmarked bottles of pills. He only recognized the contents of one of the bottles as aspirin.

“Do I‌ want to know what’s in these?”

“No.”

“Can I ask where you got them?”

“Zee, Uncle Alasdair, Dad.���

“Let me guess, none of them knew who else was giving you what. God I am going to ban everything when we get home. Temperance is just the begin—”

Alfred was feeling uncharacteristically like a responsible older brother, ready to give Matt a whole hellfire and brimstone Baptist lecture for a moment before Matt spoke.

“I’m just glad you’re here.” He found his brother looking up at him, gratitude as evident on his face as misery.

The heavy eyes and distinctly sick flush belied an expression Alfred didn't see often. It came fast on the heels of father's anger or Matt's fear dissolving. Grateful, instantly secure and safe usually snuggled up in Alfred's side, burrowed there against his own madness or the household's hostility. He blinked and Alfred felt horrible as he teared up and then exhaled, pushing away the emotion.

But there was still something small to him. “I miss you more when I’m this pathetic. I feel better.”

"I know." Alfred pushed sweaty hair off his feverish face and gave him a tap on the chin. "Get some sleep kiddo, you know I'll keep you safe."

[hairmetal666]

Just before Christmas, Hawkins has a huge snowstorm--biggest they've seen in decades. Mr. Merrill finds a sleigh, cleans it up, starts offering rides along the same path as the Haunted Hayride he runs at the pumpkin patch each October. And none of that should effect Eddie at all, except Steve Harrington calls him up and says the kids all want to go, Robin and Nancy too, and maybe Eddie wants to come? And Eddie says yes even though he absolutely does not want to. Doesn't like the cold; only likes watching the snow as it falls, has no interest in being out in it; and has his suspicions about horses when they're staring at him right in the eye (they're too big and they kick hard and they have all those teeth).

He says yes because Steve Harrington and his pretty hair and his plump pink lips and his tantalizing constellation of moles have Eddie's heart in a chokehold. And when the pretties boy in Hawkins calls to ask you to go for a sleigh ride with him (plus his platonic soulmate who's dating his ex-girlfriend and the seven kids you co-parent), you don't say no.

It's not a date. Eddie knows. But it's a chance to be close, to look, to laugh, to pretend that friendship proximity is enough.

As soon as Eddie walks into Steve's house, the man himself is tsk-ing. "That's what you're wearing? You'll freeze!"

"I hate winter, you know that!" Eddie pouts.

Steve tuts, extra mom as he tugs Eddie's leather jacket tighter around his neck, and Eddie tries to not let their proximity make him blush.

With a shake of his head, Steve turns, starts upstairs. "Be right back."

And he's not lying, he's bouncing in front of Eddie in less than a minute, hands full of red yarn.

"Wha--" Eddie can't get the words out before Steve jams a pair of fuzzy red ear muffs over his curls, wrapping a matching scarf gently around his neck.

All of that is astonishing in itself, but Eddie swears, swears, that Steve's eyes linger on his lips before darting back up to look him in the eye. And that the tips of Steve's ears glow pink.

"Here," Steve thrusts the red mittens into Eddie's hands. "You can do these yourself."

Under normal circumstances, Eddie would say something over-the-top flirty, too silly to be serious, but this has all thrown him for a loop, so he only manages a , "th-thanks." Then, Steve turns away, putting on his own, bright yellow winter gear. He grabs a buffalo plaid tote bag (such a mom), and before Eddie can ask what, exactly, Steve has in there, they're out the door to collect the kids and Robin and Nancy.

❄️❄️❄️❄️

Eddie knows, now, what was in the tote. A fucking thermos full of fucking hot chocolate, because Steve Harrington is infuriating and perfect, and Eddie is so fucking gone, and Steve is straight, and life is full of unfairness but this is almost too much.

He shivers and pulls the scarf that Steve (so carefully, tenderly) wrapped around his neck tighter.

The kids are all done with their ride, running through the wide open fields now, throwing snowballs and half-heartedly trying to shape snow bricks for a house. Nance and Rob are on theirs, and it's just Steve and Eddie, waiting their turn, and of course it's together. The kids all wanted to go in their group and obviously the girlfriends deserved the one-on-one time (each with lovingly poured paper cups of hot chocolate, of course), and Eddie couldn't leave Steve solo, so. It's just the two of them.

The sleigh pulls back up, and the girls, giggling pink, jump out. They rush away, leaving Eddie and Steve with Farmer Merrill and the two horses hitched to the sleigh, none of whom bother to look at the boys waiting their turn.

"Well?" Merrill asks.

"Ready, Harrington?"

"I'm not the one afraid of horses, Munson."

"Hey, I didn't say afraid," but he doesn't get to finish, because Steve climbs up to sit on the bench, patting the open space next to him.

Eddie gets in, and doesn't want to admit it but he's charmed and by more than just Steve. The sleigh is painted a deep hunter green with gold accenting, there are fucking jingle bells on the horse harnesses, and thick fleece plaid blankets piled high, so that riders can keep warm.

As soon as Eddie sits, Steve pulls the blankets over their laps. With a snap of the reigns, the horses start forward and Steve pours them hot chocolate. And goddamnit, Eddie's in love and he wants to hate this so much, it's so twee and sweet and unintentionally romantic and he adores it and the gorgeous boy sitting next to him.

He's worked himself into a good grouch about it, but then they make their way into open farmland and Farmer Merrill snaps the reigns again and the horses start to trot. Eddie shrieks with glee as the sleigh glides through the snow, and he fucking giggles, which makes Steve laugh too.

"Told you you'd love it," he says.

Eddie would argue, but Steve's eyes flash bright with happiness; the tip of his nose and his cheekbones glowing pink, and Eddie wants to kiss every spot of cold on that perfect face. He wants it so badly he has to look away, can't deal with the low tug of want in his gut.

They slip from the field into the forest, horses slowing to a more sedate pace. The trees aren't so close here, and there are enough pine and evergreen, bright with life, to make it beautiful and not barren.

Steve makes a noise, a little sigh, a happy one, that has Eddie turn to see. The other boy's face is upturned towards the sky, the trees; snowflakes, knocked loose by the light breeze, nestle in his coifed chestnut hair, dusting against his red cheeks. Eddie's world begins and ends here, with this man, in this moment.

"It's beautiful," Steve says.

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. His voice comes out all wrong, eyes never leaving the man beside him.

Steve turns, finds Eddie's eyes on him. Eddie watches as Steve connects the dots, as his eyebrows raise, and he flushes red.

"I'm sorry," Eddie cringes, looks down at remnants of hot chocolate in his paper cup.

Steve doesn't say anything, and Eddie wonders how much it will hurt to jump from the sleigh, how long it will take him to get back home walking from here.

"Eds," Steve says. Finally. "Look at me?"

Eddie can't deny Steve anything, but fear grapples at his throat. He raises his eyes, expecting anger or disgust or any number of horrible things, but he doesn't expect the hope burning in Steve's face.

Holding eye contact, Steve's hand finds Eddie's under the blanket, wrapping together as best they can in mittens.

"Is this okay?" Steve asks.

"Yeah," Eddie nods. His blush is hot enough to melt all the snow in the county.

They smile at each other; Eddie stopped breathing miles ago, but finds he doesn't need the air anymore.

The sleigh slides through the snow with a hissing crunch, accompanied by jingle bells and the snow-muffled clomp of horses hooves. They're perfectly alone, Farmer Merrill paying them no mind, so when Steve's free hand brushes against Eddie's jaw, he leans into the touch.

It's easy to close the distance between them. And this time, when Steve's eyes linger on his mouth, Eddie knows it's on purpose. His eyes drift closed right as their lips slot together in the sweetest kiss Eddie's ever had. He wants to lick at Steve's mouth, bite at his pretty, perfect lips, but he figures they have time for that; time for them to explore and learn each other. For now, when Eddie thought he'd never get this at all, the soft brush of their mouths together is enough.

They pull apart, after a few too-short minutes, knowing the ride is about to end, but they keep their hands clasped under the blankets.

"Still hate the winter?" Steve asks as the horses stop.

"Don't push your luck, Harrington," Eddie scowls.

Steve just smiles at him, all charming and knowing and hot.

The other man jumps from the sleigh, and Eddie allows the grin he's been holding back to slide across his face.

And maybe, yeah, with Steve Harrington, the winter's not so bad.

[anavatazes]

Learn to be a Texas Southern, From Austin.

Ok. First of all, I love you all. I truly do. I adore my fan fic writers, especially if you write my Joel crack... um, stories. *cough* The man keeps me in a bear hug and refuses to let go. Not that I am complaining ;).

BUT, for the LOVE of all that is holy and good and Joel, STOP using any American TV show or movie for reference to how things are in Texas as far as the food, the way they talk, the way the weather is, how and what a BBQ is, and I swear if I see another one with snow...

Like I said, I love you all. Yes, fan fiction is fantasy. You can write what you want. How you want. That's what is so great and wonderful about it. Get creative, get wild. Go crazy! But don't sit there and act like you do your research and are an accurate little miss that can do no wrong. Nuh-uh. I will find a slew of little old ladies that will Bless Your Hearts from here to Oblivion if you call Ribs with BBQ sauce proper BBQ in Texas. Believe you me. Every State in the Union has their own form of BBQ, and in the Southern States, it's a fucking religion akin to College Football and Jesus.

American TV and movies are pretty generic when it comes to the accuracy of our own culture and will take great liberties when trying to pass off one area for another. This includes accents, ways people speak, and how the areas they are in truly are. I touched on this briefly when I went over the whole Bless Your Heart phrase and how it does not mean what you think it means and it can get pretty offensive quick. American TV likes to go for the shock value, and the drama more than it likes to go for the accuracy and really doesn't care who it offends in the process. And older shows, like Dallas, Southerners don't talk like that anymore. Except maybe a few left in Kentucky... Maybe. Watch play-throughs of the games if you want a feel for how Joel speaks. Especially the first one. Stay away from the second one if you are trying to avoid season 2 spoilers for the show.

No Outbreak!/Pre-Outbreak!Joel will spend Saturday mornings with Sarah hiking. And there are next to no hills (unless man-made) in Austin. It's all flatland. No mountains. A few rivers, and Lake Travis isn't far away. A lot of trails all around Austin from 1999 to 2013, depending on when you wanted to have Outbreak Day if you wanted it at all. They'd probably go to one of a trillion restaurants in Austin for lunch, depending on their taste. It is canon that Joel can't cook. Tommy, Ellie, AND Sarah all bring it up in Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, if you know where to look. I would say one of their favorite places would be Home Slice for some great pizza. Or maybe even Torchies for a wide variety of tasty Tex-Mex food. Maybe even pick up some Brisket (Texas BBQ) to take home to get ready for an afternoon spent watching the University of Texas football game on the TV, if we're in August to January. Honestly, May through the beginning of October, they probably aren't doing too much hiking. The temperature of 100° plus (in Fahrenheit) is all the rage at this time. And you might have high humidity one day, with non-stop thunderstorms that might seem like a hurricane, and can spawn a tornado, but really isn't a hurricane. Then the next day, be the dryest heat that you've ever experienced in your life. Though, from what I've heard, the latter rarely happens now. More humid days are common now.

Texas BBQ.

If you are ever in the Southern United States, do yourself a favor, and just do not call anything related to the grill BBQ, ok. You will be better off and have a nicer visit, and life overall. If you like to live dangerously, go ahead and call the grill a BBQ. Call a cookout a BBQ. Go ahead. I'll wait. I'll have the tissues ready and waiting for the passive-aggressive politeness from the ladies and the open hostility from the not-so-gentlemen. You have a Cookout, or you Grill out. A BBQ is a way of life and means something different in each state (and will start a war in North Carolina because they are so special, they have two kinds of BBQ). Most everyone in (at least the South) can agree that BBQ food is some sort of slow cooked meat. In Texas, almost 99% of the population agrees it's Brisket, and the rest are wrong. (That's another Southern thing, they are right, and everyone else is just wrong. Drives me nuts when they use it in an argument). Now, they will have different ways of preparing it, and they will have fights over it (have witnessed several), but they all agree on Brisket.

Being close to the Mexican border and Texas' history as a part of Mexico once upon a time means that there is a heavy Mexican influence in Austin. As much as Texas likes to claim to be white bread, it really isn't. From the food to the people to the names of streets, cities, etc, there is a heavy Mexican influence. The idea that, somewhere, that Joel and Tommy have Latino blood is not far-fetched. Especially on the show. At the very least they would have a basic understanding of Spanish. That is being from Austin, regardless if they share any Mexican heritage or not.

Politeness and the True Southern Gentlemen.

I hate to break it to you, but there is no such thing as the great Southern Politeness and Hospitality. In fact, if a guy comes up to me and says he's a True Southern Gentleman, I'm running the other way. That "Gentleman" is 9/10 times a walking sexual assault case. This is not to say there are no nic+e and polite people in the South, but it is no different from any other place in the US. But, I will tell you, from the upper middle class on up, they can be some of the most passive-aggressive mother fuckers you will ever meet. From the Mid-Middle Class on down, the more hospitable they will be, and they fit the stereotype the upper class has somehow gotten. It's a mess.

Religion

Not everyone in the South is Christian, or devout, but will say a phrase that will make you think they are. I touched on this in my Bless Your Heart post. As God as my Witness, Good Lord Willin', Christ Almighty, and others are common phrases you will hear in the South. It DOES NOT mean the speaker is religious by any means. Trust me.

That's all I have for now. I could go on, as there is more. And please remember, fan fiction is fantasy, it's creative. Write what you want. This is just to help out those who are looking for more accuracy. And as it has been a while since Austin for me, and you are from Texas, and more specifically Austin, and you wish to add more info, and/or correct anything, feel free, please. There are a lot of differences among the Southern States, and it can be a pain to keep it all straight. So I have no problem in receiving help to keep in all in line :).

[bomberqueen17]

every other year

So my family has this thing, where every other year we get together for Christmas, and the off years are for those of us with in-laws to go see them.

Odd years are my with-family years, even are with Dude's family.

And then we do Thanksgiving the opposite. So this is an odd year, so Thanksgiving is here in Buffalo, and Christmas is with my family.

And somehow this never fucking works.

So the year Dad died was an even year. I was to be here for Christmas. Dad died very suddenly on Dec 21st of 2020. Mom wouldn't let me come home. I spent Christmas silent in a corner at Dude's mom's, because I was grief-stricken and in shock. I was not allowed to view his body, he was cremated before I could come home.

The next year was to be our first Christmas together without him. Last-minute, older sister called us all up-- second week of November-- and said "ah can we do Thanksgiving together instead? My in-laws are demanding we do Christmas with them!"

No, I said, because I can't change my plans so suddenly. Everyone else could, so they did, and I got in my car and left the farm just after they all arrived, because I had already made promises and it was too late to cancel them. I drove home crying, cold and alone, and had a very quiet thanksgiving with dude's mom and aunt. Because I had promised to. I spent Christmas with some friends in Rochester, because they had room for me.

Last year was a Christmas-here year. We had Thanksgiving at the farm, and we had a wonderful time, and then I came home and it snowed five feet and I spent Christmas shoveling snow to rescue Dude's mom. We couldn't get his aunt out but fortunately she had enough provisions to get through it.

This year in like October my older sister called me and asked to clarify what the plans were, and I told her, it's an odd year, so it's a Thanksgiving apart, Christmas together year. She said great, that's fine, we're on, let's do it. So I made my plans.

November eighth her husband invited his mother to come up for Christmas, neatly locking them out of coming up here. So she called us all again and said "ah! switcheroonie! Thanksgiving together instead?"

And again I said, "I cannot change my plans so suddenly," because Dude's mom had already reviewed the menu with us, had already bought the ham she was going to make, had already begun her preparations, because that is the kind of person she is.

"Maybe we'll come up right after Christmas," older sister said, and I said "I can make arrangements to accommodate that, let me know as soon as you can".

No, the answer was no, she couldn't make that happen. She couldn't drive up twice in two months. "Why don't you guys come down here instead," she asked, which is what we did in 2017, the last time we were all together, but that had been the plan from the beginning that year, we did Christmas together and it worked out. Another time we did New Year's together as a make-up for Christmas but I can't figure out which year that was. I did confirm just now looking back at my photos that they missed christmas 2019 and we did a make-up New Year's event at the farm that year.

No, I said reluctantly, I can't do that, because among other things I can't leave my cat at the boarding kennel long enough to go to Baltimore after having spent the holiday near Troy NY. And like, it is a *brutal* drive back from Maryland to Buffalo and there is always snow somewhere along that route, we've had a miserable time of it both years we've gone down there.

Anyway. So now they're coordinating Thanksgiving plans, and someone asked a question and I answered, and then said, "I will, as I said, not be able to attend", and Farmsister wrote back with the most condescending bullshit I have ever encountered, saying that since she spends every Thanksgiving right there, and anyone is always free to join in, I'm not being excluded just because I choose to be somewhere else.

Did she think I felt like I hadn't been invited??? Does she think I'm somehow letting the family down by honoring promises I had already made???? I promised to be somewhere else, that is not the same thing as declining to attend!

So that set me off and I've sent a bunch of unhinged shit to the family groupchat, but. Like. i'm not crazy. Am I????????

Older sister was like "well we can make plans for next year" and I said straight out to her, okay, so I go to my in-laws this year on Thanksgiving, and I say I want to reverse things, and do Christmas with my family next year, and this is enough notice so they'll surely go along with it, and so mother-in-law buys her tickets for California and is confirmed and is going out there next Christmas, no problem. And then next November 1st or 8th or 16th my brother-in-law pitches another tantrum, and again plans are reversed, and I'm left out of Christmas, having already excluded myself from these other plans. What do I do then?

Maybe I'll tell my dude to plan to go with his mother to California, I said, and the two of them can go and be out of the way, and then I can sit by the phone and be available, and if you have space to squeeze me in I can show up, and if not I can make last-minute plans with the friends I go to when this happens (every time) and I need last-minute plans, they're always welcoming. I can't do this to Dude, he needs things to be set, but I can scramble last-minute. So is that what I should do? Just leave myself open, so I can come if you have room for me, but I won't know until the last minute.

I understand that this is my horrible brother-in-law's fault (NOT farm-BIL, who is not involved in this; he also has a horrible dramatic family but unlike some he has put in a lot of work and tries to keep that from spilling over to affect other people too much) and my sister is in a stressful position trying to keep everything together. I get that. But it is literally always my problem that I cannot drop everything and scramble. And I'm blamed for it, that I'm inflexible and can't just make the best of it. Everyone else is mad that I can't just pretend this is okay. And, obviously, blames me. And I'm sort of over it.

So anyway I'm writing this down because I'm fucking terrible at planning and at remembering things, but my blog entries are a big part of how I have been able to piece together the truth in the face of literally the entire rest of my family claiming that it's never been a problem before.

No, it's been a problem every time, it's just that it's only my problem, so nobody else remembers or cares. But it has, in fact, been a problem. Every time. Just, only for me.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

2009 Phan (7) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six

a decent chap (ao3) - calvinahobbes, yikesola

Summary: “The fabled danisnotonfire.” Martyn can’t help a smirk when the poor boy’s eyes flicker quickly away from his at the mention of his Twitter handle. “Welcome. You boys want a nightcap?”

a matched set (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: “Mum,” he says, and his voice sounds like a balloon about to burst from happiness. “Mum, would you do me a favor.”

(a mother's view of the christmas adventure)

afterglow (ao3) - catboyhowell (bloodyscarab)

Summary: now our hearts are racing

baby let me know what you're tasting

afterglow by flores

came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form (ao3) - templeofshame

Summary: Dan considers safety, the internet, and rules he wants to break.

Emotional Fiber (ao3) - indistinct_echo

Summary: Phil's been told he’s lucky for it, having so much love to give, but it really does fucking suck to give all that he has and is to the world and never feel it received nor returned.

every ounce of me (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Dan and Phil being (mostly) soft on October 19th, 2009—with a bit of introspective Dan (and also him trying to avoid it)

fireworks (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Twelve years of New Year’s Eves - or, the first and the most recent.

greedy for that feeling (ao3) - JudeAraya

Summary: Learning to love Phil was like a trust fall: terrifying but necessary and ultimately, exhilarating. Together, they’re learning how to talk, how to give each other what they need, and how to ask for and share desires they’ve never shared or experienced before.

I Think I've Loved You Before (ao3) - milfbilvy

Summary: There is nothing Phil is more sure of than the fact that he and Dan were meant to find each other in every life.

I Don't Wanna Close My Eyes (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Dan is tired of the Halloween party he's been forced to attend. He wanders off, straight into a pretty little cafe with an even prettier barista.

Investigations (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: Obliviousness runs in the family

just you (ao3) - Rawritsamehh

Summary: snippets from 2009 but reversed- Phil is a fanboy for his favorite YouTuber, Dan.

kissing gif (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Meeting Dan is the luckiest he’s ever been. Having him here, on his bed, is a dream come true whether it looks like a sexy Internet gif or not. (A pinof tag about expectations and reality.)

kiss me just to kiss me (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Phil knows it’s serious. He knows he’s serious about Dan in that way he gets about people because he is so painfully afraid of messing things up. Dan came all this way just to see him, but he didn’t come all this way just to see him, and the least Phil can do is show him a good time.

lie with me (sew your heart to my sleeve) (ao3) - trademarkblue

Summary: You make me feel safe, Phil. I've never felt like that before. Safe like this. Not for a long time, at least.

A ficlet about comfort and new love.

Look How Warm You Are (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: It snowed during the night after Dan's first day back in Rosendale, so Phil brings him out on a bit of an adventure to explore in the snow.

meeting the parents (ao3) - SylvesterLester

Summary: Dan is ready to meet Phil's parents.

Right?

oh, he's got me going (ao3) - loveslabourlost

Summary: Everything in Phil's body is thicker than in Dan's.

real and different (ao3) - SylvesterLester

Summary: Phil is different than Dan imagined. Different than his videos.

But he likes it.

secret dan folder (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: There are photos of him out there, of course, a hundred embarrassing ones on Facebook and in Nana’s family albums. But it’s always felt to him like people took them more because they had to or ought to than because they really wanted to. And here Phil is, feeling some incomprehensible mixture of shame and pride because he has a truly impressive collection of ugly stalker photos of Dan on his laptop.

Sixty Nine Nook (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: Dan and Phil get locked in the nook under the staircase of Phil's family home, so they make the most of it.

Somebody to Love (ao3) - counting2fifteen

Summary: Dan and Phil’s first meeting in 2009, loosely inspired by the song Somebody to Love by Queen

The Christmas Sweater (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan is on his way to Phil's to spend Christmas with the Lesters for the first time.

Thinking of You (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan and Phil have been flirtatious during their late-night conversations. One night, they find themselves wanting so badly that they give into both their bodies and eventually their secrets.

Up the Hill, Making Memories (ao3) - husbants

Summary: It's the night of October 19th, 2009. The bus has just dropped Dan and Phil off after their day in Manchester together. This doesn't mean the night is over, though: they've got one long hill to climb before they're getting to Phil's house.

(And maybe they are a little excited to get to Phil's house.)

warm (ao3) - SylvesterLester

Summary: Phil likes Dan.

And Phil really, really likes Dan's hat.

we freak on the cam (ao3) - freelydopefun

Summary: “I wanna touch on you

You see me in my room

Wish you were here right now

All of the things I'd do”

Two Boys. Late Night Webcalls. Cords getting tangled up in unusual places.

(we were in) screaming color (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Phil thinks he could be jealous. He turns the idea over in his mind, weighing it. He could be more jealous, angry for Dan’s lack of attention.

Weight on my Shoulders (ao3) - ByTheFire

Summary: When Phil starts getting some unexpected gifts from his dad he starts to worry if he knows something he is not ready to share. Thankfully Dan is there to make it all a bit less scary. All Phil can hope is his dad doesn't want to change who he truly is.

What if (he's the one?) (ao3) - Archive (Curlylinguist)

Summary: It's 19th October 2009, and Dan has a whole lot of thoughts as he travels up to meet Phil for the first time.

yellow (ao3) - awrfdnp

Summary: “You’re my yellow, Phil.”

yes, I know (ao3) - moonanonymous

Summary: It's October 19th, and Phil is anxiously awaiting a train.

You're Perfect To Me (ao3) - ticklishraspberries

Summary: Dan is feeling insecure about his body, and Phil can’t have that.

[saintkeaton]

A B S T R A C T I O N

October is a

conspiracy

cold covering the

mind like

kudzu vines

i’m ready to take a

stab at those March

winds

maybe fly a damn

kite with the

kids

that's when the

absurd dream

sets in

dreams from the

silver resort

...for all the glory

there must be a

secret golden

truth

hiding in black halls

of unknown

hospitals

to bend

around rebellion

&

smash dark windows

&

piss on golden truth

while Buddha sits like

a lump of lying shit

damn!

how you messed up

my life for years!

to get caught in a

cycle of daily

paralyzation

plastered to an

easy chair

you watch from a

grand vantage point

while i’m rolling in

the mud

thirteen times you

nailed bad news onto

my chest

13 times you cut my

sentence off with a

razor

thirteen times

&

times

&

times before that

time is meaningless

don’t you know?

you know about your

blue veins popping

in my neck?

i grunt

&

take a shit

while boiling water in

the shower

it burns like hell!

that's just the way

she likes it

i can’t take the

heat

i step backwards

&

tell her she’s

insane

my brain tells me to

write this poem

some sorry attempt at

earthly immortality

i recon

the effort is met with

anxiety

&

dread

well

that’s not true is it?

it’s interesting

(for me at least)

to scan meaningless

words

slammed together in

random patchwork

growing this dead

thing

from inside out

it’s been done before

probably many times

but i’ve never

so fuck off!

oh

non reader

if you click on this

pretentious shit

&

read my words

i won’t believe you

i’ll say you’re a liar

because there’s

something in the voice

makes me feel sick

so

i went and got a

broken ankle

while trying to

run away

run from that

sound

it's a good

thing

i didn't elect to

come here every time

or we’d all be

chewing onions

nothing in hell

could evoke

such madness

was it a scheme

i’d fallen into?

you hermit!

spiritually poor!

a reject!

desperately scrawling a

biography for a

life un-lived

with nothing but loose

powder on the

ground

eyes burning

&

snow blind

light comes to drink

me up

when the darkness is

just too much

i see your face

burnt into my

eyelids

i drink your beautiful

soul

i do!

Kathleen comes to me

with a gut punch

(love)

to knock my

soul out!

i met you with the

crazies

while you cut hair with

the keys in the

hidden room

you even wiped their

asses

wiped their

hearts

the one with

cancer

the one who killed

a horse

the one who

sketched your house

the one who danced

with me

the one who

loved you

the one who

hated me

in that dusty brick

hallway

making greeting cards

with your left

while you

scrubbed dishes with

the right

you don’t copy anyone

don't dance around

the subject

you face this shit

head on

we were with

the crazies

now we may be

them

so now i drive to

these houses

houses of dying

people

or

dead people

a grieving

old man told me

(with a grin)

that his wife had

given up the ghost

thought about it the

whole drive home

i know

what that meant

but i’m not sure

i also met a

15 year old boy

with cancer

he hasn't given up

the ghost yet

i’m not looking forward

to that day

i’ll pick his stuff up &

tell the family

i’m sorry

i have a feeling they

won't be talking about any

ghosts on that day

the dying boy’s gun is

cold metal black

he knows a dude

with night vision

goggles

that guy doesn’t play small ball

he told me

even the fat

cross eyed

retared kid gets a

bronze metal

&

a pat on the

back

he’s a first place

winner

so fire up a

glitchy video game

blow into the cartridge

&

remember childhood

even though it’s not

for human consumption

we smoked that shit

all day

&

all night long

i think i’m still

a little fucked up

from fake

still

i’ve never beat a

video game but i’ve

watched a warped

videotape full of

tracking lines

just as in my fever

dream

i see the demons

ripping apart the

people i love

&

i wonder if the

angels eavesdrop on

conversations

about us not believing

in them

do they dance to

our music

&

read our fucking

poetry?

now with our lineage

traced back for

200 years

&

our children's hands

bent behind them

the president checks

his email

it cracks me up

when I think that

nobody will be

here in reality to

make

an official report

when the world

finally ends

screaming

&

clawing!

i have zero idea

what poetry

actually is

brain droppings that

most people can’t

stand

i’d bet money

on it

this poetry is

Clint Eastwood movies

in VR headsets

while the president

still checks his

email

get it?

now the ashtray is

overflowing

&

it's only 8am

my lungs are full

of snot

&

i’ve deleted my

Facebook

thank Jesus

too many trash

bags to count

truck broke down so

there's no way of

hauling all the

shit off

listening to classical

music to drown out

the world

&

its buzzing

bullshit

all week i look

forward to writing

this garbage

composing in little

bursts between work

&

sleep

i’m already sick of

oxygen tanks

&

people struggling

to breath

i don't know how

doctors look death

in the face

everyday &

come home to their

mansions

&

sleep like

babies

now there's soggy

cereal spilled on the

counter

&

no one better be up

&

awake before coffee

has been

chugged

i ask

how does a man

keep discipline?

keep his mind in a

straight line?

to stop flashing

between Channels?

trudging through a

marsh full of sin

&

nasty devils

the number of the

beast is 100%.

with all the cut

sensitivity

that's

blood red under

the foreskin

with a closed mind

i listen to the

Dracula soundtrack on

repeat

through my

earbuds

coffee is my

life’s blood

weed don’t hurt

me either

beans with hot water

&

dried up plants

lit on fire

the amazing instant

life changers

i know that everything on

this earth

is a ministry

we wake up in the

cold morning

with outlandish

expectations

hopes that people

will stay in their

own lanes

&

not just walk with

confidence into your

unlocked home while

the woman is

still fast

asleep

to this degree

everything is

wrong

how unpredictable this

motherfucker

can be is

truly stunning

i think i will

withdraw into

abstraction

deep

absurd

uneducated

abstraction

[brunchable]

Conflict Resolution Chapter 4 — 30 minutes || Surgeon!S.S. × Asian!Reader.

Warnings: Coarse Language, Sexual Elements, Medical elements, Arguing, Bickering

Pairings: Stephen Strange x Asian!Reader (OC)

Summary: You and Stephen go to dinner as per the homework Dr. Sofen assigned to the both of you.

A/N: I have no ownership of this story, all credits go to Kate Canterbary for her book, The Worst Guy.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Stephen

"What else?" Stephen asked Essex. He paced the sidewalk across the street from Pastoral in the Manhattan neighbourhood while his neuro fellow murmured a few lines from an old Snoop Dogg song through his earbuds. It was fucking freezing out here but he was a minute early, and he'd take all manner of damp, bone-chilling wind if it saved him from dealing with Park. At least for one more minute.

"I think that's the last update I have for you," he said. Stephen could hear him flipping through his notebook and the ambient noise of the hospital around him. "For now, that is. I will come up with something soon enough."

"Please don't complain to me about the general surgery fellow grabbing another case out from underneath you again," he said, giving the restaurant a resentful glance.

"Did you hear me complain? Because I didn't. You extrapolated a complaint about that case-thieving sneak from my overall report. The last time I complained out loud was when I was an intern and had so many pagers, my scrubs kept falling down."

That was fully inaccurate but Stephen wasn't interested in debating that with him now.

"And how many pagers does it take to drop your pants, Essex?"

"Yeah, this sounds like a fully appropriate question," he snarked. "And for your information, it was nine. Nine pagers. Urology, trauma, ENT, cardio, surgical oncology, colorectal, vascular, limb salvage, plastics. What a fucking nightmare."

Stephen stifled a groan at the mention of plastics and frowned at his watch. He was going to have to go in there and get this over with soon. He wouldn't put it past you to break a chair over his head if he rolled in ten minutes late. He shoved his hands into his pockets as another gust of cold, raw air blew in off the water. He hated the way summer bumped and stumbled into autumn here, starting and stopping like there was some serious question over whether seasons were supposed to keep on changing. And then, after cold snaps and heat waves and hurricanes, there was always one day in October, just like today, when it all collapsed and the debate was over. Summer was finished, autumn was here to stay, and he fucking hated it.

Stephen hated wintry weather and all the nonsense that went with it. Snow, ice, everything. Goddamn, it was awful.

"Anyway, that was a night I wouldn't wish on anyone," Essex said.

"What?"

"Did you dip out on me there? You do that a lot, Strange. I have to check the paperwork but I think you're supposed to pay attention to me. You're also supposed to be teaching me, not flaking out in the middle of my twenty-car pileup story, but that's a neglect I've come to accept from you."

It had taken me a bit to get his arms around it but he now understood this was Essex's personality. He was obnoxious in a jaded, cynical way, though he never pretended he was in this business for any altruistic purpose. He thrived on ego and half-baked contempt for everyone.

Stephen understood it too, even if he didn't function the same way Essex did. But the guy had a dry, silly side too and it often came out in stories about his intern years in Minnesota, his assertion that Stephen didn't teach him enough, or riding the line between delinquent and savant.

Essex was a brilliant surgeon but not a single day went by without Stephen wishing he'd known all these quirks of Essex before selecting him for a two-year fellowship.

"What would you like me to teach you while you're recapping the greatest hits of your intern year?"

"You could start by explaining how you organise your shit. I bent down to tie my shoes and it took me twenty-five minutes to clean up the mess from my pockets projectile vomiting all over the place. It was a fucking yard sale, man."

"Sounds like a personal problem." Stephen glanced at the restaurant again. He was notably late now. "Could you…uh, do me a favor? Could you give me a call in forty-five minutes?"

"Is that when you slip into a bath? Glass of pinot, chocolates, fizzy bath bomb? Get your me time?"

"What? No. I might need a reason to—" Stephen stopped, neither wanting to nor knowing how to explain this. "Forty-five minutes. I might teach you something interesting tomorrow if you can save me tonight."

"Sold. Setting a timer now." With that, Essex ended the call.

Stephen popped his earbuds back into their case and accepted the fact he had to go inside, sit down with you for significantly longer than he could bear, and talk to you without rolling his eyes out loud. He was going to fail his ass off. It was warm inside the restaurant and he spotted you immediately.

You were frowning at your phone while typing, pausing, deleting, and typing again.

"Excuse me, sir? Are you meeting someone?" Stephen glanced around to find the hostess with a stack of menus cradled in her arm.

"Uh. Yeah, but—"

"Would you happen to be the most insufferable, arrogant surgeon in the entire city? If so, I can show you to your party." Stephen shifted to face the hostess fully.

"How much did she pay you for that?" Stephen reached for his wallet. "Whatever it was, I'll double it if you—"

She held up a hand and shook her head with a grin. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm on her side."

Stephen shoved his wallet back in hid pocket. "How righteous of you." Stephen jerked his chin in your direction. "My insufferable arrogant ass will lead the way. Thanks."

He reached the table in a few long strides, yanked back the empty chair, forcing a rough squeal of wood scraping over the stone floor. You startled, your phone dropping to the table and a little gasp slipping past your lips.

"Arrogant, huh?" Stephen asked, dropping into the chair. "Insufferable too? How long did it take you to come up with that scheme? Did it take all week? Or did lightning strike while you were waiting?"

You leaned back, folded your arms across your torso. That move had the unfortunate effect of reminding him that you were a pointlessly beautiful woman who could wear the shit out of a turtleneck sweater. But he didn't care. Really, he did not.

You could wear all the sweaters you wanted and have all that long, black hair and be annoyingly, disturbingly beautiful and he didn't have to care. Not his problem.

"You're late," you snapped.

"You were late on Thursday." Stephen reached for the menu waiting at his place setting and gave it a quick glance. "Seemed only appropriate to return the favor."

With a glare that could dilate blood vessels, you collected your phone and tapped the screen. You set it in the centre of the table with a pointed nod. After holding your glare through several blinks, Stephen glanced at the screen. "What's that supposed to be?"

"It would help if you could make an attempt at critical thinking," you replied. "It's a timer. There's no reason this should exceed thirty minutes."

Still staring at you, Stephen raised his hand into the air. Soon, a server appeared at his side. "Hey there, folks. Can I interest you in—"

"A beer, please," Stephen interrupted. "A wheat, nothing pumpkin." Stephen blinked at you. "The margherita pizza."

You arched a brow up as you said, "The bucatini, please. No arugula."

"Anything to drink?" the server asked.

"Water is fine, thanks," you replied.

"And what about nibbles for the table? Calamari, eggplant frites, burrata—"

"No," you and Stephen said in unison.

"Okay, then," the server murmured. "I'll get that right in for you."

Once you're alone, you slid an index card across the table. "Five things about me. There you go."

Stephen peered at the card. "Did you buy a package of index cards just for this purpose? Or do you have index cards lying around? Like you're an intern presenting at rounds for the first time? Do you still make notes for rounds? Please tell me you're past the index card phase, Park. I couldn't stand it if I knew you were walking around with little color-coded notes every day."

You regarded him with a smug grin that made it pretty clear you'd rip his face off if he took his eyes from you for a second. "You're the kind of teacher who abuses interns and residents, then? Do you throw things too or is it just shaming and torment?"

"You are the one with the track record with projectiles." Stephen plucked the beer from the server's tray and drained half of it before continuing. "And I'll have you know I'm a great teacher—"

"I'm sure you think so," you interrupted. "And that's fantastic for you. Really, it is. But I don't have a single fuck to give about any of that because I'm walking out of here in twenty-three minutes. Fork over your five things, Strange."

A snarl sounded in his throat as he studied you. He couldn't stop staring at you. It was mostly self-preservation but a shred of confusion lingered there too. He had so many questions right now but the first and most essential among them was: Who the hell was this woman and why did she kill for sport?

He set the beer down, folded his arms on the table, and leaned in close. "I don't think this is what Karla had in mind when she said we were supposed to get to know each other," Stephen whisper-growled. "If you could just be nice—"

"You want me to be nice?" You whisper-screeched right back. "Nice? That's what you want?"

"It wouldn't kill you."

"But clearly it will kill you," you said. "Seeing as I've made a point of being nice to you since moving into the building and you've—hmm." You tapped a finger to your chin.

"Right, yes, you ignored my pleasantries. And now you'd like me to be all sugar plums and lemon drops because it suits your purposes?" You shook her head, that maniacal grin still pulling up your pale pink lips. "I don't think so. No, I don't think so."

Stephen took his time responding to that attack and finished off his beer. He was drinking too fast and practically inviting a migraine into his day tomorrow but he could barely think about anything other than the dark haired ball of fury seated across from him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He set the empty glass on the table and ignored a sudden, perverse interest in what you were wearing with that turtleneck.

You'd been seated when he arrived and you hadn't yet leapt up to bludgeon him with a saltshaker so he was clueless as to whether you wore jeans or a skirt or—fuck, he didn't even know. And he didn't care. Not at all. Which was why he ignored that thought entirely.

"I am talking about saying hello to you in the hallway," you replied.

"Right. Let me see if I understand this." Stephen reached for your glass of water and drained it while you gaped at him. "I didn't give enough attention to your chirpy little greetings so you went all tiny tornado on an exam room, and you're going to hold it against me until you can find a way to be rid of me, even if that involves strangling the life out of me with your precious plastic surgeon hands. Do I have that right?"

Okay, so he knew he was an asshole. He knew this. And now you did too. You gave your empty glass a mortified stare before meeting his gaze.

"We both know the exam room was an accident and fully unrelated to our prior interactions outside the hospital. I am not going to revise history with you. I am not going to be nice simply because it makes you comfortable."

"I don't remember the last time I was anything close to comfortable. Okay? Whether you screech at me or not won't change that." Drumming his finger on the table, he continued, "I'm just saying we have to get through this thing. We shouldn't kill each other in the process."

The server arrived with the meals and another round of drinks, which was a huge fucking relief because Stephen urgently needed something to do with both his hands and his mouth. But he made the fatal error of glancing across the table as the server set your dish down—a dish topped with a whole damn field of arugula. Not only did they not hold the greens, they seemed to treat you to an extra helping because there was no way that was the standard quantity.

Stephen watched you purse your lips together and he figured he was in for another explosion now. You'd send that dish back so hard, the chef would set fields of arugula on fire. But you said nothing when the server asked if there was anything else we needed. And you blinked down at the heap of curly greens, fork in hand, like it was a project you'd inherited and didn't have the heart to abandon.

Stephen sat there, his fingers curled around the fresh glass of beer, and stared while you excavated a strand of pasta from beneath the arugula.

What the fuck was I watching? Where was the tiny tornado? Or the screech owl? Or even the hunter who'd happily mount my head on her wall? And who the hell was this?

You and Stephen ate in silence for several minutes. It wasn't until the server arrived at the table to top off your water that you and him shared a momentary glance at the woman's veiny hands. Those were legend-status veins.

Once alone again, Stephen said, "I could get a gray cannula in on the first shot and she wouldn't even feel it."

You gave a dry laugh. "When was the last time you started an IV?"

"Not recently," he admitted. "I usually practise on my residents at the start of their neuro rotation. Gets us off on a good, abusive foot and it helps me rank them by vascularity. Least being best, of course, since they'd never get pulled off the floor to donate blood. It comes back to haunt them when they're inevitably enrolled in a clinical trial."

"You're such an asshole," you said, but there was no heat behind it. You almost sounded amused.

"And what about you? When was the last time you started a line?"

You set your fork down and busied yourself with the napkin on your lap. "You have no idea what I do, do you?"

Stephen dropped a piece of crust to his plate. "Plastics. You make people look pretty after I put them back together."

You dabbed your lips—they were so pale, barely even pink—and set the napkin beside your mostly untouched pasta. You'd moved it around plenty but you hardly made a dent. And then you held up your phone to him as the timer counted down the final five seconds you'd set for the both of you.

After swiping away the alarm, you slipped the index card off the table. "I didn't get yours, so you're not getting mine."

You pushed away from the table and he had no choice but to watch you cross the restaurant. You didn't bother with backward glances, not when you were busy walking like the floor owed you money.

Steohen returned to his beer and pizza, and attempted to figure out what the ever-loving fuck happened here tonight. He was halfway through the last slice of pizza when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He assumed it was you texting him a thesis on his arrogance though he was wrong.

When he saw Essex was calling, he tucked the phone against his shoulder, saying, "What's up?"

The blaring roar of the emergency room came through the line before he said, "I'm early but I gotta deal with an issue. Consider this your fake crisis call so you can get the hell out of whatever you've gotten yourself into now."

"I don't get myself into things," Stephen said, dropping the last of the crust to his plate. "I actively avoid getting into things. I hate things."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't have time to unpack any of that tonight but maybe tomorrow if you buy me lunch."

"I'm not buying you lunch."

"That's cool. I'll get Druid to pick up the tab. He'll want to hear about this. He pays for updates on your misery." A siren wailed nearby and Essex groaned. "Really gotta go now. Be good." He hung up as the server came to gather the plates.

Stephen pointed at your pasta. "She said no arugula. What does this look like to you?"

The server frowned at the dish. "Why didn't she say anything?"

He motioned to the empty seat. "And you think I have any idea?"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Tags: @winsteria @classicrebound @gwephen @patbrdac @goldencherriess @elizabethdarcy29 @strangeobsessed @strangelockd @lady-harvey @mirikusashes @rbymoon @k1mikoz @allie131313 @strangesthirdeye @nicoletk @sleutherclaw @dragonqueen89 @bloodyxsaint @3443652 @pinkthick @iamdedsthingz @casualimaginesfluffwagon @im-akira @faltinestrange @ilikedarkrai @alicia-c37 @phatm00d @xunquish-blog @keistange @omgstarks @jotaros-bara-tiddies @gaitwae @sherlux

[millennialgrandma]

October 2023 Wrap Up

We did it, Joe. We finally fucking caught up. I know I'm being ridiculous and these monthly wrap up posts don't really matter to anyone but me, but I actually could not proceed without doing them. Could not dive into my waiting pile of fanfic without coming back to do these. It's been weighing on me all fucking year and now, with two months left, I am finally at peace. Thank fuck, because this has taken me a truly ungodly amount of hours. Like over a full day of work. And I'm feeling a bit like a feral racoon, if I'm being honest.

Things I Wrote

Ok, technically, I did not write anything. I really really fucking wanted to and the words simply would not word. BUT, I beta'd this fic for my partner-in-(whore)crimes @mignon-chignon called Occupational Hazards (dramione, E, 5.7k) and it is a goddamn delight and I demand you read it immediately.

Things I Read

Per usual, there's some HP fic in here. There's firstprince from my slutty little baby wimsy. And there's a handful of smutty shirbert fics for reasons I neither care to examine, nor explain.

Fiction:

Nonfiction:

Fanfiction:

Complete: (approx. 68.1k)

Oh Baby Doll by Biirdiee_Rose (dramione, E, 3.5k)

Honey by @zeebee3 (dreomione, E, 5.8k)

Lie To Me by @zeebee3 (dramione, E, 6.9k)

Snow Baby by @maraudersaffair (sirius/ginny, E, 0.7k)

Reread: Come To Me by @frumpologist (sirius/ginny, E, 2.4k)

Staffing Changes: Potions Master by disconaro (GA, 0.5k)

Staffing Changes: History Professor by disconaro (GA, 0.6k)

Reread: Run for It by @provocative-envy

certain relations by mrsren (dramione, E, 4.1k)

here we go again by mrsren (dramione, E, 1k)

want me to ruin you? by mrsren (jamione, E, 0.9k)

Risk & Reward by mrsren (pansmione, E, 2.3k)

roommates by mrsren (dramioninny, E, 1.2k)

Stay by orphan_account (shirbert, M, 2k)

In Sickness and in Health by orphan_account (shirbert, M, 1.8k)

Sweetest Agony by Bookaholic711 (shirbert, M, 3.1k)

meaning to tell you by dylaesthetics (shirbert, M, 3.9k)

The Anatomist by botanyclub (shirbert, E, 5.5k)

Got Me Seeing Stars (When I'm With You) by h0lyheadharpies (shirbert, E, 3.9k)

A Life Saving Technique by Jacqualine14 (shirbert, E, 2.2k)

better than I do by anonymous (shirbert, E, 5.9k)

can't help staring (when you make it through the rain on time) by starg1rl (shirbert, E, 3.4k)

Gonna Burn Calling Her Name by jacksparrow589 (shirbert, M, 3.1k)

Reread: Practical Punishment by rockthecasbah18 (harry/draco/rose, E, 3k)

WIPs: (approx. 14.8k)

Five-Drink Henry by @whimsymanaged - Chapters 1-2 (firstprince, E, 5.9k)

Sympathetic Attraction by @zeebee3 - Chapter 1 (dramione, E, 7.9k)

Does Hogwarts Have Correspondent Courses? by disconaro - Chapter 1 (harry/charlie, T, 1k)

Things I'm Reading (Heading into November)

I've got some dramione WIPs I need to catch up on and I'm over the moon to have the time to do so. Also cackling maniacally because I have more than 100 firstprince fics queued up. I made a new airtable two nights ago specifically for firstprince, and my loyal sluts already have half a million words wrapped into my starter pack. I'm ready to be a menace. A terror. An absolute trashgirl. Brace yourselves.

[riality-check]

for the mini fic prompts x3 lol: steddie + 27

So for this one, I had two different ideas. It's a shame you can't answer the same ask twice, so if this post is a bit longer to read, that's why. I like them both enough to write! Anyway, here's:

27. things you said through a closed door (version 1)

"Eddie, I know you're home," Steve calls.

There's no response, but from the porch, Steve can hear the music blasting from Eddie's room at the back of the trailer. He doesn't know the song or the band, but it sounds a lot angrier and sadder than the stuff Eddie usually listens to, which worries him.

"I can hear the music!" he shouts. He doesn't want to be so impatient, but it's October and while the roof of the porch shields him from the rain, the wind is bitingly cold. He should've worn his old varsity jacket, he used to wear it when it was snowing and still stayed warm.

The music turns itself down enough so it stops shaking the trailer, and Steve swears he can hear footsteps come toward the front door. But the lock doesn't click open.

Fine. Whatever.

"Eddie, listen, I don't know what I did, but whatever it was, I'm sorry. It's been a week without talking to you and it feels like a fucking year. Please just tell me what I did, and we'll figure it out, okay?"

"You didn't do anything." Eddie's voice is muffled through the door, but Steve thinks he's whispering anyway.

"What do you mean I didn't do anything? Eddie, you haven't even looked my way in a week. Obviously, I did something, and I want to make it right."

"I got scared."

Steve lets his head thud against the door. "Okay. What did I do to scare you?"

The door jerks open a few inches, held closed by the bolt, but Steve stumbles anyway.

"You. Didn't. Do. Anything," Eddie says slowly and deadly calm.

Once he corrects himself, he can see a sliver of Eddie's face: one of his eyes and half his mouth. From just that, Steve can see that Eddie is an utter wreck.

"You wanna know what happened, Stevie? I got scared. I got scared for no fucking reason because all you've been is perfect, so I don't know why I ran. I just did. Because that's what I do at the first sign of danger - I cut and fucking run. So I ran, and I got to thinking, gee, Steve deserves better than someone who bolts at the first sign of trouble, and I decided to stay gone. I think you should let me."

Eddie whispers that last sentence, and his voice cracks a little, and Steve is inches away from breaking the damn bolt.

Instead, he says, "Good thing I'm faster than you."

"What?" Eddie croaks.

"I'm faster than you," Steve says, and it's a fact. "So when you run, I'll always catch up. You're not getting away from me that easily, Munson."

Steve watches Eddie close his eye like he's trying not to cry.

"Can you open the door, babe?"

The bolt slides open.

AND, if you're still here, things you said through a closed door (version 2)

"Steve?" Eddie calls, trying not to stumble on what he thinks is Robin's shirt and Nancy's pants thrown in the middle of the hallway. He braces himself on the wall and tries tip-toeing around them because his shoes are gross and he's tipsy enough to have even worse balance than usual.

"Steve?" he calls again. "You disappeared on us, and I wanted to make sure you're okay."

There's a retch behind the door closest to Eddie. Well, at least he's found him.

"Hey," he shouts - he's gotta shout, Jonathan brough his loud stereo system - and knocks. "I'm coming in."

"No," Steve groans. "'M fine."

"If you call puking your guts out 'fine,' you need help." Eddie grabs the knob and starts twisting. "I'm coming in, sweetheart."

"No," Steve says, and he's coherent enough that Eddie still takes him seriously and stops. "Handled it before, can do it again."

"That doesn't mean you have to," Eddie reminds him. "Can I at least hold your hair back?"

Another retch, and Eddie has heard enough people throw up to know that Steve is just dry heaving now. He grimaces in sympathy because that shit hurts.

Steve doesn't respond for a while, and Eddie wants to check and see if he fell asleep on the toilet - been there, done that - when Steve mumbles something:

"You're gonna leave me."

"What?" Eddie says, hand frozen on the knob.

"You're gonna leave me," Steve says, louder and clearer and oh, that's definitely meant for Eddie.

"Because you're puking your guts out? I've seen worse." Which is true. Eddie's taken people to the hospital and seen them get their stomachs pumped. That shit is bad.

"No. Because I'm a lot. I'm too much work and I'm clingy and I love too much and I'm no fun to be around sometimes and I'm not smart and -"

Eddie opens the door, crosses the room, and holds Steve's gross, sweaty face in his hands.

"Bullshit," he says. "You're stuck with me, Harrington, like a bad tattoo or superglue that won't come off your hands. You're adorable and protective and lovely and brilliant, and now you're gonna let me take care of you. Me leaving you is bullshit. Okay?"

Steve nods, and then he's dry heaving again, and Eddie holds his hair back and rubs his shoulder.

And he stays, the entire time.

(y'all this was the last ask i got, so please) send me more prompts!!

[voidsentprinces]

Wonder if it would be more exciting or exhausting to have big holidays throughout the year in 'Mericaland. I kind of like how suddenly bakeries and advertisements have to throw on what is essentially themed langerie to appeal to us from October through December. Like the rest of the year they coming in with worn out boxers and belly button lint like: Buy these breads!

But then in October they come in like BUY THIS FUCKING SPOOKY BREAD! HAVE A CAKE WITH A VAMPIRE ON IT! YOUR CHEETOS ARE NOW BONES! THERES AN ELF IN YOUR DORITOS! AND A TURKEY IN YOUR CINNAMON BREAD!

Then soon as January rolled around they're like, "I dunno...snowmen on your cakes? I know it doesn't snow down here in the valley of California but uhh...its winter!" After March its like, "Look buddy I don't fucking know...rain for April? Flowers for Spring? The heat death of the universe for June. AMMMMMMMMMMMEEEERRRIIICCA for July? And don't ask me about August or September. Now pay $4.99 for half a gallon of milk and get the fuck out."

[domestikhighway58]

9 (shit nine?) People you'd like to get to know better.

Thanks for the tag @masterwords & @eldrai, IDK how to do these so i did the old person thing and copy/pasted lol.

last song: before you snap by Yonderboi

favorite color: Green

currently watching: Criminal Minds when i need to work, write or sleep (lol), Young Royals when i feel like learning more Swedish, and call the midwife, always. parks and recreation smattered in there to remind me i have work in the morning.

last movie: Catch Me if You Can. baby bad boy Leo and FBI agent Tom talking about unsubs, puleaseee, it is perfect.

currently reading: .... can we not say fanfic? all i read is fanfic or advertising copy anymore. so much for my English major. if i had time to delve into a book again, it would be, without shame, Pride and Prejudice. because fuck it, I fucking love Jane Austen and it's been too long. I need to go to the damn beach.

sweet/spicy/savory: spicy/savory. i don't do sweet. unless it's winter and it's a really delicious cinnamon treat, like monkey bread on a Monday snow day or sweet cream my mom left behind in the fridge after a frigid visit.

relationship status: partnered for eleven years this October. it's been a ride. he's snoring at the foot of the bed right now. and no, he's not a dog. he just likes the foot of the bed. probably covered in fiberglass shards.

current obsession: hah. the same one i found Winter of 2021, coming down from long COVID while fighting back against poverty. writing silly CM fanfic and subtly attacking the status quo will be my obsession for the foreseeable future. holding onto my house and land, I guess, too.

last thing i googled: spicy Serrano hot sauce recipe. i have a few pounds of Serrano peppers waiting to be made into something wonderful. if anyone has ever tried to make hot sauce, i think you'll agree... developing the recipe is everything. the SFW search before that was "how to treat internal burns from repeated electrical shocks." same vein, really.

currently working on: i am obsessively writing one single fic right now. i have many just sitting there waiting to be updated and while i feel guilty that they're in limbo, I'm just happy they're there at all. it took a lot to start writing and i don't want to limit that by feeling guilty over imaginary deadlines for completion. i ain't gettin' paid. there is no boss and no editorial staff here in free fanfic land. <3 my main project is to write whatever i want to write in the very little free time i have. i used to have more time, and the fact that i now don't is a good thing. still working on how to balance it all.

zero pressure tags: @chaotic-librarian @tobias-hankel @brillianthijinx @goobzoop @starzzyeyed @merpancake @aesthetictek goodness i don't remember everyone's names on here at all but ayo <3

[kyrodo]

October 2020 was a horrible month. It marked the final end to our interaction that broke the glass that held back all my tears. Broke my heart almost irreparably. Broke my sense of trust in people. It marked the first time I ever saw snow. And for the first time in my social and work career I was teaching people how to do things as well. And all the bullshit that you surrounded me with gradually fell apart. I was getting more productive at work again despite talking to my phone a lot since you were likely still listening in. Partly because of the constant need to prove myself.

After all your insults and mockeries and pretending I was the worst human being on the planet I kinda had to. In as many areas of my life as I could I had to shatter that entire image you made of me until it was nothing but a bloody pulp on the ground. That was how I was going to move on. I would move on with as much grace as I possibly could and break every fucking assumption that I was going to handle it terribly. I had to show you up as much as I possibly could.

And that breathed new life into me. That gave me purpose. And my purpose was to destroy you. If you so much as thought of continuing to make me a spectacle to all your followers I was going to exploit it to the fullest. And it fucking worked. My time early on back at Marcus's place was extremely miserable, but when my heart started to heal up I made it a point to get to my feet again.

I cringe at some of the things I said and showed both when it was text only and after our devices became listening devices for you without our consent. Especially the singing. But I would be way more embarrassed if I was on the other side. Embarrassment is the acknowledgement that someone witnessed something you didn't want them to. That witness is living proof of your biggest failures, and he is right here. And everyone you ever got involved with this, there's that too. With you living in a world where peer pressure is pervasive, and morals selective or not come into question, you are 100% fucked. Karma always claims its debt.

Whenever any of them have questions they'll come to you not me, so have fun answering them. And all along I thought I was supposed to be the trainwreck.

You always made me question whether or not you believed I was even real, or anything I ever described about my life including allergies and career choices. But I know better now that it was a toxic tactical decision and not actual distrust.

Gaslighting was your strongest weapon. You constantly forced me to over explain myself or to spend too much time describing something so you could find something to exaggerate or take out of context. You used the cheapest tactics you could find because all you had at that point was bullshit. Because without gaslighting me you are completely fucking defenseless. And that is some of the saddest fucking shit. The moment we start saying what we mean you are forced to admit that you're a total bitch.

You're behavior for 4 months in a row shows so clearly that your greatest weakness is accountability. You never admit a fucking thing no matter how big or small. You know you're rotten to the very core, you just don't like saying it out loud. You'll point out any detail to get people off your back, like the fact that I kept deleting my posts. So long as you can keep your fragile ego in tact. I'll say a bunch of mean things and delete it when it no longer serves. I felt leaving such things up was not a great idea anyway whenever it felt like we were going to make things up to each other. I also deleted things I knew you'd take out of context because you were the fucking type. I deleted every one of my posts almost every time I closed my Twitter account thinking I was never going to open it again because I was self destructive. Because I wanted to greatly diminish any value in reopening it so I would quit Twitter completely and I failed because it was not only my soapbox but my only way to contact you. I deleted my entire history and you took advantage of that so you could pretend you had a good reason to attack me.

I used to be very insecure about my age, and well a few other things that aren't actually harmful when you understand the full extent of things. I don't feel that way anymore. Sure I'll never be as into memes, tiktok and other nonsense like a lot of younger people tend to be, but that's fine with me. Vrchat helps you understand that there really aren't that many differences between people at least within a range and I tend to be popular regardless. I get to act like a fursuiter without owning a proper one. I always knew I'd be good at it I'm just sad I didn't have the chance for the actual thing. As always people are always surprised when they hear my actual age, and it seems to further drive home that all those insecurities I had age wise were really just in my own head, and the moment I stopped worrying about them it didn't really matter anymore.

There's so much I never got the chance to do but I am on a very good path to get there. And furthermore despite how strong my text can be online, I have a soothing voice. Moreso than anyone I've met perhaps. Choskey really enjoys it and it relaxes him, but I've always had this voice. I always have this sugar whenever I am saying things like "have a good day", that's even more apparent when I am saying things out of love or when I am listening to people. And it is a very good skill to have. I know how to be patient, how to be nice, how to be soothing and understanding. And there's not a chance in hell you'll ever be able to do the same. People love my voice and I've learned to love it too.

I've had my time in the spotlight running circles around people in aram and going toe to toe with diamond borders. I've made some amazing advances in my playstyle for adofai and my ability to recognize patterns or control how often I need to alternate hands for psuedos. And I am probably the slowest to anger person you'll ever meet in most cases, which is very much not made obvious by my rants.

But I went from being extremely persistent volatile and explosive online to being extremely comfortable with myself and the way I handle myself and the way I act in respect to other people. And I am no longer afraid of you. I am no longer someone you can easily cast a dark light on. Because I don't fit. Because I made every right choice I could've possibly made after you left. And there's nothing left for you to condemn save all the cheap things. And that's good enough for me.

I am a healthy mix of strength and calm. Of raw emotion and control. I have the wisdom to avoid being on the wrong end of any conflict. I have understanding and self-awareness in overabundance. You will never see me in the same sorry state I used to be ever again. I'm going to make it really fucking hard for anyone to justify launching another attack against me. Even if you aren't here to recognize how far I've come, I am.

Every step I take away from you is a step towards a better life, better company, and a better me. Objectively so. You had me on a pedestal as if I was the worst person in the entire world and here I am evaluating what the fuck I walked away from. At least in one aspect I will never be your equal. You fucking dumbass. Holy fuck it doesn't take a whole lot to turn you into a monster does it!?