#gonna sell my laptop maybe in a week or two. if i start working by then that is

[swagging-back-to]

i decided to return my ipad which is really sad bc i have soooo many drawings on there and I'll probably lose them all :/

i uploaded em to icloud but i doubt I'll be able to edit them on my new ipad. oh well ig....

[yooglefics]

Reveal — Part two: editing

Pairing: Yoongi x fem!reader ( camboy!yoongi x camgirl!reader )  Wordcount: 1,735 words Genre: 18+, mdni, remainder to not use fanfics as your only source of sex ed. Summary: Yoongi is just helping a friend help you, but is he even supposed to listen to this?. Part 2 of Reveal: recording. Read it for context. This is just why and how we got to that ending. More warnings under read more.

Includes: Mentions of selling sex content. People recording sex acts. Mentions of sexual activity ( doing things and also talking about doing things and thinking about doing more things ). Mentions of past and not past masturbation ( f and m ).  Dirty talk? I guess?. Sprinkle of possessive yoongi? Is not my fault i sweaaaar Author's note: Remember when I started writing something short and silly lmao, what a time. Btw, I have never used OF so if something I say about how they use the website is actually not true / completely wrong just pretend please lmao. Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to write Yoongi's side, hope you like it! If you do please remember to leave a comment, reblog, ask, follow and what not. Thank you for reading <3

Saturday is probably Yoongi's favorite day of the week. No waking up early, no work, and not worrying about having to do any of those the next day.

That's why he groans when his phone rings with messages from Jungkook. He knows is him because he is the only one who still insists on sending him a million messages instead of just one. 

Love the guy, but he can be annoying.

The fifth ring comes and hopping is the last one, Yoongi finally reaches for his phone and rolls to his back. 

JK: hey JK: are you awake? JK: and free today? JK: i need a favor JK: yoongi?

Yoongi: with what? If I have to leave my house is probably a no.

Both of them know that actually, even if it ruined his plans of relaxing, he would say yes. Because that's what friends do.

JK: no no. You can do it at your house  JK: I need to edit an audio for my friend JK: but I'm on the schedule today JK: and if I don't send it back quickly she will back out JK: please? 

Yoongi: ok. Send it to me. Yoongi: you own me, tho.

Throwing his phone on the bed, he gets out of it to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, getting ready to sit in his studio for at least an hour. He knows is probably a bit extra to use his expensive equipment for whatever this favor is, but if he is going to help, he is going to do it right.

Opening Jungkook's messages on his laptop, Yoongi almost wants to laugh at himself.

JK: [ killmepls.mp3 ] JK: is and OF thing, btw JK: don't listen to it in public lol

Yep, definitely Poducer Min equipment is too extra for this. But, fuck it.

The archive is already downloaded when he opens the software, starting a new project and naming it the same as the audio plus final, to not get confused. Plugging in his headphones he starts playing it, already noticing whoever this is, is pretty quiet at the beginning and he would most likely have to cut it off, still, he listens to make sure.

A few taps followed by a “hi..” is the start, and he chuckles at their giggles.

He decides to let that in, but cuts the next few seconds where only their breathing can be heard along with some clicking and fabric moving. Is too long of a pause for this kind of thing and the clicking gives a way they weren't ready to start. Sure they wouldn't mind.

They put music on? It sounds familiar but is pretty fade out, so he can't really be sure, and then “This angle is kinda…” 

That's him.

That's his voice.

“Hot,” the voice continues before he can rewind.

“You can't tell me I'm mean anymore. I'm spoiling you,” his own voice travels again on his headphones. “I'm giving you this view and I'm giving you what's probably the thing you all ask the most: hands.”

What is this? Some kind of joke?

Did Jungkook put them up to this?

“I hate him. I'm gonna sue him,” 

That gets a laugh from him, even if he is still confused about what is happening.

Maybe it's just his imagination?

Should he ask his friend?

More movement of fabric. Maybe bed sheets or clothes. More breathing, a bit faster than last time and then, a groan. 

He can leave that in.

Wait, that's right. He is supposed to be editing this. He has to go back and…

“This angle is kinda…” his voice says and he hits pause. Is really him. Is that possible?

He feels like he is imagining things.

“Jungkook, I swear if this is some kind of joke or something,” he rambles taking his phone out.

Yoongi: did you listen to it?

JK: no, didn't have time JK: why? something wrong? JK: don't tell me it can't be used JK: she is gonna be sad :(

Yoongi: who is she?

JK: dunno if i can tell you 

Yoongi: technically I'm doing a favor for her. I think is fair 

JK: good point JK: is afterhours(y/n)

He opens a new tap on his laptop, goes to the website and searches for the username through his followers. And sure enough there it is. Subscribed a month ago.

He clicks to see your perfil. The first post he can see without being subscribed is a picture of a lilac lingerie set on a bed with the caption “very early birthday present”, from a week ago. 

He considers subscribing to see more, but he stops himself from clicking, remembering Jungkook didn't even want to tell him who you were. Oh, shit. What would you do if you knew it was him editing your audio? Would you back out? Or be sad?

Now it feels kind of wrong, like if he were invading your privacy.

He clicks around on his computer again, audio track back to the zero seconds mark. He hears the “hi” and the giggles and stops it before his voice appears. 

“Okay, this is going to be posted. It was recorded with the intention of being posted for people to hear,” he reasons. “If it's not posted I'd just forget about it and if it is… I'd… subscribe? To make up for listening?”

Clearly that part is not completely made up on his mind, but he doesn't have to decide what to do right now, he has to finish editing. And so, Yoongi clicks around the software again, cutting and deleting another section, the one where you can hear his voice and even his music before.

That's it. It was a familiar track because it is his. He composed that himself to put in the background of his videos exclusively. He figured putting his own touch would help if something was posted outside his page, never imagining hearing it in the background of someone else's video or audio was even possible.

It shouldn't affect him this much. After all, people touching themselves to his videos is half the reason he likes making them. What can he say? Is a turn on to have that effect on others, it builds his confidence up.

But actually hearing it is different. 

Groan and fabric moving, a bit too close to the mic he considers doing something about it, but “I want you to touch me,” is the perfect whisper. Just the right volume, just the right words.

No more audio of SugaD can be heard now, you probably turn down the volume of the video or pause it. Yoongi is curious about it. The idea of your sounds being a reaction to his past self is doing things to him, and Yoongi would like to ignore them before getting too distracted, but is kind of a boomer not knowing exactly what your reactions are for.

Maybe he can open his video, it wouldn't be hard for him to synchronized it with your audio and—

No.

That would cross the line. Is enough that he—

“Are you hard?” your voice continues, timidly he thinks. 

Is this your first time doing this? That's why you couldn't edit yourself?

What would you do if you knew he was listening and his dick was calling for attention at all your little sounds?

He stops your recording, considers taking a break, going back to bed. But he knows just forgetting about this would be hard and in the end he would have to come back and finish helping.

He unpaused it.

More moans echo throughout his headphones and he fixes them on top of his head, as if that would help him concentrate. You just sound so pretty, and when you plead he wants to give you anything you ask for, his dick twitching with desire.

He could just— no. That'll be wrong. Is enough he is letting it affect him this much, he can't just—

His leg bounces under his desk, hand glue to his mouse even when he is just listening now. Only stopping and going back a couple times to fix the volume of background noise, making it less or more obvious depending on the flow or your moans.

A groan of his own cuts the silence in his studio when you form words again. “It feels so good, oh god.” And Yoongi wishes he knew what. Wishes he could see you, could touch you. Could make you sound and feel that good in person.

“Uh uh,” short moans leave your lips, and it sounds so much like you're agreeing with his thoughts he really considers sneaking a hand down his pants. Allow his mind to wander and imagine what you would look like under him. Or on top. Or just coming undone by him.

But he doesn't. He just listens to your recording, your breathing, your pleas and your cut out warning when you cum.

“Fucking hell,” Yoongi angrily whispers. And for a second he considers doing the SugaD special of cutting it out of the final audio, but that's too selfish.

Or perhaps is more selfish leaving it. Considering he wants the world to hear how you sound when listening to him.

Yoongi managed to leave the studio without touching himself. But is not really as impressive as it sounds since his hand is on his dick the minute he goes back to bed after listening to the final edit of your audio one last time. The excuse of being just to make sure is perfect is just that, an excuse. And your pretty sounds replay on his head while he jerks off until orgasm.

JK: thank youuuu JK: she says thank you too!

Does that mean you know he was the one editing it?

He opens the app on his phone, looks for your perfil again and debates a couple minutes his options. 

What's the worst that can happen? You blocking him? He would understand, but if he actually doesn't do anything, doesn't play his chance, he wouldn't forgive himself.

And so, he subscribes. Page refreshes instantly and a new post greets him.

[ afterhours(y/n):

Surprise, surprise. Is my birthday month but I keep spoiling you, ain't I the best? 😝 

      [ VoiceReveal.mp3 ]

                                                                         ]

Doesn't even have to listen to it, his fingers move on their own, “the cutest”, he comments.

♡ Tag list: @m00njinnie , @sexytholland , @seoullove96 , @thelilbutifulthings , @disneyprincessshuri ,

( is hereee! I appreciate u guys hehe <3 ) ( if anyone else wants to be tagged in the future, let me know )

➪ Part one. | ➪ Part three. | ➪ Updates for this verse | ➪ Ko-fi

➪ Main masterlist. | ➪ Updates in general | ➪ Request & chats ♡

[misterewrites]

Tending to the Living (Mirror’s Edge)

E here with an update for Mirror's Edge! WOO FINALLY! You know when I promise to write more the universe goes "We're gonna make sure that doesn't happen." I explained it in my other recent updates but long story short my laptop crapped on me, the company doesn't wanna honor the whole "You bought an extended warranty and we can't fix it so here's a new one!" and keeps trying to stall me out. I'm using a family members laptop in the meantime while i duke it out with the company.

So I will try to update more often but like i said this is someone's laptop and it's not fair if i hog it all the time so I'll try.

Deep breathes. One step at a time. A lot is going on but all we can do is our best. Have fun. Take care of yourself and your loved ones. Masks in case you run into people who couldn't get the vaccine. Vaccinate cuz science and it's important. Take a load off. Relax. just exist. It's okay. It'll be okay even if it's hard. We got this :)

That's it for me! I hope you all have a good week, be safe, have fun and relax! it's important to relax. And for real thank you for reading. I really appreciate it. These original works are doing way better than i ever thought and honestly it makes me sooooo happy. Let your friends know maybe they'll like it and feel free to leave a comment and reblog. I read them all. Also this arc is starting to wrap up and I'm still playing with whose getting the spotlight next so let me know: Savant in a battle royale, a 'typical' day for Jaime at the Grimoire or a caitlyn heist. E is out! bye for now!

If you are interested in reading this on a site that is more suited for, you know, reading you can check it out over here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/118426354

Need to remember what happened last? right here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/111360014

No idea what is this about? How trying the story from the beginning? I swear it’s better than how I’m selling it. Evidently. https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

And here is the rest of my work which does a few original projects but I also have things in Percy Jackson, Arcane, Soul Eater, Legend of Korra and some other fandom stuff. https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

That’s it for me! if this is your stop thanks for going through all this. I have to promote myself and I might as well try. 

Summary:  Yorrick and Casey are in trouble when their (Yorrick's) plan to simply ask for the priceless artifact they need to save the city doesn't go over well with security. But there may be a way to achieve to their goal through Casey's favorite method: Kindness.

-----

Daniel Langley spent most of his adult life as a museum curator of the Newton Haven Historical Society, gleefully giving tours to eager and hungry minds while satisfying his own need to pass his knowledge onto others.

He wasn’t doing that anymore, however. Nowadays Daniel was head of actually running the entire museum which was infinitely more challenging than simply waving at priceless artifacts and giving fun facts about the object in question.

That was probably for the best given that his 75th birthday was around the corner: Not as spry and springy as he used to be. His well kept graying hair and beard were a testament to the fact he lived a life well lived. He was often described as a kindly grandfather who was unable to contain their disappointment. It was his pointed, near indifferent stare he perfected in his professional career. Especially effective with his piercing gray eyes.

Most days he managed the museum with little to some difficulty but days like today he could feel the ache in his bones and his patience especially tried.

Daniel removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly as he stared at the troublemakers security brought in today.

“Let me see if I understand this correctly.” He spoke with a hint of irritation “You two attempted to remove one of the objects from their protective casing AFTER informing the guard you would simply be and I quote ‘borrowing it for a bit.’ Is this correct?”

Casey gave a nervous smile, trying his best to project of sincerity and harmlessness “I can assure you that we had no intention of removing such an…important item of Newton Haven’s colorful history from its…case thingy.”

“Oh no I did. It is very important and we kinda need it.” Yorrick chimed in.

Casey closed his eyes and counted to 10.

Daniel grimaced unhappily “Miss...?”

“Oh no miss. Just Yorrick.”

“Mi…Yorrick. Yorrick? Like the….? Oh never mind.” Daniel cleared his throat to give a moment to gather his thoughts “You are aware what a museum’s purpose is? Correct?”

Casey opened his mouth to speak but Yorrick beat him to the punch “Of course. It’s the preservation, restoration and safe guarding of important historical objects as well teaching and informing people of their importance to our history.” Yorrick paused thoughtfully for a moment “Though it does get a bit tricky especially when you add the factor of various stolen items from other places and cultures that really should belong to their individual countries of origins as well as the rich buying priceless artifacts for their own personal…”

Daniel raised a hand to stop her “Okay. So you do know what a museum is.”

Yorrick cheerfully nodded in confirmation.

“And you still thought you could simply…take a priceless katana?”

“Well no. We are borrowing it like I told the guard, not taking and definitely not keeping. I fully intend to return it unscathed.” Yorrick pursed her lips “Well unless I die in which case it’ll probably lost forever but I’m sure you guys can find it! You found it the first time after all!”

Daniel rubbed his eyes again “Okay I’m too tired for this. I am going to just call the police and just let them deal with all this.”

“Sir if you please let us explain!” Casey began but Daniel was already reaching for the phone.

“Is this your wife sir?”

His hand hovered over the phone receiver.

Yorrick gingerly handed back the photo she took from his desk “She’s beautiful.”

A sorrowful sting of pain and longing ached dully in Daniel’s chest. He took the frame from the young woman and turned it slowly for he knew what picture she had grabbed.

It was his wedding day and it was impossible to tell whose smile was wider: His or his beloved Gabriella.

Guilt tugged at his heartstrings as he carefully placed the photo back to its rightful place on his desk.

“Yes.” He closed his eyes for a moment “Yes she was.”

One, two, three.

Daniel looked at the troublemakers again “Now please sit there while I…”

“Can you tell me about her?”

Daniel shot Yorrick a disbelieving glare as she leaned in eagerly.

“My wife….” It was difficult for him. It was impossible for any word to encompass everything she was. What she meant to him. How hard it was to be here without her.

“My wife.” Daniel began again but with a harden edge to this “She has unfortunately passed away recently. And. And my personal business does not concern how much trouble you both are in! You especially.”

Casey was a bit offended when Daniel gestured to him.

“Me? This is the first time I’ve been in trouble in the museum!” Casey raised his hands defensively.

“True but your friend likes to give me plenty of headaches. The one in the trenchcoat who pretends to be Dick Tracy.”

Casey tilted his head curiously “Who?”

Daniel could only give the deadest of deadpan stares. Kids these days.

“Look I understand you younger folk don’t care much for history but it is very important not only for understanding our past as a society but also passing it down throughout the ages. We cannot learn from our mistakes if we cannot remember them!”

Casey shot Yorrick a worried glance but the Gravekeeper was staring intently at the photos that littered Mister Langley’s desk. His wife was in every single one.

Something broke inside Daniel because as he chastised the pair, his voice began to grew in volume with each word “And furthermore I am in charge of a lot of very valuable pieces of history: A longbow expertly crafted by some sort of mercenary group garbed in silver. An authentic outfit worn by actor Fletcher Silverdust. Strange coins with dwarf-figures stamped on their surface! ORPHEUS’S LUTE, the actual musical instrument of Orpheus Drift! And it is my job to ensure their safety and preservation! This is my life’s work and not even my beloved wife was put before it.”

A guilty pang.

Daniel slumped in his chair, the rage draining out of him and replaced with a deep shame.

“Tell me about her.”

Daniel stared at Yorrick, unsure he heard what he thought he heard.

Yorrick smiled gently “I can help you with all these pesky emotions that come with loss. Honest.”

“I…” Daniel began but Casey smoothly cut in.

“She can.” Casey told him softly “She’s very good at it. And who knows? You might feel better.”

“My wife is….was a…”

Daniel didn’t know how he spent the next few minutes talking about his wife when he had previously shut down all attempts from coworkers and family to do so but these two seemed so earnest in whatever they trying to do that he told her how lovely a dancer she was. How beautiful she was even with a red running nose and pale skin. The way she liked her eggs and her favorite kind of braid. He spoke of their trips together, the way they could talk about everything and nothing for hours.

A deep love that could never be replaced.

Or forgotten.

He left out his accidental neglect of her though. That burden was his alone.

“Do you feel better?” Yorrick asked after he finished.

Daniel thought about it for a moment “A little yes. Thank you. But. I cannot simply ignore the fact you both…”

Yorrick lifted her hand to stop him this time “Hold on! We’re not done yet.”

Before Daniel could ask what exactly that meant, Yorrick pulled out a walking stick with an old rusty lantern hung upon it. It seemed to be early 18th century given the color of the patina though it burned with a ghostly green light which was…odd. Wait, how did she sneak that in here?

Yorrick closed her eyes, letting ancient power flow through her being. She murmured something in a language neither Casey or Daniel knew.

Mister Langley raised a curious eyebrow towards Casey but he could only shrug in response.

Thick green smoke bellowed from the flame though curiously neither the fire alarm nor the sprinklers seem to register there was currently a fire in the room.

“Okay I really have to insist you put that out. A fire is….you know just not good in any situation.”

“Darling.”

Daniel’s heart crawled to a stop as a familiar voice called from the lantern. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came to him as the shapeless smoke shifted into a translucent, familiar figure.

Gabriella stood before him bathed in a ghostly green hue.

Casey was knocked out of his stupor from a nudge from Yorrick. She motioned for them to leave the room and the two quietly left the mourning husband reunited with his decreased wife.

-----

“You’re a warlock.”

Yorrick raised a thumb “Yep!”

Casey blinked in surprise “I didn’t expect you to be so….honest about it.”

“I know what kind of reputation we warlocks have.” Yorrick admitted “Not unfounded to be fair. People will make pacts and deals with anything. And anything will grant them.”

Casey bit his lip thoughtfully “The Lantern?”

“Yeah. The Lantern. Well. Not the lantern lantern but whatever is inside it.” Yorrick clarified.

“What is in the lantern?” Casey couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

Yorrick remained silent though it was more gathering her thoughts and less avoiding the question.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure if I’m going to be honest” She answered after a few minutes “It’s not like the usual Patrons warlocks get stuck with. It’s old. Impossibly old. I think it predates a lot of cultures. It doesn’t give me traditional magic or change my form or anything like that. But its power over spirits and its spiritual magic is unmatched. And it’s picky. It chose me. Sought me out.”

Casey asked the questions Finn always taught him to ask “Does it tempt you? Try to influence you? Do you feel like you?”

Yorrick shook her head “Like I said it isn’t like the usual Patron. It lets me do whatever I feel is right in the situation. It grants me its power and lets me decide what to do with it. If it has an agenda it hasn’t tried anything in the seven years I’ve been the Gravekeeper and as far as I can tell I’m still me.”

Normally Casey would be suspicious at this kind of response: Most warlock Patrons leaned more towards the chaotic and evil side than altruism. Good Patrons did exist such as celestial beings like angels or creatures such as unicorns but they were far in between the devils, demons, fae and whatever darker beings humanity had forgotten.

To be honest clerics and warlocks were not much different from each other in the sense they both served someone/thing’s purpose. The difference really came from power scale and intention. Gods and Goddesses were a fundamental part of existence, each keeping their domain in check and balanced so reality kept on being real. But their power only came from their followers and their belief in the deity. There was no such thing as empty faith. Pretend as you might, you either believed or you didn’t.

It was a feedback loop too. You believe in a higher power and the higher power granted you magic to further their will on earth to grant them more power to grant more of their followers magic. Rinse and repeat.

But you were not bound to a deity like warlocks were to their Patrons. You could freely leave a God’s service whenever you wish. It wasn’t uncommon for paladins and clerics of one deity to simply walk away and give up their magic. Sometimes they even began to worship another one. People change and so do their values.

Warlocks, on the other hand, couldn’t ever leave their service unless they had the foresight to add some sort of escape clause, completed their end of the deal or the Patron chose to release them. Patrons were not powerful beings of the universe but that didn’t mean they were pushovers. More middle ground between the Gods and regular folk. To become a warlock meant making an agreement with a powerful force than yourself and most people didn’t know how the rules of such deals worked. Sure you could have ancient knowledge or magic or even be able to shift into a monstrous form beyond human limitations but did you know if you break your deal, your Patron gets your soul? Or maybe they could ask a thousand tasks (yes this was a thing. Common too) of you and you must perform each lest you be driven mad. The cunning ones even knew how to snatch your very body from your control, giving them a puppet to further their goals without your pesky morals.

Casey would love to say he was exaggerating. He would really love to say these were the most extreme cases of being a warlock and not every Patron was up to these sneaky, underhanded deals but as Finn liked to say, loan sharks were rarely benevolent.

Still Casey believed Yorrick. She chose to wield the magic of the lantern for good and he has never seen whatever granted her magic try to control or manipulate her into some selfish endgame. The Lantern was neutral, neither good or evil in its intent which ironically made it one of the better Patrons. Much like death, it didn’t play favorites.

“How did you know that he was in mourning?” Casey asked curiously.

Yorrick stole a glance towards the door “Humans are complex messy creatures. Confusing, irrational and baffling. I never understood people. But death? Loss? I know that well. It’s in the eyes. One look and I knew I was staring at half a heart.”

‘Like me’ Casey thought to himself.

Outloud, however, Casey nodded agreement “Do you think the Lantern approves of it being used to bring peace to the living given it exclusively got magic over spirits?”

Yorrick snorted loudly “Like I care if it approves or not. Besides if we don’t take care of the living, who will remember the dead?”  

Casey laughed “You are just full of wise proverbs huh?”

Yorrick snickered “I’m just saying how I see things. If they’re right or not.” She gave a casual shrug.

The door opened and Mister Langley walked out, eyes red and puffy but far more at peace than when they were brought in.

Neither Casey or Yorrick commented on his appearance.

“Thank you.” Daniel murmured softly “I. We. I don’t know how but thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Yorrick replied simply, more small talk than giving a grieving husband closure.

Daniel leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper “My wife told me everything. About you, the…other world. I understand. You will bring it back?”

Yorrick nodded “It is very important for my task but I vow on my life to return the katana.”

A heavy silence filled the room for a moment before Yorrick added “Because I’d be dead if I don’t bring it back.” She turned to Casey “Was I clear? Was that obviously what I meant?”

“Yeah.” Casey grinned to himself “Very clear. Mister Langley you are taking the whole ‘this city has a supernatural side to it’ very well.”

“I suppose I noticed and decided it was too much trouble to pay it any mind. It is a lot to take in but you brought me peace. If that is the price I must pay, I shall gladly do so.” “Sooo you won’t get mad at me when I have distract the guards so Finn can investigate whatever the hell he has to look at for his cases?” Casey asked hopefully.

Daniel smiled in a way only a kind, loving grandfather could muster “No I won’t be mad.”

Casey let out a sigh of relief.

“Only severely annoyed.”

Casey clicked his tongue “You know what? Fair.”

Daniel suppressed a laugh as best as he could “Now, before I give you the sword, may I ask where you two are going? It would make searching for it much easier on myself if something were to happen to you two.”

“Oh sure!” Yorrick beamed cheerfully “Litwick Forest.”

Casey stared blankly ahead, Yorrick’s words thundering in his ears. He slowly turned to face the Gravekeeper.

“Oh you got to be fucking kidding me.”

[absolutebl]

hi again

how are you? i hope you had a good week so far

i have two questions

1. i’m watching manner of death and the sound quality is driving me mad. i tried on yt and then switched to we tv site and it still is not good. like it’s way too quiet (you can barely hear the background when they talk) or the music comes in and it gets too loud. i wonder if it’s me or if the mixing (?) got messed up. i’ve seen a few clips of other series (can’t name them of the top of my head) and just wanted to ask why does it happen? is it a budget problem or mic one or maybe copyright? or just honest mistake or my laptop is just weird.

2. how did the pairing in thai bls stared? like did they just randomly decided to pair the actors who did good together and keep casting them both for roles? because they got popular with fans or was it more planned and conscious effort to sell that?

side note just wanted to thank you for all of your commentaries and reviews and language posts. they make me super interested in the dynamics of characters and make me pay attention to stuff i normally wouldn’t. so thank you for making me a little bit more perceptive.

Hi hi again!

So far so good, it's a slow week, I got a lot of stuff out that I'm waiting to come home again with work, which means I am sitting around twiddling my thumbs doing busywork (as the gran would call it) and distracting myself on Tumblr.

At some point in the not too distant future a big project is gonna hit and I’m gonna disappear except for the weekly updates and y’all are gonna think I’m dead. 

Manner of Death = terrible sound production?

1. i’m watching manner of death and the sound quality is driving me mad. i tried on yt and then switched to we tv site and it still is not good. like it’s way too quiet (you can barely hear the background when they talk) or the music comes in and it gets too loud. i wonder if it’s me or if the mixing (?) got messed up. i’ve seen a few clips of other series (can’t name them of the top of my head) and just wanted to ask why does it happen? is it a budget problem or mic one or maybe copyright? or just honest mistake or my laptop is just weird.

I think I remember it being pretty bad always. But then I watched MoD grey so everything was terrible, rips and all, and thre were random ads and threats of viruses. Count your blessings in that regard, trust me, it could be A LOT worse. 

I’m just getting around to a rewatch on WeTV but I’m not expecting much. I’ll let you know if I feel like the sounds is significantly worse than I remember. 

Honestly, with very few exceptions Thailand is TERRIBLE with sound, even worse when they go on location. Their looping is bad (if they bother). I mean we JOKE about how terrible they are with boom mics so much that Our Days referenced it. 

For goodness sake they use wired mics for intimacy scenes, and cheap wireless mics at WINDY locations. It’s just *throws hands into air.* 

Speculation is there just aren’t any sound techs in Thailand. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 

How do Thai BL Pairs Happen? How did it start? 

2. how did the pairing in thai bls stared? like did they just randomly decided to pair the actors who did good together and keep casting them both for roles? because they got popular with fans or was it more planned and conscious effort to sell that?

SOTUS started it. Ironically, we get to blame SingtoKrist. 

OffGun made it popular and caused everyone to realize it was possible to make more money as branded pair (sponsorship deals). 

But it was MewGulf who actually broke the internet. They caused Harper/Vogue something fashiony (?) Thailand’s website to crash when they appeared on the cover together, also won best kiss Asia against all the het couples. 

Originally I believe it was unplanned, but KirstSingto did so well on variety shows and with fan meets when promoting SOTUS and then SOTUS S they got given their own travel-esk show (by GMMTV). Say what you like about Krist he’s really good on a “yes, and.” Then GMMTV started to just sort of do a hard push with any pair they could, to try to get them to stick and recreate this magic. 

For the first few years 2016-2019 or so, the boys were just farting around and not really intentional about it. I think as the IRL shipping got worse (especially with MewGulf and ZeeSaint), expectations started to be different from within the industry (as well as from outsiders). Things have changed after multiple fissures and problems with pairs disbanding (and this having a career impact). 

Sometimes GMMtV’s intentional approach works (EarthMix) sometimes it fades away (PodKhaotung) sometimes it’s purposefully made-over by the studio (BrightWin). 

Career-minded and more savvy actors and managers are now, understandably, both wary and intentional in their approach to pairing up (and IF they will have an approach at all). Watching how Nanon and Ohm handled it for Bad Buddy was eye opening. (Ohm’s previous pairing from Make It Right seems to have left in industry for... not great reasons... So I’ve always assumed Ohm is relatively jaded and definitely guarded about BL.)

On the flip side, indie pairs started to form with specifically an eye towards acting together as the leads in dramas (e.g. KaownahTurbo and SantaEarth).

I talk a lot about it and the history of pairs in this (OLD AND NO LONGER UPDATED) post here:

A Guide to Thai BL Actor Pairs for New Watchers 

and a little bit on the new ones in 

Thai BL Actor Pairs... REDUX! (newer pairs)

and

GMMTV and Co-Branded BL Couples - pairs and marketing tactics

I keep meaning to do an update on all the pairs, but the skinship side of BL fandom makes me very uncomfortable so I keep avoiding it. 

[bi-bard]

Please Say That You're Joking (Pt.1) - Chuck Shurley Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Please Say You're Joking (Pt. 1) [You can read part 2 by clicking here!]

Pairing: Chuck Shurley X Winchester!Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 2,930 words

Warning(s): mentions of sex, threats of violence

Summary: (Season 4; Season 11) (Y/n) had a single one-night stand while coping with loss in a not healthy way... if only they had a clue about the weight of their actions.

Author's Note: I was recently going back through some of the "lighter" episodes of Supernatural because I wanted to watch something I could chuckle at. That's where this came from.

This might be the most crackheaded thing I've written in a while.

Also, the amount of things I had to bullshit my way through this is actually ridiculous.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

Sam, Dean, and I walked into the motel room. We were all confused and slightly scared.

We had gone to a comic book shop to do some work on a case. However, we were then called fans.

Fans of what?

Well, fans of a series of books about our lives.

I was the middle Winchester child. Two years younger than Dean, two years older than Sam. I was beyond confused when I saw some weird, romanticized version of me on the cover of a book.

"This is so weird," I mumbled, plopping onto one of the beds in the room.

Sam jumped onto his laptop and started researching. Dean was holding one of the books, reading through it. I didn't even want to touch it.

"I don't like how he describes (Y/n)," Dean commented. "It's weird. It's like he's in love. Listen to this..."

Dean dramatically clears his throat and starts to read in an even more dramatic voice, "'Even after a hard hunt, (Y/n) could easily be seen as the most beautiful of the siblings. They mimicked the beauty of their mother more than their brothers. There's no bruise or cut that could take the loveliness away from the natural curves of (Y/n)'s face. If only they could see how everyone else would stare-"

"Okay, ew," I muttered, walking to the table. "What'd you find?"

"Well, it seems like Carver Edlund is a pen name," Sam shrugged. "And the fans are intense."

"As in," Dean asked, closing the book and joining the two of us at the table.

"Well," Sam handed me the laptop so Dean and I could look at it, "there's fanfiction. About all of us."

"What's this, 'Sam/Dean'," I asked.

"It's... me and Dean... together."

"They just don't care that we're related," Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"God, this is so weird."

"So, how do we find this guy," I asked.

--time skip--

We managed to find the publisher of the novels and found her house.

"So, you published the 'Supernatural' books," I asked as we walked in.

"Yep," she nodded. "Yeah, gosh. These books... they never really got the attention that they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap."

"Could not agree with you more," I said. "We're hoping that our article can shine a light on an underappreciated series."

"Yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press, then maybe we can start publishing again," she replied excitedly.

"No, no, no," Dean immediately shut her down. "I mean, why... why would you want to do that? It's such a complete series with Dean going to hell and all."

"Oh my god, that was one of my favorite ones," she rambled. "Dean was so strong and sad and brave. And Sam... I mean... the best ones are when they cry... like in 'Heart' when Sam had to kill Madison; the first woman since Jessica he'd really loved. When Dean had to call John in 'Home' and ask him for help. Or when (Y/n) went back to the motel room after getting kidnapped and just had to sit in their own head and had to truly process not only the death of their mother but now their father. The mixed feelings were amazing."

"You're a really big fan," I noted. She nodded.

"Gosh, if only real men were that open about their emotions."

"Real men," Dean asked.

"I mean, no offense," she replied. "How often do you cry like that?"

"Well, right now I'm crying on the inside," he muttered.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Lady, this whole thing is funny."

"How am I supposed to know this is legit?"

"Oh, trust me," Dean mumbled. "We're legit."

"Well, I don't want some smart-ass article making fun of my boys," she snapped as she sat in her chair.

"Oh, never," I replied quickly. "We actually are big fans."

"You read the books?"

"Cover to cover," I promised.

"What's the year and model of the car?"

"1967 Chevy Impala," Dean smiled proudly.

"What's May 2nd?"

"That's my- uh... Sam's birthday," Sam replied.

"Sam's score on the LSAT?"

"Umm... 174," Sam said nervously.

"(Y/n)'s first hunt?"

"Vampire in Washington," I answered. "Dean was at the motel sick and (Y/n) almost chopped John's head off when he scared them."

"(Y/n)'s favorite memory that's not related to hunting?"

I smiled, "Helping Sam get ready for a date when he was a teenager because Sam didn't trust what Dean had told him."

"Dean's favorite song?"

"It's a tie," Dean replied. "Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Traveling Riverside Blues.'"

She finally laughed and smiled again, "Okay, okay. What do you wanna know?"

"What's Carver Edlund's real name," Sam asked.

"Oh, no. I can't," she shook her head.

"We just wanna talk to him," Sam continued. "You know, get the 'Supernatural' story in his own words."

"He's very private," she shrugged. "Like Salinger."

"Please," Sam tried again. "Like I said, we're um... big fans."

Sam unbuttoned his shirt enough to show his anti-possession tattoo. Dean pulled his shirt to the side to do the same. I rolled my eyes and yanked the arm of my jacket down and pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt. I don't wear as many layers as them and I had opted to put the tattoo on my upper arm because I thought it looked nicer.

"Awesome," the lady mumbled before standing up. "Y'know what?"

I looked away as she pulled her pants down.

"I got one too."

"Wow, you are a fan," I slapped Dean's arm. The lady fixed her clothing before grabbing a pen and paper.

"Okay," she said. "His name's Chuck Shurley-"

And I stopped listening after that. I knew that name... why did I know that name... oh... oh no. I'm gonna kill him. We're going to meet this man and I am going to end up killing him.

I followed Sam and Dean as they started walking out of the woman's house.

"Excuse me," she called as we reached the door. We looked back at her. "I'm sorry, but you look exactly like how I picture (Y/n) when I read the books."

I chuckled, "Thanks."

"He describes (Y/n) with so much detail," she smiled. "You could play them in a movie."

"Thank you," I waved as we walked out.

"'You could play them in a movie,'" Dean teased.

"I know who Chuck is," I said, ignoring him.

"What," he asked. I nodded. "How?"

I pointed to get into the car. I got in the back seat and Sam and Dean sat upfront. Dean started driving to the address the lady gave us before I started speaking.

"Okay, when you went to hell, Sam's not the only one who ran off," I explained. "I wasn't gone for four months... just two weeks. In those two weeks, I got involved in a single one-night stand. The name he gave me was Chuck Shurley."

"You screwed the man who wrote books about us," Dean asked, sounding angry.

"Do you think I knew he was writing books based on our lives?"

"He had to have known who you are," Sam added. "This isn't an accident. He has to get visions or something."

"Yeah, I know," I nodded. "He made money off of my name and then screwed me."

"Damn," Dean mumbled. "I missed a hell of a lot."

I rolled my eyes.

--time skip--

I knocked on the door loudly. Sam grabbed my arm, shaking his head at me. The door was opened and I smiled obnoxiously as Chuck. He was in a robe, his boxers, and an old white shirt. He looked tired and like he hadn't had a goodnight's sleep in days.

"Chuck Shurley," Dean asked.

"Chuck Shurley that wrote the Supernatural books," Sam added.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "This is Sam... Dean... and I'm (Y/n)... the ones you've written books about."

Chuck sighed and went to shut the door. I stepped in, stopping it with my foot.

"Listen, I appreciate the enthusiasm, I really do and I remember you," he motioned at me, awkwardly grinning before seeming to shake the memories out of his head. I almost slapped him right then. "But please... go get a life."

"You see," Dean followed me, helping to force our way inside. Sam made sure the door shut behind us. "We have a life... and you're selling books about it."

"Okay, this isn't funny," Chuck mumbled.

"You're right," I said. "We just wanna know how you're doing it?"

"I'm just a writer, I'm not doing anything."

"Then why do you know so much about demons and tulpas and changelings?"

"Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing!"

"No, it's not," I shook my head. "Believe me, we're not fans."

"What do you want then," he asked.

"I'm Sam... and that's Dean and (Y/n)," Sam tried again.

"Those are fictional characters," Chuck yelled. "They aren't real!"

Dean grabbed him and pulled him outside.

"Wait, wait-"

"We aren't kidnapping you, calm down," I rolled my eyes. Dean opened the hidden compartment in the impala's trunk.

"Are those real guns?"

"Yes," I nodded. "And real rock salt, real fake IDs."

Chuck let out a laugh at it, "Well, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number-one fans. That... That's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some poster in the house."

"Chuck, stop," I rolled my eyes, grabbing his arm as he went to walk away.

"Please don't hurt me," he begged.

"How much do you know," Sam asked. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Have you not been listening," I asked. "The real question is how do you?"

"Because I wrote it," he explained.

"You kept writing?"

"The books never came out because the publisher went bankrupt," he furrowed his eyebrows.

I stepped back, letting go of his arms.

"Okay, wait a minute," Chuck crossed his arms. "This is some kind of joke, right? Did Phil put you up to this?"

"Oh my god," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. I grabbed his robe. "I'm sorry but I'm really tired. Nice to meet you. I'm (Y/n) Winchester, these are my brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. You wrote and published books about us, probably knew who I was, and then you still slept with me."

He stared at me in shock.

"What," I asked.

"The last names were never in the books," he mumbled. "I never told anyone about that. I never even wrote that down."

"Then I guess we have a lot to talk about," I let go of his robe.

The three of us followed him inside.

--time skip--

"I got a visit from Cas," Dean explained as he walked in. "I've some important information."

After talking to Chuck and getting a draft of what was supposed to happen, we were all panicking. Dean told us to wait here. Lilith was going to come for Sam and we both thought it'd be harder if there was more than one of us here at all times.

Now, Dean was coming back from seeing Chuck.

"And that important information is...," Sam trailed off.

"He's a prophet of the lord," Dean said, smirking at me.

I shut my eyes, letting my head fall forward.

"Please say you're joking," I mumbled.

"Nope," Dean replied.

Sam looked over at me. He only started chuckling after his brother broke.

Dean was laughing his head off within seconds, "You screwed a prophet!"

"Shut up," I groaned. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Archangel will kill you."

"I'll happily pay that price," I muttered. "I slept with a prophet."

"At least that means he didn't write himself to sleep with you," Sam tried to comfort me.

"Yeah, God just decided I was supposed to sleep with the guy publishing books about my life," I replied sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Come on, it could be worst-"

"Sam, love you, but don't finish that sentence if you even kind of value your life," I muttered.

I was desperate for this conversation to just end.

--time skip--

After all was said and done, and Chuck accidentally helped us chase Lilith away for a while, we gave Chuck a lift back to his place.

I followed him up to his door, offering to look around and make sure that he's safe. He shook his head.

"I have an archangel protecting me," he reminded me. "Can't get any safer than that."

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he said. "About us. I didn't recognize you until after... it all... and I didn't say anything because I didn't really know how to explain it. The whole event makes me feel all scummy."

"It's alright," I replied with a chuckle. "It's fine, I promise."

He offered me a nervous smile, "Y'know, in all of my visions, you're the most vivid thing."

With a grin, I leaned over and kissed his cheek gently. I stepped back and headed back toward the impala. I made sure to take note of his nervous and flustered face.

"See you around, Chuck!"

"You... You too," he called after me. I got in the backseat and got comfortable.

"So... screwing the prophet wasn't that bad," Dean asked.

I just rolled my eyes, waving through the window at Chuck as Dean pulled away from the curb. Leave it to a Winchester to end up in a situation like that.

--time skip (season 11)--

Sam and I followed Dean with our guns ready. Dean was following the amulet that he had owned for a long time without even knowing it could show us where God was.

Everyone had been infected by Amara only minutes ago but now it was okay and Dean's amulet was glowing.

"Holy shit," I mumbled, seeing who was walking over to us.

Chuck.

He was supposed to be dead. That's why Kevin's prophet powers had been activated.

"No way," Dean said.

"Hey," Chuck... or God said. "We need to talk."

Despite our understandable hesitation, Chuck reached forward, teleporting all of us back to the bunker. I stepped away from him, slightly overwhelmed.

"(Y/n)," Chuck walked over and tried to grab my arm. I instinctually slapped him. I was nothing but confusion and anger. "I deserved that. Just, please?"

I stepped away again.

From behind Chuck stepped Kevin's ghost. My breath caught in my throat. The poor boy had been through so much shit because of us.

Kevin told us about how we looked stressed and that we should listen to Chuck.

Then, Chuck waved his hand. Kevin turned into a ball of white and blue light before ascending beyond the bunker.

"Where'd he go," I asked.

"Heaven, where he deserves," Chuck promised. I nodded.

I listened to the rant about how Chuck had abandoned us all and how awful things were. Then, the conversation turned to the plan to stop Amara. The boys talked about needing Lucifer and Chuck got incredibly upset. In a fit, he went to leave. I stepped in front of him.

"No," I said bluntly. "Even if you want to avoid the subject of your estranged son, you can't just leave."

"(Y/n)-"

"Sam, Dean," I looked at them. "Give us a minute?"

They both nodded, glaring at Chuck on their way out. I tried to ignore the instincts that were telling me that Chuck was just selfish.

"(Y/n)," Chuck mumbled.

"Just answer my questions," I said. "Then we can discuss what to do with Amara without you storming away recklessly. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Have you been God the whole time," I asked.

He nodded.

"You wrote all of our stories?"

Another nod.

"Did you write that I was going to sleep with you?"

I felt manipulated and angry. I was desperate for an answer. I knew that this could've made me feel like dirt, but I needed to know.

"No," Chuck said. I clenched my jaw, ready to call him a liar. "I told you. I had been pretty much hands-off for a long time. Did I know who were? Absolutely. I'm sorry I lied to you about that. But I didn't plan anything between us. We weren't some divine plan."

I nodded, looking down.

"You know how Dean and Amara are connected," he asked. I nodded, looking back at him. "We're like them."

"And that's not a divine plan-"

"I'm not doing a good job explaining this," Chuck shook his head. "It feels like we're like them. Like there's this bond that just happened as soon as we met."

"You lied to me, for years," I said. "Saying we have some bond isn't gonna fix that."

"I know."

We both fell silent. Slowly, I started laughing. Chuck furrowed his eyebrows, "My only one-night stand... and it was God."

Chuck started laughing with me while I really processed what I had done.

I slowly stopped laughing.

I didn't notice until it was too late that Chuck had slowly gotten closer to me. As soon as his lips brushed mine, I pushed him back. Not hard, but enough to get him to step away.

"No," I mumbled. "Not that, no."

Chuck nodded, "Got it."

"Now," I sighed, "we need to actually plan to stop Amara, and if we need Luci-"

"We don't," he said bluntly. "We can do something else. We don't need him. Okay?"

I nodded. In my gut, I trusted him. Maybe that was me being an idiot but I did trust him. For now at least.

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

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[maybe-your-left]

BITCH I AM DEMANDING A FLUFFY PART TWO TO KYLO FORGETTING OUR DATE OKAY?!

I WANT SWEET AND NASTY MAKEUP SEX

HAHAHHA YESSSSS. here is part one of Kylo forgetting our anniversary.

“Hey.”

You sighed into the phone, slumped on the cool leather couch. The TV blaring before you, but you didn’t listen to what was on. It had been two weeks since you kicked Kylo out, the only communication shared were clipped texts and stale ‘Hi’s’ and ‘Byes’ when he needed to pick up clean clothes.

“Hi.”

Kylo took in a slow breath, you could practically feel the air hit your face. So close, yet so far, “Are you gonna be home today?”

“Yup.”

“Cool, I’ll be there at 12 during lunch. I have some shit to grab.”

You bit back sniffling, “Okay,” your voice cracked. “I’ll be here.”

———

You scrolled through your emails, waiting at the kitchen counter for him to show up. You'd applied for some jobs a few days ago if this was really the end of you two. You needed a job, there was no way you could afford living in the penthouse and at some point, Kylo would want it back.

It was in his name anyway, the only thing you really owned without his help was your laptop.

Fingers crossed you'd find something, you haven't worked in almost five years. You didn't need to with Kylo, and he urged you to not work. He wanted to take care of you, provide for you, help you in any way he could. But now, you were left high and dry, not even a single bank account in your name.

You swallowed back another round of tears, no.

No more tears, you'd get through this. You had family who would help, friends that supported you and wanted you to be happy. Even his mom, not that you'd stoop that low, was willing to help you.

It would be better to just cut all ties to him since there was a slim chance he would want to be back together.

You still weren't sure, you missed him. Terribly, barely sleeping because his presence was gone. Jumping towards your phone whenever it rang, hoping it was him on the other side calling to make it up to you.

But the man was stubborn, angry that you kicked him out.

Claiming that his accusations were valid, which wounded you further.

A light knock on the door drew you away from your wallowing, you took a shaky breath before whispering a faint, "it's open."

Kylo walked in slowly, dressed in his work clothes. A button-up, white, with his suit jacket and tight dress pants. His hair was getting longer, the harsh lighting of the kitchen showed a sheen of grease coating it.

And the bags, the bags under his eyes were darker than normal.

A part of you was smug over his appearance.

But the rest of you ached, fighting against your baser instinct to run towards him. So he could take you in his arms while you bathed him in kisses, mourning over the time spent apart.

"Hello," he nodded stiffly towards you. Not making eye contact as he shut the door. Kylo fiddled with the strap on his shoulder, his duffel bag hanging limp. Empty, ready to stuff more things inside before he ran away to whatever place he was staying.

"Hey," you croaked, eyes flitting back to your laptop. Biting your lip as you read through rejection after rejection, no one wanted you. The gaps in your resume were too long, your diploma meant nothing since you had zero experience.

Kylo's shoes scuffed the floor, sniffing loudly before he looked at you.

"I was going to grab some more things," he glanced towards the staircase, "All my stuff is at the dry cleaners right now, I've worn these pants two days in a row."

"That sucks."

He hummed, "Okay," backing away from you slowly. You watched him walk towards the stairs, back tense and straight. His hands were tucked into his pockets, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

You used to make him comfortable.

Now you just agitated him, even though it wasn't your fault you two were in this mess.

You stayed quiet as he rummaged around upstairs. Doors opening and closing, drawers slamming shut, you briefly heard swearing but you couldn't make it out. You hadn't thrown his stuff away, keeping everything organized. Right down to the hair products that he had left.

Color-coded and alphabetical by the sink.

His footsteps echoed to a stop, maybe he was considering kicking you out...

"Have you seen my black sweater?"

You stilled, his black sweater... "Nope."

A huff in annoyance, "The one that has the hole in the front, from when it got caught while we were in Niagra? It's not in the closet."

That's because I hid it, you thought. You'd been sleeping in it for the past week, it smelled like him and enveloped you like his arms used to. No way you were giving it back, call it a sacrifice of your relationship.

You listened to his slow descent to the kitchen, duffle now stuffed with clothes. He eyed you suspiciously, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Coming dangerously close to your seat, he angled himself behind you. A little to the left, but enough for him to spy on your computer screen.

"You're applying for jobs?"

You slapped your laptop shut, he didn't need to snoop.

"None of your business, Kylo."

He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling as he replied, "Might be good for you, to get out of the house."

"Mhm."

"You'll want to apply to multiple places," he stepped around you, opening the fridge for a brief glance inside. Spying one of his protein shakes that you hadn't thrown out, wasn't expired yet. Kylo cracked it open and took a small sip, "You won't be able to afford this place with entry-level salaries."

"Yes," you snapped at him, "I know that."

"Just trying to help, (Y/N)."

You climbed off your stool, moving away from him to curl on the couch. Already on the verge of tears, "You aren't helping, you're just being rude."

"Well, it's rude of you to steal my shit when we aren't together anymore."

That made the waterworks start, muffling your sniffles with your fluffy blanket. You tucked yourself away, desperate to disappear. Maybe when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, or you could wake up seven years earlier to avoid ever meeting him. Save yourself from the heartache that was tearing you apart from seam to seam.

You listened to the echo as he walked towards you. Huffing when he saw your shivering form, "I don't know why you're crying. I haven't been staying here for two weeks, we clearly aren't together."

"Whatever, Kylo," you whispered, voice breaking as you took in a wet breath, "Can you just leave?"

"Sure."

------

"I can't afford to stay there mom," you whimpered into the phone, you were stalling in your car. Parked in the garage of the apartment, you had been to an interview. Realizing the pitiful reality of your life, you had already begun to sell your designer clothes. Gucci purses, red bottoms, Tiffany earrings, Cartier bracelets, you name it. Anything that could help you create a bank account was sold off.

"Have you talked to him at all? Kylo wouldn't leave you high and dry, if anything he would pay for you to get an apartment."

"I don't want his help," you hissed.

A pause, "It would be humiliating to ask, I know he's expecting it. After the talk about jobs, he's just been waiting for me to cave and sacrifice my dignity."

"I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to talk with him, I know you both have been avoiding it after the fight. It could bring you both some closure-or better yet-get you guys back together so I can get some grandbabies."

"Goodbye, mom."

You huffed as you hung up, slamming your head back into your headrest. Maybe you could sell the car, people would pay top dollar for a gold Porsche. But the title was in Kylo's name, birthday present, any money you'd earn would belong to him.

You pulled up your text thread, the last messages sent were from three days ago. He left you on read, you texted him goodnight after a few stale messages about your day and when he could come and move some furniture out. Kylo had gotten an apartment on the upper east side, right by his office. You checked the old Zillow listing, it was huge and ridiculously expensive.

Enough room for him and a new girlfriend, you were certain he was already fucking someone else. With how cruel he was with you, not even trying to make amends. Probably his secretary, she was always a slut. Showing off her tits to him, even when you came to visit. Kylo probably bent her over his desk the day after he left, just because he could.

You swallowed your pride, it was now or never.

Kylo, I think we need to talk.

Send.

Let's see how long it... oh?

What happened, I'm at work right now.

Quick, maybe he got the notification on his laptop.

Could I swing by the office?

Right now?

Yeah.

Typing...

I have a shareholder meeting at 2, make it quick.

You sped towards his work, determined to get there before he changed his mind and banned you from coming. You were shocked he even agreed, maybe he was having a rare good day.

Or forgot that you two were broken up.

After parking, you jogged into the building. No need to say hi to anyone, it was embarrassing enough to be the ex-girlfriend visiting. At least you were dressed up, people wouldn't think you were in the poor house, yet.

You smiled coldly at his secretary, not bothering to tell her what you were here for. Despite her stuttering about him having a meeting at 2, she was totally fucking him. There's no way she wasn't, a man like him can barely go a day without sticking his dick in something.

Whipping open the door, you were met with the uncomfortable silence that blanketed his office. Curtains were drawn, lights on the dimmest setting, the only noises were the door creaking and his fingers typing.

Like he was punishing the words, Kylo was good at breaking keyboards with his aggressive emailing.

You cleared your throat, watching as his eyes briefly flickered towards you before moving back to the screen. Okay, you walked slowly towards his desk. Pulling out a chair as quietly as possible, the leather squeaking when you sat.

Kylo let out a long sigh, leaning away from his screen. "What is it you want to talk about?"

With a harsh swallow, you fiddled with the hem of your skirt. Anything to avoid his penetrating gaze, "I just wanted to talk about, you know."

He blinked, face blank, "Use your words, please. I don't have time to fuck around, I have a business to run."

"I-I-I"

"Spit.it.Out."

"How come you never apologized?"

Silence.

Kylo's jaw clenched and unclenched, leaning back in his chair slowly. Staring directly at you, "This conversation?"

"Yes, I need to know."

"What good is it doing us now?"

"I don't know I just-"

"What are you hoping to gain from this?"

"Kylo-"

He huffed loudly, "I don't have to answer you anymore, we aren't together."

You slammed a fist on his desk, rattling a few pieces he had decorating it. Standing on your wobbling legs, "Listen to me, you can be an asshole all you fucking want but I deserve answers."

Kylo narrowed his eyes, standing slowly before you. His form towering, making you feel even smaller than you already felt. Crawling to his office for closure, and instead, he wanted to argue with you about the necessity of the conversation.

You watched his palms lay flat on the polished wood, crinkling papers he had strewn about.

"If you're here for money, just fucking say it."

"I am not here for-"

Now it was his turn to slam the desk, "Bullshit! You're here to fucking grovel because you don't know how to take care of yourself. Can't even get a second-rate job!"

"You're the one who insisted on taking care of me!"

"So you think it's okay to demand money when we aren't together? Selling off all the shit I bought you to pay the power bills?"

You gaped at him, "I would never."

"Shut up," Kylo spat, leaning further across to be nose to nose, "You forget that I have your email linked to my laptop. I can see every pathetic message about pawning what I worked for. What I provided you, fucking ungrateful."

"How dare you sneak through my email!?"

"It's not sneaking if I have the passwords, darling."

"You can't fucking do that," you pushed away, arms folded while you glanced around the room. All your pictures were gone, more proof that showed he was erasing your existence, "At least I'm not already fucking someone..."

"Excuse me?"

You spoke over your shoulder, "You heard me."

"Are you seriously accusing me of that," Kylo scoffed, "When that's what got us into this mess in the first place?"

You shrugged, "How long have you been fucking her, did you march to her place after I kicked you out?"

"(Y/N)."

"I'm a big girl, I can take it. Just tell me the truth, because there's no way you'd just abandon me if there wasn't someone else."

"(Y/N)."

You spun on your heel, snarling with a finger in his face, "How many women have you replaced me with? Huh? Or is it just your slut of a secretary-"

Kylo flipped his desk, everything crashing to the floor. You screamed as he began to throw items to the walls, tear books off the shelves, kicking his chairs to the ground. Anything he could get his hands on he attempted to tear apart.

"Enough!"

Heavy breaths.

"I'm not fucking anyone else! Are you fucking serious? All I've fucking done is work! Trying to just fucking move on but nooo," he faced you now, cheeks red and puffing. A few tracks of tears streaking towards his jaw, "You-you just have to be right, and have to be the victim of all this when it's both our fucking fault!"

Kylo paced away from you, running his fingers through his hair before crouching down to the floor. Cradling his face in his hands while he took in shaky breaths, "I fucking missed you, so much. It's all I thought about, but every fucking time I came back you ignored me."

"Kylo-"

"No, you fucking iced me out. I could barely speak to you and I wasn't going to do anything over text."

You succumbed to your tears, there was no way to hold them. Choking as you wiped away the floods, "I-I didn't m-mean to, you weren't talking to me Kylo. How was I supposed to r-react?"

Now he was crying, hiccuping in an attempt to steady his breathing and push through it like he always had. But he couldn't stop the tremor in his voice, "You could've told me you loved me or forgave me. Anything would've been better than this."

"Why do I have to be the one to apologize, I'm not the one who forgot our day and manhandled me in the tub! You were drunk, rude, and horrible to me, I deserved an apology."

"I know," he sniffed, "I tried to-the first few times I came back for clothes. But you hid from me."

You nodded slowly, pacing your way towards him. Unsure of how he'd react to you touching him, but you needed to be closer. You shuffled to his side, sliding your back against the gray wall to the floor.

"We've never been good at apologizing."

Kylo sat on the floor, mirroring you against the wall, "At least before, you didn't kick me out. Force me to crash on a couch, you know I don't fit on couches."

You chuckled softly, not wanting to smile at the visual.

"That's why our couch was custom," he laughed too, dull and humorless, "Because I kept sliding off."

"Yup."

Both of you swallowed, throats clicking in unison. Kylo shuffled in a more comfortable position, looking out at the clouded sky that peeked through the shades.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry."

A breath, "I never meant to miss our day, and I thought you were finished with me. I should've just spoken to you instead of drink, but that doesn't mean much now."

You hummed, "Thank you."

"I can write you a check," he sighed, "So you can get another place and still keep whatever's left of your collections."

"You don't-"

"I know I don't."

Kylo wrote you a check for half a million dollars, not looking at you when he ripped it from his checkbook. He mumbled about the bank may be needing to call him to confirm it, just have them call my office number.

Sending you off without another word.

------

Your new apartment was cute, small, perfect for you.

Light and airy, none of the fixtures were black or red. Hues of pink, coral, green, and blue danced around the rooms. Your couch was velvet, just because you wanted it to be. With an abundance of pillows and candles on every surface, you could fit them onto.

Your bed was a four-poster with a dreamy white canopy, soft and cloudlike bedding scrunched up from however you left them. No one was running around frantic to make the bed, or straighten the blinds, or draw the curtains, it was just yours.

The check was cashed with little fuss, you tried not to cry about it. You dropped off the old house keys at Kylos office, along with your car keys, there was no need to keep the Porsche. You weren't living that life anymore, you could buy your own car now! And it would be yours, it was too hard to drive the gift everywhere.

Kylo told you to keep the car when he found the keys, but you ignored his messages. He wouldn’t understand why you wouldn’t keep it, but that was his problem.

You sighed into your couch, looking at the TV nestled next to the bay window. Imagining where you could squish more houseplants… you already had an abundance but it wouldn’t hurt.

Your phone began to vibrate on the coffee table, startling you as you scrambled towards it. Oh, it was Kylo, odd.

“Hey?”

“Hey.”

“Uh,” you stood from the floor, scratching your cheek as you walked. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat, “I saw you got a place, wanted to drop off a housewarming gift.”

Your face scrunched, balancing the phone between your face and shoulder. Popping a potato chip in your mouth, “Why would you do that?”

A sigh, “Can you just buzz me in? I brought wine…”

“Whatever.”

Kylo came in with a tight smile, dressed in some black joggers and a gray t-shirt. He looked like he just rolled out of bed, not his typical look on a weekday. He held up a brown paper bag, Whole Foods on the label.

"You went to Whole Foods?" you raised a concerned brow.

"Nope," he set the bag on your kitchen table, eying the plants and crystals that littered your living room. A few magazines were strewn around on the surface, "I had my secretary do it."

You glared at him, which he noticed before shaking his head rapidly, "New secretary-not the old one. His name is Brady, he's very nice."

Kylo stood with his hands in his pockets, glancing in every direction as you approached the bag. Humming when you began pulling out the goodies he had, as promised there was a bottle of wine. Your favorite, along with a set of glasses.

A clear purple tinge, almost vintage looking. Some of your favorite fruit, he blushed when you held them up to his eyes. Mumbling how you never had enough of them in the past, and it was their season.

Now you were blushing, finding some red velvet cupcakes. Packaged beautifully, and a small vase in the shape of a kitty. You placed it on the table, looking at it over and over. Biting your lip as you waited for something to happen.

"I like your place," Kylo croaked out, "It's very bright."

You chuckled, "You're just used to your eyes straining from all the red and black decor."

He hummed, walking down your hallway. Glancing indoors that were left open until he made it to your bedroom. You heard him groan when he saw the white sheets and canopy, Kylo whistled for you.

Obediently, you pranced towards him, taken aback when he was sprawled on your mattress. Facedown with his face in your pillow, groaning like he was trying to wake up from a good dream.

"I fucking forgot how good you smelled," he moaned out, looking over at you lazily, "What would I have to do to get you to make out with me in here?"

------

LOL, this was long, but I'll do a part three if you would enjoy the rest of their reunion.

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Pretty Little Picture (1/3)

fake dating au, pure fluff, no serious tags, just a bunch of fluff

for day 1 of @malex-cupid​

ao3

When Alex agreed to this, he thought it’d be a piece of cake.

“You’re going to regret this, it’s a horrible idea,” Liz said through the phone as he walked around his room, packing his bag for the weekend. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why? We’re friends. And I’ve done musicals and stuff, I’ve acted before.”

“Okay, but this isn’t acting. This is going on a weekend getaway pretending to date your friend who you have a crush on is a bad idea,” she scoffed. Alex shook his head, looking between his plain black button-up and his plain black fitted turtleneck. He chose the turtleneck one and folded it carefully.

“I don’t have a crush on him.”

“Really?”

“Really. Trust me, I’ve seen him after pulling an all-nighter and falling asleep in his coffee. I know not to have a crush on him,” Alex said. Though he will admit, that was pretty cute.

“Sounds like something someone with a crush would say,” Liz scolded. Alex snorted a laugh. “Fine, do what you want, at least you’ll be believable with the heart-eyes and everything.”

“I do not have heart-eyes!”

Truly, Alex was sure it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He lived with Michael already. They shared the house he inherited‒Michael needed a cheap place to live while in college and Alex wasn’t really looking forward to living alone, so it worked out‒and nothing weird had happened in the last three years. They were best friends, what would one weekend hurt?

“Alex, I need your help,” Michael had said, bursting into the living room and nearly making Alex spill his coffee. He stomped towards him, dropping his bag on the ground and flopping onto the couch with a pathetic whine. “Help me.”

“Help you with what?” Alex had asked in return, taking his eyes off his laptop to give him his full attention while he threw a little tantrum.

Michael twisted onto his stomach and rested his chin on his hands, looking up at him. Alex’s heart absolutely did not skip a beat in adoration. He wasn’t that cute.

“You know my internship? The fancy one with all the rich people that pay me to be an intern for them and actually listen to my ideas and‒”

“Yes, Michael, I know about your internship,” Alex laughed. Michael pouted just a little bit.

“Okay, so every year, the CEO takes all the interns and entrance-level employees and their partners on a trip for Valentine’s day and it’s a fun trip, I guess, but it’s really just this big, super informal interview where he and his wife sort of see if you’ll be a good fit for the company long term. Khalil said I have to go no matter what, that it’s super crucial and to make a good impression. Like, I have to go, Alex. I have to get hired for real after I graduate. Do you know how much I’ll get paid just to start? $35 an hour, Alex! I could do so much with that money!” Michael explained, exasperated and overwhelming as if Alex hadn’t heard how much money he would make if he got this job a billion times.

“Yeah, okay, then go,” Alex told him, “Sweet talk them like we all know you can.”

“I need a partner, though,” Michael said, pouting all over again, “So come with me. Please? We can pretend to be, like, long term boyfriends and, like, convince them I’d be a good queer diversity hire at the very least.”

Alex felt his cheeks grow warm at the suggestion and shifted in his spot. “Why me?”

“Because! You were raised around a bunch of bougie rich white people, you know how to act at these things! I’d ask Isobel or Max, but I don’t even wanna pretend to be in love with them. With you, I can do the whole starry-eyed thing and if we have to show PDA, it won’t be that big of a deal because, like, it’s you,” Michael persuaded, clambering onto his hands and knees before putting his head on Alex’s arm and pouting up at him, “Pretty please? I’ll buy you something nice and fancy with my first big kid paycheck.”

“Okay,” Alex agreed, not letting himself think too much about it. They spent all their time together anyway. He’d fallen asleep with Michael’s feet in his lap, he’d seen him basically naked, he’d hugged him and gotten platonic head kisses from him. They could pull it off.

“Okay?” Michael repeated, sitting up more. His smile was shining and bold and Alex had to take a breath. “Okay! Okay, so we have two weeks to pack and come up with stories and shit to tell. It’ll be so easy, they’re gonna love you, you’re so chill. Thank you, Alex, thank you so much.”

Which led to now when Alex was preparing to go on this trip. From the way Michael explained, it would be a lot of just talking and discussing with a side of couples retreat-esque activities.

“He’s apparently superfamily and relationship-oriented. I don’t know if it’s because he’s, like, super conservative or if he’s super progressive and is all for, like, living wages for family and will give people ample time off. I’m too scared to ask just yet,” Michael had explained.

Michael had also assured him that, during discussions, he could either sit with him or go talk to the other partners, whichever he preferred. He basically just needed Alex to look pretty and seem like they were totally in love. According to the way Liz spoke about them, it wouldn’t be a difficult feat.

So Alex packed his clothes and anything he thought he’d need to get by on a three day trip to some bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere. He wanted to look nice the whole time, even when they weren’t at formal dinners, and he was even going to flip his septum piercing. He planned to use his skills at selling himself to sell Michael as well.

“If you ever need a break, I’ll cover for you while you drive to the nearest convenience store to get a bunch of snacks,” Michael told him as he threw their bags in the backseat of Alex’s little car. Alex snorted a laugh.

“What about if you need a break?”

“Well, I plan to work for this fucker for at least the next thirty years, so my only break will be sleeping,” Michael said. Alex shook his head, going over to fix the collar of Michael’s shirt. It’d taken a bit of convincing to get him to forgo the flannels for a couple of days, but now he had a collared shirt that wouldn’t stay down for some reason. “Speaking of, are you gonna be chill sharing a bed or do I need to sleep on the floor? I don’t mind it, just wanna know if I should ask for an extra blanket.”

“Dude, we’ve shared a bed before,” Alex laughed, “It’s not gonna kill me.”

“Just making sure,” Michael said, taking a deep breath. It was only then that Alex realized that he was actually nervous.

“Hey,” Alex said, grabbing his shoulders and looking him in the eyes, “You’re going to impress the hell out of them, I’m gonna make sure of it, okay?”

“I just really want this job, Alex,” Michael said. Alex smiled.

“And you’re going to get it,” he said, “And, hey, if you don’t, this internship will always look good on your future resume.”

“Let’s just stick to telling me I’m gonna get it, okay?” Michael breathed. Alex laughed and nodded, patting him on the shoulder before shoved him gently in the direction of the passenger seat.

“You’re going to get it. Now get in the car.”

The whole ride there Alex was completely fine. This was going to be a piece of cake and he was going to show Liz that he could totally handle it. He didn’t have a crush, he wasn’t going to catch even more feelings, he was just being a good friend.

It didn’t really dawn on Alex just how stressful this weekend was going to be until they stepped inside the bed and breakfast and Michael looped an arm around his waist and tugged him in close. He knew they were going to be showing casual PDA, Alex agreed to that, but saying it and doing it in private was a whole different world to having Michael hanging onto him in front of other people.

Alex could hear his heart in his ears over the ringing, suddenly very aware of the fact that Michael was muscular. He knew he did a lot of manual labor jobs before he got that internship, but had he always been obvious about it?

Even then, Alex was able to smile through it as Michael led him up to the group of people that were already there. He was able to keep his feet under him as Michael leaned up to his ear to whisper a ‘you got this’. Alex was even stable as he shook the hand of the man whose suit was probably more than Alex’s inheritance.

“This is Alex,” Michael said, smiling over at him like he was the most important thing that ever existed, “My boyfriend.”

Well, shit.

Maybe Liz was onto something.

-

No, honestly‒Alex was fine.

Michael was charming, he knew that. He’d seen him with girls and guys he liked, he always laid on the charm thick and so it absolutely made sense for him to turn it on Alex. He just wasn’t used to it, that’s all. He just needed to adjust and then it’d be all roses.

“Alex, have I mentioned today that you’re my favorite?” Michael hummed as they went into their little room. Alex finally felt like he could breathe and tilted his head at him, raising an eyebrow. Michael was grinning with his back pressed against the door. “You’re incredible. They like you. Ivan laughed at your joke‒he never laughs.”

“Well, I’m glad you picked the right suitor,” Alex laughed, rolling his shoulders as he sat down on the bed. His back was facing Michael, finally, and he used it to close his eyes and count to three.

Michael was charming, simple. And, honestly, Alex was on the receiving end of it the more he thought about it. Just not in front of people. That’s what made it feel like so much. The audience. He’d never been so loudly out in front of that many people before. That’s what it was.

“The best,” Michael insisted. 

The bed creaked under his weight as he crawled across it and Alex was only able to prepare himself for the weight to be draped over his back because he was used to Michael being clingy. Just… in private. 

“Hey, you okay?” Michael asked after he was quiet for a second too long.

“Yeah,” Alex breathed, “I’m fine. Just never proudly stated I was into guys in front of that many people before.”

“Oh,” Michael said, pressing against his back just a little more, “Good feeling or bad feeling?”

Alex didn’t answer quickly enough.

“Alex, if you want to go home, then‒”

“No, this is good. I feel good. Just overwhelmed,” he explained. It wasn’t a lie.

“Okay, fair enough,” Michael said, kissing his temple before throwing himself backwards onto the bed, “I swear, it feels better after the overwhelming feeling goes away. None of them are gonna say shit to you either.”

Alex nodded and laid back on the bed beside him, looking over at him. They had to get ready for one of their informal discussions and dinner, but it sounded like a good idea to just lay there for a moment. The longer they laid there, the more he was able to realize this wasn’t going to be too bad. In fact, he was going to have fun with it.

In an actual relationship, he wouldn’t want to show a lot of PDA or be super touchy. But this wasn’t an actual relationship. He could just be a little extreme for the fun of it. He was going to school to perform. Why not try his hand at acting?

Bonus points if Michael got flustered.

“Okay, I’m good,” Alex said. Michael turned his head and they locked eyes, a smile on his face.

“Good,” Michael said, shifting onto his side, “But if you start feeling overwhelmed again, you can just squeeze my hand. We’re boyfriends for the weekend, so it doesn’t matter if they think it’s gay.”

Alex huffed a laugh, turning onto his side as well. 

“Do they actually know you’re bisexual or is this like your coming out and you’re just letting them think what they want?” Alex wondered, “I saw a couple of shocked faces.”

“Some people know, mainly the people I talk to every day, but I don’t try to hide it. I think most of them thought I was straight until Callie was showing Emily some picture of a hot guy and I said I wanted to see,” Michael said, grinning in that way that told Alex he’d done it purposefully to get a shock out of some people.

“Oh yeah, how’d that go?”

“No one really said much, the girls laughed. Khalil breathed like a sigh of relief because they thought they were the only queer person working there,” Michael said, scooting closer, “I think there’s probably a couple more somewhere are the office. It’s a big place, there’s gotta be.”

“Mm, but we’re gonna be basically the only same-sex couple this weekend, right? I didn’t see anyone else while we were down there,” Alex pointed out. Michael nodded.

“Yeah, sorry. But only for a couple of days! It’s already Friday afternoon and we’re leaving Sunday afternoon, it’ll be fine. Plus, you got me,” Michael said, reaching out to poke Alex in the side, “I’ll make it worthwhile.”

Alex found himself smiling just a little.

“Yeah, I know you will.”

They both eventually got up and got dressed. Alex broke out the turtleneck and some relatively tight black slacks, drawing on fresh eyeliner. He pulled as much of his hair back as he could into a small low ponytail and deliberately made his bangs and everything hanging down a little intentionally messy.

This was a performance and he was going to sell it easily.

When he came out of their bathroom and into the main room, he saw Michael was in a pair of chinos and a maroon button-up that he was sure Isobel had gotten for him. He was just fastening his belt when Alex made a show of leaning against the doorframe as he whistled low.

“Well, well, well, don’t you look good,” Alex said. Michael looked up at him with a shit-eating grin, hands fumbling as he tried to tuck the end of the belt into his belt loops. 

“I bet I smell better, Isobel got me fancy cologne,” he said. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, I can smell it, it’s nice,” he said, pushing off the door frame and walking closer, “You wearing real shoes, or am I going to have to publicly break up with you for wearing cowboy boots?”

Michael rolled his eyes and reached out to grab Alex by the waistband of his pants, tugging him in. Alex’s eyes went wide as he laughed at the forwardness.

“I’m wearing shoes, the fancy ones that are pointed at the end and click when you walk,” Michael said. Alex grinned and put the back of his hand to his forehead.

“I’m swooning.”

“You should.”

Michael let him go and went to go slip on his shoes while Alex went to his combat boots‒much more situation-appropriate than cowboy boots and he would stick by that. They gave each other another once over of approval before leaving their room. 

“Those boots make your ass look great,” Michael said as they headed towards the elevator. Alex’s eyebrows shot up and he looked over his shoulder. Michael flashed an innocent smile. “What? You’re my boyfriend, I can look at your ass, right?”

“If I can look at yours, boyfriend.”

“I’m begging,” Michael said warmly as they stepped into the elevator. Alex shook his head and pressed the ground floor.

Because, of course, this was what it would be like to be with Michael. Flirting, banter, touching. No wonder he had so many people wanting to be with him. Hell, Alex got a decent taste of it and they didn’t even like each other like that. Though, it definitely helped him understand where all of Liz’s concerns came from.

“You really are feeling better, right? Like, don’t let me do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’ll try not to, but, you know, slap me if I do,” Michael insisted before the elevator doors could open, sincerity dripping from his tone.

Alex held out his hand as the doors opened.

“I’m fine.”

Alex was able to make that statement even more true as they started socializing and he managed to snag a flute of champagne. It tasted expensive, just like the shit he and Kyle would sneak at their parents’ parties. It was easier to loosen up when pretending that’s what this was.

“Michael, Alex!” Curtis called as he neared, a big smile on his face and a gorgeous woman on his arm.

Curtis was the CEO of Disionic, a company that specialized in doing work for other companies’ prototypes. Companies of all sorts would use Disionic to outsource their new and fancy inventions for all sorts of different things, from engine-powered toys to ad blocking apps to literal blenders, as a way to test run them and get credible feedback from engineers and usually would employ them to fix any mistakes that were made. Michael loved it, it was a constant stream of new things and it made big money. 

The fact that he made a point to know all the interns' names was simply a plus.

“You two look like the perfect pair,” he said, looking between the two of them with a warm smile. Alex raised his eyebrows at Michael and offered a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Iverson,” Michael said, nodding to the woman on his arm, “Mrs. Iverson.”

“Call me Jeannie,” Mrs. Iverson said, holding out a hand. Michael shook it firmly and Alex did the same. “So, I’ve heard about Michael, the agricultural and mechanical double major from Berkeley, but I haven’t heard about you. What do you do, Alex?”

Alex felt Michael take a deep breath, a silent ‘oh God, am I good enough that he told his wife about me?’ and he tightened his hold around his waist. Alex gave his award-winning polite smile that did wonders when he took etiquette classes back when his father thought dressing him up in a suit around other boys in suits to learn about how to act right would make him less likely to be a raging homosexual.

“I actually go to SFSU for right now,” Alex said, “Music major.”

“Oh!” she said, and Alex had already predicted her words before she said them because it’s what people always said, “That’s cute!”

“Mm,” Alex hummed, taking another sip of his champagne, “My major is piano education, but I also take vocal classes as more of a minor.”

“Oh, good, you’ll be able to do a lot with that. And it’s not that far from Michael’s school,” she said. He nodded, looking towards Michael.

“Yeah, we live somewhere in the middle,” he said.

“That’s good that he’s with someone who’s also focused, it’s a good environment to be in for a boy his age with his promise,” Curtis insisted. Michael went a little weak in his grasp and Alex didn’t have to be a genius to know it had everything to do with a grown man caring about his promise. 

“I think so too.”

After moving on from Curtis, Michael was able to regain his legs and his brain and Alex didn’t have to carry too much of the weight‒literally and figuratively. They sat and had dinner, all paid for by the company, and then got back to socializing. It was honestly a bit draining, but Alex kept reminding himself it was just for the weekend and it was for Michael and also that most of the people there were winging it just as much as Michael.

“So, how did you two get together? I know Michael said you were roommates before things got started, so that must’ve been a risky move,” Alisha‒Michael’s coworker’s wife of two months who wouldn’t let either of them forget how sad it was that they couldn’t make it to the wedding as if they’d known either of them long enough to be invited in the first place‒asked. She was kind and all, but she asked a lot of questions. Alex was waiting for her to ask something that was too invasive to even justify a polite answer.

Honestly, some of them already felt too invasive, but Alex knew that was probably him just being touchy.

“Oh, I just got up the courage to ask him out one day and hoped it wouldn’t be weird. I mean, look at his face. It was impossible not to catch feelings,” Michael said. Alex rolled his eyes and leaned into his side, playing it up to the best of his ability. It helped that the champagne he’d been sipping on had made him a little more comfortable.

“Stop it.”

“I’m serious! I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted a chance to look at the stars with you and know you were mine,” Michael cooed, pressing his nose into Alex’s cheek and nuzzling just a little. Alex’s ears were ringing a bit as he turned his head to look at him up close. They locked eyes for a moment too long before Michael cleared his throat and looked back to Alisha. “So, yeah, couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“How cute, I wish straight men were that romantic,” she cooed, just tone-deaf enough to level Alex’s thoughts, “Have you talked about marriage? I’d love to come to the wedding, it’d be so fun.”

“Not really, yet,” Alex said, pinching Michael’s hip just enough to make him jump, “But I figure one day I’ll get him on one knee.”

“What, you won’t propose to me?” Michael said, trying to put but failing through his smile. Alex cupped his ear in his hand, running his thumb gently along the curve of it. If Michael’s eyes drifted to his lips, well, Alex pretended he didn’t notice.

“Maybe I just like seeing you on your knees,” Alex said. Michael’s eyes widened.

“Oh, dear, I feel like I’m intruding,” Alisha giggled and Alex blinked out of it.

“Sorry,” he said, “Just teasing.”

“I totally get it! Me and my Tom get like that all the time.” 

“Speaking of your Tom,” Tom said, sidling up beside her and looping his arm around her waist. She smiled up at him. “Emily wanted to see your ring.”

“Oh! Okay, see you later, guys! I had fun talking to you,” Alisha said, waving as she let herself be tugged off to wherever Emily and her boyfriend were.

Alex let out a breath of relief and raised his glass to his lips. Mid-sip, Michael leaned in close to his ear, lips nearly pressed against his skin. Alex focused on his drink.

“You’re gonna do something stupid like make me fall in love with you,” he breathed, leaving a kiss on his cheek before he pulled back.

“Ah, a tragic mistake many men have made,” Alex said playfully. Michael beamed at him.

“Seriously, you’re amazing, Alex. I’m so glad I brought you. You even managed to make Alisha bearable,” Michael said. Alex laughed and looked over to where Alisha was proudly showing off her ring.

“She’s not that bad.”

“You haven’t met her as many times as I have,” Michael huffed, “I was terrified when I saw her comin’ this way. She means well, but, you know.”

“The straights just aren’t as romantic, Michael, don’t you know?” he said. Michael laughed and squeezed his hip. “But are you good? You’re starting to look a little drained.”

“I’m gonna start lookin’ for a way out so we can go upstairs. My people tolerance is dropping,” Michael confessed. Alex nodded.

“Well, you’re doing really well. I almost didn’t notice.”

“Hopefully no one else will.”

“No one else knows you like I do, so I’m assuming you’re good.”

Michael tilted his head, that little smirk on his lips as he said, “You know me so well, huh?”

“I do live with you,” Alex pointed out. Michael nodded and his eyes went to the flute of champagne in his hand.

“How many of those have you had?” he asked. Alex shrugged, swirled it around a bit before downing the rest.

“Three, maybe four. Yeah, four, one before dinner, one during, two since,” Alex explained. Michael nodded.

“Feelin’ good?” he asked. Alex hummed and nodded, looking over Michael’s face easily. “I’m not a champagne man.”

“Neither am I, but this shit is too expensive not to drink.”

Michael laughed, “Guess I’ll have to taste it.”

“You will.”

Alex’s eyes drifted to his lips, not for the first time. He started wondering what he actually looked like on his knees. Then he shook that thought right out of his head.

“I’m tired,” Alex said, maybe a bit louder so other people would hear. Michael grinned.

“Okay, let’s make our rounds in saying goodnight.”

They said goodnight to Michael’s coworkers that they passed on their way to say goodnight specifically to Curtis and Jeannie. It was an absurd amount of small talk, very ‘oh, yeah, we were up early, Alex had class’ and ‘it’s a long day, want to be fresh in the morning!’ and ‘you know how it is, can’t wait to get this one alone, haha!’ It was all tragically boring and as he got closer to when he’d be free of it, Alex began to itch to get back to their room.

By the time they said goodnight to Curtis and his wife, they were basically speed walking to the elevator. Once the doors closed, Michael tugged Alex into a hug, burying his face into his neck and Alex giggled, feeling light as he draped his arms around his neck. Michael lifted him off the ground for a moment, until the doors slid open.

They made it back to their room and Alex didn’t have a moment to process anything before the door closed and Michael was closing in on him. He grabbed his face in between his hands, staring at him with the biggest smile. Alex was probably a little too drunk for this.

“You are so fucking good at this, I could kiss you. The flirting, the touching, the lines? Alex! You’re a genius, a pure genius. I knew they’d like you, but they like like you. You are so good, Alex Manes,” he gushed, peppering kisses to his forehead and his nose and his cheeks. By the time he pulled away, Alex’s face was on fire and he was smiling so wide it hurt.

“I’m just selling it,” Alex said.

“And you are doing a damn good job. I should date you more often,” Michael said. Alex nodded lamely and Michael laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I am going to go take a shower, boyfriend. You start trying to sleep off that champagne, okay?”

“Okay.”

Michael dropped his hand and turned, stepping out of his shoes on the way to the bathroom. Alex let out a breathy laugh and sat on the edge of the bed. He slowly pulled his hair down and pulled off his boots, taking a deep breath. He licked his lips and turned his head to the bathroom door, head swimming with too many thoughts as the water kicked on.

Alex changed out of his shirt and his pants into sweats and a t-shirt, climbing into bed without much thought. He tried not to think, at least. He closed his eyes and tried to lull himself to sleep.

But, when the bathroom door opened, he couldn’t help himself.

Alex peeked over the edge of the blanket and watched as Michael, dripping wet with just a towel around his waist, searched for his clothes with nothing but the bathroom light to guide him. He was gorgeous and overwhelmingly… Michael. Alex couldn’t remember the last time he wanted something so bad as he wanted to touch Michael at that moment.

At the thought, he pulled the blanket over his head, his eyes going wide.

Oh.

Oh no.

[swagging-back-to]

i decided to return my ipad which is really sad bc i have soooo many drawings on there and I'll probably lose them all :/

i uploaded em to icloud but i doubt I'll be able to edit them on my new ipad. oh well ig....

[drabbles-mc]

My Plus-One (Part 1)

EZ Reyes x Reader

Request by the lovely @ly--canthrope​:  The reader has a large ball/award ceremony/something fancy to attend. Her and Ez have been in each other's lives for years and they make a promise that each year, if there is an event to go to, they would go together. Its been a few years since this tradition has played out, and it is brought up in conversation (maybe talking about their plans for that week, what they are doing and busy with etc) and Ez goes, “I am busy, I am going with you to your event” and he is a pure gentlemen (You can decide thing like; are they bordering that blurred line where they are really affectionate with one another and time frame like, he could be at uni still and travels to go see her just for this event because its special to her)

Warnings: none. just some good old pining 🥺🥺

Word Count: 3.4k 

A/N: I loved writing this so much wtf. I switched up the timing of it a little bit but I think it worked out well! I got a little carried away with it (hence the 3.4k lmao) but I just love EZ and I’m a sucker for friendships with feelings. Please enjoy! (requests are always open)

EZ Tag: @noz4a2​ (if you wanna be added just shoot me a message!)

(Part 2)

You wandered around your small studio apartment, phone held loosely in your hand while you video-chatted with EZ. Both of you had long since given up on making sure that you held the camera at flattering angles. Besides, you were trying to make dinner and not even EZ could stop you from getting food.

“So glad I get to have this conversation with half of your face,” he laughed, shaking his head.

You held the phone up so you could get a better look at him—he was sitting at the table in his trailer, phone propped up as he typed away on his laptop. “This better?” you laughed as you tried to set it up on your counter so he could see more of your face.

“Much,” he smiled, “I miss you.”

You glanced over at him as you turned the stove on, “Miss you too, EZ.”

“So,” you could hear the clicking of his keyboard in the background, “what’re your plans for the week?”

“Meh, not a whole lot going on. I do, though, have a gala for work this Saturday.”

“Oh?” he raised his eyebrows, “Sounds fancy.”

You chuckled, nodding as you waited for your water to boil, “Yea, kinda. I was thinking,” you looked at him through the lens of your phone, “If you aren’t busy, and if you really miss me, you could maybe come and be my date. It’s all paid for and everything already. All you’d have to do is show up and be my arm-candy,” you batted your eyelashes.

“Ah, like the good old days.”

“C’mon, it’s been a while since one of us had to drag the other to an event that was way above our paygrade.”

“What’re you talking about? You just drove out to visit me last year for an event.”

You rolled your eyes, “Your patch-in party is not the same as a fundraising gala, Ezekiel. Although,” you laughed, “it was undoubtedly more fun than this is going to be.”

“Giving me the hard sell, Y/N,” he laughed and shook his head.

“If you’re too busy with club shit, I get it. I know I didn’t really give you much of a heads-up.”

“Well…” he dragged out the word, milking every letter for all it was worth, “I am gonna be busy.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, “I get it, I do. Sorry I always protcrastin—”

“Let me finish,” he smiled, “I’m gonna be busy with you, so I’ll let the guys know that my weekend is booked.”

You laughed, clapping your hands excitedly, “Yay! Oh, I can’t wait to see you. I feel like it’s been forever.”

“Because it has,” he waited for you to look back to your phone, “When was the last time you came back home to SanPa?”

You sighed, shaking your head, “God, like, six months maybe? Maybe a little more? Work has just been nuts, you know?”

“You think they’re gonna relocate you back closer to home any time soon?”

You shrugged, “Not sure. I hope so, though. I miss bugging you all the time in person not just by blowing up your phone.”

“Well, you’ll get to bug me in person all weekend. Text me your address and anything else I should know. I can probably come out Friday night if that works for you?”

You nodded, “Yea, that’s fine by me. You can crash here if you want but I gotta warn you, my place is wicked small.”

“I’m currently living in a trailer, Y/N,” he chuckled, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” your heart felt so much lighter knowing that he was going to be able to go with you—you hated going to these kinds of things by yourself, “I’ll text you all the details and stuff later this week.”

“Sounds good. Go back to making your gourmet ramen over there,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, EZ,” you waved goodbye before hanging up the call. You let out a sigh of relief as you tucked your phone back into your pocket.

The week seemed to fly by. Any time that you felt yourself getting stressed, or overwhelmed, or homesick, you remembered that you were going to be able to spend the whole weekend with your best friend. It made the rest of your problems seem so insignificant. Every night you’d come home and you’d see your dress hanging against the door of your closet, begging to be worn. You’d smile and run your fingers along the fabric whenever you’d walk by it. Back when you were in high school and college, the two of you went to everything together. Each prom, award ceremony, induction ceremony, friends’ weddings, you name it, it was the two of you showing up together no matter what. You had your own unspoken language, knowing when the other was ready to tap out and call it a night. Sometimes to keep things interesting you’d try to sneak out unseen, other times one of you would come up with any excuse you could so that you could leave early without anyone giving you a hard time about it. It’d been a few years since either of you had an excuse to get dressed up together.

You were finishing cleaning up your apartment when you felt your phone going off in your pocket. You glanced down and smiled at the sigh of EZ’s name on the screen, “Hey, what’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yea. I think,” he chuckled, “I think I’m outside the right building? Everything looks the same here.”

You laughed as you walked over and peeked out your window. Sure enough, you saw him sitting, leaning against his bike, “I see you. I’ll be right down,” you hung up and made sure to close your closet door before heading downstairs to greet him.

You came barreling out the front door of your apartment building, tackling him in a hug. He laughed, sweeping you up off of your feet and swinging you around as he held you tight to him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, forcing him to hold you for a few moments. It had been way too long since you last saw him in person.

“I’ve missed you,” you mumbled against his neck.

“I’ve missed you too.”

You finally let go, dropping your feet back to the ground. You helped EZ get his two bags and had him follow you up the stairs to your apartment. You kept apologizing in advance for the fact that all you had was a studio, so there wasn’t going to be a lot of room, and there was no grand tour to give him. He smiled and shook his head, constantly telling you that he didn’t care.

You opened the door, dropping one of his bags next to the couch, “This is,” you chuckled, “my beautiful kingdom.”

EZ smiled as he looked around your apartment. It was a studio, so there wasn’t a whole lot of space, but it was all modern and renovated. He was impressed by how much you had managed to utilize the space. He also liked being able to see how you chose to decorate a space that was completely your own. The last time he got to visit you, you had been sharing an apartment with a roommate and the two of you had completely opposite tastes in décor. He liked the vibe you had created—a lot of bright, happy colors. He recognized some of the art on the walls as things you had commissioned your friends to make for you because you liked having things that were one-of-a-kind.

“This is a pretty great spot, Y/N.”

You smiled, “Thanks. It’s home for now,” you sighed, “I have no guest room to offer you, but the couch does pull out so you won’t be too crammed for the next couple nights.”

He chuckled, nodding, “I appreciate it.”

“You eat before you left?”

He nodded, “Yea I’m all set. Didn’t want to be taking any of your ramen from you.”

You gave him a playful slap to the arm, “So considerate.”

The two of you spent the night sitting on the couch together catching up, a show on the television just for background noise. It crept late into the night before the exhaustion started to show on EZ’s face. He had had a long day but he was enjoying the fact that he was actually face-to-face with you for the first time in months.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” you smiled as you stood up off the couch, “If you’re up for it in the morning there’s a really good coffee spot a few blocks from here.”

He smiled, nodding, “Sounds good.”

“Bathroom is right through there if you wanna change. I’ll see you in the morning,” you leaned in and gave him a hug that you dragged out to last a little longer than you usually would, “Goodnight.”

The morning and afternoon flew right by, and before you knew it the two of you were getting ready for the gala. You chastised EZ for leaving his dress clothes in his bags for so long. All these years and he still hadn’t figured out that they needed to hang to cut down on wrinkles. You ironed out his slacks and shirt, impressed by the fact that he had also brought a suit jacket. It was an all-black ensemble that you knew would make your coworkers drool over him, and you were going to soak up every second of that.

You left the bathroom open for him to get changed as you retreated to the semi-privacy of the space that passed for your bedroom. You shimmied into your dress, pulling the straps up onto your shoulders. You zipped it up as much as you could without risking ripping any of the stitching, thankful that you had EZ to help you with it the rest of the way. You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled, still loving the dress as much as you had the day you tried it on in the store.

You had settled on a deep burgundy dress. It was a little low-cut, but not so much that you felt overly exposed. It was floor length, and had a slit up to just below your hip that you could only see once you started walking. You had picked up some simple jewelry—a few gold bangles and a long necklace that draped down your chest. Deciding to pull the whole look together with your favorite pair of black heels. A little height boost when you were walking with EZ never hurt.

“Hey, EZ? Can you come finish zipping me up?”

You heard the sounds of his dress shoes on the hardwood. He poked his head around the half-wall that separated your bed from the rest of your apartment. His eyes grew wide as he took in the sight of you. He cleared his throat, trying to get his thoughts in order as he remembered the actual reason you had called him over.

You pulled your hair off to the side and turned so your back was to him, thankful that it gave the added benefit of hiding the giant grin on your face. He tried to be as gentle as possible, the rough pads of his fingers grazing lightly against your back as he pulled the zipper up the last of the way.

“You look amazing, Y/N,” he smiled at you.

“Yea, we clean up alright, don’t we?” you patted his chest, practically salivating over the sight of him in dress clothes for the first time in years. You reached and undid the top button of his shirt, allowing a little bit of his collarbone to be exposed.

“Feeling a little risqué tonight?” he chuckled.

“Who knows when we’re going to get to do this again?” you smiled, “Might as well make the most of it.”

“I was gonna offer to take you on the bike,” he laughed as he looked you up and down for the hundredth time in two minutes, “But I don’t think that dress would make it.”

You nodded, “You’re right. We’ll take my car,” you walked over and grabbed the small clutch that you had picked up just for this occasion, pulling your keys out of it, “You ready?”

“I think so,” he patted his pockets down to make sure that he still had his phone and wallet, “You gonna give me the dirt on all your coworkers on the ride over?”

“Of course,” you smiled as you ushered him out the door, locking it behind the two of you.

You parked the car at the venue and EZ all but leapt out of the car to come and open your door for you. You chuckled as he held his hand out to help you step out onto the pavement. He hadn’t even wanted you to be the one to drive there, but you insisted since he knew nothing about the area.

He gently wrapped his arm around your waist as the two of you walked into the venue. You knew that your coworkers weren’t expecting you to show up with a plus-one. You had been quite clear about the fact that you weren’t dating anyone, and that no one at your job interested you enough to break your, “I don’t date coworkers” rule. There were quite a few lax jaws as the two of you strolled into the event room. Anyone else might have been nervous, but EZ saw how much you loved it and he was eating up every second of it.

You brought him around and introduced him to everyone, reveling in the fact that his arm never left your waist. After a handful of introductions, you dragged him across the room to introduce you to your boss.

“Cynthia,” you smiled wide, “This is my friend Ezekiel. Ezekiel, this is my boss Cynthia.”

“Please, call me Cindy,” she held out her hand, eyes slowly raking over the man you had put in front of her, not that you could blame her, “It’s nice to meet you, Ezekiel. I have to admit, Y/N here is a bit of an enigma around the office,” she turned her attention to you, “You look amazing, by the way.”

You smiled, “Thank you, so do you. A little more than business casual, huh?”

She laughed, nodding, “That’s for sure,” she paused, “Also, don’t forget, it’s open bar. So help yourselves.”

You tapped your fingers together mischievously, “Ah, don’t mind if I do.”

“I’ll make sure to catch up with you two later,” she smiled at EZ, “It was nice to meet you, Ezekiel.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he nodded politely before she walked away, swept up in a sea of other conversations.

“Remind me to keep a close eye on you around her,” you laughed, “Don’t want her snatching you up.”

The night wore on, and you were impressed with how easily EZ blended into the crowd with everyone from work. He made his way through a lot of small talk, a lot of, “So how do you know Y/N?” and other questions of the sort. The whole night he couldn’t help but to keep looking over at you, making sure that he had physical contact with you in one way or another. You couldn’t pretend that you minded it.

By your fourth glass of wine EZ had managed to get your keys from you, promising that he would drive the both of you back to your apartment safely and responsibly. His largest obstacle of the evening was hiding your bidding number sign from you so you didn’t spend money that you didn’t have.

“You’re the one who told me,” he said quietly in your ear, trying to suppress a laugh, “that your financial contribution was the, and I quote, buttload of money you paid for our tickets here.”

You huffed, trying and failing to give him a displeased expression, “But I wanna feel like a fancy rich person, EZ.”

He smiled at you, resting his hand on your thigh, “You’re certainly dressed like one, Y/N, so for tonight that’ll have to be enough. And besides, I’m your personal chauffer, so it doesn’t get more fancy rich person than that.”

You smirked over at him, placing your hand on top of his and interlocking your fingers, “I’m really glad that you’re here.”

He squeezed your fingers lightly, “Yea, me too.”

The evening was beginning to wind down, and EZ could see it on your face that if he didn’t get you out soon, you were going to start causing trouble. It was fine when the two of you were out among people you didn’t know, but he didn’t think that he’d be a very good friend if he let you start drunkenly stirring the pot with your coworkers. He convinced you to start saying your goodbyes, his hand placed on the small of your back as the two of you maneuvered through the small crowds of people in the event space.

You were walking through the parking garage, your hand entwined with his as you swung your arms back and forth, “What a night!”

EZ chuckled, spinning you carefully so you didn’t fall over, but still got to enjoy the flow of your dress when you spun and moved, “I’m honored I got the invite.”

“You sure you’re good to drive?”

He laughed, nodding, “I’m sure. Not like you could take over for me anyway.”

He helped you into the passenger seat before going around and getting in, sliding the seat back so he could actually fit. He chuckled as he saw you out of the corner of his eye, peeling your shoes off before you even left the parking garage. The whole drive home you went on and on about how much your coworkers loved him, you could just tell. He smiled and nodded, letting one hand stray and come to rest on your thigh.

He parked outside your apartment building and you looked over at him with your biggest puppy-dog eyes, “Ezekiel, I don’t wanna put my shoes back on. Will you carry me upstairs?”

He laughed and nodded, “Yes, but only because tonight you’re a fancy rich lady.”

“You’re so good to me. I love you,” you smiled over at him.

He felt his heart beating harder inside his chest, “I love you too.”

He carried you bridal style up the stairs with such ease. You loved every moment of it. He held onto you as you unlocked the door, still wrapped up in his arms. You giggled into his neck as he kicked the door shut behind you and turned the deadbolt. He carried you to your bed, setting you down gently. You smiled up at him from your mattress, reaching out and taking his hand in your own.

“I’ve missed you so much, EZ.”

He traced his thumb over your knuckles, “Yea, I’ve missed you too.”

Before he could walk out to collapse on the couch you asked him, “Can you help me with my dress?”

He swallowed hard, nodding, “Yea, of course, whatever you need.”

You pulled your hair off to the side again so he could pull the zipper down. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that there was a slight trembling to his hands as he fumbled with the zipper, pulling it down slowly. He took a deep breath as he gently pushed the straps down off your shoulders. You hummed in approval as you leaned back against him, melting into him as he wrapped his arms around your waist. There were a few beats of silence before you felt him lightly press his lips against the bare skin of your shoulder, gently kissing the soft skin there.

Your breath caught in your throat and it took you a second to get the words out, “You could, um,” you were thankful that you weren’t facing him so he couldn’t see the nervousness on your face, “you could stay in my bed tonight…if you wanted. It’s probably…you know…more comfortable than the couch.”

His lips were still pressed against your shoulder and you could feel his laughter vibrate against your skin, “Yea? You sure?”

You turned around so you were facing him. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. He was holding you close enough that you were certain that he could feel your heart palpitating, “Yea. I’m not ready to give up your company yet.”

He kissed your forehead, “Let’s get to bed then.”

[slowly-writing]

Cheetos

Jennifer Jareau x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Requested by anon: maybe if you get a chance....... jj is obsessed with cheetos right? what about asking her out using cheetos somehow

You spend a lot of time paying attention to what makes JJ happy. Probably too much time, but that's besides the point. You’ve only needed to act on this once and what worked oddly enough, was a bag of cheetos. You found out by accident one day. You were on the plane home from a case, you’d lost a child and JJ was beating herself up over it.

“JJ, you’ve gotta eat something. I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday,” you beg but she shakes her head.

“I’m not hungry.” her response is short and you sigh, walking over to the kitchen area on the jet and grabbing the first thing you see, a bag of cheetos, and placing them on her lap.

“Now I’m not going anywhere until you eat those, so we can either sit here and stare at each other for the remainder of this 5 hour flight, or you can eat the damn chips and I’ll leave you alone,” you say firmly, planting yourself in the seat across from her. You expect her to snap, maybe even throw the bag at you, but to your surprise she smiles. It’s a small one but it’s there, and then she opens the bag and eats it all.

You stored that knowledge away for a rainy day, which seems to be happening right now. She’s been moody all day. She didn’t acknowledge any of you when she walked in, simply sitting at her desk and glaring at her paperwork. The team had been speculating all day as to what could be bothering her. Reid spit out a bunch of fats that just confused you and when Morgan mentioned her period he got smacked by both you and Emily. Emily suggested a fight with her “secret” boyfriend and everyone agreed that was probably it.

At the mention of Will you retreated into your own head. You being in love with JJ was about as much of a secret as the fact that she was in a relationship. The only difference was you knew everyone was aware of your poorly hidden crush, everyone but JJ.

Deciding you no longer wanted to talk to the team you walked over to JJ’s desk, hoping to be able to cheer her up.

“Hey, JJ. You wanna grab lunch?” you ask tentatively, hoping not to anger her more. It seems you’ve failed as her glare turns from her desk towards you.

“And why would I want to do that?” she snaps and your eyes go wide. You stumble back a few steps as if her words have hurt you, which they obviously couldn’t. At least not physically.

“Oh I….nevermind,” you trail off, locking your gaze on the floor and rushing to your desk. You’ve never been more grateful that your’s and JJ’s desks were on opposite sides of the room. With the way they were positioned and the amount of people flowing in and out from their breaks she couldn’t see you looking like a kicked puppy.  Unfortunately the rest of the team could and their looks of pity only made you feel worse. You quickly open your desk drawer, setting your laptop inside and taking a bag of cheetos out. You grab your bag and make your way out of the bullpen, setting the snack on JJ’s desk while you pass it as quietly as you can. In your effort to avoid eye contact you miss the soft smile she sends after you.

xxxxx

Her anger doesn’t last long, and she does make sure to apologize to you. You brush it off, stating that everyone has bad days and you both move on. The team finally has a break in cases and with your newfound freedom have gathered for family game night. You’re all huddled into Garcia’s small living room playing a truly vicious game of monopoly. Spencer was the banker, having been banned for using statistics to win every round, but he was enjoying watching the chaos. Garcia had little to no strategy. She bought the property that matched her “aesthetic” and nothing else. Hotch silently watched and strategically bought what others needed, selling it to them for a higher price. Rossi and Morgan bought what they thought would make them the most money. You bought a few properties, but mostly just sat back and watched while the others fought it out.  Emily almost always played way too aggressively and bankrupted herself buying every property she landed on. You’re pretty sure it was just to make Reid angry though, he always got frustrated and told her how it was statistically improbable that she would win like that to which she responded, “improbable. Not impossible.”

Morgan was in the lead this week with JJ in dead last. Emily had already lost, but everyone else besides falling between the two.

“Alright little mama, you're up,” the smirk on Margans face as he hands JJ the dice makes you roll your eyes. He’s ridiculously cocky, but unfortunately it’s one of the things you love about him. JJ takes a deep breath before rolling a three and landing on Morgan’s property, subsequently bankrupting her.

“Aw no! Better luck next time!” Garcia’s words would sound condescending from anyone else, but from her they sound sincere.

“Thanks Pen,” JJ says before slouching in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest.

“If it makes you feel better, you lasted longer than me,” Emily offers and JJ’s pout deepens.

“An aardvark would last longer than you,” JJ grumbles, causing everyone to laugh before turning back to the game. You nudge JJ with your elbow slyly handing her the Cheetos you’d brought when she looks your way. Her pout instantly disappears and she’s laughing, gratefully accepting the bag with a wide smile. You smile as well, feeling accomplished having cheered her up, even if it was over something silly.

xxxxx

You noticed JJ’s been a bit down lately. Not mean, not angry, just sad. She stays to herself, and when she does engage in conversation she’s quiet and closed off. Everyone has tried to talk to her about it, but she just shrugs it off as being tired or sick, but you know it’s more.

It’s just the two of you left in the bullpen, everyone else having retreated off to their Friday evening plans, or lack thereof in Reid’s case. When you look over at her she’s staring off into space and you debate asking her what’s wrong. Your internal debate leads you not to, she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to talk. You’re going to leave her be when you remember your secret weapon.

Smiling to yourself you grab a bag of Cheetos out of your desk and make your way over to her whisper her name to draw her attention.

“Oh hey, what’s up?” She asks and you send her a soft smile.

“Nothing I just…” you trail off, setting the bag on her desk. She stares at it for a moment and you go to turn away, stopping when she grabs your arm.

“Wait. I…” she trails off, searching your eyes for the answer to a question she hasn’t even asked yet. “Why?”

“Why what?” You prod gently, genuinely confused on what she means.

“Whenever I’m upset, you’re always there with Cheetos and a smile, no matter how mean I’ve been to you. Why?” She clarifies and you shrug slightly, looking to the floor to avoid eye contact.

“Oh, uh. I figured out that they’re your favorite, and it always seems to cheer you up. I just want you to be happy,” you say and she stares again.

“Why?” You roll your eyes, amused at the one word replies.

“JJ, I’m really gonna need more words from you if you want to hold a conversation,” you tease and she smiles.

“Why do you want me to be happy?” you start to answer and she cuts you off, “and don’t say it’s because we’re friends. You and I both know you don’t do this stuff for Emily or Spence. I want to know why you’re really doing this.”

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time now,” you say simply. “The rest of the team figured it out months ago, I’m surprised you hadn’t yet.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She sounds like she’s in awe, and you're shocked by the fact that she truly didn’t seem to know.

“Well, you’re with Will. As much as I want to be with you, I’d rather you be happy. If he makes you happy, then I’ll settle for being your friend who gives you Cheetos when you’re sad,” you say, with a self deprecating laugh, “as long as you’re happy.”

“How did you know that?” She asks in shock and you laugh for real.

“JJ, you’re not as sneaky as you’d like to think. We’ve all known since a week after we got back from New Orleans, but you were happy so I didn’t say anything.”

“But what about you?” You shrug.

“What about me?”

“You seem to be only concerned about my happiness. What about yours?” JJ asks, stepping closer and taking your hand. “Y/n, Will and I broke up last week. I realized it wasn’t him I liked, just the idea of him. I’m actually….in love with someone else.”

“JJ I really want you to be happy but I don’t think I can handle the emotional whiplash I’ll get if you say someone else right now. So just tell me straight up. Do I have a chance?” You ask, heart beating a mile a minute. Whatever the answer is, your relationship is about to change forever.

“Yes dummy, you have a really good chance,” she says before pulling you into a kiss. It’s everything you imagined and so much more, but it ends quickly as JJ starts giggling.

“What? What’s so funny?” you’re unable to hold back your smile at the joy on her face. Her smile is infectious, and you could stare at it for the rest of time. The next words out of her mouth have you joining in on the laughter

“I can’t believe Cheetos brought us together.”

tag list: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

CM tag list: @reidingandwriting

[thegreenwolf]

(This post was originally posted on my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/its-okay-to-not-hustle/)

There’s this meme going around Facebook right now, saying “If you don’t come out of this quarantine with a new skill, your side hustle started, or more knowledge, you never lacked time. You lacked discipline.” Thankfully multiple people have already skewered it, but it continues to be shared around by the sort of person who is trying to one-up everyone else, or who’s just plain clueless–or, for that matter, just trying to guilt you into buying whatever they’re selling.

Now, there’s not a damned thing wrong with self-promotion. That’s how indie artists, authors, and other self-employed folks get the word out. You have to be able to talk good talk in order to get people’s attention. But leading with this meme? Guilting people for not leaping from sudden unemployment straight into the thick of the ever-shifting gig economy? That ain’t gonna fly, Brocephus.

You Have Good Reasons to Slack

Excuse me while I dust off my counseling psych degree a sec, here. *ahem* We are in a very sensitive, turbulent time right now. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a century in the Western world. We are in a hugely traumatizing situation here. Not just for the financial losses, but the fact that COVID-19 has killed thousands of people and left many more with permanent lung damage. We still haven’t gotten a handle yet on exactly how contagious this thing is, how long you’re contagious for, or whether you’re immune once you’ve had it, assuming you survive. We don’t have adequate testing, emergency rooms estimate that for every positive test there are 10-20 people out there infected and untested, and everyone with a cough is suddenly Schroedinger’s COVID case. Governments worldwide are slow to react in spite of the rising death toll. People have had friends and family die horribly from this thing in a short period of time. Even people who didn’t already have issues with anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses are feeling stressed, strained and scared–and, yes, traumatized. This image is guilt-tripping people who are actively being traumatized.

So we’re already starting with a populace that is dealing with this collective trauma, as well as whatever personal trauma each individual is experiencing. Not always easy to seize the day when you’re going through that. And I can think of a few other reasons that might further complicate this whole “Just get a side gig!” thing:

–They’re a parent who suddenly has all their kids at home, all the time, demanding time and attention and food, AND they still have to work eight hours a day from home, or maybe even more if their S.O. is unemployed/sick/etc. By the way, if someone trots out Isaac Newton or William Shakespeare or some other historical guy who managed to do epic things during a pandemic, remember that they usually had wives or servants to do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and (if applicable) childcare for them.

–They’re disabled or chronically ill, and don’t have the ability/energy/etc. to just go and make something happen, just like that. Imagine if you just randomly got the fatigue from a really bad flu, and you never knew whether it was going to last a day or a month. And if you tried exerting yourself when you were feeling better, chances are you’d slip back into fatigue-land. That’s what a lot of my chronically ill/etc. friends have to deal with, to say nothing of issues with accessibility of resources for starting a side gig.

–They don’t have any money for the supplies needed to start a side hustle, or the supplies have been hoarded by hobbyists preparing for a Pandemic Staycation.

–They don’t have the skills for something that just requires what they already have (like, for example, writing on a laptop you already happen to own). Often these skills are things that can’t be perfected in a few weeks at home, but may take years to develop before they’re really marketable–like, for example, the skill to make a decent living on side hustles.

–They have anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions that make it hard to function even in the best of times, but even moreso in this…well…mess. Even people who were mentally healthy before are going to be developing diagnosable anxiety and depression disorders before all’s said and done. And speaking from personal experience, those of us who look successful on the outside can still be internally hamstrung by these conditions at times.

–Plus there’s the fact that we’re not supposed to, you know, leave our homes, which narrows down the field of potential side gigs by a lot.

Even doing something less financially-wrought like learning a new skill or subject takes time, energy, and sometimes money, any or all of which may be scarce for the reasons above and more.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

I am saying all of this as someone who is arguably an expert on the side gig. I have spent the past eight and a half years 100% self-employed (and a lot longer doing it part-time) as an author and artist, able to cover all my bills and expenses, and for a time I was the primary breadwinner of a multi-person household. I have like ten different things I was doing for a living before this all hit, a pretty diverse set of streams of income, even if most of them just up and evaporated in the past few weeks. And while I’m definitely a hell of a lot leaner now than I was a month ago, I still have my head above water for the moment. So I think I know side gigs.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m overall healthy. I have a dog who is a lot less demanding of my time than kids would be. I have my own space where I can focus more or less without interruption. More importantly, I have the skills, the knowhow, the drive and the personality to go out and seek new opportunities. And I’m used to fluctuations in income, though admittedly this one’s unprecedented. Don’t gauge yourself by where I am now. I’ve spent twenty-two years building up my art business, my first book came out in 2006, and I’ve had a series of really good opportunities come my way that I had the privilege to be able to make the most of. I am not your measuring stick, so don’t say “Well, if she can do it why can’t I? I must suck!”

If you’re feeling crappy because you aren’t hopping to it and carpeing the diem and getting everything done, here’s what I have to say to you: Look, you just had your world turned upside-down. Job loss, scarce commodities, sudden lack of outside childcare, restricted movement and inability to be around much of your support system, and did I mention a pandemic is happening, too? Any single one of those things would be difficult for just about anyone to deal with, never mind all at once. And I don’t even know what all else has already been going on in your life–unstable or unsafe living situation, other health issues, breakups and other losses, interpersonal conflicts. You know, normal life stuff.

You’re Not Lazy, or Screwing Up, or (Gods Forbid) Undisciplined

It is totally okay if all you’re doing right now is surviving. It’s okay if you feel like you’re drowning, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both on a global level and more personally. It’s okay if all you can manage right now is to get out of bed and stumble through each day a moment at a time, struggling with a tidal wave of emotions. It’s okay if you’re just trying to keep your kids busy, dealing with a crowded home every single day, or trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. It’s okay if, instead of firing up DuoLingo or opening an Etsy shop, you spend your evenings vegging to Netflix or reading a book or playing hours and hours of Animal Crossing.

Not every moment in your life has to be about being productive even in the best of circumstances, and that goes exponentially so right now. Be patient with yourself, and be kind. You may be one of those folks who literally has to spend all their time scrabbling to try to cover the bills or get some leeway from bill collectors, and you have to dedicate your waking time hunting for resources just to try to get through this week. Believe me, I feel for you, I have a lot of friends in that situation right now, and I hope all of you can find some relief and assistance.

May I suggest something? If you have the energy for something more than the bare essentials of getting by, put that energy toward self-care, whatever you can manage under the circumstances. You can use it to recuperate, to rebuild your emotional and physical resilience. That way if things get rough again in the future, you have more internal reserves to build on. If your usual methods don’t work or aren’t accessible due to lockdown, ask others what they’re doing to keep themselves grounded in this trying time.

Just because you have more time doesn’t mean you don’t have to throw yourself right into something productive! Don’t feel pressured to just go-go-go the moment you have a little freedom to move. If you do decide you want to try a side gig, or a new skill, or learn all about some specialized topic of interest, go for it! If you have the energy and attention and opportunity to pursue something new, it can be a great coping skill during this traumatic time. Just don’t pressure yourself; keep it fun.

One last thing: I want you to save the image I have at the top of this post. And then if you see someone post that meme, saying “Come on, you lazy bums, get up and make that side gig happen! Learn new stuff! Do all the things! No excuses!” you pull out this version, and you look at the edits, you remember that it’s okay to be where you are, and you get back to doing things at your own pace no matter what someone else says. (I find visualizing stapling a printout of the edited version to the offender’s forehead to also be therapeutic, but that may just be me.)

Hang in there, okay? It’s going to be a rough time, but you’re not alone, and what you’re feeling right now is shared by so many people. So just let yourself be where you are in this moment, and we’ll see what hope tomorrow brings. And remember that whatever you’re capable of in this moment: it’s enough.

Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting my work on Patreon, buying my books here on my website, buying my art and books on Etsy, or tipping me at Ko-fi!

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Seventeen

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Seventeen: Broken Families

“Sup, G Flat,” Xavier-Yves greeted as he descended the stairs into the main cabin of the Liberty.

Adrien grimaced but mentally reminded himself to be nice for Luka’s sake.

“Hi, XY. Luka’s actually not here right now. He’s out with the Capitaine, and I don’t think they’ll be back soon,” he informed, hoping that that would be the end of his exposure to the popstar for the day.

XY shrugged, taking a seat on the opposite limb of the L-shaped couch from Adrien.

“That’s okay,” XY assured as he made himself comfortable, spreading out like a starfish and pulling his laptop out of his bag. “You probably don’t know this because you’re still pretty new here, but I have the okay to just kick it here whenever I want.”

Adrien nodded, internally cursing his lot in life. “I see. That’s cool.”

“Yeppers,” Xavier-Yves agreed, barely paying Adrien any mind as he started up his audio editing program.

Adrien set aside the book he’d borrowed from Luka, seeing that he wasn’t going to get any more reading done in XY’s presence.

“How long do you think you’ll hang out?” Adrien inquired, trying to sound interested rather than rude and impatient for Xavier-Yves to leave.

XY shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe a couple hours? Probably until this evening.”

Adrien mentally swore.

“I’m hiding from my dad,” XY added voluntarily.

Adrien frowned. “Why?”

XY clicked his tongue. “He’s trying to set me up with some actress. You know. For publicity and all that.”

Adrien shuddered. “My father made me do that a couple times. I’ve always hated that kind of thing.”

“Dude, I know!” XY exclaimed, looking up from his computer screen. “Sucks, right?!”

Adrien nodded. “I mean, some of the girls were okay, and I may have even been able to like one or two of them in earnest if we’d met more naturally and it had been our decision to date, but…those arrangements are so staged. I always resented them as just one more thing Father was making me do against my will and completely ignoring my wishes about.”

“Tch. Yeah,” Xavier-Yves scoffed. “Trust me. I hear you.”

Just as suddenly as the conversation started, it ended, and XY seemed to go back to his laptop.

Adrien gave his book a sidelong look, debating whether to take it up to the deck to continue reading in peace.

Before he could come to a decision, XY broke back into Adrien’s thoughts.

“…So…you’re bi or what?”

Adrien gave a start. “What?”

“You said you could have liked some of the girls your dad made you date,” XY explained, “but I always thought you had a thing for Luka…so are you bi or in denial or what?”

Adrien stared at his love rival for a moment, trying to determine whether he should be affronted by XY’s abrupt demands for personal information.

Xavier-Yves looked at Adrien expectantly with seemingly no malice or agenda hidden behind his words.

It was then that Adrien remembered what Luka had told him about XY’s penchant for coming across as rude due to his lack of normal socialization—something Adrien could, unfortunately, relate to.

Adrien decided to take XY’s question in good faith and answered, “I think I’m probably bi.”

XY cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean you think you’re bi? Isn’t that something you just know?”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably under Xavier-Yves’s scrutiny. “I think it’s confusing because the media really only shows men and women ending up with one another, so that’s how I thought it had to be when I was growing up. I didn’t realize guys were actually an option until later, and I’ve mostly just been interested in girls so far. I mean, I can tell if a guy is attractive, but Luka’s the only guy I’ve ever been attracted to in practice, not just in theory.”

XY blinked several times, trying to parse Adrien’s response. “…So…you’re bi?”

“At least as far as Luka’s concerned,” Adrien confirmed with a shrug.

“You make my head hurt,” XY announced. “You’re just thinking about it too much.”

“Maybe,” Adrien chuckled, musing that XY might have accidentally stumbled upon the truth.

Xavier-Yves shook his head. “I’ve always known I was gay. I never even looked at girls as a kid.”

Adrien’s eyes widened. “I-I’m sorry. I always assumed you were bi. Well…after I found out about your feelings for Luka, anyway. Until then, I thought you were straight.”

XY rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “That’s because my dad says I have to stay in the closet.”

Adrien’s jaw descended several centimeters. “He what?”

XY nodded, setting his laptop aside and angling more towards Adrien. “My dad says that gay doesn’t sell and that all of my fangirls will stop buying my music and coming to concerts if they find out I only like dudes, so I can’t tell anyone I’m gay.”

Adrien blinked dumbly, finding himself wondering if his own father would react similarly if he found out about Adrien being queer. A lot of people in fashion were, so maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but…somehow, Adrien got the feeling that Gabriel would probably prefer it if Adrien kept that fact to himself and found a nice female partner.

“…I’m sorry,” Adrien mumbled, suddenly seeing past the annoying, inconvenient aspects of XY to the very real person with problems and feelings and dreams underneath.

XY shrugged. “Is what it is. Just don’t you go tellin’ people.”

“I would never do that,” Adrien was quick to assure.

XY gave a snort as he nodded. “Good.”

“…So…you’re not allowed to date?” Adrien inquired, morbid curiosity getting the best of him.

XY shook his head. “Nah. Dad would flip. It’s okay, though. I’ve never been really into anyone before, so it was, like, whatever.”

Adrien’s eyebrow arched. “What about Luka? You seem pretty into him.”

“Luka’s different,” Xavier-Yves confirmed with a passionate punch to the words. “He’s the one, you know?”

Adrien dropped his gaze, wilting slightly because he knew that fact all too well.

“I’d come out, if he wanted me to,” XY continued. “I don’t know. Luka’s kind of quiet and private, so I don’t know if he’d want to make it all public, but he’d at least want to tell his friends who he was seeing, so it would get out there eventually. I wouldn’t care, though. He’s worth it.”

“You really care about him a lot,” Adrien whispered.

“You bet I do,” XY insisted. “You know how annoying and dumb I am.”

Adrien’s head jerked up at the blatant self-deprecation.

“Not a lot of people like me. A lot of people pretend to because they want something, but they don’t actually like me,” XY snorted.

Adrien suddenly felt a chill at hearing circumstances that so closely echoed his own.

“Luka didn’t like me at first, and he had a good excuse not to, but instead of telling me to get lost when I came to ask him to teach me about loving music, he put up with me,” XY recounted with a soft look of gratitude and affection in his placid blue eyes.

“He was really patient, and he taught me and helped me be a better person. My dad taught me a lot of bad things.” His eyes dropped to the floor as he confessed his past shortcomings. “I didn’t know they were bad until Luka told me so…so I owe him a lot. I’d do anything for him.”

Adrien nodded passively, averting his gaze as he wondered if Luka wouldn’t be better off with XY than himself.

Xavier-Yves could give Luka fortune and industry contacts, and while “Roth” wasn’t the most well-liked surname in Paris, it was worlds ahead of “Agreste” which had become synonymous with “dirt” a month previously when Papillon’s identity had been revealed.

Maybe Adrien should step aside romantically and focus on being a good, supportive friend to Luka.

“I’d do anything for him,” Xavier-Yves repeated solemnly, “…even if that meant bowing out and supporting his happiness with you.”

Adrien’s head jerked up again, and he gaped at XY in disbelief. “What?”

XY shrugged. “The most important thing is that Luka is happy, yeah?”

Adrien nodded, still not understanding. “Yes. Absolutely. But…what does that have to do with me?”

XY shook his head. “You’re important to him. We’re both really important to him. I can’t tell you how many times he’s asked me to try to play nice with you these past few weeks because he wants us both in his life, and he wants us all to get along.”

Adrien’s lips rounded into a small “o”.

XY nodded. “I want him to be happy. Even if you win, I want him to be happy, so I’m gonna try to be friends with you because it’s important to Luka.”

Adrien slowly began to nod. “Okay. I can’t promise I’ll ever really like you much, but I’m going to tolerate you for Luka’s sake. So, let’s make this work, okay?”

“Deal,” XY agreed with a wide grin, holding out his fist to Adrien for a fist bump.

Chuckling, Adrien leaned forward and touched his fist to XY’s.

“…So,” Xavier-Yves remarked after the moment had passed. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Adrien shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“How good’s your English?” XY asked, grabbing his laptop and opening up his video library.

“Not fluent, but I should be able to watch a movie without subtitles,” Adrien replied, moving to sit next to Xavier-Yves.

XY looked up at Adrien and tipped his head to the side. “You ever heard of Abbott and Costello?”

Adrien frowned, searching his memory banks. “…The comedy duo?”

XY nodded enthusiastically, a wide grin quickly spreading from one cheek to the other. “They’re super dope. You’ll love them. Let’s watch In Society. It’s got one of my favourite routines.”

“All right,” Adrien easily agreed, reasoning that he owed it to Luka and himself to make an effort. “Sounds good.”

 A little over an hour later, Luka returned to find Adrien and Xavier-Yves in a pile on the couch, leaning on one another to keep themselves upright as they chortled, “He’s not dead, Lady! He’s hiding!”

“I see you showed him Abbott and Costello?” Luka remarked, announcing his presence.

XY pushed himself up to grin adoringly at Luka. “Yeah. We were just thinking about watching another. Wanna join us?”

“Sure,” Luka chuckled, coming around to their side of the couch.

Adrien scooted over to make room for Luka between himself and XY.

“After all, it’s not every day that two of my best friends are able to spend time together without wanting to kill one another. We should do something to celebrate,” Luka reasoned.

“We’re not that bad. We just…verbally snipe at each other sometimes,” Adrien giggled, quickly snuggling up to Luka at exactly the same moment XY wrapped his arm around Luka’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” XY seconded. “The only friend of yours I want to kill is that Jacob loser.”

Luka groaned, rolling his eyes.

Adrien lifted his head to look around Luka at Xavier-Yves. “Jacob?”

XY nodded. “That bassist in his band. He’s Luka’s ex.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. “We can’t be civil with Luka’s exes?”

XY’s eyes narrowed. “Jacob’s one of the four he slept with.”

“Oh,” Adrien replied flatly, his opinion abruptly changing.

“Yeah. Those ones are dead to me,” Xavier-Yves snorted.

“Can we not talk about my love life?” Luka sighed, tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s really not that interesting. Let’s watch the movie.”

XY clicked his tongue. “I beg to be different. I am super interested in the people you’ve slept with.”

“Prune,” Luka groaned. “Drop it. I’ve been the adult in this household since I was ten. I’m allowed to sleep with whomever my little demi heart loves.”

“Would you sleep with me?” XY wondered curiously.

Luka’s cheeks flushed as he pointedly avoided Xavier-Yves’s gaze. “No comment.”

“Would you sleep with him?” XY pressed, jabbing a finger at Adrien.

Luka choked on air, making a wheezing sound of distress.

“No comment,” he managed with some effort.

“How about a threesome?” Xavier-Yves suggested amicably.

Adrien burst out laughing, snuggling in closer.

“For the love of whatever you hold sacred, start the movie already before I strangle you,” Luka pleaded.

“I could be into that,” XY replied, waggling his eyebrows.

Luka threw his hands up in the air, exclaiming, “Aaaaah!”

This caused Adrien to laugh even harder.

XY joined in.

[cubeswhump]

Something Feels Familiar

Levi before he was Levi. If anyone wants to be tagged in Levi fics, let me know.

Warning for institutionalized slavery, abuse, burns, drug abuse, working in retail.

This isn't what I wanted.

What? Where did such a thought come from? What wasn't what 262847 wanted? Maybe he wanted something else when he signed up. Was that it?

No. This was perfect. He wanted this.

He had a comfortable bed. The other boxies never told on him. They got to eat the food that didn't sell and would otherwise be thrown out. But once, a customer was watching videos on her laptop, and 262 snuck glances when possible. There was an ad showing a boxie and its owner, and the owner was so tender and loving. 262 wanted someone to hold his hand, stroke his hair… 

He slapped his own face hard. One of the two box babes stared at him.

None of them had actually met their owner, who worked way up in corporate. A huge package deal of several hundred boxies trained to be the perfect employees, several placed at every location in the UK. The managers,  -- hired employees rather than pets -- were the ones who kept them in line, and though 262 would snatch up whatever positive attention he could get, it wasn't enough.

Yes it was. He was a pet and he would be happy with whatever he got. He was grateful.

A little voice in his head said it was weird to have a coffee shop boxie. But it made sense, right? His owner was so smart. His owner knew they would save money by having pets rather than employees, as pets could work longer shifts and didn't get paid. Smart.

262 nudged the other boxie at the counter. "861."

"Piss off," the girl mumbled.

"861, what's coffee shop AU? It just popped into my head, and…"

"I don't care. Stop talking to me."

He talked too much. The handlers couldn't beat it out of him, but it suited him well in such a role. The boxies arranged amongst themselves that 262 would always be at the front to deal with customers directly as the others tended to freeze up if a customer went off script and said something they weren't prepared for. 262 even did well dealing with those who hated corporate boxies.

"It's so unfair. They buy a bundle of you freaks and put us all out of jobs!"

And 262's eyebrows would furrow, head tilting to the side. "Gosh, really? Oh no, I'm so sorry."

He'd listen while the customer ranted their heart out, nodding along and sometimes giving shocked apologies. And he'd often sell them a cup of coffee or muffin. 

It was one of these interactions. The customer ranted, called him all sorts of names, but eventually wanted a caramel macchiato with no foam. No foam, always no foam. Do they even know what a macchiato is?

He forgot to strain the milk. He took a small spoon and started flinging foam into the sink until 476 told him to "stop being an idiot" and that he was "gonna get us all in trouble."

Good enough. Just thinking those words nearly made him double over at the pain in his head.

There is no such thing as good enough. There is only perfection and failure.

Yet he found himself handing the woman her drink. She pulled the lid off as he turned to the next customer, smiling. 

"I said NO FUCKING FOAM!"

The coffee shop blurred. He screamed. 

The customer continued to shout. 476 didn't pause from tending to another customer. And fire licked at 262's face. At least, that's how it felt.

Mister Evan, the assistant mansger seemed to appear from nowhere, going "I'm so sorry, Ma'am. 262, stop that blubbering and apologize now. We'll fix that for you."

Within the hour, 262's skin was scarlet, cheek and jaw swelling, right eye unable to open. The tears kept trickling. Evan had him sit out in the employee break room, out of sight. 262 was terrified to step foot in such a place. Boxies don't get breaks. The light overhead flickered. There were no windows. Looking at the posters on the wall made 262's head pound as the letters danced. 

A millenia seemed to pass. Then the door opened. Miss Donna, the manager, stood in the doorway and gasped. 

"Evan, you didn't tell me tmit was this bad!" she cried. 

And that made 262 start crying too. 

A heart-sinking to a pet-friendly hospital in Miss Donna's own car. 262 was such a nuisance. She had better things to do. 

She sat with him through hours of tests, picked him up the next day when he was discharged, picked up his medicine. Bad pet. Burden. 

Second degree burns on more than half his face. Burned cornea and the start of a corneal ulcer. Lid edema, whatever that meant. He had to wear a patch over his eye for two weeks and then they'd know how his vision was affected. 

Ointment. Eye drops. Pills. No one told him what they were, just apply ointment three times a day. Apply eye drops five times a day. Take one pill once in the morning and once at night -- Miss Donna changed that to only take it before bed so it doesn't impede on his performance at work. May take over the counter painkillers every 2-4 hours.

He couldn't make out most of the labels. He was pretty sure the ointment was silver something, but the second word was a doozy. But at night, when it was meant to be lights out, he holled up in the bathroom and squinted at the label. The words grew clear: OXYCODONE 20MG.

861 was brushing his teeth. 581 was waiting to use the loo. 262 just wanted them all to go to bed, leave the bathroom to him. 

You're meant to take the tablets whole. Don't lick or get wet in any way. don't crush, don't break them or it releases the compound too quickly. He wasn't sure how he knew that.

Everyone was asleep, or pretending to be. 861 definitely was asleep, his snores echoing off the walls. It surprised 262 that they didn't get rid of that in training. But the girls said 262 snores even worse.

He carefully shut the door behind him and got the bottle out of the drawer. He took out one pill, two pills, and set them on the counter. There was a tub of face moisturizer in one of the drawers, as management wants the box babes to stay pretty. He tapped it on the counter, ensuring it was hard plastic and not glass. Then he crushed the pills under it and scraped the dust off. 

He smuggled a plastic straw from the shop and cut a small piece from it earlier. At the time, he hadn't known what he was doing, but his body worked on his own accord. The pieces clicked into place. One end went in his good nostril and the powder was sucked through the other end. He closed his eyes in bliss.

Something pushed at the fog in his brain, but he didn't dwell on it. He needed to savor this feeling. 

[onceinabluehanguangjun]

ao3

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Isn’t my entire life just a series of me doing you favors?”

Wei Ying grinned wildly as Wen Qing glared a hole into his face, as per usual. Neither of them broke until her little brother, Wen Ning, quietly laughed at them with his eyes on the cup of tea in his hand. Wen Qing softened almost immediately and Wei Ying stuck his tongue out.

“What do you need, Qingqing?”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes, but she sat up a little straighter to sell whatever favor she needed from him.

“You know how my school does little carnival-esque fundraisers where everyone sets up a booth and shit?” she asked. Wei Ying nodded.

“Because they’re stupid rich and somehow wanna suck even more money from their students, including the ones who are there on scholarship, yes, I know how it does that.”

“Exactly,” Wen Qing agreed, taking a deep breath, “My group‒just me and a couple of other scholarship students‒decided to do a kissing booth because they’ve done well in the past years and I’m not trying to get on the dean’s bad side.”

“Oooh, a kissing booth? How shameless! Do you need me to do your makeup so you get more willing participants?” Wei Ying teased. Wen Qing stared at him blankly until he laughed and gestured for her to continue.

“I need your help finding someone to, like, be the face and do all the kissing. Someone rich people will want to pay to kiss. I need a guy, Mianmian’s already agreed to take one for the team,” Wen Qing said. Wei Ying’s smile slowly found his face.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it.”

“That’s not at all where I was‒”

“I understand, I’m irresistible! And I’m a great kisser, so they’ll probably even come back for seconds,” Wei Ying insisted, sitting back. Wen Ning was back to suppressing his laughter.

“You don’t shut up long enough for anyone to kiss you,” Wen Qing said, “I was hoping for you to ask Lan Zhan, maybe.” Wei Ying scoffed.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying repeated. He thought of his rigid next-door neighbor that he all but forced to be his best friend. He went to her ridiculous school and was one of the rich ones. Not that he wasn’t smart enough to get there on scholarship, but he had the money. Still, the idea of him at a kissing booth was laughable. “Lan Zhan would be terrible at that!”

“Why? He’s conventionally attractive, that’s what we need,” Wen Qing insisted.

“First of all, conventionally attractive sounds like an insult to him,” Wei Ying said, ignoring the way she took a deep breath of annoyance, “Second of all, he’s the most uptight person ever! I don’t think he kisses people. Or ever plans to. I can’t imagine him kissing anyone without being extremely uncomfortable and deciding never to do it again.”

“You can’t imagine him kissing anyone?” Wen Qing asked slowly, raising a dubious eyebrow. Wei Ying shook his head.

“No! He doesn’t even like being touched, why would want to kiss anyone? Silly suggestion. I’ll do great! Much better than he would,” Wei Ying said firmly. Wen Qing shook her head.

“I know you, you won’t like doing that.”

“What do you mean? I’m going to love it! Kissing rich randoms all day sounds awesome. Besides, maybe one of them can fall in love with me and I’ll have a sugar daddy. Or mommy. I’m not picky at this point,” Wei Ying insisted. Wen Qing closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Come on! Let me do it!”

“If you agree to this, you realize you can’t go back on it? You have to actually commit, you can’t chicken out,” Wen Qing insisted. Wei Ying gasped playfully, putting his hand over his heart.

“How dare you insinuate I’m not reliable! Ning-di, tell your sister I’m the most reliable person she’s ever met,” Wei Ying said. Wen Ning looked up with wide, doe eyes when he realized he was being dragged into the conversation. He looked between the two of them.

“Ying-ge did help me finish my project last week,” he said, “And every other project. And made sure it didn’t break on the way to school.”

“See! Reliable!”

“Helping my brother with homework is one thing, you kissing a bunch of people without panicking is another thing,” she said.

“Why would I panic?” Wei Ying scoffed. 

Sure, he was almost 18 and hadn’t had his first kiss yet, but that was normal. Besides, what better way to get your first kiss over with than in the least sexy and most clinical way possible? It’d be like a practice round and when he had his first real kiss, then he’d be even better at it than he knew he already would be.

Still, Wen Qing fixed him with a look.

“Alright, fine. But when you freak out, you’re still gonna go through with it. See you next week.”

Wei Ying snorted as she stood up and he leaned towards Wen Ning.

“She loves me.”

“Yeah,” Wen Ning agreed. Wei Ying’s smile was a lot more genuine as he sat back in his chair, his cheeks tinted a bit red at the casualness of it. He was younger than him by a few years, barely 15 and ridiculously shy. But he wasn’t shy about how much he enjoyed Wei Ying’s friendship and that always threw him for a loop. “Bye, Ying-ge.”

“Bye! Text me if you need homework help,” he said, sending them off with a wave.

Wei Ying was left alone for just long enough to get a bit antsy with not much to do other than stare at his phone. However, Lan Zhan came to the rescue, as per usual, and filled the empty seat.

“Lan Zhan! How was orchestra practice?” Wei Ying asked, leaning forward. Lan Zhan, with his perfect posture and his cute little uniform and his adorable little curtain bangs, sat his bag in the chair beside him and carefully took a sip of the tea he’d ordered.

“Fine,” he said simply. Wei Ying nodded.

“That’s good. You just missed Wen Ning and Wen Qing, they were here. Oh, she mentioned that fundraiser. What booth are you doing?” he pressed. Lan Zhan looked at him through his eyelashes over the cup, momentarily making eye contact. Warmth bloomed in Wei Ying’s chest. He always felt special when Lan Zhan made eye contact with him. It reminded him that they really were friends and Lan Zhan didn’t hate him.

“No booth,” he answered, “Uncle agreed to simply donate the required amount so I wouldn’t have to attend.”

“Of course, of course,” Wei Ying said. He knew Lan Zhan wasn’t really a fan of crowds, so that made sense. “But, ah, well, I’ll be there, so maybe you’ll come by anyway?”

“You’ll be there?” Lan Zhan asked, slowly putting his cup down. Wei Ying smiled and nodded, leaning forward even more.

“Yeah, Wen Qing needed a guy to do the kissing booth,” Wei Ying said. Lan Zhan blinked a few times and his eyebrows raised.

“A kissing booth?”

“Yes!”

“And you will be… doing the kissing?” he asked. He had a similarly skeptical tone in his voice to Wen Qing and Wei Ying couldn’t help but make a hurt noise.

“Why does everyone think so little of me? I can kiss strangers with no problem!”

“Mn.”

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan kept his eyes on the table as he took another sip of tea. Wei Ying was really interested to know what about it made it seem so impossible that he would be willing to kiss strangers. Did he really seem that innocent and inexperienced? He clearly needed to work on the vibe he was giving off. 

“It seems,” Lan Zhan said, pausing for a long moment as his grip tightened on his cup, “Unsanitary.”

“Ah, I’ll buy a whole bottle of mouthwash for the day, how’s that?” he says.

“Mn.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called, leaning even further to the point his head was almost on the table and his arms were stretched out. Lan Zhan wasn’t smiling, but it was very close. His features had gone all soft and Wei Ying highly considered pinching his cheek. “You and Wen Qing are so mean to me. Can’t I have enough confidence to kiss half the girls in your school for money?” 

Lan Zhan blinked slowly in that way that drove Wei Ying just a bit insane. He moved and spoke so slow sometimes. Wei Ying was convinced if he was anyone else, Lan Zhan would never be able to hold his attention. He even had to listen to podcasts on 1.5x speed just so he wouldn’t lose interest.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Ying slumped in his chair and groaned.

“I’m going to prove it to you and Wen Qing that I’m entirely capable of pulling this off.”

“Alright.”

Wei Ying glared at him, but it didn’t last long. It was hard to glare at him for long. Instead, he sighed dramatically and took out his earbuds, the wire hanging as he held one of them out to Lan Zhan. He accepted it and slowly put it in his ear as Wei Ying put the other in his. They had to lean a bit into the counter to share, but they’d been doing this nearly every day for as long as Wei Ying could remember.

“This episode’s on King Leopold II.”

“Mn.”

-

Wei Ying was fine.

Every day leading up to the kissing booth, he’d been fine. Wen Qing had texted him and reminded him that he couldn’t back out and he would say, ‘why would I want to?!’ and he was serious. This would be fine.

But now that he was set to be there in two hours, he was starting to lose his nerve.

“Jiejie, do I look alright?” Wei Ying asked for what was probably the billionth time. Jiang Yanli looked up from her laptop and gave him a very thoughtful look so he wouldn’t call her out for just saying he looked good without thought.

“You look very handsome.”

“Handsome? I don’t need to look handsome, I need to look hot.”

“A-Ying, I think you’re going to have a line of people wanting to kiss you,” she insisted. Wei Ying sighed, dragging his body over to her. He fell to her bed dramatically and let himself indulge in the sound of her amused laughter as he dropped his head to her shoulder. “What’s wrong, A-Ying?”

He sighed, “Have you ever kissed anyone, Jiejie?”

“Yes,” she answered easily. He tried not to let the instinctive face of disgust take over.

“Do you think any of the girls will know I’ve never kissed anyone?”

“Well, probably not because it’ll be short kisses, won’t they? They’ll be none the wiser,” she said. Wei Ying still managed a pout.

“Will you beat them up if they laugh at me?”

“Of course I will,” Jiang Yanli laughed softly, her hand reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear. Wei Ying nodded and tried to calm his mind down with her presence.

He was sad to see that it only helped a little bit.

“I’m gonna go change into something hotter,” he said. Jiang Yanli laughed and nodded.

“Alright. Don’t leave without a goodbye.”

“I won’t.”

Wei Ying made his way into his room and looked at himself in the mirror hanging on his closet. He’d left his hair down because he thought maybe he looked edgy, but he was beginning to think it was just a recipe for disaster. If he left it down, he’d just mess with it the entire time. He raked it into a messy ponytail and pulled a bit down to frame his face. His nails scraped over the shaved sides and wondered if those should be touched up too.

Instead of thinking too much about that, Wei Ying quickly changed his shirt again. This time he tried a black button-up which he stopped buttoning when the top four were undone. He stared at himself and buttoned another one and then stared at himself and then unbuttoned it.

“Why do I care so much? I’m never going to see these girls again. This is totally useless, this is just for practice,” he grumbled to himself, though he could already feel his face getting warmer and warmer by the minute. It was all fine when it was just a thing he agreed to. Now that he actually had to do it, well…

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard his name, spinning around with his hand over his heart. Lan Zhan stood there in the doorway, hands neatly behind his back. There were many times in life where Wei Ying was happy to see him, but this was easily one of his favorites. He needed a distraction and Lan Zhan was good at that.

“Warn a man next time, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, though he was thankful for being startled. For a moment, his head emptied. 

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, taking a step inside his bedroom.

“What are you doing here? Not that I don’t like seeing your face, but I figured you’d be spending the evening curled up with a good book or, or a movie. Or a new K-Drama, maybe. Something other than thinking about the lame fundraiser. Super lame, you know,” Wei Ying rambled. 

Lan Zhan nodded and his hand reached out the grab the edge of the door. Wei Ying’s eyes followed it as he closed it, leaving the two of them in the room alone. He could count on one hand how many times they’d been in a closed space completely alone. Somehow it made his throat feel dry. Though, that might be him freaking out about the kissing booth still.

“Wen Qing asked me to check on you,” Lan Zhan said, “To make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine,” Wei Ying said, standing up straighter, “She needs to learn to stop babying me. I’m a grown man.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed, his hands returning to the space behind his back as he took a step closer, “So I should tell her you aren’t worried.”

“I’m not! I’m fine!” Wei Ying said and if his voice was a bit higher than normal, so what.

Lan Zhan took a step back.

“Mn. I was going to help you relax, but if you’re relaxed, then I’ll go,” he said. It was bait and Wei Ying knew it was bait, but he couldn’t help himself but call out.

“Wait,” he said, pulling at the hem of his shirt, “What were you gonna do? Like, in case I was nervous.”

Wei Ying would never say it, but there was something about Lan Zhan that made his mind a bit easier. He seemed to quiet some of the noise just by being there. Yes, he spoke slow and moved slow, but that forced Wei Ying’s brain to do the same.

Lan Zhan took a step forward again.

“I was going to say that kissing isn’t that complicated,” he said. Wei Ying rolled his eyes.

“How would you know?” Lan Zhan’s eyebrow raised and Wei Ying’s stomach plummeted as it came to his attention that perhaps he’d been wrong about that. Lan Zhan took another step closer to him. Wei Ying swallowed. “I have a confession to make, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” he said. Saying it out loud just made him feel even more nervous. “And now I feel stupid and like I’m going to embarass myself. All those girls have probably kissed a ton of guys and they’d be paying money just for me to let them down and then I’ll let Wen Qing down because they’ll tell their friends that it wasn’t that good. Then I’m going to have to come up with a way to pay for her share of the donation because it’ll be‒”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, voice low and smooth and distracting.

“What?”

“Wei Ying,” he repeated, taking another step closer. 

Wei Ying’s eyes shifted between his close proximity and the closed door. Lan Zhan’s hand moved from behind his back to reach up and gently place on Wei Ying’s jaw. His mind started spinning with a whole new wave of thoughts.

“Oh,” Wei Ying said seconds before Lan Zhan closed the space between them.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen‒mainly because what the fuck‒but Wei Ying found himself shocked when it lasted longer than a couple seconds like he was sure the kissing booth kisses were going to be. Instead, Lan Zhan tilted his head and parted his lips just a little, just enough to slot perfectly around Wei Ying’s bottom lip to give it a little kiss of its own. He then pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then another peck right on his lips before pulling back.

Wei Ying stood there, frozen as he stared at Lan Zhan with wide eyes. He hadn’t realized he wanted to do that. 

“Close your eyes, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan instructed softly.

“Well, wait, are you gonna do that again?” Wei Ying asked. Lan Zhan got that whole soft-faced thing again and nodded, so Wei Ying promptly shut his eyes.

They were the same height so there truly was no reason for Lan Zhan to touch his chin and tilt his head up, but it certainly made things a bit more fun. Lan Zhan kissed him again, parting his lips again much sooner and Wei Ying followed suit. He mimicked the way Lan Zhan moved, hoping that it wasn’t too embarrassing and somehow not giving a shit even if it was. It was good.

And then Lan Zhan pushed his tongue past Wei Ying’s lips.

Wei Ying gasped in response, moving back just a little and Lan Zhan immediately stopped. He opened his eyes and made eye contact with him, up close and personal.

“You, like, actually know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Wei Ying asked.

“Mn.”

“Who have you been kissing, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying teased, feeling a bit more than giddy. He pushed himself onto his toes and draped his arms around his neck. Lan Zhan had to tilt his head back just a bit to maintain eye contact and Wei Ying was enamored. “Wait, wait, don’t talk, just keep going.”

“Mn.”

Lan Zhan met his lips again, his tongue immediately pressing into his mouth and this time Wei Ying was expecting it. It was a little weird, but it was nothing he couldn’t adjust to. Nothing he wanted to stop. Especially not when Lan Zhan easily held the brunt of his weight the more he pressed into his personal space, causing him to arch his back as he did so.

His hands slid down to Wei Ying’s hips, giving them a small squeeze as he tugged him closer. Wei Ying continued to mimic him‒copying the way his tongue moved, the way his teeth grazed his lips, the way he didn’t mind if it got a little messy and a little gross. It would probably be gross with anyone else.

It was all normal until Wei Ying made a needy little noise that he hadn’t intended. He could feel his face grow warm and he considered pulling back, but Lan Zhan’s hand moved back to his jaw and he kissed him deeper. Then Lan Zhan started backing him up until his legs hit his bed.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasped, trying to catch his breath as he broke the kiss. Lan Zhan’s eyes opened again and met him.

“Wei Ying,” he said.

Wei Ying tightened his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, finding himself quite desperate to keep him in his grasp. Lan Zhan obliged by not even trying to leave as his hand rubbed up and down his side mindlessly. He wanted to stare at him forever.

“Lan Zhan, why’d you do that?” Wei Ying asked after he was back to breathing normally. Or, as normally as he could when he was still this close to Lan Zhan. He was pretty sure Lan Zhan could feel his heart thudding in his chest. “Were you just being polite so I wouldn’t embarrass myself?”

Lan Zhan didn’t say a word, didn’t even hum.

“Was it because you’re just a good friend?” Wei Ying asked. Again, no answer. A pout slowly started to form on Wei Ying’s face. “Lan Zhaaan, give me an answer. I need to know!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes trailed away from him and down to the pout on his lips. And then he moved forward and took his pouting lip between his teeth. Wei Ying made a noise in shock, but he didn’t move away as he felt Lan Zhan’s tongue graze his lip. Then he was being kissed again and all of his questions left his head as Lan Zhan all but pushed him onto his bed.

He didn’t care what his motives were, he just didn’t want it to stop.

Lan Zhan hovered over him, leaving a trail of kisses over his cheek and his jaw and then to his neck. Somehow, that was when Wei Ying’s brain actually shut down. His eyes closed and his lips parted as he tried to keep steady breaths, his body all too attuned to the way Lan Zhan kissed and sucked and bit at his neck. There was no reason that should’ve felt as good as it did. It helped that he had his weight on him. All he could feel was Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, bowing his head into his shoulder and hoping he didn’t minimize Lan Zhan’s target area. He kept his arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight as he did whatever he was doing to his neck. “Ahh, Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.”

It was all cut short, though, when Wei Ying’s phone started ringing.

He very much wanted to ignore it, wanted to just continue doing this, but Lan Zhan reached for it and handed it to him. His biting and sucking turned into more patient kitten licks, but it was still distracting as all hell.

“What?” Wei Ying asked as he answered the phone, not bothering to see who was calling. He just hoped it wasn’t either of his adoptive parents.

“I’m going to be at your house in two minutes, so be outside,” Wen Qing said. Wei Ying’s eyes widened as he remembered that not only did he have to stop, but he had to kiss other people after this. How the hell was he supposed to do that?

And maybe he finally understood why Wen Qing had been hesitant.

“Okay, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. See you soon, Qingqing,” he said.

“You too, Wei Ying,” she said back and for once she sounded a bit fond.

The moment the call was over, Wei Ying groaned and kicked his feet childishlessly. Lan Zhan hummed in what seemed to be amusement against his collarbone.

“Lan Zhan, this has ruined me for everyone else this evening, do you understand? How am I supposed to kiss a line of girls after that?” he asked. Lan Zhan moved to prop himself up on his elbow, looking down at Wei Ying. If he wasn’t still pressed up against him, he probably would’ve thrown a fit.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed, his fingers trailing idly up his body and to his neck where he pressed two fingers into a sore spot. Wei Ying furrowed his eyebrows and reached up to feel as well, still damp from Lan Zhan’s kisses. It took a few seconds to put together why it felt that way and his eyes went wide.

“Ahh,” he said, looking up to Lan Zhan, “Everyone’s gonna be able to see that in a few hours, won’t they?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, the faintest of smiles on his lips, “I’m not.”

“Lan Zhan, you’re so cheeky, I can’t believe it!” Wei Ying laughed, wriggling a bit as he moved to lay on his side so he could be chest to chest with Lan Zhan, “Ah, but I have to go.”

“You do,” he said. Wei Ying pouted again, only slightly hoping that’d lead to more kisses. 

“Maybe if I use mouthwash like I said I would, you’ll kiss me like that later? Or, like, tomorrow‒at the latest, just in case I get sick of kissing after the booth,” Wei Ying said.

“Whenever Wei Ying wants,” Lan Zhan agreed. Wei Ying smirked easily, nudging his knee into Lan Zhan’s.

“Ah, don’t say that, you’ll be stuck with me hanging off you like a leech every day for the rest of your life,” Wei Ying teased.

“Alright,” Lan Zhan agreed. Wei Ying immediately felt his face flush and he bowed his head against Lan Zhan’s chest, shaking his head.

“How am I supposed to think straight if you agree to things like that?!” he whined. Lan Zhan hummed.

“Hopefully you won’t.”

“Was that a joke?” Wei Ying asked, lifting his head and laughing easily. Lan Zhan was smiling at him bigger than he ever had before. “Oh, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, stop it, I have to go and you’re making that impossible.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “Go.”

“And this isn’t the last time we do this, right? Like, I get more Lan Zhan kisses, you promise?” he asked, pushing himself up beginning to crawl over Lan Zhan’s body. He paused to hover over him and make eye contact to make sure this wasn’t just a very intense fever dream.

“Mn.”

“Okay then. I’ll go,” Wei Ying said, climbing off him slowly and taking a few wobbly steps backward. The further away he got, the more he got to take in the picturesque image of Lan Zhan laying in his bed. “And I’ll be back and I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Goodbye, Wei Ying.”

“Bye, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying somehow made it out of the front door in one piece, his heart still thudding as he thought about what just happened. He still wasn’t quite sure what it meant between them, but he did know it meant he probably wouldn’t have to worry about kissing too many strangers after this.

When Wen Qing pulled up in her old, beat-up car and he climbed into the passenger side, she gave him a once over.

“Wow,” she said, “You actually don’t look like you’re nervous. Guess Lan Zhan was actually helpful.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying laughed, touching his bottom lip, “Super helpful.”

[wokeuptired]

every perfect summer

Finn is steady on her own two feet but Niall is a hurricane, determined to bring to the surface what she’s long buried. If only he weren’t so beautiful at sunset, she might be able to resist. 

written for​ @majorharry ‘s 20k fic celebration 

prompt #29: “stop looking at me like that.”

niall/ofc, 6.2k

Summer in California is hot and sticky, the kind of sticky that makes you feel silly showering, because as soon as you walk outside, you’ll be sweaty all over again. Even with the fan on full blast, Finn’s thighs are sticking to the leather of the couch she took from her mom’s house when she moved out. She’s read the same page a hundred times, over and over again. The heat makes it hard to think. 

The heat makes it hard to breathe.

And mostly, the heat makes it hard to write.

Finn’s about to put the book down when she hears footsteps on the stairs outside. Her apartment complex is a series of buildings each containing a dozen apartments. Finn shares the landing of her staircase with the apartment next door, but it’s the wrong time of day for Cindy and Ralph to be returning home, which means—

“Your new downstairs neighbor is hot,” Jocelyn announces as the apartment door slams shut behind her, the gust of warm air ruffling the pages of Finn’s book. She looks up to roll her eyes.

“You think every guy is hot.”

Jocelyn dumps her shopping on the kitchen table and scoffs. “I do not. Just the hot ones.”

“Aren’t you engaged?” Finn glances down at the big shiny ring on Jocelyn’s finger to emphasize her point. Even though Jocelyn moved out six months ago, when her boyfriend popped the question, sometimes it feels like she never left. Right now is one of those times. “What’s Marcus think about all this looking you do?” 

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Jocelyn punctuates her statement with a saucy flip of her hair and begins unloading her bags onto the small kitchen counter. She holds up a carton of ice cream. “Should I bother putting this away, or do you want to dive in right now?” 

Finn holds her hand out for the rocky road. “You know me so well.” 

“You’re welcome.” As Finn digs into the tub of ice cream, Jocelyn begins putting things away in the fridge. “You know,” she says into the veggie drawer, “I’m not kidding about your new neighbor. He’s got this angelic frat boy look to him. Have you met him yet?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Last week. He offered to carry a package upstairs for me. Very polite, and totally not my type.” 

“Exactly.” Jocelyn sits on the couch with another spoon and slides the ice cream out of Finn’s grasp. “As your older sister, it’s my job to advise you on everything. Starting with your interest in men, which is, to be frank, utter shit.” 

Finn opens her mouth to object, but she can’t find fault with Jocelyn’s statement. Her last boyfriend wouldn’t come to any work events with her but insisted she attend all of his art shows. He had an ego the size of the Milky Way to make up for his abysmal lack of talent.

“You need to stop dating those neurotic, artsy types,” Jocelyn continues, “and date a man who can, like, actually kill a spider.”

“I’m perfectly capable of killing my own spiders.” As long as they’re small and not moving, but Finn doesn’t feel the need to share that caveat. 

“So am I,” Jocelyn says. “Do you want wine?” She doesn’t wait for Finn to answer before she gets up and goes straight for the cupboard that holds the long-stem glasses. “Anyway, that’s not my point. You need to stop dating boys who look good on paper and start dating men who are good. In real life.” 

Finn closes her book so that it doesn’t have to listen to this conversation. She accepts the wine glass from Jocelyn’s outstretched hand and swirls around the liquid within. It doesn’t go with the ice cream, but she’s 25 years old, so that doesn’t matter.

Jocelyn scowls at the closed book. “Virginia Woolf again, Finn? Are you ever going to read anything written in this century?”

Finn rolls her eyes. If there’s one thing her sister excels at, it’s being unsatisfied with all aspects of Finn’s life. “Are you here just to criticize me? Or are we watching ‘The Bachelor’?”

Jocelyn grins, spoon still in her mouth. “Oh, we’re watching ‘The Bachelor.’” 

-----

The thing about “The Bachelor,” Finn decides that night as she’s brushing her teeth, is that, for the women involved, the ones competing for the bachelor’s heart, there are no consequences. 

Oh, small consequences, sure. Your decision might make somebody else cry, or your heart might be slightly bruised, but at the end of it all, you’ve got thousands of new Instagram followers and you’re famous in your small town and everybody wants to date you, even though you chose, of your own free will, to engage in the skeptical that is a dating game show. 

But there are no big consequences, no bad consequences. A few months later and the next season’s airing, and everything you did, every dumb thing you said, every kiss you exchanged—it’s all forgotten. 

Maybe that’s the way to go, Finn thinks. 

Maybe next year, she ought to audition. She develops the pitch in her head: 25 year old ghostwriter of bestselling romance novels; lives alone in Los Angeles; has been considering, for an entire year, the adoption of a cat; has never been in love. 

It’s that last part that would sway them, she thinks. The producers would imagine her doe-eyed and innocent, maybe a bit naive. She’d be pitted against the season’s villain, the girl with dark hair (a visual contrast to Finn’s blond bob) who would stop at nothing to win her man. 

“How can she write romance novels when she has never known love?” audiences across America would wonder. 

Perhaps the bachelor himself would even inquire. Finn would smile shyly, bat her impossibly long eyelashes up at him, and say something coy like, “You could tutor me.” 

Jocelyn would love that. She lives for the drama, for what the editors create in post-production. She doesn’t care that it’s fake.

And every week Finn watches and wonders how she can keep selling love in her books when this show proves, without a doubt, that it doesn’t exist.

-----

The new downstairs neighbor works out in the mornings on his patio. Finn hears his music the next morning, drifting in through her open sliding door, around 8:30 AM. It’s not early enough for her to be justifiably annoyed at him, but she’s annoyed nonetheless, because she’s just sat down at her laptop with the intention of writing something today.

Something. Anything. Words on the page, that’s all she needs. 

Instead, she sighs, closing her laptop and crossing the room to the balcony. She slides the door open further, pushes the screen out of the way, and goes outside. When she and Jocelyn first moved in, the balcony was a huge appeal. “Outdoor space!” they’d squealed when they first saw the apartment listed online. But now Finn’s been here for two and a half years, and the balcony is just another space for dust to collect. 

It’s directly over Downstairs Neighbor’s patio. Finn looks down through the wooden slats and tries to catch a glimpse at him. She can hear Jocelyn’s voice in her head: He’s hot, right? I told you he was hot! 

In truth, though, Finn can’t see much through the small gaps between the planks. She can’t tell if he’s lifting weights or doing jumping jacks or playing a very enthusiastic game of cat’s cradle. He’s definitely grunting, though. 

Finn shakes her head, trying not to focus on the noises he’s making, and crosses the balcony. She leans her arms on the railing and looks out over the beauty of Los Angeles. Beauty referring, of course, to the parking lot. Finn can see her car, about thirty feet away, parked beneath an evil tree that drops red berries. It really needs to be washed. 

Maybe she should take it today. Maybe today will be the first day in a month that she’s gotten dressed in pants that have a zipper and a button, and she’ll go to the carwash and—

Feeling something crawling on her arm, Finn looks down, and oh, shit, it’s a spider. Not a little spider, not a daddy long legs, but one of those ones that’s big enough where you can see its body. It looks like one of those spiders a little kid draws around Halloween. 

Oh, shit. Finn lifts her arm, waving it wildly, trying to shake the spider loose before it bites her and turns her into Spider Woman, and that’s when she throws her mug of coffee into the air. 

“Oh, shit,” she says out loud. Time seems to slow as she watches her mug descend, coffee flying everywhere as the cup turns a full 360 degrees before landing with a crack on the concrete below. 

“What the fuck?” It’s Downstairs Neighbor. 

“Oh, shit,” Finn says again. Which, no doubt, Downstairs Neighbor heard. Oh, shit. That one’s in her head, at least.

She hears a grunt as he, she imagines, lowers his weight to the ground, then the snick of his sliding glass door, then the sound of his front door opening, and then, oh, shit, there he is, standing on the ground, looking at her broken coffee cup. 

Oh, shit, Finn thinks again as she drops to her knees, hiding herself from view. 

Apparently unsuccessfully, as not thirty seconds later, she hears, “I can see you, ya know.” 

Finn rises slowly to her feet and looks down. It’s hard not to admit that Jocelyn was right as she looks down at him, messy hair and blue eyes and muscles visible through his sweaty t-shirt. 

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.” His eyes twinkle, and she knows he’s trying not to laugh at her. “This yours?” 

“Yeah. Sorry I interrupted you.” 

He laughs then, a light, musical sound that she can feel in her toes. Oh, shit. That’s not good. Finn’s characters feel laughter in their toes, but she certainly doesn’t. Feeling someone’s laughter in her toes is not a real thing, she’s always thought, except, apparently, it is.

“What happened?” he asks. 

“There was a spider.”

“A spider.” 

Finn nods, cheeks burning. “It was a big spider.” 

“You gonna come clean it up?” 

Finn nods again. “In a minute.” 

“Okay.” He grins up at her and she blushes back. 

Finn turns around and goes inside, sliding the door shut behind her, and waits, listening for the sounds of Downstairs neighbor reentering his own apartment, shutting the door, locking it. When a minute has passed without any of that, Finn realizes that he must be waiting for her. 

Oh, shit. Finn doesn’t have to be Jocelyn to know that this is not the ideal situation in which one wants to interact with Hot Downstairs Neighbor. But it seems like she doesn’t have a choice, so she slips on the flip flops she keeps by the door and goes downstairs. 

He’s still there, standing in the sunshine, squinting when he smiles. “There you are,” he says. 

“Here I am.” Finn looks down, surveying the damage. The mug has split into several large chunks, and maybe if Finn were better at diy-ing she’d be able to fix it, but as things stand now, it’s destined for the garbage. “Damn, I really liked that mug.” 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Downstairs Neighbor says, which is such a strange thing to say that Finn startles, turning to stare at him. 

“Thanks?” she says. 

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, holding out his hand. “I’m Niall.” 

Finn accepts the handshake. “I’m Finn.” 

His hand is warm and a bit clammy, a bit like California in the summer, and her stomach goes topsy-turvy. She yanks her hand back. 

“Nice to meet you,” Niall says. “I guess you’re the neighbor who watches ‘The Bachelor’?” 

Jesus Christ, Finn thinks, dropping to a squat. She gathers up the pieces of her destroyed mug and doesn’t answer him. How nosy of him, asking her that. But then, she was the one listening to him work out this morning. 

“My sister likes it,” she says. “I’m just along for the ride.” 

“Hey, there’s no shame in liking ‘The Bachelor,’” Niall says, dropping down beside her. They reach for the last piece at the same time, hands brushing. Finn draws hers back, trying to ignore the tingling in her fingertips. “Here.” 

Finn accepts the final shard. “Thanks,” she says. “And I don’t like ‘The Bachelor.’ I think it’s silly.” 

Niall smiles at her again, all teeth and sunshine. “What’s silly about love?”

Finn blinks at him, trying to decide if he’s an idiot or just bad at small talk. Maybe both. “That show is not about love,” she says. “Have you ever seen it?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “But I’ve heard it through the ceiling.” 

Jesus Christ, Finn thinks again. What a neighbor. She can’t wait to tell Jocelyn about this, to prove to her that Downstairs Neighbor may be hot, but his positive qualities end there. He’s intrusive and nosy and way, way too good looking.

“You can get back to your workout,” she says, standing up straight. He follows, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. “Sorry for bothering you.” 

“Not a bother,” he says. “It was nice to meet you, Finn.” 

“Yep,” she says, offering him a half smile before she turns tail and dashes up the stairs, back to her safe, quiet, Downstairs Neighbor-free apartment. Back to her laptop, and the manuscript due in three months that she hasn’t managed to crack yet. Back to being hot and sweaty inside her apartment, instead of outside. 

“Have a good day!” he calls after her. She doesn’t return the greeting. 

-----

The next morning, a knock on the door wakes Finn up from a dream, the kind of dream that you know as soon as you wake was a good one, but it’s too late, you’ve forgotten it, and you won’t be able to get it back. 

“No,” she mutters, turning over in bed, burrowing into the pillow. “I’m sleeping.” But then the knock sounds again. “Damnit.” 

Finn climbs out of bed and reaches for her phone on the nightstand. 8:27 AM on a Wednesday. An acceptable hour for someone to be knocking on the door, she supposes. Except she was up till 1 o’clock trying to make her messy notes into something resembling an outline that could someday (someday soon, she hopes) be a book. 

The morning person disturbing her sleep knocks again, eliminating the possibility that it’s just UPS dropping off a package. Finn drops her phone on the bed and makes her way down the hall to the living room, where sunlight blares in so sharply it makes her squint. 

“Gah,” she says to herself as she pulls open the door. And then, “Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me,” Hot Downstairs Neighbor—Niall, Finn corrects herself—says. “UPS dropped off this package at my door, but I think it’s yours.” 

Finn looks down at the envelope he’s holding out, but the label is blurry. Oh, shit, her glasses. “If you say so,” she says. “I’d have to grab my glasses to know for sure.” 

Niall smiles at her, she thinks, but the details of his face are a bit blurry. “I can wait,” he says. “We should make sure it’s yours.” 

Finn frowns at him for a second—He can read, can’t he? Shouldn’t he know if it’s her name on the label?—before deciding that it’s too early for an argument. “Fine, whatever,” she says, turning around and leaving him in the doorway. 

That’s where she expects him to stay, but when she returns to the door a minute later with her glasses perched on her nose, he’s inside her apartment, poking around the bookshelves on either side of her television. The package he brought over has been discarded on the coffee table. 

Finn ignores him for a second as she picks it up. Yep, it’s definitely hers. It’s a proof of her latest Isobel novel, if she had to guess. But she’s not going to open it now, not with Niall here. 

Niall, who is currently nosing around her living room, looking much too closely at things she’d rather he not see. 

“What are these?” Niall steps closer to the bookshelf, his eyes scanning the spines. “You read romance novels?”

“Not exactly,” Finn says. Which lie should she tell this time? She has a few prepared: “they’re my sister’s” or “my roommate forgot them when she moved out.” Said roommate is said sister, but for the sake of the lie, that wouldn’t matter. But then the truth slips out. “I write them.”

“You write them?” Niall repeats. He pulls one of the books out, Summer’s Dalliance, about two yoga instructors who find love during a training retreat in the Maldives. “You’re Isobel Soleil?”

Finn can tell from the way Niall says Isobel Soleil that he’s heard of her. Who hasn’t heard of her, these days? Her books are in grocery stores and airport shops and on bestseller lists and there’s a series in development with HBO. 

As a ghostwriter, Finn isn’t involved, but she knows the show will help move sales, which means bigger checks, which means maybe, eventually, she can write something she actually cares about.

“Not exactly.” Finn takes the book out of his hand and returns it to its place on the shelf. It’s not as if she’s proud of it. That’s not why she has it out. It’s just a placeholder until she publishes a book she’s actually proud of. “Isobel Soleil isn’t a person. She’s a brand. Her books are written by half a dozen different people. How do you think she can pump them out so quickly?”

“How quickly?” 

“Three or four a year.”

“And you wrote all of these?” Niall’s finger runs along the spines. “How many are there? Ten?”

“Eight,” Finn corrects. Eight cheesy, embarrassing, don’t-let-your-mother-see-you-reading-that novels. “But they’re formulaic and simplistic. They’re not… they’re not good.”

Niall shrugs. “They’re not high literature, you mean. Someone reads them, though, right? And the people who read them enjoy them. So who cares if they’re not high literature, Finn?” 

Finn swallows the sudden lump in her throat. How has Niall managed to get to the quick of things so, well, quick? “I care, I guess. This isn’t what I imagined I’d be doing when I was little, telling people I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.”

“So write something else,” Niall says. 

Finn sighs. She wishes it were that easy. If only she could break out of the mold she’s put herself in and write something else, something that’s not about two people falling in love. If only she could write something she actually believed in.

But she has a contract and a deadline and an agent and an editor on her back, and no choice but to finish this Isobel Soleil novel. 

“Maybe next summer,” she says. 

Niall considers her, nods. “Speaking of this summer,” he says slowly, like he’s thinking about what he’s going to say as he’s saying it, “I have free tickets to LACMA, and I just moved to town so I don’t know a ton of people. Want to go with me?” 

Say yes or no more ice cream, Jocelyn’s voice says in the back of Finn’s mind. 

“Sure,” she says. “But you know my secret”—she gestures to the bookshelves—“so now you have to tell me one of yours. So I know you’re not a serial killer or something.” 

He smiles at her and, damn, he’s good looking. “I’m a lawyer,” he says. “My new job doesn’t start till August, so I’m working remotely with my old firm until then.” 

“That’s not a secret.” Not a secret at all, but a great career for a hero in a romance novel. Finn makes a mental note. 

“Okay,” Niall says. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, lifting one hand to his chin, a classic thinking pose. “How about this? I’m not from here.” 

Finn shakes her head. She’d already guessed that from his accent, a soft, lilting Irish one that makes everything he says sound like a poem. “Not a secret either. You get one more try.” 

“One more try!” he says with mock shock. “I’ll make this good, then.”

He thinks and Finn waits, and in the thirty seconds it takes him to come up with a good secret, she wonders what the hell she’s doing, flirting with Hot Downstairs Neighbor in her living room while dressed in her pajamas. Oh, shit, she’s not wearing a bra, is she?

Finn crosses her arms over her chest and considers backing out of this conversation entirely by making something up that will put Niall off and convince him that she’s the worst possible LACMA companion. 

But then he says, “I can’t swim,” and that is distracting enough to make her forget everything else. 

“You can’t swim?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing in southern California?” 

Niall shrugs. His smile makes her insides go wonky. “Maybe you can teach me.” Then he holds out his phone. “Here, give me your number. I’ll text you and we can make plans.” 

She obliges, all the while wondering what exactly she’s gotten herself into. 

-----

LACMA day comes much quicker than Finn anticipates. When she and Niall first made the plans a week ago, Saturday seemed like ages away. There was so much she was going to do between now and then: repot all of her plants, make bread from scratch, work on her manuscript. But instead, she putters around her apartment, typing words here and there, ignoring how bad they are, and not baking bread. 

It’s a waste of a week, and not just because Niall is there, in the back of her mind, the whole time. 

Jocelyn’s excited, of course, for LACMA day, and insists on coming over the night before to help Finn select her outfit. Finn keeps reminding her that it’s summer in Los Angeles, so it’s a thousand degrees out and she will melt no matter what she wears, but Jocelyn doesn’t care.

Which is how Finn ends up knocking on Niall’s door on LACMA day dressed in a romper that’s giving her a wedgie, a purse she never carries slung over her shoulder. Jocelyn even forced her to wear lip gloss. 

“Lip gloss makes you a different person,” Jocelyn said last night on her way out. “I left you three options. Please wear one.” 

“I don’t take advice from the Sweet Valley Twins anymore,” Finn had retorted as she shut the door in Jocelyn’s face. 

But she’s wearing the lip gloss anyway. Her hair has already gotten stuck in it three times, and all she’s done is climb down the stairs. 

She knocks again, half hoping Niall hasn’t changed his mind and half hoping that he has. If he has, she can go back upstairs, put her pajamas on again, and continue to stare at her blank Word document. But then he opens the door.

“Good morning!” His smile is so bright it makes her squint. “Coffee?” 

He holds out a travel mug to her, waiting for her to take it. 

“Good morning,” she says after she takes a sip. The coffee is exactly the right temperature and perfectly sweet, which is almost enough to make her smile. “This is good coffee.” 

“It’s from Ecuador,” Niall says. He steps out onto the welcome mat and closes the apartment door behind him. “Hold this for me?” 

Finn holds his travel mug as he locks the door and turns the knob a couple of times to make sure it’s secure. Then he turns around, his smile lighting up his face. 

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” she says, though she’s pretty sure she isn’t.

She learns, over the next few hours, that Niall’s energy is nonstop. He talks constantly during their drive to the museum, talks as they park the car, talks as they ride the elevator to the top floor and begin making their way through the galleries. He tells her where he’s from and where he went to school and what his favorite sports teams are. 

And she finds herself talking too. She tells him about her sister and where she went to school and how she got started writing Isobel Soleil novels, and the entire time, she’s taking mental notes about him, about the way he holds doors for her and grins down at her and laughs even when her jokes are barely funny. 

This is how the heroes in her novels behave. They are handsome and well-meaning and have substantial life goals. They are polite and conscientious and make the heroines feel brave and important and valued. And that’s how Finn finds herself feeling: like if she had something to say, Niall would listen to it. 

After the museum, they stop for lunch at a restaurant Finn found on Yelp as they were leaving the parking structure. It’s small and bright inside, but as Niall pulls out Finn’s chair for her, it occurs to her, for the first time, that this might actually be a date. 

Jocelyn had said as much last night, but Finn had ignored her, as she does with most things Jocelyn says. But now, seated across from Niall, with nowhere to look but at him, reality dawns, and it’s blinding. 

But, she decides, she won’t address it, and she carries on with the meal as if they are recent acquaintances and neighbors, which is, she reminds herself, exactly what they are. 

-----

After LACMA day, Niall texts Finn about the movie he’s watching, and she imagines she can hear it through the floor. Later that evening, he texts her good night, and then, the next day, he texts her good morning. The next weekend, they go to Venice Beach together, and they see a movie in a classic theater downtown the following Tuesday. That night, he comes over for dinner, and they cook together, finding their way around each other in Finn’s small kitchen. 

And all of a sudden, this summer is different, hot and sticky like all the others, but different because this summer has Niall. 

Niall on the couch, bare feet up on the coffee table, listing all the reasons that golf is superior to all other sports. 

Niall in the passenger’s seat of her car, singing along to the radio even when he doesn’t know the words, the sun setting behind him, lighting him up as if it’s saying, “Look, he’s beautiful.”

And he is beautiful. Niall in her thoughts, Niall on the back of her eyelids when she blinks, Niall in her dreams. Niall, beautiful. 

And Niall in her manuscript, try as she might to keep him out. In sticking with the proposal she made to her editor back in the spring, she’s writing about a doctor and an artist who meet when they’re sharing a wall in a duplex summer rental on the coast of Oregon. By midsummer, she’s written thirty thousand words, enough to reassure her editor that she’s still writing, that things are fine, and, upon rereading, she realizes that the doctor has become Niall.

The doctor, so sure of himself, driven and determined and sexier than any other hero she’s ever written. He is confident and has beautiful eyes and magic fingers, and the heroine, the artist, is head over heels in love with him before she’s even thought to like him. 

And the artist. Finn is the artist, the confused, prideful creative soul who doesn’t want love, is afraid of it, just wants to be left alone. But now she has the lawyer, the beautiful, handsome, intelligent, lovely lawyer who makes her want to stop hiding. He makes her want to feel things. He makes her want to reach out for him, to push her fears aside and let her have what she wants. 

July brings that realization and an unseasonal thunderstorm that forces Finn to bring out a bucket and email her landlord about that leak in the roof from December that still hasn’t been fixed. That’s a momentary distraction, at least, from thoughts of Niall, thoughts of Niall that are plaguing her every moment. Awake, asleep, Niall. Always Niall. 

It’s thundering overhead when there’s a knock at her door. She opens it, and there he is, like she’s conjured him.

“I brought wine,” he says, holding out the bottle.

“Come in,” she says. She thinks of how much has changed since she sat on her couch a month ago, drinking wine with Jocelyn. She wishes, for a moment, that she could go back. But then she looks at Niall again. 

And she doesn’t want to look away, like the artist doesn’t want to look away from the doctor. When you find something this perfect, why would you ever look away? Why would you let it go? 

Finn knows from experience, though, that sometimes you don’t get to choose when people leave. Sometimes they leave you, aching and cold and alone. Sometimes it’s not up to you. 

“Come in,” she says again. She grabs two wine glasses from the kitchen and joins Niall in the living room, where they sit on the couch, thighs pressed together, and he picks a movie for them to watch. 

She isn’t paying attention, though, as she downs two glasses of wine and wonders if Niall will kiss her tonight. She’d like him to, she decides, just as much as she doesn’t want him to. It’s like the Schroedinger’s cat of kisses—if they never kiss, she will never know the kiss, but she will also never know what happens after it. She will never know if they go further, if they stop abruptly, if he breaks her heart and leaves her in pieces, smashed on the concrete like her broken coffee mug. 

But she will also never know if it will be beautiful, like the loves of the characters in her novels, characters who risk their hearts when they don’t know what the outcome will be. The difference between Finn and Niall and the artist and the doctor, though, is that Finn can control the artist and the doctor. She can decide their ending, she can choose the words for the last page. 

And maybe, with Niall, she doesn’t want a last page. 

Two hours later, Finn is wine-drunk and sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the couch. Niall is next to her, the table pushed away from them to accommodate his long legs. She leans her head on his shoulder, thinking, in the way only a wine-addled mind will allow, that she’d like to keep this night forever, seal it into a locket and wear it around her neck. 

“Tell me again why you don’t like your books,” Niall says. He has her newest proof in front of him on the table. It’s littered with post-it notes, changes Finn would’ve made to it had she had more time. But it’s too late now, and it will print as is. 

“They’re not good,” Finn says, her go-to explanation. “I can do better.” 

Niall shakes his head. “But they are good. I read Sunshine in Your Mouth, and it’s good. You’re a good writer, Finn.” 

“Oh, no.” Finn ducks, covering her face with her arms. “You read it? I can’t believe you read it.” 

“Yeah, I did.” Niall tugs her arm away from her face. “Stop hiding from me.” 

Oh, if only he knew how apt that statement was, then maybe he wouldn’t say it. Finn puts her arms down and refills her wine glass. She knows she shouldn’t drink any more, but maybe if she does, she’ll stop thinking about how blue Niall’s eyes are and how soft his fingers feel against her arm. 

“Tell me the truth,” Niall says, thumbing the post-its in her proof copy. “Why don’t you like being Isobel Soleil?” 

“Because I’m not her. I’m not like her. I just don’t believe in love,” Finn tries to explain. “It’s like—”

Niall laughs. “Love’s not like the tooth fairy, Finn. You don’t have to have felt it to know it’s real.” 

Finn looks at him, at his soft cheeks and his pink lips and his messy hair. In another life, in another version of this world, maybe she and Niall have known each other forever, since they were kids. And maybe Finn loves Niall. Maybe she always has. Maybe they fit. Maybe it’s the easiest thing this other Finn’s ever felt. 

But the Finn that lives in this world, the one sitting on the floor of her apartment with her knees pulled to her chest and a half-empty wine glass in her hand—this Finn doesn’t feel things easily. Feelings are heavy and feelings hold you back and feelings stick around long after the people who brought them on are gone.

“My parents,” Finn says, “they got divorced when I was five.” 

“Finn, you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” Finn says. The wine is talking now. The wine and the smell of Niall’s shampoo and the plunk plunk plunk of rain hitting the bucket on the kitchen floor. “My dad was sleeping with his secretary. Such a cliche, right? And it took my mom years to leave him. Years. He was sleeping with his secretary while my mom was pregnant with me. She kept thinking he’d stop, that he’d finally realize that he loved her, that he loved his family. She kept waiting, until she couldn’t anymore.” 

Finn feels Niall’s fingers brush against hers where they rest on the rug. “That’s why you don’t believe in love?”

“No.” Finn closes her eyes, her head tilting back against the sofa cushion. “That’s why I don’t let myself feel it.”

“Finn.” 

She doesn’t answer as Niall moves closer. Eyes closed, she can feel him entering her personal space, can feel the heat of his hand as he takes her wine glass, hears the clink of glass on wood as he puts it on the table. Feels his fingers on her cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Finn. Look at me.” 

So she does, opens her eyes and meets his, and it’s too much, it’s all too much, the way he’s looking at her like he can see her feelings, can read them as if they were written across her forehead.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles. “Like what?” 

“Like you like me.” The words are out before she can stop them, slipping from her lips like a sigh. 

“Finn.” He’s closer now, impossibly close, his hand on her cheek. “Finn, I more than like you.” 

“I—” Finn starts, but she doesn’t know what to say. 

She doesn’t know what this feeling is, the one taking over her chest and spreading to her stomach and traveling up her throat all the way to her eyeballs. It’s a headache and nausea at the same time, plus a sense of doom in her stomach, maybe the unconscious realization that this can’t last forever. 

Because feelings never do. Niall likes her now, likes her a lot, likes her enough to maybe kiss her against her dirty car in the parking lot fifty feet from their building. But that won’t last. He’ll like her for a bit and then he’ll like her less and less until nothing remains but the memory of the fire that used to burn, a bit of leftover smoke drifting skyward. 

And that’s when it will hurt. 

This will hurt, Finn thinks, but she jumps anyway. 

“Then kiss me,” she says. 

So he does, and in his kiss, for as long as it lasts, she lets herself feel everything: lets herself feel the sticky heat of summer and the sticky heat of a love so big it sucks you under, leaves you breathless, makes you hold on tight. 

She slides her hand into his hair and thinks, I will hold on tight. 

When it’s over, Niall pulls back, leans his forehead on hers. He’s breathing heavy when he says, “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.” 

“I want to do it again,” Finn says. She slides her fingers under the collar of his shirt. 

Niall’s hand tightens on her waist. “Is that the wine talking?” 

Finn shakes her head. “No,” she says. “It’s me. And I more than like you, too.” 

Niall grins, bright and beautiful. “Good,” he says. “You’re my perfect summer.” 

He leans in to kiss her again, and Finn decides, in that split second before their lips meet, that even if all she gets with Niall is a summer, it will be beautiful and it will be perfect, the stuff of novels. The stuff of her novels. 

But, something in her gut tells her, Niall will be around for more than a summer.

He does live right downstairs, after all.

[nad-zeta]

Hello, hello, hello! I loved your head canons about the warlords' ages and I wonder if you can write head canons of the warlords' profession, not in modern AU but the warlords deciding to go to the future with MC and well, the profession they would have!! Thank you so muuuuuuuuuch. 💕

Hi hi, love! 🌻Thank you sooo much for the ask! This is legit my third time writing this up, the first time I did this, I forgot to save the word file, and the second time my laptop crashed right after I finished writing it😭....... But finally, here it is🌻! I’m so happy you liked my HC, I hope you enjoy this one, and I hope you have a good day! ❤🔥

Headcanon: Warlords and their future jobs 

Nobunaga

I think the second Nobunaga arrives in the future he would become a businessman

He would start off small from your apartment, but within the month he will turn into the biggest corporate leader, having thousands of people working under him

He would spend the first few weeks just chilling in the future with you but soon start to get bored

He would also, low key feel like its wrong for you to be supporting both of you

He does some research on stock trading and then starts playing around with your life savings

Good thing for you, Nobunaga is a clever man, and he manages to triple the money in a week by playing around on the stock market

He uses the income made, to start a small business, which soon starts growing at the speed of light

This man will not be able to work for someone so I can definitely see him being the CEO of his own company

He will be the ruler of the corporate world in no time

It’s pretty funny how in the span of a year he has earned the old name he once carried in the past “Devil king.”

Masamune

This is a no brainer

Obviously he will be a chef

I think he would start off small like finding a job at a local café but then soon take the culinary world by storm

It started off when the two of you went to eat at one of your favourite cafes

He enjoyed the food so much, he couldn’t help but pop into the kitchen to thank the chef (◕‿◕✿)

The kitchen was absolute mayhem and the chef had told him that he was very short-staffed

And that is how Masa got his first future job

He worked in the café for a few months picking up experience and learning to use all the futuristic equipment

From there, he bounced around from place to place learning all sorts of cool culinary techniques

I think at the end of the day he will most likely open his own restaurant

One that specializes in authentic Japanese cuisine

Hell I wouldn’t be surprised if he opened a branch of the restaurant in Nobunagas company

Mitsunari

I can see this cutie angel being a teacher or professor

I think he would be a great academic and educator

I can actually, see this boi being a professor teaching all sorts of subjects from statistics to the art of war ヾ(●ε●)ノ

The first few weeks of being in the future with you, he spends in the library absorbing as much knowledge as possible

One day while he is sitting and reading up on every and any subject, he overhears a group of struggling professors at a nearby table

Apparently they had been trying to solve a certain equation for months now but to no luck (ﾉಠдಠ)ﾉ︵┻━┻

Mitsunari walks up to the group and cheerily asks if he can be of some assistance (◕ᴗ◕✿)

Usually the group would just laugh and chase the random stranger away but desperate times…

They hand Mitsunari the equation and this clever boi takes one look at it and starts writing out the answer

The math professors were sister shook… Like he didn’t even freaken, need a calculator (◯Δ◯∥)

They legit offered him a job as a lecturer and he soon becomes the students’ favourite absent minded professor (◕‿◕✿)

I think he will most definitely also publish a few research papers as well and contribute to the body of knowledge in all sorts of subjects

Ieyasu

Also super easy he will either be a vet or a doctor although I am leaning more towards veterinarian cause of his love for animals

He will most likely join Mitsunari in university, cause he is a super-smart porcupine he will become a certified vet in no time

Also spends the first few weeks of being in the future at the library absorbing as much medical knowledge as possible

He gets the idea of becoming a vet after watching a bunch of animal rescue shows on the national geographic channel 

While you are at work he starts volunteering at an animal rescue during the day to pass the time

That is where he met one of the vets that help out at the rescue in their free time, he legit liked Ieyasu so much he took him on as an apprentice, while Ieyasu was busy completing his studies

Later on he will most likely have his own veterinary practise

I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he starts his own animal rescue on the side as well

Within two years the two of you move to live on a big plot with all yours and Ieyasus rescued pets

Hideyoshi

Hideyoshi could go one of two ways hehe 

If Nobunaga comes to the future with yall then you best be sure this boy is ganna help Nobunaga rule the corporate world

Buuuut if it’s just the two of you, I 100% see him becoming a primary school teacher

Like he would just be so good with kids

He is basically trademarked as mama hen anyways, so why not put him in a primary school to teach lil chics

I think he would be such a good teacher, supportive, kind, and patient

He has enough practise lecturing Nobunaga for bad behaviour, so he might as well put that to good use correcting the behaviours of troublesome kids

He gets into teaching when your sister drops her kid off at your apartment to babysit

You had work, so the only one that could care for the child was, the mother hen himself

He sat and taught the little boy how to read and write, this impressed your sister so much that she recommended him for the position of substitute English teacher at her child’s school

At first Hideyoshi worked as a substitute teacher, but soon he became the designated aftercare teacher and within a few months he was teaching his own class

The children absolutely adored him although they would sneak behind the school building to eat candy cause, they didn’t want to get yet another lecture from Yoshi on the negative health consequences of their favourite sugary treats

Mitsuhide

100% detective (¬‿¬)

I mean can you just imagine how sexy he would look in a trenchcoat… like OMW (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The first few weeks of spending time with you in the future you introduce him to CSI and Law and order and he is super fascinated

You are so amazed by the fact that he can figure out who the perp is 5 minutes into the show

The crime in your neighbourhood was pretty bad, but since Mitsuhide’s arrival something crazy happened 

The crime seemed to disappear. 

Like no more robberies, no more drunks walking up and down the street, just peaceful quiet calm neighbourhood 

One day as the two of you were buying snacks for your CSI bingeing session, two armed men came into the convenience store 

You looked over at your lover who seemed completely unphased, like one of the robbers were legit pointing a gun in his face, yet Mitsuhide looked uninterested

Within a blink of an eye, Mitushide managed to disarm the men and tie them up 

The police were hella impressed with the way Mitsuhide handled things 

He helped the police department solve a few petty crimes in your neighbourhood and soon they started calling him up, to help them crack some difficult cases

After a while he becomes the most famous and popular detective in town

The government low key recruits him as an agent to help them

Kenshin

Again I don’t see Kenshin working for anyone

I think the first few weeks the two of you arrive, bunnies start following him around

Looks like the bunny lord is never safe from the love of the cute fluffy creatures 

The two of you will definitely be living on a bunny farm

Kenshin, although he doesn’t admit it, has a soft spot for the cute fluffy creatures 

So the bunny farm is actually more of a bunny rescue although that’s just his part-time job

As he adapts to the future, I can see the farm transforming into being a bunny and sake farm

Lol Kenshin loves Sake so much 

He knows how good sake should taste, so naturally he starts to make his own and sell it

This starts one day when a friend of yours invites the two of you to a sake tasting

The instructor was so impressed with Kenshin’s keen sense of taste that they got to talking and before Kenshin knew it, he had two people willing to sponsor him, to start his own sake brand

Naturally he never backs down from a challenge

He actually goes on to become the largest Sake producer and bunny rescue

Yukimura

I can legit see this boy doing something active like being a firefighter or gym instructor- cause lets be real this boi is ripped

Or actually maybe both

The first few weeks of being in the future he managed to save 2 peoples lives by fearlessly running in a burning building

The firefighters were legit so impressed they decided to take him on as an intern

He got some of the perks, i.e. free gym membership to stay fit

That’s when he started giving out a few pieces of advice to the people around him

“Like seriously dummy, don’t you even know how to do a proper squat, u legit ganna hurt your back if ya keep doing it like that.”

The members of the gym appreciated his advice so much, some of them started paying him to become their instructor, and soon the gym decided to hire him part-time

Now when Yuki isn't running into burning buildings saving people he is training people in the gym 

Best be sure he is gonna drag you to the gym with him

Shingen

Hehe I’ll admit I’m not too sure what this boi would get up to in the future

I think the first few weeks will be spent with you just adapting and getting to know everything

I think he would continue on with his carpentry

He kinda starts to notice your apartment is furnished in super cheap furniture

You tell him you are just a student in this time and don’t really have money to buy anything fancy

He buys a few cheap pieces of wood and starts furnishing your apartment with the most beautifully crafted furniture

Some of your friends visit the two of you and notice the remarkable craftsmanship and start commissioning him to make them some furniture

After a while he becomes the best carpenter in town

Goes on to open up a shop selling the different furniture he makes

I can see him hiring people in need, and that need a fresh start and then teaching them the trade to be able to make something of themselves

I can also see him volunteering at rescues and fostering bear cubs cause he misses his so much

I hope you enjoyed this dear and thanks again for the ask! ❤❤🔥🌻