#like the conveyor belts that move bags and shit like that

[lillybean730]

i like that crochet can't be easily replicated by machines like knitting can, it makes it feel more important that i can do it you know?

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Somehow the timing was just right, and Bradley's arrival meant he could join you for your appointment. He'd find out if he was having a son or daughter in person, with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget he loved so much.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, pregnancy

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Bradley," you gasped, head tipped back against the pillar that was pressing into your shoulder. "Your duffle is here. I can see it." Actually, it was just going around and around on the conveyor belt while Bradley sucked gently on your neck and slowly bunched the fabric of your dress in his hand over your bump. And just like that, once again, your focus drifted away from the bag as soon as he spoke.

"I'll get it in a minute," he murmured next to your ear. "I'm a little busy."

You were getting side eye from a woman, and a random man was outright gawking at you, but you didn't really care. The airport was busy, but it wasn't enough to make you pull your fingers from Bradley's soft hair or tell him to stop kissing his way back to your lips. His bristly mustache made you sigh when he reached his destination once again, and you let him taste your tongue before you pulled away slightly.

"Roo. We're kind of on a tight schedule." When he just grunted in response and headed for your lips again, you laughed. "Daddy! Let's go see the Nugget."

He seemed to snap out of it a little bit, the desire in his eyes giving way to excitement. "Right. Let's go. I can taste you everywhere at home later."

When he took you by the hand, you had to dig your heels in. "We need your bag!" you said with a smile. Then he led you in the opposite direction and snatched his massive duffle up like it was nothing and tossed it over his shoulder. You had to hustle along next to him as he exited the airport through the sliding doors and headed for the parking garage. It was like he knew you parked near the spot where he totaled your beloved little Honda when he finally got you pregnant on his birthday. You felt your cheeks grow warm as you recalled the details.

He must have seen his blue Bronco in the last row, because he picked up his pace a little bit more. "I don't think we have time for reunion sex yet," he muttered, glancing at you and letting his gaze dip down your body. "But I'll take care of you later. You got along okay without me?"

You let out a little squeak as he tossed his bag in the back and headed for the passenger side door so he could unlock it for you. "Honestly? I haven't been as insatiable since the first trimester ended," you told him, leaning closer to inhale the scent of his deodorant. "At least... I wasn't until right now."

He pulled you close again and tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. "Listen, I'm a little keyed up, and I don't think I can be quick. Can you wait until later?"

"Oh, God," you whined, your skin tingling at the thought of how long he might last for you and how good he would feel. "This is just as exciting as when I felt the baby moving on Halloween."

His brown eyes went wide, and his lips parted in surprise. "You felt the Nugget?!" When you nodded, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

You just gaped at him. "Seriously? You had your mouth all over mine! How was I supposed to tell you anything?"

"Shit," he hissed and handed you the keys before his hands settled on your belly, drifting around, trying to feel something. "You drive," he said, slowly guiding you to the other side of the Bronco. "I need to work on feeling a kick." 

As he buckled you in behind the wheel, you didn't have the heart to tell him that the baby wasn't even moving around much right now, or that it would probably be weeks before he'd be able to feel anything externally. He was too adorable when he was this excited, and you watched him run around the hood and jump inside like an overgrown golden retriever who had been offered a treat. His eyes were wide as he got himself buckled before placing both hands on your belly.

"Okay. I'm ready to go," he informed you with a nod.

"You sure?" you asked, smirking as you put the key in the ignition. "A minute ago, you looked like you were ready to have parking garage sex again, and now you're all over me and the Nugget."

You shifted into gear, and he whispered, "I'm ready, Baby Girl. I'm so fucking ready to learn what we're having, and if I feel a little kick on the way, it'll be like a cherry on top of the best day."

You paid the parking fee and pulled out onto the main road as you realized you only had about twenty minutes to get to Dr. Morris's office on time. "Don't get your hopes up," you said while Bradley felt you all over. "You probably won't be able to feel anything. It's still early for that."

"Hey, not to be rude, Sweetheart, but I'm actually going to need you to stop talking."

"What?" you asked, so startled you laughed a little bit. "Did you just ask me to be quiet?"

He kissed your cheek while you drove and whispered, "It's just that I can't tell if it's the vibrations from your voice or the baby moving. Please? I love you." Now you were laughing even harder as his big hands moved all around on you. "No, no, that's- see you're actually moving more when you laugh though." He kissed your cheek again as you rolled your eyes and smothered your laughter. "That's better."

When you pulled into the parking lot of the medical complex, your husband's fingers were stroking your belly gently, and when you parked again and looked at him, you saw a few tears in his eyes. "You okay?" you asked softly. 

"Yeah. I'm good. Like really fucking good."

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

Bradley was forever wondering when his luck would run out. His life just seemed too good to be true. He was holding hands with his hot, pregnant wife in the waiting room, just buzzing with excitement. In a few short minutes, he was going to find out if he was having a son or a daughter. He wondered if this was how his dad felt in 1984. He wondered if Nick Bradshaw ever wanted to randomly get on his knees for his wife for no reason.

"They called us," you whispered, kissing his cheek before you stood up. Bradley jumped to his feet as well, so deep in thought, he hadn't heard anything. He'd never admit it to you, but this was probably more exciting than the day the two of you got married.

He pressed his sweaty palm to yours and walked past the reception desk at your side. Three short hallways later, and a nurse led you into a large, dimly lit room with huge computer monitors on one wall. "I'm so fucking excited, I might pass out," he said, voice deep and raspy. 

The nurse eyed him cautiously. "Perhaps you should have a seat while Dr. Morris performs the scan?"

He nodded, intercepting the cotton gown before you could take it from her. "That's a great idea. I'll do that."

Once she was gone, Bradley turned to you and started unfolding the gown while you stepped out of your boat shoes. "Are you really going to pass out?" you asked him as you started to pull your sinfully snug dress up your legs.

"Let me do that," he grunted, kneeling on the floor and pushing the fabric up and over your belly. He kissed your tattoo through your underwear, and then he kissed the spot next to your belly button where he always imagined the Nugget was hanging out. "I love you," he whispered before getting to his feet again and pulling the dress up and over your head. You weren't wearing a bra, and your breasts looked so fucking incredible, he wanted them in his mouth.

"You're staring at me," you said, reaching for the gown as you shifted back and forth in place like you were getting cold. "I know I look different. I gained like eight or nine pounds while you were gone once I stopped throwing up all the time."

Bradley let you take the gown from his hands. "Jesus Christ, maybe I really should sit down," he muttered, dragging a chair over next to the table where you'd be sitting in a moment. "And I was just staring at your tits, Baby Girl. You don't look different, you look fucking hot pregnant. God, this is more exciting than when you let me fuck you in the ass."

And that was the exact moment when Dr. Morris entered the room and cleared her throat. "Lieutenant Bradshaw," she said, reaching out to shake his hand as he hovered awkwardly over the chair before standing up again. "It's so nice to have you back with us." You were cradling your head in your hand in embarrassment as he shook hands with your obstetrician.

"Dr. Morris," he murmured. "I only missed the last appointments, because I was deployed. There's nothing else that could have kept me away, I swear."

She laughed and looked between the two of you and said, "Well, we do like a supportive and adventurous partner."

"Roo," you groaned softly as you started to climb up on the table. Bradley turned to help you, and you let him.

"She's a doctor, Sweetheart," he whispered. "She's heard it all."

"That's true," Dr. Morris said as she washed her hands, and you gave Bradley a bland look as you settled back on the table which was bent at an angle that would let you see the monitors. He was so excited, he just kissed your forehead a bunch of times while Dr. Morris asked, "Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes!" he practically shouted while you responded in a much calmer tone. He eased himself down into the chair and looked up at you as he reached for your hand.

"This is it," you told him with a nervous smile. "Any final guesses?"

He shook his head, his attention drawn to the monitors as they came to life. "I don't care one way or the other. I just want to know everything I can about the Nugget." 

Then he took your hand in both of his bigger ones and brought your fingers up to his lips as you said, "Me, too."

Bradley's heart skipped around as Dr. Morris spread the warm gel on your belly, and he had to press his lips together to keep quiet. He'd imagined himself holding a son, and he'd imagined himself holding a daughter. He had thought about names he liked for both. He considered what wild colors he might one day paint the bedroom walls, and he looked forward to it. He thought he'd be good at being a basketball dad or a dance dad or a cheer dad or a soccer dad. And that's why it didn't really matter what Dr. Morris said today. It didn't really matter what his kid was into or not into, because the Nugget was going to be an extension of the two of you. Somehow that equated to perfection in his mind.

"Let's count some little toes," Dr. Morris said, and then Bradley squeezed your hand as two tiny feet appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit," he whispered. There were ten perfect toes on his perfect baby, and he had to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand as you laughed softly in awe. The Nugget would be smart and confident just like you were. Bradley would get the attic taken care of, and he'd put together the jungle gym. He would do every single thing that needed to be done to make a perfect home for this child. He would take care of you every day right now until he was taking care of both of you.

"Now let's check on the fingers."

Ten tiny fingers, attached to the cutest baby he'd ever seen in his life. Bradley took a deep breath and let his forehead rest against your arm as he tried to get himself under control. "Oh my God," he whispered, knowing he'd be able to count those toes and fingers in person next year. He could tickle them and send piggies to the market. He could kiss them and watch them toddle across the living room floor after Tramp.

"Let's just get a look at the heartbeat and a few other things here." Dr. Morris was taking her time, which Bradley appreciated. He liked a thorough doctor, but the anticipation was killing him. 

The heartbeat on the screen had you mesmerized when he looked at your beautiful face, but then you turned to look at him. Once again, he had no idea how he ended up this lucky. "I love you, Roo."

His already blurry vision just got worse as he sucked in a deep breath. "I love you so much." 

This time you brought his fingers up to your lips and kissed him as Dr. Morris added a little more gel to your belly and smashed it down with the ultrasound paddle. "Are you sure you want to find out the sex?"

"Yes!" you said, smiling at Bradley like you fucking knew you were his whole world. Like you didn't mind sharing him with the Nugget from now on. "We want to know!"

Bradley watched your face as you watched the monitor. His fingers on your wrist told him your heart was racing just like his was, and you were licking your lips in anticipation. You were perfect. His life was perfect. His baby was going to follow suit, no doubt about that. A smile found its way to his lips, and his shoulders relaxed, knowing that the next words he heard were going to be perfect, too. How could they not be?

"Congratulations. It's a girl."

The feeling inside his body was something he never knew before. He felt as much love as he had when he listened to you read your wedding vows, but this was something more. He was going to have a perfect little girl. Tears filled his eyes as he realized he was going to get to love and take responsibility for raising a daughter.

"Roo!" you sobbed, reaching for him, and then he was on his feet and kissing you.

"A girl," he said even as he mashed his lips to yours. "A daughter."

He wasn't sure if he felt his own tears or yours on his cheeks as you pressed your forehead to his and asked, "Are you happy?"

It took him a few seconds to get control of his voice as he held your face in his hands. "I'm living the life of my dreams."

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

Bradley had tears in his eyes and ultrasound images clutched to his chest as you led him outside to the Bronco. His free hand was clasped tight with yours, and you'd never seen him look so happy in your life. "A little girl," he said, handing you his keys once again, and you already knew what he was going to do when he buckled you into the driver's seat. "We're having a girl," he whispered, brown eyes wide as he kissed your wedding rings.

You nodded and wiped your thumb along his cheek. "It just makes sense somehow."

"It does," he agreed, kissing your lips before leaning down to kiss your bump through your dress. "I love this Nugget," he whispered. "My daughter."

You whined his name as he said those words, and when he looked up at you, all you could say was, "You're going to be the best Daddy, Roo." You thought about it all the time. The way he'd carry the baby around and read bedtime stories. The way he'd always be patient and sweet. You weren't sure if you'd always imagined a little girl or not, but it made so much sense right now.

"Let's go home," he rasped, kissing his way up from your belly until he got to your tender breasts. Technically you were supposed to work this afternoon, at least that's what you'd told Bickel. As Bradley ran around to the passenger side, you dug your phone out and texted your boss, letting him know that the baby was fine, and you'd see him on Monday. 

"What's wrong?" Bradley asked as you tossed your phone aside and started the engine.

"Nothing. Everything is right. I'm taking the rest of the day off so we can spend it together," you replied softly as his hands found their way back to your belly. It had been too many weeks since you'd been touched, and it felt so good, you had to press your lips together to keep from moaning. "I want to spend it with you."

He grunted and kissed the side of your neck as you pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm not letting my girls out of my sight all weekend."

"Bradley," you whined, feeling so much desire for him. The two of you could start talking about nursery decor and girl names and when you wanted to break the news to everyone else. You could do all of those things this weekend now that he was home. But you were also just needy for him.

You made a little noise as you tried your best to go the speed limit, and you knew that your husband knew what you needed. "I'll take care of you, Sweetheart. Don't worry about that. I'll take care of everything." 

He was tracing hearts along your belly, and you turned to look at his slightly lovesick eyes when you stopped at an intersection. "I know you will." You delighted in the fact that you were having a little girl who would get to share all of his love with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget, and pretty soon she would be showered in it too.

When you pulled into the driveway and parked in the tight spot next to your red Bronco, Bradley eyed the pallets of jungle gym pieces. "I can't fucking wait to build that thing. I've been dreaming about it for so long." Then he was jumping out the door as you shifted into park, and he was around to your side in an instant. "Been dreaming about this day for ages," he whispered as you climbed down and into his arms. His hands found your lower back as he added, "Been thinking about you and the Nugget since I left."

You smiled up at him. "You know what might be fun, Daddy?"

"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes on yours as he started to lead you up to the porch.

"If you start building the Nugget's playset tomorrow, and you get all sweaty and let me watch," you said, your voice turning into a soft whimper at the end. 

Bradley jammed the house key into the lock, and shoved the door open. He hooked one arm around your waist and pulled you inside with him as Tramp started jumping around like a maniac. "Hey, buddy," Bradley told him with a smile. "I missed you, too. But I need some time with my girls first."

"It's okay," you said as you closed the door behind you. "He probably won't calm down until you play with him a little bit."

But Bradley was pushing you back against the door even as Tramp ran around in circles. "Wait right here," he commanded softly, and lust rippled through you at the sight of his pupils blown wide. "Don't move an inch." 

You felt like you were barely even breathing as you stood very still and watched Bradley lead Tramp past the piano and out the back sliding glass door. "I promise I'll play with you next. I just desperately need to fuck my wife." Then he made his way back to you, his lips set in a determined smirk, and his movements beyond sexy. "I promised I wouldn't leave you hanging."

You closed your eyes as his palm came to rest on the wooden door just next to your head. His warmth was so close, but he wasn't touching you yet as you whispered, "You always take care of me."

His fingers started to pull up the hem of your dress as he crooned, "Why don't you go ahead and tell me how much you missed me."

You tipped your head back until it met the door, and you kept your eyes squeezed closed as you whined, "Couldn't go another day without you." When his lips met your cleavage, your eyes flew open. His lips grazed your nipple through the thin fabric as he slowly knelt in front of you, and you told him, "Your daughter and I missed you terribly."

When he looked up at your face, he pulled your dress up and said, "I'm so in love with you." He ran his lips along your bare belly. "And you." Then he pressed the bunched up fabric against your ribs, and when he said, "Hold this for me, Baby Girl," you did exactly as you were told.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Fuck," he grunted, rough hands on your thighs as he kissed your belly button. "Do you have any idea how perfect you are?" His eyes met yours again. "You asked me if I was happy. I've been happy since I met you. Since you gave me a purpose. Since you let me love you." His hands found the scrap of your white lace underwear and started to pull it down your thighs. "God, I missed this," he murmured, pressing his lips to your pussy as soon as you were free of the lace which slipped all the way down until your panties hit your boat shoes.

"Bradley," you croaked, the second syllable sounding much longer than the first as he licked his way up your slit to the patch of hair that you kept neatly trimmed. He licked along this same path again, this time pressing deeper with his tongue. The third time, he separated you a little more, and then he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked gently. All the while he kept his big hands on the swell of your belly. "I really missed you."

He responded by kissing your dainty rooster tattoo and burying his face in your pussy. Bradley gently nudged your legs further apart so he could taste you everywhere, and each time you started to buck, he pushed your hips back. You were gripping your dress so tight in both hands, you were afraid you might rip the fabric, but he just kept going in a smooth up and down stripe until you could tell you were dripping wet.

"Yeah, you missed me," he grunted, kissing your tattoo one more time. "I can taste how much."

"Roo."

He got to his feet and cupped your pussy below the swell of your belly, circling your opening with the tip of one finger as he leaned in close. "Will you let me take you to bed and show you how much I missed you?"

Your voice shook as he pushed his finger inside you, just a promise of what was to come if you agreed. "Please!"

Barely ten seconds later, you were on your back in bed, your dress pushed all the way up, exposing your breasts and belly to him. Your soaked pussy was already clenching as the cool air hit your skin, and you watched Bradley wrench his shirt off and unzip his pants. But he didn't penetrate you yet. He pushed on the backs of your thighs so your knees got a little closer to your shoulders, and you whimpered his name.

His eyes were a little wild as he said, "Yeah, I'll take care of everything, Sweetheart." Bradley wrapped his hands around your thighs and leaned down to kiss at your furled nipples, his mustache leaving you squirming, searching for release. "Your fucking tits are huge. My God. And so warm." 

He nuzzled himself against your breasts which were in fact getting to the point where your bras were fitting a little too tight. He sucked and swiped his tongue along, and you let your fingers sink into his hair as he brought you close with his mouth wrapped around one nipple then the other. "Oh my God," you panted, just spurring him on. Because next, his mouth trailed back down to your belly where he whispered and worshipped you.

"I love my girls," he crooned, spreading your legs open wider as you tugged on his hair to keep yourself grounded. "I love you so much."

"Please," you begged softly, and he finally put that mouth back on your soaking wet core. You were about to come, grinding against his lips and his nose, his name falling from you like a depraved prayer. Eventually he paused before filling you with his cock instead. You cried out as he stretched you fully for the first time in so long, and almost immediately he was fucking you to completion. You came hard, your back arching off the bed as you grabbed at his shoulders, but you knew he wanted his share, too.

Bradley fucked you through your orgasm, lips pressed to your ear so you could hear every word he said and every deep rumble at the back of his throat. "You were made for me, weren't you, Baby Girl? And I was made to worship you."

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

By the time Bradley came, he was sweaty and babbling like a lovesick idiot. Everything he cared about most was right there in his arms as you took him deep, always welcoming him into your sweetness. The relief he felt was incredible as he finally rolled onto his back, pulling you a little closer as he went.

"I'm gonna be a girl dad," he said with a smile as he looked at the ceiling through his post orgasm haze. "I can't wait."

The slick friction from his cum teased at his leg hairs as your pussy rested against his thigh, and you snuggled up against his chest. "Me too, Roo. I'm so excited to meet her." 

Your fingers teased along his abs, lulling him ever closer to an afternoon nap. He knew that one of you needed to let Tramp back inside, and he was going to have to scrape together something for you to eat soon. But right now, he didn't want to move.

"What happened with your deployment?" you asked softly as he yawned. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now when he knew you were carrying his little girl, but he should have known you'd have questions. 

"It fucking sucked. Being away from you gets harder and harder each time now. They kept tacking on more weeks of these random bombing runs, and the weather was miserable. We had to fly in the rain half the time."

He listened to you hum, contemplating what he said. "It was so scary when you got called to action in the middle of talking to me over FaceTime. I couldn't stop crying. And then it was weeks before some random guy in personnel called me to let me know you were on your way home."

It was hard to believe he was on that flight back to San Diego just a few hours ago. "Honestly, in all of the excitement today, that already feels so distant in my mind," he told you, kissing your forehead as he thought about how long he had been away from you. "We didn't really know we were heading home until it was happening. And it was so late here when we got released, they told me they'd have someone reach out so I didn't have to wake you up again. Then there was only one seat left on the first flight home, and once Payback and I were being airlifted to Hong Kong, they told us to decide who was taking that spot. He gave it to me, no questions asked. Told me to get home to you and the Nugget."

You gasped and murmured, "Reuben is the sweetest."

Bradley chuckled as his fingers grazed along the side of your bump. "Yeah, well, you actually owe him three dozen chocolate chip cookies. That was the only stipulation for the deal."

Your laughter made Bradley's smile grow. "Totally worth it. Actually, since you made it home in time for my appointment, I'll make five dozen for him."

"No wonder everyone thinks I'm spoiled," he told you, tugging on you until you were straddling his hips and looking down at him with your hands braced on his chest. "Fuck. Just look at you." 

His sticky cum was matted in your pubic hair, and your tits looked delicious. There was no way he'd be able to keep his hands away from you now that he'd seen and felt your little bump in person. His daughter was growing in there. He smiled and ran his palm gently over your skin, stroking you with his thumb as your pretty gaze stayed transfixed on his.

"I'm happy you're home, Roo."

He nodded, eye lids growing heavy from jet lag and the time zones, and he simply didn't argue when you kissed his cheek and said you were going to let Tramp inside and then take a nap with him. Soon enough, Bradley was snuggled up in bed with his head resting next to your belly and your fingers tangled in his hair. Your sweet voice lulled him to sleep for the best afternoon nap of his life.

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

This has been a very emotional day for Bradley. He's home with his hot wife, and now he gets to start planning for the arrival of their daughter in a few more months! Thank you so much for reading about the Nugget! More to come soon, including the first wedding anniversary! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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[zoeyslament]

The Airport

Summary: Mischa and Talia are united after years apart.

The plane landed after the longest, most tiring flight Mischa had ever endured. He yawned, blinking sleep from his eyes as he collected his things from the area around his seat. The nice older woman beside him smiled at him again. 

“Excited to see her?” She asked, adjusting the collar of her frilly blue blouse. Mischa nodded, standing to get his belongings from the overhead compartments. 

“We’ve been planning on this for nearly four years now. All this time, she’s waited for me.” 

“I can’t wait to see you one day, my Talia.” He whispered to her, listening to the soft purr of her breath, muffled by the internet that stood between them. It was late at night in Uranium City and Mischa was condemned to his foster parents’ basement, hair ruffled by the thick, cold drafts. 

“I will wait for that day if it means waiting centuries.” Her voice sounded like honey. Warm and soft and tantalizing sweet, everything Mischa loved about her tied into one simple part of her. 

“I’ll do the same for you.” He promised, sitting up on the paper-thin mattress, feeling the box spring squeak beneath him. “As soon as I get the money together, I’ll come back to Ukraine and-”

“You do not have to come back. It would be cheaper to meet me halfway.” 

And just like that, the plan was formed. 

“That’s so wonderful of you…” The woman chirped. “The world needs more young men like you, I’ll tell you that, Mr…?” “Bachinski. Mischa Bachinski.” He held out his hand. 

She gave his hand a shake, a surprisingly firm one at that, especially for such an old woman. “Just peachy to meet you. Now, go find your love!” She patted him on the back, and Mischa chuckled. Swinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, he dashed down the aisle, and into the airport.

“Welcome to London!” A stout, plump older man greeted him at the baggage claim. “You didn’t see? Bags’ll take a while longer, conveyor belt’s shit the bed!” He laughed, his stomach shaking. Mischa did not find this so funny. He scrambled to pull out his phone. As expected, there was a message from Talia. 

“Where are you, my love?” He read it aloud, typing back as fast as his fingers would allow. 

“Got held up at baggage claim. You?”

“I am not too far from there. Wait.” 

And he did. Ten minutes went by before a figure moved into his field of view. 

Feminine, no doubt about it. Tall, but not far above average. Honey-blonde hair tied up into a bun atop her head, perfect, rosy cheeks, and almond eyes the color of chestnuts. 

Talia. 

He knew it was her the moment he saw her. He threw his bag to the ground, and it landed with a thump on the dusty tiles of the floor. She threw her arms around him and he picked her up, holding her, spinning her as gracefully as a ballerina with years of dancing experience under her belt. 

It may not have been Ukraine, but as far as Mischa was concerned, where ever Talia was had to be his home

[cleoooelizabeth]

Hyunjin (SKZ) x Female Reader (Y/N)

Y/N is moving to South Korea and she is extremely nervous, until she bumps into Hyunjin…

Warnings: fluff, flirting, angst, racism (Hyunjin coming to your rescue, not that you need it). Also, I don’t know Korean so they will all speak English, just use your imagination lmao.

Chapter 1

Y/N steps off the plane at Incheon International Airport, Y/N breathes in the air as she truly begins to come to terms with the fact that she will be starting a new life, in a new country, and she doesn’t know anyone.

There’s no point in panicking yet, she muses, she hadn’t even left the airport yet. Y/N takes her time through the airport, knowing that her luggage would still be there even if she didn’t shove her way through the crowd like the rest of the seemingly distressed travelers.

Once Y/N arrived at the baggage claim, her pastel pink suitcase was still on the conveyor belt, as she predicted. Most of the crowd had cleared so she had no issues removing it from the belt. Y/N got her suitcase and her hand luggage situated comfortably before she turned to leave the airport. 

“OW!” Y/N exclaims as she walks face first into a solid wall-like object. She rubs her nose as she looks up at the intrusion, locking eyes with one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. Pulling her gaze away, she looks down at the smudge of foundation she knew would be on his brilliantly white shirt. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, let me pay for the dry cleaning or something. How much was the shirt?” She rambles.

“It’s Chanel. I don’t know if you’d be able to afford it. But don’t worry, I have more anyway.” He states.

“Cocky, aren’t we?” Y/N raises her eyebrow, her neck straining to see his face, which allows her to realize that they were still standing very close to each other. She hadn’t been able to back away after walking into him as the conveyor belt was behind her legs.

He smirks when he notices how nervous she is. “I’m Hyunjin, what’s your name?”

“Uh, Y/N.” It comes out almost as a whisper, he makes her breathless.

“Pretty name, for a pretty girl.” He compliments her, the smirk still pulling at his full lips.

“I better get going, I still need to pick up my keys. I’m moving into my new flat, in Hongdae, today.” Y/N says, her excitement obvious.

“Ok, but do you have any clue where you’re going?” Hyunjin asks, moving back a little.

“Not really, no. I was going to just book a taxi, I have the address.” Y/N states, pulling up the notes app on her phone and showing it to Hyunjin so he can save it in his GPS.

“Well I have a perfectly functional car and plenty of spare time if you’d like me to take you. Don’t want you wandering the streets of Seoul.”

“Ok, yeah. I mean, we just met… but I’m tired and you’re pretty. So yes, onward!” She exclaims, he laughs with her, admiring her waist length braids swaying with her hips as she walks ahead of him.

She stops suddenly, pivoting to face him again. “I just realised; I have no clue where your car is. After you, pretty boy.” She giggles. Hyunjin finds her even more adorable now, he didn’t think that was possible.

Once they reach the car, Hyunjin takes her luggage, putting it in the boot of the car with his own bag. He watches as she slips into the passenger seat, her knees bouncing as she waits patiently for him to get into the driver’s seat.

Hyunjin can feel her eyes on him as he starts the car, he places his hand on her head rest as he looks behind to reverse. He looks down and notices her breathing pick up slightly.

“You good? You look a little nervous.” He smirks, once again.

“I’m fine.” She clears her throat and faces the windscreen, hands clasped together in her lap.

‘He’s getting a kick out of this.’ Y/N thinks to herself.

“Ok well, can you put that address into the GPS app so I know where I’m driving.” He says as he unlocks his phone and passes it to her.

He focuses on the road as she types. “There.” Y/N declares as she places his phone into the holder on the dashboard. She then relaxes into the seat, however, her nerves are still obvious as her knee continues to bounce.

“You can relax, you know. I don’t bite.” He winks, suggestively.

Now all she can think about is him sinking his teeth into that sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. Her thighs squeezing together at the thought.

“How long will it take to drive there?” Y/N questions, a feeble attempt at distracting herself from this ethereal man.

“About an hour, with this traffic.” He answers without taking his eyes off the road.

His head twitches to the side when he hears your stomach rumbling.

“Sorry, I’m hungrier than I thought I was.” You say, with your hands covering your face in embarrassment.

“Ok, why don’t we stop along the way. I can take you to the best places so you can have the best first authentic Korean food experience, if you’d like.” He suggests.

“I’d actually like that a lot.” Y/N mutters with a shy smile.

After an hour or so, Hyunjin had parked the car next to a building that looked like no one had been there in years.

“Where the hell are we?” Y/N questions. 

“Here is where you will taste the best tteokbokki of your life.” Hyunjin replies, his face entirely sincere.

“Why are you doing this?” She questions him. “You’re being so kind to me, someone you just met.”

She watches his face as he thinks. 

“I know I don’t have to do this, but I liked your vibe from the moment I met you, so here we are.” He states. “Now come on.” He takes her hand and pulls her into the restaurant.

They sit opposite each other at a table close to the entrance.

“Yu-gi-yo!” Hyungin raises his voice slightly to get the waiter’s attention.

The waitress quickly walks over after hearing Hyunjin call them over.

“What can I get for you?” The waitress asks, sickly sweet.

It’s very obvious that she is attracted to him, I mean, who wouldn’t be? She notices, however, that his attention hasn’t left the woman he came in with.

“2 orders of tteokbokki, please.” He informs the waitress, his eyes still on Y/N.

The waitress exhales dramatically, walking away to place our order, once she realizes that he is entirely uninterested.

Y/N sits for a moment, feeling a little awkward. “You’re staring.”

“I prefer the term, observing.” He corrects her.

“Call it whatever you want, I just wanna know why you’re doing it.” Y/N huffs.

Hyunjin continues to stare at Y/N, entirely disinterested in her developing discomfort, but aware of her building arousal.

Fortunately, the food arrives before he could make the situation anymore tense.

“Go ahead, taste it…” He encourages her.

Y/N hesitantly takes a bite of a soft looking rice cake. Once in her mouth, her eyes nearly roll back into her skull, the flavour overwhelming her taste buds.

“You like it?” He asks, his facial expression hopeful.

“It’s delicious.” Y/N responds, her mouth still half full of tteokbokki.

“Of course, it’s a classic.” Hyunjin states as he shovels in a mouthful of his own.       

 

                

“My god, I don’t think I’ve ever been this full in my life!”

“So, you liked it then?” Hyunjin inquires.

“You knew I’d like it, who couldn’t? It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” Y/N replies with enthusiasm.

“Ok, well, if you liked that, I’m sure you can trust my opinion from now on, right?” He asks.

“I believe so, yes.” She replies.

“Then, follow me.”

And she does.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Part 1

Summary: Coming home from college for the summer, you expected your days to be spent reading in your bedroom and sitting through tense family dinners- but an old acquaintance had something else in mind for you.

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout

Author’s Note: I tried to write something new but I’m in a megafunk so I decided to just rewrite and improve upon an old series, it’s full official title is Only the Good Die Young 2: Electric Boogaloo (Die Harder). Yes this series has an underlying Billy Joel theme please don't ask me why because I do not know, I was obviously working through something 3 years ago.

---

‘Y/n! You look… healthy.'

Those were your mother’s first words as you walked through the door of your family home. She didn't exclaim how pleased she was to see you or ask how your flight was, no, instead she used her typical passive-aggressive euphemisms to subtly comment on your appearance.

This was going to be a long summer.

Initially you'd been adamant about staying in your apartment for the holidays, even on your own, cause all you wanted was peace and space. Then your parents threatened to cut you off if you didn’t come home so, here you were. You sighed and traipsed upstairs. Approaching your bedroom, you saw the bolt haphazardly screwed to the outside of the door, the one your father had installed years ago after catching you watching ‘ungodly’ TV shows in the living room at midnight.

Ah, coming back here always felt like plunging yourself back into the deep, ice-cold pool of childhood trauma.

Pushing the door open, you saw that your room had been redecorated. It looked fucking dreadful. You glanced up at the wall and a little bit of sick shot up the back of your throat when you saw the WWJD cross stitch, one of your mother's originals no doubt.

...a long, long summer.

—

Your first errand was grocery shopping. Typical of your parents to insist on you coming home for 'family time', only to then hand you a three-page chore list, the majority of which required you to leave the house. You took your time wandering around the store, making the most of your temporary freedom. Even obnoxiously bright fluorescent lighting and the sickly smell of cleaning products was preferable to that crucifix-coated prison.

Eventually you made it to the checkout and started unloading the cheap wine and raisin snacks onto the conveyor belt. The cashier offered the usual pleasantries but you found yourself distracted, wondering where the billows of smoke blowing past the front window were coming from. You tilted your head, trying vaguely to catch a glimpse of the cause, but soon got distracted as you had to try and recall your mom's PIN number.

Stepping outside with arms full of grocery bags, your eyes followed the smoke downwind. Mystery solved. Huddled on the corner of the sidewalk was a pretty big group of guys in leather jackets, most of them with cigarettes balanced between their fingers. It was a pretty intimidating sight. Usually you'd just avoid such an obstacle, crossing the road or just heading in an altogether different direction, but they'd managed to plant themselves directly in your only feasible path home. You just kept your head down, gripped your grocery bags tight and gave them a wide berth.

Your heart almost stopped when you heard one of them pipe up.

'Well holy shit, y/n?’

You turned towards the voice. James Barnes. The two of you went to high school together but, apart from the occasional stilted conversation and reluctant group project, you’d never really developed any sort of relationship. Besides, he always hung out with people your mother didn’t approve of.

And he was what, now? In a motorcycle gang? Figures.

'Hi, James. Good to see you.’ You mumbled, breaking stride momentarily. His friends seemed to find that funny.

'You too but, uh, people call me Bucky now.'

Nodding slightly, you gave him a polite smile before moving off again. You noticed your face beginning to feel warm and your stomach involuntarily tensing. Sure, he was more handsome and less punchable than you remembered, but you had no idea why being in his presence was making you this nervous. Hurried footsteps sounded behind you and in a second he was by your side, his stride syncing up with yours.

'You moving back to town?’

'No, just visiting for the summer.’

'Staying with your parents?'

'Mhmm.'

‘They still religious nut-jobs?’

You stopped and snapped your head round, in complete shock at the brazenness of his questioning.

'I’ll take that as a yes.’ Without taking his eyes off you he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placed one between his lips and lit it. ‘Guessing you won’t be having much fun this summer then.’

'Not your kind of fun.'

He scoffed slightly at that, his face changing into something resembling pity. ‘Man, you Catholic girls start much too late.’

‘I don’t think I asked for your opinion, James.’ Your words came out much softer than you anticipated, barely a mumble. Not the kind of back-off-or-else warning you were aiming for. He was really getting under your skin.

'You didn’t, but I’ll give you another.’  

You raised an eyebrow, watching him blow a cloud of smoke over your head, your stomach now contorted into a tight knot. Against your better judgement you waited for him to carry on.

‘I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints,’ he stepped closer, bringing his lips to your ear and whispering, 'cause the sinners are much more fun.’

—

You dropped the shopping on the counter. The whole way home you hadn’t been able to get James Barnes out of your head, hadn’t been able to stop picturing his smirk or imagining his warm breath on your ear. For some reason you wanted to know more about him, wanted to find out what kind of reputation he'd made for himself while you'd been away, and if anyone had information it’d be your mother. She knew everything about everyone in this godforsaken town. Sitting down for dinner, you seized your opportunity.

'I saw James Barnes at the grocery store today.’

She abruptly dropped her knife and it hit her plate with a sharp clang, making you jump.

'You stay away from that boy,’ she punctuated the words with her fork, which was pointed directly between your eyes, 'he’s trouble. Him and his gang.’

You hated the way she spoke to you sometimes, like you were a child.

'He seemed nice enough.’

‘That’s how it starts,’ your father piped up, ‘then before you know it he’s got you hooked on drugs, living in a trailer, pregnant with his deviant child.’

'Amen.'

And that was the end of that conversation. Your father didn't say much but, whenever he did speak, your mother responded to his slow, dreary words like he was reading a new passage from the gospel. One thing you'd never wanted for yourself was a relationship like theirs, a loveless, bitter husk of a marriage with a biblical power imbalance and nothing left to say to each other. It was terrifying to think that you used to model yourself on them. They had you completely brainwashed before you left for college and, even now, some of their intrusive religious dogma still lingered in your subconscious.

You excused yourself upstairs as soon as dinner was cleared up, ready for your first day back in this hell-hole to be over.

—

Sunday. The priest had been droning on for god knows how long but you'd given up concentrating, his dull voice beginning to sound like a janky old extractor fan whirring behind the altar. You stood, sat, stood, kneeled and sat along with everyone else, singing and praying whenever prompted. This, every Sunday for ten weeks, was going to be torture.

It must've been a couple hours into the service when you felt yourself nodding off. Your shoulders relaxed and your head suddenly felt too heavy to be held up by your neck, you'd barely slept on your mother's concrete mattress the night before and this pew felt heavenly soft in comparison. Just as your eyes started to flutter closed, something startled you. It startled the whole congregation. The droning from the altar stopped and heads turned towards the door, where the disturbance seemed to be coming from. It sounded like a shuddering motorbike engine. Then another joined. In a couple of seconds the entire church was filled with an echoing cacophony of backfiring engines. Someone at the back stood up and ran to the door. There was some shouting and laughing before the noise eventually began to move away, fading into the distance. Looking around, you saw a sea of indignant and sour faces, a thick tension hovering in the air.

‘And that,’ your mother hissed through clenched teeth, ‘is why you don’t go near James Barnes and his friends.’

You had to suck in your cheeks to smother your laughter, nodding insincerely at her words. James’ voice echoed in your head…

The sinners are much more fun.

—

A few days had passed since the biker-blasphemy incident but you were still struggling to shake off James Barnes. You never thought you'd be one of those people who fawned after someone so obviously bad for them, you liked to think you were more sensible- but here you were.

You checked yourself in the mirror one last time before heading out. It'd been years since you had to conceal your actual outfit under the Amish garb your father insisted on you wearing but, by now, you were a natural at it. Once you'd broken free from your parents' Jesus programming you'd developed a great number of secretive techniques that allowed you to lead a semi-normal life without their knowledge, it was just depressing that you were having to employ them again this many years later.  

Your friend broke into hysterics when she opened the door and spotted the Yahtzee your mother had stuffed under your arm as you stepped out her front door.

'Is that your cover for the evening?'

'Yep,' you unceremoniously dropped the box in the hallway, 'I figured board game night at Ray's house sounded better than sloppy degenerate party at Ray's house.'

'I know which I'd prefer to be at.'

You smiled, embracing your old friend in a tight hug. 'I just gotta go de-Christian in the bathroom.'

'Is your dad seriously still telling you what to wear?' You nodded at her, rolling your eyes. 'Jesus Christ.'

'Don't get me started on that asshole.'

You stashed your bag of ugly rags alongside your mom's Yahtzee and began wandering from room to room, checking if there was anyone else there you recognised. Nope. Usually you'd just sip some liquid courage and start introducing yourself to anyone who looked friendly, but you knew if your parents smelled even a whiff of alcohol you’d be locked inside all summer, so you just skulked to the kitchen and opened a can of diet coke.

Just as you were beginning to question your decision to attend a house party stone-cold sober, there was a hard tap on your shoulder. You spun round to see James Barnes’ stupid wide grin.

‘Hey there, Church Mouse.’

‘James.’

Being nonchalant seemed the best approach here. You convinced yourself that you were just being intentionally aloof and sexy but, in reality, your parents' words had sunk deeper into your subconscious than you'd ever care to admit. Your wild attraction to this guy still wasn't enough to outweigh the suspicion they'd distilled in you.

'You enjoy your church service on Sunday?' James brought his beer bottle to his lips, smirking around it as he took a sip. 'Heard it was a rager.'

‘Would've been over a lot quicker without your interruption, you make a habit of pissing off strangers for fun?’

‘Nope. Just thought it’d be nice to welcome you home.’

Oh, that whole thing had been for your benefit? Interesting.

Your stomach started to flutter. A light tingle slowly made its way down your spine as you tried desperately to figure out whether he was genuinely trying to show some kind of vague interest or whether he was just mocking you, or even flirting with you for a bet. Your eyes searched his for any hints, your mind was racing faster and faster and you started to panic as you realised that you'd been standing there staring blankly at him for far too long.

‘You don't think it was a little obnoxious?'

‘Ah y’know,’ he leant against the counter, folding his arms, still grinning at you, 'we were just having fun, didn't hurt no one.’

You glanced away for a second in an attempt to smother any kind of smile, but he then bit his lip slightly and your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest. There was a second of lingering silence between the two of you, broken only by your embarrassingly loud gulp as he pushed himself away from the counter, took a swift step towards you and jutted his hand past your waist. His face was hovering no more than a couple inches away from yours. There was a quiet clink as he picked up a fresh bottle of beer from the surface behind you, a faint whisper slipping through his lips before he moved away.

‘Call me Bucky.’

A few hours passed, you'd built up the courage to chat to a few people but all the other guests were now reaching the point of drunken incoherence. It wasn't long before you decided you were no longer having a good time. After trudging around for ten minutes trying to find Ray, who turned out to be blowing chunks in the upstairs bathroom, you decided that a sneaky exit through the back door was the best course of action. You could always just gaslight her into believing she was too drunk to remember your emotional, prolonged farewell.

The glass patio door slid open and closed subtly enough but, while you were so busy focusing on not getting spotted, your clumsy ass managed to unceremoniously trample over someone’s feet.

James.

Of course it was. Brilliant.

He was finishing off a cigarette, his amused face fixed on yours as you gracelessly righted yourself. Laughing to himself, he held out the pack to you, but you shook your head.

‘Leaving so soon?’

‘Yeah, not much fun being the only sober person in the room.'

'So have a drink.' He shrugged before clocking your gloomy expression. 'Ah, I get it. Where'd they think you are?'

'Board games night.'

A deep chuckle vibrated through the still night air as he crushed his cigarette butt under his boot. 'That probably would'a been more fun than this mess.'

He nodded slightly, gesturing over your shoulder; you looked back through the glass to see two girls lying on their backs, trying to drink from beer bottles they were holding between their feet.

'Fair point.'

‘So, you wanna go somewhere else?’

Your heart stuttered at his question. You struggled to form a reply, gazing at him wide-eyed. 'I don't- I mean-'

'S'alright, I know the deal,' his arms folded across his chest, 'your mom told you all I could give you was a reputation, right?’

'Something like that.'

'Well, I wouldn't mind proving her wrong, if you'd let me.'

You couldn’t hold back your smile any longer, his eyes lighting up when he spotted it. Shrugging faintly, you scurried around trying to find something witty and attractive to say, something other than I think I might fucking love you.

'How about another time? I should really get home.'

A smirk dawned in the corner of his mouth, you couldn't tell if he was onto you or if he was just always this laid-back. The dull thunk of boots against patio brought his face intimately close to yours once more.

‘Come out with me tomorrow.’

---

Part 2

---

[fuck-customers]

I don't get why people don't understand the conveyor belt moves. i can't tell you how many people put their bread on the belt while they're trying to put heavy stuff up front, and then get mad cause they have to keep shoving the bread to keep it at the end. just. just stop, put it on the metal piece that doesn't move or wait till you've got your other stuff up!

I like to watch people move it back and move it back and more it back. My highest count is 40 something times before they yelled "STOP THE FUCKING BELT ALREADY!" and I just say "it stops automatically when it reaches the end. They put a can down to stop it and I scanned the can and bagged it. I have to get my fun in somewhere don't I?

The ones that I hate, I mean truly HATE more than a hot poker to the eye hate are the fuckheads that get so irrationally pissed off if the belt is broken and they have to slide all their shit up because they insist on putting it as far away as possible and try to make us stretch for it. Sorry Karen they don't pay that much here. I can wait till you're ready to leave.

-Rodney

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

A Rather Magical Super Sexy Secret

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 711

Summary: Dieter surprises you with a magazine photoshoot, except he forgot to tell you about it

Warnings: a sexy photoshoot and the consequences when that happens

Check out masterlist here

While waiting at the supermarket checkout, you were aimlessly checking over your shopping list. Everything was checked off, but your brain just had to check again. And they had Dieter’s favourite snacks on special, so you decided to get extra. He’d been working really hard the past few weeks, mostly coming home late, only able to kiss you goodnight before completely zonking out. Tonight, you decided to treat him to a nice hearty dinner as you rightly assumed he hasn’t been able to eat properly. Your double-checking reverie was interrupted by a bunch of girls twittering like harpies.

“Oh my god, look how hot he is!”

“I want to be his controversial young girlfriend!”

You rolled your eyes and looked over to the offending culprits, but you stopped when your eyes caught the object of their desire: starring back at you from a magazine was the face of your boyfriend. It felt like you were suddenly hit in the face with a shovel. Before you got buried in six feet of confusion, your attention was called by the checkout in front of you becoming free. Again, Dieter’s face was staring at you from the magazine rack in front of you, so you decided to add one to your conveyor belt of purchases.

The checkout lady looked at the cover of the magazine while she scanned it. She had that look like one would to an indulgent bar of chocolate.

“Mmm, that is a man right there,” she said, “I’d like to cover him in whipped feta, feed him pomegranates and use him like a fine charcuterie board!”

Well that was a new, certainly interesting one.

You thanked her as you grabbed your grocery bags. As soon as you got in your car, you opened the pages of the magazine. You were greeted with arms. Very well-defined arms. You saw Dieter’s arms every day and you knew he’d been working out a bit more lately, but this felt like you were looking at your boyfriend with newly replaced eyeballs.

You quickly shut the magazine and threw it in your tote bag before it burst into flames, sending you into the fiery lusty hell you were currently feeling.

Dieter greeted you when you pulled up your car in the driveway. He seemed more well rested, and he just had to be wearing one of his Henley shirts. You hated those shirts purely because they made every muscle of his fine body stand out which you certainly did not need right now.

And now he was helping you carry in the groceries, making his arm muscles stand out even more. You could not stop staring at them. You would walk into a pole if there was one for how much you kept staring at his arms.

You followed him into the house, and he lifted the bags onto the kitchen counter, making his shirt ride up a little, giving a peek at his cute tummy.

“Actually, could you put the bags over there?” you asked him.

He replied with a nonchalant shrug and moved them over to the other side of the kitchen. You followed his arms, mesmerised at the material of the sleeves stretching and straining out.

“Sorry, I meant over there,” you said, almost hypnotised.

Dieter put the bags back onto the other counter and swooped in to pick you up, breaking you out of your state. “What is up with you honey cakes? You’ve been staring at my arms since you got in.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Why didn’t you tell me about the photoshoot?”

The realisation slowly spread over his face. “Oh shit, that’s out already? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

He slowly placed you back to the earth, apology written all over him.

“It was a surprise, a nice surprise,” you pulled the magazine out of your tote bag and showed him. “I mean damn, I see you naked all the time, but this…” you started to fan yourself with it.

“Wow, you really are swooning” he moved, ready to pick you up again, “Have I made you weak in the knees?”

“Not yet. Did they let you keep the boots?”

“Oh, I got to keep everything.”

“Okay, now I’m weak in the knees.”

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @brilliantopposite187

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble - 26/09/23

Prompt: Hey, that’s mine

c/w: mentions of foster care. No mention of abuse, just tagging to be on the safe side.

****

He doesn’t have many things from when he was still living with his parents. Some books, mostly ones he stole from libraries as they moved around, which he still feels bad about. A couple of tapes a friend made him, a friend from one of the many schools he’d been enrolled in and yanked out of. He doesn’t have anything to play them on, maybe the new place will.

He has a snow globe his uncle gave him years ago. Wayne, his dads brother. He only ever met him once. Eddie had been maybe five or six, he can’t truly remember, but the guy seemed nice and he brought him the little snow globe with Santa and a reindeer and a Christmas tree. He’s maybe too old for shit like this now, but… it’s his and he doesn’t have many things. He packs it in his small bag, alongside the books and the tapes, a few T-shirts, a pair of jeans and his underwear.

His social worker found him a new foster home. He feels like he’s on a conveyor belt, going from one home to another until he gets old enough and can just leave. He has six years before he ages out but he’ll just take off as soon as he can. Fuck ‘em. You can’t rely on people, his dad always said that, look after number one and don’t trust anybody.

Eddie had trusted his dad and he shouldn’t have.

He trusted Cody. He shouldn’t have trusted him either.

His Mom’s silver chain with the little cross, that was his too, until Cody fucking stole it. That one was precious, tucked deep inside a pocket in his bag, which meant Cody went through all his shit to find it. And maybe it was spite, maybe it was fear because of what they’d done, but it was special. It was his, and Cody had no fucking right.

They fought. Bruises and bloody noses and like always Eddie’s the one in the wrong, Eddie’s the bad influence. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Always fucking Eddie.

His social worker takes his bag, again with the pretending to give a shit, and he’s marched out of the house, past all the other boys staring at him, smirking at him. He stares at Cody and Cody stares back and for a second he thinks the other boy will hand back the chain. Cody flips him off before smiling and Eddie hears his dad again, don’t trust anybody.

He’s sitting in the back of the car, wondering where he’s going next, how much more of his shit is he going to have stolen or broken at the next place. How many more fights is he going to get in. The social worker turns around, looks at him in the backseat, smiles at him. He hasn’t got it in him to smile back.

“We think we’ve found your uncle.”

[mino2aur]

the cartoon fuckup that happened to me a while back

This is not supposed to be a story. I feel this thing that happened to me would be best captured in an oil painting by a sexually repressed Renaissance master, perhaps taking inspiration from the tale of Icarus. I don’t have a canvas on me, however, so you will have to make do with your imagination. Usually I only write horror stories, so I apologise if the tone is not sufficiently comedic. It was a difficult time.

If you are picturing me in your mind, please imagine a 5 '7 twink with bad skin and an inexplicable emo haircut.  I am in college. I am generally considered old enough to know better. On this particular day, I was making a stop at Toronto’s Union Station on my way to school. I was operating on several prescription drugs, some of which were working and some of which were not. I was also operating on about four hours of sleep. I was carrying three large bags containing most of my worldly possessions. We arrive at the station on a platform that I do not recognize. The announcer says we will be making a thirty minute stop here and then continuing on to where I need to be. I am also running on an empty stomach, so I disembark and take an escalator down to the food court within the station. This is where the first domino fell.

I purchase some mcdonalds. For those keeping score at home, I am now carrying four bags and a beverage. I return to the place where I dismounted from the escalator, only to discover, horrified, that there is not an “up” escalator to be seen. It’s a very large train station, you see. Lots of corners. Lots of places that an escalator could hide. I look around for a very literal moment before giving up almost immediately. 

“Well,” I think, “maybe this is a one-way type situation. What if I’ve fucked up and I wasn’t supposed to get off the train? That would be bad. This is the only train on this line today.”

Something is forming in my mind. The dominoes are falling faster now. 

“Well, here’s an idea!” says a voice in my head. “What if we just go up the “down” escalator?” 

Oh boy! I’m sure that can’t go wrong!

So, with the chorus in my head being uncharacteristically supportive, I begin to climb the escalator. 

When was the last time you did this? Not with the intent of actually making it to the top, I imagine, just out of curiosity. If you have climbed a few steps and then ridden back down, chuckling to yourself, you are the backwards escalator’s equivalent of a tourist. You know nothing of what I have seen. 

The motion is similar to a stair-climbing elliptical machine, if you and the stairs were in combat. The conveyor-belt handrail is unfortunately your only ally, and it is also moving the wrong way, so you had better be fucking quick. After about three steps, I was struck by motion sickness as my body reacted to the strange non-movement I was trapped in. I was also struck by the thought that someone had seen me. This in turn made me paranoid that when I inevitably fell off and broke my neck I would be recorded in a viral tiktok, potentially titled “F4gg0t Gets Una1ived on Escalator 😂”, and they would have to write “Escalator Faggot” on my tombstone. The danger of my task was beginning to dawn on me. 

I was on the second step to the top when disaster struck. This is the point where I need you to visualise it. I tripped. 

Picture me, silhouetted by the sun, bags strewn about me like wings, so close and yet so far. I lose three steps of progress and slam my knee into the escalator. If you only ever pay attention to a single time I compare myself to Jesus, let it be this one. I was in a biblical level of pain here. They should add escalator injuries to the banned shit in the Geneva Conventions. They should add me to the Victims of Communism memorial. 

I may be an escalator faggot, but I’m no quitter. I began pushing harder. The mcdonalds beverage is spilling onto my arms and bags, because I am clutching it like that lady clutched that banana in that Friday the 13th movie. You know the one. 

I made it to the platform, eventually. In spirit, I feel I may always be on that escalator. I sat on the concrete floor for about five full minutes, as the doors to the train were closed. I got on via the accessibility platform, followed by the announcer, who politely informed me that the doors could have been opened by pressing the button located next to them. This knowledge would have saved me from walking about two train cars. I thanked him profusely, because I know what he saw and I need him on my good side. I would also like you all to know that I only cried a tiny little bit.

This happened about two weeks ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. It returns to me at night, during intimate moments, when my lover runs their fingers up my leg and pauses at three, evenly spaced scars on my knee, and quietly wonders what I had done to receive them.

[woo-wahhhh]

[ bestest friends forever–; in which you muse about how mr. bff haitani rindou will always put your seatbelt on for you (and how his hair looks like artificially coloured taro milk tea) ; ever so slightly ooc ]

to rindou’s utter annoyance, the fact that he always puts your seatbelt on for you is amusing to you– you would even go so far as to say it was the funniest thing about your entire life, and no matter what he did, it would never change that fact.

it made matters worse when you would find yourself waiting for him to put your seat belt on when you were with your friends, to which someone would have to remind you to make sure you were buckled in.

“that’s on yourself,” rindou said pointedly when you told him of your latest fuck up, a cat-like smirk that was reminiscent of his older brother curling up on his face, making fun of you as he trailed behind you in the local grocery store. “how is it my fault you don’t remember?”

“because you’ve coddled me so much that i keep making that mistake!” you whined. there was no reason that you were badgering him about this, actually. you just wanted to see his reaction. “ah, and grab some sugar off that shelf, would you?” you gestured idly towards the shelf of sugar whilst pulling your shopping cart.

he hummed quietly, obliging as he rolled his eyes. “again, i don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“what part of you instigating a bad habit is not your fault?”

“the part where it’s not my bad habit,”

“smartass,”

“loser,”

“asshole,” you bit back, “wait, that’s the wrong brand,”

“shit, my bad,”

“loser,”

“i already said that, dumbass,” rindou rolled his eyes once again, but he let out a laugh anyways. “make up your own insults,” he teased before putting the right package of sugar down. “is that all you need?”

“yeah, that’s all, but would you rather me call you a blind as fuck bat?” you quipped, briskly making your way to the check out (as much as you complained about rindou’s driving habits, you were civilized enough to make sure you weren’t wasting his time since he was kind enough to drive you).

“do your worst,” rindou snorted. “all i hear is a chihuahua yapping in the background– ow!” several heads turned towards his yelp, but you moved forward to get checked out as if you hadn’t purposefully ran the cart over his toes.

“i don’t want to hear that from a guy who looks like he got dipped into some taro milk tea,” you quipped, politely smiling at the elderly cashier who looked positively amused as rindou let out an offended gasp. (you ignored him, of course— the groceries wouldn't trot up to the conveyor belt on their own, now would they?)

"how dare you," his voice was dripping with fake offense but if you were being real, he probably liked his hair a lot (though he wouldn’t admit it), judging the way his violet eyes narrowed at you when you stifled a laugh. "this is a great hair colour,"

"it was, until i realized i could colour pick the shade off of a photo of you and easily use it for a doodle of taro milk tea." you clapped your hands together childishly once all your things were on the conveyor belt and ready to be paid for, holding up a victorious peace sign at him.

you expected him to childishly argue back as you usually did– after all, you and rindou were as chaotic as two people could possibly be. yet with one hand braced on your shoulder, lightly holding you back as he reached over your shoulder to tap his credit card on the machine, swiftly so your hand couldn’t even grasp his wrist to stop him.

your cheeks flushed– because what was more attractive than not having to spend a single bill on overpriced groceries? still, you were a civilized person, and you spun on your heel, gasping dramatically like he did just minutes before.

“rindou! why did you pay for me–?”

rindou put a finger to his lips, ignoring your nagging as he grabbed your tote bags and started putting your groceries in a bag. “just get moving,”

“you’re doing that wrong, you know, you’re not supposed to put the bread in first,”

“hm? why?”

“it’s gonna get squished, you idiot, no one wants squashed bread,” you muttered, grabbing the bags from his hands.

“ahh,”

you were grateful for his kindness, you really were, but unfortunately, rindou forgot you were adamant on paying him back (because of your pride). and that with every act of kindness you suddenly wished your parents raised you to be an ungrateful little brat.

maybe bank loans would not be what fucked you over in the future, maybe it would be the growing amount of money you owed him that would do the trick.

but you moved like clockwork anyways, quickly packing up and letting him stroll out with the cart as you trailed behind him, swinging the bread back and forth.

“you need to stop being nice to me, rindou,” you said as he opened the trunk. “there’s no way i can pay you back for everything,”

“like i said,” he huffed, eyes rolling as he got into his car, letting you put all your purchases in at your own pace, “it’s fine. i have nothing to do with all this cash anyways.”

“oh, to be rich,” you mourned dramatically, throwing your hands up with such a flourish that he wanted to roll his eyes further into his skull so he could just not see your bullshit. “i want to be that rich one day. you know, maybe if i drop out and join your crime buddies i’ll get some actual cash– hey, maybe ran could get me a matching suit with you guys! wouldn’t i look cool? oh, but i’ll have to opt out from the taro hair.”

“first of all, shut up. second of all, not everyone can pull off this hair colour–,”

“woah, i can’t believe you indirectly complimented ran. i should text him–,” you exclaimed when you hopped into the front passenger’s seat, only to be rudely cut off.

“what part of shut up didn’t register in your brain, (name)?” rindou sighed, feeling his patience get tested when you simply offered him a coy grin. “for the record, i’m saying you’ll look hideous with this purple–,”

“–hey–!”

“–but regardless, just don’t drop out.” your lips parted to shoot back another grumbling protest, but seeing the almost genuinely thoughtful look on his features had you freeze. even through the messy purple bangs that often hung right over his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t fooling around. “i don’t want you to pay me back with money,” he said quietly, “but since i know you don’t like not paying back your debts, why don’t you just... pay me back without cash?”

“which would be?” you deadpanned at him, tone dry and disbelieving.

“i dunno,” rindou said. “just anything that doesn’t cost money, really. like make me food– you know i’m shit at cooking.” as he spoke, he suddenly leaned over you, an action so familiar that you hardly even flinched when he reached over you to grab your seatbelt. as quick as it was, however, it sent your heart into a frenzy, from the way you could smell whatever scent he used and the fact that you could tell his hair had grown a tad longer.

“you want me to pay you back for the groceries you pay for by making food out of them,” you repeated slowly, despite your slightly flustered state.

“yeah, think of it as... as an investment, i guess,”

“i think that one colleague of yours is rubbing off on you. i never thought you’d be smart enough to use such big words!” your melodramatic gasp did not go over his head as he reached over to (lightly) bonk your head.

“why is it that you can never take anything seriously?” rindou lamented to himself as he began to drive. "i'm trying to make a point and all you get out of it is–,"

"that you worry about me with that taro ass head of yours to no end and that i should stay in school no matter how shitty it gets, yes?" your smile was cheeky in nature as you leaned back into your car seat.

"i mean, y—,"

"my oh my," you mused, you grin stretching ear to ear as he turned to you with growing annoyance etched upon his features. "i have rindou-care privileges now, huh? look at me go!"

"i'm fucking retracting it," rindou grumbled, his fingers tightening on the driving wheel (don't worry, he's too used to your bullshit to even give a shit). "go find a different care package,"

"huh? nooooo," you dragged put your words, the sound of your childish laughter streaming through the windows. "this is the only care package that makes a point to put my seat belt on for me!”

“too bad, cuz’ i’m not gonna do it anymore,”

“is that so?”

“mhm,”

you made it a point to lean in front of rindou’s face once you stopped at a red light, a delighted grin on your lips as you spoke. “i still remember the first time you did it for me,”

that caught his attention, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly with a sliver of intrigue before quickly focusing on the road. it didn’t conceal that little bit of intrigue, however, seeing as his finger impatiently tapped against the steering wheel. “does it look like i care?”

“you know, for a guy who says he doesn’t care, i sure remember you saying you wanted me to be the first person in the first car you’ve ever bought.” that’ll do it, won’t it? you thought, you’ll look at me, won’t you?

and he did.

purple eyes widened with some sort of surprise that you could only liken to a child being caught in the act of opening a cookie jar. of course you couldn’t help but giggle.

“don’t you remember? you were so fed up with me fiddling with the seatbelt that you just did it yourself!” you were too busy laughing to notice the faint blush across his cheeks as he grit his teeth. 

“... i didn’t want my new car to get ruined,”

“rindou, your car’s like what, 3 years old now. you still pull my seatbelt for me,”

“well, do you hate it?”

“now where did you get that idea?”

“okay, so you don’t hate it and so i don’t see the problem with me pulling your seatbelt for you.” yes, rindou was getting mildly impatient, especially with how hot his face felt in comparison to the grumpy poker face he had managed to retain but just before he could reach out and bonk your head again, a car honked from behind.

rindou cursed. how frustrating.

“don’t get mad,” you chuckled simply, smiling as you leaned your head against the window– a complete contrast from him, whose eyebrows were angrily furrowed, and spewing curses. “i’m just teasing you. i know you care,”

“no, i don’t. your care package got retracted, remember?” rindou glared at you.

“i’ll buy a new subscription with food. or bubble tea– they have a buy one, get one deal at this new place since it just opened up, wanna go?” his lips parted to let out another annoyed quip, but the sight your ever-so silly, smiling face had him reconsider. 

for a brief moment he studied you, the way your eyelashes fanned against your skin when you smiled, especially when you smiled like you were the happiest. sure, he was a bit of an insensitive monster, but not so insensitive that he would bark out yet another snarky remark and ruin that smile. 

no, he treasured that smile too much to do so.

“sure,” rindou replied, finding a smile on his lips as well, “let’s get some taro milk tea,”

“huh? you can get that, i wanted grapefruit green tea,”

“you kept talking about taro, how was i supposed to know you wanted grapefruits?” 

“i dunno, you’re my bestest friend forever so i thought you would know?” with the way his eye twitched you couldn’t tell whether it was your silliness, your bullshit or both that annoyed him. all you heard was him muttering something about “just being best friends”.

“fine, fine,” rindou sighed, “let’s get you some of that grapefruit shit.” his nose scrunched up. “i don’t know how you can drink that fruity shit, but sure, why the hell not?”

you cheered. “does that mean you’re getting the taro stuff so it matches your hair?” you asked hopefully.

“no.” it was but a miracle that he hadn’t swerved the car yet. 

[opluffys]

Haunted

i was so lazy i didn’t add the italics i’m so sorry. anyway i posted this to my archive first as always, luffys. this is meant to be multiple chapters, but the ending is open-ended so in case i drop it, i won’t leave y’all on a cliffhanger. pls let me know if there are errors or if it copied weird, it might happen sometimes. i hope you enjoy:)!!

-Michael Myers x Reader-

-smut/nsfw-

It was nearing Halloween, the green leaves transforming into beautiful auburn and golds. You figured you should go Halloween shopping sometime soon, even though there would be only a trickle of kids coming to your neighbourhood. You didn't live in a populated area, but you were still close enough to the town where basic grocery shopping wasn't too much of a hassle. It had made you a bit worried, moving into such a secluded area of town- but when you had gotten the opportunity to settle in, it was so peaceful. You did have neighbours, but they lived some ways away. Not like you cared, anyway. You enjoyed the quiet life.

Figuring a couple of days before Halloween was the perfect time to stock up on candy, you grabbed your keys and coat, making sure to lock your door on the way out.

You climbed into your relatively small car, it treated you nicely, not breaking down yet. You were too scared to look at the miles, though.

Turning the key into the ignition, you heard your cars engine sputter to life. About to reverse and be on your way, you couldn't help but feel that you shouldn't go out today. You shook it off, you needed to pick up some things, and besides, nothing has ever happened to you in while residing here- why would something happen now?

•

Following the large and festive orange signs, you finally found the shelf full of heart attacks and bliss. Grabbing a bag of rather expensive chocolates for you to snack on, and a cheaper bag of tacky sweets for the kids, you tossed them into your cart. You figured this year, you would finally decorate your house. You recently moved in, after all. And you certainly didn't want to be 'that house' where kids are too scared to go to. Maybe next year.

Hunting for the cheaper side of Halloween decorations were no easy feat- or maybe this store had tried to overcharge you at every turn. A plastic pumpkin nearly had you choking at its price tag. Still, Halloween comes once a year, and while you weren't too well off with funds, you decided you could splurge, just this once.

After deciding your feeble budget was well over the limit, you went into the line for checkout. Part of you had started to question if you really should've gotten half of this stuff, but you were already in the line, so it's obviously far too late.

While waiting in line, you had been playing a mind rotting game on your phone, but you couldn't help but overhear some teenagers conversations.

"Did you hear about last Halloween?" One with a shrill voice asked, tone slightly hushed- not low enough for you not to hear.

"Well, duh. Everyone knows about it, you'd have to be stupid not to know what happened. Do you think there'll be parties this year?! God, I hope so, I totally need to-"

You stopped listening after that. You slightly hoped that they'd go more into detail, since you are absolutely clueless about what happened last Halloween. Hell, your last Halloween consisted of you stuck at your previous office job, before you got a better job opportunity here.

Too lost in your thoughts, you missed the cashier signalling you over to her. Only after a loud, and extremely annoyed 'next' came from her, you realised you were holding up the line.

"Oh, shit. Sorry," You whispered, an embarrassed heat settling on your cheeks.

You placed all your items on the conveyor belt, the woman scanning all of your things with an incredible speed. It was impressive, considering the fact that she was quite an older woman.

"You're still celebrating this year?"

Staring at her dumbly for a moment, you figured she was talking about Halloween.

"Yeah, is there a reason I shouldn't?" You hoped your tone wasn't rude, you were just curious as to why everyone, so far, has been avoiding Halloween. Usually, the holidays aisle is packed full of people, you would have to fight for your life just to get a bag of candy. You did find it strange how you and a few others were the only ones in the aisle.

"Just a year ago we had this deranged son of a bitch- I forget his name," She turned towards the younger man who was bagging your items, who whispered something to her.

You found it odd how she would forget such a key part of the story, but you blamed her old age.

"yeah, yeah.. That Michael Myers guy. He went and killed some people, ain't his first time, neither."

You giggled, there's no way. If that were true, why haven't you heard more about him? A town as small as this, you were sure everyone would be talking about it.

Taking your card from the chip reader, (and not bothering to see the balance) you took your bags and rolled your eyes. If that was an attempt at a horror story, this lady needed some serious work.

"One good scare, right?" You smiled, grabbing your receipt from the woman. She didn't bother saying anything else to you.

Hurrying back to your car, the chill winds stinging what exposed skin they could as you walked. It felt nice, though. The cool air rushing through you, a small breath able to be visible into smoky wisps that dissipate instantly. You weren't a huge fan of shivering violently, but you did enjoy the scenery of autumn.

Shoving your bags into the backseat, you sighed as you sat down in your car. Placing your forehead on the steering wheel, you sighed shakily. You didn't want to actually think this woman's horror story could be true, and while you were thankful she spared the gruesome details of his murders, you at least wanted to know what he looked like. Well, a small part of you did...

Turning your key, you heard the engine make it's usual bursts of sounds. But you didn't hear the hum of the car spring to life, like it always did.

You weren't worried, your car did this on occasion. It was cold out, you probably should've warmed it up, so you put aside the thought that your car could be screwed.

Turning the key countless times, you nearly cheered once you heard the thrum of the engine. You knew your car wouldn't give up on you, at least for another few months...

•

Pulling into the small driveway, you kicked the car door shut. You grabbed as much bags as your hands and arms could handle, you didn't want to come back.

Miraculously placing all the bags hooks onto your arms, you went over to your door, pushing the key into the slot. You struggled with it for a moment, before realising that the door was already unlocked.

You did lock the door, right?

Classic case of 'I swear I locked the door', you thought nothing of it. Besides, you were too far away for anyone to rob you, and if someone did, you had decent insurance. And there weren't any obvious signs of a break-in, so you had no reason to think that someone could actually be in your house.

Practically throwing your bags onto the floor, you rubbed your arms, the weight of the bags making them sting. The plush of the coat did help a bit.

Kicking your shoes off and tossing your coat up on a chair in the kitchen, you threw yourself onto the comfortable confines of your couch. You could put the items away in a few minutes, you wanted to relax, just for a little while.

Scrolling through social media to find your friends accounts, you were happy they were doing well. You missed them all like crazy, but this job opportunity was too good to pass up. Plus, you got this house for a pretty cheap price, and you called them up from time to time.

Turning off your phone, you stretched your tired limbs. The tendons and muscles sighing in bliss. You looked at the dark screen of your phone, able to see your reflection. You cleaned some fingerprints and smudges off, and squinted at it. You must be seeing things, because it looked like someone was standing right behind you.

Taking a moment to turn around, you were surprised your neck didn't snap. You sighed, you needed some sleep. Now you're seeing imaginary people standing around you.

Haphazardly placing all your grocery items away, you groggily climbed up the stairs. You yawned as you entered your room, changing into baggy pyjama pants and a plain shirt. One of your favourite parts of being alone included your ditched bra on the ground. You smiled climbing underneath the comforter, ignoring the feeling of becoming too hot too quickly.

Also ignoring the feeling that someone was watching you.

You tried to succumb to the dire need for sleep, but your mind and body just didn't let you. Was it because of the coffee you drank earlier? Or maybe you were sleeping in a weird position... Whatever it was, it bothered you too much to a degree where you actually could not fall asleep.

Opening your eyes, your setting didn't change much, except for the stripe of light that poured in from under your door. But, you turned off that light, you surely remember that.

With what little light you had, you found your phone, the brightness making your eyes squint. The light from your phone alone was able to illuminate most of your room, and you finally connected the dots.

You did lock your door.

You did turn that light off.

Somebody was watching you.

And that somebody was looming over you, large kitchen knife, your kitchen knife in hand. You got up quickly, the man above you slashing your thigh. A scream died in your throat as you cried. You scrambled for the door, somehow prying it open and rushing down the stairs.

You questioned if that lady from the grocery store was actually telling you the truth. You felt stupid, throwing all caution to the wind. After noticing your door was, in fact, unlocked, you should've went over to your neighbours, or someone else. Alas, you made the mistake to not note multiple things wrong, and here you were, paying the price.

You held the cut on your thigh, it wasn't too deep, but it hurt like absolute hell. You sobbed quietly as you limped to your coat. If this notorious murderer wanted your house, it's his. You blamed the lack of decorations outside your house as a 'yeah, come on in' sort of message. He was most likely deterred by the other houses fully immersed in orange lights and jack-o-lanterns, that he chose your boring house instead.

Why he was even here is the question of the century. You were terrified, but you recognised the idea that freaking out as a serial killer is after you was not the best idea.

Pulling your jacket on, you had no idea where your keys were. You cried after checking all the usual spots, cursing your disorganised lifestyle.

Hearing a familiar jingle once you ruffled your jacket, you sighed. You put them in your damn coat pocket.

Not noticing he was right behind your clueless figure, you somehow dodged his grasp, your arm not being so lucky as it was a victim of another cut. You shouldn't have bought new knives.

You pried open the door and rushed to your car, slamming the door shut and fumbling with your keys. For a person who only walks to go after someone, this guy was quick.

You heard the engine, but it wasn't its usual array of sounds. No, this one was an 'I'm fucked, you should've gotten me checked by a mechanic.' kind of noise.

"Come on, please, please... Fuck, not now, come on!" You screamed, figuring turning the key harshly as fast as you could would do the trick.

The man easily caught up to you, unnecessarily breaking your cars window, and grabbing your hair and pulling it. The pain exploded throughout your entire scalp as you yelled in agony. You instinctively clawed at his hand, internally wincing after noticing he had a couple of fingers missing.

You pushed the car door open, causing him to back him up and loosen his grasp. You nearly fell out of the drivers seat, holding the excessively bleeding cut on your thigh tightly.

"Don't, p-please..! Please..." You whimpered, not even being able to run away. You felt pathetic, you should've been like a Final Girl in this situation- but you had no plot armour, instead you were cushioned with the bittersweet sense of reality.

He approached you, stumbling. You hadn't injured him, and, until now, you hadn't gotten a good look at him. He was huge, sculpted to absolute perfection. He nearly fell into you, missing his target with your knife. You pushed your hands onto his chest, feeling a warm substance stain your hands.

It was blood.

But it wasn't your blood.

You didn't realise it instantly, but you knew. It wasn't yours, it just didn't look the same. Maybe a shade darker, but it didn't come from you.

It was his.

You felt as it was impossible for such a man to actually be injured, but you figured that he just came from doing illicit things, things that you didn't want to know.

"Hey, hey, I can fix it. The," You gagged, the smell of copper and other grime flooding your nostrils, the scent of death. "the injuries. I can make it feel better- you, feel better..." You lied, not having the courage to look up at him. You thought if he saw the terror in your eyes, he could figure out your ulterior motives.

"Just, come follow me..." You grabbed his hand, his good hand, and led him into your house. You were amazed with the idea that you were letting a mass murderer into your home, and that you promised you were going to fix him up. You had zero knowledge about basic first aid, and his injuries looked anything but basic. Most of them looked like they could get infected if he didn't get the proper care, and that was what you could see on him.

"Okay, sit down here," You pointed to a wooden chair in your kitchen. It seemed like he preferred your newly purchased couch instead. You resisted the urge to scream at him and mourn at the loss of your couch, but you were more concerned with the potential loss of your life.

You climbed the stairs as quickly as you could, nearly forgetting where your bathroom was. You opened every cabinet, grabbing whatever resembled first aid. You didn't have much, an old bottle of hydrogen peroxide, petroleum jelly, and a dingy roll of bandages. Thankfully, it wasn't too old, as you remembered extremely aged hydrogen peroxide would lose its 'healing power'.

Carefully you made your decent down the stairs, walking into your laundry room to grab a hamper to put the items in. You didn't want him to get his bloody laundry all over your floor.

Trying your absolute best to appear calm, you sat on the edge of the couch, right next to him. Being in a well lit room, you finally noticed that his terrifying face, was in fact, not his face. He donned a white Halloween mask, which looked quite burned. You took note of how the latex used to mesh with his skin due to the melting. You reached out to touch the faint burn scar just shy of his Adam's apple. It looked mostly healed, now a ring of healed skin cells surrounded his neck. It could've healed better, no doubt. You didn't think he knew how to deal with such an injury of that magnitude on his own. You continued to absentmindedly caress the healed scar on his neck, only halting once you took note of what an embarrassing action you were engaging in. It seems he shockingly didn't mind, though.

He sat perfectly still, you thought for a second he actually passed away. But you noticed the soft rise and fall of his chest. He was still breathing, and you weren't going to get away so easily.

You saw your knife still in his impossibly tight grasp, there was no way you would get any closer to him if he still had that blade.

"Could you, ya know..." You motioned to the kitchen utensil, though it clearly was something else to him. "Please, I," You sighed, your breath shaky while your cheeks were stained with tears.

He loosened his grip on the smooth end of the handle. You, like anyone in this perfectly normal situation, thought that if he agreed with you, he'd move the knife on his own. But you quickly made the connection that he wanted you to take it from him- or maybe you were reading too deep into this.

You made a move closer to his relaxed hand, slowly outstretching your arm to not look like you'd do anything stupid. The last thing you needed was for him to think you were going to try something.

You figured it would be better to tend to him yourself, instead of asking him to help you. It already looked like he was quite stubborn, but the issue was that he was hurt pretty badly.

Unzipping his mechanics coveralls, you quietly gasped at the sight of him. He was surprisingly toned, and even more surprising to you, he was an older man. The bruised skin scattered with snowy chest hair. You unconsciously raked your fingernails through his taut chest gently, muttering out an apology once you noticed his stomach flex. You retracted your hand like you'd been caught by a flame. You blamed the loss of blood for your idiotic action.

Unzipping it further, you quickly stopped at his impressive v-line. You nearly started to drool, embarrassingly looking away at the very noticeable bulge in his coveralls. You traced the veins that led to his hardening cock with your eyes, desperately wanting to unzip the garment further.

You couldn't.

He had so many deep gashes on him, some of them being rather fresh, but the majority were older scars. You saw how many of those old scars were recovered bullet holes. You lost count too many times. Could he even be killed..? Not like you could be the one to do it, anyway.

You flipped the hydrogen peroxide lid open and placed a fluffy cotton ball under the steady stream. "It'll sting." You whispered, pressing the ball to an opened wound on his shoulder.

Not even having the chance to blink, you felt his hand tangle in your hair once more, slamming you against your coffee table. You wailed as you felt the pain radiating on one side of your skull.

"I'm sorry! I t-told you it would sting a bit! I'm sorry," You repeated yourself countless times, fearing that now was the moment he'd be fed up with you, and kill you.

It seemed like he wanted to do exactly that, but with the amount of injuries he had sustained, his aim wasn't the best. He flipped you over and grabbed your knife, but instead of cutting your clavicle, like you thought he had intended, he sliced your shirt right down the middle. Maybe he did it on purpose, too.

Your head was spinning, small black spots filling your vision. You tried your best not to pass out, since you had no idea what he'd do once you were unconscious. You didn't even know that your shirt was cut.

Until he touched you.

It wasn't a threatening touch, to your amazement. It was like how you'd touched him earlier, gently and somewhat uncoordinated. Pressing down your sternum, he fondled your breast a little harshly, a hitch in your breath that was painfully obvious to the both of you.

It was clear that he, at first, did not know what he was really doing. A somewhat clumsy squeeze here and there. But watching your many reactions just to the slight brush of his fingers against your nipple spurred him on.

You didn't want to let him know you slightly enjoyed this, it felt wrong. It was wrong. You were starting to want a man who had done evil things, a man who had no problem hurting you. Yet, here you were, laying under him, melting into his touch.

You couldn't bite back a mewl when he had accidentally, or so you thought, caught your nipple between his thick fingers. It shocked you how quickly he was learning how to play your body, strumming it perfectly in return to hear you sing.

Focused on the pleasurable feelings coming from the man above, you were utterly caught off guard when he had slashed just below your navel. You cried out, your mind not being able to handle the continuous onslaught of two radically different feelings.

Suddenly, you grabbed his hand, not showing any emotion to your unanticipated touch, he looked down at you expectantly. You stared into the dark eyeholes of his mask, almost able to see his eyes.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Your voice swayed, more tears escaping from your wide eyes. Your pupils were blown out of fear, your heart hammering in your chest. You wondered if he could hear it, but a small part of you knew he did.

He got off of you, returning to his spot on the couch. You had no idea where the sudden spur of arousal came from within him. You didn't want to acknowledge the uncomfortable heat that pooled in your abdomen.

You had some trouble of your own getting up, he had done some serious damage to you. You knew you couldn't tend to either of your injuries. But seeing his many healed wounds, you figured he would survive to see another day. While you on the other hand, needed medical attention. If he wasn't a seemingly invincible killer, you would most definitely suggest that he come with you.

You didn't want to sleep in this house, as long as he was here with you. You left the 'medical' supplies on the coffee table, trying to leave to your room. You felt a large hand wrap around your fragile wrist. You flinched at the feeling, looking at him with a terrified expression.

"I'm just going to be upstairs. There's food in the fridge if you get hungry, and," You lost your train of thought, feeling woozy and nauseous. "sorry, if you need to shower, bathroom is upstairs. If you need anything from me, you know where my room is." You prayed he didn't need anything.

Wobbling up the stairs, you nearly collapsed on your bed. You would buy new bedsheets and a comforter another day, since you bloodied everything below you already. You really needed to go to a hospital, you hadn't known how much blood you'd lost. You hoped you didn't have a concussion, either.

You figured you could leave after he fell asleep, so you lay perfectly still in your bed. You couldn't take your car, even if it would start, the process was way too loud. It would probably wake him up. You opened your phone, quickly downloading a generic ride service app. You scheduled a ride for a bit later, figuring he should be asleep by then.

Pushing your phone under your pillow, you turned to your side. Trying to ignore the cut on your thigh, being the deepest cut he made on you. Facing the wall, you heard your door open. You nearly stopped breathing, your heart beating rampantly against your rib cage.

Hearing his heavy footsteps nearing you, your eyes screwed shut, trying to appear as you were asleep. You felt his asymmetrical touch on your hip, lifting the comforter from you. You tried your best to lay still, attempting to slow your breathing.

Feeling his good hand run through the gash on your thigh, you nearly screamed at the burning sensation. He manipulated your blood into his hand, smearing it across your still exposed sternum. You felt him continue to paint your body with a beautiful shade of carmine, and all you could do was lay there, and try not to weep.

As abruptly as this situation had happened, it ended. He left without a single word, as you were used to. You didn't question why he was silent, not wanting to converse with a man who kills.

You desperately wanted to shower, ridding the mixture of blood on your body. Deciding it was a good idea, you grabbed a dark towel, not wanting to dirty it with your blood.

Grabbing your phone to check the time, you cursed, tossing your towel onto your dirtied bed when you saw a notification saying your driver was outside. There was no way he would be asleep, considering the fact that he was just in your room a few minutes ago. But you needed to go, and you could just sneak out the back, hopefully without him noticing.

Wiggling out of your bloodied clothing, you pulled on some loose clothes, as not to agitate your cuts. The bleeding on your arm and underneath your navel had slowed, or even stopped, but the cut on your thigh had crimson still flowing steadily. You could get it stitched relatively quickly, and be back before he realised you were even gone.

What were you thinking?

You had still wanted to come back to this home, with that man in it. Your only thoughts should be run, run as far as you possibly could. You should call the police the second you got in the car.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't believe how shitty you looked. Your blood was smudged all over your skin, painting yourself in a deep crimson. Your hair was disheveled, your cheeks stained with tears. Shades of indigo rung around your eyes, the whites of your sclera was now an angry red.

Pulling your shirt down to cover the mess, you fixed your hair as best as you could, and as quietly as possible, left your room.

Every creak of the door and floorboards had you fearing for your life. Was he around the corner? Holding your knife and ready to finally end you?

Bending and twisting your body to make your way across the hall as quietly as possible, you began to get giddy once you snatched your coat. Sneaking downstairs, turning to look at your couch, seeing two large legs hang off the armrest. You smiled, the tall man looking comical on your tiny settee. A bit of you actually found it kind of cute.

Leaving through the back door while craning your neck to check your back, you made it out to your driver. Pulling open the door and cringing at it's squeaking hinges, you sat in the backseat.

The driver was all too talkative, blabbing about his previous customers. While you would've been happy to falsely engage with him in conversation- you simply had no energy to do so. Only when he turned to see you all marked up did he shut his mouth and focus on the roads.

Your battered skin was surrounded by a hazy glow from your phone, your finger shaking on the last digit. If you called the police, all your problems- your problem, would disappear. Your lonesome digit continued to hover over the final 'one'. It would be so easy, just a shout of your address and it was over.

But you couldn't.

There was something holding you back, the thought that maybe- just maybe- he was a confused old man. A confused old man who killed some people.

The thought that he killed people was bothersome enough, but furthermore, he was after you. Or rather, the fact that he wasn't after you, was most concerning. And when he had touched you, God- it felt absolutely phenomenal. Even if he hadn't been the most harmonised with your body yet, he would fine tune his touches soon enough. You had no issue teaching him.

You lagged for a minute before noticing you wanted, actually wanted, him to touch you. Had you been that touch starved, that you wanted someone who murders others for no reason?!

Yes.

Yes you have been.

•

Thanking the man and paying him a nice tip (and hopefully not bloodying his seats), you hobbled over to the front of the hospital, chatting with a woman who was clacking away on her computer.

"Hello." A flat greeting, her eyes not leaving whatever was on her computer screen.

You had no clue how you were even standing, no doubt thanks to the endorphins creating an analgesic feeling throughout you.

Thanks to you not saying a single thing to the woman, she tore her eyes off her computer and took a look at you. Judgement pierced your soul, her nose crinkled, typing something.

She asked for some insurance and basic patient information, to which you were barely able to give her. You just wanted to awake from this hell of a nightmare already.

Half-assing pretty much everything the woman had to do with you, she chirped out something that was too cheery for you to understand, while clasping a wristband around you.

Another woman came out, ushering you over to a room, offering water and other nice things with a soothing tone. You practically melted into her while she helped you onto the bed.

You didn't even feel the torturous invasive prick of the intravenous drip sticking out of your arm. The nurse began to question you- how you got your injuries and such.

She seemed rather concerned, and she had a right to feel such a way! You looked like quite the patient- all bloody and bruised.

You for sure could not say 'a mass murderer snuck into my house, and he almost killed me. But instead of killing me, he started feeling me up.' or else the nurse would look at you as if you were insane. You totally weren't, you were just having recurring sexual thoughts about a man who has been trying to kill you. The way he had touched you, it wasn't a complete oddity that you were having these thoughts.

You quickly racked your brain for any shitty excuse, "I think someone tried to rob me, I don't remember much... I'm sorry." You didn't have the capacity to become your inner actor.

"Oh, no sweetie! You don't have to be sorry 'bout a darn thing!" She took your hand, her smooth index finger rubbing over the gaps of your knuckles.

She offered you a dark hospital gown, leaving the room so you can change.

You hurled your old clothes on a spare seat in the cramped room, messily tying the back of the gown before laying on the bed. You hadn't even given reality a fair chance to settle in. You could've been dead, you should've been dead. You were starting to feel, actual emotions. The number one hard-hitter being absolute agony- both physically, and especially mentally.

You hadn't felt the tears that began their inevitable flow, streaming in steady rivulets down your cheeks. You embraced it, silently weeping, curling in on yourself on the uncomfortable hospital bed.

"You doin' alright?"

Not noticing the doctor and his assistant, you became extremely embarrassed. You wanted to scream no, to shake him back and forth and tell him everything that's happened. Inhaling shakily, you dug up some generic dialogue, "Sorry, just.. shaken up, I guess." You sniffed, rubbing the itchy corner of your eyes. The two began to comfort you, assuring you were safe.

The man began to explain what he was going to do, check your injuries, your body. He asked you if you were comfortable with it, and you told him everything was fine. You wanted him to fix you, and that's what he was going to do.

He asked you to show your injuries, you started with your worst one- right in the centre of your thigh. He showed true commiseration towards you, which had been slightly unwanted. His assistant handed you a cup of sweet juice and downed it quickly, your burning throat soothing instantly. You whispered your appreciation.

The doctor began to clean and stitch up your cut, simply bandaging the other slashes. He checked you out for a concussion, ordering some scans. He asked you if you were well off enough to walk on your own, you guaranteed him you were fine.

•

After getting a reassurance that you were somewhat healthy, and clearly very shaken up, the doctor left you to sleep. He told you to press the immensely sized red button that was labeled 'nurse', in capital white letters if you needed anything. Feeling a little uncomfortable to plainly summon somebody into your room, you wouldn't need to press the button anytime soon.

Before the doctor left, you quickly request nobody come into your room lest you press the button. He nodded, somewhat hesitantly.

You didn't want to go home, fear that he was still in your house. You were terrified of the medical bill of an overnight stay, but you hoped your insurance would assist heavily.

Nuzzling into the itchy linens and sheets, you easily drifted off to much needed rest, the blocky pillow not helping much...

•

Slowly but surely getting dragged from your sleep, you felt a stinging sensation on your thigh. No doubt the rawness of your stitches and the antiseptic that seeped into your sensitive cut.

You felt it.

Felt him.

Maybe it was the nurse, checking on your fatigued figure. You needed to stop making these scenarios in your head and accept what was truly going on.

"How did you.." You whispered, feeling the damned unbalanced touch of his heavy hand. You knew he came to finish the job, too disturbed to think of how he had found you- relatively quick, too.

Realising that, you were indeed, in a public place, you took a sharp inhale. He knew you were trying to scream, the flat of his blade pressing against your carotid artery. You shut up after that.

Moving slowly, you snaked your arm to the back of the hospital bed, grabbing the nurse call button. You felt it, the shiny exterior brush by your fingertips.

He took it from you, destroying it with impressive strength. The veins and tendons of his hand flexing. Your thighs squeezed together, feeling a surge of excitement blast throughout your body- you felt disgusting.

Your pupil devoured your irises, you were fucking terrified. Your breath quivered with every inhale, you couldn't think right. You looked him over, still wearing his dark coveralls. You noticed some bandages on him, feeling a bit sad that you couldn't put them on him yourself. Looking lower, then immediately higher after seeing something you shouldn't have, your face set aflame.

He was hard. He was enjoying this, instilling fear into you.

You couldn't help but start to drool at the evident print in his coveralls, growing excited seeing how large he was.

He tore the old blanket off of your shivering body, not because of the cold, no. He knew why.

Not bothering to use the knife, which was still yours, he ripped your cheap hospital gown, exposing your breasts once more.

Not taken aback by the slightest, he ran his thumbs over your pert nipples, feeling your breasts push flush against his hands- thanks to your body arching in response to his minuscule and fumbling touches.

You couldn't take anymore of his teasing, slithering your trembling hand lower and lower, feeling your sopping cunt. You didn't want to pay attention to how you were so wet so fast.

But you couldn't help but know that you hopelessly wanted him. You wanted him to absolutely ruin you.

Biting back a gasp once you slipped a finger inside your begging hole, you felt him continue to pinch and grope your breasts. Squishing them harshly, then swapping to an experimental knead. It all had you shuddering against him.

He stopped, watching your pleasureful expressions, even after he had quit touching you. He looked at your free hand, then the other that was occupied with your pussy. Seizing your hand quickly, he looked at the slick that covered your quivering digits.

"It's because of.. you." You whimpered, thighs clenching, attempting to slow the mess of your arousal on them. You assumed in such a situation, it'd be best to tell him what he wanted to hear.

Eyeing your dripping pussy, he spread your thighs further, wanting a better view. You gasped when his finger grazed against your slit, your warmth gaping over nothing. You needed him to fill you.

Accidentally bumping against your clit, you felt lightning strike through you, involuntarily jolting against his touch.

"Fuck, right there," You gasped, taking his hand and pushing it against your clit. He wrapped his free hand around your frail throat, cutting the steady flow of oxygen through your lungs. You quickly got the message that he did not like being told what to do, and you knew you had zero rights to give him orders.

Holding his hand against your throat, you looked down at his large hand against your pussy, cupping your hot sex. You bit your lip, rocking your hips against his hand, trying to get any kind of friction. He retracted his lower hand, using it to unzip his coveralls. You eyed the fabric until it gently flitted to the ground, revealing his large cock.

You silently gasped, your mouth open dumbly. Your abdomen tightened, the warm palpitation of your pussy becoming wildly uncomfortable.

He gave a few hard squeezes to your neck, causing your head to spin. You gazed to his large and dangerous hand, holding his heavy dick in hand. It was so thick, and his girth had you nearly begging for him.

Kneeling on the small cot and feeling him inch closer towards your needy being, you started to grow nervous that it couldn't support his massive frame. He grabbed his cock, lining his engorged tip to your cunt.

He slid his cock against your slit, coating his length with your slick. You hissed lowly, trying to encourage him to push into you by moving your hips.

The grip on your neck tightened as he shoved himself in quickly, causing you to scream out. A large hand over your loud mouth, you moaned and mewled against his palm. The stretch of his dick painful, but fuck, it felt so good. Being this full, his fat cock dragging against your gummy walls slowly. You were tight, too tight for him, to the point where you were uncomfortable. Your cunt hugging him as he tried to slam back into you.

He couldn't fit entirely, his cock already kissing your cervix. You cried out against his palm as you clawed the back of his hand. His cock breaking you open as he continued to pierce you with his length.

Your eyes rolled back, the pain blurred by the immense bliss he was giving you. His dick filling you to the brim as the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy sucking him back in filled the small room.

Muffled moans came from your mouth as he continued to stuff you full of him, his hips slamming against your own as you stared where the two of you were conjoined.

He leaned closer to you, all that was audible to you-that weren't your own noises, was his heavy breathing. It made you clench tighter around him, knowing that your body was impacting him. You whimpered feeling his cock swell deeper inside you.

Harshly flipping you around, his hand raked through your hair, gripping it tightly as he pushed you into the cot, fucking you deeper and deeper into the hospital bed.

You screamed into the linens as his cock pushed against that utterly magical part inside of you- making you see stars as you convulsed around him, finishing on his cock as you squealed as quietly as you could. The bliss quickly turned once he continued to slam into you, your overshot nerves begging for a break. You wailed against the sheets, your velvety walls squeezing his heavy cock inside of you.

You felt him silence you when he pushed your head against the cot further, his thrusts still relentless. You persisted with the sounds, the pleasure doubling once he memorised that bundle of nerves nestled inside of you, hitting it with unknown accuracy.

Turning you over once more, both of his huge hands on either side of your hips, biting marks into the soft and smooth flesh. He growled deeply, his thrusts slowing, but still powerful. You looked up into the empty eyeholes of his mask, the pale moonlight that snuck in from the curtains illuminating the black holes. You gasped, looking deeply into the mismatch of his eyes, beautiful blue, while the other iris had milky splotches, you couldn't quite tell if it was scarred, too.

His pupils were enlarged, irises swallowed whole. His eyes made you shake with want, whimpering against him. His eyes showed there was a beast harboured deep within, ready to pounce on you at any given time, sinking its teeth into you. You shivered and looked at his pectorals instead.

Keening in on you, he groaned under the mask, pumping his cock into your wanton pussy. Again and again, he pressed against your cervix, making your toes curl and back arch. You moaned and mewled, a symphony of sounds just for him.

"Oh, oh f-fuck..!" You sighed, anchoring onto the corner of the bed as he continued to rail into you at an unforgiving speed.

Your knuckles blanched as your grip on the bedsheets was ridiculously tight, your eyes screwed shut, wailing out as you felt your orgasm wash over you once more. It felt phenomenal as you cried against him, insides dragging him deeper while you hugged his cock tightly.

His thrusts stuttered, hands squeezing your hips harder, eliciting a whimper from you. He doubled over, body pushing into your own. Shoving himself deeply into you one last time, he finished deep inside of you with a groan.

He pulled out of you slowly, pearlescent cum leaking out of your abused cunt. He wasted no time in stuffing it back into you, hearing you gasp in surprise.

You lay on the hospital bed, chest rising and falling quickly, your tits moving with every breath. He squeezed your breasts and pinched your nipples to get another reaction out of you. Asshole.

Not wanting the realisation of having sexual intimacy with a serial killer set in, you curled into the bed, throwing the thin blanket over you.

You were absolutely exhausted, your mind only set on sleep. Snuggling against the uncomfortable bed once more, you painfully noticed once he had left. For your hairs were no longer bristled, your heart rate was calmed, the cold sweat had been absent.

You wanted him to stay.

[eremiie]

Okay but like imagine your paying at a store and the cashier is flirting with you. I feel like Eren would come and hug you from behind and kiss your neck infront of him or umm slip his hand in your shirt- AHHH ICANT anyways 😳😀 and he would just eye the cashier and just be “you wish this was you huh? 😏”

say less.

dill pickle chips;

➹ eren jaeger x reader

➹ general/fluff ish | 1.2k words | modern au

you stood patiently in line, your nervousness racking as eren wasn't back from retrieving bread from an isle in the store you were in. the person in front of you swiped their card, the receipt sliding out of the machinery and the cashier ripping it off to hand to the stranger, while your feet shuffled forward subconsciously knowing you were next in line.

"next."

shit.

out of anxiousness you bit your lip, pulling your cart forward until it was parked more beside the conveyor belt, slowly pulling your items onto it, your eyes darting fast between the direction eren headed, the cart, the belt, and the cashier.

"good morning." you looked up, the same voice from earlier spoke in a more relaxed tone, the cashier giving you a large smile, teeth gleaming at you.

"oh, good morning." you reciprocated his actions, your nerves feeling a bit more calm at the warm gesture as you placed the milk onto the conveyor belt.

"you seem a little nervous, you okay?"

your eyes flickered up to the employee, he was tall, standing above you by a good couple inches. dark fluffy hair hung in his eyes, but you could still see them, a dark brown that almost matched the intensity of his ebony locks. on top of his uniformed shirt he wore a black jacket, and when your eyes traveled to your items he was picking up you noticed silver rings adorning his fingers much like the necklace around his neck. you didn't even realize you were studying him until he let out a mock cough, his hand flying up to his mouth in a fist as he coughed into it to catch your attention.

"huh? oh, yeah i'm fine... thank you for asking, sorry." you shook your head and maneuvered to the other side of the cart to begin grabbing some of the bags to place into the cart. your gaze flickered back to the cashier. you wanted to tell him you were waiting on your boyfriend to come back, that he should be almost here soon (you hoped), but when you opened your mouth to speak only a small croak came out that made the cashier laugh.

"what are you apologizing for?" he grinned, small dimples appearing on the sides of his lips as he chuckled at you.

"i didn't mean to apologize, sorry—" your hand flew over to your mouth and your eyes flitted around the store, trying to avoid eye contact with the employee who continued to let out a small laugh.

"you're fine, i'm just messing." he scanned the bag of chips eren had threw into the cart earlier, giving it a once over before bagging it as well. "those are actually my favorite chips. you should try the dill pickle flavor— i promise it's not as bad as it sounds." he handed you the bag, and your finger brushed against one of his smalls rings that sat idle at the top of his fair finger.

"really?" you awkwardly laugh trying to keep the conversation flowing, but you couldn't help but notice you only had three more items for him to scan, and eren—

"she doesn't really like those chips actually, they're for me." your body jumped at the sound of eren's voice, envy lacing his tone as he eyed the cashier. he placed the loaf of bagged bread on the conveyor belt and then came back to stand behind you, hand snaking around your waist as you felt the anxiety leave your body at the stress of the possibility of eren not arriving in time.

"sorry i took so long, baby." he muttered as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, then using his free hand to turn your jaw and press a kiss to your lips, letting his linger on yours a tad bit longer, his eyes shifting to the cashier the second his lips disconnected with yours. eren pulled your body against his by your waist, while the two of you watched the cashier ring up the last of your items.

"oh? she should still try the pickle flavor, i think she would like it." the cashier's tone came off almost challenging, as he bagged the bread and began to hand it to you again to place in your cart, but eren's hand beat you to it, grabbing the bag and letting it drop into the cart, your body shifting with his as he moved. he was holding onto you with his other hand still.

"she doesn't really like pickles either," eren muttered something else under his breath that was inaudible to you as you tried to decipher the conversation between the two, a clear tension thickening that you could even feel through eren's grip on your waist. "isn't that right, babe?" eren's gaze shot down to your eyes, his viridian stare almost intimidating, as if you saying something he didn't want to hear would've cost you your life.

"...yeah, yeah." you said, eren's top lip twitching as if he was trying to contain a smile, him letting his hand drift further up your shirt as he pressed more into you, his lips connecting with your jaw then your neck.

"i know."

you avoided the cashiers eyes as he rung up your total, his constantly trying to meet yours for whatever reason while eren caressed your curves, trying to get the man to look at him instead, or at least look at where his hands resided, as if he was trying to send him a message about where he stood.

"your total is 65.76." you fumbled for your wallet, eren shaking his head but you were already handing your card to the cashier, wanting to get the interaction over with. his eyes scanned your card before he slipped it into the machine, letting it read the information. once he heard the beep, and after a couple press of some buttons he handed you back your card, eren watching intently. "thank you, ______." his voice almost enticing.

so he read your name on the card? touché, you could practically feel eren's nails digging into the skin of your waist, and you felt flustered. "mhm, thank you, have a good one." you nodded, saying your sentence with a smile much like the one you returned to him earlier. "eren, i gotta push the cart." eren walked you towards the cart still holding onto you from behind while you began to push it forward, the employee watching for a split second, and you wished he could pull his hair back so you could see the look he gave the two of you, then calling out another "next." more blander than earlier's tone.

"...baby, i'ma need you to help me something when we get home." eren blurted out while you strolled the cart, loud enough for the employee to hear as the two of you began heading towards the exit. "or more like help show you who you belong to." eren mumbled into your ear, only for you to hear before stepping aside and finally walking beside you instead of overtop of you, his hand resting on one of yours that pushed the cart by the handle.

your walking stuttered a little and so did your breathing. you'd be putting the groceries away a little faster than usual today.

[rouiyan]

𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘙𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘚 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ part of the 2020 home for the holidays collective ⧐

synopsis: jeno decides that, this time around, he would rather risk heartbreak than love you in silence for seven more years.

✧ lee jeno x (fem.) reader) ✧ childhood best friends to loverz, next door neighbor au, (mentioned college au)

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slight comedy ✧ word count : 19.3k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, underage swearing (?), shirtless jeno, legal alcohol consumption

✧ author’s note — i am unsure as to why you would spend your christmas reading this heckin long fic, but in the case that you do, i hope that you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. it’s longest fic i’ve written thus far (though only by a hundred or so words) so happy reading <3 and i’ll see you around :D

jeno’s glad his mom’s asked him to go to the grocery store, a two minute walk away, to grab some eggs, a tub of sugar-free yogurt, and a breath of fresh air—the most welcome change of pace to his stuffy bedroom or the dust of the stale garage. he thinks he's the first of his high school graduating class to arrive back in town for the winter but it’s here at the store that jeno sees you for the first time in years. his hand, the right one, clutching an empty basket goes limp and he's two steps away from being fully unconcealed by the far end of the dairy aisle. surely, he must look like a creep with only his head peeping out.

it's been years. your hair is now a faded silvery brown, presumably dyed, and gathered into a messy ponytail. the ends of your hair fight with the hood of your sweatshirt, a distilled blue and loose fitting atop a pair of gray sweats. and the basket, looped upon your left elbow, is as empty as his own but you're overturning a can of condensed milk in your other hand, eyes scrutinizing the packaging for the expiration date, the later the better.

he would go and say hi, maybe even strike up a conversation, ask you how you’ve been, but he can’t bring himself to because he’s wearing that one bright green shirt from his seventh grade math competition that is certainly not up to your liking nor preference. really, it’s not that he thinks you'd judge him, knowing you, you’d probably get a good laugh from it and move on, but things have changed since then.

you are no longer the girl he walked to middle school with everyday in the mornings, in the afternoons. and jeno is no longer the boy that was the same height as you; the glasses are long gone and so is the thirteen year old boy who'd cried at his mom for telling him he'd have to go to a different high school than you. things are different and things have changed.

it was all this, paired with the gut feeling that if he went up to you, shirt stretched out like a muscle tee, he’d simply be cowering in your presence. jeno had not the faintest idea you’d be returning this winter since the last three years were spent without (and the four before, though that was only because he lacked the guts to ring the doorbell three houses down). he sticks his head back before you notice him. rerouting, he goes for a stroll in the chips aisle and then right back to the dairy after he sees the slightest indication of your sweatpant cuffs rounding the corner. 

jeno catches his breath there. he gets the goods and makes a beeline for the cash register, keeping his head down and nearly toppling into the display tower of canned corn along the way. the lovely granny at the register, with a nametag labeled 'poppy' on her pink cardigan, is kind enough to check up on his tattered state as she squints at the barcode to scan the yogurt, "young man, are you alright? you're panting awfully hard there."

he only realizes he's spaced out when she repeats with added concern, "sir? do you need some water or-"

"oh, no- i- no, thank you. i'm-" he clears his throat, a plastered smile to aid in his response, "i'm quite alright, thank you." she gives a faltering smile back, one meant to assure, as she discloses his total, "that'll be seven dollars and forty-eight cents." the items are bagged and handed over to him with a receipt. he's in the midst of giving the kind lady a nod in thanks, in the midst of turning and heading in the direction of the exit, in the midst of taking that first step to freedom, the land of no pressures, when he hears your voice from behind, "jeno? is that you?" 

well, shit. he swallows thickly. conscious of his every move, he turns deliberately, the plastic bag hanging, swinging to hit his knee and a hand coming up to the scruff of his neck. he turns to see you next in line, smiling and approaching him with paced steps. only, in his mind, it seems as if you are charging towards him at full speed. although conscious of his every move, jeno unconsciously takes a step back. "y- yeah, that's me."

you beam at the words, setting the basket on your hip as you empty the items onto the checkout conveyor belt. "gosh, i knew it!" he sees your favorite gummy worms, a pack of those flamin' hot cheeto fries which are admittedly too spicy for you to handle, both in the mix of what seems to be baking ingredients. dusting your hands off with two definitive swipes, you fist them and set them on your hips, an adorable pose if he were to be honest. hand falling to his side, jeno watches as a corner of your lip lifts into an emerging grin, "so, how have you been?"

he almost coughs as his words tumble their way into air, "i've been well, home for break, you know, from college and stuff." huh, he thinks, not a bad start.

apparently not because you giggle in turn, "well, obviously." the way you gesticulate your hands with each spoken word strikes familiarity within him. "you don't have to be so vague, jen, we were best friends at one point, remember?" the hand is back at his neck as if it never left, the nickname you had used making him squeak, "yeah, of course i remember." jeno watches as you stare for an awfully long time (two seconds) at his shirt. he knows you're just a thought away from commenting on it when dear mrs. pops clears her throat, a half-apologetic smile on her face, "your total will be sixty-four dollars and twelve cents." your eyes go wide, "oh shit- i mean, oh no!" you feel odd swearing around an elderly though you're really only muttering to yourself, "did i buy that much stuff?"

for some odd reason that he's unable to pinpoint just yet, jeno perks up at that and, seemingly involuntarily, offers, "i got you." he slips his wallet back out, eyeing the twenty dollar bill clutched in your hand. jeno holds out a fifty to mrs. poppy and she takes it before you can protest. you protest anyways, "jeno, wait- no, you don't need to- i could just take some stuff out, you know." he merely nods along, a small smile edging upwards on his lips. mrs. poppy hands you the change and your bagged items and you shove the bills towards jeno who, though no longer needed, is just standing there. he refuses with a shake of his head and hand in tandem, leading the way to the exit but before the two of you make it two steps, mrs. poppy smiles wide before mumbling, most likely meant to herself but discernible to your ears anyways, "looks like someone has a crush on you, dearie."

jeno's heart speeds erratically, again for reasons he has yet to comprehend, and his head snaps to make sure you hadn't heard what he'd just heard. eyes wide upon realizing you had, his head snaps back into place to avoid your teasing gaze. jeno utters a curt, "see you around," the second he's out the automated doors and speed walks to his car, the contents of the plastic bag jostling with each ushered step. 

the door to his pristine condition '93 chevrolet vette, his baby, shuts behind him. the grocery bag is set in the passenger's seat, mindlessly. jeno starts up the engine but stays put. he can see you across the parking lot, trying to find the keys to your hyundai kona, the white one that's now a certified gray. he chuckles.

he chuckles at the fact that it's been years upon years and you still have yet to fail to put a smile on his face. he chuckles at the fact that it's been years and your cheery, snarky persona has not changed one bit. he chuckles at the fact that he stills finds every aspect of you effortlessly charming, for so many and no reasons all at once. he chuckles at the fact that he still, still feels the need to impress you every chance he gets. perhaps, things haven't changed all that much.

"i'm home!"

shuffling off your shoes, you hear snippets of your mom's voice coming from the living room. a hand on the doorframe, you push yourself up, only to realize that she isn't even talking to you. rather, and upon entering the room, she's on the phone, unaware of your entrance and exclaiming into the jabbed speaker as she crochets a baby blue piece into existence. stepping into her line of vision, you give her a small smile in return to her nod of acknowledgement before moving on into the kitchen.

you've only just finished up with storing the flour into the pantry when you notice your mom has followed you into the kitchen as well, phone supposedly hung up. she sets her elbows, leaning, onto the counter as she watches you put away the baking goods. there's a glint in her eyes that you're wary of. sure enough, "guess what?"

"mom, i'm not interested in going on another blind date. not after what happened last time with that son of your cowork-"

"no, no, nothing like that," and though her words contradict what you thought was to be another stood up date, you're still on edge for the glint in her eyes has anything but subsided, "i was just going to inform you that mrs. lee's son is back in town."

your eye roll reverts itself halfway. crossing the room, you lean opposite of her on the counter. "you mean jeno?" she nods in slight confoundment. "yeah, i just saw him." your mother leans a little further and her voice comes out bordering a whisper though no one is around to hear but you and there's nothing scandalous to what she's saying, "mrs. lee tells me he's almost six feet tall! is that true?" you lean forward as well, not in interest, but in actuality to grab at the nutmeg extract. "pfft, as if. i'd say five eleven at best."

the humor in your eyes is enough to get your mom to defend her trusted source, "oh, i bet he's getting there." you shake your head, "he's twenty-one mom, i doubt he's still growing." turning your back on her to prop open the spice rack, her voice mumbles along, "you never know…" she relents and moves onwards to the next topic in line, eyes eager, "so, did you get to talk to him?" 

she's busying herself with tying up the plastic bags for later use as trash can liners when you turn back around, "i did but i mean, it was short," you gesture to the rest of the food you've yet to put away, "but he did pay for most of this." her face is drawn in teasing and she's about to comment on 'how sweet of him that was' when she realizes what you'd just said. "why? did you not have enough money?"

"no, i only brought a twent-"

she hits you lightly with a tied bag before sticking it in the compartment under the sink with a huff, "how dumb can you be to only bring twenty dollars to a grocery store? especially with all that junk food you always buy." now that's the motherly nagging you're more used to. but the teasing comes back soon after when you're upon exiting the kitchen in favor of changing out your clothes. "why don't i make some food for them so you have an excuse to pay him a visit?"

you very clearly remember your mother's propositions of your wedding all those years ago, after you'd gotten your first boyfriend. she didn't even really like him but it was enough that you did. she'd sworn her preparations were all neat and ready when you'd sat her down to tell her that you'd broken up with him. turning on your heel, your mother's eyes expectant, you give her a knowing shake of your head, a warning for ever since that first boyfriend, you'd refused to tell her a thing about your love life, a torturous prospect for her and just the right thing to ward off any of her coming interventions.

as for her incessant questions that were still sure to come, you supply her with this, "i'm sure he'll come visit us first!"

and in some way, you're right.

head and hands on the wheel, you let out the shakiest of breaths, and another and another until the air before you is laden thick with heat. you release the knuckle-white grip that held the wheel, the pads of your finger an angry red. sighing, you let yourself fall back in the seat with your sights set on the blinking red light under the speedometer, your ears ringing at the blaring alarm. another sigh escapes your lips, vaguely resembling a shudder, as you jerk the keys from the ignition. the red light and the alarm cease and you exit your car.

jeno nearly crashes as he turns the corner onto his street. he didn't expect to see you so soon after the horrid scene at the grocery store the other day, the other day being yesterday. he slows the car as he approaches your driveway, rolls down the window of the opposite seat and ducks, only to see you, hands fisted and on your hips, a similar stance to the one he'd seen yesterday; he blushes unknowingly. 

the purr of a nearing car sounds from behind and you whip around to catch the red finish of his vette as it comes to a stop along the sidewalk. tucking a lip under teeth, you cross the length of your driveway to meet the boy in the car. the crease in your brow unsettles him. he clears his throat, "hi, y/n. fancy seeing you around here."

"jeno, i live three houses down from you."

he's not in that green shirt anymore, thank goodness, and he'd prepared for this exact scenario with a slightly more put together outfit. the outfit consisting of a hoodie and sweatpants with his socks and sandals. but now that he thinks about it, he still feels slightly underprepared, "that's right…," he does his best to not sound unintelligent, "what happened there?"

"ahh," fisted hands are back on your hips and a war is brewing within him, fighting to keep his composure. you look back at your car, which looks fine to the eye, "apparently i have a flat tire and i-"

"were you driving when it happened?" jeno gets out of his car as he speaks, questions shooting like rapidfire, "was it on the freeway? how bad is it- wait no, are you injured?"

jeno and his furrowed brows are fast advancing on you and you take a step back in surprise but under the guise of moving back towards your car. genuinely, you weren't quite sure why you hadn't thought of jeno being a 'car person,' especially when that's exactly what his car tells of him. "i don't really know but the alarm went off right before i got off the freeway so nothing serious happened." the two of you tread down the side of your house, back up the driveway. "which one is it- oh, i see." jeno bends down the side of the rear left wheel, a solid smack and squeeze applied and he looks up and back at you, "a nail probably, you got a spare?"

you nod, "i'm pretty sure." crossing your legs you cock an eyebrow at him, at your suspicions. there's something about you being right about all your little inklings because he confirms them almost instantaneously, "i can fix it up for you then," a smile eases onto his face as yours perks up, "really? i mean you really don't have to, i can just go get it-"

"how are you gonna get the car to the shop then?"

and that's how jeno finds himself hauling the car jack from his garage, to yours while you cradle the tools needed in both hands, trailing behind him. he gets to work with the wheel cover as you maneuver around your own garage for the spare and when you find it, you sigh. sighs, seem to be very plentiful, maybe a preferred form of communication this one day. "jen," you wedge yourself back to the driveway between your mom's car and the built-in cabinets. jeno's eyes are focused upon the lug nuts but his eyebrows are raised in expectancy.

"gosh, i'm sorry, but it's- the spare's kinda heavy...do you mind? you know…" you feel bad for asking, almost reluctant but with a wave in the general direction of your hands, he gets it well enough, "oh, it's no problem. i'm here to help you anyways." jeno retrieves the tire with a smile on his face.

you stand off to the side and watch as he raises the back end of the car (seven inches, he said), removes the loosened lug nuts, pulls off the flattened tire, and pushes the spare into place. you give remarks and ask questions once and awhile, all of which must seem pretty dumb to him though he answers each one with a smile and a reassurance to make sure you've understood. tightening the bolt, replacing the tire cover, and lowering the car is done within minutes and he's left rubbing his sullied hands on the towel hung upon his shoulder.

jeno stands and looks over at you. the little complacent smile you've put to show tells a lot about how bothersome you feel in the moment. "you don't have to feel bad, y/n. i offered."

you nod as he packs up his things, blindly handing over the wrench and uttering a thank you in your daze. heading inside, you note that the heater is on and that the window next to the door offers a view of the busying boy. you watch as he leaves and you watch as he comes back again to drive his car up into his garage. 

there's something about your inclinations that you can't shake. either the fact that you haven't been home in three years is really getting to you, maybe you're just horny, or whatever is brewing in that head of yours is telling you that first loves stick with you even when they're gone, even when you've been given reasons to get over them, and even when you really are over them.

but when they're there, when he's there, in all his glory, there's only so much you can refuse.

thirteen-year-old donghyuck is a mean little shit, that we all know, and when he eventually pieces one and one together to make two, he's bound to act on it.

especially when one is the fact that you've been skipping out at lunch for "group project" reasons for the past two months and the other one is that jeno has also been skipping out at lunch for "club meeting" reasons, also for the past two months. he's dumbfounded at the fact that it's taken him this long to track the two of you down and he almost wants to laugh at the situation at hand. 

donghyuck guesses the slats of the bleachers block him out of your view, but he's certainly in the perfect spot to see the both of you, under the bleachers sitting atop jeno's jacket, meaning that there was barely a space in between you and him. his pride would have been hurt, after all his newest revelation comes in the discovery of his two best friends leaving him with jaemin and renjun during lunchtimes, also his best friends but he grumbles at the thought of being left with those two (one being a flirty little shit and the other an annoying little shit, not all that different from himself; you'd think he'd tone down his mean-ness after witnessing, firsthand, renjun's mirror antics).

a hand of yours is flipping through the pages of a textbook while the other holds a subway sandwich, at which he observes jeno to steal bites from every time you look away towards the book. the scene sprawls into a mess as you begin to notice when jeno tugs particularly hard at the string of cheese that's been pulled far too long. the boy gets a flick on the forehead and an impish smile forms; he almost looks elated to be caught by you. 

before he even knows it, donghyuck's onto something, and much more than something he can simply tease you about, oh no, this is the real deal. he reroutes his mind to the image he'd retired from—ducking his head back under the cover of the bush—to the image of you and jeno, smiley, giddy, and secluded from everyone else. the image of jeno and the little giggles he gives as red blossoms on his forehead from where you'd flicked him. and the image of you and your suppressed smile as you try to retain your thinly-veiled frustrations from him. this is it, his friends are falling in love. he's convinced and he also has now appointed himself as the wingman, the cupid in disguise.

the thing is, we're talking about donghyuck (mean little shit) here, not jaemin. so when jeno waltzes into his shared sixth period class, spewing some apparent nonsense of how his club meeting went, (perhaps something that you and him had mutually and meticulously coordinated), donghyuck sits him down in the seat next to him and leans in for a whisper, "i'm gonna ask out y/n today, what do you think?" 

jeno doesn't respond, he doesn't even seem to have remotely heard him. or if he did, he must've suddenly underwent a malfunction of sorts because the boy is quite literally just sitting there, staring listlessly at the empty beaker and the lab tools in front of him.

"jeno? are you hearing me?"

lee jeno, instead of feeling a sudden urge to race donghyuck to the finish line, to confess to you before he does, rather feels defeated, deflated, discouraged. donghyuck is a terrible judge of his character for he pushes on, "do you think i should do it right after school today or tomorrow?"

he gulps and while his eyes are still deep in rumination, his mouth is already squeaking the worries have come to haunt him in the last thirty seconds, "you like her?" donghyuck's eyes glint with mischief that the heavens wish jeno hadn't missed though fair enough, they think, because his thoughts are all over the place as donghyuck goes on to respond, "yeah, i've liked her for awhile now," sounds familiar," been wanting to tell her for the longest time," me too, "and i've been kinda scared to," well i'm scared shitless, "but i think i'm ready now," i'm not. 

"i think you should go for it," jeno deadpans, eyes still trained on the glass, 500 mL beaker that is very interesting.

donghyuck nearly jumps out of his seat, "wait what?!" 

"yeah, you should jus- why're you so surprised- no, why are you even asking me?" jeno finds it much easier to play the role of a supportive friend rather than a jealous rival. he thinks it was rather dumb of him to assume that he was the only one going after you all these months and that he could take his sweet time in confessing and growing your relationship. at least, that's usually how his classroom daydreams go. 

but at the same time, they only go that way because though it really has been a few long months, jeno knows that he's still a long way from making his sentiments known to you. he's a reliable kind of guy, who's reliance is often built upon trust. and while the little folder in his mind of all the possible telltale signs that you like him back has been steadily growing, he needs to know definitively for really, thirteen-year-old jeno lacks the courage. even more so now that his best friend, donghyuck, displays the exact courage he needs to confess. jeno figures that his folder must be gargantuan in comparison.

donghyuck doesn't confess to you, not at all, but he makes a show of rushing out the class right when the clock strikes three, leaving jeno to collapse into himself in utter despair. shoulders hunched over, he counts the minutes until he deems it safe to leave. his chair scrapes the floor with a resounding squeak as he stands up, the chemistry classroom now empty. running his fingers through his hair, he makes sure he doesn't cross paths with you as he navigates for the exit, purposely avoiding the area of the campus with your locker and last class. 

jeno makes it home with a heavy heart, far heavier than what could be the doing of any simple crush. stupid of him to think it a simple crush when the tug of his heart squelches and sqirms like there's no tomorrow, but it's only years after that he realizes the ache in his heart was the payoff of his first love.

he'll admit that he's never asked what actually happened that day, a part of him was terrified to even imagine the prospects of you and donghyuck being a thing. and even if that wasn't the case, he wasn't keen to risk it in the first place. 

so jeno cries on the night his mother bore him the news that he'd be transferring schools. he'd have friends there, sure, jaemin had made the same decision and chenle was to follow in the year after. he'd have the opportunity to make new friends, to start fresh as a high school student but the biggest problem he faced was that there would be no you.

no you to greet in the hallways two minutes before class as you rushed your books into your backpack, slamming your locker shut in a frenzy with your elbow. no you to catch dozing off in history, math, english, and probably all the other classes he didn't but wished he shared with you. no you to sneak off with during lunch, far from your noisy (and nosy) friends and a hair's distance apart from each other. no you to stare at when class gets a little too boring, to share an eraser with, to brush fingers with, to steal bites of a sandwich from.

jeno cries because he'll never get the chance to ask you to prom, he's quite sure you'd never want to attend another school's. he cries because he doubts he'll have the fortitude to text you on a daily, to text you at all, to keep in touch. he cries because in his eyes, the dwindling remainders of your relationship are coming to a close.

one day or another, it'll come to him that it was because of those very thoughts that they actually do.

"oh no, no you definitely planned for this to happen."

"did not!"

"so you're telling me that having me go three houses down to ask the boy that you just so happen to think is cute and the same age as your daughter to go tree shopping with me because you can't carry a tree and dad just so happens to be at work right when you desperately need the tree-" your rambling ceases abruptly as you struggle to find the correct structure of your question that, for emphasis purposes, had derailed itself, "...is all just happenstance?"

"yes," your mother has the straightest look on her face. you're sure she's having a hard time keeping it that way. "unbelievable." she keeps the straight face pretty well and the staring contest you're currently participating in with the snowman candle behind her is futile and broken as you grumble, "fine." your mother has the gall to lift her face into a smile almost immediately upon hearing that.

in all honesty, your reflection in the mirror looks pretty damn good. after spending the few of your days back home in tracksuits and large tees—a minimum effort outfit—dressing up a tad bit for today was certainly not a bad idea, your favorite green corduroy coat making its appearance in the december cold.

the same reflection can be seen in the glass of jeno's front door, the door that swings open right as you're about to ring the doorbell for the third time. his mother is the one who answers and she seems a great deal surprised. "y/n! oh wow, you've grown quite a bit since i last saw you."

you giggle with her, partially out of incredulity because of course you've grown, the last time you really saw her was at your middle school graduation. "it's nice to see you, mrs. lee." she opens the door wide, the smile on her face beaming just as wide, "i assume you're here to see jeno. let's see," the door shuts behind you, "he should be over in the garage," and she leads the way through the house, the layout teeming with renewed familiarity. 

"the garage is just down there, sweetie," pointing at the door far down the hall, to the left, "tell me if you guys need anything, okay?"

"will do," you give her a warm smile as she treads off.

pushing at the handle, you think first that jeno isn't there at all but then there's the sounds of metal clanking and his legs that are situated outwards from under one end of his car. in a fear to startle him with your presence, you decide upon a clearing of your throat and a small but sure, "jeno, it's me," to which he responds with a surprised grunt and the further clanking of his tools.

there's the squeaking of his mechanic's creeper before he draws himself straight before you. you nearly give a double take because, well because he's without a shirt, he's shirtless, he's half naked. however you want to put it, it's the dead of winter and he's standing there with his toned chest bare and glinting with sweat while the two of you furiously blush without even looking at each other.

"y/n," his voice comes out strained, "wha- what are you here for?" jeno fusses around hurriedly for a shirt, any shirt, any article of clothing, any piece of fabric. the shirt he eventually finds is almost enough to get him to put it back down but he's desperate. your eyes glimpse across his body once again, and entirely on accident, before he slips the bright green material over his head, your own head snapping in the other direction.

the two of you stand diagonally in opposition to each other, seemingly speaking to no one in particular, "i'm- i came to ask if you'd want to go christmas tree shopping with me? since i don't think i'd be able to by myself…?" you turn towards him, the tension in the air somewhat subsiding, the difference a mere shirt could make.

he stance is awfully rigid as he responds, "yeah, no yeah i can definitely go with you. right now though?"

"if it's not too much to ask of you then yes, right now."

"oh okay, i can do that, i jus-" jeno catches your line of vision dip down to his shirt, he squirms under your gaze, "-i, do you mind waiting for a bit while i get washed up?" eyes flitting back up to meet his, you nod fervently, "fine by me."

the shower runs in the background of your thoughts as you swing your legs off the side of jeno's bed, the same bed he had all those years ago that's sill littered with random pencil marks and stickers on the headboard. the walls adorn large prints of cars, none of which you can identify but you're intrigued nonetheless by how well his childhood room entwines his whole lifespan together. there's mvp trophies on the bookshelf just opposite of you and if you squint, you can see the fine print that spells 'lee jeno, 2015 varsity swim mvp.' a certificate on the wall titles his participation in some algebra competition, a few ribbons to demonstrate his scientific achievements, and a little under where those are pinned into the wall is a framed and familiar picture you haven't seen in a long while.

it's the five of you, eighth grade graduation, with mark behind the camera and chenle and jisung far off in the background. jeno's in the dead center with one arm draped around donghyuck and the other around you, though you're noticing for the first time how the arm around donghyuck falls limp while the arm around you is held tight. gears are turning and shifting in your mind but before you can come to any sort of conclusion on what that could possibly denote, the door to the bathroom on your left is held open.

jeno's dressed fittingly, you think, for christmas tree shopping that is. the green of his sweater matches the green of your jacket and jeno makes sure to comment on that as he reverses his car out of the driveway even though his choice in clothing was deliberately made to match your own. he catches a glimpse of your car in your own respective driveway on the way out the street and at that, he already has another conversation queued and in mind.

"you took your car to the shop, right?"

you find that your eyes dry out if you face them forward for too long, the heat blasting from the front is doing its job well enough. you don't complain though, jeno's just making sure it's not too cold in the car. "yeah, i went this morning. was also going to get it washed but my mom had other plans."

"other plans being making you go buy the tree, i'm guessing."

you click your tongue, "exactly."

silence hangs between the two of you as he veers into the freeway entrance, mulling over what to say next. bring two seven years disconnected best friends together and you'd think there'd be more to talk about but today must be an exception, the only other words exchanged being the following.

"you know, i could wash it for you."

"i've already asked you for too many favors."

"i mean," jeno gives a smile to the side, "you could help."

a smile of your own forms as you muse on, "i could."

"tomorrow?"

"tomorrow."

jeno pulls into a makeshift parking space for the vast christmas tree lot you've decided to buy from this year, your usual having moved further out of town disappointingly. although with all things considered, you doubt there's much of a difference between the trees that are leftover for the few days before christmas and as suspected, the selection isn't all that impressive.

your town and neighboring seemed to have taken a liking towards fraser firs this year, no surprise in that, which leaves the dilapidating alternatives of douglas and noble firs, both of which would be fine if one wasn't prone to browning in a week and the other wasn't so tall. jeno holds up the last of the trees up and you do your routine inspection by viewing it from three feet away to seven, and ten. the boy scrunches his nose as you give a shake of your head, "too full, how are we even gonna decorate it?" and he sets it back against the fencing with a huff, "now what?"

"now, we…," you're unsure as well, eyes roving across the farm to give any candidate of tree a second chance. that's when you're hit with a revelation, well two revelations. rather sardonically, the wilting pines of the trees lead you to the first of your revelations; you're quite literally standing in a tree graveyard and if you were to go so far as to compare it to a graveyard in itself, there comes the thought that you've came with the purpose of buying a poor, dead tree to take it home and prop it back up as if it were alive, dressing it and decorating it, only to throw it to the curb a few weeks later. funny how all your life that seemed perfectly rational.

but christmas is a tradition, and traditions don't necessarily have to die even though they're faulted from the start, certainly not if you can help it.

jeno gives an eensy yelp as in a sudden flurry, you take the sleeve of his sweater between two fingers and drag him down and through the aisles of decaying trees to find the very thing that'd ignite your little light bulb. he's dawdling behind you, best he can, as your steps quicken and stop almost as abruptly before a sizeable army of potted christmas trees, smaller but also more alive than the usual lot. "how's this then?"

"i'm on board," jeno's beside you now and ever-so-aware that your fingers are still gripping his sweater. it doesn't stop there, however, because now your hands are enveloping his arm in its entirety and you're speaking softly, "of course you are, you're not even needed anymore," the words coming close to his ears from the proximity you've set. they don't warrant a blush by any means and for certain, the reason he's blushing aren't the words, it's you.

you leave his side as you release your hold on his arm, though it seems as if he's the only one who notices. a few steps away, you crouch in front of one that suits your likings to a T. you barely notice jeno's presence behind you, reading off the tag and muttering to yourself, "sustainable, affordable, replantable, eco-friendly, a natural scent, convenient...oh boy, i think we get it." upon further observation you decide that this one's the one—the green is vibrant to the tips and it's just full enough that the pines poke out in all the directions needed to support a modest amount of tinsel. "jeno, i think this is it-"

really, you really really had no idea that he was right there, head right above your shoulder. if you had known, you wouldn't have turned your head in the first place, much less allowed your lips to brush his, however brief. evidently flustered, the two of you snap your sights back ahead, at the same time, with both your hearts beating at the same, turbulent pace. you bring a hand up to your lips, partially in shock and partially in the thought that you basically just kissed lee jeno.

"sorry about that, i didn't think you'd turn…"

even when he's speaking, you don't dare look over at him. but in comparison to the tempestuous replays you're imagining, jeno's thoughts rumble a deeper current than anything he's felt all winter break.

the pot of the chosen tree rests against his hip as he stands a little off to the side to let you pay. he watches you keenly and uses the opportunity to scrutinize what exactly about you makes him feel that one way. as of the late, he finds that none of his emotions are describable and it's frustrating to say the least when all he knows is that the cause of his inner turmoil is you. you and your little sniggers whenever his clumsy side acts out too much for his liking, you and your undeniable affection for all things sweet and all things spicy, and you and your fisted hands on your squared hips, a fighting stance perhaps, a ready-to-throw-hands stance most definitely.

but finally, he gives his feelings a name when he witnesses in the rear view mirror, you and the little smile that creases your eyes, lifts your cheeks, bares your teeth, as you strap in the potted plant to the back seat, giving it a gentle pat as if it were your own child. he names it 'the long lost crush, the one that got away, the second season of his middle school one-sided affair, the-'

"are we...gonna go?" 

jeno jumps in his seat, "huh? oh." hand on the gear stick, he avoids your gaze fervently and pulls out of the spot. there's a shift in the air, at least from his end, and he thinks it has something to do with how he's come to terms with the fact that he likes you, again. is he surprised? no. why not?

because he knows this much, the longer you're by his side, the less it can be helped. he remembers every night in high school when, even in the time the two of you'd stopped talking, he'd stare lethargically at his ceiling before he went to sleep and imagine you by his side. he remembers another handful of nights in college when, long after he'd thought he was well over you, he still found himself rethinking your smile and refiling that folder of his. time carried on, and though he didn't necessarily have a heartbreak for it to heal, it wouldn't have mattered anyways because in his case, time could never heal. not for him and not in the face of you.

so jeno laughs along with you when he trips over your front steps, he sets both hands on the doorframe and leans in ever so slightly to say his goodbyes, and when the door shuts behind him, he takes a good look back over his shoulder anyways, hoping that you'd pop your head at the window, that you'd catch his lingering gaze. jeno's steps are resolute because he's not thirteen anymore. it's no longer about whether you like him back or not, it's about dealing with the fact that he likes you. and if his coping mechanisms come in the form of pushing his bounds as just a friend, flirting an obscene amount, and perhaps even confessing, then so be it.

jeno decides that, this time around, he would rather risk heartbreak than love you in silence for seven more years.

propping a knee, you catch the back end of the trash bin before it can thud on the pavement beneath you. a huff and a grunt are uttered into the air as you push it against the fenced side of your house, to the curb. you slide it against the elevated sidewalk, down onto the road, and it gives a resounding thump as it hits the ground. you dust off your hands and pivot to retrieve the last one and upon setting that one down in the spot adjacent to the previous, in the corner of your eye is perceived a figure.

born of instinct, you almost rush back into the house, a case of kidnap tends to loom when you're a young adult female taking out the trash in the dead of night. but another glance is given and the silhouette draws familiar notion, broad shoulders and especial proportions, not to mention the bright green you catch in the light of his porch lamp. it's jeno, and a hand of his clamps over his nose as the other thrusts a plastic bag into the black bin. and it's when he turns to retreat into his residence that his eyes catch you as well and he jumps a bit, recollects himself, waves, and watches as you wave back in the hopes that he could maybe approach you. 

instead, he finds that you're the one approaching him and that somehow makes it all the more nerve-wracking as he rushes to meet you in the middle. even a simple, "hi," from you makes his cheeks grow warm. he's breathless when he speaks, and not because of the brisk actions he undertook prior, "hey there." 

"are we still on for tomorrow?"

jeno's mouth parts as he retraces his memory to extract what exactly was planned for tomorrow. "ahh, yeah i can do tomorrow...morning?" you clasp your hands behind your back as you nod along, "morning it is then." your lips quirk to the side as you place your gaze on anything but him, to pass time, perhaps to make the silence a little more bearable. jeno's voice is so low the next he speaks, it almost spooks you out of your wits, "have you met up with any of the boys yet?"

his eyes keep their track on you as you take a few steps to the edge of the curb, lowering yourself atop it, "well, i hung out with hyuck the other day," you motion for him to sit beside you and he follows suit, "and i think he mentioned wanting to do some reunion thing at his house. i don't know, i'll have to ask." jeno stirs in his thoughts for the time being. hyuck. though he'd kept in touch with the boy after middle school and a bit after high school, even his name brings up a shitload of memories. "have you?"

"huh?" his eyes whirl to meet yours, "oh. for me, mostly just jaem, and renjun too the other day."

conversation seems to flow intermittently between you two, ongoing or nonexistent at all, for another lapse of silence is thrown into the mix. the air is certainly not governed by awkwardness, jeno feels that the time you've spent with him in the last few days guarantees at least that. but it's also laden with a sort of tension you can't quite place, a territory you're unwilling to traverse into. you move past your thoughts and voice only a sliver of them aloud, suppositionally, "if- if we do meet up, like all of us, do you think it'll be weird?"

"weird how?"

"weird as in…well, a lot's changed, since we were thirteen, and we haven't been in a room together all at once, since we were thirteen."

"i don't know. i think," he shrugs, "i think we'll be fine, me and you at least." jeno likes saying 'we' when it pertains to you and him. he mumbles it over a few times, under his breath, and though it's not entirely out of your earshot, you're far too busy taking long and zoned-out glances at him to notice. that in itself is something he surely notices.

undoubtedly, you must not be the only person in the world to think that jeno grew up well. lee jeno is kind, kind enough to grant you all the favors you've asked of him. lee jeno is warm, you feel he emanates warmth even by simply sitting by his side. lee jeno is sincere, his smiles beam of genuinity and his words are coated in truth. and in the spotty moonlight, flitting in between the boughs of the tree just above, lee jeno is good looking, chiseled jaw, pretty lips, those eyes. but more than that, he lives up to his good looks. you can only wish you'd been there to see him grow up, to grow up with him.

"jen?"

"yes?"

you tap your toes alternatingly on the scratchy pavement, your eyes and his as well are trained on them. licking your lips, you take your gaze from your feet to his side profile and your breath hitches before you speak, "what...what happened to us?"

jeno reverts his eyes onto your own, "what do you mean?" now you're staring right at each other which is usually how any conversation should be, but conversations between you and him seem to always be an exception. fiddling with your fingers, you trace your sights back down to your feet, "you said that we'd keep in touch. well, we both said that."

in truth, as much as the distance that divided the two of you could be denoted from his seemingly unrequited feelings for you, there was much less of a romantic touch in what happened for the most part. for the most part, things panned out as they usually do when two people, once close and once sworn to never not be close, end up being separated by the one thing that brought them close in the first place. that is not to say that your friendship with jeno had no value outside of school and school-related things but really, school was the one thing that made it so you saw the boy day in and day out, shared with him an intimacy that could only be reached with that basis of interaction. more than any derivative of feelings that could drive the two of you apart, your friendship was split by the common ground idea that people come and go. perhaps it was fate that wielded the sorts, perhaps it was merely meant to be. and if you were to chalk it up to fate, you could say that meeting jeno again, like this, was fate as well.

but jeno here, twenty-one-year-old jeno as opposed to thirteen-year-old jeno, would like to come clean with his feelings. at least his feelings of way back when, because this turn of the conversation had churned a past within him that he had yet to be willing to unearth; that is, until now as he susurrates, "because i liked you." jeno feels his eyes gloss over involuntarily, "and with the whole high school transfer and everything, it just kinda all fell apart." 

he looks to the other side, as naturally as he can, but there's the unmistakable shuffle of feet from behind him and when he turns back around, sure enough, you've inched closer than his current mental state can handle. you watch as jeno blinks, his eyes lain upon your lap, and a tear proceeds to trace its merry way down his cheek. you catch it with the sleeve of your sweatshirt but even after he's cried through his emotions, your hand stays there, cupping his cheek. 

the tips of your fingers protrude from the fabric of the sleeve and they, your thumb in particular, swipe across the heights of his cheeks and the bags under his eyes. your own eyes are soft on his, soft in knowing and in understanding because, "well if it offers you any comfort, i liked you too."

jeno, though fresh in the surprise of revelation, feels an ease pool his mind. he takes a hand and brings it to cup the side of your face as well, mirroring your actions with an equal, loving gaze that holds the memoirs of your cherished past. a past that no longer tugs at his mind, begging for his attention, that no longer muddles his afflictions between what is new and what is old, and a past that he can now move on from, with renewed finality.

you break the exchange with a breathy laugh. a smile stretches across his face. the one hand on his face turns into two and the same is applied to you sequentially. two twenty-one-year-old college students sit on the curb in front of a house that belongs to neither of them but rather lies in between their respective homes. they sit side by side, their eyes boring deeply into one another's and, with both hands clamped on the cheeks of the other, occasionally squishing to produce the silliest of expressions, they laugh and they imbue in the elation of being at peace with their entwined pasts.

when you stand first, brushing off the dust on your bottom, jeno, still sitting, catches your wrist and lets the quirk of his lips and a small, "thank you," express the lengths at which the conversation had gone in its endeavors to mend a somewhat dysfunctional relationship. but now in full functionality, jeno wonders if his feelings still persist.

and if there's one thing to tell him they do, that they're as present as ever if not more so than before, it's the way he blushes warm when you entangle his grip on your wrist into your hand, giving his palm a brief squeeze before you look down upon him with an enraptured smile of your own. he watches you take your leave and, in the blackness of night, he thinks you are the most personable being to have ever walked in his life. he thinks he wouldn't mind another seven years, though only if he was promised to have you by his side the whole while.

"you mind if i tag along?"

yeah, i mind. jeno clicks his tongue, "no."

"you sure?" hyuck edges him on, nudging his old friend with the end of the hose. jeno can only roll his eyes at that, taking the hose from him, "not like i have a choice if she brought you here in the first place." jeno, while watching you roll up the windows of your dirtied car, can't help but wonder why you had to bring this damned boy. he really thought that after such a heartfelt moment the two of you shared just the past night, you would have been more open to venturing into alone, one on one, time with him. he does his best to clip back the snarky tone that's just waiting to be let aloud whenever donghyuck speaks.

"so who do you think's gonna be third wheeling today? me or you?"

"you," jeno bleats with not a second to spare. though he's sure the boy means it all in good-natured fun, jeno's dead serious when he says, "guess we'll just have to see who prevails."

and that, oh dear, that is sure to bring out the competitive temper of the one and only lee donghyuck, winner of all games ever played. jeno knows he's perhaps just dug a hole for himself, a shovel in hand and all, because right off the bat, hyuck is off to hog all of your attention and very rarely does he fail with his witty remarks and his position as 'most recent best friend.' in fact, he's right in the middle of telling you what is sure to be the joke of the century when the idea pops into jeno's mind, a godsend. 

he turns the knob on the hose to its fullest power before trudging off to the dial, his absence going unnoticed as you laugh at whatever hyuck has just said. donghyuck's turning to see if jeno has caught yet another point he's scored when he's met with a forceful discharge of water square to his face. it's four seconds of just standing there before hyuck remembers that he has the miraculous abilities of mobility, and upon moving out of the way in a terrible coughing and choking fit, the spray of the hose lands upon you. 

jeno gives a squeal that's comparable to yours as you snatch the second hose from donghyuck's limps hands, his body now wilted rather dramatically across the hood of your car, and point it to jeno, dousing him full as you charge right at him. he doesn't move, to your liking and more because he feels bad for having just accidentally drenched you in freezing cold hose water in the dead of winter. the punishment he has willingly subjected himself to is also freezing cold, bone-chilling, and numbing to the core. but he doesn't mind it nearly as much when the gush of water hitting his chest stops and he runs a hand through his hair, clearing his eyes to reveal your smiley, smiling face that looks to be having way too much fun in the face of hypothermia.

he's left kneeling when the water clears and you are as well, though while he's kneeling from the sheer force of the deluge, you're kneeling out of laughter. trudging over to your spot a little ways from him, the blades of the grass of your front lawn beneath tickling the skin of his kneecaps, jeno blithely lifts a few stray and wet strands of hair out of your face, tucks them behind your ear. your laughter subsides into gentle smile, one that erupts into giggles recurrently, and jeno has the gall to steal a look a donghyuck, who has since recovered and is now staring at the scene itself, eyebrow cocked and a tongue jutting out his cheek in a challenge he gladly takes up on.

jeno returns from inside his house with the two towels he had his mom fetch, only two because in his eyes, it's only fair that donghyuck doesn't get one. needless to say, hyuck's displeased as he watches jeno pat and dry your hair as you sit, propped atop the hood of your car. jeno isn't all that surprised when his own towel gets stolen from his shoulder and the boy also props himself onto the hood, next to you. funnily enough, jeno's now the one who's displeased because you've taken the towel from donghyuck's hands and instead of using it to dry the damp ends of his own hair, like it was intended to be, you turn slightly and echo jeno's actions, but instead on hyuck.

and while jeno's nose scrunches in a distaste that only hyuck catches, his eyes seemingly everywhere all at once, you turn a tad bit further to the side to reach the back ends of hyuck's head of hair. jeno complains as your own head moves a little too far for his positioning and a hand leaves the towel to move you back into place. that meaning his left hand holds solid on your right thigh. that also meaning the sudden halt of your actions, jeno's too, as donghyuck simply stares, observes, analyzes, comes to a realization, and smirks.

jeno also comes to a realization that his hand is still, still on your thigh, shown in how his hand snaps back into the oblivion and beyond, and how the tips of his ears are exceedingly quick to flush a cherry red. his thoughts of just yesterday, 'get the girl!,' are now very much diminished as his stare fixates on the ground and the ground only, even as you ask for him to move a little to the right so you could slide off the hood, even as hyuck excuses himself to the guest bathroom, though his hand is quick to fish out his phone before he even enters the house. jeno's eyes are unmoving, even as time resumes around him, and even though he understands how crazed he must look in your eyes. he understands, but that's about it because it's nothing that can be helped. 

you quirk a brow at the boy, eyes a flood of worry, and with those same eyes on him, lee jeno, in the middle of winter, begins to sweat. it starts at the palms, a sticky, tacky feeling but then he feels it creep at the back of his neck, coming in the form of a shiver of nerves. and although those two remain unnoticed, you bring a hand to his wrist to catch his attention because the beads of sweat forming along his temple have caught yours. "jeno, are you okay? you seem to be…" 

jeno lifts his gaze from the floor, a feat no doubt, and brings his eyes to yours. there are many things he notes. one, the worry in your eyes irks him, he despises even more that he's the cause of it, however silly. two, your hand remains at his wrist, unsure in the lightness of touch but assured in how it stays put nonetheless. three, your lips, they're very pretty; an observation that he's always been aware of, but when your face is only a rough seven inches from his own, the observations become a fact, ingrained in his mind for now and forevermore whenever he so much as looks at you. though more unconscious, there's a four. he wants to kiss you. and in a way that's quite far from the simple, accidental brush of lips he'd shared with you just the day prior. it's significantly far, a dot in the distance.

he almost goes in for it.

"do you mind if i shower at your place? it's fucking cold."

you remove your hand from his wrist, jeno's fingers twitch in longing to reach after it. with your own fingers absentmindedly toying with the cinched waistband of your sweats, you shift your weight from one foot to another. remarkably, only your top half was drenched but that in itself was sure to trail little shivers up your spine. jeno avoids your gaze, feverishly, hand coming up to the nape of his neck. he mumbles a short, "sure," before turning upon his heel, leading into the house. 

while hyuck is in the guest bathroom, you venture into the one through jeno's room which is noticeably cleaner since the last you were there. he tells you to wait there while he messes around in the bathroom, cleaning, but he leaves that detail out. one leg crossed over another, you bunch up the soaked hems of your shirt so as to not drip everywhere, standing there in apprehension and also halfway in the dark with the slatted blinds above his bed turned shut, the only source of light being the little that slips in between the slats. resolutely, you cross the room and gingerly lean a knee into the bed, reaching for the handle to twist them open. that's when you see it, slung upon the footboard of his bed.

that's also when jeno calls, voice distant and steps in a hurry as he pronounces, "i'll get you a shirt from my closet, hold up." but as he emerges from the bathroom, it seems that you have different plans. his eyes go wide as he sees the one, unfortunate garment he'd forgotten to put away this morning in your hands. yes, the bright green shirt from that one seventh grade math competition, with the now faded and very corny geometry joke proudly displayed on the front. it's that one that his mom asks him all the time why he never throws it out even though it's been years. he almost lets it show how he sulks into himself because they're his pajamas, and for a reason that he knows that you know and, to him at least, it's all the more embarrassing when you know. there's a lot of almosts today because jeno almost shits himself at the thing you say next.

"can i wear this one instead?"

the shy glint in your eyes and the light smile that glosses over your expression are all he needs to say, "sure," it comes out nonchalant but jeno is freaking the fuck out internally. you asking to wear that specific shirt suddenly made all the embarrassment garnered from it seem significantly less embarrassing. 

he sits on the edge of his bed as the sounds of the shower going skirts his thoughts. feet kicking up and down, back and forth down the side, jeno sighs with his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. he's directly opposite and in line with the one picture on the wall he couldn't dare put away in his prior and precautionary cleaning in the case that you would come over once again. the edges of the photo are frayed with time and brash handling, seen even in its frame, but if anything, the memory of it is intact as ever. 

jeno thinks of all the things that would have gone differently, had he confessed to you that day as he planned he would. graduation day it was, and it was cloudy and on the verge of raining but his spirits weren't dampened in the slightest, clapping the loudest as you crossed the stage to shake hands with the principal, head awkwardly facing the crowd as your father had implored you to do so for his picture. his spirits were far dampened when you returned to your seat, a row ahead and a few down from where he was himself, mouthing a, "stop it," in annoyance as he mimicked your ungainly actions from just before. he felt that his spirits could never be dampened as he returned to his own seat, looking over in your direction automatically as you posed a thumbs up and another mouthing, this time an, "i'm proud of you," before getting caught by a passing supervisor and being forced to turn back around with a huff.

jeno remembers his spirits plummeting as he sat with you under the bleachers, for the last time, half his body situated on his jacket and the other on the scratchy grass. he didn't mind it as long as you were fully atop it yourself. despite what his quick wikiHow search on 'how to confess your love to someone,' there was no surge of confidence, not one stroke of it within him. he gave small smiles to your animated talking and the bare minimum of responses when prompted. and when you'd fished your phone out of your back pocket at the sound of a ping to see your mom texting you to go back to the field for pictures, he took your helping hand as he stood but even then, he couldn't dare be bold enough to keep your hand in his. with an arm set loosely across the back of donghyuck's shoulder and the other across yours, he made sure to hold you tight by his side, for fear and acceptance that this would be the last time he would have you there, by his side.

but as his gaze is pulled away from the picture, instinctively towards the sound of the door being propped open, jeno's reminded that, for now, you're all for his taking as long as he's up for the challenge. he watches as you linger by the door for a second, lip tucked under teeth yourself as you contemplate your next steps, next words. and as jeno watches, the shirt hanging tight on his figure but loose on yours, he can't help but think that this time around, he's in it to win it.

forms clutched in your left hand, all of them filled out in your neat, pencilled handwriting, you tap your toes impatiently. the line that you were currently in, placing at about the middle, was long and not at all to your liking. against your best wishes, your parents really had the gall to sign you up for this; you have foolproof evidence that math is your weakest subject, the foolproof evidence being a years and years accumulated stack of report cards. they claimed it was for you to get some extra practice and you'd countered that the annual math competition at your middle school was only really for the people in the advanced math placement, which you were most certainly not. you were still forced to go, though you declined the offer to buy the gaudy green shirt, but you were also right in saying that because none of the people in the line, at least of those in front of you, were from your class. you look towards the back end of the line to check the same so that you could provide extra evidence to your conviction, not that you were going to really need it after you took the test but you would like something to pair with your lacking results when rubbing it in to your dad later.

at first glance, there's no one really that you can spot but then you look at the person directly behind you and what you don't expect is it to be that one kid that is indeed in your class, your low level math class. he's quite the sight and you wonder why he didn't catch your eye earlier with his hair sticking up in all directions as he frightfully balances on one leg, his other hiked up and being used as a makeshift table. upon closer inspection, the paper he's furiously writing upon looks to be akin to your filled out form, only it's not filled out at all.

twelve-year-old jeno feels your gaze on him, and though he's verily preoccupied with writing, he's much more intrigued by your interest in him. head snapping up in a sudden movement and snarky in his greeting, "got something to say?" and it reminds you a little too much of hyuck to simply let it pass, "yes, i do." no, you actually don't so the empty pause you leave is in search of anything relevant. when you do happen upon something, your continuation is in equal snarkiness, "your hair's a mess."

at that, he stands up straight and you note how at the age of twelve, the boy is annoyingly taller than you, "shoot, really?" a hand rushes to pat down the straight strands in a hurry. a mild surprise lines your countenance at how the snarkiness ends there, watching as he furthers his comments, "i was in a rush this morning, that's probably why," and when you, again, have nothing to add, he goes to say, "renjun told me about this competition and i just had to do it."

now it's confusion that can be seen in your bewildered stare, you only knew about this since your mom is pta (parent teacher association) president; the competition, though advertised as open to all seventh graders, was only really promoted to the higher level math students, namely renjun and his lot. the kid, whose name you place to be jeno, friend of renjun's who's a friend of hyuck's, is now expectant in a response from you, less the conversations take a turn for the worse. you provide something short but enough to compose your inquiries, "why? who would want to do this?"

a part of you already knows. lee jeno, though you know little of him, sits at the front of your math class and never forgets to bring his glasses to school. a pencil is almost always in his hand when he raises it to ask a question at least ten times per lecture which is also the only reason you actually know of him because unlike him, you don't pay much attention at all in math class. jeno raises his eyebrows and replies as if his reasoning was common knowledge, "well i thought it'd be fun!"

"fun?"

"yeah!"

"fun how?"

jeno's standing complacently but his hands are making vague motions, "because you know…," a hands comes to the nape of his neck and he whispers as if his utterances were frowned upon for a lower level math student. to you they are indeed. "i like math."

"yeah no shit, you're the only one who participates in math." his eyes widen at your profanity, head snapping to see if anyone had heard. upon realizing something else, he motions for you to move forward, neither of you had noticed the line had started progressing onwards. 

jeno's still on edge, eyes peering side to side to make sure no teacher had passed while you spat such a vulgar word, "shhh, what if someone hears you?!" a coy smile creases your eyes, you decide that you're certainly very fond of this boy, or at least you're very fond of teasing him. "then how about...damn?" jeno's startled. "ass?" jeno looks like he's on the verge of shitting his pants. thus you go on, "another shit?" the twelve-year-old's mouth drops wide open, "y/n-"

"asshole, dickhead, son of a bitch, mother fucker, your mom's puss-"

he's rushing right up to you and before you can proceed, jeno's hand is clamped tight over your mouth. "y/n, that's-" and as if he weren't already a close seven inches away from you, he leans in further and you swear his lips graze the side of your cheek as he whispers, "y/n, that's illegal," and suddenly and in your eyes, the humble, wide-eyed boy that you'd only thought to tease of has you floored with his gaze locked on yours, breath fanning across your skin. he looks good, even at twelve years, lee jeno is easy on the eyes.

you gulp, push him off, and turn back around to the line that'd moved up four people since the last you'd moved, leaving jeno to stand there, hands limp by his side and in complete neglectance of his still half-filled out form. it takes thirty or so seconds for him to move up in the line as well, the mutters from the people lagging behind him also going unnoticed. and when he does notice, taking a few steps forward and once again hiking his leg up to be used as a viable writing surface, it's only after he spent those same thirty seconds spaced out in aftershock of why he did that, or rather, where the sudden surge of confidence came from that had him in the position in the first place. perhaps that's the first time that jeno ever thinks of you a little differently, only because there's something about you makes it so he does things a little differently, makes it so he can't simply act normally around you.

and perhaps you've also undergone the same predicaments because you pay extra attention when the test is handed out, and the way your brows pull together with your eyes trained on the paper tells a lot about those normally divergent acts. you're the last to turn it in, even after the bookish jeno, and when he takes a glance at you across the room as he returns to his seat, a little smile creeps its way upon his lips.

the same smile is there when you plop down next to him in math class the following monday, right at the front of whiteboard, and there goes the tug of his heartstrings when you lean over, eyes in wonderment, to ask him a thing or two about hypotenuses or some of the sort which he more than happily obliges. jeno beams when you hold him back after class to show him your score on the unit final he'd tutored you for and he beams the year after that when the two of you both climb the ranks into the prestigious advanced level placement. 

for many reasons, jeno proved to be a blessing in your life. your parents loved him specifically for the studiousness he instilled within you, something neither of you have ever pointed out but are in mutual understanding of. jeno was by your side through your traumatic first post-breakup stage, the douche of a boyfriend, or rather another twelve-year-old boy, had dumped your ass after two and a half days. jeno was the one who coughed into your ear during that one fateful game of telephone, the one played on the bus to the museum field trip; he'd defeated, and i mean absolutely crushed, donghyuck in a game of rock, paper, scissors to win the spot next to you, still a feat he considers one of his many prides to this day. jeno was the one who picked at your food, but also magically produced his own to share whenever you were without a lunch. 

lee jeno was the epitome of right person, right time, and even though the same sentiments weren't carried all the way through, were interrupted, displaced, all the things he gave you, left for you, they stayed.

lee jeno remembers the day he met you with keen lucidity. he remembers all the days after that in a chorus of feelings that swept him in the most unintelligible way, after all, who expects to fall so deeply in love at the age of twelve. at twelve you'd think the thing you'd be most worried about would be having fun before high school, occasionally grades, or maybe even the changing appearances that come with puberty and puberty in itself. for a good chunk of it, jeno thought that his feelings could be explained by puberty but it proved especially ignorant of him to think the same in high school when his feelings that persisted were only sustained by the mere memory of you. 

maybe it wasn't from day one, by no means was it love at first sight, second sight, or even third or fourth or fifth, but it was the succession of some inevitable process, the day you met through the day you graduated. to finish a thought, maybe lee jeno could have claimed spot as your boyfriend of seven years, had he not yielded in the face of profession. perhaps, you would have broken up already, the simple outcomes of distance and the natural order of relationships. would he have let you go? or would it have been you to call it off?

it's unfortunate that he'll never know, no matter how much he wonders, but of all the things he's sure of in the moment, it's that your laugh is the prettiest thing known to man, known to him. your feet dangle a significant amount over the edge of his bed, stark from his own toes that are stagnant and grazing the floor. he doesn't look over at you and his mumbles say enough of why, "i'm not kidding, y/n- don't laugh at me! i'm being serious, you really do."

"really now, you're telling me that i look good in your old pajamas. as if it weren't just to tease me."

"really!" his voice hits a pitch higher and he clears his throat, a scrunch of his nose at your laugh follows and denotes much regret in how he accidentally spoke his thoughts aloud in the first place. you really can't tell but he's trying his best to get in a few compliments, he'd heard that girls like flattery (he didn't hear, per se, he'd seen it somewhere online—read: wikiHow). "you look far better in it than i ever would." 

with his hands on either side of him, jeno pushes himself upwards the bed, lowers his back upon the sheets, and folds his hands across his stomach. he didn't expect as such but you do the same. it's now that his heart sees it fit to speed its pace, only because of that one pesky thought that's infiltrated his mindset. you're in bed with him after all, and though it's nothing close to what would be considered crossing the line as two friends, the thought itself is enough to ignite a fervid warmth through his cheeks. his eyes are rigid on the ceiling when you speak, "do you even remember where this is from?" they itch to look over at you but he's afraid it'll be too obvious then; his plan is to woo you, not to make a fool of himself.

jeno senses the sheets stir from beside him and he can only guess what position you've assumed, and hopefully not the one where you're facing him while his everything is still aligned straight ahead. he hopes it's not because if it were, he'd be missing out on one of those *romantic moments* that he so wishes to achieve. jeno's inability to think straight, about positioning, hinders his ability to respond, something that's only brought to his attention when you perk up again, "jeno? did you hear me?"

jolted, his eyes instinctively snap to yours in the sense that yes, now he's facing you and yes, he sees that you're facing him also. there seems to be a little something lodged in his throat when he replies because it comes out as if his neck were a squeaky toy that'd just been stepped upon. "of course," he clears his throat with a grunt, "that math competition, seventh grade." jeno concludes that that something in his throat must be his heart because he can quite literally hear its beating in his ears and feel its thrum through his organs. he licks his lips and sits in silence, save the thumps of his heart, as his eyes trace to your own lips, not seven inches away.

"that's...that's when it all started," you muse, a hand coming up to brush a hair from your face and hitting jeno's chest on its way, as if just to remind him of how close you are. "i mean, for me that is."

pushing his rather uncivilized thoughts from his mind, jeno gives a, "what do you mean?" before dutifully returning to glancing at your lips. if you notice, you don't comment upon it, choosing rather to answer promptly, "i think that's when i started to like you." he gulps and says just about the same, "me too." jeno's nerves think they are just about ready for whatever is thrown his way but not until a leg of yours moves to nudge his gently. "wow, it's like we're meant to be." his nerves, they must be on fire now and just about ready to take on the whole world in its entirety because he notes with keen incredulity that your use of 'we're' could indicate that you still like him, the possibilities of it being an 'are' versus a 'were' are only fifty-fifty.

"yeah…," he trails off, misses the look in your eyes, shifts to land onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. you do the same and decide that it's enough of 'testing the waters' for today. but apparently jeno thinks otherwise because just as you're moving to sit upright, he spells a slither of his heart out for you, "you're my first love, you know."

jeno would like to pride himself in the usage of 'you're,' also vague and could be taken either way. upsettingly, he lacks the know-how to understand that what this situation needs right now is certainty to topple over the tension and teetering statements. he's a bit too used to hiding behind the veil of 'what ifs' and resting atop the net of safety to realize. 

blinking up at the ceiling, you rustle to sit up once again, but not before donghyuck bursts through the door with an expression that sits pissed at first but melds into his signature leer as soon as he surveys the pair he's stumbled upon. "been looking for you two." jeno's shooting upright himself and all of a sudden, things are happening too fast.

there's two seconds before you're off and bounding towards hyuck as if he were your means of rescue; there's the, "what took you so long?" that slips from your mouth as if you'd been waiting for him all along instead of willingly giving jeno your time of day; there's donghyuck's phone that rests limp in his hand, by his side, but not yet clicked off because the screen gleams bright and it's showcasing jaemin's contact, a recent call most definitely; there's hyuck's response, muttered but in good humor, "i took a shit, that's why." 

and then there's the sinking feeling that sets fire within jeno. maybe even jaemin as well but it's for certain and even further confirmed when hyuck's smirk makes its way to meet jeno's benumbed expression, his eyes locking with sickening devilry and the traces of a challenge. donghyuck knows. and though he's sure to take it upon himself to get the two of you together for once and for all, jeno knows far better, with experience in hand, that though his friend's sentiments are in support, his chances fair much higher when it's only him that's left to trifle with the dealings of his love life. only him, and his languishing confidence.

plucking a kernel from the carpet, you toss it into the bin over the arm of the couch. the paper towel on the same arm is used to rub off whatever dust had soiled your hand and it's returned to the bowl to rummage for another, slightly more buttered, popcorn. you wish that your mom was into those hallmark christmas movies, because in all honesty, you're quite the fan but you suppose 'rise of the guardians' ranks close enough. glancing down to the bowl in your lap for a second time, you groan upon realizing that the only reason you've been munching on the terribly unflavored popcorn was because you've already tired out the supply of the buttered ones. that enough gets you to set the bowl on the coffee table, done with snacking for the night as you pick up your two crochet hooks and get to work, your actions mirroring your mom's though she's a lot farther in her chain.

you suppose the movie is just about halfway through when you're sidetracked by how you've somehow messed up a turning chain, warranted though, as you're an amateur in the dark. it's a shame because you really would have loved to pay at least half attention to the very gorgeously animated character, jack frost, but are instead struggling. after reworking the chain a few times, you decided to give it a rest and set it aside as well. it seems that being a quitter is the overarching theme of today.

the sound of your head thudding against the back of the couch gets your mom to separate her attention as well. seeing your state, she opts to make conversation in the light that you're far from returning to the movie. it plays in the background, the only source of light in the living room. "how's the car?"

"clean." a sour mood you're in, it seems. your mom hesitates for a second before approaching a second question, "how's jeno been?"

"great. he's been great, mom." she sets down her crochet for the time being, the foot of hers that's jutting out of the blanket bouncing up and down. you doubt why you even tried to conceal your feelings with curt responses when really, you're unashamed in front of your mom. that's the sole reason why she deems it fitting to dig a little deeper, "anything you want to tell me?"

it's an, "of course," that has her crochet set in her lap for the rest of the night. you turn towards her in full, shifting your weight so that it faced her position on the armchair diagonal of the couch. sighing, you shove a tongue in consideration to the side of your cheek before pulling back the curtains a third of the way, "i think he likes me." your mother's eyes sparkle, she sets her hooks and yarn on the coffee table as well, urging you to go on with a nudge of her head. "but at the same time he doesn't?"

she nods in the processing of her thoughts, "so, mixed feelings?"

you nod along with her, "mixed feelings."

your mother never disappoints you when a situation of yours arises and she's bound to give you her advice, her very blunt, very to-the-point advice. "just ask him. i mean, if he rejects you, you're only going to have to see him for a few more weeks before you're back off to school."

and you never disappoint yourself when a situation of yours arises and you're bound to adhere to her advice, the very blunt, very to-the-point advice because as always, she's right. but then she muses on with the littlest care in the world, "or you could just mess around with him for a bit-"

"mom-"

"what's making you think i mean it in that way? did i really raise such a slu-"

"mom! oh my goodness-"

"i'm just saying," she drags on the word and you almost rush to interrupt her with another exclamation before noting her demeanor, her countenance in the dim light. you lick your lips in apprehension, vaguely reminiscent of salted butter. "i'm just saying...keep him on the hook for a little longer," her crochet reference is bad but you don't miss an opportunity to let a small smile show. it's gone the next second when she resumes with more to her thought, "really, take it slow. i doubt that he doesn't like you. i'm pretty sure he did back in middle school-"

"he told me he did, something about how i was his first love."

she's taking this a lot less seriously than you thought she would. it irks you to know why. your mother has her head propped on the palm of her hand, her weight on the arm of the couch, "then i'm pretty sure he's never had a second." your brows draw in, "why?"

"no matter how much i love you, y/n, i would never pay for your groceries, change your tires, haul your christmas tree, or wash your car after not seeing you for seven years. just think about it, seven years without contact is as good as being strangers." you watch as she pushes herself off the arm, off the chair, blanket falling aside. your mom takes your discarded bowl in her hands, her own crochet, and the tv remote before clicking the movie off. you watch her as she moves casually across the room and you hear her just before she flicks on the light. 

"it's either that he likes you or that he's jesus, your pick."

it's a christmas rule, or at lease a rule that you and your friends go by, that if christmas day is for family, then christmas eve is for friends, hence why donghyuck had so cleverly gathered everyone in his basement on the very day, or night actually. he stops you with an arm just before you descend upon the staircase, "what'd you bring?" he motions towards the plastic bag clutched in your hands, the same one that'd bagged your groceries the other day (reduce, reuse, recycle!), but it instead carries, "pumpkin pie, i've come bearing pie," and hyuck removes his arm for you to pass before holding it up again for jeno, "and you, sir?" 

"eggnog."

you turn back to see donghyuck give jeno the heartiest pat on the back, "now that sir, that's what i'm talking about." scrunching your nose in good-natured fun, you quip at that, "what's wrong with my pumpkin pie?" jeno's a step above you, hyuck on the step behind as he retorts, "nothing, it's just that jeno here remembered that we're very much legal." shrugging, you trod off down below, missing the way donghyuck holds jeno back for a second. firstly to ask, "brandy or bourbon?"

"whiskey, actually."

and secondly to ask, "so what are you waiting for?"

"huh?" jeno takes a step back up the stairs and away from the hustle and bustle of the basement where you might have lingered to hear what he thinks the conversation is steering towards. "or did you do it already?" he checks himself before jumping to conclusions, "what do you mean?"

hyuck's hand is impatient on his friend's shoulder, after all, it's been eight years and counting since he first discovered jeno's little secret, plus only a day since he rediscovered it. "did you ask her out yet?" jeno's about to disagree with him, partially out of habit, "i-" before he realizes it's for naught, "no, i haven't."

"do you perhaps, i don't know, have a time in mind?"

repositioning the gallon-sized jar in his hands, jeno's response rumbles deep and low for only him to hear, "yeah actually, i was thinking next-"

"next?!"

"what-"

"no next! you have to do it like- tonight!"

"what, why?"

hyuck isn't smirking but the look in his eyes is somewhat akin to it. "because…," it seems that he isn't up to letting his mischief spill for his answer is really quite lame, "because timing is imperative! remember what happened last time?" jeno doesn't let it get to him nearly as much as it should; his plan is foolproof and he's convinced that nothing of what haechan does should be able to catch your gaze tonight, or for the rest of nights. he leaves the boy at the stairs as he treads into the space, ready to take on step one. different plans await him as he draws nearer to the sectional, only to find that the one available seat next to you, at the far right of the couch, has been taken by jaemin.

awkwardly, jeno sets the eggnog on the table and takes the next best spot, the one next to the boy, squeezing beside renjun who gives him a glare and a scowl, "first time you see me in awhile and you decide you want to sit on me? really jen?"

jeno puts his whole heart into apologizing, "oh whoops, my bad," as he turns his body in your direction, and jaemin's, only to feel his stomach furl at how jaemin's body is also aligned with your own, effectively blocking him off. again, the awkwardness that's emitting from him is awfully discernable to renjun, watching the boy turn back around again and give him a sheepish smile, this time in actual contriteness. with step two out of reach and thwarted, he sets his sights on the eggnog. jeno's quite the simple man. his approach was simple. he was sure that simple would get him many places, unlike donghyuck's abundant and conflict-laden schemes.

his plans were simple in that, one: sit next to you, make sure that no one else sits next to you. two: talk to you, make sure that no one else talks to you. and three: ask you out, make sure that no one else asks you out. and that's how it should've gone! though it's certainly not how it's going.

jeno's left to pick up the pieces of your and jaemin's delightful conversation as the same boy reaches for the eggnog at the same time as him. retreating, he watches as jaemin fills a mug for you, then for himself. he listens as jaemin questions, "first time drinking?" pfft, even i know that.

"yeah, actually," it's because you're mom's strict. "my mom's strict."

 "oh wow, so eggnog for a first must be kinda heavy, huh."

i wish that you would start with something lighter, just in case. "i know right, i wish that i could start out with something lighter, just in case. but i don't mind." i'll mind for you. if you can't finish it, i'll finish it for you.

"if you can't finish it, i'll finish for you."

with that, jeno's off to minding his own business because na jaemin is quite literally, stealing his spot, stealing his lines and it's evident that whatever he'd planned for tonight was simply, as simple as his plan, not happening. glare and scowl set into place, akin to renjun's earlier, he fills his own mug, only up to the halfway mark because his last glimmer of hope lies in when he walks you home later in the night. hell, he regrets just thinking that he should've just asked you out on the way here.

setting the mug down, he leans back in his limited space, arms behind his head and an elbow digging into renjun's space as well. the boy is about to comment on it when donghyuck finally returns from his room with the board game of choice this one christmas eve. "since y/n's here for the first time, i've decided to go with something mild," everyone, except you, is transported into the memory of last year when the now-snapped-in-half connect four contraption had bewitched them all into a death match (at least it wasn't raining and at least it wasn't on the rooftop), "so we're going with monopoly." jeno notes the smile that makes its way to your face.

renjun from beside him groans, "monopoly's boring though, ("-because you suck at it-") why can't we just play like-"  

"i think it's a good idea," jeno announces rather suddenly, to which donghyuck rejoins, "and i asked neither of you for your opinions." he tugs off the top of the case and throws it back, "my house, my rules." although jeno wants to confront the urge to counter hyuck's sass, he doesn't because you look pleased at the game of choice, elated almost. but then there's jaemin beside you, commenting and remarking into your ear to further the little smiles you give and, change of plans, jeno decides that if he can't beat jaemin in winning your attention, he'll just have to beat him in winning monopoly. 

the fake bills in his hands stack steadily as renjun, who'd been appointed banker, hands him, two hundreds, then another fifty. but with each increasing increment of jeno's money and competitiveness, jaemin's seems to dwindle as any inverse relationship would do as such. jeno seems to have forgotten that he, na jaemin, is the self-proclaimed 'least competitive person in the world' and how that held true in most any circumstance, including the case of girls or this case of boardgames. rather than narrowing his focus on winning, jaemin catered his role in the playing of the game to comedics. and while jeno dearly loves to hear you laugh, he finds it unfortunate that you find jaemin very funny.

he thinks he's had quite the night. the two rounds of monopoly, an hour each where he'd won both times but was also unrivaled both times, the movie marathon that followed suit (though is the word 'marathon' really warranted if only one and a third were watched?), and the grand finale, eight rounds of drinking games. certainly any singular event could have ignited a spur within him but after enduring all of them, paired with the fact that he was now mildly drunk, lee jeno is, to put it simply, not having it.

jeno undoubtedly has had a drink or two more than he should have because he sways a bit when he stands. he isn't sure but somewhere in the midst of seeing jaemin's hand rest casually on your thigh (missing the way you brush it off politely) and the way he seems to exclusively talk to you and you only (though your half-hearted responses are just out of earshot), jeno came to the conclusion that drinking copious amounts of eggnog seemed the best course of action. he also comes to duly note the looks that jaemin has been sending him, periodically. it's something along the lines of a smirk without the smile, a challenge set in his brow, and a glint of smugness in the eyes. drunk jeno is having exceeding difficulties in stripping down the implication of those regards, especially when his forefront train of concentration is currently being narrowed towards not tripping up the steps.

the jar of eggnog, now empty, is left behind on the table with the cumulation of also empty mugs and extra beer cans, soju bottles. your plastic bag and the aluminum container that held the pumpkin pie are long gone as well. you track your eyes down to each step of the stairs you take because if you look up, you'd be face to face with jeno's bottom. face to butt, really.

the night had ebbed, slowly but surely, into a mess. for whatever reason, you had minimal interactions with any of your friends except for jaemin, not that jaemin wasn't your friend, just that you had hopes of a christmas eve spent with the boy you talked the least to in the course of the night. the one whose bottom has just backed into your forehead. "jen…"

he pays no mind, perhaps doesn't even hear you at all because he proceeds to stumble around for a bit, taking another step down until you're forced to do the same, else your sanity be damned. both hands on the rails on either side, you suck in a breath. "jen, get your ass out of my face." and at that, the boy seems to get a grip on himself, tossing a dumbfounded, then staggered look back at you before straightening and taking the surest steps the rest of the way up to the utility room landing where donghyuck is seen to have been holding the back door open for the better part of three minutes. jaemin is there as well, lingering to see you guys off, you specifically, and jeno finds that same look being thrown at him, except this time he's slightly sobered up. the haze that had hitherto hindered him from thinking through his thoughts with clarity had cleared. he realizes what's off.

maybe it's the flashback, episodic memory style, to donghyuck's phone displaying jaemin's contact after intruding upon the little moment you'd been sharing with him, only a day ago at that. maybe it's that paired with hyuck's, "you have to do it like- tonight!" something that he'd brushed off but also made a lot more sense when put into consideration with the fact that jaemin's looks emanated of provocations, a dare of sorts. and that in itself speaks volumes of nonsense now that jeno's remembering that jaemin is the least competitive person in the world, not only to his own standards but to everyone else's. na jaemin, jeno's other best friend, wasn't deliberately trying to steal his (soon-to-be) girl. he was rather (rather infuriatingly) trying to rile up his dear friend into asking her out. bitterly, jeno notes that it's working; he's a great deal ticked off, even more so now that he's in the know, and his plans on asking you out have indeed been sped up to tonight.

so as jeno holds an unnecessary hand out to help you up the last few steps, a hand that you take with an apprehensive smile quick to form, he makes sure to give jaemin that same look he's been receiving all night. and while jaemin holds an elbow of yours to steady you as you slip on your shoes, jeno makes sure to take both sides of your open jacket and zip it closed, tugging the garment tight to your frame. he relishes in the feeling of your eyes on him, for the first time that night, as you bid your farewells to everyone else. jeno tries to hide a smile of his own as he says his goodbyes, eyes never leaving yours. he ushers you out of the house soon enough, the door clicking shut behind him and offering him the makings of possibly the confession of the century. he paces himself beside you.

hyuck's house is only four blocks down from your own, the only reason the two of you had agreed to walk there in the first place which was a seemingly good idea, if only you had considered the fact that by the end of the gathering it would be three forty in the morning, on christmas morning. the sky is dark, the moon itself offering little light in the presence of clouds, though the air is crisp as it is cold, nipping at the exposed skin of your face and hands. you shove those same hands into the pockets of your jacket as you shuffle along the side of jeno; just being by his side seems to provide a steady stream of warmth you're unwilling to stray too far from.

it's when the two of you cross the second intersection that jeno thinks to start up the little conversation that's been playing in his head for the last six or so hours. it's also then that an idea, though rather dumb, dawns upon you. your neighborhood circles around a fairly small lot, one with only a lawn of grass and a childrens' playground to earn it the title of being a park. a corner of your lips turns itself upwards as you grasp a hand on jeno's forearm, lightly steering him, "let's go sit on the swings for a bit, how's that?" and he complies, mind rerouting the scenarios of the conversation as the circumstances fluctuate. 

the swings, a set of two, creak and groan as you kick up and back, the movement coursing the wind to whip cold across your cheeks. your hands clasp the equally frigid chains from which the seat you're on is sustained, the metal is sure to leave red streaks along the lines of your palms. jeno, who remains unmoving, merely looks on at you with a bemused and adoring gaze, his hands fisting and unfisting in his jacket pockets to retain their warmth in the case that you would be willing to hold them. a wide grin spreads across his features as he watches you dig your heels into the bark to stop, your giddy laughter quiet but perceptible to his eager ears.

with the last bit of momentum edging you on, you almost stumble off the seat. lunging forward with added force, your arms are thrown out on either side to maintain your offset balance. jeno startles at your actions as well, a hand of his own is flung out instinctively to steady you but the distance makes it so the closest he gets is your thrust out hand. he's holding your hand. and it jars him a bit because the sequence of planned events, the notecards by which he was dutifully following, are now jostled and out of order.

he's yet to let go of your hand and that's yet to leave your notice. you don't question it either but you look over just in time to see him gulp, his eyes on the ground before him. the second you revert your eyes, jeno speaks, "do you mind if i ask you something?" his hands are warm.

"go for it."

"i- i said yesterday that...that you're my first love." despite the weather, jeno can almost feel the sweat rush to his palms. he hopes it isn't noticeable and pushes on, "am i yours?"

jeno's banking on your answer to give a green or red light to follow through with all else, he'd phrased the question to deliver precisely just that. never more than now have the differences between 'were' and 'are' meant so much to him. 

he turns to see a smile light your expression as you continue to stare into the ground and when he turns back, the fruits of his efforts are bestowed upon him. "yeah, you are my first love."

the green light has been given, jeno's palms are growing clammier by the second. he stands, hand still in yours, and pads over to where you're seated, the sound of wood chips crunching beneath his steps. jeno holds out his other hand and you take it. thumb rubbing over your knuckles, you find that jeno simply stands before you. the dark shrouds the two of you entirely but you make out enough of his features to see that he's smiling, blindingly, and it's in that moment where your mother's advice falls short because in all honesty, you have no willingness to 'take it slow.' you want him fast and you want him now.

"jeno, i like you."

his thumb on your knuckles stills. jeno isn't sure if he's falling or willingly lowering himself onto his knees because that's what's happening, though he's almost positive that he's come to a dead end on controlling his bodily functions. his mind, all those thought out scenarios of how this night could possibly pan out, every plan that's been enforced and redacted, it all short circuits because he's met with the one possibility that he thought unthinkable. you've confessed to him.

"you what?" jeno's looking up at you with what you believe to be wide eyes, they're beautiful to say the least. you give a squeeze to his hands. he almost jumps in response and in his sensitive state. with another five words, "i said i like you," and it feels as if you've decked him in the head with a chair, or ran him over with a truck, flew an airplane square into his chest. he squeezes your hands back, but harder and for longer as if to convey what he cannot possibly fathom into words in the moment. so he gives it two moments, maybe three or four, before he comes to grasp his bearings with a little more certainty.

but jeno can't bear to look you in the eyes. the thought of his sweaty, clammy hands in yours enough to render him an ungainly mess. with the bark digging sharply into his knees and beckoning for his attention, he doesn't think much as he drops his head into your lap. in fact, he doesn't think at all when he mumbles, "well, i love you," in such a casual manner, it's as if he were implying, 'hah, beat that.' 

and you do. to add on to the shitload of emotions he's currently surfing atop of, you retract a hand from his hold and bring it to his head, fingers weaving in and out of his locks, back and forth on his scalp. the world of thirteen and twenty-one collide because when he looks up, you're the same, pretty, endearing middle school girl and the same enthralling, though stressed college student that he's been loving for so long—almost too long, for the length of time would have deemed incredulous and in vain had you not uttered in the second following, with your fingers laced into the curls at the foot of his head, "well, i've loved you for as long as i can remember."

jeno goes in for it.

his lips on yours, at first, are hot like fire on a cold winter night. they burn and they scald and they sear until the memory of how they meld in perfect unison with your own has seared itself into the forefront of your mind, riveted and ravaging your every thought. sequentially, the initial pang dulls in the trail it's blazed as your movements settle into the languid pace he's set, lips encasing your own repeatedly no matter how many times you part. on perhaps the seven or eighth time you've met your lips to his own, he stops, though his lips remain on yours, and he breathes, "if that's the case...," he suckles on your bottom lip but falls back before you can act on it. jeno brings a hand to the line of your jaw and traces his finger along it, tilting your head to his as they happen upon your chin. "if that's the case, then i guess i must've loved you since the beginning of time."

if christmas eve is for friends, then christmas day is for family.

and perhaps jeno can be filed under friends and family after all because when you awake on christmas morning, or rather afternoon, it's not to the knock on the door from your dad or the screeching of your mom but rather, to jeno's leg shifting atop your own.

"oops, didn't mean to wake you," is what you first hear and the sight of him, hair messy and without a shirt, is what you first see. the brightness of your room, evidence of how you'd forgotten to draw the curtains closed before going to sleep, is almost enough to get you to shut your eyes again but you don't because it's lee jeno who's in front of you, in bed with you, with his arms around you. you wonder how you even fell asleep the night before.

yawning as you speak, "how long have you been up?" he glances at your bedside table, "since nine," and you follow suit, only to see the time on your alarm clock spelling out a 1:04 PM. "shoot, did my alarm wake you?"

"it should've woken you too."

you let a chuckle out at that and he returns with a hearty laugh that reverberates through you. letting your head hit his chest, you mumble, eyes closing shut, "why didn't you just wake me up then?" jeno's glad that you're unable to see him in the position you're in because he's sure to be sporting a blush when he says, "because you're cute when you sleep."

"and so you just ogled at me for four hours?"

yet somehow, he's anything but embarrassed when he retorts, "oh believe me, i've been ogling at you for years." you look up at him once again to see that his eyes are already on you. jeno pulls you closer until your clothed chest hits his bare one. "why am i the one wearing this?" he eyes the bright green material of the shirt and shakes his head, "i thought i already told you that you look better in it."

"in this musty old green tee?"

"not just any musty old green tee. it's my most prized possession, means a whole lot to me."

a smile finds its way to your face, "then why do you wear it to sleep every night? wouldn't that like, i don't know, shorten its lifespan?" jeno only shakes his head a little more, "i wear it to sleep because i like going to sleep thinking about you, it makes me think about you."

"then do you dream about me?"

shameless as he never was before, he nods, "do you?" you shuffle your legs around with his a little more, "i don't even remember my dreams but i'm sure that if i did, they'd all be dreams of you." the smile on his face stretches wide, neither of you are sleepy anymore.

you move to get up but jeno holds you still. complying, you decide to further your interrogations, "does your mom know that you're here?"

"no, but she probably thinks i just stayed over at hyuck's or something," you hum along, figuring just about the same. "the real question is, does your mom know i'm here?" musing along, you can only imagine the look on her face when jeno trails behind you on the steps down to breakfast (overdue lunch), "no, but i'm sure she'd be more pleased than anything. she really adores you, you know."

"then she wouldn't mind it if i asked you out, no?"

good god, it's like the reciprocation of his feelings has made him out to be a whole different man. gone is the stutter-filled, wide-eyed thirteen year old boy who could not, for his life, lay out his love for the one girl he'd only ever had eyes for. in with this smooth little fucker that has you stuttering over your own words, "n-no, i don't think she would mind." and he seals the deal with a kiss, lingering his lips on your own and pulling your bodies flush.

jeno wishes that things never change, the shoulder stitch of his shirt falling far too low on your arms and far too high on his collarbones, the white paint of your car gleaming and his clothes doused with a hose or two, the eggnog drunk until words string incoherent and his ass is shoved unceremoniously into your face. jeno hopes to keep you by his side, to go grocery shopping with you instead of having to bump into you by chance, to throw out his trash and return to your house instead of his own, to feel the arm of your jacket brush against his as you walk side by side in the blackness of night, to be able to close the distance every single time because you were always seven inches too far; the prospect of you and him had been withheld for seven years too long and since the seventh grade too young. but now, with your forehead pressed to his, legs tangled in ways unimaginable, it seems that he has you all to himself for seven eternities on end, endlessly, forever, forevermore.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — it’s ree here, and i hope you enjoyed my christmas gift to you hehe <33 as the new year comes into sight, i’d like to pass on to you some of that *good energy* and say that 1) i love you, very dearly. and 2) if you ever need anything, i’m right here for you, inbox always open. with sentiments as warm as ever, i am exceedingly glad to have been able to spend the latter third of this year with you guys. much more to come, rouiyan.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Sweet Dreams Part 2

Part One | Part Two

Chase Collins x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,968

Warning: contains physical intimacy and mature language

Summary: Now that you’re back from your trip, nothing is going to interrupt Chase’s plans for you.  A continuation of part one requested by the very sweet @thickemadame​​ 

After hours spent laid over in airports, you were finally home. Your body was a little stiff and you could really use a shower but life was good otherwise.

You adjusted the straps of your carry-on made your way to the bag claim carousel. Some fellow passengers were lucky and only had to worry about their carry-ons but that wasn’t possible for you. The research trip had lasted several weeks and a luggage set was entirely necessary to survive time you’d been out of town.  

The escalator took you downstairs to the ground floor and in the masses of unknown faces, a familiar one stood out.

Chase.

He spotted you ad waved the homemade sign in his hands around like crazy. The sign was colorful, complete with large bubble letters spelling your name and tons of stickers.

All in all, a very sweet gesture.

And almost the complete opposite of who your boyfriend really was.

Really, he did love you but Chase was a regular asshole most of the time, difficult and driven. He wasn’t naturally sweet; his idea of a romantic time was getting some beers and ending the night naked and covered in sweat.

He was also very concerned with how others saw him which is why it was unsurprising that he did this. It was all for the approval.

“Over here beautiful!” he yelled.

People around him cooed, whispering praises about him being a perfect boyfriend and he ate it right up. As soon as you were within reach he tucked away the sign so he could pick you up and give you a small twirl.

“Welcome back.” He leaned forward for a kiss and a few people even clapped.

Unimpressed, you pushed him away, brow raised. Really?

“Did you miss me, my dearest?” His arm draped possessively across your shoulders and he whispered hotly into your ear. “Cause I know I did.”

A shiver danced up the back of your neck as he herded you toward the baggage claim. It seemed that he hadn’t forgotten what had, or rather what hadn’t, happened the other night. And with him touching you, actually touching you instead of being in a dream, those memories were coming back for you too.

How your hands strained against the binds… every touch magnified with the blindfold on… the sharp sting of his hand spanking your flesh.

And most of all, the thrilling combination of hunger and pissed-off-ness on his face as he was about to wreck you only to be interrupted by the spell being broken.

“Of course I missed you.” You leaned to covertly nip at his neck. “I’ll show you just how much when we get home.”

He groaned lowly and tightened his grip, his fingers clamping down. 

In retaliation, you snuck your own hand around his waist and scratched his lower abdomen. If his shirt wasn’t in the way, your nails would’ve teased the trail of hair that led down underneath his pants.

The last thing you saw was your suitcases all successfully pulled off the conveyor line. Then you blinked and you were in your bedroom, the airport miles away with bags propped up  against the wall. Being with Chase for so long, you figured out what happened quickly.

“Using magic like that in front of everyone? Jesus, Chase.”

He barely lifted his mouth from where it was attached to you, sucking damp imprints into the back of your neck. “Calm down, baby. I made sure no one would see.”

“Even if that’s true, I’ve told you not to be so reckless Using. You’re going look like a fossil in ten years tops if you keep this shit up.”

Your head was pulled back and he tutted disappointedly. “Language, baby, language. Besides, even if I turn into an old man, I’ll still be enough to satisfy you.”

The carry-on dropped to the floor as Chase pulled you into a sloppy kiss that was all teeth and tongue and spit.

He made quick work of your clothes and soon you were completely topless, nipples hardening when they came into the exposed air. But you gave as good as you got and you frantically ripped his shirt off as well, his belt buckle your next target when he abruptly retreated.  

A delicate thread of saliva still connected the two of you as you panted. Spinning you around, he threw you onto the bed, the force making you bounce when your back hit the mattress.

One might mistake Chase’s body as weak but you knew that he packed serious strength under his clothes, the evidence undeniable as his muscles flexed in the yellow light from the bedside lamp. He may not swim competitively anymore but he was still an avid gym goer.

Couple that with his supernatural advantage and he had no problem tossing you even though it shocked you every single time.

The mattress further dipped as Chase crawled up after you, starting at the foot of the bed and working his way up to your lips. Now that he finally had you where he’d wanted you for weeks, pliant and under him, the kiss softened from animalistic desire to soft seduction.

Tongues licked at one another languidly, sending thrills down your stomach and straight into the heat between your legs. Your hips canted upwards, seeking more friction against your most sensitive part and he indulged you by grinding against you, his hard-on obvious.

Soon you were moving in tandem, hips rolling together, his hand ghosting over your sides and leaving goosebumps in his wake. He hovered over the hem of your pants, rubbing the pads of his fingers briefly under the waistband before slithering away to the skin that was already bared.

You moaned and he did the same thing again.

And again.

And again.

Feed up with the teasing, your nails dug into his muscled shoulders. “Touch me already. Please.”

Please was the magic word and it flipped a switch.

The pants were thrown across the room and landed on the floor with a muted thump, your panties placed in his pocket. For a second you regretted the loss of his lips until he descended onto your breasts, the same purposeful attention he gave your mouth.

His breath was hot and contrasted with coolness of his licks which ensured your both nipples stayed nice and tight. One particularly hard draw had you clutching him to your chest, fingers weaving through his soft hair to ensure he stayed where you wanted him.

Not that he would leave you hanging, even if your minor display of dominance irked him a little. He’d allow it for the moment.

He always had been a breast man and yours were especially perfect to him, soft, mailable, and oh so sensitive to his ministrations.

To prove it, he wound his tongue around the pointed nipple and sucked hard and firm.

The cry that left you was all too satisfying and he smirked as he nuzzled against your breast. Case in point. Still, he knew all of your sounds by heart and that wasn’t the best you could do, not by far. He needed to step up his efforts.

You were so into what he was already doing that your eyelids slammed shut when you felt something circling your clit. You didn’t stop to think how that was possible given that both of his hands were locked on your breasts along with his mouth.  

The circling started slowly and built up in speed until it was moving close to the speed of a vibrator. Your inner walls clenched around nothing and you felt yourself growing increasingly wet.

Quivering moans were constant as you couldn’t find the strength or will to keep your mouth closed.

“God, that’s hot,” he growled. “That right, baby, let me hear you.”

Words were difficult to form but you managed a whiney, “More,” before you were back to making unintelligible noises.

Continuing on his journey south, all the while licking and caressing, he stopped when he got to your opening. Iron strong hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise and he spread your legs as wide as they would go.

Chase made a mental note to drag you to the gym more often so he could work on your flexibility: it would allow him to explore more positions with you.

His own mouth replaced the invisible force that had giving it to you so good just a second ago, working you at a much lower speed, however, no less enthusiastic.

He didn’t give a damn about messy about and his lips sucked your glistening folds as if he were devouring a ripe peach. His saliva added to the wetness and the mixture dribbled all over his chin, and his nose which was also buried in between your legs.  

After all, you were his and he took your arousal as a badge of pride. Anything to get you off.

He shamelessly spelled out his name on you repeatedly with his tongue. It worked for both parties. You couldn’t help but respond to the attention and the fact that it was his name that did this to you placated his possessive urges.  

While he was doing that, the invisible force returned, this time massaging inside of your slick walls with wet squelches.

Had you been paying more attention, you would’ve noticed the black expanding to take over his eyes. As it was, the only thing you comprehended was the added pleasure. 

Your whole world narrowed to the heat emanating from your most intimate place.

The magic ramped up it’s pace like it had done when it was humming against your clit except now it was thrusting into you. Your hips were positively bucking trying, and failing, to keep up.

“Look at you, fucking yourself. Trying to cum,” Chase panted into your inner thigh. He pressed a kiss there. “Come on then. Do it.”

What had been fire running through your veins turned to lava in an instant and you cried out as your limbs liquefied, heavy with molten euphoria. Instinctively, you tried to grab his hair again but he didn’t take kindly to it the second time around.

Another invisible weight pinned your hands to the bed, the sheets beneath you long since having been wrinkled. You desperately pulled against the restraint but to no avail. The only way you were getting out of those damn invisible, magical bonds was by Chase’s will and he wasn’t feeling merciful at the moment.

“Tsk. You know the rules, no touching unless I say so. Now be a good girl and cum for me.”

The dominant tone along with the tight bonds and the relentless pounding inside of you, had your back arching sharply. One last sloppy kiss to your clit was all it took. 

You erupted completely with breathy screams and quivering muscles, bursts of light flashing in your vision as your eyes peeled wide open.

The wave ended far too soon and left you shivering when it ended. Everything was blurred.

His light eyes were lidded as you lazily stroked his face. You couldn’t help but to turn to kiss him as he held himself up on his elbows over your body.

“I—I think need a shower.”

“Later,” he retorted with finality.

Confusion showed on your face and he pressed his still hard cock against your stomach.

Oh. You’d been so caught up chasing your orgasm, that you’d forgotten about his.

He popped open the brass button at the top of his jeans and kneeled before you. “After all, you’ve been gone long time. We’re just getting started and nothing is going to interrupt us this time.”

_______________

Sorry for the long wait! April was a crazy month and I’ve been trying to tell myself I don’t need to write for Mortal Kombat 2021 (even though I want to.) I still don’t know if I have the rhythm for smut down but I hope everyone enjoyed it. 

Thanks for reading! 

[ceilingfan5]

Mmmmm, what about cosplayer AU and/or airplane passengers?

“Tell me why I’m tolerating this again.” Taako stands with his hands on his hips for maybe four seconds before he starts pacing again. It’s late, so late it’s early, and most of the other people waiting for their baggage are sitting in the chairs and dozing off, not wearing a hole through the tile. But Taako’s luggage is delicate, and he’s trying not to have a panic attack about it, and Kravitz understands, and calmly reassures him, trying not to yawn.

“You’re excited to go to one of the biggest conventions in the country, is, I think, one of the biggest ones. You get to meet one of your heroes, and you-” yawn. “And you haven’t stopped vibrating about that since you got the invitation. And you worked really hard on your cosplay-”

“Our cosplay!”

“Our cosplay. You’re excited to do a couple’s cosplay for the first time, I remember that.”

“Maybe,” Taako grumps, yanking his hair out of his ponytail and combing through it with his fingers. It’s limp from being up for ages and taking two horrible flights halfway across the country, but it’s still beautiful, and Kravitz can’t wait to see it done up pretty tomorrow when he’s in costume.

“Oh, and you don’t even need a wig for this one.” Kravitz snaps his fingers, like maybe this is the one that will remind Taako that waiting for their potentially very damaged props is worth it.

“Maybe I should have done a wig, though! What if I can’t get enough volume? My bangs have been fighting me- I could have just-”

“No wig hair.”

Taako stops in his tracks, and nods. And nods again. “I do like that, yeah. Fuck wigs.” He turns to Kravitz. “But- fuck, is it going to be okay? What if it’s awful? What if I make a fool of myself? What if they realize how much I hot glued-”

Kravitz walks over to him and gently takes his hands. “Hey,” he says softly. “You’re excited for this. You’ve been so excited you could hardly sleep. Not only do you get to go to this huge con, you get to be on the panel of judges for the cosplay contest, and you love judging people. You know more about this than anyone I have ever met in my entire life. You even got me to agree to wearing a costume. You are so powerful, Taako, and this? Being patient? Airport security? They cannot defeat you.”

Taako squares his shoulders, and he smiles.

“Yeah!” He bounces on his toes. “Yeah, I- I got this! I can handle anything that comes my way! I got invited- it’s- it’s so huge- Krav, I know you’re not that into fandom and shit, but holy fuck, this is the most important thing that’s ever happened to me, and- and I’m excited! It’s not all anxiety!”

“That’s the spirit!” Kravitz grins. “And those baby cosplayers are going to look at your outfit and shit themselves.”

“You’re damn right!” Taako pulls away and pumps his fist in the air, and, almost cinematically, the baggage claim conveyor belt starts moving with a hellish screech and a lurch. Taako’s eyes go wide and he rushes over, prairie dogging and freaking and peeking for his luggage. Theirs come out almost immediately, and Taako hauls his over to the open floor and unzips his- and swears a blue streak. “They- Krav- my props!”

“Hot glue, love. Hot glue can overcome anything.”

“I’ll hot glue your MOUTH shut! Who- I need to complain to someone- who the fuck decided to use my bag to beat ass? I’ll- I swear to god-”

“Taako, love, Taako… You’re so powerful. Please. Please let’s go to the hotel and sort this out there. Please. I’m dying of four am. No one will be able to carry your bags and phone tomorrow if you don’t let me sleep.”

Taako glares at him, and re-zips the luggage, and mutters foul things under his breath as they head for the exit. Kravitz takes his hand and squeezes it.

“You’re powerful and you get to judge people tomorrow. You’re the best cosplayer that ever lived. Your designs are better than the ones on the show.”

“Keep affirming me like that and I’ll be tempted to sleep with you,” Taako mutters, and he bumps their shoulders affectionately. Kravitz laughs. It’s just stress, and even if he doesn’t understand it, it’s real to Taako, and he’ll be there for him every step of the way.

Even if that means helping him hot glue shit at four in the motherfucking morning.

[remuscore]

Baby Shopping

Summary: Remus and Patton go shopping after Remus and Roman move in with little to no supplies left. They run into a bit of Judgmental Judies along the way and Patton and Remus have a talk.

Warnings: Swearing, some mention of bad parenting, Remus being Remus.

———

“I really think we should wait until Halloween to buy Roman some new baby clothes,” Remus gently flicked at his son’s hands as he reached out to grab at his fingers, smiling when that excited a giggle out of Roman. “People already think I’ve stolen him, I want to make him look scary back so that people mind their fucking business.”

“What did I say about language around the kids, Remus?” Patton scolded from the front seat of the car. He looked back at Remus through the back mirror.

“Roman is three months old. He can’t understand a word I’m saying.”

“Still, if you make a habit of swearing, then your munchkin over there’s first would be something awful!”

“I would love that!”

Patton sighed, smiling fondly as he shook his head. He parked the car in front of their destination and got out to help Remus unload all of Roman’s things while he focused on the baby.

With all that done, Patton held the bag while Remus held Roman on his hip. They didn’t have a basket for him at this age and Remus’ old stroller was busted, so the teen had to carry Roman around. He didn’t mind very much and neither did his clingy little baby.

“You still don’t have to do this,” Remus said as they walked towards the store. Patton was in the middle of double checking that they had everything before entering. He looked up. “My old clothes fit fine. We just need some small things.”

“Kiddo, Roman is gonna be able to wear your old clothes much longer,” Remus fiddled with the missing button on Roman’s shirt. He had busted through that just by wiggling. “And a baby needs the proper gear. If not for his comfort, then for yours.”

“It’s not my fault that Roman’s such a fatty. I probably wasn’t this chunky as a baby and that’s why my clothes don’t fit.”

“A chunky baby is a baby that is well taken care of and loved.”

“Oh, so I definitely wasn’t a fat baby.” Remus snickers and pokes at his baby’s belly. Patton frowned at him as Roman giggled and bounced on his dad’s hip. Every time Remus mentioned his parents, Patton gets closer and closer to risking everything to deal with them. He would never risk his kids and Remus’ and Roman’s safety like that, but everything Remus says about them fuels his anger more.

They enter the store and Remus was already pushing past people to get to the baby section, leaving Patton to rush to grab a cart and throw the bag in.

“Remus!”

When he caught up with the teen, he found him already gushing over the tiny clothes and holding them up to Roman. Right now, he was holding one of those bowtie and suspender outfits.

“Look! Pat, this is fucking adorable as shit!” If people weren’t giving him looks before, they certainly were now.

“Remus, swearing,” Patton laughed nervously as he looked at all the mom’s glaring at them, voice high and squeaky. “It is a very cute outfit, but it’s for more formal settings. We should focus on getting him clothes for winter and everyday clothes.”

“Roman’s a Prince! They’re always dressing formal.” He tossed the outfit into the cart and then went off to the other adorable tiny outfits.

“Honey, you’re wearing tights as a shirt and pajama pants right now.”

“This is my Sunday best, Papa Bear.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun, kiddo, but we have more necessities to get too,” Patton watched helplessly as Remus threw more baby clothes into the cart, barely even looking at the age on the tag. “We still need to stock up on diapers, formula, a new blanket, and we should probably get a stroller and a car seat that we can carry while we’re at it.”

“But I want to hold my happy little accident.” Remus used his baby talk voice as he whined, poking Roman’s belly again and giggling along with him as he wiggled.

“Sweetie, soon he’s going to be too heavy for you to hold and you’re already so skinny.”

He groaned. “Fine! We’ll look at some. I still think he should just stay this size forever.”

“Every parent wishes that.” Patton smiled and pulled the cart back around away from the tempting baby clothes. Remus followed, still happily bouncing his baby.

By the time they had finished their shopping, Patton was piling things on the conveyor belt for the cashier to scan. Remus was busy shaking Roman’s new Simba plushie in front of the baby. The cashier smiled at the baby.

“You have an adorable kid.” She said towards Patton. Remus’ smile twitched and Patton felt his mood dampen.

“Oh… thank—”

“He’s mine actually!” Remus interrupts. He grins at the cashier, unabashedly in all his chains, fishnets, and pierced glory. The cashier smiled uncomfortably.

“Oh…” she whispered. She cleared her throat, looking back down at their supplies. “I just thought you were his brother. You look a little… young… to have a kid.”

“I am, yeah. I’m going into my senior year of high school in a few weeks!” Remus tilted his head as Roman grabbed at and pulled his gauges. She shared a look with Patton, who really didn’t appreciate the judgemental look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry to rush, but can you just ring up our things so we can head home?” He smiled even though he really didn’t want to be polite to someone that looked down on Remus like that. She nodded and the rest of their time together was spent in silence, besides Remus’ “ow” and “hey” as Roman continued to tug in his piercings.

As they left the store, Patton was still thinking about that cashier.

“She had no right to treat you like that, Remus,” he said as they headed to his car. Remus looked up. “She doesn’t know you! You’re an amazing father and she shouldn’t be judging you because of your choices and mistakes. Especially since it gave you your son!”

“Patton, you need to chill,” Remus opened the door to the back seat and started strapping Roman in. “I’m used to all this negative attention. Being a single, goth, teen dad that’s also disowned and homeless, doesn’t really bring a lot of sympathy. I’m not gonna bother with what other people think, I’m just gonna worry about being Roman’s hot and sexy dad.”

He buckled Roman in and bopped his small pink nose. “I still can’t believe something this precious and adorable came out of my loins.”

Patton smiled and closed the trunk. “That’s not how it works, kiddo.”