#catch me just hanging out with the cats during every bit of down time

[muzdiir]

i LOVE SEEING OTHER PPL'S CATS!!!!!!!!!!!! i love these children. it is always a gift to see ppl i follow's cats. i love seeing them often enough to be able to pick them out of a crowd. i love learning their personalities.

i just really love cats guys

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Surrender Part 2

Yay!! I loved the response the first chapter got, thank you so much for your warm support.

This is MATURE DO NOT ENGAGE IF UNDER 18.

This isn't the longest chapter (side-eyes the final chapter) but it's pretty close.

The CC boys misunderstand Steve a bit, Steve and Eddie go star gazing, and they have their first time.

Part 1

****

To say Eddie was nervous would be an understatement. It was one thing to hang out with Steve between classes and after school, it was quite another for Steve to willingly want to be seen with him during school hours.

Only he didn’t have to worry about a single thing. Steve still sat next to him during the classes they shared. And at lunch, he ignored all the calls to have him sit with them, and sat at the end of Eddie and his friends table. It was a clear rejection of the popular crowd and even Nancy and Jonathan, who had been among those calling out to him. But at the same time not deliberately throwing his lot in with the freaks either.

Eddie and his friends approved. But then that was what made Steve so good at the social thing. He knew exactly when to the toe the line and where, otherwise he wouldn’t have lasted as early as he did and as long as he did on top of the social ladder.

Because despite what nonsense Billy Hargrove threw around, he didn’t take the crown from Steve, Steve had willing given it up piece by piece.

Steve made eye contact with Eddie and the older teen blushed, shoving his hair in front of his face, shyly.

Steve smiled fondly and dug into what was supposed to be meatloaf. What it actually was, Eddie couldn’t figure out. He could have gotten hot lunch for free, Wayne and he qualified for it. But he could never stomach the smell.

Eddie and his friends goofed off like there was nothing strange about a deposed king hanging out at the end of their table.

He could tell that the other tables on the other hand were having trouble with the new development. They kept darting looks at Steve and then Eddie, like it was Eddie’s fault that Steve had sworn off socializing with them all.

Well, they were right, but not in the way they thought. They were more than friends. They had kissed and if everything went well tonight, it wouldn’t be Steve’s bed that he woke up in tomorrow, it would be Eddie’s.

God, Eddie prayed that everything went well. Just the thought of having that beautiful boy in his bed would be the culmination of every daydream and fantasy he had ever had over the last three years, when Steve blossomed into the hottest thing on campus.

“You doing anything tonight?” Gareth asked him breaking him out of his revery.

Eddie forced himself to keep his eyes on his baloney sandwich and not look up at Steve. He tapped his pretzel on the table. “Mhmm.”

His friends didn’t have the same restraint, however as all three of them turned to look at Steve. Steve looked up at them with that adorable head tilt that drove Eddie to near feral status.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Eddie hissed. “Yes, that beautiful person is the reason that I have plans, but if you could stop staring at him before other people catch on, that would be great thanks!”

Steve chuckled and stood up. He passed by Eddie on the way to the garbage. He leaned over and whispered, “You can tell them if you want.”

Eddie shoved his hair in front of his face again to hide the deep red blush that dusted his cheeks. He looked up at Steve and the boy winked before he made his way out of the cafeteria to the hallway.

As soon as Steve was out of sight, all three of Eddie’s friends turned to him, chin on their hands, and batting their eyelashes at him.

“Yes, Eddie,” Brian said with a pout, “you could tell us if you want...”

Eddie looked around making sure there was no one listening and then leaned forward to whisper, “We went out on a date last night and he wants to take me out again.”

Suddenly they were all piling on him and hugging him. Once they had thoroughly mugged him, they sat back down, smug, like a trio cats that had gotten into the cream.

“So where did you go?” Gareth said, cloyingly. “Did he take you out to dinner?”

Again Eddie looked around, before leaning in to tell them about the date last night and how special Steve went out of his way to make it.

“I need me a rich girlfriend,” Jeff huffed. “Shit. All that stuff just to woo you?”

Eddie shook his head. “Guys, don’t be like that. Come on. It wasn’t about the money. He knew that it would be some place I wouldn’t get to go to on my own and wanted me to have fun. And I did.”

The three other boys shared glances, but Eddie could tell they really didn’t believe him. He opened his mouth to tell them about their date tonight, but the bell rang and they were off to their own classes.

He shook his head and glared down at his unfinished lunch. He would just have to hope Mr. McLaughlin would lenient on the food in his classroom today.

****

Alas, Mr. McLaughlin made Eddie put it away immediately and he was forced to eat a stale sandwich and the rest of his pretzels after school.

He had all afternoon to wait until their date, something poor Uncle Wayne was forced to endure of his twitchiness. He would get up to do something and end up pacing. He would try to play guitar and nearly snapped a peg with how tightly him and the B string were wound.

“Ed.” Wayne’s voice was firm but kind. “You’ll make yourself sick with your wild imaginings. What’s going on inside your head?”

Eddie sighed and sat down on the floor looking up at him. “My friends think I’m only with Steve because of his looks and money.” He played with rings, hanging his head, letting the curtain of his hair hide his expression.

“And are you?” Wayne asked gently, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair.

Eddie’s head snapped up. “What?! No of course not! Steve being hot is the cherry on top of the icing on the cake. And yeah he got me some nice things yesterday, but it was because he wanted me get things I wouldn’t normally be able to. We had dinner at Benny’s for fuck’s sake! If it was about the money, I would have swung for something a little more high class than that.”

Wayne scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, maybe not,” Eddie admitted. “But still! It’s not about how much he spent on the date, it was how much thought he put into it, you know?”

“So ignore them,” Wayne advised. “They aren’t going to change their minds unless they see it for themselves.”

Eddie nodded.

Suddenly a knock came on their door and Eddie sprang up like a spring and leapt for the door. He threw it open to see a warmly dressed Steve Harrington holding a box of chocolates.

“The best chocolates are the ones on clearance after Valentine’s Day,” Steve admitted with a half shrug.

Eddie pulled him into the trailer and slammed the door. He kissed Steve senseless.

When they finally came up for air Steve breathed, “I take it you agree?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Eddie said with a great big grin. “Here, let me put these in my room and I’ll grab my coat.”

“M‘Kay!” Steve happily chirped.

“Back for round three, I see,” Wayne said, standing up to greet him.

Steve ducked his head and nodded, biting his bottom lip. “The first round started with me against the ropes and it did not look like I would be able to make a comeback.”

“I’m glad you did, son.” Wayne gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I haven’t seen my boy this happy since his mama died, so you take good care of you him, you hear?”

Steve nodded and Eddie came bounding out of his bedroom, smiling like a loon.

“You ready, baby?”

Steve nodded and then said goodbye to Wayne.

“He likes you by the way,” Eddie said as he slipped into Steve’s car. “Wayne I mean.”

Steve scoffed as backed out of the parking spot. “He’d be the first parent figure thingy who did.”

“Parents don’t like you?” Eddie asked cocking his head to the side. “I thought you were every white, Christian parents’ wet dream when it came to dating their daughters.”

“You forget my other reputation.”

Eddie frowned for a moment as he tried to think what there could possibly be about Steve that parents didn’t like.

“The sex, Eds,” Steve said after a few moments of him trying to puzzle it out. “They don’t like that there is a pretty good chance she’ll be losing her virginity with me, if she had it in the first place.”

Eddie’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and nodded. “I guess that makes sense. I thought you would have managed to charm the parents as easily as you charmed their daughters.”

They pulled up to the quarry and got out of the car. He opened his trunk and pulled out what looked to Eddie a whole shopping center’s worth of blankets and comforters. He picked out the most worn and the softest down comforter Eddie had ever seen and laid it over the hood of his car and windshield. Then he piled all the blankets up on top of it. Then the last thing he pulled out was a large thermos with two tin mugs.

He helped Eddie get up on the hood and then handed him the thermos and cups. He got on the hood and proceeded to wrap them up.

Just Eddie got settled, he looked out on the quarry just in time to see the most beautiful sunset.

“You are one smooth motherfucker, Stevie,” he muttered, “you know that right?” He pointed dramatically at the sunset.

Steve looked over and burst out laughing. “Hate to break it to you, sunshine, but not even I can control the sun.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie said rolling his eyes. “This is nice actually.”

Steve’s smile was incandescent as it took over his face. He carefully poured them the hot cocoa and handed one cup to Eddie.

“It’s my favorite thing to do in summer,” he said softly. “Just come out here by myself and watch as the stars race across the night sky. Night after night they chase each other.”

Eddie smirked over his cup. He was pretty sure he was talking about the planets, but he wisely kept that to himself. “Sounds lovely, Stevie.”

They talked about their classes and Eddie’s friends. They talked about his band and the club.

“Dustin wants to join the D&D club,” Steve said solemnly. “I talked to Mr. Conklin, the teaching advisor for the club. He over heard some older kids talking about it at the library and he’s really excited. And of course he told all his friends and they want to join too.”

“Stevie sweetheart,” Eddie said, his voice low and dangerous, “please tell me that you knew that I am president of the Hellfire Club. Like I wear the club shirt, that I designed myself all. The. Time.”

Steve blinked at him a moment, his mouth hanging open in shock. The D&D references, Kas, the dramatics. “Oops.”

Eddie drained the rest of his hot cocoa, made sure Steve’s cup was empty and set safely to the side before he absolutely tackled Steve to the hood of the car. He began tickling him and Steve burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Steve shrieked.

But Eddie kept tickling until Steve cried uncle.

Once he could breath again, Steve murmured, “I thought we both knew I'm not the smartest person on the planet.”

Eddie pulled him close and kissed him deeply. He ran his fingers through his hair and used his blunt fingernails to scrape Steve’s scalp. Steve leaned into the touch and let his eyes flutter closed.

“Baby,” he murmured gently as soon as Steve fully relaxed. “I wasn’t mad or upset you didn’t put the two together. We’ve only fully started getting to know each other in the last two weeks. I couldn’t name any of your interests outside of basketball and I don’t expect you to either, okay?”

Steve eyes slowly opened and he looked at him, searchingly.

“There you are, beautiful,” Eddie cooed. “I can tell people don’t treat you right, and probably never have, but all that changes with me. Okay?”

Steve nodded and then buried his head into Eddie’s shoulder. They eventually turned back to the stars above them. Eddie pointing out constellations and Steve talking about the Greek myths behind them.

Far too soon, it was too dark and cold and the hot cocoa had long since been drank. So Eddie and Steve piled all the blankets back into the trunk and started the drive toward Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie led Steve back to his room with a shy smile. “It doesn’t look like much, but it’s home.”

Steve was fascinated by all the posters and instruments. The great big Corroded Coffin banner and the piles of books and knickknacks.

“It’s amazing!”

He had been to other people’s bedrooms, he knew they weren’t like his. But this gentle chaos was nothing like he’d ever seen before.

Eddie shoved his hair in front of his mouth to hide his blush as Steve darted around the room like a kid in a candy store. Or rather like Eddie in the best game store Bloomington. He explained what all the different things were. He giggled as he flopped on the bed with a laugh.

“I like it,” Steve murmured. “But I think I like its owner more.”

Eddie grinned and advanced on the other boy. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm...” he said softly, stretching out on the bed underneath him.

Eddie licked his lips slowly, his eyes raking down the lean body of the most beautiful boy in Hawkins. He didn’t understand how this was his life.

“I like you too, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss him. “So much.”

Steve got his hands into those curls that had been haunting his dreams, pulling Eddie as close as possible. Eddie flattened out and moaned into his mouth.

Fuck!

Their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces and holy hell, did that do things to Eddie’s libido.

Steve’s hands began to roam, down his sides and all along his back. Eddie’s desire fueled Steve’s in a feedback loop. Eddie forced himself to stop so that he could sit up. He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the side. Steve reached out and stroked Eddie’s now naked sides.

“Fuck, Eds,” he breathed. “I want you.”

Eddie smiled down at him and then helped him get out of his own shirt. Eddie took a moment to admire his boyfriend’s strong body. He ran his fingers over the smooth expanse of his chest. All the way down to his belt.

“Yeah?” he panted.

Steve nodded and that was all Eddie needed. He undid the belt and yanked it out of Steve’s belt loops. Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Someone is eager,” he teased as Eddie worked the jeans and briefs down and off.

Eddie mere scoffed, ignoring the statement. “Sorry, the socks have to go too. It’s too weird.”

Steve really did laugh at that one. Eddie quickly divested himself of his own clothes and flopped back down on the bed. Steve shrieked in delight as the motion caused him to get a couple of inches of air off the bed.

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed as Eddie climbed back on top of him.

Eddie gave him a big kiss complete with the silly sound effect. “This is what you get when you’re with me, babe. It’s not too late to back out.”

Steve pulled him in for deep, searing kiss. “Lucky for you, I’m a dork too.”

“You? Steve Harrington is a dork?” Eddie gasped in mock shock.

Steve reached up and began tickling those exposed ribs. Eddie let out a shriek of his own. Then they were tussling and rolling around on the bed as they tickled and teased each other.

Eddie found himself on top and looked down at him in awe. Then he leaned down and kissed Steve hard.

“Eds...” Steve whined, thrusting his hips up to gain friction.

Eddie’s hands drifted over Steve’s body and sought to memorize every moan, every whine, every utterance Steve made as Eddie mapped out his body with his hands and mouth. Then finally Eddie was leaning over his cock, breath panting heavily as he fought for composure, but Steve wasn’t having it, having lost any sense of patience at all.

He grabbed Eddie’s hair and lowered him on his cock.

Eddie licked the tip and pushed down the foreskin. He kept it light as Steve bucked underneath him, hand still in his hair.

Then at last Eddie gave Steve exactly what he wanted. He crawled his way back up Steve’s body and took both their cocks in hand.

It was messy and rough, and everything Eddie ever wanted and if the sounds coming from Steve were any indication, he was pretty sure Steve thought so too.

Eddie came first, but Steve followed soon after their combined cum painting Steve’s chest.

Steve threw an arm over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. “Fuck, baby. That was the hardest I’ve ever come.”

“That so?” Eddie teased as he went into the bathroom to get a wash cloth.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “That’s not hyperbole either.” Though he pronounced it as hyper-bowl.

Eddie chuckled as he wiped down Steve’s chest and abs. “I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced hi-purr-bah-lee.”

Steve frowned and uncovered his eyes to look at his boyfriend. “That can’t be right. It doesn’t end in a Y.”

Eddie kissed Steve’s tummy and threw the washcloth toward his laundry basket. He didn’t even see if it had made it (it hadn’t), he just crawled into bed with Steve.

“I love you, Stevie.”

Steve pulled the blankets on top of them and cuddled up close. “I love you too, Eds.”

****

Part 3 Part 4

Do you know what the best part about writing Steve is? That you can be confidently incorrect about something and it will be ABSOLUTELY in character. If you want another character to correct him you have to look it up, but otherwise, nah!

Tag List: ONE SLOT OPEN!!!! (please check the comments before asking to be tagged to make sure it hasn't already been filled, thank you)

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @spectrum-spectre

2- @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson

3- @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv

4- @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @dam28lh

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @fullpoetrybread

7- @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

8- @skyewaytohell @swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234

9- @dotdot-wierdlife @ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself

10- @w1ll0wtr33 @kultiras @sadisticaltarts @micheledawn1975

[coupleoffanfics]

same person who said teehee(batfam related again xx)

so anyway!!!

you also mentioned that Selina likes y/n, and I seriously need a small drabble w their interactions! I bet that's why y/n likes cats so much! cause she was hanging out with Selina or with Selina in almost all her patrols hihihi

I hope you enjoy this anon. I just made them into HC, I hope you don't mind. Though if you aren't satisfied with it feel free to send another ask. 😊

Selina meets y/n when she takes the role of Batgirl. It's an average night for Gotham. Stealing jewels and whatever catches Selina's eyes. Then there's a little squabble with Batman.

She puts down her bag of stolen goods to fight. She is so focused on fighting with Batman that she almost doesn't notice the figure taking her bag and starts trifling though it. They take whatever they're looking for and place it back to where it belongs.

Batman and Selina are fighting while Batgirl! y/n is trying to put everything back to the way it was.

Oh, no there's some broken glass! Batgirl! y/n goes to the janitor's closet to grab a broom and sweeps up the glass. She might have pulled out the mop if she didn't notice an opening for her to strike.

The kick to the back didn't hurt Selina in the slightest, it just caught her off guard. Though Batgirl! y/n acts like she just stabbed Selina.

Blabbering about how she's sorry and hoped that it didn't hurt too much. But Selina fondly remembers how Batgirl! y/n admitted that she thought her cat ears looked cute.

After that they'll have little interactions every so often.

Maybe if they have a fight or something Selina will say, "You don't want to get hurt do you, Kitty?" Then young Batgirl! y/n smiles. Slightly puffs out her chest, "I'm no Kitty. I'm a Chickadee, that's what my Mama called me." Selina then just calls her Chickadee after that.

Young y/n finds out about Selina's real identity when at a Gala. She's probably goofing off with Tim or just sitting alone bored when she hears a familiar voice call her Chickadee.

She thinks it's a big secret knowing who Catwoman really is. Doesn't tell Bruce or even Tim even though they knew long before her. Thinks she hot shit with this information and believes she's just best friends with Selina than the other two. No, y/n you aren't supposed to befriend the criminals!

Honestly a few villains might hear about the little nickname y/n was giving and mock her. "What are you going to do about it, Chickadee?" She always pouts a little before saying, "You aren't allowed to call me that!"

If there was a big fight going on, Batgirl! y/n was severely injured Selina would jump in. Depending on how bad the injury is she'll either defend y/n from anymore harm or just kidnap her.

y/n wakes up in a cozy bed with some cats laying around her. She's convinced she's found haven. Spends the rest of the night with Selina as she introduces y/n to all her cats.

They just have a little soft spot for each.

y/n wants hugs. She's a touch starved goblin, but she's too scared to ask. Though if she just asked Selina, she'd gladly give her as many as she wanted.

At the start y/n isn't given too much "freedom" during patrols. She's still young, inexperienced, and not to mention she can be a bit innocent. Though when she has a few years under her belt, I could see Bruce begrudgingly letting her patrol on her own.

This isn't where the family neglect starts, so Bruce is pretty connected to her. Not to mention that Jason was probably still in the back of his mind.

I couldn't really see y/n being one to skip patrol duty. Too much of a goody-two-shoes to really do that. Though I could see Selina coming by to play around and distract her from her duty.

Selina could be doing this from boredom or wanting to see the girl relax. A kid shouldn't be so serious. They should be growing up and being care free. She'd also like for y/n to grow up and not become so brooding like her father. Though thankfully y/n is willing to entertain Selina from time to time.

If things are calm, they might sit in alleyways to pet stray cats while chatting. Their conversations are nothing serious and quiet mindless honesty, but it's nice.

They can both just take a breath and bask in the cuteness of the alley cats.

[finnitesimal]

So—- Do you think Missa and Philza will ever get out of the you are very special to me and I talk to you in a romantic way nothing to dissect here. Or would pissa be like how it until end of Qsmp. (Feel free to say things you think needs to happen to break pissa out of will they won’t they situation they been in since the start of the egg event.)

Completely forgot I was gonna answer this I got distracted by pocket love

I think like all rp events it's something the actors need to go hey so are we doing this or can I do something else. I think both of them are pretty aware that they're playing a typically romance-leaning couple, so average hopes on it. Definitely don't think it'll be like this forever things are amping up to be more serious and have more consequences I could definitely see a heat-of-the-moment or a while-i-still-can reveal, or even some new plotline around missa that forces qphil to confront some feelings about it

First of all Missa needs to log on. With or without Phil also Not just during events please I want to see you just hanging with people outside of your husband or even make up your own convoluted storyline to add to the rest Nothing is going to happen unless we actually fucking SEE HIM!!!!!!

and i've said this before but Missa needs to somehow break free of the idea that Phil is infallible, is unfailingly good, is out of reach, is always going to be there or be stable enough to handle anything that comes their way. It's like hero worship how he sees Phil, and it's clouding other memories he has with the others ("Phil was the only one who protected me, who gave me a home" said to Roier. To ROIER.) and his own capabilities as a player, he was doing completely fine from before Phil to the early days of their marriage, and there's a good chance it really is just the difficulty spike of the server catching up to him, or ccMissa could absolutely be playing it up deliberately, but with qMissa's already dwindling self-esteem, it's very easy to look at your ever-capable husband and grossly underestimate your own skillset, what's the point he knows better anyway I don't want to hinder him I'll let him lead, and it's going. To affect his perception of Phil as a flawed, hurting, scared person and completely miss that his husband might actually need his help

Phil also needs to start actually trusting Missa to handle himself, because at this point it feels a bit like Missa is more of a favored family pet than a partner. Kind of helpless so he has to take care of it, easier to put affection into without romantic payoff, loves unconditionally, it's funny to distress him. Part of this is on Missa but it also doesn't particularly help when the first idea you have of your partner is how poor and helpless he is and that you have to go help him out and save him from himself like it's an egg task you need to complete. The closest they've had to actually treating each other like real partners was the first day taking care of their new egg, building the house and doing their tasks together, playing off each other's strengths and needs, and while wet cat missa with strong cool protector is funny and cute and very ship dynamic-able I don't think it's enough to move their relationship forwards.

That and actually acknowledging the fact that Missa has more than friendly feelings towards him Phil is pretty notably missing (ignoring?) Missa's sometimes outright declarations of love the Most we've had is the LoudAsHell "that's the love of my life!" at the introductions for the frozen people, where we got punched backwards Sit The Fuck Down!! and nothing yet so far. Every romantic implication has yet to be addressed but He Still Won't Bite The Bullet And Turn Him Down. come on man get it together yes or no bitch

Also. They haven't. Really spent enough time with each other to really know each other. The lack of trust the barely any conversation, most of their interactions centering around keeping Missa alive and getting him geared up or updated (and for maybe 4-ish hours at most fur every stream <- spans months in between) is not a relationship to get into even in Minecraft roleplay it's not going to let them have any real romantic connection they simply don't spend enough time with each other. It's very cute that whenever they do get together they barely spend any time away from each other but they need to do more with that time

If this continues on the same path I genuinely think they're just going to drift apart. Ultimately Phil is most attached to his kids and if he can't find them here he's going to look elsewhere and he's not going to ask Missa to leave hhs friends and family for him and Missa's going to be too much of a coward to actually tell him how he feels before he leaves and we'll crumble and explode. Arguably worse ending, we're going to watch pissa fester and stagnate until it's not as fun for anyone and we'll all move on from what could've been.

Very few ways I can think of to actually get them together*

¹eeeeeeeehhhhhhhh "together"

1) Divorce. It's not working out with your government-issued spouse? He hasn't been on in months you're leaving anyway and the kids are gone so there's nothing tying you together anymore? Take him down to the courthouse, shake his hand, ignore the conflicted look in his eyes as he thanks you for everything and the empty feeling of looking around your house and parading your new single status around and greeting him as neighbors now and feeling like your bed just keeps getting bigger

2) Desertion. Hundreds of thousands of blocks away living on nothing but avocado toast and the occasional messages from your friends wishing you well looking if he's talking to you yet why are you looking for his name anyway.

3) Noble Self-Sacrifice. What if only one of us was in the Spanish dub

Yeah that's all I can think of it's really not likely at the moment and I think they'd know how to conclude whatever they've got going on better than I can

[retnym]

WORLD TOUR- .04

"Don't call me that."

We’re still in Germany for a few more weeks, having two other shows then moving on to the next country. During this time Jace will be hanging around us. Once we leave he has to go back to college. He’s been taking me on small dates like dinners and little shopping sprees. Well, it was more we walked around, I don’t like people spending money on me. I really just enjoy the company. And this company won’t last long once the distance becomes too much once again. 

I might as well keep him around to get my mind off the stress of touring though. It also bothers Tom that he’s around so it’s a plus in my book. Bill, Georg, and Gustav have been hanging around him as well. It’s been a week and a half since our second show. These are a little spaced out only because there was supposed to be another but the building it was in got shut down. I couldn’t tell you why but it did. 

Since the boys hang out with Jace, I’ve been with Johanna during that time. They only hang out with him when Tom isn’t around though so it’s a rare occasion. Some bro-code they have they can’t all hangout together.

Weird.

Tonight we’re going out to dinner together. Even Tom will be there. It’s a night to just relax and be around each other. These shows will be tiresome and this is about to be a crazy time. 

It’s a casual but formal dinner so I dressed in a black silk dress that has a slit on the leg that starts from the top of my thigh all the way down. Silver heels to match. I was currently waiting for Jace to pick me up, I kissed Springroll goodbye and decided to wait outside. 

I live with my aunt for the time being. I thought about getting my own house but since I travel so often there’s no point. My cat will stay with my aunt until after the Germany shows then I’ll pick her up and she’ll travel with me on the bus. 

Pulling out my phone real quick I check the time. It’s 6:13, Jace was supposed to be here 13 minutes ago. It’s a good thing I wasn’t the one who made the reservations. He’s been doing this every day. He’s late to come to get me for everything, always having an excuse too. 

I still haven’t given him an answer on us trying again but he seems keen on getting me to be his. I’m going to make him work for it a little longer though. 

A horn honks from down the street and I step down the stairs of the porch as his car pulls up near the mailbox. I wanted to wait for him to get out and open the door for me but we are running too late to be dramatic about opening a door. Getting in with a huff he immediately drives off before I even buckle my seat. 

The car ride was short, his driving being a little crazy as he swerved around other cars, almost running a few lights and signs. My hand never un-tensing. His one hand was on my thigh and the other was on the wheel. 

Once we came to a stop, I got out of the car as fast as possible. “What’s the rush?” He laughed, slowly getting out of the car. I tried forcing myself to laugh too but it came out almost like a croak. “We’re late, Jace. They’re waiting for us.” I don’t even wait for him to catch up with me, I’m already at the doors to the restaurant. 

“Reservation?” A man who looks like he’s in his younger 20s asks me. “Oh, Kaulitz?” He nods, motioning for me to follow him. Jace was now behind me, he never sped up he kept the same pace. It frustrated me a tiny bit but what can you do?

“There’s Jo!” I smile, waving to her. It looks like she just got out of the bathroom. She returns the favor and walks over to me. She was wearing a dark green velvet feel dress that had long sleeves but her cleavage showed and it looked amazing. She pulls me into a hug and we continue to follow the guy to the table. 

“There she is!” Georg grins, high-fiving me. Bill scoots over and we sit next to him. Johanna was next to Gustav. It was a curved booth, so it went Georg, Tom, Gustav, Johanna, Bill, me, and then Jace. I was right across from Tom. He was on his phone, no surprise there of course.

 I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him though. His dreads were down and it was weird seeing him without a hat. Before I could think too much Jace had taken my hand and I smile up at him and then join the conversation with the others. They were all wearing button-ups and nice pants. Nothing too fancy but it was something.

We started drinking right as the food came in. It was just the appetizer so we didn’t even feel a buzz with our drinks yet, that’s when I tapped my spoon on the glass earning everyone’s attention. My eyes flickered between Johanna to Tom who automatically looked up my way.

“So, I have been meaning to bring something up.” I laugh awkwardly, now with everyone’s eyes I began to feel a little nervous. Biting at the dead skin of my bottom lip and taking a deep breath I continue. Even as a performer, I get extremely nervous with complete silence.

Also, something on my mind has me suddenly confused with my thoughts.

“Um, we all know Johanna is a pretty good photographer. She’s also very organized. Unlike most of us.” I adjust the top of my dress, letting go of Jace’s hand to wipe the sweat onto my dress but it doesn’t help wearing silk. “I want her to be our personal photographer, along with managing certain things for us. Helping us get interviews, ads for products, speaking for us over the phone, things like this that we’re too busy for.” I explain to them, glancing at her who nervously stared at the table. Her leg was bouncing up and down, I could tell from the way her body is shaking slightly. “That’d be amazing.” Bill was of course the first to speak up and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “I think it sounds like a good plan.” Gustav shrugs, smiling at Johanna whose eyes lit up like stars. 

“What do you think, Tom?” Bill asks his brother and Tom was playing with his piercings, jumping from the sudden attention his way. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. We do need it.” He points out and we all look at him like he’s crazy. “What?” He gives a look. 

“No negative input?” Georg chuckles. “Why would I?” He asks and a few of us deadpan, his eyes lock with mine and he finally seems to get it. “My comments go to you, not innocent bystanders.” I roll my eyes at what he said but then Jace says something. “But I do?” Tom just presses his lips together awkwardly before going onto his phone. I cough to get the tension to just go away.

The night ended up getting better as we ate. We all started drinking even more, except Jace who we all decided was going to drive us home. The others got dropped off by other people because they knew they were going to drink. 

Let me tell you, we were having a blast. Laughing loudly as we ate, telling stories and jokes with each other.

Since it was getting pretty late I order my last shot and beer. Quickly taking the shot I went to grab the beer but Jace stops me. “You might want to slow down.” He places a hand on my lower back but I shake my head. “I’m enjoying myself.” I went to take another sip but Jace takes it from me completely. My face scrunches in confusion along with a little irritation. “Give it back, Jace,” I mutter going to take it again. “Drink water at least.”

“I have been. Just give it.” I please with him. “[Name].” He warns but I slide the cup back my way. “[Name]-” “You’re not my boyfriend,” I whisper, bringing it up to my lips he tries to grab it and it spills on my chest, sliding down my dress. I gasp, standing right up and climbing over him. “Woah, what happened?” Bill laughs.

I just ignore him pushing myself over Jace’s lap which was quite difficult in a dress and with the small amount of room with the table. I’m sure I was giving Georg and Gustav a show. “I’m sorry.” He says, trying to help me but I push him back. Speeding off to the bathroom even though I’m stumbling a little bit he stays behind me. “Wait, slow down.” I try to continue walking but Tom… I mean Jace grabs my wrist right as we're outside the bathroom. The music played loudly so even if we argued no one was to hear. I don’t really care though, I’m drunk off my ass. 

“Babe, I’m sorry.” I slam myself accidentally against the wall, standing up straight. “Don’t call me that.” I put a finger against his chest.

“We aren’t dating. You left me.” I shove him with every word. “I know, I know.” He whispers, his face looking a bit blurry. I slowly blink, forgetting exactly what I was saying but I keep running at the mouth. “You announce how you feel and then next I’m nothing to you. Sleeping around with all those-” I cut myself off with a cry and his face contorts again and it’s Jace once more. “What? That- I didn’t.” He looked confused and even when drunk I can realize where I messed up. “You’re a dick. You had a girlfriend for a month and you’re back to me?” I hide my face in my hands and he pulls me into a hug. 

“I’ll always love you, that’s why.” He kisses my head and I close my eyes.

Why did I say that?

Shorter of a chapter but this is kind of getting more into you and Tom as the chapters go on. It's still a slow burn so figuring everything out might take a minute.

[imkillerbae]

Plush Drama (Yoru Valorant)

(A/N: First time writing on Tumblr. Help a noob out please idk what i'm doing. Anyway, this is a long one-shot with Yoru barely saying anything because he's a shy fuck. It's mostly actions. Hope ya'll enjoy, and feel free to request anything!) Pairing: Yoru/GN!Reader

Summary: You receive a unexpected gift from an unexpected person. Word count: 1.4k ----------

You held the small plush toy with both of your hands, outstretched as if shy of the small stuffed animal. The soft and squishy black cat followed you with its large green eyes as you inspect it from different angles. And while you loved stuffed animals, where it came from gave you a bit of a strange impression.

--Hours Before—

A few of the agents came back from a mission in an undisclosed location (either that or you just weren’t listening very well). It was not unusual for them to bring knickknacks home, especially for Sage. She liked looking out for the other agents.

But you weren’t expecting anything from him at all.

When you first met Yoru when you joined the operation, you thought he was a pain in the ass. He was always straightforward with his thoughts about people, including you. With foresight, you know he means well, but of course, his constant insults in the beginning of your friendship made you make sure you proved him wrong in every occasion. Even if it meant going the extra mile of learning how to use the operator from the mysterious Chamber. With that, you proved yourself to be his equals in skill, and therefore gained his respect and trust. You could even say you were good friends.

Although recently he’s been acting strangely. It was the small things that you noticed about him. During meetings, you’d always catch him glancing at your direction from the reflection of the window as you feigned disinterest in the mission briefings. You bump into him frequently when you leave your room in the hallways, despite his room being on an entirely different floor. During conversations, he’d try to say something, then bail on it immediately. And when you ask about it, he suddenly needs to leave, or he changes the topic. Then sometimes, he’d go completely distant, and won’t even look at your general direction. It was getting on your nerves if you were being honest. He was always secretive, but could he at least pretend to be not hiding something from you?

So, this gesture of his—giving you the stuffed animal—made you question everything.

You and the rest of the agents watched as the plane dropped off Brimstone, Sage, Phoenix, and lastly, Yoru. As the whirring of the engine faded, Yoru held the poor cat by the throat and shoved it to your chest as he walked past, Vandal hanging from his shoulder. “Take it,” he says curtly without looking back at your confused face. You don’t hear Sage and Phoenix giggle at each other.

You chase after him, pulling his arm back. His raises a brow at you, wiping back his gelled hair. “What?” He asks.

“What do you mean ‘what’? What’s this for?” You held the cat up to his face. He was much taller than you. “You act weird before you left, you’re gone for a week, and all you say to me is ‘take it’ and shove this… this thing at me? Where did you even get this?” Your voice rises out of annoyance.

He glares back at you, pushing the plushy down. “I found it on our way back. Didn’t look too trashed so I thought I’d take it.”

“Where exactly?”

“On the floor of some place.”

“Near where?”

“I don’t know, some place! Does it matter?”

Your face scrunches up in disbelief. The nerve of this guy! “Of course it does!” You cross your arms while gripping the toy animal. The poor thing was getting beaten up.

“So let me get this straight, you see a stuffed animal on the floor, in perfect condition, and instead of bringing it to a guard or whatever for lost and found, you take it for yourself, then decide you don’t like it enough to keep, so you give it to me?” You sway your hips to one side, your feet tapping on the metal flooring impatiently. Now it was Yoru’s turn in crossing his arms, mimicking you.

“God forbid there’s some kid out there crying over their stuffed cat.” You sigh.

“Look, do you want the animal or not?” He asks after your rambling, gritting his teeth while he spoke. Your words get caught up in your throat. Of course, you wanted it. But you were just too confused, and a little disappointed about where it came from. “If you don’t want it, I can always give it to Skye. Maybe her summons need new friends. I’d like to contribute to her zoo anyways.” He sighs, his eyes wandering while he held out his hand to you. Obviously he wanted you to keep it, but his stubbornness is keeping him from admitting it.

The mention of Skye made your stomach churn. You didn’t know why. But before you could reply, Phoenix spoke from behind Yoru. “Oh for God’s sakes man. Just tell her where it came from.” He says, and Yoru snaps his head towards his direction, telling him ‘shut up’ in Japanese. You talked enough with Yoru to know what he was saying.

“Tell me what?” You asked again. Yoru slowly turns his head back to you again, his cheeks dusted with a pale red. “He got that cat from a crane machine we passed by on our way back. He insisted on staying until he got that cat. And boy was he relentless!” Phoenix answered for him, while Yoru clenched his fists. “Shut your mouth unless you want me to—” but Phoenix continues, leaning an elbow on Yoru’s tense shoulders playfully.

“He spent so much time and money, we almost thought of leaving him there. And as you can see, Yoru Jr. got out of that box alive.” Phoenix shrugs and walks away, Jett trailing behind him as they held hands. Yoru’s jaw slacked, before he started cursing under his breath, gulping.

You stare at him, his posture defeated, a hand on his hip as he tried to find the words he wanted to say. You pouted slightly, then held the cat in your arms. “Is that true?” You asked him, and you couldn’t even tell that the rest were watching you from a distance.

He sighs and shrugs. “Again, does it matter?” He looks at you in the eyes, his expression softer now. You bit your lip before smiling and hugged the cat tighter. “Again, it does.” You reply quietly, smiling against the cat’s soft fur. “Thank you Yoru. This is actually very sweet of you.”

He rolls his eyes, but his scowl disappears. While he looked so nonchalant on the outside, on the inside, he was panicking. He didn’t know how you’d take it if you knew where it came from. He was horrible at communicating his intentions. He saw that cat and decided that he had to get it for you, no matter what the cost. Because it looked like something you’d like. “So, you’ll keep it?” He asks meekly, his right hand fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. God, was he bad at this.

“Hmm. No.” You say curtly, which took him by surprise. His eyes widen, and he felt his heart drop. You laugh at his sudden change of expression. He was not easy to startle so you took note of every small detail of his face.

“Well, not today at least. I think it’s best if Yoru Jr. spent time with his dad one last night before he’s completely in my care.” You continued, walking past him, now being able to smile widely while your back was turned to him. He blushes, heartbeat increasing. “Wait—dad?” He asks, following behind you and matching your pace. Looking back, you giggle at him. “Plus, I know you’re tired from the mission, and he would be a great pillow.”

With you warmly receiving his gift, he couldn’t speak. His brain couldn’t find the words to say. As someone who was so curt and straightforward, and admittedly rude at times, you always had him too starstruck to say anything. So instead of saying anything, he pets the cat while you held it. After a while, he finds his voice. “Does that make you his mom?”

Now it was your turn to blush. You look at him and he’s already staring at your eyes. Both of your hearts were in sync. You laugh lightly holding his gaze, then shyly shrug. “I guess so.” Butterflies fly around in your stomach as he returns a soft smile. God, were you glad he was back.

[the-quackeroos]

made myself a second chapter for the Donald x Duck I made a while back. it's under the cut, y'all. ^^

cw: some scenes may be of a suggestive nature. reader discretion is advised.

Duck Lamphier and Donald Finlay soon collapsed onto the bed in a sweaty mess. It was so much for them, especially Donald since he was the one squeezed by Duck tightly during their simultaneous tingles. Donald panted and coughed to catch his breath as Duck softly groaned in an afterglow bliss.

“Ooohhh, that sparkled onto me, Donald,” cooed Duck. “Would y’ say so?”

“Och, aye,” Donald wheezed, “Juist… Gimme five minutes.”

Now, Duck knew that Donald would get tired easily after making love to him. Duck nodded and sat back up and got out of bed. Since he was naked, Duck wrapped himself with the bathrobe that was hanging on the bedroom door. He waddled downstairs to the back door which was in the kitchen. The doorway led Duck to the backyard of the house. It was small, but it was big enough to have a swimming pool and a small garden. Beside the garden was an outdoor privy. The sky was dark, and yet Duck knew a lot of time went by as they made love in bed. The full moon shone across the backyard and the fields, almost making it look like a dim day. Duck looked at the sky for a bit and went into the outhouse.

***

Duck soon returned to the bedroom. He took off his bathrobe and climbed back to bed where Donald was still lying on it. Duck wrapped his muscular arms around the Scottish twink. Lucky for Donald, he was facing towards his joyfriend. Duck pulled Donald closer, softly groaning like a large sleepy tiger lying down on a tree branch.

“...Hi,” trilled Duck.

“H-hullo,” giggled Donald.

Duck gently stroked Donald’s back. Donald felt a tired, pleasured smile creep onto his face. He placed his hand on Duck’s hairy pec, and slowly petted it as well.

“Oh, I just love these gentle strokes on me,” Duck murmured. “Lemme hold ‘ee some more.”

Duck, despite the body and height difference, wrapped his legs around Donald. Duck kissed Donald’s forehead lazily several times before he sunk his head, his forehead touching Donald’s. There was a long silence as Donald thought more about the moment before they collapsed in exhaustion.

“Mon? Ah think a'm duin tae speak noo.”

“Yeah, love?”

“That was amazing.” said Donald, “Ah pure enjoy it anyways.”

“Heheheh. Thank ‘ee, Donald,” replied Duck with a lovely smile, “I love ‘ee. I really do.”

“A loue ye mair, mah Duck,” Donald soon yawned, since his eyes were growing heavy. He shut his eyes.

Duck turned off the lamp on the nightstand. He held Donald tight as he closed his eyes. The room was silent except for the couple’s relaxed breathing and the natural music of the night outside. Crickets chirped and gentle breezes flew across every bush and tree branch. Needle, the fat black and white cat Duck once adopted him on his old farm, quietly entered the room. He jumped onto the bed, making a soft meowing noise. This didn’t bother Duck and Donald at all, so Needle was able to curl up against Duck and fall asleep.

[samarecharm]

I love seeing the kitty post again bc it reminded me of an incredibly old hc of mine. Akira is like “(whispering)Ann. There is no way in fucking hell i am letting you strip naked in front of someone we dont know and dont trust (yusuke). Like that is just not happening.” And theres like a beat before akira is like. Out loud- ‘Let me do it instead.’ Which Yusuke immediately agrees too

Bc Akira 1) literally has to go to the bathhouse nightly bc the cafe does not have a convenient shower in its tiny washroom; he does not care in the slightest about stripping in front of anyone. 2) Ann JUST joined this team, and she is automatically placed in the position of ‘family i want to protect’; he would never forgive himself if something actually happened to ann, even if he thinks Yusuke is at worst, an eccentric little man. And 3). Yusuke is pretty 👉🏾👈🏾 he is so pretty and he wants to hang out w the w pretty boy and talk to him :) and if Yusuke spends the whole time complimenting Akira and his body that is an extra bonus

His acting is way better than Anns, and so some time during the painting, hes like !! ‘I think i heard something’ and rushes to get his clothes on in a very believable fit of panic. And its enough to make Yusuke believe Madarame came home early, which in turn makes HIM panic (which makes akira SO upset; that is not a look he wants to see on Yusuke ever again). And as Akira is running around trying to find a way out (finding the Door blocking them in the palace), he spots Mona struggling w the door and NEARLY freaks out.

“Is there a back door somewhere? I wont be able to jump out of a window and I dont want to bump into him trying to leave through the front.”

“N-no there isnt,” Yusuke says, stammering a bit “but you can just stay in my Room until he settles in-“

“Will he NOT check your room?”

Yusuke looks VISIBLY distressed. “Yes. I-I mean, no, he may search my quarters, but he will most certainly check THIS room; its safer to be caught in my room than for us to be caught in this one.”

And Akira is like. Why is that? With the facade gone, Yusuke will admit later down the line that he was more scared of Akira in that split second than the possibility of confronting his sensei. “You live here. Youve lived here for years? And Madarame has a room that, if you walk into it, is a death sentence in your eyes. Because you know thats not outside the realm of possibility.”

Yusuke sees Morgana behind Akira w a little pick in his mouth and he can hear the door creaking open.

“Yusuke. You know this.”

He refuses to comment.

Suddenly, Akira hears Real footsteps. Ones that he is sure belongs to Madarame. And its different when hes Pretending to run for his life, its another when he KNOWS hes in danger.

“Morgana. Inside.”

Yusuke sees the cat scamper inside the room before he feels Akira grip the front of his shirt and yank him inside, past the decorated door.

Akira is already on his phone, searching for the app, when Morgana pulls the string to illuminate the room. He sees the paintings. And he can see that Yusuke has seen them too. Hundreds of them lining the walls. Copies upon copies upon copies upon copies littering every inch of this room.

When Madarame comes in, he gives some half hearted excuse, and when Yusuke sees through it, threatens them. Akira, not keen on having Yusuke hurt(and NOT keen on having this boy yelled at), drags him by the hand outside of the room, away from the screaming and onto the streets. He says “trust me, please” and before Yusuke can nod his head, hes falling.

Ann thinks its so funny. Ryuji rushing to catch Yusuke as he plummets into the palace, and hes like “WHAT. You are Not Akira,” as he puts him down. Followed by Akira himself crashlanding into Yusukes arms. Hes visibly shaking, but hes a mix between scared shitless and unbearably giddy.

“Hey. You trusted me.”

“I dont think I had much of a choice, if I am being honest.”

And Akiras like youre right. You really didnt. But I promise you, starting now, you will have a choice. I want to help you, I want you to have agency in your life. And its really scary taking that first step (punching shido, standing up for someone else. Confronting your abuser, standing up for yourself) but im going to make sure its worth it. I swear to god im going to make sure its worth it.

And like. TBH. Akira cant help himself. Hes a sucker for pretty faces. And unfortunately for him, fate has put every fucking pretty face with a sob story in his path and he CANT just leave them there !

[jujutsubaby]

The coffee break concept is sooooo adorable I am obsessed!!

From Pochita's, can I order a matcha latte with oat milk and a mochi donut?

a/n: thanks for your ask cutie ❣️ another matcha latte with oat milk lover i see… bee tee dubs my cat’s name is mochi 😻 hope u enjoy n i hope u had fun participating hehe ~

⭐️ WELCOME TO POCHITA'S ! ⭐️

🤍 PAIRING. himeno

🤍 WORD COUNT. 1.1k

you look at your watch. 9:34. 26 more minutes of your break. the weather outside was gorgeous and the cafe wasn’t as crowded as it usually is. probably because it’s the weekend, but nonetheless, you use this as a prime opportunity to make yourself a matcha latte with oatmilk and head outside to make progress on the book you were reading. hm, maybe a mochi donut wouldn’t hurt either. 

you loved working as a barista here, and you wouldn’t change it for the world, but it’s hard to see the quiet of the city during the weekdays when everyone from public safety was scrambling to grab a coffee before their next meeting. you rarely took up weekend shifts, but today just felt different. maybe your monotonous life would change today, despite how far-fetched that sounded. 

you’re far too engrossed in your book, and so you don’t pay attention to who’s coming and going, and who’s waiting outside for their drinks.

“hey, wait, are you reading fourth wing?” you turn to look at the inquisitive voice and come face to face with a woman wearing a public safety uniform and large eyepatch over one of her eyes. the other is bright green and sparkles distractingly at you. her hair is shorn in a practical short haircut, but she pulls it off well, you note. she smells slightly of cigarettes and peppermint, and leans a little too close when looking over your shoulder, but strangely, you don’t mind.

“o-oh, yeah, it is” you say, taken aback by her. “i loved that book! finished it in a week” she says, laughing softly. 

 “you public safety folks got time to read now?” you say playfully. she laughs. “yeah, well, had some extra time on my hands after my partner passed so what better way to spend it than reading some smutty fiction?”

her forwardness catches you off guard. “oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you say, clapping a hand over your mouth in horror. how were you supposed to know that?! the woman’s eye doesn’t stop sparkling, however, to your surprise. still wearing her warm smile, she continues. 

“yeah, he was a sweet kid. it was hard to lose him, but he’s hardly the first partner i’ve lost, and he won’t be the last.” she shrugs. “that’s life in public safety, i guess. that’s what makes escaping so nice,” she finishes, gesturing at your book. you’ve since closed fourth wing in favor of hanging onto her every word. 

“don’t you get scared for your own safety?” you can’t help asking, your voice sounding small and meek. you must look so pathetic to her, flogging cute little drinks all day while she’s out risking life and limb. 

she laughs again. “obviously! every day of my life! but we can’t let something little like fear get in the way of us living our lives. that’s why i try to appreciate the little things, like reading fun books and visiting my favorite cafe! seriously, the drinks you guys make give me the will to live!” (you have to tell yourself to calm down at that, since you suddenly feel all blushy and silly and shy like a schoolgirl nursing a crush at the fact that pochita’s is her favorite cafe.)

still, you can’t help but wonder how it would feel for her, to lose everybody she got close to — and to have to expect it to happen over and over again. you can’t imagine what a lonesome existence it must be, and it makes your chest ache to think of someone as warm and gregarious as her being left alone again and again.   

damn, all this sucks for her. but you couldn’t ignore how warm she made you feel inside when she said that. you can see it in her eyes – despite what she’s been through, she’s like everyone else: a little bit lonely and looking for connection. “i’m so sorry to hear that…” oh shit, you realize you don’t even know her name. 

“himeno.” “himeno,” you repeat back. her name feels like it belongs in your mouth. “i’m glad you can at least come here and get away for a bit,” gesturing to the cafe. 

himeno laughs, once again, but this time her soft laugh makes your heart beat a tiny bit faster. “yeah, only for a bit. gotta back and finish up some paperwork with my team.” she says, gesturing to the public safety building a couple blocks away. 

you’re quiet for a second, and then make a snap decision. getting up from your seat, you ask her, “what’re you having today? i’ll make it for you.”

she seems taken aback. “oh, i was just here getting coffees for my team,” she replied, pointing to the tray of takeaway cups on her table. “besides, aren’t you on break?”

you smile at her and boldly decide to squeeze her hand. “i’ll make it for you,” you repeat. “and it’ll be on the house. now, what’s your drink?”

“uh…i’ll have whatever you were having,” she says; endearingly she suddenly seems a little shy. “it looked really good when you were drinking it.” 

“oat matcha it is!” you grin inwardly; you definitely know your way around a matcha whisk, and you’re excited at a little chance to show off to himeno. 

you both head inside and continue chatting as you prepare her drink. you note with satisfaction that she intently watches your expert hands at work. you look at himeno’s hands, and wonder what it’s like to hold them, have them hold you, hold each other close. 

your thoughts almost get the better of you but you snap out of it. you decide to throw a little lavender essence in, too; something about himeno just inspires you to go all out.

you hand himeno her drink, and you find yourself wishing you could speak to her longer. you usually did nothing during your breaks, so you’ll miss this stark contrast. 

himeno, seemingly to have read your mind, smiles sweetly. “thanks. by the way…” she pretends to think for a bit. “what’s a pretty little thing like you doing working on a saturday?”

you try hard to hide the blush uncontrollably rushing to your cheeks. “i could say the same for you.” she raises her hands up in defeat. “okay, okay, you got me. we both don’t have lives and are working on the weekend.” she jests, and you laugh. you think you’ll laugh at anything she says. 

you’re already on a roll with bold moves today so might as well go for it. “well, you doing anything later after work?”

himeno beams at you. “thought you’d never ask.” she quickly takes out a pen and grabs a napkin from the counter as she scribbles her number on it. “when do you get off?”

“3 in the afternoon,” you say, sounding giddy like a schoolgirl. 

“okay then, text me at 3.” she then gives you a smile so suave it should be illegal. “i’ll be waiting, beautiful.”

[kunikinnie]

Hey if your requests are open could you make hcs about DoA as cats?

a/n: hi! they weren't open at the time this was sent but I hope you don't mind me answering this weeks later!

the decay of angels as cats

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The type of cat who does whatever tf he wants

Most of the time he sits/lies near the window and stares at nothing in particular. Sometimes though, he sits at a considerable distance from you but you can tell he's staring at you very intently.

During the day he does leave the house sometimes to go out for walks (or so you assume), but most of the time he leaves in the dead of night. Y'all know what he's up to.

He's a weak and picky eater - one of the reasons why he's on the skinny side and why he looks so lethargic.

You've never heard him meow. Never. Not even once.

Nikolai Gogol

Super energetic cat

He's fun to play with since he does use the expensive cat toys you buy for him.

But he very much prefers annoying playing with the Fyodor cat. For example, he keeps toying with Fyodor's swishing tail until the latter swats him hard in the face.

He's extremely temperamental. One moment he's rolling around the floor high af and the next he's ignoring you and contemplating life like Pablo Escobar.

Used to bring you his catch (dead or alive, but mostly alive because your reactions were better) until you didn't feed him any of his favorite treats. He's behaved a little bit since then.

Fukuchi Ochi

He's rarely at home but you have an idea where he is... sort of

He's usually with those 4 younger cats but occasionally he stalks hangs out with a certain middle aged man who's very fond of cats.

Despite his age he's very good at fighting. Very good at fighting. His body is full of scars and oftentimes stained with blood (not his obviously)

Now the side of him you're familiar with is a strange but quite affectionate senior cat. You already noticed that he tends to be rough with others but you didn't think much of it.

Well, whatever. It's not like he's planning world domination or something like that, right?

Bram Stoker

A cat whose age you have no idea about

Probably not actually allergic to the sun, but avoids it all the same. He likes sitting in the dark (and in soft places).

He also likes sitting near you and observing what you do, especially when you're with your gadgets. A paw might interfere with you work every now and then.

It seems that he likes listening to your music, so when your speakers are out and playing something he lies down nearby (this is also when he purrs the loudest).

For some reason, no matter how hurt he gets he never bites you. He's never bitten any of your visitors (no matter how rough they get with him) even though the murderous intent in his eyes are so apparent.

Sigma

Peaceful but very territorial house cat

He loves sitting in high places where he can see everything. And I mean everything. It makes him feel safe and smart

When there are other cats around, he acts all tough and manly. Growls, hisses, and fights people when they invade his space

But once he's alone with you, he won't leave you alone. He might die if you don't cuddle with him at night.

Eats whatever sweet stuff you have lying around. Even the back of spoons and other equipment, if you bake. You've tried to stop him several times (sweets and chocolates are bad for their health) but he just. won't. stop.

[jaxteller87]

Traditions part 1

Teen years  - Halloween night

It was that time of year again - Halloween. This tradition had been with us since Amber and I were little, watching Halloween classics like Casper, Hocus Pocus, and Beetlejuice. We maintained our annual movie marathon as we grew older and stopped trick-or-treating, but we decided to change things up this year. Instead of having it at Amber’s house, we were having a cozy date night at my house. We began with a double feature of The Nightmare Before Christmas and Beetlejuice, and during dinner, I prepared Amber’s favorite Chinese food. After dinner, we snuggled up on the sofa to watch Casper and enjoy some popcorn.

“I feel like I say this every year, but was this movie always this cheesy?” I asked, tossing a piece of popcorn up in the air and catching it in my mouth.

“Yup,” Amber laughed, mimicking me but missing.

“Thank you for this, Jax. I know this isn’t your thing anymore, but I really appreciate it,” Amber flashed that beautiful smile at me.

“What? Who are you kiddin’? I love this kind of stuff.”

“I thought you were into scarier stuff, like real horror movies?” she asked, attempting to catch another piece of popcorn and succeeding.

“Sure, but I had a horror night with the guys the other week,” I smirked, “I’d much rather hang out with you, though.”

“Oh,” she blushed.

She was right; I had grown out of the kid-style flicks, but I didn’t mind as long as we spent time together. Lately, there had been so much going on with school and helping Ma with club stuff, well, as much as I was allowed to help. We put the popcorn aside and cuddled up on the sofa.

“Oh, I knew there was something I wanted to ask you,” Amber said, looking up at me.

“How much slack did you and Opie catch from the guys for doing the double date pumpkin carving with me and Donna?”

“Nah, it was cool. They just busted our asses a little bit, no big deal.”

Years later, our little family was snuggled up, watching cheesy Halloween movies. We continued the tradition with Mary and Thomas but left Beetlejuice out. We thought it might be a little too much for Mary, being only 5, but when they grew older, Beetlejuice would make its way back into the rotation.

“He’s cute, Mama,” Mary giggled, looking up at Amber. We were at the end of Casper when he became a real boy for the dance. Amber just smiled and agreed.

“Really?” I laughed.

“Of course,” Amber laughed. “I don’t know what girl didn’t think Casper was cute back in the day.” She smiled again, looking at me, then down at Thomas, who was sound asleep in her lap.

Later that night, after watching Hocus Pocus 2, Amber remarked, “It wasn’t as bad as I thought,” looking down at both kids who were sleeping. “I wasn’t sure about watching it because the first was such a cult classic.”

“Mama, I want a black cat for Christmas, and I want to name him Binx.”

“We’ll see, sweetheart. You already asked for the dollhouse,” Amber smiled.

“No,” she mouthed, seeing my grin. She knew I was about to suggest that Mary could have both.

A few minutes later, as we got into our bed, I couldn’t help but laugh.

 “What?”

“You know we can easily afford both, right? It’s just a dollhouse and a cat.”

“Only one big gift, not two. I want our kids to be raised like we were. Besides, she changes her mind so fast,” Amber said, despite Mary being adamant about the dollhouse.

“Well, maybe we could get that cat, and Ma and Nero could get the dollhouse,” I suggested, trying to figure out a way everyone could get a win.

Amber thought for a moment, and I was almost certain she wasn’t going to go for it. “That could work, actually,” she said.

“I wouldn’t mind having another cat around the house,” Amber chuckled, seeing Buttercup, a cat I saved from the shop last year, jump up on the foot of the bed, yawn, and then lay down.

“I always did want a cat named Binx when I was her age,” she snuggled up in my arms.

“You did?” I asked, kissing the top of her head. “I didn’t know that.”

Amber just looked at me with a raised eyebrow, her face saying what her mouth wasn’t.

“Okay, you’re right. If you did, you would’ve gotten me one at some point,” I conceded, and Amber laughed.

            All this talk about felines reminded me of a story about Tig and a cat that looked remarkably like Binx from a few years ago. Tiggy and I took a day trip to the junkyard just outside Grandview to pick up a carburetor for an old pan-head Clay bought at a bike auction past Stockton. On our way home, we encountered that typical storybook scene of the little girl crying under a tree. I signaled Tig to pull over, and he made it clear that he didn’t want to, so I had to insinuate a little harder. Reluctantly, he finally slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road. I spotted the cat perched precariously on a tree branch as we approached the scene. The cat had sleek black fur and bright green eyes, and it bore a striking resemblance to Binx from Hocus Pocus.

“Tig, you always say how you’re the impulsive one; how about an impulsive rescue?”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll show you,” Without a second thought, Tig sprang into action. He walked up to the tree with the confidence of a seasoned firefighter. Tig began shouting up at the cat, trying to coax it down.

“Hey there, kitty! You want some candy, huh? Or maybe some ‘nip? Come on down, buddy!” Tig called out.

The cat, however, didn’t seem too impressed by Tig’s efforts. It just stared down at him, blinking slowly as if wondering whether Tig was worth the trouble.

Tig looked at me for help, but it was all I could do to shrug my shoulders and smile, “You got this, Tiggy.”

“Sure I do,” Tig wasn’t one to be deterred easily. He decided to climb the tree himself. Now, imagine Tig, clad in his biker vest, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, attempting to scale a tree like a cat burglar in a slapstick comedy. Branches snapped, leaves rustled, and Tig’s colorful language taught that little girl some words she’d never heard before.

As Tig got closer to the cat, he started making cooing noises usually reserved for baby animals. “Here, kitty-kitty! Uncle Tiggy’s gonna save you!”

“It’s a cat, not a baby,” I suggested.

“Hey. Don’t mock the method. I’m the mother-fuckin’ cat whisperer,” he fired back.

“My bad,” I looked at the little girl who was worried sick. “Don’t worry, darlin’, Tig will get your cat down.”

Just when it seemed like Tig might actually succeed, disaster struck. A particularly rotten branch gave way, and Tig came crashing down, landing like a sack of potatoes on the ground. Miraculously, he managed to avoid any serious injuries, but his pride was wounded. The cat hopped down out of the tree, onto his head, and then strutted over to the kid like nothing had happened. Man, I love that story.

“You know what,” I said, looking at Amber snuggled up in my arms, “We are most definitely getting another cat.”

[volleychumps]

Heyy! Can you do one where Osamu, kuroo, akaashi and Tsukishima, say something mean to their s/o and their s/o avoids them for days? When they finally get ahold of their s/o, their s/o just sorta cries because it hit their insecure spot? Fluff in the end🥺

Listen, I can’t not write this. 

Irrevocable Words. 

- the one in which they accidentally make you give them the silent treatment because of their lashing out. -

~ Osamu Miya, Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji, and Tsukishima Kei~ 

TW: Cursing, angst to fluff, timeskip! for Osamu, 

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

Osamu Miya

“Those are important files, ya know?” 

“Samu, I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you needed last month’s earnings and I would’ve looked for them before we came this morning.” The hand you tried to settle onto Osamu’s bicep was shaken off as your movements faltered. 

Your voice wobbled at the sight of your stoic fiance, an annoyed glint in his eye as he rummages through his files. Osamu felt a flare in his stomach, a lack of sleep contributing to his impatient state. The day had been a busy one, Osamu deciding that he needed this particular file for his business call tomorrow before the two of you headed home for the night. 

“I told ya not to move anything back to the place.”

“I didn’t.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Here, just let me help-” 

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing, I’ll do it myself.” There it was. The lashing out that was bound to happen occurred with a pointed tongue as he refused to look at you, rummaging through his file cabinets. “As I do everything else.” 

He closes the cabinet sharply. “The least ya could do is try your best not to be a nuisance-” 

Osamu flinches at the slam of one of the office desk drawers, chest sinking when he sees the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The paper he needed is thrown on the desk carelessly as you shove your jacket on, wetness slipping down your cheeks.

“And I’m not your goddamn secretary. I’m heading home first.” 

“Y/N-” 

“And don’t worry, I promise I’ll manage to do this by myself somehow.” Your voice cracks bitterly, the bell by the door jingling mockingly in Osamu’s ears as you exit, the chef hanging his head with a sigh and regret tinging his chest.

He was wrong to pray this would blow over, not expecting to wake without your warmth by his side. You avoided him on the way to the restaurant, cleaning quietly while giving vague answers to his questions, shifting out of his attempts to embrace you with apologies. 

Deciding to give you space, he softly tells you to take the next few days off, unprepared for the tired look you had given him, simply nodding in response as you slipped into your side of the bed with your back turned to him.

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend?” 

“Fiance.” Osamu forces a smile at his two elderly regulars two days later, the wife’s smile widening at his correction. 

“Oho! Cherish each other while you youths still can, she really does brighten this place up, doesn’t she?” 

You do.

Osamu’s eyes feel hot as he does a messy job of cleaning up the restaurant, closing up shop early and stopping by your favorite bakery to pick up the ridiculously expensive cake he only ever buys for your birthday. 

Throwing the door open to your shared apartment hastily, you gasp at the gray-haired man’s sudden entry, dropping the spoon you were about to use to taste the dish you were making on the stove.

“Samu, y-you’re home early-” 

“What’s all this?” He tries to steady his breaths at the sight of a nicely prepared table, something you hardly ever got to share ever since the night shifts overtook your lives and caused a rift between the two of you. 

You’re silent for a second, looking away from his warm stare as you shift under his gaze. 

“...I miss you.” Dark eyes widen when you begin to hiccup over your words, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “But I didn’t wanna be a nusciance-”

“Oh god, darlin’ no.” You’re pulled tightly into his chest as you cry, whole body shaking with tremors as Osamu’s inner turmoil merely increases.

If Osamu could go back in time and punch himself he would, unknowing of the torment he caused you over the past few days, thinking you just needed space. 

“I want to marry ya Y/N, I’m so sorry.” 

“I love you so much Samu.” You sniffle into his chest, causing him to smile softly, a hand sifting through your hair to hold you tighter to him. 

“I brought cake.” 

You laugh through the onslaught of tears. 

“And I made dinner.” 

“Then what are we waitin’ for?” 

“Just hold me like this for awhile?”

“Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, finally feeling at ease with your figure in his arms. Osamu whispers a confession he hardly shared with you, wanting those words in particular to be special as he bridged the gap between the two of you.

“I love ya so much more, don’t you go forgettin’ it.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“I said I was sorry!” 

“Is sorry supposed to just fix everything, Tetsurou?” 

“Tetsurou? Are you seriously withholding me from my nickname privileges?” 

You cross your arms at his attempt to make you laugh, thoroughly angry with the mess your boyfriend made of things as his smile fades at your peeved stare. 

“Look, what was I supposed to do?” 

“How about not leaving my parents waiting for you at the restaurant that you invited them to for another one of your spontaneous volleyball practices?” 

“I texted you I had to cancel!” 

“That was a half hour before we were supposed to meet, Kuroo! They were so excited to meet you they got there early. God, why can’t you ever take things seriously?” 

“You’re right.” A bitter chuckle slips Kuroo’s lips as you falter at the sudden tone change, the volleyball gym seeming bigger than ever as his next sentence makes your lips tremble.

“Since I can’t ever take things seriously, then I must not need my serious girlfriend then, right?” Your eyes widen. “I can just find somebody else who won’t fucking hound me all the time.”

His cat-like eyes widen as the words slip his tongue, unintentionally coming out crueler than he intended. To make it worse, you simply stayed silent, your body physically backing down and away from him as you turned on your heel. 

“Wait, I didn’t-” 

“Do it then.” His chest just about shatters as your shoulders tremble, refusing to turn back around as your voice takes on an uncharasterically defeated tone. “I hope they make you fucking happy.” 

Kuroo runs a hand through his raven hair frustratedly at the way you rushed out of the gym, throwing a stray ball so hard at the wall before his vision becomes skewed with heat. 

He should have expected the next week to be utter hell. You left class before he could catch you by escaping to the bathroom with all your things, leaving school another way instead of the exit you always took together before he had to start club activities. 

“Kenma, what are you doing?” 

“You can’t come in here.” 

“I’m missing class for this. Let me through.” 

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Kenma shrugged, eyes on his handheld. “I told her I’d watch the door so you can’t surprise her during our breaktime.” 

“I’m her boyfriend. And you’re not her guarddog.” 

“No, I’m her friend.” Kenma’s eyes narrow at his childhood friend. “And last time I checked, you’re on the search for someone who isn’t her.” 

“So she told you.” 

“Dick move, by the way.” 

Kuroo’s calls go straight to voicemail, his emotions affecting his playing with each passing day. He leaves little notes in your shoe locker to meet him, heart sinking more and more with every time you stood him up. 

And it wasn’t until he saw you smiling again at a joke Yaku made that he truly felt like he was losing you. 

“Go home.” 

The sight wasn’t one you were expecting to see, Kuroo sitting on the steps to your house with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the dark bags under his eyes sparking worry within you. 

“It’s probably better if my parents don’t see you-” 

“I’m sorry.” His eyes seem to have lost a little of their glint, regret swimming in the tall boy’s pupils as your guard softens. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ran my mouth and said shit I didn’t even mean-” 

“Tetsurou-” 

“And I hurt you in the process. I hurt the one thing that matters to me the most, and I’m sitting here playing the creepy ex that stalks the girl he loves-” 

“You love me?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? You’re done with me, and I deserve it-” 

He’s cut off with the sight of tears hitting the wood in front of him, lifting his head to see tears streaking down your cheeks. On instinct, he reaches out softly, rising to his feet to cup your cheek, astonished when you curl into his touch. 

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.” 

“Noted.” Kuroo laughs somberly, a wave of emotion hitting him as you do something you hadn’t done in days. 

You look him in the eye, tugging him closer by the sides of his jacket. 

“But I love you too, you absolute idiot.” 

Kuroo grins into the kiss you press onto his lips, heart lifting in weight as he pulls you closer. 

“Does this mean we can go back to Tetsu?” 

“I’m going back to ignoring you-” 

“No.” Kuroo’s tone turns serious as he holds you a little tighter. “I can’t do that again.” 

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple lovingly. 

“Being away from you was complete and utter hell, sweetheart.” 

Akaashi Keiji

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“Right, Y/N.” Akaashi refused to meet your eyes as he loosens his school tie, not slowing his pace for you to catch up with as he throws the doors open to the volleyball club. The usually put-together setter had an angry glint in his eye that silenced his awaiting teammates. “Let’s just go back in time before you agreed to be his partner.”

“Hey hey, what’s going on you two?” Bokuto jogs up, his worried tone making your lips tremble even more at the sight of Akaashi’s turned back.

“I came to you as soon as he made a move! I didn’t let him-”

“There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to make a move in the first place.” Akaashi’s jaw clenched as you shuffle in place.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you think I wanted him to try to kiss me?!” You fight the waver in your voice, standing your ground. “It was a project for class. I didn’t know his intentions-“

“I told you what his intentions were, but you never listen.” Akaashi turns hastily, startling you and causing you to stumble slightly backwards into Bokuto.

“Akaashi-“

“Stop defending her. She never listens to me, and then comes crying to me when it turns out I’m right.” Akaashi snips at his best friend, ignoring the silent stares from his quiet teammates. “Why can’t you get it through your head, Y/N? I’m not your goddamn babysitter-“

“You’re right.” You interrupt, fingernails biting into your palms as you choke back a sob. “You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. I just wanted to respect you by coming to you with something like this, but it turns out I’m just a hinderance.”

Akaashi falters for a second, blue eyes widening a fraction at the angry heat that fills your eyes as regret begins to bubble in his stomach at his harsh words.

“Y/N-“

“Give me some space, Keiji.” You say softly, patting Bokuto’s arm to let you through as your shoulders sink in a defeated manner. “I promise I won’t come crying to you about anything else.”

Your steps echo as you walk out of the gym, Konoha breaking the silence first when the door shuts behind you.

“Hate to say it, but that was well-deserved, man.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, head falling back towards the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing, pretending like he wasn’t scared of you slipping through his fingers. He willed himself to not allow himself to chase after you, his anger directed towards you fading as he forces himself to respect your wishes. 

It was obvious you were avoiding him. Akaashi had blinked when Bokuto had self-proclaimed that he needed you as his “study buddy” during breaks when you weren’t even in the same year as the owlish boy. It got worse when you seemed to panic when Akaashi willed you to talk to him, eyes refusing to meet his watery blue ones as you pushed him further away.

So he gave you your space, wilting with each passing day. It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you a week later, the setter turning hastily on his heel to walk in the opposite direction before a soft tug on the back of his school shirt wills him to stop. 

“Keiji.” Your wobbly voice makes him turn back around immediately, a soft palm already cupping your cheek gently. “I’m s-” 

“I’m sorry for being cruel.” The words are whispered against your forehead, Akaashi’s heartstrings tugging in the worst way possible. “I was angry at the situation, my love. And that sorry excuse you call a classmate. Please,” 

His grip tightens just a little more as he feels wet warmth drip into the palm that was cupping your face.

“Forgive me.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t come crying to you-” 

“I want it all, Y/N.” Akaashi pulls back slightly, voice cracking slightly as blue stares intensely into your irises. “I want all of you. Tears included.”

You swat his chest playfully as Akaashi manages a soft smile, hand threaded through your hair as he presses you against his chest.

“Do you still need space?” He murmurs, and you smile at the sound of his hearbeat picking up as he awaited your answer fearfully. 

“Nope. The exact opposite, please hold me?” 

His embrace relaxes immediately, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his relieved sigh, his slight nod making the weight lift off your chest. 

“Good, now I can take care of your classmate-” 

“Keiji-”

“Nope, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, Akaashi’s eyes swirling with devotion. 

“No one gets to try anything with you so long as you’re safe with me.” 

Tsukishima Kei 

“So I’m the bad guy again.” 

“Do you want the honest answer, Kei?” You exhaustedly run a hand through your hair as Tsukishima’s scowl deepens, his long legs easily catching up with you in stride as he tugs on your wrist as the rambunctious court gets further and further away. 

“It’s not my fault you’re insecure.” 

You flinch. “Well maybe you shouldn’t let the girls in the stands cling to you after your matches. They were all over you, Tsukki! And you didn’t seem to mind it one bit.” 

“What?” Annoyance brims the blonde’s voice as he takes another step forward, clenching his jaw when he sees the quiver in your lip, distrust filling the atmosphere between the two of you. 

“Afraid that they’re prettier or better than you’ll ever be?” 

You feel as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, breath catching in your throat at his insinuation. His guard slackens almost immediately, clicking his tongue before turning away, too proud to apologize for the words he regretted as soon as they slipped his tongue like venom. 

“Yeah.” You laugh humorlessly, making brown eyes dart over to your expression immediately. “You’re 100% correct. I am afraid you’ll find someone better than me in all aspects. Because I love you, you absolute asshole. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The silence that befalls the two of you in the deserted hall is broken when you flinch away when Tsukishima tries to take a step towards you. 

“I didn’t-” 

“You never mean to do anything, Kei.” You say in a hushed tone, turning your back on him in an attempt to shield the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you somehow always manage to.” 

The win for Karasuno didn’t mean much to the blonde that night, hoping that this would just go away and things would be back to normal. However, it was anything but. You didn’t look his way once in class, disappearing when it was over. Your voice trembled as you had avoided his seemingly stoic eyes through his frames, simply stating that you wished for some time away from him. 

He was fine. Or at least pretending to be on the outside. In truth, he would never find better, because you were it for him, words that you would never catch slipping his mouth. So he put on a front, pretending that your absence had zero effect on him whatsoever. Pretending the brush of your body against him in the hall as you pass each other didn’t make the blonde want to cave. 

It was the smile you shot at Hinata during one of your breaks that caused him to. The first glint in your eye in awhile, and it had been caused by him of all people, prompting the tall middle blocker to tug you by the forearm into the corridor.

“Tsukishima-” 

“I hate this.” 

You falter for a second, guard back up in a flash as your back touches the wall. “What did I do?” 

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s pissing me off.” 

“I don’t follow-” 

“I was wrong.” His forehead touches your shoulder as you stiffen before relaxing against his familiar touch. “I don’t care how many times I have to apologize. You win, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“This is a rather aggressive apology-” 

“Y/N.” Tsukishima lifts his head so it’s level with your height, unprepared for the way tears brimmed your eyes at the proximity, your guard diminishing. 

“What if you do find someone better one day, Tsukki?” Your voice cracks, inner fears trickling to the surface. “Do I need to prepare myself to lose you-?” 

You gasp as Tsukishima’s jaw ticks before kissing you intensely, his hand touching your lower back to pull you closer. 

“No. You don’t need to do something stupid like that.” His eyes were slightly glaring at you, a flush across both his cheeks. “Because there is no one better than you, okay?” 

It was your turn for heat to flood your cheeks as your eyes widen a fraction, his breath tickling your ear as you stutter. “Kei-” 

“I love you too. I said it, are you satisfied now?”  

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla  @faesbae  @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046   @let-me-have-my-own-name  @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite   @curiouslilbeast  @aprettyfruit   @wisepandaslimeland   @h0ngh0ngh0ng   @lmkjimin   @orangegiraffe7   @dai-tsukki-desu   @kac-chowsballs   @spikertrash   @yamaguwuchi   @lord-suneater-explosion   @holaaaf  @babyybokutoakaashi   @lexysclubhouse   @disneyloving-muggle   @kuuuuroo   @theonep1ece  @that-chick212  @mjoork

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[luvdsc]

august.

Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him.

pairing :: liu yangyang x reader genre :: fluff, angst ⋮ best friend + college au word count :: 10,500 words warnings :: none. playlist :: time lapse (taeyeon) ⋆ 2 kids (taemin) ⋆ daydreams (exes) ⋆ sharing you (lany) ⋆ august (taylor swift) ⋆ too close to love (will hyde) ⋆ sad stripped (lany) ⋆ strangers (taemin) ⋆ the 1 (taylor swift) author’s note :: can you believe that i literally wrote this entire 10k fic in one day aka today ??? whew this gave me the same rush that i got when i wrote my research paper in the class it was due for the day of, printed it out during break, and handed it in at the end of class :’) ↳ part of the almost collaboration series.

Liu Yangyang is jumping fences to escape late night parties, shared laughter over childhood favorite cartoons on February mornings, midnight dancing in the refrigerator light, and November kisses stolen in between the shelves of the nearby 7-Eleven. He is obscure doodles in the margins of your physics notes, good intentions laced in December’s mistakes, strawberry lemonade and broken truths wrapped in summer bliss, and September endings with honest lies.

He is your August, he is your everything, but he isn’t yours.

AUGUST 2018.

August has barely begun to fade away.

You’re eighteen years old, and you’re drunk off of your first taste of freedom, one toe already dipping into the shiny pleasures of adulthood. Your new roommate, Karina, has excitedly told you about the famous beach night themed frat party that kick starts every school year at your university. Everybody who’s anybody would be there, and your heart already races at the thought of going to your very first college party.

“Coral or blue?” Karina holds up a solid colored neon blue bikini and a striped, bright pink one for you to choose between.

“Blue.” You nod towards the first option, and she discards the other one back into the open drawer. You pull out a marigold yellow one and a black one lined with white strings, wordlessly gesturing towards them, and she immediately points to the latter.

“That one is gonna look so cute on you. Well, both would, but I love that one.”

You grin at her, silently thanking whoever decided to pair the two of you together for the random dorming. “Perfect, thanks. Do you know any of the guys hosting the party?”

“Yeah, Dejun? He’s really sweet and a year above us. I met him in the music elective I’m taking.” She turns to take off her shirt and tosses it to the side, pulling on her bikini and wriggling into a pair of ripped jean shorts. “You?”

“Kind of? Jaemin is in my project group in Intro to Engineering. He’s rushing for that frat.” You quickly change out of your outfit and into your chosen swim top and daisy dukes. You make sure to grab a pair of black flip flops from your closet. The bundle of nerves in your stomach grows as you step out of your dorm with your new friend, a bit anxious but also excited to attend your very first party.

Thank goodness for summer weather. It’s still a nice, warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit according to your weather app when you and Karina finally make your way to the frat house. The sun barely begins to set, but the party slash dayger had started earlier and is in full swing. There’s a DJ set up out front, blasting some sort of EDM music, and the lawn is absolutely covered in foam. You see the source of it shakily set up on the roof of the patio along with a couple of boys sitting up there, Hawaiian shirts barely covering their figures. You catch the eye of Jaemin, who happily waves at you from his vantage point, and you wave back at him.

“Oh my god, I love college,” Karina says, grabbing your arm excitedly as the two of you step into the foam. You reach down to pick up some of it before flicking it towards your roommate, who squeals before scooping some up and throwing it in your direction as well.

“Ready for our first shitty college drink?” You pull her through the mass of other students and towards the horribly decorated tiki bar stationed in the corner of the patio.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

The two of you stumble over, still throwing handfuls of foam at each other amidst giggles before making a full stop in front of the bar. The older boy behind the makeshift counter lazily grins at you both, a shell necklace hanging loosely around his neck, and his unbuttoned orange Hawaiian shirt gives you a nice flash of his toned abs.

“Hey, I’m Johnny. What can I get for you two?”

“Two vodka shots, please.”

“Alright, ID?”

You freeze, and Karina’s grip on your arm tightens, and then Johnny laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Relax, I’m just messing with you, freshie. Two vodka shots coming right up.”

He pulls out two small plastic cups and pours out the drinks for you. “How many do you want?”

“This is good for now, thanks.” You and Karina pick up the drinks, smiling a little nervously at him. He flashes another amused smile at you. “Alright, come back anytime if you want another.”

You move away from the patio, and Karina follows close behind. The two of you throw back the drinks and dispose of the empty cups quickly. The burning sensation in your throat disappears after a few seconds, and you turn to your roommate. “Should we find our friends?”

“I think I see Dejun back there! Let’s go say hi, I can introduce you to him.” Karina drags you through the rising foam, the bubbles clinging to your skin, and when you go past the DJ stand, you feel the pounding bass reverberating in your chest harder than ever. You trek past the gate and into the backyard where the foam has risen to your waist, thanks to the enclosed fences. She taps on the shoulder of a boy with the prettiest almond eyes you have ever seen, and you shyly smile at him when he greets you.

“Hey, I’m Dejun.”

Oh my god, even his voice sounds pretty. Older college boys are definitely better and hotter than high school boys. Heck, they’re better than freshman boys. Nobody wants to date a freshman dude, not even the freshman girls.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand, but then realize how stupid that must be. You hastily start to retract your hand, but he laughs and warmly grasps your hand. Smiling at you, he shakes it firmly, squeezing your hand gently before letting go.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

The butterflies in your stomach grow in volume as the conversation goes on, and you’re positively enamored by the end of the night. Karina had given you a look earlier before walking off with Dejun’s friend and joining the dancing crowd. With the addition of his phone number in your pocket and a promise to show you a new song he’s working on with his guitar next Friday, you’re walking on cloud nine.

“Do you want something to drink? I need a refill, and I can go grab you one,” he asks, and you’re about to offer to go with him, but then you remember the teasing upperclassman and simply agree, asking for another shot of vodka.

After he disappears, you look around, eyeing the crowd and wondering if you can spot your roommate anywhere. You bump into someone lightly and turn around to apologize. Your eyes meet a pair of curiously bright ones.

“Sorry about that, I’m looking for my roomie.”

The boy gives you a Cheshire Cat grin. He’s wearing one of those dumb Hawaiian shirts, too, and it’s unbuttoned, but he has a white T-shirt layered underneath it. “No biggie, it’s a massive party and it’s crowded. Who are you looking for?”

“Ah, I don’t know if you know her, but Karina? She went off with this dude, Kunhang, I think?”

His eyes light up at that name. “Oh, I know him! I saw him earlier by the keg stands inside. Your friend might be there, too. I can—”

“THE COPS ARE COMING!” A loud voice bellows, and you freeze up. Suddenly, the music is shut off as everyone starts running away. You start to panic, the terror rising in your chest, and the boy in front of you grabs your hand and pulls you with him. “What are you doing?! Don’t just stand there! We gotta go!”

“Wait, but Kar—” You start to object, but cut yourself off when you bump into his back as he abruptly stops. He scans the backyard, quickly assessing the situation before turning to you.

“There’s way too many people trapped in here, we’re not gonna make it to the gate. We need to climb over the fence. I’ll hoist you up, and you can help me up from there.”

“I don’t even know you,” you protest, and he throws you a look.

“Hi, I’m Yangyang, nice to meet you, I don’t want to get my ass hauled out by the police and continue the icebreakers in jail, so let’s move now. We good?”

“Yeah, okay, we’re good,” you say faintly, mind still whirling around as you try to grasp the situation. “I’m Y/N.”

“Great, now up you go.”

He immediately picks you up without any warning, and you almost fall backwards, arms flailing before you grasp the top of the fence and pull yourself up. Balancing precariously on top of it, you grab his arm, tugging him up until he’s sitting right next to you, too. The both of you swing your legs over the fence and jump down to the other side. You let out a sigh of relief, squatting down as you clutch your heart.

“Oh my god, we made it. I didn’t get arrested at my first party.”

“What an amazing accomplishment.” Yangyang brushes off the back of his shorts. “We aren’t going to jail. Freshman year is gonna be a breeze if your bar is set this low.”

“Hey!” You frown at him, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest. “How do you know I’m a freshman?”

“It’s written all over your face.” You give him a look, and he relents. “Only a freshman would be this scared of getting caught.”

“So are you an upperclassman?”

“Nah, this is my first party, too. I’m rushing for Nu Chi. Hold on, wait here.” He sneaks around the edge of the fence, peering around for a few seconds before jogging back towards you. “Okay, the police are over there. I’m gonna have to wait a while before going back in.”

“You have to go back?”

“Part of tonight’s rush process,” he sighs before turning to you. “Do you live on campus?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna walk back now,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s late, and I’m not in a partying mood anymore.”

“I can walk you back,” he offers, and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

The two of you start the trek back, an awkward lull in the conversation making itself known. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly when a soft breeze picks up. There’s a light rustling noise, and you pay no mind to it until a soft cloth is draped over your shoulders. Eyes widening, you notice the colorful, palm tree-printed button down shirt wrapped around you and the boy next to you, looking straight ahead with his hands shoved into his pockets. Smiling to yourself, you slip on the shirt, loosely buttoning the front of it.

“So, Yangyang,” you casually begin, testing his name on your tongue for the first time. You decide you like it. It’s cute. He turns to you, raising an eyebrow, and you continue, “Since our lives are no longer in jeopardy, we can continue the icebreakers, right?”

His lips curve into a smile. “Alright, shoot. What’s your first question?”

“Captain America or Iron Man?”

“Oh, Iron Man, hands down. He’s so…”

You meet him in August.

FEBRUARY 2019.

“Hey, where’s your cereal? The Reese’s one?”

February marks six months of your relationship with Dejun. It also marks six months of your friendship with Yangyang. It is time for your weekly Sunday rituals of watching old cartoons and eating breakfast, and you could’ve sworn that box was still half full last week. You rummage through the top drawer Yangyang had designated for snacks and other foods in his dorm as he takes out the milk from his mini fridge and carries it over to his desk.

“I ran out a few days ago. There’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch somewhere in there though.”

With a victorious cry, you manage to pull out the slightly crushed box of the aforementioned cereal from underneath the packages of flamin’ hot Cheetos and spicy nacho Doritos and triumphantly bring it over to your best friend. He already pulls out two bowls (which were stolen from the dining hall) and hands over the plastic spoons in his grasp (which was also taken from the dining hall).

“Thanks.” After dropping a spoon into each bowl, you shake out the sugary cereal squares before pouring the milk because you’re not an absolute heathen who puts milk in first, like Sicheng. Yangyang clambers up to his top bunk bed, and you carefully pass over the two bowls of cereal, milk sloshing precariously near the edges. You climb up afterwards, and he gives you your bowl once you settle down.

“So, Scooby Doo or Pokémon?”

“Mm, we watched Pokémon last Sunday already, so let’s do Scooby Doo this time.” He nods in agreement, pulling up the cartoon from the queue in Netflix, and the two of you lean back against the ginormous mound of pillows and stuffed animals of his that occupy nearly half of his bed.

You’re shoveling a spoonful of cereal into your mouth when he casually asks, “So how’re you and Dejun doing?”

Choking slightly, you quickly swallow. “We’re doing good. I think he booked a table at the Italian restaurant down the street for Valentine’s Day. Are you doing anything for Valentine’s?”

“I’m forcing Renjun to come watch that “‘Happy Death Day’ movie with me.” The faint sounds of the Scooby Doo theme song plays in the background as you hum in acknowledgement, mouth twisting into a mischievous smirk.

“That’s so sweet. So who confessed to who? Not gonna lie, I thought you had a crush on Hyuck, not Jun.”

“... I would shove you right now, but I just did my laundry, and rewashing my comforter is expensive and I’m out of quarters.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before lifting his bowl up to sip the best part of having Cinnamon Toast Crunch: the milk infused with all the cinnamony, sugary goodness. You let your spoon fall back into your bowl with a soft clink, a sudden worrying thought popping into your head.

“I bought him some customized guitar picks and a pretty composition book. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“That’s a pretty basic gift, isn’t it? It feels like something Kun would get him,” he teases, but his heart falls when he notices you chewing on your bottom lip, spoon held limply in your hand.

“Hey, I’m just joking, of course he would like it. He’s completely whipped. He’ll love anything from you.” Yangyang’s voice grows softer, and he fiddles with a stray thread on his comforter, avoiding eye contact with you. “I know I would.”

He looks up slightly and sees you smiling gratefully at him, eyes shining bright. He quickly ducks his head, turning away slightly to hide the hues of pink blooming on his cheeks. He feels you leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Thanks, Yang.”

Replaying the sight of your smile in his mind makes his stomach flip flop, and he resists the overwhelming urge to tell you you’re pretty, pushing it back into the farthest crevice of his mind.  Your head on his shoulder makes him feel like he’s carrying the entire world, and he doesn’t know what to do. He paints on a tight smile of his own, silently hoping you can’t hear the way his heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

Yangyang knows that having feelings for his best friend, specifically one of his good friends’ girlfriends, is something he absolutely should not be doing, but he can’t help it. His stupid heart refuses to listen to his brain. For now, all he can do is desperately hope that this dumb crush of his goes away soon because while 99% of his friends are oblivious (including you), Ten and Donghyuck are not. They’ll be able to spot his feelings from a mile away, like how Kun always knows when there’s a good sale going on at the Asian supermarket downtown (This week, it was the 50% off bean sprouts and chili paste).

Letting out an inaudible sigh, Yangyang carefully rests his head on top of yours. Clutching the empty bowl with one hand, he shoves his other one under his thigh to stop himself from reaching over and tangling his fingers with yours. He stares at the screen, watching until the bright colors blur together.

“Anytime.”

He likes you in February.

AUGUST 2019.

The earth spins around the sun for another time, and August makes its presence known once again. It’s Thursday night, and you’re sitting on the countertop in Nu Chi Theta’s kitchen, swinging your legs back and forth as Yangyang struggles to make some scrambled eggs because the half filled carton of eggs the two of you managed to find is the only thing that isn’t expired (besides Jeno’s protein shakes, but neither of you are gonna touch that cardboard tasting monstrosity).

“Maybe I should make it.” You peer over at the frying pan, wincing when you see the full damage of your future meal. “Did you use oil?”

“Of course I did!” he exclaims indignantly before pitifully pushing around the nearly charred mess of yolk and whites around with his spatula. “I’m not Mark.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, waving your hand around to dissipate the acrid burning smell, and Yangyang throws you a dirty look. He grabs a fork and stabs a small chunk of the eggs. Picking it up, he brings it closer to his mouth before hesitating. His eyes dart to you, and you raise your eyebrows at him, a silent challenge in your gaze. The sad piece of egg hovers in the air for a few more seconds before he defeatedly drops it back into the pan.

“Okay, what if we just Uber Eats some McDonald’s?” Turning off the stove, he then tosses the remnants of his cooking into the trash and drops the pan into the sink.

“Stellar plan. Best idea you’ve had all night.” You hop off the counter to stand next to him, propping your chin on his shoulder to see him pull up the app. He immediately puts in your usual order along with his before holding it up for you to see it better.

“Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.”

He clicks the confirmation button, and the delivery is set to come in 30 minutes. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are with your chest pressed against his back and hastily move away, warmth spreading across your cheeks.

Glancing over at your best friend, you don't miss the way Yangyang smiles down at something on his phone before his fingers fly across the screen. When he looks up, you immediately turn away, focusing your eyes on anything but him.

“Hey, you’re going to the Alpha Sig formal, right?” Yangyang calls out, and you throw on a teasing grin.

“You mean Alpha Sigma Psi, also known as the sorority I’m in?”

“Ah, right, yeah.” He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But you’re going, right?”

You nod, the sudden realization creeping up on you. “Oh yeah, I am, thanks for reminding me. I completely forgot to ask, but do you want t—”

“Ningning just asked me to go with her,” Yangyang blurts out, and you freeze, failing to hide your shock for a split second before you regain your composure.

“Oh wow, that’s great, Yang! I’ll see you there then.” You try to give him a convincing smile. He wrings his hands, biting his bottom lip. Something is on his mind. You can tell. He’s not someone to hold back with his words, but this time, he is.

“I… I don’t know if I’m gonna go,” he says at last. Your heart picks up a little at that. Does that mean he doesn’t want to go to the dance at all? Or does he not want to go with Ningning? If you asked him now, would it make a difference?

“I’ve never slow danced,” he confesses, leaning against the opposite counter, and your heart drops. So that was it. Of course, he wouldn’t reject Ningning. She’s an absolute goddess, heck, you wouldn’t say no if she asked you either. You stamp out that last flicker of hope.

“What if I suck at it?” he continues, absentmindedly carding his fingers through his hair. “Oh god, I bet Yukhei and Kunhang are never gonna let me live it down. I can do choreographed dances, but I’m gonna mess up over a stupid slow dance. But where am I supposed to put my hands?! Like on her shoulders? Her waist? Do I hold her hand?”

Your eyes follow the way his hair ruffles slightly, and you wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. You swallow hard before saying quietly, “I can teach you?”

His hand pauses mid-movement, and your eyes fly down to meet his. His eyes widen, and he contemplates your offer for a split second before nodding excitedly. “Yeah, that’d be great! Can you teach me right now? While we wait for our food to come!”

“S-sure,” you stammer, flustered at the sudden acceptance and his eagerness. “Um, here? In the kitchen?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs before straightening up. “The lights should be dimmed, right? We can kind of mimic that here to set the mood or whatever.”

He goes over and fiddles with the light switch, flicking it on and off, and you laugh, walking over and placing your hand over his. “What are you doing? Some kind of Kevin Nguyen mating call to look for a rave bae?”

“First off, I’m offended that you think I’d be one of them,” Yangyang narrows his eyes at you. “Secondly, I’m trying to make this feel more formal dance-y. Oh, wait!”

He turns off the lights for the last time and reaches over to pull open the refrigerator doors, the artificial fluorescent light pouring out and mixing with the faint beams coming in through the window from the street lamps outside. He grins at you, satisfied. “Romantic, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the amused smile on your face gives away your true feelings. “Wow, Romeo, you swept me off my feet. The food is gonna go bad, and Kun is gonna kill you for the high electricity bill.”

“What food? Jeno’s protein shakes probably never expire.” He snorts before standing closer to you, his hands resting on either side of you on the counter. You can see the pretty gold flecks in his irises, and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I guess this means you gotta teach me fast before we waste more electricity, right?”

You place your hands on his chest and lightly push him away, and he laughs, stepping back. You let out a shaky breath, remembering that your lungs need oxygen in order to, you know, continue living.

“Okay,” you clear your throat before pulling out your phone and putting on a slow song. “Ready?”

“You chose Ed Sheeran? Thinking Out Loud? Really?”

You raise your hands up defensively. “Hey, he’s the king of sappy slow songs that all girls want to be played at their weddings for their first dance.”

When your legs don't work like they used to before,

And I can't sweep you off of your feet,

Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?

Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

“Is this the song you want played at your wedding?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and your face grows warm. You ignore the question, and this time, you’re the one taking a bold step forward, a few centimeters now separating you and your best friend. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps lightly before meeting your eyes.

And darling, I will be loving you 'til we're seventy,

And baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three,

And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways.

“So, your hands go here.” You take his hands and place them on either side of your waist. His arms freeze up. “Relax, Yang. Precious cargo here.”

He lets out a chuckle, loosening his grip as he starts to relax. You reach up and slide your arms around his neck, interlocking your fingers. You gaze back at him, saying softly, “Now pull me closer.”

He does so.

Maybe just the touch of a hand,

Oh me I fall in love with you every single day,

And I just wanna tell you I am.

“And now follow my lead. We’re going to take one step. And then another. We’re just slowly turning in a circle.”

After a few spins and steps, you stop leading and let yourself be led. Yangyang continues to hold onto you carefully, and you can hear him muttering a 1, 2, 3, 4 count under his breath until he finally gets the hang of it. He grows a little braver, pulling you even closer.

So honey now,

Take me into your loving arms,

Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars.

“Are you going with Dejun?” he asks quietly, and you stiffen at the mention at him before shaking your head.

“No, we broke up in July.”

Yangyang falters in his step before recovering. “Oh. You never told me.”

“Yeah.” You struggle to keep your voice level. “I just… he’s your friend, and I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“You’re my best friend though,” he says firmly, looking you directly in the eyes. His grip on your waist tightens. “It’s his loss. That dumbass just lost the best person who’ll ever come into his life.”

You give him a tired half smile, one that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. He hugs you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and securing you against his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and hope that he doesn’t feel how quickly your heart beats in your chest.

Place your head on my beating heart,

I'm thinking out loud,

Maybe we found love right where we are.

“Thanks, Yang,��� you whisper, your breath tickling his skin. He envelops you tightly, and the two of you continue to spin in slow circles, quietly dancing in the refrigerator light as the remaining verses of the song warble in the background.

You think you finally understand what Dejun meant when he said he’s breaking up with you because your heart was already occupied by someone else.

You fall in love with him in August.

NOVEMBER 2019.

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: hey you up?

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: 7/11 in ten mins?

Tiredly rubbing your eyes, you stumble out of your dorm building, one of Jeno’s sweaters draped over your figure. November nights are cold, but this one seems chillier than usual. Yangyang stands near the front steps, and he stiffens up when he notices whose hoodie you’re wearing. He makes no mention of it though when you join him.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He glances over to you as the two of you walk side by side to the small convenience store just on the edge of campus. You shake your head, shoving your hands into the front pocket of your sweater.

“I was up cramming for midterms. I could use a break anyway,” you shrug. A wisp of your hair falls in your face, and Yangyang starts to reach out to fix it, but forces himself to keep his hand by his side. You reach out to carelessly brush it away, tucking it behind your ear.

“What about you?” You look over at him, noting the bags under his eyes. “Rough night?”

He smiles tiredly at you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks a stray pebble along the sidewalk. “More like rough week. Two more midterms left, and they’re for electromagnetic theory and linear systems.”

“Oh god, good luck. I took linear systems today, and it was absolutely brutal.” You wince, brightening up when you see the familiar neon orange, red, and green lights up ahead.

“Maybe I should just withdraw and take it again next quarter,” your best friend grumbles, kicking the stone as far as he possibly can.

“You really want another quarter with Hwang?”

“You’re right,” he sighs, “I just need to get a C+ to maintain my GPA. C if I’m pushing it.”

The two of you hurry over to the 7-Eleven, quickening your pace, until you reach the store doors, and you pull them open. Entering quickly, you push the door open slightly wider, and Yangyang slips in behind you. The cashier doesn’t even look up, texting away on his phone. You make a beeline towards the chips aisle, grabbing a bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos and a pack of sour gummy worms.

“What are you getting, Yang?” You call out over your shoulder, eyes zeroing in on the Red Bull stand at the end of the aisle. When you hear no response, you halt in your steps, turning around. Yangyang stands in the middle of the aisle, looking dazed under the fluorescent lights.

Putting your items back on the shelf, you approach him, reaching out and touching his arm gently. “Yangyang, what’s wrong?”

He jerks back before silently holding up his phone for you to see. There’s a slew of text messages from Ningning a few hours ago, and a quick scan tells you all you need to know. Your heart weighs heavily in your chest when you look back at him, a forlorn expression on his face.

“She dumped me,” he says quietly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “She said our relationship was like a friendship. She didn’t feel anything. She said we could still be friends if I wanted to be though.”

He jabs a large bag of Lays potato chips angrily as his voice raises slightly higher. “But I don’t get it. Do friends take each other on dates? Do friends spend the night? Do friends hug each other and hold hands walking to class? Do friends spend three hundred dollars to do a surprise weekend trip for their birthday?”

He whirls around to face you, and he’s so close that you can see those pretty golden sparkles in his eyes again. Suddenly, his hands are cupping your face, and the next thing you know, he’s kissing you. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they flutter shut, and you press your lips against his. The 90s pop station music playing overhead seems to fade away, and all you can focus on is that your best friend tastes like spearmint gum and grape soju. He pulls away abruptly, the realization of what he’s done finally hitting him as his chest heaves up and down.

“Do friends kiss like this?”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence. You feel like you’re spinning out of control, a split second from careening and crashing.

“No, we—they don’t,” you mumble, and Yangyang sees the starstruck look in your eyes, and he wants to apologize: to say sorry for kissing you. But he doesn’t. Because for some reason, he doesn’t feel sorry. He closes his eyes, curling his hands into fists before exhaling slowly. He sees you looking back at him this time, and he wonders if you feel as equally lost as he does.

Because you’re right. Friends don’t kiss each other like that. Friends don’t feel like this about each other.

He kisses you in November.

AUGUST 2020.

The sun still shines bright late into the day, and August greets you like an old friend. You’re absentmindedly doodling in the margins of your notebook designated for Quantum Mechanics. Yangyang sits next to you in the lecture hall, making a bunch of origami cranes before tossing them at Renjun’s head right in front of him. When the bird reaches its target for the sixth time in a row, the annoyed boy whirls around in his seat, glaring at your best friend.

“Stop that,” he hisses, and Yangyang innocently raises his hands in the air. Renjun angrily frowns at him before turning back around in his seat. After a few minutes, Yangyang flicks another crane towards his friend. If this was a cartoon, you would see steam blowing out of your friend’s ears. You silently watch as he wordlessly picks up his phone, seething as he presses on a particular number.

Suddenly, Travis Scott’s SICKO MODE starts blasting, amplified by the large auditorium-like room. The professor goes silent, and everyone turns to see Yangyang scrambling to pick up his phone. He fumbles around for a few seconds with it before finally shutting it off and putting it on vibrate mode. Cheeks burning red, he meekly puts his phone back in his bag and squeaks out a “sorry” before sinking down in his chair (You can see the culprit grinning like the cat ate the canary right in front of him. Karma’s a bitch who also goes by the name of Renjun).

You pat his arm consolingly as he sulks next to you for a few minutes, mouth jutting out into a pout. You decide to take pity on him and lean closer to him, whispering quietly, “Would it make you feel better if I bought you boba after class?”

Immediately, he brightens up. “One oolong milk tea, half sugar with white pearls and coconut jelly?”

“Yes, I’ll pay for your overpriced drink,” you huff, thinking about how his one seven dollar drink could buy you a whole rotisserie chicken that’ll last you a week. At least the fluffy dog at Cloudy with a Chance of Boba is cute and fun to play with. “I’ll even get the honey waffle fries.”

“Heck yeah!” he whisper-yells, fist pumping quietly before he suddenly deflates. “Wait, I can’t. I promised Lia I’d get lunch with her.”

Ah, right, there’s Lia now. Yangyang’s new girlfriend: the only other student who went to Düsseldorf, Germany to study abroad over the summer, and inevitably, the two of them became close. All you really know about her is that she’s pretty, she’s in Iota Theta Zeta, and she followed you on Instagram a few weeks ago (of course, you followed her back because of the unspoken best friend and girlfriend policy).

Her page looks carefully curated, and there’s a common pink tinted theme going on throughout her feed. She has over a thousand followers, and it seems like Yangyang fits perfectly in her magazine curated life, judging by how he occupies nearly every picture taken in the summer with her or how he’s tagged as the photographer. You can’t deny that they look good together, pointedly shoving the green eyed monster back under the bed.

You take a peek at your messy Instagram page where you only post pictures when you’re half drunk, so there’s no semblance of uniformity anywhere. You shrug at him, pocketing your phone.

“No biggie. I’ll see if Karina is up for some boba. She’s been holed up in the dance studio already, and it’s only week two of classes, can you believe it?”

“I remember Ten was the same way,” Yangyang hums, eyes fixated on his phone and fingers tapping away. He laughs quietly, lips curling into a pretty smile, and you glance over curiously.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm?” Yangyang finally tears his eyes away from his screen for a split second to look at you before another buzz takes his attention away. He’s distracted, lovestruck, and you wistfully smile before turning back to your notes.

“Sorry, what’d you say earlier?” he loudly whispers a few minutes later, and you barely glance up from the large bulbasaur doodle you’re in the progress of completing right next to the chart marking the wave functions for a bouncing ball that you had copied down from the blackboard.

“Oh, I just asked what was so funny,” you murmur, coloring in the flowers you drew around the Pokémon with your blue ballpoint pen.

He looks confused for a moment before lighting up. “Oh! It was just a German joke. It’s not really funny if I translate it though.”

“Got it, no worries.” You notice the professor starting a new example problem, and you abandon your drawing, focusing on the formulas rapidly filling up the chalkboards in front of you. A quiet chuckle echoes in your ears, and you pause in your note taking to look over and see your best friend still typing on his phone. You make a mental reminder to create a copy of your notes for him later on when you pass the library on the way to the dining hall.

“Hey, Y/N.” Yangyang nudges you gently. “Rain check on the boba?”

You offer him a soft smile. “Of course. Anytime.”

He gives you a quick grin in return before his attention returns to the device in his hand—or rather, the pretty girl behind those texts. Your best friend is sitting right next to you, but you’ve never felt so far away. You know distance makes the heart grow fonder, but you don’t think it’s possible to be even fonder of him than you are now. Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him. No wonder it’s beginning to hurt so much.

You lose him in August.

DECEMBER 2020.

December is the coldest month of the year, yet it is also simultaneously the warmest with all the holiday festivities it brings. If Yangyang were to choose a month to describe you, it’d be this one. You are a walking paradox, a conundrum he might never solve, an oxymoron come to life. He doesn’t understand how you can be his best friend, yet feel like a stranger; a friend who he wants as a lover; someone who has created such an impact in his life, but disappears seamlessly here and there.

He wonders when you’ve gotten so distant. He wonders why he never noticed the way you seemed to slip away through the cracks until it’s now nearing the end of the year, and the last time he’s seen you in person was before the November autumn break.

But you’re here.

You’re standing right next to the punch bowl filled with spiked eggnog, wearing a garish knitted button down jumper with brightly colored Christmas lights decorating it. It’s perfectly in theme with the Ugly Christmas Sweater party Nu Chi is holding, and Yangyang is beyond ecstatic to know that you’re attending. He had texted you an invite two weeks ago, and you merely reacted with a thumbs up.

Yangyang swears he was going to follow up with you on that, but he got so caught up with midterms, then meeting Lia’s family for Thanksgiving, then studying for finals, and then finally, preparing for this party. Buying enough beer for twenty-three keg stands is a lot more difficult than it seems (Donghyuck’s car broke down halfway during one trip, and they all had to carry back the packs of beers to the house in 40 degree weather in their Sperry boat shoes and Patagonia long sleeves that definitely weren’t cut out for this kind of weather).

His girlfriend is somewhere in the room, wearing the other half of the reindeer sweater she forced him to put on, but all he can focus on is you. He hurriedly makes his way over, skidding to a stop in front of you, and you’re startled before a smile spreads across your face.

“Hey, you, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You grin at him, reaching out to poke the reindeer tail sticking out from the front of his itchy sweater (Lia got to wear the head half of the reindeer, while he was stuck with the behind).

“Yeah, how have you been?” He reaches around you to pick up a cup and pour himself some eggnog. He offers you one, but you decline with a small shake of your head.

“I’ve been doing good, a bit tired with finals coming up, but what’s new?” You joke, grabbing one of the sugar cookies from the table. You’re secretly surprised that they actually have real food (No, Hyuck, Jell-O shots do not count as real food). You suspect Jaemin has something to do with it. He always contributes to the annual Greek row bake sale.

“Are you here with someone? Did Karina come?” he asks, curiosity coating every word. He looks around for your roommate, but she’s nowhere to be found.

You shake your head. “No, I actually came with—”

“Me!”

Yukhei bounds over, slipping an arm over your shoulder. He hands you a new cup of apple cider, which you accept gratefully. He grins happily at Yangyang, who freezes up at the sight of his tall friend. “I asked her to be my date for the party, and she agreed. She also made our sweaters! Aren’t they so cool? There’s even lights that spell my name and play Christmas songs. She did a bunch of cool programming tricks to make them work.”

Yangyang realizes with a start that the two of you are indeed wearing matching sweaters, and that leaves a rather sour taste in his mouth (and it definitely wasn’t because of expired eggnog). The corners of his lips tilt downward as he presses his lips together tightly.

“So… you two are together?” He gestures between you and Yukhei with a forced laugh. Jealousy never did look good on anybody, and unfortunately, he’s not an exception.

“We’re just seeing each other and seeing how it goes for now,” you answer quietly, noting the way your best friend reacts. You have always been good at reading him, and you tread carefully now, not wanting to make a scene. Drunk Yangyang never holds anything back, and he’s had quite a few pre-game shots already (It definitely doesn’t help that he’s a lightweight, too).

“I see. How did you guys meet? Or I guess, start talking?” He attempts to look intimidating, staring down at Yukhei, but it’s a difficult feat to accomplish, especially when he’s trying to stare down a six foot guy who’s more like an overgrown puppy and his friend.

“Oh, she came by for one of your boba runs, but you were still out with Lia. So I asked if I could go with her.” Yukhei flashes his pearly whites at you, and you chuckle, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“I said yes, and we hit it off, I guess.”

“You guess? And you took him on our boba runs?”

“You were out with Lia,” you say defensively, and he blanches when he hears his girlfriend’s name come out of your mouth.

“You could’ve waited,” he mutters, but you still hear it, and you give him a scathing look, finally too tired of this push and pull game that’s been going on behind the scenes for nearly three years now.

“I did. I waited over an hour here for you, but you didn’t show up or even text me that you were gonna be late. Yukhei was nice enough to offer to go with me.”

He stays silent, and you gnaw on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. Yukhei looks at you in concern, but you reach up and squeeze his hand reassuringly, which your best friend doesn’t fail to notice, his lips pressing into an even thinner line.

“I don’t understand what the deal is,” you finally burst out, startling both boys. “What’s the big deal about me and Yukhei going out?”

Something inside of him finally snaps. “The big deal is that you’re basically sleeping through my list of friends and then breaking up with them! First Dejun, then Jeno, now Yukhei? Who’s next? Should I give Renjun a heads up? Pencil you into his planner? Or Sicheng?  Sungchan? You have a class with him, so you’re bound to flirt with him, too, right? When are you gonna stop fucking around with my frien—”

He gasps, stopping mid-outburst as he stares at you in disbelief. Apple cider slides down from his hair, dripping onto his face and soaking into his sweater, the sticky juice clinging to his skin uncomfortably. You’re absolutely seething, the empty cup crackling in your clenched fist. Shocked, Yukhei carefully tugs the plastic away from you and places it on the table before replacing it with his own hand, his thumb caressing circles on the back of your hand soothingly. Yangyang doesn’t dare to meet his furious gaze, lifting his chin to look at you instead. The entire room has hushed down by now, all eyes staring directly at the three of you in a mixture of surprise and slight terror.

“Screw you, Yangyang,” you say lowly, voice shaking with anger. Tears form on the edge of your waterline, but you blink them away before hastily brushing a stray droplet from your cheek. “They asked me out. I said yes. We went out. It didn’t work out. We move on. Just like how you’ve gone out with my  friends. And they didn’t work out, so you moved on. So what’s so wrong about that? What’s so wrong about trying again to find love?”

He can’t answer you, curling his hands into fists until his fingernails indent miniature crescents in his palms—until the pain overtakes the feelings that are threatening to spill from his heart. Yangyang may not be yours, but he doesn’t like the fact that he can’t call you his either.

Love. That’s what you want, that’s what you crave, but not if it’s from him. So what is he supposed to do with love that’s unwanted? It’s bursting at the seams, and he has nowhere to hide it anymore.

He loves you in December.

AUGUST 2021.

August sneaks up on you this time around, and you find yourself in Kunhang’s apartment. All of your close friends are here, starting the last year of youth with one final first day party. You think back to that day three years ago: when your eyes met a pair of equally bright ones for the first time.

Curled up next to Yukhei on the couch, you look across the room and meet those very same eyes, although they seem hazier this time around. Lia is wrapped around his arm, and you think it’s quite ironic how both your and his relationships remain the same after all this time. Perhaps you both were bad luck for each other, leading to the other’s demise with short lived relationships. He looks away from you.

The rules of truth or dare are simple. You cannot ask the same person again until three other people have been asked first, and no one can be asked more than three times in each round. And, for reasons you can’t understand, everyone seems to take the code of truth seriously.

“I’ll start,” Kunhang announces, leaning back in one of the several beanbags he has in his place. “Goeun, truth or dare?”

Goeun sighs, leaning back on the palms of her hands. “Dare.”

“You and Mark, seven minutes in heaven.” Hendery points towards the coat closet, and the immediate reaction of hoots and wolf whistles has the girl rolling her eyes. With an exasperated huff, she stands up and pulls a red faced Mark along with her.

“Wait, you gotta pick the next person!” Donghyuck calls out, and she stops in her tracks, throwing open the closet door and shrugging. “You can choose for me.”

With that, she and Mark disappear behind the door, and Donghyuck turns toward the rest of the group, eyes glimmering mischievously. You pay no attention to him, absentmindedly playing with Yukhei’s fingers. You tug one of his rings off his finger, and he smiles, plucking it from your grasp carefully before holding your hand. He carefully slides it onto your right ring finger, but it falls off. Grinning, he pretends to try it on every single one of your fingers until finally settling on your thumb. The ring fits snugly there, and you admire it, wriggling your thumb around.

“Well, look at that. It fits you. I think that means we’re meant to be,” Yukhei says, smiling broadly, and you laugh, interlocking your fingers with his again before glancing down at the silver engraved band resting on your finger. The weight of the metal feels heavy resting against your knuckle.

“Yangyang, truth or dare.”

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you instinctively perk up in your seat at the sound of his name before freezing up in your spot. Yukhei squeezes your hand softly, and you tighten your grip around his fingers.

“Truth.”

“You’re no fun,” Donghyuck sighs, slouching back against the armrest. Yukhei leans over and whispers something in his ear before settling back next to you, shifting slightly to wrap his arm around you. Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow at your boyfriend before shrugging. “Okay, here’s an easy one. Are you in love…”

“Yes.”  is his immediate response, and you notice how Lia absolutely preens next to him.

“… with Y/N?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you immediately turn your head to look at Yukhei, your eyes growing wide in horror. He looks apologetic, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, but just the way he looks at you, it’s so obvious, and I had to know.”

You whip around to face the boy in question. With bated breath, you look at him, but Yangyang stares at the center of the floor, struggling internally. Everyone is quiet, and it reminds you of the calm before a storm. At last, he looks up, gazing right at you, and you can almost swear that you see those pretty little gold flecks in his irises from here.

“Yes,” Yangyang confesses quietly.

There’s almost a collective gasp rippling through the room, and Yukhei lets out an inaudible swear under his breath. Your grip on his hand grows slack as you fumble to get a grasp on the entire situation.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra until it grows so loud that you can’t hear any of your own thoughts anymore. Lia is in absolute hysterics, demanding an explanation from him, but he merely shrugs her off. Standing up, he quickly moves to leave the room, glancing at you one more time before disappearing out the front door.

It’s like your body is on auto-pilot after this. You drop Yukhei’s hand, immediately standing up and rushing after your best friend, paying no mind to the hushed whispers that only seem to increase in volume once you leave. You step out onto the porch, and there he is, sitting on the steps.

You quietly stand behind him, contemplating what to say and carefully choosing your next words. But there’s only one question on your mind.

“Why did you say that?”

He stays silent for a moment, staring out at the moon shining brightly ahead. “Because I meant it.”

Your heart wrenches in your chest. “You shouldn’t.”

He finally turns to look at you, an indescribable look in his eyes. It reminds you of heartbreak. “But I do. And I tried not to for the past three fucking years, but I can’t anymore.”

“Since freshman year?” You feel the tears well up in your eyes, and this time, you let them go. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yangyang grips onto the edge of the stairs tightly, frustration ringing with every word that falls from his mouth. “Because I was scared. And I thought you never felt the same way. You’re my best friend, and I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Yang…” You whisper, hand reaching out as you let it hover over his shoulder for a few seconds. Then, you pull back, curling your fingers into fists, pressing crescent indentations into the palms of your hands.

He stands up, whirling around to look at you, desperate. “Tell me I’m not too late. Please, Y/N.”

Something inside of you breaks. You open your mouth and start to say something when the door opens behind you. Turning around, you see Yukhei. His eyes widen when he sees the two of you standing there.

You know this is it. This is the moment. This is where you have to decide.

“I, I was just looking for you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Yukhei awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna go back in and—”

“No, wait, it’s okay,” you gently interrupt him. You reach out and slip your hand into his, and he relaxes, giving you a relieved smile. You smile softly back at your boyfriend before turning to face him, eyes apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Yangyang.”

He and you are asymptotes: two lines curving towards each other, but never touching; two hands reaching towards each other, but never interlocking; two people tangling their red strings of fate, but never tying.

You give him one last glance before going back inside with Yukhei.

You break his heart in August.

SEPTEMBER 2021.

September is supposed to be a new beginning: the transition from summer to autumn. Yangyang doesn’t think he can let go of you as easily as the trees shed their green for gold and red. Wherever he goes, wherever he looks, little reminders of you bloom in every crevice. You’re absolutely everywhere and nowhere, and it drives him crazy.

He thinks he’s gone completely insane when he hears your laugh while he’s walking to the laundromat one day. He shoves his airpods in and continues on his way until he sees you. Walking across the street, there you are. You’re on the phone with someone, and he contemplates going over to say hello. But suddenly, you’re hanging up the phone and waving eagerly at someone. When he turns his head to look, his heart drops and gets buried six feet under. He hurriedly ducks into a nearby bookstore and watches as you run up to Yukhei, slipping your hand into his like it’s second nature to you now. The two of you walk off together, and Yangyang is left standing at the window of the store until the shop owner politely asks if there’s anything he needs.

He doubts a time machine is something they have in stock, so he silently shakes his head and steps out onto the street once again. It is now silent and empty.

He loses you in September.

AUGUST 2022.

A lot can change in eleven months.

You’re twenty two years old, but you feel like you’re eighteen again. You know you’re going to see him for the first time since September at Kun’s housewarming. You had repeatedly assured Yukhei that you’d be fine. After all, life goes on; the world doesn’t stop just because you had a falling out with your best friend, even if it may have been a little more than that. Nevertheless, a year has nearly passed. Time is known to be the best healer, and perhaps your heart has shed its old skin and habits.

Your hand is safely enveloped in Yukhei’s, and the two of you walk towards your older friend’s new apartment. He playfully swings your interlocked hands back and forth, and you giggle, tightening your grip around his fingers. You stop in front of the door, the muffled sounds of a party slipping through the cracks. You suck in a breath, shoulders tensed. He’s in there.

“Are you okay?”

Yukhei squeezes your hand gently, voice laced with concern. You remember to breathe, exhaling slowly and relaxing before nodding. You smile up at him. “I’m okay.”

“If you want, we can go back home now, have another NCIS marathon, and drink this by ourselves.” Yukhei waves around the nice bottle of wine the two of you had brought for Kun. “We can even stop by the convenience store and get some ramen.”

You laugh quietly, the corners of your lips upturning with mirth. “It’s okay, I’m fine, Yukhei, I promise. Plus, I have you, right?”

He brightens up at that, practically beaming at you, and your heart skips a beat. “Right!”

You reach out and knock on the door. Kun greets the two of you, and you enter his apartment. Yukhei still doesn’t let go of your hand, and you follow behind him as you weave your way through the living room, greeting some of your friends. You hear Kunhang calling out to your boyfriend from the kitchen and feel him hesitate next to you. You squeeze his hand gently before letting go and nudging him in the direction of his friend. Yukhei gives you one last look, but you wave him off, smiling goodnaturedly and silently assuring that you’re okay. He swoops down and leaves behind a soft kiss for you before going.

You walk over to the alcohol table, pouring yourself something to drink. Leaning against the wall, you take a sip of your drink, your eyes flitting over the rim of your cup and slowly scanning the room. It feels like forever, like everything is moving in slow motion, like the world is submerged underwater, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

You find him easily. After all, it’s hard to forget someone whose features you’ve memorized over the past four years. Your eyes map the delicate outline of his face once more, and for a moment, you wonder if red is still his favorite color, or who he shares a carton of Ben and Jerry’s with nowadays. You wonder if he thinks of you sometimes, too.

But then, you wonder where Yukhei is. You search around until you see your boyfriend still standing in the kitchen, laughing at something your mutual friend said. Your eyes soften when you see him grab your favorite snack. You turn back around, your heart swelling in your chest tenfold, and your lips curl upwards, an endeared expression on your face.

That’s when you notice that he’s looking at you.

You brace yourself, waiting for the tidal wave of emotions to wash over you and the quickening of your heart rate to greet you like an old friend. Because that’s what always happens when you’re around him. After all, he is the biggest what-if in your life. He is someone you almost loved forever, someone you almost stayed for.

And yet, nothing happens. You wait a little longer. The world still goes round, and you’re still breathing. There’s no shortness of breath, no erratic heart palpitations, no sweaty palms, absolutely nothing. Liu Yangyang is a stranger in a familiar body, and your heart remains still.

You give Yangyang a faint smile, nodding towards him, and it feels like a sudden jolt in his heart. Time stops, and all he can see is you. You look beautiful. You have always been beautiful. This is his chance. Whatever higher entity out there has taken pity on him and given him a second try to make it right. He finally takes a step towards you, and the tender, encouraging expression in your eyes gives him the strength to take another one. After all, the eyes are the windows to the soul. Clutching his drink in hand, he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s only eight, seven, six, five steps away from you now. A smile grows on his face as relief curls around his heart like a bandage. You’re standing there, waiting for him, smiling at him.

And suddenly, you’re no longer looking at him.

You stopped looking at him.

Yukhei makes his presence known next to you, excitedly chattering about something and gesturing towards the kitchen as he hands you something to eat. It’s a snickerdoodle cookie. Your favorite. Your eyes are fixated on the tall boy, positively sparkling as you beam at him.

Yangyang feels like he can’t breathe. The bandage is ripped off, and all he can feel is excruciating pain like a thousand pinpricks into his heart before the numbness hits. He freezes, rooting himself in that spot on the scratched hardwood floor as his colleagues and friends continue to jostle around him. As his world crumbles around him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you. They stay on you, the barest traces of nostalgia lingering in the dimmed golden flecks of his irises that you had still admired all those months ago. It’s like he’s trapped in a silent film, stuck in a fish bowl and swimming in circles, and he watches in horror as you outstretch your hand and intertwine your fingers around Yukhei’s, leaning up to press your lips against his tenderly. Your boyfriend looks at you like you hung the stars in the night sky yourself (He would believe it if you said you did).

You don’t look at him like that anymore.

Yangyang remembers when you used to. When you used to love him. When you were almost his. He feels something inside of him break for a second time.

The world continues to spin, and yet, he’s still not moving. He’s stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper as everyone around him moves on—as you move on. He desperately tries to keep you in his view, and his feet finally pick up as he lurches forward. He’s not fast enough. You’re slipping away, walking away from him, hand in hand with Yukhei, disappearing around the corner of the hallway, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s too late. He’s too late. The sticky remnants of cheap beer run down his wrist, and it finally registers in his mind that he had crushed the flimsy plastic cup in his hand sometime in between now and then. In a crowded room full of people, he’s left standing there, alone and lonely.

Almost is the worst way to love someone, Yangyang bitterly realizes. It hurts to lose someone you almost love. No, it was never an ‘almost’. He most certainly loved—loves—you. And it should be impossible to lose someone who was never his to begin with, yet he has. All this time, he thought he had you, but it had always been the other way around.

He was your August, he was your everything, and he is yours.

But you will never be his.

You let go of him in August.

[holy-hyuck]

NCT Dream Reaction: They See You Wearing Their Clothes

warning: there’s like a swear word or two in jaemin’s

by the way, would you guys want me to add shotaro and sungchan as a bonus into these since they’re not in a permanent unit yet?

also no, i absolutely do not have a crush on jaemin, what are you talking about?

Mark

It was so cold, so unbelievably cold in Mark’s apartment. You told him to fix the heating but he’s been too busy binging Netflix to bother. Shivering in your thin tee, you rummaged through Mark’s closet for something warm to wear. If he wasn’t going to get the heating sorted, you were going to steal every last one of his hoodies until he had no other choice.

Throwing the black, oversized hoodie over your head, you made your way downstairs and plopped on the couch beside him, making him turn his attention away from the TV screen and towards you.

“Is that my- Is that my hoodie?”

“Yes, it is. Actually, it’s now mine, at least until you get the heating fixed.” You crossed your arms over your chest and raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend.

Laughing, he threw his arms around you and started mumbling into your neck.

“Gosh, you’re so cute, you have no idea.”

You let out a whine, surrendering. This was not how this was supposed to go.

Renjun

You stayed over at the Dreamies’ dorm with the intent of catching up with them since their busy schedule meant you barely saw them - especially your boyfriend. A sleepover and a movie night seemed like a great idea.

The boys already had a table stacked with snacks and drinks.

You made the awful decision of wearing denim shorts, which meant twisting and turning for the first thirty minutes of the first movie Jeno picked until he had to go to the toilet and you paused it.

“Are you okay?” Jaemin asked, seeing your discomfort.

You shook your head, looking over at your boyfriend. “Do you have anything comfortable I could wear?” you asked, a puppy-like look on your face (or at least an attempted one), and he obliged, bringing you a pair of his sweatpants.

Once Jeno exited the toilet, you changed into your boyfriend’s clothes, coming back into the living room. Upon seeing you, Renjun burst into laughter, the already slightly baggy (on him) sweatpants completely drowning out your legs so it looked like you were wearing a trash bag over them.

“Y-You l-look great-”

He managed between laughs, covering his face, his head falling back into the couch cushions as he nearly fell on Jaemin. He was hoping his hand also covered his blush because - although he wasn’t sure what exactly it was - something about you wearing his clothes made him feel fuzzy inside and he hoped to see you in them again - just maybe in different circumstances.

Jeno

Out on the beach with your friends was the best way you could think of to spend the last weekend off before school. You sat on the sand, watching Yeri and Jaemin splash each other with water, their swimming suits soaked. They've been at it for the past fifteen minutes, and it all started because Jaemin drank one espresso too much and threw Yeri into the water.

You sat next to Jeno, both of you watching your friends laugh, and next to him sat Renjun, who typed on his phone like his life depended on it. You and Jeno didn't speak much; you were a bit awkward around each other, you'll admit, but that's only because two months ago, you kissed during a game of spin the bottle, and it was a little more heated than you would like, and now maybe, just maybe, you've developed a crush on the black-haired boy.

It was weird - you've known him for three years, and never looked at him that way. Only after the kiss, you started seeing him as this handsome guy with crescent-shaped eyes when he smiled, and not just a friend who wasn't ugly.

Your two friends finally got out of the water, making their way to their towels and drying themselves off. You shivered, the evening weather finally catching up to you. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you rubbed the skin harshly, hoping to generate some heat, and hoping you'll be making your way back home soon.

Renjun noticed this and shoved Jeno with his elbow, gesturing to you. When Jeno gave him a confused look, he rolled his eyes and started tugging on Jeno's jacket in an attempt to take it off. They had a little fight to the right of you, but you were none the wiser and ignored them until Jeno cleared his throat. You looked in his direction to see him taking off his jacket and draping it across your shoulders before giving you a small smile.

"You looked like you needed it."

You smiled at him. "Thank you." Both of you looked at the sand beneath your feet, heat rising to your cheeks.

To your left, Jaemin and Yeri exchanged a look and simultaneously rolled their eyes. You were both so goddamn oblivious.

Haechan / Donghyuck

You clipped your hair back with the lonely bobby pin in your pocket, pulling the jacket around you tighter to brace yourself for the ruthless winds outside. Exiting the shop with Donghyuck by your side, you picked up your pace to make it home before it became any colder or windier - which it did, a minute into your journey.

The wind made your eyes water and you shrunk yourself, head down, ignoring your boyfriend, who began failing to catch up to you.

Suddenly, you felt something warm wrap around your neck and turned around to find your boyfriend securing his scarf around it, unzipping your jacket to tuck it underneath, then zipping it back up. It left his neck exposed due to the low-cut t-shirt he wore under his leather jacket, and you frowned at the sight of it, opening your mouth to protest before he interrupted you.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. You look like you need it more than me.”

Wrapping his arm around you, thus offering you even more of his body’s warmth, he led you towards his apartment, where he made you hot cocoa and cuddled you until you felt warm again.

You still didn’t take off his scarf, and he never asked for it back.

Jaemin

Maybe you didn't remember much from last night, however, when you woke up with a white, oversized denim jacket hanging from your desk chair, you were reminded of Jaemin - a loud and charming boy from one of your classes - lending you the covering after he walked you home after one too many drinks. In your defence, you bet with your friend that you could handle more shots than her, and won (the vomiting-in-the-garden part doesn't matter).

You got ready and rushed into your lecture hall, sitting somewhere in the middle and eyeing the students to spot the black-haired boy. When you managed to finally do so, he was already talking to one of his best friends, and the professor had started the lecture.

At the end of the lecture, you went up to Jaemin, who again, had busied himself talking to his friend. But when the other boy, Lee Jeno, saw you, he slapped Jaemin across the chest to get his attention.

Finally, Jaemin turned to you, taking a second or two to take in your appearance, his denim jacket hanging loosely on your shoulders. He almost laughed, his smile getting bigger than you've ever seen it. In the background, Jeno was laughing his ass off at Jaemin's reaction.

You cleared your throat. "Sorry, I just saw it on my chair today. It's yours right?" You took the jacket off of you and handed it to him once the boy nodded his head. "Thanks for last night, I don't know how I've survived but you certainly made it easier. Anyway, I'll see you later. You too, Jeno."

The older boy waved his hand at you and walked to Jaemin as the two of them watched you leave. "They looked good, huh?"

Jaemin looked to Jeno and smiled. "Fucking gorgeous."

Chenle

You may or may not have gotten too comfortable during your last few weeks of university, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie every day around your house, only swapping out the bottoms for a pair of jeans when going out. Honestly, you couldn't even remember the last time you put any effort into your appearance.

However, the dreadful day came when you had to meet Chenle's friends. You weren't dating for long, only a couple of weeks at most, so you felt the need to impress both them and your boyfriend. Thankfully, the plan to go to an amusement park were cancelled and swapped out for a movie night, so you felt okay with throwing on a hoodie and calling it a day. Spotting a bright blue coloured one in the corner of your bed, and realising it's Chenle's, you quickly pulled it over your head and rushed out of your house after realising you were late.

You were shaking the whole way to Jisung's house, hoping to calm down by the time you got there. He graciously let you inside and introduced you to two other guys and a girl, and you hoped they would spare you the embarrassment of wiping their hands after touching your sweaty palm.

"I like your hoodie," the girl said.

"Oh, thank you. It's Chenle's, actually," you replied after a beat. "Um, where is he?" You looked around, unable to spot the blond boy.

Suddenly, you heard a high-pitched scream coming from your right, an exclamation of "cute!" yelled your way, right before being tackled to the ground by the man-child in question. He pulled the hood over your head and grinned down at you.

"I'm guessing you like it?"

Jisung

Grabbing a book off Jisung's bedside table, you plopped on his bed with nothing but his thick, blue robe on. Admittedly, it was warm and cosy; definitely something you would have to steal. You skimmed through some of the pages of the history textbook before becoming bored and chucking it next to you.

Standing up from the mattress, you wandered around his room, waiting until he finished his shower.

"Hey, have you seen my-" Jisung came out of the bathroom, holding a towel to his chest, "-robe?"

He sighed, looking at you in his garment as you smiled like the Cheshire cat.

"Can I have that back?"

You skidded across the room to stand in front of him, going on your tip-toes and giving him a peck on the lips. "Nope."

Jisung shook his head at your antics before going to change into some clothes.