#first one was supposed to be part of an assortment of scenes but whatever fuck that i'll make another one

[dolokhoded]

spamming random art so i hold back from posting the apostle designs before they're done i wanna talk about them so much BIG JAMES IS DELIGHTFUL !!!!!

[1kook]

commercial break; SEVEN

this is part of my netflix & chill series ! happens a few months before part 7 

summary; And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare. It’s a perfect plan.  warnings; horny jk, jk wants to roleplay... everyone point n laugh, mentions of his impreg kink lol, making out, tits, honestly jk is just very horny n in love lol, jk in a vampire costume w fangs O_o rating; mature (18+) wc; 2k

notes; if u don’t know who lindsay is first of all ur sick, second of all here’s my queen’s top moments. also i just gotta say, this was originally gonna be a larger fic (a halloween special) for my ncouple, but i got a lil busy with school n ultimately didn't have time to invest in this as a whole installment so..... enjoy this commercial break instead!!

Jungkook loves Halloween.

He loves the pumpkin carving and the decorating. Loves the spooky music and the abundance of candy. He loves it, absolutely adores it, and for the second year in a row, he gets to spend it with you! Yet another person he loves very much.

He doesn’t remember ever being this excited for Halloween. Last year, you had roped him into going to some frat party with him, had egged him on, begged so cutely that it was your last year in college, baby until he caved. The two of you had spent the night drinking until you blacked out, Ubering home with your costumes half on, and then unceremoniously fucking in his living room with the blinds wide open.

(The next neighborhood meeting had been very awkward for Jungkook.)

It was his first time ever drinking with you like that, and he vaguely remembers, through his own drunken gaze, how cool you had been. Had absolutely owned a bunch of greasy football players at beer pong in your little sexy nurse costume. And when the crowd cheered your name, shrieked in awe, it had been him that you turned to for praise. “Did you see me, baby,” you had giggled, crowded him against the wall of this random house until Jungkook was sweating profusely. In lieu of a costume, he had worn a silly jogger set with a skeleton design that was supposed to glow in the dark, according to Amazon. You had told him he looked adorable, had kissed and squeezed his cheeks until Jungkook was a flustered mess.

It was still early into your relationship— if Jungkook did the math, you were only about five months in at that point —so he didn’t know how else to cope with the rapid thundering of his heart, the confession sitting on his tongue, the then scary L-word begging to be heard. So, he took you home and fucked you until your little nurse cap slid off your head and you were begging for him to let you cum, thus earning him his first ever offense for violating the neighborhood rules (i.e., traumatizing a group of middle schoolers by fucking in plain sight).

Long story short, Jungkook loves Halloween, and he loves it even more when he gets to spend it with you.

(He’ll never admit it, but he’s a hard romantic. He wants to do cheesy things with you, like cuddle you into his arms when you get scared, pat your head until you can look at whatever is happening on screen again. He wants you to feel safe in his arms, wants to be your refuge when things become too much. He likes to think he’s done a pretty good job so far.)

Jungkook’s plan goes like this:

First, welcome you with that Halloween basket you’ve been sending him tweet links about all month. The cute little Jack-O-lantern candy bucket stuffed with candy and hair ties and a soft Halloween themed blanket. It’s so cheesy, makes him blush when he catches sight of it in his closet, but Jungkook will do anything to please you.

Next, after presenting you with your Halloween gift and having you coo and tell him he’s a good boy, he’ll invite you to break your new soft blanket in. The living room will be prepared with an assortment of your favorite foods, the flat screen ready to play whatever horror movie the two of you settle on.

And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare.

It’s a perfect plan.

It’s the best way to spend his favorite holiday, with his favorite girl by his side and some of his favorite horror films on the big screen. Jungkook spends all of October geeked up for it, even considers hanging up lights around the living room to really set the mood. He’s so excited, can’t wait to spend another wonderful holiday at home with you, that he doesn’t fully realize why you haven’t brought up the long awaited topic of costumes.

“You like?” you ask, standing at the door of his bathroom with a sultry look in your eye, tits practically pouring out of the tight top you’ve wiggled into, skin oiled up scandalously. He fumbles with the fake vampire fang prosthetics he’d been trying to glue in for the better half of an hour.

He had heard the door open downstairs when you got here, had called out his mandatory greeting as he heard you come up the stairs. But none of that had prepared him for the sight of you in… whatever this was.

Jungkook doesn’t really understand exactly what you’re supposed to be dressed up as until the two of you are back downstairs—blinds drawn, full moon slipping in through the cracks—with some random horror movie pulled up on the TV. “I’m Lindsey,” you whine, brand new fluffy blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It shields your boobs from view, but he’s not sure if that’s a win or a loss. “From Total Drama Island!”

He settles in beside you, doesn’t get too comfortable because it’s nearing sundown now and he knows the herds of children are bound to start flowing in. “Uh huh,” he says mindlessly. His collar feels itchy, the overly-detailed vampire costume he meticulously scoured the internet for being one size too small. You snuggle into his side anyway.

“You don’t know anything about cinematic masterpieces,” you frown, avidly tuned into The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, because apparently you love horror movies all of a sudden, a fact that genuinely throws Jungkook off. He’s not sure what it is about you that had deluded him into thinking you would be a scaredy cat, but he doesn’t take the new bit of information too hard.

The doorbell rings right as the first gorey scene ends and you make a big show of huffing and whining as he rushes to answer it. But it’s only the beginning of the long night that awaits, and, as Jungkook comes to find, running back and forth from the door to the couch is harder than it seems.

Anyway, Jungkook’s neighborhood is a little posh, or ‘bougie’ as you like to claim, and trick-or-treating hours end a little before eleven pm. By then he’s tired, having refused your offer to switch places in fear that your boob might fall out of that scrap of fabric you call a top and earn him his second neighborly offense.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to your boobs falling out in private.

“Stupid,” you giggle when he gets caught in his long cape, the sound slowly melting into a whimper as he slips his hands beneath your top, fighting with the ridiculous push-up bra you’ve donned tonight. Hands tangle in his hair, mess up the careful side part he’d styled up for tonight, and legs lock around his waist. “Your curtains closed?” you tease.

He huffs, catches your chatty lips with his roughly, presses and presses until your mouth must bruise. He belatedly remembers about those sharp fangs he’d glued on—hey, if he was going to dress up as some gaudy monster it might as well be realistic—and doesn’t realize until he tries to bite your neck and you let out a little yelp. Truthfully, he feels bad right away, but then you’re practically dissolving in his arms so he plays along. “Shh,” he hisses.

The roar of a chainsaw and terrified screams fill the living room, almost drowning out the soft sounds you release by his ear. “O- Or what?” you pant, flinch when he pushes your sad excuse of a skirt up over your waist. “Gonna b- bite me?”

And so Jungkook does.

You shriek. “That hurts, you idiot!” you scold with a tiny whine in your voice, but Jungkook’s cock is so hard. Your tiny, tight outfit does you no favors. Tits in his face, tiny thong against his bulge. He wants to make you sob, litter bites and marks all over your skin until his love makes you ache. You must see the crazed look in his eyes, because you drop the scowl. “Hey,” you say slowly, hand on his chest. “You look like you’re gonna eat me.”

He lets go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He wonders if you can feel his thundering heart beneath your palm. “Fuck,” he sighs, leaning away to regain his senses. Was it something in the air? Was it the fatigue? The full moon? Why did he want to fold you in half and fuck his cock into you until you were a crying, shivering mess? Something about you tonight, laid out for him to take, makes him feel absolutely insane. Starved and psycho; he just wants to take and take until you don’t have anything more to give. He purses his lips, tries to ignore the hot feeling in his lower abdomen when your hardened nipples register to his eyes. “I think I’m becoming evil.”

Of all the idiotic things his brain can come up with, this one is definitely top five. His cheeks flush right after, fueled by the boisterous laughter that escapes your lips at his statement. “Oh my god,” you gasp in glee, hands falling down beside your head. “You’re becoming evil?’

Jungkook frowns, flopping down on top of you to hide the embarrassment that paints his face. “Shut up,” he mumbles against your neck, warm and safe.

A hand cards through the back of his hair, nails dig lightly into his scalp. “Aren’t you the cutest little vampire,” you coo, seemingly ignoring the rock hard cock Jungkook presses against your thigh. He’s still so horny, has this sick thought that he could just pin you down right here, tear that silly costume to shreds and swallow you up in his lust. But your voice is so sweet, has his eyes fluttering shut as you gather him in his arms. “Silly vampire,” you hum, one leg thrown around his hip, a subtle roll of you hips up into him.

Jungkook huffs, licks a flat strip along the base of your neck. It draws a shaky exhale from you, has your hands digging into his back when he begins to slowly lap against the skin, nibble and tug until your back is deliciously arching up into him. “Wanna push you down,” he confesses quietly, hands securing themselves against your hips as he leans back. You're all dazed, eyes trained on his fanged mouth when he hesitantly adds, “l- little human.”

You could laugh, tease him for his sudden weird need to role play with you, but you don’t. A look of understanding crosses your face, sly smirk slowly following. “Oh?” you grin, hand coming around to cup his cheek. “The little vampire wants to use my body?” Jungkook tightens his jaw at your jab, but nods nonetheless.

You’re a feast before his eyes. Boobs in his face, pussy begging to be filled. You’re his, just like Jungkook is yours. And when you indulge him and his stupid whims—kinks, he should say, occasional interests that sometimes make him question himself—his heart feels warm and full. Proud and unashamed, like the truest version of himself when you look at him with those eyes. And your words only confirm it.

Your hands reach down for your top, pull the flimsy material over your head in one swoop that has your bra coming off with it. It drops to the floor. If it makes a sound, Jungkook doesn’t hear it over the shrieks of terror on screen. the blood deaths, the suspenseful music. All he hears is he hammering of his heart. 

It’s two of your sneaky fingers that come up to play, pinch one nipple tenderly as you meet his eyes. “It’s all yours,” you purr. “I’m all yours.”

And the thirst he feels, well. It’s a little vampiric, to say the least. 

—

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[hannie-dul-set]

wc: 3.9k | warnings: swearing, some violence, cheating mentions

it was past noon when you and seolhee parted ways after eating lunch at an admittedly over-priced restaurant. you two decided to go out because she was leaving the school in two days. the whole jeno incident led almost the entirety of the student body to deem her not too fondly, so even if you wanted her to continue her education here, it would only be hard for her to cope with.

seolhee said that she did not expect jeno to apologize for the things that he did, but you still had your hopes up. which was why the conversation you two had over lunch made you feel a lot lighter inside.

("he said sorry! oh my god, i'm still thinking that it was a dream."

you let out a laugh at your friend's upbeat demeanor, reaching out to a napkin to wipe your lips. seolhee accidentally hit the table from her excitement, but luckily none of your drinks toppled down. "well, he could do more than apologize," you started. "maybe make it up to you by clearing up the situation that happened at the cafeteria so that you wouldn't have to transfer."

a slight frown tugged down the corners of her mouth. "an apology is enough for me, really. that much already means a lot considering his personality. and even if he does clear it up, i've already enrolled at eastwood so there's no undoing it anymore."

you placed down your fork, looking at the hazy expression on your friend's face, and then you opened your mouth to speak.

"do you still like him?"

seolhee choked on her drink.

"no!" she hastily wiped away the stray droplets that made their way onto her chin, staring at you as if you've just accused her of a crime. "of course not! oh my god, y/n—" there was a red hue that washed over her face, and you couldn't hold in your laughter. "i—i was just happy that jeno has the capacity to change. he actually seemed genuine, you know? it was the first time i've seen him like that."

seolhee droned on about how the confrontation went. you didn't get to listen even though you were on the line with seolhee— after hearing jeno's intentions of asking her to meet, you ended the call to respect their privacy.

"he told me that i could punch him if i wanted."

"did you?"

"i would've ended up with a broken hand."

giggles erupted and the clacking of utensils followed after. you finished your meal before her, taking a sip from the remaining liquid in your glass with the straw. it was still quite early, so you figured that you still had an ample amount of time to talk.

"i'm glad that everything turned out well for you, seolhee," you started, placing down your glass on the table. "but remember not to sell yourself short. you shouldn't be satisfied with the bare minimum."

"i know…" she sighed. "that's the most we could get out of him at the moment, and i'm satisfied with that. actually, i don't think he would have even done anything if you didn't reach out to him. so thank you, y/n."

seolhee held gratitude in her eyes as she looked at you, and you pressed your lips together into a thin smile.)

you stared at your phone as you sent your last message to seolhee, walking down the sidewalk on the way to the bakery that chenle and jisung always went to. they were close with the owners, apparently, but you've never gone there until now. the smell of freshly baked goods sent you the signal that you were nearby, and you confirmed upon seeing the lines of pastries displayed from behind the glass windows of a cream painted building.

it was a quick purchase, your hands now full thanks to the three boxes of assorted pastries. you were sure that they'd fight over it if you only got them one— so getting one for each of them would be much better. the other one was for you to bring home to your parents later.

"thank you so much, taeyong! i'll be sure to stop by often," you shot the handsome man behind the counter a smile before turning towards the exit.

"bring the kids with you too! they haven't gone here in a long time and i'm starting to think they've forgotten about me," you laughed at his words, nodding, before finally facing the glass doors that led outside. taeyong was nice, and you were already planning your next visit here. there was brightness in your face as you reached for the door handle, though with great difficulty considering the stack of boxes that you were trying to balance with your other hand.

you were about to push the door open, but you froze, brows furrowed, and the brightness of your face dimmed down. there was a scene going on from across the street— four people ushering themselves into an alleyway. normally you wouldn't be as affected, but you knew these people, and an ominous feeling buried itself in your gut.

"taeyong?" you turned around once more, eliciting a curious expression from the older male. "can i leave these here for a while? i'll be back, there's just something i need to do."

he was evidently confused by your sudden request, but he relented without any questions. you thanked him one last time before finally exiting the bakery, making your way across the street.

"had fun fucking my girlfriend last night, lee?"

it was difficult for donghyuck to maintain his carefree composure when he was shoved against the brick wall with his ribs and jaw throbbing in pain. sweat trickled down his forehead and his hearbeat rang in his ears. he wondered how the fuck was he supposed to get himself out of this situation. 

"look, hyunsung. i get that you're pissed, but let's tone down the violence, yeah?" donghyuck let out a wave of nervous laughter, raising his hands in front of him in surrender. "i didn't know she had a boyfriend! so can you really blame me?"

that was a lie. donghyuck knew well that cheonhee (or whatever her name is) was, in fact, taken. someone from the party last night told him so but he didn't exactly give much of a fuck. he thought it would be fine because they were from different schools, anyway— but it looked like he was being too careless.

hyunsung still had him trapped against the wall by the collar, the bigger male's glare drilling holes into his skin. donghyuck knew he wouldn't make it out alive if he made a run for it. he wasn't that strong or fast, and the damned neanderthal still had two other friends to back him up. all donghyuck could rely on was to somehow fool him into letting him go.

but even that didn't seem easy.

"you think i'm gonna believe that, you little bitch?"

donghyuck's blood ran cold and the grin on his face twitched. he felt his lungs squeezing in suffocation when he was pushed harder into the concrete walls, even if what he was saying was true, hyunsung was seeing too much red to believe him. a fist was raised, and he prepared himself for the impact of the third punch.

"kim hyunsung, jung hayoon, and kang jiho."

a gentle voice somehow stopped hyunsung from moving. a mixture of confusion and relief washed over donghyuck, but that was quickly overturned by unease. he froze. he knew that voice, and he internally cursed.

oh my fucking god, were you stupid? at that point, donghyuck decided that being punched would have been the much better option. why the hell were you here? and another question— how did you know these people? worry was writhing inside his gut and he bit down his lip as he watched you walk closer to the scene.

"i didn't expect to see you again, y/n," hyunsung's attention was momentarily diverted to you, but he was still helpless pinned on the wall. jesus fuck, this guy was strong. your gaze quietly moved over to donghyuck, and he hoped that you got the message that he was mouthing. hyunsung leered at him, which brought donghyuck to quickly shut his mouth.

your lips tugged down into a frown. "and i expected that all those corrective sessions with the dean would've at least made a dent into that personality of yours."

hyunsung scoffed. "righteous as always. you know this fucker?"

"he's a friend," you calmly stated, and donghyuck narrowed his eyes. what were you planning? "and i suggest that you let him go."

there was a phone in your hands and the screen was open. he couldn't see what was on it, but then you flashed it over for him and the other three boys to see. "i believe you were already at your final warning before i transferred from daeil academy."

donghyuck could see hyunsung's jaw clench as the guy glared at your phone, and it caught his intrigue. on your tiny phone screen was what seemed to be an open conversation with someone, and on the message box were a series of similar pictures waiting to be sent. donghyuck couldn't see the pictures clearly, nor did he know who were you planning on sending it to, but he got the gist of situation.

"hayoon and jiho might not get any major punishments," your eyes flickered over to the two boys, and they froze upon your stare. hyunsung's grip tightened. "but you're already on your last thread, hyunsung. you'd be expelled once the dean sees this."

at that point, donghyuck concluded that you were very very scary. but you were also very stupid for getting yourself involved in his own problems. no matter how much leverage you had over hyunsung at the moment, a guy like him would still find a way to get back at you.

"you've already done a number on the guy. don't you think that's enough?" you reasoned. "this isn't my business in the first place, so i won't send this if you let him go."

hyunsung's glare was as cold as ice.

"delete it."

but you didn't seem to be shaken at all.

"of course."

you sighed, explicitly showing to him that you permanently deleted the evidence from your phone. hyunsung finally let go of donghyuck, and he released a long breath, hid hands gently nursing the bruise on his face. the pain on his jaw and chest was momentarily dulled by his fear that you'd also get pummeled, but it once again resurfaced and donghyuck flinched at the throbbing feeling.

"you're still the same, y/n," hyunsung let out a bitter chuckle, signalling the two other boys to start moving, and you sent him a nod and a smile.

the three eventually left, but donghyuck still hadn't moved from his spot. he stared at you who seemed to be frozen in thought, that is until you released a sharp huff of breath and your knees nearly gave in to the floor.

"oh dear god, i thought i was going to die," you exhaled, sauntering over to donghyuck who was ready to catch you in case you actually did fall over, but you shot him a glare to stop him. "don't move— you're hurt."

donghyuck gulped and firmly nodded in obedience. you found yourself before him, but you didn't say anything further yet. you didn't scold him or ask him if he was sleight. instead you had your yes locked on your phone, fingers tapping down before shutting it off and shoving it down into your pocket. you finally looked up to him, and your brow raised upon seeing his puzzled expression.

"what were you doing?"

"sent a message to the dean."

his eyes widened. jesus, you were seriously scary. before donghyuck could press on any further, you quickly snatched his hand, staring over to the only opening that led out of the alley. "c'mon, let's go."

you already started walking before he could even retort, dragging the flabbergasted male behind you. "w-wait, where are you taking me?"

there was no answer from you, instead you just kept on walking and donghyuck was left with no choice but to follow.

“will you two be okay?”

“mhm! thank you so much, taeyong!”

the both of you were hidden in the furthermost area of the bakery, donghyuck sitting on the available chairs with a pack of ice firmly pressed against his bruised jaw. taeyong had been generous enough to let you two stay here for a while (the ice was from his, as well), and you promised to buy another box of pastries to thank him, to which he firmly refused with the shaking of his head.

“just make sure you get the guy home safe, okay?” he told you before going back to man the store. you concluded that taeyong was perhaps the nicest person you’ve ever met, and you were suddenly worried by the idea that chenle and jisung might have extorted this man’s kindness somehow (the former, mostly).

“y/n.”

donghyuck’s voice— lacking the confidence and cockiness that it usually held— called out to you amidst your thoughts. your ears perked as you sat before him, leaning forward in your seat and your eyelashes fluttered as you waited for him to continue. he wasn’t looking at you though, eyes in a faraway daze as he looked at the bakery’s sleek wallpaper.

“thanks for saving my ass earlier.”

he muttered, a slight pout on his lips as he did. donghyuck couldn’t bear to look at you at the moment due to his stained pride, but he isn’t that prideful to miss out on actually thanking you. It was genuine, though the embarrassment of you seeing him so helpless was still present. he was suddenly afraid because you weren’t saying anything, but then the sound of your chair screeching as you closed in on him happened, and all he felt now was confusion.

“what are—” donghyuck was about to look at what the hell were you doing, but when your hand gently made contact with the non-injured side of his face, turning his head to look at your worry eyes, the words he was about to say fizzled into air in his throat, leaving his mouth agape in fluster.

“it’s fine, hyuck. does it still hurt?” the rapid pace of his pulse when you brushed away the ice pack in his other hand to examine the dark bruise somehow made him even sensitive to the pain when you mentioned it. he flinched, unable to say anything. “ah, this is gonna last a while. you should drink some painkillers in the meantime, okay?”

donghyuck gulped. oh my god, why were you so close. your soft voice flooded not only his ears, but his entire being and it felt like he was drowning in your presence. the pain that was screaming under his skin was blocked away, numbed into nothingness because all he could feel was how his heart was running to follow you even though you were already so, so close.

he wondered what the fuck was going on with him.

all of a sudden, he felt like an absolute idiot. how would people react upon seeing the rumored fuckboy, lee donghyuck, flaring up at something as innocent as this?

he needed to pull himself together.

“ah!" donghyuck made a hissing sound when your fingers brushed over the area again, instinctively jumping away from your hold, and your brows furrowed in worry. he pouted at you, pressing the half melted ice pack to soothe his jaw once more. "i don't think ice and painkillers would be enough to get rid of the pain, y/n."

instantly, your eyes widened in panic. "oh no, does it really hurt that bad? should i take you to the hospital? oh my gosh, what if it's broken? donghyuck, how much does it—"

"maybe you should kiss it better."

there was silence.

your voice stopped midway, mouth hanging open and you deliberately put it to a close. a cheeky grin was painted on donghyuck's face, one that made it look like he wasn't feeling any pain at all. he noticed the worry on your face being slowly washed away, replaced by your lack of emotion, and you stood up. once more you decided to move closer, walking up to him and barely hovering over and— wait a minute, were you actually gonna do it?

he didn't think about it this far, oh my god.

"wait. y/n, i was just— jesus fucking christ—"

"you deserved to get punched."

donghyuck let out a yelp of pain, hunched over as he hugged his torso. he forgot that he was also attacked on the ribs and was only reminded when you mercilessly jabbed your finger to his chest. he looked at you as you went back to your seat, letting out another groan. “did you just hope that i was also injured here or did you actually know and deliberately subjected me to pain?”

“the latter,” you hummed, crossing your legs. “i was watching from the beginning.”

“so you just let that bitch hyunsung attack me?”

“like i said— you deserved it.”

there wasn’t a hint of jest in your voice and features, meaning you really waited until the last moment before you decided to swoop in. donghyuck bit down his lip, unable to meet your eyes. you were there from the beginning meaning you knew why hyunsung was about to beat the living daylights out of him. suddenly he felt like he didn’t deserve to be saved by you.

"but why did you still help me?"

he was genuinely wondering why you did that. you let him get beat up for a while before deciding to finally get between, but why? it really didn’t make sense to donghyuck, and his heart hammered against his pained ribs while he waited for a response.

“did you really think i was just gonna leave you like that? hyuck, you’re my friend and i care about you.”

what was supposed to be an answer only raised more questions.

“but— but didn’t you say i deserve it?”

“i thought that two hits was enough.”

donghyuck was flustered by your responses and he didn’t even know why. people either sided with him or were against him yet you were situated at both boundaries at the same time. it was a kind of combination that brought him to a place in his head that he’d never been before. you probably noticed the flurry of emotions swirling in his face, so you decided to speak up.

“donghyuck, are you alright?”

“o-oh, yeah,” he shot up under your worried gaze, and he pressed his lips together before speaking. “thanks again for helping me.”

he felt like he wasn’t worthy of your kind smile. “a-also, can i ask a question?”

“go on.”

“don’t you think that i’m like… a shitty person?”

donghyuck was afraid of your response. he was afraid of hearing that you’d agree even though he knew that he was really a terrible person. more than anything, he was afraid of what you thought about him, actually.

“i don’t think so,” you said. “but maybe you’ve done a lot of things before that would be considered ‘shitty’.”

he was genuinely surprised by your answer.

“it’s never too late, hyuck.”

it was quiet for a moment, but it was welcome. donghyuck took this time to think for a moment, to actually get in touch with the mess that had been long ignored in his head. he looked at you as you silently busied yourself with your phone, lips pursed in a manner that had his chest tightening. as if you noticed him staring, you shut off your phone and faced him.

“i think we’ve been loitering here for too long,” you breathed, a sheepish smile on your face. “should we go?”

donghyuck nodded before scrambling to get up. he went over to pick up the boxes neatly placed on the table beside you, but you quickly smacked his hands away. “what?”

“do you think i’m gonna let you bring all of this while you’re injured?”

“y/n, my hands are fine. didn’t you watch as my face and chest got brutally assaulted?”

“you’re still hurt, hyuck,” you protested. “also i’m not letting you go home by yourself. what if hyunsung decides to come after you? do you have anyone to come pick you up?”

donghyuck bit down his lip at your question. he wasn’t planning on going home and he somehow knew that you weren’t going to let him off easily if he told you that. there were many options that flooded his head on what he should tell you— maybe he could say that he’ll head to his dad’s company so that you wouldn’t have to worry, or maybe he can call renjun or jeno pretending that it was his mom.

but for some reason he didn’t want to lie to you.

“um,” his eyes were trained behind you when he spoke. “i don’t really want to tell either of my parents to know what happened... and i don’t want to stay at home, either.”

surprisingly, you didn’t press any further.

“okay,” you assured, and he sighed. he didn’t think that one simple okay could make him feel lighter. “still, i don’t like the idea of letting you off on your own. why don’t we call one of your friends?”

wait a second—

“should we ask jeno? wait, maybe we shouldn’t bother him for now.”

donghyuck’s face paled.

“what about renjun? ah, he might be busy today.”

god, please no—

“oh, let’s ask nana! maybe he’d let you stay over at his to rest for the time being.”

he wanted to stop you, but you were already calling him, and his blood ran cold. there wasn’t a problem with him staying over at jaemin’s— he was actually planning on doing that, anyway. the problem laid on the fact that jaemin would probably kill him once he found out that you were with him. donghyuck was too dumbstruck by the situation to even realize that wait— how did you know jeno and renjun? you even had their numbers? what the fuck?

“thank you so much, nana! i’ll text you the address,” there was a smile on your face when you were talking to him, and donghyuck didn’t want to get rid of it by telling you that the person on the end of the line was probably scowling at your request right now. that would also mean that he’d have to tell you that jaemin had been trying to pursue you, and he didn’t want to get in the middle of that.

so all he could do was smile and nod as he waited for his friend’s wrath.

but much to his surprise and relief, it never came. because the moment jaemin arrived to drag his ass to his house, he seemed to be too distracted by you to even look at him. he noticed something different from his friend; the bright gleam on his face when he looked at you was something he had never seen before, and it welcomed a feeling that he had never felt before.

“thanks again, nana! i’ll see you two tomorrow,” when you finally parted ways, donghyuck expected to finally be berated by his friend for, once again, not listening when he told him to stay away from you, but all that happened was the dimming down of his previous elated demeanor.

“let’s go?”

jaemin uttered without a trace of anger or malice or anything— and donghyuck was more unnerved by this. he nodded in response, wordlessly trailing behind his friend as he went over to crash at his place for the umpteenth time that week.

AN EYE FOR AN EYE // A HEART FOR A HEART

as they say, what goes around comes around. so when you break a hundred hearts out of the selfishness of your actions— be prepared to get your own heart broken a hundred times, as well.

24 // kiss it better

a/n: it’s 12:30am as i’m typing this and i’m just about to shut down oh my god ayways i hope you enjoyed this part!! some hyuck action hehehehe i’d say more shit but i’m really so tired rn so good byE

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[thevioletjones]

31, because I can’t see it fitting Ian/Mickey easily and know you’re a good enough writer to prove me wrong ☺️

Thanks! I tried. 🙂

Prompt 6: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Ian’s Box of Crap

Being currently unemployed, Mickey didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when attempting to deflect Ian’s demands that he get chores and household tasks done while his husband was out earning an honest paycheck. He wasn’t even allowed to shake people down anymore, let alone pull robberies, or get back into the drug trade. Ian had made it clear that divorce wasn't off the table if Mickey deliberately did something stupid that got him thrown back in prison for a long stretch.

He didn’t much like being told what to do, but what he liked even less was not having Ian in his life. He’d had to go too many years without him in the past, and nothing good ever came during those times. Unfortunately, Ian Gallagher was it for Mickey Milkovich. That meant that he actually had to stay in line and put in the work if he didn’t want to lose him again. Ian wasn’t as soft as he used to be. Never really had been at his core, but the maturity of age had cemented his backbone rather rigidly, and Mickey was actually loathe to piss him off too badly these days.

So he did the bullshit grunt work requested of him, just to keep the peace. He was tired of fighting every day of his life, and what was the point of marrying Ian if they weren’t going to try and make each other happy?

In the past couple weeks, Mickey had done everything from laundry and dishes, to vacuuming and mopping. He’d patched up a couple of big holes in the wall that Frank had made, and fixed the loose parts of the wooden outdoor steps and banisters, both front and back. He’d even gone so far as to babysit the tiny, helpless Gallagher spawn a few times, which had been interesting and somewhat terrifying. Then Ian had given him this look when he caught the scene one afternoon, eyes shining, smile beaming. It reminded him of that brief time they’d helped take care of Yevgeny, which made Mickey’s head spin. He didn’t need Gallagher getting the whole ‘having kids’ thing back in his head right now. Mickey was in no way ready for all that. Hadn’t been the first time, and they’d all seen how that turned out.

Today, he was supposed to clean out the attic. He told Ian that asking someone outside the family to do it sounded like a bad idea. How was he supposed to know what shit the Gallaghers wanted to keep, and what they wanted to get rid of? What if he made a mistake? If anyone had asked him what to keep from the hoarded piles of shit in the Milkovich house, he would’ve laughed in their face, then set everything on fire. Mickey wasn’t the sentimental type. So did Ian want him to just toss everything?

Ian had rolled his eyes, clarified that Mickey was a Gallagher now, and given him a run-down. Anything that had obviously been made or cherished by a Gallagher kid, any family photos and albums, or small boxes of keepsakes, those stayed. Anything that wasn’t being used by anyone, but could be of use and handed down to the youngest or recently shacked up of them, set them aside to be put in rotation. Anything that worked, but they already had one of or didn’t need, donation box (because apparently they actually sometimes donated shit to the local shelter). And anything that looked completely unnecessary for anyone, throw it in a Best Choice trash bag, but don't take them to the curb yet. Ian would go over everything when he got home to make sure it was sorted correctly.

“So you’re gettin' me to do all this boring-ass grunt work, then you’re gonna have to go through it anyway? What the fuck, man?” he’d asked.

“It'll make the whole thing way easier on me, so can you just shut the fuck up and do me the favor? I’ll blow you later for your trouble.”

“Like you wouldn’t be doin’ that anyway.”

Ian had shrugged. “If you don’t, I won’t.”

“Threatening to withhold sex? That’s a bitch move if I ever heard one.”

“Whatever, deadbeat. You want me to support you, gotta help out when I ask. A blowjob would just be a bonus, because I’m generous of spirit.”

“I’m not gonna forget this hardcore manipulation, Firecrotch. I’ll get my revenge eventually.”

Ian merely kissed him on the nose. “Sounds like a plan. See ya.”

And he was out the door.

“Asshole,” Mickey’d muttered under his breath.

And now, a few hours later, here he was; sitting on the dusty, hard planks of the weird-smelling Gallagher attic, sorting through the memories and forgotten things of the family he’d married into less than six months ago. He’d dawdled as long as he could on the couch, eating junk food and watching his favorite daytime game shows, judge shows, and salacious ‘who’s the baby daddy?’ shows. The only hint of fun left in the remainder of his day was in the bong and the beer he’d brought with him up the rickety ladder. After every box sorted, he’d take a rip or two and chase the smoke with a long swig of cheap alcohol.

The most interesting things he’d found so far were some old pictures of Ian when he was little, his hair a curly mess, and his pale skin covered in dark freckles. His smile was too big for his face, and he looked goofy as all hell. Nothing like the hot hunk of man he was today. It was the Ian Mickey remembered from Little League a million years ago. And maybe he’d set one of the photos aside to keep for himself and taken some pics of others with his phone, so what?

Mostly he’d had to sift through little Debbie’s ridiculous girly shit, and Frank’s completely random assortment of insignificant trinkets with a side of what looked like bondage gear. He’d since moved on to a group of boxes obviously labeled by Carl when he was younger. He recognized the scrawl, occasional backwards lettering, and lack of possessive apostrophes. The words were short enough not to be atrociously misspelled, and consisted of a Gallagher first name in plural, followed by: ‘box of crap.’

Everybody had one, including Fiona, who hadn’t taken it with her when she’d left Chicago, and the kids she’d raised as her own, behind. The most scandalous item in there was a dildo of decent size that Mickey definitely would’ve packed in his suitcase if he’d been the one moving away as a single chick. The thought crossed his mind to pilfer it for his own collection, but he figured that Ian would be weirded out by the association. Sex toys were probably the only thing Gallaghers never shared between them.

Carl had a box of his own, semi-well-hidden compared to the others, and Mickey discovered why when he’d managed to get the copious amount of packing tape off. It was full of straight porn mags with big-tittied women and shaved pussies, underneath an array of dangerous weapons the family had forbidden him to have when he was underaged. He found everything from nunchucks, to throwing stars, to switchblades, to brass knuckles. No guns or attempted homemade bombs, thank fuck. He chucked the porn in the trash pile, cuz nobody needed to see that shit, and set the switchblade aside for himself, deciding to give the rest to Ian to sort out.

He saved Ian’s box for last, opening it up to find a grab bag of old army decorations, tattered paperbacks, comics, a bunch of loose paper covered in scribbles, and a stack of notebooks.

Mickey didn’t realize Ian was such a huge nerd that he’d kept his high school notebooks, but giving a quick flip through the first two revealed they weren’t school-related at all. He remembered Ian going through a phase when he was always writing shit down, ranting about having great ideas he needed to save for posterity. Before he went to the hospital. A manic phase. Probably one of many he’d cycled through, yet Mickey had missed some of those extremes.

Everything had been so chaotic then. He’d pushed Ian away, then gotten the same treatment in return. Their typical messiness pervaded everything back then. And now, he had in his hands Ian’s unfiltered thoughts about what happened back then.

“Fuck,” he said to himself, setting the notebooks down and going for the beer/weed combo again.

There were exactly two ways to go about this: he could put the notebooks back into the Ian box and not invade his privacy, or he could skim through them and hone in on the interesting relevant bits and maybe get a few long-pondered answers. On the one hand, Ian would probably get pissed if Mickey read them. On the other hand, Ian never had to know about it, did he?

It really wasn’t much of a choice… he’d always been curious as to what the hell was going through Ian’s head back in the day. They’d never exactly been great at talking things out, and he didn’t have it in him to try and make Ian relive some of the lowest moments of his life just to give Mickey some peace of mind. Plus, they were always facing some new bullshit obstacle head-on, so the past always just kind of got lost in the shuffle of their present difficulties.

Mickey took a deep breath and opened one of the notebooks again. The pages weren’t dated, and a lot of it didn’t make much sense. There were many lists with lines crossed out, but they didn’t describe things ‘to do,’ more like an endless inventory of concepts and feelings. The thought patterns were totally abstract, and Mickey couldn’t really make heads or tails of them. It hit him sharply in the chest when he realized that when Ian had been out of it, he’d really and truly been fucking out of it. These seemed like the crazed rantings of an unmedicated schizophrenic babbling on public transportation. It pained Mickey to the core, and it scared the shit out of him too.

He flipped through it fairly quickly, then opened the next one. It seemed to be calmer, more legible, and less unintelligible. It was more like a diary with bad poetry sprinkled in, and it only took a few pages for Mickey’s own name to jump out at him among the wall of words. It must have been written during Ian’s lost months, after going AWOL from the Army when he was 17.

He described running away from Chicago, scamming his early enlistment, crashing and burning his way out of bootcamp, shaking and selling his ass as a club boy, snorting, smoking, and swallowing all manner of substances, and crashing anywhere from penthouses to flophouses with sexual favors sprinkled in liberally. It was like the chronicle of a person going mad and coping in all the wrong ways. It surprised Mickey how emotional it made him to read these things in vivid detail. He’d completely forgotten how worried he used to be about Ian. When he was gone, when he went missing again, and when he started doing irrational things that could’ve ended so much worse than they did.

Ian was the one that had to live out all the drama and trauma of his disorder, but Mickey was the one caught on the sidelines, not having a single clue what to do or how to fix it. He’d never felt so useless or helpless in his entire life, even through all the bullshit he’d suffered growing up with Terry as a father. Maybe it was because of his age, or how Ian made him feel a certain way he’d never felt before. He just remembered hating it, and being so fucking sad.

These pages reminded him that through the mania, Ian was a bottomless well of sadness himself.

It was tough text to get through, and more than once, he felt like maybe he shouldn’t be reading it at all. Ian had never intended for other people to see his innermost thoughts, even Mickey. But it was impossible to stop now that he’d opened that floodgate. It was like reliving a part of their shared history through the eyes of his partner in crime. It was too fascinating.

After countless pages of dark tales from the void, Mickey came upon a page that was actually addressed to him. Surely, Ian had never intended to hand it over, but it was his nonetheless.

Mickey— I never had the balls to tell you this, But you’re the only boy I’ve ever loved. I thought you loved me too, But now I’m not so sure. I’m so confused and I go back and forth, Never really knowing what to actually think, Or what the truth is. All I really realize now is that I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you. It took you forever to let me, And now I just do it with anyone, Cuz I don’t fucking care. I just miss you, And I wish you were here. But also, I don’t, Cuz I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m having a great time on my own adventure, But also not. You shouldn’t be a part of it right now. You’re on your own strange journey, I guess. Maybe one day we’ll be on the same road together again, And also for the first time, since we never really were.

Mickey barely had enough time to sniff and wipe away the stray tear that had fallen, when his husband’s voice startled him out of his reverie.

“You’re still up here?”

“Jesus Christ!” he cried out with a visible jolt of his body.

His head snapped toward the attic hatch, where Ian’s dumb red head was surveying the musty space. Mickey let the notebook fall from his grasp, but Ian was already climbing the rest of the way in before it occurred to him that he was about to be caught red-handed with journals that were supposed to be deeply private. He could only flip it closed and grab his beer to polish it off, before Ian was crouching in front of him and taking a seat.

“Can’t believe you actually did this for me, to be honest,” Ian said with a chuckle, glancing at the bong. “Anything left?”

“Baggie’s right there,” Mickey replied nodding his head to the left.

“Nice.”

Ian got distracted with loading a bowl, so Mickey very subtly tried to nudge Ian's notebooks aside with his foot, like maybe if they were slightly farther away, he could claim complete innocence as to knowing what they were.

He watched Ian take a couple hits before passing it to him, and Mickey welcomed the opportunity to temper his suddenly sullen mood.

“How was work?” he asked between hits, before passing back to Ian.

Ian snickered and furrowed his brow. “You never ask me about work.”

Mickey shrugged. “Don’t mean I don’t care.”

“Uh huh.” Ian looked even more skeptical, and finally glanced around at what Mickey had in his vicinity. That sent his brow up high, in a decent imitation of Mickey’s usual expressiveness. “Oh. That my box?”

Mickey gulped and nodded. “Yeah. Just sorting it out. Should’ve just left the whole thing for ya. Sorry.”

Ian’s gaze snapped to his face. “You read stuff.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

“Just a little,” Mickey admitted. “I shouldn’t have. Fuck, I’m an asshole.”

But Ian only shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to say that. I’d be pissed.”

“I’m not. I promise.”

“Really? You’re not mad?”

Ian shook his head again. “No. Actually, I’m kinda relieved.”

“How the fuck so?”

“It's all stuff I wanted you to know. I mean, part of me used to be really ashamed, maybe still is, but… another part of me always just wanted to be totally honest with you. In a way I haven’t ever been with anyone. Even Lip. But I didn’t have the words to say it, you know? And I know a lot of it is just scary rambling. I don’t even understand what some of it means, but the stuff that’s real… the lucid stuff… it’s depressing as fuck, but it’s the truth. We didn’t always tell each other the truth, but we showed each other. And this was something I couldn’t really show you. So maybe you were meant to find these. Do my dirty work for me.”

“Damn, Gallagher, that’s kinda heavy. These were… kinda heavy. Made me feel shit I’d forgotten about, you know?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t read ‘em in years, but I remember. It’s why I wanted to put ‘em away, I guess. Plus, I didn’t want someone else snooping around and finding out too much. I mean, you never know in this house. It’s possible every fucking Gallagher already read them, but I hope not.”

“Ian…” Mickey started, but didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. Words of reassurance? It was all in the past, and Ian was doing so well now. He was diligent about his medication, and he hadn’t spun out of control since before prison. Anything Mickey said now would just be cold comfort, since that notebook version of Ian barely existed anymore. Ian was always afraid that it would recur, but Mickey wasn’t. They were truly in it together now, and he’d never let Ian cross the threshold into the uncontrollable. “I wish I coulda been what you needed me to be back then. However impossible it was. Some of it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even my fault, really. It was some shitty shit that happened to me. I reacted the only way I thought I could. There’s no use in either of us wishing we’d done things differently now. At least we got the right outcome, right? We’re together.” He clasped their left hands so that their wedding rings touched. “Forever.”

Mickey couldn’t help but snort. “Okay, you didn’t have to get that gay about it. I already had to suffer through a buncha your faggy teen poetry. I deserve a break from the high drama of it all.”

Ian laughed, kissed his hand, dropped it, then smacked him on the cheek. “Fuck you.”

“Just say when,” Mickey responded with a smile.

“After we go through all this shit, Romeo. Explain the piles.”

“Well,” said Mickey, pointing to the nearby corner, “Carl has a shitload of contraband in there. Weapons, not drugs. Frank has some shit that might be S&M gear, not sure, then aside from your lunatic journal ramblings, everything else is boring as shit. Oh, and Fiona left a big blue dildo.”

[wordsfromthesol]

Character Model

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: You may or may not have been following Jason Todd around a bookstore so you could model one of your story characters after him. He may or may not have noticed. Warnings: Language? Word Count: 2k A/N: Just a story from my drafts folder. Sorry I haven’t been able to write any of the wonderful requests I have sitting in my inbox...work has been running me ragged. But they are coming! Love you all 💛

You had no idea where this man came from, but he was perfect. Exactly what you envisioned the assassin prince in your newest story to look like, and he just waltzed into the bookstore. First, you tried to ignore him…after all it would be kind of creepy to stare at this man while sketching him and jotting down little details about the way he walks, talks, runs his fingers through his hair. The more you thought about it, the more you couldn’t get him out of your mind. As you watched his mannerisms, he just became more perfect. Fuck it. You got up from your seat and moved closer to him, pretending to look at the books on the shelf. It wasn’t a very good cover story, as it was quite obvious you were drawing him. I will never see this man again, who cares.

You were never the best artist, but the image got the message across. Once it was complete, you continued following him awkwardly around the store jotting down notes. His interest in certain books, the way he seemed to survey the bookstore…Maybe he is an assassin prince? Those didn’t actually exist right? You ignored those thoughts as you commented on his gait. Wrapped up in your descriptions, you didn’t realize he was now watching you. That is until you looked up again and saw his steel blue eyes staring into yours.

“What are you profiling me for, doll?”

You spun around, hoping he wasn’t talking to you. No such luck. “Oh, uhm, I wasn’t?”

“Hmm, sure does look like it. Can I see that sketch?”

“Heh, you saw that?” He raised his eyebrows. Of course he saw it, Y/N, you are being creepy. “Okay, I swear I’m not stalking you! I just…gosh this is going to sound so stupid…you look exactly like how I envisioned this character in my head…for a story.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Some people would beg to differ, but I guess technically.”

“So what’s the character then?”

Okay now he’s going to be offended. “Uhm…an assassin? But he’s also like prince to the guild thing. It’s kind of complicated.”

“So I look like an assassin?”

“Kind of…?” To your surprise the man chuckled.

“Not gunna lie, I’ve been called so much worse.”

Why are you so awkward? “Well sorry for being creepy…” You turned to leave and didn’t notice the man following you until you nearly slammed the front door in his face.

“I think I deserve to see that sketch after you followed me around for an hour AND tried to knock me out with a door.”

“Oh my go – I’m so sorry, I figured I’d thoroughly…embarrassed myself, so I left…why are you following me?”

“Thought I’d return the favor?” You gave him a nervous smile, the thought of this very large strange man walking you home, at night, in Gotham, did not provide you with much peace. “Relax, you look just like a character I imagined…” He quipped, trying to ease your obvious discomfort.

“Not funny.”

“Really though, it’s dark and getting late and this is Gotham.” You eyed him suspiciously, this still probably wasn’t the smartest move on your part, but you relented and motioned for him to follow.

“Don’t make fun of it, I’m a writer not an artist. This is purely for research.” You commented as you passed him the sheet of notebook paper.

“It looks good, I especially like all the little notes about me. Ruggedly handsome? Piercing steel blue eyes?”

Shit. I forgot about those. “Uhm, yeah.” You tried to snatch the paper back, but he could easily keep it from you. “It was research!” Huffing, you remember some of the descriptions were not very complimentary. Watching his eyes scan the page, you tried to explain. “Some of them are just for the character, don’t take it…”

“No, they are all…pretty spot on I’d say.” His voice turned solemn, almost sad, as he passed the paper back to you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” he waved it off, picking back up his nonchalant timbre.

The two of you mindless chatted about your favorite books until you arrived at your apartment building.

“Well, this is me. Thanks again…” You had just realized the two of you never exchanged names. “My name’s Y/N, by the way.”

“Jason. I’ll see you around. Try not to stalk anyone else.”

“No promises!” You called out as you entered the apartment.

**

It had been nearly a week, and honestly you didn’t expect to see the stranger again. After all, how would you? No numbers or last names were exchanged. Yet there he was, sitting across from you at the coffee shop, face buried in a book. This man is actually reading in a coffee shop. He looked so out of place compared to all the usual suspects. It would be creepy if I remembered him, right? I’m just going to ignore him. Your plan didn’t last long, as Jason soon came up and sat beside you.

“Stalking anyone new today?”

“Oh, I uhm…no. Writing about you actually…the character! The character not you.” God, you’re so smooth. You thought as you brought your hand up to cover your face.

“So how is assassin me doing today?”

“Honestly? You’re kind of being a bitch. Like how am I supposed to know how you will react if you are refusing to tell me?”

“Uhm…isn’t that the part you’re supposed to make up?”

“No, I made up you…the assassin…now you’re…they’re supposed to tell me what they want to do.”

“Uh huh. Right. You know they aren’t real right? Like I’m not actually a killer prince.”

“Heh, yeah I know. Wouldn’t that be cool though?”

“I just think you’d be assassinated.”

“Ohh, harsh. Though, sadly, I would just be murdered.”

“No, I had it right.” Jason gave you a smirk as he got up from the table and walked out the door.

Did that actually just happen? You quickly gathered your things and threw them into your computer bag, racing after him. “WAIT!” You noticed he had stopped just outside the door and well before you called after him.

“Walking home?”

“Uhm, yeah. Can I ask you some questions first?”

“How about you can ask me questions until we get to your apartment building?”

“Deal.”

It was a short ten-minute walk, but you picked his brain. Giving him situations to see how he would react. This was way easier than you rewriting the scene, or going back and forth for hours before giving up and not writing anything at all. In fact, his reactions were eerily similar to that of your murderous character. You weren’t accidentally copying his life, right?

**

The next time you saw him, you were out with friends at some random bar. He sat there stoically on the bar stool, staring into space. This was so…like if your character had just murdered someone. No, he couldn’t have. Probably just a bad day. You excused yourself from the group of friends and slide in to the stool besides Jason.

“So, Jason, bad day?”

“Oh, Y/N. I didn’t…you’re here.”

“Yeah, I try to have a life sometimes. Albeit very rarely.”

“Hm, well, don’t let me keep you.”

“That’s alright, they are content without me.” You pointed towards a group of people. “And plus, you look like you need some company.”

“…”

“Man, riveting stuff. So, what are you drinking?”

“Whiskey.”

“Just…straight? Alright, spill. Remember I know you.”

“I…just had a bad day at work. I’ll get over it.”

“I’m sure whatever happened wasn’t your fault. Some situations are inevitable.”

“I guess.”

“So what do you do, exactly?”

A sad, solemn smile laced his lips as he got up from the bar. “Another time. Get home safe, Y/N.”

“That wasn’t an answer…” you mumbled as you made your way back to your friends.

**

Just the next day, you were mindless going aisle by aisle in the grocery store, when you feel someone slightly bump into you. You whipped your head around to see the culprit, when what you saw was Jason with a big grin on his face.

“I’m starting to think you never stopped stalking me.”

“If anything, you’re stalking me. This is the closest grocery to my apartment…which you know the address of. I have no clue where you live.”

“Fair enough.” He looked down at the assorted items in your cart, “got a plan for those?”

“Honestly, my version of cooking is throwing some things in a pan and hoping for the best.”

“Hm, well, I could come over and show you some things?”

“Jason, I don’t know your middle or last name, are you offering to cook for me?”

“Peter Todd, and yes, Y/N  Y/M/N  Y/L/N, I am.”

You looked at him with surprise, “See, now who’s stalking who.”

He started to trail off with a smirk, “I’ll be at yours at 6!”

Did that seriously just happen? How did he know my name? Once you were done you raced home to clean. You were so not prepared for guests, with your scratch paper and sticky notes strewn about the apartment. As soon as the clock struck 6, you heard a knock at the door.

**

Jason tried to show you what he’s doing in the kitchen, but you couldn’t care less. You sat on the counter, pretending to listen to the instructions, while sipping on the wine in your hand.

“You’re not retaining any of this, are you?”

“Hmm, not really. But I’m quite enjoying watching you do it.” You motioned for him to continue preparing the meal.

“Are you just trying to get a free meal?”

“Well, technically I paid for the food, I’m just after the free chef…that was…I meant like after the preparation of the food…not after you…” Shut up Y/N, you are making it worse.

“That’s alright, I’m just after the free writer.” He looked over his shoulder and winked at you before returning to the stove.

“Does cooking always take this long? It’s nearly 7!” You were trying to quickly change the subject and forget the embarrassment you had just endured.

“Calm down, doll, it’s nearly ready. Grab some plates.” You hopped off the counter and took two plates down from the cabinet, placing them next to the stove before sitting at your kitchen island patiently waiting to be served food.

**

“Okay, this is amazing. MAYBE worth the hour wait.”

“Oh well MAYBE I’ll take it back then.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Though both of your plates had been empty for hours, and the mess in the kitchen was staring you in the face, neither of you could seem to move. You found anything and everything to talk about, well almost everything. For some reason he still wouldn’t tell you what he did for a living. Which annoyed you because whatever it was clearly took its toll.

“Okay, fine! Don’t tell me, some big ole secret. I’m beginning to think you actually are an assassin prince and your consciousness just went into mine…so now you’re a character in my book.”

“I guess I’ll just have to read it and let you know.”

You side-eyed him, “You can read it when I find out what you do?” You knew at this point there was no hope in getting an answer.

“Tempting. Perhaps you can tempt me further Wednesday night.” Jason rose from the stool and traipsed over to the door. You quickly followed him, mainly out of sheer confusion.

“What’s Wednesday night?”

“Well, I figure those leftovers will last about two days. Can’t leave you without your free chef.” At this point his face was inches from yours. “I’ll be here at 6.” He whispered as he quickly spun on his heel and left.

[lycheej3lly]

assorted thoughts about farewell my concubine which i watched the other day w my mom who like sparknotes’ed the movie for me as we went along. she’s my no fear shakespeare. anyway putting them on tumblr bc i find it better for archiving purposes. ty to max for talking the movie out w me after 😊

spoilers obvi

the whole "by nature i am a boy/girl" stuff reminded me a lot of the concept of sexual inversion which was like when old homophobes assigned men the action of "liking women" and vice versa. thus linking gay men w femininity bc they like men which also sees a trend just like in Society(tm). at the beginning everyone else is super happy when douzi gets the line right but there's still smth like hollow? about that scene to him. when he adopts the baby, taking on the traditionally feminine role of caretaker. and then at the end when they both get the line "wrong" but he like almost reclaims(?) himself as a boy. yeah. and ofc when leslie cheung says that thing about a good actor is androgynous in one of his later interviews

but then right after that he kills himself which could be bc he recognizes that their socially conservative society won’t allow them to be together or bc he wants to end his life w what he sees as a symbol of their love..? or maybe it just isn't more complicated than what xiaolou says earlier in the movie when dieyi asks why the concubine has to die: because that's the play!

that said it is very weird that people take that line to mean that playing the concubine made him confused about his gender and start liking men or whatever, which is smth my mom said and apparently a lot of articles online. like gd that Is the concept of sexual inversion which is obvi not how being gay works but also just narratively dieyi's feelings for xiaolou def started before he started playing that role

i also think there's a lot to do w fate, like when juxian leaves the brothel and the manager person (i know there has to be a better word for this but god i cannot think of it rn) gives the whole "once a whore always a whore" speech. and then in the end when juxian is villainized bc she used to be a sex worker

but then i’m also kind of confused bc when they first introduced the story of farewell my concubine (the opera) they said it means you only control your own fate...? hm.

also there was SOMEONE talking about karma earlier in the movie which i remembered when dieyi starts yelling about retribution at the denouement but i can’t remember who and in what context and it’s nagging at me

maybe the sword as a symbol of their struggles? it always appears at important moments in their life as almost this recurring character - douzi wanting to give shitou the sword when they were younger, when yuan and dieyi first meet (ew), when yuan and dieyi drunkenly recreate the opera scene and dieyi puts it to his neck, when xiaolou is being interrogated, i’m def forgetting some - but then it's interesting bc when xiaolou throws it into the fire, it's juxian who goes to retrieve it and returns it to xiaolou before hanging herself like she recognizes its significance

smth smth subversion bc xiaolou who is supposed to play the Man is the first to crack, whereas juxian never snitches on anyone even as she is forced into the spotlight

also think it’s weird that people don’t think dieyi’s love was reciprocated? xiaolou left juxian after her miscarriage to go find dieyi and slapped her for telling their shifu that dieyi was addicted to opium. there’s def more but those are two scenes that stick out to me

anyway i too am in love with leslie cheung and gong li. xiaolou kinnie moments

ALSO the behind the scenes vid was so fun and insightful. can’t believe the scene of juxian jumping into xiaolou’s arms and the scene of their shifu beating xiaolou as an adult were real wtf. and having to film the scene in front of the fire in 90 degF beijing weather in full opera costume omg

really appreciate the research that the actors put into their roles - like gong li reading books about sex workers in that era of china and leslie cheung’s extensive training for his accent and jingju such that they didn’t even have to use the doubles they’d hired

love love love all the callbacks throughout the movie - when xiaolou says “i’m the one to blame, hit me instead” like what douzi did at the beginning of the movie after he and laizi ran away (oh and laizi also. man.), when dieyi says the same thing to juxian and rejects smth she offers at her and xiaolou’s wedding party and after no one tells dieyi that xiaosi was supposed to replace him as concubine yu

the editing for the part where the eunuch rapes douzi was so chilling and so good - the pan to the painting and then the bell toll, and douzi staying silent when shitou asks him what happened. fuck.

also really enjoyed the scenes when dieyi and juxian would be petty towards each other for more shallow reasons lol

i have thoughts about xiaosi that have not really crystallized yet. passing down the torch gone wrong etc etc...

[keeroo92]

Something Old, Something New

My spicy contribution for the SSS zine, featuring Nero and Kyrie on a very special night!

------

Nero barely breathed as Kyrie slid the keycard through to open the door to the honeymoon suite. Her gossamer wedding dress still clung to her frame, her spine in full view between layers of tasteful satin and lace. He’d been staring at it every chance he got - never had he seen her go without a bra.

At least, not in front of other people.

Heat bloomed in his cheeks and in his belly as he imagined dipping his fingers past the fabric to touch her skin, pulling moans from her lips, mapping her curves and worshipping her skin. Celebrating their new life together.

Speaking of…

“Wait,” he blurted as she pushed the door open. “I’m supposed to carry you, right?”

“If you want,” she replied with a shy glance, the tips of her ears turning an adorable shade of pink. That blush would cover her entire body in a few minutes, if he had his way.

He ignored the thought and scooped her up with a grin, kissing her before stepping through the doorway into a scene more terrifying than Hell itself.

Instrumental music played from a speaker sitting on a heavy-looking dresser. Rose petals dotted the floor, leading to a massive bed where a pair of fluffy handcuffs sat beside a ball gag, a whip, and several condoms of assorted sizes. Massage oils warmed on tiny burners and a myriad of candles flickered from almost every available surface, their shadows dancing on the walls. It was as if Valentine’s Day itself puked all over the room.

He was going to kill Nico.

Slowly.

Nero struggled not to groan. Trust the crazy weapons expert to book a room stuffed with this bullshit. He should’ve had Lady do it; she at least had some restraint. He hoped Kyrie didn’t take it to heart. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable. Or worse, pressured. 

Not on her wedding night, or any night thereafter.

He sucked his teeth and lowered Kyrie’s feet to the floor. If he just found the right words, maybe he could fix this. He had to try, at least. 

“Uh, sorry. This is kinda ridiculous, huh? I guess letting Nico handle it was a mistake.”

Kyrie stepped closer to the bed, her hips taunting him with each step. She ran the flower petals between her fingers and fiddled with the sex toys. Nero’s nerves jangled with each second she didn’t speak, but she was kind enough not to make him wait long, turning to face him with a hum of agreement, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. She flicked a rose petal as his nose and giggled when it struck home. “Just a bit. The flowers are nice, though.”

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. Anxiety still tickled his mind, like he’d forgotten an important detail. Why was this so hard? Wasn’t it supposed to be easy? Maybe he was doing something wrong, or what if-

“Nero.”

His eyes snapped to hers, his train of thought derailed. “Huh?”

The smile on her lips as she reached for his restored right hand was angelic, far kinder than his idiot ass deserved. Well, as he said in his vows, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of her. Time to get started.

He wove his fingers between hers as she spoke.

“Stop worrying. You’re my husband now, you know. I’m your wife. I’m not going anywhere,” she declared.

He bit his lip and glanced away. “I just don’t want to fuck anything up.”

She pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Well, even if you do, we have the rest of our lives to get it right.”

Nero stroked the back of her hand. She was right; she always was. He chuckled as his nervousness eased, kicking off his fancy dress shoes before taking a seat beside her on the bed. The beauty of her spirit never failed to stun him. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” he murmured, reaching out to cup her cheek.

Kyrie’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes a dark fan against her cheeks. The fluffy comforter beneath them rustled as Nero gently pulled her closer, inhaling her scent as he pressed a tender kiss to her perfect lips. Her quiet sigh set fire to his thoughts, endless fantasies playing on repeat in his mind.

Delicate hands grazed his shoulder blades, leisurely exploring the planes of his back. He moaned against her mouth as he wrapped her in his arms, reveling in the warmth of her body and the softness of her lips. They’d been looking forward to tonight for so long, he hardly believed the moment was here.

Their first night as a married couple.

An enticing rush pounded in his veins as their kiss deepened. Butterflies danced in his sternum and left him dizzy and breathless, lost to her hypnotic appeal. The soft brush of her tongue against his only intensified the spell she’d cast on him.

Yet she pulled away just as the crashing waves of desire crested, pulling a petulant grunt from his throat. He stared up at her as she stood, begging for more with his eyes alone.

“I’ll be right back. Why don’t you get comfortable?” she said.

He swallowed thickly as she walked toward the bathroom, his eyes locked on her spine once again. 

Get comfortable.

Right.

Nero busied himself with removing his complicated attire, breathing a sigh of relief as the tight fabric released his length, leaving nothing on as he climbed onto the massive bed. What should he do with the stuff Nico left on the bedspread? It was doubtful they’d use any of it, but what if Kyrie wanted to try?

He sure wouldn’t mind. 

But not tonight; tonight was about just the two of them, no add ons or extras needed. He set everything on the nightstand, within easy reach but out of the way. Just as he set down the last condom, the bathroom door opened and his bride stepped into view.

Kyrie’s hair cascaded across her shoulders to the small of her back, gentle auburn waves left behind from her complicated hairstyle from the ceremony. A sheer piece of white lingerie clung to her chest and thighs, satin and lace taking turns to tease at what lied beneath it. Shadows and light played on her skin and highlighted her feminine curves, her hips swaying as she strode closer to join him. He couldn’t help but gape.

She licked her lips. “Sweetie, you’re staring…”

“S- sorry. You look… you look amazing,” he replied.

He’d seen her naked countless times, in her underwear just as many. Her body wasn’t a new sight, yet to see her creamy skin barely covered, fabric hugging her hips and breasts, a delicate bow in the perfect spot for him to untie… it had his blood pulsing, gathering where he’d need it soon enough.

“Thanks,” she hummed, a faint tint of pink blooming in her cheeks as she came ever closer.

The second she was within reach, Nero pulled her onto his lap. His palms danced over her thighs, toying at her suggestive clothing and kneading her muscles. After so many hours in heels, he knew she’d appreciate it.

“Mmm, that feels good.”

His breath hitched at the huskiness of her voice as her body shifted, legs spreading so her center rested over his. The fabric against his shaft didn’t have time to register before she rotated her hips, rubbing against him with a gorgeous moan.

Oh, you tease...

But two could play at that game.

Nero’s hands crept higher, up her ribs and shoulders as he leaned forward. The bow between her breasts was easy to grasp with his teeth and came undone with a single tug to show more of her flesh. Jolts of electricity raced over his nerves as his lips descended, tongue flicking as he suckled. Small fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him closer, her voice urging him on with each whimper and sigh.

His cock hardened when she rolled her hips, flames crackling across his skin with every swipe of his tongue on her body. She smelled incredible, and despite the beauty of her attire, he craved sampling every inch. No matter how many times he tasted her, he’d always want more.

He took hold of her ass and shifted, putting her on her back with him above her. His palms skimmed over her stomach, her ribs, her thighs, every spot his to worship as he crouched between her legs. Panting breaths spilled from her lips as he settled her calves over his shoulders and pulled the fabric away to reveal her core, already glistening with need.

Nero smirked and leaned in, moaning as he took a single, teasing lick.

“N- Nero, please!” whimpered Kyrie.

He hummed. “Yes, dear…”

His tongue parted her folds and delved home, tasting her walls with every stroke. Dainty hands tangled in his short hair and egged him on, encouraging whimpers telling him he was on the right track. He angled his face so his nose met her clit, expertly working her into a frenzy as her reactions overwhelmed his senses. His awareness narrowed to the heaven of her delicious body, the scent of her skin and the pitch of her cries as he drove her ever closer to bliss.

I want to do this forever, he thought.

“Ah, come on, just a little-!”

Her words dissolved into a guttural string of gasping moans as he brought his thumb to tease at her back entrance. He couldn’t breathe through the pulses of fluid drenching her thighs and filling his mouth, her legs tightening and lifting her ass off the thick comforter. Without missing a beat, he followed her and kept his lips latched over her core, tongue still hard at work just the way she liked, dragging out her pleasure as long as possible.

Finally, her limbs went slack as she came back to Earth. Nero joined her on the bed, content to watch her facial expressions as her euphoria faded. Her flavor lingered on taste buds, a tantalizing reminder he did nothing to suppress.

“Nero…” she murmured after a moment. “Lie on your back.”

He licked his lips and obeyed. Whatever she had in mind, he wanted to try it.

She crawled up his body, trailing kisses up his abs and chest until she reached his mouth. A sheen of sweat coated her skin, shimmering in the candlelight and highlighting her curves. She rubbed her core against his painfully hard cock, coating him in her warm fluids as she finally brought her lips to his.

Nero wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back like he’d longed to for hours. Her skin was like satin, smooth and rich under his touch. Heaven. 

The air caught fire as she lowered herself on him, enveloping his cock at last with a sultry groan. His thighs reacted on instinct alone to meet her, his mind lost to the pleasure of her embrace. She felt incredible, more welcoming and wonderful just from being his wife. Her perfume tickling his nose, the little noises she made, the weight of her body over his… absolute perfection.

The cocoon of her pussy sent his eyes to the back of his head, pulses of heat howling in his core like a typhoon. He drew a ragged breath and ran his hands up to knead her chest, rolling her buds the way he knew she liked.

“Ah, Nero,” Kyrie gasped, her voice too sweet a melody to resist.

He lifted his hips a fraction of an inch, groaning as her body moved with his. “C’mere,” he murmured, pulling her closer for a passionate kiss.

As their tongues met he snapped against her, slamming his cock all the way home. Shockwaves of pleasure rocketed across his nerves, blood searing through his veins. In and out, taking his time as their mouths danced, each motion heightening his lust until he was flying. 

It was too much - he sat up, moving her legs to wrap around him and crossing his own beneath her luscious ass. Her eyes were glassy and her jaw hung open, a stain of pink tinting her cheeks under the halo of her shimmering auburn hair.

What could be as perfect as she is, he wondered.

Whimpers and mewls spilled from her throat as he stretched her walls, impaling her on his cock as he peppered her flesh with feverish kisses. Her neck, her collarbone, shoulders and chest, everything within reach. He was fire and she was ice; where they met, steam followed. 

Her hands scrabbled across his spine, searching for a grip but finding little purchase. Nero moaned as her nails dug in, just enough to taunt him as he snapped inside her yet again. Her body shuddered as his cock met resistance, reaching deeper than before. 

“Nero, please! Just like that, right there!” she cried.

“Yeah? You like that?” he replied against her neck.

Her enthusiastic cries were the only encouragement he needed, and Nero coaxed more and more of them from her lips. Sparks ricocheted across his body, his own peak approaching alongside hers, but he refused to give in until he satisfied her again. She deserved every second of pleasure he could provide her tonight.

And any night she wanted it.

Nero flexed as he bottomed out, his length twitching against that small spongy spot. He had to hold on a little longer, just long enough to feel her clench around him. How could he resist on their wedding night?

He dipped his hands between their joined bodies and traced circles around her clit, her wetness drenching his fingers. She arched, angling her hips into his hand while he rammed into her, her voice rising with each pulse of his hips.

“That’s it, that’s it- I’m - Nero!”

The silken embrace of her folds spasmed against his cock as Kyrie threw her head back and moaned, her arms locked around him as if he were a life preserver and she was drowning. The sounds she made redefined his idea of music and the erratic pulsing of her walls was too much, too good and too fucking sexy to resist.

“I’m gonna - Kyrie, I’m gonna-”

The slap of flesh meeting flesh mixed with the soft music still playing in the background as his thrusts reached a fever pitch, his body coming undone mere seconds after hers. He groaned and buried his face in the crux of her neck, crooning her name like a mantra as he pulsed his peak within her. Her fluttering walls and tender embrace were all that he cared about, all that he needed or would ever need.

When he returned to himself, her hands were rubbing his back and her sweet voice whispering praise in his ear. Her fruity conditioner mixed with her sweat and their now blended juices, an aroma he adored. There truly was nothing better than being with her.

He closed his eyes and relaxed in her arms. “Can’t believe you’re my wife.”

She hummed and helped him lie down, tracing his jaw and toying with his hair as she settled in at his side. “Believe it, Nero.”

There was no point restraining the wide grin tugging at his lips as he drifted off, thanking his lucky stars that she was his and he was hers.

Now and forever.

[bluekyun]

Roomie Code

‘The Assortment’ Collab Masterlist

Genre: fluff, smut and humour — roommates!au

Word Count: 17.044

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Jungkook is an awkward human who doesn't know how to act around women, but at least he’s a connoisseur of all things vanilla. Meanwhile the reader forgets how to have sex, but it’s okay, Jungkook’s got it covered.

Summary: When you first decided to move into a house full of guys, you figured it wouldn’t nearly be as bad as people made it out to be. Little did you know, living between your best friend, your crush and a mysterious recluse would only turn into disaster upon finding yourself caught in the middle of a brutal love triangle.

Author’s Note: It’s not really a full triangle, maybe a very nicely shaped ‘V’, but we're just gonna go with it. Either way, still tragic. Enjoy!

When it comes to living with in the same house as three other people, there has to be rules. Rules, that no matter how minor or insignificant, shall not be broken. And considering you are rooming with three men, none of which happen to be ideal housemates, these rules must be set in stone and obeyed by all. The rules are as follows:

Keep your spaces clean and do your part to maintain the integrity of the household.

DO NOT go into each other’s personal spaces without permission. You will get caught.

If you’re going to have sex in the house, keep quiet. No one wants to hear that shit.

Whatever happens in this house, stays in this house.

And finally, the most important rule...    

No relationships between roommates.

Coming up with these rules was inherently simple – everyone agreed and no one protested. It was a combination of everyone’s input. The last one, which definitely received a lot of odd looks, was more directed at you in particular. To which Yoongi was the only one who laughed, knowing well of your feelings for a certain one of the housemates. But regardless, it ended up on the board. You can’t say for certain if every person in this house is straight, as it is really none of your business anyway, but clearly they had felt the need to cover all their bases. Either that, or they somehow thought it a good idea to bring attention to your unfortunate relationship-less lifestyle for whoever else happened to walk through the door and see the large chalkboard in the entryway. And you wouldn’t be surprised considering you are a surrounded by a bunch of imbeciles who love to rub it in your face that you are essentially the loner of the group.

Over the past year of living together, one thing you can appreciate is that none of these rules have been severely broken. Although, according to Yoongi, there is one person in particular who just doesn’t know proper volume control.

“If I have to listen to another girl’s scream come out of Jimin’s room at 3 am, I might actually kill him.” Of all the people in the house, Yoongi is the only one to have ever heard anything of the sort. Which, you suppose, doesn’t surprise you considering he is a really light sleeper. Even after investigating on several occasions, scouring the house for signs of another girl, even any hints of perfume or strands of hair that weren’t blatantly yours, there has never been any evidence. Jimin, very adamantly, always denies this as well.

“I didn’t even have anyone over last night! Why do you always think it’s me, what about Jungkook? What if it was Y/N jacking off?” Slapping his arm, you’re offended at his insinuation. As if you would ever make that kind of scene while masturbating with them still in the house. What are you, a heathen?

“Actually, she was in my bed so I know it couldn’t have been her. Jungkook’s room is on the other side of the house. So it could have only been you.” Sitting beside Yoongi on the couch, you aid in glaring Jimin down. Clearly at a loss for words, he throws his hands up in defeat.

“You know whenever I bring someone over, why would I only hide it sometimes. But fine, don’t believe me. What are you gonna do, kick me out?” Rolling your eyes, you lean back against the cushion, waiting for Yoongi to deliver the final blow.

“No. But you can make up for it by being on bathroom duty for the rest of the month.” As much as you would have liked to maintain your stoic demeanor, you can’t help but smile at the way Jimin drops his jaw. When it comes to Yoongi, there is no arguing, everyone does as he says. He’s the one who paid the deposit on the house after all.

“Fuck both of you. At least I get laid, unlike someone.” Letting your arms drop to your side, your mind immediately goes blank. It’s a known fact, at least among everyone in this house, that there is only one person who hasn’t had sex in an eternity. And that one person is you.

“Jimin what the fuck!” Standing up, Yoongi grabs Jimin by the collar of his shirt. Yoongi may be a generally non-confrontational person, but when it comes to protecting his best friend, he shows no mercy.

“I’m sorry-I’m sorry-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I was mad-” Without another word, you squeeze past them and head straight to your room. It’s not that what he said was wrong, it is, of course, the bitter truth. But hearing those words come out of the mouth of the person you have feelings for… that hurts. As if his pure existence doesn’t hurt to begin with.

Grabbing the stack from the cabinets, you line the plates expertly around the table. From your periphery, you notice Jimin peaking from around the corner, ducking his head every time you just so happen to catch him in the act. On other nights, you might have just forced him from hiding, telling him to do his part and at least get everyone’s drinks. But today you just don’t seem to have the energy. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t exactly over his little stunt earlier.

Returning to your duties, you pull out a few glasses, filling two of them with water for both Jimin and yourself. The remaining glass gets filled with banana milk, a delicacy you didn’t even know existed until you had moved into this household. You set it at the side closest to the bedrooms, the recipient’s favorite spot. And last but not least, you pull out the beer bottle for none other than Yoongi, who even on weekdays, can’t seem to get through the night without at least a little alcohol in his system. If only you could convince him to spend as much money on you as he does his unhealthy habits, you might just be living the ultimate dream.

With your back turned and facing the stove, you hear Jimin’s small footsteps along the linoleum floor, the sound of the chair as he quietly sets himself upon it. You can’t tell if he’s trying to be funny or trying to avoid your temper, but whatever he’s doing, you appreciate it. The longer he’s out of your hair, the better.

Taking as few trips as possible, you bring over the plates of various veggies and kimchi fried rice, making sure to leave room for the main dish of the night.

“Is dinner almost ready?” The tinge of annoyance hidden in Yoongi’s tone is only expected from him at this point. His patience often wears thin once the sun sets and you aren’t one to get on his bad side. He, like Jimin, receives minimal response from you, a sign to him that tonight will likely be over before it can begin. So long as he cooperates of course.

Grabbing the final platter, full of various cuts of steak, you set it in the center of the table. The way the two men sitting across from each other eye the delicacies only makes your stomach turn over itself. If it’s not women then it’s meat, there is no in between.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” You ask, sliding into your seat. Glancing between them, you realize neither seem to have heard a word. Their only focus is filling their plates, the thought of having a 'family' dinner now entirely out of their minds.

Rolling your eyes, you take small sips of water, quelling the nausea the seems to plague your very being. The atmosphere surrounding the table feels awkward and stiff as if the past year of living together never happened. As if you were surrounded by people who didn't know each other.

Just when you thought it might be a lovely and uncomfortable evening with just the three of you, Jungkook slips in through the front door, immediately setting down his bag. Glancing up, he notices the array of food quietly on table, but as you expected, he doesn't say a word. He doesn't even bother to mention the fact that he's home. He acts as though he doesn't even exist.

"How was your day?" Considering the two idiots beside you aren't likely to join in the conversation, you decide to focus your sights on the one person in this household who at least has some sense of decency.

"Ah... it was good." Filling his plate with veggies and several pieces of steak, he only glances at you once before taking his seat. As you expected, he ends the conversation short.

"How's the project you're working on? You seemed excited about it yesterday." The subtle blush that tinges his cheeks surprises you, his shy demeanor quickly returning.

"Oh. Yeah, it's going well so far. I mean I just started it... but I'm hoping it will go well. I just don't know yet." Despite having lived with this boy for many months, you can adamantly say there isn't a whole lot you know about the kid. Seldom ever do you see him, especially on weekends as he is either out all day or trapped in his room. But one of the few things he has mentioned to you, much of which was actually told to by Yoongi, is that he is a very passionate graphic designer. Just from the one piece you saw, a mock billboard he used to advertise feminine products (the only time he will ever explicitly look at a tampon, you quickly found out), you knew he was talented. Exceptionally talented. His knack for unique design and color was something you had never seen before. So when he mentioned his latest project, you were almost as excited as he was. Besides, the only passion you ever see from him is when he’s talking about his work.

"I'm sure it'll be great," you reassure him, "I have faith in you." Which, to be fair, isn't a lie. You may not be very knowledgeable about his field, but you do know that he has this job for a reason. And from the way his smile quickly spreads across his face, he knows it well.

"Like she said, it'll be great. Once you're done, we can throw a party for you and celebrate your hard work, how does that sound??" Rolling your eyes, you use your fork to chase around one of the eggplants on your plate. Of course Jimin would suggest a party and of course he would do so under the guise of wanting to celebrate Jungkook's achievements.

"I don't know..." Jungkook ponders, shoving a piece of ribeye into his mouth.

"That's not happening, not more parties." Yoongi, the ultimate decision maker, finally steps into the conversation. He, as well as you, has seen the disastrous parties that Jimin has attended in the past, once even letting him throw one at the house. And to this day, you all agreed to never let it happen again, at least not after you all needed to pitch in for recarpeting the entire living room. The jungle juice was never going to make it out of that white. Never in a million years.

"It'll be a small one I promise." Not even daring to look at you, Jimin focuses his sights on Yoongi. He had two options and yet he went with the one he would automatically lose to. But you suppose you weren't much of a better option. You hated him with every fiber of your being.

Luckily for you, you and Yoongi shared the same thoughts, knowing full well that this thought of a party needed to be shut down immediately. At least if you were going to celebrate, it was going to be under the guise of a small get together. The words "party" and "Jimin" do not need to be in the same sentence.

"We'll do a little something for you to celebrate with just us. No need to invite anyone else when we're your favorite people." Just at your words alone, Yoongi chokes on his food, apparently the sight of your wink only aiding in his suffering.

"Never do that again." He warns, after taking a sip of his beer. What surprises you, though, is when Jungkook erupts into a fit a laughter, a side of him you rarely ever get to see, at least not in this household. The way he clutches his stomach as he scrunches his nose suddenly fills your heart with joy, this precious side of him being too much to handle.

"What's so funny?" Looking between Yoongi and Jungkook, Jimin tries to figure where this sudden outburst came from. But from what you can tell, Jungkook has only lost himself to exhaustion.

"Yes you're my favorite people." Wiping away a tear, he returns his attention to his food, quietly eating while the rest of the table stares in awe. You are entirely convinced no one will ever be able to understand him, at least not with his sudden mood swings and odd changes in behavior. But you suppose you'd rather have this than anything else. At least it's better than having a second Jimin around.

After a while of silent eating, the family dinner having entirely burst into flames, you allow the rest to leave the table. You’ve taken control of the kitchen for the night, and the last thing you need is for them to stick around any longer than necessary.

Once you finish cleaning the dishes, setting them on the racks to dry, you check the time floating above the stove top.

“12:15…” Since having to be awake at six this morning, you have been running on little to no energy. You are exhausted, to the point where every muscle in your body is aching, and yet you know if you go to lie down right now, you won’t be able to fall asleep. Sincerely, on nights like this, you have very few options. You can either stay awake and suffer, either staring at the ceiling or watching murder mystery specials, or you could sneak into a certain someone’s room and force them to let you sleep in their bed. And honestly, you already know you will end up doing the latter at some point.

After turning off the lights, you saunter over to Yoongi’s room, not even bothering to knock before entering. Considering you two have been friends for what feels like an eternity, you already know his late night habits just as well as you know your own. Nothing surprises you anymore, at least not with him.

Inside his room, he is already curled in a ball with his back toward the door. In the corner of the room, he keeps his special night light, although, you are never allowed to use those words around him. He refuses to believe he has a night light. Instead, he insists it’s just a lamp that he always forgets to turn off at night. Sure Yoongi, whatever you say.

With him being so close to the wall, you can tell he was expecting you to come at some point in the night. Whether or not it would be this soon after dinner, you suppose it doesn’t matter, so long as he’s not surprised the moment you pull back the covers. Doing your best to stay quiet, you sneak into his bed, making as little movements as possible.

“What took you so fucking long?” He sighs, “I’ve been lying awake for the past hour waiting for you.” Snuggling up against him, you try to express your apologies without words. You are about five seconds from passing out and the last thing you want to deal with is his attitude.

Considering he doesn’t respond any further, you take it as a sign of forgiveness. Either that or he’s just as unwilling to deal with it as you are. Knowing him, it’s probably the second one. You already know he has a large book of grudges, most of which he likes to hold against you.

With the dim lighting of the so-called lamp in the corner, you feel yourself start to drift. The aches and pains which have plagued you all day are finally starting to disappear, the day’s stress dissipating the moment you close your eyes.

Jolting awake, you automatically squeeze your thighs together. The several glasses of water you had for dinner are finally catching up to you. Looking over at Yoongi’s desk, you realize it’s only two in the morning. You didn’t even last two hours before your bladder decided to punish you just for trying to be a healthy adult. Carefully taking off the comforter, you crouch onto the floor as to make yourself as invisible as possible. Normally, you would try not to move at all, knowing that Yoongi would probably kick your ass if you woke him up. But this is one time when you don’t think you’ll make it out alive if you don’t go now.

Crawling toward the door, you do your best to avoid the articles of clothing and odd stacks of paper strewn on the ground. The door, much to your surprise, is entirely quiet, opening without so much as a problem. Looking down the hallways, you notice no one else is up and around, the perfect setting to execute your plan. The place has never been so still. Too lazy to reorient yourself, you continue to crawl in the direction of the bathroom, the new stealth mode you have just acquired being utilized to its fullest. Once inside, you release the breath you had been holding, but not before quickly clenching your legs. Scrambling to the toilet, you are finally able to do your business, the hardest part of the night now quickly over with.

Turning off the light, you head back to Yoongi's room, but when you happen to walk past Jimin's door, you hear strange sounds coming from within. On a normal night, and maybe in an alternate universe, you probably would have ignored it, deciding that your sleep was worth more than whatever goes on behind that closed door. But considering it is this particular night and you have no control over your curiosity, you decide to place your ear to the door. From what you can tell, there isn't a lot going on, nothing but silence on the other end. Just when you are about to turn around and head to bed, you hear the smallest and most sensual moan. At first you think you're imagining things, the thought of this asshole masturbating being both a blessing and curse, but when you can't seem to pry yourself away, you already know you're in for quite the ride. When his moans suddenly become louder, the faint sound of a female in the background, your heart begins beating out of control. There is something very intimate about this scene and although you might enjoy this any other time, the fact that Jimin is still a piece of shit makes you feel otherwise. Although the arousal beginning to pool at your center seems to tell you otherwise.

"Ah... Y/N..." At the sound of your name, your heart immediately stops. Out of the female names you have ever heard come out of his mouth, the last one you thought you’d here during a moment like this is your own. As hot and amazing as it sounds coming from him, you can’t but hate it at the same time. He has the audacity to bruise your ego with comments about the fact that you can’t get laid, and yet in the same breath, will moan your name while masturbating? With porn no less? He has some nerve.

Deciding to call it a night, you rush back into Yoongi’s room, slamming the door shut. You’ll deal with the repercussions later, all you want to do is forget it ever happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” Yoongi groans, tossing in his corner while you make your way back underneath the covers.

“Jimin can’t keep my name out of his filthy mouth.” You state, the frustration only adding to your headache.

“I wish he would stop that shit, I don’t wanna know what he’s thinking about when he’s touching himself.”

“So you knew about this?” You aren’t even surprised to know that this happens often, but the fact that Yoongi is fully aware of your name somehow being involved in Jimin’s private time is what irritates you most.

“Clearly you hate knowing about it so why would I tell you?” Although he has a point, you can’t help but hate every man in this house. Except for maybe Jungkook. Either way, you only hope tomorrow, Jimin avoids you at all costs.

The following morning, you wake up feeling like absolute hell. After that little interaction, not being able to get your mind off the way he moaned, every syllable of your name that came from his mouth is now eternally burned into your memory. It kept you up all night, and considering you only go to Yoongi to help you sleep, this time he was of no help at all.

Getting up, you try to pat Yoongi awake only for your arm to be pushed away and a string of curses being sent in your direction. For someone who is normally a morning person, it seems he might have gotten just as little of sleep as you did. And for that you feel slightly guilty.

"Sorry for keeping you up all night... it's time to get up, you have to leave for work soon." Reaching him arm from underneath the covers, he grabs his phone that is perched on the windowsill. It only takes one glance before he starts whining, realizing that yes, indeed, he did have work in an hour.

Forcing yourself from the comfort of his bed, you walk out of his room straight into yours directly across the hall. From the small bit of conversation you can hear, Jimin and Jungkook are busy chatting away in the kitchen, the two idiots clearly not having left for work yet. It's usually you and Yoongi still left in the house as your jobs don't start until later, but, for some reason, they seem to be taking their sweet time. Unfortunately for you, you might actually have to face Jimin. Wonderful.

One thing you are grateful about is that the boys agreed to let you have one of the rooms with its own bathroom, knowing full well that sharing the one in the hall would only lead to disaster. The other, which was given to Jungkook after an intense game of rock-paper-scissors, is still not nearly as nice as yours. It's not as if they would have utilized the spa tub anyway.

Grabbing your toothbrush, you start to get cleaned up, taking special care to wash your face in the hopes that it will take away every bit of blush that seems to have permanently stained your cheeks after last night. It would be a miracle if by the time you were done, everyone would be gone and out of your hair, giving you the rest of the day to pull yourself together only to meet them again later in the day. You even take extra time on your makeup, coating each individual lash in the hopes that they have already left.

Digging clothes from your closet, you decide to wear your favorite jeans, a crisp white bottom up blouse on top. Paired with your favorite earrings and chunky heel, you are set to finally leave. Checking one last time in the mirror, you take one last breath before grabbing your jacket and purse and heading out. When you close your bedroom door, you realize that Jimin and Jungkook are still in the main room, chatting as if neither of them had responsibilities. You do your best to quietly sneak past them, but when they come into view with Jimin's back facing you, you realize that maybe you should have taken a little more time to get ready.

"I'm telling you, she is the most gorgeous girl I've ever met in my entire life. She puts every girl I've ever been with to shame. And she asked meout, can you believe that? I bet she'd look pretty on her knees..." When Jungkook notices you, he tries to signal with his eyes to Jimin. From what you can decipher, he's basically saying "shut the fuck up you idiot", but of course, amidst his banter, Jimin doesn't notice a thing. Too lost in his own world about the next girl he's going to bang.

Not wanting to hear anymore, you make sure to be as loud as possible as you nearly rush out the door. Feigning lateness is one thing, but more than anything you wanted him to know you heard everything. How this sex-addicted piece of shit manages to say one girl's name while jacking it and think about his next escapade not a moment later is something you will never understand. He is a player, and he does what every other player does. Piss you off.

All you need to do is get through the day then maybe you can survive the day without killing anyone.

By the time you arrive home, it being almost six, you feel as though you're seconds from passing out. You had entirely forgotten about the meeting at work, not being prepared to give your presentation about recent Artificial Intelligence breakthroughs (although expertly pulling it off like you always managed to do) but in the end, all your energy is drained. And to be honest, it wasn't as if you had that much to begin with.

Based on the current state of the house, you can tell that Jimin and Yoongi aren't home, the hooks for their keys being empty. You do, however, see Jungkook's sneakers in the entryway, his keys on the kitchen counter alongside a small box and a note. Pulling off your heels, you walk over to grab the small card, opening it to see your name written delicately in glitter pen.

"Y/N,

Sorry about this morning. Here's some chocolate.

-JK"

Putting down the card, you can't help the infectious smile from taking over your lips. Even if it's the most dry message, the thought is still there. The fact that he even thought to get you anything is in itself a surprise, yet he somehow knew that one of your biggest weaknesses is good chocolate. Untying the multi-colored ribbon, you carefully open the box only to be met with the sight of a lifetime. Each row contained your favorite chocolates: from caramel, to rum nougat, to that one fancy one that you still can't manage to pronounce. You can't even contain your excitement about the thought of eating them all in one sitting, you entire body vibrating. It's been so long since you last went to buy yourself treats, and having them waiting for you upon coming home was definitely a wonderful surprise.

Looking toward Jungkook's room, you see his door slightly ajar. He likely heard you come in, the sound of those chunky heels not an easy thing to miss. But when you hear the sounds him shouting, the subsequent "you fucking bastard" strung between each command, you realize this kid is likely too deep into his games to remember that you even exist.

"Listen here assholes, if you don't do as I say we're going to have a fucking problem. I carry this team on my fucking back every fucking week and if you don't start pulling your weight, I'm gonna strangle you through the screen!"

Never in your life have you heard Jungkook swear like this, a majority of his demeanor being quiet, and quite honestly, he is more of a recluse than anything else. Most of the conversations you've witnessed have never been anything more than him either listening or throwing in a few phrases here and there just to maintain the flow. This side of him is entirely new, and you're loving it.

"For fucks sake! Do something! Go Go!" He shouts, frustration seeping through every syllable, "Oh my fucking god I'm going to kill all of you."

You can't help but smile at this newly obtained piece of information, the fact that he's not nearly as innocent and sweet as you originally thought. He's sworn before, yes, but only in the presence of alcohol. And the most he'd ever said was 'shit', and even then, you couldn't take him seriously.

Walking up to his room, you peak your head through the door. From this angle, you can see the television screen, watching as his character runs around aimlessly with two swords clutched in each hand. You have no idea what game this is.

"I've gotten nine out of the nine kills for our team, what the fuck are you doing, jerking each other off?" It becomes more difficult to contain your laughter, the string of profanities coming from his mouth nothing less than comedic.

Once a flashing pop-up appears on the screen, spelling the words "Team A Loses", you know damn well the show will only become more dramatic. Just as you are about to hide away, leaving him to deal with utter defeat, you catch a glimpse of him throwing his headphones on the ground, using his foot to turn off the console. From the looks of it, this is probably not the first time this has happened.

The poor kid is left nearly pulling his hair out, leaning back in his chair with his eyes shut. He's probably conjuring several ways to murder his teammates as we speak, something you likely would have done too if you were in his position. But then again, you know absolutely nothing about video games.

In an attempt to walk away, you manage to trip over your own feet, falling over directly into the handle of the closet door. The sound of your accident must have caught his attention, as the next thing you know, Jungkook is crouching beside you.

"Are-you-okay what-happened?" His speech comes out far too quickly for you to understand, the heat beginning to accumulate in your body only adding to the pain beginning to form at your side.

"Yeah-uh I'm fine. I came to ask what you wanted for dinner but I tripped on myself..." Doing your best to cover your tracks, you try to act as though you didn't just hear the last few minutes of his predicament.

"Oh, you're cooking tonight?" He asks, grabbing your arm to help you up. Realizing your mistake, the fact that it was indeed a weekday and had only had family dinner night yesterday, you try to think of something to solidify your alibi.

"Yeah I know everyone is probably suffering from a case of the Mondays and I'm feeling exceptionally nice today..." Adorning a fake smile, you casually limp in the direction of the kitchen. Jungkook immediately comes to your aid, once again, placing his arm around your shoulders as he leads you toward the kitchen.

"Did you hurt your leg too?" Looking at you from head to toe, he examines the state of your body. Watching him from your periphery only results in the rouging of your cheeks, sweat beginning to form underneath your armpits.

"I-ah well... It just hurts to walk, I don't know, I'm stupid." At this point, just existing is painful, especially after having made a fool of yourself. It's not that you usually don't, in fact you're certain Yoongi calls you an idiot at least twice a day, but this has put you at a different level of stupidity. Yoongi's going to love it when you tell him.

"You're not stupid. It happens. Do you want an icepack?" Looking over at him, you try to decipher his expression. All you see is pure concern, the innocence which you have known him for immediately coming back.

"Yeah that would be great." Setting you on the bar stool, he walks to the freezer to grab the small ice pack, the one with the small rubber ducks on it that you specifically set aside for yourself.

Handing it over to you across the counter, he gives you a small smile. You feel like your face is ready to explode.

"Don't worry about dinner, I can handle it. Just relax." You don't think you've ever once seen Jungkook volunteer to cook, taking advantage of his status as the one youngest in the house. Not even that, but you can speak for both Jimin and Yoongi when you say that you all inherently have a desire to care for him, even if it means taking on extra work to take care of the house.

"Thank you, I really appreciate it. For the chocolates too, that was very sweet and a nice surprise." Looking over his shoulder, he smiles brightly, nodding his head as an informal 'you're welcome'. Although you had never thought you'd be spending this much time with Jungkook of all people, you're almost glad you have a tendency to be a walking accident. Although the screaming pain at your ribcage is telling you otherwise.

Placing the icepack at your side, you rest your head against the counter and just watch the show. Jungkook, much to your surprise, isn't as hopeless in the kitchen as you originally thought. Even though he chooses to make a giant pot of ramen, the addition of chopped sausage, chili bean paste, and green onion is something you never would have expected from him. Since he is usually the first one home, he probably makes dishes like this all the time. But seeing it up close in action is entirely different story.

Over the next few minutes, you watch as Yoongi makes it through the door, immediately awe struck at the sight of Jungkook in the kitchen.

"You're actually cooking? You know how to use the stove? Who taught you this." He taunts, setting his jacket on the hook.

"I know how to make ramen, thank you very much." Watching Jungkook roll his eyes at Yoongi has never been so amusing, clearly the loss doing wonders for Jungkook's new personality.

"It better be good," Yoongi warns, "And the hell happened to you?" Taking a seat at the stool next to you, he pokes at your arm until you finally cave in and respond.

"I had an accident okay, don't worry about it." The wound to your pride is far too fresh to admit to the actual string of events. He'll find out eventually, just not right now.

"Jungkook, what'd she do." Knowing he won't be able to coax an answer from you, he decides to attack his only source of information.

"She came home like that, how would I know." Raising your eyebrow, you're surprised to see a sudden ally. Apparently you'd been wrong about Jungkook this entire time.

"When is Jimin coming home?" You ask, the way his name falls off your tongue already leaving you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

But you are only met with silence.

"Is no one going to answer me?" Lifting your head, you look between Jungkook and Yoongi, neither of them budging. Both seem to avoid eye contact with you, Jungkook too focused on stirring the pot while Yoongi is preoccupied on his phone.

"I see how it is..." Returning your head to the counter, you stare at the clock on the wall. It's almost seven, and Jimin should have returned a while ago. Maybe he isn't coming home at all.

"You know Jimin likes you right." With how quickly your head shot up from the counter, you likely gave yourself whiplash. As much as you would have liked to hide your intrigue, you can't help but react.

"What are you talking about." Yoongi's low tone can only be read as a warning, Jungkook's sudden outburst now coming under fire.

"Jungkook, don't fuck with me. He what now?" The room remains silent except for the sound of the ramen boiling, both of them locked in staring contest, as if your presence is no longer welcome.

"Jimin likes you." Jungkook repeats, never once breaking eye contact with Yoongi. You aren't sure what alternate universe you've stumbled into, but you wish you could escape.

Jimin having feelings for you is something you never thought would happen. Never. You may have dreamt about it several times, but each time you woke up knowing that it would never be the truth. And yet you're here, those words suddenly coming out of Jungkook's mouth and you're left wondering how much of this reality is even true. Jimin is the type who doesn't like to settle down. He has a new girl around his arm every month. Sometimes, every week. Jimin doesn't do feelings. He does sex. At least that's what Yoongi always tells you.

"Oh." You aren't sure how to respond as nothing about this situation makes sense. Technically, Jungkook would be the one to know those little secrets about Jimin. It would make sense for Jungkook to know those things. But the fact that it's you? He must be making it up. Is this part of his gift? To tell you what you want to hear? Well you don't want it. Not in the slightest.

Removing yourself from the counter, you head straight into your room, ignoring the way your body screams at you in pain. Your heart, which you thought would be overjoyed, only hurts. If it is indeed true and Jimin does have feelings for you, then he has only put you through all this pain for what? Considering everyone and their neighbor knows of your feelings, you wouldn't be surprised if Jimin caught on long ago. And yet he continues to go out, meet girls, and bring them home in front of your face as if it meant nothing. He truly is, and will always be, an asshole.

Lying on your bed, you rest the icepack on your side. From how hot you have been feeling, it is mostly liquid, but at least in some ways, it continues to cool you down. If only you had one for your entire body, then maybe you could see yourself getting through this.

Stretching your arms to the ceiling, you quickly realize you had fallen asleep. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you read that it's already eleven. You had slept for four hours. There is no way you will be able to sleep tonight.

Sitting up, you place the ice pack on the table, tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. Your entire body is sore, a majority of your rib cage still aching like no other. You really did yourself in.

With the sole thought of getting that box of chocolates, the concept of shoving every single piece in your mouth, you decide to leave your room. Opening the door, you notice that the house is quiet, a majority of the lights turned off in the main room. Stepping out, you try to be as quick as possible in retrieving the chocolates, but when you notice Jungkook chilling on the couch, nothing but his phone in his hand, you aren't sure if leaving the comfort of your room was as good of an idea as you had originally thought.

Unfortunately for you, he notices you immediately.

"Hey... you're awake." He states, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Yeah... I was tired." Heading directly into the kitchen, you grab the box and the note, set on hiding in your room for the rest the night. Maybe even for the rest of eternity.

"Can we talk?" Had it not been for the fact that the house was essentially empty, you never would have heard him. If you had to describe his voice in two words, it would definitely be 'tiny font'.

Turning around, you nod slightly, making your way over to his spot on the couch. Sitting on the opposite end, you wait for him to continue, but for a while it seems as though he is collecting his thoughts. Either that or he entirely spaced out. When he suddenly turns his body to face you, you feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I don't know why I said that. I should have known that it would make you uncomfortable considering we're housemates and all." Shaking your head, you try to reassure him. It doesn't help that the current series of events has put you in a weird mood lately, but you also understand that he meant no harm in doing so.

"It's okay, really. I was being sensitive I guess, I didn't really have a reason to act that way." Pursing his lips, he processes your words. He doesn't say anything, instead letting awkward silence fill the space between you. You want nothing more than for this conversation to be over with so that you can at least be alone to deal with your now extremely disorganized feelings.

"It's not okay. I know you like him... and I probably made things really awkward." Biting your bottom lip, you mentally scorn yourself in your head. You had figured that Jungkook had known, either just by witnessing the many awkward exchanges or Yoongi spilling the tea, but never did you think he would confront you about it. Not like this.

"I... yeah I do. But let's just pretend that's not the case so I can move on without wanting to yeet myself down a flight a stairs." Normally when you have conversations such as this, the person on the other end is almost always Yoongi. Yoongi appreciates dark humor and your ubiquitous use of the word 'yeet'. Jungkook, on the other hand, has never spoken more than a few casual sentences with you.

"Please don't do that, I feel really bad now, I'm sorry!" The pure concern and sorrow etched onto Jungkook's face is something you never thought you would witness first hand. He is sweet and has never once been on anyone's bad side, especially in this household. Yet he masters the art of looking pitiful quite well.

"No no! I don't mean it literally. Only Jimin is that dramatic." Trying to reassure him, you laugh it all off, pretending as if doing so doesn't kill you from the bruised rib. He is only response is to mouth the words 'oh', the entire subject now being dropped.

"Are you hungry? I can make-" Just as Jungkook tries to speak, Yoongi bursts through the front door. From the way he staggers inside, you can tell he's veryvery drunk.

Running over to him, you hold him up while he kicks off his shoes. Upon seeing your face, his breath reeking of alcohol, a large smile forms across his face.

"Hey... you. You're alive, I miss-ed youuu." You can't help but cringe internally at his words, his attempts at being cute probably being your least favorite moments. Drunk Yoongi only has three settings: soft, mega soft, or an asshole. And from what you can tell, he's in the mood to be as obnoxiously soft as possible.

"Missed you too bitch. Come on, let's get you to your room." Pulling him close to you, you try to breathe through the pain and lead him in the direction from his room. Eyeing Jungkook on the couch, you can tell he wants to help. But both of you know that when it comes to Yoongi being drunk, there is only one person who he will have anything to do with. And that person is you.

Mouthing the words 'sorry', you make large strides to get Yoongi into his room. Upon opening the door, you find that his room is spotless - even his entire desk had been reorganized. Which only tells that you something must have happened at work. He's known to be quite the clean freak amidst a lot of stress.

Throwing him onto the bed, you try to catch your breath. He may be small human but it's not as if you're the strongest person either. The fact that you even got him this far is quite a miracle.

Going back to close the door, you take the chair at his desk and pull it toward the bed.

"So what happened?" Simple interrogation is easy with drunk Yoongi, because unlike non-drunk Yoongi, this one is willing to tell you literally everything.

"I was mad." He pouts, tossing one of the pillows of his bed.

"Mad about what exactly?"

"Jungkook's stupid." Alright, well there's a clue.

"He's not stupid," you emphasize, irritated that Yoongi would even suggest such a thing, "don't say shit that's not true."

"He shouldn't have told you that. Not even I was going to tell you that." As you suspected Yoongi knew this whole time as well. He was just waiting to watch everything burst into flames.

"Good to know you keep shit from me. And you call yourself my best friend." Even if you aren't entirely irritated, knowing full well that Yoongi always has his reasons for keeping things from you, but the fact that you had to find out from someone other than him does hurt your pride. Just a little bit.

"Oh please, I am your one and only. And if it makes up for it, I can tell you something else." Intrigued by his offer, you swivel the chair until you are directly facing him. "And that is?"

The sudden smile that appears on his face terrifies you, as you've only known that look to be associated with nothing but a bad time.

"Jungkook likes you too." Rolling your eyes, you consider punching him in the throat. Why he thinks it's alright to play with you right now, you're not sure, but one thing you do know is that he won't be getting away with it.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm going to bed." Getting up from the chair, you get ready to leave.

"I'm serious! He told me." Turning around, you try to contain the anger suddenly building up within you.

"Enough jokes Yoongi! Stop!" Being single and alone sucks so much more when every man around just like to play with your feelings.

"Y/N. Seriously. Did you really think he picked out those chocolates without coming to me first? I'm literally the only person on this fucking earth who knows what chocolates you eat, especially since you can only buy them from one specific store. And second, this bastard has been eyeing you since the day we moved in. Avoids you like the plague because being near you makes him nervous. Worries about you constantly. Remember that night he went to go pick you up from that one stupid bar because you were too drunk and your date disappeared? Do you think that was coincidence, no this bitch overheard you drunk calling me and ran out the door like the house was on fire. He likesyou. Just face it! Ugh, you get on my nerves sometimes." Rolling over, he curls up into a ball against the wall. Leaving you to sit with the mess that his drunk self has so lovingly created.

Taking your leave, you make your way into your bedroom, closing the door as quietly as possible. If you could wish for anything, you would wish to not exist. Everything is confusing, nothing makes sense and somehow you are put in the most awkward position on the planet thanks to these idiots who can't seem to get their shit together. You wish they would have just left you out of this, let you suffer in peace as you had done so before everyone's feelings got mixed in.

Lying on your bed, you can only stare up at the ceiling. With things being a million times more complicated, there is no way you are going to be able to sleep. Not when there is too much to figure out before things get out of hand.

The following morning, you do your best to get ready early. A full two hours early. Knowing that Jungkook and Jimin would be leaving within the next hour, at least assuming Jimin even came home last night, you rush to pull yourself together for work. You figure you can sit in the cafe on the first floor of your office building to pass the time, eat some food since you basically had nothing yesterday. Whatever you can do to get out of here early, you will absolutely do so. You hate every bit of this.

With your favorite dress on, tights and black booties to match, you grab your jacket and head straight for the front door. However, when you make it to the main living room, you're met with Jungkook, his favorite thermos for coffee in hand.

"Good morning. You're up early?" The inflection at the end of his question makes your heart constrict, the utter thought that this man has feelings for you killing you on the inside. You had never considered the thought and now it’s all you can think about.

"Yeah, I have to go in early to get some extra work done." You will lie straight through your teeth.

"Hopefully that means you can come home early. Maybe we can hang out and watch a movie or something." Oh my fucking god.

"Sounds great, I better get going, see you later!" Waving awkwardly, you head straight for the door, only to be knocked over by Jimin suddenly swinging it open.

"Oh shit, sorry Y/N, are you-"

"I'm fine, bye!" Rushing past him, you run straight to your car, no longer caring about your image at this point. Every man in this house is out to kill you, and the last thing you need is to be spending any more time around them if you can help it.

Once safely inside, you shift the car into reverse, leaving as if your life depends on it. Not only do your ribs hurt, but your shoulder is now out of commission as well. And who’s going to pay your medical bills?

After the conversation with Jungkook from this morning, your worst fear for the day was going home. In fact, you even made a point to go out with one of your coworkers just so you wouldn't have to. The idea of being with Jungkook alone only gives you anxiety, the fact that he even asked in the first place being so out of character.

But, as you stand outside the house at nearly eleven o'clock, you know that you can't avoid it forever, as much as you would like to. You're going to have to face him at some point. Might as well get it over with so that maybe you can get a good night's rest for once. As if that would ever happen.

Opening the door quietly, you sneak inside. You took your boots off prior to coming in, hoping that it would lessen the noise, and luckily for you, all the lights were off albeit the lamp in the corner. A sure sign that everyone is either out or preoccupied in their respective rooms. For your own sake, you only hope it's the latter. Tip toeing into your room, you drop your bag and your coat. As quickly as possible you change into sweatpants and a t-shirt, removing your makeup and brushing your teeth. You want to just sleep for as long as possible, so that when you show up to work tomorrow, you might actually be able to do your job.

Going across the hall, you open the door to Yoongi's room. Except for when you open the door, he isn't even inside.

"This asshole..." Of course the one night you desperately need him in order to sleep, he isn't even home. And he probably won't even come home this time, especially after last night. Essentially, you're screwed.

Returning to the living room, you sit quietly on the couch. From what you can tell, Jimin and Jungkook are both asleep, not a peep coming from either direction in the house.

Turning on the television, you immediately turn down the volume to 'non-existent', choosing to put on subtitles instead. Whenever Yoongi isn’t around and you have enough energy to exist outside of your room, you have a tendency to watch a series of murder mysteries, just to preoccupy your time. Not that things like that even scared, you found them extremely fascinating, but on occasion when someone would find you curled up on the couch at four in the morning zoned out on a murder scene, you would only receive criticizing looks. As if any of their habits were any better than your own.

Opening HulaHoop, your favorite streaming app, you continue where you last left off. You are currently on Season 5, making your way through Episode 3, fighting your way through the evidence surrounding the chilling torso murders. As you make your way through the rest of the season, quickly losing track of time, you hear the sound of one of the doors opening. When Jungkook comes out, hair disheveled and his collarbone exposed, you damn near choke on air.

“Ah, you’re home?” His gruff, sleep-heavy voice catches you off guard, much deeper than you’ve ever heard him sound. As much as you hate to admit it, he sounds really hot.

“Couldn’t sleep. What are you doing up?” You ask, trying to avoiding looking at his smooth, exposed skin.

“Water. I’m dying.” Chuckling softly, you watch as he basically waddles into the kitchen. He must still be half asleep from the way he can’t seem to find a glass despite living here for an eternity. Finally stumbling upon the right cabinet, he takes one of the largest glass and fills it with water from the front of the fridge. You only blink once and the water is nearly gone.

“Damn, you were real thirsty.” Nodding his head, he fills it once more, basically chugging it before placing the empty glass in the sink.

“What’re you watching?” He asks, focusing his sights on the screen.

“Murder mysteries. This one is about a family who disappeared from their cabin. Apparently only the youngest daughter was found alive and she can’t remember anything, not even her own name. It’s crazy.” Trying to comprehend your words, he just stares into the void of the screen, looking as if he’s about to fall asleep standing up.

“Is Yoongi not home?” He realizes, checking the hallway in the direction of your rooms.

“Nah. I don’t know where he is.” Not that it would make a difference anyway. He’s just not home.

“Did you want to come sleep with me?” Before he even processes what he says, you stare at him wide-eyed. This was the most blatant flirting this kid has ever done.

“Wait I’m sorry, I retract that, too far, oh my god.” Rubbing his bare face with his hands, he walks in circles, trying to snatch his words out of existence. If only his offer didn’t sound so promising.

“Actually… can I? I have a lot of work to do tomorrow and I really need sleep. And Yoongi’s not home…” The last thing you want is to sound eager, especially since this is honestly the last thing you want to do, but it would be an understatement to say you’re desperate at this point.

“I-I guess, if you want.”

“Jungkook. You’re the one who offered, I don’t hav-”

“No-no it’s chill, it’s fine go for it.” He’s about five seconds from having an absolute mental breakdown.

“Okay…” Turning off the television, you follow him into his room. Just as you expected, his room is neat as always, everything in its place. At least Jungkook’s bed is in the center, meaning you didn’t have to worry about being crammed against a wall.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” Jungkook states uncomfortably, “but you can have that side if you want.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter, I can take the other side.” Everything about this exchange is more awkward than anything you have ever experienced. No wonder he’s just a recluse.

Turning off the lights, you both crawl into his bed. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling, neither of you willing to move, you both seem to read each other’s mind, turning away so that your backs are now facing each other. From underneath the blankets, you could feel a tremendous amount of body heat radiating from his side of the bed. It is a known fact in the house that Jungkook is quite the lover, a serial monogamist one might call him, and yet when it comes to being around you, he just can’t seem to get a hold of himself. And much to your dismay, you’re absolutely a nervous wreck right beside him. Everything about this screams uncomfortable, although his mattress is probably the nicest one you’ve ever lied on, but still! You feel like you’re roasting alive under the tension.

“Do you mind if I turn on a little music? It helps me sleep.” He asks quietly, shifting closer to the edge of the bed.

“Wouldn’t mind at all.” For a moment you feel him fumble about, probably reaching somewhere in the darkness for his phone. Seeing your shadows illuminate on the wall, you guess that he found exactly what he was looking for. All around the room, soft piano music begins to play, the dim lighting illuminating the small speakers in the corner of the room.

He is quite tech-savvy.

Locking his phone, you hear it hit the carpet of the floor. Despite having felt as stiff as a brick only moments ago, the sounds of the music quickly seems to alleviate your stress. You had never thought before to utilize music to help you sleep as Yoongi just seemed like a convenient option considering you used to have to sleep in one bed when you used to share the smallest studio in existence. Although it doesn’t have the exact same effect, it’s doing enough to at least get you to relax. At this point, that’s all you really need. After a couple minutes of just following the notes, allowing your mind to drift alongside the music, you find yourself falling quickly into dreamland, not another peep to be heard.

With a few weeks having passed, things slowly started to go back to normal. You had, in many ways, fixed your friendship with Jimin, him apologizing a million times over after subsequently finding out from Yoongi that he had, quote, “royally fucked up”. You knew from the beginning that you weren’t going to hold a grudge forever, especially knowing that after a certain point, your weakness for him would ultimately win everything else over. And not because you have feelings for him. Just because it’s Jimin.

As of recently, the general dynamics in the house have shifted dramatically, Jimin spending more time at home and Jungkook becoming more involved with everyone to the point of him actually making plans for everyone to go out together. After nearly a year, things were finally starting to fall into place, the family of friends you had dreamed of slowly beginning to manifest itself in front of your very eyes. If only feelings weren’t still an issue.

As part of your resolution, after having witnessed the aftermath first hand of what it actually felt like to live in the same house as your crush, you vowed to sever the feelings you originally thought you would never get over. Whether or not it has been successful is still up for debate, Yoongi being on the side of delusional rather than an actual breakthrough. But you expected nothing less from him considering he can’t grasp the concept of not being cynical.

You had arrived home not too long ago, the beloved Friday finally gracing your presence. Your plans for the weekend consisted of nothing and more of nothing, every part of your body aching to be in sweatpants for a full 48 hours. Whenever Valentine's Day is approaching, you always manage to secure your weekend with selfcare and selfcare only, even if it means watching a drama for hours on end and eating the largest box of rum nougats. Your favorite part being the rum, of course.

When you first walk through the door, you notice the typical arrangement against the wall: Jungkook’s keys alongside three empty spots. It’s like a ritual to come home like this on the weekdays, one that at least serves as some validation that the world is still in order. You can still remember the one day you had arrived home and saw that not even Jungkook’s keys were on the hook – a sight you hadn’t seen in the entirety of living in the house. You had even gone so far as to call Yoongi and Jimin, ready to put out an amber alert for your missing child to which Yoongi only responded: “He went to a conference for work, he’ll be gone all week will you calm down?” Ever since then you’ve made sure to rely on things other than Jungkook's keys to check the status of the universe. However, it hasn't been easy considering the ritual continued immediately after he had returned from his trip.

Heading straight to your room, you notice the door is left slightly open. Whenever you leave for work, you know for a fact that you close the door. Every time. Slowly opening it, you are surprised to see quite the assortment laid out on the bed, including a giant teddy bear, flowers and that very familiar box of chocolates.

Someone clearly ignored rule number two.

Rule 2: DO NOT go into each other’s personal spaces without permission. You will get caught.

Well it's not as if they were trying to hide it... this is almost too blatant.

Walking up to your bed, you immediately grab the card.

"My dearest Y/N,

For this Valentine's I have gifted you a buddy that will hopefully help you sleep along with some of your favorite flowers and the chocolate I know you love more than anything else.

I hope it's not too late to encroach on your plans for the weekend, but if you'd like, I have reservations to la Cour du Feu, a little restaurant on the water that I'm sure you'll come to love.

If this flops, pretend it never happened. Thanks.

with uncontrollable feelings, Jungkook"

Unable to hide your amusement, you toss the card onto the bedding alongside the tremendously large bear. Everything about this is sweet yet hilarious, a part of you wondering how you managed to get yourself into this situation. Even the bear seems a little over the top, but you can't deny that it's probably the cutest bear you've ever seen. If you squint, it actually looks around the same size as Yoongi, so maybe, just maybe, Jungkook might be onto something.

Despite your best efforts to control yourself, your first inclination is to open the suspecting box. Just as you predicted, the same assortment from before welcomes you, several more of each kind filling each of the little spots. You're true weakness, these stupid chocolates, fill you with so much joy that you almost forget to consider the proposition previously presented to you. Almost.

Rule 5: No relationships between roommates.

But is it really breaking the rule if it's just one date? Likely not. And besides, you would never end up with him anyway. Even though he's adorable and mildly attractive. Actually, very attractive. But who are you to refute facts?

Popping one of the nougats into your mouth, you quickly try to decide your course of action. As much as you'd love to go to a nice restaurant and be doted on for once in your life, and on Valentine's Day for that matter, you aren't sure if you're willing to start something you can't finish. Not even Yoongi is here to try and help you, acting as the voice of reason you never seem to have on your own. Jungkook knows you're home, the poor kid is probably waiting on his bed petrified, which means you have about a minute to decide.

What harm could it possibly do?

Probably a lot, actually. Pulling at your own hair, you realize that this can either go really well or really poorly. And even though you're a risk taker, are you willing to put the sanctity of this household at risk just because you want to be wined and dined?

Yes, yes you are.

Exiting your room, you head straight to Jungkook's. His door is closed and you can't hear anything coming from inside. He's not even bothering to play his games.

Knocking on the door, you hear the saddest "come in" in existence, his voice having audibly cracked in the middle of it.

"Hey," you say peeking through the door, "I came with my answer."

His eyes perk up at your words, the genuine anticipation in his eyes almost killing you.

"Yes, I'd love to go with you."

The sigh of relief that expels from his body makes you laugh, as he had very harshly thrown himself back on the bed.

"Thank god, I had put that there like two hours ago and I've been suffering ever since. Especially after you came home, I seriously considered just jumping out my window, I couldn't handle it." He pauses. "But I'm glad. I'm very very glad."

Sitting next to him on the bed, you wrap your arm around his shoulder.

"You did well, those were expertly picked gifts." His smile only makes your heart melt, every part of you wanting to pinch his cheeks and shower him with affection. But of course you would never do that. Never.

The rest of the night went by relatively smoothly, both Jimin and Yoongi returning home at their usual times. Jungkook had decided to put on a movie to watch in the living room, everyone seeming to have had the same sort of day at work. An unbearable and brutal one.

Both you and Jungkook agreed not to say anything to the others, knowing that this would inevitably put the rules into question. No, you weren't in a relationship, but it's not as though going on a date didn't inevitably turn into more dates. Which, you can conclude, would lead to a full blown relationship. Although, if you were to get caught, you would just claim you had asked Jungkook in desperation to finally be taken out on a date for Valentine's Day. That shit hasn't happened for years, and it just seemed like a perfect opportunity. At least that's what you would tell them. You already know Yoongi wouldn't buy it, but at the very least, it might work on Jimin. If he didn't get butthurt, that is.

Sitting next to Yoongi, you rest your head on his shoulder. Just like every other movie night, you use him as your personal body pillow. Every few seconds, you notice Jungkook glancing over in your direction, and although you'd like to think he was just checking on your well-being, you know the look on his face very well. It's the same look you would tend to give Jimin whenever he would bring another girl over. Speaking of which, you haven't seen in quite some time.

"Yo Jimin, what happened to that one pretty girl you were dating? The one with the short brunette hair that always smelled like roses." The fact that you saying those words induced a revelation followed by an 'ahhh' coming from Jungkook, you know that it wasn't just you who noticed her odd and sudden disappearance, at least without a replacement.

"We broke up. She didn't like the fact that I was living with another woman." Rolling your eyes, you add that to the list of stupid excuses you've heard from Jimin's lovers. This one, in particular, has been used quite a bit.

"As if that means anything. We have those rules for a reason. And besides, nothing will happen between us." The conviction in your voice came out more harsh than you had planned, and albeit stating a fact, you couldn't help but feel guilty. Especially after seeing the disappointment etched on his face.

"Right." Looking at Yoongi, you try to get some help, but when he only shrugs his shoulders, you realize you are completely on your own.

Everyone eventually gets back to the movie, Jungkook making another round of popcorn for the second half. Upon the movie’s ending, Yoongi is the first to get up, bidding farewell in the only way he knows how.

"Night assholes." The slamming of his door is one indication that he is in a mood and in no way willing to spend another moment near everyone. Which means you're probably going to sleep in your own room tonight.

"Y/N, can I talk to you?" Jimin asks, standing up to face you. For a moment, you feel panicked, not sure how to get out of it. He tone is deadpan and slightly harsh, meaning whatever he has to say likely isn't positive. At first you look to Jungkook, hoping he might be of some assistance, but before you can even ask, he is already heading to his room.

"Sure." When he grabs your arm, you realize the severity of the situation. He doesn't just want to talk, he wants to talk talk.

Pulling you into his room he shuts it behind him. Everything about this situation makes you feel weird and not in the 'oh this might lead to some really hot sex' kind of way.

"I like you." He states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I'm aware." As much as you'd love to sit here any longer, you're also not in any mood to play games with him. Not like this.

"So you know. And I know you like me. And I know we can't be in a relationship... but." He pauses, finally dropping his arms. "I don't know, this isn't going how I planned."

This fucking idiot.

"Not going as planned? How the hell did you think this was gonna go?" Sometimes it truly amazes you the kind of people you managed to live in the same house with.

"Not sure. Just not like this. Can we change the rules?" He asks, giving you his best, pleading smile. You can't help but scoff. He truly is on some other level.

"First of all, we're not changing any rule. Second of all, how dare you think you can trap me in your bedroom and expect me to somehow say yes to whatever weird proposition you're trying to make. Third of all, I do like you but I also know boundaries. This is a little extreme, Jimin." Nodding his head, he takes in your words, probably finding a way to get out of this situation.

"Okay. But can I at least tell you how I feel?"

"The floor is all yours." Shifting his weight between his feet, he pushes his bands out of his face. You already know you're in for quite the show.

"I know I have a really bad habit of saying this. But I mean it when I say it to you. That you are genuinely the most beautiful person I have ever met. And not just for looks. I mean of course, that but I mean otherwise too."

Oh boy.

"And even though I've been nothing but an asshole to you, and I have an awful tendency to bring girls over, I still believe it's true. Wow I sound pathetic. Okay," he pauses, licking his lips, "I know we can't date, but I think being around you has made me a better person."

Is he forreal?

"I don't want to mess around anymore. Hence why you haven't seen... her in a while."

"Do you even remember her name?" You interject, not buying a single word coming out of his mouth.

"I do, but that's not the point. As I was saying, I want to be better person even if it means we can't be in a relationship. At least not right now, I don't plan on living in this house forever."

Oh, he forreal, forreal.

"I just want you to know your feelings are reciprocated and had it not been for the rules, we probably would have spent an eternity together."

"Alright, this was fun, thank you for letting me know how you feel. I'm glad we got to have this talk, and yes, even though we can't date, it was lovely getting to understand your point of view. I'm glad you want to become a better person, and I hope you continue on that path." Sitting up from his bed, you try your best not to laugh. Whatever exchange that was, it really put the nail in the coffin regarding your diminished feelings. You had known a while ago that whatever feelings you had would inevitably lead you nowhere. Either that or to heartbreak. And seeing him now, you are relieved knowing that in the end, Yoongi was right. Jimin just isn't the one meant for you.

Closing the door behind you, not bothering to hear another word, you make your way into your own sanctuary. Except when you open the door, you are met with another set of eyes illuminated solely by the nightlight that resides underneath your desk.

"Jesus Christ Jungkook! I could have had a heart attack!" With your hand on your chest, you lean back against the door, hoping at least it will keep you upright.

"Sorry, I needed to ask you about details for this weekend and I didn't want to interrupt. I heard everything, that was. fucking. awful." He whispers, emphasizing his last words. Which, to be fair, isn't wrong. It was truly one of the most awful conversations you'd ever had with Jimin.

"I mean yeah you're right, it was awful. I'm glad I'm not the only one who felt that deep in their soul. But what did you want to talk about?" You ask, sitting on the bed next to him. The last thing you want to do is talk more about what had transpired in the other room. You’re definitely taking that to your grave.

"Right, so it's a nice restaurant and everything and it's probably expected that we dress formally right, and honestly, I have no idea what your closet looks like and considering the reservation is for tomorrow, I wasn't sure you'd be prepared soooo..." He pauses, reaching to the side of the bed, "I bought you something."

"Jungkook! No!" Although he is right, you don't really have anything expensive to wear per se, but you never considered the idea that he would actually buy you something.

"I had it earlier, but I figured it didn't make sense to give it you if you weren't going to say yes." Handing it over, he rushes to turn on the light. In your lap is a large blue box etched with gold writing. It looks extremely expensive.

Opening the top, your first instinct is to cover your mouth. Inside the tissue, there lies a beautiful, sapphire dress, adorned with small beading along the bust line. It has spaghetti straps, not particularly your favorite, but at this point who are you to complain.

"Jungkook, this is gorgeous. How in the hell did you afford this?" You question is only answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You deserve it. Try it on." Standing up he wanders into your bathroom, closing the door.

"I'll wait in here! I just want to know that it fits, I kinda had to guess." If there's one thing he's good at, it's being cute, and for some reason, you just can't seem to get enough.

Taking off your clothes and putting on the dress, you're surprised when you look in the mirror to see that actually... it fits perfectly. Twirling around a few times, you watch as the train dances with you, the embroidery along the bust sparkling against your bedroom lights. The dress is velvet, extremely soft against your skin, and for once in your life, you actually feel glamorous. If only your hair and face matched, you might have just asked yourself out.

"You done?" He questions through the door. Even though he's the one who bought it for you, you're a little nervous for him to see you in it. When it comes to your body, you've never been the most confident, but considering how stunning you look even in your own humble opinion, you only predict that he might find it lovely as well.

"Yeah I'm ready." When the door opens slowly, you notice he has his hand over his eyes, the other being used to navigate his way around.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I want to be really surprised, that's all. I already know you look great, but it’s more fun this way." You can't help but scoff at his remark, his smooth words soothing the anxiety pooling in your chest.

"You can open them now." You coax, hoping that by doing so you can get this entire thing over with.

Removing his hand, he looks up at you, only for his smile to disappear entirely. For a moment you begin to panic, the fact that he hasn't said a word only stressing you out.

"Jungkook? What do you think?" When he doesn't respond, you're seconds away from calling everything off. You feel embarrassed and slightly humiliated.

"I-... sorry I just don't have words? To express how beautiful you look? Wait I don't mean to phrase that as a question, but really, you look stunning. More than that. Shit, Sofi what's a better word for stunning."

"OK, I found this on the web for 'what's a better word for stunning':"

"Dammit, Sofi, you're useless." Tossing his phone behind him, he can only stare at you. Glancing between your back and your image in the mirror, he can't seem to tear his eyes away.

"Definitely wear that tomorrow. It's perfect. I have a matching tie, we'll be the best dressed there guaranteed." He says, his vibrant smile returning to his features.

Turning around, you immediately run to give him a hug. Everything about this Valentine's Day seems to be falling into place.

"Thank you..." Hugging you back, he instinctively pulls you into his lap. Neither of you say anything, instead relishing in each other's presence. For a while you stay just like that, at least until you get a glimpse of the clock.

"Holy shit, it's 1? Where did the time go, wasn't it just 9?"

"I don't know what planet you're living on," he responds, "but it was nine ages ago." Rolling your eyes, you remove yourself from his lap. Despite the excitement still coursing through your veins, you know that in order to be a functioning human, you need to get your sleep. And besides, you have a lot of preparation to do for the evening. Especially on those legs of yours.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning, yeah?" You hope he catches the hint.

"Oh, yeah. Sounds good." Wiping his hands on his sweats, he gets up from the bed. However, before leaving, he can't help but take one last glance at you. The glint in his eyes is almost bewitching, the way pure joy radiates from his expression being too much for your weak heart. After sending him off with a smile, he carefully exits your room, finally leaving you to your own devices. It would be an understatement to say you are excited for tomorrow, but more than anything, you're exhausted. After changing into sleep attire, all it takes is for head to hit the pillow before you whisked to sleep, the teddy bear clutched within your grasp.

Getting ready for the dinner was an adventure in itself, coordinating ways to sneak out of the house so that neither Yoongi nor Jimin were suspicious of your activities. But from the way you had spent nearly seven hours in your room, pampering to the nines with a bubble bath and face mask treatment included, Yoongi was already suspicious of you. However, convincing him that it was something you desperately needed didn’t take much effort, a fact to which he quickly agreed.

“Are you excited?” Jungkook asks, holding your hand across the center console.

“A little nervous, honestly. What if people stare at me?”

“And what if they do? It’s because you’re gorgeous, trust me. You haven’t a thing to worry about.” Despite feeling hesitant, you know to trust his words. No matter what happens, he will take care of you, a promise he had made right before you had left.

The drive to the restaurant is relatively short, making it to the lake taking only twenty minutes. Much to your surprise, Jungkook manages to find the right place with little help of his phone, relying solely on his memory to take the right turns. When the valet comes to open the door, you can’t help but feel like royalty. Even the staff, greeting patrons with warm towels outside the door, are dressed exquisitely well.

With Jungkook finally at your side, he intertwines his fingers with yours. The excitement on his face becomes contagious, no longer able to hide your smile. Everything is starting to come together – the attire, the scenery, the date. If only you could relax a little more, you might be able to make it through the main doors without inevitably passing out. Taking a deep breath, you finally ascend the set of stairs, accepting the hot towel without so much as a problem. Walking into the restaurant is like walking into a castle, everything adorned with gold, various paintings hanging on the wall. He wasn’t kidding when he said the restaurant screamed expensive. You’re certain you can’t afford to even look the place.

“Reservation under Jeon Jungkook.” Squeezing his hand, you try to calm the rapid beating of your heart. Every part of you feels like it’s about to explode, the realization that this isn’t just a dream. This is real life.

“Right this way.” As the host leads you down the hallway and into the large dining area, you quickly find yourself lost in a maze. Unlike the outside, the inside is massive, several dining rooms contained within this one building. Each room had its own theme, set with its own wallpaper and various works of art. Upon traveling into the room with navy, one that seemed to complement your dress nicely, you find yourself starting to get sick with anticipation. You just want to sit down.

Finally making it to your table, the menus set in front of you, you feel as though you can finally breathe. Even Jungkook notices the way you relax once the host disappears from sight.

“You gonna be okay?” He asks, raising a brow. Nodding your head, you can’t seem to find your voice. All day you’ve been focused on the food, and now that you’re finally here, you can’t wait to dig in. Opening the menu, everything is as you expected. No prices.

“Get whatever you want. Everything is on me tonight.”

Dinner had gone smoothly, everything coming out perfect. Both you and Jungkook decided to get separate dishes, sharing as much as possible to get the full experience. Even having glasses of wine, him only one and you, well, quite a few, only added to the ambiance of it all. It was the nicest place you’d ever stepped foot in and probably forever will be. And now you have a beautiful and expensive dress to add to the collection of clothes you will never be able to wear again.

“I’m so tired, that was so good. Let’s go back there again.” Hitting his arm in disbelief, you wonder how he could even suggest blowing that kind of money again.

“As much as I loved it, please don’t ever spend money like that again. I will literally cook whatever you want.” Taking the thought into consideration, he looks between you and the road.

“Sounds promising. But not the same.” The shit-eating grin on his face is only one small indication of his slightly sadistic behavior, loving to watch money fly out of his bank account somehow becoming his favorite thing. You will never understand him, not that you ever think you could, but you still can’t help but appreciate the sincerity behind his actions.

The drive home is quiet, basking in the sights of the night sky and the moon. Both of you are exhausted, despite not having done much at all, the thought of just lying in bed more enticing than anything else.

Parking in the driveway, you try to close the door as quietly as possible. More than likely, the other two are awake, and the last thing you need is to be berated with questions. Once inside, Jungkook gracefully returning his keys to the proper spot, he grabs your wrist and leads you in the direction of his bedroom. Neither Jimin nor Yoongi seem to be around, making your transition back into normal life that much easier.

With you both inside, he quietly closes and locks the door. Taking a glance at each other, you can only smile, the day being far more eventful than you could have imagined. Removing your heels and your jewelry, you set everything aside in the corner of the room, immediately plopping onto the bed. Just like before, your body melts into the mattress, only this time, you don’t feel as awkward.

“Tired already?” Climbing onto the bed beside you, he begins massaging your back, his tender hands doing wonders on your muscles.

“That feels so good… please don’t stop…” Just the simple act of his hands on your back is enough to lull you to sleep.

“Com’ere.” Just when you thought you were going to be able to rest, Jungkook moves away from you toward the head of the bed. You were really banking on a full blown massage, but you suppose that might have been too much to ask for considering all he’s done for you in the first place.

Lifting yourself up, crawl toward him on the bed, hating the way your body aches in response to the movement.

“Lie down and close your eyes.” As if he had to tell you twice.

Placing a pillow over your face, you wait patiently as he gets up and moves around the room. From different areas you hear him rummaging through various bags, the sound of clicking quickly followed by strings of profanities.

“So romantic.” You comment, laughing at his odd behavior.

“One moment, I promise I’m almost done.”

Counting backwards in your head, you try to keep yourself preoccupied, hoping you don’t fall asleep before he even gets the chance to reveal the surprise. That would be something that would only happen to you of all people.

“Okay aaaand, done!”

Tossing the pillow aside, you sit up and open your eyes only to be met with an array of candles surrounding the room. Beside you on the bed, there are various rose petals, a combination of red, pink and white.

Everything is straight out of a movie, picturesque in the way it’s simple, yet romantic.

“Jungkook… why are you so good to me?” You’ve never experienced such genuine acts of kindness in your life, never once having been courted nearly as much as you have been with him. The fact that he’s gone to such an extent for someone he’s not even in a relationship with is still baffling. The idea that you are on the receiving end of it even more so.

“I… I like you. I like you a lot and I think you deserve the world. And even though I can’t give that to you, I hope this in some way shows my appreciation.” Just listening to his words is enough to nearly bring you to tears, the exhaustion mixed with his adorable nature only adding fuel to the fire. You are so soft, especially for him, that you aren’t sure how you are going to move forward from this. He won over your heart, in its entirety. How were you possibly going to explain that?

“I want to show you… how much I care for you. May I?” Never before have you been asked such a question, but considering it’s Jungkook, this is something you wouldn’t put past him. He is the sweetest person to ever exist, and yet you are only just discovering the fact.

“Yes… please.” With a gentle smile, he joins you on the bed, holding you as close to him as possible. As he gently strokes your hair, you can only admire his features in the dim lighting, appreciative of the fact that he is here with you.

Leaning back onto the pillow, he pulls you forward, staring directly into your eyes. Everything about this feels surreal, from the lighting of the candles, to the rose petals strewn across the bed. To you, the entire night has been nothing but perfect.

“Are you ready?” He asks gently, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. Despite the nerves starting to get to you, you nod in response. You are so nervous, it seems, that you didn’t even notice your death grip on the comfort.

Running his fingers along your arm, he tries to reassure you. “It’s okay, don’t be nervous. I promise I’ll make you feel good.” Leaning forward, he captures your lips in his, moving slowly to adjust to your taste. At first, you can’t help but feel stiff, it having been far too long since you’ve opened yourself up enough to kiss someone. But as he guides you through the process, carefully rubbing your back, you find yourself relaxing into him. But when you feel your breasts against his chest, you quickly pull away, the feeling having become entirely foreign.

“Ah sorry, I just forgot how that feels…” Closing your eyes in embarrassment, you mentally scold yourself for coming off like an idiot. At this point in your life, you think you would be able to get your nipples touched without creating a scene.

“It’s okay. Let me help.” Taking the spaghetti straps of the dress, he slides them down your shoulders, exposing the hardened buds. Very gently, he uses his fingers to graze them, allowing you to readjust to the new sensation. You had really considered the idea that it hadn’t been that long since you last had any sexual interactions, but based on the way your body seems to be reacting to Jungkook, you are convinced that it has been far longer than you had thought.

For a while he continues his ministrations, pleasure starting to take over your senses as you lean into his touch. Never before have your nipples been this sensitive.

When he suddenly stops, a whine immediately falls from your lips. You had been enjoying yourself so much that you nearly forgot this was just the beginning. Placing his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you into him to continue where he left off. This time around, you find your rhythm almost immediately, molding your lips with his. Unlike others you have kissed, his lips are extremely soft, making his kisses much more delicate. He feels like heaven against your own. As everything progresses, he moves his hands so that one is on your thigh, the other on the small of your back. Grabbing at the fabric of the dress, he tries to pull you closer, never once breaking contact. However, with it having been so long, your ability to hold your breath no longer serves you, and not soon after, you have to break away for air.

“We should probably get this off you… it wasn’t cheap ya know.” He gently suggests with a smile, grabbing the train of the dress and slowly lifting it up and over your head. Normally, you would have done it yourself, but considering he takes so much pride in his gift, you allow him do as he wishes.

Gently setting it aside, making sure it is out of the way, he returns his attention to you. Only this time his attention has faltered slightly, choosing instead to focus on unchartered territory.

“White lace? How fitting for an angel.” As much as you would have liked to scold him for his choice of words, you know you had set yourself up for that one.

“Hush…” You can’t help but shy away from him, everything he does only turning you into sappy mush.

Just as he’s about to lean in for another kiss, you instinctively go to take off his shirt. Unfortunately for him, and you suppose you as well, you miscalculate the distance, ultimately head butting him in the face. In horror, you cradle his cheeks to check the damage, but when he only has a small smile on his face, you are left both concerned and confused.

“I’m so sorry, I’m such a mess, are you okay?” Taking your hand, he kisses along your knuckles, making sure not to break eye contact with you.

“Yes I’m fine, don’t worry,” He reassures, placing your hand at the bottom of his dress shirt, “come take it off.” His seductive tone only melts you to your core, every reservation you had now being pushed aside for what you can finally say is a willingness to let him take control.

Doing as you were told, you unbutton it one by one, taking extreme care as to not fuck up anything else. You were already nervous, but now you are entirely on edge to the point where you can’t even stop your hands from shaking. Pretending not to notice, he allows you to continue at your own pace, so entranced by the concentrated look on your face that he doesn’t even realize you had finished the last one.

Leaning forward, he allows you to remove the rest. You try your best to be gentle, but the excitement mixed with fear is doing nothing to help you. Everything you touch feels expensive, him included, and the last thing you want is to ruin the clothing he has worked so hard to afford. And just when you thought things couldn’t get better, you are met with the image of toned muscles, the faint lining of his six-pack barely visible in the dim lighting. This entire time, underneath his clothes, he’s been hiding this kind of body. Considering you’ve never seen him work out, you figure he might just be naturally gifted, either that or he just does it in the privacy of his own room.

With the shirt finally out of the way, he pulls you closer until you are nearly lying on top of him.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He questions, squeezing you tightly.

“So I’ve been told.” Your abilities to respond to compliments have always been questionable, and even amidst sex, you can’t seem to pull your act together. Luckily for you, he finds your sense of humor adorable. Or at the very least, entertaining.

Returning his attention to your body, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. The moans that escape the borders of your lips are suddenly cut short, his hand being gently placed over your mouth.

“The rules, remember?” Despite having warned you, he continues to attack your breast with little to no mercy, removing his hand to give some attention to the other nipple. Caught between pleasure and fear, you try to withhold the sounds from escaping. Just as you suspected, it’s much harder when the person you’re with knows what they’re doing. And Jungkook seems to know this game very well.

Removing himself with a muffled pop, he gently flips you over until you are lying down on your back.

“Let me pleasure you.” He says, leaving one final kiss upon your lips.

Nodding your head, you allow him to do as he pleases, watching as he leaves a trail of kisses down the length of your torso. Upon reaching your lower half, you can’t help but squirm slightly, the anticipation already killing you before he even begins.

Placing kisses along the waistband of your panties, you can already feel the arousal starting to stick to them. He hasn’t much of anything and yet he has you wrapped around his finger. Pulling them down gently, he exposes your womanhood, licking a strip from your entrance to your clit. Despite trying to mentally prepare yourself, you find yourself unable to control the groan that escapes past your clenched teeth. Using your hand to cover your own mouth, you squirm underneath his touch as he places two fingers against your clit. Your underwear, having been ditched at your ankles, becomes long forgotten the moment he begins his fingers in circles. Moving agonizingly slow, he watches in fascination as you try to keep yourself together, bucking your hips every now and then to chase the stimulation.

Switching out his fingers, he returns his mouth to your bud, nothing but cat licks coaxing you to the edge. Having his mouth on you is driving you insane, more pleasurable than you ever could have imagined. The way he sucks on you, using his fingers to tease your entrance is enough to nearly put you out of commission. Clearly you had forgotten just how good sex can really be. Or maybe it’s just him.

Removing himself from your core, he returns to the head of the bed. Unable to control your desires, you place your hands on his cheeks, pulling him toward you and against your lips. The taste of your own arousal turns you on more, the thoughts of what else is to come only fueling your impatience.

Reaching between you, you aim for his belt, the angle suddenly making it awkward to pull it through the loops.

“Having a rough time there?” His mocking nature only eggs you on more, the determination to remove his pants that much stronger.

Using both hands, you manage to finally get the belt undone, next unzipping with so much vigor that for a moment, you genuinely thought you broke it. Doing you a favor, he finishes the job, removing his underwear along with them, only to be tossed to the side.

With his erection finally free from the constraints, you get the chance to admire him up close. Everything about him is perfect, no surprise that he is also well endowed.

“Like what you see?” He asks, leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline.

“Of course.” It would have been a lie to say otherwise, not that you would ever need to fabricate the truth.

Readjusting himself above you, he lines his erection with your entrance. Holding your breath, you remain still while he slides himself in, the stretching of your walls being something you haven’t felt in quite some time.

“Still doing okay? Does it hurt?” Shaking your head, your try to get him to continue. The slower he is, the longer it will take to fully adjust, and considering how badly you wish for him to make love to you, you’re surprised you’ve managed to hold out for this long.

Finally finding his pace, he continues to leave his mark along your neck. You try your best to bite your tongue, knowing full well what will happen if you manage to get caught. But as he increases his pace, holding it in might much more difficult.

“Moan in my ear,” he whispers against your jaw, “don’t hold it in. Let me hear you.” Just when you thought you were going to make it out alive, his words only coax out every moan from within you. Not soon after, his thrusts become quicker and more sloppy, the sound of skin against skin reverberating off the walls of his room. Digging your nails into his back, you try to chase your high, the biting against your neck doing nothing to aid in desire to keep quiet. When his thrusts become hard, bucking his hips into you, his name becomes a mantra on your lips, your vocalizations only becoming louder with every subsequent thrust. You are so close to your orgasm, the stars behind your eyelids only a small indication. The coil in your stomach finally snaps, a wave of euphoria washing over your entire body.

Feeling you come around him, he only lasts a few more before quickly pulling out, spilling his seed onto your stomach and your chest.

“Fuck.” Catching his breath, he sits up, wiping the film of sweat from his forehead. Neither of you are able to move, the physical expense of your activities finally taking their toll.

As much as you would have liked to admire his sweaty body all day, the cold beginning to set on your abdomen is only becoming more uncomfortable.

“Can I get a tissue or something?” Crashing back into reality, he hops from the bed, opening one of his dresser drawers. Pulling out a small towel, he returns to your side, taking it upon himself to clean the mess.

“So does this mean we’re dating now?” He asks, trying to keep a straight face.

“We can’t it’s against the rules.”

“I’m pretty sure you outed us with your moans. Might as well go all out you know?” As much as you hate to admit it, he has a point. You know exactly what kind of treat you’ll be in for tomorrow, disapproving looks to be received from both your other housemates.

You’d already managed to break two of the five rules, would it really hurt to break another?

[thelucyverse]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

I end up in the middle of an informal Order meeting- just a dinner, I suppose, but it looks like a meeting to me as I have only seen these people at Order meetings in the past years.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius asks, in a mixture of confusion, anger (at the world in general and because he can't visit his best friend all the time, being his secret keeper) and happiness (because I was a distraction from anger and frustration?).

"I- something happened. V- /the Dark Lord/," I catch myself, being around them almost made me forget the danger of that name, "he had some of his followers under a kind of mind control- I broke it, and there was chaos, and a few death eaters died- you can put Malfoy and Greyback on that list, one of the Carrows too I think, and Nott and Avery were in pretty bad shape last I've seen- and-" "Malfoy him or Malfoy her?" Sirius asks. I want to raise an eyebrow, say 'I didn't know you cared', but then I catch the way he is looking in the direction of the kitchen. Oh. Andromeda. I hadn't realised she was around. "Just him" I quickly explain. "Actually, that's another thing- I didn't exactly come here alone..."

There is definitely a lot of shouting involved, and I am just about ready to run outside, grab Bella and get away from here, when Andromeda stomps out of the kitchen and past everyone to open the door. Suddenly, it's very silent in the living room.

"Narcissa." Andromeda says, her voice cold but her resolve to stay that way definitely wavering. "And- Bella, you too? Regulus??"

"What?!" Sirius pushes her out of the way to see his younger brother. "Reg?! What the fuck?! Wait, you were under mind control??"

"Uh, no, actually" Regulus winces, scratches his head, taking an involuntary step back. "Really just didn't know how to get out, at this point... Did try to do some shit, but someone had gotten there before me, and then I kinda didn't have the energy to try again..." Sirius groans and shakes his head at him. "Fucking Slytherins..." "He took down Carrow" Bella interrupts. There's definitely some pride for her cousin in her voice. "You what?"

Interrupting before this gets more chaotic than necessary, I explain: "Actually, out of the three, only Bella was under the mind control. There were others, I have a few suspicions but nothing confirmed. Narcissa was magically bound to her husband in some way, but- well, he's dead now." no need going into the fact that I broke the connection beforehand. People know of your power- people want you to use it. Bad enough I can't pretend like I didn't do the rest- but, if I play it right, maybe it'll just look like it was another Dark Mark related thing instead of soul magic. As long as Bella and Narcissa play along... I curse myself for talking so openly earlier. Heat of the moment...

"And- what? We're supposed to believe that they are just immediately reformed?" Andromeda snaps, pulling me from my thoughts. "In case you have forgotten all about it, my dear sisters never stood up for me when I was cast out, and I'm fairly certain they weren't under any mind control then!" I pinch my neck. "Andromeda" I say, holding up a hand to silence her as well as her sisters. "They would have just been cast out too if they had tried to help you, what did you expect? They're Slytherins, some healthy egoism is in their blood! And-" I take a deep breath- "yes, they grew up around blood supremacy ideology and probably never questioned it much, but tell me- if you hadn't fallen in love with Ted, if you hadn't had any /reason/ to question it yourself, would you have acted any different than them?" Andromeda is silent, and I sigh. "Yes, they aren't perfect people, but they are ready to act against the Dark Lord, and isn't that all we need to know right now? You don't need to get on, but we can't afford to be picky with our allies at the moment."

Andromeda nods, stares at her sisters for a long moment and turns around to disappear in the house. In that moment, however, Regulus cries out and lands on his knees, hand pressing against his arm. I curse. "Fuck!" I should have thought of that, I should have /anticipated/ that and done something about it! Of course, the second maze of dark marks hadn't been broken, and Regulus hadn't been part of the first...

Bending down to get a better look at it, I am appalled: this isn't just a second round of the same thing, but a new, terrifying curse instead. This isn't just meant to curse pain and summon people, this is-

Breaking away from the magic with a gasp, I sit back and disarm him, then grasp Regulus' face, force him to look into my eyes. "The Dark Lord can control you through that" I hiss. "And it isn't- it isn't like the others, and I don't have /time/, he's going to act, he might try to take over your body- the only way to get rid of it I can think of is to get rid of the arm. Regulus?" He stares at me, shell-shocked and still obviously in pain. Then he presses out: "Do it."

I turn around to the others, looking for help. "Does anyone- he'll need medical attention at least-" "I'm getting Pomfrey!" Dädalus Diggle squeaks out and disapparates. I wince. Pomfrey means Dumbledore. Well, best get it all over with. I turn around to Regulus- only to find him staring back with unseeing eyes. Fuck. He turns on the spot, trying to apparate- and falls on his face. Thank Fuck has I thought to disarm him. It's easy to tie him up now, and he doesn't seem to be properly possessed by anything that could talk- Voldemort probably just sent out a generic 'come home' signal.

"What's happening to him?" Sirius shouts behind us, alarmed. "The fuck did she just say was happening" Bella hisses at him, and I smile at her protectiveness of me. Whatever else happens, I think we can figure out the thing between us.

The /cracks/ of apparition around us alert us of the arrival of newcomers, and we all immediately raise our wands in defence- it's Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, McGonnagall and Pomfrey (do they hang out for tea together, or what?), but I don't lower my defence immediately. "How many stories does the house behind us have?" I hiss. "Two" Dumbledore answers calmly. "It is really just us. Now, what is going on her?" "Constant vigilance!" Mad-Eye booms "She has it right! All of you, lowering your wands like little-" "Alastor!" McGonnagall interrupts him indignantly. In that moment, Dädalus arrives, carrying an assortment of medical equipment and potions bottles. Pomfrey steps forward to take some of them of him. "I was told there would be a patient?"

"Not yet" I say, nodding to Regulus. "But could we maybe move inside first?" that leads to another discussion ultimately abandoned for the moment when Regulus starts to twitch and I can see the curse slowly flickering past his elbow...

Mad-Eye is the one to do the actual amputating, and while I don't understand that choice, I believe in Pomfrey's judgement, and I'm glad it doesn't have to be me. Somehow, blood and open wounds in a medical environment are just more bile-inducing than in battle. Plus, it means I can be there for Bella when the continues discussion amongst the people not involved in the amputating turns back to what to do and where to go. We can't exactly keep standing just outside of the Fidelius property forever.

"Oh, for god's sake!" I finally hiss- for a moment then, I am afraid because I used a muggle idiom, but then I remember where I am. I turn to Dumbledore. "Let's use your pensive. You can tell when a memory has been tampered with, can't you? Let's go." Mad-Eye comes with us, and the five of us apparate to the Hogwarts gates. It is the first time I actually see the castle. It is, somehow, both more and less impressive than expected. Narcissa is the first Dumbledore asks for her memories. They are a jumbled mess of colours and shock and /fear/, neatly highlighting the scene where she /has/ to check on Lucius when he is unconscious, not revealing much about my actions apart from the fact that I used an imperius on Malfoy. Dumbledore raises an eyebrow at that, but he doesn't comment, and Mad-Eye just snorts: "Had it commin'!" Bellatrix' memory is first even more jumbled than Narcissa's, darkness of hatred clouding thoughts and judgement, only to go over in sharp, clear pain when her soul is healing herself. She doesn't show the scene of me telling them about soul-magic, either. Then I show my recap- how Bellatrix first changed after going to a meeting with Voldemort, how others had similar changes or behaviors, how Bellatrix collapsed under some outside influence- then back to how Narcissa never seemed to like her husband, how I cut the connection to him, and finally how, through Lucius' eyes under the imperius, I broke the connect of the Dark Mark to Voldemort. Dumbledore and Mad-Eye seem to buy that as the full story. After each taking a magicians' oath not to knowingly and actively aid Voldemort in any way (I demanded the phrasing instead of a vow not to act against the Order. That had too much room for complications), they were given the Secret of Tine Cottage, and we went back to Headquarters.

Just as Regulus is sitting down on the chair next to sirius, one cursed arm lighter and a grim expression on his face, Snape stumbles in- and it is that stumbling that saved him, because instantly, Mad-Eye, McGonnagal and I all have our wands pointed at him. The others would have probably just kept them pointing in threat, but I immediately disarm and stun him. "What-" squeaks Dädalus. I shake my head, walk over, kick away his wand and cast a diagnostic. I shiver. I might not like the man that much, but he doesn't deserve this. "It's the same as Regulus" I say slowly. "Only I don't think it's on his arm... The tattoo on his arm is empty, it must have been one of the ones I destroyed... This one is on his chest, over his heart." McGonnagal gasps in shock. I had heard that she and Snape are something like friends, now, or at least good colleagues, despite her having been his teacher not too long ago. I feel sorry for her.

"What can we do?" Regulus asks, staring at the pale form of Snape on the ground. I realise that he must have just found out that Snape isn't on Voldemort's side. "Right now, we have to make sure he can't move or talk, no matter what the Dark Lord wants him to do. Madam Pomfrey?" She sets to work putting Snape into a magically induced coma. I am thinking hard now. "Dumbledore- can you be sure that your Fidelius holds when Riddle possibly saw every last thought in Snape's head?" "The Fidelius is a charm of-" "I don't need a lesson, I need an answer!" I hiss. Some of the others are clearly distraught by the way I am talking to their leader, as if they don't remember that it was the same way before I went undercover. "...rest assured, it will hold." Dumbledore answers. "Now, my dear, I believe we have to have a discussion long overdue- while I am gratified to hear that Tom is weakened, your rash actions have put many at risk, including Severus here. And of course, the use of the Imperius curse-"

I explode, barely hearing how Mad-Eye grumbles about the unforgivable curses being legal for aurors at wartime. "Oh /shut up!/" I shout. "Shut up with your holier than thou attitude, and don't you dare talk down to me again calling me your 'dear'! I had acted immediately because it was already happening, you saw the damn memory, you saw how Bella collapsed, but I suppose I should have just left her to die 'for the greater good'! And don't pretend to even care about Severus, you wouldn't even have let him join the Order if we hadn't talked you into it, after all you already had your spy! And don't think I didn't notice how you didn't even care to mention Regulus- he's sitting here and missing an arm! And the goddamn imperius curse was fucking necessary to break the curse in the marks, plus it's not like I could have let Lucius go otherwise, anyway, yes maybe there would have been a better way but not in that moment when I didn't have any time! And /don't you dare pretend you have never done something questionable!/ I know your history maybe better than anyone else in this room apart from yourself, or /including/ if you've deluded yourself well enough! So be damn. Fucking. Careful what you say to me." panting, I sit down, and feel Bellatrix grabbing my shoulder in support. Mad-Eye slides over a glass of whiskey. There's a glint in his eyes as if he's glad to see Dumbledore taken down a notch- funny, I would have thought he was an Albus Dumbledore fanclub fanatic. But I detect no poison in the alcohol, so I down it. Needed that right now.

Dumbledore is silent. Everyone is, really. I sigh. While I'm glad the old man is shutting up for a moment, we still have a war to plan.

"How many of the- /items/ regarding Riddle's downfall have already been collected, and how many more do you think there are?" McGonnagall says. 'Items', really? What, does she think we're all going to turn into vicious crazed murderers to split our own soul if we find out what Horcruxes are? "You got three, right?" I ask. I got Hufflepuff's cup from Bella- uh, you probably don't remember that anymore, you asked to be obliviated afterwards-" "I remember leaving it in Gringotts like he asked, despite my- doubts-..." Bella murmurs. I can't help it, I grin proudly. "You got back into the bank immediately after, got the cup and asked to be obliviated of anything after you first left the bank. Terribly clever, that!" "Wait, was that while she was under the mind control thingy?" Sirius asks, and Regulus leans forward too, probably personally interested. I grimace. "The control she was under wasn't as- explicit- as the one you experienced. It wasn't like she was possessed, she was still herself for the most part, just- more open to murder and serving the Dark Lord unconditionally, basically... And she was already fighting it." then I remember something: "Oh! Wow, how the heck I managed to forget about this I don't even know" I exclaim, then mutter: "it's oozing evil so you'd think I'd've noticed, but I guess there's been too much of that today..." I pull Tom Riddle's diary out if my coat pocket, only touching it with my sleeve. "Number five! Got it from Lucius Malfoy's study. And- I don't actually think there are currently any others? If V- /He/ gets a familiar, we should make sure to kill that too, in case he's twisted enough to try something on a living thing, but otherwise..." silence falls in the room. Then, excited chattering from just about everyone. Despite myself, I have to grin, too, and reach up to squeeze Bella's hand that's still on my shoulder. The war is coming to a close.

Remus Lupin- the only spy we have left- arrives to report that the werewolves are in disarray, and while them not having a leader isn't an ideal state re: not killing anyone on the full moon, it's still definitely better than being lead by Greyback, who would have them kill on purpose. Also, not many of them are going to follow Voldemort- apparently, the Deatheater liaisons just stopped showing up. That's something. Are other Deatheaters just disappearing, too? Fleeing or dead? I wonder. And I propose an idea: to lure out Voldemort and all his followers for one big final battle to get rid of them all with a bang. Because while getting rid of the Dark Lord himself is the main goal, I'm afraid many if the Deathesters aren't quite as worshipful of him as they might have been in the distant future- they still see an organization that he happens to be the leader of, not a philosophy that stands and falls with him. If we take him out, what says another won't take over? "We know he has less people in his ranks than before, possibly less than he knows, probably less than the followers he still does have know- he wouldn't tell them that their position is weakened. If we can lure his army somewhere into the open- a field, or even Hogwarts grounds as long as the school is still closed- we can disappear in his army, dressed as Deatheaters ourselves, and take them out from within before it can even come to an attack" I suggest.

That leads to another great discussion, but in the end my idea is accepted. Which leads the question: how do we lure him out, what do we use as bait? "I have the full prophecy of which he only knows half." Dumbledore tells us. "What prophecy?" "Prophecy, what prophecy?" oh, how nice to see that his people are always fully informed of what's going on. Not. An explanation (and a lot of sneering about wanting the prophecy to come true from my side to Dumbledore, which leads to Sirius and Remus getting mad at him too in defense of their godson) later, Narcissa asks: "But how do we get the Dark Lord to go after it?" before immediately blushing, looking down and wanting to disappear. It's the first time she has said anything in this meeting. "We could use Snape" Bella chimes in. I grin. "That's a grand idea- he knows Snape's a spy and undoubtedly also who he is with, he's going go keep trying to look through his eyes... If, the next time Pomfrey would have to renew the coma spells, we just chain him to the bed instead and let him wake, we can have people visit him- several, to make it more believable, with most just there to talk to Snape and try to talk him out of his mind control- but me, or one of you two- or Regulus, too- we could go in to speak to Voldemort through him, to taunt him, to make it seem like we think we've already won because of what the prophecy said..."

Getting Voldemort to bite is disgustingly easy. We put Snape in a hospital bed in Hogwarts to make sure Voldy will come to the right location, then Dumbledore comes to talk to Severus about fighting the evil within while completely ignoring all that Tom has to say to the topic- next is Lily, who has a pretty good fake cry, pretending that she wants her best friend back while of course the true reason is for old Morty to see her at Hogwarts- if the prophecy isn't enough, the prospect of getting to the Potters /and/ the prophecy might do. And then, entry Bella, laughing mean and half-crazed about what she has heard about the prophecy the Dark Lord was so in love with, and that he would never get to rule ever again because he was stupid enough to believe half-knowledge was enough, and that little attacks by his followers were getting him anywhere, how good for us it was that he holed up his own power in a cave to rot. Yeah, Voldy-Snape snarled pretty impressively when she left the room, I'm kind of sorry for the state of Snape's teeth from all that grinding them.

Meanwhile, we have copied Death Eater masks and cloaks while also managing go get in contact with a few of the others I had suspected to be under 'mind control'. Arleen Singer, Corban Yaxley, Sabina Frey... Sabina has scars on her face she hadn't had when I had last seen her, and a part of me feels guilty for not making sure that she got out of Malfoy Manor safely- on the other hand, I'm just glad the scars aren't on mine of Bellatrix' faces.

On the day of the battle, everything feels rather anticlimactic. We had all preparations ready days before, having hurried not knowing when Voldemort would come, and even though he comes in the dead of night, many are already awake and the rest do wake when the first alarm is triggered. We move, silent and disillusioned until we reach our location, into the rows of death eaters and the rest of the Dark Lord's followers. We had decided to go in pairs, to pre-decided locations far enough apart that the stunning spell-bombs we have won't reach the other pairs. There was much discussion about what to do about Voldemort, now that he is most likely mortal, too, and in the end Mad-Eye ended the discussion by stating that as an Auror, he has a kill order on that man, and he won't do anything less. Dumbledore isn't happy about it, but he doesn't need to be. Squeezing Bella's hand under our Death-eater robes, I wait for the signal. It's pretty obvious when it happens- green light where Voldemort stood in the middle of his army, two flashes- one for the snake, one for the man. Then green sparks, the all clear.

Voldemort has fallen.

The Dark Lord is no more.

There will be time for relief later, now I have to move: I activate the ring of the spell-bomb in my hand, aiming away from us, while Bella does the same. As soon as the chaos starts, we scream as if surprised and run forward- past the line that ends the area that is going to trap the Deatheaters. Once we are past it, we pretend to be caught as if by invisible strings- as if this is the dangerous area, and not the one the Deatheaters are already on. The few others who weren't hit stumble back, afraid, and the two who do move forward past the line are caught by actual spells when they don't pretend to be caught to indicate that they belong to us.

Counting the figures with their hands in the air in the position as arranged, I smile when I see that we all made it back out alright. Raising my hand and shooting green sparks in the air, the rest of our team raise the anti-apparition, anti-magic in general wards on the area the Death eaters are on, plus physical shields not only surrounding the area but also in partages, in case one of them goes on a rampage he won't be able to get to everyone of them now. Deatheater or not, those people should get a trial now that the war is over. McGonnagall sends a patronus to the ministry, and Mad-Eye goes to collect more Aurors.

I don't stay to find out what happens next. My part is done here.

In the Great Hall in Hogwarts, breakfast is layed out. I sigh as we enter, leaning into Bellatrix, finally able to relax somewhat. Bella smiles, then slowly walks over towards the Slytherin table, stroking her hand over the old wood. What memories is she thinking on? "What would your house be?" she asks me instead. "I know you were never sorted." I frown. I had never given this much thought. During the war, I had done many things one could call stupidly brave, but I hadn't done them out of chivalry or to prove that I wasn't afraid. Many actions were, of course, means to an end, calculating in Slytherin ways... And I had had to be clever, and I valued intelligence. But then again... "The sorting hat usually decides what house you are at eleven" I muse. "Had I been sorted at that age, I would have undoubtedly been a Slytherin, angry at my fate, at the world, ready to do just about anything to anyone to get what I wanted. Then throughout my life, however... I did things that fit in all four houses. Maybe not Gryffindor, at the very least less. But at the moment, what I would choose, or what the hat might choose for me based on my values? Hufflepuff. Kindness, loyalty, we need more of that in this fucked up world."

Part 5

[woofools]

Yo/Nightmaster for the ship meme. MWAHAHA

[blows kiss] You’re a gem, buddy.

Kills the Spider:

Whoever gets to it first, I’d imagine. I can’t see either being particularly bothered by spiders. 

Although come with me down this weird-ass path I just inadvertently walked: I was debating with myself whether either of these boys would be scared of spiders, I decided no. 

Unless, my brain interjected, the spider is playing a tiny, funky little horn. Then Yo would be terrified.

And before I could even get a word in edgewise, my mind had already mentally concocted a scene were the aforementioned spider is funking it up on their little horn, Yo is absolutely petrified, and the Night Master is just confused. He’s looking back and forth between the spider and the quaking mass of panda that nearly bowled him over trying to leap into his arms out of terror. He’s trying to articulate his questions (Why does the spider have a horn? Why is Yo so terrified of it? etc.) when Yang meanders over and unenthusiastically squashes the spider.

(Given the universe this is taking place in, the spider’s probably sentient and says something to the effect of “No, please! I have so many dreams!” before Yang boredly chee-hoo-wah’s it with a newspaper. It’ll turn up again like two scenes later with tiny crutches, don’t worry about it.)

The Night Master gives Yang a look that’s pure ??????????? but Yang just says “Long story dude,” and goes back to whatever he was doing.

The only thought the Night Master can force past the blaring confusion currently eating his every thought is ‘there’s something wrong with this family, what kind of trainwreck have I just involved myself with??’

Proposed:

I can’t see either one proposing, nor can I see them having a wedding. 

I can see them ending up married unintentionally through wacky hijinks, though.

This is a universe where an artifact of power is genuinely a toilet brush, right? So it’s really not too far out of the realm of possibility that there’s some off the walls, nonsensical ritual that actually counts as a legally binding marriage in some places, right? Like they end up accidentally elbowing each other in the nose while drinking smoothies and standing under a massive cedar tree and then Dave comes over like “that was a beautiful ceremony.” Turns out that’s actually how tree people get married?? The cedar was actually a justice of the peace??

So anyway as stated this whole ridiculousness is in fact legally binding, but since they got married by Tree Law they can only get divorced by Tree Law, which is basically a gauntlet for Incredibly Difficult and Ridiculous Things. 

Halfway through Yo looks over to the Night Master and just kinda goes, “Hey, d’ya wanna just… stay married?”

And after failing to think of a strong, definite reason why they absolutely shouldn’t, the Night Master goes, “Um… I guess, sure…?”

And then they both dip for like a month for the honeymoon. Hey might as well take the opportunities you’re granted, right?

Kissed the Other First:

If we mean “who pressed their lips together” -first, the Night Master. He was likely trying to play some mind-game, or maybe he meant it as a sort of “Take that!” deal. 

If we mean “who kissed as a display of affection and love” -first, then Yo.

Initiates Things:

The Night Master, by virtue of him being naturally more aggressive than Yo.

Would Leave the Other:

Honey these two have been trying to leave each other since the relationship started. This whole thing is so wrong in so many ways and they refuse to admit the other could ever be good for them, so whenever they separate for the day they try to drop hints that they likely won’t be coming back. Or they imply that if they do see each other again, it’ll be in some sort of death match. 

(And then the next time they meet up, they go out for ice cream or see a movie, or some other hopelessly embarrassing or reputation-crushing thing that neither one of them should ever be seen doing with an enemy.)

Is More Jealous:

The Night Master are you kidding. He’s not the least bit subtle about it either, all denials aside. If he’s jealous it is literally a 3, 2, 1 countdown from the moment he realizes someone’s encroaching on “his” space to the moment he’ll have seemingly teleported over to Yo, “casually” hooked his wings around his shoulders, and started passive-aggressively (or just aggressively, depends on the sitch) tearing down whatever’s invoking his jealousy. 

He’ll defend it as a matter of principle; defending what belongs to him, he doesn’t like other people messing with his things, really anything that sounds villainously appropriate. The truth is that he knows him and Yo are kind of a bizarre match up. He knows that in terms of how “good people” define relationships, he leaves a lot to be desired.

And the thought that Yo might find someone who’s a better match, who he might actually grow to love if he spends enough time with them… really, really scares him.

Is Lazier:

YO. The Night Master has a pretty good record of ragging him into actually getting up and doing something, though. Which Yo’s always initially very grumpy about, but hey turns out moving around helps a little with the depression (that I’m convinced he has). Endorphins, or something. So he can’t stay too mad.

Sends Weird Texts at 3am:

The Night Master again, but it’s not “shitposting” -weird texts. He’s a bat, so he’s actually perfectly awake and functional at 3am. But he knows Yo is not, so he takes the opportunity to have some fun. He’ll send him things like “so if we’re controlled by our brains, and our brains operate solely through sending chemical signals, are our feelings even real? Are we all just an assortment of chemical processes that have deluded ourselves into thinking our existences can be meaningful?” and it’ll fuck Yo up for the rest of the night and he won’t sleep.

If they see each other the next day, Yo will spend nearly the entire meeting glaring, and the Night Master will just beam.

Is More Experienced:

I’d say they’re both the same? Yo dated a lot back in the day, and the Night Master was… well, the friggin Night Master, which I can only presume was a status that would’ve both drawn evil peeps to him and helped bolster any passes he might have made. So yeah I’d say they’re about equal.

…with girls. 

I will die on the hill of Yo being a very repressed gay, so all his past experience is with women. I headcanon the Night Master as a painfully oblivious pan (for no reason other than I can), so ditto the above. NM has a little experience with guys (two or three times, about?) but for the most part those were just sloppy, drunken make-out sessions with people he didn’t soberly care enough about to talk it over with afterwards.

So essentially you have two old dorks who don’t actually know what their doing, trying to gauge what things are different in this scenario vs. what’s the same to what they’re used to. They both end up being awkward a lot, which makes them snicker like kids, because it’s awkward and what are they supposed to do? They don’t actually start getting a handle on things until about six months into the relationship, and by that point they’re too comfortable with just doing whatever awkwardness be damned, to start trying to be “romantic.” So guess what they don’t ever really end up doing?

Said I Love You First:

Yo’s really the only option for this one. The Night Master doesn’t take it well. Evil and Love don’t exactly mix, y’know? This has to be some kind of trap, right? Some foolhardy attempt to make him drop his guard? But Yo wouldn’t do that. Yo likes him, at least, and he wouldn’t do that to people he likes. Or… or would he? Was this whole thing really just a long-game to exploit him, and he fell for it? Except he didn’t- he didn’t fall for it, but spending time with Yo had been… nice… M-maybe Yo was just confused…?

He ends up barking something scathing and hurtful, and when Yo eventually manages to scrape the pieces of his heart up off the floor, he tracks him down to find out just what the fuck that was all about. By the time everything comes out the Night Master is in tears and trying not to hyperventilate, and since he’s not accustomed to being comforted in moments of “weakness” he won’t let Yo get close enough to hold him or help calm him down.

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 31

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Ongoing fic, my dudes. Output has slowed but not stopped! No fear! Life is slowing down progress but not stopping it.

Warnings: swearing?

Abstract: Fushimi Inari Taisha

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

Lydia didn’t know what had gotten into her lately. Well, she had an idea, she had a notion, but it seemed entirely unlikely. The color “orange” had gotten into her. And “purple.” A couple of colors of all things. Fuck me, she thought. She never thought she’d see the day when colors would dominate her life. Especially those two in particular.

I mean, worshiping someone from a far was completely different than falling in love with them in person, after meeting them, after fucking them in their red sports car; this color she at least knew and thought of as a friend. It is the little things you find yourself not expecting, Lydia pondered. Especially with sexual encounters; she did as much as she could to experience a variety liaisons with anybody who was willing--male or female--because sex, on the whole, was the same with everybody, but it was the finesse and eccentricities of any particular person that made it special, profound, and captivating. And any artist lived to collect experiences. Love, she thought, was like the spectrum of light she couldn’t see. So, even if her colors were always gendered for her, she never thought of love in such simplistic, binary terms.

She adjusted her raspberry beret, carrying her painting supplies up the five story walk-up she shared with you. It was, in fact, one of the colors she could see. Lydia had tritanopia, which was a fancy-ass way of saying she was colorblind; she couldn’t tell the difference, on the main, between yellow and blue (which also meant green was fucked over by proxy). Everything in her world was a mess of reds, pinks, mauves, light blues, teals, and dark blues; all colors for her were traditional boy/girl gender markers; the irony of such, especially regarding her sexual proclivities, you never let her forget. This made being a visual artist something of a challenge, but Lydia liked challenges--in fact she thrived off of them. And, well, Roger Taylor was quite the unexpected challenge. He was a man full of color and light, and she was a color-blind artist who painted in monotones. They were inherently incompatible from page one. And yet...and yet...she was entirely drawn to him. Maybe even in ways she couldn’t yet express. But she was on her way to doing so: the colors.

She had thought she was up to the task though, or that's what she had committed to until she had started her most recent project. That’s when the confusion had seeped into her life--the colors. She had been working on a harsh landscape--all of her landscapes looked harsh and science-fiction-esque; there was something about bleeding all the color from a setting when the color was supposed to be there that made the setting feel, well, unsettling. Lydia had a perchance for putting people on edge, keeping them on their toes, making them intimidated; it was the best way to test them. Trying to push someone away and seeing if they chase you is the best way to see if they’ll stick around, she thought. It perhaps wasn’t the most upfront, honest, or genuine tactic, but it had merits all its own in other regards. Either way, she was young, hot, and determined to do whatever she wanted, which is more or less exactly what she did. Especially regarding her art. She couldn’t experience most colors like everyone else around her could, indeed, like most artists could. Instead of it being her Achilles heel, she decided to make it her sword. She’d cut color out of her art and do things her own way. She’d empower herself to create what she wanted. But now, unexpectedly, what she wanted was two colors she couldn’t see.

At the door to your apartment, she took out her crown key chain and unlocked the door. She scrambled inside, carrying an odd assortment of shopping bags full of items she usually didn’t buy. Most of them were full of paint, but they weren’t blacks, and whites, and greys: they were full of colors, most of which she couldn’t really correctly see. “Orange,” a thing she understood as a concept only, had been very appealing to her lately. One bag was full of every “shade” “orange” had to offer. It didn’t even matter to her most of the shades looked pink to her; to someone else, they’d be “orange” and they’d be strikingly powerful, a blow to the gut, putting your fist in a vat of hot oil. The rest were shades of “purple.” A literal mess of colors for her. A mess she intended to whip into a frenzy.

This wasn’t typical. This sort of dive into color was abnormal, and when she had attempted it in the past, it was something that had made her feel bitter towards painters who could see color and who used them like it was no big deal, without careful appreciation, or consideration for those who couldn’t. The old grudges were the hardest to overcome. And because she couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive, she would paint those feelings and resentments into her art. It was, after all, the best revenge.

That was, until Roger Taylor, however. Because now, all she could think about was the entire world of color to which she was mostly blind. The entire world of color that was so vital to who Roger was as a person and to understanding who he was as a person. What she had gained from their limited conversations was his absolute obsession with color and art. He had no idea she was colorblind, so he had had no idea he was making her feel an uncomfortable mixture of jealousy and fiery hatred; the overwhelming and, frankly, attractive passion with which he spoke of his home, his clothes, and his vast collections of artworks had diffused and tempered her own indignation into something resembling a very specific form of arousal. She was turned on, for the most part, by passion. As long as someone had passion in something, for something, it made her insatiably aroused. Anger could also be an aphrodisiac, and quite the powerful one at that. When mixed together, well, that created the scene between them that had transpired in his Alfa Romeo. All passion and anger linked together with consent and desire. They were colors mixing, but even when Lydia mixed colors, they weren’t always logical or beautiful.   

John Deacon was thinking about Roger’s words. He couldn’t process them, or their power; they kept rocking back, like waves, hitting him again and again. “Replacing Veronica already, mate?” Every time he thought he had found his footing, another wave would hit him, bringing him back perpetually to that moment in time. He’d sink into the ocean that was his Roger’s words, and drown. He couldn’t come up for air. But air was all he wanted. He couldn’t move from his chair. Stuck between a wave and a hard sentence.

He was no stranger to being helplessly stuck in a moment in time. In fact, the past three years had been an elaborate exercise in either denying his present or relying way too much on his past. There were nights, when he’d close his eyes, and snuggle into bed, that he was brought back to her again, against his will. Suddenly, he’d be shoved into Veronica’s funeral, forced to relive every detail in technicolor. He’d be made to hear about her death--being summed to the hospital; these moments returned to him when he least expected it like a long lost friend. In a very real sense, however, she was a long lost friend. It was easier to think of her at times as if she had gone on an extended vacation. This wasn’t helpful, perhaps, in terms of realty and acceptance, but when things had been fresh, and the raw wounds still ripe with red aching, it was easier to think of her hidden away some place he could visit, in some pocket of reality only he could access. A place just for them.

Those words, however, weren’t anything he wanted to revisit; being ceaselessly rocked back into memory wasn’t enjoyable for him, and it may never be again. She was there.

She was always there.

Always in his memory, and distance and time, being what they were, would inevitably switch those glass-hardened memories, specific pinpricks of pain, each targeted just for him, into shimmering translucence only vaguely having to do with the shape of her death. Every memory now was of her death. The day they met--it had been raining, her death was there waiting for them; when they shared their first, hesitant kiss, her death was there waiting for them; the first time they had made love, her death was watching from the corner; on their wedding day, her death was there, too. Every hard fact, every stone-cold truth had been painted diaphanous, rendered useless with a milky opalescence, a thickly painted layer called the certitude of her pending death. This fact followed him around day in and day out. He had almost become used to it. But, then, you had come into his life, and something ineffable had shifted in his heart.

“Replacing Veronica already, mate?” had been the linchpin of some seismic change within John Deacon, however. His hand tightened around yours.

Roger, it seemed, had caused, whether intentionally or not, certain unexpected changes for the people in his life he cared for most.

Lydia had been removing pell-mell paintings from her bedroom walls. Hoisting them under her arms, she’d walk them to her studio near the opposite side of the apartment. All she could think about was the color “orange.” Or, as she liked to think of it, “light red.” She knew the concept wasn’t perfect, she could point out “orange” for you if asked; she could show you the Fushimi Inari Shrine, and go “orange.” Though this wasn’t something she knew with her eyes like everyone else; this was something she knew because she had been told. There was a distinct pedagogical difference here. One was gifted from experience, the other from trusting someone else. Color for her was simultaneously trust and resentment.

That hard-earned talent of color identification had been learned from practice and something that could only be described as being tired of being mocked. She learned your colors to save face, to blend in, to assimilate.

Roger had changed some of this for her, however. “Orange” was a whole new concept now. And something called “Purple.” Roger was obsessed with the color she knew best as an odd teal, or sometimes a sharp pink depending on saturation and light. It was hard to discuss a color that was certain with others and definitely only one color in their minds: purple. When in hers it could dance between two different colors that made no sense to anyone else when she tried to describe them. Purple sauntered between two colors for her. A delicate balance always ready to tip at the flick of a wrist. Could be teal, could be pink. Life for Lydia was a mixed-bag, a guessing game. Good thing she liked games.

John Deacon usually liked games. This one, whatever Roger was playing at, however, he didn’t care for. At all. It made his stomach seize and his heart squirm.

“He didn’t mean it.” You said, squeezing his hand back. Your intuition told you something was wrong with Roger, and you wouldn’t back down from what you did, but you also knew standing up for him and looked like attacking him. He needed reminding, and quick what real sacrifice looked like before he did something, said something he could never take back. So, standing up for Deacy had been oddly also trying to stand up for Roger, and not just standing up to him. You had a sneaky suspicion standing up to Roger would always go hand in hand with something else.

“He did.” Deacy said, quietly, confusedly.

“There’s no way that man, who did for you what he did, meant what he said.” You explained.

“I think Y/N has the right path here, darling.” Freddie said. “People, even people you love, especially people you love, really, can say things they don’t mean. Terrible words that curse you to the spot; it doesn’t excuse it, but--”

“It is hard to reconcile those words with how much Rog cares for you.” Brian said, leaning forward. “It isn’t impossible, though. He loved Veronica so much, Deacy.”

“We all did.” Miami said, passing the waiter a 50 pound note when he returned with a round of martinis. “You know Roger...he’s all hot air and impulse.” He slyly sipped his drink, gazing at Deacy over it. “It is always a coin toss what comes out of his mouth.”

“Unpredictable.” Brain said, nodding in agreement.

“He loves you.” You said, trying to convey with your eyes what you words were failing to do.

“I’ve seen him say a lot of things, do a lot of questionable things, but he was…” Deacy said, trying to find the words again.

“Different?” Brian offered.

“Offensive?” Freddie tossed in.

“A fuckwad?” Miami posited.

“Undeniably all three?” Deacy laughed. The tension in the room slipped a bit with that laugh. You all sipped your drinks, trying to settle in and settle down. “Roger and I will have to deal with that later--in our own way.” He left it at that. “Though, should we make sure he’s okay?”

Deacy’s generosity was unparalleled. He had just been dressed down publicly by his best friend, and yet he still was able to scrape up some concern for the man; it made you love him even more. If the shoe was on the other foot, and if your outburst had been any indication, you weren’t sure you’d be able to locate a modicum of compassion for the man.

“Jim will keep him safe,” Freddie said, raising an eyebrow, “That or murder him; really hard to tell which at this point.”

“I’ve always liked Jim.” Miami remarked. “How about business?”

“Oh, shouldn’t we wait for Rog?” Freddie looked concerned about making such a decision without him.

“I think I can speak for him.” Brian retorted lightly.

“I don’t doubt that.” Miami said. He turned to you, “We weren’t introduced, I think. Before you punched my multi-million dollar-worth drummer.”

“Right.” You said. “Y/N L/N.” You held your hand out to Miami.

“Jim Beach.” He gave you his hand. It was soft, lotion-ed, rich. “Though, they call me Miami.”

“I’ve never met a place before. Charmed!” You simpered.

“Hmm. So, Y/N, what are you doing here tonight?” Never one to mince words, Miami was a go big or go home, come hard or not at all kind of guy. It was the lawyer in him. He knew how to use words to get what he wanted.

“I was invited here...I guess I’m not really sure why…?” You looked suddenly at Deacy then; it was an odd choice for a first date, now that you were thinking about it.

“I want her to play on the album.” Deacy said.

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

Tag List:   @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @partydulce@richiethotzierz@sophierobisonartfoundationblr@psychostarkid@teathymewithben@smittyjaws@just-ladyme@botinstqueen @mydogisthebest@little-welsh-wonder@maxjesty@deakysdiscos@yourealegendroger@marvellouspengwing@molethemollie@deakysgirl@arrowswithwifi@tardisgrump @mikey-sway

[magicalcreeks]

Happy Birthday, Stan

Summary: Kyle only wanted to throw Stan the perfect Birthday Party

Pairing: Style

It’s still Stan’s birthday here and since I can't draw I wanted to write a fic for his birthday with one of my favorite pairings. Enjoy!

...

Kyle was way over his head with an ambition greater than his ego. He, holding the title of Stan’s super best friend had to make sure his birthday went smoothly— and, with that same logic, it required Kyle to take full responsibility of the surprise party he wanted to throw him.

Premature chaos bubbles underneath of foundation of the Broflovski household, as the agenda Kyle set for the preparation of Stan’s surprise party went askew. He looked over the scene of Butters, Kenny, and Cartman sitting on the respective corners of the rectangular dining table with mounds of glitter glue and ribbon borrowed from Ike’s arts and crafts set resting on the floor, along with misshapen cutouts from their assortment of construction paper. Kyle’s red curls sprung over his eyes, they bounced along with his deep inhales. In the back of his mind, a feeling of leaving these idiots alone gnawed on him. Kyle placed two hands firmly on the wooden surface to see the progress being made between the three boys, again overhyping their artistic abilities since the art they created looked as if a dog chewed it, swallowed, and immediately spat it back up. The glue had already crusted along the edges of the paper, and the letters they cut out then pasted appeared lopsided. “What the hell is this?” Kyle demanded an explanation, noticing the time on the ticking clock hanging on his wall from the corner of his eye. This was no good. Cleanup wasn’t apart of the agenda. Stan was expected to arrive in less than two hours once he was done with therapy. Kyle knew his schedule like the back of his hand. Every week when Stan had his therapy session his father would pick him up and take him to Denny’s— for a painfully awkward conversation— then when his father dropped him off at his mothers house, Stan would text Kyle all about it until their conversation dissolved into them sending outdated memes to one another for the hell of it. Kyle has his hand balled into a tight fist on his side. He marched into the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels and tossed it to Kenny in an aggressive pass, “clean this shit up, we have an hour until everyone arrives.” “Oh, Gee, how are we supposed to clean when we’re all sticky?” Said Butters, taking the towel sheet from Kenny’s hand and feeling it stick to his fingers. “Figure it out, Butters.” “Calm your Vagina.” Eric’s been snacking on the bag of cheesy puffs Kyle stocked on for this occasion. “Shut the fuck up, fatass,” he wrestled the bag out of Eric’s hands. It was upon retrieving it when he realized how empty the bag was, with his fingers clenching onto nothing but air and cheese dust. Really? Then he rolled his eyes, pressing down hard on the garbage pale to open the lid. He released the bag from his fingers and heard the plastic crinkle upon impact. “Um, about that,” Kenny pauses on his cleaning, unsure yet unnerved on what to say to Kyle in his current disposition. Instead, he reached into his raggedy bag and removed a stack of neatly, untouched, envelopes, “Eric never handed out the invitations.” “Kenny, you fucking sell out.” Eric hissed underneath his breath even though Kyle could hear him as plain a day. “And it’s not that I didn’t hand them out, no one wanted them. Apparently, we’re assholes but they’re all just pussies.” “Well, I don’t think you fellas are assholes.” Butters pepped up shyly, exchanging a smile with Kenny who, in the time they have been speaking, had moved over a little too close to him. “No one gives a shit, Butters, gosh.” Kyle rubbed soothing circles around his temples. Off of Stan’s own recommendation he had decided to practice with new ways to handle his anger— even though the steady foundation had boiled over with the immense fear of everything that could’ve gone wrong, going wrong, making Kyle the perfect candidate for bitching up a storm. For the sake of Stan’s birthday, he will try to work with whatever shit he had. “Okay, we have a little less than two hours to get this place cleaned up. Butters, do you know how to make a cake?” “Why sure, Tweek’s been showing me a bunch of new recipes—“ Kyle cut him off, “okay, okay,” next he turned to Kenny and Eric, “Kenny, you work with Butters because I don’t trust Cartman near the cake batter. Fatass, you’re with me. Help me set up the table.” Kenny did a soldiers salute and carried off into the kitchen to help Butters gather the ingredients required for making an edible cake. “Cartman, so help me if you keep fucking around-“ “Can you relax, Kyle? I’m not going to fuck up your chance with your puking boyfriend.” “W-What the hell are you talking about?” Kyle could not hide the red trailing across his pale, freckled covered cheeks. Boyfriend? Cartman being an asshole or not his comment shouldn’t have prompt such a reaction out of him. He was only doing this for his super best friend. Sure, sometimes Stan’s parents and his own joked about them being a little too close, but they were friends. Eric rolled his eyes, “you two are so fucking gay, even Cupid Me could see it.” “Cupid what?” A crash was heard in the kitchen followed by a series of apologies recognized to be Butters voice and Kenny’s string of reassurances. This party had officially downgraded to a complete clusterfuck. Kyle sighed. Perhaps he did bite off more than he could chew. ... “The cake looks great, Leo.” “Really? Do you think so?” Butters wiped his hand on his cheek, transferring a thin line of flour and chocolate icing onto his face. Kyle stood, amazed that they were actually able to produce something out of all of this. The cake looked amazing, with Stan’s name written on the top with bright red letters, “Yeah. Good job, Butters.” “Thanks, Kyle!” Kenny wrapped an arm around his shoulders, letting Kyle know of his cue. He checked his watch. Stan should be here soon. He stepped into the dining room to see the table had been completely transformed. It almost looked better than its original state, with the construction paper scraps thrown on the floor scavenged and made into a string decoration spelling out: Happy Birthday Stan. Eric secured the knot on the table’s leg. “I didn’t know you were artistic.” Eric stood up with an annoyed grunt. Of fucking course he was artistic. He just thought he would go the extra mile to appease Kyle’s man period. He grunted, then handed over the project they worked on prior— cleaned up and framed. “Don’t patronize me. I know Jews can’t do anything creative so...” he shrugged. Kyle was so happy with what he was seeing that he allowed himself to brush off Cartman’s anti-semitic remark. instead, he decided to keep it in mind in his vault of retorts for later. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. They really pulled their shit together. The doorbell ringed. Kyle placed the frame back on the table and instructed them all to get into their places. Before he let Stan in he had to do something first. “Oh, hey, dude.” Stan was going to ring the bell again before the door opened. He offered a lopsided smile and stuffed his chilled hands in his pockets. It was so good to see Kyle after suffering through another lunch of his father pathetically ranting about not being able to move on. It didn’t help that he was drinking either. “Uh, you okay? Can I come in?” Kyle stepped out on the step Stan was standing on, leaving the front door cracked behind him and telling the others to stay quiet to that they wouldn’t ruin the surprise. “Happy Birthday, man.” Why did he feel so nervous? Kyle played with his fingers and various hangnails, his stomach twisting into a rather painful knot. Stan raised a brow then examined Kyle from head to toe to make sure he wasn’t suffering from any physical injuries. He couldn’t say much mentally. “Thanks. You know I don’t like to make a big deal about it...” Kyle nodded, “Yeah, of course, I know... how was your session?” He also knows how much Stan loathes anyone saying therapy aloud. It implied there was something wrong with him. Yes, while he was still figuring out ways to cope with his depression, the word made something within him stir. C’mon, spit it out Broflovski. Stan shrugged his shoulders and bounced on the balls of his feet, “it was fine, are you sure there’s nothing wrong? Are you getting the flu or something?” “No, I’m fine.” Kyle humored him with a light chuckle that eased the anxiety he felt. Looking at how far Stan has come he was proud to see someone he cared about healthy and happier than he had been before he started faking it. “Good. Because like, it can kill you. If there’s no quarantine can we head inside now?” Kyle stopped him again, receiving a strange look but saying nothing of it. He took in a big inhale of air, “Stan, I, um, I really like you. I like like you. I apologized before for not being there the way I should but being beside you know I’m proud to see your progress... I’m really fucking proud, dude. I don’t know if this is too gay or not but for your birthday I thought I would be the gift... I mean, if you feel the same way-“ A warmness pressed against Kyle’s lips, and before he had time to realize he was getting kissed, Stan had already pulled away. Stan had a smile matching the one he would give to Wendy when stricken with the love he thought he had for her. “I like like you too.” Said Stan, his red face matching the shade of Kyle's hair. He parted his lips to say something, until... The door opened, “Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle, can we get this over with already? Happy Birthday, Stan.” And Cartman went off, mumbling something about being friends with a bunch of homos. He left the door open enough that Stan could see Butters and Kenny waving at him, and the set up they had for him. “Yeah, of course, I know?” Stan imitated his voice. How he got so lucky to get decent friends and an amazing super best friend was beyond him. “Um, surprise?” Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. Hoping for another kiss. Stan leaned in for another kiss, “surprise!” Butters yelled, making the two boys flinch. Yeah, it was a surprise alright. Stan and Kyle fell into a fit of laughter. Happy Birthday, Stan.

[lyonrhodes]

One Bad Day #9: Speakeasy

Red Hood x OC, Batman/DC Fan Fic

Summary: Dora has lived in Gotham her whole life and is accustomed to the rampant crime and corruption. Her life gets worse when Black Mask takes over the city. She thinks all hope is lost but a new vigilante appears, calling himself the Red Hood. However, he’s not your typical knight in shining armor. Dora must decide: does she dare fall in love with a revenge-driven killer? (Romance, Crime, Action)

Chapter 9: Speakeasy

Dora unlocked the back door. It swung open, but no one was there. The alley was empty; dark except for a lone humming and flickering lamp overhead. She gripped the crowbar in her hand tightly.

“Holly? I’m here,” Dora called out, taking a few steps outside. “Hello?”

The gravel crunched behind her. She wasn’t alone.

Without stopping to think, Dora turned around and swung the crowbar.

Red Hood caught it, inches from his head. The force of the catch reverberated through the iron back into Dora’s hand, causing her to hiss in pain and let go.

He gripped the crowbar tightly for a few seconds—she could hear the leather of his gloves strain. Although not able to see his face, Dora still sensed... was it anger? It radiated off him like heat from a furnace. She was about to apologize when he tossed the crowbar aside. “Kept me waiting long enough. I was about to leave,” he said, his stance relaxing. Whatever tension had been there dissipated. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

Her heartbeat was rapid. She had broken into a sweat, but Dora wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “Yeah, dude. I thought you were another one of those thugs.” A look up and down the alley confirmed he was alone. No bodies. No blood. No thugs.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, get in here.” Dora pulled him inside. She was paranoid. The cops were likely staking out the Alibi, watching her like hawks. The last thing she needed was camera footage that would corroborate Bullock’s asinine theory. “What’s up? Why are you here?” She already had an inkling why.

“Checking in. Did the GCPD give you any trouble after I left?”

Frowning, Dora wondered how much to tell him. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, except...” It wouldn’t do him any good to know about the detectives’ suspicions, so she just said, “We made a real mess that night, and the GCPD thought the best way to clean it up was to tear up the place.”

She led him out of the kitchen into the main barroom. Red Hood whistled, taking it all in. “Yeah, you’re not kidding.” He walked over to the corner with the jukebox. “Hey, at least they left this old thing.” He wiped some sawdust off the machine. “Oh, what’s this? That’s unusual...”

“What?”

He jabbed at some buttons, flipping through the CDs loaded inside. “Silverstein, Underoath, Saosin, Dead Poetic, Deftones... This isn’t the typical dive-bar playlist. You like hardcore metal?”

Dora was impressed that he even knew the proper name of the genre. “Oh, yeah. Nobody ever uses that thing, so my dad let me put my own CDs in there. For whenever we’d hang out after hours. He actually closed down the bar for my quinceañera.”

Red Hood scoffed. “You don’t seem like the party type of girl.”

“I’m not, but it wasn’t your typical party. We rounded up the local hardcore kids to jam, mosh, and headbang. And gorge ourselves on cake and pop. That’s how the scene is in Crime Alley.”

“Very cool of your dad. Not many parents condone that kind of music.”

“Yeah, my dad was a great guy.” Saying so prodded a dull ache in her chest. “I want to do the same for my little sisters when they turn fifteen. My dad would’ve wanted that.”

Red Hood took a look around. “So I take it you’re going to rebuild the place, then? That’s going to cost a shit load of money. How much was the insurance payout?”

I fucking knew it, he wants a cut. “Yeah, about that... Look, Red Hood, I... I don’t know how to say this, but... I’m sorry, I can’t...”

Red Hood put his hand on her shoulder; she immediately stopped stammering. “Yeah, I guessed money would be tight, so don’t sweat it. You know that coke your little sister almost got you killed over? I sold it.”

“Yeah, I know. A friend told me.” Dora knew the gesture was meant to be soothing, but she stiffened at his touch.

Red Hood had read her reluctance. “What else was I supposed to do with it?”

Throw it away, that’s what any sane law-abiding person would do. It then occurred to her that Red Hood didn’t abide the law. And it was hard to gage morality in a city like Gotham.

“It brought in some decent cash, so consider us even for a while,” he said. He withdrew his hand, but not without letting it run down arm to her elbow. “That should let you get back on your feet, right?”

Dora was extremely conscious of his touch. It felt like electricity was surging through their contact; her heart thumped loudly. “What, really? You’ll let us... Um... wow. How much was it all worth?”

“About $250,000, give or take.”

“What? Carla was running around Crime Alley with a quarter million dollars on her back? Her crew might as well have painted a target on her!”

Red Hood made a frustrated noise, something between a groan and a growl. “Yeah, I know. The LU likes using kids as runners. Black Mask’s crew is no different. That’s the kind of crap I’m trying to stop. People will always want drugs, but they should at least have enough decency to keep kids out of it.” He took a few deep breaths, collecting himself. The eye-slits in his mask seemed to glow brighter. “Crime isn’t a disease, Dora, you can’t cure it. You can’t abolish it. It’s human nature. But you can control it, keep it in check, and keep it safe. I want to put an end to the darkest parts of Gotham, so that people who want to ruin their own lives don’t ruin anyone else's.”

“How are you so sure that will even work?”

“Look at Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and New Orleans. Gambling is legal there. Heck, look at Prohibition a hundred years ago. You could argue that gambling and alcoholism can lead to addiction and financially ruin someone’s life, but those cities’ economies benefit from it. They turned it into an industry, and their citizens have jobs because of it. All over the world, some type of drugs and prostitution are legal and regulated, so it keeps even the workers and consumers in those industries safe.”

Dora had never thought of it that way. She began to ponder the implications when she noticed Red Hood removing his jacket. “What are you doing?”

“I’m assuming since you’re here by yourself in the middle of the night, you have work to do that can’t wait for tomorrow. I’ll give you a hand. So you get it done quicker. Is that alright?”

“No, it’s okay, but you don’t have to—um...” She would have argued, but Red Hood was undressing in front of her and she really didn’t want to stop him.

The leather motorcycle jacket had hidden a light flak jacket with a varied assortment of pockets and straps for guns, magazines, knives, and all kinds of other tactical military gear. It must have had some type of deceptively hidden armor plating in it because it made a heavy thump when he dropped it on the floor. His utility belt and thigh holsters came off next.

“Whoa,” was all Dora could say.

“Yeah, I know. My gear’s pretty bulky.” He twisted his waist and popped the kinks out of his back.

But that wasn’t what Dora had “whoa-ed” about. Holy crap, he’s fit as fuck…

Without the jacket and vest, Red Hood seemed to lose a hundred pounds (though his gear probably did weigh that much for all she knew). The armor had made him appear bulkier than he actually was. Without it, it revealed that he had a slim lean build, and the clever stitching of his skin-tight black shirt accentuated his three-dimensional torso. The contours of his sculpted shoulders, chest, and stomach were not hidden by the fabric.

“So where do I start?” he asked, stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles.

It was suddenly unbearably hot in the room. “I was, um... tiling the floors. The stuff is there. I’ll show you how to do it in a sec, but would you, um, excuse me?” Before he could reply, Dora hurried into the bathroom. She went to the sink and splashed her face with water, willing herself not to think the things she was thinking. He’s a criminal, don’t forget that. You’ve got work to do, so focus. She flushed a toilet for appearances.

When she came back out, Dora noticed that Red Hood had removed his gloves and rolled up his sleeves. This was the first time she had ever seen his bare skin... and it was relatively fair, lighter than her own dark olive skin. He had large hands and muscular forearms. They were clean, but he had callouses all over his palms and knuckles—some were red, suggesting that he had given someone a pounding recently.

Dora set to work, showing Red Hood how she wanted the tiles done while trying to look at him as little as possible. She instructed him to take the pool and darts area, just so she wouldn’t feel the electricity buzzing on her skin when he was nearby.

The task flew by quickly, aided by Red Hood turning on the jukebox. He hammered, plastered, cut, and drilled to the rhythm, something Dora thought was cool. He knew the lyrics to some of the songs she liked, too. Fortunately, it wasn’t endearing because he was a poor singer. Not to mention the fact that a man in a red helmet/mask laying down floor tiles looked kind of ridiculous, no matter how fit he was.

悪

Dora hammered in the last strip of molding and tossed the mallet aside. Rolling onto her back, she shouted, “Finally!” She pushed off her fogged up glasses and wiped the sweat from her face. “Hey, you done?” she called out to Red Hood, wherever he was.

“Yeah, all done. Need a hand?” He was closer than Dora had thought. When she wiped her glasses clean and put them back on, he was standing above her, offering her his hand.

“Sure.” She took it, and he pulled her up so quickly she got dizzy. She held onto his arm to prevent herself stumbling. When the world stopped spinning, she realized she was only inches away from him, her eyes level with his chest. She looked up. He’s so tall; he’s got over a foot on me, she marveled, remembering Holly telling her how Red Hood picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

Red Hood grabbed her other hand to steady her, but she winced, pulling it back.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked.

Dora looked down at her hand, the skin still red and raw from the Molotov cocktail she had improvised the last time he was here. She took a big step back. “Hey, listen…” She went around tidying up tools and trash to hide her reddening face. “Thanks for helping me out. I owe you. For the trouble.”

“How about a drink and we call it even?” he offered, putting his gear back on. Unbuckled, it hung loosely on his lean frame.

A drink? If he wants a drink, he has to...  “Yeah, sure.”

As she led Red Hood into the kitchen, he took the tool bag away from her so she wouldn’t have to lug it there. For a moment, she questioned if it was chauvinist or chivalrous, but decided on the latter. At the refrigerator, she pulled out a water bottle and tossed it to him. Feeling anxious as she took a sip from her own bottle, she couldn’t help but stare at him. He had to take off his helmet to drink something, but after everything Montoya said… Was it really a good idea to see his face?

“Thanks,” he said—but he placed the bottle on the counter. “I was actually thinking about something stronger. Maybe when the Alibi is up and running again, I can open a tab.”

“Oh, you meant… Right, yeah. No, don’t worry about a tab.” Dora scoffed, feigning nonchalance to hide her disappointment. “After all you’ve done for me and this place, all your drinks are on the house, for life. It’s the least I can do.”

“Cool. See you around, then. I guess I don’t have to tell you to keep out of trouble. Take care, Dora.”

Nervously tapping the counter, she watched Red Hood walk toward the door, wondering when she would see him again.

“Oh. Before I forget.” Red Hood stopped at the door, drawing a gun. Dora’s heart skipped a beat, but he deftly twirled it so the muzzle was in his palm. “Here.” He held it out for her.

It was her father’s Colt. She took it, gripping it tightly in one hand while running her fingers along the smooth metal with the other. She didn’t have to release the magazine—she could tell it was loaded by its weight. What would Dad think of everything that’s been happening? His little girl had killed a man; she had become friends with a vigilante in a red helmet that cut off people’s heads like a serial killer and blew up buildings like a terrorist. Did she really want to know what was behind his mask?

Then she thought, Fuck it, why not. The cops are already convinced I know what he looks like. It can’t hurt to peek. “Hey, do you like whiskey?” she blurted out, before her conscience could kick in.

Red Hood paused with his hand on the back-door’s handle. “Yeah, actually. Love the stuff.”

“My dad loved it, too. He’s got a few good vintages.”

“Really?”

“Do you have to be anywhere right now? How about a nightcap?” Her face was red. She couldn’t believe she had just said that. She hoped he didn’t notice.

Red Hood turned around and stood there for a moment. The shape of his helmet’s glowing eye slits made it look like his brow was furrowed. For a second, he looked like he had in the alley a few hours earlier. Dora could imagine what criminals felt when he stared them down. Afraid, vulnerable, and very small.

“Sure, that sounds good,” he finally said; the sudden nonchalance in his voice didn’t match the serious expression frozen on his mask.

Dora nodded awkwardly. “Follow me, then.” She holstered her father’s gun into her waistband as she went over to the pantry. Flipping a switch inside the room revealed boxes of liquor stacked on shelves as high as the ceiling. She had always thought the room was quite large, but with a six-foot man inside with her, it suddenly felt cramped.

“So this is where you stash all the good stuff?”

“Not quite.” Dora went to the back of the room and shoved aside a large crate of vodka that had been blocking a door. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but being the same color as the walls, the door was difficult to notice under the dim lighting and all the clutter. She picked a key from of her ring and unlocked it.

“It’s pretty obvious, but this is a really old building,” she said, walking down a flight of concrete stairs. “It’s been in my family for generations. Hard to believe now, but my father’s side of the family was actually really well off at the start of the 1900s. After my great-grandparents hopped off the boat from England, they fell in with the Italian and the Irish mobs during Prohibition. They started a few speakeasies and made a killing. My family has lived in this building for generations, but my grandfather didn’t buy it off the original owners until the fifties or sixties or something. When the Cold War started to get real bad, my grandpa made the building earthquake-proof and converted the old basement speakeasy into a bunker.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Red Hood said, running his hand along the concrete wall as they descended, as if he could feel the history in the bricks.

“Yeah, it helped us survive the quake that hit Gotham a few years ago, but my dad said the renovation nearly bankrupted the family before it even hit. Seems like it’s the family curse. Each generation gets us poorer and poorer.” Dora reached another door at the bottom of the stairs, made of iron with a hatch wheel.

“What do you mean?”

Dora turned the wheel with a heave. The rusted metal screeched and groaned. “Ten years ago, my dad spent a ton of money he didn’t have renovating the bar, and when he did that, he also converted the bunker into a cellar for high-shelf liquor and wine. And then I go and do it again now, trying to rebuild this place and keep it afloat with half a dozen loans I might never be able to pay off. My mother warned me, but I wouldn’t listen.” The wheel stopped with a clank. Dora pulled the door open. “At least I didn’t use a loan shark like my dad. ... Although, sometimes I wish I did. Banks can be crooks too.”

“Who else knows about this place?” Red Hood followed her inside the dark room.

“It’s not really a secret, but I guess… only my family, the other bartender Rochelle, and my friend Holly.” Dora fumbled around the wall until she found a lever. She pushed it up and the room lit up in a chorus of hums and snaps.

“This doesn’t look like a liquor cellar,” Red Hood observed. The basement was a wide open space with concrete walls and floors, dimly lit by hanging incandescent light bulbs. Boxes and shelves of liquor dominated one wall, but the opposite side of the room had a sofa, coffee table, a desk, TV, stereo, and a small bed. There was even a microwave oven and a hot plate next to a sink and mini-fridge, making a little kitchenette. “Looks like someone’s dingy apartment. Better than what most people get in this town.”

Dora smirked at the irony. “Yeah, it was my dad’s.” She went over to the sink and rinsed off a few glasses. “When my mom dumped him, he started living here. He had no other place to go. It was during the crisis after the earthquake. No Man’s Land.”

“But your family owns a dozen apartments upstairs...” Red Hood put down his gear again and reclined on the sofa. The way he sank into the cushions made it clear he was as tired as she was.

“In the divorce, my mom and dad split the building in half. She got the apartments, he got the bar. She didn’t want anything to do with my dad, and that included leasing him a place to stay.”

“Wow, your mom’s kind of...”

“A bitch?” Dora chuckled. “Yeah, she can be. She eventually eased up and let him move upstairs, but she made him stew down here for well over a year after the quake.” She shook the two glasses dry and placed them on the coffee table. “Sorry, no ice,” she said, checking the mini-fridge.

“That’s okay, I like my whiskey neat.”

Dora went to the crates of liquor and perused the dusty labels. She pulled out a bottle. “So what would you like? Glenkinchie? Lagavulin?”

“You’ve got Lagavulin? A shot of that would be awesome.”

She blew the dust off the bottle as she walked over to the sofa. Red Hood took the bottle from her as she sat down. “Wow, this scotch is older than I am...” He brought the label close to his mask... and his eyes glowed blue for a second. “It’s legit.”

Dora ignored that Red Hood had some type of high-tech scanning equipment in his helmet, concentrating instead on the fact that he must be in his twenties—because she already knew that the bottle of whiskey was thirty years old. But she wanted a more exact number. “Hey, if you don’t mind me asking... how old are you?”

He put the bottle down. “Not much older than you, actually.”

So twenty-two-ish? Dora thought.

Red Hood touched something on the back of his helmet. Dora heard a click and the light glowing from the mask’s eyes shut off.

She held her breath. The moment had finally come.

There was a pneumatic hiss as panels spread apart at the helmet’s chin, sides, and back. Red Hood took it off and Dora finally saw his face.

Most of it.

To her disappointment, underneath the helmet, Red Hood had another mask. A small red one that only covered his eyes, like the ones she had seen on Nightwing, Robin, and many other vigilantes and villains on the news. She had always wondered what was the point of such a small mask, but even though she was sitting right next to him, she couldn’t see the full shape of his nose, his eyebrows, nor the color of his eyes; the mask had a mold and glowing white lenses that concealed them. It covered no more than what a large pair of sunglasses would, but it was enough to make her uncertain whether he was Caucasian, Hispanic, Arabic, Asian... or even a mix of any race.

However, she could clearly see Red Hood had a fair complexion with shaggy coal-black hair. He had some stubble on his cheeks and chin, and the jaw underneath was well-defined. He kinda looks like Nightwing... but younger. He couldn’t have been more than two or three years older than she was. He might even be younger for all she knew.

Pero que guapo, she couldn’t help but think. On top of being a badass vigilante and fit as hell, he was also pretty damn cute. For fuck’s sake, why are some people so damn lucky? Dora’s genetic lottery bid had awarded her a short stature, large hips, flat feet, and astigmatism.

Red Hood noticed her staring and cracked a charming smile. “Yeah, this thing,” he said, touching his domino mask. “You can never be too careful.”

“I agree.”

It was Red Hood’s turn to feel awkward, so he broke eye contact to pour the whiskey. He gave Dora her tumbler and took a moment to smell his drink. “You know, such good scotch deserves a toast.”

Dora finally stopped staring at him and looked down at the swirling golden liquid in her own cup. “Yeah, but to what?”

“How about... to Monty.” He raised his glass. “Despite his flaws, he was a good man.”

That struck Dora’s heartstrings, resonating with all the bittersweet memories she had of her father over the years. “Yeah. To Monty.” The sum total was more sweet than bitter, she told herself. They clinked cups and swallowed their drinks. “Wow, that’s really smooth,” she marveled, looking at the dregs in amazement. It didn’t burn much going down and it tasted good.

“Yeah, that’s damn good scotch,” Red Hood said, having the same reaction. “I guess that’s why this stuff is expensive. You didn’t have to waste some on me.”

“No, it’s okay.” Dora grabbed the bottle and poured another round. “It’s been sitting down here for years, that’s the real waste. One of my dad’s mistakes, buying vintage high-shelf stuff. Our customers aren’t exactly the type to care enough about what they’re drinking to shell out the big bucks. As good as it is, we can’t sell this stuff.”

“Why didn’t he just sell it back to his liquor vendor?”

Dora scoffed bitterly. “My dad didn’t get all this booze above board. He got it all from the Odessa Mob, who smuggled it from overseas… and they don’t do refunds. Occasionally, the mob’s enforcers would ask for the primo stuff—for free of course—but they all died in the gang war.”

“Wow, your dad was… an interesting man.” Red Hood sipped slowly at the whiskey this time, pausing to savor the taste.

“Hey, um...” Dora pulled her feet up on the couch. “What did you mean earlier by my dad’s flaws?”

“Oh. You know. His, uh... drinking problem.”

Dora’s brow tightened. “How do you know about his drinking problem?”

Red Hood hesitated. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could tell he was trying to avoid looking at her. “No offense, Dora, but people talk. Everyone in Crime Alley knew about your dad was an alcoholic.”

She knew that, but it surprised her that Red Hood did. “But he was sober for years, up until he died. How’d you know about that?”

“You assume I’m new to town, but I grew up here.”

“In Gotham? I guessed as much, so give me some credit.”

“Yeah, but I mean I was born and raised here, in Crime Alley. On Park Row. Same as you. Why do you think I’m sticking my neck out for this place? It’s my home too, Dora. It’s in my blood as much as it’s in yours.”

Impressed, Dora toasted to that. As the shot went down her throat, it occurred to her that if they were near the same age, she likely went to school with Red Hood, whoever he was. She sifted through her memories, trying to remember a classmate or boy from the block that could have turned out to become the most violent vigilante Gotham has ever seen… but almost every boy that lived on Park Row ended up a convict, a deadbeat, or… dead.

But she refocused on something he said earlier. “So, wait, you knew my father?”

“No, I knew about Monty. Met him a few times while I was a kid. But I never knew him personally. You know how word travels up and down this neighborhood. I don’t know the fact from fiction, though. Tell me about him.”

“You really want to listen to me talk about my dad?”

Red Hood poured himself another shot and reclined back on the sofa. “Word of mouth had Monty as a sleazy guy, a drunk and a deadbeat dad. But I can clearly tell you loved him very much, so I want to know what you thought of him.”

“Um... sure.” Dora took a sip of her drink for courage. Then she told Red Hood about her father, Philip Montgomery.

He wasn’t always a drunk. What made him crawl into the bottle was the pressure he was facing from Vasily Kosov and the Odessa Mob to pay back the debt he owed to them for rebuilding the Alibi, on top of the extortion money. It was a slow and steady decline, but the alcoholism eventually got so bad, he got into an accident while driving drunk—with Carla and Mercy in the backseat. Both Dora’s sisters were hurt in the accident, especially Mercy, who’s Asperger’s made the incident all the more traumatizing. Disgusted and fed up, their mother didn’t bother to post Monty’s bail, or hire him a lawyer. Instead, she let him stew in jail while she filed for divorce and took full custody of their three daughters.

At first, Dora was just as angry at him as her mother was, but she finally understood his remorse when he attempted to kill himself by jumping off the top of the Montgomery building. He would have succeeded if not for the dumpster he landed in. “I’ve had too many friends eat a bullet to go out the same way,” Dora remembered him saying when she found him.

Her mother still had no sympathy, so Dora took it upon herself to help her father recover. She took him to therapy, Alcoholics Anonymous, made sure he abided his parole—even stayed in Gotham after the earthquake to help him protect and rebuild the building. Over the years, her parents began to reconcile their differences, enough to co-parent and even date a while, but not quite enough to remarry. Carla and Mercy were beginning to trust him again... to love him again.

Then Black Mask and his men killed him.

Dora tossed back one last shot and put her cup down. “I... watched Black Mask kill my father. I couldn’t do anything, Sergei was holding me back, while his boys just stood there. They just fucking stood there and watched a good man get beaten to a pulp, passing around a bottle of vodka, egging on Black Mask like they were watching a boxing match.” She willed her tears to stay inside and looked at Red Hood. “They left him barely alive and he died before the ambulance arrived. I tried everything I had learned in school, but I couldn’t save him. He needed me and I let him down…”

Red Hood scooted closer to her. “I don’t know what you’re feeling so guilty about, Dora. You tried and that’s what matters. What more could you have done?”

Dora pushed him away, angry. He didn’t understand. “But I could have done something—should have done something. Sergei and his boys all had their hands in wetwork. They fucking bragged about it at my bar, right in front of me, all the fucking time... Escaping run-ins with Batman, and getting released from Blackgate on early parole because of fucking overcrowding. Can you believe it?” Dora pulled out her father’s gun and gripped it tight, the anger inside her boiling. “My father’s killers drank at my bar, for months. Dad’s gun was right there under the counter, for months. I could’ve avenged him myself, I had a thousand chances... but I never did. I was too much of a coward. I... just couldn’t... I... Argh!”

She jumped up suddenly and fired the gun. Again and again, at the liquor on the shelves—bottles exploded until the magazine was empty. “Fuck!” she screamed and kicked the coffee table. “Fucking fuck!”

Red Hood didn’t so much as flinch. He only stood up and pried the gun out of her hand. “Calm down.”

“Get the fuck off me!” she shouted, pushing him away.

“Hey! Chill!” Red Hood grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip too strong for her to escape. “I saw you fight back that night we met in the alley. And last week, in the bar, you protected your loved ones. You saved them. I didn’t. You did. You did what you had to do and you didn’t hesitate. Months ago, you saved dozens of lives in the gang war. People still talk about it.” He took her hand, being careful of the burn. “I’m looking at you right now, Dora, and I can see the fight in you—the defiance. You don’t need a mask to be a hero. You just need to care about other people and be willing to get off your ass to do it. From what I’ve seen and heard, you risk your own safety for the sake of others all the time. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re braver than you think. Your father would be proud of you.”

Dora’s heart was racing, and her insides were burning so hot she wanted to scream again. Red Hood’s eyes were hidden behind a mask, but he was looking straight at her, into her—so she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Not after what he just said.

So she kissed him.

She grabbed the back of his neck, but whether she pulled him down or herself up, she didn’t know because his lips were on hers and nothing else mattered—it felt good, it felt right.

It was only when she pulled away for a breath that she realized he wasn’t kissing her back. His mouth was closed, his nostrils were flared, and his masked eyes were impossible to read. Her heart sank. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.” She looked down at the half-empty bottle on the coffee table. “I... I’m drunk, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

This time Dora was on the receiving end of an unexpected kiss, one that took her breath away and made her knees weak. Luckily, she didn’t need to stand because Red Hood grabbed her behind the hips and lifted her up. Suddenly, she was weightless, only tethered to reality by his lips. She locked her ankles behind him so she wouldn’t float away.

And then she was falling. Her back hit something soft and she felt Red Hood’s weight land on top of her. She was laying on her back, whether if it was on the sofa, the bed, or the floor, she didn't know and didn’t care.

Their lips mashed together, exchanging breath; their bodies rubbed together, exchanging heat and pleasure. Dora dug her nails into Red Hood’s back and clawed off his shirt. When she brought her lips to his skin again, she felt the rough texture of his chest hair and the firmness of his muscles. She latched onto the crook of his neck and sucked and bit.

But Red Hood wouldn’t allow it. He grabbed her jaw and pulled it away, her mouth detaching with a gasp, one that turned into a moan when he put his own lips on her neck—right underneath her ear. Dora’s body went limp, and the next thing she knew her t-shirt and bra were suddenly gone. Red Hood pinned her arms above her head with one hand, while the other was on her breast. They kissed again, and Dora felt like he was sucking the breath right out of her.

When he dragged his mouth to her collarbone, some sense returned to her. “Stop,” she said. Red Hood didn’t listen, his mouth inched closer to her breast, his lips and breath hot on her skin. “Ooooh... Wait, stop... Stop, please... Hey! Stop!”

She hit him on the shoulder a few times, and when he wouldn’t let off, she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. “I said stop!”

Red Hood finally listened. He pulled away and sat back, breathless. He seemed surprised with himself. “Sorry. I... You’re hard to resist.”

Although she was frightened at first, Dora could tell he was telling the truth. She felt his erection poking her through only a few layers of fabric. He was hard to resist too—she wouldn’t be lying bare-breasted in front of him if he wasn’t. She had to slow down and think, but it was difficult to do with her brain soaked in alcohol and Red Hood sitting topless in front of her.

He slouched and fidgeted with his coal black hair, suddenly bashful. “Yeah, I know. I’m pretty fucked up.”

Fucked up? Dora got up on her elbows and wiped the fog from her glasses to get a proper look at him. His impeccably toned stomach muscles flexed loose and taut rapidly, still breathing heavily. The fair skin on his chest had a light smattering of hair, but it was blemished by bumpy red scars that marred his whole torso. Having treated those types of wounds in the gang war, Dora recognized multiple bullet wounds, stab wounds, cuts, abrasions, and a burn that extended from his shoulder to the center of his chest. He was even missing a nipple.

His body was a battlefield.

But her own body didn’t care how broken he was. She wanted to do exactly what Bullock and Montoya wanted to arrest her for—and she was finding it difficult to care. You’re about to fuck a killer, she reminded herself.

But I’m a killer too, another side of herself said. The cops never have to know. Who I sleep with is none of their business. It can’t be too hard to keep this a secret.

“What’s wrong?” Red Hood asked.

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“... Us. What are we doing?”

“I was hoping we were about to have sex.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up, so that she was straddling his lap—and his erection.

“I know...” She shuddered, feeling his manhood poking her. “... but we’re both drunk. We have to slow down.”

“Why? You started this.”

“What?”

“You kissed me,” Red Hood said with a sly smile. “You served me the drink.”

“Yeah, but... Look, we barely know each other. I don’t know your real name. I don’t even know what you really look like.”

“What? Is this still too much?” He tapped his red domino mask.

“Yeah, I won’t have sex with you with that thing on. I may be a Park Row girl, but I draw the line at sleeping with a guy whose name and face I don’t even know.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything for several moments. He just looked at her through the white lenses of his mask. Dora’s breathing fell in time with his. Finally, he said, “Can I trust you?”

She was almost offended. “I’m not a criminal like half the people in this borough, but I’m not a snitch either. Can I trust you? I know you’re just trying to do the right thing, but... you blow up buildings and kill people. They call you a terrorist on the news.”

In response, Red Hood slid her glasses up, her bangs too, exposing her full face. He ran a thumb over her bottom lip. “You’re a beautiful person, Dora. Inside and out. I’m out there, every night, fighting the worst Gotham has to offer, so sometimes it’s hard to remember that people like you still exist here. You have to know that I’d never hurt you. You remind me of what I’m fighting for.”

That satisfied her, so she kissed him again. As she caressed his lips with hers, she thought, If I get this mask off, I don’t care what he looks like, we’ll do it. I just want to see his eyes. Let’s make love like normal people, not fuck like strangers.

Pulling away, she found her hands on Red Hood’s face. She was touching his mask, and her fingers were already peeling it off. He wasn’t stopping her.

A gasp broke through the silence, but it didn’t come from Dora or Red Hood. They both looked at the door.

Holly stood there, eyes wide, hand over her mouth. “Holy. Shit.”

[v0.3.15.1]

[davidmann95]

I haven't been able to tolerate a comics news site since ComicsAlliance shut down so what news out of SDCC is actually worth knowing about?

I’ve gotten so many questions regarding SDCC-related news that I figured I’d just do one big post, and this seems as opportune an ask to build that off of as any. To kick off, in terms of news that’s not for me but is a big deal, there’s a trailer for the next season of Doctor Who, and Star Wars: Clone Wars is shockingly coming back for a final reduced season years after the fact. Congrats to the fans of both franchises! Plus yesterday we got the announcement of Orlando and Foreman’s Electric Warriors for DC (as well as Orlando’s Dead Kings with Matt Smith at Aftershock Comics) and the Wonder Woman/Justice League Dark October crossover.

So first and foremost in terms of the reaction it picked up, OH MY GOD:

It’s like the Bat In The Sun team handed over their production to their shitty kids but made them work off a third of the budget. I kept seeing the jokes about it on Twitter, and I kept thinking they were surely hilarious exaggerations, AND NOT A ONE OF THEM EVEN SLIGHTLY WAS. At least it now makes sense why Hawk and Dove is here, given the Liefeld connection: this is 90s as helllllllllllllllllllllll, and while a part of me hopes it swerves unexpectedly in a couple seasons into Fun 90s DC with Starman and Wally West and an Electric Blue Superboy and Titans One Million, I can’t pretend I wouldn’t gleefully hatewatch this if it wasn’t behind a paywall. What it really comes down to is that, as I saw someone mention, the over-the-top content warning at the beginning isn’t actually by any means to get rid of anyone under 18, but specifically to appeal to them over anyone over it: there is nothing about this show not precision-crafted to appeal to teenagers watching something they technically aren’t supposed to, since anyone older than that will just laugh until the stars grow cold. And while it’s one line in particular that’s rightfully drawn all the attention, to me the clear defining moment is Beast Boy taking his big goofy dramatic leap, and you expect him to transform, but that ain’t happening (I fully expect he’ll just have claws and growl and do assorted Wolverine shit instead), because that kind of thing is for STUPID KIDS, whereas this is RAD. 

RAD, dare I say…to the EXTREME.

Also, the pilot Robin’s scene was presumably drawn from was written by Akiva Goldsman, Greg Berlanti, and Geoff Johns. So was it the guy behind Batman & Robin, the guy behind the CWverse, or the recent President of DC Comics who ushered FUCK BATMAN into the world? Because all three of those possibilities are equally hilarious. In any case, the rubicon has been crossed: easily one of the top ten, probably one of the five or so most iconic superheroes of all time said fuck in a piece of mass media. Where we go from here, nobody knows. But at the very least I’ll take the L for my original certainty that this would take place in the CW DCverse, because that clearly isn’t going to be the case. Though boy, imagine if it was. Personally I like to imagine this is a totally normal DCU, and suddenly going full 90s and murdering a bunch of people is their universe’s version of normal teen rebellion.

Additionally, it’s now seemingly set in stone that the fourth DC Universe live-action show alongside Titans, Doom Patrol, and Swamp Thing will be a Stargirl show where Courtney Whitmore learns about her legacy and tries to track down the Justice Society, described as in the flavor of Superman ‘78 and Wonder Woman. Again, if it wasn’t behind a paywall I’d check it out.

And before turning to comics proper, we learned from WB itself that there are no plans to idiotically pour millions into making a functional Justice League Snyder cut a thing, unsurprisingly making some of the worst people on the internet be just the absolute worst (I’m interested myself in it artistically even if I don’t think it would be very good, but at this point it would feel like a validation of some really rotten people’s behavior if this happened). Meanwhile the first trailer for the Dragon Ball Super movie dropped, and yeah, I’m still happy to see Broly. This looks big in a way Dragon Ball for all its action rarely gets, and seeing Paragus suggests Toriyama understood what worked about the original flick, which is a very good sign. Did they swap out Vic Mignogna as Broly though? Wouldn’t blame him, I know he’s said he hates the part, but surprising nonetheless. And the Spider-Man game dropped another trailer, along with a ‘Velocity’ bonus suit designed by Adi Granov.

The big comics news of the day was of course the long-awaited confirmation that Green Lantern is being relaunched - apparently as The Green Lantern - in November by Grant Morrison and Liam Sharp. What’s surprising is that Morrison’s currently insisting that since the last decade or so of the franchise has dealt with constant upheaval and cosmic apocalypse, his run is going to scale back down to a character-focused study of Hal (“He’s a loner and a drifter and he’s an unreconstructed man. It was nice to do that and to go a little bit old-fashioned with it. He doesn’t belong here at all, you know? He’s longing for the heavens, and to be back up as a Green Lantern. We’re doing Hal Jordan where, you know he’s a good cop, but is he really a good guy? And we’re looking into his relationships and how he deals with people. And also the fact that, if you’ve got a job as a space cop, it’s hard to be stuck on the planet Earth. He has other lives on other planets.”) amidst him going about his duties and dealing with weird alien crimes and space threats, such as stopping aliens from ‘parking’ a planet-sized artificial megastructure near a sun and causing damage to nearby worlds, and solving the murder of a gaseous lifeform.

I doubt it’ll necessarily stay there forever - his Batman and Action Comics runs, after all, were both initially marketed as staying on the smaller side by his standards, and the one idea we know of Morrison having once had for the Green Lanterns back in the day was making them a multiversal force. But it’s remarkable how, well, normal this sounds coming from Morrison. Clearly this must be a passion project if he’s doing a monthly again for the first time in 5 years, especially since DiDio mentioned he had to be persuaded (ultimately persuading himself as his attempts to brush off the proposition led to him thinking about the possibilities and rapidly talking himself into it) to make time for this amidst an incredibly busy schedule of surely more profitable and creatively unshackled projects, but on the surface level? This sounds like the closest Morrison has come since his JLA days to writing a regular superhero comic. At this point in his career, I’m very, very curious what that’s going to look like. Just hoping he read the King/Shaner oneshot on whatever reread he surely went through to catch up on current continuity. And also hoping this guy was right that it’ll turn out “the REAL construct that was limited by our willpower and imagination all along was…REALITY.”

On smaller notes:

* Kelly Sue DeConnick and Robson Rocha are taking over Aquaman, with an opening arc that shows him washing up amnesiac on an isle of forgotten sea gods. DeConnick seems to be like the Jeffs Lemire and Parker where my appreciation of their work is limited to very, very specific slivers: none of her Marvel superhero stuff I’ve read did anything for me even if I could see the talent behind it, but her Lois story in the last issue of The Adventures of Superman was pitch-perfect (and also had a great Aquaman bit!). This gets at least an issue from me.

* DC announced new titles for DC Ink and DC Zoom, including Cassandra Cain, Oracle, Dick Grayson, Creeper, and Wonder Woman books, while also announcing some artists for the existing titles.

* Geoff Johns is doing (ugh) Shazam with Dave Eaglesham, who showed off a really great, fun cover suggesting the possibility of a tonal shift away from Johns writing the absolute worst version of that character imaginable. On the likelihood of said possibility though, I think @intergalactic-zoo put it best. I might just check it out in trade if word of mouth is overwhelmingly positive, but then, lots of otherwise rational people liked or at least saw merit in his original crack at it with Gary Frank, and you were all deliriously, impossibly wrong back then, too.

* And finally, speaking of Johns, he’s doing Batman: Three Jokers as a 3-issue mini with Jason Fabok, a smart move given that is precisely as much as I’m willing to invest in this out of morbid curiosity. What’s really baffling though is that it’s being released under Black Label. It would seem to destroy the stated purpose of the line by immediately releasing Very Important Continuity Comics under it, but maybe this means Batman’s gonna follow in his protege’s footsteps and say a fuck. Anyway, I’m mostly just hoping it isn’t revealed Fun Golden Age Joker is actually not the original in order to rub out the prospect that he was ever truly anything but a terrifying sidekick-butchering murder machine at the center of very serious stories, because that feels to be like a real possibility. And absolute no question one of the three is gonna turn out to be the lost child of Marionette and Mime in Doomsday Clock.

[primatechnosynthpop]

I have several other things I want to say that are just ideas I've had about storylines I literally made up myself..... I don't really want to make a bunch of separate posts so here's some assorted Important Information all in one place

IF I ever wrote a sequel to Wires Crossed (which I'm probably not going to because the story is pretty complete on its own) the plot would be like, one of Tucker's old coworkers from his UFO newsletter job calls him up to be like hey do you wanna come work with me at this Science Building and at first he's like no I'm too busy writing songs for my cousin's band. But then he's like ok sure. And he and the scientist make contact with the no-eyed girl and he decides to set her up with Lyra. At some point the NEG offers to cure Lyra of being a zombie using her magic alien powers and it's like a character growth moment where she decides to turn the offer down because she likes who she is now.

On the flipside of the meguca on the rock au, I think you COULD do a pmmm nkotr au but you couldn't be consistent about who's in what role, it would just have to be whatever works best or is funniest for any given bit. Mami getting her head bitten off but it has the comedic timing and framing of Kevin getting his eyes yanked out... are you thinking about it. I'M thinking about it.

In however many years it's been since I wrote Walking Right Next To You, I've tried writing both a prequel/midquel AND a sequel but gave up on both of them (this is fine because in retrospect I don't think it was that well-constructed a narrative to begin with). But the reveal I had planned for the midquel was that Sylar had switched places with Peter at some point via shapeshifting and simultaneously Peter had shapeshifted into a random nurse and been brainwashed into thinking that was who he really was. Can't remember what Sylar's motive was supposed to have been for doing this but I'm sure he had one

...And this wasn't part of my sequel plan but IF I was going to write one, it would include a scene mimicking the scene from the show where Mohinder shoots Noah, but here instead of screaming and crying Claire is cheering him on because in this parallel reality instead of being her dad Noah is the guy behind death match fighting rings who ruined everyone's lives. (Also I'm mad at myself for killing off so many characters' alternate counterparts because there'd be so many interesting friendship opportunities if more of them were alive...)

If I was gonna write a kiradax InuYasha au, the time skip between Jadzia sealing Kira to the sacred tree and Ezri falling into the feudal era and freeing Kira would be less than 50 years but still a significant chunk of time, like 20-30 years? And the Sisko family are like the village priests and Jadzia is/was their family friend... she knew Ben when he was a kid but then a witch brings her back to life and suddenly he's an adult with a nearly-grown son of his own

If I ever rewrite one of the Warriors OC fics I wrote in high school, I'll definitely change the morality of some characters to make it more complex. So Dewdrop still kills Rubblefang's older brother Strikestar but doesn't try to kill her own sister Honeypool, and Honeypool can see that Rubblefang is upset but she still wants to protect her sister even knowing she's done horrible things (and Strikestar had done some bad stuff too, so like, was Dewdrop even really wrong??) But when Dewdrop goes after Rubblefang, that's what makes Honeypool realize she has to kill her sister... thus really selling the bond between the ambiguously romantic leads

Definitely not going to write this but I think that if Rorschach from Watchmen ended up on the Infinity Train well first off OF COURSE his number would be so high that it'd be all up to his face because he's so deeply fucked up. And I think the ink patterns on his mask would shift around to display the numbers that are on the skin underneath it. Also the numbers are all symmetrical across his body it's a whole thing!!

[damondrakc]

DAMON & CHERRY PARA || 001.

TAGGED: @damondrakc & @cherrieshq​ TRIGGERS: mentions of cheating

DAMON.

it had taken too long for the sting of cherry’s wedding plans to come to a complete stop. too many bottles, too many faces in and out of his bed within the last few days that he’d never remember names to, to many texts written and promptly deleted. work had been tedious, but the drive from the studio to cheryl’s front door was even worse. as he stood in front of her door, he had some sort of understanding that this was wrong. but there was something burning that damon couldn’t for the life of him extinguish, a longing to be standing exactly where he was even with the repercussions that were sure to follow. knowing all too well those consequences pestering the little morals he did have didn’t stop his fist from knocking on the door, they didn’t push him back to his car. instead, he stood there with the opposite mindset. he just needed to feel the warmth of her skin one more time, against all logic, needed to be engulfed by the overwhelming taste of her kiss that knocked his entire being off kilter. whatever happened next, they’d figure out… or maybe they wouldn’t because they hadn’t been so far. so he waited, neglecting his internal debate, snubbing the fact that even though he knew it wasn’t wrong - being there for the reasons the reasons he was, was in fact wrong. the voices in his mind came to an almost earth fragmenting halt the second she came into view. his cherry. swallowing the lump in his throat, trying desperately to find the words which seemed to be failing him, damon took a step forward the smirk on his features falling as he looked at her, almost pleadingly - as if she’d know he didn’t want her to get married… not to ivy. but if she really was going to, he wasn’t ready to let go. “i’m not gonna lie to you and tell you i’m here to watch a movie… i miss you.” he said reaching forward to stroke her cheek gently, reacting without thinking, damon drake’s more exceptional gift.

CHERRY.

diverting her focus between her upcoming show— though they still hadn't set a premiere date she was genuinely excited for the work —and her wedding planning. it should have been difficult to get lost in her thoughts about everything from damon, the last time they had hung out, and how to clean up the mess she was making before it bled into the new relationship she was building.  she thought she was building something healthy with ivy, she wanted to build something healthy for the sake of not ending up like her father. that was one of her biggest fears, though she knew damon would never do wrong by beau, it was more the volume at which she found herself entwined with him. the ferocity in which she seemed to lose herself even with the reality of her future, a future with someone who loved her, stood at the forefront of her thoughts. somehow, the actor had managed to consume her thought process despite this, and cheryl was forced to give herself a dose of reality. a harsh, but necessary reminder that she was supposed to be letting go of her past — their past — and focusing on ivy, and beau. beau would always come above all, and that little reminder of her six year old son was all the brunette needed to come to a definitive conclusion.  she had settled on this conclusion and debated more than a few times over the best course of action on addressing it with damon himself. over the phone felt too impersonal, and she wanted to make sure he understood she was serious. she probably should have expected him to pop up on his own, but the surprise at his appearance on her doorstep is still present. she'd opened her mouth to speak, and immediately felt the capability torn from her as she took in the falling smirk, the genuine comment and the contact. for a moment, she's frozen before reality once again creeps in with a sting of guilt. "i, damon.... you can't— we can't keep doing... whatever.. this is." begrudgingly, the words burned as she forced them out, fumbling as she did. still, she found herself taking a step back both to relinquish herself from the weakness his touch could bring and offer him brief reprieve from the neighborhood. and as much as she had caused enough scenes in her day, she wasn't intending to add another to her list tonight, least of all in front of her neighbors.

DAMON.

placed almost firmly where he stood, damon indexed every detail of her, from the slightly accelerated rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed to the pulse jumping so, so faintly in her throat. he wanted to feel her pulse race as he touched her. but he noted the look on her face, the same look she had when they’d ended things. for someone who prided themselves on not giving a fuck about much, the idea of seeing her features fall as they had almost broke something inside of him. something he’d buried when he’d lost cheryl in the first place. his dark eyes watched her take a step back, forcing his hand to fall to his side which almost instantly prompted his jaw tighten. without a single conscious thought to do so, he stood there, words failing him failing him miserably. “we can’t what exactly, cher?” the words fell from his mouth, but sounded harsher than he intended. his eyes gauged her moving aside, noiselessly granting him an opportunity to talk about the bomb dropped in a civil manner alone. but them being alone was dangerous. “being away from you has been…hell. i could bullshit, wax poetic, and tell you whatever the fuck we’re doing is kinda like missing a shard of heart, but in the end, you can’t 'we can't do this' isn't fucking bullshit.” he managed to keep his voice low, for the sake of cherry and the neighbors, but his reluctance to step inside only grew stronger the longer her looked at her. he could've easily laid it out on the line, told her he loved her... but that'd do more damage now. “i get it... it’s important to you to try to make your own way. i fucked up… i’m sorry i jeopardized this, that i hurt you… but what the fuck are you tryna tell me right now?” damon’s hand found the back of his neck, he could physically feel the weight and tension strengthening upon his shoulders. a scuff filled the space between them as he narrowed his gaze in cheryl’s direction, “were you fuckin’ me to make sure you really wanted to get married? she makes you that happy that you still ended up back where you should be in the first place? you’re gonna stand there and tell me you’re genuinely happy? if you can look at me in my eyes right now, and tell me that, i’ll walk away - i won’t believe you, because i know you… but i can’t stop you.”

CHERRY.

he barely touched her, the femme had stepped away from the contact before she could sink into the weakness he always seemed to bring out within her. still, a lingering sensation stung the surface of her skin as if she needed a reminder. her throat felt tight, both from the expression taking over his features to the aching remembrance that she had foolishly believed she could disentangle from this situation ( a second time. ) without tearing her heart. his question prompts cheryl to the knowledge that she hadn't clarified her point thoroughly, his tone makes it even harder to find the lucidity she felt since coming to her resolution of the situation. swallowing, she wills herself to find the inspiration she reserves for her work in order to aide her bearings. for as thorough as the femme tried to be, it hadn't crossed her mind just how profoundly arduous this decision was going to be. the vision of ivy, the visions of beau that she clung to seemed to barrel the words from her throat despite the difficulty. "we can't keep crossing these lines. i'm... getting married," she furrowed her brows, her throat attempting to close up on the words as the guilt rose to the surface and she crossed her arms across her chest. "to someone else." she felt as if she was pleading with the male before her when she met his gaze, momentarily losing herself in the clarification of that. the part of her that held hope, even the smallest fraction of it, that she would end up at the altar with damon seemed to break as she admitted the reality to them both. his words stung, and the more he spoke the more she felt like the air was receding from her lung despite all her attempts to stave off the emotions. she didn't want to let herself be swept up all over again, in a very similar stinging assortment of emotions as the first time they had ended things. "what we've been doing is cruel, even without the intention, i can't be torn between my ex and my current fiance when it's not just us affected. ivy doesn't deserve this. " she wasn't only talking about ivy, and as much as every part of her seemed to scream that she was in love with him, she couldn't let the words surface. disbelief briefly settled over her features as she took in his assessment of the situation, and the following accusations that threatened to swallow her whole. did he genuinely believe that she intended to be sleeping with her ex while she knew she needed to move on? shifting her gaze behind him, a clear view of the neighborhood, she felt a completely inappropriate and faintly hysterical laugh bubble up in a singular exhale. "i'm.... you really.... believe that?" she inquired, tilting her head to the side. "i'm trying to tell you that i can't risk hurting more people, damaging more relationships.... missing out on a potentially healthy relationship with a really good person. who doesn't deserve to be disrespected like this." her heart felt as if she were in physical pain, but worse was the ideal that he believed she had intentionally played any sort of games. "i didn't... fuck you to decide if being married is what i wanted. letting you go is one of the hardest things i've had to do, " she could feel the beginning of her eyes watering and she fought her damnedest against the emotions. "you think it's so easy to look at you, not even mine and know that i gladly, selfishly, accepted what time with you i was given? how unfair it is to ivy? there's always going to be a piece of me that is all you. i can't deny that, but i can't give up being happy with someone new on the premise that i'm stuck on you. i have to try to move on, i can't keep playing this game with you. i can't." she reaffirmed, the weight of the truth in her words, her shoulders falling as she huffed out the words.

DAMON.

it was only a matter of time, damon had bitterly conceded to the notion that whatever they were doing, the sneaking around, denying the inevitability of cherry’s pending nuptials to someone who wasn’t him but ivy - was a temporary bliss. another way to cope with letting her go, because even if she wasn’t his anymore, he still got bits and pieces of whatever she gave to him and in return, he gave her everything but the assurance and commitment she wanted, more so even deserved, that terrified him more than anything he’d ever encountered in his life. it didn’t mean that standing there, listening to her logic - the reasoning he knew was appropriate for the situationship they’d entangled themselves in didn’t stop his world from spinning. damon stood there, everything he’d known, everything he ever genuinely wanted slipping from his fingers. unostentatiously, he tried to grasp all of her words, but looking at cheryl was like staring at the future he could’ve had, the family he could’ve given beau. “help me understand how you’re just comin’ to that fuckin realization? because those lines that your talking about are as good as shot to hell ‘bout now, aren’t they? you can tell me you’re getting married - we’ve known that. but is that really what you want, cher? ‘cause i don’t think it is.” his own god damned arrogance would without a doubt be the end of him, the final nail in his coffin but he knew it was more than his arrogance. he knew a lot, but he knew cheryl better than most things. the way she made a point to fold her arms across her chest when taking a stance, her reactions, her features, and the meanings behind the looks she offered. damon’s mind shifted to if maybe he’d done nothing more than just confuse her ethical compass for his own selfish needs because he couldn’t intellectualize or justify letting her go… but it just didn’t add up. not that he wasn’t wrong, because deep down against all odds, he knew the position he was putting the only person he’d ever loved and probably ever would love was absolutely corrupt, evil even. all too audibly scuffing when her fiancee was brought up again, he simply shrugged his shoulders. “okay, poor ivy. i don’t really care about ivy, cher. i care about you.” what he wanted to say was he loved her, that he didn’t know what they’d been doing, but losing her? would take the little of his humanity that was left because she and beau, and now nix, were the only good in his life. that he hadn’t and wouldn’t ever not be in love with her. she was the only person who could say jump and have damon drake ask ‘how high?’. “i don’t know what the fuck to believe because everything i know is telling me if you really wanted to get married, you wouldn’t have been circling back around with me - we wouldn’t have gotten this caught up in doing… whatever the fuck we’ve been doing. i want what’s best for you, so if that’s ivy? fine, fuck it. but you can’t even straight up tell me you’re happy, truly happy. you love her, i’m happy for you. but are you in love with her? you see a whole ass future with her?” he couldn’t count how many times he’d been on the reverse end of this conversation, bowing out, wiping his not that he wasn’t wrong, because deep down against all odds, he knew the position he was putting the only person he’d ever loved and probably ever would love was absolutely corrupt, evil even. all too audibly scuffing when her fiancee was brought up again, he simply shrugged his shoulders. “okay, poor ivy. i don’t really care about ivy, cher. i care about you.” what he wanted to say was he loved her, that he didn’t know what they’d been doing, but losing her? would take the little of his humanity that was left because she and beau, and now nix, were the only good in his life. that he hadn’t and wouldn’t ever not be in love with her. she was the only person who could say jump and have damon drake ask ‘how high?’. “i don’t know what the fuck to believe because everything i know is telling me if you really wanted to get married, you wouldn’t have been circling back around with me - we wouldn’t have gotten this caught up in doing… whatever the fuck we’ve been doing. i want what’s best for you, so if that’s ivy? fine, fuck it. but you can’t even straight up tell me you’re happy, truly happy. you love her, i’m happy for you. but are you in love with her? you see a whole ass future with her?” he couldn’t count how many times he’d been on the reverse end of this conversation, bowing out, wiping his hands of a situation - but he shamelessly stood there knowing he never truly saw an ending to him and cherry. even after ivy came into the picture. “you know what, cher, you’re right. we’ve been disrespectful to your little girlfriend - i’ll give you that. you wanna give that shit a go? fine. but this?” he paused, looking at her, hand aching to reach up and pull her in but he fought to shove them back into his pockets. “this ain’t never been any kinda game, what you’re doing now? that’s a game, you’re playing house… so keep playin'. but i know you, because i love you. so you can cut that bullshit.”

CHERRY.

rational thoughts had evaded her with astonishing ease in the moments she found damon stood on her doorstep or invading her perception in any form ( mentally, physically, emotionally. ) and her morals had faltered. the simplicity with which said morals had sunk on the least amount of pressure warranted at the hand of damon. it was embarrassing, if she could bring herself to let the embarrassment of how quickly she had fallen wash over her, she would've retreated from the conversation. except neither of those concepts was a reliable option laid out before her. even if she attempted to retract the words she had spilled, to both retract the fraction of an admittance of feelings that still lingered and the decision to end their sneaking around— she couldn't simply erase the events from history with an apology or changing her mind. she couldn't do that to her fiancee without the guilt bubbling up with her being. his words stung, another shot of guilt sinking through her veins as she stared at him, unable to piece together the words she needed to say as gracefully as she wished she could. it was necessary to hear the words from him, knowing that he wasn't entirely wrong about the time it had taken her to grasp the severity of the disrespect she was displaying towards ivy. she chewed absently on the inside of her cheek, closing her eyes as she tried her hardest to rein in the spiraling emotions surging through her. "i know, and i fucked up, okay?" she breathed, blinking against the further formation of tears in her eyes as the weight of it seemed to finally sink in. not only had she tainted the good that she and ivy could've had, she had damaged the delicate balance she had with damon and in the aftermath of it all, beau could be affected and even as she was trying to prevent it, she couldn't control it. "i want.... you know what i want, damon? i want to get married. i want to be loved, fully and not just in scraps of physical love. i want to build a life... and ivy? " she paused, returning her dark hues to make contact with his as she braced herself. "she loves me, she deserves something good. she doesn't deserve to be tossed aside because we've got lingering feelings we couldn't manage to put behind us. " even as she registers his words about not caring about her, she couldn't stop herself from verbalizing the other woman being undeserving of the disservice she had been done. "i care about her." she omitted the continuation that she cared about the both, as if that wasn't an easily obvious conclusion with the visual struggle she was going through. it almost felt unfair, the way she found herself completely wrapped up in damon and the warring emotions that she had between not wanting to move on but knowing that she needed to move forward with her life. continuing the way they were only spelled further heartbreak for cheryl and she wanted to believe she could have a healthy, happy relationship without it somehow falling to the ruins. she wet her lower lip, hating the way the words that slipped from his mouth resonated because it didn't spell good things for her heart. she barely manages to refrain from telling him that she wanted to get married, and she'd always wanted that to be him— an admittance that served no purpose. not when she had made a decision. "that's not fair," she murmured, shaking her head. "you don't get to ask me those questions, you don't get to expect me to answer those questions when the future i wanted? the future i had all but dreamed for was torn apart. i wanted one person, one future, one... and i can't have that. and i'm not, i can't keep doing this... you don't get to go and do whatever you do— without me asking anything about it, because it's not my business— and think i shouldn't get married. you have no right, i fucked up but that's not fair." her voice grew quieter. she shook her head, what little hold she had on the floodgates seemed to falter as tears slipped out. "i can't keep holding onto you."

DAMON.

it didn’t make sense to deny the logic of cherry ending things. every point she’d made was valid. she was getting married, them sneaking wasn’t fair to ivy, but what damon found himself tearing himself up over was how it hadn’t been fair to cheryl herself. his selfishness, the love he had, the way that love made it feel virtually impossible to let go of her had ended up hurting the one person he couldn’t fathom causing any further pain. he’d reached an standstill, torn between damn near exploding and standing there shell shocked. dumbfounded on the way she perceived his feelings towards her, damon couldn’t physically contain the scuff shaking his head at her, his tongue rest against his top lip to refrain him from making any moves until complete reality settled. his eyes trailed along the familiarity of her features, the overwhelming urge to put further space between them ate at his body that just couldn’t seem to move. seeing the mother of his child cry, the only person who’d managed to break through his self proclaimed impenetrable walls emotionally devastated because he selfishly refused to believe that things had ended was enough to hallow him. he physically couldn’t bring himself to speak until she’d finished, even if every word felt like a dig, like she’d taken the last of him and decided it wasn’t enough - that she needed to marry someone else. “you want to get married, that’s what i keep hearing… that you’re in this because you love her and you care, and you’ve thought up this picture perfect wedding, this ideal life? that’s great, cheryl. if that picture you have in your head is going to make you happy? if you’re really in love with ivy or whatever her name is? this wasn’t your fuck up.” his heart grew so heavy, his lips automatically twisted in anger and despondency. the bitterness was evident in his voice, but looking at her standing there, obviously hurting brought out a grievous softness in the way he peered at her. “you want security, safety, comfortable, cher. you want reliable. after all the shit i put you through - i get it but that doesn’t mean you run off and fuckin’ marry someone. that doesn’t mean you get to stand here and tell me that i’ve lost my rights to ask you if this is really what you want, because i’ve wanted the same thing for you since i’ve met you. i want you happy, fuck if it’s with me or not. you’ve got the right to be selfish, to second guess - and if the only reason you wanna get married is because you want the wedding? you want the partner? great, fine - but do it for the right fuckin reasons. do it because you’re crazy about her. i’ll bow out. you can’t do this? fine, understood. we’ll do whatever the fuck we gotta do for beau because he’s what’s important.” the larger parts of him knew it and had known for awhile that he hated the idea of this wedding because it wasn’t him marrying cheryl. that no one else in his eyes would be half as worthy… half as deserving. hell he didn’t even deserve her. but if letting go, letting her marry someone was what it took? he’d choke on his pride, step back and let her do what she needed to do for herself. even if it felt like he was eating him alive. even if pleading for her not to get married because he was, and would always be in love with her was resting the tip of his tongue.

CHERRY.

for the actress that she was, quiet wasn't usually lodged into the description of cheryl in the middle of a dramatic moment. the brunette could count on one hand the amount of times she felt her voice falter in the throes of an argument, two of which involved damon himself. the first time things had ended between them, and now. in the culmination of the guilt, the stress of planning a wedding, sleeping with her ex, wrestling with her emotions for damon and for ivy, among other things: cheryl found her chest felt hollow and her gut felt heavy with the weight of feelings she knew wouldn't evaporate in the wake of morning. studying the expression on his face, taking in the scuff and the shaking of his head, even as she brought one hand up to attempt at wiping away the flowing tears. she hadn't wanted to succumb to the depth of emotions, she wanted to at least attempt a friendly departure but she had frivolously forgotten that she would have to be able to fight against the love she held for damon. something that was invincible even in the midst of their current situation, non-negotiable and that was one of many reasons she found herself running away from letting herself be destroyed by the pieces she was getting from her ex. none of that made it easier, cherry swallowing a lump in the back of her throat as a sudden sense of defeat waved over her, even as the words the slipped out of damon should have been exactly the response she wanted. selfishly, she hated the idea of losing the person who knew her almost ( if not. ) as well as her twin and her son even if it was the logical fix. even if it was the best choice to save what was left of her heart, knowing she couldn't keep holding onto something that was stagnant. it wasn't fair, she wanted to build a life with someone and ivy had been the only one to come along and blossom a genuine hope for that as a possibility post-damon. the expression she took into account felt as though it etched itself into the expanse of her memory bank with an abnormal ease, the femme letting his words ring out far too loud in her head for the space that stayed between them. the accusation the came with the first half of his second spiel caught her breath in her throat. the words in whole brought a confusing mix of relief and hurt, and despite getting the conclusion that she had intended, it still, once more, felt like a loss. "ivy is the only other person i could imagine even a semblance of a life with, and i want that. i want to be happy, i want to build and start a life with her." even if it didn't align with everything her soul felt correct. the idea that she could lose a second chance for the what could have been that held her heart in a vice grip surfaced a miniature panic amidst the array of emotions strumming through her. "i don't think it's fair, that you're giving me a whole survey of questions as though the answer changes the outcome. " she furrowed her brows, once again chewing on the inside of her check as she focused on the topic of beau. her attention shifted to the door and the door frame, suddenly even less willing to meet his gaze. "i don't want to do anything to jeopardize either of our relationship with him."

DAMON.

the life cheryl wanted - the life she was speaking out as damon stood there listening with his jaw clenched was something he couldn’t give six years ago. six years ago, he’d met the woman he knew would change his life forever. he’d met cherry young… but even with him being young he knew she was special. special enough to make everything and everyone else grow mundane. so mundane in fact they even begin to appease him anymore. he’d fought it, fought her, tooth and nail but somehow even almost against his will, she’d worked his way into his heart. the same heart she’d over time come to steal and he put up no fight; which why it probably felt like she was standing there not only stripping the last of his dignity but almost quite literally stomping on the heart he’d never dream of giving to anyone else. even as purposeless as the organ was, he wasn’t sure what his next move was to be? stand back and watch her marry someone else? being happy and wishing her well would never happen, he wasn’t that big of a person. he could devastate her even more by telling her that of course he still loved her, if she was marrying anyone it should’ve been him? but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her more than he had already. so he stood back and took what felt like a verbal lashing to the only authentic feelings he’d ever known and the only relationship he’d ever taken pride in. which was far from easy when all he wanted to was rage from seeing red. “i don’t know what the fuck you want me to say that, cheryl? congratulations? hope this whole fantasy life is everything you want it to be? fine. go build your life.” the words seared slipping from his tongue, he could barely stand to look at her as he spoke them, but to look away would’ve been a sign of weakness he couldn't nor would show. not now. not after this. “since when did life become fair? because from where i’m standing? it’s a cold-hearted bitch. but you know what? you’re right, nothing we’ve been doing was ever gonna change the outcome of what you’re about to do. so i’m not gonna waste my god damn breath anymore, i don’t wanna hurt you anymore - and i’m damn tired of standing back and biting my tongue while you run around in whatever dreamland you do thinkin’ ivy’s gonna be some big fix for you. but for your sake? i hope she’s that picture you’ve got in your head because the last thing i want for you is to hurt more than you already have.” the bantering and arguing were pointless. fighting with cherry always turned out to be pointless. she was strong-willed - knew what she wanted and trying to toss a wrench in her plans would only come back to bite him in the ass. he’d probably lost any chances of keeping her in his life other than the mother of his son. “this has nothing to do with him. so progressing forward from here, that’s what this’ll be. we’ll do whatever we gotta do to keep normalcy for beau ‘cause that’s all i give a fuck about at this point.” that was a lie, and if anyone would know that, it’d be cherry. but given the nature of their conversation, emotions were raised too high for a lie to be detected - which worked in his favor because he wasn’t sure what was left to say.