#don’t get me wrong i am in no way too good for greasy takeout

[chamerionwrites]

THE THING IS I think a lot of people would call me a pretentious food snob and while I would dispute this characterization (eat what brings you joy! I have zero prescriptive judgments about what that should be! Personally I have a major soft spot for grilled cheese and Campbell’s tomato soup), it’s not like I don’t see where they’re coming from. The trouble is that I am (1) cheap and (2) a damned good cook if I do say so myself, and I hate paying for things that I know I could make twice as well for a third of the price.

[toiletwipes]

and i'd give up forever to touch you

chapter seventeen. ah yes, what could go wrong?

Summary: Wilbur is about two defining truths about his life, he doesn't have a chance with Rosie and that it can get worse.

ao3 link. ~3k words. masterlist.

---

you and quackity made your way back to the dorm, not before you made will promise to head over for some good takeout and movie marathon. his awkward smile and gesture to the gremlin child he called his brother, but you assured him, he could come over whenever, you knew he had family over. whenever he could make it, you told him, smiling at him as you hugged him goodbye.

quackity called you a simp in the car, “who invites someone over when they have family?” he questioned you. you shook your head as you buckled yourself into the car.

“it’s not like that-”

“then what is it like? i’ve only been around you and him for a day or two but you gotta admit, you two have chemistry, he really doesn’t like being close to me unless you’re close too, not to mention, the way he looks at you-”

“be realistic,” you interrupt him, your face dropping, a frown shoving itself onto your face, “i’m pretty sure i’m his first friend in a while, besides,” you remember the morning he’d stayed over, the way he couldn’t stop glancing at rosie. even though he told you, a mere shock he’d get over, his favorite streamer being just less than an inch away of course he’d make sure she was real.

but still, it didn’t sit right.

“it’s complicated.”

preparations for a dinner wasn’t completed until rosie and jared showed with grey goose and tito’s, talking of what they’re gonna do for hangouts in the future and when they saw only you and quackity, they shared a look. “wasn’t wilbur going to come?” rosie asks, eyes on the bottles of vodka as she places them on the counter, making sure she acted normal.

“his family’s in town, wanted to spend time with them,” you hum, stirring the pot with one arm wrapped around your middle, you were mildly disappointed but it was towards yourself more so than him. like quackity said, who in their right mind would invite someone who’s got family visiting?

“well, at least he knows he’s welcome,” rosie gave jared a look, who upon seeing it, was still confused. rosie rolls her eyes, before moving to give you a side hug.

“don’t know how we’ll be able to hang out without our favorite greasy-haired friend,” and you just smile into the hug, “but we’ll just save the alcohol for when he gets here, though, i am kinda hungry, what are you making?” rosie peers over your shoulder, and the night continues in a light fashion.

you offer a sleepover in your room but quackity says he’s okay with the couch, too full and too tired to move from it. the reasons for not accepting are valid, you accept them as such, but you couldn’t help… thinking about that night again.

sleeping in the same bed as will. twice. you don’t know how to justify that.

as long as you don’t tell quackity, you decide, you don’t have to.

~~~

will comes over the next night, holding in his hands a bag, he tells you, “just in case,” with a small smile, and you accept it, throwing his bag onto the couch while dragging him to the stove.

“i have to take a shower real quick, just make sure it doesn’t boil,” and when he’s about to ask you what to do after that, you race off to the bathroom, the shower already running water, and from the steam that had floated out of the doorway- it was boiling temperatures.

he stares into the pot of sauce, watching it as it slowly heats up, forcing himself to stick to the hot steam steadily coming out of the pot, he hesitates before taking the pot off the stove, turning it off and hoping maybe if he waits a few minutes then puts it back on- then it's the right thing to do.

until the bathroom door opens and you call out, “can you pass me the towel will! i left mine on my bed.”

bells ring his head like a christmas carol, this could be his chance to make it right, just grab the cameras and be done with it, die with a somewhat muggy conscience.

he lets you know he’ll get it with a shout, before moving to your room, he finds the towel but gestures toward the cluttered surface the cameras were on, and yet, with how little space there seemed to be, there was a perfect view of the bed. of you that morning, changing right in front of it.

you had to have known about them, that’s the only way when everyone on that dresser had moved except for the camera’s placement and the lack of anything standing in the camera’s way. it had to be on purpose.

there’s no other way, it has to be. but the bathroom door is opening and you’re walking into the bedroom with your head turned to the side as if yelling for him, and when you turn to look in front of you, your friend is holding your towel but stares you down.

“i uh, i found a towel, um, did you take the sauce off the stove?” you ask, moving around him as you went to grab some clothes, holding them close to your chest.

“erm, yeah.”

“good, well, unless you’ve bought a ticket for the show, you can’t stay,” you joke, waving down the towel wrapped around your wet, and probably warm skin, body. he nods but he doesn’t move, unable to look away for a second.

until a second does pass and he pales, “well i- uh well, i left my wallet in the car, i could go get it!” will breathes out a laugh, jabbing his thumb behind him as if to say he’s gonna stay and watch.

“how sweet but you can’t afford me,” you smile without missing a beat, pushing him out the door as you all but nearly dropped the towel from the effort and moving limbs.

sighing, you drop the towel and will thinks he’s so funny for opening the door and holding a pot of sauce, having the audacity to ask, “but don't you think this looks a little weird?” you kick him in the shin and he almost goes down before leaving the room for the last time.

it’s not that you didn’t want will to see you naked, just not under these circumstances, as you curse the gods above.

~~~

“if we’re being completely honest i didn’t know you had taken your towel off until after you kicked me-” “-wilbur i’ll kick you again if you don’t shut up.”

~~~

the sauce is poured over the large shells and there’s a heavy amount of cheese that goes on top of the pasta, but you and him high five over it both and when he goes to stab a shell with a fork, you slap his hand, “we’re waiting on jared and rosie, mostly jared because this is his favorite.”

will grumbles about something but after you send him to the couch you promise alcohol, “they said wait for them to get here to start eating but not to start drinking.” you grin at him as you hand him a cup, and after taking a sip, wilbur understood quite well.

they better hurry up if they don’t want the two of you to get shit-faced.

~~~

“secret time! when i was a kid, i used to run around listening to one song on my dad’s mp3 player, guess which one?” you hummed, tapping your chin as you squint at your friend from the other side of the couch.

“is it bring me to life?” he snorts, his head slumping forward, chin hitting his chest as you shove his shoulder. “what? you sometimes dress as if you work at hot topic or spencer’s, you know?”

“no i do not know,” he laughs and his head leans against the couch, looking at you like it's his first time, like he hasn’t seen you before. and you know it's the alcohol making you feel giddy and warm, like you’re fifteen again, but you let yourself indulge in it. what’s the harm? you usually keep your secrets to yourself when you’re drunk.

it’ll be fine. you know it will be.

~~~

you’re on your second green, wine glass of grey goose, wilbur’s head in your lap and his feet hanging off the arm of the couch when rosie and jared open the door and enter through it, their chatter dying off as you make eye contact and wave.

“already drinking, i’d thought you’d wait for us to get here before then,” you burped a little before you shrug your shoulders without little thought.

“i thought you meant the food, sorry, that one is on me!” you raise your hand to take the blame and when rosie takes it into hers she just sighs bigger than the breath in her chest. when she’s done swinging your hands, she heads straight to the bottles.

“you didn’t drink all of it right?” rosie opens the squeaky fridge door and you shake your head.

“nope! wilby is barely on his first glass and i may be on my second, oops,” you bite your lip as you strain your neck to meet her eyes. she just waves you off.

“we’ll buy another bottle if we have to, don’t worry!”

~~~

jared is squished in the middle of you and will, pulling you two into a headlock as he starts to sing a sea shanty. “it’s about drive, it’s about power, we stay hungry we devour,” he sings out like it’s a sea shanty and with the confidence of twenty pirates, no less. his tenor voice carried itself pretty easily, you think to yourself as you try and hold back down the bile for two bowls of marinara pasta.

“no, jared, the instructions were to get the three of you to sing, not just you,” rosie sits with her legs crossed on the small chair in the corner, grinning widely. “it clearly states so in the card, are you not reading?” and then jared throws his head back, almost spilling his cup all over your shirt.

“what? what’s so funny?” will asks, quiet but smiling with mirth, life filling his eyes in a way it hadn’t done so before, you liked the way he smiles here and now.

“don’t you know, my name is jared, i may be older than nineteen but i still can’t read,” and then rosie just cackles, loses her composure and when jared releases the two of you, rosie has no qualms putting her own drink down and pushing jared back, throwing her legs over his and settling into his lap, stealing his lips into a kiss.

you catch wilbur’s face from the other side, he was about to take a sip from his drink and he’s still in the middle of it, lips drawn slack on his face as he takes in the scene before him. he nearly slams the cup down before stumbling over the living room to the bathroom, all the meanwhile, jared pulls away and makes eye contact with you, rosie making a dive into his neck, “is he okay?”

~~~

it takes you twenty minutes of sitting outside the bathroom door in silence before wilbur opens the door and lets you in, letting you sit next to him as he moves back to his original spot.

you know the gears are turning, they’re turning during a time they should not. you think that timing is a little cruel, he was having so much fun-

he should’ve found out when he was sober, when they’re out of the apartment and not in the living room, probably still in the middle of a makeout session. he should’ve been told not shown that maybe rosie isn’t into him like that, or something just a little less cruel than what he just saw.

you open your mouth, but he looks at you, as if asking you what could you possibly say to make this situation better? that jared was actually choking? that rosie is still saving his esophagus at this very moment like the great person she is? that she hadn’t meant to kiss him? that she aimed for wilbur but clearly doesn’t care that she missed? that jared is in dire need of oxygen and rosie has the magic air that’ll save every conventionally attractive buff guy?

what could you possibly say to make it hurt less?

to make it that it was anything but a rejection? a public one, no less.

a declaration for will to go fuck himself and any feelings he may have harbored.

“you don’t need her, you’re a great person all on your own, and loving her wouldn’t have changed it then.” you say slowly, as if you were still figuring out the script. “and for what it’s worth, you wouldn’t have liked dating her. she doesn’t change for anyone or anything.” you continue and he doesn’t stop you, so you’ll take it as a win.

but in his mind, he wonders how ironic did your words have to taste, that they almost tasted like blood with the amount of iron? a great person? did you know about the cameras? did you know that he had to pay a considerable amount of money to find out rosie’s ip address, and when he found out she lived on campus? how fast did he apply and work to make sure he would be accepted to her university? just for the chance to see her in real life? see how her body would look against his and yet never get the chance to?

he was never a good person, shit from the start, a rotten garden planted with seeds sown from hell.

(what the hell did you see in him? where is this good you can see? why can’t he see it?)

he supposed if you could see the sins of everyone, you wouldn’t be the person you are today. maybe if you knew the truth, you wouldn’t be so kind, so close to him.

his thoughts are interrupted when you wrap an arm around him, pulling him close to your side as you use your other arm to hold him still against you.

he closes his eyes, burying his face into your shoulder as he let the waves of hurt ride out, let the steady stream of tears soak into your shirt, using his own arms to wrap them around you too, feeling shaky as sobs left his mouth quietly, shoulders heaving up and down with every stunted breath, having to bask in the way loneliness tasted so bitter and yet like nothing at all. because it was just like before. before you, before the two of them, before quackity.

it’s just him now.

and yet, he’s wrong. you’re here. you’re here, sitting here next to him as you give him comfort as best as you could, and he wonders what you’re playing. yes, you wanted to collaborate with him but this is not a crescendo or rehearsal. this isn’t music.

and it continues to confuse him when his breathing evens out, when the tears stop pouring but his eyes begin to feel puffy.

what the hell do you want from him?

you guide him to your room, careful to make sure the two weren’t having sex on the good couch, and let him sit on your bed, barely looking at anything beyond his hands in his lap.

you grab the ice cream bucket and two spoons, heading back to your room and you find him picking up one of the transcribed papers for background vocals and a guitar part, and he’s mumbling to himself, even humming as you lean around to put the ice cream on the desk. “it wasn’t making any sense, it just sounds wrong somewhere and i don’t know what to do with it, maybe scrap it-” you begin to rant though will scramble for a pencil somewhere.

he starts to erase a couple of notes and though you make a noise of disagreement, he starts to write in replacement ones and then he pushes the paper into your hand, motioning for you to take a look at it. and when you do, you don’t realize it at first.

then it clicks. it clicks and when you sing it to yourself in a quiet whisper, your eyes widen as you grasp the paper with both hands now. “will, i’ve been struggling for days now, oh my god,” you lean against your bed, putting aside your sheet music in favor of the guitar leaning against the bed, making sure it’s tuned before using your fingers to make the notes sing in the quiet air.

you breathe out, shaky as anything, in shock, before you look up at him and then you push your guitar onto the bed along with the paper and throw your arms around will, pulling him into a tight hug as you thank him over and over again.

“oh my god, thank you so, so, so much, you have no idea-” you cut yourself off and when you pull away you see a dopey smile on his face. before you could stop yourself, you reached up to pull his cheeks down, crashing your lips onto his and just as quickly as it began you let go, turning around in your excitement and spinning before you froze.

you face wilbur, his face blank but with a hint of shock, like he wasn’t expecting that to happen. and you hadn’t either to be honest, but it happened- not an hour after he found out that the girl he’s probably liked for years isn’t into him.

the two of you don’t say anything, the temperature dropping in your bedroom as if it were the polar ice caps and not your dorm room.

“i-”

“-guess who managed to get sangria?” rosie bellows out as she barges in your room before catching the two of you like deer in headlights. “did i miss something?”

...

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[oreoambitions]

I think we're alone now for supercorp! :)

If you'd asked Lena this time yesterday whether there was anything she wasn't prepared to do for friendship, she'd have said no. Certainly there was nothing she wasn't prepared to do for Andrea, best friend and roommate, social mentor, fellow genius entrepreneur-to-be. But if you ask Lena today, she'll tell you there's precisely one thing she's not willing to do for friendship, no not even for Andrea, not even if the fate of the world depends on it, and that's hiking.

Specifically backpacking. More specifically, multi day backpacking trips with a gaggle of fellow undergraduates who want to behave like they're hiking the PCT and not trundling down some 60 miles of backwater footpaths just a few hours away from NCU in what was allegedly supposed to be an attempt to form long lasting social bonds but which appears to be in fact a thinly disguised mating ritual. This, in retrospect, is something that Lena should have seen coming. But she was blinded by friendship -  or perhaps by Andrea's pouty face - and so here they are some 16 miles from civilization and Lena has come to the conclusion that hiking is in fact literal hell.

By which she means that everything is burning. Her legs are burning. Her lungs are burning. Her throat is burning. Her lips are chapped and there is a distinctly red tinge to her cheeks which is either going to be a whole new generation of freckles or else it's the beginning of a skin cancer which will lead her to an untimely death and leave the Luthor legacy in Lex's questionably capable hands.

But more than any of those things it's Lena's pride which feels burnt to crisp, and it's the fault of the woman marching along in front of her like none of this is the slightest physical inconvenience. The woman who turns around and, walking backwards without missing a step, fixes Lena with a goofy smile.

"Hey Grumpy," she says, "You doing okay?"

Lena doesn't have the breath in her lungs to protest that Grumpy isn't her name, so she fixes the energetic woman in front of her with a deadpan stare and hopes that's going to do the trick. Ahead of them, Tech Support is talking too loudly about something that would be mildly interesting to Lena if they were, say, chatting over beers in a building with air conditioning and not courting death and mosquitos in the middle of nowhere and calling it fun.

"You need to take a break?"

Potsticker. That's the name Lena knows this woman by. Because everyone agreed ahead of time to go by trail names, and it's ridiculous, and Lena hates it, not only because she somehow got saddled with Grumpy, but because her eyes fall to those lips, those shoulders, and she wants to think some kind of semi-horny thought, and here's the thing: it's difficult to have semi-horny thoughts about someone whose name evokes the image of Chinese takeout. Lena tears her eyes away from long fingers wrapped securely around a backpack strap and tries to arrange her expression into something other than pure exhausted despair.

"I'm good," she gets out. "It's just. A lot."

And it is. Tech Support and Playboy are both vying for Andrea's attention, which is not in and of itself particularly strange since Andrea always seems to have a half dozen boys wrapped around her finger, but it is... annoying. Annoying because Andrea's trail name is Blowjob and it makes Lena uncomfortable in a way she can't quite put her finger on. And Potsticker's sister, Shades, has been falling all over a woman who has been unironically going by Daddy since she met up with them at the trailhead yesterday. Lena isn't sure if that's a sex thing or a gender thing and at this point she's afraid to ask.

Potsticker squints up the trail at their gaggle of hikers and smiles. Somewhere ahead, Dreamer is shouting about stopping to crack a beer, and Short Stuff is shouting something back about needing to check the GPS. 

"They're a little... rowdy," Potsticker admits. "Probably not what you picture when you think of a wilderness trip. But they'll grow on you."

Privately Lena thinks not. "Undergrad is where you make the best friends of your life, that's what Andrea told me," Lena huffs.

"Blowjob?"

"I spend all my time in the lab. Trying to graduate early. Two degrees. Lot of ground to cover. World isn't going to change itself. Not for the better, anyway. So we thought. Join a hiking group. NCU has a. Group for-"

Lena almost smacks into Potsticker where she's halted right in the middle of the trail. "I think we should take a break," Potsticker says.

"But the others-"

"Do you trust me?"

The answer to that question is an easy and obvious no. Lena didn't know any of these people a week ago and they're all going by assumed and frankly borderline obscene names and now that she thinks of it there's no way to be sure that any of these people actually attend NCU in the first place. But Potsticker is standing there in that tanktop with those deep blue eyes and her head cocked to the side and "no" doesn't feel like an appropriate answer.

So Lena says, "Of course."

"You want me to get your water off your pack for you?"

They stand together wordlessly in the middle of the trail, Lena taking sips from the HydroFlask she's schlepped all the way out there and Potsticker nibbling on the water valve looped through her pack straps. After a long moment, Potsticker cocks her head to one side again.

"You hear that?" she asks.

Lena listens. The wind brushes through the tops of the trees and nearby an insect is buzzing. The roar of the river they followed for some time this morning has long since faded into nothingness. "I don't hear anything," Lena says.

Posticker nods. "Exactly. I think we're alone now." And then, hastily, "I know where we're going though; we aren't lost. Alex - Shades - and I, we've done this trail a hundred times. Usually just us. But she's got this thing going with Sam, and Sam likes to do the hiking groups, so. What I'm saying is, it's a lot for me too. I come out here for the quiet. The group is nice; they really do grow on you. But it's... they're out here for something else. It's a more social experience."

"We were looking for a social experience," Lena says. Her eyes are drawn suddenly, intensely, to the rim of her water bottle. "Just not... just..."

"You weren't looking for 60 miles of frat party."

"That's a little on the nose."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that I'm wrong."

Lena looks her in the eye. No words come out. Potsticker is suddenly very close, or maybe Lena is suddenly too aware of her proximity.

"That might be what Andrea came out here for," Lena says. "And there's no shame in that. But I think if I had known I would have stayed home. I'm not- I don't think Andrea and I are looking for the same things."

"And what are you looking for?"

Lena is definitely not imagining it; Potsticker is absolutely getting closer to her and it's absolutely on purpose. And those deep blue eyes have fallen to Lena's mouth and Lena, who has spent the last 24hrs annoyed with her best friend for flirting with everything on the trail with a male pronoun, who is out here actively complaining about how she came looking for community and found a wilderness matchmaking service, is seriously considering whether it's hygienic or legal to rail someone right here in the middle of the trail.

Lena clears her throat. "I am, against my better judgment, going to kiss you now," she announces. "And I'd really like it if before I did you could give me something to call you that isn't so... greasy."

Potsticker laughs. She ducks her head to capture Lena's mouth and for a long, glorious moment, grease is the furthest thing from Lena's mind. It's a clumsy kiss, and the backpacks are not conducive to really holding one another, and it mostly hurts when Potsticker brushes a thumb over Lena's cheek because of that damn sunburn. But Lena smiles anyway.

It’s another 6 miles before she realizes that Potsticker never gave up her name.

///

Thank you for the prompt, Anon! 

Shout-out to @mrsluthordanvers for Sam's trail name

[curlynerd]

You're Bacon Me Crazy Word Count: 2K Rating: T Summary: "I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!" Or, Dean comes out through complicated burger metaphors. Notes: humor, canon-adjacent, coming out, established Destiel, #pray4Sam

Also read on AO3!

"You're really having two burgers, Dean?" Sam asks in his most smug, most obnoxious "I’m eating kale for lunch" voice. Dean really hates that voice.

Dean straightens his back and spreads his hands out, like the two wrapped burgers, the extra large fries, and the soda with two straws are a majestic bounty. “I’m a growing boy, Sammy."

“Uh-huh,” Sam deadpans. He lifts the takeout lid of his salad and starts carefully drizzling the vinaigrette cup over his bed of leafy greens and grilled chicken. “And you’re definitely not going to bully Cas into splitting them with you? You know he doesn’t need to eat.”

Something tight and anxious curls in Dean’s chest. “No!” he blurts out, realizing a second too late that it’s normal for him to share his food with Cas. Just because he’s been doing it more now that he and Cas are finally together does not mean that it’s weird now.

In response to Dean’s defensiveness, Sam raises a self-righteous eyebrow in sync with his salad-laden fork. “Can he even really taste them? I thought he didn’t like food in angel mode.”

Dean swallows down a multitude of answers. He likes sharing the experience with Cas anyway. He thinks the way his face scrunches up at the molecules is cute. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside that an angel -- his angel -- is willing to put up with something so silly and mundane and human as taste-testing different burgers.

He really, really needs to tell Sam the truth about him and Cas. Hell, he’s been trying to for months! But every time the perfect opportunity presents itself, he turns into a fuckin’ coward.

And today definitely is another perfect moment. The conversation has naturally turned to Cas. They’re sitting at a picnic table at the park, with nobody around to overhear Dean spill his guts in the most agonizing and uncomfortable way possible. They’re working a case, so immediately after the conversation Dean can bury himself in research and hunting and not have to deal with Sam’s big, obnoxious “let’s make a huge deal out of this!” puppy dog eyes. And Cas isn’t even here right now to make things more awkward. He’s still checking out the victim at the coroner's office across the street.

Dean tries not to think about what a big baby he’s being by ignoring this golden opportunity. “He just tastes stuff different as an angel. He’s learning how to pick out the nuance.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Because there’s so much nuance to ‘extra cheese’ or ‘hold the tomato.’”

“Oh like you’d know, Mr. Tofu Burger.”

“You’d eat a burger off the floor. Are you really trying to convince me you care about what kind of burger it is?”

Dean huffs and levels an indignant glare at his brother. “I absolutely have a favorite burger.”

“Then why’d you get two different kinds?”

"I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!"

Sam snorts. "That's just an excuse to eat more burgers." He spears a forkful of tomato and spinach with a smug little twinkle in his eye.

"It's so not," Dean insists. He gestures at the two wrapped foil rounds in front of him. “These are two unique burgers that both have their own delicious qualities.”

“Really?” Sam’s expression is so pompous Dean kind of wants to throw a french fry at it. Except that would be a waste of a perfectly good fry.

“Yes ‘really.’ Look--” Dean carefully unwraps his first burger. “This is a pickle burger. And not just any ol’ pickle burger. The best, most amazing, and -- dare I say it? -- sexiest pickle burger in the entire continental US.” He smirks as Sam rolls his eyes. “Now I can tell by that condescending look in your eye, you’re wondering, ‘What the hell is so special about a pickle burger? It’s just pickles!’ But that’s where you’re wrong.” Dean lifts the top bun and points down to the burger, looking almost gleeful at all its toppings. “Fried pickles, pickled red onions, relish…Sour and sweet and crunchy, the perfect compliment to a juicy, meaty burger. And one this big? You’ve gotta have a little something special to handle all this meat.” Sam tilts his head, his mouth twitching like Dean said something embarrassing. Was it waxing poetic about vegetables? Probably. Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Ya know,” he continues, “for the longest time I didn’t think I’d like a pickle burger. For years I’d be at diners and think, ‘...maybe? I dunno. Probably not for me.’” Dean pulls his mouth down into a thoughtful frown and bobs his head to mimic his past thoughts. “And then...I’m not sure, I just figured, why not at least try it? All those burgers I’ve had all over the country; I could at least give it a whirl. And it. Was. Awesome!” Dean gently places the bun back on his burger and gives it a little affectionate pat. “Now I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Sam's expression does a complicated dance that Dean can't even begin to follow. But it suddenly clears into a look of dawning realization, followed quickly by horrified guilt, before it clamps down entirely.

Weird.

"Well...I can't fault someone for enjoying a good pickle burger," Sam says slowly. He doesn't meet Dean's eye, keeping his gaze down as he delicately stabs at his salad with his fork. He frowns at the cucumber slice he spears and carefully dislodges it from the prongs. "Especially if they really like, uh, pickles?" Sam cringes a little down at his greens. Dean can't blame him. It's a sad looking salad.

"Exactly!" Dean gestures down at the burger. "I'm a meat man and a pickle guy." Sam looks up toward the sky and then down toward the ground below with a sort of pleading desperation. "This is a great burger for me. And don't even get me started on the sauce--"

"Okay!" Sam's voice pitches up several octaves. Dean frowns at him, but before he can ask, Sam takes a deep breath and plasters a warm, understanding smile across his face. "You know what? You're right, Dean. After all this time. All those, uh...burgers. I'm glad you've figured out which one you like best."

"Well, not quite. I mean, this one…" Dean carefully unwraps the second burger. "Is there anything sexier than a breakfast burger?" He practically beams down at the golden-brown bun, the fringes of fried egg drooping over the side, crisp bacon peeking out from under the patty.

"I...I don't know?" Sam has the same terrified expression as when Dean drags him onto ramshackle roller coasters at crappy county fairs. God, he's such a baby about cholesterol.

“Yeah. C’mon, you know they’re great!” Dean says cavalierly, because he’s not going to miss a chance to gloat about the awesome food Sam misses out on with all his salads. “Bacon is, you know, bacon! It’s the best tasting thing in the world! Salty, greasy, crunchy…”

Sam’s brow furrows so deeply it’s like it’s mining for coal, his unfocused eyes searching the empty space between them like he’s trying to figure out the deep, dark mystery of bacon.

Dean rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand. The dude eats low sodium turkey bacon. "I know you haven't had good, real bacon in ages--" Sam looks offended. Then confused. Then offended again. "--but trust me, man. It's awesome. When ya got bacon in your burger, it automatically makes the burger a hundred times better. Can’t get enough of it!” Sam groans like he's in pain.

Dean grins and keeps going. “And you’ve gotta admit, a fried egg is a thing of beauty. Give me a good silky, drippy egg all over my burger and I’m a happy guy.” Sam’s nose scrunches up into abject horror. “You get that gorgeous, soft yolk oozing everywhere...It’s creamy and delicious and unctuous and--”

“Dean!” Sam shrieks. He lets his fork fall into his bowl and covers his face with both his hands. His voice is muffled, but it’s definitely a tormented whine. “I know this is a tough topic for you, but can you please just say you’re bi and never use words like ‘unctuous’ again? I’m begging you!”

Dean freezes. “Wh-What?” Did Sam really--? He--? How does he know?!

Sam pops up from his elbows, dragging both hands through his hair as he frees his face from hiding. “I get it, dude. Okay? I get it. I mean...I don’t get it.” He glances down at the two burgers with a perturbed look and holds up his hands in surrender. “But I get it.”

Dean stares at him. “Get what?” he demands. His heart is pounding fast. Bi. Sam knows he’s bi. When did he figure it out?! Why’s he bringing it up now?!

Sam fixes him with a flat look. “The burgers? The...God...bacon sex metaphor? The pickle guy thing? I get it. Please. Please stop talking about eggs like that. I’ll never eat an omelette again!”

Sex metaphors? Pickle guy?! Dean takes a moment to think and...yeah. Yup. He really did say “I’m a pickle guy,” out loud. Wow.

Maybe he should just...roll with it?

Because otherwise Sam is definitely going to mock him for that for the rest of his life, and honestly, coming out is the much better option.

“You got me,” Dean says with a small laugh. He spreads his arms out with a bit of a flourish, and it’s a relief to say it. It feels good. “What can I say? I like all kinds of burgers. And hotdogs. Tacos. Kielbasa...”

“Please stop,” Sam groans, rubbing at his eyes with his hand.

Oh yeah, this is definitely the better option. Dean fell ass-backwards into a conversation he’s been dreading for months, and the only person feeling awkward and miserable here is Sam!

Really it’s a win-win.

Dean grins from ear to ear as he relishes Sam’s mortification. “Hey now, I thought you were supportive! What happened to ‘I’m happy for you and your burgers?’”

“I am happy for you, I just wish this wasn’t happening over lunch…” Sam whines as he drops his hands on the table.

“What’s Sam happy about?” Cas asks, startling the both of them by approaching their picnic table. His eyes are earnest and sincerely curious, which only causes Sam to send a miserable, pleading look his way while shaking his head.

“Sam thinks pickles are gay,” Dean says to Cas with the same sort of smug glee of the teacher’s pet tattling about note passing in class.

Cas scrunches his face in confusion as he sits down beside Dean. “Sam, that’s...nonsensical.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean lies, because the way Sam’s eyebrow is twitching right now is too damn funny. “Wait til you hear what he thinks about bacon.”

Sam drops his face into his hands again. “This is the worst day of my life,” he groans as he massages his temples with his fingers.

Cas furrows his brow at him. “You’ve been to Hell.”

“And I’m still there, apparently!” Sam flings his hand up in exasperation. Cas quietly takes a sip of Dean’s drink, which for some reason just pisses Sam off more.

“You know, you could have just been normal about this. No weird, gross food metaphors. Just--” Sam drops his voice several octaves and bobs his head in a deliberately annoying parody of Dean. “--‘Hey Sam, by the way, I’m bi and totally in love with Cas, no big deal,’ or whatever.”

Dean goes still while Cas tilts his head at the two of them.. “Who says I’m in love with Cas?” Wait. Is that obvious too? Shit, well, looks like he gets to rip two bandaids off today. Thank God for the hilarious panic on Sam's face, because otherwise Dean would be the one freaking out here.

Sam’s eyes go huge, all color draining out of his face. “Oh shit. I didn’t-- I’m sorry, I--”

Dean can only manage to maintain the ruse for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Where have you been, man? Cas and I have been together for ages. I thought you were the smart one!”

Sam looks like he wants to leap across the picnic table and strangle Dean.

With a glare so sour it could peel paint, Sam snatches Dean’s extra large order of french fries and storms off toward the car to sulk. About three paces away, he stops, turns around, and levels a stern finger at Dean alongside his scowl. “For the record. I’m proud of you. And I’m honored you chose to trust me with this information,” he hisses in a frustrated huff before he spins on his heel and marches away.

Dean wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling under his breath. Cas stares after Sam in concern.

“Why is he so mad?”

Dean shrugs off the question as he slides the pickle burger in front of Cas and nudges him with his elbow to try it. “Hell if I know. If you ask me, dude needs to have a burger every once in awhile.”

[thefanficmonster]

Oblivious

Valkyrae (Rae) x Reader (Gender Neutral) ft. Corpse Husband

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: In the most desperate of times, we may or may not be used to hearing the phrase ‘Beggers can’t be choosers’ which is exactly why Y/N’s found themself asking the most hopeless of cases when it comes to love and romance - Corpse, for help.

Requested by Xara. Hi darling! Thank you so much for this wonderful request you’ve sent me - I love writing for Rae (excuse my bi excitement, I’m just a HUGE simp) and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to do so. Sorry it’s been two months since you requested this but here it finally is and I hope it makes up for the wait. Love, Vy ❤

“Corpse, I’m in desperate need for help.“ I don’t even bother with a friendly or even polite greeting. Being best friends for as long as we have, Corpse and I excluded the politeness that comes with phone calls a long time ago, especially when calling with an emergency. Though, let’s be honest, if I’m calling him on the phone and not on video chat like I usually do, it is an emergency.

“Given that you’re asking me, I can imagine how desperate you are.“ He has the audacity to laugh in response, causing me to roll my eyes. 

Now, don’t get the wrong idea - I love Corpse with all my heart. Him and I have been through A LOT together considering we know each other since we were teenagers. However, there are some instances in life when he simply doesn’t get me. Not that he doesn’t try to, he does and does so very hard, but he rarely succeeds. Trying is what matters, of course. Given that he is my only close friend, I can only ever turn to him with my problems though I try my best not to bother him too much, but when things get REALLY tough, I can’t help but go and vent to him. Luckily, he’s always been very understanding, but it may be because he feels like he owes me for all the times he has turned to me with his problems. I’ve tried to explain that he shouldn’t feel such a way, but that’s rather hypocritical of me cause I feel the same way.

Alright, enough digressing, back on track!

“Desperate doesn’t even begin to summarize how I feel.“ I sigh, plopping down on the couch in my living room, kicking my feet up on the coffee table as I cover my eyes with my hand. “Brutally miserable is, I think, the correct term to use here.“

I hear Corpse let out a quiet ‘oof’, one I think he hoped I wouldn’t hear. “And what led you to finally give in and ask for help, not that I can offer you much?”

I can’t help but snort at that, a snort that serves as a replacement to slapping myself across the face. “Rae texted me yesterday asking if I’d like to play Minecraft with her and I took THREE HOURS to respond! Not on purpose, I just couldn’t think of something good to say!” I know I sound like a whiney kid, but I think I’ve passed that threshold LONG ago. Of course, this whiney kid version of me only surfaces around Corpse and Corpse only. No one else is allowed to see me like this or that would legit be the end of any sort of pride I may have left in me.

“You mean you couldn’t choose between ‘Sure, I’d like that!’ and ‘Of course, I’d love to!’? Please say yes.“ Corpse already sounds disappointed and he hasn’t even heard the worst of it yet.

“No and sit tight, it gets worse. I...“

He cuts me off, “Wait, no, don’t say it. Let me guess - you turned her down? Keep in mind if you say yes I’m hanging up on you.”

I remain silent, pinching the bridge of me nose and cringing as hard as my facial muscles are willing to allow. I can’t say yes, not cause he’ll hang up but because admitting it makes it more real, and the more real it is the more depressed it’ll make me and I will go back to being a self-deprecating mess that refuses to be productive or properly functioning - aka ‘Whiney Kid Maximum’.

“I’m hanging up.“ Corpse says after waiting five seconds for my response that only comes in the form of dead silence which is more than enough of an answer in and of itself.

“No, please don’t!“ I squeak out despite my agony, “I’ll never break the cycle if you don’t help me, Corpse! I’m a hopeless case!“

“You’re a hopeless case with or without me, Y/N.“ He states, angering me ever so slightly. “Not only cause you really are, but because I have nothing useful to offer you. Not even a single advice. Even if I did, giving it to you would by hypocritical when considered how bad I am on this field myself. Hell, the very person you’re head over heels for is my personal matchmaker. If anything, you should be asking her how to swoon her...“ He pauses.

So does my brain.

For a second we’re both quiet, the silence on the line suggesting big plans are being developed - well, not on my end but still.

“Now there’s an idea...“ He mutters more to himself than to me.

“No!“ I shriek fearfully, “Please, if you love me even the tiniest bit, Corpse, don’t put me in a situation where I have to be alone with Rae! Not IRL not in a Discord call - not in ANYTHING. I close up and end up seeming unfriendly and rude because of my inability to talk to her like a normal human being! I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just can’t do it! So please don’t make me.“

I maybe can’t read minds, but hell if I can’t at least have a rough guess of what’s on my best friend’s mind - I know he’s already scheming and coming up with odd solutions to my problem - some of which will cause me more problems but let’s not even mention those. That being said, I need to prevent him from actually carrying out any of his absurd schemes, otherwise it’s game over for me.

“Hmm, ok fine, but only cause I wanna spare you your own awkwardness. Consider it charity.“ He sighs, the disappointment even more evident now.

I sigh too, but I do so in defeated relief. It’s bittersweet, to be honest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.“ He says sharply, “Don’t thank me. It’ll make me feel like I’m encouraging your behavior.“

Well, screw my feelings, I guess. I’m left on this battlefield alone, aren’t I?

Corpse hanging up the call confirms that I am, indeed, alone.

                                                             *  *  *

“Hello?“

“Are you still in bed, for the love of God? It’s noon!“ Not only did he have the audacity to wake me up with his phone call, but now he has the audacity to judge me on my sleeping habits as well. Some darn nerve he has.

“What do you want, Corpse?“ I grumble out, groggy and now grumpy too. The last thing I need is the only person I can turn to turning on me. Especially not now. I don’t need his or anybody else’s judgement of me or my life, it’ll hurt too much.

“I want to know how long you haven’t showered, Y/N.“ He barks back, causing me to roll my eyes. “And when’s the last time you actually ate something healthy and nutritious and not just greasy takeout?”

“I showered last night!“ I straighten up and frown, feeling offended despite his questions being justifiable. I think that’s exactly why I’m pissed off, to be honest - he knows me and my habits too well. “And you’re just being hypocritical on the eating part!“

“Whatever.“ He mutters, allowing me to feel at least a tiny sense of victory for having proven him wrong, “Get your ass up and come play Minecraft with me, you need to be cheered up asap.“ He continues, much to my dismay. “And don’t even think about saying ‘no’. If you do, just remember, I have your address and a strong will to kick your ass into shape.“

“Into shape? We’re going to the gym or something?“ I’m honestly confused and intrigued now. Maybe the gym isn’t such a bad idea, I’m sure I could become really good friends with the punching bag.

Corpse sighs exasperatedly in a way I can basically hear him roll his eyes as well, “Not that kind of shape, Y/N. Just get on Discord, seriously, I’m worried about you.“ 

That sentence strikes a nerve. Something about that genuine concern in his voice reminds me that I still need to move on from focusing so strongly on just my failures, no matter how big or small, and keep pushing forward, if not for myself then for the people who care about me. For Corpse especially, seeing as how he’s sort of been my babysitter ever since my feelings towards Rae started to consume me whole and suffocate me. I don’t know how or when it happened, in fact I can best describe it as the Titanic: I was doing ok and then instead of hitting an iceberg the iceberg of feelings hit me and I started sinking. Corpse was there to offer me a hand to help me keep at least my head above the surface. He can’t pull me out of the water but he’s not willing to let go either. I’m afraid holding on like that will tire him out to the point of letting go of me completely, but I’m afraid of sinking too. You see my dilemma here, no?

“Ok, give me twenty minutes.“

I would have probably continued sleeping or just chilled on social media, refusing to get out of bed for at least another hour, but the debt I feel towards Corpse is stronger than the desire to be a slob so I motivate myself with every power my fragile mind can fish out of the void and push the covers off me, shivering at the drastic change in temperature around my body now that I’m exposed to the rather cool air in my room, my pajamas hopeless at providing me with any warmth.

Twenty minutes later sharp, I’m seated at my desk, in front of my computer with my headphones on, taking one last encouraging breath before entering the call where Corpse is waiting for me.

“Yo.“ I greet him half-heartedly, drawing invisible abstract patterns on my desk with my finger as if I’m avoiding eye contact with him IRL.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of punctuality at least.“ He chuckles, sounding a lot more pleasant and a lot more like my friend Corpse and less like sergeant Corpse Husband who was speaking with me on the phone earlier.

“Very funny.“ I murmur in my now common brooding manner, “Anyway, enough about me, how are you doing? Anything interesting happen since we last spoke?“

“You mean in the past ten hours? No, nothing interesting apart from that I managed to catch a few z’s.“ He replies as I join the Minecraft server, managing to get a smile out of me.

“Hey, that’s nice to hear! Good for you, Corpsie.“ I say, honestly proud and happy for him.

“Yeah, and just so you’re not calling me hypocritical on the topic of eating, I’m currently cooking myself lunch.“ He points out, now just straight up peacocking, “On that note, I got a pot on the stove so you’ll have to excuse me for a sec.“

“Please go. Don’t set your apartment on fire the first time you cook” I snicker, leaning back in my chair and fetch my phone to kill the time while he’s gone to tend to whatever attempt at a meal he has prepping in his kitchen. I feel bad for his stomach, and his kitchen, already.

“Corpse? Hi!“

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no - tell me that was an auditory hallucination and I didn’t actually hear that just now! TELL ME!

“Rae?“ I blurt out, almost falling backwards out of my chair, eyes wide, jaw hanging slightly.

Just then I get a text from Corpse:

Consider me dead and carry the convo. I know you’ve got this, Y/N

Oh that prick is gonna get it!

“Y/N? Hi! Sorry, Corpse didn’t mention you’d be playing with us, but it’s so nice to be hearing from you! It feels like it’s been forever.“ Rae replies, cheery and enthusiastic as ever, just like the absolute sweetheart she is.

With Corpse absent from his position, without his metaphorical hand holding mine, I’m metaphorically sinking and drowning. Maybe the drowning part isn’t so metaphorical after all, considering I actually am drowning in all the thoughts produced by my mind at the moment. A mind that’s going completely haywire, might I add.

“Hehe, well, funny thing, he didn’t tell me you’d be playing with us either.“ I chuckle anxiously, already breaking out in a nervous sweat. I solemnly promise to kill Corpse first chance I get, that way he’ll at least be dead for real.

“He set us up, huh? What’s his game, where even is he?“ Rae asks, properly confused as she should be.

All on-point questions, hun. And I can’t answer any of them logically.

“Um, you know, he’s off doing...something.“ And there go my conversational skills out the window, I hope they send me a postcard one day.

“Whatever, enough about Mr. Ominous. Tell me, what’s been keeping you busy?“ Oh crap, this is the question I’ve been fearing. Mostly cause I’m not prepared for it. “Actually no, let me rephrase: Why have you been avoiding me recently?“

‘Oh crap’ squared. Tripled.

“Whaaat? Avoiding you? Where’d you get that idea?“ I’m aware of my high pitched voice, but it’s not like I can do much to tone it down. Every part of me is in critical panic mode and rationality has accompanied my aforementioned conversational skills out the window.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Ignoring my texts, leaving me on ‘Seen’ and then declining my offer just to accept the same one coming from Corpse - can’t really blame me for finding it shady.“ She replies, her words making me wince and hide my face in the palms of my hands as though it’ll shield me from Rae’s brutal honesty and forthrightness. 

“I’ve been...bad at replying to everyone lately, nothing personal, I swear.“ Yeah, that sounded convincing, good gosh-darn job, Y/N!

“Why’s that?“ Something about her tone suggest she knows I’m lying and is just humoring me and my agony. I don’t know if to thank her for it or wish she’d just rip off the band-aid and confront me head-on. In that case I’d have only one of two options: freeze up or spill my guts. Honestly, I don’t know which is worse. “I thought you’d reach out to me, given you’ve found yourself in a pickle.”

I frown, confused and wary like I’m walking on thin ice over a pool of sharks, “Pickle? What pickle?“

“Corpse mentioned you needed dating advice.“ She replies simply as though it should’ve been obvious and as if it’s the most casual, regular and normal thing. Little does she know...

“Um, yeah, I guess you can call it that.“ I murmur sheepishly, my cheeks reddening.

“Who’s the lucky girl?“ She asks, the excitement now replacing the previous suspicion she was fronting, making me nervous as hell.

My heart skips a beat, “How’d you know I’m crushing on a girl?“

“Uh...“ She stumbles over her words, pausing to collect her thoughts and formulate a response, “Corpse told me!“ When the reply finally arrives it’s as high pitched as mine was earlier, suggesting something ain’t right.

I stay quiet, my mind and heart racing which is quicker. My leg is bouncing, my fingers are tapping the keyboard rhythmically as I rack my brain, pushing it to put the pieces of this enigmatic puzzle together, connect the dots.

When it finally does, I’m left with a horrific end-result, a realization that makes me go pale as a ghost, “He told you who said girl is too, didn’t he?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I keep the tone low so she doesn’t notice how shaky it is.

It takes her a few seconds to reply, but when she does I kinda wish she hadn’t, “Maybe...”

My first instinct is to excuse myself from the call, pack all my kitchen knives and drive to Corpse’s house but with my limbs having lost any and all feeling in them that is practically impossible. So, I settle for my second instinct which is hiding my face in the palms of my hands as though they can shield me from the immense embarrassment Corpse has set me up for.

“Listen...“ I start, not sure where I wanna go with this, “You don’t have to say anything, I get the hint. No need to bother with a gentle reje-“

“I like you too, Y/N!“ Rae cuts off my rambling with a melodic laugh, “I’m sorry, but you can be very oblivious sometimes, and I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine for a bit. Sorry if I freaked you out.“ Judging by her tone, she’s not sorry at all. In fact, she’s one step away from bursting out into laughter.

“Trust me, ‘freaked out’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.“ I sigh, exasperatedly, sinking into my chair alike a deflated balloon. “You and Corpse are gonna pay for that heart attack you led me to the brink of!”

This time, she doesn’t hold back, letting out the laughter she’s been holding back this whole time, “I don’t know how Corpse will do that, but could I pay my dues with a brunch on Friday?”

My eyebrows shoot up, “Miss Valkyrae, is this you asking me out on a date?“ I ask teasingly - aka with more confidence than I feel.

Please say ‘yes’. Please say ‘yes’. Please say ‘yes’.

“I don’t know, what do you think, Y/N?“ She asks, tone just as teasing as mine.

“Hey, I’m not as oblivious as you claim I am!“ I argue light-heartedly, “Does 2PM work for you?“

“Any time works for me.“ Rae replies, a smile blatantly evident in her voice. A smile that unleashes a flock of butterflies in my stomach.

And just like that, I have a date with the girl I’ve had a crush on for the longest time. It happened so fast it’s practically a blurred part in my mind, but one thing I’m sure will be crystal-clearly imbedded in my mind forever is that brunch on Friday. Just then, I get yet another text from Mr. Schemer himself.

That wasn’t so hard now, was it?

Some nerve he has, I swear to God.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Shadows of the Neon Lights - fic

Characters: Jason Todd, Damian Wayne Summary: He didn’t know what was more surprising - that someone else had come after him, or that it was Jason Todd, of all people, trying to stop him from killing. A/N: For Patreon supporter Leydy! Happy birthday sweet human, and thank you for all your support and kindness! You’re amazing! This is obviously some time after the Teen Titans Annual 2 confrontation/after Ric and Alfred’s death.

~~

He had the man right where he wanted. A wannabe serial killer who hadn’t found his stride yet, but already killed three sex workers. Each in a different way, so no one had found the connection yet.

But Damian had.

He’d followed him for days, and now he had him next to the dumpster behind the strip joint he was casing for his next victim.

The man was sniveling and crying. Begging for his life as Damian pressed the dagger against his throat.

Damian didn’t care. This bastard deserved it.

So he smiled, and pulled the knife back. Then spun it to grasp it in his fist, aimed it to plunge right into the man’s chest.

One less scumbag in the world.

But right as he began to drop his hand, a gunshot rang out, and the blade shattered in his fingers.

The man shrieked, and Damian jumped back with a curse. He glanced over as the Red Hood strolled out of the alleyway, dramatically blowing the smoke from his gun’s barrel.

“What’d he do?” Jason asked carefully, removing his helmet.

“Killed three women. Staking out a fourth.” Damian snapped. “But that doesn’t matter to you, he’s my ki-”

Jason’s gun went off again. The man jerked once, then collapsed to the ground, a hole between his eyebrows.

“Not your kill.” Jason hummed. “Robin doesn’t have kills.”

“In case you haven’t heard.” Damian drawled, kicking at the now-dead man’s leg as he stepped over him. “I’m not Robin anymore.”

“Yeah, B told me.” Jason shrugged, and that seemed to just make Damian more annoyed. “What’s up with that?”

Damian scoffed, crossed his arms and turned to look down the alley behind him. “Like you care.”

“I do, actually. You’re my kid brother, whether either of us like it or not.” Jason countered. “And even I’m not so stubborn as to ignore the fact that we’ve all been through a lot lately. It takes a toll.” Jason glanced down at him. “And no one’s checked in with you about it all, have they?”

Damian refused to look at him. “You said Father told you.”

“He did. But I don’t take his word for anything.” Jason smirked. “…I do believe him on the you not being Robin anymore, and also going on a killing spree thing, though.”

“It’s not a spree.” Damian hissed. “It’s what needs to be done.”

“But not by you.” Jason argued. “I thought Dickie got you off that path.”

Damian turned away from him completely now.

“…Ah. So Bruce was telling the truth.” Jason murmured. “This really is about what happened to Dick and Alfred.”

Damian didn’t answer. Stared down at the dead body.

“What happened wasn’t your fault.” Jason promised. Then he lowered his voice. “Especially not to Alfred.”

“I was there. I should have done something.” Damian whispered.

“You were tied up and unconscious.” Jason tried, stepping forward. “What were you supposed to do?”

“Fight back. Literally, anything.” Damian returned. “But what I didn’t do then, I’m doing now.”

“Killing them before they hurt too many, or anyone else.” Jason nodded. “In their honor, right?”

“I suppose.”

“You weren’t there for Dick’s situation.” Jason crossed his arms now too. Thoughtfully. “How were you supposed to stop that one?”

“Killed KGBeast when he became a known player.” Damian decided. “He would have been dead years ago, so unavailable to take the mission.”

“Sure, then someone else would have been asked to do it.” Jason sniffed. “And then they might have been a better shot.”

Damian didn’t respond to that. Didn’t move. Jason glanced him over, checked for any injuries or illness. Kid seemed fine at a glance. Just dirty, clothes starting to wear out. A few new holes that probably weren’t there when he started this little crusade.

Jason sighed.

“They wouldn’t want this for you, Damian.” Jason whispered. “Alfred or Dick.”

“Well, they’re not here to stop me, are they?” Damian snapped. His arms were still crossed, but now he seemed to bend in on himself. Hug himself.

“No, they’re not.” Jason agreed. “But I am.”

That made Damian turn around in surprise.

“And yes, before you whine about it, I’m fully aware it makes me a hypocrite.” Jason raised his hands in defense. “But we’ve lost enough this year. Excuse me if I’m not keen on adding you and your morality to that damn list.”

“…It’s what needs to be done.” Damian murmured sadly. “And Batman refuses to do it. That’s why, after all these years he’s been active, Gotham is still a hellhole. That’s why he loses those he claims to love time after time after damn time.”

Jason nodded. “Then I’ll do it. Not you.”

“I’m the most equipped to handle it!” Damian shouted now, stomping back at him. “I’ve been trained to do just this for my entire life!”

“And you shouldn’t have been!” Jason yelled back. “Talia should have protected you. Dick should have protected you better. Bruce should have talked to you about all this before he realized you’d already reached your fucking breaking point!”

“So then what else do you want me to do?!” Damian almost begged, tears welling up in his eyes. “Sit at home with the rest of you and grieve? Keep doing everything I was, like the only two people who ever cared about me weren’t ripped out of my life for no reason?!”

“I want you to slow down.” Jason said, tone instantly softer as he took hold of Damian’s shoulders. “I want you to let us take care of you.”

“Well I want to make sure no one goes through what we have.” Damian mumbled in return, the fight instantly leaving his system. “…What I have.”

“And I get that. I do.” He smiled and gestured to himself. “I mean, hello? I totally understand.” He let his smile drop. “But before we take care of everyone else, why don’t we try taking care of you first?” He paused for a second, squeezed Damian’s arms. “Why don’t we do it together?”

Damian just stared at him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure. Totally. So can I.” Jason winked. “But humour me. Just this once.”

Damian glanced down at Jason’s hands on his arms. “…You’re not going to let me go until I agree, will you?”

“You were taught better than to let your enemies get too close, remember?” Jason smiled.

Damian sighed and rolled his eyes. “Why do you care so much, Todd? What does it matter to you what I do?”

“Because as surprising as it may be, I don’t want you to end up like me.” Jason said honestly. A little too honestly for Damian’s taste. “You deserve better than… this.”

Damian looked him up and down. “…No I don’t.”

“A debate we can have later.” Jason laughed. “So, what do you say? Will you come home with me?”

Damian immediately jerked back in his hold, almost tripping over the dead body that Jason practically forgot was there. “No. No way.” He said immediately. “I am not going back to the manor.”

“Slow your roll, kiddo, you didn’t let me finish!” Jason called, reeling him back in. “You know I don’t live at the manor. When I say home, I mean come back to my home. A safehouse outside the city.”

Damian hesitated at that, eyeing Jason warily.

“I won’t even tell B that I found you, or that you’re with me.” Jason promised. “And I know you’re already itching to run. So at the very least, let me take you back to my place, get you a hot meal, a shower, and one decent night’s sleep. Then we’ll talk for real after that. Okay?”

Damian tilted his head, glancing up at the strip club in thought.

And it was a 50-50 chance that it would work. It could make the kid collapse in tears, or convince him to pull out that second knife Jason knew he had hidden on him and stab it into Jason’s throat. But he had to try. He had to.

“…It’s what Dick and Alfie would want you to do.”

To his surprise, Damian didn’t react immediately. Still kept his eyes upwards as he thought. Then, finally, he lowered his gaze to Jason. He blinked slowly, and Jason only now realized how tired the kid looked. Sad.

Lonely.

“Fine.” Damian said quietly after a moment. “I will take your food.”

Jason hadn’t realized his heart was tight with tension until it loosened at his words. He smiled and ruffled the kid’s hair as he stood, sliding his other hand down Damian’s arm until their fingers tangled together.

Damian didn’t even try to let go.

Jason glanced back at the dead man – who did deserve it, Damian wasn’t wrong about that – and made sure there was nothing around the body that would implicate Damian at least. When he saw nothing, he nodded and tugged the kid along behind him in the alleyway.

“Have any preference for dinner?”

“…Anything edible, I suppose.” Damian muttered  thoughtfully. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled lightly. Jason smiled sympathetically.

“Well, that rules out anything I know how to cook.” Jason joked. He heard Damian snort a laugh behind him. That was as good a start as any. “So how about we find some nice, greasy takeout instead?”

Damian squeezed his hand, and Jason took that as silent gratitude. A thanks he was too embarrassed to admit. “That sounds perfect.”

[staystrange]

heart is yours for the taking

Brooklyn Nine-Nine • Jake Peralta / Amy Santiago Rating: T • ~5.2k words • ao3 cw: slight mentions of drugs but no one uses them in the fic

It was officially the first day of summer. But it wasn’t just the first day of any summer, it was the first day of Jake’s first summer as Amy Santiago’s boyfriend, and Jake was determined to make it count.

-or-

Five times Jake's well-intentioned summer date plans end poorly and one time they don't.

This fic was written for @santiagoswagger as part of the @b99fandomevents summer 2020 fic exchange! I had such a blast writing this fic, and I hope that you enjoy it : )

Prompt: Snapshots of Jake and Amy’s first months as a couple through the summer.

I took this prompt and just ran with it and ended up with this! I've always wanted to write a 5+1 style fic but never had the right idea for one, so this was perfect.

Title from Summer Forever by Megan Nicole - one of my favorite summer bops!

011:58, 11:59, midnight.

It was officially the first day of summer. But it wasn’t just the first day of any summer, it was the first day of Jake’s first summer as Amy Santiago’s boyfriend, and Jake was determined to make it count.

He looked over at Amy, already asleep in the bed next to him. She’d come over to Jake’s apartment earlier that evening after a long day at the nine-nine (she was so busy that she hadn’t been able to get any extra paperwork done, which to her was an absolute disaster), and they’d eaten takeout pierogies for dinner before getting ready for bed early. Amy fell asleep almost immediately after giving Jake a tender kiss goodnight, but Jake was so excited for the date he’d planned for their upcoming Saturday night off that he couldn’t sleep.

Jake’s train of thought slowed in favor of focusing on Amy and how beautiful she looked, even asleep with drool moving steadily down her chin. No matter how many times he and Amy shared a bed, it never quite felt real to Jake, that he’d finally admitted his feelings for her and that she actually liked him back. Heck, Amy had broken rules for him, and he’d tried to follow some for her in return (though the whole “light and breezy” thing didn’t last long, but the effort still counted). But there she was, lying next to him as she had every night so far that week. It took all of Jake’s self control to not reach over and kiss her (he didn’t want to wake her); instead, he lay back down, facing Amy so that she was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep, a soft smile forming on his face as he drifted off.

1

“Ready to go, babe?” Jake asked, leaning his hip against Amy’s desk.

“Hold on, let me just finish signing this paperwork,” Amy muttered in reply, the pen in her hand moving at a snail’s pace along the dotted line on the bottom of the page.

“Ames, we’ve been over this. You need to do something about that speed. Not the drug,” Jake added quickly, “I mean how quickly you write your signature. You get what I mean, right?”

“Yes, Jake, I get what you mean.” Amy capped the pen and stood up. “I just have to turn this in to Captain Holt and then we’re good to go.” Jake followed her across the bullpen to Captain Holt’s office door, almost crashing into her when she turned around just in front of it. “You can’t come in with me, babe, I don’t want you ruining this moment between the Captain and me.”

“You mean ‘the Captain and I,’” Jake replied, a smug smile on his face, his determination to catch Amy in a grammar mistake overpowering his offense at her comment.

“No, but good try though.” She patted him on the shoulder before turning and walking through the door, closing it behind her to stop Jake from following her inside.

“Damn it, I thought I had her,” Jake said to himself, but he couldn’t help but smile proudly as he watched Amy hand her paperwork in, Captain Holt nodding with approval in response.

———

When Amy finally emerged from Captain Holt’s office fifteen minutes later, a pleased smile on her face, Jake reached for her hand, tugging her toward the door. “Come on, babe, our shift has been over for almost an hour already. We’re going to be late for our date.”

“Ooh, you’re taking me on a date tonight?” Amy squeezed Jake’s hand.

Jake grinned. “Yep! I actually managed to keep it a surprise for once.” He called the elevator, the doors opening with a ding a few moments later.

“And what are we doing on this spontaneous date that I didn’t get to prepare for?”

Jake winced internally, refusing to let Amy see the doubt that began to permeate his excitement. “You’ll see! The surprise isn’t over just yet.” He opened the passenger side door for Amy with a slightly comical bow before walking around to the driver’s side and sliding into the seat. He started the car and cranked up the radio to his favorite pop hits station, realizing in that moment he should have probably asked Amy to choose the station instead. At a red light, he turned to her to offer to change the station, but then the newest Carly Rae Jepsen single came on and he was too busy singing along, loud enough to drown out his own nerves.

When they pulled into the drive-in movie theater that had just opened right outside the New York City limits, Amy’s face fell when she saw that the night’s showing was of —

“Die Hard?!” Amy asked, incredulous. “Really? We haven’t even been dating for that long and we’ve already watched this movie way too many times. You pick this movie every single time it’s your turn to plan movie night. Why are we paying money to watch this movie again?”

“Because I thought it would be fun and maybe even a little romantic to watch it at a drive-in movie theater on a warm, clear summer night?” Amy raised her eyebrow, her arms crossing over the seatbelt. “I brought snacks, if that helps at all.”

“I’m listening.”

Jake reached into the backseat and handed Amy a plastic shopping bag filled with snacks: greasy potato chips and gummy bears for Jake, chocolate pretzels and salted popcorn for Amy. “Come on, Amy, you didn’t really think I wouldn’t bring snacks to entertain us, did you?”

“I mean yeah, the snacks help, but we could eat snacks and watch Die Hard at home, Jake. Remember when we talked about budgeting and saving your money?”

“Amy —” Jake was about to reply, but then the stadium lights shut off and the screen lit up with the opening shot of the movie. “We’re already here, I already paid for the tickets, and I already bought the snacks. Just try to enjoy this, okay?”

Amy opened the bag of popcorn, putting a couple pieces in her mouth and chewing contentedly. “Fine. But only because this popcorn is really good.”

2

“You took her to a drive-in showing of Die Hard and called it a romantic date?!”

The second Jake had arrived at the precinct first thing in the morning after his and Amy’s night off, Charles had marched right over to his desk and demanded details. Jake knew better than to deny him, so he told him everything, disagreement and all. Thankfully, Amy had the morning off, and Jake had let her sleep in.

Charles’s response didn’t surprise Jake, and he more than deserved the dig, but he still felt the need to defend himself. “It was romantic! Drive-in movies are totally perfect for early-summer dates, and I brought snacks and everything! And you should have seen the sunset behind the screen!”

“Okay, to be fair, that does sound nice. But still, come on Jakey, this is Amy we’re talking about! You’ve been in love with her for years! And then you get to go out with her, and you take her on a shitty date?”

“Okay, I know it wasn’t great, but I wouldn’t necessarily call it a shitty date,” Jake pointed out.

“Well, whatever, you can do so much better than that, Jake.” Charles’s face lit up with an idea. “I know! You should take her to Bon Appe-tweet, this new restaurant that I just discovered the other night.”

“Bon Appe-tweet?” Jake asked, fighting back the laugh that bubbled up in his chest. “I don’t know, Charles, is this another one of your weird food restaurants?”

“No! Jake, you’ll like it. They only serve bird-based dishes. Chicken, turkey, duck, the works. And it’s pretty fancy, so Amy will swoon, and then you’ll go home and make babies and —”

“Alright, Charles, thank you for the recommendation,” Jake said, cutting him off before he got too far down that rabbit hole. Even though Jake knew from many prior experiences that if it was something Charles recommended, it probably couldn’t be trusted, for some reason he had a good feeling about this one and decided to go with his gut. “I’ll make a reservation for later this week.”

Jake just hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

———

It was absolutely a huge mistake.

Everything was totally fine at first, to Jake’s pleasant surprise. He and Amy had decided to reserve an outdoor table since the weather was supposed to be clear and warm, and to their delight, the outdoor patio was surrounded by colorful sweet-smelling flowers. Jake decided to splurge and order a bottle of rosé for them to share, and they sipped the wine slowly as they perused the menu.

“Ooh, this fancy chicken dish that I don’t know how to pronounce sounds really good. What are you thinking, Ames?” Jake asked, looking up from his menu at his girlfriend across from him. Jake had told her to dress up for this date, and she’d chosen a dark blue dress that she knew Jake liked, her hair pinned up in a classy bun. She was stunningly beautiful; there were simply no other words to describe her.

“I think I’m going to get the orange chicken,” Amy replied, closing the menu and setting it down on the table, her hands folding over her napkin in her lap. “I’m still not totally ready to trust a restaurant recommended by Charles, but you can’t really go wrong with orange chicken.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jake said, raising his glass with a laugh.

They ordered their respective dishes when the waiter brought over a basket of bread, and they returned to their drinks, content smiles on their faces.

“This is better than the other night, right?” Jake asked

“Yes, definitely.” Amy took another sip of her rosé, her smile widening.

And then it happened.

The squawking coming from behind the restaurant building caught Jake and Amy off guard, and it was a miracle that neither of them sloshed their drinks onto the table or their clothes. Amy looked horrified, and Jake knew his face reflected a similar look back at her.

“Is there like a farm up the road or something?” Amy asked, her palms pressing into her ears.

“I have no idea!” Jake yelled back to be heard over the squawking.

When it finally stopped, Jake exhaled in relief, but there was something uneasy about the silence that followed. No one else dining out at the restaurant that night seemed to notice or care, though, so Jake chose to just shake it off and focus on Amy, whose initially anxious smile had softened as she drank.

Jake had managed to almost forget it until his and Amy’s food arrived and it hit him that the sounds they’d heard were chickens being murdered for their dinner. The thought made him sick.

“Here you go, sir, madam,” the waiter said, setting their dishes down in front of each of them. “Fresh from our in-house farm. Enjoy!”

“We can’t eat this, Jake!” Amy hissed once the waiter was out of earshot. “They murdered these chickens right in front of us.”

“I mean, they didn’t kill them right in front of us —” Jake stopped when the look on Amy’s face made it clear she was in no mood for joking. “Okay yeah, they might as well have. And normally I would support leaving right now and getting dinner somewhere else, but this food is expensive so if I have to pay for it anyway, we might as well eat it, right?”

Amy opened her mouth to argue, but sighed instead, knowing she couldn’t argue with Jake’s logic. “Fine. But please, promise me you will never trust Charles to plan anything for us ever again.”

“I swear on my original copy of Die Hard that I will never trust Charles Boyle’s food recommendations ever again.” Amy nodded her approval, gulping nervously before cutting into her food, Jake following her lead.

The chicken was actually really good when he didn’t think too hard about where it had come from.

———

“Charles, why didn’t you mention that they kill the chickens in front of you?!” Jake asked the next morning, marching up to Charles’s desk.

“Why wouldn’t they kill them in front of you? If your food isn’t being prepared in front of you at a restaurant, then what is the point of going to a restaurant?”

“Okay, Charles,” Jake said, giving up and turning to the pile of paperwork on his desk.

3

Jake had decided to stop testing his luck with dates for the rest of the week, choosing to plan nights in for him and Amy instead. The next week, though, Jake was feeling brave enough to try again, and this time he sought advice from someone older and wiser.

“Sarge?” Jake approached his desk during an afternoon lull in work. “You’re older and therefore wise and all-knowing. Where should I take Amy on a date this week?”

“You don’t know your girlfriend well enough to know where to take her on a date?!” Terry replied, looking up from his computer.

“No, I do, but I’m worried my ideas aren’t good enough for her. The dates I planned last week were both disasters, and I need a new plan. Where do you take Sharon for date night?”

“Well, we’ve been taking ballroom dancing classes recently and they’ve been pretty fun. They also really add to the romance level of the date, and they’re good exercise too. It’s a win-win-win! Terry loves romance.” Terry puffed up his chest in pride.

“Alright, I get it, you’re the king of dates. How do I sign up, and more importantly, how do I make sure I don’t embarrass myself in front of Amy?”

“I’ll text you the website link in a few, and you won’t embarrass yourself, Jake. It’s a class for beginners. Everyone’s in the same boat. Just let yourself have fun, and Amy will have fun too, okay?”

“If you say so, Sarge,” Jake said. “Thanks. I really appreciate your advice.”

“Anytime, Jake!”

———

“Jake, this is so cheesy,” Amy said a few nights later when they pulled into the parking lot of the dance studio.

“Is it, though? Or is it… romantic?” Jake paused for dramatic effect.

“It’s cheesy,” Amy deadpanned.

“Just trust me, okay? This is going to be fun. We’re going to have fun, I promise.”

“Alright, Jake, whatever you say,” Amy said, following Jake into the building.

After signing in at the front desk, Jake and Amy chose a spot in the back of the room, their eyes wandering around to scope out their classmates. Their instructor walked in a moment later, plugging his phone into the speakers and pressing play on a calming playlist. He led them in a series of stretches, and Jake pretended not to notice the popping sounds his joints made as he followed the instructor’s movements.

What he did notice during a particularly painful stretch, though, was a bag of cocaine peeking out of the pocket of the instructor’s leather jacket that he’d taken off and hung around the back of a chair before the class had begun.

“Ames,” Jake whispered when they’d returned to a standing position. “The teacher guy has cocaine in his jacket pocket.”

“Damn it,” she muttered. “We have to text the squad.”

“Or we could just let this go? For the sake of the date?” Jake asked, hope evident in his voice before he admitted defeat when he saw the look on Amy’s face. “Yeah, no, we have to call this in.” He stepped away from the group during a five minute water break and sent a quick text to Captain Holt.

Just as the instructor began to reorganize the group into lines of partners, the door banged open and Charles and Rosa ran in, Rosa yelling “NYPD, you’re under arrest!” and Charles running up to the guy and handcuffing his hands behind his back.

“What is this about? I didn’t do anything wrong, officers,” he protested.

“Then why do you have a bag of cocaine in your jacket pocket?” Charles asked, holding it up carefully in between two fingers.

“Damn it,” the instructor muttered. “I knew I forgot to do something before I taught this class.”

“Thanks for the tip, Jake!” Rosa said. “Sorry we ruined your date.”

“It’s fine, Rosa,” Jake replied.

Rosa and Charles led him out of the room in handcuffs as the woman working at the front desk ran in to assure everyone that they’d receive a full refund and a discount code for a future class at the studio.

“Why do our jobs have to interfere with our lives so much?” Jake said to himself as he and Amy followed the group out the door.

———

“You arrested the dance instructor?!” Terry asked in shock the next morning. “What the hell, man? I put in a good word for you! You’re going to ruin my reputation over there.”

“You think I wanted to ruin my date, Terry?!” Jake replied, arms flailing. “Now that’s three dates that have been ruined.”

Terry patted Jake’s shoulder gently, or at least what Terry thought was gently. “ There, there. And hey, look on the bright side - at least you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of Amy!”

4

“Alright, Rosa, you and Boyle interrupted my date last night, and I don’t trust Boyle to recommend dates for Amy and me anymore, so where do you think I should take Amy on a date next?”

“I don’t know, Jake, take her to a binder store or something,” Rosa replied calmly as she sharpened her favorite knife at her desk.

“I can’t take her to a binder store, Rosa, you know that she’s going to want to buy like everything and that’s going to get out of control way too quickly. Something else.” Jake crossed his arms, chewing his lip to use up some of his nervous energy.

“Fine, Jake. Take her to one of those paint your own pottery places. Those are always fun.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or making fun of me.”

Rosa paused, glancing up at Jake for a moment before returning her gaze to her knife. “I’m serious. I take myself out to those places all the time. I like painting the little puppy figurines, they’re so cute,” she replied in a deadpan.

“Rosa, oh my God, who are you? How did I never know that about you?”

She shrugged. “You never asked.”

———

Jake had butterflies in his stomach as they walked up to the doors of Color Me Mine, the late summer afternoon sun warming the pavement. He almost was too afraid to look over at Amy, but since his eyes were almost magnetically drawn to her, not looking at her was not an option. When he finally did turn toward her, she was smiling softly, and Jake’s pre-date nerves gradually eased until he was grinning, too.

“I love Color Me Mine!” Amy said. “I used to come here all the time when I was younger.” She reached for the door handle and opened it, the air conditioning cooling them instantly as they walked inside. “We should paint something for each other, babe.”

“Like what? Dog figurines?”

“No!” Amy said, her eyebrows furrowed. “Something practical that we both use at work every day, like…” She paused, eyes wandering around the room in search of the perfect item. “Like a mug!”

Before Jake could protest that hey, maybe he wanted to paint a dog figurine for his desk, Amy had crossed the room and picked up the display mug. “This is perfect, Jake! This was such a good date idea.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Rosa — I mean, thank me, it was all my idea.” Jake tried to cover up his mistake, but Amy’s smirk told him she saw right through it.

She set the mug back down before standing on her tiptoes and giving Jake a kiss on the cheek. “Come on, let’s go pick out our paints.”

“Okay,” Jake said softly, following her to the paint display.

———

Once Jake and Amy chose paints for each other (purple and blue for Jake; orange, yellow, and pink for Amy), they sat down at a small round table in the back of the room. Amy, ever the perfectionist, insisted they paint in silence for a while to ensure that the mug she painted for Jake turned out exactly the way she wanted it to. Jake was touched, and as he worked just as diligently on his mug for Amy, he found that the silence was a comfortable one, and he was content to just be in Amy’s presence.

Jake was just putting the finishing touches on the mug, trying not to let his hand shake too much as he painted Amy’s name on it in thin dark magenta lettering, when the sound of pottery shattering startled him, completely breaking his concentration. When he looked away from a crying child and his profusely apologetic mother, he noticed that not only had he completely ruined the lettering, he’d also bumped into the table, knocking over the water bowl which had spilled all over Amy’s lap.

Jake’s heart sank, knowing he’d managed to ruin yet another date. “I’m so sorry, Ames, I didn’t mean to ruin… all of this,” he said quietly, afraid to look at her face.

“Jake, it’s fine. These jeans are old anyway, and it didn’t really didn’t do that much to your mug,” Amy said, lifting the mug off of the brown paper tablecloth.

“No, it’s not fine. I had one job, and it was to not to screw up yet another date.” He could feel the volume of his voice rising so he took a deep breath, determined not to make the entire room of painters stare at him and Amy. “I’ll go get you some paper towels.”

Amy insisted that they stay to finish up their mugs, and even though she didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night, Jake couldn’t help but blame himself.

5

“Hey, Captain,” Jake began, closing Captain Holt’s office door behind him as he walked in. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Is this about the paperwork that was due on my desk yesterday that you did not finish before leaving to take Amy on another romantic escapade?” Holt asked, folding his hands with his pen still clasped between them.

“Uhhhhh, no?” He smiled sheepishly. “Anyway, since Amy looks up to you more than anyone else and you know her better than anyone else except for me, because, yaknow, we boink, and stuff —” Jake winced at his own awkwardness, but forced himself to continue. “—do you have a good recommendation for somewhere I can take Amy on a date? Preferably something that I can’t possibly screw up somehow.”

“Hm. There’s the new stationery exhibit at the MOMA that she would definitely like. Make sure you budget a lot of time; Kevin and I spent five hours there last week and we still did not manage to see everything.”

“Yikes,” Jake muttered to himself.

“Did you say something, Peralta?” Holt asked.

“Oh, uh, um, why didn’t you and Kevin stay longer?” Jake asked quickly.

“Oh, the security guards kicked us out. Apparently we’d completely missed the announcements and had managed to avoid security for a whole half an hour after the museum closed for the night.”

“Of course you did,” Jake said. “Anyways, thank you so much for your help, sir, I really appreciate it.”

“If you really appreciated it, you would have your paperwork on my desk on time,” Holt replied.

“You know what, fair.”

———

After finishing his overdue paperwork and all of his new paperwork for the day, Jake took Amy to the Museum of Modern Art and led her to the exhibit Captain Holt had told him about. The grin on her face rivaled the brightness of the lights in the building, and Jake was in… well, he had a heck of a lot of mushy feelings about it.

“How did you know I’ve wanted to come here ever since they announced this exhibit a few months ago? I never mentioned it to you,” Amy asked.

“I just know you that well, babe,” Jake replied, only feeling a smidge of guilt for taking credit for Captain Holt’s recommendation.

“Captain Holt told you about it, didn’t he?” Amy said, crossing her arms and turning to Jake.

“Okay, yeah, but still! I know you well enough to ask Captain Holt for recommendations!” Amy’s eyes narrowed, but her smile remained, letting Jake know she was joking. “Come on, let’s look at the fancy paper!”

“Stationery, babe,” Amy corrected.

“Fancy paper!” Amy rolled her eyes as they entered the exhibit.

———

Jake managed to feign enthusiasm for the first hour or so (he even felt it genuinely for a little while because Amy bled excitement as she explained each and every piece of stationery to him), but once he realized how much longer they had to go before finishing the exhibit, he felt his carefully controlled expression start to slip a little bit. He liked Amy a lot, and he wanted to enjoy this for her, but he just couldn’t. Still, he planned on enduring Amy’s long explanations for as long as she wanted to stay, because this date was for her and he was determined not to somehow mess it up.

“You’re bored, aren’t you,” Amy said after a while.

“What? No.”

“You keep staring out into space and saying ‘uh huh’ every three seconds.”

“I was contemplating the beauty of this piece of fancy paper!” Jake insisted, gesturing at the piece that Amy was explaining. Or at least, the one he thought she had been explaining.

“Well, I was talking about this piece,” Amy said, tilting her head toward the one adjacent to the one Jake had been referring to, “so clearly you weren’t listening.”

Jake looked down at the floor, unable to look Amy in the eye. “I’m happy to see that you’re so interested, and I love… listening to you talk for hours on end about whatever you want, I’m just really not that interested in stationery. But really, we can stay as long as you want, I don’t mind. Keep talking to me.”

“No, Jake, I can’t do that to you. You’ve already stuck this out with me long enough. I can just come back another time on my own; you know I have a membership.”

“Ames —”

“Really, Jake, it’s okay,” Amy said, linking her arm with Jake’s. “Let’s go home and watch a movie or something and go to bed early.”

“Okay,” Jake said. “But only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Jake had never felt this much guilt in his life.

+1

“Hey, Jake?” Amy said as she slid under the covers of her bed later that night. “I really appreciate what you’ve been trying to do for me by taking me on all of these sweet dates and making our first summer together extra special. But really, babe, I’m just happy being with you. You don’t have to put so much pressure on yourself.”

“But Ames, I managed to ruin every single one of those dates. You deserve better than five disaster dates in a row,” Jake replied, eyes turning down toward his lap in humiliation.

“Jake, I’m serious. Stop doing this to yourself.” Jake looked up at Amy and they locked eyes in silent communication of mutual adoration for a moment before Amy reached over and took Jake’s hand in hers. “You don’t have to prove that you deserve me or anything. I just want to spend time with you and enjoy our first summer as more than coworkers. Can we do that?”

“Yes, Amy, we can do that.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

“But hypothetically,” he continued, their hands still intertwined, “if I were to take you on another date to really make up for all of the other ones this time, what would you want to do together?”

Amy smiled. “Thank you for asking, Jake. I was thinking we could plan a beach getaway for next weekend. I already have an itinerary all ready to go in this binder.” She reached into the drawer in the bedside table next to her and pulled out a thick binder titled Jake and Amy’s Beach Getaway, handing it to Jake, who opened it carefully.

“Ames, why didn’t you tell me about this?” He flipped through the pages, smiling at Amy’s thoughtfulness. She’d really thought of everything - boardwalk rides and arcade games for Jake, relaxing and reading on the beach for Amy, and massages for the both of them. Jake’s heart was full.

Amy shrugged. “I was waiting for the right time, I guess. I didn’t want to interfere with the dates you’d already planned.”

“We could have done this ages ago! I’ve been asking the squad for date ideas for weeks because everything that I thought of was along the same lines as the Die Hard drive-in idea.” Amy laughed. “I wish you’d mentioned this earlier, but I’m excited for us to make it happen now.”

“Me too, Jake.”

———

Thankfully, Captain Holt granted Jake and Amy’s request to take the next weekend off, and together they drove to the beach house they’d rented for the weekend. They’d made a playlist before they left, and they’d spent the drive singing along terribly to Carly Rae Jepsen and Sara Bareilles and a bunch of random 80s songs that Jake had added.

After what felt like ages but was really just a few hours, Jake and Amy lay next to each other on the beach, enjoying the warm sun and the clear blue sky. It was surprisingly less crowded than Jake expected it would be on a Friday afternoon, but it gave them plenty of space on the beach, so Jake wasn’t complaining. Later, they planned to walk the boardwalk together and waste some money on the fun but endlessly stupid arcade games, and Jake couldn’t wait to win some giant stuffed animals for Amy.

She’d been right, of course. This was the perfect date, the perfect way to celebrate their first summer together as a couple. Jake should have asked her what she was thinking from the very beginning instead of trying to be romantic and plan everything himself. There were many benefits to dating an extreme planner like Amy, and this was definitely one of them.

Jake leaned over and nudged Amy awake from the half-asleep state she’d fallen into, kissing her softly. “Thank you for planning all of this for us. I’m so happy to be here with you.”

Amy smiled, lowering her sunglasses for a moment. “I’m so happy to be here with you, too.” She reached for the water bottle next to her and handed Jake the bottle of orange soda he’d bought at the vending machine earlier. “Here’s to our first summer together.” She gently tapped Jake’s bottle with her own.

Jake returned the gesture. “Here’s to hopefully the first of many.”

They each took a sip.

[theonewiththefanfics]

I’m Gonna Get Myself Back Home To You (one-shot)

Requested: by Anon (the same one who requested Just Touch My Cheek Before You Leave) hope you like this one :) not really a happy ending, but more so bittersweet... just the way things progressed, whoops :D

Synopsys: Sometimes time spent apart isn’t a good thing. Sometimes it lets the people drift too apart. And sometimes you just need to let things go.

Pairing: Ben Hardy x f!Reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: swearing??? maybe??? I don’t even remember :D

Word count: 2417

   For a while, Y/N had known something was wrong. The calls became sparser, the smiles were faked and the ‘I love yous’ were said through tight lips, eyes never meeting. So now, when Ben’s name was glaring at her on the phone screen, she had to swallow a lump in her throat.    “Hey, love,” he said, the usually bright green eyes, tired and glazed. “How are you?”    “ ‘M good,” Y/N mumbled, looking around their apartment. She felt like an intruder, had been feeling that way for a while now. “Actually, no. I’m not.”    Instantly worry flooded through Ben’s veins. “Are you alright? Do I need to fly out?”    They had gone to LA for two months to film additional shots for ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and as much Y/N missed Ben, it seemed like a blessing in disguise now.    “It’s actually much better that you’re not here,” she muttered, not looking at him. “If you were, I don’t think I’d be able to do this.”    “Do what?” Ben’s heart pumped so hard, it was the only sound he could hear. “Baby, what are you talking about?”    “I think we need to break up,” it was barely a whisper, and Y/N wanted to slap herself because, for the first time in months, her heart felt light. “It’s just not working anymore. I can’t take this.”    Ben didn’t respond. He couldn’t, for he no longer had a voice. He didn’t even think he was breathing. The sight before him became blurry, and hot wet tears dropped down in his lap.    “We can make this work. Please, love. I’ll- I’ll come home. Right now, just don’t do this.” “A relationship is not a fairytale,” Y/N said, wiping her own tears away. “Nothing magically falls into place, Ben. You have to work, hard, to keep that good thing intact. But I think neither of us has been doing anything to save it. We just kinda... let it roll on its own course and now we’ve drifted apart. Too far apart.”    “No, we can sti-“    “I’ll have my stuff out by the end of the week, and I’ll leave the key in the mailbox,” Y/N interrupted him before Ben could argue any further. “I’m sorry.” And with that she ended the call, curling up in a ball, letting sobs shake her body.

***

   On the other side of the world, Ben stared at the black screen of his phone, completely frozen in spot. He must have misheard the conversation, he must have made all of that up in his mind, cause there was no way in hell, Y/N would have actually broken up with him.    Faintly he heard someone call his name, but with the way his head pounded, Ben wasn’t sure if it had been a trick of the mind. A strong palm clamped down on his shoulder, and he was startled back to reality.    “Mate, you alright?” Gwil’s voice was the epitome of concern.    “Y/N,” he said turning around, eyebrows furrowed as his brain was still attempting to wrap around the new information. “She- umm- she just broke up with me… I think…”    “What?” Gwil’s eyes widened as he took a step forward his friend and gripped his shoulder tighter. “And what do you mean ‘you think’?”    “I mean, I just called her to say 'hi' and that I miss her, and the conversation ended with her saying she’ll have her stuff out of the flat by the end of the week.” Tears rose in his eyes. “That means she ended things, right?”    The question had the tone of ‘please tell me it’s not true’, but the looks his fellow cast mates shared between them, told Ben enough.    “What did I do wrong?” he was breaking apart at the seams. “Why would she do that?’    “I-“ the other Brit stumbled over his words, cause he truly didn’t know what to say. “I have no clue why Y/N would do that.”    Joe and Rami glanced at one another, Rami chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out something to say that would console their friend, but it would seem his fellow American was faster.    “Dude, what are you still doing here?” Joe came forward and pushed Ben towards where the trailers were. “Go and get your girl back.”    “B-“    “Every second you spend here, only pushes her further away. And if we have to be next to you as you sulk about a breakup, rather than simply being away from Y/N, I swear to everything holy, I will personally kill you,” it was Rami who said it, lips tugging up in a smile. “Go and help that girl get her head back in its place. She loves you, and I’ll be damned if there isn’t more to this than her simply wanting to break up.”    Without wasting another moment, Ben dashed towards his trailer, ripped off the clothes and wig, and like a madman raced to the airport.

***

The night was dark, as usual, but this time it also felt heavy. She had dropped Frankie at Ben’s parents, saying she had to go out of town for a couple of weeks and would only be back by the end of it. When seeing the confusion on Ben’s mom’s face, why Y/N wouldn’t be picking Frankie up, she made up a little lie, how Ben would be visiting London, and he would be flying in before the girl.      She had packed just the essentials and called up one of her best friends Anna, who at that moment was out of town, but allowed the girl to use her apartment. Being in the place where she used to see her future was too hard because now, nothing but ash floated in the air.    Pathetically, she was attempting to make some food. Pasta Bolognese seemed like something a toddler could make, but through the crying and shaking, she managed to overboil and turn the pasta into a mush and burn the sauce. She couldn’t even taste the tomatoes, even though she'd cut a whole one in, just to minimize the flavour of charred food.    In the end, she dumped the sad attempt at a dinner in the garbage and ordered some greasy takeout. Maybe that would fill the Ben-sized hole in her chest. Y/N gazed at the blank TV screen for what seemed like hours, before deciding on grabbing a hot shower and going to bed.    Scalding water met her skin and she savoured every flaming pellet. In a way, she thought to herself, it was like a phoenix rising from the ashes, only this time she wasn’t reborn. More so the water, if only for a second, washed away that defiled layer, of Y/N, that had had the audacity to hurt Ben.    But reality has a nasty habit of settling back in and ripping one out of a dream. As the warm water ran cold, Y/N reached out and grabbed a towel wrapping it around her body. Shivers had already settled in, but they could not be helped, for they were not of cold, but from the sobs, that overtook her form.    Crying, she slipped under the covers and crying Y/N fell asleep, letting her mind be overtaken by the blissful unconsciousness, where Ben existed; smiling and happy and not in the heartbroken state, she had left him in.

***

   Rapid knocks against the door woke Y/N up. She was delirious for a moment and thought she had only imagined it, but then they came again, this time stronger and much more persistent.    “I’m coming!” Y/N called out, her voice a rasp from all of the weeping she’d done the night before. Looking in the mirror, the girl saw just how horrible she looked, so quickly snatching her hairbrush she pulled it through her hair, once, twice. Deeming that part presentable, Y/N quickly rushed in the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face to somewhat give it an ‘I’m-not-a-zombie-please-believe-me’ look, before the knocks came again.    Grabbing Anna’s silk robe, Y/N pulled it over the tank top and shorts, and thinking it was her that had come home a bit earlier than planned from the trip, without thinking, she yanked the door open, only for all the air to be punched out of her body. “Y/N.”    Her name was a breathless whisper of hope, love and adoration on his lips. Of home. Ben took a step forward, ready to engulf her in his arms when she stepped back.    “What are you doing here?”    For a moment there, he couldn’t move a muscle, but luckily his mouth had a mind of its own. “Please, come home.” “I am home,” Ben could hear the pain in Y/N’s voice as she told the lie to him and herself. “No,” he shook his head, stepping inside her friend’s small apartment where she was staying until she found her own place, and grasping at her wrist. “No, you’re not. This isn’t home. It’s with me in our flat, where Frankie runs around like crazy. It’s where all of our plants die, cause we’re two bloody idiots who always forget to water them,” Ben stepped even closer and pressed his forehead against hers. “It’s where we started to build our life together. That’s home. Not here or wherever you’re planning on moving.”    “Then how come it no longer feels like it? How come when I think of us, it’s always you and me, separately?”    “Don’t say things like that, please, Y/N,” Ben was crying, and she couldn’t help herself. She hated seeing him hurt, so with a tender touch, she wiped the translucent pearls away. “I told you, we’ll make it work. I’ll take more time off, I’ll come and visit more often, please.”    “I don’t want you to sacrifice everything you’ve worked so hard for!” she harshly replied. “I won’t let you.”    “If it’s the price I have to pay to be with you, I’ll give everything up!”    “And then what?” Y/N scoffed. “Trust me, a few years down the line, hell, give it a few months or even a few weeks, and you’ll start to hate me and resent me for what I made you give up.”    “Do you not realise how little I care for any of it if I don’t have you by my side to take part in it all? It means nothing when I can’t share the world with the person I love most!”    “But I don’t fit in it!” and there it was. That vile truth Y/N hadn’t wanted to admit to. She didn’t fit in his world. He was a big-shot Hollywood star, girls and guys flocking around him 24/7, begging for any bit of attention the handsome Brit could give, and Y/N… she was just that… Y/N. A girl who got lucky when Ben had noticed her, and she had stolen his heart. A girl who fell in love with a blond-haired, green-eyed boy, whose smile could light up New York City in the dark.    And for a while, they had relished in the fantasy that was their lives, before Y/N noticed how different they actually were. He was surrounded by glitz and glam, while she was surrounded by essays and Red Bull cans and three all-nighters in a row.    He was the bright Sun, warming up the Earth and Y/N was a small meteorite hitting the atmosphere and burning up instantly, not even large enough to leave a mark that she’d been there.    “Do you love me?” Ben’s voice brought her out of the pondering, and two warm palms settled on her cheeks, making her look up in those emerald eyes.    “Ben…”    “It’s a simple question. Do you love me?”    A beat passed before Y/N answered, every single word being completely true. “I never stopped and never will stop loving you.”    He was just about to lean in to press their lips together when Y/N’s palm came in between them. “But love isn’t enough,” her voice cracked. “It’s never enough, cause you can’t build a relationship worth fighting for, off of it… and when you feel like an outsider looking in, it’s even more discouraging.”    “What can I do?” Ben whispered, desperate to somehow fix a seemingly unfixable thing. “How can I convince you, that whatever we’re going through, is worth it in the end?”    Y/N’s voice was small, the same way she felt. “I don’t know. I don’t think you can. Cause you’ve been nothing but loving and supporting and amazing. And the guys and all of your other friends, as well… and that’s the thing- no one has explicitly done anything to make me feel like I don’t belong… I just can’t help but feel that way… which is even worse, because then I’d have an actual excuse of why I’m throwing away three of the best years of my life, but I don’t.”    Ben sighed, wrapping his arms around Y/N, and this time she didn’t protest, letting herself melt in his embrace. He hid his nose in her hair and pressed his lips against her forehead before speaking.    “I know, that whatever I say, won’t change how you feel. Not now, but sometime down the line, I hope you realize how amazing and special you are. But I won’t push you to live in the limelight like I do. So, if you want to break up, I will accept it. Not gladly, but I’ll… figure out a way to move on.”    Her heart broke at Ben’s confession.    “But,” he said, “I’d like for us to try. We can start off completely new, a blank page, if you will,” his voice dropped down to a deep husk. “I just don’t want to lose such a good, thing. We’re so good together.”    Y/N’s mind was reeling as thoughts came and went one after the other. A new start, continue on with the old one or leave everything behind. Never had she hated being in the crossroads so much.    “I’ve already hurt you so much, Ben… I don’t wanna do it again.”    She heard him sniffle and felt his grip tighten on her body. “Then come home,” he replied. “We’ll work through it together, no matter how long it takes. Just come home.”    And despite everything, despite the fact she’d never truly feel like the fame and fortune was for her, Y/N nodded her head, pressing a kiss to Ben’s neck before burying her face in the crook of it. She'd fight for it because Ben was her home.

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A/N: boiiii, do I like to make you all suffer :D

Woke up this morning to find out there are 4k of you following my blog.... ummmmm whatttttt????!!!! hooooooowwww?????!!! whyyyyyyy?????!!!!!!

all of that aside- a huge thank you, for liking, commenting and reblogging my work. any author without an audience to share their pieces with would be nothing, so big hugs and kisses and all of that jazz to each and every one who follows me or just though ‘meh, that was alright’ :))))

P.S. what did you think?

P.S.S. my tags are always open, don’t be afraid to drop a message :)

[spacecaced]

10 pls

prompt:#10 “You’re wrong and I’ll prove it.”

I’ve let this ask sit for a while and I’m so sorry, but Iwas semi-saving it for when I could at least write something out that wasn’tcomplete rushed trash. this is still a bit rushed though, written during ashort break between classes and chugging my third cup of horrible campuscoffee. I finally sat down and edited it a bit. hope it’s, ya know, notterrible!

and if anyone has any prompts, numbered or otherwise, feelfree to send them to my ask, it’s always appreciated.

The thing about Steve is, he’s kind of incredibly oblivious. 

But there are worse things. He could be just a walking moron,but in Robin’s professional opinion (as a terrible best friend) he’s, at thevery most, a semi-functional space case.

The point is, Steve’s so Steve that hemight as well be blind to anything that isn’t explicitly spelled out to hisface. He jumps to conclusions sometimes, which are almost always wrong, and forthe most part he’s just content to ignore the nagging feeling in the back ofhis mind telling him he’s missed something.  

Maybe he’s just a sucker, but honestly there’s nothing wrong withbeing blissfully ignorant.

At least that’s what he’d been telling himself until Robin hadto go and wreck his delicate ecosystem of a very good thing going with Billy Hargrove.

It’s mid-summer break and Steve’s got his back pressed againstRobin’s in the middle of a park that isn’t really a park but a work inprogress. It’s close enough to the mall that they can bring their lunch outhere and enjoy the sound of trickling water from the decent looking fountaincenterpiece, while also getting some fresh air and exercise to sort of make upfor the greasy fries and takeout food they’ve got split between them.

“So,” Robin, and Steve knew by the tone of her voice nothinggood could follow, “how’re things with you and bright eyes?”

“He really hates it when you call him that,” Steve reminded,slurping noisily on a strawberry milkshake, pointedly ignoring theimplication. 

Steve remembers the first time Robin had met him, she’d squintedup at Billy, holding a hand up to shield some of the sun, and chirped out thatnickname like second nature. Billy had frozen in place, stunned, and forseveral moments there was silence, before Steve promptly laughed himself into afit because my god Billy looked like he was torn between mumbling out anawkward ‘thanks’ or biting out a defensive remark.

“He’s got these insanely bright eyes, what else am I supposed tocall him.”

Steve couldn’t really argue with that, Billy’s eyes being thekind of gorgeous a person could get lost in.

“You know there’s this funny thing called a name?”

“Nah, he’s bright eyes.” Robin says more decidedly.

“I think you just like pissing him off.”

“It’s true,” Robin agrees, with a shrug, “but how’re things withyou guys anyways, still in the honeymoon phase?”

Looking back, it would have been easier if he had the experienceand knowledge to just shrug and say something like ‘yeah sure’ but no, he hadto open his mouth and insert his foot right in.

“Honeymoon phase? That’s shit for like, people inrelationships,” Steve had tried fruitlessly to explain, steady as ever, poppingthe lid on his milkshake so he could dip his fries in, “Billy and I are justfucking around, you know that.”

“Come on, Stevie.” Robin had turned around, jostling Steve inthe process, fully facing him and pilfering from his fries, “you guys go ondates and shit like that – ” 

“We go to see movies – ”

“ – yeah and then you go to eat after, he always picks you upand takes you home right? He even stays over when your parents are out, don’tthink I didn’t notice you ditched me last weekend to ‘stay home’ you hate staying in that house allby yourself dude, I know you.”

“That’s – but – it’s not like that.” Steve finished weakly,absolutely floundering.

The thing is, Steve doesn’t do relationships.

Ever since Nancy, he doesn’t trust them, and he doesn’t likeputting his heart out there.

So, when Billy came along, with his seductive smile and lowvoice, with his easy eyes and that car – which okay, isn’t the best place tofuck in but is roomy enough for Steve to get his mouth on Billy and Billy’s handson him –Steve had jumped at the opportunity for something easy and fun. 

He’s a breath of fresh air that Steve has grown sort ofdependent on in the last eight months, when everything started and hasn’t shownany signs of slowing down.

“See, space case Stevie strikes again,” Robin adds pointedly,with a jab to his chest, food all but forgotten now, “bright eyes is so fuckinggone for you dude. He’s got heart eyes and everything.”

“You’re wrong.” Steve says, the wordsbursting like he’s trying to prove it to himself too, “you’re wrong and I’llprove it.”

Robin sits back, suddenly interested, “Oh yeah? How exactly areyou going to do that?”

That, in hindsight, was a good question.

It’s been four days and Steve still doesn’t have a damn clue howto bring that subject up himself.

He might as well have dug himself a hole and leaped into itvoluntarily, but it’s not his fault that Robin’s words are lodged in his brainlike a cancer.

He’s waiting outside the Starcourt Mall – thankfully this is oneof the days where he and Robin have opposite shifts so Steve doesn’t have todeal with her interrogations – and focuses all his willpower on gathering upwhatever courage is rattling around in him, untouched, to ask the kind ofquestion that will most surely ruin the one good thing he’s got going with Billy.

His phone chimes and he digs it out of his jacket pocket – gladhe had time to change out of his uniform because the last time Billy had pickedhim up while he was wearing that ridiculous getup, they’d learned first handthat fucking in the Camaro was a no-go and Steve’s uniform didn’t wash out easy– there’s about four notifications from Robin, slacking off on the job likeshe’s good at, and two messages from Billy that wreck Steve.

— hope you’re wearing those jeans I like

— be there soon baby

The comment about his jeans makes him laugh, because he iswearing the pair Billy likes to see him in, but the affectionate nicknametacked on at the end of the last message gives him pause.

Billy’s a fan of nicknames, he always has been.

But those nicknames: princess, pretty boy, pouty lips, sweetcheeks etc. They never mean anything; the only real purpose is to tease him.

Baby is a whole other story.

Baby is what you call someone you’re dating, someone you care about,and Steve can almost perfectly hear the way Billy’s voice would sound too. Thesmooth brush of the word against his lips as it rolls off Billy’s tongue soeasy. He can imagine it with perfect clarity because, he realizes with an awfulsinking feeling, he wants it.

He doesn’t just want to settle for imaging it. He wants the realthing.

Again, he blames Robin for making him think of feelings and thepossibility that Billy might be just as invested as Steve has unwittingly orsubconsciously let himself become.

He isn’t even sure if Billy is aware of even typing that, butwhen the familiar hum of the Camaro registers Steve finds himself sliding intothe passenger seat like second nature.

Billy’s eyes are on him, they always are, with one hand on thewheel and his sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. There’s thateasy grin on his face, not quite a smile but one of content. Billy always getsthat look on his face whenever Steve’s around, but it’s the first time he’sreally bothering to wonder why.

“How long have you got the house to yourself this time?” Billyasks, focusing back on the road while Steve lets his gaze linger.  

It’s hard now to ignore everything, bathed in sunlight with thefaint smell of Billy’s cologne and body wash. The sun cutting through thecrystal-clear windshield, fresh from a wash no doubt, since Billy takes care ofthe car better than himself, and shining in the soft waves of Billy’s hair,recently cut short – Steve kind of misses the length from before. He missesthe reaction he could gain from planting himself in Billy’s lap, tangling hisfingers in the long strands, and tugginguntil Billy’s making these beautiful pleading sounds, completely at Steve’smercy – but still no less attractive.

His thoughts are getting dangerous, so he shifts in his seat, “Probablythe whole weekend, maybe longer.”

They’re in Hawaii again, some long training seminar that his dadsigned up for, it used to bother him sometimes how they’d just up and leavehim. After the thrill of throwing parties without the fear of getting caughtwore off, it just left an empty feeling.

But then along came Billy, who takes up so much space all on hisown with loud noises and energy that sizzles. Steve thrives on it because he’drather drown in warmth, in someone, than in the stiff loneliness of an emptyhome too big for one person.

Billy fills up all the empty spaces in his life and Steve wasdoing fine just enjoying it, notasking questions or wondering where all of this was going. Because it’s easierto just go along with a good thing than to question it and have it blow up inhis face.

It’s the reason he can’t shake Robin’s words, because he’sscared. He’s scared that maybe he hasn’t been imagining those lingering glancesand the attention to detail Billy always shows him and he knows that as much ashe likes to tell himself it’s just messing around, it’s anything but.

“Steve?”

Billy’s voice, almost blending with the hum of the radio, bringshim back from drifting too far in his thoughts.

“You’re getting all spacey on me, pretty boy,” Billy says andSteve rolls his eyes while fighting a blush.

“Sorry, got a lot on my mind.” thanks to Robin.

Billy goes quiet for a bit, turning onto the street where Stevelives, “Anything I can help with?”

He’s usually a lot more talkative on these drives of theirs, butSteve’s been overanalyzing everything for the past twenty minutes instead. It’seasy to relax around Billy, to let all the tension of a day at work just meltaway, but Steve’s all wound up today and he’s sure that Billy can see it.

It’s no use even trying to lie, “Just – it’s stupid – just Robinbeing,” he gestures.

“Robin?” Billy finishes for him, a smile tugging at the cornerof his lips.

Steve hates how good that look on him is, “Exactly.”

By the time the Camaro is parked, settled on the driveway of theHarrington’s place like it belongs there, it’s not hard to see that no matterhow much he wants to make up excuses or deny what’s happening; Billy has becomesome fixed point in Steve’s life, silently and steadily without much commotionat all.

It’s a bit alarming.

“Hey, I gotta deliver that part to Benny –” Billy was sayingonce they were inside, tossing his keys onto the little table by the front doorand hanging his jacket in the hall closet where it belonged, Steve was slowerto follow.

Before, they’d hardly make it in the door before Billy wassucking at his neck or pushing his shirt up and over his head. They would havebeen leaving a trail of clothes all the way up to Steve’s room. Hell, sometimesthey wouldn’t even make it to a room – Steve blames Billy for being so goddamninsatiable and making him just as starved in return – but now they’re makingsmall talk and Billy’s only touched his ass once on the way into the kitchen.

But even that was intimate, as far as ass grabbing goes, andSteve can’t piece himself together enough to not make an idiot of himself.

“What are we doing?” He asks, he can’t even help himself really,he has to know, leaned up against the counter.

Billy looks at him like he’s grown another head, water bottle inhand as the fridge shuts behind him, “That’s what I was just asking you. Like Isaid, Benny needs that part and I figure if we’re already going to be overthere we could just grab something to eat at the diner.”

“Not, not that I mean –” so much for letting it happennaturally, “I mean us, Billy.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, like…” Steve gripped at the countertop behind him, “whenwe started this we agreed it’d be casual, like no string attached, but – but itjust doesn’t feel like that anymore, it feels like it’s so much more than justthat and I –”

“You want to stop…”

Steve’s ridiculous rambling is cut off straight away and heglances over at Billy this time, in time to see the way he retreats intohimself a bit, the stiffness in his stance and alright maybe he shouldn’t havestarted the conversation like this, but goddamn was he fumbling.

“No, no, no. I don’twant to stop.” he rushes, closing the space between them till he can smellBilly’s fancy cologne and nearly hear his heart beating out of his chest, voicegrowing smaller as Billy’s hands find their way to his waist on instinct justas Steve loops his arms around Billy’s neck and it’s moments like these hereally misses Billy’s longer hair, “That’s kind of the point, I don’t ever wantto stop being with you.”

Billy’s eyes kind of sparkle, that fire back in them like Steveis familiar with, a playfulness in his tone, “You askin’ me to go steady with you, Harrington?”

And Steve pinches the back of his neck, just enough, “You’re areal smartass you know, ruining my romantic speech and all that.”

“Romantic? Doubtful, I’ve been putting in the real work here,you think it’s easy trying to win you over, lemme tell you babe you’re toughwork.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, kind of oblivious too, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Once or twice.”

“You’re lucky I’m crazy about you.” Billy tells him, and allSteve can do is grin before tugging Billy down so they’re kissing in the middleof the kitchen. A place he’d never really set foot in much before but now he’scome to have memories in every part of the house.

Making breakfast – burningbreakfast – with Billy in the mornings. Showering while Billy brushes his teethand does all his tedious grooming. Billy falling asleep with his head pillowedin Steve’s lap, watching reruns of some sitcom. Going for a Sunday swim in the pooland feeling more alive than ever. Mostly, just waking up to Billy with his armstight around Steve and his annoyingly loud snoring and knowing that this waswhat it felt like to be loved.

“You’re mine now, no take backs.” Steve adds, but somehow he’s sure that won’t be a problem.

(Of course, the next day at work, Steve was barely in the doorbefore Robin was shooting him an all-too knowing look. Steve doesn’t evenbother with words, just flips her off on his way out to the counter and triesto ignore the shriek of I knew it!Because honestly, for once he’s glad she was right.)

[hoyoungy]

Elevator | Taehyung

genre: fluff, comedy, neighbor au | taehyung x reader summary: you’re stuck in an elevator with your favorite neighbor to hate just minutes before the new year. luckily, he has chinese takeout with him word count: 1724 a/n: happy belated birthday to taehyung! and happy new years to you all ~

New year’s eve didn’t give you the luxury of calling off of work. In fact, it did the exact opposite - extended hours. Because of course your boss’s mentality was, ‘oh, no one else is going to be open on new year’s eve, we’ll make loads more if we stay open later!’

He wasn’t wrong - he was actually right on the money. A lot of money. The best part about staying open late was that you made a lot of tips, so at least you left with over a hundred in your pocket. You just didn’t want to admit he was right.

But the money didn’t make up for your exhaustion or your never ending hate towards certain customers. It was always your regulars who got too comfortable and would say ‘I really don’t want to pull the ‘let me talk to the manager’ card, but looks like I’ll have to today’ and for some reason that card was always pulled more frequently during the holidays. You’d think during the holidays that customers would be a lot nicer, but nope.

’Tis the fucking season, am I right?

Your nose and cheeks burned red from the chilling wind but the warmth of your apartment complex lobby helped a little bit. You pushed the up button on the elevator and waited patiently. You were so ready to rip off all your sweaters, pour yourself a warm, bubbling bath, throw in rose petals and pretend you had a significant other who did all of this for you. What a way to ring in the new year.

“If it isn’t my favorite neighbor ~” a voice equivalent to nails on a chalkboard sang beside you.

You rolled your eyes dramatically and faced your blond neighbor. “Hello, Taehyung.”

Out of all the apartment complexes you’ve lived in, Taehyung was the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. You saw him all too frequently in the hallways and every single time, he always asked ‘where’s my hug?’ Taehyung was the where’s-my-hug guy! Like, can you believe? That obviously wasn’t even the worst of it - he always asked for ingredients to cook, always sang too loudly, and you can’t even count how many times you’ve housed him because he was so drunk that he locked himself out of his place.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, my love.” You gagged when he winked at you. “What are you doing coming home thirty minutes before the new year?”

“I wanted to have one last tinder hook up of 2017,” you said bluntly.

“Without me?”

“Gross, I’m kidding. I was at work.”

“Unfortunate.”

“How about you?”

Taehyung holds up a bag of Chinese takeout in front of you with a grin on his face. “Delivery guy came.”

“That’s how you spend your new years?”

“No other way I’d rather spend it, to be honest.”

He’s the first to enter the elevator as you look at him with a quirked brow and followed suit. You always though Taehyung was the party type of guy, considering all the times you’ve housed him, he smelled like women’s perfume and like he paid too much for a beer on tap. So hearing he’d rather stay home alone with tons of Chinese takeout was surprising.

You both stared outside the glass elevator, taking in the sight of all the twinkling lights and the people outside awaiting the fireworks. It was a very festive and beautiful sight to see, although it was weird sharing the moment with your favorite worst neighbor.

“You didn’t tell me about your plans,” Taehyung noted.

“That’s because I don’t have any.”

“Well, if you’re lonely tonight -”

“No.”

“What!? C’mon, you never want to hang out!”

“Actually, I do have plans,” you smiled smugly at Taehyung’s surprised expression. “A very handsome and sexy bubble bath is waiting for me at home.”

“Three’s company, you know.”

“Oh, shut up, you pervert -”

The elevator suddenly halted, throwing you and Taehyung to the floor. You could already feel bruises forming from the impact. Normally, others in the same situation would panic, especially minutes before the new year. But you, on the other hand, thought that this was the cherry on top to your day. Looking at the floor number, you let out a loud groan. Of course you would be stuck at the level just below.

You didn’t bother standing back up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Let me call the police, or whatever this button does,” he said, pressing the red emergency button.

“Hello? Are you ok in there?” A voice asked over the intercom.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Taehyung answered. “We’re stuck.”

“Ok, stay calm. There’s a lot of traffic in the streets right now, but we’ll get to you as soon as possible.”

“How soon is soon, exactly?” you asked.

“Two hours at least.”

“Two hours!?” you screeched.

“We’ll see you soon,” they said, and they hung up.

“Two hours,” you repeated. “Two whole hours. In an elevator. With Kim Taehyung.”

“The one and only,” he said, pulling out one of his five boxes of takeout. He handed you another pair of chopsticks. “Lo mein?”

Begrudgingly, you took them and ate the greasy noodles, earning a cute smile from the boy sitting beside you. You both leaned against the door of the elevator, watching the people below you setting up to watch the fireworks.

“At least we have a good view,” you said sarcastically.

“And it’s warm in here.”

“I guess it could be worse.”

“What could be better than being stuck in a warm elevator with a nice view, shitty takeout, and a hot guy?” he smirked.

“Do you always try this hard with other people?”

“Honestly, no, I don’t.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe.”

“Because you never gave me a chance.”

He merely shrugged and gave you a small smile. But there’s something about the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes that seemed much sadder. You opened your mouth to retort, but you quickly filled it with more noodles.

From all the failed attempts of asking you out and flirting, you never seriously thought about the intentions behind Taehyung’s actions. It was hard to believe that someone like him - someone so charming, flirtatious, and as much as you hated to admit it, so cute - could never just have you as his sole target.

After an entire box, you both felt the sluggish toll on your bodies from the umami taste. Looking at your phone, you noticed five minutes were left of 2017.

“Jeez, only twenty minutes have passed?” Taehyung said, peering over your shoulder. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. You stood up and walked toward the window. “Cheers to 2017.”

“Do you regret anything from this year?”

“I wouldn’t say regret - more like I wish I spent $30 a month towards more important things instead of wasting it at a gym that I never go to.”

“Hey, there’s still hope! New year, new you.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” you chuckled. You looked at Taehyung, who was now standing next to you, eyes sparkling from the decorative lights. “How about you?”

“You remember those blue contacts that I had for a little bit? With my short haircut?”

“Oh, the one that made you look like King Joffrey from Game of Thrones?”

“In which you proceeded to call me King Joffrey Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.”

“Yeah, what a great couple of months that was.”

“I liked how you waited that long after you moved in to tell me that,” an airily laugh left Taehyung’s lips.

“I didn’t want to be mean just yet.” Looking out the window, the countdown to two minutes popped up on one of the buildings.

“I guess I also kind of regret all the nights I’ve crashed on your couch,” Taehyung continued.

“Only kind of?”

“Don’t hate me, but uh, I kind of faked being drunk and losing my keys on some of those nights.”

“What!?” you screeched. You hadn’t noticed, but as the minutes passed while you were talking, Taehyung had gotten quite physically close to you.

“And by some of those nights, I mean all of those nights.”

“Taehyung, what the hell!?” you said, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Why in the world would you do something like that!?”

“It was the only way for me to get close to you!”

“You couldn’t have asked me out to lunch or something like a normal person would!?”

“Oh, don’t act like you would have said yes.”

“I might have…!” Taehyung gave you a blank stare. “… Ok, so maybe not, but really? You had to resort to that!?”

“You never said no.” Taehyung took a step towards you, leaving a small gap in between.

“Even so, I mean, you could have tried convincing me to go out on a date with you! I would much rather have you bother me about that than waking up to loud banging on my door and having to carry you to my couch. You know, just because you’re skinny, doesn’t mean you’re not heavy because, surprise! You are, in fact, a very heavy person, and I, for one -”

Oh, how cliche was it for Taehyung to grab your face gently and pull you in for a light kiss as the fireworks bursted in the air. Just because his lips were soft, you were supposed to suddenly fall for him? Was this supposed to be romantic? Or hide the fact that he faked being drunk for a whole year just to get close to you?

Well, whatever the reason, it was definitely working.

You sighed before hitting his chest playfully.

“Ow, hey!”

“Don’t interrupt me like that!”

“Happy new year ~!” Before you hit him again, he grabbed both of your wrists and wrapped them around his neck before slipping his own around your waist.

“Yeah, whatever.” You pulled him down for another sweet kiss under the fireworks.

“… You didn’t purposefully stop this elevator, did you?” you asked after pulling away. You knew your answer when he gave you a cheeky grin. “I hate you.”

“Happy new year ~!” he chanted again, kissing you before you nagged him some more.

What a start to the new year for you.

[universitykpop]

Reputation; Series (Part 8)

Summary: Zhang Yixing was a typical jock. He had the looks, athleticism, and cockiness, all the makings of a football boy. Though he was popular and had people around him at all times, he didn’t talk much. There had to be another side to him, and you needed to find out.

PART 8

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Member: Chanyeol, Lay, and Xiumin

Words: 2,164

A/N: This part has been such a pain in my ass. Please enjoy it.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

The silver rhinestones stitched into the dress glimmered under the fluorescent lighting in the dressing room. Your reflection was beautiful, but the hem of the dress was shorter than what you would have liked. You tugged on it only for it to retract back into place. Throwing the curtain to the side, you stepped out into the lobby of the dressing room.

“Chanyeol, I’m not feeling this one.” You gave him a look of uneasiness.

“You look really pretty in it. What’s wrong with it?” He stood from the bench to get a closer look.

“It’s too short. What if I drop something? I can’t bend over.” You pointed out, glancing down at the dress.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” He sent you a greasy grin, to which you punched him in the shoulder. “I’m kidding. My aunt can fix the length.”

You sighed, “Do I have to go to homecoming?”

“Yes! How is Yixing going to be jealous if you’re not there to show him what he’s missing out on?!”

“He already doesn’t like me because of you! The fact you asked me to homecoming didn’t help with that either!” You shouted, making the tall boy droop.

“I’ve already said I’m sorry. I can’t take back what I did. But you’re just as much at fault as I am. You let it happen too. If I had known you liked Yixing, I wouldn’t have let it go as far as it did… You know what? Just forget it. You don’t have to go to the dance.” Chanyeol turned to leave the dressing rooms.

You acted quickly before he could exit. He reluctantly looked into your eyes as you began, “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. You’re putting a lot of effort into helping me. I shouldn’t be complaining. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, even if all of it didn’t go right.”

He stared down at you for a moment and then tugged you into a tight hug. “I know we’ve only been friends for a little while, but I love you. Not romantically but like family, you know? I would do a lot for you.”

“Thank you, Chanyeol,” You mumbled into his sweatshirt, “But I’m still gonna kick your ass for how you asked me.”

-

Half time was almost over, and the cheer team’s routine was coming to a close. You watched slightly zoned out until the cheerleaders lifted up posters with the question, “Go to HoCo with me?” You snorted at the poor person who was being asked. This was as embarrassing as it gets. The speakers cracked before Chanyeol’s voice came over.

He walked to the middle of the cheerleaders’ formation with a bouquet in one hand and the mic in the other. His hair was sweaty and plastered to his face. The black paint on his cheeks was smudged. Who in the world was he asking? You didn’t know of anyone he was interested in.

“Y/N, I wanted to show how much you mean to me, and what better way to do that than in front of almost the entire school?”  He spoke, earning praise from the crowd.

Your face felt like it was on fire, your eyes wide in fear.

“So, will you go to homecoming with me?”

“Y/N, go down there!” Jia nudged you out of your seat. You hesitantly hurried to the nearest gate to the field and jogged to Chanyeol with the crowd cheering for you.

“Will you?” He smiled widely at you. Well, you kind of couldn’t say no in this situation…

You nodded, accepting the flowers and wrapping your arms around his waist. As the crowd freaked out, Chanyeol pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

-

“Why are you like this?” Chanyeol whined.

“Because. Now go get your aunt so we can get the dress fixed.” You waved him off.

His aunt owned a successful formal dress store which made it easy to find a dress. School dances were just a bunch of hassles disguised in sparkly dresses, heavy makeup, and unnecessary hype.

A kind, short woman entered the room with a familiar smile. She asked you about lengths you were comfortable with as she measured you. Chanyeol appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Chanyeol, when are you going to actually date a nice, sweet girl like Y/N?” His aunt piped up when she noticed his presence.

“You promised you weren’t going to meddle!” He immediately devolved into a child.

“I know, but seriously, Yeol. I want grand nieces and nephews one day, and that’s not going to happen if you keep up your silly playboy phase.”

You glanced up at him with a suppressed grin to see him stood, arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line. This obviously wasn’t the first time he had heard this from his aunt.

-

Never having a boyfriend meant never having to deal with everything that was homecoming. Mums and garters were ridiculous. There were so many things that had to be added, and you were starting to wonder if it was worth all the trouble.

There was a mess across your kitchen table; ribbons, glitter, bells, and bows everywhere. Adding a stuffed toy mascot to the center of the flower, a bit of hot glue landed on your thumb.

“Son of a bitch!” You jerked your hand back, surprisingly not messing up the garter, “Why is this necessary?!”

Just as you felt like throwing the garter across the room, your phone rang with a text from Chanyeol telling you he was outside your house. You sprang from your seat and opened the front door. His eyes widened before a smile broke out on his face.

“Well, don’t you look cute.” He looked you up and down.

“Stop.” You whined, knowing he was mocking your comfy clothes. He didn’t look too bad himself in those sweatpants.

“Is that him?!” Your mom excitedly yelled from the kitchen, “Invite him in!”

Chanyeol followed you inside, holding a giant mum. How were you supposed to pin that to your shirt without the fabric ripping?!

“Oh, my! It’s so beautiful.” Your mom said once she caught sight of the mum.

“Thank you. I had to get my mom’s help for some of it. I didn’t mean to make it so heavy.” Chanyeol chuckled, “I made it so that you can put it over your shoulder instead of pinning it.”

“You made this?” You were shocked. It never occurred to you that he could create something so artistic.

He nodded proudly, and you felt bad that the garter you made couldn’t come close to the same quality.

“I just finished your garter, but it’s not as good. I did it myself.” You trudged to your dining room table, picking up the pathetic excuse.

“What are you talking about? It’s amazing!” Chanyeol’s grin was ear to ear; you had to keep yourself from pinching his cheeks.

“Put them on, so I can take your pictures!” Your mom pulled up the camera on her phone.

You helped Chanyeol slide the garter up his arm, and he laid the mum over your shoulder. His arm rested around your waist, giving a light squeeze as the picture was being taken. After your mom took more pictures than necessary, she was quick to invite him for dinner.

“Chanyeol, are you staying to eat?”

“Oh, n-”

“Sit, sweetheart. You’re staying. It’s almost done.” She smiled before going back to the kitchen.

“I am so sorry.” You nervously laughed.

“Don’t be. Takeout isn’t healthy anyway.” He watched your mom buzz around grabbing bowls in amusement.

“So, did that girl say yes to Yixing?” You asked quietly.

Chanyeol’s head snapped in your direction, “You didn’t see it on Twitter? She said no, like not even a gentle let down. Someone videoed it. Apparently, she has a boyfriend that no one knew of. Yixing is going to homecoming solo for once.”

-

The school dance was so hyped up for the past month, you were pretty let down when you actually arrived at the school gym. The football guys had wanted to show up for the last hour of the dance, and now you understood why.

“Just wait for the afterparty,” Chanyeol spoke into your ear, guiding you to one of the lunch tables with a metallic table cloth and an ugly centerpiece with balloons.

Hani sat beside you while the guys went off to get drinks. Your eyes followed Yixing, admiring the way his body looked in slacks and a button up.

“Stop, you might start drooling.” Hani nudged your leg with her knee.

“I can’t.” You whine, “How does someone say no to him?”

“Someone who has tall, dark, and handsome from the soccer team.” Hani pointed toward the dance floor where the female lead of the musical slow danced with Choi Minho.

Ah yes, Minho; amazingly athletic and charismatic. A smile that could make anyone swoon and a body that could make anyone faint. What was keeping you from crushing on him?

And there, you could hear why. His laugh, the most annoying thing you’ve ever heard…

Before you scrutinized her boyfriend any more, Chanyeol sat a cup of punch in front of you. The seats on either side of you and Hani were occupied by your dates. Chanyeol’s arm rested on the back of your chair naturally.

Your foot tapping along with the music, your gaze wandered around the room and noticed Ahn Hyejin peeking over at Chanyeol. You quickly nudged him, almost making him spill punch in his lap.

“What?” He asked as if there was an emergency.

“Have you ever been with Hyejin?” You whispered into his ear.

His body tensed at the question, and he hesitantly nodded.

“She keeps looking over here. You should go dance with her.” You discreetly gestured in her direction.

“She probably wants to kill me, not dance with me.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“We hooked up a few times. She really liked me, and I think I liked her too, but I pushed her away.”

“Do you still like her?”

“I don’t know.” Chanyeol squirmed in his seat, avoiding your attentive gaze.

“Go dance with her. Maybe this is a second chance.” You nudged him with more force. He turned to protest, but you pointed a finger in his face. With an exasperated sigh, he stood and unsurely made his way to the short girl.

You watched as he asked her to dance, her looking back at you in confusion. You quickly gestured for them to go out on the dance floor, giving her assurance to dance with your date. His awkwardness melted in no time as the two of them fell back into a familiar comfort.

“Hey, would you be mad if I went out there with Minseok?” Hani asked in your ear.

You faced your friend with scrunched eyebrows, “Why would I? Go have fun.”

Once they left, you realized you were alone. Though grinding on random classmates wasn’t the most fun thing to do, you felt left out. Ever since Chanyeol kissed you at that party, you’ve begun to feel like you were a part of something, and now even that ‘something’ was leaving you behind. You downed the rest of your punch hoping that somebody had spiked it. While you looked into the empty cup, someone tapped your shoulder.

“Yixing?” You exclaimed in surprise.

“I noticed your date isn’t with you.” He stated… with a hint of disapproval?

“Yeah, I told him to go dance with Hyejin.” You explained.

“I see… Do you want to dance with me?” He asked nervously.

There had to have been alcohol in that punch. Yixing had been actively avoiding you for a few days and now he wants to be a friend?

“It’s a slow song though.” You reminded him, but he only held his hand out for yours.

Yixing led you into the crowd of hormonal teenagers and placed his hands on your hips, keeping a decent amount of space between you. He rocked the two of you side to side to the beat of the cheesy love song. Your heart was pounding against your chest; this was the best thing to happen out of the blue. You just hoped your hands weren’t shaking where they rested on his shoulders.

“How have you been?” Yixing questioned over the music.

“Good. What about you?” You answered as casually as you could.

“I’ve been pretty busy,” He shrugged, “I need to ask you something though.”

“What?”

“Do you-”

“Students, please clear the floor, so we can announce homecoming court.” The principal abruptly interrupted the music and, unfortunately, Yixing. The crowd started to disperse, and Yixing took your hand to guide you back to the table.

“What did you want to ask?” You tried to get him to return to your conversation.

“It can wait.” He smiled weakly and abandoned you at the table for football players with dates.

[etherealxch]

because you’re here

word count : 2077

[a/n] : a rocky scenario this time! i was feeling pretty down when i was writing this because it was kinda based off my current situation. anyway rocky’s been creeping his way up my bias list sorry not sorry . hope you guys have fun reading this! and i hate to be that fan but AROHAS!! DON’T forget to vote for ASTRO on MUSIC SHOWS ETC! AND KEEP STREAMING ALL NIGHT! 

I look at the laptop screen in front of me, the light from it bouncing off my face. It’s open to one single window, displaying my e-mail inbox. The first message from the top is blue, still unread. My finger hovers uncertainly over the mouse, then finally with some courage, click into it.

‘Dear Miss Ong, we would like to thank you for considering our company Unfortunately, we regret to say…’

My shoulder slumps down in defeat. This was never going to go well, was it? I sigh, rubbing my face suddenly exhausted. I take in deep breaths because I don’t want to be suddenly breaking down in tears in the public library.

I log off my email account and lean back against my chair. This was the fourth time I’ve tried to apply for a job this month and also the fourth time I’ve been kindly rejected. Either they don’t need anyone at this moment, or I don’t have enough qualifications, or I’m just too 'good’ for their company and I shouldn’t waste my talents at such a small company.

I hold and release my knuckles, holding them tight till they’re white and stretching them wide when I release them. It helps me stop wanting to cry. I gather up my things, pushing back my chair to leave. As I’m walking past the librarian’s desk, my phone gives a shrill ring and I realise I forgot to turn my phone on silent when I came in here.

“Hello?” I ask, slightly breathless as I hurry down the steps outside.

“Hey,” Rocky’s voice comes down on the line. Hearing his voice makes me immediately want to vent to him. But I know he’s working at the architecture firm right now and since it’s his lunchtime, I don’t want to steal any more of his free time unless I really need to.

“What are you up to right now?” He asks.

I imagine him, leaning against the window by his desk, phone by his ear. “Just left the library. You?”

“I’ve been working on a new project this entire morning with Myeong Jun and the others.” He stifles a yawn. “It’s been pretty hectic lately. I’ve barely seen you.”

“I miss you.” I sigh.

“I miss you too. I–”

'Rocky! I need you to come look at this!’ I can hear Myeong Jun’s voice calling out.

“Be right there!” Rocky shouts back. He turns his attention back to me. “Sorry, that was Myeong Jun. This new client of us is seriously a pain in the–”

“No, it’s okay.” I cut him off gently. “Go do your work.”

“I’ll call you tonight, is that okay?” He asks. I can’t help but smile, four months into our relationship, he still always asks before calling me.

“Yes.” I laugh. Talking to him, my spirits have momentarily been lifted, but once he’s not there to distract me, my wanders to my rejected job applications. My stomach growls, telling me it’s hungry. I walk to a bakery near the library to buy a sandwich, since I’m not in the mood for a proper lunch.

As I look over the two selections of sandwiches–chicken teriyaki and tuna mayo–, someone taps me on my shoulder.

“Liv! I thought that was you!” My old classmate whom I haven’t seen in a while, Fiona smiles.

“Fiona–hi!” I say, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

“I haven’t seen you since high school! What are you up to these days?” She asks, as we take a seat outside the bakery. I take a sip of my juice, taking my time to answer her.

“Umm, not much. I’ve been trying to look for a job.” I stir my straw around my overpriced drink. The ice spheres clink gently against the glass, the mint leaves sticking to the sides.

“Any luck?” She asks. Gloomily, I shake my head.

“What about you?” I move away from the subject of me continuously failing to get a job. She tells me about how she’s working for a pharmaceutical company and she’s now on their research team. I smile, telling her that’s great since I know that’s what she’s always wanted. But I can’t help feeling bitter in the pit of my stomach. She must notice a change in my mood because she pats my back and tells me that I will eventually find a job that it’s better to take my time and filter out the good jobs instead of just rushing into things.

“Thanks.” I don’t tell her that I can’t even filter out any jobs because there are no jobs.

I reach home about 3 in the afternoon, with a bag of groceries that I had gotten on my home. Buying groceries is my way of saying thank you to my roommate, Ae Ra is who letting me stay here for only half the rent. Without her, I’d be homeless. I check my e-mail to see if there is anyone who needs my translating service. Freelance translating jobs are my only sole income now. The pay is great but since I only have a degree, there are only so many documents I am qualified to translate. And nowadays, most people use the internet for these things.

Ae Ra sends me text saying she’ll be late tonight. She’s probably meeting up with her boyfriend. I sigh, just when I need some company. I think of my boyfriend who’s been stuck at work almost every night since the last two weeks. We’ve mostly video called when he’s off work, lying in our respective beds, talking about literally anything until either one of us falls asleep first.

But I miss him. I want to see his face. And have him tell me everything’s going to be fine. I shake my head, telling myself no.

“He needs to rest too.” I tell myself firmly. I take a shower, washing my hair that’s been greasy for three days because I was so nervous about hearing from the company that I was incapable of keeping up with my personal hygiene. The sun sets pretty early these days so when I’m done with blow drying my hair, the sky is looking dusty rose with streaks of dark greyish lavender clouds. This has become my favourite time of the day.

I open the balcony sliding door and with a mug of tea in my hands, I settle on one of the lounge seats outside, shaped like a half-opened egg with a cushion for my butt. I lean back comfortably, staring at the sky and hearing the sounds from the neighbourhood–a couple of housewives talking about the prices for fish and poultry these days, students complaining and laughing together, the sound of a construction lorry reversing with someone directing the driver.

Around 6:23 p.m. I realise I’m starving and cook up a quick dinner. It says 15 minute meal on the YouTube video but what they don’t tell you is that it takes about another 12 minutes to look for ingredients and have them ready, a 10 to wonder if I should’ve put that much soy sauce in the soup. Over dinner, I scroll through my email inbox again, coming across the email telling me that I didn’t get the job again.

My gut tightens and all of a sudden, my faces scrunches up and big fat tears are rolling down my face. I think of how Fiona basically got her dream job and that increases my sadness. I try calming myself down.

“Hgnnnh, it’s okay, hgnh hmmghh,” I sob. “It’s not like you’re hgnh, completely out of a job. You have, a, a, freelahggnhh…” The thought of how unstable freelance work is only makes me cry harder. I move from the kitchen to the living room in a state of half-sobbing and half feeling sorry myself. I let myself cry, because I’ve been telling myself that no one owes me anything and that I need to work hard by myself and this is only a small trip on my way to success and I’ve always held back then, never once crying.

The doorbell rings and I use my sleeve to wipe away my stray tears and snot. Dammit. Did Ae Ra order something online again? I open the door to a red and white takeout box covering my boyfriend’s face. He pops out from the side, about to say 'SURPRISE’ when he catches sight of my face.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” He immediately drops his jokey act.

My chin wobbles a little but I suck it in, not wanting to go through the ugly crying in front of him. Instead, I take a step forward and hug him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. His familiar scent seems to calm me down.

“Just let me be like this for a sec.” I mumble into his clothes. With his one free hand, he puts it on the top of my head, patting it gently as you would to a child.

“Um, should we go inside?” He asks, as one of the neighbours gives us a weird look as he opens his door.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, once we’re inside. He sets the food on the table and follows me to the living room, where I plop down on the couch.

“You haven’t eaten dinner?” I ask, avoiding his question.

“No, I wanted to eat with you but I guess I should’ve called first huh?” He gives one of his smiles where the left corner of his lips is raised slightly, glancing at the kitchen counter where my pot in sitting, unwashed.

“Sorry.” I say meekly. He takes my hand, and even though it’s been countless times since he’s done that, my heart still does that skippy thing.

“It doesn’t matter.” He pushes back my hair that’s covering part of my face gently. I look at him properly, his black hair is getting long; it’s almost going into his eyes.

“I didn’t get the job.” I say, my voice small. “I just. I thought that this would be the job. Everyone around me is doing something with their life. I’m still stuck here, where I’ve been ever since I’ve graduated.”

He pulls me in for a cuddle, not saying anything. And I appreciate that. Because he knows that no matter what he says now, I’m inconsolable. He lets me vent to him, which I do. I tell him about Fiona and her job. He listens, his face serious and attentive. He uses his thumb to wipe away a stray tear on my cheek when I get too emotional again.

After I’m done talking, I lean into the crook of his arm comfortably and he rests his chin on the top of my head. This action is simple really yet I’ve always considered this an intimate action between couples. It makes me feel very warmed and loved inside.

“I know that, no matter what I say now, it’s not going to be able to change how you feel.” He pulls away slightly so he can look into my eyes. “But I just want you to know, it’ll be alright, okay?” He presses his lips to my forehead.

“Thank you for coming.” I say.

“I’m glad I came when I did.” He cups the side of my face and smushes my cheeks together, making me laugh. “You know you can always call me right?”

“I know,” I nod.

He sighs. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy these few weeks. I wish I could be here for you every time something bad happens.”

“You’re here now.” I shake my head, refusing to let him blame himself. His stomach makes a growling sound and I realise in horror that he’s been sitting here, listening to me vent for about an hour now and he hasn’t had dinner. We take the food from the kitchen to eat in the living room. He tells me about his day at work, re-enacting the funny anecdotes that happened. As I watch him picking off the cucumber in the roll, his face illuminated by the television glow, I feel a swell of love for him and reach over to give him a peck on the lips.

“What was that for?” He chuckles as I hold his face in between my hands, like he did.

“Just because you’re here.”