#anyways this just helps remind me that i still don't present the way i actually want to most days

[queerghostboyo]

feelin very hashtag girlboy rn

[bokettochild]

I cannot BELIEVE no one told me we had an update!!!!!

Anyways, here's my favorite bits as always, because I need to SCREAM about this one!

The rupee acquisition!

I love how JoJo included that traditional *item acquired* pose that all the Links do, and gave it a reason in the comic (Wind insisting he hold it up is just so fun)

Sky's comment though, "don't spend it all in one place". Isn't that a line you get in Skord when you acquire rupees? The cute little easter eggs here are so fun!

I also really love how Legend is taking an instructional role here, both with Wars and the champion!

While also letting his veteran show

and I love that the rest recognize that! Wild calling Legend "an expert" and actually listening to what he has to say, even if he doesn't agree with it.

I also super like the panels of Twilight's interaction with Legend here

Very eldest and middle sibling discussing the youngest child, and I love it. It reminds us that, even for all the cuteness we got between them in the last arc, Twilight still sees Legend as too rough around the edges, enough that it borders on bullying when it comes to some of the rest, and he's trying to curb that. And Legend is LISTENING, because (as I've said a thousand times) Legend respects Twilight and values his opinion. Twilight is his big brother too now and Legend, while still being himself, genuinely seems to care about his opinion.

Twilight's just tense in general, although why, I think is mostly because of Time's sharp scolding in the last update. Even though he's snapping back at the younger ones, he's not very happy to be snapped at right now, and he's eager to get out from under Time's watchful eye.

Time and Warriors

Because while he feels e has grounds to correct Legend for telling Wild what to do, Warriors straight up subtly scolding his protege is different. And the difference is that Legend and Wild and Twi had camaraderie (see Dawn p.3), they're brothers, but Wars is approaching this as a commander, a captain, and Twi doesn't appreciate that. Warriors isn't their leader though, but he's taking that role anyways. (Old habits die hard, I'm sure)

I mean, we all knew Wars was going to confront Wild sooner or later, but I'm glad he was so calm about it. Twilight's ruffled feathers (fur) is more from Time being overbearing, I believe, so it aggravates any slight annoyance Warriors might present.

Even despite some of our suspicions earlier, I like this bit here. Wild was a soldier once, and the captain is very much the image of what he would have worked with before. JoJo mentioned wanting to play with that dynamic, with them bothering having military background, and I think this is that training (hundred years ago though it was) kicking in and making the champion defer to the man who outranks him (as far as they know). Granted, they all call Wars "Captain" but this felt pointed.

I do love Four acting as the word of wisdom here, advising Time, just like he does Twilight, as to the best way to handle a team. it's a reminder that he's done this before, and he knows how teamwork can be, but also that sometimes you need space and working together means working in different areas.

Anyways, here's a couple bonus things that make me happy!

Bunny stance!

(shh, I know he's making a point by stepping on Wild's toes, let me have this)

Wars being so freaking pretty! Dear Hylia help me! (Is it wrong I understand Cia a bit now?)

Wind being the youngest sibling who is Done With Your Chatter

A competent boy being competent (and not as experienced as Ledge, but pretty darn close (if you've played both their games you know))

Showing off items! (I can hear the little ✨da nana na✨)

And of course, I love Time being a tired, overprotective parent (he looks like my mom here, good grief!)

[updownlately]

if you’re gonna waste my time (let’s waste it right)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 3.3k | disclaimer: mentions of anxiety, self loathing, negative thoughts, and depression -this delves into some slightly heavy topics so please read at your own discretion! | a/n: got this ask a while back and an idea struck to me while driving! first fic in a while that i've written in one sitting so let's see how this goes! honestly started off really strong but then idk where we went. anyways, not proofread as usual, but happy reading! take care amigos! and just know that each of you are loved, cared for, and cherished by those around you, even if you don't know it! 🫶

~~~

Fight, flight, or freeze.

They say that every human has these three survival instincts built in.

Instincts meant to protect, to escape, but most importantly, to survive. 

Responses meant to make sure that one would make it out of harm’s way, preferably unscathed. 

Fight, the mechanism that evoked adrenaline. That helped you battle your way through the toughest of encounters. 

That did its best to make sure you were well equipped to tackle any scuffle, minor or major, to the best of your ability.

Flight, the mechanism that helped you run- escape before you couldn’t anymore. 

The one that ensured that you got out before you could be attacked- before you could be hurt.

And then of course, freeze. 

Rooted to your spot, immobile as harm directed itself towards you, one only praying that you could be so still that harm skipped right past you, practically avoiding you as you let it pass. 

Freeze, that left you with a pounding heart, blood rushing in your ears.

Freeze that meant you couldn’t move, body rigid, feet planted, mind stopped in time.

Freeze that kept you stuck. stuck in an endless loop of agony, of shaky breaths, of paralyzing fear.

Freeze, considered the weakest of the three. 

So as you stood there, eyes wide, muscles tense, body frozen, you cursed your mind and body with all that you could, wondering why of the three instincts, freeze was what you had done in order to try and survive.

~~~

There’s something terrifying about the voices that ring in your head.

How they so scarily sound similar to the people in your life, past and present.

Voices reminding you how you aren’t good enough. How you’ve let them down. How maybe if you weren’t there, the world would be okay. That it would move on without a hitch, without a second thought, because when it came to it, at the end of the day, maybe, just maybe, you didn’t really matter anyways.

Voices that sounded like your mother, reminding you of dark nights of you hidden in your room, the harsh words ringing in the four walls of your bedroom, what was supposed to be your safe haven, now tainted with feelings of regret, of disappointment, of outright disgust.

It’d be better if you didn’t exist.

Voices that sounded like your father, angry yells late into the night, enough smashed dishes that left your hands littered with scars that’d never cease to remind you, enough nights spent under your covers silently wiping tears as you prayed that you were quiet enough.

What a waste of air.

Voices that sounded like past coaches and management that knocked you back with each word spoken, each push forward sending you feet yards back, support that felt like hindrance more than anything.

You’d be lucky if you got to play past the little leagues. It’d be a miracle that’s for sure.

Voices that sounded like fans- people that were meant to support you- but you couldn’t force them to. Hundreds if not thousands of comments left, each asking for you to be traded. Hell, they’d take a sack of potatoes if nothing else. 

I can’t believe that we wasted our money on this. Can’t we just, I don’t know, get rid of her? She’s the reason we suck. Maybe if she was half a decent player we’d actually be somewhere in the league.

Comments that repeated your worth. Ingrained it into your mind. Over and over and over again. 

You weren’t good enough.

Sentences that etched themselves into the forefront of your thoughts, always ready to haunt you at the slightest notice. 

You weren’t good enough.

Not now, not ever. 

Not for your own mother or father, never mind your siblings. 

Not for your teammates, nor the fans.

It was a miracle you were even playing professionally in the first place.

God if they took one good look at you maybe they realized how poorly they fucked up by signing you. 

You weren’t a good footballer, barely even a decent one. How you managed to play for this long was a miracle.

They’d notice soon enough though. They had to. They always did.

They’d notice soon enough that you weren’t good enough.

And then?

Then you’d be left with nothing, as you always were.

~~~

You didn’t know when you were led inside to the locker rooms- when that absolutely terrifying moment of being in front of the opposing team’s stands had gone from you taking a corner to being absolutely pelted by random junk. 

From empty bottles (plastic thankfully), to empty food containers, balled-up programs, signs, merch, all being hurled your way, never mind the onslaught of assaults- the stands only repeating everything your mind ever told you, every, single, day. 

You didn’t hear when the ref blew their whistle, nor when the rest of the girls dressed in red crowded you, some chastising the fans along with the away team, others wrapping around you protectively, quickly leading you towards the benches. 

You weren’t there as you were subbed off, your mind still frozen, much like the rest of your body. 

All you knew right now was that you could smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend’s perfume as the heel of your palms pressed harshly into your eyes in an attempt to cease the uproar in your head. 

Breaths getting heavy, you tried your best to calm yourself down.

You weren’t a stranger to panic attacks, and even in your hazed state, you could very well recognize the oncoming situation.

Bringing your arms to wrap around your own stomach in a futile attempt to bring yourself some sort of comfort, you felt your breathing pick up as the sharp lights of the room seemed to get darker. 

Room spinning, the voices in your head louder, you could only bring your knees up to your head, body now practically in fetal position as you rode out the attack.

Even with the hundreds you’d had by now, you hadn’t been able to come up with an effective method to deal with them. 

So you sat there, huddled into a ball, body shaking, mind louder than ever as Leah stood above and watched helplessly.

The blonde had been there in the stands to watch you get abused, immediately making her way down to the pitch because ACL and league rules be damned, that was her girlfriend for fuck’s sake. 

She stood by the sidelines, ready to receive you as the obvious substitution occurred, an arm coming to wrap around you as she led your ghost of a body to the locker rooms.

She watched as you mindlessly sat in front of your locker, not a single word uttered from you, not a single response to the quiet comforting words the blonde had whispered to you gently in an attempt to rouse you from your clearly distressed state. 

She itched to reach out and touch you as she saw you slowly curl into a ball, you getting ever so smaller as she could only helplessly watch, you unknowingly  flinching the second she touched your shoulders in an attempt to comfort you.

It was only when your heavy breathing died down every so slightly, nearly fifteen minutes later if the blonde’s perception was right, that she tried again, slowly coming to sit beside you as she gauged your reaction. 

Seeing your shaking start to slow as well, she slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her own body tense as she watched you stiffen up before you relaxed slightly, letting her pull you into her side as her other hand came to hold your left one.

And long after you had buried yourself into her side, body defeated with the rollercoaster of emotions you’d just experienced, too tired to think of any of the consequences of your actions, you let Leah led you- helping your pull on a hoodie and your jacket and change out of your cleats as she gathered the rest of your gear.

Helpless except able to nod in agreement as the blonde suggested you leave early from the game, you followed her quietly, not a word said from you, as she led you out of the ground and to her car, where you fell asleep within seconds.

It was only when the car pulled up to her house, a place you’d been to many times, your relationship long past new to the both of you, did you rouse, mind still not present and following the blonde.

Leah was good. You trusted Leah. Leah was safe.

The words repeating in your head, you believing they were true like all the other words that crossed your mind, you let yourself sleepily be led up the stairs and up to the ensuite. 

Standing there awkwardly as you slowly came to the situation, the lights in the washroom waking you up, your shoulders sunk as the embarrassment from earlier set in. 

God you were an embarrassment. First a panic attack in front of the English skipper, and now this- you stood helplessly in her bathroom like you were broken, waiting to be fixed.

You watched in dread as the blonde flitted around the joint closet, quickly gathering a change of clothes for you before she stacked them neatly on the countertop, handing you a towel and starting the shower, not meeting your eyes.

What you didn’t know was that she didn’t want to scare you off, intimidate you as her heart ached at the shameful look in your eyes.

“Take a warm shower, yeah? We’ll get you some food after, and then how about a nap?”

Unable to do anything but nod in response, your fear of upsetting the blonde, of anyone really, making itself known, you followed her instructions, locking the door as she left and starting to remove your sweat covered kit. 

~~~

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when you emerge from the shower, your dirty clothes held precariously in your hands, your eyes wide as you see Leah sprawled across her bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. 

A small smile unknowingly escapes you as you watch her nearly throw her phone, very much caught off-guard at your appearance.

Smile tightening quickly as you realized it rested on your face, your eyes met the ground, ears sharp as you noted the footsteps headed towards you.

Before you knew it, the mess of dirty clothes was swiftly taken from your hands, your gaze snapping up as you watched Leah take your dirty kit and toss it into her own hamper before turning to you. 

“Alright. I’d rather you eat, but I’m not going to force you to, yeah? We can take a nap, maybe just reset, or if you wanna sit down and watch a movie or a show we can do that too…how’s that sound?”

Feeling your eyes water at the blonde’s gentle tone, feelings still overwhelming from earlier, your sights met the ground again as you meekly nodded. 

Blood rushing in your ears, you felt the vibrations as Leah stepped towards you again, her hands gently taking yours. 

“Nap?”

Taking her chances at guessing which you preferred, the tender tone in her voice had you easily nodding again, tears you’d been trying to hold back now escaping. 

And as the blonde led you to her bed, you winced as the voices in your head picked up once again, mind baffled at why someone was treating you with this much kindness, this much care.

Choosing to ignore them for now, you smiled shyly at the sight in front of you, Leah having rounded the bed to go on ‘her’ side, the skipper tucked into the sheets, arms wide open as she shot you a soft grin, eyes sparkling with glee as she waited for you to join her. 

Gingerly approaching the bed, you hesitantly pulled back the covers, eyes meeting Leah’s every few seconds to make sure you were okay, before entering, unsure of whether you were allowed to hug the blonde (even if a part of you so desperately wanted to do so). 

Your question was answered for you, however, Leah was unable to see you lying down in such a stiff manner, taking matters into her own hands and hooking an arms around your waist and pulling you into her.

And as you slowly got comfortable, moving millimetres every minute until you finally found yourself resting with your head on her chest, arm wrapped around her midsection as her hand came to wrap around your waist, one running through your hair, you let yourself sink into her hold, brain quietening every so slightly as the familiar presence and scent had you relaxing.

It was only when you were on the verge of sleep, minutes later, did you hear Leah’s voice whisper into the air between you two, her lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as an apology as she realized her mistake of rousing you from your sleepy state.

“There’s a lot that goes on up there,” with a small nod towards the top of your head, she continued, “but it doesn’t have to stay there y’know?”

Holding her breath as she felt you shift slightly, you turning your body to listen better, she spoke again.

“I’d be more than happy to stay here and listen to you when you need it. Really, any of us would. All of the girls love you and care for you, and despite whatever people might say, you add to the team, yeah?”

Feeling you nod hesitantly at the words, Leah waited as she sensed your jaw move, anticipation killing her as you sounded out the words silently before they left your mouth- and even then, you winced slightly.

“I don’t want to be a burden…don’t wanna waste your time…”

There was something in the way the words quietly rolled off your tongue, no doubt said many times before, the sincerity behind them proving you meant them wholeheartedly- that you believed you were an inconvenience, that broke Leah’s heart.

You weren’t a burden. You weren’t.

She wondered if you’d ever seen yourself the way other’s saw you. If that coloured glass that you saw yourself through was tainted any other colour than black. Whether it was ever yellow so you’d see just how much of a ray of sunshine you were on the stormiest of days, often cheering up your shared teammates with just a single smile as you’d skip into the change rooms.

Or if you ever looked at yourself through the rose coloured glass, the same hue that would coat your cheeks as you’d interact with fans post-game, giving each and every one your undivided attention, making them feel special, and loved, and cared for.

Or whether you ever saw yourself through green, breathing life to even the dullest moments, standing tall, unwavering, as players would try to take you down on the pitch over and over again, you getting back up each time, a force to be reckoned with, one that not even the rainiest of days nor Mother nature could defy.

You weren’t a burden, and the blonde needed you to believe it, because it was the truth and nothing but the wholehearted, honest-to-god truth.

It’s why her honest admission just tumbles out, the words spilling before the defender could stop them.

“If I could hold you all night and all day, I would, without a single doubt or any hesitation.”

Her grip tightening on you as the words are spoken clearly and strongly, her placing a gentle kiss to your temple before continuing.

“If you think you’re gonna waste my time by talking to me when you aren’t doing well, then just know, that listening to you as I try and comfort you and get the chance to hold you in my arms? It’s the best waste of time I’ll ever have in my life. It’s one I’ll cherish till the end of time, because it’s never, and I mean never, a waste.”

Taking a deep breath in, the blonde felt you nod at her words, your own grip tightening around the blonde as you pulled yourself closer into her, closing your eyes in an attempt to believe her the best you could.

Leah could sense your struggle though, not ignorant to the way a small, trembling breath escaped you, frustration clear.

“You don’t have to believe me now, or any time soon really, but just know, it’s the wholehearted truth- and I’ll spend as long as you need reminding you, because you’re good enough. You’re more than good enough, and worthy of love, and a good life, and good things. You deserve love, even though your brain tries to tell you otherwise, yeah?”

When you didn’t say anything, it clear to the blonde that you were silently taking in her words, contemplating them, doing your best to believe them, she let you be, revelling in the silence as took in the feel of you being in her arms, one of her favourite feelings in the world.

The blonde could almost feel you turning her words over in your head, examining them from top to bottom as you inspected them for any indication of a lie, surprised when there wasn’t one.

Content with the way you hadn’t spoken out yet in disagreement, Leah decided to take her chances and bite the bullet.

Proposing her next idea, the blonde held her breath in anticipation, heartbeat slowing dramatically as she hoped you’d agree to her words.

“I’ll always be here to hold you, but I think it might just help if we see a professional, yeah? You and me, both of us, we’ll go, and just give it a crack?”

Feeling your hesitancy this time, the blonde pulled you closer to her gently, turning onto her side as her eyes met yours. 

One hand now carefully resting on your cheek, she placed a loving kiss on your forehead, then your nose before continuing. 

“Three sessions is all I ask. If you don’t want to go after that, then I won’t ask again, ever. But, just give me three sessions, and I’ll be there for each one if you want, and if nothing changes, then you’re off the hook, deal?”

There was an audible sigh of relief that escaped Leah’s lips as you hesitantly nodded in agreement.

Deciding that that was good enough for the time being, Leah smiled softly to herself, more than happy with any baby steps of progress being made.

“Just want you to love yourself the way the rest of us love you. The way I love you…”

The words were punctuated with another gentle kiss on your head, this time her lips lingering as you both basked in the touch, the blonde well aware that physical touch was your love language. 

Nodding to yourself as your girlfriend’s arms wrapped around you at the end of her sentence, heart feeling just a tad bit lighter as her embrace sucked you in, you let out a sigh of relief at the quiet in your mind and warmth in your chest.

Snuggling further into Leah’s hold, you let out a shaky breath as the emotions of the day filtered out of you, you weren’t going to lie, you were terrified for the future- absolutely scared shitless for what it held. But, with Leah by your side, on your team, cheering you on, a spark of hope nestled quietly inside you, filling you with a refreshing breath, a new goal to work towards.

Not now, not soon, but slowly and surely, you’d work your way through this. You wanted to. for your sake and hers.

After all, with your girlfriend to remind you that you were human, someone that could live and not just survive, maybe you could finally teach yourself it too.

[brayneworms]

c'mon, baby, you're my best fix | sampo koski

kinktober day three: dry humping

word count: 2.4k

content: dry humping, gender-neutral reader, silvermane guard!reader, hatesex elements, sex as stress relief, semi-public (alleyway), reader has been drinking but isn't implied to be intoxicated, dom!reader + sub!sampo (but he's implied to be a switch), elements of sadism + masochism, degradation, coming untouched.

♪ love in a trashcan - the ravenettes.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

The biggest fucking lie anyone had told, ever, had come out of Sampo Koski's mouth that afternoon:

C'mooon. I can be good.

You know for a fact that this is a lie, because through no will of your own you have become quite well-acquainted with Sampo Koski, and if there's one thing you're sure of is that he has a physical aversion to doing what he's told.

He had been told, for example, the following many times: Leave me alone, Koski. You're a fucking creep, Koski. Stop conveniently walking by my workplace the very minute I finish my shift, Koski. No, you can't buy me a drink, Koski.

And yet he shows up anyway, like a bad penny, like a dog someone hadn't reprimanded harshly enough and had come sniffing around looking for scraps. Maybe you're too nice, but you sort of doubt it. You think it's more likely that Sampo likes when you talk down to him, which is a whole other can of worms that you're not remotely interested in opening.

"I get the feeling you're mad at me," comes that familiar simpering voice, sliding home into the booth opposite you. Sampo slumps forwards against the table with his face squished against his open palm, grinning that ever-present crescent-moon smile. Cut-jade eyes glimmer out at you through the half-light of the tavern. They always seem to be glittering, despite the absence of any real light. "It's this nagging feeling!" he continues gleefully, even when you glare at him. "This annoying but rather persistent voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that when you tell me to leave you alone, you actually mean it!" He gives a hearty laugh, toying with his flask of ale, and peers up at you through his stupidly thick lashes. "Still, I know it can't be true, considering what happened the other night."

Stupid alcohol. Stupid Sampo. Stupid, stupid you.

One day of weakness. Being a Silvermane Guard was never exactly easy work, but most days tended to be less harrowing than the one you'd had. Every lead you'd chased had slipped through your fingers, and your shift had ended abruptly when the brother of a victim you were seeking justice for had elbowed you to the ground in frustration and spat on you. Your superior wrestled him off you and told you to clock off early.

You supposed she was being kind, but it just made you feel more useless than ever. Boiling with anger and with nowhere to put it, you stormed to the nearest tavern with the intention of drowning your sorrows. Two cups of mead in, you'd gone outside to clear your head, and there he had been, lurking around like an alley cat, sharp eyes lingering on everyone who walked past. No doubt looking for his next easy target. You clear your throat pointedly, and he spins around. Surprise quickly melts into familiar delight.

"Captain, my Captain!" he trills, slinking over as he was wont to slink everywhere.

"Not a captain," you remind him for the fortieth time. "Why are you loitering around here, Koski?"

An affronted hand to his chest, as though clutching imaginary pearls. "Oh! Did they outlaw that, too? Going to cuff me and sling me in jail, hm?"

"Don't fuckin' tempt me," you grumble, tipping your head back against the wall of the tavern. "Can you hurry up and commit a crime in front of me, or something?"

Sampo grins. "Rough day?"

"You're not helping," you snip back, slightly unfairly. He isn't really doing anything more than hanging around being irritating. He slinks closer, slinks like he always does, like it's the only way he knows how to move. Oozing around like a toxic slime, draping himself against the wall just in front of you, arm braced against the brick behind your head.

"I could, though."

His forwardness is hardly a surprise. There isn't any danger of missing his meaning in the sleepy droop of his eyes, the lazy smile curling at his lips. Sampo is an incurable flirt to each and everyone—the thing is that most of the time it's part of the con. You know a few Silvermane Guards who have fallen into his charm and his bed that cut him a lot of slack where they really, really shouldn't.

Sampo Koski has friends everywhere, and that's what makes him so dangerous.

You know this. You have done for a while, especially because he'd been trying to worm his way into your bed for about as long as you'd known him. You resent the thought of him having any sort of power over you, though. There's no denying that he's attractive, and you've often wondered if he would be able to put his money where his mouth is, for lack of a better phrase. But handing over that amount of control to someone like Koski is just incurably stupid.

Because then you're trapped. Every time he'd catch your eye afterwards, they'd glimmer, and you'd know he was remembering your moment of weakness, inviting you to remember it too. Every time his eyes would rake down your body you'd know he'd be recalling when he'd seen it devoid of clothing, sweating, trembling. Every time he'd look at you, he'd know he'd already won.

Really, there's a very simple solution. Don't let him win.

"I bet," you breathe, meeting his eyes for once. You can see them widen slightly, his lips part in surprise before he makes a recovery from this most minuscule slip of his mask.

"Ohoho?" He lets out an irritating little laugh. "Gosh. Must have been a really rough day."

"I'd prefer it to get rougher."

Sampo's mouth splits into a wide grin, one almost fanatical in nature. "I should've pegged you as the type!" he gushes. "Why would anyone be nonsensical enough to join the Silvermane Guards unless they secretly enjoyed a little pain? Between you and me, Captain, I don't mind it either."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" you sigh. "Only a real masochist would so frequently try to get under my skin."

His lashes flutter. "I'm trying to get under much more than that, Captain."

You grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him down the alley beside the tavern. In the dusk light, the two of you slip into the shadows almost immediately, and you follow the narrow path down to the back of the tavern, where the noise of the street outside is quietened to a whisper. Sampo giggles behind you.

"What an exhibitionist you are," he says slyly. "I should've expected it from you, I guess. I guess—"

You plant two hands on his chest, shoving him back into the brick wall, and kiss him. His words flutter to a halt and he stifles a yelp of surprise against your mouth before his eyes squinch shut. His hands aren't shy, flying up to grip your waist, and you press yourself flush against him. He makes a whimpery noise into your mouth as your knee slots itself between his legs, pushing up. He runs hot, you can feel it even through his clothes, and it's a welcome immersion from the perpetual algidity of Belobog.

He grunts as he pulls away, and you take in the slightly glazed look in his eyes and the high colour in his cheeks with a tinge of gratification. "We don't have an awful lot of time," he says pseudo-apologetically. His hands fly to his belt, fingers working nimbly at the buckle. "I'm due somewhere in twenty—"

His voice stammers to a halt when your hand clamps down over his, stilling his fingers. Sampo blinks up at you, puzzled; the penny hasn't yet dropped, you suppose, even as you patiently pry his fingers away from his belt.

"What are you doing?" you ask bluntly. Sampo's lips part and he looks at you as though you're quite delusional.

"Ah... ahem?" He laughs nervously. "Is that a trick question?"

"No," you answer easily. "What are you doing?" Off his bewildered look—which you take the time to enjoy, considering how little you get to see anything but smug ostentation on his face—you shrug. "Oh, I see. That's what you thought this was? I take you into some... secluded little alley, and I get you off?"

Sampo's mouth drops open. "I—I would've—"

"Let's not delude ourselves," you interrupt, and push your knee up between his thighs again. He makes a high, shaky noise in the back of his throat, tipping his head back against the brick wall. "D'you really think you've earned that?"

"Hm?" Sampo swallows hard, the juts in his throat flexing. "I—"

"All you do is hang around bothering me," you hiss. "And you think... what, one well-timed innuendo is all it took for me to change my mind? If you want to get off, then get off." Your knee slides against him, the stiffening in his trousers, and he makes a rather pathetic noise.

"You're not serious," he gasps, cheeks flushed scarlet. His sleepy eyes are wider than you've ever seen them and trained frantically on you. "Come on, Captain, you can't mean that. W-what would you get out of it, even?" He tries for a smirk. "I promise, if you let the reliable Sampo get his hands on you, you won't regret—mmfph?"

Your fingers slip under the stupid windows flaring over his hips, gliding over the skin there. He runs so warm, and it's ridiculous considering Belobog's perpetual winter, as you curl your fingernails into the skin of the small of his back 'till it dimples and drag his hips painstakingly over the flat of your thigh.

This time, sweet as music, he doesn't talk. His mouth drops open and he lets out a shivering moan, gloved hands scrabbling on the brick wall behind him. "You really are serious," he says in disbelief even as his hips roll absently against your leg. A strained laugh escapes him as—finally—a painfully scarlet flush starts bleeding into his cheekbones. "I always knew you Silvermanes were crazy."

"Mm. Not all of them," you say quietly. "But I am. I'm pretty crazy."

Sampo shudders, one that worms its way slowly through his whole body, and then he drops his head against your shoulder. He smells nice, like smoke and mint, his hair soft as it brushes your skin. His hips move languidly against you, stuttering occasionally, unsure—until you flex the muscle of your thigh against him. A whimper breaks free, high and whiny like shattered glass.

"You're so cruel," he groans even as his body drags against your leg. You underestimated how overwhelming it would be; his breath in the hollow of your neck makes the skin there hot and clammy, and when he moans it goes right in your ear. You're certain he's exaggerating to get your resolve to weaken. Nobody actually sounds like that.

And you can feel him, hard and hot as a brand, pushing up against your leg. You shudder almost imperceptibly, because yes, yeah, you're wondering how he would feel inside you, but you can't—not tonight, you promise yourself as your teeth grit. Tonight isn't about that.

It's about winning.

"Please," Sampo grits out, turning his head so you can see slices of his moonstone eyes through the sweaty locks of hair. "I—nngh, oh—I want inside of you."

"Take it or leave it, Koski," you say, a bit too breathlessly for your liking. He shivers with a sulky noise, and the whole time, even as he talks his hips are rolling against your leg. He picks up speed as sweat starts rolling down his skin, as his hands scrabble over the brick and then fly out to grab your waist and haul you closer. His strength is ridiculous—but so is yours. You let yourself be pulled, feeling his mouth and teeth against your ear, the breathy noises spilled across your jaw.

"Oh—please, I'm close." His eyes blink up at you, wet and deceptively innocent. The look on his face is almost heartwrending. "I need you, anything—your hand, mouth, anything, I don't care, please—"

"You're going to cum in your pants against my leg like the dog you are," you spit, your hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. He yelps, the flush on his cheeks darkening, eyes fluttering shut. "And you're gonna be grateful you even got that much."

Sampo moans, broken and high; his hips stutter against your leg as his hands curl into your waist so hard you're sure they'll leave bruises. But under the pleasure is a certain frustration, a sobbing sound as he cums and it sets your blood alight. You shiver with the delight of it.

The seconds that follow feel like victory.

Sampo peels away from you, stumbling back against the brick wall behind him. He's scarlet all the way down to his chest, his mouth agape and eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears as he uncomfortably adjusts his pants. They're dark and it's night, so he can probably get away with them until he gets the chance to go home and change, but the thought of him walking around in soiled underwear thrills you.

You probably are actually crazy. Sampo's annoying, but he's quite perceptive.

He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Well. Erm. That was..." He swallows. "The great Sampo really got himself in a rather sticky situation this time, didn't I?"

"Poor choice of words," you supply, and he winces, flushing harder.

He clears his throat. "Like I said, I, erm, have somewhere to be. Nice catching up, though." He puts two fingers to his temple and flicks them into the air in a mock salute. You watch as he spins lazily on his heel, rolling his shoulders as he starts his walk back down the alleyway.

"By the way," he added, pausing a few feet away. "I certainly hope that wasn't your way of trying to dissuade me." Your eyebrows raise, and he grins; his canines are sharp, and you can see them flash when his lips peel back. "Well, be serious: once you feed a starving dog, it doesn't leave you alone, does it? It comes back for more. Maybe it even follows you home."

He leaves you with that, one last lingering look and an implication that has you burning more than anything that transpired in the last ten minutes.

You get the altogether not unpleasant feeling that this will be far from the last you see of Sampo Koski.

[turtleybeachin]

Okay I have finally thought of an ask! Not sure if you remember me or not but that's okay. It kinda has to do with the summoning through pacts. I was wondering if you could write something along the lines of an MC who is usually calm, but a MC having a panic attack or is just scared and accidentally summons a brother? I'd like to request all of the brothers or even the dateables but I don't want to ask that much. Do whoever you want with this ask if you do it at all! ❤️❤️

Hi I totally remember you and never forgot this but got way too in my own head about it. I think I crawled back out now. Thanks for being patient with me. ♥ So first of all, I love the concept of accidentally summoning someone to you. Sure, the actual summoning spell is great, but the idea of panic-summoning and maybe not even fully intentionally? Amazing. I started writing how they'd comfort you but got too in my head trying to do everyone (and not feel like i was rehashing Burnout), so I have a few that are spawning future updates to Burnout (for the new side characters), and then some one-offs I'll share as I finish them as well. But! Here are some thoughts I had on alternative summonings when upset.

Characters: Everyone! :) and a GN!MC (reader) Rating: G Word Count: ~2.3k Tagging: references to MC struggling mentally/emotionally, some fluffy affection, mostly a think piece on unintended summoning. Spoiler warnings for OG game, most notably for end of season 2, a bit of season 3, and vaguely part of season 4. Nothing too big, but there nonetheless.

Lucifer's Ring of Light is a perfect fidget piece. Spinning it around your finger, rubbing your thumb along the band, pressing on the edges of the stones to let the dull pinch ground you. It's always there on your finger, always present, always twinkling in the corner of your eye as a reminder you aren't alone. It is not his any longer, but that doesn't mean he isn't still aware of it, that a little piece of him isn't still present in a little piece of its inherent magic. And when you're spinning it and digging it into your palm and distressed, he feels an echo of that pain. It pulls him to you. Perhaps, in your own way, you're admitting you need his presence, his strength, his help, and he is not about to start abandoning his loved ones now.

With Mammon's keychain of that chocolate lizard, your thumb knew all the grooves, the smooth spots and the rough ones, the little spot where paint was chipped away that you knew you shouldn't pick at but it just happened anyway, your nail catching on the rough edge. You fidget with it when anxious because you know Mammon used to fidget with it just the same, and isn't that comforting, to know that even a powerful ancient fallen angel would run his thumb along the very same ridges you do? It's almost like you can still feel the warmth of his touch there. And you can't really think your First Man ain't gonna know you as well as he knows himself, can you? That he doesn't know when you need him, when you're tuggin' on the pact like that?

Leviathan's script he gave you? You've memorized it by now. In times when everything is spiraling, you remember your favorite lines, the ones that remind you to stay strong. You recite them to yourself between shaking breaths. Because when you can't be strong and cool and calm yourself, sometimes it helps to put yourselves in the shoes of Henry, the shoes of the Romantic Lead, the shoes of the characters written to always have a happy ending. It is, you realize, the same way Levi puts himself in the shoes of the Lord of Shadows, wrapping the cool-clever-badass-strong cloak around him as an armor. There's no Lord of Shadows without his Henry, and there's no you without him. And just like how in book six, the Lord of Shadows gets accidentally bound to Henry with a spell and is able to feel when Henry's in need and the Lord of Shadows leaves his lair without knowing where he's really going just knowing that he's needed and he ends up following this magical instinctive pull to find Henry and get to him just in time to save him from his enemies who were-- ...well, let's just say that Levi won't leave you to fight your mind alone for long.

Satan wasn't wrong that cats are perfect for calming the emotional storm inside you. They're good little listeners, and their company is a great distraction from the voices in your head. Watching the little fuzzballs roll around, or nap in a sunbeam, or prowl through the grass, it distracts you from all the frustration and anxiety and worries. Whether it's watching neighborhood cats, or visiting a cafe, or popping into a shelter, you've taken to Satan's favorite hack for handling your wayward emotions. On the really bad days, it's nice to know you can vent and cry to them and they won't judge you or tell anyone your secrets. But did you forget, MC, the stories about cats that traverse the realms? They won't ever tell anyone, but they might wander from you to their favorite place in the Devildom and they might headbutt a certain blond demon's shin and chirp for him to follow them. They are, after all, very good listeners. And so is he.

With Asmodeus, you look at the photos of him on your phone, at your selfies together and how big you smiled beside him. You blink away burning tears to focus on how he looks not at the camera but at you, his body angled not to show his best side (which is every side of course) but to press always closer to you, and how no matter where you two were or what was happening your smiles were always so bright and genuine with him. When everything feels like too much and not worth it and you feel trapped and cornered by situations beyond your control, you find yourself clutching your phone and swiping through hundreds of pictures of laughter and kisses and hugs and twirls and snuggles and you whisper a promise that one day, soon, we'll be together again. Sooner than you expect, of course, because did you really think that he wouldn't feel your burning need for him across realms, hon?

Beelzebub just has to be comfort food, our precious glutton. When life without your demons is getting you down, it's the salty snacks, the sweet treats, the tubs of ice cream with the chunks of something extra to dig for like buried treasure. And whenever you indulge, you can't help but think of your gentle giant and what he'd have to say about everything. He'd be happy you're eating, of course, and then what would he think of your human world snacks? Which makes you think of your favorite Devildom snacks, and that just hits you with a fresh wave of homesickness. But somewhere out there, a realm away, one particular Avatar just gets this feeling, you know? Like the way he knows when Belphie is craving quetzalcoatl brains, or is napping in the garden. Just that instinct. And his instinct is telling him you need your favorite cupcakes. Surely Lucifer will understand how vital it is he takes these three dozen cupcakes to the human world right now. And if he doesn't, well, that argument with his brother can wait until after your craving is satisfied.

Belphegor of course is our star-gazing boy, and while you like the idea of looking into the sky to seek out any possible shared stars to look at with him, you can't always see the stars at night everywhere, and the human realm has day and night cycles that hide them for at least half the day anyhow. For Belphie, you have a pillow from him (that he either gifted or didn't complain about your stealing) that you keep with you -- not for sleeping, but for comfort. A pillow to smother your tears on the rough nights, a pillow to pummel on your frustrated days. A pillow you curl around and snuggle for a memory of contact now distant. And when you drift off in those fitful sleeps of exhaustion, you wander in your dreams to another dream unknowingly. He's with you when you rest, and the moment he can get away from Lucifer's watchful gaze, he'll be there to tug the pillow out of your arms to crawl into your embrace himself.

With Diavolo, well, he knows things. Usually it's because of Barbatos, or Lucifer, or his familiars, but you? MC, you're so much more precious than the 'usual'. If asked by anyone who doesn't know him well enough to call him out, he'd say the charm he placed on you was simply for matters of Devildom security-- after all, you know possibly too much, and that could make you a target to the wrong people! (Barbatos politely does not point out that it's because he misses you so much and wants to see what you're doing.) It's not that he wants to intrude on your life or anything, it's important you have the chance to be as wonderfully human as you are, but he just worries. Are you alright? Are you comfortable? You'd mentioned once the extravagance of the brothers' lifestyle, do you have enough income? The charm is just a minor thing, a little thing, just to make sure you're well. And when you aren't? Well, paperwork and meetings will wait.

With Barbatos, he's just such a badass god-like time lord, we don't even need a pact to be connected to him. You had brought up the idea of a pact once, and he had just given you that dangerous smirk and demurred that it wasn't so much a pact you desired, surely, as his company and his attention, both of which were already yours. It seemed like such a smooth line at the time, but you didn't realize the extent of it. How you're a bright twinkling point on every timeline for him, how you are the center of every universe he knows, how he orients himself in any reality by looking to you. So when something is wrong, when you're falling apart or in danger, it's like the spiderweb crackling of a timeline splitting. Like an itch at the back of his throat, an ache behind his eyes. The choices are to let you suffer alone, or to teleport himself to your side and help you through. Do you even have to wonder which option he chooses?

Simeon may have a complicated relationship with his blessing and his celestial light, with his place and his purpose, but one thing has never felt complicated:  you. Every baked good he ever made for you was made with pure love, and every gift he bestowed -- from a little sheep plush sewn by hand to earrings made from his own feathers -- had all of his hopes and wishes and prayers for you inside them. Maybe that's why squeezing the soft little plush fills you with such warmth and comfort, and why the brush of the feather against your neck feels like a kiss. When you're struggling and upset, the gifts from Simeon make you feel grounded just a little more. And perhaps it's a prayer answered for him, too, that he just has a feeling when it's time to go visit you.

Solomon has been watching out for you longer than you know. It started in the little ways, simple defensive spells and barriers to protect you, reminding demons who looked a little too closely at you who precisely he was and what he could do. It graduated to teaching you to defend yourself, and gifting you various magical trinkets and charms to help focus and direct your growing magics. You still don't really know all the ways that he keeps an eye on you. But he does. Nothing is more important than you. When one of his spells alerts him that you're upset or in distress, well. He just so happened to be in the neighborhood, MC, and what a lucky coincidence that is!

Luke is such a literal perfect little angel baby. One who gave you his blessing, to protect you even when he can't. Everyone teases him for being so young, but he knows that you are the one human he wants to guide and shelter and protect. And sure, when he gave his blessing, it was under the assumption you might need protection from demons or fae, from magic and shadow. But that doesn't mean his blessing doesn't also guide and protect you in times of need that aren't external, MC. When you're at your lowest and feeling completely alone, he feels the pull, feels your pain, and what sort of guardian angel would he be if he left you alone?

Mephistopheles you don't have a pact with (yet?), but imagine your magic ripping open a portal to him without your conscious intent when you're feeling small and lonely and just so badly miss him and want him with you. Maybe you think of him because of the kindness he has shown himself capable of; maybe you think of him because you know he's the least likely person to tell the brothers or anyone else about you having a meltdown. And he's startled and confused when this portal opens before him, the magic somewhat familiar but certainly not demonic, and he warily steps through half-expecting some idiotic prank of one of the brothers only to find you curled up and small and fragile and all of his complaints and questions can wait. After all, clearly you can't even manage your own magic right now, so someone has to keep you from causing trouble.

With Thirteen, it's the little conversation crystal that she gifted you during The Three Worlds' Fair. Perhaps you turned it into a pendant, or perhaps it's just always in your bag or pocket, kept close as a charm for good luck and reminder of the fact you aren't alone. You don't think it would actually work across realms but still hold it tightly and whisper your frustrations or fears or doubts into it just to get things off your chest. But between your magic and hers, it does still connect, and she does hear your outbursts. And at first she just lets it happen, quietly charmed and amused you would use her gift as a secret diary. But when you're really struggling? Well. Reapers are meant to move between realms, you know. There's nowhere she won't go for you.

And Raphael is not an angel to be summoned on the whim of some human. But he is incredibly observant (even if he sometimes doesn't 'read a room' well). He is the one who reads between your lines more than you expected, more than you intended, more perhaps than you want. He sees the tension you hold, the dark circles under your eyes, the way your smiles are just a little slow and empty; he hears the silences where he expects to hear laughter or humming or conversation. And he nearly ignores it, because it's not his business, and you have plenty of other devoted fans already flocking to you, but then he realizes that in those moments you don't. In your pain, you are alone, and that is the most jarring observation of them all. So perhaps it is up to him to correct this cosmic error, and be the one to support the human who supports everyone else.

I hope you still enjoy, even if it's not exactly what you had in mind! ♥ and when i get around to the other little things this spawned, i'll tag you if you'd like.

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[34saveme34]

IT'S FINALLY HERE !!!!

I recommend reading Sever the Ties before reading this one! As it does have references to it so reading this fic without context might make this fic more non sensical.

warnings: Gore although not explored to an uncomfortable amount, trauma upon trauma, Axol gets brought up in an awful way, I know that Mercy is from Overwatch

It turned out a bit gayer than I thought it would. If you end up having any questions after reading this, don't be afraid to ask :3 I'll try my best to answer you

obligatory @birrdify tag so you can find this beast easy !!

word count:16451

It had been a while since 3 and 4 had their rather emotional adventure. Since then, things have been better. 3 finally let 4 help him more seriously with the café while 4 let 3 help him with his videos. 3 still didn't want to just take help without anything so this was the compromise they reached. The others were peaceful too, 1 and 2 calmly doing their meme research, Meggy, Melony and Tari training together, mainly Tari since Clench appeared. Although he wasn't very fond of that. They had to give him duck pictures every few minutes to comply. He's like a toddler. Saiko was there too, although more passively, just making sure everything was okay. Everything that had been happening lately just had her really worried. Although she didn't show that, she didn't want to worry her friends. And usually when she would show concern, people many times thought she was overreacting.

Luigi was tending to his flower shop like usual, just… Very Peaceful.

Everything was just. A bit too peaceful, very little chaos present, almost worryingly.

4 started thinking about it. It was weird. He searched for Mario and, interestingly, found him in one of the unfinished rooms, watching TV. 

He only managed to find him because a set of extension cords plugged into each other were leading to a room there.

“Mario?” 4 peaked in the room to see only the TV’s light and Mario, anything else that could’ve been there was obscured by the darkness.

“... Yeah?” Mario replied a bit slowly.

“What… What are you doing up here?”

“Watching Tee Vee” Mario said cheerfully. TV made Mario very happy.

“Why here?”

“Nothing distracts me here” 

“Huh, um… alright. I was just worried because you haven't been bothering anyone for a while”

“Awww, SMG4, you miss it?”

“Um-”

“Oh my god, you miss when I mess with you guys! That's so funny” 

“Mario… I guess. I guess I did miss it”

Mario chuckled.

“Sometimes even Mario has to rest you know”

“Yeah, I get that… what are you watching anyways?”

4 asked as he walked beside Mario to see what he was so occupied with. It turned out to be what 4 would guess is a spaghetti themed soap opera, considering the vibes of the scene he saw with pasta in shape of a man and also some in shape of a woman arguing then making out and then arguing again-

“It's very entertaining”

“I… sure see that…”

4 wasn't exactly that big of a fan of such dramatic television. 4 went to leave the room but stopped for a bit.

“Make sure to do something other than watch TV though. Dark rooms…. have their effects…” 

“Okay, mom” Mario dismissed 4.

4 rolled his eyes then finally actually left. Besides, he had a lot of videos to work on with 3. It was kind of interesting working with him like this. Especially that things are really looking up now.

Although Mario wasn’t exactly respectful towards 4, he still took his word. But not to touch grass. He found a show that reminded him of Two Piece.

“Ooooh, Melony would love this!” Mario picked up the TV and ran with it in the direction of Melony. Actually, he wasn’t even running, he was flying like a torpedo. Must be all his pent up energy bursting out of him or something.

He found Melony sleeping. He repeatedly tapped her until she woke up.

“Hmm..? Mario?” she looked at him tired “Do you need something?”

“Mario found a show you might like!!” he slammed down the TV with excitement. The giddiness was kind of rubbing off on Melony. 

“I’ll take a look at it then” she smiled, clapping her hands together. 

Mario took off incredibly fast, which surprised Melony a bit. She thought cardio wasn’t his thing but guess that isn’t always the case after all.

The show was really fun for Melony, truly exploring the depths of fruit romance, in ways that resonated with her so deeply. She wished she could just… absorb it into her. She never saw romance between fruits shown so intimately. With the way they’d hold each other, holding onto each other until the end. Though she was especially sad about a pairing where one of them lost their life to an evil chef. Oh, she awfully hated that chef. She actually kind of resonated with the character that got left lonely. She wished… she could just grab her, pull her out of the screen… Tell her, it won’t be easy but… it’ll pass one day. Everything will be okay. And she also loved the way fruits rotting were depicted. She usually wasn’t quite comfortable with the topic but there was just… something so well done about it here. Slowly seeing your loved one succumb to a different, much more deteriorated life.

The deep excitement she felt about the show slowly put her to sleep. It was odd for her to sleep like that but hey! Sleep is always good.

She found herself in a black void. Though she could feel ground underneath. She breathed in. Breathed out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.

She tried to make out anything in her surroundings. As she walked around, her steps echoed, although it didn’t sound right. The way how even just the sound of her breath would bounce off the walls, then the sound ringing in her ears. She wasn’t exactly the cowardly type but this was starting to freak her out.

Regardless, she marched on, trying to find a way out of whatever she was in. She found a doorway that was blocked by debris. She sighed then thought for a bit… She had her deity powers. She tried to pick up the debris bit by bit but for some reason, even the smallest bits felt infinitely heavy. Even just a dust particle made her sink into the floor, no matter how much she tried. She sat down on the ground. It had been a while since she felt so powerless.  She didn’t think she would find herself digging out such feelings she held. She thought she got rid of them at this point. Though there will always be inevitable things she won’t be able to escape.

She just sat there. Her breath. Echoing. Yet it was so deeply quiet. Way too quiet. Ringing in her ear, the depths of this nothingness she was trapped in. It had been a while since something was threatening to drive her mad this badly. She finally got up, walking in a different direction. Maybe she’ll find the way out that way. Or at least a purpose so she could stop feeling so worthless again. She knew her friends cared but she still couldn’t quite shake off everything she was feeling. Especially after missing out on so much. She was wondering if she felt that way because she had been avoiding new adventures so much. Sleeping away another day or 2, in hopes that tomorrow would be a new day she could finally do something more. 

As she walked, she found a doorway with a beaten up door barely in its place. As she looked at it closer, she noticed blood splatter on it. Some of it looked old… some of it new. She was starting to feel rather anxious. Although she should be strong, the sight of blood always did something to her head. As if reminding her of times she would rather forget about.

She barely thought much more as she opened the door. Hell, to her it almost felt like she was being controlled. As she looked around, a horrific sight filled her view. It was Axol. He tried to speak but…that wouldn’t have been possible, looking at his state. She couldn’t speak either. She couldn’t call out. She didn't want this. She JUST had this image slowly fading from her mind. The time when she had to kill him for the good of everyone. He wanted her to kill him at that point. They both knew there was nothing else they could do. Yet, she would still be often haunted by this scene. A scene only she had to witness. Only she had the burden of having to see the light leave his eyes, to see him go limp, lifeless. And now, it was so clearly in front of her, so deeply visceral. Just as visceral as it was in the moment. She cried, she couldn’t help it. She slowly managed to make herself look away. It was hard to do from everything that was boiling within her then. 

Wait… She couldn’t really be back there. This must just be a nightmare! A really bad one but still, it wasn’t real. She began to walk away from Axol, slowly breathing in and out. After that awful scene, the awful music of the void like rooms were almost welcoming, even if it felt like they wanted to swallow her whole. As she walked, another familiar sound filled her ears. Sounds of drawing with a pencil on paper. As she walked closer to the source, she saw herself, drawing for the manga, Two Piece, which Axol wasn’t able to finish. There were so many crumpled papers scattered around her, her expression tired, focused but emitting a sort of hopelessness. She remembered this… Starting off really wasn’t easy. So many times she just… She just wanted to give up. But with her friends around it was better. She stared at herself for a bit. She wanted to say something.

She placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey… You’ll be fine”

Her tired self stopped, then slowly looked at her. No words escaping her mouth. Yet those eyes showed so much. All the ways she suffered with everything. The amount of work she put into it. 

“I” she started again “...We… We might not make it perfect. But that’s okay. Axol wouldn’t expect that anyways, you know? We… still carried his legacy. That’s what only matters in the end” 

Her tired self teared up and pushed her away, going back to hopelessly scribbling.

“Do you even hear me?? We’ll be fine! I promise! A mediocre manga isn’t the end of the world!”

Her tired self slowly raised her hands, bruised from holding the pencil so tightly and for so long. She stared at her. Her eyes were screaming thousands of words. She knew all of it. All the pain. All the doubt. The tears, the needless bruises she bore through it all. She knew it wasn’t for nothing. But it would be too much for anybody on their own. Maybe even with help. 

With being so invested in her feelings, she only noticed an unfamiliar hand on her forehead when she heard a crack.

She woke up, sweating. She looked around. Just where she was before, with the TV still playing the fruit show. She slowly calmed down. It was finally over. Although the images that the dream left in her brain… She couldn’t bear them alone so… best thing to do is to go outside and tell someone about it. That would usually help her. She got up, fixing her hoodie.

She looked out of the room, seeing Meggy and Tari both resting and Saiko beside the 2, calmly strumming on her guitar. They must’ve been training even after she left. She admired how resilient they both were. Even Tari. After everything she had also been through with everyone, she changed a bit too. To her it felt like inspiration. 

“Hi, girls!” she cheered at the 3. 

All 3 looked her way saying hi back but stopping, all of them looking at her horrified. She felt a bit confused.

“Why are you looking at me so weird? Is… my hair looking weird or-”

“Your… face” Saiko was the only one speaking up.

“My face?” Melony slowly felt her face, from her chin to her forehead, her fingers brushing over her usual features until she felt something weird by her forehead. As she trailed along lines she could feel were like valleys on her face. She rushed to the bathroom, the other 3 running after her, with Saiko at the front of it. 

Melony looked in the mirror, her face was cracked like a mask. Wait… The nightmare… the crack before she woke up. It was starting to make sense. Too bad she wasn’t too happy about that. 

The other 3 finally caught up to her, finally being able to be by her side.

“Melony…” Tari looked like she could cry for Melony. Melony could cry too. She couldn’t take it, so she hugged Tari. Meggy patted her on the back and she got pulled in the hug too. Saiko stood there before Melony locked eyes with her and oops, she was in the hug now too. 

“I- I.. I can use all the comfort right now” she spoke quietly. Saiko understood.

They stood there like that for a while. 

“So…” Saiko started “What… happened?”

“Uh… I… I had a nightmare”

“About?”

“Well… Axol”

All 3 looked at her concerned.

“It’s been a while since he showed up like that in your dreams”

“I know! I don’t know… I don’t know why… Oh and… I heard a crack in my nightmare… so…”

Saiko already looked angry.

“I’ll look around in your room” she left.

The 3 looked after her sadly.

“I didn’t know it was still that bad…” Meggy commented again, feeling kind of guilty, as if it was her fault that Melony had such an awful nightmare.

“I thought it wasn’t either” Melony sounded sad.

Tari leaned on her more, trying to comfort her better.

“I know you were getting better! There must be an explanation for this… I think… This is unusual for you?”

Meggy and Melony shared a look, as they both realised Tari is right.

“We must get to the bottom of this” Meggy piped up, as she left the bathroom, going after Saiko. Tari followed, though stopped in the doorway.

“Are you coming too?”

Melony calmed herself a little, lightly clenching her fists, preparing herself to face whatever may come her way. Then she gave a small nod and followed after Tari. 

They all got to where Melony slept before, the TV still in there, undisturbed for the most part. As there was nothing wrong with it, except for the fact that it was turned off. As Melony was looking at it, it was as if the screen itself was crawling deep into her soul. She wasn’t sure if she felt uncomfortable by it or not. But it was a strong feeling either way.

“What is this TV?” Saiko asked Melony.

“Well, Mario showed me a cool show on it. I actually watched it until I fell asleep”

Saiko looked back and forth between the TV and Melony. Seemingly, Tari was slowly catching on.

“Do you think… the show has something to do with it?” Tari looked at Saiko, lightly cocking her head to the side.

“I would say yeah”

“But the show was so good! I’ve never watched something so nice! It’s probably just the show that made me think of the past but that’s- that’s understandable! It was genuinely nice”

“What kinda show was it?” Tari asked.

“It kind of reminded me of Two Piece actually” she cheered.

“Oh, I love Two Piece! Could we watch it together sometime?” Meggy joined.

Saiko was a bit stupefied as the 3 went on to talk about the show as if there was nothing wrong. She still couldn’t shake off the fact that Melony’s face looked like that. She had to go look for answers. And… She might have had just the right idea…

It had been a few days then, Melony’s face still cracked but it seemed she cared less and less. Everybody else around just- seemed to care less. Especially as everyone seemed to be occupied with shows of their dreams. Meggy with a show with so much action and fighting she only could dream of. With wonderful character development, she was mesmerized. Not only that, the female lead absolutely had her from first sight, perfect role for someone so interesting. Playing the whole part perfectly, trying to survive in a world that tried to get rid of her and turning up victorious against all odds. Tari was watching a cutesy show, it was peaceful but still kind of mature with the way the characters talked. She related to the very real issues the characters had while adoring their adorable designs. They seemed to lead much more normal, relaxed lives than what they’ve been having in SMG4. It almost felt idyllic to her. She was close to just… jumping into the TV to escape everything else. 3 and 4 were too busy with their work to even notice at this point. It seemed, even together they can get a bit carried away. Or maybe flirting during work did them in a bit. And nobody even noticed that Saiko was still gone.

This continued. And only got worse. 3 and 4 only realised when barely any customers were coming in.

“You think we messed up? Do they think this place is bad again?” 3 sounded worried.

“No way, we’ve been doing so well! There must be an explanation” 4 wrapped his arm around 3 to comfort him. As usual, it did sort of work. 

“I say we close up and look around”

“Just what I was thinking!”

They closed the café for the day.They first approached the castle, maybe the crew could know something about what was going on. 

They both entered the castle. It was way too quiet. 

“This is creepy” 3 quietly commented.

4 looked at him, that teasing look in his eyes.

“What’s the whispering for? Are you scared someone else will hear you and know you’re a coward?” he laughed.

3 grabbed 4’s face.

“As if you’re not scared!”

“A bit maybe” 4 laughed. 3 pressed a soft kiss on 4’s lips before moving ahead.

4 was left like a smiling idiot before moving along with 3.

They looked around everywhere, not seeing anybody.

Except… Mario. Mario was watching TV, just like how last time 4 really managed to talk to him. Because of work he didn’t manage to hang out with him as much as he wanted to. 

“Mario! Are you at fault for people disappearing??” 3 barged into the room Mario was watching TV in. It was the same room 4 found him in before.

“Shhh!!” Mario shushes 3.

“Dude! This is serious!” 4 chimed in.

They both got slapped out of the room.

“Mario’s watching TV!! Go away!!”

They both got up, it was quite the landing as Mario slapped them pretty hard. 3 had a devious smile on. 4 looked concerned.

“Hey… 4… I have an idea. But you might not like it”

“Say it anyways”

“We could… unplug the electricity! He can’t watch TV then!”

4 thought about it.

“Well- Damn it, what else can we do anyways, let’s go”

“Heh… didn’t even need to convince you this time”

“I just don’t have a better idea”

3 chuckled. They went down to the basement to turn the electricity off. As they came up, they quickly met with a very distraught Mario. And quickly he also went past them. Screaming something about spaghetti. They followed him to see that he devoured the whole fridge.

“M… Mario?” 4 asked him carefully, he was kinda scared.

Mario saw him and ran out. 3 and 4 ran after him to see him yanking the extension cords with might and devouring the TV whole. 

“Much better” he cooed as he sat on the ground, seemingly satisfied with himself.

“What… What was that Mario?” 4 was in disbelief.

Mario raised one finger then lowered it as he thought.

“I remembered I was very hungry! I couldn’t think! TV tasted kind of weird but it’s fine”

“Sure, man” 3 wasn’t even surprised anymore. Mario just pulls stuff like this.

“So… Mario…. Where are the others?” 4 asked, trying not to freak out as he remembered their original goal when they came into the castle.

“Hmmmm…. Mario doesn’t know…. Let’s look together?”

“Sure, come with” 4 said as he now led the way outside.

Walking around, everywhere was kind of quiet. 

“Oh, sure hope this isn’t like that one time Mario stopped time…” Mario sounded scared.

“We’re still moving, idiot, you didn’t accidentally stop time” 3 replied.

“Yeah, 3’s right”

“You’re only saying that because you’re gay for him….” Mario pouted, looking away, crossing his arms.

“Just because I love him I’m not gonna spare him from the truth”

“You heard him!”

“Hmmmm…” Mario wasn’t convinced.

“Besides, what have you been doing all this time?” 4 questioned Mario.

“Watching TV. Only that really”

“Damn, shut in” 3 laughed.

“I… I felt glued to the screen. So… yeah…” Mario looked away from the 2. 3 felt bad almost immediately.

“Okay dude… I guess it’s not your fault- at least you’re outside now” 3 attempted to apologise.

“You tried” 4 didn’t spare 3 of the truth.

3 rolled his eyes.

Mario suddenly stopped by a window. 3 and 4 stopped too, to see him looking at a TV.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to watch TV again-” 4 was about to freak out on Mario. 

“No no- look” Mario said, pointing at the TV “This is just like the one I had at home!”

The 2 looked at it closely, and recognised it. Not only that, they saw familiar faces on TV. Acting nothing like themselves. Their friends were stuck in shows. 

“That looks like the TV guy’s head who manipulated you” 4 almost shouted with how angry he was at just the sight of the TV.

3 was more calm, at least on the outside. He was more scared if anything. He really didn’t want to see that guy again. 

“That means… that abandoned studio! We… we need to go back there” 4 said.

3 looked uncomfortable.

“Do we… really have to? I mean uh, it’s not like I’m scared but-”

“It’s okay, 3… I believe in us. This is… for all of our friends”

“Our friends… you’re- you’re right but-”

“You’re scared he could take advantage of you again, aren’t you?” Mario pointed at 3.

Both were a bit shocked.

“I… I am” 3 looked at him “How… How did you know?”

Mario twirled around once before finally giving a reply.

“Mario cares about his friends”

3 was a bit flustered by that.

“Aww, you’re still not used to being called a friend! 3 !!!” 4 teased him while hugging him.

“Awww, SMG3!!” Mario joined in on the hugging as well.

“C- Can- Can we just go, please??” 3 cried out. The other 2 laughed as they now got going to that very dreaded place. At least they felt a bit better now.

Just as they were about to go in, even if they likely just. Weren’t allowed to, they got grabbed from behind. 

And, my god… All 3 screamed.

“What- quiet, oh my god” the very mysterious TV man said as he stepped back from the 3.

“What are you doing to our friends? Let them GO??!” 4 was ready to throw hands. He was so furious.

“Hold your horses, SMG4, we didn’t even have a formal introduction yet!”

“Hell if I care, I just want you dead” 4 didn’t look like he was kidding. 

The TV headed man looked unamused. 

“I should’ve expected that…” he reached a finger towards 4, stopping him in his place.

“Now! Might I introduce myself! I’m Mr Puzzles, the head of Puzzlevision, a studio that is on its way to be THE best one. You’re walking on historic grounds”

“This place was a dump not too long ago”

“Oh, you must’ve dreamed that!! And what an awful dream that sounds” Puzzles grinned, a menacing aura emanating from his gaze.

“Wh… What but… you… we… we…”  3 felt scared again. 4  wanted to move so badly to comfort him but couldn’t.

Mario wasn’t sure what to do. He realised, he needed to stop thinking. And so he stopped his needless thoughts and rammed right into Puzzles like a bull. It was so sudden, Puzzles had no way to react.

“Oh why YOU-” 

It was then that Mario realised he got himself into a bit of a pickle. He didn’t have time to think, he launched himself right into the studio.

“YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE” Puzzles ran after Mario, looking so angry he was tearing up from it. 

3 sighed, looking at the still frozen 4. He couldn’t hide it, he felt a bit hopeless. He grabbed 4’s frozen hand with which he was trying to reach for Puzzles. His hand still had the warmth he was very familiar with. At least something to comfort him amongst everything.He only stopped feeling so pensive when he could feel 4 move a finger. He got so excited, he squeezed 4’s hand as he then fell over with him. 3 chuckled, feeling a little stupid, a little embarrassed. 

“Sorry, man” 4 chuckled back as he tried to get up.

“A little more?” 3 held 4 back.

“I appreciate that but- on the ground?”

“Okay okay, fine” 3 looked away as he got up. 

“No need to be embarrassed! I do love your hugs” 

3 sighed as he pulled 4 in for a quick peck on his lips.

“Yea yea but we have bigger things to worry about right now! That TV guy is still definitely chasing Mario”

“Mario! Right! Oh god, I hope he’s okay” 4 ran in, 3 followed after.

“Probably-” as they walked in, the place was in chaos. They looked around, finally finding the 2 with Mario being about to be caught.

“Mario!” 4 cried out when he saw him. Puzzles got distracted, which gave Mario the chance to fight back as he punched Puzzles’s screen. And not lightly at that. The sound of it shattering. It was as if the whole building went silent. Puzzles seemed to stop. It was so quiet, you could hear their breathing.

Puzzles slowly looked back to Mario, holding his own face. His gaze rained on Mario like an avalanche. He wasn’t exactly one to feel intimidated but here he was. It was as if the TV was bleeding pure technicolour. The TV itself still somehow worked, although glitchy. His head twitched. 

3 had enough of watching as he kicked Puzzles in his shin. It distracted him long enough that the 3 of them could escape Puzzles’s grasp. For now.

They ran and hid in a room. It was dark. Not pitch black but pretty dark. As their eyes adjusted, they noticed 3 chairs by each other. It was a bit weird. Mario took a seat without thinking much about it. 

“Mario, you can’t do that!” 4 tried to warn Mario who really didn’t give a single damn. 

“Why can’t I? It’s just a chair!”

3 and 4 were staring at Mario for a bit, nothing seemed to happen.

“Eh, might as well” 3 took another seat.

4 gave into peer pressure, sitting down himself.

“Okay, but we still need to figure out what to do about this guy… But more importantly, how to save our friends.”

“Yeah… I don’t get it. I thought we got rid of him then!” 3 grumbled.

“If anything, he acted as your wingman with how long you took to get together” Mario said rather nonchalantly. 

The 2 stared at him.

“I bet we would’ve realised without him!” 4 felt upset, 3 patted him on the back.

“Yeah! And our confession to each other would’ve been so much better if he didn’t step in!” 3 was upset at the idea that Mario proposed as well.

“Not to my knowledge”

“What do you know anyways?” 3 was agitated.

Mario just grinned so wide, even in the dark it was annoying.

Just as 3 was considering hitting Mario, light appeared in the room, in the form of a TV.

3 and 4 felt rather scared, jumping into each other’s arms, maybe even considering leaving while Mario looked excited.

“Yay TV time!” Mario cheered, as if he wasn’t JUST chased by a TV headed man out to kill him.

3 and 4 sat back, trying to calm down. A film started playing.

As the credits rolled, they recognised some names. Their friends were playing in the movie.

3 and 4 shared a glance while Mario was almost glued to the screen. 

Then the title came up.

…

“The fragmented director”

The scene opened with a montage of a cheerful kid, drawing and getting older over time. Just as the time passed, his drawings were getting better too, more advanced, as if it could escape the screen and get you. Especially because they were animated. The film continued with the now teenager making more and more things. So much of it felt like a reference to something, especially from big movies and shows. 

3 and Mario didn’t quite see it, but 4 was starting to get uncomfortable with how alone the kid seemed to be. Nobody else appeared in the scenes so far, just this kid and his drawings. 4 could relate in his own way. Thinking about all the times he locked himself up to work on things, just as lonely as this character, chosen but still painful loneliness. He was starting to feel it maybe a little too much…

“Dude.. are you crying?” 3 whispered to him.

As 4 took his hand to his face, indeed, tears were streaming down his face. How did he not realise it?

Mario looked at him too, immediately feeling worried for 4 as he leaned on him, trying to give him at least some physical comfort.

“It’s okay… I’m okay… just… a little too relatable”

3 shook his head, holding 4 himself. 4 was trapped in the hold of the 2 people he cared about the most…It was reassuring as he managed to look back at the screen.

The next scene began as the adult version of the once teen entered an office. As the scene continued, it became obvious that he got a job in the animation industry. He was still rather painfully lonely, even if there were people in the background. They were never directly interacting with him.

As the scene went on, he seemed to have more and more workload on his desk. His hand was shaking, his eyes not focused, with eyebags. He was overworked. He couldn’t stand it. It was obvious. 

The scene ended with him finally clocking out and heading home. 

4 was starting to feel weird about the relation of the title to the actual contents of the movie. This guy was nowhere near to being at such a high position, neither did he seem fragmented. It gave him a bad feeling. 

It was late at night when the scene opened again. The man couldn’t sleep. He got up and went outside. The night looked peaceful, everything looked serene. The sky was just as pretty as ever.

The man looked up at the sky, as if wishing for something, then he went inside. 

He seemed to think for a bit, before getting out a box full of DVDs of movies he could watch. As he was searching, he didn’t hear it. He didn’t feel it. He didn’t know what was coming. It was loud, sudden. Fatal. It ripped his head right off, whatever it was. The scene was dark enough that you wouldn’t be able to see too much detail, just enough to make out what happened. It left 4 stunned, but 3 seemed to take it worse as he noticeably hugged him tighter when the scene happened.

The scene slowly closed with slowly zooming in on the TV, kind of damaged yet for some reason it still seemed to be on and flickering.

The scene went dark, then it opened in the studio the guy worked at. It seemed the workplace was more alive. With some people chatting on a break, others working on stuff together, helping each other. Although it wasn’t corporate grade efficient, people were definitely having more fun.

Slowly, as the scene panned from everyone working, it seemed to go to one door. A closed door. The door slowly opened. As if for a split second it looked bloody everywhere, the red mixing with a familiar technicolour mixed within, making the scene pretty yet still gruesome. However the scene went back to normal, as if nothing was ever out of the ordinary. 

The door revealed the all too familiar Mr Puzzles sitting behind the desk in a rather comfortable chair, directly looking at the camera. He was smiling, although it started to feel more threatening. 

The scene switched back to the dark, red scene. Puzzles was holding a guy, limp. His expression and the amount of blood on him seemed to indicate that he killed the man. There was just enough detail on there to see that the dead man was dressed in formal attire. It seemed similar to what Puzzles was wearing, as if to indicate the idea that he took his place. The screen suddenly went black. 

Then the outside of the studio was shown. Time seemed to have passed, as the text “A few years later” showed up on the screen. The studio was much bigger than what it seemed to be before. It looked like Puzzles brought the place to success. Just as someone with a gun just barely managed to appear on the side of the frame, the scene changed, being on the inside, full of very happy workers. Maybe too happy. Uncanny happy. But they were working.

The scene then switched to a smug Mr Puzzles, looking at something. The scene then switched to what he was looking at, which seemed to be a list on a computer with other studios’ names crossed out. It kind of looked like a hit list for competition in a way.

 But just then. Gunshot. Screaming. And bam, the atmosphere changed. The environment coated red, with bodies littered everywhere, mercilessly. The figure that showed up in the frame before walked by, just as mysterious as before. Walking till they reached an all too familiar office. Though this time, it wasn’t Puzzles’s doing that everywhere was covered in blood. Perhaps the movie was just foreshadowing this. Because it was hard to deny that the scenes when 3 and 4 thought about it - Mario was busy thinking about spaghetti at the sight of the colour red - were way too similar for it to be a coincidence. 

The door opens again. Puzzles looked terrified but not shocked. It was almost like he was expecting this to happen. 

“I’m doing this for everyone” the chilling text read on the screen, oddly enough it was centered. Behind it the gun was slowly raised at Puzzles, who didn’t seem to do anything about it. He was expecting it for sure. 

The screen went dark as soon as the gun was fired. Then a familiar scene showed up. With 3 and 4 when they were in the ruins of the studio. There wasn’t any audio but it was obvious they were being gay. Mario teasingly pointed at the screen, making both 3 and 4 roll their eyes.

However, after they were out from the crumbling building, once they were gone, a hand reached out from the ruins. A very familiar hand at this point. And that was where it ended. Although an abrupt ending, they could sort of start to guess what happened after this.

4 wished he could beat everything that’s left alive in him at this point. He was really tired of this guy. Although the movie had him kind of confused. How did he come back to life? What was even the thing that killed him? And… How did he acquire anti meme energy?

He hated coming back to this same point that had his head in the clouds, clouds that compared to the worst storms. He did get headaches from thinking about it sometimes. He was too curious yet he couldn’t figure it out… The Godbox was no more. They destroyed it. Wasn’t that the only place where anti memes would occur? It didn’t make any sense. And yet he tried and struggled for an answer either way to no avail. But it felt like he was missing something. Like a missing fragment of a puzzle that just wouldn’t complete.

He looked to 3, seemingly with a similar reaction. 3 looked back at him. While first with confusion, his expression heavily changed when he realised.

“We brought this bitch back to life!!”

“What?” 4 was as confused as ever. Clueless idiot.

“Our meme energy? I think… I don’t know…” 3 looked down, not quite sure now himself either.

“Hmmm” Mario joined in the convo “Maybe SMG1 and 2 could help?” 

“Wow, smart!... From Mario. What a day” 3 laughed. 4 laughed too, maybe looking at 3 a bit too strongly.

Mario rolled his eyes at the gays, getting up from the chair.

“We don’t have all day… besides” Mario patted his tummy “Mario is about to crave some mad spaghetti”

3 and 4 exchanged glances, before they got up and walked to the door as well, cautiously opening it. Nothing seemed to be around. Nobody. Not a soul. So empty their tiny breaths could echo. 

They left the room, walking out in the chaos Mario left. This felt… too easy… Though, they still didn’t know what happened to their friends. Only thing 4 noticed was they sometimes showed up in the background of that peculiar movie. They weren’t exactly in the focus so it took him a bit to realise that they were appearing from time to time. 

Just as they were about to walk out of the door, Puzzles appeared again. His screen was fixed. It was quite fast for being so damaged.

“Mario can kick you again!!” Mario piped up “I’ll beat your ass”

Puzzles flicked his hand and stopped Mario in place.

He walked up to the other 2 as he shoved Mario out of the way.

“Enough of him, I wanted to offer you 2 something” his now well known menacing gaze came back.

“What?? No, I don’t want anything from you!!” 4 could care less.

“Really now? Not even your friends?” Puzzles laughed.

“Our… our friends”

“You’re a sick freak, I hope you know that” 3 tried to comfort 4 while staring daggers.

“I’ve been told, yes… but… my deal for you, SMG4”

4 stayed silent.

“You see… I’ve never seen SUCH a strong need for great content as yours. Your will to create… It’s rather marvelous. And I need it. If you joined me… We could make something perfect. I know… I know how long you have been chasing that, even if you don’t tell anybody. I know”

4  looked at him shocked. He couldn’t reply. Puzzles wasn’t wrong.

“Seems I gotcha, didn’t I?” he laughed “Regardless… I was hoping you could join me in this endless endeavor” 

“4…?” 3 looked at 4 worried.

3 didn’t take long getting angry.

“He- He’s not leaving this world behind! I know he enjoys it more when it’s authentic and fun, he doesn’t need you and your artificial concept of perfection”

“Well, just look at him! Don’t you see it in his eyes?” Puzzles leaned closer to 4 “I can see it… that utterly strong urge in him to always prove himself… to prove himself worthy of people’s attention. And I can give that to him, unlike you” 

“I helped him finish the perfect video though”

“And I got him there. I gave him the needed tool to make sure it could even happen in the first place. You 2 don’t even come close to what my tools can do on their own… Imagine how much greater… maybe even both of you would be? Wouldn’t it be great? Finally… achieving perfection, the height of creation… and, leaving behind the times when people didn’t even care about you, SMG3”

Puzzles grinned wide, seeing how he managed to get to the both of them until he got hit hard on his head.

“HUH??” he turned around to see Mario “HOW DID YOU UNFREEZE YOURSELF??”

“Kiss my ass” Mario threw it back before he started running around like crazy. Puzzles could feel something snap in him as he went to chase after him, even if that wasn’t the logical thing to do.

3 and 4 used that time to get away and find 1 and 2 to figure out what’s going on.

It took a while but at least they got away from Puzzles’s grasps.

“3…?”

“Yeah, 4?”

“You… You think Mario will be fine?”

“I… I’m sure. You know he’s strong”

“Yeah but-” 4 stopped “I feel guilty. We just left him there”

3 stopped beside 4, slightly annoyed.

“Maybe… we can lessen his suffering if we speed up and try to get to SMG1 and 2 as fast as possible!” 3 was rather snarky but it worked, as 4 shook his head then looked up to the sky, hope sparking within him.

“You’re right”

“Of course I am, now let’s get going, you lovable loser”

4 laughed at the name before he hurried along.

They got into the city. It was rather empty. No buses even going around. Cars left unattended. 3 already had his villainous look come up on his face.

“4, we gotta steal a car, dude”

“No… Not today, 3. We’ve gotta get to them without committing several crimes along the way.”

3 rolled his eyes.

They looked around more. Waited around. Genuinely, everywhere was empty.

“Okay… we’ll steal a car”

3 immediately chose one that he had been eying for a bit and got into the driver seat, speedrunning hacking it so it can be driven without a key. 4 just took the shotgun seat with a tired sigh.

“Got it!” 3 cheered.

“Alright, just start driving or who knows what will happen to Mario”

“Already ahead of you!”

And they sped off. No cops anyways so 3 wasn’t respecting any of the rules of the road. That much was expected though.

They got there pretty quickly considering there was nobody to chase them either for speeding.

They got out and knocked on 1 and 2’s door in their apartment which they had to sadly break into. There wasn’t anyone there to stop them anyways.

An exhausted 1 opened the door, who looked at them weird for a second before feeling relieved.

“Thank god you 2 are okay! Come in” he motioned for them to go inside.

Inside they saw 2 being greatly buried in research. It seemed they were looking for something. Saiko was there as well, doing her part in research as well. Though she looked more exhausted than the other 2.

“...Saiko? You’re okay?” 4 felt surprised.

She took a bit to look away from the book she was trying to get through.

“Okay is an overstatement”

“She’s been looking for a way to help Melony” 1 added context.

“What happened to her?” 4 asked.

“You didn’t see? Her face cracked, and from what I found… It might not be so great. But I… I’ve been looking either way. I wish I could help her”

“Geez… 4, maybe we’ve overdone the whole uh…” 3 turned to 4.

“We’ve been way too busy… we barely realised what was happening… How long have you been here?”

“About… a few days?”

“8 days and counting” 1 said before going back to searching himself. 

“Well… 3 and I figured something out… And it might not look so great”

“Oh? A new lead is probably what we need right now” 2 crawled out of the books then yawned. Although he seemed intent to listen either way.

“So… I’m pretty sure it’s our fault…”

“What?” 1 looked up surprised “What did you do?”

“You remember that big amount of energy we caused when we uh… mended our guardian bond?”

“...Oh”

“The TV that had been haunting us used it to come back to life”

“It seems that was his plan all along” 3 commented “What an insidious freak… kinda envious in a sense”

4 looked at him, unamused.

“Anyways” 4 continued “I don’t know if I mentioned it before but… I’m starting to feel more and more scared about the idea that he had access to anti meme energy”

“Yeah… that shouldn’t be possible. We destroyed the Godbox!” 2, although tired, was still very adamant about that.

“At least we thought it seems…” 1 said.

Everyone looked at him.

“But we saw it blow up!” 4 joined.

“But you said it yourself. And both of you felt anti meme energy so…. you would know, no?” 

4 wanted to combat it with something but he couldn’t.

“I just don’t… I don’t get it… I thought we destroyed it”

“Wait…” 3 thought for a bit “We didn’t destroy it… it was only blown up”

“Isn’t… that the same thing?”

“No! You see… explosions don’t destroy anything in a meaningful way… they tear things apart. If you exploded right now, we would still have the material you were made of!”

“... You want me to blow up?” 4 looked sad.

“No, you idiot” 3 chuckled “I just brought it up as an example. But if you continue that way…” 3 winked at 4 before getting back to the issue at hand. 4 understood the implications and became rather flustered.

“So you’re saying…” 1 seemed to catch on “fragments of the Godbox could be still out there?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying”

“Oh no…” 2 seemed to start panicking a little.

“Oh no indeed” 4 added on. He didn’t seem any better.

“We would… love to go right away but” 1 yawned “Well you know…”

Saiko already seemed to lean against the wall as a book slipped out from her grasp.

“Mhmm” she seemed to agree with the unspoken need to just pass out right about then.

“I don’t know… will Mario hold out until then?” 4 thought out loud, which made 1 and 2 go wide eyed despite their god awful sleepiness.

“What… What?” 1 questioned.

“We… only managed to get away because of Mario distracting the insane TV headed guy” 3 confessed, it felt heavy either way.

“Oh no..”

“Do we… Do we trust Mario? We… can’t go back alone” 4 proposed, although he didn’t feel good about it.

“I… I’m afraid yes” 1 felt just as bad about it. Everyone did. Mario didn’t deserve this.

They all decided to go rest up for today, they wouldn’t be quite as useful this tired anyways. 

Although the guest room was taken, there was still a measly couch for 3 and 4. Saiko offered to switch but the 2 declined, saying she needs the best rest possible. It was great to feel cared for. She would’ve felt bad if she declined at that point.

Although 1, 2 and Saiko were quickly all asleep in their respectful sleeping places, 3 and 4 had a harder time.

4 laid on top of 3, it was at least a nice feeling to be close like this. 3 was  petting 4’s head, which 4 laid on 3’s chest. 

“Are you able to sleep?” 3 asked him softly.

4 raised his head up.

“I’m trying to…”

“I’m worried too, 4…”

“I just hope he’ll be okay”

“We’ll make sure of it, okay? I promise” 3 held 4’s face in an attempt to comfort him. 4 scooted a little closer to 3’s face to give him a short kiss.

“Okay” 4 smiled.

“Now sleep, blue, a long day is ahead of us tomorrow… as if we never have big evil to fight… we should take a vacation at some point”

4 chuckled at the suggestion.

“You’re right”

They finally laid down for good, managing to sort of fall asleep.

Mario didn’t have such a great time with Puzzles. The man was chasing him endlessly and was trying to trap him in some sort of substance. The whole area around the studio was covered in it. They both felt tired and yet Puzzles persisted, seemingly angrier and angrier with every strike he attempted to throw Mario’s way. His aim was definitely getting worse. But he got so tired, he raised both of his hands up together and in a downwards motion made enough appear to cover the place with it. Mario wasn’t able to run anymore. He got sucked right in. But Puzzles did so too.

Then, Mario found himself in a dark void.

“Am I dead?” he screamed as he got up “Is this hell??”

“Shut up, heathen” Puzzles didn’t take his behaviour well “You’re being too loud for my taste”

“Am I in hell??” Mario whisper shouted.

Puzzles rolled his eyes.

“No. I actually accidentally trapped both of us” he sighed “I have to be trapped with YOU of all people” 

“You don’t like Mario and his sexiness, huh, TV man?”

“You PUNCHED in my screen??”

“You lived? Haha, cope seethe” 

“YoouUUUU” he got up again, going for Mario’s throat.

Mario tried to punch his screen again, though he couldn’t quite reach. In a moment of desperation, he bit down on Puzzles’s hand as hard as he could, making him yelp in pain, yanking his hand away.

“You ANIMAL”

“Rawwr” Mario looked ready to fight again as he lunged at Puzzles.

They fought around for a while, until both felt tired enough to collapse. Kind of weird how they ended up beside each other. Looking up into the endless void was… somehow calming. Even for Mario. He almost forgot he was stuck in some of the worst situations he ever got into.

“Why did you steal my friends again, TV man?” Mario asked, turning to Puzzles. He seemed to be genuinely curious.

It took Puzzles by surprise.

“Oh? Well… I wanted to make my studio even larger so I can have the biggest and best studio in existence”

“What’s the point of that?”

“Wha… What? Are you kidding? Being accomplished like that? It’s the best thing anyone could have happen in their lives!”

Mario stared at him and slapped him.

Puzzles once again angry, he got up, trying to tackle him. This man annoyed him so goddamn much. Mario evaded him and tried to fight back but he was failing at hurting Puzzles as well. It was almost like they were syncing up in the worst possible way. Missing and dodging in harmony.

“Are you happy?” the question sounded from Mario’s mouth, echoing in Puzzles’s mind.

“What?”

“Are you happy?”

“Why are you asking me shit like this? I thought you were a bumbling idiot”

“Not right now. Are you happy, Mr Puzzles?”

“Oh… Oh! I get it now!” Puzzles got up and turned away from Mario “Your personality is inconsistent! That’s why my powers weren’t working on you! All along, your odd character PROTECTED YOU”

Puzzles whipped around, the anger was kind of familiar for Mario at this point. Another fight, another feeling of exhaustion kicking in. Even the fight felt familiar. Maybe it was just the weird atmosphere of this dark void but he felt sort of less worried now.

Once again, they ended up lying beside each other. 

“You didn’t answer my question” Mario sounded calm.

“And I…. won’t ever”

Mario sighed. They both stayed silent for a while.

Mario wasn’t the one to usually think but he did find the behaviour weird.

“You gave up on killing me pretty fast I’ll say” Mario joked. Puzzles looked at him unamused, no verbal reaction.

After resting enough, Puzzles sat up. He kind of felt hopeless in this silence. 

“You know what, Mario?” he looked to him “I’m not happy”

“Thought so” Mario sat up. 

“Do you… want to know why?” 

“I’m bored anyways”

“Well, you’ve… seen my movie… you know…”

“I know?”

“There’s something inside me that shouldn’t be” he raised his hand to his neck, gently brushing his fingers just above his collarbones. 

Mario only now seemed to catch on. It took him this long to realise that whatever crashed into Puzzles’s living place that night was actually inside him.

“Heh, there’s lot of things inside me as well that shouldn’t be”

��…What?”

“Dumpster”

Puzzles looked at him horrified then chuckled.

“You’re truly a unique kind of a man, Mario”

“I knooow… very sexy and awesome” 

Puzzles rolled his eyes at Mario’s grand modesty. He was starting to find it weird how he was actually starting to have peace with having to be stuck with Mario. Hell, it was a little worrying. 

He never felt this way… Like, enjoying someone’s company? He only ever loved working on his beautiful creations, people were like filler to his life. What changed? Or is Mario really… this special? He didn’t know and never did being unsure in his life make him so conflicted. He always liked to make sure he knew everything, he thought he went into  his plan knowing everything at this point. His plan was flawless. And yet Mario could walk in and ruin it all. And take away the perfection he wanted so much but… In the end, Mario would be right. He doubted it would make him happy. In a weird and twisted way, he felt alright with everything being ruined.

“So… how long are we gonna be stuck here, TV dude?” Mario asked, though seemingly not worried.

“I’m… not sure myself”

“Oh… OH?? Are we stuck here forever?? What have you done?” Mario screamed, jumping up, grabbing Puzzles by the straps of his pants. 

Something hit differently about Mario’s grasp on him as he felt a sharp pain like that fateful day. He screamed as he pushed Mario away.

Mario was confused then saw the state he put him in. Although he tortured his friends, it was still hard to not feel bad for him.

“TV guy…?”

He was in so much pain he couldn’t speak. He slowly laid down, very carefully to not hurt himself even more. Mario sat beside him. His curiosity… He slowly reached out and touched that same place.

Puzzles winced in pain. He didn’t get why. 

He pressed his hand against Puzzles’s collarbone fully.

While Puzzles was in utterly diabolical pain, Mario got reminded of something. This energy he felt. He saw this before. Images flashed in his brain, remembering everything from the time they went out there… Outside of their universe. The anti meme energy. He thought he wouldn’t need to face this traumatic memory again but… Guess he was wrong. Things now started to make sense to him. Although he didn’t know how it was possible. He didn’t need to know that to see that it was. 

He didn’t know what was driving his body but he pressed harder. With both of his hands now. Puzzles screaming didn’t deter him. When he tried to push him away, he sat on his arms, making him ultimately vulnerable to Mario. He didn’t know how to feel. He pushed and pushed until he could reach inside. It was nothing like he thought it would be. Puzzles was warm like a person but not quite of the same consistency. Until he felt something hard within him that didn’t quite fit inside. The memories he had now felt even more real. It sure made him struggle. Even he stopped for a second, especially how it added onto it. Making it more terrifying than it already was. Giving him images of a world where he lost 3 and 4 to a force way beyond him. That was scary to him.

He shook his head. He knew what he had to do. He pulled again. Pulled until what was inside Puzzles seemed to loosen from its place. Puzzles fainted by this point, probably from the unbearable pain. Even though he wasn’t quite human anymore, pain was still a weakness of his.

He finally pulled it out, black blood escaping Puzzles body as he did. Mario felt a little weird now… Did he just kill a man? He wasn’t sure.

He was now alone in the void, with the wretched fragment in his hand, echoing past nightmares in his ears.

His act settled in even more now as he pressed his hands against the wound, not really knowing what to do. It only soaked his hands even more. He desperately grasped into him, just trying to think of something, anything. He didn’t want to be left alone. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Puzzles but it’s much worse without him. That was something he knew for sure. He couldn’t lose him now, no matter what.

As he desperately grasped, light appeared, in the form of dim white strings, seemingly loosely closing up the wound. It wasn’t perfect but the bleeding was getting less intense. Mario didn’t know he could do that. He stared for a bit, not really knowing where to put it.

He sighed, not thinking about it further. He just didn’t want to up his kill count… And he didn’t want to be lonely himself either. He could always get so caught up being around people all the time that he forgot how it feels to be alone. And it wasn’t a good feeling. Though the bleeding stopping made him feel a bit better as he lied down, closing his eyes.

It felt like forever passed as he kind of just fell asleep beside Puzzles. Just because he had the weirdest moment of his life didn’t mean he couldn’t go to sleep with ease. He woke up to movement beside Puzzles as he was lightly clinging to him in his sleep.

“Huh… I’m… not dead yet?” Puzzles spoke, his voice was weak. He looked at Mario. He was finding a fondness he didn’t know he could have for someone.

“Nhggh… Nope… Mario fixed you up with his… white thing”

“Wh… White thing?” Puzzles was confused.

Mario pointed to his wound. The strings were still visible.

“Oh you… you saved me?”

Mario shrugged.

“Mario didn’t know he could do that”

Puzzles chuckled.

“Very well. Thank you though. I owe you”

Mario smiled at him.

“Well, getting us out of here would be great”

“Mhmm… I don’t know how to still” Puzzles frowned.

Mario patted him on the back.

“At least this thing is out of your body” he showed him the fragment.

“Oh- Oh right” he stared at it “What… is this again?”

“Mario’s not the best at explaining things. It is evil though”

“I do agree… it did kinda kill me there for a second” he chuckled

Mario chuckled too.

“You know, Mario… Isn’t this… weird?”

“What is?”

“I don’t feel like getting rid of you anymore”

“Well if you got rid of Mario the world would end so I’m glad” he grinned as if he didn’t just drop information on Puzzles that kinda escaped him before.

“The world would end?”

“You see, Mario is the avatar and if he gets killed for good, the world falls apart”

“A… Avatar?”

“I’ll ask SMG1 and 2 to drop the lore on you” 

“Oookay” Puzzles was a bit confused but he could wait. He would wait all the time needed to have answers if he needed to. It wasn’t the first time waiting rewarded him. He knew patience made greatness.

“By the way…. Mario’s wondering how you’re feeling now?” he looked at him, feeling a bit bad.

“I feel… free in a way. Mind’s less foggy and all that. Thanks, Mario”

“Hehe, I saved the day!”

“I’m still in pain though” he looked away.

“Damn…”

He grabbed Mario’s hand gently.

“It’s probably just the fact that you opened my body without any anesthetics. Which you wouldn’t have been able to get anyways”

“Heh… Mario sees your point” Mario squeezed his hand then thought, as if the brain cells in his empty head decided to align so well this time, he could have a genius idea “I’ve got an idea, Mr TV, but you have to listen to my instructions”

It had been a bit since last night 1, 2, 3, 4 and Saiko talked. Everyone was awake, preparing for their mission. Although 3 and 4 were a bit sore from the couch. It really wasn’t made for sleeping. 

“So…what’s the plan?” 2 asked.

“Well uh…” 4 thought for a bit.

3 took a bomb out of his pocket.

“Can I?” he asked with a silly little smile.

“No” 4 said bluntly. He didn’t give a shit.

3 sulked a bit.

“Well, we know it has to do with the Godbox so… we have to go in, prepared to fight it”

“I guess the best we can do is go in and hope?” 4 sounded unsure of himself.

“Get yourself together, 4. I know you can be a coward but now is not the time” Saiko commented, making everyone look “Now is not the time to question your power to stop this, our friends are on the line here… Melony” the last part from her was rather quiet. She always tried to look out for her when she could so knowing this happened right under her nose filled her with a different kind of fury.

“I say we go in and kick ass” she finished her statement.

“Kicking TV ass does sound good” 3 added with a sly smirk on his face.

“Let’s get going then, shall we?” 1 said as he then led everyone out

It was quite the trip. Almost felt like a little road trip. 3 and 4 fell asleep along it, considering they didn’t exactly get the best sleep then.

Saiko was beside them, kind of trying to ignore them. She might have been a bit jealous. She wasn’t able to see any of the girls for a while now. Kind of hard to live like her, standoffish yet lover of touch.

She slowly got used to it. 

“Oh, they fell asleep?” 2 looked back, while 1 was driving.

“Yeah… I guess they didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Probably the couch being uncomfortable to sleep on” 2 rubbed his chin, as if he was thinking strongly about it.

“If it was anything else I’m kicking their asses, I’ll tell you that” 1 added on quietly. 2 giggled while Saiko facepalmed.

They got there, to the wretched studio, which was covered in black goop. Not fully but there was definitely a place where there was a lot more.

[luveline]

jade roan being jealous of eddie cause reader is taking care of eddie on a sick day, i know youre working on halloween reqs but i just cant get this off my mind 😭😭 hope you do this after the celebration 💗

thank you for your request! roan being jealous / sad because you're being really sweet on her dad and leaving her out :( ♡ dad!eddie x fem!reader | 1.8k words

"Hello, Mr. Munson," you say quietly, unsurprised to find Eddie exactly where you'd left him. 

"Roan?" he asks hoarsely. 

You want to ask something sarcastic, like No, why? Have I shrunk? But he's really pitifully ill, so you answer his implied question without any wit. "She had to pee. I thought she was gonna wet herself in the car, she couldn't stop wiggling." 

"Told her she has to stop holding it, she'll," — Eddie coughs, a crunchy, awful sound — "hurt herself." 

"I know," you murmur, raking a limp curl away from his weathered face. You know pretty much everything there is to know about Roan at this point, and near enough the same about him.

You kiss his cheek and linger there. You love taking care of him because he's yours, but you miss your healthy, present Eddie too. Poor guy's been sick for almost a week now, and while Roan has helped out endlessly by being on her best behaviour, you need him to keep the ship afloat. Thankfully, he seems to be in the recovery process, and his fever's been gone for days. 

"You feeling any better?" 

"I feel awesome," he says, dropping a heavy arm around your back. 

You take his face into both hands. You'd worried he'd make you sick too at first but whatever it is he has he's yet to pass on. You figure if it was catching you would've felt it by now, and you can't say you care too much when you steal a kiss. He tries his very best to reciprocate, his exhale hot as it fans over your top lip. 

He peels his dry eyes open as you pull away, and you remind yourself to get him a hot towel or a tea tincture, something to ease the soreness. 

"You're on the up and up, handsome," you say. 

Eddie's never been sick like this while you've been together. Colds and the flu when you have a kid as young as Roan are a given; you've both fallen victim to her runny noses and sore throats a thousand times. They're easy enough to work through, especially when Eddie makes his lemon and honey tea. But this sickness, a virus, has had Eddie up against the wall. He's really worried you. 

He can see it on your face. 

"I'm actually feeling way better," he says, sounding extremely like himself despite the undertone of scratchiness to his voice. "Got a damn good nurse looking after me."

Roan's footsteps echo up the stairs. You don't turn to look at her as she enters the bedroom, hand stroking sweet, shaky lines down his stubbly cheeks. 

"Hey, Roanie," he says, shifting so he can see her from behind you. "D'you have a good day at school? Come and tell us." 

"Daddy!" she cheers, climbing up onto the bed and walking across it. Eddie pulls her skirt out of her tights where she's accidentally tucked it in, almost losing an arm as she collapses into his side. 

"Roan," you chide gently, "be nice, baby, your dad's still fragile." 

Eddie wraps his arm around, sending you a very grateful look as he says, "It's okay, I didn't like that arm very much anyway. Now c'mon, I wanna hear all about it. Did Stacy K remember her show and tell?" 

Roan starts to recount the day's events, little legs tucked under her knees and the top of her body draped over Eddie's chest. You keep a selfish hand on the very edge of his face, thumb petting his cheek. After a short few minutes his eyes start to droop. He tightens his arm around Roan and rubs her back, her soft cardigan bunching up under his hand. 

"Baby, I'm still feeling icky, okay? Maybe you can tell me the rest later?" he mumbles, hand slowing.

"You can tell me double," you offer distractedly, frowning at Eddie's unhappy face. He doesn't look peaceful anymore, he looks tired. Ragged. 

"Okay," Roan says, kissing Eddie's cheek three times in a row. You can't tell if she's upset by his lack of attention. She doesn't look upset, but she can be surprisingly deceptive. 

She slides off of the bed. Her steps stop at the door. "Mom?" she asks. 

You beam at Eddie's dozing face and give his slack cheek another quick kiss. 

"What?" you ask Roan, turning away from her dad with a smile. Everytime she calls you 'mom' it makes your day, and today is no exception.

"Can we have spaghetti shapes?" 

You squeeze Eddie's arm before you stand and meet her in the doorway, looking down at her mini features with a fond smile. "Yeah, we can have spaghetti shapes. They had princess one's in Bradley's," you say, suddenly excited as you remember. 

"Really?" 

"Mm. But there's spongebob if you want those ones instead." 

Roan takes your hand and starts to pull you toward the steps. "Princess ones, duh! Please." 

You watch Eddie's face until you can't, following Roan down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

You love how it's started to look as much like her and Eddie's kitchen than just your own. Her drawings and certificates litter the fridge, a family portrait pride of place and secured with upwards of five magnets so it doesn't fall off. There's sugary cereal across the top of the bread cabinet and a safety catch on the drawer with all the batteries. Cartoon characters are everywhere — on plates, spoons, Roan's placemat, and the spaghetti shapes themselves. You crack open a can and place a pan over the burner. 

"What do you want with them, princess? A dinner roll?" 

She wraps herself around your legs. "Two dinner rolls."

"Yeah? You must be hungry from all the running around this morning." 

When you'd dropped her off, her and her friend Jordan had decided they needed to run a race around the playground. You'd cheered from the sidelines.

"Can you pick me up?" she whines. 

You drop the wooden spoon you'd been stirring her spaghetti with into the pan and look down at her pleading pout. "Aw, yeah, I'm sorry." 

You pick her up and find her head quickly buried in your neck. She's almost as warm as the stovetop. You work your hand against her head and feel her temperature, concerned for a moment.

"I thought maybe you were sick like daddy, then, but you feel okay," you say softly, stroking curls back from her face. She's started hiding behind her hair like her dad more often. "Come out, I wanna see your lovely face." 

Roan lifts her chin. 

"That's what your dad said to me when we met. I'd never heard that word before I met you," you tell her. 

"What word?" 

"'Lovely,'" you say. 

She smiles with you for a couple of seconds but then it falters, and she looks at your necklace instead. A gift from her and her dad for mother's day. You'd cried for hours. 

"What's the matter?" you ask, eyebrows pinching together. 

"Nothing." 

You readjust your grip on her hips and lean back against the counter to stop from dropping her. She's getting heavier every single day. 

"Are you sure? You can tell me." 

Roan shrugs. It's adorable, though her next words are heartbreaking. "I don't know," she admits. 

"Are you feeling sick?" 

She shakes her head but won't look at you. You hold onto her tight and wait for her to continue, if she's even going to, the clock on the wall ticking in the quiet, the smell of spaghetti sauce sticky in your nose. 

"Are you sad about something? Did you… have an accident?" 

She shakes her head again. "No, I didn't. It's 'coz… I feel bad." 

"But not sick?"

"Not sick." 

"Oh no," you murmur, biting the inside of your bottom lip as her small face crumples. "Please tell me, Ro. I don't mind what it is, I promise." 

"I feel bad," she says again. "I miss dad." 

You feel your eyebrows jump. It makes sense for her to miss him, he's hardly awake when she's been home and they haven't had much time together all week. It's a sudden change. You feel very guilty very quickly for not realising it. 

"I'm sorry," you tell her genuinely. 

"I miss you, too. We don't have our hug after school now." 

Your guilt amplifies by a thousand. You haven't been spending that time with her after school, too busy checking on your bed bound partner. 

"Aw, Roan, I'm sorry, I've just been so worried about daddy, I didn't mean to forget." 

"You've been giving daddy hugs," she says insistently. 

You lean back further to take in her face. Her cheeks are red with blush, whether that be blood rush from embarrassment or injustice, you're unsure. She's frowning at your chin, eyes flicking up to meet yours. When she realises you're watching her she looks away and starts wiggling to be put down again. 

"Roan, it's okay," you start, arms crossing over her back. You angle your face to get her attention, holding her gaze. Pretty brown eyes edged in dark, long eyelashes like her dad's. "It's okay, bub. Don't wriggle, I wanna talk to you. Can I talk to you?" 

She pouts some more. You pout back, bringing a hand up to the back of her head. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been giving you as much attention as you dad this week," you say. You want to explain how hard it's been to handle everything by yourself, but you don't think it's the kind of thing she should ever have to worry about. "I'm really sorry, Roan, daddy's been so sick that I've been thinking about him all the time when I needed to be thinking about you too. I didn't mean to make you feel bad." Feel bad, feel jealous, feel upset by your redirected affection. "I love you so much. I didn't mean to forget our hugs, but it's okay if you're mad." 

Her spirits are lifted pretty swiftly after that. "We can hug again when daddy's not sick?" she asks. 

"We can hug right now!" you say urgently, carding your hand through her hair.

"On the couch?"

"Yeah, princess, on the couch. You can even eat your dinner on it if you promise not to tell dad." 

"You'll eat dinner with me?" she asks, suspicious. 

No tricks. "I promise." 

She smiles, a mirror image of her dad and all his mischief and her relief clear. "Okay, good, because I missed you and Teddy missed you and I didn't getta tell you about the rabbit we saw at school today. It was this big and it had pink eyes." 

-

You smile at her, a mixture of love and guilt. You're lucky to have a daughter like her, forgiving and patient, and you're lucky her dad did such an amazing job at making her that way. Rest assured, you won't forget your after school hugs again, even if Eddie's two bad coughs from the ER.

He appears an hour later to find you snuggled up on the couch, jealous and petty about it as he slots himself between you both. You and Roan hold hands over his chest. Munson cuddle piles are the best.

more eddie and roan

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #25] January

warnings: we get jaykay in his student era!!! poor baby is STRESSED!! very wholesome!! b makes him pasta, very lovely <33 until very suddenly it's not!! fingering, mentions of the erotic accordion, lots of teasing. a personal fave!!

wc: 12.5k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

It's a pleasant surprise to see Kim Taehyung with his clothes on. 

His cheeks are still a little warm when he strolls into the art cafe, well aware that it was his other cheeks you'd been confronted with when you'd seen him last.

Hands in pockets, he plays it off. Is cool and casual, in that suave way artists so often are.

"If you're looking for Danbi, we only live together. Don't work together. Think you'll find her at Memorial Park with half a dozen dogs, maybe" you tease.

He rolls his eyes, and continues forward to the main desk. When he reaches it, he leans an elbow down and looks quite at home. Dressed in a pair of dark slacks and cream button-up, he's a business-casual Capricorn's wet dream. It's entirely understandable why Danbi couldn't resist. You're surprised it's taken her this long, if anything.

"If it was Danbi I was after, it'd be Danbi I was with," he assures you, smile ever-present. He's charming; not like a sleazebag, but like a Disney prince. Always says the right thing. "And anyways, I know she's there. Just been there, myself."

You smile, pleased for your best friend.

It makes sense. She's been with him every night since New Year's. Your apartment has actually been a little lonely.

A week on since you were greeted with his bare arse, you're curious as to why Taehyung would be gracing you with his presence. It wouldn't be entirely out of character, but you are also aware that the last time he was here, it was to pitch his art show.

You remind him of this - not that he needs it, as he passes a business card over to you, embossed with a since hangul syllable: 류.

"Ryu?" You ask. "As in the gallery?"

He nods. "Ryu Gallery."

It's mid-size, a little out of town, but well-respected. Was one of the many galleries that simply didn't get back to Tae - but you have an acquaintance who works there. A friend of Seokjin's, actually. Involved in the finance side of the company. Had invited him along because you figured that there was no harm in asking. Didn't really expect him to show up.

Pulling his phone from his front pocket, Taehyung says nothing as he loads up his call history. At the top, there's a red number - one missed call - and a small play button next to what you assume is a voicemail. He presses down on it, and lets it play out.

"Hello, this is Park Shinwon from Ryu Gallery. I was passed your information by one of our colleagues, and was wondering if you had availability for a call regarding your work? We have an opening at the end of the month and are looking for a local artist to fill the space. If you think this could be a good fit for you, please call me back at the earlie-"

Taehyung cuts the voicemail short. You've heard all the important stuff.

There's a smile on your face; one that brewed gently as the memo played out. He'd done it. The write-ups and reviews had been fantastic, and Namjoon had helped get Taehyung a decent spot in the arts & culture section of the local paper, but this is the first solid indication that the show had been prosperous.

"Holy shit," you beam, clapping your hands together in tiny little pats of joy.

"Right?!" He beams right back. Phone locked and back in his pocket, Taehyung's never looked prouder of himself. You don't know him like you know Jimin or Jeongguk, but you know him well enough to understand how huge this is for him. "I can't even begin to thank yo-"

"No!" You laugh, reaching across the counter to squeeze his arm. "Don't you dare. It was your hard work, Tae. You did this! Congratulations!"

A little bashful in the way he looks down, it's clear that he's not used to such high praise. It's something he'll have to get used to, you think. This is just the start for him. He's destined for greats, you're sure of it - but then again, you have unwavering faith in everyone you care about. You'll manifest for them; will their dreams into reality. You're not sure if it works, but it's nice to think it does.

"Did you call back? What did you say?" You enthuse, before a couple comes to the counter with their finished artwork. Gritting your teeth, you cast Taehyung an apologetic smile. "Ah, just give me a moment."

He nods, and tells you to carry on. He knows he's interrupted you at work and feels bad for it. He could have just waited until he came around that evening (Danbi had already asked if he would), but was too nervous about the call.

When you return from packing up the canvases and ringing through the bill, he admits to it.

"Haven't actually called them yet," he grits his teeth together, eyes apologetic. "Didn't know what to say. It's kinda why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"You can say no," he prefaces, "but like... I don't know the first fucking thing about the suit side of the art world. Don't know how to negotiate, don't even know if that is something I need to be doing. I'm a fish out of water. and you're the only person I know - and trust - who seems to have any clue what they're doing."

It's really sweet that he thinks you have any idea at all. You just wing it a solid seventy percent of the time. You have connections, and you have a functioning brain. That's about it.

Still, you'll let him think that you have your wits about you.

"So..." you encourage, trying to coax a proper question out of him. You know what he's asking, but really think that all of Jeongguk's ragtag bunch of friends could do with learning how to ask for what they want. Maybe not Yoongi. He seems to have shit figured out.

"So..." Taehyung imitates, a friendly grin on his face. He's pretty. Really isn't hard to see why Danbi likes him. She's always gone for the artsy types. Likes to be a muse. "I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? Sort of like an agent, but not quite, 'cause I'm poor as fuck and definitely can't afford it."

"Agents work on commission," you tell him. "Or at least some of them do, so it doesn't matter that you're poor now."

"Well, I might never be rich," he warns you.

Taehyung believes in his work. Loves his work. Is yet to have success that reflects this. Other people don't seem to feel as strongly about it, which leaves him with lingering doubt as to whether or not he actually has something , or if it's all a bit of a vanity project. He hopes it's not. Knows that Rome wasn't built in a day, mind you.

It takes dedication. A hard grind. He's got grit and determination, but the doors he's knocked at have been double-bolted. Thinks that maybe you could give him a key.

"I doubt that very much," you say regarding his doubts. 

Of all the work showcased at the last show, it was his pieces that people kept coming back to. His pieces tagged in the art cafe's Instagram by customers. His pieces that sold; that got people interested. You had even had a girl in the cafe on a date a few weeks ago, who painted a replica of one of Tae's prints, which had been hanging on the wall beside her.

He's got talent.

But he knows that's not enough.

"Still, I didn't even realise agents were paid that way. I've no idea what on earth I'm doing, Disco Ball. Not really."

You take a moment to consider the proposition, but you aren't sure why. It's a no-brainer. Of course you'll help him out. You've contacts, thanks to your job, and acquaintances with money to spend thanks to Seokjin. You'll be an invaluable resource for him - and he'd much rather have a friend leading him through this unchartered territory than someone who only cares about numbers and finances.

"I'll make you a deal," you offer. "I'll help you, free of charge, but on one condition."

"Go on..."

You beam; smile so sweet that Taehyung knows your compromise is probably unconventional.

"I get a Kim Taehyung original."

"It won't be worth anything," he laughs. "It's a rotten deal."

"Not yet, maybe, but it will be," you tell him.

Much like Jeongguk's dreams, you believe in Taehyung's, too. Have no doubt he will achieve success. He's a Capricorn. Is just what they do.

"Alright," he agrees. Holds out his hand for you to shake. "I'll give you a free commission. You can redeem it at any time. Anything, any size, doesn't matter. It's yours."

He makes a mental note to revise this deal as you shake his hand. Doesn't think it's entirely fair on you. Thinks that he's benefitting far more from this than you will - but good, original artworks within your budget are hard to come by. You know your future self will thank you for this.

You tell Taehyung to arrange a meeting with the consultant at Ryu Gallery. 

"I'll go with you as a representative; will ask the right questions, stuff like that. The key here is to not sell yourself short or undervalue your work. If you sell a million-dollar piece for a hundred bucks, it'll set a precedent. People will take advantage. It'll be detrimental."

He nods, eager to learn. Willing to listen. Wants to succeed, and will do all he can to make sure it happens.

Departing only after you force him to call Ryu Gallery back and set a date in the calendar for next week, Taehyung is beyond appreciative. Both Danbi and Jeongguk had told him to reach out to you again, but he'd felt a little guilty, almost as if he was taking advantage of how charitable you are.

You don't really see it that way. Figure that if the roles were reversed, he'd do the same for you.

"Oh, just quickly!" Taehyung pipes up just as he reaches the door of the cafe. "The piece up in Jeongguk's living room - the black and gold one." Your face heats up. "Who's the artist?"

"Not sure," you shrug with an inconspicuous purse of your lips. "Why?"

"Jeongguk just said he got it from here," Taehyung explains, your cheeks only getting rosier and rosier. "I really like it so just wondered if it was part of a bigger collection."

"I can check," you say, knowing that there is absolutely no way you're ever gonna produce another one of those. Now that Tae's asking questions about it, you know Jeongguk needs to squirrel it away. The last thing you want is the truth coming out.

"Amazing," he beams.

You smile right back, but let it fade into a groan as he heads down the stairs, the realisation that he's seen the imprint of your tits leaving you mortified.

It's only fair though, you suppose. You have seen his arse, after all. Maybe you are more well acquainted than you realise.

The lives that you and Jeongguk had lived separately for many moons have somehow converged, meeting a diving point of intervention; as if you were meant to live your lives exactly as you have, just for moments like these.

This is only amplified when you arrive at Jeongguk's place after your shift finishes.

On New Year's day, after the creation of his sticky note shrine, origami birds watching proudly, you'd reached an agreement with Jeongguk: each and every one of the sticky notes have to be done by the end of the year.

"What about the birds?" Jeongguk had asked, not wanting to sacrifice them.

You both know the birds hold far more weight. The sticky notes are fun; a chance to experiment freely with somebody who is on the same page as you. The birds are all about preparing yourself to turn the page, so you can meet someone willing to start a new book with you.

Curled up in his bed, while Jeongguk had been sitting on his bedroom floor putting together a display box for a new 'sculpture' (because he refuses, still, to let you call them action figures) that he'd been gifted for Christmas, you had contemplated his question.

"The birds fall naturally," you'd hummed. "They drop when the universe needs them to. The sticky notes are deliberate. We're making the active choice to do them."

Cross-legged, Jeongguk reached over to get a small screwdriver from his bedside table. Your gaze had been up on the birds, but drifted down to him.

"So we'll make the active choice to do the sticky notes, and then just do the birds when they fall?" Jeongguk had clarified, not looking at you as he threaded a small screw into its hole.

"Yeah," you'd smiled. "Like, I come round once a week, and we get a sticky note done. Something like that."

Looking up at you now, Jeongguk had tilted his head in contemplation, pursing his lips before finally nodding. "Shall we say Sundays?"

With a slight sense of trepidation, but the awareness of this being good for you both, you had nodded. "Sundays. Trial it for the month of January. See how it goes."

And so now you're at Jeongguk's place for the first time since New Year's with a clear agenda - and yet all you really want to do is hang out with him. Innocently. Platonically.

"Oh thank God," Jimin breathes out with an overdramatic sigh of relief when he opens the door for you. Shoes on, jacket slung over his shoulders, he's been waiting on your arrival. "Jeongguk- '' he calls back into the darkness. None of the living area lamps are on, the city lights illuminating their apartment instead. "The babysitter is here! I'll be gone till morning. Don't be any trouble."

You roll your eyes, flicking his arm as you step past him into the apartment.

He's heading out for a family event down in Busan. Jeongguk had been intending on going to the city with him, but simply has too much school work to do.

Finals are coming up. He's stressed to the absolute high heavens.

"I will warn you," Jimin says quietly while you take off your shoes. "He's in a foul mood. Has been for, like, three days now. Think it's his time of the month."

"Still baffles me how you're able to pull," you mutter, knowing that any explanations on the intricacies of the menstrual cycle would be wasted on him - only for Jimin to remind you that he pulled you . "Was a moment of weakness," you assure him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say DB," he grins. "Look after him alright? Make sure he eats his veggies and brushes his teeth before bed."

Jimin departs faster than the winter wind that's howling against their windows. You don't even have a chance to question why he's treating Jeongguk like such a child - but as you walk into his bedroom, you sort of see why.

His bed's unmade, and he hasn't showered since, like, Thursday, maybe. Papers are scattered all over his desk, and there's a collection of takeout boxes by his door. The birds that were on his desk are now perched up on the shelf, laying in the middle of his chessboard. Beside them, a pot of your misplaced glitter sparkles in the dim light.

Quite unlike himself, Jeongguk's jaw looks sharper but his cheeks are bloated. You can tell he hasn't been eating nor drinking enough. Has a can of Monster on his desk, but you both know it's not enough to sustain him.

He really does look like a university student now, more than he ever has done before. Glasses on, hair tied in a tiny bun by the nape of his neck, teeth nibbling down on his bottom lip, the stress is evident in his sloped posture.

"Don't look at the mess," he mumbles, embarrassed that you have to see his room in this state, but also too preoccupied to really care.

You meander to his bed and sit down, one leg crossed beneath the other. Smile. "Too late."

"Sorry," he offers, but you shake your head - not that he's looking at you.

"S'fine," you hum. "If tonight is bad for you, we can always resched-"

"No," he says rather sharply, finally turning to look at you. His eyes are all wide and wanting, hating the idea of you leaving so soon, but they're also tired . He needs rest. "No, sorry." He puts down his pen, and turns in his chair a little. "I'm probably gonna be shitty company, but I'd like you to stay."

And so you nod. Of course you'll stay.

"Your hair looks sweet like this," you muse a little mindlessly as you come to stand by him, letting your index finger twirl in the curl that sticks out from the small bun.

His hair is always silky smooth, and you're envious of how well-nourished it is. A little curly, he definitely visits the salon every once in a while. You find it all very endearing, imagining him with a little salon cape around his shoulders, protectors over his ears, curlers in his hair.

"Needs a wash," he simply states, not wanting to dwell on the compliment that makes his tummy feel all funny. He's not really used to such delicate compliments.

Jiyeong would always comment on his physical strength, manliness, shit like that. Hardly surprising, given that she works at the gym. It's not just her though - Hayun's favourite part of him was always his upper arms.

He's no idea what you like about him. What attracts you to him - 'cause as much as you both like to pretend you're a bit repulsed by one another, there's obviously gotta be some sort of mutual attraction. The sex is too good.

Unless, he considers, it's all just chemical. Hormonal shit he doesn't understand, but knows plays an important role in chemistry. Maybe you aren't physically attracted to him at all.

"Wish my hair looked that good when it needs a wash," you sigh.

"I've never seen it look bad," he says, not thinking much of it.

"Well, I'd hope not," you smile. "I do know how to shower."

"I've got some things just to finish up - shit ," he curses as he realises just how much of a mess his room is. "I'm sorry. Been at work today, haven't you? Can grab a shower if you like, or something while I do this."

'This' is test revision. Coursework never really stresses him out, even if he does leave it until the last minute. He has more control over the variables. Exams make him nervous, and if there's one feeling Jeongguk hates, it's nervousness. Figures if he studies and studies and studies, then he'll feel prepared, and the nerves will ease. It never works. Only ever makes it worse.

"You sure?" you ask, though if you're being honest, a shower right now would be ideal. You got paint all over you at work, and while most of it washed off in the sink, you still feel a little less than fresh. "Or is this some backhanded way of telling me my hair looks shit?"

"Oh, 100%. You look awful. But also, yes. I'm sure," he smiles, soft eyes patient as he tries to push the pressure of his studies to the back of his mind. He hasn't seen you all week. Has missed you. Is glad you're here. Kinda hates that he's telling you to leave him, already, even if it's only for twenty minutes or so.

"Gonna join?" You ask, not really thinking much of it. Just a habit, now.

Jeongguk shakes his head. "Will get one later."

There are two distinct halves to Jeongguk's fear of rejection. The obvious, most notable half is the part of him that hates the feeling of being rejected, which prevents him from asking for what he wants. 

Far less discussed is the part of him that feels like he always has to say yes, because he doesn't ever want to make other people feel bad.

Just like he never fears rejection from you, he doesn't fear your reaction to his rejection, either. There's a stable foundation to your friendship. It's good for him.

So used to transactional relationships with the girls he's slept with - on their part, not his - he doesn't really realise that this - what you two have - is normal. It's how it should be.

And so when you smile, and say 'okay', Jeongguk almost expects you to start fighting with him.

It's been a few days since he spoke with Jiyeong ( where it was firmly established that she ended it with him, and that he was the problem, not her) but lingering patterns of behaviour still plague his mind. Feelings of failure still reside in the part of his brain that deals with desire.

You believe him when he says he won't join. Don't try and tempt. Tonight isn't about that - though you do glance over to the myriad of sticky notes on his bedroom wall before you grab his towel. Pay no notice to the fact there's a new one. Just as fluffy - exactly the same, you think - it's still wrapped in a sleek bow with the tag on it.

Maybe he's gotten annoyed with how often you use it. Maybe you're just such a permanent fixture that two seems like a good idea. You don't ask about it.

Instead, you also grab one of his shirts - the one with his hand prints on it. Paint markers have been taken to the shirts since, now outlining where his bones would be. The skeleton hands make you laugh - but they also get you thinking about that shower with him.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you leave Jeongguk to get on with his studies.

As you start the shower up and relieve your hair from the claw clip it's up in, you aren't too concerned with him joining. You genuinely do want to shower. Leave the door open just in case, but don't wait for him like you did the last time you were in the same position.

It turns out showers are far quicker when you're solo. You leave it without the feel of his hands on your body, but the scent of his strawberry shower gel still stains your skin. Feels like you're perpetually covered in him, in a roundabout way.

Scrunching your hair with his towel as you head back into his room, your clothes are still in a pile on his bathroom floor. You're just in the shirt now, bra foregone, underwear on to maintain some kind of decency.

You don't really greet him, instead heading to the window to take in the view. You're always envious of the skyline. It makes you consider moving closer to the inner city - but you're quite comfortable in your low-rise with Danbi. Plus, you can always just come and hang out here if you find yourself missing it.

Jeongguk says nothing as he comes to stand in behind you; personal space void of any meaning between the pair of you. Chin resting on your head, he drapes his arms over your shoulders.

You whisper a small greeting, and he whispers one back, but neither of you make conversation. Instead, you just watch the traffic roll on by. 

His eyes are down by the traffic lights, watching as a small crowd forms, a red light preventing them from crossing even though the road is clear. Yours are a little higher up, on the motel that is hidden between two skyscrapers. The curtains are mostly all drawn; save for one, where a couple stands in a position hauntingly similar to yours and Jeongguk's. They're smiling. Joking about something. Enjoying one another company - until the person standing in Jeongguk's position draws the curtain shut to keep the world at bay.

Maybe they're friends, too, you hypothesize - but friends don't book in love motels together, and if they do? Well, they certainly don't look like that together.

It's not like it's a new concept to you. You understand the conventions of couples; just think that maybe the line between romantic and platonic is far finer than you previously believed. Reckon that you and Jeongguk have a clear sense of it.

Turning in your spot, you wanna get a read on his face; see if you can gauge what he's thinking, what he's feeling. He doesn't move back as you turn. Stays in position. Doesn't mind the closeness.

Just an inch or so away from you, the proximity forces you to tilt your chin upwards in order to catch his gaze. His own chin is tipped to his chest, looking down at you in the gentlest of ways.

Storm clouds of mascara rest faintly beneath your lash line, and the occasional rivulet of water trails from your hair and down your skin like spring rain. Your typically tempestuous attitude is nowhere to be seen; docile in the calm of Jeongguk's mellow summer air.

Silent as the pads of his fingers stroke down the side of your neck, you're well aware of the fact you're not really breathing. Are too consumed by trepidation. Fearful and yet hopeful of what's to come. His firmly pouted lips part slowly - but he doesn't lean down.

Instead, his fingertips hook beneath the chain around your neck, and slowly begin to twist it back into position. The clasp had fallen to the front, excess chain tangling around the charm.

Jeongguk holds the dainty silver bird where it should be, between your collarbones, his touch feathery as he preens you.

Cautious and yet entirely confident, he doesn't mean to steal your breath - but it's only fair. You took his first.

His lip purse. Fold in on themselves. Lip ring does the thing. Adam's apple bobs as he swallows back a feeling he doesn't quite know what to make of.

And then he simply nods. Steps a little further back. Smiles. "There. Much better."

A discreet smile ghosts your lips as he turns away from you to get back to his work. Revision always gets him in this weird of constant contempt; stressed at the world around him even when he needn't be. Gets him antsy. Agitated.

His stress manifests in hunched shoulders and restless legs which jitter beneath his desk.

He tries to ignore the twinge of guilt in his chest as you leave the room without a word. Knows that he must be terrible company. Wonders why he can't just express himself normally.

Contrarily, you worry that Jeongguk just wants to be alone, and that your presence is overbearing. He could have cancelled plans if he wanted to. You wouldn't have minded. Sure, you've missed hanging out with him, but it's not the end of the world. Is probably good to have a little bit of a breather from one another every now and again.

Fixated on the fact you feel like a bother, you set about making yourself useful. He looks like he hasn't had a decent meal in a good while, and the boys keep their fridge remarkably well-stocked for a couple of bachelors with a penchant for nightlife.

Jeongguk listens out for you, still doing his work. Can hear you rummaging about in the fridge, and wonders what on earth you could be doing. Figured that the pair of you would just order in, or something like that.

Truthfully, you'd thought the same - but they've got a stockpile of tomatoes, and chicken that needs using. Without Danbi at home much this week, you've overindulged in take-out and snack foods a few too many times. You need a good meal just as much as he does. 

Glancing over to the hob, you check the pasta in the glass jar next to Jeongguk's chopping board. They're out of spaghetti, save for maybe ten strands, but thankfully have a full jar of rigatoni.

You know you can thank Jimin for the decanted pasta. The more you learn about him, the more you understand why his bedroom is so bare despite his job. He calls it 'intuitive interior design' - making life easy for himself through deliberate choices. It's why his bedroom is so streamlined. Less clutter means he can reset his brain more easily.

The living space is where the colour of the apartment is - Tae's paintings, photobooth strips, feather boas stolen from Dionysus - but the kitchen is laid out in a way that makes things easy for both of the boys.

You set about getting the things you might need, not really caring to ask Jeongguk's permission. Whatever you use, you'll happily buy again in the morning, but also highly doubt he'll ask you to. At least this way, he won't have to waste perfectly good ingredients on account of them rotting away in the bottom of the fridge.

You're chopping the tomatoes by the time Jeongguk comes to stand in his doorway. 

Leaning against the frame, a hand in his pocket, a soft smile on his lips, he's a little confused. Just watches as domestication becomes you; stars forming on your cheeks when the low glare of the overhead lights hits you just right. Hair still a little damp, it's up with a claw clip, small strands framing your face. You've the speaker on quietly, not wanting to disturb him. Some song he doesn't know by an artist he doesn't recognise plays. All he knows is that he likes it. Likes how comfortable this feels.

Jeongguk has missed you. Has been working to the point of exhaustion, but unable to sleep whenever he goes to bed. Looking at you now, he tries to stifle a yawn. Is glad you haven't noticed his presence, 'cause he knows the face he just pulled wasn't pretty.

But he thinks you are.

The fact he feels like he could sleep now? A curse, he decides. Doesn't wanna sleep. Wants to spend all evening catching up with you.

You're using the side of the knife to gather the chopped tomatoes together, and scooping them into a bowl, when you finally notice him.

"Hey," you say, a smile present as always. Such a simple word, but such a comforting one, too.

"Hey," he smiles back. "Watcha doin', B?"

"Baking a cake," you joke as you begin to peel some garlic from a bulb.

"Mhmm? Tomato cake," he says, pushing off the doorframe with his shoulder and making his way to the kitchen island. He stands opposite you, resting his elbows on the counter, chin in his hands. "My favourite."

The way your eyes sparkle under the warm lights that hang down from the ceiling has Jeongguk thinking of the stars again. His are all starry too, but you think that's just normal for him.

"Good," you say. "I'm making you your very own tomato cake. You have to eat it all ."

"I will."

"You better."

"Every last crumb," he nods - and even though tomato cake sounds absolutely repulsive to him, his stomach rumbles. Makes you laugh.

"When did you last eat?" you ask as you turn to the hob to fetch some spices off the rack.

Jeongguk mumbles. Says he doesn't really remember. Your eyes are sympathetic, frown present when you face him again.

"Gotta look after yourself," you tell him.

"I know. I will. I am - it's just, this exam, Byeol... I'm bricking it."

You had figured as much, but it's nice to have him confirm it instead of letting your assumptions take the lead.

"S'why I chose a coursework exclusive degree," you tease, trying to lighten his mood. "Was heaven."

"I'm so glad we didn't know each other back then," he laughs. "Would have resented you so badly."

You grimace, and give him a look he doesn't understand.

"You're BEM boy," you explain, shortening his Business and Events Management course name to the acronym that it's more commonly known by on campus. And then you shudder. "We wouldn't have been friends."

"Oh, bullshit," he protests. He knows boys on the full-time BEM course have a reputation amongst the alumni. Fuckboys . He's part-time, though. Doesn't run with those crowds. Is a good few years older than most of them, now.

"Nope," you argue back, still pottering about the kitchen, adding more ingredients to the saucepan. "If you'd have been in uni at the same time as me, I'd have avoided you like the plague."

"Would have been your loss."

Doesn't wanna blow his own trumpet, but knows that he looked damn good at 21. Considers it his peak. Forgets 23, and the amount of girls falling at his feet (was too busy at the time, face down by Hayun's feet instead). Simply doesn't realise how good he looks now, at 25.

Maybe 18-year-old Jeongguk was a little awkward, granted, but everyone is at that age. Whenever he used to visit his friends on campus for nights out, the girls they knew would always want to go out with them.

It's actually how he met Hayun. Was 19, and Taehyung had just done a project with her and Nabi for some extra credit. She came on a night out, and he got so nervous around her that he decided to black out just so he didn't have to feel the nerves. He'd woken up the next morning face down in a kebab box on the floor of Nabi and Hayun's dorm.

He resigned himself to the friend zone, and for a while, it had worked. For years, in fact. Convinced himself that they really were just friends. Best friends. Had offered to shag her after she'd spent a solid twenty minutes complaining about the fact she hadn't had sex for long she may as well have been a born-again virgin. Was just joking - but when she called his bluff, Jeongguk folded.

Maybe it wouldn't have been your loss at all. 

Maybe you'd have never become friends, like you are now. 

Maybe you both had to live through your traumas to be able to find one another.

You just scoff, unaware of memory lane taking Jeongguk down an unfavourable path. " Sure . My first uni hook-up was with a guy doing BEM. Trust me. I would have avoided you."

"Oh?" Jeongguk questions. "Do I know him?"

Shaking your head, you turn to place the pan on the stovetop, and let it heat up. "Doubt it. Was a final year when I was a fresher, so would have been gone way before you started."

Jeongguk's brows furrow, now. "When you were a fresher? A final year?"

Humming confirmation, you carry on with your cooking.

"He was supervising the fresher's bar crawl," you explain. Can't even remember his name, now. Can barely remember anything about that night. "Was leading my team. I lost against him in a drinking game. Really couldn't handle my drink back then. Anyways, I ended up in some off-campus house with the most vom-inducing hickies known to man."

"So you were drunk?"

It sounds a little accusatory. He doesn't mean to. It's just that he deals with creeps taking advantage of drunk girls all the time. Hates it. Hates thinking it happened to you.

"Yeah?"

"And he wasn't?"

"He was less so. Was still drinking, but yeah, it wasn't my best decision."

The way you shrug it off frustrates Jeongguk. His lips purse a little, and the dimples reserved for moments of contemplation deepen in his cheeks.

"You know what it's like when you're eighteen," you continue, facing away from him, unaware of his obvious contempt. "First taste of freedom and all that. Think you're invincible. And like, I made worse choices that year," you add, as if that's supposed to soften the blow of what you've just told him.

His tummy feels all twisted; as if his body is trying to manifest the concept of time travel just so he can go back and apply for university when everyone else did. Wants to have been your friend right from the start. Wants to erase the reality of creeps taking advantage of you.

"Still a kid at eighteen," he says. Strange, how he doesn't afford his past self the same kindness. "It's so young."

You shrug, turning back around to retrieve the extra vegetables for the sauce. "Easy to think that, looking back. Thought I had the world figured out, at the time. The older I get the more naive I realise I was."

Funny, how years and years later, you feel more clueless than you ever did back then. Relationships were black and white; you either loved someone, or you didn't.

Now, the concept of love you once knew isn't one that you're entirely sure you believe in. Not in the same way you did.

"Anyways, you should shower," you say, moving the conversation along. No point dwelling on pasts that make no difference, now. "You look like shit."

He reaches over to one of the spare tomatoes and throws it in your direction. Smiles when you try to swat it away, only for it to hit your neck regardless.

"Charming as always, Byeol," he says a little dryly, but with his smile still wide.

"Well, you do," you assure him, face straight, eyes earnest.

"Show up at my place, use my hot water, start rummaging around in my fridge-" he says with a tsk .

" You invited me," you scoff right back. " Told me to shower, and I'm cooking for you . Christ alive. You really are unbearable today."

The grin on Jeongguk's face is so pretty, eyes so sparkly, that you think you want to kiss him again. Silly little thought in your silly little head. Silly, and improper, and dangerous. Disastrous, in fact.

"And," you add on, because you know you need this conversation to end. "You stink. So go and get a shower, you horrible boy."

Feeling somewhat challenged, Jeongguk lifts his arm above his head and nestles his nose right into his pit. Inhales, as if he's smelling freshly baked pie. Smiles. "Ahhhh. Delicious."

You gag.

"You wanna smell?" he offers, leaning a little further on the counter, face sweet as he encourages you. The look of repulsion on your face is exactly what he was after. "Yeah?"

"Keep that pit away from me," you warn, holding up the knife you had used to chop the tomatoes.

Despite the threat, Jeongguk edges around the kitchen island. "Yeah? Wanna smell?"

"Stay the fuck away!"

"Wait, I didn't hear you. You said come closer?"

"Gguk!"

For all your protests, the knife is back down on the counter. You tossed it down so you could run from him, but you're not really trying all that hard.

You'll pretend like you are. Wriggle from his grip when he catches you. Try and hide your laugh as he tries to quite literally smother you. Will pinch his nipple through his shirt as a form of defence. Will gag, and whine, and pretend like this is the worst experience of your life.

But in the comedown of Jeongguk's chase, you both giggling, caught in an embrace that is far too close, sauce simmering away without a care, you'll notice the stars in his eyes again. Count the constellations. Forget how to breathe, as if you really are in space without any oxygen.

"You smell like a sweaty ballsack," you tell him with absolute certainty.

Yet your grip on his shirt doesn't ease.

"You look like a sweaty ballsack," he counters. Swallows.

Neither of you pull away. Apparently, you're both partial to a sweaty ballsack. Who'd have thought?

On a fundamental, human level, you're aware that Jeongguk doesn't smell great. He is sweaty and definitely has worn that shirt for like, three days in a row, but... you like it. Oh it's disgusting . Really fucking horrid. Rancid, even.

"Shower," he just says, softly, as if he's reminding himself of what he needs to do.

You nod. "Shower."

But your hands are still holding the sides of his shirt, and his eyes can't seem to focus on yours because they keep dropping to your lips, and then his breathing is all over the place and so is yours and - fuck .

Loosening your grip, you pat the front of his chest. He doesn't move. Just closes his eyes. Nods.

"I need to check the sauce," you whisper. "Go. Shower."

And so he does as he's told. You keep yourself busy tinkering about until you hear the shower start up - at which point, you rest your palms on the counter and let your head hang between your shoulders. Sigh deeper than Marianas Trench. Shake your head. "Stupid."

You're unaware, but he's doing the exact same thing by the bathroom sink.

It had been fine. It had been fun. Why did I have to linger like that? Why did I have to make things weird? Why am I always making things so awkward?

He tosses his clothes down on the pile by the door, his on top of yours, and instantly feels a little bit better when the water hits his skin. Tries not to dwell on it, 'cause if he pretends moments like those don't happen, he won't have to deal with them. Will gaslight himself into thinking it never happened.

You're on the couch by the time he's done with his shower, legs curled up, pasta cooked and waiting in a covered saucepan for him.

"Not eating?" he asks as he notices there's no evidence of you having pasta on the coffee table.

Glancing over to him, you're reminded of post-shower Jeongguk and why the concept of it is so dangerous for you. Towel wrapped around his waist, water trailing down his abs... Yeah. You lose your mind a little. Think that any sane human would also lose theirs.

"I, uh-" you pause. Swallow. "Um. Sorry. Eat?"

"Yeah," he smirks, a little bemused. Figures you were lost in the show you're watching. Still in his shirt, your hair is pretty much dry, now, slight waves framing your face while the rest of it is still pinned back in a claw clip. You really do need to decide what you're doing with the colour. The bleach is growing out far faster than you thought it would, but you can't commit yourself to getting rid of it. Jeongguk likes the slightly messy nature of it all. Thinks it suits you. "No pasta?"

"Oh," you enthuse when you realise what he was asking. "Was just waiting for you."

He apologises. Says you should have started without him. Says he wouldn't have minded it, and thanks you again for cooking. "Smells amazing."

Quick to throw on some clean clothes, Jeongguk shoos you out of the way when he gets back to the kitchen and finds you about to plate up. Insists he does it. You've done all the hard work. He's happy to wash up, but he wants to at least contribute now.

Jeongguk takes a single bite of the pasta before he stands up, retrieves the saucepan and a heat mat, then sets it down on the coffee table.

"You okay there?" you laugh, a little puzzled by him.

When he turns to look at you, as if you've betrayed him. "You never told me you could cook, B."

He had been expecting a regular, run-of-the-mill tomato pasta - nothing wrong with that, he would have enjoyed it - but this? Oh, this is as close to heaven as humans get through food. It's rich and spicy, but also a little sweet and tangy when it needs to be. The rigatoni is cooked just right. Just how he likes it.

"You can't?" You laugh, digging into your own bowl. Admittedly, it is banging. Your favourite comfort recipe, you're quietly overjoyed that he likes it.

He shakes his head to say no. Has always enjoyed cooking. Knows he'll have to make you his signature pork belly one day. If you end up staying tonight (which he's hoping you will, even if he is awful company at the moment), he'll cook breakfast.

"I can - I just... fuck me, Byeol," he almost moans. "This shit is good."

Jeongguk's always had a good stroke game, but when it comes to stroking your ego? Yeah, he ain't bad at that, either.

He also isn't bad at turning himself into a literal human hoover. It's a miracle he doesn't choke, or get heartburn. He's already nearly polished off the leftovers from the pan before you've even made it halfway through your bowl (of which he had filled to the brim, because portion control with a body like his doesn't apparently matter).

Pasta eaten - or in Jeongguk's case, absolutely demolished - he allows himself the luxury of switching off for the first time all week. Other than a quick gym session here and there, or coffee with Hayun towards the start of the week, he hasn't taken a moment to relax at all.

You're rabbiting on about something inconsequential, just letting him exist. You know it's been a hard week. The television plays in the background, big light turned off, your feet in his lap. He stokes a little mindlessly over your ankle, self-soothing for him and just as comforting for you. He's meant to be listening, but zoned a little while ago.

Initially, he was thinking about the weird moment between you both in the kitchen earlier, but tried to get it out of his head.

Ends up thinking about the BEM twat you mentioned earlier, instead. Thinks you've got horrible taste in men - or at least, in hookups. He knows both he and Jimin could be classified in that category, but he disregards that. Or at least, he disregards himself .

At least he makes you orgasm. If he asks, will probably be horrified by the amount of times you've gone without one during intercourse. It's not always, but often. Never with him though, which is nice.

Scares you a little bit. The idea of the best sex of your life being with someone who isn't romantically involved with you just doesn't sit right. What if you fall in love and Jeongguk is still the best you've ever had? Will you be comparing? It's a variable you're yet to test out. One that worries you.

But all Jeongguk can think about is the fact that you're his friend. And he cares about you. And he thinks you deserve to feel good. And knows he can do that. And that he wants to do that. And so, quite suddenly, Jeongguk interrupts you.

"Can I get you off?"

You almost choke on your own spit. Had been explaining a new discovery of ancient mammals using tools for hunting and cooking. Not the most enticing topic of conversation, to say the least.

"Sorry?" You laugh, taken aback by the sudden request.

He looks away. Looks at his hands. Looks back at you. Wishes he wouldn't let the impulsive thoughts win, sometimes.

But then, because apparently he's a fucking idiot with no self-control, he asks again. "Can I get you off?"

The answer is always, unabashedly, yes . You've been caught off guard though. Panic. Ask, "Why?"

He shrugs. Looks at his hands again, eyes wide, brows furrowed. Wants to pour boiling water in his ear to melt his brain. Would probably work better if it was mush, he thinks. A reply to your question sits on the tip of your tongue, but there are too many variations for him to choose from - Because you deserve it. Because I'm horny. Because I want to. - so he just says: "fun."

And, like, he's not wrong. It is fun. You just thought it would be the last thing on his mind, given how stressed and sleepy he's been.

"I mean, do you want to?" you laugh, a little hot beneath the shirts of his that you're wearing by the mere suggestion of it.

He shrugs. Thinks it's a stupid question. Nods. "Get your minge out."

The horror plastered all over your face wouldn't be out of place in a Hitchcock film.

"Get my minge out?!" You hiss, your repulsion only second to shock.

"Yeah," he smirks. Is deliberately being vulgar because it's funny, and he needs this to be anything but romantic. Will lose his fucking head if he starts thinking about stars and constellations and shit like that again - but fuck . Even after a shower, you're covered in glitter! He can never fuckin' win. Is in a constant state of war with his own head. How can he ever expect to win against the milky way in human form? You'll eclipse him one day, and he'll enjoy every second of it.

"It's almost like you don't want me to get wet," you tell him, as if you didn't feel a slight twinge in your stomach when he smirked. Wasn't your fault. His lip ring did the thing. You're only human. Was bound to happen.

"I think you're already wet," he says all rather plainly.

"That's beyond the point."

It's a satisfying answer. One that makes him feel all smug. Gets his cock a little twitchy.

"Look, I'm stressed, B," he admits. "There's so much going on in my head that I can't think straight. Getting you off is, like, a stress reliever."

You furrow your brows. "Surely getting yourself off is a stress reliever?"

"I can do that at the same time, if you want?" He says, cheeky in the way he raises his eyebrows and toys with his lip ring.

"You are such a boy."

"So is that a no?"

That's the thing about you and Jeongguk; you'll never reject him.

In fact, it's probably quite futile for his whole fear of rejection thing. That'll be a thought to battle with later, though.

"It's an 'ask nicely' ."

Jeongguk gently squeezes your ankle, before getting to his feet and piling the pasta bowls into a neat stack. "Let me just wash up, alright?"

You watch him as he walks away not even waiting for a response. He does it often; wants your approval of things he's already determined to do. It's sweet, in a way. Could be frustrating, given the right circumstances, but it hasn't been so far. You just kinda keep your gaze on him, confused at how a man so reserved and cautious in one moment can be so reckless and charming in the next.

"Byeol?" He hums, flicking on the tap and reaching for the dish soap.

"Hmm?" You hum right back.

"Go wait in my room."

It takes you a second or so to follow his commands. Earns a minuscule plea from him. "Please, B."

You can't refuse him. Not really. Never have been able to.

His room is still a mess. Glitter-tarnished pillows clue you into the fact that he hasn't washed his sheets since new years - but then you remember the fact he definitely changed the bottom sheet. Colour floods to your cheeks, memories of that night crashing to the forefront of your mind.

You try to forget about it. Forget the kisses. Forget the way it sounds when Jeongguk calls you ' baby '.

This? Now? Nothing more than a stress reliever. ' Fun '.

You neaten up his bed, and tuck the takeout boxes out of sight. Turn on his cosmic mood lamp, but leave the curtains open. You preen yourself in his mirror. Realise there's something missing, so retrieve the little pot of glitter from his shelf.

The remains of the day's glitter are all over your skin, but the shower had cleansed your eyes of it. Makes you feel naked. You hate it - so quickly stipple a little in your inner corners and beneath your lash line.

It's funny. When you take off the shirt of his that you're wearing, and toss it over the back of his chair a moment later, you don't feel naked. Feel perfectly yourself. A glitter girlie through and through.

Jeongguk stops in his tracks as soon as he reaches his door frame. You're standing on the other side of his bed, a coy smile on your lips

"Fuck."

His eyes are all over you, tongue wetting his bottom lip before his teeth press down on it. Something about your body really gets him. It's likely the memories - knowing how your skin tastes, how soft your tits are and how hard your nipples can get, the pressure of your lips on his neck - that gets him even stiffer in his sweats.

He really underestimated the consequences of telling you to get your minge out. Should have thought about that.

"You're gonna kill me one day," he mutters as you get onto the bed with almost feline elegance. He walks a little closer. Meets you by the corner of his mattress. Doesn't object as you palm him through his sweats. Sighs into your touch. "God."

Perfectly poised to suck his dick, you both know that you could. He wants it. Wants it so badly he can't even begin to articulate a request.

But it's not about him. Not even when your lips press pretty kisses against the outline of his cock.

He's making you cum. He has to. Will die if he doesn't.

"On your back," he husks. "Spread your legs for me."

There's a pout on your lips, but you do as he says. When your back hits his sheets, your tits pillow on your chest, perfectly round and desperately in need of his lips around your nipples. Legs open for him, one of your hands dips to your pussy while the other cups one of your boobs. Middle and forefinger spreading your wet lips for him, you feign a little innocence.

"This what you want?"

All he can do is nod, eyes transfixed on just how good you look. Wetness seeps from you, covering you in the most glorious sheen. You're always so wet for him. So ready. So willing.

You massage yourself a little for him. Toy with your clit. Whine probably more than you really need to.

Standing at the end of his bed, cock furiously hard in the strained material of his sweats, Jeongguk wraps his hands around your ankles. Yanks you further down his bed. Gets you all giggly.

He doesn't loosen his grip straight away. Instead, he lifts your legs. Rests your heels on his shoulders. Reaches down to squeeze your boobs. Grunts. "Fuckin' tits, man."

You're grinning, still. "What of them?"

He shakes his head. Grins, too. "Fuckin' corrupted me."

"You want them in your mouth again, don't you?" You tease - but are quickly put back in your place when Jeongguk sinks a finger into your hot cunt. "Fuck."

"Keep playing with yourself," he says, before getting all shy. He's about to admit how much he likes your tits. Again . As if you don't already know. Cringes. Tilts his head to the side, nose nestling against your foot. Smiles. Looks back at you with shame and sin all over his starry features. Sinks a second finger into you. "Yeah, I wanna suck them. So fuckin' bad."

His fingers are slow as they work their way into you. In. Out. Push. Pull. It's heaven. Slow. Deep. Just like Jeongguk's eyes and the way they study the pleasure on your face. He's taking his time.

You draw dainty little circles on your clit, not wanting to take the focus away from the feeling of his fingers. The combination is lethal; the furrowing of Jeongguk's brows a trigger that could set you off at any given moment.

Something about his work ethic really gets you. He puts his all into the things he does. Wants to be the best. Endeavours to always get top marks. The way he's cramming for his exam? Yeah. It's hot. His determination? His drive? So incredibly sexy. It comes as no surprise that he's got similar prowess for making you come undone. He reads your body. Understands that the tight closing of your eyes is pleasure, not pain. Knows that the flexing of your calves against his chest, the pointing of your toes by his ears, means he's stroking at the right spot; curling his fingers just right.

His spare hand strokes up your leg. Grips your ankle, his thumb lacing itself beneath your anklet. Your head pushes back into his sheets, spine arching for him.

"Yeah?" he encourages as he continues stroking up against your front wall. "Does it feel good?"

Eyes still closed, you nod. Whimper.

A little more pressure on your clit would make you come. You aren't doing it 'cause you want this feeling to last, but you're already so close. He knows exactly how to get you on edge. Finds your weak points and exploits them for his own pleasure; the satisfaction of giving you an orgasm.

"Good," he husks, pressing his lips against the side of your foot, just cause he needs to do something with them. Fucks his fingers into a little deeper. Slower. Is dulcet as he says, "wanna fuck you so bad."

"Do it," you whine. "Fuck me. Please."

You can hear the tiny little nose breath he does as a soft smirk graces his lips. Can feel them against your foot as he shakes his head and whispers, "no."

You whine. Pout. "Gguk-"

But then he builds speed. Is so fast you can barely breathe let alone speak. Makes your entire body shake.

"That's it," he keens. "Keep rubbing your clit. You're gonna cum for me."

"Gguk."

"You're gonna cum."

Thing is, it's not a command. It's an observation. He can feel you getting tighter; feel the familiar clamp of your hot muscles against his long fingers. Knows that this is what precedes heaven on earth.

All you can do is nod. "Gonna cum."

Your hips roll up into his touch, desperate to be as full of him as you can be. As you press down on your clit, the way Jeongguk shallows his finger to directly hit your g-spot has you mewling. His fingers are fast as he repeatedly motions them upwards, the knot in your stomach growing tight and tighter and tighter - until, gradually, eventually, but all very suddenly, the rope snaps entirely.

Your orgasm washes over you like tidal waves, throbbing walls tightening around Jeongguk's fingers, your spare hand grabbing at his wrist to both stop him and keep him in place. It's too much and not enough all at the same time. You continue applying pressure to your clit as writhe in his sheets.

Jeongguk watches on, jaw slack, eyes hungry. He could watch this all day; how the creases between your brows don't ease, not even when your lips curl into a smile. How your chest heaves, and your legs jolt. God. He wishes you were a part of his exam. He'd pass with flying colours.

"You good?" He asks a little too fondly, smiling down at you.

Laughing to yourself a little, you cover your eyes with your forearm. Nod. "Good."

But you're also not done.

There's a plethora of sticky notes on his wall, and you're pretty sure Jeongguk hasn't had a release in a fair few days. He needs this more than you.

And so when you tell him to pick a sticky note, he doesn't waste time. Goes for one at waist level - figures you probably put it up, not him.

Turning back to face you, the sticky note affixed to his index finger as he reads it, his brows furrow. Face contorts. Head tilts to the side.

"What the fuck is an erotic accordion?"

—

"I don't ever wanna see you in that position again," Jeongguk shudders, decidedly not finding anything erotic about being positioned like a fucking accordion.

The mechanics of it all just do not do it for him. It's not even so much the awkwardness of you, but himself. Didn't like seeing himself in that position. Has never been so aware of his own legs during a shag. Weirded him out.

You snort. "Please - I think it was the least sexually attracted to you I've ever been."

Jeongguk toys with his lip ring, tattooed arm folded across his chest, sheets pooling just beneath his belly button. Back against his headrest, all of his pillows are on the floor. They'd just gotten in the way earlier.

You're on your back, legs up against his headrest, both mirroring and subverting his position. On top of the sheets, you're wearing one of his shirts to cover your modesty.

"So you admit it," he teases with a raise of his eyebrows as you look over towards him. Wish there were still pillows on his bed so you could hit him with one. "You do think I'm hot."

"Not when you're positioned like that," you tease right back.

It's all in good humour. Neither of you are taking any offence. The whole point of these sticky notes is to find out what you do and don't like - the erotic accordion? Yeah. You'll file that one under 'not again'.

Although the more Jeongguk thinks about it, the more open he is to it.

"Felt pretty good, though."

The position, which had been one of your sticky notes, involved him laying on his back with his knees to his chest. The thought of it now makes you giggle. He looked quite cute, all things considered. Submissive. Shy.

He's got that pensive face of his on, looking straight ahead at his desk. There's an assignment open on his dual screens, and he does need to get back to it soon, but he's making the most of a short break with you. 

His lips ring does the thing as he nibbles down on his bottom lip.

You move your leg a little to tap his head with your foot, getting his attention.

"Mhm?" he hums, eyes still unfocused.

"Did it really feel good?"

He nods. Looks at you now. Smirks, but tries to hide it. Shrugs his broad shoulders, collar bones catching on the light of his monitors. Dark outside, they're the only thing lighting up the room now that his lamp is turned off.

"Can't get that deep," he simply states. "There's, like, a lot going on around the tip. It's the most sensitive part, isn't it? So yeah."

You've always been a deep penetration girlie, but even you have to admit the shallowness of his cock pushing into only just your entrance before pulling out again felt really nice. Completely different to what you're used to - especially from him.

Glancing down his chest to where his hand rests over his crotch, you assess the situation. The sheets cover him, but you know he's a little hard beneath them.

You adjust slightly. Press your thighs together, heels against his wall.

With a hearty sign, you feign a little boredom. "Fine. I'll fuck you again."

"Sorry?" He almost giggles. Teeth on show, nose a little scrunched, he doesn't understand you, sometimes. Enjoys it, though. Likes how you aren't taking the sticky notes seriously.

It alleviates him of the pressure that would come with doing these things with anyone else, he thinks.

He knows that's the whole point of them - try these things with you, so that he doesn't have to fear rejection of asking for them with anyone else - but he's surprised at how well it seems to work.

Then again, he's not yet put any of them into practice.

Unaware of his complex thoughts, yours are far more simple: you're still horny.

The accordion really isn't all that erotic. You didn't finish. Didn't care for reciprocation, 'cause Jeongguk's got a wall full of sticky notes, and it's only just gone midnight. You know you'll be coming undone at least once more tonight - if Jeongguk's track record is anything to go by, it'll be plenty more.

Tapping his head with your foot again, you smile as his hand wraps around your ankle.

"Stop," he mumbles, nose resting on the top of your foot, lips pressing against the side of it.

You bite down on your bottom lip, a little flustered from heavenly his chocolatey eyes appear. He keeps his grip on your ankle and pulls it over his lap, encouraging your body to twist. Dragging you to straddle him, reverse cowgirl style, Jeongguk isn't shy about the fact he's hard again.

"You're so easy," you simper, slinking down like a cat, back a little arched, arms straight out ahead of you. His hands push his shirt up, and grips the soft flesh of your hips, pulling you a little further up his lap. You automatically find yourself grinding a little against him. Force of habit.

"Me?" He murmurs, gripping your ass now. He's a little rough with it. Fingers strong. You half think he's gonna spank you - but then he sinks his middle finger straight into your cunt. Still wet and wanting after the sex, Jeongguk enjoys teasing you. Likes keeping you keen. It's fun. He pulls the entire length of his finger out from you. Licks it clean. Keeps his hushed groan quiet. Fingers you again. Pulls out, again. The sound of him intruding and leaving is so satisfying. He does it again. Again, again. You're a little whimpery. "I'm the easy one?"

"Mhmm," you whine as he pushes into you again, still a single, long finger. He holds it there this time. "So easy."

The way you're positioned right now has him wanting to act on his ass-guy impulses. You kind of knew it would. He got you into this position far too easily for it not to have been something he's perfected over the years.

"Can I?" He husks, not wanting to ask the full question, hoping you'll understand.

You do. You know exactly what he wants. Wanna give him the green light without hesitation - but you're supposed to be helping one another.

"Ask properly," you say, voice contorted with the anticipation of pleasure. "Ask for what you want, Jeongguk."

"Mhh," he groans. The hand that isn't currently occupied with your pussy squeezes the soft mound of your ass. "I hate it when you make me do this."

It's almost like he's forgotten how often he makes you directly ask for things.

Your hips roll for him, Jeongguk's fingers still inside. Can't help but moan. "Gotta do it, Gguk. Gotta open yourself up for rejection."

He knows you won't say no. Knows rejection isn't on the table here, and yet he sort of worries about it, still. This is something he wants. Something he's expressed desire in; exclusively his.

Jeongguk lowers his head. Presses a kiss to where his hand was once squeezing your ass. Rests his forehead there. Groans.

"You know I want it," you husk, encouraging him. "All you gotta do is ask. Use your big boy words."

He just whines again. Is deliberately dramatic when he says, "Don't say shit like that, Byeol. I'll cum in my pants."

With a soft laugh, you turn back to look at him. Your faces are both partially obscured by the positioning of your body, but your eyes are able to meet. He's pouting. Eyes wide. Looks as if he's telling gospel truths.

"You're not gonna cum in your pants," you tell him, knowing he's a big fat liar. He's probably not even ready to go again, yet.

"No," he admits. "But I might die.

Rolling your eyes, you grin as you regain your former position. "So you want your dying words to be that of a coward, huh?"

He sighs. Knows you're right. Fucks his finger into you even deeper, stroking at your walls. Gets you a little whiney .

"Wanna eat your ass, " he gruffs, spreading your cheeks a little with his spare hand. You're on display for him, the tight muscle he's dying to get his tongue on just waiting there patiently; pristine. "Let me. Please ."

And then, quite unexpectedly, you free yourself from his grip. Pull away.

Turn to face him, and smile with a grin Jeongguk knows is trouble.

"No."

Lips hanging ajar, Jeongguk looks like he's just been hit in the chest with a paintball gun. He almost wants to question it - No? What do you mean no? - but he knows exactly what no means. Respects it. And yet he feels a little cheated.

"B..." is all he says, because, like, what the fuck? You'd practically been edging him. Forced him to ask .

"Gguk..." you tease back, obviously finding this far more amusing than he is.

His face is a picture, confusion contorting his features, silence speaking for him. It's the reaction you expected, but it makes you feel a lot more guilty than you had anticipated. It's not that you're trying to be a dick. You really did want him to do it.

But Jeongguk is also yet to face any form of rejection. The girls he's spoken to have been interested in him. Not once has he faced any sizable consequence to his questions or actions, and even though you know that asking to eat your ass isn't exactly the top of his issues, you have to reject him. Have to get him used to the feeling. Have to let him get comfortable with it.

He doesn't really know what to do. Purses his lips. Nods. Is obviously disappointed, but trying his best not to let it show.

You feel guilty. Come a little closer. Straddle his lap again, and guide his chin so that his gaze is directly on yours.

He resists at first. Is embarrassed. Feels all horrible inside. It's even worse that his cock is still hard. The entire thing is a bit mortifying. Doesn't wanna look at you, 'cause he feels stupid. Must have misread the situation. Idiot.

But he hadn't misread it all.

You hadn't planned on doing that. Just kind of had an impulsive thought - what if I do reject him? - and let it win.

"That was mean," he whispers so quietly that you almost don't hear it.

You nod, noses nudging against his. "It was."

"Say sorry," he pouts.

When you smile, a small giggle is held back. "I'm sorry. Should I kiss you?" you offer. He pulls you a little further up his lap. Makes you think a kiss is coming. "To say sorry?"

Closer, closer, closer. His nose nudges up against yours. He pauses. "No."

It's direct. To the point. Gets you in your chest a little. Rejection . Funny little thing.

"I wasn't trying to be a dick. There is a sticky note with it on, Koo," you begin to explain. Jeongguk hates how loopy that name makes his tummy feel. "It's gonna happen. I want it to happen."

Yet you didn't let it. He doesn't get it. Doesn't understand. It's a rare instance of your communication going awry.

"You made me ask," he mumbles, pouting. "And then you..."

You stay silent. Wait for him to figure it out. It takes only a second or so. You know he's cracked it when his thumbs begin to stroke against your skin like it normally does.

"And then I rejected you," you nod. Feel incredibly guilty about it now.

Living through rejection in times of vulnerability is important for him. He needs to process that it's okay; that rejection isn't automatic doom and gloom. That he can put himself out and not fear rejection - not because it will never happen, but because he can recognise that life goes on after it.

And it does. For now, though, he's still a little embarrassed.

"I hate that you did that," he says candidly, voice quiet, nose nestled against yours. Wants to stay close. Wants the comfort that comes with it. Eyes shut, his confidence feels shot to shit.

On a normal day, he'd probably not be so concerned about it all - however his emotions are running high. It's just the stress, but it's impacting all of his interactions.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"I know," he whispers right back. He genuinely does believe you are - but also believes you shouldn't have to apologise for saying no. "It's okay. 'No' is okay. You can say sorry for being a meanie, but that's all. Can't say sorry for saying 'no' , okay?"

Oh, you've never wanted to kiss him more. Give him the biggest, sweetest smooch for just being so inexorably endearing.

But you just nod. He'd said 'no' to kisses earlier.

Life goes on. Jeongguk knows this. Repeats it like an oath.

Life goes on. Life goes on. Life goes on.

"Two choices," he says. Pulls away a little. Wants to look in your starry eyes, and forget what just happened. "Choice one - we call it a night and get some sleep."

"Or?" you encourage, still feeling a little awful about the whole rejection thing.

"Or, choice two - you go and pick a sticky note, this time. We do whatever it says."

If there's one thing for certain, it's that you love a good redemption arc. Think this is a no-brainer. You hop off his lap without a second thought and pluck one off the wall at random.

Jeongguk bites down on his bottom lip as he watches you. His head is all over the place, but he knows one definite truth: you make things feel okay .

Embarrassment? It's null and void, with you. Sure, he feels it in the moment, but it always just simmers away. Disappears.

"So?" he asks, as you scan over the words of the note.

It's Jeongguk's handwriting. Is deserved, you think.

You turn it around for him to read, getting back into position on his lap. He welcomes you back, Holds your waist as you intrude on his personal space more - but is it really intruding if he's opening the door for you? Welcoming you in?

"Ah," he grins a little awkwardly. " That ."

" That ," you echo with a small giggle.

"You wanna do it?" he asks, a little cautiously this time.

You're so proud. 

He opened himself for rejection again . He can do it.

With a nod, and every muscle in your body willing your lips not to kiss him, you say, "yeah. I do."

Jeongguk grins even brighter, now. Has stars in his smile. Thoughts of twenty minutes prior don't bother him anymore.

"Alright," he sighs a little, as if he isn't secretly really keen for what's yet to come. "Let's get it."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[chickenfics]

the way I love the ocean

Relationship: Robin Buckley x Female!Reader

Summary: It was the summer of ‘87. Nothing in your life had prepared you for Robin, but somehow everything had begun falling into place. It all started with a movie and a pair of ocean-blue eyes, and suddenly you were dancing to a Jukebox in a long-closed diner, or racing down the length of a pier, swimming in the moon-dipped lake and walking her home down yellow-lit streets, talking about the way The Smiths sound like indigo and the best time of the summer is when the fireflies start to come out.

It was the summer of ‘87, and you were falling in love.

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: ........ Hello, I am still alive. Good god, sorry for the wait -- I kept wanting to work on the final chapter and only recently got around to it but it's here! I adored writing this fic, even if it took me almost a year to finish it off. Thank you all for bearing with me, and I hope this final chapter is at least a little worth the wait. Love you all <3

Fic Playlist!  Also on Ao3

Previous Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 8: Tango in the Night (Remaster)

"Remind me again?" 

"Robin," you said, trying not to sigh. "Buckley. She invited me to the movies that one time..." 

"Right, okay," your mom nodded. You sat your fork down. 

You hadn't been eating dinner much with your parents. Between working at the diner and spending the night at Steve's, they'd started to notice -- and they'd started to suspect something was going on. Which, it sort of was. Just not what they thought. 

"And that Harrington boy--" 

"Is just a friend.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow at you. 

"And anyways, he's not even going to be there." 

“My parents are going to some festival this weekend,” Robin had said. “It's like this end-of-summer thing to celebrate the solstice, I don't know. Anyway, would you want to maybe come over?”

It had all come out in a rush. She’d been nervous. It was cute. She'd said to tell her with enough time for her to make her room presentable and “Not like a herd of raccoons lives here -- actually, what are a bunch of raccoons called?”

A gaze. That's what a bunch of raccoons are called.

You'd said yes. 

"Good," your dad was saying. "Becauase you know how I feel about you spending the night with a boy." 

"I know," you said, voice empty, just enough to get by. 

There was so much your parents didn't know and even more they didn't understand. But that was okay. You had a coffee tin stashed under your bed. One night after staying late at the diner at the end of your shift, you, Robin, Steve, and Eddie had gotten it in your heads that, soon, Hawkins would see the last of you -- and the conversation by Steve’s pool had become less of a late-night musing and more of a reality that you could touch with your hands. The night ended with Eddie digging through the recycling bin and pulling out four coffee tins with a dismissive, “I’ll just, rinse them off in the sink or whatever” before handing one to each of you.  

"Gross," Robin and Steve had said at the same time. 

Four tins. Four incomes. A chance to get away. To find your own place. To make it if you had to. 

"But not too far," Steve had said like he didn't really care even though he clearly did. And you had all agreed. Not too far. Close enough to still see the kids. Close enough for Eddie to see Wayne. Close enough… 

So, what your parents didn't know wouldn't kill them. 

“We’re just having a… girls' night,” you said, and it felt wrong, but it seemed right. 

“That’s good,” your mom said. “I’m glad you’re making friends.”

Your dad was silent, turning back to his dinner, and the topic passed. It stayed that way until you finished eating, stayed that way as you helped with the dishes, even stayed that way when you retreated to your room to grab your overnight bag. With all the spontaneity over the summer, you weren’t used to having a bag with you. Something about it felt final, like the way the nights were starting to get cooler and the kids were planning their last adventures before heading back to school. And, perhaps, the tin under your bed made everything feel changed. You couldn’t stop yourself from kneeling down to search it out behind folded sheets and old shoeboxes. Ten dollars and twenty-nine cents in odd change. It was a start. And the bag slung over your shoulder was just the beginning. 

“Will you be home tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure. I can call you.”

There was a dissatisfied silence. “Okay. Be safe, make wise decisions.”

“I will.”

Those two words cut the string binding you there. It furled away from you, carried by its own momentum. You waved goodbye to your parents and pulled the door shut behind you. Outside, the sky was blue and the air hummed softly with cicada song. The summer might have been coming to an end, but the pavement still swam with the heat and beads of sweat still collected across your forehead as you pedaled down the road, feet pumping, heart beating, every inch of it drawing you closer to where you wanted to be. To Robin. Maybe even something beyond that. 

The world was starting to feel more like your own. 

But, for now, the world was still only as big as Hawkins, Indiana, where all the streets you passed looked the same and you knew familiar faces were nearby. Familiar faces that you loved. That loved you. And you knew you’d carry that with you. You’d carry them with you wherever you went. It felt good, to know that. To feel it in your bones, in your soul, in everything that had ever made you who you are. Robin’s street was the only one you were looking for; white letters printed on a small blue sign. When you saw it you smiled, and then you turned your bike, and you thought about the time she’d helped you pull it out of Steve’s trunk and how that seemed like such a lifetime ago. 

You left it along the side of the house, leaning it on a rock next to wildly growing vines and blooms of flowers, their petals starting to fall as summer was on its way out. They decorated the ground of the flower bed like a bright, living blanket. You never would have guessed that they’d fallen because they were already dead. Your bike, its pedals still whirring, became one with the image of Robin’s house. It fit in like it had always been there, along with the half-rotted shed in the backyard and the sun-bleached wood of the porch. There were repairs made, only evident by interruptions of brighter, smoother pieces of lumber. They hadn’t been weathered by time like the boards around them.

You left your bike, its pedals now slowing to a stop, along the side of the house, and you thought you’d be okay if was consumed by the vines, too. If it was covered up by a shower of petals. You thought it would be fine if it blended into the background completely, just another distant color on a polaroid or a picture in a magazine -- just another feature of a quiet house in a sleepy neighborhood where, from the outside, nothing particularly interesting was happening. On the inside, though… 

Robin opened the door without a word -- found your pinky and linked it with hers without a word. And you hugged her. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around her neck as hers settled onto your waist, and you felt the warmth of her all at once, became overwhelmed with the smell of her chapstick and her hair and her skin. It was familiar in a way you’d never known possible at the start of the summer, mere months ago. It made your chest open up like a flower and bloom right there under the warmth of the sun she held within her. All you could do was take deep breaths of each other. 

She tucked her face into your neck and you hummed lightly, sighed heavily, loved overwhelmingly. And outside, a leaf from the big oak tree in Robin’s yard -- the first leaf of the year to fall, perhaps a month too early -- drifted through the air and landed in the basket on your bike. And from the street, if anyone had been there at all, they could have seen Robin pull you through the door and spin you around to kiss you. If anyone had been there. If anyone had been looking. 

_______________________________________________________

She gave you a tour of her home. Where she’d played with pots and pans when she was five. Where she’d kept her pet goldfish until it died when she was twelve and it was three. “I won it at the fair. I didn’t even know those things could live that long.” She showed you the porch where she’d lost her lucky bracelet when she was fifteen -- dropped it straight down one of the cracks between the boards. She wondered if it was still there. Wondered what had happened to it if it wasn’t. 

“It was probably the raccoons,” you said, smirking at the amusement in the crinkles around her eyes. 

“You should be a comedian. Then maybe we could all afford an apartment for real.”

She sat on her kitchen counter and stirred the brownie mix she’d started before you’d arrived because “I got nervous and didn’t know what to do with my hands.”

“Don’t you think we’ll make it?” you asked her, leaning by the sink. “I mean, with all four of us… I don’t know, I think we can do it.”

She set the bowl down next to her, kicking her feet softly as she pulled the spoon out and tilted it in her hands. 

“I want to believe we can,” she said. “I mean, if anyone could make it happen, it’s us.”

And it was enough of an answer, even though it wasn’t really an answer at all. It was enough because you knew you’d never really have an answer. Life gave few certainties, and staying with the people you love wasn’t one of them. But in the same way, you couldn’t envision a life where you didn’t wake up next to Robin, or find Steve cooking breakfast in your kitchen, or see Eddie off to work every morning. You couldn’t imagine a version of Hawkins where they weren’t in your life. Funny, seeing as you hadn’t even known them before this summer. Lucky, how things work out. 

But then, maybe they were one of your life’s certainties. Maybe it was always meant to be. 

“And hey, if it doesn’t work out, we can always just go to the same retirement home,” she dryly joked, licking batter off of the spoon. 

“You should be a comedian,” you grinned wryly. 

“We can be a double act. Make double the money that way.”

The sun was setting as Robin pulled the brownies out of the oven. She had to leave her place between your legs to do so, and you sat at the kitchen table missing the warmth of her skin against yours. 

“Well, at least I didn’t burn the house down,” she said, setting the pan on the stovetop. 

“Shame Steve isn’t here to see it.”

Robin crept back over, frizzy strands of hair framing her face. You were pretty sure she’d washed it recently -- it always got frizzier when it was clean, and its strawberry smell was especially strong when she pressed her cheek against your ear. 

Wrapping your arms around her back, you pulled her onto your lap. Sitting on your legs, she relaxed against you and traced lines across the base of your neck. 

“Can you imagine,” she started, that quiet, contemplative tone to her voice. You loved her like this as much as you loved her joking and her energy. “Every day being like this? This… quiet. Just us.”

You hummed softly and rested your chin on her shoulder, hugging her tighter; feeling the weight of her. 

“One day it will be,” you replied.

Robin inhaled a breath through her nose, shifting so her face was pressed into your neck. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said. “I feel it in my bones.”

“In your bones…” Her smile pressed against your skin and you could hear the raise of her eyebrows in her voice. “Well, if your bones say so, then it must be true.”

“It is. You wait and see.”

Leaning back, Robin hooked her arms around your neck, hands draping lazily, fingertips brushing your back. 

“Oh, I’m waiting,” she said, voice low, the faintest smile sparking her eyes. Sureness in every line on her face, every freckle. You felt her hands slide up your spine. 

“I’m waiting,” she whispered, eyelids fluttering closed as she leaned forward, letting your lips meet slowly -- so slowly that you felt your heart beat faster and your muscles tighten with something that fluttered through your whole body. 

“Good,” you whispered back, the words pinned between your lips and hers. 

You watched her smile. You tasted it. 

It tasted sweet. 

By the time you ate the brownies, they were cold. The night was cold, too -- a new change from all the other nights before. The crickets were still singing, though, and the sky was still indigo. And Robin -- she was still here, only this time her thighs were warming your shoulders from where you sat, on the ground now, between her legs. Her chest was holding you up. You leaned back, head bumping her collarbone, and looked up at the sky. 

“I think I got brownie crumbs all over you,” she said, brushing your shoulders off. You smiled and knocked your socked foot against her ankle. 

“Hey, Robin?” you suddenly said, and there must have been something in your voice to change the way the air was settling around the two of you because Robin sat up a little. 

“Yeah?”

There was a gathering of energy and matter sweeping into the center of your chest, like the quiet friction before the creation of a universe. Before the bang. Before everything that’s been building begins. 

“Robin, I love you.”

She sat up further. Feeling something twist in your stomach, you moved off of her enough that you could turn around. 

“You,” she started, her eyes wide, already searching yours. “You… do?”

“Yes,” you breathed, chuckling nervously. “I-I mean, yes? I can’t help it, when I’m with you -- even when I’m away from you, I… You don’t have to say it back, I just c--” Robin grabbed your face with her cold hands and kissed you. 

“Oh,” you sighed in the moment she pulled back to breathe, and then she was leaning forward and kissing you even harder. Your hands slid up to rest on her jaw, thumbs brushing over the soft skin there and she rocked you backward. You would have lost your balance if she hadn’t snaked her arm around your waist, but she did, and she used it to pull you back into her. Your chest brushed hers, and you felt something twist in your stomach again. This time, it wasn’t nerves. 

Robin ducked back and tilted her face down to brush her nose against yours. Your face was warm where her hands were cupping it. You felt her thumb explore the edge of your lower lip. 

"You're--" she caught her breath in a laugh. "You're my favorite person in the whole world."

You smiled, caught your breath in a laugh of your own. Robin didn't let go. 

"I never want to not have you," she whispered, eyes dropping to your lips. 

"You have me," you whispered. "Always." 

Robin pulled you into her and the last of the summer crickets chirped as you kissed under the indigo sky which had begun to grow cold. The same sky that had watched a similar scene unfold under the same moon reflecting off a lake, mosquitoes swimming in the hot air. You hadn’t cared about them back then, and now, you didn’t care about the cold. It was different -- it was a sign of change, of life -- and it was good. 

So, as the crickets sang the outro to their summer symphony, you and Robin finished where you began; kissing under the moonlight in a world that was all yours. 

________________________________________________________

The sun was shining through the windows. When you opened your eyes, it was like a picture staring back at you -- the kind someone would hang on their wall because it was warm and perfect and it lit up the place. A curtain, eggshell blue and half-translucent, captured the yellow rays and held them, glowing, between stitches of fabric. You’d never been in Robin’s room before. It had always been Steve’s house. 

Her room smelled like… her. The laundry detergent she used, the berry shampoo that lingered around her like a halo the day after she’d washed her hair, the vanilla lotion she liked. All of it was contained inside the four walls like a time capsule. And you thought, maybe the world would go on without you if the two of you could just stay here. If that was all the rest of your life was -- a sunny morning in late summer laying in Robin’s bed -- you would be content. You would be happy. You could have spent forever in this picture and you wouldn’t have missed out on a single thing as long as Robin was lying beside you. Inhaling a sleepy sigh through your nose, you stiffly rolled over. The sheets were tangled up between the two of you. By the door, a chair was left overturned from where you and Robin had knocked it over, too tangled up in each other to notice where you were going. 

Your clothes had found homes across the floor. Your shirt was caught on the leg of the chair, your pants were near the window next to Robin’s bra. You smiled faintly, eyes tracing over the edges of her room. It was messy in a lived-in way -- you could see the impressions she’d made on the space, how she’d made it her own. Posters hung on the wall. A small, well-loved desk sat in the far corner, off to your left. In the light of the morning, you could see stickers, now faded remnants of childhood, that you hadn’t noticed last night, when you’d been occupied with other things. 

Like the girl next to you, who still lay sleeping. The beautiful, mind-blowing, wonderful girl. You could still taste her lips on your tongue, could still feel her hands on your skin, the way her hair had felt tangled between your fingers. Everything was golden and ethereal and… perfect. It felt fitting, as if your lives had always been heading toward one another. And, you decided as you propped your head up on your hand and brushed a strand of hair out of Robin’s face, the waiting had been worth it. Every moment you’d been made to feel alone was worth a single moment with Robin. To think things were only beginning. 

How exciting. 

Now that you’d touched her again, you couldn’t keep your hands off of her. You smoothed your thumb over her cheek, your touch light enough not to wake her. You traced the tip of your finger along her temple, connecting freckles with invisible lines before dipping back behind her ear, feeling the warmth of her skin and the softness of her hair. When her eyelids began to flutter open, you were smiling. When her eyes found your face, she was smiling too. Closing them briefly, like she was stealing a moment in time, she sighed deeply. Contently. And then she dug a hand out from under the nest of blankets and caught yours, guiding your wrist to her lips. 

“Hey there,” she murmured, and you felt her breath on your skin a moment before she pressed her lips against your wrist, right over your lifeline. 

“Hi,” you sighed. 

She inhaled deeply, her nose pressed into the palm of your hand. She inhaled like you were made of oxygen and starlight and everything she needed to survive. Laying back onto your side, you scooted forward until you could rest your forehead against hers. 

“This is, like, everything I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered. You could hear the smile in her voice. 

“Yeah,” you smiled back. 

Your bodies were maps. You’d never known just how much time you could spend exploring the beauty of someone else before you’d met Robin. Before she’d brought you to her bed and let you touch her softly. Before she’d touched you. You’d never known how quickly a morning could pass when you were learning the language of another person’s freckles, when you were becoming fluent in every beauty mark and blemish -- how it could be so perfect that it felt like an eternity all the same. But with Robin, you discovered it all. And the morning passed quickly, and it was eternal all the same. 

Eventually, she had to get up. 

“Not to shatter this perfect moment, or anything, but I really have to pee.”

“Every moment with you is perfect,” you grinned, eyes roaming her skin unashamedly as she tossed the sheets off. You watched the skin on her back, scattered with freckles, while she reached down to search the floor for a shirt. 

“Uh, cheese alert. Did you read that one in a greeting card?”

“Ouch,” you played up a wince. “Guess that means I should stick to comedy, huh?”

Turning around, Robin gave you a sly grin before leaning down. Very, very slowly, she kissed you. Your hand found the soft skin over her ribs. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Earth girl,” she murmured against your lips. Your head spun. And then, like nothing at all had happened, she hopped up and pulled a shirt on. Your shirt. 

You watched her as she hopped off to the bathroom, stopping by the door to lazily spin around and give you one last look that made it clear she knew what she was doing to you. You hurled a pillow in her direction hoping that it would distract her from how flustered you were. The moment she disappeared into the hall, you yanked the blanket over your face. It smelled so much like her that it didn’t help your case, but in the few minutes that Robin was gone, you managed to cool your face down. 

You heard her return before you saw her. There was a click and a whirr, and the sound of music had you throwing the blanket off and blinking around. 

“Oh my god, is that Aretha Franklin?” you asked as Robin gave a little spin before dropping onto the bed. She tossed her legs over yours. 

“Yeah. It was my mom’s tape when she was little. She gave it to me when we were going through the attic a couple years ago. You, uh… you don’t mind, do you?” She glanced up at you, hair framing her face like a halo. 

“Absolutely not,” you replied, shifting so your hip bumped against her. She sighed, closing her eyes with a smile. 

The cassette sounded old -- parts of it warped by years of being played, parts of it sounding like they were coming through a portal from another time to slide comfortably into the room. 

“Baby, baby, baby

This is just to say 

How much I’m gonna miss you 

But believe while I’m away

That I didn’t mean to hurt you 

Don’t you know that I’d rather hurt myself”

Your hand found Robin’s hair. The sun had taken up a patch of wall; lit it yellow and bright. The ceiling felt wide. You could feel the room heating up; it was going to be a hot day. Rubbing your thumb along her forehead where you knew there was a garden of freckles, you raked your fingers back through her hair. Robin hummed and tilted her face up. You tucked a strand behind her ear and moved down to her neck. 

“Think of me sometimes

Because if loving you was so wrong 

Then I’m guilty of this crime…”

“What,” you faltered for a moment, your voice sounding like an intrusion; a tear in the canvas. “What do your parents think of me?”

Robin’s thumb was pressed against your wrist. 

“What do you mean?” She lifted her chin further; she was listening, even though both of you were staring at the sun-covered wall. The corner of one of her posters had peeled back. There was a sticker a few inches from the ceiling. Robin must have jumped to put it there. 

“I mean, like…” You meant: did they know you kissed their daughter. Did they know you were saving up to get her an apartment, a life away from here. Did they know you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. 

“They, uhm, don’t know about us. I-If that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Mine neither,” you quickly said. Robin let out a breath -- you realized that it was a relieved one.

It was a hard thing to tell someone. It was hard to tell your parents anything at all. 

“Do you… want them to know?” Robin slowly asked. She hadn’t stopped running her thumb along your wrist. You felt like there was something to that. Something important. 

“No,” you were honest. Then, “I’m… sorry.” And it was honest, too.

“No, don’t be,” Robin moved to sit up, then changed her mind and pulled your arm closer, sliding your hand down to settle below her ribs. She tucked her face into the crook of your elbow. “Don’t be. I get it. Trust me,” she blew out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I definitely get it.”

“I was scared you were going to hate me, once,” you murmured. “Before…” You shook your head, fingers wandering over her shirt. Your shirt. 

You were scared of her, once -- back before you’d realized there was a world where she would ever be wearing your shirt. Back when you’d read her bubbly writing on a nametag and known that you were absolutely, helplessly caught up in her. 

Robin took a breath, lips forming the almost-beginning of something. And then, instead, she said, “I never could have hated you.”

You tried to imagine a world where Robin hated you, but in all of them, she was only ever wearing your shirt. 

Sliding your arm out of her grip, you folded your fingers between hers, squeezing onto them like you never planned to let go. 

“But what’s inside

Can’t be denied

The power, the power of love

Is my only guide”

Robin hummed softly to the music, and you felt the vibrations when she moved your hands up to kiss your knuckles. The world felt heavy, but the room felt light. You breathed deeply from the air inside Robin’s bedroom, preserved in time like a painting, just like the yard outside where your bike sat collecting falling petals and blades of grass weaving between the spokes. Inside -- inside her house, her room, the painting -- you wrapped your legs around her hips to hold her closer. You always wanted her closer. Ever since that moment in the lake, with water dripping off her hair and her skin soft under the moonlight, you’d known that you couldn’t live without the feeling of her. And Robin -- she leaned into your knee, turning her cheek to it and settling in like she couldn’t live without you, either. 

“Can I…” she murmured. “Here, let me see something, just…” With her words floating into the summer sunlight, she lifted your hands up, holding them out so your intertwined fingers joined the scene of her room in delicate brushstrokes. 

“Hm?” you hummed. It joined Robin’s words as they floated. 

Pulling her fingers free, she arranged your hand in the air, uncurling your fingers, smoothing over your skin like she was opening a flower. With a quick gesture, she told you to “stay” -- a painter with her brush, a master at her craft -- and you watched as she hovered over the rings stacked on her left hand. A simple silver band -- “My dad gave it to me when I was eight. It barely fits my pinky, but I can’t get rid of it. Feel like I would get ten years of bad luck or something” -- a small flower made of wire, two guitar strings twisted together; made by Eddie, who’d given her and Steve each one for Christmas last year. He’d promised to make you one, but “Not for Christmas. That would be too predictable; who likes knowing what their present’s gonna be? Ruins the Christmas spirit if you ask me.” -- and finally, on her ring finger, the silver band with the pale blue gemstone. This ring, you rarely saw her without. The others she would rotate, wearing one or the other, but this one… 

Robin slid it off her finger, holding it up and watching the gemstone pick up the light and fracture it into a thousand splitters, like shatters of blue glass reflecting onto the ceiling. She tilted it, then dropped her arm to rub the gem against your shirt over her stomach. And then, then she lifted your hand with the gentlest of touches and slid the ring onto your finger. Your ring finger. And that was about as important as anything ever could be. 

“...What--”

“It’s yours,” she nodded, raising your hand into the morning sunlight. She smiled distantly at it, as if she was the only one in the room, and then she turned to look at you. “And, uh… I’m yours, too.” Her smile turned shy, her freckles bedding down in a garden of rosy blush. You leaned into her and tried to kiss every single one of them. Who could guess how long it would take? You both had the time. 

_________________________________________________________

“I want to show you something,” she said. 

You were wearing her jacket and your arms felt warm. Part of that, you thought, was from knowing that she’d worn it before you. That you now existed in the space she had occupied. Across the room she sat, looking at you with a softness and an eagerness. You smiled. You couldn’t help it.

“What?” you asked, rubbing circles on the sleeve of her jacket where it was pressed into your palm.

She sprung up from her desk chair, all tawny hair and long limbs and mischievous smile, which you knew meant she was especially excited about whatever she wanted to show you. Placing her hands just above your knees, her squeeze made your head feel dizzy.

“An alien spaceship,” she murmured. With a wink, she pushed off of you and skipped for the door, waiting until she’d reached it to twirl languishly around. She smirked, one of those secret smirks that you knew no one else in the world had seen because they were meant for you alone, and leaned toward the hallway alluringly. 

“Alright, space girl,” you said -- the first time you’d called her anything like that. It was fitting; there was no one in the world like her, and the version of yourself that you became in her presence couldn’t be explained by anything that belonged to this world. 

She was something else, your girl. 

Yours.

The ring on your finger felt heavy. Heavy like grounding. Like the thing that tied you both to this world even if you didn’t quite belong to it. Your thumb moved from the sleeve of her jacket to press onto the gem laid in the silver band. It was cold, but it soon warmed against your skin. 

Robin was waiting by the door. 

You stood and took her hand.

Hours ago, the two of you had returned to her room, but now it was draped in afternoon sunlight. It was stronger and not as soft as the morning light that had covered you like a sheer fabric -- the afternoon was more like fine silk. Robin looked the same in every shade of the day: beautiful. Always. Even when -- no, especially when she was hanging upside down on her chair, swiveling it from side to side while she talked animatedly with her hands about something that had happened in Family Video the other day. Especially when she laughed so hard at some stupid joke you’d made that she snorted and nearly choked on her lemonade. Especially when she got annoyed at the TV when it wouldn’t pick up a signal unless she was holding the antenna just right. 

“Sorry, but we have to break up. I only have eyes for this television now, and she’s a demanding lover.”

You’d laughed, heart swelling at the confirmation that “breaking up” gave you. She truly was yours. 

Well, unless the TV stole her away.

Hours ago, the two of you had returned to her room, fingers intertwined as she led you through her home even though you knew the way by now as if you’d known it in a past life, but hours before that, you’d sat in the kitchen, in the living room, on her lap. Hours before that, you’d kissed her just as passionately as you had the night before, when you’d felt her skin grow hot under your fingers. 

But now, hours later, you were following her out into the yard. You were pulling your bike from the bushes along the side of her house, feeling satisfied when you had to tear away a few vines that clung to the wheels. And then you were running, bike trailing by your side, after Robin, who laughed into the sunlight and shook the hair out of her face. You could see enough of it to notice the way her nose was crinkled, and then she turned forward again and swung herself up onto her bike. You followed suit, the soles of your shoes striking the pedals, and you relished in the solid pressure of them under your feet, the way your muscles sang when you pushed yourself forward after Robin. 

The air carried a warm breeze and, though you missed the weight of it, you were glad to have shed Robin’s jacket in favor of lighter layers. Sweat beaded on your brow as you pumped your legs, soon catching up. Robin threw a grin over her shoulder, her hair furling around her face wildly. You laughed into the late summer sky.

You had no clue where you were going, but you rode through town, swerving around evening traffic as tired office workers made their steady way home. Some of them stopped at the general store or the post office. Robin rode past them like they weren’t even there. You followed her like she was the only person in all of Hawkins. Where it counted, she was.

She swiftly led you out of town, breaking into the backroads like some mermaid slipping into water; suddenly, she could breathe again. And you felt like you were breathing for the first time. You took a deep, gasping breath of air and let it out in a whoop. Standing on your pedals, you raced in front of her, hearing her high, husky laugh. A moment later she swam into view beside you. 

This road you recognized, and you were only slightly surprised when Family Video and its sister shops appeared in the distance. You and Robin’s pace had slowed, though it remained steady. The parking lot outside Family Video was empty except for two cars: a BMW and a big, familiar run-down van. 

Steve and Eddie were outside, lingering after Family Video had closed. Steve was leaning back against the rough side of the building, and Eddie had his arm propped above Steve’s head. You grinned, lifting your hand in reply to their sudden waving. Even from this distance, you knew each other. Robin whooped loudly, and Eddie made devil horns and pulled a face like he might chase after her, and you could see Steve roll his eyes even from the center of the road. And then they were gone, left in the rearview as the two of you peddled on.  

The breeze had turned cooler -- a reminder that summer was at the end of its life -- and the sun was nowhere to be found, lost somewhere behind the endless forest of trees that ran parallel to the road. You recognized the spot where Robin had met you all those weeks ago, when you’d walked and listened to The Smiths and wore flower crowns. That, too, passed behind you -- slipping by your shoulder and, just as you turned to look at it, growing distant and seemingly unimportant.

You knew, though. You knew what it had meant. But things were also so different now. Time kept going, and it pulled you with it. For once in your life, you were grateful for that.

Your pace had slowed again, and just like the buildings and the people, the trees gradually began to thin out. 

“Robin,” you called, unable and entirely unwilling to keep the smile from your voice, “Where are we going?”

“I told you,” she grinned, falling back to set a new pace -- a much more relaxed one. “Surprise.” She lifted her eyebrows and gave them a wiggle.

Now that you weren’t peddling so hard -- now that you could sit back and catch your breath -- you looked around, taking in the far less populated corner of Hawkins. On either side of the road, which had cracked and crumbled and faded to a pale asphalt blue under the relentless scrutiny of the sun, there stretched wide open fields. At the start of the summer, they would have been overflowing with growing stalks of corn -- even now, you could see the hollow stumps; all that remained of what had once been a sea. Now, the slightly rocky and almost alarmingly flat farmland bared itself to the sky like the underbelly of a beast that had rolled over to take a nap. 

Even the fields were preparing for the coming winter. Unlike the fields, the rest of Hawkins would be continuing forward in motion; it was only the land that would get to rest. 

Speaking of rest, you only just realized how late it had gotten. The air was significantly cooler now, making you think of the jacket you’d once been glad to have left behind. You shivered, but it was from excitement as much as it was the chill. 

“Here,” Robin suddenly said, pushing her heels down into her brakes. You hurried to follow, and the sound of tires dragging across the asphalt was the only sound for miles. Even the birdsong had faded away, still back with the trees and the busy Hawkin’s streets. They would be dead by now. Everyone would be settled home, eating dinner or watching TV, surrounded by the quiet glow of their home. Your own parents, you thought, were likely sitting in the living room, illuminated by the light of the television and that old lamp that had been passed down by your Grandmother. 

Standing in the middle of the road, cold fingers gripping the handlebars of your bike, breathing heavily into the wide open sky, you felt like maybe, in a way, you were home, too. 

“This is it,” Robin whispered, perched on the seat of her bike like a bird in a high tree. Her eyes were on the sky. 

You took a moment to look at her, her face framed by all that open space, and you only realized the whole world had changed color because Robin looked particularly beautiful in that shade of orange. 

And then you looked up. 

The whole sky was red. Orange bursts of clouds like paint-soaked cotton rolled across it, so still it was like you were looking at a photograph. The deep maroon melted into a rich pink at the horizon, and every inch of it glowed radiantly. You'd never seen so much sky in your whole life. You thought you could hear the world singing. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed, catching your balance on an outstretched foot. Your bike teetered as you craned your neck. 

“Exactly,” Robin grinned like the two of you shared a secret. More secrets than just this, you realized. 

You shared so much with her; this sky was just another thing. 

Next to you, Robin reached across the point that marked the center of the road -- that invisible line that you could almost see if you looked hard enough and imagined that it should be there -- and she held out her hand. You took it, spinning the ring on your finger around until the gemstone was pressed into your palm. You held it close until it warmed. The cold air blew between you, not enough to push the clouds in the sky, but just enough to make you shiver.

Robin squeezed your hand and, at the edge of Hawkins, under a sky on fire, you could see the rest of your life on the road in front of you. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

1992

“Hi there, I’m calling for Steve Harrington. He gave me this number to get ahold of him.” You glanced up at Robin, her face coming into focus, and were briefly distracted by the realization she still had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen, even after all these years; even after all the places you’d been and people you'd met. 

“Yes--” you raised your eyebrows at the voice on the other end of the line. Robin bounced carefully, like if she got too excited the hotel receptionist would be able to hear it. 

“Yeah, sure,” you repeated, then gave the receptionist your name before holding your hand over the phone and whispering, “She’s gonna call up to their room.”

“Right, of course. She has to make sure we’re not stalkers or something.”

“Well,” you drawled, tilting your head. 

“We are not,” Robin grinned, gently slapping your arm. “We’re just -- worried friends.”

“I think that fits into the realm of ‘stalkers.’ Might even be a subcategory-- Yes?” you pulled your hand away, straightening up. Robin drifted in your line of vision as you turned to the wall, unwilling to let your face out of her sight. 

“Uh-huh…. Okay…”

“What?” Robin hissed. You held up a finger. The woman in your ear was talking fast, obviously eager to get back to some task that didn’t involve you. 

“Okay perfect. Thank you.”

“What did she say?” Robin asked, fiddling with her hands. You titled the mouthpiece away, just in case, and listened to the cheery music crackling through the receiver. 

“She’s sending us up. Should only be a few minutes before--”

“You guys couldn’t wait another day could you?”

“Steve!” you grinned, and Robin flapped her hands excitedly. 

“Hi Steve!” she yelled, and you held the phone out so he could hear her. He probably could have heard her anyway. 

“Obviously not,” you replied, pulling the phone back to your ear. Robin behind you and pressed her cheek against yours so she could hear his replies. You wrapped your arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. 

“How was the ride up?” Robin asked. 

“Loud, crowded--”

“Smelling of old socks.”

“Eddie,” you grinned. 

“My fair ladies,” his voice got closer. You imagined him and Steve standing in a similar fashion, sharing the phone in a dimly lit hotel room.

“Gross,” Robin muttered, rolling her eyes fondly. You checked your watch. 

“You don’t have Dustin and Will yet, do you?”

“Not yet,” Steve replied. 

“They’re still prisoners at the moment. Go figure,” came Eddie’s voice. You could practically hear Steve roll his eyes. He and Robin were more similar than they’d care to admit. 

Living together might have contributed. 

“Would you knock it off,” Steve’s voice grew distant, then returned. “They took their finals yesterday. Spring break officially starts tomorrow.”

“When do you plan to leave?” you asked, pulling the pen off the notepad that hung by the phone. 

“Probably around ten. Gonna take the little shits for breakfast before we hit the road.”

“Don’t hit it too hard,” Robin leaned in to say. You both heard Eddie’s barking laughter. 

“Hey new girl, tell Robin to add a dollar to the jar,” Steve said. 

“But I didn’t swear.”

“No, but I’m about to--”

“Okay,” you butted in, smirking. “Mattresses are blown up, snacks are stocked -- that table you wanted is all set up, Eds.”

“You’re my hero,” Eddie replied. His voice kept fading in and out, and you’d shared space with him long enough to know that he was probably bouncing around the room. 

Steve’s groan, on the other hand, was loud in your hear. 

“D’you guys really have to play that dumb game? It’s vacation, you’re supposed to have fun. ”

“This is fun, Harrington.”

“Whatever.”

“Um, guys,” Robin interjected using that exaggerated voice she reserved for them, particularly when they were annoying her. “Can we stay focused, please? If you keep bickering like an old married couple, you’re going to scare the kids away before you even get here.”

“Please--” Eddie scoffed, again from a distance, while Steve said, “We don’t bicker.”

You and Robin shared a look. It would have been a lie to say it wasn’t a little bit fond. 

“Besides, they’re not really kids anymore,” Steve added, suddenly sounding wistful. 

And he was right. They weren’t kids anymore. Dustin and Will had been in college for almost two years now. Lucas was on the other side of the country thanks to a basketball scholarship, Max was interning at a non-profit in California -- which put her closer to Joyce and El. You knew she was happy about that. So, Steve was right: the kids weren’t really kids anymore. And though you hadn’t known them as long as the others, watching them grow up and move on -- watching the effect it had on your three friends; a mix of pride and sorrow -- had changed you as much as it had changed Robin, Steve, and Eddie. 

The four of you had stayed in Indiana, but the people you’d stayed for had all left. 

It wasn’t bad, though. For the first time in your lives, you had total freedom. You didn’t have to hide from your parents, or the world -- the world had moved into your two-bedroom apartment; everything outside of here was nothing. 

It meant that you could give Steve and Eddie as honest of a goodbye as you wanted to without anyone reading into it or asking what they were to you. It meant that, after hanging up the phone, you could pull Robin against your chest and kiss her. It meant that, in the spirit of enjoying an apartment that wouldn’t be empty for much longer, you could do so much more to her than that. 

A few states and a few hundred miles away, your friends were making their way home, to a little building that sat just outside of Hawkins, Indiana. It was a modest building, with weeds in the flowerbed outside and cracks in the walls. The windows let the winter air in, sure, but there was enough warmth to go around. And maybe everyone had moved on and away, but by staying, you and Robin had found something you’d never thought you’d have before, something you’d only dared to dream of during the summer of 1987… 

A corner of this Earth that could be your very own. 

“I love you,” Robin slowly whispered, each word a promise, her hands in your hair like the endless galaxy that stretched above you, just beyond the ceiling. “Earth girl,” she smiled. 

You leaned forward and tasted it. It tasted of tall grass and indigo and The Smiths.

“I love you more,” you murmured against her cheek. 

In the empty space above the cupboards, four coffee containers looked down at you, unaware of the role they’d played in anything at all, hardly remembering the diner they’d come from. And, somewhere off in the distance, as if it was floating through the window from another room, lazy on the spring breeze, you thought you could hear the soft sounds of a familiar tune. 

“So long ago

It’s a certain time, it’s a certain place

You touched my hand and you smiled

All the way back you held out your hand

But I hope, and if I pray

Ooh, it might work out someday… ”

__________________________________________________________

Taglist: @alonezz , @gaysludge, @gray-cheese, @rare-breed-of-human, @vea-vea-vea, @lady-silkwing, @im-a-milf, @yourmanifestingbigsister, @bubbles0oo, @wormm-mom

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for breaking off a plan to get an apartment with a friend that's in a bad home situation?

Basically exactly as it sounds. Recently, an old friend and I were planning to find an apartment together. This would be really big for them, as it would mean getting out of the house they're currently stuck living in with their abusive mother, and I wanna get a place sway from my family as well (they're fine, mostly, I just need space).

However, since we started looking, nearly 4 months have passed with them doing very little to actually contribute to trying to get this done. In that time, a few things have happened.

1: The job I was hoping to get where we were planning on moving to did not pan out.

2: I thought about our time living together in college and, while it was decent enough, they are not the easiest person to live with on account of them basically always having an unshakable belief that they're just right about most things.

3: That same self-assured attitude came to a head in an argument with a mutual friend last month where they were clearly the one in the wrong, and, besides hurting someone else I care about a great deal, it reminded me how many times I've kinda swallowed my teeth, so to speak, when disagreements happened with them in the dorms. It was far from the first time this kinda thing has happened, and they've still not gotten better about it despite multiple promises to do so.

These are the things, among a few others that have nothing to do with this person, going through my mind when I decided to start looking for apartments on my own out of state. Specifically, in the state I've actually wanted to live in all along anyway. I told them yesterday where I'm at with this, and the conversation reminded just how bad the situation with their mother is and how much of a financial obstacle it presents to them trying to get out of there without help.

I don't want to just hang them out to dry, but at the same time I really don't think I can live in the same space with them again, and the way they've been dragging their feet when I desperately want to and am finally ready to get my life in gear after years of putting it on hold either bc pandemic or for other people's sakes.

TLDR: My friend and I planned to get an apartment together, they dragged their feet for months and then reminded me of how they're rather hard to live with by hurting a mutual friend over a stupid argument, I'm now looking for places on my own in the state I actually want to live in, but I'm worried I'm leaving them at the mercy of their abusive mom.

What are these acronyms?

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Birthday Event: Francis Drake

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Drake: "Give this lovely lady the item we discussed."

Woman: "Understood."

After a brief exchange, the woman brought a large package into the room.

As she unpacked it, I saw一

Mitsuki: "A dress!?"

Drake: "Ooohh, just as I imagined."

Woman: "Honestly, for a first-time customer, you made some pretty unreasonable demands with that short deadline."

Despite her complaints to Drake, she held the beautiful pale blue dress up to my body and smiled with satisfaction.

(It's beautiful, but I still don't understand what's going on!)

She suddenly put makeup on me and styled my hair.

Just as she was about to help me into the dress...

Drake: "I'll take care of the rest here. I'm getting jealous already."

The woman, stopped by his words, shrugged and politely exited the room.

Mitsuki: "Drake, what's going on?"

Drake: "Hmm? Even if it's a woman, I don't want anyone seeing you naked."

Drake: "Besides, I left marks all over your body last night. I figured you'd be embarrassed if she saw them."

(Yeah, that would be embarrassing, but that's not the point!)

Mitsuki: "I'm not talking about being naked! I'm talking about the dress!"

Drake: "Yeah, that. It's a present from me, of course."

Drake: "Aren't you happy, my little fawn?"

There's no way I'm not happy.

(But I was supposed to figure out what he wanted. Is it really okay for me to receive a gift?)

(Or maybe? Wait, does this mean?)

The suspicion I had been holding onto for a while flashed through my mind.

Drake: "Well, anyway, just try it on. I'll help you change."

Mitsuki: "N-No, it's fine! I can do it myself. Can you wait in the next room?"

Drake: "Too bad."

After watching him leave, I started unbuttoning my blouse to change.

As I did, I couldn't help but reflect on the situation.

(Last year, he said what he wanted most was me.)

My cheeks flushed with warmth.

Embarrassed, I began to put on the dress's special undergarments but suddenly stopped.

Mitsuki: "Um, Drake. Actually, could I ask for your help?"

Drake: "Hmm? What's up?"

Mitsuki: "Could you tighten the corset strings for me?"

Drake: "Alright."

He stood behind me and pulled the strings.

As my waist was snugly cinched, I let out a soft sigh.

Drake: "Too tight?"

Mitsuki: "No, it's fine. I couldn't manage it on my own, so you really helped me."

(Still, standing here in just my underwear in this brightly lit room is a little embarrassing.)

As I was thinking that, his hand gently grazed my waist.

Mitsuki: "Drake?"

Drake: "I always think this, but your waist is really slim."

He pulled me gently from behind, pressing his stomach against my back.

Drake: "Did you notice? I left a mark here, too."

Mitsuki: "Ah."

His fingers slid along my exposed nape, and as I shivered slightly, he chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction.

Drake: "Haha, so cute."

Mitsuki: "S-Stop, I won't be able to wear the dress now."

Drake: "Sorry, sorry. You can cover the mark with a necklace, so don't worry."

Though his teasing stopped, my heart refused to settle down.

But when I put on the dress and the matching accessories and stood in front of the mirror, my heart started racing for a different reason.

(Wow.)

Drake: "I had imagined it, but yeah. You're even more beautiful than I could have imagined, Mitsuki."

The pale blue dress fluttered with every movement, reminding me of Cinderella from the movies.

Standing next to him, the cool colors of his cape perfectly complemented my dress.

(It's like this dress was made to match Drake's.)

I was so happy he had ordered such a special dress just for me.

Drake: "You probably have plenty of beautiful dresses already, but I just wanted to gift you one myself. Do you like it?"

Mitsuki: "Of course. There's no other dress as wonderful as this! Thank you, Drake."

Drake: "Great! That's the smile I wanted to see."

He put on his hat and extended his hand to me.

Drake: "Since we went through the trouble of dressing up, we might as well show it off."

Drake: "Shall we, Princess?"

We left the room and went to a dazzling hall within the same building.

The elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies were dancing to the music and chatting.

Mitsuki: "A social party?"

Drake: "Yeah. Wait, what's with that surprised look?"

Drake: "Is it unlike me to give you a dress and invite you to a soirée?"

Mitsuki: "Yeah, it's a bit unexpected. I thought these places weren't your thing."

Still, he seemed pretty used to the place, probably because of his past service with the Queen.

Drake: "Well, I admit it's not really my style."

Drake: "But when provoked, I couldn't back down."

(Provoked?)

Drake: "I wanted to do this for you, even if it’s not my usual thing."

He laughed, leaving me puzzled about the whole story.

Just then,

Comte: "Good evening to both of you."

Mitsuki: "Comte! You're here, and Napoleon too!"

Drake: "Hey, don't startle us like that. You really didn't have to announce yourself."

Mitsuki: "Did you arrange for us to be invited to this party?"

Comte: "Yeah. There's a bit of a backstory to it."

As Comte and Napoleon looked at me, they exchanged glances and deepened their smiles.

Napoleon: "That dress was chosen by Drake, right? It looks pretty good."

(Wait, how does he know Drake chose this dress?)

When I tilted my head in confusion, Napoleon said something even more surprising.

Napoleon: "Drake, did you get what you wanted?"

Mitsuki: "Wait, what!? Napoleon, do you know what Drake wanted? And maybe Comte, too?"

Comte: "Yeah. We came to see if he would successfully get that tonight."

Mitsuki: "That?"

Drake: "Ah, ah, ah! Stop, stop. That's enough."

Drake cut into the conversation, pulling me firmly by the hand.

Drake: "Before you ask any more questions, let's dance, little fawn."

Mitsuki: "Wait, Drake!"

Drake: "I'm not satisfied yet."

Drake: "I'm going to take the best gift from you."

And with that, we stepped out onto the dance floor.

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Premium ╎ Epilogue

[urfrenfishy]

Do You Hear Marimbas?

A New Jersey Rats Short Story - M4A - Implied Masc Presenting Listener

I do not own these characters they are all made by the wicked @escapedaudios , this is a fan fiction of said characters :)

notes: this is my first time writing on tumblr please be nice idk how to format this shit, also this takes place a month after the new orlean rats

Intern breathed in, breathed out. This is meant to be fun, it’ll be fun...right?

It had been weeks since Jean and the brothers had told them about Stacy. It had been weeks since they and the brothers planned this. They had weeks of rehearsals. Alone.

Why was this so different? Jean and the brothers the only audience members and they rented out the whole fucking building! Jean won't care if they mess up, he wasn't even aware this was happening to begin with.

God, what were they thinking?! Oh yeah, let's put Intern on a stage in some fancy clothes and they'll sing all sexy for Jean! At a rented-out jazz club! They're sure that's exactly what Jean would like as an impromptu seven-month anniversary gift. A reminder of his ex.

God, they'll probably look so pathetic. Like really? Jazz singing just because his ex was a singer? Talk about insecurity.

But...wait no- this was never a jealousy thing. At least, they never wanted it to be. Well, maybe a little- but come on, you find out your lover's ex was a sexy jazz club singer, and he settled for an accounting intern who has about the same amount of social skills as a Batman villain. You'd feel a little insecure too.

So- no, they wouldn't say this was a jealousy thing, because they knew that Jean wouldn't leave them, or at least, wouldn't leave them over Stacy. They weren't worried about Stacy. Maybe...maybe they just wanted to prove they could be as...cool as she was? Yeah. Cool. They'll try their best.

----------

"Aight Jean, sit right...there," Badaboom explained as he gripped Jean's shoulders.

"Guys- what's- what is going on right now? I mean, when you put a sack over my head and shoved me in the driver's seat of a car- only to make me drive. With the sack still on my head. Honestly, I don't even know how we survived the trip but- Anyway! What- what are we doing at a jazz club? And why-"

As Jean prattled on, Badabing sat him down, front row. And cut him off because Jesus Christ, Jean.

"Okay okay okay- Jean- Jeany boy, just- just chill out alright? You're gonna like this, we promise!"

The music started (a slightly pitched-up version of Michael Bublé's Sway) and Jean couldn't help but grunt a witty remark.

"You promising anything doesn't actually promise any-"

Then they walked out, he heard them even before he saw them. The click of heels against waxed tempered hardboard. As he turned his head, he felt time slow. They..He had never felt like this before. There was no way to describe it. He couldn’t believe they settled for him. 

At first, he only saw their shoes, he didn't realize they would be so close. Then their legs, god- their legs. Finally, he was able to meet their eyes, only to find they were already locked on his. They weren't wearing their glasses, could they even see him? Doesn't matter. The spotlight behind them, a halo. An angel.

Then they started to sing.

Jean wasn't even listening to the lyrics. Just them. Just their tone. Their cadence. Their eyes. God, he loved them so much.

As the first verse began, they lifted the mic off of its stand and started walking, never breaking their gaze. Jean had never seen them like this. Sure, they knew how to set a mood, and they were pretty charismatic when they wanted to be, but this. Their confidence. Even the way they walked- it was a strut, honestly.

He could feel Badabing staring at him with a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah you're definitely bi-cycleul or however you say it..."

Jean couldn't afford to look away so he just sort of.. whacked his hand around the shorter man's general vicinity to shut him up.

A music break. A moment to focus on the physical alone. And god knows there was a lot to focus on.

Where did they even get that outfit? Jean had never seen it before, did they buy it just for this? Well- yeah that would make sense they had enough money for a lifetime supply of new outfits if they wanted.

Their skin shined under the spotlight, so did their clothes, their hair. But somehow their eyes were always visible- never drowned out in beams.

And soon they were singing again.

"Other dancers may be on the floor,"

Every sway and footstep was a dance. Jean couldn't even imagine how much time they put into this.

"Dear, but my eyes will see only you,"

They stared at him, into him. They reached their hand out to him and it took everything for him not to reach back, he could even feel his hand starting to rise all on its own.

"Only you have that magic technique,"

They receded their hand, twisting the mic back onto its stand and jutting it beside them as if it were their dance partner.

"When we sway, I go weak."

Their knees bent and the mic was dipped, their eyes shut as they held the note, and their eyebrows curled upwards; they almost looked sad. It was beautiful. Jean wasn't ashamed to say he was pretty envious of the mic at that moment.

As they seamlessly transitioned from lyric to lyric, Jean was positively awed. How could they sing a line so- so...seductively? Then immediately jump to the next lyric like it didn't even happen! It was like magic. Hypnosis.

The last chorus, the last verse. Jean didn't think he would survive.

Each note just kept climbing higher, he didn't know they had a range like...like this. Sure, he had heard them singing in the shower occasionally, or in the kitchen when they thought he couldn't hear but...never like this.

They held onto the mic and reached down to Jean, their glove becoming God's hand, and Jean had become their Adam. If only Michelangelo could see humanity now.

The final note was held. Their head momentarily snapped to the left to briefly bend into the mic before it snapped back forward again. And the performance was over. Jesus. Christ.

----------

They did it. They actually did it. Holy shit, they- they didn't think they'd actually be able to. Knowing their luck they would have tripped on a cord or had a voice crack so bad they'd permanently lose their voice or something but, no they- they really did it!

Sure they probably strained some notes at the end there, and they were so sweaty. Those lights were so hot. They hoped it didn't show. Jean was still staring. Did he like it? He looked like he liked it, but- you can never tell can you?

They were breathing so heavily. This outfit felt so heavy. They really hoped he liked it. They just kept their eyes on him.

Clapping. Oh- The brothers were clapping. Cheering even. And Jean followed. He stood up, cupping his mouth and practically yelling in support. He was always so supportive.

Jean ran up to the edge of the stage as they walked to him. He practically jumped them as he helped them off the edge. Just as their shoes grazed the floor, Jean's arms were already around them.

"Sweetheart that was- I- I don't even have the words-"

They laughed, and he laughed with them. They were so relieved. He didn't think it was weird.

"I'm...I'm just glad you liked it," They rested their hand on his chest, his heart was pounding.

"Liked it? Of course, I liked it, you- you were...I mean- you were fucking gorgeous," His voice grew quiet as his forehead rested on theirs. They loved it when he did this. They felt so close.

They felt even closer when he kissed them. Definitely closer then.

"Alright lovebirds, cut it out, don't make us singles feel too homicidal," Badabing blurted as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I don't know, I 'tink it's sweet," His taller brother defended.

"Well, no one asked you, did they?"

Intern always was amazed how those two could turn anything into an argument. The 'lovebirds' chuckled to each other at the sight. Then they felt him tugging on their hand. They turned, he was pulling them towards the stage.

As they walked, the intern gripped his hand tightly and whispered, almost overtaken by the noise of the brothers.

"What are you doing?"

Jean smiled and turned his head to them as they both walked up the steps of the stage, "Taking us backstage."

Oh? Backstage? Alone? Well damn, they thought they performed well but not that well, but they're not complaining.

As soon as the two of them got into the wings, the intern was met with another kiss, a deeper kiss than before.

"Baby- Do- are we really gonna do this here? I mean Badabing and-"

Jean cut them off. His hands gripped their arms.

"You didn't do this because of Stacy right?"

And just like that. Mood, gone. Jean had an unparalleled ability to do that. Intern probably wasn't much better. It took them a second to respond.

"That's...a good question actually, I don't...think so?"

He stared at them, his lips pursed.

"You don't...think.. so?"

"Well- I- Okay it's not- I'm not jealous. I swear to god I'm not. I just...I don't know- I guess- I guess I just wanted to prove myself," They looked down, smiling at the stupidity of it all.

He tilted his head in confusion and inched closer.

"Prove yourself of what?"

"To prove to myself that I'm worthy of you?"

Jean sighed, managing a sad smile. His hands slid from their arms to their back, pulling them towards him. A hug. He breathed in the scent of their hair and they breathed in the scent of his shirt.

"You don't have to prove anything, honey, you've already got me," Jean comforted while he rubbed their back.

"I know," They dug their fingers into his shirt, the fabric felt cool compared to how high their body temperature was.

He slid his hands down and hugged their waist and began to shift his weight back and forth. Soon, so did they. Swaying.

Jean kissed the top of their head.

"I love you so much."

They smiled into the crook of his neck, he felt it.

"I love you too." 

[poisonous-lemonade]

HII HOW ARE YOU DOING??

Anyways I will be sending you a lot of quackity prompts because I’m a huge simp (hope you don’t mind)

But anyways

Quackity x male reader but he has a FAT CRUSH on reader but reader is completely oblivious and quackitys friends tease him but reader is STILL OBLIVIOUS ASF

Anyways I understand if u don’t wanna do it dw

A/N: Woah there Bee, take a breath, these will take a while, but they will be done

Quackity Quandary: How to Get Noticed by an Oblivious Crush

"Quackity, Jesus, man, is he that bad?" Badboyhalo asked as he sat across from him, a cup of coffee in his hand.

See, Quackity had this problem, well, his crush had this problem at just completely being oblivious to his advances, every advance shut down because he couldn't pick up on them.

"Yes, Bad, it is that bad!" Quackity groan, his face in his hands.

"He can't be that oblivious, I'm sure he has to pick up on it soon," Bad thought, giving Quackity a reassuring smile as he sipped his drink. "Besides, you're meeting up with him, right? For a date?" Quackity groaned at the reminder.

"Yeah, Bad, that's the problem, Y/n, he-"

"Y/N thinks that Quackity just wants to hang out with him and doesn't see it as a date." Skeppy laughed from next to Bad, causing Quackity to roll his eyes with a loud groan.

"Oh! Well, I, I guess that's not good, but I'm sure it'll turn out fine!" Bad stumbled over his words with a small nervous smile.

"Yeah, but Quackity is too pussy to do anything about it," Sapnap said, walking in from the kitchen.

"Hey! Language-"

"Besides, Y/N thinks that you're just teasing him, you know, playfully flirting with him." Sapnap pointed down, sitting down next to Quackity, ignoring Bad's light scolding.

"But how can I get that to stop!?"

"You don't, you just learn to deal with it and move on." Skeppy shrugs, stealing a glance at Sapnap. "Or, you could-"

"Just tell him." Sapnap finished Skeppy's thought before both burst out laughing.

"Hey! Come on guys! Don't be so rude!" Bad scolds with a small scoff, reaching to hold Quackity's hand. "Ignore them, I'm sure he can't be as bad as you say."

"Oh, he is! Remember that one time!?" Skeppy playfully teased with his laughter. "It was so funny, Quackity and Y/N were just "hanging out" and then Quackity-"

"Hugged him and Y/N just said, "Stop hugging me, I'm trying to pick out George's birthday present"?!" Sapnap finished, both continuing to laugh painfully as Quackity's face turned red.

"You said you wouldn't bring that up! And you told Skeppy?!" Quackity groaned, Bad also trying to hold back his laughter and be a good friend.

"I'm sure that was just a one-time thing, I'm sure it was just really close to George's birthday and-"

"Bad, just stop, please." Quackity cut him off with a deep sigh, fixing his beanie subconsciously. "It wasn't-"

"2 months, actually," Skeppy spoke up through laughter, causing Bad to stifle his laugh more harshly this time.

"Oh, well, that, uh, that's-" Bad let out a small huff of a laugh, covering his mouth before continuing to laugh. "I-I'm so, so sorry, that's just-" Bad cut himself off as he continued to stifle his laughter.

"Bad! Come on! Help me, man!" Quackity groaned. "God! Why does he have to be so, so him!?" Quackity stood up from the couch, walking out of the house as his friends still laughed, although it had died down a little. "Forgot this, I'm leaving."

"Wait, Quackity! Come back! We still need to talk about the time you fumbled to bag so hard!" Sapnap laughed before he was cut off by Quackity slamming the front door shut.

He was sure if it wasn't him in this situation, he would laugh too, but it was him so he couldn't help but feel a bit of playful betrayal, it was the only way he could describe it. So he sighed, picking up his pride as he walked home, his ride was Sapnap but there wasn't any way he was riding home with him now. But God he wishes he did.

"Quackity?" A voice said with a confused brow raised. He stopped and looked up from his pity party to catch the eyes of you with his.

"Y/N?" He asked, almost frozen in shock before shaking himself out of it. "What, what are you doing? Walking, I mean?"

"Well, Bad texted me, said to come over to his because you needed to tell me something? Did something happen in between that time?"

"Bad texted you!?" He asked with a small but quite sharp breath. "When!?" He asked.

"Um, not long ago, like 20 minutes?" You said with a small shrug, walking closer to Quackity. "I'm guessing it didn't work out then?" Quackity sighed and shook his head.

"No, no, I guess, you, you are right." He said, cursing internally as he finished his words. "I should get going, I need to get home."

"Well let me walk you, I really only came over because of you so I might as well walk you home." And there was your stupid way of talking about him like you loved him.

"No, no, it's fine, I'm sure Bad is still waiting for you."

"He can wait, I want to make sure you make it home safe." You had a way with words that Quackity couldn't describe and it physically hurt him trying too.

"No, Y/N, it's fine, I got this," Quackity said, shaking his head and walking around you, a bright blush filling his cheeks as he continued to walk away.

In all honestly, he wasn't expecting much or anything at all, but it just had to be you, it had to be you he ran into, it always lead back to you, and like everything else, you had to have the last words.

"Alright, I love you, text me when you make it home safe."

Quackity paused at Y/N's words, snapping his head around to see that you were already walking away like those words did not just leave your mouth. Was it always that easy? What the fuck!?

[rosetta-j-stone]

Buckle up guys, gals and non-binary pals, it's BoJere Tour Bus Renuion time <3

"...Bojan was tentatively asking me if I would join him on the tour bus" - Kris arches an eyebrow as he reads this part of the latest interview with Jere on his phone screen.

Tentatively? Seriously? Since when has Bojan done ANYTHING tentatively? Bojan is about as tentative as a- as a puppy. Which is why Kris has to watch him and "Nine Lives" Jure like a hawk.

Not for the first time, Kris is glad he doesn't have pets.

Turtles might be OK, he supposes.

Nace seems to think so.

Anyway, he's clearly going to have to talk to Bojan about this.

****

"Hey, Bojan, remind me: what are the rules of this tour?"

Bojan rolls his eyes. Like Kris doesn't know. Like Kris didn't write them. Like Kris didn't give him two copies (just in case). He shrugs.

"Let's see...what happens on the tour bus stays on the tour bus?"

Kris chucks a pillow at him. He ducks.

"That is the exact opposite of Rule 5 and you know it"

Ugh, he's in one of those moods. Bojan briefly considers throwing the pillow back, but decides against it.

"Rule 5? What were the other 4?" He grins. "Wait, don't tell me. They're all the same rule, just with different names."

Kris refuses to take this bait, unfortunately.

"Rule 5 is - as you very well know - No Sex On The Tour Bus"

How is he capitalising every letter of that stupid rule just saying it, Bojan wonders.

"Right, and why are you bringing up that rule with me? Shouldn't you be reminding...ooh, I don't know...your fellow guitarists of that one?"

Kris folds his arms and Bojan knows he shouldn't push it but he can't help himself.

"Or does it not apply if both parties are band members? Kinda discriminatory Krisko. Does this mean I have to start sleeping with Jure again?" He grins, gives Kris a suggestive look. "Or-"

Kris gives him a don't-even-think-about-it look in response - spoilsport - and thrusts his phone at him.

Ooh, it's an interview with Jere...

Ah.

OK, Jere has obviously said something.

Yep. Kris has highlighted it. Of course he has.

He reads the offending sentence, rereads it, laughs, looks up.

"Oh come on Kris, this is just Jerč-Jere messing around. He probably said it because he knew it would get attention. Although" he feels obliged to point out, because joke or no joke this slander will not stand: "it was actually HIM asking ME if he could-"

Kris sighs the deep sigh of the terminally exasperated.

"Look, I don't care who asked who, your boyfriend-"

"-NOT my boyfriend actually but do carry on"

Kris doesn't even bat an eyelid.

"Whatever he is, he's NOT coming on the bus. In EITHER sense. There's barely enough room for the five of us as it is"

He gestures to the admittedly cramped living quarters they've somehow got used to sharing. Bojan can see his point, even if he is making it in the most insufferable way possible. He sighs.

"FINE. No Sex On The Tour Bus"

Kris looks at him.

"Promise?"

He's such a Boy Scout sometimes. Bojan can't resist saluting as he replies.

"Yes, Mr-If-I-Can't-Get-Laid-Neither-Can-Anyone-Else, I promise"

And he runs off before Kris can find anything else to throw at him.

****

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: Hey

BikBik: Hey

BikBik: What happen?

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: Kris read your interview. I had to promise him I wouldn't smuggle you onto the tour bus.

BikBik: : (

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: I know, it sucks. No reenacting this for us

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: <video file: UKTourChaChaCha">

BikBik: <gif: "SadDavidTennant">

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: <gif: "SadDavidTennant">

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: ...

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: Anyway, I think we're both off Krisko's Christmas card list this year.

BikBik: ...

BikBik: OK but still on Christmas present list, yesyes?

BikBik: Still on track for visit from...Grandfather Walrus?

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: ...Grandfather Walrus?

BikBik: Is not correct? I put "Dedek Mrož" into Google Translate and-

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: OH

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: OMB

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: X D

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: DEDEK MRAZ

CarpeEveryDiemSlideIntoEveryDM: BRB DYING OF LAUGHTER

BikBik: ...

BikBik: ...

BikBik: F**k you Bojan X D

****

Jere is laughing as he puts his phone down, he can't help laughing whenever he interacts with Bojan, but he's soon serious again.

Yes, he ABSOLUTELY said that to that reporter because he knew they'd eat it up.

But...

He was hoping that he and Bojan would-

Well.

You know.

But Bojan has made a promise, and his Bojan doesn't break promises.

So Jere is going to have to...get creative.

He grins.

He's always enjoyed a challenge.

[writerfae]

Cries over Rook and Cryptan (whose name my phone is desperately trying to turn into crystal). Their friendship kinda reminds me of Adél and Bendegúz, not because of any parallels, but it's this very strong, deep friendship.

...if I think about it, they remind me of the villain Adél au, where Bendegúz doesn't go with her to look for Ákos (and this becomes his biggest regret), and to put it simply Adél makes a deal with the Black swamp: Ákos remains unharmed, and Adél will carry on the Black swamp's purpose after Odette desrtoys it.

Adél and Bendegúz end up on opposite sides when it's the last thing they want.

It would be interesting how your characters from the present would get along with pre madness Rook (if you discount the fact that Aiden's job is to stop him from coming back). Just personality wise.

Also, I forgot to ask last time: can Callan fight?

Also, also:

Continuing the your traumatized boy takes care of mine Aiden babysitting Ákos saga:

I had this idea (that is actually canon) that i see as half cute half sad, which is this:

No matter how cute and precious Ákos is, despite still being a child he still managed to survive a month in a very hostile environment because 1: he's very smart, 2: he took some advice from each of his older siblings that helped him. He took care of himself... but he didn't like doing it. He stayed strong, sharp, and determined, but in the background, there was this little "I don't know what to do" (among other things, but this is what's relevant rn). And he couldn't do it forever. One time, he just stopped (and i can't say more cause spoilers).

And one of his feelings that I love writing about actually is that after Adél and Bendegúz find him and there's finally someone to take care of him. It's this repeated feeling of "It's okay, it's okay", but it's still a little suprising each time.

Finally getting to the point:

Ákos knows he can take care of himself, but on "bad days" he doesn't like it. Fortunately, he also knows that he has people he can rely on. So on some "bad days" (he has different types of bad days) he just follows people around like a little duckling (or on very bad days just Adél or Bendegúz), and yeah, he sometimes does this anyway, the difference is that on these days he kinda wants people to show him/ tell him what to do. To guide him a little.

And I think this would look so cute actually when Aiden's looking after him.

Like, idk exactly why (maybe because he was also left alone as a child), but I can totally see Aiden being like: child needs me to steer the ship for a bit so I will! with no hesitation.

Rook and Cyprian are everything to me at the moment <3

The villain Adél AU sounds cool! Dare I say it does remind me of Rook a bit. Either way, it's interesting!

Original Rook would get along quite well with everyone. Like insaid, hes really older brother-coded, not just with his issues. He's older than all of them and often busy though, so they probably wouldn't really spend much time together.

Callan can fight, but chooses not to. He's a person that sees fighting as a last option. He got weapon and fight training, though, so he can defend himself if necessary.

Poor Akós, that sounds like his survival instincts took over. But it's understandable, especially for someone so young, to just be taken care of.

Aiden knows how to look after himself, has been since he was a child. For him, it's almost normal, he had to unlearn that first. Had to learn to accept help. But he likes to give help, so as soon as he recognizes Ákos problem, I'm sure he'll try to help