#anyway i DID haul ass out of work today. goodbye.

[el-im]

[myhockeyworld87]

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 22

Word Count: 2,440

POV: Sidney’s

Warngings: Language

Notes: So it’s been a hot minute for this story. Sorry about that guys, but thank you for being patient with me. As always love your feedback and Happy Reading!

Not So Dangerous Liaison Masterlist

You couldn't believe that (Y/N) just wanted to up and go to Pittsburgh without even thinking about telling you. Well, she actually did tell you; it's just she'd made all the plans without giving any thoughts about what you wanted, and that's what aggravated you the most. She could've at least wanted you to drive her to the airport, but no, she'd simply called your sister to have her do it instead. It was going to be almost a month before you were able to see her and that just wasn't acceptable.

You were driving around in your car, not knowing where you were going until you landed at Nate's house. It was probably for the best that you didn't head to your parents, for they would probably take (Y/N)'s side. Nate was at the door before you could even ring the bell. "Hey man, what's up?"

 "Can I stay here tonight?"

 "Uh, sure." He stepped aside so that you could enter. "You and (Y/N) have a fight?"

 "Something like that."

 "Anything you want to talk about?"

 "Not really." Nate just sort of gave you a look. He didn't ask you anything more about (Y/N) the rest of the night which you appreciated. Instead, the two of you just ordered food and played video games, like you were twelve-years-old and not professional athletes. It was a nice change of pace but as you laid in Nate's guest bed tossing and turning you were regretting not being with (Y/N). Maybe she would have a change of heart and end up staying. That was doubtful, considering they needed her at the house, and she took her job very seriously. There was always the off chance that she would fly there then fly back. That option seemed more realistic and the one that you hoped would happen as you laid there staring up at the ceiling.

 Eventually, you were able to fall asleep, but it seemed like hours before that actually happened. You headed off to train with Nate in the morning like you usually did. As the two of you were warming up, he broached the subject again. "So ready to talk about what happened yet?"

 "It's stupid really. They need (Y/N) back in Pittsburgh. I told her that I wanted to go with her and she said no because we were in the middle of training here."

 Nate just waited for you to say more, but you didn't. "And you're mad about that because?"

 "Well, she could fly back after she takes care of things, but she's not. She's just going to stay in Pittsburgh for the next month while I stay up here."

 "Isn't it more like three weeks?"

 "God, you sound like her now." (Y/N) had argued the same point last night. "I mean I suppose if you want to get technical about it, it's three weeks and a day."

 "Weren't you already cutting training short to go back with (Y/N) though? Like I thought you'd at least be here another week or so."

 "Maybe, but she didn't need to know that."

 You could see Nate thinking things through, at least he was finally understanding your side of the story. "So, let me get this straight. You left your house mad because your girlfriend has to go back to work and she wants you to stay here so that you're ready for the season?" When he put it like that, it didn't sound the way it had in your head, so instead of answering you just nodded. "And she's flying back when?"

 "Today."

 "Now wait, maybe I'm confused again," he said giving you a dumbfounded look. "But you're clearly upset because you won't be spending time together, right?" Again, you nodded. "So, instead of spending your last night with her, showing her all the things she's going to be missing in the next couple weeks you spent them at my house, eating pizza and playing call of duty?"

 God, you were an idiot. Nate was right, you should've spent the night with (Y/N) giving her a reason to want to fly back here, or at least let you fly back to Pittsburgh early. "Fuck, I'm stupid."

 "Yeah, you are."

 You side-eyed Nate, but you knew he wasn't going to let it slide. Checking your watch, you noticed you had about an hour until her she'd have to leave for her flight. You could run home real quick, tell her your sorry, and maybe show her what she would be missing. "I'll be back in an hour." Nate just winked at you and laughed, and you vaguely heard him say something like 'Go get her buddy.' But you weren't one hundred percent sure.

 Luckily, where you and Nate trained was only a ten-minute drive from your house and you made it there in record time. You rushed inside the door, not even sure if you left the car running or not. "(Y/N)!" you yelled as you looked around for her bags. You'd thought they'd be by the door waiting for Taylor. "(Y/N)!" Running upstairs, you opened the bedroom door, to find the bed neatly made. You threw open the closet doors, checking to see if she'd left anything in there. She hadn't. Her side was completely bare, except for the hangers which were empty. Your heart started to sink. Maybe Taylor had just picked her up early and you could get her to turn around. You dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail, so you tried Taylor instead.

 "Hey Sid," she said and you noticed she had a very cool tone with you.

 "Tay, is (Y/N) with you? You're not too close to the airport yet, are you? I mean there's still time to turn back around."

 "Sid, (Y/N)'s not with me. She took an earlier flight when someone," Taylor paused and you knew that she was pissed at you as well. "Decided to not come home last night. She didn't even let me take her, just called an Uber to drive her. I don't know what the hell happened between you two, but you fucked up big time brother."

 "I know that, why do you think I hauled ass home." You blew out a frustrated breath that she was already on her way to Pittsburgh. "Now what do I do?" You kept going before Taylor could even say a word. "Normally, I'd just jump on a plane and try and make things better, but I have a feeling that's the last thing (Y/N) wants me to do, but I can't just do nothing, you know?"

 "I repeat, you fucked up big time."

 "Thanks, you're so much help."

 "Look, you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. All I know is that you better fix it, because (Y/N) is the best thing that's happened to you besides hockey."

 "I know that." Taylor scoffed at your response. "Ok, so I might have had a lapse in judgment last night." And now you were regretting it, but you had no idea what to do.

 "I think it's safe to say, you better give her some time to cool off. I'm sure she's heading over to the house to get things straightened out as soon as she lands. Just call her tonight and…well grovel."

 It wasn't the best plan in the world, but what else could you do. "Thanks, sis, I'll definitely do that." The two of you said your goodbyes and then you made a quick call to your florist in Pittsburgh to have flowers delivered to (Y/N) as a peace offering. Only after that did you head back to the training facility. You threw yourself into the workout, trying to forget that (Y/N) was now in Pittsburgh and that you wouldn't see her when you got home tonight or any other night for the next couple of weeks. It was frustrating, but as Nate tried to remind you later on in the day, that was the way most relationships were. The fact that (Y/N)'s job with the organization let you see her every day was a bonus; a luxury that most players didn't have.

 It was around seven in the evening that you walked into the empty house. You'd picked up something for dinner on the way home and sat in the living room eating with Sammy watching, while you debated on what to say to (Y/N) when you called. You worried that she wouldn't answer the phone and that she'd send you straight to voicemail, so whatever you said had to be good enough to get her to call you back.

 It was something you didn't have to worry about, as she answered on the second ring. "Hey, Sid." She wasn't her usual jovial self, but she didn't seem extremely angry either. In all honesty, you couldn't really read her tone.

 "Hey (Y/N)." There was a pause as your mind went completely blank. "I'm sorry." It wasn't the fancy apology you had planned but it was heartfelt.

 "I'm sorry too, Sid." You really didn't know what she had to be sorry about. "I should've called you the minute I knew I had to come back to Pittsburgh." Before you could say anything, she continued. "And I should've let you drive me to the airport."

 When she finally took a breath, you jumped in. "No, you have nothing to be sorry for. You were just doing your job, and I…well, I was acting like a brat." She laughed then, and you would've given anything at that moment to see her smile. Why you hadn't facetimed her, you weren't sure at this moment, other than you were a coward. "I should've never stormed out of the house like that and not come back, that was completely juvenile of me."

 "It was, I won't argue that. I wish you would've stayed so we could work things out."

 "I promise that it won't happen again." Though you didn't plan on fighting with her again either. "I really am sorry (Y/N). Can you forgive me?"

 "Always." And just like that the world seemed right again, only you couldn't kiss her or hold like you wanted to, but you would definitely make up for that in a few weeks.

 "So, how's Pittsburgh? Is the roof still on my house?"

 "Pittsburgh is good, and I'm assuming your house is fine or someone would've called."

 "Aren't you there now?"

 "Um no, I'm at my place. Why would I go to your place if you're not there?"

 "Why wouldn't you?"

 "Because that's your house and I have one of my own." You could hear the irritation in her voice and knew you were headed down a slippery slope but you went anyways.

 "We've been living together for months now, so why wouldn't I think that that would continue."

 "Maybe because you never asked me to move in with you."

 "I didn't think I had to." As soon as the words were out of your mouth you wanted to take them back. They felt wrong, even to your own ears, and now you knew why you hadn't facetimed her, it was so that she couldn't see you wince when you fucked upped like you just did. "I didn't…"

 She was about to say something when you heard a man in the background yell. 'Hey (Y/N), the food's here.'

 "Who the hell is that?" She'd literally been gone for less than twenty-four hours and she already had a guy over at her house. You were livid. How could she do that to you? "We had one fight and you're already fucking someone else?"

 "Are you fucking kidding me right now Sidney? Did you really just say that?" She was yelling but then so were you. "You're un-fucking-believable you know that. I would never in a million years do that." Somewhere deep down you knew she was right, but at that moment you were too angry to see it. "For your information, I ran into Cully at the airport, and since Bridget and the kids are still in Minnesota, I invited him over to grab some take out. If you don't believe me you can call and ask him."

 Fuck, you knew Matt had been planning on going back to Pittsburgh early; you'd talked to him on the phone about it the other day. Now you felt like a complete ass. "(Y/N), I'm sorry…"

 "Save it, Sid. I don't want to hear it. Goodbye." She hung up the phone then, you could imagine her slamming it down if it actually been a regular one and not her cell. You pulled her number back up and called her back hoping to apologize. It went straight to voicemail.

 On the third attempt, you decided to leave a message. "(Y/N), I'm so incredibly sorry. Of course, I didn't think that you were sleeping around. Jesus, I don't know what's gotten into me. I sorry. I'm just so fucking sorry, babe. Please pick up the phone." You hung up, planning on waiting five minutes before calling her back, only you made it two. She still didn't pick up. Your only option was to try and call Cullen. He actually did answer.

 "Look Sid, I know you want to talk to her, but it's not a good idea right now."

 "Please, I just need to tell her how sorry I am. I fucked up man and I need to make it right."

 There was a pause on the line and you hoped that Matt was somehow convincing her to get on and talk to you. "She doesn't want to talk to you right now, Sid, and for the record, nothing is going on with the two of us."

 "Jesus, I know that. I just…fuck." If you could only talk to her. Make her see that you were just being a jealous idiot, that you loved her so damn much you couldn't see straight.

 "Just give her some time. I'm sure she'll come around," Matt told you. "And not like five minutes ok. Like some real time. I've been in your shoes before. She'll forgive you."

 "God, I hope so." You really, really hoped so, because there was no way in hell you could lose her over something like this. "Tell her I'm sorry."

 "I will."

 Matt went to hang up but you stopped him. "Wait…tell her I love her too."

 "Will do man." With that, Matt hung up the phone, while yours dropped to the floor, as you put your head in your hands. You'd really fucked it up time this time, and if she took you back it'd be a  miracle.

[chubbymoongoddess]

Minjoon|| Hybrid AU||

    The day had started out dreary for Namjoon. The sky was filled with dark rain clouds and it had been pouring since he had woken up. With a sigh, he had rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth before he got dressed for work. Upon checking the time, he realized he was running a little late so he decided to skip breakfast and instead grabbed his keys, umbrella and suitcase and left his home, making his way as fast as he could to work. Thankfully, he had made it with just a few minutes to spare, causing him to release a deep sigh he had been holding in since he left his house. He already knew this was going to be a long day.

  Unfortunately for Namjoon, the day was in fact, a long one. Meeting after meeting was attended and frankly, he had a migraine because of them. So, he quickly packed up his things, say his goodbyes to his  coworkers for the day and headed out of the office. 

  “At least the rain stopped.” He thought.

    Taking his usual route home, the tall, young man sighed once more. Maybe he’d stop to get something to eat on the way home? That way he could take a shower as soon as he got home and then crawl into bed for the rest of the night. Maybe he’d even read a little before he passed out. His thoughts were quickly interupped by a weak crying noise coming from the alley he was passing.

   Now, Namjoon usually didn’t pay any heed to strange noises like this. He’d usually keep walking. But this? This cry? Sounded like something or someone needed help. It sounded pained. So, carefully, Namjoon made his way down the alley, peeking around trash bins and dumpsters to see if he could find what was making the noise. The closer he got, the louder the crying got. It was behind a few large boxes that Namjoon finally found what has been crying.

  A small samyoyed hybrid, curled in on himself and whimpering, peeking up at Namjoon once he moved the boxes. Wait.. a hybrid? Those were rare and you were lucky if you were even able to get a glimpse of one walking around the city, so why was there one abandoned like this in an alley? It was unfortunately still pouring, but Namjoon didn’t want to startle the poor hybrid so, he carefully moved the boxes to the side and crouched down, offering his hand, palm down to the pup.

  “Hey there. I’m Namjoon.. what are you doing out here all alone, little one?”

   The hybrid’s eyes widened slightly, though he tentatively sniffed and nosed at the taller man’s hand.  

“M’Jimin..” He mumbled softly. “Owner didnt want me anymore.. Was called useless and dropped off here so I-”

 Jimin’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of being abandoned and how long he had been living in that alley. How long he’s had to go without food. Namjoon, upon hearing the hybrid’s voice quivering, calming tried to sooth him, hand reaching out to pet gently through his blond hair. He doesn’t know what compelled him to say his next words or what he was even thinking, but this hybrid was way underweight. His face was gaunt and he was sure that he’d be able to see his ribs if he were to take his tattered shirt off.

  “Do you want to come and live with me? I can take care of you, I promise you’ll never have to worry about living on the street again.”

  It took Jimin a few moments to think it over but, this man seemed genuine. There wasn’t a bad smell or ill intention coming from him. So, after a minute or two of thinking, the hybrid reached a shaky, thin hand out to the taller man, accepting his offer of a new home.

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

    It had been a few months since Namjoon had brought Jimin home. For a few weeks it was going well. He had Jimin eating his special hybrid food, had made him up his own room in one of Namjoon’s spare bedrooms and had grown closer with the smaller man and on top of that, Jimin had filled out to a healthier weight. No longer was he able to see the samyoyed’s ribs. His cheeks had filled out beautifully as well. That is, until Jimin had begged to try a little piece of Namjoon’s steak one night and it had gone downhill from there.

   After that, Jimin refused to eat his own food and begged Namjoon to let him eat human food too and how could he resist with Jimin pouting at him like that? So, from then on, Jimin ate the same things as Namjoon did. Now, human food wasn’t meant for hybrids to eat. It caused them to gain weight rather quickly which, is what happened to Jimin.

 The clothes that Namjoon had boughten him were slowly getting way too tight, his chubby, swollen tummy pushing against the fabric of his shirts. His ass has started swelling out more as well, causing his pants to be uncomfortably tight on him and not to mention he was now sporting a softer chest, not quite moobs but a few more weaks of eating would fix that. Jimin’s cheeks had gotten chubbier as well as his thighs and arms, not that he himself minded. He was more worried about what Namjoon would say to him.

  Along with Jimin’s expanding waistline, his apetite also grew. He used to be stuffed after half a plate of food but now he was having Namjoon make him at least two. Three on a day he was super hungry. This worried the older male and since he didn’t want to hurt Jimin’s feelings with bringing up his new found hunger and weight, he dicided to just stay quiet about it. Besides, Jimin looked happy and healthy right? He himself was beginning to enjoy watching him grow softer too. A few more pounds couldn’t hurt, right?

  Wrong. The more time that passed, the more Jimin ate and snacked and the bigger he got. He had gotten used to being pampered by Namjoon, to the point of getting whiny if he didn’t get his way. He’d stomp his foot and cross his arms, causing his belly to jiggle and sway. “Hyung I said I’m hungy! Please! I’m gonna die!” Namjoon would just sigh and get him his food so he’d stop pouting. It eventually got to the point where Namjoon had to make more that one trip a day to the grocery store because Jimin would clean them out of everything within a few hours.

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

 Over the next few years, Jimin’s eating habits continued as well as his weight gain. It had gotten to the point where Namjoon needed to help him out of bed in the mornings as he couldn’t do it himself. Was the hybrid embarrassed by this? Not at all. He enjoyed it. Enjoyed the fact that he had to have his Joonie’s help for the simplest tasks. He enjoyed his owner turned boyfriend giving him all of the attention in the world when he got home from work. He reveled in all of the belly rubs and touched Namjoon would give him, enjoyed every single kiss and not once did the older male ever critisize Jimin’s weight or how much he ate... alright, except for the times where Jimin goes on binges and eats everything in the house, but he can’t help it!

  It’s not like Namjoon doesn’t enjoy it anyway. Whenever Jimin cleans out the kitchen and he can’t move, he begs and whines for the older man to rub his belly, to which, he happily obliges. Namjoon especially loves it when Jimin rolls over him when they’re sleeping and he get’s pinned under Jimin’s enormous gut and the mattress. Jimin always profusely apologizes in the morning, but Namjoon is never angry with him. How could he be?

  Unfortunately today, Namjoon has to work. He’s got an important meeting that he absolutely cannot be late for and as much as he wants to stay home and love on his massive, jiggly boyfriend, he can’t. While he straightens his tie, he peeks over at Jimin, humming softly.

    “Angel, can you try your best not to eat everything in the kitchen for me today? Just until I get home? If you’re good for me I’ll make sure to buy you extra treats when I go back out to the store.”

   Jimin huffs and pouts at this, but the promise of extra treats has him willing to try. With a small nod and another little whine, he agrees.

 “Okay but, you gotta promise you’ll get the extra treat! You know it’s really hard for me to not eat.”

 Namjoon chuckles and makes his way over to lean over, giving the hybrid a few kisses on his puffy cheeks and giving a small pat to his belly, making it wobble slightly.

  “Of course I promise, love. Now, I have to get going, I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

   With a kiss to the lips and another tummy pat, Namjoon made his way to the front door, making sure to lock it behind him once he stepped out of the house. As soon as that lock clicked, Jimin wasted no time in pushing himself up out of the chair he was sitting in. It took him a few minutes and the chair creacked under him, due to his mass and how much he was struggling, but he made it. He waddled himself into the kitchen to see that Namjoon haid labeled the food he was allowed to eat until he got home which to other people, would be enough for a small family for four but to Jimin it was nowhere near enough to last him that long.

  A long whine escaped his puffy lips. He hated this but he was willing to try and be good so, he took the food labeled for breakfast to the table and carefully sat down on one of the chairs there. It creaked dangerously under his weight but the hybrid didn’t care one bit. His stomach rumbled as he dug into his food with fervor. You’d think with the way Jimin ate, he’d make a mess of himself, but he made sure he didn’t waste one little bit of his food. It had only taken him ten minutes to scarf everything down, leaving only a few dirty plates behind.

   Damn he really should have paced himself. With the way Namjoon had laid things out, his snack before luch was still two hours away. He was going to go nuts.. Unless.. what if he just ate a few things from his snack plates? That wouldn’t hurt, right? Grabbing onto the edge of the table, Jimin hauled himself up once more, this time, dragging the chair to the fridge so he didn’t have to keep getting up and down. That was a pain.

  Carefully opening the refridgerator door once more, he sat back down in his chair, it once again creaking in agony and once again, Jimin ignored its screams. He reached to take a few of his snacks off of the plate, eating them one by one. After the third cookie, he knew he should have stopped but he couldn’t, they were just too good. After another five minutes, his cookies were gone and they didn’t even make a dent in his stomach. He was still hungry. 

  “Fuck it.” He thought. Sure Namjoon would be upset with him but he’d eventually forgive him and Jimin would find a way to make it up to him somehow. With that thought, he reached  back into the fridge, eating what was left of the food Namjoon had labeled for him. His lunch was gone just as fast as his breakfast, causing his tummy to round out just slightly, but, he wasn’t finished. The dinner Namjoon had set out for him was next and it was absolutely delicious. He always made Jimin’s favorites, all the pork and chicken he could eat. It took him a little longer to finish his dinner as it had the most food out of all of his meals, but once the plate was empty, he pouted again, resting his hands on top of his swollen gut.

  He looks at the clock that hung in the kitchen and it had only been an hour since Namjoon had left..and his stomach was still growling. Peeking back at the fridge, he shrugged and leaned in, continuing to stuff his face with the rest of the food that was stocked in there that Namjoon hadn’t labeled for the massive hybrid. Jimin had it cleaned completely out by lunch time. Leaning back in his creaky chair, he rubbed gently over his gut, panting quietly as he massaged a few burps out of him, making room for more food. He didn’t want to have to get up again, usually he had his Joonie home to bring him food, but today he had to do things on his own for once.

   After a few minutes of massaging his stomach, Jimin forces himself back on his legs, groaning loudly with the effort. He opened the freezer to take out all of the ice cream, waddling to set it all out on the table. That’s when he looked at the cupboards and, to make this the last time he had to get up, went to clear all of the food and snacks from the cupboard, setting them out on the table as well. The hybrid then dragged his chair back over and carefully plopped back down, chair audibly groaning under his weight.

   His ears twiched just slightly at the sound, but he couldn’t be bothered as he was already digging into his ice cream, not eating too fast so he wouldn’t get a brain freeze. As time went on, Jimin’s massive pile of food slowly started to dwindle. Containers and wrappers littered the floor but there was not one speck of food on Jimin or around him. He made sure he got all of that into his mouth. By the time he was finished, he was overly stuffed, skin taut and slightly reddened from the amount of food he ate, just like it always was. Leaning back in his chair once more, he rubbed over his stomach the best he could, massaging more tiny burps out of him. Leaning back was a mistake though as the chair beneath him couldn’t take his weight any longer, the legs snapping and bringing Jimin down with it.

  The impact of him hitting the floor caused his whole body to jiggle and wobble and he made a small pained sound, cheeks flushing red from embarrassment and arousal. He had to find a way to get himself off the floor. He needed more. Him breaking the chair flipped a switch in him that he didn’t even know he had. Reaching up toward the table, Jimin gripped it as hard as he could, rocking himself back and forth to gain momentum to pull his massive ass off of the kitchen floor. It took him a few tries of him falling back onto the ground, but after a few minutes he was finally able to pull himself up into a standing position.

    There was still a cake inside of the fridge that Namjoon had baked last night (assumingly while Jimin was asleep.) Waddling back to the fridge for the last time until Namjoon bought more food, Jimin reached in to grab the cake, turning to look at the other chairs around the dining table. Surely if he sat in them, those would break too and he didn’t want to have to go through hauling himself up again, or worse, losing the cake. Instead an idea popped into his head. Taking the cake to a clean spot in the kitchen, he carefully manuvered it and himself back onto the kitchen floor. Joonie was almost home anyway so he could help him up if he needed after this.

    ------

      Namjoon hurried home as fast as he could. He worried about Jimin, especially if he listened and only ate what he laid out for him that day. He knew he was probably starving and he wanted to be there when he was finally able to pig out, just in case he needed his help. He expected to open the door to him whining and crying about how starving he was. He did not, however, expect his boyfriend to be on his hands and knees, massive tummy squished up against the floor with his face buried in the cake he baked last night. His eyes widened and he moved his briefcase in front of his crotch to hide his oviously growing erection.

    “J-Jimin!? What are you doing!? Why aren’t you eating at the table?”

   At the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, Jimin froze. He slowly lifted his head to look at the taller male, wiping as much cake off his face as he could.

    “I..I tried Joonie. I.. I tried to do what you asked but it was so hard and I got super hungry.. I..I can’t sit in the chairs anymore Joonie. I broke one.”

  Namjoon was so fixated on Jimin when he walked in, he didn’t even notice the chair until now. Looking over at the splintered pieces lying on the floor, looking like a boulder was dropped onto it, Namjoon had to bite back a moan. Fuck. He, Jimin broke a fucking chair.   The hybrid’s voice brought him out of his thoughts though, as Jimin sounded a little teary.

    “A..Are you mad at me?”

   With a quick shake of his head, Namjoon briskly made his way over to his boyfriend, helping him into a sitting position. Jimin had to spread his legs wide to let his stomach rest comfortable between them. Namjoon inhaled slightly, eyeing his stomach before quickly shaking his head and kneeling down, cupping Jimin’s plush face.

    “Honey no, I’m not mad at you. I should have never asked you to hold back on eating when I know how hungry you get. I was just worried you wouldn’t be able to help yourself if I wasn’t home. I.. mm. I have to say I’m turned on though. I never thought you’d break a chair, let alone eat on your hands and knees like this.”

   Jimin flushed at his words, squirming in his spot slightly.

   “W..Well.. when I broke the chair I.. something switched in me and.. and I just needed more? If you like it so much.. do you want to do me a favor?”

   Namjoon nodded, pressing a few soft kisses to Jimin’s messy cheeks.

   “Anything, baby.”

   Jimin smiled shyly, resting his hands over his stomach.

    “Feed me?”

   Namjoon grinned, sliding his hands over Jimin’s before giving his tummy a gently shake.

     “That I can definitely do, Minnie.”

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Hi this is my frist time actually writing something in a very long while and while I know it’s not the best, it took me awhile to finally finish it. I hope you guys enjoy it and I’ll work on getting my writing to be better the more I practice. 

[idiot-extraordinaire]

We Could Happen

Summary:

AU. The last thing Santana Lopez expects when her best friend asks her to cat-sit is to find something with the blonde in apartment 1812.

Title after the AJ Rafael song.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13667414/1/We-Could-Happen https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812445

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Santana Lopez is not what you would call a "pet person".

Her experience with pets involved a goldfish when she was five, who didn't last till the end of the month, a pregnant hamster that gave birth, ate it's young and promptly died a few days later when she was eight and the neighbour's pitbull, who had a habit of standing with it's head over the fence and barking loudly as it jumped up and down, terrifying her every time she walked home from the bus stop.

There was also her cousin's cat, who managed to scratch up her furniture the weekend she agreed to cat-sit and the parrot her ex-girlfriend had that flew out of its cage and pooped on her favorite leather jacket, so yeah.

Santana didn't hate animals, but she did prefer that she not be in close proximity with them for extended periods of time. She much preferred the pictures of puppies and kittens that circulated on Instagram than actually having to be near one. It was perfect, all cute and no responsibility.

Which is why she almost strangled Quinn when her best friend informed her she was going to be leaving her cat in Santana's care for the foreseeable future.

"What do you mean your cat is going to be staying with me?"

"I'm being seconded to our London office," Quinn informs her. "They said six months, but it could be up to a year. I can't take Charlie with me."

"Why can't you leave him with someone else?"

"Sam and Kurt's buildings don't allow pets."

"What about Mercedes?"

"Mercedes is going on tour in a few weeks, she can't bring him."

"Yes, she can. It'll be like part of her act."

"Santana…"

"Leave him with your mom, then!"

"Santana, I'm not flying to Lima to drop him off at my mom's, when you're perfectly capable of taking care of Charlie."

"Look Q," Santana retorted. "If I wanted to take care of a cat, I would buy a cat. But I don't want one, so Charlie will just have to find somewhere else to stay."

"Come on."

"What happens if I bring a girl over? I can't just have this cat getting all up in my business while I'm trying to get my mack on!"

"He's a cat, not a child!"

"I don't have the space."

"You live in a two bedroom apartment! You have a room for your shoes!"

"Okay, first of all, it's one and a half bedrooms!" That was true, the real-estate agent had advertised it that way, which was perfect for Santana since a "half bedroom" provided a perfect excuse to never have houseguests. "And second, it's full, so there's nowhere for him to stay."

"He doesn't need his own room," Quinn rolled her eyes. "Your place is more than big enough."

"What about someone from your office? How about Ken doll? Or what's-her-face with the ugly shoes? It won't matter if he pees in them," Santana rattles off names.

"Santana, please don't make this difficult," Quinn sighed as Santana crossed her arms over her chest, indignantly. "Don't make me call it in," she says, almost warningly.

Santana narrows her eyes. "You wouldn't."

What Quinn was referring to was the favor that Santana agreed to let her call in, one time only, no questions asked.

Over the years, Santana had gotten pretty good at letting one-night-stands know that that was exactly what it was , a one night stand. It saved a lot of confusion and hurt and awkward conversations in the morning, but once in a while, even the best could slip up.

It was a few months ago when the morning after, it became obvious that Santana's latest one-night-stand intended for their relationship to become...well, a relationship, and Santana informing her that it wasn't going to become one didn't work either.

It became painfully clear to Santana that she'd taken home a crazy person and she called Quinn, who was on her way to a big meeting. Santana had pleaded with her that it would only take five minutes and that she'd owe her huge so her friend complied.

Fifteen minutes later, Quinn showed up at Santana's apartment to play the scorned girlfriend. She went on, screaming and crying about how Santana could do this to her after they were together for five years, how awful she was for cheating (on their anniversary no less) and even threw in an "I should have listened to my mother about you!" for good measure.

She really sold it. Santana was convinced Quinn was going to slap her across the face, when she heard the front door click shut behind her and Quinn turn off the waterworks.

"There, she's gone. Now move, I need to touch up my makeup before I go to my meeting," Quinn replied nonchalantly, strolling past Santana and into the bathroom.

Quinn was only five minutes late to her meeting, but Santana had to keep her promise and officially owed Quinn one favour that she was allowed to call in at any time.

Apparently, this was it.

"You're calling in the favour over your cat?"

"Apparently, I have to," Quinn rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, before the corners of her mouth turned up in a smirk. "Which means that you really can't say no."

Santana really wanted to slap that stupid smirk off her best friend's face. But alas, a deal was a deal and she'd sealed her fate on that morning many months ago when she took home that crazy (though admittedly hot) girl who really took that U-haul stereotype to heart.

Live and learn, she figured.

And that was how Santana Lopez ended up as guardian to the calico, Charlie.

"I expect him to be in the same condition when I come back," Quinn warned her, on the day he was dropped off before his human departed for London.

"No promises, Q," Santana rolled her eyes.

"I'll call to check in."

"I'm an adult, I'll be fine without you."

"I meant on him."

"When did you turn into a crazy cat lady?" Santana cracked.

Quinn's little goodbye with her cat stretched out to twenty minutes, not including the two- hour-long orientation she gave Santana about vet appointments, shots, food, litter boxes, his pet carrier and everything in between.

When the front food shut, signalling Quinn's exit, Santana looked down at Charlie, who in turn just stared up at her and meowed.

"Ok listen, we need to get one thing clear, now that your crazy mom isn't here to save you," Santana dropped down so she was closer to eye-level with the cat. "I'll do all the vet appointments and the cat food and even emptying out your nasty-ass litter-box, but if you ever pee in one of my shoes, you are done here," she said in a low growl.

Charlie meowed again and licked his paw. Santana decided to take that as an understanding.

----------

Charlie is actually not bad. Santana won't go as far as to say she enjoys having him around, but she doesn't hate it.

He walked around the apartment like he owned the place and climbed up on the furniture, but all things considered he was pretty good. He went in his litter box and knew his feeding routine.

During the first week, Santana came home from work to find the legs of her coffee table totally scratched up. She brought out the eyesore that was his bright blue scratching post on full display in her living room so that he could use it instead, but Quinn informed her that Charlie was probably just getting antsy from being alone in the apartment all week.

Santana installed a kitty door so that he'd be free to roam about the apartment complex during the day and come home when he needed and leave her damn stuff alone. Since then, he seemed calmer when he was indoors and would take to lying on the couch next to her when she was watching TV.

So yeah. Santana figured having Charlie around wasn't the worst thing in the world.

She could, however, do without Quinn's constant need for updates on her cat. Based on her social media posts, Quinn was having the time of her life in London, meeting new people and going to new places.

However, based on her messages to Santana - it seemed less like she was a socially active woman in her twenties living it up, and more like she was a fifty year old cat-mom missing her cat-child, with nothing else to do.

[Quinn]: Did you feed him today?

[Quinn]: He likes the chicken flavour.

[Quinn]: Is he getting enough exercise?

[Quinn]: Can you send me pics of him?

[Quinn]: You're giving him baths regularly, right Satan?

[Quinn]: If anything seems wrong TAKE HIM TO THE VET

[Quinn]: How is he today?

Santana got so tired of the messages that eventually she started trolling Quinn so that the blonde would leave her alone.

[Santana]: Congrats, grandma! Charlie knocked up the neighbour's cat. You have nine of them to come home to!

[Santana]: Cats can drink scotch right? Cause I accidentally poured the wrong thing into his bowl.

[Santana]: Charlie's a persian right? Cause that's who's sitting on my couch rn.

-----------

Santana had settled into routine with her new roommate. It wasn't like she had to walk the cat or anything, so she made sure that there was food in his bowl before she left for work and he was usually home by the time she got back anyway.

In between she guessed that he was wandering the neighbourhood looking for mice or whatever it is that cats do. Whatever, he didn't touch her shoes and her furniture and frankly that was the best she could hope for.

Work on the other hand, left much to be desired.

Santana was the youngest person in management at one of the most promising new marketing and PR agencies in Los Angeles. She'd been there since interning in her senior year of college and knew the ins and outs of the business better than almost anyone. She was sharp, effective and knew how to get things done. It also meant that she spent too much time at the office.

You know what they say, if you need something done, give it to the busiest person at the office.

"Miss Lopez," her assistant, Marley, stepped into the door of her office. "The Mucusin people are here."

Mucusin was a new over-the-counter cold medicine soon to be released in stores. Santana had advised them to change the name, but they were pretty adamant about keeping it so it seemed like she was going to have her work cut out for her.

"Send them in."

-----------

So it turned out the Mucusin people were not only married to the name, but to the idea of keeping the packaging green.

Santana had to fight an eyeroll when she gave that directive to the design team to come up with a few samples incorporating that particular shade of green.

When she finally got home, she spotted Charlie, sitting on the arm of the couch, waiting for her and meowing expectantly.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll get your food," she grumbled, putting her things down, opening a can of Cat Chow and emptying it into his bowl.

Once she'd fulfilled her obligation, she ordered some food for herself on her phone and headed into the shower, wishing to wash all the stress of the day off before her dinner arrived.

She eats in front of the TV, when she notices that Charlie barely touches his food. Santana squints at him. He looked... different, something was off.

She gets distracted when Real Housewives comes on.

It's probably nothing.

-----------

Santana makes a hundred cat-lady jokes at Quinn's expense before complying when Quinn asks Santana to help her face-time Charlie.

"Oh my God, Santana!"

"What?"

"Why's he so fat? What have you been feeding him?"

"I just feed him the stuff you told me to buy, it's not cheap by the way, Q," she flips the camera back around so that Quinn's facing her and not the cat. "I don't even know what the big deal is, he looks-"

Santana's about to say fine when she gets a good look at the cat for the first time in weeks. That stupid Mucusin campaign's been taking up all her attention, that she didn't even notice. Charlie's gotten fat.

"I told you, you better return him in the same condition you got him!" Quinn chastises.

"Well, I'm not returning him yet," Santana huffs. "And I didn't take you for a fat-shamer, Lucy Caboosey."

Quinn scowls at that remark. "Seriously, calicos are supposed to weigh like 7 or 8 pounds. How much does he weigh?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? He was supposed to have a vet appointment last week!"

"Yeah but I didn't finish that Mucusin campaign until yesterday. I thought it would be fine to delay it by a week."

"Satan, I swear to God-"

"I'll take him!" Santana sighs exaggeratedly. "God, the way you fuss over your cat, wouldn't it be easier to just have a child?"

"Santana-"

"It'll be fine," she eyes the cat from his place by the coffee table. "He hasn't gotten that fat has he?"

"Yes!"

-----------

Santana takes Charlie to the vet and in six weeks in her care he's managed to put on five pounds. It's not a good look.

The vet recommends some diet cat food and that Charlie get some exercise. Since he's already out the whole day, Santana buys the way too expensive diet cat food and hopes that it will fix the situation.

She's not thrilled with the idea of having to spend her weekends taking the cat for a walk.

After another week, she manages to wrestle him onto the bathroom scale for long enough to see that he's not losing weight.

The mystery of the cat's weight gain finally gains traction while she's at work and her boss, Shelby pulls her into her office.

"Cheating scandal broke today," she places a file down in front of Santana.

"What are we dealing with?"

"Throat Explosion's lead singer came down with a case of mono, gave it to his girlfriend."

"So?"

"So, the day after, the bassist comes down with a case of mono too. The girlfriend's an actress, she's getting a pretty big following and the singer's taking a lot of heat. She kicked him out."

"He slept with the bassist?"

Shelby nods. "There were rumors before, but no one ever bothered to address it, they thought it would go away."

"Well it's not going to now. What do they want us to do?"

"What do you think?" Shelby raised a brow. "PR. They need damage control."

-----------

#Monogate gave Santana the breakthrough she needed. There was a third party involved. If she wasn't making changes to his diet and he was roaming about all day, there must be an external reason as to why he was gaining weight.

It's a Saturday when Santana finally decides that today will be the day she figures out who's been fattening up the cat.

She's bought him a tracking collar which synced with her phone. She checked the record previously to see that Charlie was only really exploring the apartment complex, never straying too far away from it. So she deduces it's someone else who lives in one of the apartments.

Santana knows that she has to move fast. Despite his weight gain, Charlie could still climb high and squeeze into spaces she couldn't.

When the sneaky little bastard slipped out from his kitty door, Santana quickly followed him out, tracking his steps on the app on her phone. It led her past the courtyard and into the garden patch of the complex, just by the fountain.

She waded through various potted plants, through the small pavement path in a mostly-grass covered area. A few of the plants had grown a little too tall and wound up smacking her in the face with their leaves. Santana kept glancing at her phone to make sure she was on the right track and was validated when she heard the sound of something being set down on the concrete and a pleased meow.

She scrambled through the rest of the plants and through the clearing, finding a woman, sitting on the bench and Charlie eating from a little orange cat bowl.

"Aha!" Santana exclaimed, leaping out from the garden and accusingly pointing at the cat, who didn't seem the least bit perturbed. She did however, come face to face with an amused looking woman.

Santana had expected some sad old guy who didn't have any friends and had taken to stealing the attention of the neighbour's cat but this woman was...well, gorgeous.

"Hi," the woman greeted her, seemingly unshaken by Santana's abrupt entrance.

"Hi," Santana managed to get out. "You're...you're the one who's been feeding my cat?"

"Oh is he yours?" she asks, reaching down to pet Charlie. "He likes to stop by here."

"Yeah, I mean...sort of," Santana frowns trying to explain the situation. "He's not mine, but he's in my care."

"Are you sure? Are you sure you're not a catnapper?"

Santana is partially amused but also a little offended. "Of course not! How can you accuse me of being a catnapper when you're the one feeding other people's pets?"

The woman frowns. "Feeding isn't the same as catnapping."

"So it's you? You're the one who's been fattening him up?"

"That's mean," the woman creases her forehead and pouts a little, rubbing Charlie's furry head. "I think he looks fine just as he is."

"What's he eating anyway?"

"Tuna casserole."

Santana's feelings of offense evaporate at this point and she's just confused.

"What?"

"My roommate is trying to learn to cook for her boyfriend," the woman explains. "I don't think it's very good but Cheeto seems to like it."

"Cheeto?"

She looks a little embarrassed. Santana thinks it's kind of cute. "That's not his name?"

"No, uh, his name is Charlie."

"Oh, I've been calling him Cheeto. The orange spots on his fur are kinda cheeto shaped. He doesn't seem to mind," she adds.

"No, I'm sure he doesn't."

Now sensing that Santana was out of accusation mode, the woman extended her hand.

"I'm Brittany, by the way. 1812," she gestures to the apartment behind her.

Santana shook it. "Santana. 1820"

"I like your name."

"Thanks. My mom picked it out."

Santana was horrified at the words that just left her mouth. What the hell was that? She knows how to talk to beautiful women, ok? She's just having an off day. Apparently her game had just decided to up and leave and go on vacation without telling her first.

Brittany giggles at that and scoots over a little on the bench, inviting Santana, mouth still slightly agape from her words, to take a seat next to her. She obliges and just stares down at Charlie tucking into his tuna casserole. She mostly stares down at the cat because Brittany's eyes are so very blue.

"So how long has this been going on exactly?"

"Maybe a month," Brittany shrugs. "He just kind of started coming around and one time he looked kinda hungry so I fed him the leftover's my roommate cooked. After that he kinda started coming around a lot."

"Leftovers huh? I guess the Cat Chow I've been feeding him doesn't really compare."

"Depends on the brand you buy, but usually cats prefer people-food even if it's not always the best for them. I try to only feed him stuff that cats would normally eat, like chicken and fish. Only stuff that they'd be able to catch in the wild."

"Huh. I had no idea about any of that."

"Ok, one time I fed him steak," Brittany says, looking a little guilty.

"Wow."

"My roommate bought this 14-pack of steak from Costco and I messed up with the freezing and the defrosting and we ended up just having to cook all of them. I thought maybe he should eat some before it went bad…" she trails off. "He seemed to really like it."

Santana chuckles a little. "Lucky Charlie, I bet he's the most well-fed cat in LA."

"Even more than all those pets to the stars?"

"Oh, totally, especially since he's apparently been getting double meals."

Brittany laughs and for reasons she doesn't quite understand, Santana can hear her heart beating louder in her chest.

"Sorry, if I've been stealing him away from you," she apologizes. "I just miss having a cat around."

"You had a cat before?"

"He lives back home with my parents. My roommate's allergic so I couldn't get another one even if I wanted to. I miss him sometimes. Even if he was leaking pages of my diary on the internet."

"Oh," Santana says, obviously confused. "Sounds like kind of a jerk."

"Yeah, but he has a good heart under all his addictions and gang affiliations."

"Right."

"So is Charlie your first?" Brittany asks.

"Is it that obvious I don't know what I'm doing?" Santana laughs. "I guess so. I mean, technically he's my friend's cat but she got sent to London for a couple months for work so she asked me to take care of him."

"I think you're actually doing pretty well considering he's your first cat. They're not as easy to take care of as everyone thinks," she comments as Charlie finishes his tuna casserole and jumps up onto the bench, where Brittany can pet him.

"Thanks."

"I also think you're a good friend."

Santana feels herself starting to blush and looks down at the ground to avoid eye contact. "You just met me. There's no way you could know that."

"Yeah but you're looking after your friend's cat while she's away, even though you don't really have any experience in it and you even tracked down to see where he was going when you thought something was up. Sounds like a pretty good friend to me."

"Yeah, well…" she mumbles, not sure of how to respond. "Listen, I think um, I think I'd be cool if you wanted to still hang out with Charlie and stuff. He seems to like you and I doubt I could stop him even if I wanted to."

Brittany's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Maybe just go easy on the steak, though. My friend is a total helicopter cat-mom and she's not super happy with all the weight gain."

"I know an Atkins diet that might help."

"I mean, yeah, if you think-"

"Oh, thank you Santana!" with a big grin on her face, Brittany leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Santana in a big hug. The brunette was taken aback by it, clearly not expecting it, but was pleasantly surprised.

"Sorry," Brittany pulled away, looking a little embarrassed.

"No, don't be," she managed to get out. "Listen, Brittany, would it be cool if I got your number?" Santana realizes instantly what it sounds like and quickly tries to explain herself. "Since I obviously have no idea what I'm doing with this cat thing. Just, so I could like, text you if I have questions about cat food brands or going to the vet or something. You know, for Charlie's sake and everything," she added quickly.

"Totally," Brittany grinned. "I'll be like your cat whisperer."

.

.

.

Authors Notes:

If anyone here ever watched the show Chuck, the apartment complex in that show is kind of what I imagine the apartment complex here looks like.

I actually came up with this idea many years ago, but I didn't put pen to paper till recently. It was inspired by the fact that at a certain point my friend (and her parents) ended up feeding their neighbours cat on a regular basis and it started to get fat. This is also the first multi-chap I've written in years and the first Brittana multi-chap I've written at all.

[sugar-petals]

Potions and Reverie (m)

↳ In which you receive a fortunate letter that leads to sex with your submissive husband Jimin.

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: hurt & comfort, angst, smut | domestic au | one shot

Warnings: spanking, mommy kink, thigh riding, impregnation kink, slapping, choking, neglect, sexual healing, avoidance, depression, infertility issues

A/N: Requested by anon. Reupload!

Red pines creak and bend outside. Last time you checked, the alley had been deserted with no car or person in sight. Jimin’s not home yet, you’re waiting. 

He promised to be back around eight or so, now it’s nine with little sunlight left. Just heavy, mourning clouds. Endless rain comes gushing down with thunder’s angry boom from the distance. It must be hell in the mountains. Seoul is so unkind these days. 

Unkind, and too humid. The current festival in Itaewon is as good as spoiled, the poor people. No text message gets a fast reply like it normally would, your phone just falls abnormally silent. There’s no point in trying again and again.

The storm keeps raging and whirring between the pines, leaving much debris and puddles on the street. You’re giving up on ordering pizza for tonight, the microwave will do. The fridge is entirely raided, so you take the small wooden steps down to the icy-cold cellar. A few convenience foods are still left in the freezer, but your tormented stomach feels like ramen is the better alternative. There are two packages left, you pick the spicier, stronger one. 

You’re glad to be fast with warming it up because electricity shuts down at roughly half past, leaving you with candles and “goodbye TV” on the couch. You’d be outside if you’d know where he actually is, even in that weather. The impatience is like venom, you wish you wouldn’t have it.

It’s quarter to ten when the key turns. You rush to the front porch to haul in Jimin as he opens, soaking wet and gloomier than ever. He apologizes in a grumpy tone, no eye contact. The heavily kinked umbrella just gets cast in a corner. Jimin later slouches down next to you on the couch with your oversized bathrobe on. 

Downtown he had gotten himself at least some fries and visited the drug store to fill up the fridge in a last effort. Most of the paperboard packages and vegetables got horribly wet and squashed in his backpack because the rain just didn’t want to come down vertically, and Jimin just stuffed them in without care. At least one time you see the value in thick plastic wrappings. You don’t even know if that crumbled mess is still useful in any way, but he thought about everything you’ve written on the grocery list in the kitchen.

Jimin hardly speaks while he’s trying to get his hair dry with a towel, rubbing and chafing it aggressively at the back of his neck. There’s no answer why he took so long and didn’t answer the phone, none. He’s been like that since the doctor proposed the diagnosis this summer. 

You have a hard time telling him that you received the important, long anticipated letter from the clinic today. But you didn’t open it yet. You told yourself that this was something you’d have to do together. It’s hard. His face turns more somber when you mention it but he won’t protest when you bring out the plain envelope. The dismal gleam of the candle barely suffices to read, it flickers too much. 

A darker wall of clouds outside has you pulling out your phone to shed at least a bit of light on the dreaded paper. It’s the result from October’s final check-up. All the numbers and paragraphs are just blurry. As you finished reading, passing over the letter you just say to read it twice. You didn’t get the majority of the words, or perhaps you’re too nervous. Maybe just in disbelief. The only thing you understood was that they charged a whooping lot. Jimin does have to read it twice. He puts it down, the first eye contact follows. 

“You’re okay?”

“I’m… okay?” You don’t know what he means. That you’re fine, or that the diagnosis states you’re fine. Jimin angles the letter to you and points at a bolded part. “It says the result turned out negative. They tested for “infertile, yes or no”, not for “fertile, yes or no”. Infertile — negative. And below,” he points toward the end, “it says we could try it.” You practically rip the letter from his hands. It makes sense now, it really does. There it is. 

We can encourage you to carefully commence again around designated week 2 and 3. The first investigations in August merely pointed towards a temporary and then more complicated medical terms follow, ending in an explanation how the error just didn’t hold true because of this and that, measures were just approximated, and so on. So it’s true. You are okay. You’d still punch each and every doctor with their fertility potions in the face for all of this. No cure was ever needed, neither was abstinence. Jimin looks hopeful and teary. 

He’s suffered the most the last months because you’ve really wanted to follow through. But he couldn’t help if his life depended on it. It left him immobile at the thought he couldn’t make you happy, and he really admitted to that in September when things got worse. 

Jimin isolated himself more, even if he did spend time with you. He tried to please you in bed in every way you could think of, he pursued all the duties he had around the house. The ideal husband. But at some point, you had just lost faith. Only the last bit of love held you together, a string that could rip any second. Like the pine branches bursting apart outside. 

Giving up was the only thing to do after the final blow despite you having feverishly tried it all. He still couldn’t get it up after everything they said at the screening, with the trauma of your reaction in mind. The way he’s facing you, it seems impossible to erase all denial again, and embrace what’s real. The hug is uneasy, the damned letter forgotten on the floor. “Is it week two” you ask, “it must be.” He sniffles. 

“Around start of three, I don’t know. Fuck it, honestly… They’ve been playing us with that since forever. It should work anytime mid-cycle. We’ll just try, I think it’s possible,” he clears his throat, leaning back from the hug. “It’s not meant to be otherwise. Whatever their instruments say.” You undo the belt of the robe. “So, now?” you test, making sure to sound pulled together even if the letter left you more aggravated than the turmoil in the streets. 

“If you still like me… I’m disappointing. I look weird now, too,” Jimin shifts in his seat, sort of spaced out again. The robe hardly closes at the front. “Fool, I want you,” you get on his lap, moving the towel from his hands to the table. 

“If a bit of water turns you ugly all of a sudden, my taste in men must be horrendous. I’m not blowing up your phone just because. I was worried! And I’m in love with you, that hasn’t changed.” The rain is unstoppable outside, drumming, threatening to hammer in your windows. “I love you, too,” he muses, though overshadowed by the roaring thunder somewhere above Incheon. Perfect day to make a baby. 

“They said we can do it, you should be confident,” you pinch at his tiny nose. He turns as red as the slushy tomatoes from his bag. Clumsy sweetheart, so cute. It makes you horny. “You too,” Jimin cocks up his head, provocative. “Hey, I’ll show you.” The doc can suck your ass, you’ll make this count. 

Jimin’s robe comes off completely. It’s difficult to be gentle even if you know that Jimin longs for a tough grip. There’s something about so many dull weeks that makes you ravage him. Maybe it’s not right to overwhelm him and yourself just now. But the yearning is too strong. He’s so hot with the damp hair. Yes, you want him bad. 

His dick grows sturdier under the fleeting rub of your hand, and wet with warm spit added. Very wet. As does your underwear turning slick with his fuck-me thigh between your legs. It’s. So. Damn. Big. 

You nibble at his chest and shoulders with the prospect of leaving faint marks and gyrate against his leg on repeat like a bolting mustang going berserk. Jimin abides the shake until all friction has spurred and lubricated you enough. It’s not taking long until your panties are gone, and Jimin’s hand slips right in their former place to get you off. 

While he keeps jerking his fingers, you sink down on his shaft and brutalize him with more bites at the neck, not thinking about tomorrow. He’ll have to deal with it. You’re not meek with the thrusts today, either. Soon he jitters at your hips with his hands, trying to mimic the movement. You’re ecstatic. It riles him up. The eternal rain pounds against the window glass like you do against his lap. It’s pitch black outside. “Slap me!” he cries the more you cram him in, “I deserve it. Please!”

Your hand comes down ringing, the echo numbed by the rain. Jimin is left wincing. He begs you drooling to beat him more, harder, the other cheek. Your left is not as strong, so the slap is messy and unpredictable in its impact. But you don’t miss the spot. He’s getting stiffer inside you making the plunge times easier. A third strike and his hips buck up from underneath. Mustang number two has entered to mate, it seems. 

He keeps pleading for more, but after a fourth time, you refuse. Jimin doesn’t need to get his jaw dislocated in a frenzy. Not in this position anyways. He’s digging him a bit too much, that’s when he gets carried away. Instead, both of your hands find a solid grip just below his larynx. His neck is already swollen and pulsating. “I’ll punish you my way,” you put a slight bit of strain on your thumbs, “ready for that?” The following nod is eager, eliciting a greedy look in his eyes. So this is what he likes about confidence. 

Jimin, forever obsessed with your hands. You make sure to press the right spot, loving how his cock throbs while he’s thrashing out with his feet. Oh, it’s been over half a year since Jimin had you choke him out. Missed it bad. He does remember to keep his palms flat against the sofa. No matter what. That’s the silent command that you challenge him to fulfill. His arms don’t move even one bit even if you give his throat a harder, but short squeeze before releasing. 

Jimin sucks his first breath in with his tongue out, veins popped minuscule in the eyes. His palms still stay in place. That’s a reflex control worthy of being a father. Your perfect man. 

There are not many more thrusts until he catches himself and starts squirming. “Won’t last longer,” he coughs, apologetic. For a first time after such a sexual drought, his stamina isn’t half bad though. Jimin’s actually amazing. You’ll let him know later. Urgent matters first. 

“Come on, roll over. It has to stay inside of me.” 

Jimin, out of breath, can hardly catch up so you have to position him yourself above you on your back. “I think I’m ready,” he quivers, thrusts abating between your legs spread apart. Indeed he is. You lower him balls deep with your hands on his supple ass, firmly in place. “It’s like my birthday. Lovin’ the gifts.” 

A brisk smack on the left cheek and he’s coming with a little whimper. Finally. It drops inside of you like a small stream of liquid silver, turning gold reaching the spot where you want it. “I’ll make you a baby daddy,” you lock his hips tight with your legs around him, “all mine, mine, mine.” 

There’s no mercy for him now, and no place to go. No hours outside to escape in the rain, sulking and lonely with his depressive thoughts. No friend’s home to spend the night avoidant instead of in the bedroom here, afraid to disappoint, or having to survive your wistful hours ad infinitum. That’s gone now. A bitter summer. There’s always hope for autumn. You’re stealing a kiss and every last thread of semen that he has for you. 

The pressure from your thighs hooks him in the spot with no inch of liberty. A bit more and he’d snap in half like a pair of chopsticks. The ceiling lamp flashes up, blinding and bright against the bedlam outline of his locks. Fucking electricity’s back. You can feel the last bits of sperm trickle down inside to breed you, but won’t let him go just yet. 

“I’m yours, mommy,” Jimin last exhales struggling. He falls down into your arms closing around him stalwart like a cage. It feels like the only pressure left on him. What you see on his face is no more heavy gloom and doom.  

The thunder continues haunting Seoul, but it doesn’t matter. This is your dream come true. You let him pull out when a tired strain replaces the strength in your legs, and he kneels. Everything that has spilled over he proceeds to sip and lap up obediently, it’s good for his skin. Unlike what’s pending flaccid between his thighs, Jimin’s tongue won’t get worn-out all too early, carrying you through a nascent high and bringing you down again. 

The curve of his lips swipes gently up and down your labia, picking up the chaos of his and your cum, dips it back in with his ruby tongue when you finished your orgasm. He’s lost the tension in his brow, his eyes are peaceful. A last charming nip at your clit and he retreats, replacing his mouth with the massage of two fingers. 

Before the overstimulation comes, you guide his wrists toward your breasts to go on there. You’ll drag him under the shower later, to draw out the relaxation deeply needed. Tomorrow you’ll try right again after going to the festival, to mingle with the dragon spectacle for good luck with your baby daddy. 

“That’s for sweet milk hm,” you fondle at his glowing cheeks, “we made it, Jiminie.” - “Sorry that it took so long since then. Are you happy?” - “I’m very happy. And our child will be so beautiful,” you brush a finger against his lashes. Albeit exhausted, he’s cheerful under the touch. “Then, I’m happy, too.” 

© 2017-2019 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or modify. 

[plumblossomkun]

Headstones

word count: 1602

synopsis: in which the boys dare you and Haechan to explore an abandoned house, because it’s supposed to be haunted and they want a little bit of Halloween fun.

warning[s]: this might be a little spooky? idk the last line had ME spooked and i’m the writer... horror isn’t my thing, but i think if i tried it, i’d be pretty good at the gross details. yikes. 

a/n: anyway, i had this song on repeat the whole time i was writing this. there are no spoilers for Gaenari in this, but you might be able to see just how much Hyuck cares about you as his noona, i guess.

“Hyuck, I don’t want to go out there.” You cross your arms and plant your feet firmly on the floor as he tries to drag you out the door by the sleeve of your hoodie (well, it’s his, really, but you took it so long ago that he’s probably forgotten it belonged to him at all).

“Are you afraid, noona?” he teases, dangling your phone in front of you.

“Hey, when did you steal that?” You lunge for it, but he yanks it away. “Give it back!”

“When you were talking to Jisungie.” He tucks it into his jacket pocket. 

You reach into it to grab your phone, but he tangles his fingers with yours instead, grinning when he captures you. 

“Gotcha.”

“Let me go!” you squeal, but he doesn’t budge, only drags you out the door again, which is being held open by Chenle. He grins and waves goodbye as Donghyuck hauls you towards the taxi waiting outside.

“Jaemin and Jeno are waiting for you there,” he calls after you, giggling.

“Where are we going?” you mumble sullenly, resenting the way Hyuck’s hand still holds yours captive as the taxi ascends a steep, one-lane road up into the mountains. “I don’t like this.”

“It’s an easy bet, noona.” Absentmindedly, he strokes his thumb across your hand. “We get it done, and then Jeno and Jaemin will buy us dinner all Halloweekend.”

“You dragged me into this bet for food?” you hiss incredulously as the car comes to a stop in front of a dingy iron gate. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why else would I make you come out to the dorms on a Saturday?” he hums. “You told me not to bother you on your days off unless it was for good food.”

“I meant actual good food, Hyuck,” you complain as he helps you out of the taxi. “I don’t want to have to work for my food.”

“...isn’t that what you do, as an adult?” He pushes the gate open and leads you through, starting up a hill so steep you can’t even see what’s at the top.

“Ugh, you know what I meant!” you huff. “...you still haven’t told me where we’re going. Why are we hiking up this hill?”

He doesn’t answer you, at least, not until the two of you near the top. Even he is a little breathless when he speaks. “A real haunted house,” he gulps, wiping sweat from his brow.

You lean on your knees, wheezing. “I’m too old for this.”

“If you’re old, that makes me almost-old.”

The house at the top of the hill is dilapidated to the point of almost collapsing, sways in the wind like a reed, but that certainly doesn’t stop Hyuck from approaching. He pulls a pair of tiny flashlights out of his pocket and hands you one, without ever letting go of the hand he has already clamped onto yours.

“Are you ever gonna stop holding my hand?”

He flashes you a grin. “Nope.”

The door swings open in the wake of the autumn breeze, and you squeal. “I don’t wanna go in!”

Hyuck peers inside. “It’s just Jaemin.”

Jaemin’s blonde head peeps out from behind the battered door frame. “Hi, noona.” Just behind him, you see another flash of platinum, and then Jeno, too, is grinning back at you, the two of them bouncing on the creaky, unhinged floorboards. 

“Please don’t tell me you guys are going to be trying to spook us the whole time we’re here,” you sigh.

“Oh, no,” Jeno assures you, “I’m staying outside. This place gives me the shivers.”

“Anyway,” Jaemin chirps, stepping down from the front onto the wispy grass lawn, Jeno on his heels, “there’s nothing dangerous in there, not really. Just don’t go upstairs; I don’t think it’s safe to go up there, seriously.” He waves the two of you off as Hyuck moves forward, and you are forced to follow.

Hyuck’s eyes gleam in the dark at the prospect of danger, and you warn him, “If he says it’s dangerous, we really shouldn’t go up there.”

“How bad can it be?”

“We could die,” you suggest, gritting your jaw as you duck underneath a fallen post. “That looks like it was a load-bearing post. I don’t want to be upstairs looking at debris and then become debris.

Hyuck snorts, but doesn’t make a beeline for the stairs just in front of the entrance like you thought he would, instead taking a sharp right into what looks like it might have been a kitchen. The room on the left is a living room, but it’s in such disarray that there’s no picking through it.

“Look at this island,” he marvels, flicking his light towards the marble counter top, which is the only thing that seems to have survived the carnage of the elements. “Bet you this place belonged to rich people and they just kind of forgot about it.”

“Shame. It has a nice view, too,” you say, looking out the window to forget the pungent smell of some sort of animal’s living quarters, and the line of creepy-crawlies that is surely just beneath the rotting wood. “God, don’t touch anything, Hyuck.”

He laughs, but takes his hand away from the shambles of a dining table. “Look at the silverware. It’s like someone was about to eat, but something went wrong.”

“Oh, no no no. Don’t you start weaving some creepy narrative about this place.” 

Suddenly, something creaks loudly on the floor above. You glance outside; Jeno and Jaemin are still waiting out there, talking animatedly about something. “...did you hear that?”

“Yeah. Let’s go check it out.”

“No!”

“Why not? If we fall I’ll catch you.”

“As if!”

“Come on, noona. We’ll go upstairs and check it out and then we’ll come back out and tell Jaemin and Jeno that there’s nothing spooky about this place, and we win the bet~!” He pouts, then leans down to look into your eyes. “Noona, if you’re really scared, we should do it so we can get out of here sooner.”

“...nngh.” You can’t deny that. “Fine.”

The second floor is just as horrifying as you’d imagined it to be. Floorboards coming apart, doors unhinged, windows all broken and glass on the inside, like something outside had torn into the house. There are even bite marks and gashes from claws in one of the door frames.

“Hyuck, I don’t like this.”

He stares at the clear teeth markings. “Yeah, me either.”

Still, he tiptoes towards it, flashlight held tight in his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s unconsciously shielding you with his body, pushing you behind him, or that his breath has audibly quickened.

Quickly, you glance at the bottom of the stairs, where Jaemin is looking up at you for the signal.

So, with an exaggerated gasp, you drop your flashlight, and shriek. It actually goes better than you intended, because you inhale so violently that you end up choking on your own breath.

Hyuck immediately whirls to look at you, and you point at the window and whisper hoarsely. “There’s a hand!”

And there is a hand, hanging limp over the windowpane, covered in [fake] blood. It’s Jeno’s hand, and he’s on a ladder probably giggling his head off, but Hyuck doesn’t know that.

He takes your hand, and pushes you towards the stairs, fumbling with his flashlight. “Uh, let’s get out of here.”

Right on cue, Jaemin throws a stone through the front entrance, and it crashes into the marble countertop with a loud CRACK. 

Hyuck shrieks something unintelligible, and then he’s hauling ass down the stairs, tugging you behind him. It’s all you can do not to burst into laughter as he practically throws you over the threshold of the house, sprinting out onto the lawn and only stopping when he realizes that Jaemin is on the floor not because he’s been incapacitated by a ghost, but because he’s crying of laughter, and that you are kneeling beside him, pretending to try and shock him back to life.

Jeno comes around from the back, ladder tucked under his arm, grinning proudly. “Did I do good, noona?”

“You did good, Jeno,” you giggle, looking up at Hyuck, who is still white as a sheet.

“Who did the bite marks?” is all he says, massaging his jaw.

“Oh, those were already there,” Jaemin wheezes, sitting up. “The house is pretty cursed, but I didn’t see any ghosts or anything while we were scoping it out yesterday.”

“They didn’t tell me about it till today,” you say disapprovingly, swatting at him, then standing to wipe leaves off of your jeans. “I said, you think we can spook Hyuck? They said, only if I helped. So I did.”

“Noona,” Hyuck whines, draping his arms around your shoulders and burying his head in your neck. “That was spooky.”

“Says the boy who constantly stands behind doors trying to scare me into dropping my coffee,” you reply testily, though you pat his head reassuringly. “Happy Halloween. What was the agreement, Jaemin?”

“That he’d buy us jokbal [pig’s feet] for two weekends.”

Hyuck groans. “Next Halloween can we just have a potluck? I don’t want to do this again.”

“Neither do I,” you shudder. “Are we done, guys?”

“Yeah, I’ll call the car.”

“I call shotgun!”

“Be my guest. I don’t wanna talk to the driver.”

You glance over your shoulder, one last look at the house, and you swear you see something moves in the doorway, see the silhouette of a small child flash past. You shiver. 

“Then let’s get out of here.”

[hookechoes]

all the comrades that e’er i’ve had (1770 words, crossposting from ao3)

Crouching in the sewer, Ben behind him, Bill in front of him. Crawling through unseen muck on hands and knees, grit sticking to his palms, getting under his ragged nails. The sound of Bill crying in the darkness, of Eddie’s tiny suppressed gasps of pain whenever his arm was jostled. Of Bev trying to keep her voice steady, to hold onto some kind of sanity for everyone’s sake as she lit a match. Ben’s haunted face in the tiny firelight. The awful rip as Bill and Richie came back to their bodies and saw Eddie’s arm disappear down the spider’s throat. More blood than Richie had ever seen before, even more than what had come from the drain in Bev’s bathroom. Eddie’s hand, weak and limp and already cold, touching his cheek for the last time–-

Richie wakes up crying. The dream dries up fast, but his tears take longer.

  ---

  Richie leaves Derry without saying goodbye to anyone. He hopes they can forgive him, as they have forgiven his transgressions so many times before. Before heading to the airport, though, he stops at the Kissing Bridge. He thinks he remembers where he carved his R, and he is right; there it is, just a few struts away from the bridge proper, big and loud and audacious, just like he had been. The events of the day before, whatever they were, are already faded beyond retrieval, and Richie feels a horrible sense of relief about it. But this memory is still abundantly clear, for some reason. Maybe because he is standing here, exactly where he had been twenty-seven years before, doing exactly the same thing: waiting for a car to pass out of sight so that he can carve without being seen. The past stapling itself to the present yet again, a piece of paper folded into halves and pressed together.

Twenty-seven years ago he had flicked out his father’s pocket knife. Today he has his own, a slightly thinner blade, cheaper but still suitable for this purpose. He kneels down and braces his left hand against the railing, the force of memory and echo so strong he has to close his eyes for a moment. He remembers how rough and aged the wood railing felt back then, cut nearly to ribbons with layers and layers of lovers’ names and initials and dates. He remembers the inescapable heat of that summer, the humid air so heavy in his lungs. And he remembers what he intended to carve that day, what he worked up the courage to etch into Derry’s directory of lovers, before he had been interrupted by a passerby and chickened out.

He positions his knife next to the R and carves a small vertical line, then crosses it with another small line to make a plus. Then, his hand trembling slightly, he gouges a large E out of the wood. He feels as though he is carving not into wood, but into his own heart. Please don’t let me forget him again, he prays to whatever force pushed them all together in that long-ago summer. But there is no reply.

On the plane home, Richie writes down all of their names.

Bill Denbrough Ben Hanscom Bev Marsh Mike Hanlon Stan Uris Eddie Kaspbrak

Please, he prays again with his forehead resting against the seat in front of him. Please. Please let me keep them at least.

But there is that sense of reassurance and relief again when he wakes in LA and realizes he doesn’t remember Stan’s face anymore.

  ---

  He writes down their names again on a fresh sheet of paper when he gets home. He has to check the first page to remember Ben’s last name.

The next morning he opens the notebook. The first page has faded significantly, the letters bleached and old, still legible but devoid of power, like words written in some long-ago time. He copies the names down anyway; this time he has to check for all but one of their last names. He puts the notebook away and tries to control his shaky breathing, not quite sure why he’s feeling so panicked. What is he forgetting?

The next morning he opens the notebook. The names on the page mean nothing to him, though a faint pang grasps his heart very briefly when he runs his fingers over the old ink. He shrugs and closes the notebook.

A week later he gets a call at work from a man named Mike who seems to know him. He lets it go to voicemail, but something in the man’s accent as he talks makes Richie jolt upward. Mikey, he thinks, and hauls ass to the phone. All of them come back to him, shadowy but still somehow solid: Mike and his eyes with their dark dark circles around them; the flash of Bev’s hair; Bill’s strength and leadership; Ben’s quiet loneliness; Stan’s ordered mind; Eddie’s whistling breaths and his pill bottles.

He and Mike talk for a few minutes. Mike says he thinks it’s happening again, the forgetting. Richie scoffs a little; how could he forget his best friends? Then Mike asks him what Stan’s last name was. Richie pauses and glances over at the notebook on his kitchen counter top. Those must be the names he had been copying down. The names of his best friends. Why don’t I know this? He gets it wrong, and his hands shake with guilt and panic. But Mike is forgetting too, and this fills Richie with that awful deep-down secret relief again. If Mike is forgetting, that means it’s over. Whatever they went back for, whatever they did… It’s finished. Well and truly over. He can let go. They all can, finally.

He tells Mikey he loves him, and it still feels true; even if the memories aren’t there, the love still is.

  ---

  A year later, Richie books an interview for his podcast. The man is a horror author, which is a little outside his usual round of musician and actor guests, but the guy is a big deal right now; the movie based on his second book, for which he also wrote the screenplay, is the top movie in the country for two weeks running, something of a miracle for a horror movie these days. He is out in LA making the interview rounds and agrees to meet at the studio to record Richie’s program. The name makes no special impression in Richie’s thoughts when he books the interview, but when William Denbrough walks into the studio, a slight man in flannel with thinning hair combed back away from his face, Richie’s heart leaps into his throat for reasons he doesn’t understand. He can’t stop looking at the man, who seems to be having trouble looking away from Richie himself; names are floating into Richie’s head as they stare at each other, names that mean both nothing and everything to him: Ben… Bev… Eds…

Another name jumps out, a name connected somehow with this author standing in front of him, and it flies out of his mouth before he realizes he has spoken. “Stuttering Bill?”

Mr. Denbrough jerks back as though Richie slapped him, and Richie startles backward too. Some flash of recognition cuts across Mr. Denbrough’s face like a cloud finally floating away to reveal the sun behind it. “Trashmouth?” he says, unsure. Richie’s heart hammers like a jackknife. He nods. He feels like he has just woken up from a dream and hasn’t shaken it completely yet, like he’s still in that twilight moment before re-entering full consciousness. Some feeling adjacent to deja vu sweeps through Richie over and over again until his knees are weak with it. He can remember no specific time when he might have met this man, but the sensation of having known him and loved him deeply remains anyway. He feels that there is a barrier blocking something hugely important in his mind and if he could just break through it, he would understand what this man means to him.

“You and me…” Richie doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Have we met? Do we know each other? Are you feeling this too? What is this?

“Hey, you’re…” Mr. Denbrough steps forward and raises a trembling hand, reaching for Richie’s face. It falters before it gets there. Richie reaches up and touches his own cheek; warm tears run over his fingers.

“You too,” Richie croaks, and Mr. Denbrough wipes his own wet face. At that, one image tears through the barrier, and Richie gasps and falls to his knees in an unconscious imitation of the memory: he remembers kneeling next to Bill, a very young Bill, thirteen at the oldest, a Bill whose hands grip a yellow raincoat with the name Georgie Denbrough printed on the tag. He has no idea how he knows what Bill looked like as a thirteen-year-old, but he's as sure as he has ever been about anything. His thirteen-year-old self is kneeling next to Bill and wrapping his arms around the boy, who shakes with sobs. Other arms encircle the two of them, five other pairs of arms, and the embrace is strong and steady. One of those arms is in a cast which reads LOVER; another pair is wrapped in black bracelets. There is so much love and pain in that touch.

This time it is Bill that comes to him, kneels and wraps his arms around Richie, the barely-remembered past and the present overlapping and stapling themselves together one last time. Two more memories surface, much blurrier than the first but still there: seven of them walking in a line down to the Barrens, and a bridge railing with two letters carved into it. Richie sobs aloud without knowing why, holding onto this perfect stranger who is also somehow as well known to Richie as the back of his own hand. He can feel Stuttering Bill shaking too.

After an indeterminate amount of time, they pull back. Richie grips Bill’s shoulders, and Bill’s hands cup Richie’s face. “It’s okay,” Bill says. His voice is still choked with tears but he speaks slowly and as clearly as he can. “It’s okay now, Richie.”

Richie nods. The memories of the others are fading again, faster than before, but the power of the love between them remains. He loves them with a force he can’t understand but doesn’t need to.

One last memory surfaces, no more than an impressionist painting, hazy strokes of dusky color: seven children holding hands in a circle, blood dripping from fingers in bright streaks.

Then it fades and is gone.

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 24: slow thaws and cold showers

Sunday, November 4th, 1990

“Think you can make it, or do you want me to carry you over the threshold?”

“I got it, thanks,” I mutter to Alex’s stupid smirking face as I drag myself past him and into our apartment, unable to catch my breath to save my own life.

“You sure? You said that at mile two, too, right before you dry-heaved into the Sound…”

“Guess I’m just out of shape.” I ease my shoes off and pour myself into a gross, sweaty puddle on the couch.

“No shit, Sherlock, I guess you need me to leave you in my dust a little more often, give you something to aspire to.” He flexes his arms, where muscles would be if he wasn’t such a string bean, and I’ve officially hit my limit for his smart-ass commentary.

“God, okay, you know what? Just shut the fuck up, you’re not helping.” Alex stops cackling in a hurry at my tone, fixing me with an icy stare.

“What crawled up your ass, Cora? It was just a joke.”

Jokes aren’t funny if you’re the only one laughing, you self-involved asshole. But I know his ego’s not going to accept that for an answer, and I don’t have the energy for a fight right now. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I guess… I don’t know, maybe I’m just coming down with something.”

His expression relaxes a little, although he’s still peering at me. “Yeah, you look pretty pale. Like, more than usual. Want me to get you anything?”

“I’m good, I think I just need to sit here for a second.” You know, until the room stops spinning and my lungs stop burning. What the hell’s wrong with me?

“Okay, you hold down the couch, I’m gonna go shower. Unless you’re up for joining me,” he adds, his voice thick with ironic seduction. He sidles over and strokes my upper arm with his fingertips, and my body shivers with revulsion. Or maybe it was just a chill.

“Thanks but no thanks,” I mumble through gritted teeth.

I close my eyes and sink deeper into the couch, not opening them again until I hear the bathroom door shut and the shower turn on. The first thing they land upon is the phone, sitting innocently on the end table at my feet. I should really call Patch. I miss him, and I want him to tell me what to do about Alex. Well, not really tell me what to do… it’s not his responsibility. But I’ve just had this lingering feeling since he left that I need to make sure he’s really going to be alright with it if I end things with Alex. Somehow it’s like I need to make sure he said his goodbyes when he was here, because I feel so guilty creating a situation where he has to choose a side. I don’t think I can do this unless I know what he thinks.

But Alex is a quick showerer, and that conversation needs a lot more time. What about Lucy? Maybe I can call her and see if I can drop by this afternoon to get away… oh, shit, no, she and Jeff were “painting” today, you couldn’t pay me enough to interrupt that… and anyway, the person I should really call is Stone. I should see if he’s okay by himself or if he needs someone to check in on him.

...Alright, cut the bullshit, you just really want to hear his voice again. His stupid annoying nasal mosquito voice, his stupid cute breathy cackle, that stupid lower register of his voice that always catches me off guard. Fucking asshole, why does everything he does have to be so goddamn endearing… why do I miss him so much… I really just hate how we left things, and I hate how I acted at Cyclops, and I hate that I feel so fucking weird now about just picking up the phone and calling him, I should just do it, call him, just call him, it’s your fucking life, what are you so afraid of…

And like clockwork, Alex switches off the faucet, signaling that I’ve missed my window. God, I hate this, I hate feeling like a prisoner, my life was fucking great when he was gone for a week, what kind of person does that make me? Christ, I don’t even really need to hear it from Patch, this is pathetic, it’s obvious that I need to break up with Alex, I just need better timing…

“Hey, Stinky, your turn!” he booms from the hallway, not even bothering to look around the corner. Christ, what a simple-minded jerk, how did I ever think those kinds of put-downs were cute? Maybe I should just do it now… but ugh, I’m so fucking exhausted, and I have so much work to get done this afternoon… Resigned that it’s going to take a little longer to find the right moment, I haul myself up and toward the shower.

*

“'K, babe, I’m going over to Brian’s for a while, you need anything before I go?”

I lift my forehead up from where it’s been resting on my palm, aware that I’ve probably got a giant handprint from staring at my textbook for so long in one position, and turn to glare at his back as he roots through the fridge for some beer to take to his free-loading friend. “I mean, it’d be swell if you did the dinner dishes or something, I’m gonna be pulling an all-nighter with this problem set.”

“Ha, dishes. Good one.” He closes the fridge, places a rough kiss on the top of my head, and bounds toward the door. “Nice handprint by the way, you look like a fuckin’ Orc. Good luck studying!”

And with that, he heads out the door, rushing right past the disgusting running shoes he’d borrowed from his friend. Weirdly, having those shoes in my house is the closest I’ve ever come to meeting this Brian guy. For all I know, he’s not even real, he could be some made-up excuse Alex has… for all I know, he could be anywhere when he says he’s at “Brian’s,” I mean, Stone could be totally right about Alex cheating, and how would I even know?

Stone. Oh, right.

Well, now that I’ve let my train of thought run careening off these particular tracks, I’m not going to make much headway on marine biogeochemical cycling. And I’m still so… fucking… tired from that run. I gather up my study materials in a haphazard pile and shuffle into my bedroom, where I drop them at the foot of my bed in an unceremonious heap. I circle back to the living room to grab the phone and unloop the phone cord, allowing it to reach down the hall and into my room. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I stare at the phone like I expect it to make the first move. Come on, what are you so afraid of? It’s just Stone.

I’m thoroughly relieved when I get his answering machine, though. Disappointed, maybe, but relieved. Okay, so I can leave him a short message, nothing rambly, just letting him know I hope he’s doing okay. Casual, right? Friends do that kind of thing, right? That’s not awkward, it’s just considerate, and… oh, crap, the beep…

“Hey, Stone? Uh…” my voice comes out way quieter than I intended. So much for not making it awkward. But before I can get another word out, I hear the apartment door swing open and Alex call my name. Gasping in surprise like a total fucking idiot, I hang up the phone in a panic.

“In here!”

He pokes his head around the door frame. “Wow, going to bed already, huh? Party animal. Anyway, I forgot Brian’s shoes.” He holds up the evidence by the laces before frowning at the phone on our bed. “What’s the deal with that?”

“Oh, uhm…” I search my brain for a lie he’ll believe, because I don’t want to hear another earful about how much he hates the person I was actually calling, “I was just gonna take a study break to call Patch, see how he’s doing in Portland.”

He groans in annoyance, but at least that means he bought it. “Ugh, leave the kid alone, will you? Don’t smother him.”

“Bye, Alex,” my words are daggers, and he chuckles before disappearing.

This time, I wait for him to be well and truly gone. I hear the door close, I count several Mississippis, I leave my room to check the window and make sure his Jeep’s really driving out of the parking lot, and then I settle back down on my bed, prepared to redial and leave Stone an actual message with actual human speech. Except that when I pick up the phone, I’ve lost my nerve. A different number springs to mind, one that was left on my answering machine a few days ago, and I punch it in immediately.

“Hey hey, who’s this?”

“Dorothy’s Mortuary, you kill ‘em we chill ‘em,” I can barely get the words out even before Patch’s bright laughter ruins any chance I have of keeping a straight face.

“Ceeeeeee!” He drawls my nickname out. “Where the fuck have you been? What year is it? This is how long it takes you to return a call, you filthy ingrate?”

“Sorry, kiddo, it's been a week. How are you?”

“Uhm, I'm FINE, what do you MEAN it's been a week? Is there drama?”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you…”

“Not for me. I’m a good girl, I am.” I change the subject to drown out his derisive snort. “So how's the new place? Where are you even staying now?”

“Good, good, my buddy Ethan, you remember him?”

“Mmm, no, don't think so…”

“Oh come on, little gap-toothed kid, couple years between us in school, kinda looks like a gopher…”

“Oh right, Gopher Kid! Ugh, you realize we’re both going to hell, right?”

“Eternal damnation’s kind of our brand, C. Anyway, he moved out here after graduation. And he just happened to be in need of a new roommate when I called, because the universe is pretty great like that.”

“Jesus, with all that sunshine coming out of your ass, you sound like Lucy. How are we even related?”

“You mock me? Tell me with a straight face that there’s no cosmic plan that led me to reunite with an old friend the day after his roommate went to rehab and left him with an extra Judas Priest ticket.”

“Oh, right, there it is. Definitely related.”

“Told you so, smartass. And I even found one of those job things. It’s this little salon called Curl up and Dye and not a single person in the place has a hair on their head in a color that occurs in nature. This place is perfect, C.”

I relax and listen to my little brother fill me in on the life he’s quickly establishing for himself in Portland, content to let him dominate the conversation with the people he’s met, the social scene, the personalities at his new job. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s always been able to fall into a situation and endear himself to absolutely everyone right away, and it’s like everywhere he’s ever been, he’s home. It’s another reason I sometimes feel like it’s impossible that we’re actually related, if I didn’t know better. It’s just pure dumb luck that I met Lucy when I did, or Chris, or Stone… what if I’d never met any of them? What if it had just been me and Alex this entire year? God, what a thought...

“Hey chatterbox, shut up for a minute and let me get a word in edgewise, will you?” he quips after a silence, and I realize how poorly I’ve been holding up my end of the call. A glance at the clock on my nightstand tells me it’s been an hour and a half already.

“Sorry, kiddo, you were on a tear, I didn’t want to break your momentum.”

“That, or you’re trying to blend into the wallpaper again. What’s up?”

“A preposition.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

“Seriously, Cora, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh, flopping backward on my bed, “things aren’t going so great with Alex. I think… I might end it… that is, if you…”

“GLORY FUCKING BE, MARK THE DAY AND TIME!!!”

His thunderous response makes me jerk the phone away from my ear. “Are… you serious?”

“What the fuck did I tell you, Cora? You deserve to be happy, and you’ve turned into fucking Eeyore since you moved up there. Don’t tell me that’s seasonal affective disorder, either, your solar power hypothesis is total bullshit.”

“Okay, it’s NOT bullshit, but moving on…”

“...which YOU should have done months ago, but that’s just me…”

“Huh?”

“Look, I told you, maybe it’s just easier for someone who hasn’t seen you in a while to pick up on it. It probably all feels normal to you, but trust me, it’s fucking brutal to see you this unhappy. It was clear the whole time I was staying with you, C, you’re miserable. Sometimes it takes a big shake-up to really be able to see how broken shit was beforehand. You’re gonna look back on this last year and wonder what the fuck took you so long, I promise.”

“Oh...kay…” my brain feels like it’s stuck in low gear. I expected my little brother to be supportive, but I wasn’t prepared for this avalanche of candor. I’m at a loss for words.

“And you know what, another thing,” he rants on, “you have this thing about not leaving, but guess what? You fucking left Carolina, and it was the best thing you ever did, and I know that because I finally got to do it too. Thanks to you, I might add.”

“Well, to be fair, Alex bought your ticket, and he sent you that check, and…”

“Fuck that, okay. Don’t think I’m not grateful, but if you can’t see that check stunt as blatant manipulation then you’re not the smart one in the family after all. I lit the check on fire, C, I lit a joint with it.”

“But… you and Alex are friends…”

“Yeah, and it’s a cute party trick to be able to hold opposing ideas in one’s head at the same time without spontaneously combusting. I can like the guy and still think that since the last time he and I really hung out, he’s started to treat my sister like shit.”

“Okay, okay, you made your point, I concede defeat. Now why the fuck are you so far away? I need a hug.”

A chorus of voices starts to crowd into his end of the line. “Promise me you’ll cut him loose, Cora.”

“I… yeah.”

“K. I gotta go, the night is young.”

“That is such eighteen year old bullshit.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

After hanging up the phone, I can’t help but stare at it in disbelief for several seconds. Until it rings.

“Hello?”

***

“Hey, Stone? Uh…”

I’m a stunned, frozen lump after listening to her message. She called me? What the hell for? If there was any takeaway from last night’s run-in at Cyclops, it’s that she wants to pretend the whole thing never happened! I mean, I’m not thrilled with the whole revisionist history thing, but I figured she needed some space, which I was totally willing to give, and anyway it’s not like I’m in any condition to go beating down anyone’s door, even if that was my style. Chris is right, she and I have a good thing, and it’ll still be there when this fight blows over. I just need to trust that and let it do what it naturally does, which is knit itself back together into something even better after we’ve had some time to cool off. So why is she calling me?  Is this a fever dream? Am I still running a temperature? No, my forehead feels normal…

Whatever it is, I’m not going to let an opportunity get away. I grab the phone and dial her back, but the line’s busy. Fuck. Okay, okay, patience. Grabbing the mandolin from my bedroom, I park myself on the couch next to the phone to pass a little time until she’s done with whatever call she’s on. Actually, the mandolin and I are slowly becoming friends. The more I mess with this thing, the less punishingly complex it seems. It’s actually not that hard to work out a couple of the Mother Love Bone songs this way, come to think of it…

The music makes for a good distraction. The next time I look at the clock, over an hour has gone by. But it’s still only like 9:00, so it’s not too late to call, right?

To my shock, she picks up before the first ring is even done. “Hello?”

At the sound of her voice, I jump up off the couch and start pacing like a grade schooler calling his crush for the first time.

“H-eughhh-” oh, excellent, open with a coughing fit, that really ups the cool factor, “-hey, uh, it’s me, it’s Stone.”

“Oh.” She sounds startled, or maybe it’s that I’m hacking up a lung right in her ear.

“Yeah. Hi.”

“Hey.”

Well, I don't know what I expected. One word answers sound about right given how we left things. “So, uhm… you called me?”

“Uh, yeah… a while ago… were you trying long?”

“No,” I lie shamelessly. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all, I just got off the phone with Patch.” 

“Oh! How’s he doing?”

“He’s good. Uhm, I was just wondering if you were trying to get through the whole time, or…”

“No, honestly, I just tried. Cornell was over here for a while and I missed your call. What's up?”

“Oh, uh, nothing, I just wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, well, you looked terrible the other day, I just… I don't know, I remembered your parents were out of town and I felt kinda bad thinking about you being sick all by yourself.”

“Aww, really? You were worried about me?”

“Don't get carried away, Stone,  I just didn't want it on my conscience if your parents came back from vacation and found your decomposing body. Too much paperwork.”

A smile spreads across my face at her irritated words. “I’ve honestly never felt so loved.”

She groans. “Well, since we’ve established that you’re not dead, I should probably let you go --”

“No! Hey, it’s been kinda lonely here in quarantine, it’s good to talk to someone. That is, if you can stick around… I don’t wanna keep you…”

After a beat, she mutters in a barely audible tone, “you’re not keeping me.”

“Yeah?” My grin takes on a life of its own as I pick up the phone and walk through my apartment, stretching out on the bed. “We’re back on speaking terms, then?”

“Oh, grow up, we were never not on speaking terms, I just said I wanted to move past it and pretend it never happened.”

“Yeah, and on account of my whole bubonic plague situation, I never got to register my dissatisfaction with that strategy. I still very much want to pretend it did happen.”

“Well,” she equivocates, “it sounds like you’re still plague-adjacent, so now’s hardly the time to duke it out over what did or did not take place…”

Ha! victory! I can hear her fighting off her own smile as I settle into the pillows, savoring the normalcy of bantering with Cora.

“No, you’re right, I’m not really in any shape for another one of our battles. Can I interest you in a temporary ceasefire?”

“With no mention of the things that definitely never happened until some later, as-yet-undetermined summit date?”

“Scout's honor.”

She snorts. “Like hell you were a Boy Scout, Stoner.”

“Stonerrr.” That's it, I can't possibly smile any wider or my face is going to crack. I close my eyes and let her word echo.

“...what?”

“Mmm, I just really missed hearing you call me that.”

“You freak, it's been like, two days.”

“Three, I'll have you know.”

“Oh, because that makes such a huge difference.”

“Long three days, Red.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a heavy sigh.

Neither of us has anything to say for a little while, but that's never bothered us before. I'm sure as hell not going to say this out loud and get my head bitten off again, but one of my favorite things about her is how comfortable it is to shut up and just… be with her. I can't explain it, and I've definitely never felt that way around any of my other girlfriends, or… well, shit, she's not my girlfriend… I don’t know what she is, but, uh, other girls I've… or people I’ve felt so…

“Were you really a Boy Scout?”

“Child, you cut me to the quick! I’m offended that you don’t believe me.”

“I just can't believe I never knew that! How long did you do it for?”

“Oh, Jesus, I washed out after Cub Scouts. When my troop got to the Webelos stage, it all started seeming kinda fascist.”

“Excuse me, weeb-what now's?”

“Webelos? 'We'll be loyal scouts’?”

“Eeeesh. I see why you ditched.”

“Yeah. Plus, I was an artsy fartsy little kid, uniforms weren't really my style. The only bright side is, it does get kids out into nature a lot and teach them about stewardship.”

“Aww, there's my treehugger.”

I have to chew my tongue to avoid saying anything stupid about how I'll be whatever she wants as long as she keeps calling me hers. “What about you? Did you do the whole scouting thing? Sash, knee socks, cookie sales?”

“I may have failed to impress upon you how backwoods my upbringing really was, Stone. Who would I sell cookies to? The crawdads in the creek behind our house?”

“Crawdads? I'm going to assume this is hillbilly speak for crawfish?” My laughter conflicts with the overwhelming need to sniffle, and I end up choking on my own cough.

“Karma’s a bitch, snot otter.”

“...wh…”

She chuckles. “Snot otter. It's what we grew up calling a particular kind of salamander. But I think it pulls double duty, in your case.”

“I don't know whether I'm flattered or revolted.”

“Definitely revolted. Their other name is hellbender, and they can grow to be like two foot long. They're disgusting. In kind of a beautiful way, though. But it’s sorta sad... a lot of people have misconceptions that they’re poisonous or that they eat trout eggs or whatever, so people kill ‘em all the time. But it’s awful for the species because they’re super sensitive to environmental changes, pollution, people fucking up their habitats, shit like that… not where I grew up, though. Our place basically backed up to the park, so they were pretty easy to find.”

She’d never admit it, but her accent thickens ever so slightly when she talks about growing up. And I’d never admit it, but it’s incredibly hot.

“This is a pretty idyllic image you’re painting, here, Red. I’m picturing you and Patch, two dirty-faced feral rugrats hunting for salamanders out in the hollers.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Not a lot of supervision.”

“Which park?”

“Great Smoky Mountains.”

“Whoa, cool. I’ve never been.”

“Yeah, but you’re spoiled, growing up out here with these huge, violent mountains. You’d probably think mine are pretty boring.”

“Fat chance. Let’s go sometime.”

“Oh, sure, yeah, just let me get my coat.”

“I mean it. I don’t know, in the highly likely scenario that the band takes off and we actually get to go around the country, you should take me there.”

She snorts. “Long as we steer clear of Beaverdam, you got a deal.”

“Be… beaver dam?”

“Alright, yes, that’s the name of my hometown, laugh it up, Gossard.”

“Beaverdam! Jesus Christ, your childhood’s a comedic goldmine, how come you never --” my hysterical laughter does battle with the gunk in my chest and loses, and the resulting sound effect makes Cora startle.

“Ugh, loveyou.”

“Huh, what’d you say?” I manage to wheeze out, my laughter stopping abruptly.

“Lovely!” she squeaks. “I said, ‘lovely!’ The fucking sounds you’re making, uh, they’re just lovely…”

“Riiight,” I mumble, dangerously close to invalidating our ceasefire. “What else should I know about your childhood? Any other gems?”

“Nuh-uh, it’s your turn, I’ve already said too much.”

“I’m an open book, what do you want to know?”

“Hmm. Something really embarrassing. Your first kiss?”

“Starting out with the first kiss? You don’t mess around, huh?”

“Hey, you already know about mine, we’re on an uneven battlefield.”

“True, true. Okay, well, I was 12…”

“Early bloomer!”

“By your standards, everyone’s an early bloomer. Anyway,” I breeze on past her muttered “rude” and continue with my voluntary humiliation in the name of love, “your embarrassment radar’s right on target, it was an icebreaker party at the start of 7th grade. And this one girl, Evie, she took the whole icebreaker concept to heart. Dragged me into a closet for an awkward makeout session. I was totally terrified, but definitely along for the ride. She stuck her tongue in my mouth, and I was so shocked I actually tripped and fell backward into a pile of coats. So obviously losing my balance and falling on my ass when a pretty girl kisses me is a recurring theme.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she manages through her laughter.

“Right, right, the ceasefire. Okay, your turn… uh, favorite Halloween candy?”

“You’re a slow learner, Stone. Who was I gonna trick or treat from, the snot otters?”

“You poor, deprived child. You’ve got to have a favorite candy, though, you’re only human.”

“Well, yeah… M&Ms… but only if eaten correctly.”

“How does one eat M&Ms incorrectly?”

“Let me guess, you probably just scoop up handfuls and eat them indiscriminately, right? Uncultured swine. You have to eat them in the right order.”

“They… all taste the same, Cora, it’s just food coloring… Jesus, you actually eat them in an order?”

My curiosity and horror is enough to make me sit up in bed. Also, being vertical helps with the inevitable oncoming coughing fit as she unpacks whatever ridiculousness led her to this compulsion.

“I swear they taste different!”

“You’re insane! Wait, what's the order?”

“Light to dark, obviously. Yellow, orange, green, red, light brown, dark brown.”

“Okay, (a), in no universe is that light to dark, you need to get your eyesight checked. And (b), like, what happens if you get a bag of M&Ms at the movies and you can’t see what color you’re eating??”

“That’s why only amateurs order M&Ms at the movies, Stone. I’m a Whoppers girl.”

“Wrong again! You get popcorn at the movies, idiot. Jesus, I never realized you were so damaged. What is your childhood trauma? Who hurt you, baby?”

We go back and forth like this for what feels like hours, trading blows and sharing silly, insignificant details of our lives, and it’s almost like nothing had ever happened between us. Almost. I’m still in this bed, trying not to think too much about how good it felt to have her wrapped around me under these covers just a few nights ago, trying not to think about every little curve of her body and how obscenely good she looked in my ratty old clothes, how badly I want her to come over so we can finally hash our shit out and admit to one another that we need to give this thing a try for real. And another secret truth of my life surfaces, one that she doesn’t need to hear about tonight when we’re still on such thin ice: that being sick with a cold or the flu always, always brings with it the rather odd side effect of being more easily aroused. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s boredom from being at home too much, or wanting to be taken care of during a time of vulnerability, or whatever, but suddenly every thought of Cora, and her every word, however mundane, is making me feel extra amorous. Luckily, our conversation hit a bit of a lull as we ran out of facts to trade. Now she’s tried to multitask and work on her homework, which gives me the opportunity to shift around in bed and try to force my body out of caveman mode. Until she speaks again.

“You know what’s really hard?”

Shit! How did she…! God, calm yourself, you dirtbag, there’s no way she’s talking about you, get your mind out of the gutter. “...uh, what’s that?”

“The oceanic carbon cycle. I give up. I’m too stupid to science.”

“Oh, yeah, that.” I clear my throat and take a mental cold shower. “Well, I don’t know anything about it, but I know you’re not stupid. It’s just really late, your brain's protesting the working conditions.”

“I should probably let you get some rest, huh?”

“Nah, you’re fine, I basically slept all day, I could keep going with you all night.” What. the fuck. is wrong. with me. “Talking, I mean… obviously… talking all night...”

“And I’m obviously not being productive over here. Ha, maybe I should just come over, we could waste time together --”

“Yes.” I slap my forehead after cutting her off mid-word. Smooth.

“Whoa, hey there, quickdraw,” she chuckles. Okayyy, maybe I’m not the only one with my mind in the gutter…

“I promise, that’s not a recurring theme.”

“Gross, Stone,” but she’s still laughing, “do you really want me to come over?”

Yes. “I mean, no, I know it’s late, it’s a school night, and I don’t want you coming down with whatever disease this is.”

“You’re probably right. Alex will probably be back soon anyway.”

Well good news, I’ve officially found the world’s most effective boner-killer, it’s hearing the girl of your dreams talk about her boyfriend.

“Right. Hey, at the risk of endangering the ceasefire, uhm, how’s… how’s all that going?”

“Alex?” I can hear the scowl. “Uhm. Truthfully?”

“Of course.”

“Been better. A lot better, actually.”

“Really. Care to elaborate?”

“I'm not sure how much elaboration the topic deserves. How much can I really milk out of, 'I'm trying to find the right time to tell my only boyfriend ever that I want to break up’?”

It’s a struggle to keep my voice casual even though it feels an octave higher. “Huh… break up, huh?”

“Yup. I've known it's the right thing to do for a while, I guess, even before our whole… you know…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Anyway, I'm chickenshit, I have no idea what I'm doing. How does one even initiate a conversation like that?”

“Is that a rhetorical question or are you asking for advice? Just checking before I accidentally step on a landmine…”

“No, I'm really asking. You had to break up with at least a few of that long string of girlfriends, right?”

“That's right.”

“What's it like?”

“Uhm, it really depends on the person, on the relationship. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's liberating.”

“But… like… how? Sorry, I know I'm embarrassingly stupid on the topic, I just…”

“Nah, you're not stupid, it's your first break-up. Everybody has it sooner or later. I don't know, though. I've always been able to turn on the Spock side of my brain when I need to have a hard conversation with someone, you know, remove the emotion from the situation and just help them see what's going on, that it's nothing personal and that the person is still important to you, but that it's just not working for either of you anymore. That sometimes it's just better for everyone if you part as friends.”

“Wow… can I hire you to break up with Alex for me?”

“And deprive you of this important developmental milestone? Nah. You got this.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, although I'm pretty sure it's misplaced. There's literally no such thing as the right time to have that conversation.”

“No, of course not. And in your defense, I’ve never dumped someone after being with them for so long. Five years is a really long time.”

“Thanks, Stone, helpful,” she jeers.

“That’s what I’m here for. Just don't… don't put it off forever. Like you said, it's never going to feel 'right,’ but the longer you wait to actually break up with someone, the more you just simmer in your bad feelings, and the more resentful and emotional you get about it.”

That, and the sooner you can move on to someone new who actually cares about your happiness, although I keep that thought-grenade to myself.

“Thanks, Stone.”

“Don't mention it.”

“Well, I've made this conversation sufficiently weird, and I feel about as good as day-old roadkill, so I think it's time to make my exit. Anyway, you do need to get some sleep, no matter what you say.”

Roadkill, huh? Hope she's not getting the same bug I have. “It was good to talk to you, Cora. I miss this.”

“Don't tell anyone, but me too.”

“Our secret. Goodnight.”

“Night, Stoner.”

It takes a long time staring up into space after we’ve hung up for me to process what just happened. Our slow thaw, the precarious ceasefire, her slip of the tongue, breaking up with Cletus… just when I think I have her figured out, she confuses the shit out of me all over again, and I don't think I'm ever going to get tired of it. Feeling both exhausted and hopeful, I settle myself under the covers and hug my spare pillow to my chest, fading fast.

***

Monday, November 5th, 1990

“Cora, table 6 looks ready for the check, are you alive over there or what?”

Colleen shoots me a nasty sideways glance as she edges behind where I'm leaning on my elbows on the bar. Ugh. Easy for her to be a colossal bitch about it, she doesn't know I feel so fucking weak that I almost fainted in lab this afternoon and that I can barely stay upright during my shift. And why's it so cold in this fucking restaurant all of a sudden? Yeah, I'll get those drunk fuckers their check, if you turn up the fucking heat… ordinarily, I’d be pining for my shift to end so I can go home and sleep off whatever this ridiculous exhaustion is, except that I swore to myself that tonight’s the night I’d finally rip off the bandaid and break up with Alex. And I’m in no huge hurry to have that conversation, no matter how simple Stone made it sound.

Just as I've wrapped up the table, the door chime signals a new customer, and I'm about to start a fresh internal tirade of self-pity when I recognize a familiar face under the black hat, sunglasses, and curtains of dark hair. My bad mood evaporates.

“Cready!”

“Hey, Cora, what's up?”

“My temper, so thanks for being the first non-idiot customer I've had all shift long.”

“No promises,” he gives me his usual affable grin. “Can I trouble you for a beer?”

“You got it. Anything for dinner? You look pretty wiped out.”

“Yeah, look who’s talking,” he air-traces what are probably vicious dark circles on my face.

“Okay, okay, so we both look like a hundred bucks,” I grin. “Whatcha having?”

“You guys still doing breakfast? I need pancakes.”

“Mike, it’s like 8:30 at night.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” he pouts, making me shield my eyes from the kitteny cuteness.

“Okay, alright, put the big guns away. I know a guy in the back.”

“You’re a very pale angel.”

“You’re a very hungover idiot.”

The crowd’s thinned out, which gives me a chance to socialize with Mike for a while without incurring more hassling from Colleen. It’s nice, just getting to catch up with him without the entire Mookie herd, even when he looks like he’s about to drop dead.

“So what’s got you so tired, dude?”

“Selene,” he pronounces around a mouthful of illicit pancake.

I try to wolf-whistle, but I’ve always sucked at whistling. “So someone had a good weekend.”

“I’m a shell of my former self. Write something nice on my headstone, this woman’s killing me.”

“Do I detect a complaint?”

“Not in the slightest. She’s nuts, she knocks on my door at the craziest hours, I never know when she’s gonna show up, and it’s always a little like...” he mimes an explosion with his hands, making the accompanying bomb noise, “warfare.”

“Wow, hey, I’m good with the PG-13 version, okay?”

With a sly grin, he asks, “speaking of warfare, how’s shit with you and Stone?”

I shift my weight to my other hip, narrowing my eyes. “We’re pretty much the same. We called a temporary truce while he’s sick as a dog. Didn’t seem fair.”

“Yeah, well, you guys need to hurry up and figure your shit out, the whole world feels wobbly when you fight.”

I reach over the counter to lightly chuck his chin. “Aww, don’t worry, Sport, it’s not your fault, and we both still love you very much and we promise to take you to Disneyworld on Saturdays, okay?”

But Mike’s undeterred. “Seriously, Cora, you guys are ridiculous. I know he pissed you off somehow, he pisses everyone off, but whatever he did, you know his heart was in the right place. Can’t fault a guy for being good-hearted and wrong.”

“Yeah… okay.” In bemused silence, I watch him inhale the last scraps of his pancake and swig the rest of his beer, clap too much money on the table, and unsteadily get to his feet.

“Be good, okay?” he calls over his shoulder, waving on his way out the door. What a deeply weird, troubling, sweet individual.

Colleen sneaks up on me again as I’m wiping the counter after clearing Mike’s dishes, making me jump back from her beady stare and the chubby finger she’s got aimed at my nose.

“You… you look like absolute hell. You getting sick?”

“Uhm, no, I think it’s just been a long day, and…”

“Yeah, okay, and the pope doesn’t shit in his hat.”

“...is that a saying?”

“You’re all clammy and sweaty. Get the hell out of my restaurant before you get us shut down for health code violations.”

“Are you firing me?”

Colleen rolls her eyes just before she turns her back to me on her way to the kitchen. “No, you tiny little fool, you’re my best waitress, just go sleep it off. Somewhere else!”

I stand with my feet glued to the floor and my shoulders in a slump, working hard to summon the energy needed to collect my things and walk home. Maybe she’s right, maybe I am coming down with something… oh, fuck, it better not be whatever Stone had… oh, I’ll kill him if I survive this…

Sure enough, I’m barely able to drag my way up the stairs to the fourth floor, and I’m feeling feverish and nauseous by the time I push the door open. And that’s before I hear the sounds. Coming from the bathroom. Either I’ve progressed to full-on hallucinations, or those are the unmistakable sounds of two people having loud sex in the shower. Blinking, dazed, out-of-body, someone who looks like me but definitely isn’t me marches to the kitchen and turns the dishwasher on. Hot.

The girl who isn’t me stands here in my boots, impassively absorbing the panicked yelps coming from the now-freezing people under the showerhead. I wish this girl who isn’t me would move, would go somewhere else, would cover her eyes, would do anything other than witness what’s happening: Alex, clambering out of the bathroom in a towel, and an unfamiliar blonde woman hastily tugging on her dress over her soaking body. She’s taller than me. And thinner. Bigger boobs. I wish I didn’t know any of this.

“Cora! Wha… you’re early, I thought your shift was done at 11!” Alex glances at the clock, the whites of his eyes showing as he struggles to wrap the towel in place. Suddenly, the girl who isn’t me vacates my body, and I find my own voice. And despite my aching throat, it’s loud.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to come back later when you’re finished???”

“No, fuck, no, I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were… I can explain, this is --”

My head starts to pound. I don’t need the explanation. “I don’t care.”

“-- Cindy, uh, she’s --”

“Hey, Cindy,” I wave acidly to the woman who’s yanking on one of her high-heeled boots and straightening her dress, as if there’s any dignity left to be had for any of us.

“-- babe, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to find out like this, it’s just…”

“Find out??” I repeat. “How… how long have you…”

“Alex, who the FUCK is this?” Oh. Cindy speaks. How nice. She sounds like a dog’s squeeze toy.

“I was his girlfriend, until about three minutes ago,” I answer her, while keeping my stare fixed on the man I thought I knew, who’s staring back at me in desperation so exaggerated it belongs in a cartoon. “I live here. He doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Babe, no, calm down, we can fix this, we --”

But Cindy does the heavy lifting for me, shrieking like a dental drill. “You have a GIRLFRIEND? Have you been with her the whole time?” Please don’t tell me how long the whole time was. Please don’t tell me how long the whole time was. But she shrieks on, “all fucking year?? You BASTARD!”

Her other boot flies through the air and clocks Alex on the shoulder. He shoots a frenzied glance from Cindy to me and back again, as if he expects quarter from either of us, stammering madly.

“I -- I meant to tell you, I --” Jesus, he doesn’t even know which of us to apologize to first. My fever’s raging and I’ve seen enough. I need this goddamn circus out of my house. I close my eyes and say the only words that remain to be said.

“I need you to go.”

“My fucking pleasure,” Cindy collects her boot and crookedly flounces out of my apartment and slams the door behind her, and even with my eyes shut tight, I know that Alex is still here, staring pleadingly at me. I force myself to look at him.

“You too. Just go. Stay somewhere else. You can get your things tomorrow,” I explain calmly, like he’s a survivor of a flood or a house fire.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to go, exactly??” he shouts, waving his hands in panic and almost losing the towel.

“Go to Brian’s,” I sigh with boredom, “you’ve practically been living there all year anyway, what difference should one more night make.”

“I… I can’t.” He swallows hard.

That’s it, my temper’s finally back. “And why the fuck not?”

“Uhm, Cindy’s his… she’s his fiancée.”

“Perfect. Just perfect. I don’t care where the fuck you go, you’re not staying here.”

Feeling suddenly faint, I ease myself down to the couch and clench my teeth as I wrap the afghan around my shoulders.

“Christ, babe, you look awful, are you coming down with something? Don’t kick me out, let me stay, let me help you…” he inches closer, but my glare and final word stops him.

“Out.”

His face contracts, he nods, he slinks back to what used to be our bedroom to put on some clothing and pack a spare overnight bag. Without another word or another attempt at eye contact, he scuttles out. The breeze from the door closing sends me into an uncontrollable shiver, the only sign of life left in the apartment.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Sutton D Brady is an actual angel on this earth thats all i really have if you want to do something with that

[ok honestly this is like five times sutton accidentally is a third wheel on a date w kat & adena + one time she isn’t (she hangs out w kat as her best friend pls don’t be weird pls do not) lmao poor sutton but don’t worry its cute]

//

1

you don’t really realize that kat had invited you as a third wheel on this date until it’s too late. you had had a really slow day at the office and kat had made up some excuse for both of you to have to leave, which you don’t think oliver or jacqueline had really bought but it’s a beautiful day and you had been a little down that morning about richard—it comes and goes, who knows why you were sad today—anyway.

kat takes you out for a late lunch somewhere in north bedstuy that serves southern comfort food and when you ask her how she knew about it she just shrugged, smiled, got you a bottle of rosé to share. 

you’re definitely a little day drunk and feeling a lot better, because kat had made you laugh a lot with distracting dumb stories and reports from this focus group she’d had to run, and you walk to the C afterward so you can go to the piers and get ice cream, even though you’re so. full.

you’re almost at ample when you see who you’re 99% sure is adena from a distance, and kat grins, this huge smile lighting up her face.

it definitely is adena, who is in a pretty hijab and these killer flowy dark green pants, and kat gives her a quick kiss.

‘i was nearby at my friend’s office in dumbo,’ she explains. ‘i hope it’s okay?’

she genuinely says it like a question, like she would leave if you said no, and kat scoffs but adena looks to you.

‘it’s definitely okay,’ you say, and it is, because you want to spend more time with your best friend’s girlfriend; from what you can tell, kat is definitely in it for the long haul. ‘i’m glad we get to hang out.’

‘me too,’ adena says, and asks about your day. kat jumps in so you don’t have to tell her how you’re ditching work because you were a little upset and you could hug her for it, but she’s holding adena’s hand and they walk beside you, both paying complete attention to you, but their hands are linked and they’re quite literally the most beautiful couple you’ve ever seen, you’re pretty sure. it makes you ache a little more but adena buys you all ice cream and you sit at pier three in the gardens and the city is beautiful behind you; it’s quiet.

kat licks melting ice cream off of adena’s hand and it makes adena roll her eyes and it makes you laugh and you definitely realize this part of your day was absolutely a date.

but then, after you’ve finished your ice cream, adena leaves to go do some editing on a shoot she’d finished last week; she kisses kat goodbye and gives you a tight, heartfelt hug.

‘good to see you, sutton,’ she says.

‘yeah,’ you say, ‘you too.’

kat is a little stunned watching adena walk away, you think, from her wide eyes and dumb ass little smile.

‘i’m definitely falling in love,’ she says.

you laugh at your friend and she helps you up and then shoves you a little, cheeks turning pink. 

‘you’re absolutely already in love,’ you tell her, wrap your arm around her shoulders as you walk toward high street. 

‘yeah, i guess.’

‘you are.’ you bump her hip and she smiles. ‘it’s great though, kat.’

she lets out a deep breath and goes to hold your hand, but you swat it away. ‘i don’t know where that thing has been.’

‘i’ve washed my hands today, sutton.’

‘ah, so you have had sex.’

kat lifts a brow and strides off in front of you. ‘i like to start my mornings with cardio, what can i say?’

‘you’re terrible,’ you grumble, but it’s fond and you and kat fall asleep on your couch once you get home, trying to get through the staircase in like your fifth attempt.

you wake up to jane taking a series of pictures of the two of you and you groan and kat just burrows into the pillows.

‘she’s tired,’ you explain, ‘from her sex fest this morning.’

‘whatever,’ she says. ‘be jealous all you want.’

//

2

it’s very clearly a date to you this time about ten minutes in, even though this is the most ridiculous date ever.

all you had wanted to do was get bread, milk, eggs, and ginger beer from trader joe’s and you were already near downtown brooklyn anyway, because jane had some weird work drinks thing at kimoto and you could both just take the train back from hoyt. you had been at target with kat because it’s like the most pleasant dissociative episode ever, each time you’re there, and somehow adena finds the two of your in the middle of the home decor section, kisses kat hello and then manages to find the ugliest mirror you have ever seen in your life, which had made you both laugh.

you’d met jane in the grocery store and of course the line is long as shit, and kat and adena wander off to find halal chicken nuggets, apparently, and you and jane watch them with a synchronized sigh as the white dude with dreads in front of you fumbles with his kombucha.

‘did they just turn a grocery run into a date?’ you ask.

‘kat has been on a melodrama loop lately. you know, hard feelings.’

‘i honestly thought that was because of liability.’

jane waits a beat and then lets out a big laugh, a good laugh. ‘incredible,’ she says. ‘what a drag.’

you shrug. ‘what can i say? the library is open.’

kat and adena come back and kat says, ‘paris is burning,’ dramatically and with absolutely zero context.

they’re holding hands and have found the halal nuggets in dramatic fashion because the box adena’s holding is gigantic. 

‘we were reading you,’ jane says.

kat rolls her eyes. ‘about what?’ she asks. ‘i’m perfect.’

‘chaotic neutral big dick energy,’ you say.

kat grins and adena laughs.

‘that’s not a read,’ kat says, and you and jane have an unspoken agreement, you’re sure, to never tell kat about how you know she’s really terrified she’s going to fuck everything up with adena because you can see what sh’e listening to on spotify—blond and ctrl and melodrama, yikes—so you let her have it.

‘here, ms big dick energy,’ jane says, handing over the ginger beer which is admittedly a little heavy. ‘hold this.’

kat sighs and hefts it up like she’s doing a bicep curl only her arm shakes a little and it’s adena who laughs first.

you and jane grin and start laughing too and it’s not the worst date ever, you guess.

//

3

you’d definitely made plans to watch nanette with kat at 7 pm thursday night, because you’d seen it and you knew sacrificing your own tears a second time would be vital because kat’s really been through a lot of ‘identity politics,’ as jane calls them, the past few months, even though she acts like it doesn’t affect her very much.

you’re sure these were your plans because she’d put them into your phone herself, so you’re a little confused as to why she’s not answering her door and you’re holding a bottle of wine and a bag of truffle butter popcorn you’d stollen from a shoot earlier and it’s hot as shit in her hallway. 

when you try the door, though, it’s unlocked, thank god, even though you’re a little worried, so you go in.

you are, sadly but also hilariously, not surprised when you see kat completely naked in bed, her computer propped up next to her kind of clumsily, and her head shoots up in your direction and says, ‘shit, adena, i’m sorry, i gotta go,’ and slams her computer shut.

you start to laugh and she tries to wipe her hand on her sheets without you noticing and scrambles around to find a pair of underwear.

‘i’ve seen you naked, like, a thousand times,’ you say, getting out wine glasses, because you’d definitely just walked in on your best friend having facetime sex with her girlfriend but honestly you’re surprised it’s taken you this long at this point. ‘don’t hurry on my account.’

kat throws on a t-shirt and walks over to you, a little smirk on her face. ‘i lost track of time.’

‘you sure did.’

she laughs because you’re smiling and goes to grab a handful of popcorn.

‘are you kidding me?’

‘i’m hungry.’

‘wash your hands, kat.’

‘it was the other hand, i swear to god.’

you lift a brow and she grumbles but dutifully scrubs at her hands while keeping eye contact with you. the back of her hair is coming out of its bun and her cheeks are flushed and she dries her hands with a flourish. ‘happy now?’

‘not as happy as you.’

kat has the courtesy to blush even more. ‘adena’s been gone for two weeks shooting in indonesia—’

‘—oh, we know—’

‘—so i just, you know, missed her.’

‘gay.’

kat huffs. ‘i’m bi.’ she thinks to herself. ‘queer?’

you kiss her cheek, start to pour the wine. ‘i can’t believe i crashed a date when your girlfriend isn’t even in the country.’

kat takes the glass of wine you hand her and lifts it in a toast. ‘i’m sorry.’

you shrug. ‘don’t be. i’m glad you’re happy.’

you clink glasses. ‘me too.’

you sit down on her couch and she grabs popcorn and this time you don’t mind.

‘this is going to ruin your mood for sure, though.’

kat sighs. ‘so i’ve heard.’

you’re both crying by the end and kat burrows into your side, sniffling.

‘stay here tonight?’

‘buy me coffee in the morning,’ you say, even though you have a full outfit for tomorrow and all of your makeup in your bag anyway, because you know her.

‘breakfast too, even that disgusting sandwich with sausage if you want.’

‘deal.’

kat smiles a little and you go to get in her bed wearily before you remember exactly what activity she was doing earlier.

‘change the sheets first, kat.’

‘i’m so tired,’ she pouts.

you raise your brows.

‘so sad, sutton.’

you stand your ground and she rolls her eyes and stomps around but you help her change the sheets.

‘i love you,’ she says, once you’re both situated.

‘i love you too, kat.’

‘you’ve been, just, really important to me in all this, really good, you know that?’

‘yeah,’ you say. ‘i’m the best.’

/

you wake up to pee in the middle of the night and it’s like 2 am but kat is texting adena, you know, because she’s turned over in bed and there’s a little light radiating from her phone. you don’t say anything because you understand mostly but maybe a little you don’t, and she puts away her phone.

‘time difference,’ she says, and you know it’s about comfort and love but you let her have it.

‘tragic.’

‘she’ll be home in a few days.’

‘great,’ you say, ‘because i really don’t think facetime is fully doing it for you. you’ve been a tightly wound pain in the ass to all of your interns lately.’

you’re both a little delirious so you end up laughing and it’s warm and safe and you fall back asleep.

//

4

you’re walking back to kat’s apartment from chelsea, where you’d been to see adena’s latest gallery show—which was really stunning and featured your best friend, a lot, so you cannot wait to tease her later—and they’re holding hands and they keep kissing, light little kisses and it’s cute and really sweet and you love them a lot.

jane is talking about the paintings that were at the show too and it’s a beautiful night, a little chilly after a rainstorm, and it’s late, but there’s really no place you’d rather be.

it’s awesome and peaceful and sort of perfect until some random dude walks past the four of you, takes one look at kat and adena, and says a word that makes adena grit her teeth and jane stiffen and you’re absolutely positive kat is going to get into a fight when she turns around immediately.

‘what the fuck,’ she says, and you’ve seen kat angry and you’ve seen kat hurt and you’ve seen kat genuinely confused and this is all of those things at once, which is. not great.

adena tugs on her hand. ‘kat,’ she says, and from the immediate weariness in her voice you can tell this is certainly not the first time someone has called her a slur. it makes your heart ache and jane is so tiny but she’s already stepping between kat and the dude, and you do too.

he doesn’t seem fazed at all and says it again and you swear to god kat is about to lose her fucking mind and you feel furious too, but it’s not safe for any of you to get into an actual physical fight with this dude and you’re also really fucking terrified.

‘kat,’ you say, tug on her shoulder hard. her jaw clenches and she swallows and then says, ‘fuck you,’ at the dude and to your relief turns around.

adena takes her hand again but it’s not the same gentleness they’d had just a few seconds ago, because mostly she just pulls kat down the street quickly.

jane is absolutely your favorite person in the world because she stands her ground until you can tell they’re far enough down the block.

‘i’m going to call the police,’ jane says, her phone already on 911, all she has to do is press call. 

the guy narrows his eyes, looks at her brightly lit phone, and turns around, starts to walk away quickly.

‘oh my god,’ she says, puts her phone in her pocket and you hold her hand immediately because it is shaking.

you both take a few deep breaths and walk toward where kat and adena had gone, and you’re really not surprised when you see kat pacing back and forth around the next street corner, holding her phone in a white knuckled grip, while adena just stands calmly, quiet.

she sees the two of you and launches into a hug and she’s crying and shaking and it makes you really fucking sad and really fucking angry that her life is going to have shit like this in it.

none of you says anything and you go back to her apartment and open a really good bottle of whiskey her parents had gotten her for her birthday and you and jane busy yourself making sandwiches for everyone while kat and adena talk quietly in the corner.

you glance over and kat brushes some of adena’s hair behind her ear and adena rubs her hand under kat’s eye, wiping some tears. kat takes a deep breath and kisses adena deeply and you and jane wait for, like, a full minute before loudly announcing that you’re done with the sandwiches and would definitely like to do a shot.

it gets a laugh out of kat and adena smiles in thanks at the two of you and you get drunk watching every single hayley kiyoko music video on youtube.

/

the next day you and jane get to work before kat and the little rainbow flag fits perfectly in her mason jar of styluses—weirdo, but you let her have it—on her desk. 

you meet her in the lobby thirty minutes later and buy her coffee and you’d left late last night sufficiently drunk so you’re all hungover but you hug her tight and you and jane watch when she goes to her desk.

she smiles, soft and tender and big, and looks over to the two of you.

jane winks and you do finger guns and you hear kat laughing as you walk toward the fashion department.

//

5

you don’t realize that kat took you to a queer night at union pool until you’re there, but you honestly don’t mind at all because not one person has touched your ass or just assumed you wanted another drink.

kat and adena hang out with you long enough that you and kat finish two drinks and then kat’s eyes start drifting down to adena’s boobs and adena’s hand snakes around kat’s back and you laugh and tell them to go dance, that you’ll be fine.

and you definitely are totally fine, because someone super cute—reggie, you find out—comes up and sits next to you, buys you another drink after they’ve asked if you want one.

you’re verging on drunk but suddenly you remember some fucking soliloquy kat had gone on the other day after a queer panel jacqueline had had her speak on while you were all doing face masks before grey’s anatomy and so you ask, ‘hey, what are your pronouns?’

reggie smiles and says, ‘they/them,’ and you nod.

‘cool,’ you say. ‘she/her.’

distantly you think kat would be really proud but reggie smiles at you and asks if you want to dance and you try to find kat and adena for a second but you have no idea where they went off to, but you definitely do want to dance.

it’s fun and reggie is handsome and has braids that might be even better than kat’s—you’d never tell her because she wouldn’t talk to you for, like, a day probably—and tomboy by princess nokia comes on and it’s fun and you’re laughing and you’re sure your best friend is living her best fucking life because you have heard this song more times in the past two weeks from her spotify than you have in years.

reggie grins and it doesn’t feel odd at all to kiss them, because you’re dancing and it’s sexy and you’re having fun. you dance some more and go to the bar to get some water, eventually, and kat finds you there, her lipstick definitely more adena’s shade now than it was before they went off somewhere and adena is trying to fix her hijab.

they’re ridiculous and in love and kat grins at you while she closes your tab and you’re really fucking tired but you get reggie’s number before you head out with your friends.

‘who was that?’ adena asks, squished between the two of you in the back of a lyft but she’s resting her head on kat’s shoulder and they both look far too sated for having just danced.

‘reggie,’ you say. kat winks. ‘they’re cute.’

kat reaches across adena to give you a high five and then definitely performs a very clumsy and incredibly obvious boob graze on her girlfriend and they make eyes at each other and you clear your throat for posterity.

you don’t mind at all, though, really, not even a little bit.

//

1

shit with your mom has been fucked up and exhausting and dating is fun but kind of lonely, really, and it’s so nice outside but jane is knee deep in an article about neighborhood segregation and public school districts and you’re just.

a little achy.

kat texts you and asks if you want to go to prospect park for a picnic and you almost say no, because you fucking love adena but they’re so in love and so happy sometimes they just make your loneliness worse, even though that’s a shitty thing to think—they do.

but you say yes because you definitely need to not watch dark tourist all day and you get ready and are remarkably there on time even with delays on the Q.

you’re surprised when kat is waiting for you by herself, lounging on a bench near the market with sunglasses and an actual, honest to good book.

‘hey,’ you say, and she stands to give you a hug. ‘where’s your girlfriend.’

‘i don’t do everything with her,’ kat says. ‘but she’s at her office today. she got nominated for some big award and instead of wanting to celebrate she just went right back to work.’

‘ah, so that’s why you get along so well,’ you say, take off in the direction of your favorite bread stall. ‘workaholics.’

kat scoffs and pushes you but she doesn’t bother to argue.

‘so i’m second choice, then.’

you say it as a light joke and you don’t think that at all but you’re in A Mood and it comes out more serious than you intended.

‘what?’ kat says, grabs your arm and turns to face you, flicks her sunglasses up. ‘you’re never my second choice, sutton. i love you so fucking much.’

you sniffle and you hate that you’re going to cry all of a sudden and kat frowns and pulls you into a hug.

‘i’m sorry if i’ve ever made you feel otherwise.’

you shake your head into her shoulder and your, ‘you don’t, you haven’t,’ comes out a little muffled but you feel her nod so you know she heard.

‘okay.’

you sigh and back up and wipe under your eyes. kat still looks concerned so you shake your head. ‘just—stuff with babs, dating sucks, all of that.’

‘yeah.’ she heads toward the bread stall too, even though you hadn’t said anything.

‘do you want to talk about it?’ she picks out an olive oil and rosemary loaf and you really fucking love her. 

‘not right now,’ you say.

she nods. ‘well, i brought champagne.’

‘incredible.’

you buy cheese and fruit and walk to a place near the lake, lay out the blanket kat had brought, one she’d gotten in peru, which makes you grin because you know she’d thought of you and jane and your picnics when she’d found it.

she talks about her latest project at work and you lowkey want to inform her that she’s an influencer now but she’s a little arrogant enough already honestly so you just let her have this one. you make little sandwiches and you make her put sunscreen on even when she whines about it because the UV index is 10 today and jane would kill you both if you got sunburned.

you lay down and talk about music and the actual paper copy of a book she was reading and how she might want a tattoo and you pet like six dogs and eventually you sit up and grin.

‘this is wild, but we’re already on the Q so do you want to go to coney island?’

she laughs and shrugs. ‘why the hell not?’

you gather your stuff and she leans against you on the train, sundrunk and exhausted, and you’re both sweaty and not at all glamorous and this is exactly what you needed.

she patiently stands in line with you at nathan’s and only moderately complains about all the tourists, and you’re both in denim shorts but she stands with you in the ocean eating her hot dog and laughs when you take a boomerang and you walk back to the train eventually, so tired and much, much lighter than you’d felt this morning.

you ride together and are quiet, and it’s easy and you’re both way more grown up now, but you’ve been best friends for five years and you think you’re really fucking lucky.

she gets ready to get off at canal, before you at 14th, and gives you a weirdly positioned hug—you’re still sitting and she’s stood up—and it makes you both laugh.

‘that was the best day,’ she says. ‘thanks.’

‘have fun celebrating tonight.’

‘are you kidding? i’m so tired i’m just going to watch dark tourist and go to sleep.’

you laugh. ‘love me some good problematic binge watching.’

kat grins. ‘always.’

the train comes to a stop and she waves. ‘love you, sutton.’

‘love you too, kat.’

[laketaj24]

Played Pt 4

A/N: Heyy! I removed some people from the taglist that weren’t active, if it was you... I’m sorry I’ll put you back on lol Just say the word! NSFW below the cut. 

“Ian!” You yell from your bedroom. “Shoes on now! You’re going to be late for your first day of school.” Your son had never done what you want you wanted him to, he always rebelled.

“No!” He yells from the hallway poking his little pink tongue between his lips. Ivar had enrolled him in Lothbrok Prestige, the Daycare/Preschool in the lobby of the company. It helped you with him being so close to you both. But Ivar hadn’t seen him since that day. And he’d more than likely blocked you because all of your call went directly to voicemail.

“Ian!” You growl hauling down the hallway stepping on the small red brick of a lego. You howl something furious and he points at you giggling as he walks down the hall to get away. Legos were the damn devil. Then there was your child, a menace to society since birth. He shared one distinct feature with Ivar and those were his glacier blue eyes. Always piercing rather, they were menacing or playful. “Your Gigi is going to be so upset you won’t put on her favorite shirt. You’re only going to stay for a day or so.”

“I want to stay with you!” He screams.

“No,” you say exhaling. “Look, mommy has to handle some things and you have stay with Gigi and Pop. It’s not a choice. Get your clothes on your four-year old devil.”

He pouts folding his arms over his chest as he walks over to the counter grabbing the striped shirt. “I want to stay with you.”

“You’re going to meet some new friends here soon. They’re your family and I think you’ll have fun. But you can’t do that until mommy handles the business. So, tell me that you will be good. Please.”

“Fine.” He does as you ask putting on his clothes, the little blue jean button up and his striped shirt underneath. You make it outside to the car and bends down tying his shoes and you snap a picture of him. He smiles devilishly cute and you two walk into the building.

“Ian, your Uncle Ubbe is going to take you to his office until school starts. Do you promise to behave?”

Ubbe waits patiently watching you pep talk the little four-year old. “I’m scared.” He says with a wavering lip.

Ubbe bends down in front of him. “You’re going to be okay. See here you are a little warrior, I’ll keep you safe if you keep me safe?” Ian shakes his head in agreement holding Ubbe’s hand. “Have you talked to him?” He whispers.

“He won’t talk to me. And it’s his birthday this weekend, both of them.”

“He’ll be fine eventually, he’s just pissed. Hvitserk and I plan to be at the party.” He rolls his eyes. “We have to go now Ian. Tell your mom goodbye.”

 Ivar didn’t like to celebrate his birthday, he didn’t have fond memories of the last time it was celebrated. He remembered crying over Aslaug and sifting through rubble from where his brothers lie. It was the reason he had banned Bjorn from all in house business dealing. He could do whatever he wanted to with the Lothbrok Outreach Program, but he was never allowed in the company’s business. He stared down at the picture of the young your mother had sent him. He for sure had his eyes. Glacier blue and sneaky. He smirked. He didn’t understand why you had hid it. But he didn’t dwell on it vocally. He slides his shirt over his head and pats Nia on her thigh.

“Are you gonna get up babe? We have a ton to get done.”

“It’s your birthday, so I have made some reservations and then your brothers said that they would be there.”

“I don’t want to be around anyone really. No one but you, we should just take the boat out today and celebrate alone?”

“No,” Nia sat up in the bed. She wasn’t like Y/N. She was stubborn and defensive of everything regarding him. Y/N went with what eh said for the most part always understanding his reasoning. “We can get your son and we can all go somewhere.”

“No,” he answers stubbornly. He hadn’t tried to see him two weeks. Ivar couldn’t think of words to say and he was sure that he couldn’t control his anger towards Y/N. he’d already made her work overtime and given her extra floors, all except his. “I don’t want him to meet you.”

“I beg your pardon?” she raised her eyebrow pushing him forward as she stood up from the bed.

“I said don’t want him to meet you. It shouldn’t be that difficult for you to understand babe. This is my son and I am just now at the beginning of getting to know him. You don’t need to know him. And I don’t want to offend Y/N.”

“Offend her!” She yelled. “you should have that bitch locked up for the way she hid your child from you and just left. Why does this hoe, yes, I said fucking hoe, get all the affection? She deserves nothing.”

Ivar says nothing watching her parade around the room wearing only her underwear. “Are you done?” he says once she’s silent for a moment. “She is the mother of my child and I will give her some respect for that and also, my relationship with Y/N is none of your concern.”

“Yeah. You’re right. It’s not. So, celebrate your birthday by yourself you fucking asshole.” Nia slams the door behind her and he sits on the edge of the bed. “Let her play your ass again!!!” She yells.

 You stare down at the Facebook post. He couldn’t even allow you a moment. He’d commented with his snide remark and you wanted to scream. Ivar’s distance towards you was uncanny. He’d gone out of his way to not look at you and even called your mom to talk about Ian. Yes, you were wrong. You knew that you were and that was understandable, but you wanted to talk to him. You try to perk up for the trip, but it was weighing you that he didn’t want to see you.

You’d never rode in or driven a box truck, but chance was definitely having the time of his life. He continued to sway and sing to the music as if he was at a concert. “Man, what you know about this?”

“Gangster Party? What do you know about this chance?” You laugh watching him bring out his definite west coast swag you didn’t even know he had.

He continues to dance and sway to the beat bumping into you playfully until you start to sing the lyrics. Then he turns the music down. “I ain’t forgot about my food either.”

“I know you haven’t, fat ass.” You pause twiddling with your fingers before looking up at him. “There are some things that you should know about me. And if after you hear them you don’t want to be my friend anymore or fuck or whatever, it’s fine.”

“You a murderer?”

“No?” You gasp.

“Aight, then whatever you have to say won’t be that bad.” He smirks. “Hit me with it.”

“I have a child. His name is Ian and he is the absolute light of my life, no matter how much of a tiny terrorist he is, he’s five, well about to be tomorrow.”

“That’s great news. I can crack mom jokes on you now. Oh, hell yes,” He pauses. “I’m with a MILF. This is like checking off three major ass items from my bucket list.”

“wow, you’re a dick.” She laughs but is relieved he doesn’t care really.

“I don’t mind tiny terrorists. Kids are awesome. I have like ten nieces and nephews myself and as a matter of fact I have a new one on the way next week. My sister is having her first child. So no, children don’t scare me off. What else you got?”

“When I was younger I kind of lost my shit. I was dating his brother, Hvitserk. I cheated on him with Ivar and I loved him,” you gulp at the past tense word “loved” not knowing if it was true or not. Every time you thought of him your heart still leapt even if he had blocked your number. “but I was wild. I was pretty much a slight thot.”

“Just a little thot?” He laughs. “Continue I’m sorry.”

You relish in the fact that he is so controlled in this conversation and his opinion of you hasn’t wavered. “Anyway, I cheated on him with Ubbe.”

“The cool one,” he shrugs. “It’s cool ma, you don’t even have to explain this shit to me, for real.”

“Well, I left because I did that and I didn’t want to face Ivar and then like the day after I found out about my son and I never came back.”

“His father is Ivar Lothbrok.” The box truck veers off the road for a minute when he jakes his head over and stares at you and he regains control of the situation. “I know. I have a baby by your boss and that perhaps is not the ideal part of it.”

“The dude with the soft ass voice that everybody is scared of?” Chance says.

“Soft voice? Ivar, my highly crazy ex that has no personal boundaries and often is the pettiest guy I have ever met in my life.”

“Didn’t know all that side shit.” Chance laughs.  “But look ma, every single person has a past, be that good or bad. And I don’t judge people for the shit they have done because that is not my place. You embraced that shit like a pro and I have no business placing my judgement on you. If you can live with yourself and still be doing like you are, I don’t even care. I hope this kid ain’t got no soft ass voice though.” He burst into laughter.

“Shut up.” You say laughing.

“I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to be choosing between the tow of us. I don’t know what you got going on with that or whatever, but we getting to know each other. I like you. Don’t rsh back to this guy because it’s easy?”

“Okay. I mean it. Take you time.”

 The next day you return home from the trip having unpacked most of Ian’s things in his room and everything else was at least put away for the moment. He’d stayed at your parents’ house long enough. He needed a routine and a normal life.

Your mom had actually done you a favor and called you to let you know Ivar was coming. You found odd he could bucket on Facebook but never respond to you. You push those thoughts aside when you here the door close outside. Of course Ivar was here. Two weeks was long enough. You sit in the floor with Ian watching him fly Superman over the Lego Buildings. Ivar isn’t walking with his cane and you weren’t sure why, but you peer up to him and stand from the ground. “Ivar.”

“What are you doing here?” He whispers. Your mom half hugs him and grabs her keys walking out of the house.  “Y/N.”

“He’s about to meet his father for the first time.” You whisper. “And I didn’t want to not be here. I want you to know him and talk to him.”

“First of all, if you truly wanted this knowing and talking. You would have let me see his first step.” He whispers harshly. “you would have let me here him say his first word. You would have let me hear that first cry. And for you to say that you give a fuck now is infuriating and I cannot listen to your bullshit. You want to be here. Fine. Sit your ass down and leave me alone.” He walks past you over to Ian. “Hey. Remember me?”

“Yes.” Ian drops Superman. “Fucking Horrible!”

“Ivar, but close enough.” He sits on the couch in front of him. “Your mom has something to tell you. Isn’t that right?” He says glaring at you. “Come on.” You watch him pat the seat next to him and walk over to him.

You sit next to him. He’s shaking nervously glaring at you. There was no way you would make it through the small talk without trying to cry. “Ian, I told you not to say that again.” You gripe. “This nice man is your dad.” His blue eyes grow two times their normal size and it’s obvious what he is thinking. “And his name is Daddy or Dad not Ivar. You have to call him that and you should know you have the best dad ever. He’s such a superhero. It’s where you get your powers from.”

“You’re a superhero?”

“Yeah.” Ivar answers. “Something like that.”

“Cool.” He says shoving his tiny hands in his pockets in a none caring way. He was Ivar all over trying not to care. Ivar notices the small similarity shaking his head approvingly.  

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“I don’t think I will ever be.” His phone vibrates, and he stares down at the screen. NIA: I’m sorry. He rolls his eyes. “Sorry for the comment earlier, shit just comes out sometimes.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to harm you or to make you feel left out. I didn’t mean to make you hate me.”

After ten minutes and Ian’s playful banter turns into snoring lightly on the couch. He sighs finally saying something “I don’t fucking hate you.” He whispers. “I’ve tried to hate you, trust me. What do you need for him?”

“He has everything.”

“I mean he doesn’t. Why is your mom keeping him? Where were you yesterday?”

“I don’t answer to you Ivar.”

“Well, your mom needs a break and he can enroll in Lothbrok Prestige, so he can be around children his age and close to both of us at work. And you have to leave that Mail Room. You have to be a mother and making fourteen an hour when your child’s father is a Billionaire is degrading. I’ll have stipend for you and find something to do with yourself.” Ivar stands from the ground groaning in slight pain.

“Why are you walking without your cane?”

“I had a few surgeries.” He admits. “And for the most part I can walk without assistance. I just hurt sometimes.”

“Why the surgery?”

He smiles pulling his hair behind his ears. “At first I thought you left me because I wasn’t man enough for you. So, I had surgeries and all that shit. It was stupid.” He dusts his pants off. “I’ll be at the party tomorrow.”

You swallow back your stupid tears and change the subject with him. “Great. One second.” You run down the hall. “Come back here.” You call. It takes him a minute, but it gives you time to get out his shirt from the box. “Here.” You say tossing him the shirt. The all blue shirt with SUPERDAD in white letters. “I had it made before you called me a bitch and fucking horrible. You chuckle walking closer to him. There was an ever-constant part of you that wanted to be with him.

He’s behind you, admiring the shirt. “I have done nothing in his life to be considered a SUPERDAD” he says smirking. “But thanks, you know when you were gone I used to think about what it would be like to be with you when you were gone.”

“Ivar I shouldn’t have,” your words are trapped when his hand grips around your neck. Your heart pounds listening to his breathing behind you. He’s erratic nearly shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.” He sneers with his lips against your neckline. “I don’t want to hear your excuses or apologies.” He pushes you forward on the bed dragging his nose along your neck and then the tingles of where he had been are covered in kisses.  you melt feeling his lips on you. He flips you over pulling you up by your hair so that you’re facing him. “I don’t want to hear it. Do you understand?” You shake your head yes and he kisses you again his tongue intertwines with your while his hands grip on your back. “Turn around. ”You refuse still kissing him still until his hand is around your neck again and a grin surfaces his face. “We can do that later I want you. Turn around.”

 He’d never taken you standing up so you feel weird stripping in front of him, but you do turn around for him once you’re undressed. You feel the cool breeze blow behind you for a moment and then you feel Ivar. Ivar pulls you up gently by your hair slipping his fingers into you with ease. You’re panting as his thrusts become quicker and harder. And then he removes his fingers slamming into you with his length. It’s sharp and quick pushing you forward but his finger wraps around your hair pulling you back to him so that your hips slam against his with each thrust. You feel your ass bouncing against his hips and he snakes his arm around you rubbing circles on your clit. You drag your teeth over your bottom lip trying to stop your yelps. “Does he fuck you like this?” He growls removing his fingers from your clit gripping his fingers around your neck. You’re choked, and you wouldn’t answer if you could. He’s thrusts get harder and deeper. And your pants turn into pleas for more. “Uh Uh.... shut up.” He whispers. But you can’t, feeling him slam into you your body spasms and you fall forward on shaking legs. “You come for me already?” He grins still pumping into you. You climb the bed to breathe but he snatches you back to him throwing you on your back. “I want to watch this time.” He pleas. “Come for me again baby?”

“I can’t” You try to breathe. He doesn’t listen to you pushing your legs up higher and fucking you once more. You’re throbbing, and he covers your mouth with his and your fingers intertwine in his hair tugging hard. “Do it for me?” He goes faster, and you climb to your high and your legs collapse to the bed shaking harder than before. Your lips meet his again nervous that once he’s done this won’t be any more. Ivar comes trying to control himself and you both fall into the bed breathlessly. You watch his chest rise and fall.

“How are we going to do this huh? I can’t control myself when I’m around you. I’m not supposed to do this.” He rants.

“I don’t know. I’m not good at it either.”

He covers you with the comforter allowing you to nestle into him. “I don’t want to think about it right now.” The door freaks open and Ian jumps into the bed. His tiny feet trample on both of your bodies. Ivar just watches highly amused. “What are you doing?”

“Nana said get out of her bed.” He chuckles. “Now.”

Your face tinges with embarrassment you shake your head. “Hey, go in there with nana, and we will be up there in a few.”

“Fine!” He says leaving.

Ivar sits up in the bed. “Your mom is going to kill me, I just started to like her.” He groans. He reaches for his ringing phone. “Nia,” He answers. “I know babe, yeah, I just got out of a meeting I’ll be by shortly.” You steam anger watching him talk to her. You throw his shirt at him and he flinches at you shocked with his mouth agape. “Alright. I will babe. Okay bye.” He stares at you. “What is the matter?”

“I don’t want whoever that hoe is around my child.”

“What?” He says nearly laughing. “I don’t tell you who to fuck, don’t tell me.”

“You can fuck her. Keep her away from Ian.” You watch him laugh. “I’m not fucking playing with you Ivar!” But he continues to laugh getting dressed.

“You have some nerve… tell your mystery fuck I said the same.” His voice was SOFT, you sneer at him and once again you just wanted to slap him.

Taglist: @titty-teetee@sparklemichele @readsalot73@oddsnendsfanfics@kawennote09@valynsia @oneday-i-will-fight-luke17@kenzieam @ivars-snowflake @sincerelysinister @ivars-snowflake @suz-123 @fivesecondsofsarang @sunnyfortomorrow @2loveeverything2 @wilddrabble@letsshamelessqueen-m @kc-7 @siren-queen03 @alyse45 @romanchronicles @getinmelanin011 @doloreschanal @captstefanbrandt @harleycativy@byzantium-glytch@pebblesz892 @earthsmightiestasses @lisinfleur @unsure-but-trying @rachybakes@amethyst09 @thequintess @leaderradiante @daughterofthenight117 @jorunnravenslayer @hvitserksgirl @emilymarlow8 @perfectus-in-morte @amour-quinn@sassymcgonagal1651 @samwinchxtr @ivarsshieldmadien @bang-kim-bap @akamaiden @scumyeol @lost-and-wandering-alone @justbloodlydreaming @irishhiggins @cocobanbooom @cbouvier23 @raindrop-dewdrop @majinbuuwithatan @danceyreagan @ilvebeenabad@quaint-and-curious-being @imagine-this-motherfucker @funmadnessandbadassvikings 

[dear-mrs-otome]

4 + 11 +1 with Ieyasu please hehe for the drabble things hehe

(That’d be ‘I have never wanted anything more’ + Surprises + Coffee Shop AU)

Full disclaimer: This is probably not what you had in mind for these prompts but this is what struck me. Also, I’ve never played Ieyasu’s route (sorry! sorry!) SO I hope I didn’t royally eff up his character here. Enjoy!

Also P.S. Why can I never write a drabble, or anything less than a bazillion words for these things?

“Richie Rich, on your six.”

Your coworker’s muttered warning had you smothering a sigh, yanking on the handle of the portafilter viciously as you seated it for a fresh round of shots. The coffee shop was packed this morning, a line of customers snaking through the maze of tables, and the absolute last thing you needed right now was to be waiting on the whims of His High-ass. Through the clamor of drinks being called out, you set about putting together the fruity abomination he always ordered, practically by rote - a triple shot ristretto mocha, light on the chocolate, with exactly six (and a half) pumps of strawberry syrup, plus extra whip, served at no more than 140 degrees.

Double cupped.

You could see his artfully tousled mop of blond hair drawing inexorably closer to the front of the line, like an advancing storm. Today was Tuesday - which meant it was olive-green suit day, a color that no living man had a right to look as sinfully good in as he did, but you shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact that he made something so damned contrary work. It was in his very nature, you imagined.

Pretty as one of Reni’s angels…but a devil lurked behind those russet eyes.

He left the till (without tipping, of course) to make his way to the bar, and you slid the drink you’d already prepped across the tiny counter towards him, hoping like hell that this would be the one day that he’d simply thank you and move on.

Instead, he offered you a genial smile that had your hand clenching around the handle of a jug of milk, because you knew the second he opened his mouth it would be -

“It’s too cold. Remake it, barista.” Somehow he managed to turn that single word into an insult.

You entertained a glorious, fleeting fantasy of swinging the full gallon of two-percent at that grin for a handful of seconds, before offering him a smile in return that was more the feral baring of teeth than anything resembling ‘customer service’. “You haven’t even tasted it, Mr. Tokugawa.”

“I watched you. That was enough.”

Ok. There were real things very wrong with you, because despite the constantly-simmering annoyance his mere presence ignited, your brain took that simple statement and the quirk of his lips and ran in the total wrong direction with it, spurred on by the faint midnight burr you imagined you heard in his voice.

Knocked off-kilter by your derailed thoughts, you swallowed down any further rebuttals and set about making another, movements sharp and furious, taking out your anger and discomfiture on the poor espresso machine. It shouldn’t bother you, by now. Two years you’d been tolerating this. Remaking the same mocha, exactly the same way, at least three times. Every. Damned. Morning.

Or at least the ones you were clocked in for. Your coworkers swore up and down that he never set foot in the shop unless you were manning the bar. So why you? What exactly had you done to deserve being singled out by this man? The one genuine moment of interaction you’d ever had with him was on your first day of work, when something about his ruddy gaze as he stared off absently while waiting in line seemed lost, twisting something inside of your chest. When you’d handed him his cup, you’d offered him your warmest grin and teased him about a grown man liking strawberries so much, hoping to draw a smile in return.

He’d merely blinked owlishly at you, taking the coffee without a word, but that had been the lone time he’d ever accepted the first drink you’d made him. And only after he’d left had your horrified manager leaned over to inform you that you’d just ribbed the nightmarish landlord of this building, God save your soul.

The hiss of a steam wand brought you back to the moment, a satisfying mirror of the fury building inexorably inside of you. Only unlike the machine before you, yours had no outlet, and you genuinely began to question, as the pile of other customer’s cups waiting to be filled stacked up beside you, whether the stress of any of this was worth minimum wage.

No, you decided, as you switched gears and reached for a scoop of ice, rocketing past ‘irritated’ to land firmly in ‘doing something stupid’ territory. It was most definitely not.

Stalking from behind the counter over towards the bistro table he’d carefully perched himself at, you held a new cup out towards him. “Your drink, Mr. Tokugawa.”

He eyed the clear plastic and straw narrowly, lips curling downwards in a moue of distaste. “That’s not my order.”

“It’s a surprise. Try it, on the house,” you cajoled, shaking the coffee so that the ice in it rattled enticingly, offering him a cloyingly sweet smile.

His expression only soured further, growing wary. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Ah.” You sighed with exaggerated disappointment, crestfallen. “That’s too bad. You really won’t like this then.”

And every last fantasy you’d ever entertained to get through the insults he’d slung at you, every wicked elaborate revenge scheme you’d ever conjured up in your head, they all paled in comparison to the glory of seeing Ieyasu Tokugawa, head of the Tokugawa Group, sputtering with fury and disbelief as you popped the lid and upended the frigid drink all over his perfectly pressed lap. Milk and coffee and half a bottle’s worth of that garish red syrup he so dearly loved, running down his legs in rivulets to pool in the chair beneath him, ruining silk and fine tailoring that had probably cost him more than you ever made in an entire year of putting up with his shit.

He shot to his feet, still dripping and livid. His eyes were incendiary, but it was the icy perfection of his calm tones that had you truly unnerved, each word limned with frost. “That. Was the last thing you’ll ever do on this job.”

“Because you’ll have me fired?” You laughed a challenge, untying the apron around your waist to fling it at him. He flinched, but caught it, and the stained green fabric hung limply from his fingers like a banner of war. “You can’t. I just quit.” Closing the gap between you, you set your jaw and glared up at him. “No more redoing your drinks. No more putting up with your spoiled, bratty insults. Never having to see your pretty two-faced self ever again? Let me tell you, Ieyasu. You might consider firing me a threat, but I have never wanted anything more.”

And rolling on the strength of what ire still smoldered in your belly, you turned on a heel to storm back through the shop full of slack-jawed customers and staff to snatch your purse from the back room. Stiffened your spine and made it out the front door, through the gleaming lobby and a handful of tottering steps down the sidewalk before what was left of your bravado withered and you sank back against the marbled side of the building, bent over shaking knees and huffing out breaths. Wondering who’d stolen all the oxygen from the air.

Then polished oxfords filled your field of view, still beaded with pink milk, and you knew with a sort of bowel-churning certainty that you were dead. They’d be hauling your body out of the harbor, two weeks from now, clucking and shaking their head about tragic accidents.

“I’ll triple your pay.”

Nothing he could have said would have possibly stunned you more, and you straightened to gape up at his impassive face, floundering. Too shocked too even be afraid any longer. “Wh-what?”

Where were the threats? The army of lawyers breathing down your neck, ready to sue you within an inch of your life?

He shifted his weight, glancing away a moment, before fixing you with a sneer. “Did I stutter?” He thrust your abandoned apron back in your direction. “Put it back on.”

You ignored the gesture. “Triple still isn’t enough,” you said, before you could falter beneath the intensity of his glare. “It’s not…just about the money.”

Scoffing, he folded his arms. “It’s always about the money. Quit pretending you’re some paragon of virtue.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t partly about the money,” you shot back, emboldened by the way he kept his eyes trained on you and the lack of a counter or uniform between you - just two people, standing on a busy sidewalk. Removed from the social confines of business and transaction. “But the other part…”

Oh God, it was too stupid to even say out loud. You clamped your mouth shut and shook your head.

“The other part?” he supplied, after your silence had dragged on, brows arching with no small measure of impatience.

Ah, fuck it. You were never going to see him again, anyways. “I just wanted you to smile.”

A myriad of expressions flickered across his face, like signs past the window of a  speeding car. Too quickly for you to follow or read before his features settled back into their usual veneer of disdain. “That might be the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes, well…” You shrugged, at a loss, before pushing away from the wall with one last bit of mockery, offering him the same bland goodbye you had for years. “Have a nice day, Mr. Tokugawa.”

You’d made it two steps before a hand wrapped around your arm and jerked you to a halt, though you didn’t grace his arrogant behavior with turning around. “Name your price. And… I’ll…work on your bonus.”

Perhaps it was your imagination, but you thought you caught a hint of his lips curving as you finally faced him and took the apron back from where he’d folded it over an elbow, tying it back on. Maybe you’d live to regret this.

But then again, maybe you wouldn’t.

“All right.”

“All right,” he echoed, and something like relief softened his brow, only for a moment, before he nodded his head in satisfaction. “I’m still docking the dry cleaning from your pay, though. Double what it costs me.”

And as you trailed behind him, back towards the front door of the Tokugawa Tower, it was, you figured, a small price to pay for progress.

(Part 2)

[aspiratixxn]

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: None at the moment

Summary: 

If the perfect blank canvas walked in, wouldn’t you want to paint it too? Or in which one Wei Wuxian colors the entire world of one Lan Wangji.

Start from the beginning [AO3] [Tumblr]

-----------

Closing the shop is as much of an ordeal as opening it in the mornings. It follows the same procedure, putting the tools into the autoclave and disinfecting every single surface anyone has touched, which is everywhere. A-Yuan sits sleepy in Mianmian’s chair as Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang clean to the sound of quiet alternative playing through the speakers. 

“So. Your brother.” Wei Wuxian leans against the pole of the mop. He’s been meaning to upgrade to a swiffer at some point but ah well, someday sometime. “I didn’t know he was getting a tattoo, much less with those two. Who’s that Lan Xichen anyways? Never seen him around.” 

Nie Huaisang laughs as he takes down the pinned designs. They cycle through a few folders every week to give people fresh perspectives on their styles and such, plus it makes this place look far more lived in. “Well, they’re new in town I think. Lan Xichen and his brother. Moved into da-ge’s apartment complex maybe,” he counts on his fingers, “four or five days ago? Like super new. Anyways, apparently Lan Xichen’s the kind to bring osmanthus cakes to the neighbors and da-ge had Jin Guangyao over and bam, just met like that!” 

Wei Wuxian isn’t all that prying about other people, especially when it comes to people like Nie Mingjue who could and would break your spine in half if you bugged him. Not that he would to his little brother’s friends but Wei Wuxian was never quite sure of how real the threat actually was so he chose instead to keep a low profile. “So then they’re friends now?” He quirks an eyebrow when Nie Huaisang begins to snicker. “Not friends?”

“Oh definitely friends. But y’know how da-ge and Jin Guangyao have known each other for a really long time?” Wei Wuxian nods. Family friends or something brought them together and since they were close in age, they had become close. Friends isn’t necessarily the right word in Wei Wuxian’s opinion but he’s not here to judge. “Well so they’re dating-”

“WHAT.” Wei Wuxian’s screech wakes A-Yuan who makes adorable grumbling sounds as he clutches a pillow close to him. “What.” Wei Wuxian whispers, eyes huge and it’s all Nie Huaisang can do to not fall over laughing.

“Yeah, so they’re dating, it’s a long story,” he whispers back between giggles. “It was really weird cause they’ve never seemed like, to like each other but I guess stuff happened when I wasn’t looking. And they’re dating and whatever and according to da-ge, Lan Xichen just kind of naturally fell into it.” 

“Soooo, a trouple?” Nie Huaisang makes a face at the term (it’s always sounded weird to him) but shrugs and nods anyways. “Wow.” Wei Wuxian kind of feels like he needs to sit down. Moreso at the shock that 1) Nie Mingjue dating and 2) Nie Mingjue dating Jin Guangyao and 3) Nie Mingjue dating Jin Guangyao and also dating new in town handsome man Lan Xichen and 4) deciding to get matching tattoos together within a week of knowing each other. “Huaisang, d’ya think this is your brother’s way of proposing or something?” He’s met with a shrug and a semi-mischievous smile. Wei Wuxian knows exactly what that means and sighs, turning instead to finish mopping instead of thinking about that whole mess. He doesn’t miss how Nie Huaisang sneak up to him, holding the binder of designs to cover half his face. 

“Soooo, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang sing-songs next to Wei Wuxian, eyes alight with amusement. “I saw you were, ehem, captivated by Lan Wangji?” 

A dreamy sigh. “Yeah, he’s just. So pretty.” 

So pretty. Dressed beautifully in a long coat, plain white shirt and jeans. A difference from his earlier look in slacks and a button up. Wei Wuxian wonders why he was dressed up in the morning like that. He sees again those red-pink ears, adorable especially with Lan Wangji’s lips pressed together. Pretty, pretty shades of gold hazel eyes that Wei Wuxian swears he’s never seen before. Nie Huaisang snorts, nudging him with the corner of a design printed on stiff paper. 

“Well, my da-ge managed to snag his brother in a week so I don’t see why you couldn’t do the same.” Wei Wuxian feels like she should be kind of offended by that. Nie Mingjue isn’t exactly the romantic type. He snickers at the thought of Mingjue doing something sappy and romantic. “Though admittedly that Lan Wangji looks kind of like a stick is up his ass into his brain.” 

Wei Wuxian sighs, another dreamy sigh, “Yeah, he does.” Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes and shoves him. “Hey!” 

“Yes, yes, let’s just get this cleaned up so you can take A-Yuan home. Isn’t it spaghetti night?” It’s a wonder that Nie Huaisang remembers these facts when Wei Wuxian doesn’t, and it’s his own goddamn schedule! “And I bet Wen Qing asked you to get something from the store.” Bullseye. 

Wei Wuxian lifts up the mop and turns the wet end towards a scandalized Nie Huaisang, who books it quick next to A-Yuan, leaning over dramatically and loudly saying, “A-Yuan! Save me! Your Xian-gege is being mean to me!” Which leads to A-Yuan standing between him and the mop, arms outstretched and a pouty look on his face.

“No being mean Xian-gege!” Nie Huaisang sticks out his tongue at him and it takes all of Wei Wuxian’s meager self control not to smack him in the head with the mop. “Xian-gege!” He looks down at A-Yuan who’s making the hands to be picked up gesture. “Can we go home yet?” 

“In a sec bud.” Wei Wuxian finishes the mopping at lightning speed and shoves all the supplies away before scooping up A-Yuan who shrieks with joy. “Huaisang, are you going to come over for dinner or are you gonna go moon over Jiang Cheng?” For his credit, Nie Huaisang only sputters a little bit. 

In the end they split ways, though Nie Huaisang promises to stop by later that night for late night baking. A-Yuan gives Sang-gege a big hug goodbye and then they’re off, walking down the bustling street to the local market to get some milk and some tiramisu for Wen Qing. 

“Wei-gongzi!” Ah, Wen Ning, right on time by the radishes. It’s like the Wen siblings have a sixth sense for where exactly Wei Wuxian is going to be. It’s kind of uncanny. “Wei-gongzi! A-Yuan!” Wen Ning skids to a stop just before them, his backpack looking dangerously full to be running like that. 

“Wen Ning, what’s up? Why the rush?” Wei Wuxian leans against the little race car cart they got where A-Yuan sits and fake honks at people passing by. The car contains the long awaited milk, a whole tiramisu cake, some vegetables of varying colors, and right now Wei Wuxian is debating adding radishes or not. He doesn’t particularly like them but Wen Qing and A-Yuan do so he shrugs and takes one, plopping it in as Wen Ning catches his breath. 

“Oh! Uh, well I just didn’t want to miss you guys.” Wen Ning readjusts his load and stands tall (or not that tall) with a grin. “Plus today’s spaghetti night and I brought,” he lowers his voice, “the good stuff.” Wei Wuxian flings an arm over his shoulders and pulls him close, with which Wen Ning takes squeaking.

“Wen Ning, you sir, are the light of my life, my beloved little brother.” Wen Ning flushes and scrambles. 

“Don’t let Jiang Cheng hear you say that! He’ll have my head.” He can already imagine Jiang Cheng puffing out his chest, face toasted redder than a lobster as he complains about how ungrateful Wei Wuxian is for being adopted into the Jiang family and if he wanted so badly to have Wen Ning as a little brother he should just marry Wen Qing or something! Which Wei Wuxian may have considered at one point in his life but a few caveats to that plan have yet to be solved. Namely Wen Qing being distinctly not into Wei Wuxian (for a variety of reasons she has disclosed many times) and that she wasn’t really all that into men to begin with. But she was a damn good friend and back when they were all worried about getting deported, Wei Wuxian had offered without hesitation to marry Wen Qing and claim Wen Ning as family. Thankfully it hadn’t come to that but he maintains that he would’ve done it anyways.

Besides, they were the ones who introduced him to adorable A-Yuan who, ever since they first met, has always been the first priority in Wei Wuxian’s heart. A-Yuan was Wen Qing’s cousin’s sister’s something or another kid. An orphan. Wei Wuxian knew how dangerous that could be with a kid that young and had called up a lawyer immediately, processing adoption papers faster than anyone thought could be done with that convoluted system. 

Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian wander the grocery store aisles, debating over what type of juice to get (peach in the end) and if they should buy fruit sandwiches or not (they did). They leave with significantly more stuff than they came in with. The only saving grace is that Wei Wuxian’s apartment isn’t too far off, a block and a half. The well lit building greets them with a soft glow.

In the past, Wei Wuxian had lived in some shady ass places. When he first started Yiling Tattoo it was small and struggling. He hadn’t made a name for himself yet and though Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang helped out sometimes, they weren’t mainstays either. It was really just Wei Wuxian busting his ass, churning out designs every day and building up his presence. Infamy some might say, for his policy of never turning down a tattoo request at the time. Obviously he’s developed standards since then but it was rough.

Since he’s gotten A-Yuan though, his life has changed so much. He’s only had A-Yuan officially for around six months now but he hauled his ass out of his old ratty one bedroom apartment and got himself a much nicer one. He and A-Yuan share a room and a queen sized bed but it’s okay because A-Yuan loves sleeping with his Xian-gege. He bought real furniture and tableware instead of keeping his tattered college age couch (that has definitely seen some shit) and eating off paper plates. He learned to cook and bake just for A-Yuan. He has A-Yuan’s doodles posted up on every possible surface along with his own renditions and it’s a beautiful chaotic mural that he’ll hate to take down if he has to move. 

He and Wen Ning kick off their shoes at the entrance and he passes over the groceries to Wen Ning so he can stoop and help A-Yuan with the velcro on his light up sketchers(™). A-Yuan might be a little sleepy but that doesn’t stop him from pulling Wei Wuxian to the living room floor and pulling on his sleeves.

“Ah, don’t worry Wei-gongzi I can start! Let A-Yuan play around with you for a little, he’s been a good boy today.” Wen Ning has the warmest look as A-Yuan echoes his sentiment, pulling hard on Wei Wuxian’s sleeves as he breaks out his markers with one hand as best as he can. 

Of course Wei Wuxian caves, sitting down and shedding his jacket, exposing lines and lines of black that course up his arms in every which way. His entire left arm is filled pretty much with doodles from when Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang were practicing designs on skin for the first time. He had liked the marker drawings so much that he asked them to tattoo him right there and then and they, surprised, had agreed. His right arm is a bit more symbolic, with tattoos designed by Wen Ning and Wen Qing and reflecting all the events in his life. He likes to reminisce over them to remind himself of where he came from, how lucky he has been his whole life. He’ll tell them to A-Yuan as bedtime stories, building nostalgic memories in his heart and maybe instilling them in that curious mind too. 

He leans against the couch and turns on some music, something quieter to fit the cozy atmosphere. He settles on lo-fi versions of classics, starting with put your head on my shoulder. Wen Ning hums quietly along as A-Yuan colors in flowers and mountains from Huaisang, colors in lotus flowers and dragons from Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian must have dozed off because the next thing he knows is Wen Qing knocking on the door and being let in by her brother. She looks tired but satisfied so the meeting probably went well enough. She sets her bags at the dining table and ties up her hair, quietly speaking with Wen Ning. Though she shoots a look at Wei Wuxian, it softens when she sees him colored up and down by A-Yuan, who is currently filling in storm clouds in shades of pale pink and baby blue. He raises a hand in apology, knowing he should be helping with dinner but he can’t bear to pull away. Wen Qing, in all her patience, understands and waves him off. 

There’s tiramisu in the fridge. He mouths at her and she laughs, a sound of chimes and bells. Wei Wuxian looks over the scene and thinks ah, I am blessed. It’s a good day and he can’t be more thankful for it. 

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

Lan Wangji is not having a good day. 

It had started with a slightly out of place morning. Waking up at 5am was normal but for some reason, he had woken up closer to 5:30 and that was already no good. Lan Wangji prided himself on having a set morning routine, starting with an hour of meditation and stretching before making a light breakfast and packing up all his items for the day. Sometimes, if he felt particularly inclined, he might also make something extra for lunch besides the night before leftovers. But since he woke up late, that meant he had to cut his meditation time and it left him feeling irritable at best.

He had nearly forgotten one of his musical scores and had to turn back on the way down the stairs to get them, leading him to quicken his pace. And by some cruel twist of fate, someone had rudely body slammed him, sending his papers everywhere. 

Lan Wangji is strong. He has always believed that a healthy spirit lies in a healthy body. Thus, he was also mildly surprised, among his annoyance, that this other person had managed to topple him at all. If he studied physics perhaps he’d understand how that worked but regardless, he had been stuck picking up his musical scores and trying to avoid having people step on them and his fingers as he did so. He hadn’t even been listening to the other man’s babbling until they had looked up and fallen silent. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking cute.”

Lan Wangji had looked up too and been met with stormy grey eyes, wide with awe. Ruffled hair quickly slung into a low, short ponytail that exposed his pierced ears, silver and black glinting in the mid morning sun. A pair of lip piercings too, on the left bottom lip. If he squints a little, he swears he can see a silver ball on the other’s tongue. His ears burn as he averts his gaze down, which wasn’t the smartest thing he’s ever done. He’s met with a solid chest and lithe arms and rough hands. Rough hands holding his music scores. In a mess. 

All of a sudden, any… Well, whatever that feeling was is gone. It’s replaced with disdain as Lan Wangji snatches up the sheets and storms off, throwing a harsh shameless in his wake. 

Yeah, today’s not a good day. 

Lan Wangji makes it to his class with time to spare, which gives him time to calm himself. He brushes through his hair with his hands, quietly musing that he needs a haircut soon. It’s getting long and he might need to tie it up soon, just like that man from the morning. With another flush, Lan Wangji shakes his head and shoos those thoughts again. After all, it’s not like he’ll ever meet him again right?

It takes a special kind of luck for this to happen,  he’s sure of it. He had gone home after lunch, spending the afternoon practicing in his guqin in his apartment. Each note plucked methodically, clearly. The silence between speaking volumes. His brother had knocked on his door later, when the sun was just beginning to cast it’s glow across the cityscape. 

“Wangji, come with us.” Lan Xichen’s tone, while gentle, brooks no argument and Wangji sighs, throwing on his Gusu coat before heading out. 

“Where?” Lan Xichen has gotten very accustomed to his younger brother’s monosyllabic conversational skills but he doesn’t seem inclined to answer in a fruitful manner.

“You’ll see.” Lan Wangji just sighs quietly and trails after the gaggle that is Lan Xichen followed closely by Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Originally, Xichen and Wangji had moved into the same apartment together. Xichen had, of course, gone around greeting the neighbors and had apparently met, liked, and essentially moved into Nie Mingjue’s apartment, leaving Wangji alone in their own. Not that he minded necessarily, since his brother would still return and sleep at their own place sometimes. They cooked together in the evenings and both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao were frequent guests. At one point, Mingjue had even offered to have the brothers move in, as his apartment was one of those three bedroom ones. But Wangji had declined, citing his need for his own space. Xichen on the other hand, had decided to have it both ways, spending most of his time at Mingjue’s place but still remaining on the lease and paying rent at his own apartment, used mostly as a workspace now. 

It’s not that convoluted a story but Wangji finds himself lost in the process somehow, and of course Xichen isn’t going to reveal anything. So Wangji just doesn’t bother asking. If his brother is safe and happy then that’s enough.

His thoughts dance around that particular subject until he bumps right into Nie Mingjue’s solid back, taking a few steps back with a quiet apology. Mingjue accepts it with a wave of his hand and Wangji looks up to see where they are, only to be met with bright red text that reads Yiling Tattoo. 

Huh?

Lan Xichen does not hesitate to step inside and neither do his two lovers. Wangji is left outside alone momentarily, senses assaulted with… Actually, nothing bad at all? It smells disinfected mostly though the front waiting area does smell more human. The music that plays is not blaring rock and roll or metal, rather a happier style of indie/alternative that Wangji doesn’t mind. As he steps inside and towards the counter, he marvels at the sheer number of stunning designs that cover every inch of the walls, from the simplest infinity symbols to the large dragons that soar across to the delicate dancing, laughing fairies. It’s beautiful. So caught up with studying every design, in fact, Wangji doesn’t notice who’s at the counter itself until he hears a book slam and turns his head to be faced with that very man who ran into him that morning. 

Said man has shed his jacket, revealing art inked all over his arms and neck. Wangji wonders briefly what it might look like across the rest of his skin. He’s got a… seductive, for lack of better wording, smirk and his eyes dance with a kind of hunger that makes Wangji want to step back. “So, what’s a beauty like you doing here?” 

Lan Wangji knows his ears are burning and it’s all he can do to keep it from invading his cheeks. He scours his brain for an answer of some kind, feeling annoyance at how forward this man is but also some kind of molten heat he can’t describe. His brother, of course, saves him again with that sharp smile of his. An appointment, with Wei Wuxian. It takes a moment for him to process what he’s heard and his eyes widen fractionally as he glances at his brother’s back.

Xichen is getting a tattoo? No way, uncle would absolutely have his head if he did that. But then… Why would they be here? 

Wei Wuxian is gesturing for them to follow and though Wangji doesn’t necessarily feel like he should, he gets a light tug on his sleeve from his brother as they begin to walk back. Whatever silliness in Wei Wuxian’s demeanor has vanished, replaced with an easy going professionalism and pride. 

The shop is beautiful, just like the front. Clean, ordered in different work stations. Wangji’s eyes flit back and forth, taking in the rows of inks that sit on Jiang Cheng’s table and watching as Nie Huaisang finishes a touch-up with a smile. The back room is well lit though the walls are more black than white with the sheer number of designs pasted. It must have taken years to amass this collection. 

Wangji takes the seat furthest from the desk, placing his hands on his knees and sitting up straight. He's not particularly listening to the conversation at hand, instead studying the way Wei Wuxian’s hands twirl his pen, how he rests the end on his lip. How he chews on his lip as he’s thinking, brow furrowed in concentration. How his penmanship is atrocious but quick and deft. Watching Wei Wuxian engage in a conversation in his element is an art in and of itself and Lan Wangji finds that he can’t look away.

The consultation must have taken hours but to Wangji it feels like minutes. He notices that Wei Wuxian has a small dark mole on his ear lobe. He notices that Wei Wuxian will stick his tongue out ever so slightly when he draws. He notices that Wei Wuxian doesn’t brush back his hair that has come loose from his ponytail. And Wangji finds that he wants to reach out and brush it back himself. 

Seeing the design drawn up is a process no less stunning than when Wangji is composing music. And just like any artist, Wei Wuxian presents it with pride. Wangji is no fool, he knows beauty when he sees it. He inhales sharply, eyes tracing the carefully painted flames. How Wei Wuxian managed that with a ballpoint pen is far beyond him but it looks like they were painted with an ink brush, licking towards the edges of the page. The moon peeks out behind darkly shaded clouds, an illusionary glow seeming to shine from the paper. And the flowers, so delicate, blossom right before Wangji’s eyes, swaying in the wind that feeds the flames and moves the cloud. It’s a living art piece. It’s beautiful. 

Wangji is shaken out of his reverie by the sound of the printer and though he knows that his expression likely has not changed during this, he wonders why Wei Wuxian stares at him with the intensity of the sun. The forms are signed, the meeting wrapped up and Wangji stand with slightly stiff knees, from tensing up the whole meeting. He hadn’t even noticed. 

Exiting the backroom reveals a much quieter space with many patrons gone. They make their way back to the counter with Mianmian pulling up a schedule and asking for their availability. Jin Guangyao answers quietly while Xichen pays and Wangji is once again startled when he hears his own name, his brother gesturing at him. Emotional support. Wangji chokes on air and only just manages to not send a scathing glare at his brother. 

Wei Wuxian smirks (dear god) and says something in that purr of his and Wangji blushes despite himself. He throws another shameless out and turns, striding out with his heart beating erratically. Xichen isn’t too far behind and he’s laughing, laughing. The audacity of it. 

“Well, Wangji, it seems like you might be seeing more of him after all.” Wangji jerks his shoulder away from his brother’s touch, fuming quietly. 

The rest of the night is just as slightly off as the morning. He ends up taking his dinner late, leading to something less nutritious than usual  being made. He doesn’t take his usual thirty minute meditation break before starting work and that makes his brain feel like a hive of bees. He makes a third mistake on his guqin and his entire body decides, that’s it for the night. Nothing is working as it should be. As Wangji slides the guqin into its case carefully, tucks away his sheets into their proper folders, he laments those thirty minutes that he had somehow slept through. A small part of his mind whispers, ah but you would not have met him had you woken up like usual. And Wangji sighs, puts his head down on the table, and grips his hands into fists. 

This is ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. And yet all he can hear is a quiet so, what’s a beauty like you doing here?

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds   Chapter 31

T/W: language, smut

    I woke up the next morning to Jane getting out of bed.  When she returned just a minute later I assumed she had just gotten up to go to the bathroom.  That was until I felt someone else crawling into the bed between us.

  “What the hell....” I grumbled, my head ringing from last night's antics.  I didn't bother opening my eyes.  I knew it had to be Roger.

  “Mommy wake up, I want pancakes,” he whined like a six-year-old.  I opened one eye in time to see Jane thump him in the face with her pillow.  He laughed and set it aside.  “Seriously, why aren't you guys up yet? Jared's been up for like two hours.”

  “Fuck,” I groaned into the mattress.  “What time is it?”

  “10:22,” he reported after checking his watch.  “When do you guys have to get to the venue?”

   I just got out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.  After starting the shower I came back out to see Jane sitting up next to Roger, rubbing her eyes while Roger went on about getting coffee and eggs. “It's a good thing Denny's is right next door to this shithole because they serve breakfast all day for lazy asses like you two.”

   “How the hell are you this bouncy this morning?” I asked him.  “You had way more to drink than we did.”

  “Roger never gets hangovers.” Jane volunteered.  “It's his evil superpower.” She turned her attention back to Roger. “Are you okay this morning? Are you feeling better?”

   He kissed Jane on the forehead.  “Much.  Thank you.”

   “Are you sure?” she asked again. “Should I have stopped you last night? I should have stopped you shouldn't I? I shouldn't have been drinking too, I should have been looking out for you better....”

   “Oh no, don't you dare,” he responded with a laugh.  “Even though your life is a mess too, you were the perfect nurse yesterday and last night was exactly what we both needed.” Playfully he started covering her head in little kisses.  “Thanks for letting me tag along on your groupie pilgrimage.”

   Jane tried to wriggle away from him.  “Ugh, get that mouth off of me, I know where it's been.”  Roger made a grab for her but she hopped out of bed.  “So how are we going to engineer this today?” she asked, changing the subject. “Are you just going to ride along with us on the bus, Roger or are you going to drive your rental?”

   I realized he had never said how long he was going to be joining Jane. “Hey, when do you have to fly back to New York anyway?” I asked.

   “I'm not sure about driving,” Roger told Jane.  “Jared said I could just ride with you guys to the next stop, I'm not flying back until after that.  But you guys aren't supposed to check into a hotel again for a while an I'm not sleeping on the bus. I was on that thing this morning.  Full offense but that place smells like wet bear ass.”

   “Why the hell were you on the bus this morning Roger?” Jane asked him.

   “I told you, Jared's been up for hours, do you think I just laid around in the hotel room watching him?” He looked over at Jane who was still standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but my t-shirt. “Why aren't you packing?”

   Jane grumbled and grabbed her bag.  “Hey look,” she suggested, “if you keep the rental and we drive separately we can get a hotel room in St. Louis.”  I was about to complain about her not being on the bus with me when I remembered I was trying to be less self-involved. I also realized something.

  “That means one extra night in a hotel for us too then, right Jane?”

   She gave me a kiss on the cheek as she headed into the bathroom.  “My baby is so smart.”

   We got showered and packed and checked out, fed our faces and headed over to the venue with Roger following along.  Once we had made all the introductions, Jane and Roger took off to explore while we went through our usual pre-show routine.  There were some minor issues on my end and by the time I got back to the bus everyone else was already there, including Jane and Roger. Jane had changed into another barely there outfit complete with yet another pair of fuck-me boots and I wondered if she had gone shopping just for this week with me.  Surely she hadn't been hauling around that sort of stuff on her book tour. She was sitting next to Jared on the small couch at the front of the bus and they were deep in conversation.

   “I know you can do this Jane,” Jared was telling her.  “If you let it go you'll regret it for the rest of your life.”

   “I just want things to be normal again.”

   “I know.  And I remember how much you hate confrontation.  But you've come a long way, look how you stood up to me when I was giving you shit.”

   Jane laughed.  “Well, I did promise you, after all.”

  Jared gave her a hug. “I'm going to be right here.  I'll help you as much I can but I know that most of it falls on you. You can do it.  You're stronger than you realize.”

   Jane had me to lean on too.  But she never came to me.  She had tried to hide from me the mess she had gotten herself into, and after everything had come crashing down around her ears it was Jared she was letting pick up the pieces.  Roger was her confidant, Jared was her rescuer, and where did that leave me? Maybe I had been wrong about last night.  Maybe I was just her good time after all.

   Jane spotted me and broke into a smile that didn't do as much to warm my now chilled spirit as I would have liked.  She got up and slipped her arms around my waist, her hands coming to rest just above my ass as she pressed herself against me.  “I missed you,” she whispered against my ear, raking her teeth over my earlobe.  I felt myself instantly stirring at her touch, but suddenly my heart wasn't in it. All the certainty I had gained was gone and once again I was wondering what I really was to Jane.  I missed the way we used to be together, how simple everything was.  Jane seemed to notice my hesitance and stepped back from me.  

  “Hey, what's wrong?” she asked, genuine concern on her face.  She took my hands.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

   Why the fuck was I being this way? Deep down, I knew most of this was in my head.  Jane was trying so hard to show me she cared but I just couldn't accept it.  It was like I was determined to fuck this up, just like everything else.  I needed to get out of my head.  I tried to reassure Jane.  

  “Nothing's wrong, I'm just a little distracted, thinking about the show,” I told her. She slipped her arms back around me and nuzzled my shoulder.  

  “Should I leave you alone?”

   I shook my head and pulled her in for a kiss.  “No, don't you dare.”

   We settled in on the couch and cuddled and chatted while waiting for it to be time to get ready to go on stage.  The guys were trying their best to give Jane a hard time but the nastier the conversation got the more vulgar Jane got too.  Everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves but I just wanted to throw a big sack over Jane and cart her off somewhere quiet, where no one else was leering at her, where she could just be my sweet Janey again.  Roger noticed I wasn't laughing along and kept giving me serious looks that I think were supposed to be a warning.  He knew something was up. He didn't want Jane hurt.  I hope he knew I didn't either.

   Our set went off without a  hitch, the crowd was great, the energy was great, we couldn't have asked for a better show. Jane and Roger both watched from backstage, cheering us on, and the minute I walked off stage Jane threw herself around me again, covering me in kisses and telling me how amazing I was.  The way she smiled at me made me feel like it used to, like way she had looked at me in awe the first time I sang for her.  But then she was galloping off with Roger while I went to get changed and do the merch table and that little high quickly faded, leaving me wondering what the hell was going on in my head.

  Jane, of course, managed to get herself invited to another little backstage party and as soon as I was free she dragged me off for more dancing. Fortunately this time there were no chemical substances involved, just a lot of Jane grinding against me while I built up a heavy level of frustration I was looking forward to working off once we got to the hotel. Roger didn't come with us, and I wondered if he was with Jared.  I wondered about that situation a lot, they seemed to be acting like nothing happened today, but I hadn't had a chance to ask Jared about it. Maybe on the bus tonight.

   Jane and Roger left about an hour ahead of when we were supposed to, and we made arrangements for them to meet us when we got to St. Louis. Once I had kissed Jane goodbye at the car I started to make my way back to the bus.  There were still some crews tearing down equipment and doing their load out and I stopped to watch while I grabbed a smoke.  

   I stood there for several cigarettes, turning the last four days over and over in my head.  I couldn't explain why I was reacting to Jane the way I was. Normally I like my girls wild, slutty and gone in the morning. Jane had been an exception from the start, but now that she was ramping up the wild and slutty part I was even more off balance than I had been before. The more she became more like my usual girls, the more confused about her I got. There was something hypocritical in that, I knew, but it was all a jumble in my head, illogical reasoning and unfounded jealousy kicking up a stew of bad impulses that were going to sink me if I didn't get myself straight. I knew I had to sort it out somehow.

   One of the site volunteers noticed me lingering there and came over to check on me. “Hey, everything okay? Is there something I can get for you?” she asked.

   I looked at the girl, she was probably about twenty, with dark hair and even darker eyes that were thickly lined. She looked a lot like the girls I would usually pick up, not at all Jane-like.  Well at least not at all like Jane had been. “No, I'm good, just clearing my head,” I told her.    

   She nodded. “Sometimes that's what you've gotta do,” she acknowledged. She motioned to my cigarette.  “Could I bum one?”

   I gave her a cigarette and a light and she reclined against the scaffolding next to me, watching the crew disassembling the last of the stage equipment. After a few minutes of silence she asked, “So is it helping? To clear your head I mean.”

   “No, not really,” I confessed.  I was wandering around in there like I was touring the aftermath of a tornado.  It wasn't helping.  “I think the problem is I'm too much in my head to begin with.”

   She nodded again.  “I'm Beth, by the way.” She held out one tattooed arm to me and I took her hand and shook it.  “You're the drummer for 30 Seconds to Mars right? I forgot your name.”

  “Shannon,” I supplied.  

  “Well, Shannon,” she said, pausing to take a  long drag from her cigarette, “If you want a little help getting out of your head for a few minutes I know somewhere we can slip off to.”

   I looked over at her.  She was dressed simply, in jeans and her volunteer t-shirt, but she was still hot.  She was also exactly who I was trying not to be, a bad decision served up to me on a platter.  I knew what I should do, I knew I should politely decline, put out my cigarette and go back to the bus.  And maybe that was who I was trying to be, but it wasn't who I was.  I wasn't there yet.

   “Do you have any protection?” I asked her, since Jane and I had stopped using them I wasn't carrying anything.  Beth smiled and grabbed my hand.

  “Uh-huh.  Follow me.”    

   She led me to a small tent, just off the bus parking area and once inside tied the flap shut.  “We'll have to be quiet but that should slow down anyone trying to get in,” she explained.  I grabbed the back of her head and turned her into me, my tongue diving into her mouth without any further invitation. She murmured her approval, her hands quickly slipping under my shirt to pull me against her while she hungrily sucked at my tongue.  We kissed and groped like that for a few minutes before I spotted a stack of cases on one side of the tent.  I pulled her over to it, unfastening her jeans and pulling them down her legs before perching her on the edge of one of the crates.

   Beth handed me the condom she had fished out of her pocket before I peeled her jeans away and then shoved her hands down the front of my pants, wrapping her slim fingers around my already hard cock.  “Mmm, hell yes,” she murmured in approval.  I unwrapped the condom and slid my pants down my hips, moving Beth's hands away long enough to sheath myself.  Then I was pushing into her, giving her a few thrusts to adjust before I set a relentless pace, slamming into her so hard the tent was full of wet slapping noises and her quiet little moans. I lifted up her t-shirt so I could get to her tits, kneading them roughly as I pistoned against her.  She was gripping the case underneath her tightly, her legs wrapped around my waist. I was lost for the moment, nothing in my head but the swirl of lust and then need to cum, but then Beth slid her hands under my shirt again, dragging her nails lightly up my back and I quickly moved her hands back to the case.

   “No marks,” I told her.  I couldn't have Jane finding scratches down my back.  The thought of Jane, smiling at me as she asked what she could do to make me feel better turned my stomach.  But then Beth was moaning and arching against me as her orgasm hit her and in the knot in my gut quickly turned to something else and I was spilling into the sheath surrounding me, my head momentarily going blank while my body spasmed reflexively. There wasn't any real pleasure in it, just release, and I wondered what the hell I had done.  I had just wanted Jane out of my head for a few minutes.  Instead, I had potentially knocked her out of my life.  I had to make sure she didn't find out about this.

  Quickly I removed the condom and tucked myself back into my pants.  I handed Beth back her own jeans.  “Thank you,” I said, giving her another kiss.  I didn't know what else to say.  

   “I hope it helped,” she said with a sly smile.  “You know you can have my number if you want, if you come back this way again.”

  Fucking hell.  Is this who I am? “I have a girlfriend,” I explained.  “I shouldn't have done this at all.”

   Beth shrugged and pulled her pants back on. “No worries, dude. It was what it was.”

   “I”m going to go ahead and go, I don't want anyone to see us leaving together,” I told her.  I felt like dirt but she just smiled and waved, apparently having had no illusions about exactly what was happening between us.  At least there was that, I guess.

   I untied the tent flap and slipped back outside.  I had taken maybe a step and a half when someone tapped me on the shoulder.  I turned around to find Tomo standing behind me, a disapproving look on his face.  

  “We've been trying to find you,” he said, frowning at my disheveled appearance. “Tony's pretty pissed. We're ready to go.”

   He didn't say anything else, either on the way back to the bus or on the drive to St. Louis. He just kept giving me that same reproachful stare that let me know he knew exactly what the hell I had been up to in that tent.  I eventually went back to my bunk to lay down and maybe get my head straight. Why the hell had I fucked that girl? Cheating on Jane wasn't going to make anything better. I had told myself several times over the last few days that if I wanted Jane to choose me I had to be someone worthy of choosing.  Not a lying, cheating bastard that finds somewhere new to stick my dick the minute she turns her back.

   I fretted until I fell asleep.  I woke up when the motion of the bus changed and I realized we were in St. Louis and must be parking for the night.  I got up and waited for the bus to stop and Jared climbed out of his bunk too.  He saw the questioning look I gave him and just shrugged.  

   Jane was there the minute I stepped off the bus, throwing her arms around me like she always did, I hugged her back, noticing for the first time the way she held me so tightly against her, the way her muscles relaxed with the contact, the soft sigh as my arms folded around her. She was giving me everything, with every kiss, every hug.  She wasn't holding back.  The problem was me and probably always had been. I was behaving like a complete piece of shit and I had just made it infinitely worse.  I just wanted to get to the hotel and wash all traces of Beth and bad decisions off of me.

   I climbed into the backseat next to Jane while Roger and Jared took the front.  As we pulled away from the bus and headed to the hotel I vowed to fix this.  As long as Jane didn't find out what I had done there was still time to fix this.  

@msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli@maliciousalishious@meghan12151977 @mustlove6277@fyeahproudglambert  @little-poptart @lady-grinning-soul-k

[sugar-petals]

Hiiii may I request a Jiminxreader one shot with an impreg kink ?

Potions and Reverie (m)

Length: 2.3kGenre: Hurt and Comfort, SmutWarnings: Punishment, Spanking, Sexual Ownership, Thigh Riding, Neglect, Sexual Healing, Avoidance and Depression, Slapping and Choking, Infertility/Impotence Issues

Red pines creak and bend outside. Last time you checked, the alley had been deserted with no car or person in sight. Jimin’s not home yet, you’re waiting. 

He promised to be back around eight or so, now it’s nine with little sunlight left. Just heavy, mourning clouds. Endless rain comes gushing down with thunder’s angry boom from the distance. It must be hell in the mountains. Seoul is so unkind these days. 

Unkind, and too humid. The current festival in Itaewon is as good as spoiled, the poor people. No text message gets a fast reply like it normally would, your phone just falls abnormally silent. There’s no point in trying again and again.

The storm keeps raging and whirring between the pines, leaving much debris and puddles on the street. You’re giving up on ordering pizza for tonight, the microwave will do. The fridge is entirely raided, so you take the small wooden steps down to the icy-cold cellar. A few convenience foods are still left in the freezer, but your tormented stomach feels like ramen is the better alternative. There are two packages left, you pick the spicier, stronger one. 

You’re glad to be fast with warming it up because electricity shuts down at roughly half past, leaving you with candles and “goodbye TV” on the couch. You’d be outside if you’d know where he actually is, even in that weather. The impatience is like venom, you wish you wouldn’t have it.

It’s quarter to ten when the key turns. You rush to the front porch to haul in Jimin as he opens, soaking wet and gloomier than ever. He apologizes in a grumpy tone, no eye contact. The heavily kinked umbrella just gets cast in a corner. Jimin later slouches down next to you on the couch with your oversized bathrobe on. 

Downtown he had gotten himself at least some fries and visited the drug store to fill up the fridge in a last effort. Most of the paperboard packages and vegetables got horribly wet and squashed in his backpack because the rain just didn’t want to come down vertically, and Jimin just stuffed them in without care. At least one time you see the value in thick plastic wrappings. You don’t even know if that crumbled mess is still useful in any way, but he thought about everything you’ve written on the grocery list in the kitchen.

Jimin hardly speaks while he’s trying to get his hair dry with a towel, rubbing and chafing it aggressively at the back of his neck. There’s no answer why he took so long and didn’t answer the phone, none. He’s been like that since the doctor proposed the diagnosis this summer. 

You have a hard time telling him that you received the important, long anticipated letter from the clinic today. But you didn’t open it yet. You told yourself that this was something you’d have to do together. It’s hard. His face turns more somber when you mention it but he won’t protest when you bring out the plain envelope. The dismal gleam of the candle barely suffices to read, it flickers too much. 

A darker wall of clouds outside has you pulling out your phone to shed at least a bit of light on the dreaded paper. It’s the result from October’s final check-up. All the numbers and paragraphs are just blurry. As you finished reading, passing over the letter you just say to read it twice. You didn’t get the majority of the words, or perhaps you’re too nervous. Maybe just in disbelief. The only thing you understood was that they charged a whooping lot. Jimin does have to read it twice. He puts it down, the first eye contact follows. 

“You’re okay?”

“I’m… okay?” You don’t know what he means. That you’re fine, or that the diagnosis states you’re fine. Jimin angles the letter to you and points at a bolded part. “It says the result turned out negative. They tested for “infertile, yes or no”, not for “fertile, yes or no”. Infertile — negative. And below,” he points toward the end, “it says we could try it.” You practically rip the letter from his hands. It makes sense now, it really does. There it is. 

We can encourage you to carefully commence again around designated week 2 and 3. The first investigations in August merely pointed towards a temporary and then more complicated medical terms follow, ending in an explanation how the error just didn’t hold true because of this and that, measures were just approximated, and so on. So it’s true. You are okay. You’d still punch each and every doctor with their fertility potions in the face for all of this. No cure was ever needed, neither was abstinence. Jimin looks hopeful and teary. 

He’s suffered the most the last months because you’ve really wanted to follow through. But he couldn’t help if his life depended on it. It left him immobile at the thought he couldn’t make you happy, and he really admitted to that in September when things got worse. 

Jimin isolated himself more, even if he did spend time with you. He tried to please you in bed in every way you could think of, he pursued all the duties he had around the house. The ideal husband. But at some point, you had just lost faith. Only the last bit of love held you together, a string that could rip any second. Like the pine branches bursting apart outside. 

Giving up was the only thing to do after the final blow despite you having feverishly tried it all. He still couldn’t get it up after everything they said at the screening, with the trauma of your reaction in mind. The way he’s facing you, it seems impossible to erase all denial again, and embrace what’s real. The hug is uneasy, the damned letter forgotten on the floor. “Is it week two” you ask, “it must be.” He sniffles. 

“Around start of three, I don’t know. Fuck it, honestly… They’ve been playing us with that since forever. It should work anytime mid-cycle. We’ll just try, I think it’s possible,” he clears his throat, leaning back from the hug. “It’s not meant to be otherwise. Whatever their instruments say.” You undo the belt of the robe. “So, now?” you test, making sure to sound pulled together even if the letter left you more aggravated than the turmoil in the streets. 

“If you still like me… I’m disappointing. I look weird now, too,” Jimin shifts in his seat, sort of spaced out again. The robe hardly closes at the front. “Fool, I want you,” you get on his lap, moving the towel from his hands to the table. 

“If a bit of water turns you ugly all of a sudden, my taste in men must be horrendous. I’m not blowing up your phone just because. I was worried! And I’m in love with you, that hasn’t changed.” The rain is unstoppable outside, drumming, threatening to hammer in your windows. “I love you, too,” he muses, though overshadowed by the roaring thunder somewhere above Incheon. Perfect day to make a baby. 

“They said we can do it, you should be confident,” you pinch at his tiny nose. He turns as red as the slushy tomatoes from his bag. Clumsy sweetheart, so cute. It makes you horny. “You too,” Jimin cocks up his head, provocative. “Hey, I’ll show you.” The doc can suck your ass, you’ll make this count. 

Jimin’s robe comes off completely. It’s difficult to be gentle even if you know that Jimin longs for a tough grip. There’s something about so many dull weeks that makes you ravage him. Maybe it’s not right to overwhelm him and yourself just now. But the yearning is too strong. He’s so hot with the damp hair. Yes, you want him bad. 

His dick grows sturdier under the fleeting rub of your hand, and wet with warm spit added. Very wet. As does your underwear turning slick with his fuck-me thigh between your legs. It’s. So. Damn. Big. 

You nibble at his chest and shoulders with the prospect of leaving faint marks and gyrate against his leg on repeat like a bolting mustang going berserk. Jimin abides the shake until all friction has spurred and lubricated you enough. It’s not taking long until your panties are gone, and Jimin’s hand slips right in their former place to get you off. 

While he keeps jerking his fingers, you sink down on his shaft and brutalize him with more bites at the neck, not thinking about tomorrow. He’ll have to deal with it. You’re not meek with the thrusts today, either. Soon he jitters at your hips with his hands, trying to mimic the movement. You’re ecstatic. It riles him up. The eternal rain pounds against the window glass like you do against his lap. It’s pitch black outside. “Slap me!” he cries the more you cram him in, “I deserve it. Please!”

Your hand comes down ringing, the echo numbed by the rain. Jimin is left wincing. He begs you drooling to beat him more, harder, the other cheek. Your left is not as strong, so the slap is messy and unpredictable in its impact. But you don’t miss the spot. He’s getting stiffer inside you making the plunge times easier. A third strike and his hips buck up from underneath. Mustang number two has entered to mate, it seems. 

He keeps pleading for more, but after a fourth time, you refuse. Jimin doesn’t need to get his jaw dislocated in a frenzy. Not in this position anyways. He’s digging him a bit too much, that’s when he gets carried away. Instead, both of your hands find a solid grip just below his larynx. His neck is already swollen and pulsating. “I’ll punish you my way,” you put a slight bit of strain on your thumbs, “ready for that?” The following nod is eager, eliciting a greedy look in his eyes. So this is what he likes about confidence. 

Jimin, forever obsessed with your hands. You make sure to press the right spot, loving how his cock throbs while he’s thrashing out with his feet. Oh, it’s been over half a year since Jimin had you choke him out. Missed it bad. He does remember to keep his palms flat against the sofa. No matter what. That’s the silent command that you challenge him to fulfill. His arms don’t move even one bit even if you give his throat a harder, but short squeeze before releasing. 

Jimin sucks his first breath in with his tongue out, veins popped minuscule in the eyes. His palms still stay in place. That’s a reflex control worthy of being a father. Your perfect man. 

There’s not many more thrusts until he catches himself and starts squirming. “Won’t last longer,” he coughs, apologetic. For a first time after such a sexual drought, his stamina isn’t half bad though. Jimin’s actually amazing. You’ll let him know later. Urgent matters first. “Come on, roll over. It has to stay inside of me.” 

Jimin, out of breath, can hardly catch up so you have to position him yourself above you on your back. “I think I’m ready,” he quivers, thrusts abating between your legs spread apart. Indeed he is. You lower him balls deep with your hands on his supple ass, firmly in place. “It’s like my birthday. Lovin’ the gifts.” 

A brisk smack on the left cheek and he’s coming with a little whimper. Finally. It drops inside of you like a small stream of liquid silver, turning gold reaching the spot where you want it. “I’ll make you a baby daddy,” you lock his hips tight with your legs around him, “all mine, mine, mine.” 

There’s no mercy for him now, and no place to go. No hours outside to escape in the rain, sulking and lonely with his depressive thoughts. No friend’s home to spend the night avoidant instead of in the bedroom here, afraid to disappoint, or having to survive your wistful hours ad infinitum. That’s gone now. A bitter summer. There’s always hope for autumn. You’re stealing a kiss and every last thread of semen that he has for you. 

The pressure from your thighs hooks him in the spot with no inch of liberty. A bit more and he’d snap in half like a pair of chopsticks. The ceiling lamp flashes up, blinding and bright against the bedlam outline of his locks. Fucking electricity’s back. You can feel the last bits of sperm trickle down inside to breed you, but won’t let him go just yet. 

“I’m yours, mommy,” Jimin last exhales struggling. He falls down into your arms closing around him stalwart like a cage. It feels like the only pressure left on him. What you see on his face is no more heavy gloom and doom.  

The thunder continues haunting Seoul, but it doesn’t matter. This is your dream come true. You let him pull out when a tired strain replaces the strength in your legs, and he kneels. Everything that has spilled over he proceeds to sip and lap up obediently, it’s good for his skin. Unlike what’s pending flaccid between his thighs, Jimin’s tongue won’t get worn-out all too early, carrying you through a nascent high and bringing you down again. 

The curve of his lips swipes gently up and down your labia, picking up the chaos of his and your cum, dips it back in with his ruby tongue when you finished your orgasm. He’s lost the tension in his brow, his eyes are peaceful. A last charming nip at your clit and he retreats, replacing his mouth with the massage of two fingers. 

Before the overstimulation comes, you guide his wrists toward your breasts to go on there. You’ll drag him under the shower later, to draw out the relaxation deeply needed. Tomorrow you’ll try right again after going to the festival, to mingle with the dragon spectacle for good luck with your baby daddy. 

“That’s for sweet milk hm,” you fondle at his glowing cheeks, “we made it, Jiminie.” - “Sorry that it took so long since then. Are you happy?” - “I’m very happy. And our child will be so beautiful,” you brush a finger against his lashes. Albeit exhausted, he’s cheerful under the touch. “Then, I’m happy, too.” 

[friendliest-place-on-earth]

Sprace Domestic Series (pt. 2)

(Part 1) 

(AO3)

“Jack, I’m gonna need your help.” Spot said quickly into the speaker of his cell phone.

“What is it now, Spot?” Jack asked, slightly annoyed. He was far past the point where Spot’s phone calls scared him, but they usually involved dragging his butt home after one too many beers or to scare away some nasty guys.

“Well you see,” how was he supposed to ask for this kind of help? Sure, he’s called Jack a couple of times to get him out of various situations but never for anything that actually mattered.

“I’ve got a date.” he finally admitted.

“Oh a date now, well who is it?” Jack replied, instantly more interested in the conversation.

“He said his name was Racetrack-”

“Hold on, you’re going on a date with Race Higgins?” Jack gasped into the phone, and Spot heard someone in the background run over to Jack after hearing what he’d said.

“Who’s going on a date with Race?” asked the voice, who Spot recognized as Davey.

“Spot is.” Jack told him.

“Hm, yeah I can see it.” Davey finally responded.

“Shut up Mouth, it’s just one date.” Spot said exasperatedly.

“Spot, I’m putting you on speaker.” Jack announced.

“Okay so how do you guys know Race?” Spot asked.

“Well you see, he and Crutchie have been friends for years, they went to highschool together. I didn’t know he was in New York though, we’ll have to go and see him.” Jack answered.

“Not to be rude Spot, but why did you call Jack about a date?” Davey’s voice spilled out of the phone speaker.

“I don’t know it’s that I want it to go well, he’s really cute and I just have this feeling.” Spot wasn’t used to say what he was really thinking, but desperate times calls for desperate measures.

“Well all I can say is, when I met Davey, I was probably just as nervous as you are right now. I knew it was the start of something important, which scared the crap out of me, but I realized all I had to do was be myself and the rest would come naturally.” Jack explained, his voice suddenly serious. He also heard Davey shoving Jack lightly.

“You are so full of it, Kelly. I remember you handed me a flower you picked up in the wilderness with no explanation.” Davey joked.

“Oh and you’re Mr. Smooth aren’t ya? Well I distinctly remember someone walking back to our table with toilet paper stuck to his shoe…” Jack countered.

“Alright you two, we’ve got more important things to deal with here!” Spot interrupted.

“Sorry, sorry. Anyways, if you can find someone who’s willing to put up with you for extended periods of time, you’ve found something special.” Davey said.

“You’re lucky this is just a phone call, Mouth.” Jack and Davey’s laughs mixed together over the phone and Spot wondered what Race’s sounded like.

“Bottom line- be yourself, and don’t be afraid to show you care with little romantic gestures. Since it’s the first date, you don’t have to worry about getting anything, just be sure you look nice.” Jack offered.

“This is all starting to sound like some cheesy movie…” Spot shifted in his uncomfortably.

“What’s so bad about that, sometimes they’re nice to watch.” Jack replied defensively.

“Just put forth an effort, and be sure you get a quality amount of sleep the night before.” Davey jumped in.

“Speaking of, when is this date?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Spot!” Jack and Davey collectively shouted.

“It’s eight pm the night before, and you’re just calling now to ask for advice?” Spot could practically hear David rolling his eyes.

“In my defense, he asked me out two days ago.” Spot said, trying to defend himself.

“Yeah okay, just get some sleep and drink enough water. Be nice and offer to pay for the meal if you can.” Davey said.

“Alright, thank you guys. I’ll tell you how it goes, okay?” Spot sighed, eager to go lie down on his couch and watch some tv to calm down.

“Okay, good luck!” Jack cheered.

“Bye Spot!” Davey finished. The phone call ended and Spot plugged the device in to charge and crawled onto the couch.

Meanwhile, in Manhattan, a very nervous boy calls his friend also in desperate need of advice.

“Crutchie, please help me.” Race whined as the call went through.

“What do you want?” Crutchie asked, also whining.

“Well you see, I’ve got a date tomo-”

“A date?! Oh man that’s great! Hey Katherine, get over here!” Crutchie hollered.

“Okay you’re on speaker, Katherine’s here and so is Sarah apparently.” he announced as the two girls quickly joined in on the call.

“Why are you guys all together?” Race asked. It wasn’t strange for them to be hanging out, it’s just at this hour that confused him.

“Well you see, Crutchie’s at my apartment because he always comes over every Friday night so we can binge watch RuPaul’s Drag Race together. Sarah’s here because she lives with me now.” Katherine explained.

“That’s great Kath! Now, I really need your guys’ help with preparation for my date tomorrow.” Race fidgeted with the phone in his hand until he thought he was going to drop it, so he decided to them on speaker.

“Okay, okay. I think between the three of us, we’ve got enough wisdom to share. Who’s the guy?”

“His name is Spot Conlon and he’s very short and cute.” Race said quickly.

“That angry little guy? Oh my gosh Race you are in for one hell of an afternoon.” Crutchie laughed.

“Wait, which one is Spot?” Sarah asked quietly.

“Brooklyn accent, once knocked Jack out on a dare…” Katherine began listing things about Spot- Race was going to have to ask Jack about that dare.

“Oh yeah, I remember now! Anyways Race, just wear a nice shirt and your best pair of jeans. Make it look like you’re trying but not too much for it to be weird.” Sarah offered.

“Can you tell us how it happened?” Crutchie asked, eagerly.

“Well, he stopped by the bakery and I slipped him my number.” he heard someone mutter smooth- it was probably Katherine.

“Then after we had been texting for a little while, I asked him out to that little Italian place a few blocks away from my apartment and he said yes!” Race told them, feeling heat creep up his face.

“Cute! Speaking from the point of view of someone currently in a relationship, for the first date you’re going to want to put forth an effort but be sure you stay true to yourself.” Katherine said.

“From the point of view of a hopeless romantic, be sure to compliment him- be nice but not creepy.” Crutchie suggested.

“Yeah and- wait! We’ve gotta go Race, our show’s back on!” Sarah suddenly announced. Race sighed as they all said their goodbyes and he hung up the phone. He sat in a quiet fear, worrying over the events that would occur the next day. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Spot, he just wasn’t the best at long-term relationships; they always seemed to fizzle out over time and came to a mutual conclusion. After a few more minutes of wallowing in self-pity, Race dragged himself off the ground and into bed.

The next day, the Manhattan and Brooklyn boys arrived at a little Italian restaurant with some outdoor seating. To say Spot was nervous would be an understatement because that poor boy was barely able to keep his head from spinning. However, he managed to get dressed and haul his ass into a taxicab.

“Hey Spot!” Race waved as he walked up to the restaurant, he would’ve walked up to greet Spot, but he had already sat down in the outdoor seating and the fence was in the way.

“H-hey Race!” Spot sputtered. He walked into the establishment and then out to where Race was. Spot quickly sat down at the table for two that his date had claimed and he noticed some eyes on the two of them. No one said anything, but it sent uneasy chills up his spine.

“Do you not do this often? Or have you just come out?” Race smirked, trying to ease Spot’s discomfort.

“No, it’s just I’ll never get used to it.” he shrugged. Spot was used to being intimidating, but being intimidated was something he didn’t like at all.

“It’s okay, don’t look at them, just look at me.” Race whispered so the other patrons wouldn’t hear. They had mostly gone back to their meals, but a few of them still gave the couple the side-eye.

“So, how was your day?” Spot asked, easing into the conversation.

“It was pretty great actually! I saw a squirrel today and he was running abnormally fast for one and…” Race starting talking excitedly about some squirrel olympics, but Spot was paying more attention to the way his eyes lit up when he was excited. He must’ve been looking at him weird, because a soft blush soon appeared on Race’s face.

“Sorry I’m rambling, how was your day?” he asked Spot.

“It’s been okay, much better now.” he smirked, trying to be smooth.

“Oh such a charmer!” Race exclaimed, fanning his face sarcastically. They continued to talk until their waiter came, and they ordered their food. Spot got spaghetti with meatballs and Race got pasta with alfredo sauce.

“I know it’s at the top of those “What Not To Eat On a Date” lists, but I personally think that’s bullshit.” Spot laughed.

“Yeah totally, I’m going to eat whatever and my date can deal with it.” Race smiled endearingly in a way that made Spot’s heart skip a beat.

“Before this goes any farther, I think you should know that I am a terrible cook.” Spot said, only half joking.

“Well, that works out great because as it happens, I am a fantastic cook.” Race boasted.

“Ain’t I lucky?” Spot laughed as the food arrived. The two immediately dove into their plates of food and few minutes passed before another word was spoken.

“So Spot, how’s about you tell me about how you grew up? I am very interested in your origin story.” Race leaned forward, smirking.

“Alright well, I don’t really have a good relationship with my parents which lead to me moving in with my basically-brother, Jack. Speaking of Jack, I’ve been told you two met through Crutchie?” Spot asked, trying to move the conversation past his childhood.

“Oh yeah! Crutchie’s great, I didn’t know you guys knew each other.” Race laughed. So that’s what his laugh sounds like, Spot thought, falling a little bit more for the man sat across from him.

“So tell me, what’s it like to work at the bakery?” Spot asked, genuinely interested but also wanting Race to talk more.

“It’s pretty stressful, let me tell you. I’ve got to get up at the asscrack of dawn to make sure everything is ready before we open for the day, and then I have to be sure everything is stoked up and no one does something they’re not supposed to.” Race breathed with a little bit of laughter.

“Well if it’s so stressful, then why do you stay?” Spot wondered.

“I really do love it, even though it’s not all highs, it’s still one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. I mean, I get to run the place! I thought I would have to wait at least ten more years before getting an opportunity like this one.” he said with an expression of real joy on his face.

“Why don’t you tell me about why you became a lawyer? You don’t seem like the type to pour over giant law textbooks.” Race stuck his tongue out at Spot.

“Well, I hate bullies and what I’ve realized is the adult bullies are the ones with a big bank account and an endless ways to spend it.” Spot rolled his eyes, getting frustrated at the injustice of it all.

“I decided that I could either do nothing, or I could do something. So I did something, and that’s what led me to being right here, and I wouldn’t change any of it.” he smiled. Race nodded his head in silent amazement.

“Since we’re learning new things, am I gonna get to know ya real name?” Spot inquired.

“I guess I’ve kept you in suspense for long enough, my real name is Anthony. I’ve always liked Race better, but you can call me whatever you want as long as there’s a second date.” Race admitted with a mischievous grin. He wants a second date? Spot thought excitedly.

“Your turn, mystery boy.”

“Alright, my real name is Sean. I don’t really let anybody else use it because it’s something I like to keep under wraps.” he couldn’t believe he was being open to this other guy who he hadn’t known for very long.

“I like it! I won’t use it too much if it makes you uncomfortable though.” Race said in a way that let Spot know he was serious. They continued to talk until they were both done with their food, their stomachs and hearts full.

“As much as I would love to continue this wonderful date, I can’t trust my staff at the bakery for too long.” Race said sadly, breaking the comfortable rhythm of their conversation.

“Alright, wouldn’t want the building to burn to the ground.” Spot joked.

“You wouldn’t believe how many times that’s almost happened…” the taller boy shook his head with a note seriousness. It seemed like he was having some bad flashbacks by the way he stared off into the distance. They walked out of the cozy restaurant and stepped outside onto the sidewalk.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Spot said, disappointed the date had to end.

“Hm, I guess it is.” Race said, unable to step away from Spot. Spot moved them to the side of the building and without thinking, closed the distance between the two of them. Race made a noise of surprise, though he kind of knew where this was going and he wasn’t going to change it. He grabbed onto Spot’s biceps, kissing him back and felt the muscles located there. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before they realized they were technically still in public.

“I’m definitely going to want a second date if we can do this again.” Spot breathed, blushing at the look Race was giving him. Race went in for another short kiss until his date stopped him.

“The bakery, remember?” he whispered.

“Oh shit, you’re right!” he groaned.

“Better to be safe than sorry?” Spot smiled sadly. He got Race into a cab so he could get to where he needed to go and couldn’t stop wishing he had more time to kiss that beautiful boy.

“Jack, you’re never going to believe what just happened.”

(Part 3)

(Part 4)

(Part 5)

(Part 6)

(Part 7)

[askthealaskan]

OCT 16 2019

I woke up not knowing at first where I was. Boston. The answer came to me through a sleepy haze that only 4 hours of sleep brings. My plane was 2 hours late from my scheduled arrival at midnight and a ride to an affordable hotel an additional hour more. After a $50 cab ride I determined I needed a cheaper way back to the airport. So I asked the hotel, and checked with my phone, to find the best route. They both said catch the red train on the nearby MTA station. No problem I think to myself, Ill just catch a train. Twenty five minutes later a cab arrives. Is this guy the only cab in Boston I ask myself. It takes me awhile to realize I’m watching a species becoming extinct. Taxis are being “uberized.” I think to myself that I could be riding the last cab in Boston. We arrive safety to the station.

Ah the MTA. The station is humming and I feel like I’m back in a real city again. This must the MTA that Ive heard folk songs about the guy who never returned after getting on it.

I usually fly through these stations. I learned how in my backpacking years some 30 years ago before the internet was invented by Al Gore. Back then we had to carry guide books along to clue us into how each city’s system was set up. Still, we can have problems. My problem was since I was moving in, I was carrying all the luggage I was allowed by the airline to carry on the plane with me. I had two large bags each carrying just under the max weight level, and the two allowed hand carry bags. The killer was one of the hand carried items was small enough to qualify to fit as a hand carry, but it weighed as much as an anvil . I had devised a method of carry it all but it would take some organizing and a little time before initiating each stage of the trip.

There are two types of subway ticket gates in the world, one you grab the ticket back AFTER you pass through the gate and one when grab the ticket BEFORE you pass through the gate. Apparently in Boston its the later to the amusement of locals when out of towners try to pass through the gates with 4 bags at once without a ticket.

I refuse to be flustered I reorganize my luggage and instead adopt the New York attitude before I arrive at the platform. Im not sure what direction I need to go as a train pulls into the station. I quickly ask the guy next to me if the train is going toward South Station. I say it like Im going to “fire his ass” if he doesn’t give me an answer right now. It works and it is my train but not his. I scramble onboard with my bags in good order but take up two seats doing so. As the train gets closer to town the car fills up. Across from me the occupants watch me as I shift my bags around. They do it in the way big city people do - always avoiding direct eye contact but sneaking in glances when you seem to be not noticing. They are all women. One is black lady late 20’s and seems to be dressed for work someplace that requires uniforms. Next to her is a short older Vietnamese looking oriental woman sitting next to a young blonde white girl with a backpack. She soon reaches into her pack and grabs what looks like are lecture notes and is going over them with a high lighter ( do people still do that?) Standing next them is a young Japanese girl fashionably dressed with a handbag. She looks ready to do some serious damage to a credit card balance.

More and more get on the car and soon every seat is taken. As my train gets close to my station I begin to try to organize my burden in the only configuration that I have found that works. But that takes more time and space than a train stop allows. We arrive anyway and it is apparent I need help getting things off the train. The little Vietnamese lady speaks to me. Its obvious she doesn’t speak English but just as obvious she wants to help me. She offers to take one of the bags for me. I quickly evaluate my options and decide that I could probably catch her if she tried to take off with it. With her help Im able to get everything off the train. I start to thank her and retrieve my bag but she’s not done helping me. She takes off for the escalator looking back to see if I am following her. Nevermind that I had planned to use the elevator. I took off after her and up the escalator we went. When I reached the top she was just a little bit in front of me when I realized she was trying to take me to the airport train. She is thinking that’s where most people with luggage are going. I grab my bag and begin trying to communicate that to her while at the same time she is emphatically trying to explain in rapidly spoken Vietnamese that I needed to hurry. It becomes a bit of a scene and I hear a voice say “Can I help?” I turn around and a large nordic man with a beard looking like a New England Loster fisherman, however that’s supposed to look like, is standing there. It slows the Vietnamese Lady but doesn’t totally stop her. The fisherman explains to me where I need to go then hops on the train he was waiting for to come. The Vietnamese lady seems to have grasped my intended destination and takes me over to the elevator that I need to take me to the bus station. I thank her many times over and the door closes. Im free!

A friend recently told me I need to trust and let people help me. Today was reassurance that people are good and if you feel right about it, you should trust those instincts

Next its the three hour bus ride to Montpelier, the capital of Bernie Sanders land. I realize now that Boston is not the best place to fly into to get to where I’m going. Nothing really is. I booked the ticket, actually two because they limit bags to one per seat, before I left in case it sold out. No worries about that for this Wednesday departure . It appears this route is catered to students of Vermont University judging by the youthful faces hauling backpacks. A lady appears with a roster and checks for tickets. I fumble with pulling out my phone with the 12 digit ticket number. She grows impatient and waves me on board. It becomes apparent she has her own bus and is not the driver of this bus . The driver is beside her but he doesn’t speak. He has a scowling disposition that is clearly not suited for guest service. She’s obviously filling that role for him. I remember my days trying to recruit driver/guides to work the summers in Alaska. Very seldom did you find a candidate who could drive a 30 foot bus and have an engaging personality. My driver only mumbled stops. We took off for the three hour ride and it wasn’t until the bus arrived in Burlington that I should have gotten off a half an hour earlier at the park n ride. On the map It looked like the bus went right through MontPelier on the way to Burlington. Not so, it skirts the town. So I get off with the students and call my people at Country Camper. Its too late to pick up Morrison today so I tell them Ill catch the bus down in the morning. As I walk to a nearby hotel that wants to charge me a three figure price for a room, I pass by the transit station and see that there is a bus leaving for Montpelier in 20 minutes. I can get a cheaper room.So I haul my bags over to the bus stop trying not to look like the homeless person that I actually am. The bus driver pulls up and shakes his head at the load Ive got. He grudgingly allows me on the bus. He tells me that it wilI only be this one time. I assure him that it will never happen again. I pile my stuff in the front row of seats. The fare is $4 but I have no change. I show him a twenty Im about to put in the fare box. I tell him that since Im taking up four seats that I’ll pay for them. I try to explain that im a visitor and was not trying to disrupt his day. The next few stops he picks up regulars that catch his bus. We make the thirty minute drive over to Mountpelier and the bus empties most of its occupants at a park’n’ride. He ask me where Im getting off. I tell him Im not certain. He gets frustrated . I tell him im just trying to book a cheap hotel for the night and planned to get off where I could take a taxi to it. He says there is an Econolodge on his route and we head off. He takes right to the hotel and makes an unofficial stop in front of the hotel. He helps me to off load and wishes me well. The desk clerk who sees this comes down to help with the bags. I get to my room finaly and collapse.

People are basically good at heart and I am learning to accept their help.

In the morning Connor from Country Camper comes and picks me up. I have talked with many of the staff in the process of buying this rig. I know them by name, Conner, Dan, Thomas, Merwin, Krista. My arrival is highly anticipated, everyone wants to see the guy who came all the way from Alaska to buy the van. I try to explain that Alaska is far from anywhere else and if im going to fly it really makes no difference where Im going. The owner Lance pops out of his office to say hello and pretty soon I’ve drawn a crowd of curious employees and customers who want to see the Alaskan who came to Vermont to buy a camper van. When Im finally pulling out the staff has made their way outside to take pictures and wave goodbye. I have my Alaska License Plates on and looking good.

First stop is Walmart and Goodwill to get supplies. Lance has bought me a hotel room for the night. So I am staying I Downtown three blocks from the capitol. It reminds me of the Baranof hotel in the capital city I know so well. I don’t get back until 8pm and im starved. I try to google a close by place to eat. I head out but the place I chose cant be found. There is nothing else but this bistro. I enter and get seated. It becomes apparent that this place is out of my price range but im out of time. I order just the tomato soup. It was the best tomato soup I ever had.

The next day I drive out town with the goal of finding fall foliage. A storm hit the area and many leaves fell but the show was still good. I drive toward Green Mountain with the goal of generally heading toward Portland Maine. I follow my whims and that leads me to Darmouth before I turn to the north. I get tired so pull over on remote road and camp in my van for the first time. I have to admit I didn’t sleep well. The silence only accentuated the alien sounds that the coach makes. I ll get used to them.

In the morning I am up before the sun and outside early on the road. I see a spur road that the morning sun is lighting up nicely. I turn down it until I reach a good place to pull over and park. I take my camera and walk down the road and past some nice properties . I reach the end of the road when a car comes down the road with a yellow English lab sticking his head out of the window. The car stops and Im ready to explain myself and my intentions. No need to. Ive been approved by Blizzard Andy’s companion . Andy bounds from the car and offers to show me his property that I did not dare venture down without permission. He’s a carpenter and interested in my travel plans. I mention that I am looking for a builder for a piece of property that I own in Juneau. He is interested and we hit it off. Andy is in his mid thirties and unmarried. He hopes to build a house on his property one day. He was an extreme snowboarder on the circuit but one too many concussions ended his career. He gets around his home town of Romney New Hampshire and offered to take me around town. He takes me two a rock that has been split and craved by water. He waves at people he knows and they wave back. Its clear that he is well liked in the community. After touring and talking about everything from politics, travel, and even women we head for the ski resort in hopes of lunch and a possible ride up the lift for some potential great shots. Unfortunately the owners had closed the restaurant for a wedding. Back in town we went for lunch and Andy knows everyone. He introduces me and mentions my quest. They size me up like Im something the cat dragged in. Then Nick, the shop s owner, strides across the space between us to shake hands. Everyone else relaxes. Its clear that they are protective of Andy an want to be sure im not going to do him harm. But its clear by our banter that we share much already.

AFter lunch we visit Terry, a friend Andys my age who lives nearby. He is a graphic line artist and has a studio. When we arrive Terry is watching the last of a college football game featuring Terry’s alma mater Miami. We talk and Terry gets distracted from his game.It ends and we visit his studio. He teaches art at the local University and serves as the towns Bernie Sanders campaign chair. His wife pops her head into the room and Terry introduces me. She miles but then leaves without saying anything. Andy tells me she is battling Alhiemers disease. We don’t speak of it or of politics. We head out to his garage shop and Terry shoes me his work and how he makes his prints using plates. His work reminds me of a friend back home Evon Zerbets. After a while we leave but not after they share a bit of “Parkenson’s “ medication . Andy drops me off with Morrison . There is live folk music at the cafe that night but I regretfully decline the offer. In my younger days of trailing I would have been right there but “a man has to know his limitations” We say goodbye and exchange email . Hopefully Ii will see Andy again one day. In the morning I take afew shots down by the river that passes below Andy’s land then hit the road.

#AskTheAlaskan #morrison