#melts into the floorboards. i just really love my friends but i struggle to show it and i’m really sorry abt that

[xavalav]

hi just wanted to say i love all my friends and mutuals and i’m so sorry i struggle w reaching out and talking to people but just know i appreciate all of you so much and every little mercy and moment of patience i’m shown makes me happy to be here

[cursed-or-not]

Merry Christmas @dreamnovak  from your Secret Santa!! You’re truly, truly The Best and I’ve had sm fun writing for you <33 happy holidays to everyone!!

It’s a slow day at the Roadhouse, and the cold has crept in through the rickety doors and floorboards. Dean shivers behind the counter.

He thinks one day he’ll have to get around to fixing the insulation.

The air feels like snow.

Across the counter, Cas watches him intently.

“You look cold,” he says finally.

Dean shrugs. “Not too bad. Feels like it’s gonna snow, though.”

Cas’ head tilts in confusion. “How do you predict snow with just a feeling?”

Dean stares back at him, affronted. He couldn’t explain how, but he’s spent enough time driving around the Midwest to recognize the heaviness of the air and smell of an oncoming storm.

“It’s in the air, Cas! Don’t look at me like that. I know what it feels like before a storm.”

Cas seems to decide to back down.

“Well, I hope it’s a good thing,” he mumbles.

This time, it’s Dean’s turn to look puzzled.

“The snow?”

Cas nods.

“Jack decided to keep all four seasons. I believe he said something about maintaining authenticity.”

“It’s a good thing,” Dean assures him simply.

Cas barely nods in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the empty tables. Dean picks up on his gaze.

“If you really wanna fix something, it wouldn’t hurt for Jack to give me a few more customers,” Dean quips, knocking his knuckles on the counter where Cas sits alone.

“We can’t force people to support your business,” Cas grumbles. “I thought you believe in free will.”

“Woah, I was just saying it’d be nice,” Dean defends. He wonders if Cas can tell from his face that the comment elicited the exact response he’d been looking for. Dean has found over the last few months that there’s no one he’d rather banter with than Cas.

“Well, you might do better to attempt to attract customers on your own.” Cas says it so sincerely that Dean knows he’s just doing it to tease him.

“Hey!” Dean responds, making his voice as wounded as he can manage.

When Cas just smiles, Dean leans towards him, resting his elbows on the counter, and continues.

“I mean, at least I know there’s one customer I can always count on to show up,” Dean says with a smile.

“If you’re referring to me, I don’t come because of your incredible business practices,” Cas responds, and Dean can’t tell if it’s an insult to his work ethic or a compliment to his personality.

Dean decides to take whatever it means and push his luck.

“Yeah? What keeps bringing you back then?”

At that, Cas looks up, and any teasing is gone from his expression.

“You know the answer to that,” he says simply, and Dean can feel his face burning.

He’s been dancing around this every possible chance.

“Cas…” Dean says softly, eyes fixed firmly on the counter.

“Dean,” Cas echoes, and Dean can practically hear the sad smile behind that tone.

Dean risks a glance up, and Cas’ eyes are searching his face. Dean looks back down.

“It’s okay, you know” Cas says simply. Sincerely.

Dean lets out a breath.

Cas continues, “I know you need more time. I think it’s a testament to how much you’ve grown that you were even willing to tell me that much, and I appreciate your honesty.”

Dean shakes his head barely perceptibly.

“Hey,” Cas says gently, and his hand moves like he might reach out before it falls back. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

God. Sometimes Dean wishes Cas wouldn’t make everything seem so easy and so difficult at the same time. He wishes it didn’t always have to be so complicated with them.

He wishes Cas wouldn’t tell him that it’s okay when Dean is still struggling to work up the courage to be happy.

Dean looks up.

“It’s not,” Dean says, and Cas looks ready to object, so Dean just pushes forward.

“I mean, some of it is. I’m not saying I’m not worthy or I did something wrong, but I’m saying I didn’t do it like I should’ve and I--” Dean pauses, searching for whatever it is he wants to say. “I’m not sure it was fair to you,” he says carefully.

Cas’ expression softens.

“Dean,” he says, and he always manages to say Dean’s name like it’s more than it is. He always manages to put so much meaning into it. “I’ve waited my entire life-- a millenia-- for you. A few weeks is nothing.”

Dean feels like he’s had all the air knocked out of him. Before, he couldn’t look Cas in the eye, but now he can’t stop searching his face.

Dean takes a breath to steal himself, and he feels his resolve crumble. He reaches across the counter to catch Cas’ hand in both of his.

“I’m never gonna deserve you,” Dean tells him, and his throat feels almost too tight to get the words out.

“No,” Cas objects. “No. Dean, I meant every word I told you that night. Not just the ‘I love you,’” Cas says, and his voice is so fierce that Dean can’t help but look away. Cas’ other hand comes up to rest on Dean’s, too.

“You’re a hero, Dean,” Cas says simply. “And the best brother, father, and friend in this universe or any other. And,” Cas adds with a smile, “you’re an above-average bartender.”

“Above average, huh?” Dean asks, eyes still prickling with tears but chest less tight than before.

“The best of the mediocre,” Cas confirms, and Dean lets out a snort at the deadpan humor.

He lets the moment hang in the air for a moment before speaking up.

“Maybe I just need a good business partner,” Dean says slowly, watching Cas’ face carefully.

Cas waits for Dean to say more, and Dean supposes that’s fair; it’s his turn.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this alone anymore,” Dean says, forcing his voice to sound more matter-of-fact than he feels. “None of it.”

Cas’ face softens again, looking impossibly fond.

“You always have me,” he says with such conviction that Dean chokes out what could pass as a laugh.

“Thanks, man.” He clears his throat. “Thank you. But, uh, I was thinking maybe we try to do things differently. Only if you want,” Dean says, heart pounding. He hopes Cas doesn’t feel his hands shaking.

“Differently?”

Dean shrugs, doing his best to look indifferent.

“As I said, I’m with you no matter what, but if you wanted to specify…” Cas trails off expectantly.

Dean clears his throat again, looking down to where his hands previously held Cas’.

“Differently, like, maybe we see each other more. Not just here, but-- dinner and stuff,” Dean finishes lamely.

Cas narrows his eyes.

“We already do eat dinner together sometimes.”

“You’re killing me, man,” Dean huffs a laugh before taking a deep breath and trying again. “Okay, so, maybe we also… live together?” Dean says nervously, risking only a quick glance to see Cas’ face.

“I’ve already lived with you, in the bun--”

“Cas, I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you,” Dean snaps.

Cas’ eyes don’t leave Dean’s face as he responds with a simple, “Oh.”

“‘Oh?’ What the hell does ‘oh’ mean?!”

Cas almost looks amused.

“You already know I love you, too,” he points out, and Dean hates how rational a thing to say it is.

“Things could’ve changed,” Dean points out in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

‘They haven’t,” Cas says, and Dean can’t help but stare at him in wonder. “They won’t.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Dean says hoarsely. He wishes he could only blame the cold for the goosebumps on his arms.

“Thank you for talking to me,” Cas murmurs, and Dean feels himself melt at the softness of it.

Dean thinks he couldn’t have put this off any longer if he tried.

“Thank you for being… you,” Dean responds, and something in his chest aches at the fondness in the look Cas responds with.

Dean’s hand finds its way back to Cas’.

“You were right, you know,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean waits for him to specify. “It started snowing a couple minutes ago,” he mutters, and Dean laughs at the reluctant confession.

He looks out throught the fogged-up window, and the snowflakes swirl lazily downward. Circling and then falling.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me for a little while,” Dean says with a smile.

Neither of them point out the fact that Cas has his wings back, nor does Dean acknowledge that the few flakes outside aren’t nearly enough to prevent anyone from driving.

“I guess I am,” Cas responds. He glances outside. “Through tomorrow too, I expect. Just in case the storm continues.”

Dean nods in mock solemnity. “Probably safest for you to stick with me for a month or so, actually. Maybe the next year or two. You never know with storms like this.”

They watch the snow keep coming. Cas squeezes Dean’s hand.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says, and Dean’s not quite sure what the gratitude is for, but he accepts it. He leans farther across the counter, squeezing Cas’ hand.

“You, too-- for everything. Thanks, Cas.”

“You still look cold,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“Well, guess you’ll have to keep me warm,” he responds smoothly.

“Until the storm’s over,” Cas agrees.

“Oh,” Dean says, pretending to check his watch as he leans in closer, “I think longer than that.”

Cas breathes into the small space between them, and then Dean bridges it.

Around them, the snow keeps falling.

Settling.

[shadowgeist-stars]

Ren x Gakushu: Nightmares

Ren was standing in the Chairman's office, watching the man pace around him, Araki, Seo, and Koyama with practiced, measured steps. His words were almost entirely unintelligible, but his voice was just like always. The same eerie, low tenor that made his skin try to crawl off his body, like he suddenly had some kind of flesh-eating disease.

Suddenly the monster struck. A huge fleshy mass with eyes so big that they overlapped one another on its face. A mouth so wide and sharply fanged that it could swallow anyone whole and shred them apart in its jaws anyway. Before he knew it, there was an agonizing sting at the back of his head and the better part of his back. Ren was somehow thrown against the wall, pain tearing against his sternum and surrounding ligaments making it nearly impossible to breathe. The others were no different, as if they were flung just as woefully unprepared into the same MMA fight that he was in.

Then he realized all of their bodies hadn't even moved.

For all intents and purposes, their minds had been violently punted from each of their bodies, leaving them as empty shells that did nothing but chant an insatiable desire to kill E-Class. If Ren didn't have trouble breathing before, he was all but suffocating now. It only got worse when Gakushu reentered the room, only to call out to Ren and the others in horror. The mix of anger, disgust, and outright fear with which he stared at his father and his pet beast nearly wrenched his racing heart clear out of his chest.

“Gakushu, please… I'm right here…”

He forced his ghostly form to stand up. Dizziness spun his vision every which way. His shaking feet didn't feel anything close to steady as he tried to stumble toward his friend. The monster over the principal's shoulder only pounced again, painfully crushing his throat in its clawed grip as he could only face that menacing, unnatural grin. Darkness was beginning to dot his vision as it blurred with tears. He reached helplessly for his best friend with whatever vanishing strength he had left, as it all went cold and dark and --

Ren's eyes shot open with a gasp, heart pounding and breathing as if he'd just endured one of Gakushu's soccer games. He lay frozen and tense in his bed, clutching his bed covers and staring at nothing but his own bedroom floor as he slowly willed himself to calm down.

After he finally deemed himself calmed from the nightmare, (and telling himself that No, panic-brain, my blazer that I keep hung on my door is not a monster that's here to kill me) he sat up in his bed and checked the time on his alarm clock.

Only a few minutes after 3 o’clock, in the morning.

Ren grimaced to himself, running a hand through his stupid bedhead. Either Seo or Koyama would probably laugh about some kind of joke related to the time that he’s almost certain he’d rather not hear. However, he just thought it was too darn early to be up, even with something like a very graphic memory/nightmare to blame.

The principal monster from his nightmare flashed behind his eyes, in its own twisted "speak of the devil." What better way of being told by one's own brain that going back to sleep at that moment was not an option?

…Maybe a cup of tea or something warm (and uncaffeinated) would settle him down enough to help.

With a sigh, he got out of bed, pulled on a shirt, and headed to the kitchen.

He knew the house well enough that he didn't have to turn on the lights. He knew every place where the floors creaked, exactly where to stick to the walls and where to simply keep a light foot. The tiny nightlights in the halls kept it just visible enough that one didn't have to stumble around in complete darkness.

Many years ago, traversing his house at night was a game to Ren. One where his eyes sported beams of light to help him see. A game in which the dark wasn’t a monster to fear, but his playmate.

When he reached the kitchen, he breathed a soft sigh of relief. He grabbed a mug from the dish cabinet, but before he could do anything else, he noticed a light.

Light that was coming from the living room TV, partly shadowed by a figure on the couch.

Ren had a feeling he knew who that was. Guess I’m not the only one having a rough night.

With that in mind, he grabbed a second mug before pulling the jar of dried chamomile from the back of a different cabinet, fixing some tea with it.

The person on the couch didn’t respond to any noise he made, which meant one of two things: he was either quite aware of his presence and simply waiting for Ren to reveal himself, or he was out of it to the point of somehow not noticing the brunette was even there.

With someone like Gakushu Asano, there was no in-between with those two possibilities.

The moment the tea was ready, Ren poured it into the two mugs, a small voice in the back of his mind reminding him to put some sugar in Gakushu’s mug. He likes his tea sweetened a little. It’ll help him calm down more easily if he’s tense or had a nightmare, and right now he's possibly both.

He glanced at whatever he was watching on TV, which was turned down so low he couldn’t quite hear it. A documentary: his go-to for calming down from a bad dream. Crime or historic ones usually mean something relatively tame. But this one’s a nature documentary; he only goes to those things when it’s really bad.

The taller boy took a deep breath before heading over, humming a familiar tune and making sure to seek out the one floorboard he knew would creak. A word of advice from a friend, so as to not scare him once in his line of sight.

The redhead made an almost unnoticeable jolt before bright purple eyes met his. (So he really was out of it to a point he didn't know I was there, or at least hyperfixating on the TV.) He was wrapped in a throw blanket and had his legs laid across the length of the couch; he was probably planning on sleeping there if he was able to calm down enough.

“Ren… How long have you been up?” he asked, shifting around to sit properly on the sofa.

He chuckled, setting down the mugs on the coffee table until he was sitting down beside his boyfriend. “Obviously not as long as you.” His smile became a frown when he got no snarky response. “Nightmares keeping you up, too, huh?”

The shorter boy only nodded once, taking his mug when it was offered. “I hoped to be able to sleep again, after getting my mind off of it… And I didn’t expect to be discovered."

Ren hummed, sipping his own beverage. "…It was the brainwashing incident on my end… Araki saying it felt like an out-of-body experience was pretty accurate."

The ginger didn't seem too surprised. "…It was partially that exact incident for myself… and also the immediate aftermath of the pole-toppling match. I still find it hard to forget how badly Kevin and the other exchange students were injured, because of him… it was so severe that they all had to return to their home countries, once they'd recovered enough to do so."

The others didn’t hear much of that when it happened beyond when the paramedics showed up at the school. At the time, they all knew better than to ask while the wound was still fresh. Then again, it wasn’t like he would’ve been coherent enough to elaborate on the situation anyway, given how he fell asleep on the ride home.

"Least they don't have to worry about him hurting them again now…" he replied finally, "or anyone, to be honest. Especially not you." He pulled the strawberry blond boy into his side. "I think you remember well enough… how worried I was when he hit you in front of everybody."

The shorter boy’s exhale reverberated with exhaustion as his head drooped on his lover’s shoulder, followed by the sound of him emptying his mug. “Not as much as I wish I did… but at the same time more than I care to admit. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.”

The brunette smiled sadly at the sheer amount of fatigue in his tone, giving his shoulder a squeeze before finishing his own drink. "All the same, we can say that we're safe from him, and that in itself means a lot… By the way, I would've been alright with you coming over to my room after you woke up from your nightmare."

That only earned him a sleepy, yet sour look. "Why would I do that? I'm not a toddler, Ren."

The brunette snickered, using a thumb and index finger to get the other to face him. "Maybe not, but it's not childish to be afraid or need someone else, even for just a little company. Haven't you felt any better since I came out here?"

Gakushu tried to avert his face. "I suppose you could say that…"

Begrudging victory; I'll take it.

He smiled as he leaned in to kiss the shorter boy. He slipped his tongue in easily, tasting the chamomile's aftermath and practically feeling the remnants of Gakushu's tension and traces of his own nightmare disappear into the documentary's white noise. The ginger all but melted into his arms, the long and lazy kiss bearing down on his eyelids with sleep in a wave of honeyed warmth. Pulling away showed a pair of hazy purple eyes struggling to open again, on an adorable, blushing face.

“I love you, Gakushu; sweet dreams.”

The shorter boy gave a slow, cat-like blink, snuggling further against the taller boy. “Hmm… love you too… Ren…”

Ren chuckled at his slurred speech as he took Gakushu's empty mug from his hands, placing it and his own mug on the coffee table. Afterwards he turned off the TV, pulling Gakushu along as he shifted them around, until they were now both laying sideways on the couch, with a red-haired head on his chest. He managed to resituate the throw blanket over them both, draping long arms over his beloved; one settling across his waist, the other scratching his scalp in rhythmic circles.

He leaned into the crevice between the couch cushion and backrest with a contented sigh. With the weight and warmth of his boyfriend in his arms and the steady whispering breeze of breath in his ears and over his chest, the image of the former principal and the big-eyed monster was nothing more than a fading memory. They were both safe here, in this homey little bubble. Pressing a final kiss to his boyfriend's crown, he laid his own head down and closed his eyes, letting sleep carry him away on a far more welcoming cloud.

It wasn’t the first time they had such nightmares, and it may well be far from the last, but for now, they could sleep without fear, and that was enough.

[dakotafoster]

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ραιяιиg : katsuki bakugou x g/n reader

ɢɛռʀɛ: fluff ♡ crack humor

աօʀɖ ƈօʊռȶ : 2.1k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: a bit steamy

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 : When your boyfriend comes home intoxicated, he shows you a side of him that is reserved for only you. ✰

This will be my first one-shot on this blog, so please any constructive criticism will be really helpful! Hope you all enjoy. ッ

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

It was a chilly starry night. Japan from the balcony window had never looked so serene until now. The bright stars that dotted the dark velvet sky, giving the gloomy canvas a little bit of life--of light. It was somber yet luminous, they drew the lights of heaven and gave the citizens of below a meager taste of something so divine and sublime, a measly fragment of the beauty we long to see in ourselves and the world around it. It was magnificent.

A heavy knock interrupted your attention on the black before you, muffled whispers and giggles could be heard from the opposite side of the chestnut door. As you lifted yourself from the glass railing you took a brief gander at the clock sitting on the desk beside your TV. It read 2:43 a.m.

Wrapping a small nearby cardigan around your frame and rubbed your eyes of sleep before making a beeline toward the door, the muffled voices becoming clearer as your got closer.

“Dammit Bakugou, quit messing around and give me your keys!”

“Gotta find it in my ass first shitty hair!”

Swinging the door open your (e/c) optics landed upon a frustrated Kirishima who was wrestling a very drunk Bakugou for a silvery white ring of keys right outside your flat doorstep. Bakugou seemed to be having an absolute blast, giggling like a little school girl as he evaded Kirishima’s attempts to swipe the item from his grip, and Kiri was having none of it. They both seemed rather oblivious to your presence and persisted to look like complete idiots in the halls of the complex.

“Both of you stop it before you wake up the neighbors!”

Your harsh tone is what finally received their attention, gazing timidly at you with wide eyes frozen. In one last attempt to get a rise out of Kirishima, Bakugou swiped his palm brutally on the back of his friends head, his head flung forward rough smack and a grunt, mumbling something about Katsuki being a dick. You heaved out a sigh at the sight of your boyfriend, his face sheen with a thick layer of sweat and a radiant red flush adorned his cheeks and across his nose. His eyes still the blazing crimson you had come to adore so much puffy and irritated.

“Sorry ‘bout this (y/n)... I didn’t mean to wake ya but Bakugou has had too much to be alone right now, and I still have to take care of Kaminari so...”

Kirishima timidly began to caress the back of his spiky locks, giving you a sheepish grin and gave a quick glance at the blonde next to him who was struggling to keep himself from tumbling forward. Too exhausted to even argue, you simply waved Kirishima off and moved to grab hold of your intoxicated boyfriend. The strong aroma of what was seemingly Fireball mixed with rum made your nostrils flare in distaste, far from his usual caramel scent.

“It’s fine Kiri. Just get home safe ‘kay?”

“Yeah, have a goodnight (y/n)”

You slammed the door behind with a swing of your foot, you then proceeded to lead Katsuki into your bedroom with an arm wrapped around his bulky torso to keep him straight. He stumbled over his feet a couple times along the way there, leaning on you for support so he didn’t face plant or dive to the floorboards in any way. He was mumbling incoherently to himself, slumping against your shoulder which led to his breath brushing up against the side of your face and into your ear, the hot sensation produced a shiver down your spine. Katsuki interpreted this rather well, because he immediately attached himself to your neck and pressed soft, open-mouthed kissed to your soft spot. He knew exactly how to drive you crazy even if he couldn’t even fucking walk straight.

“I need you babygirl.”

“Not tonight ‘Suki, maybe tomorrow.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his searing hot lips against your pulse, his wet tongue slipping out everyone and then teasingly. You hummed softly and weakly cupped his scalding cheek to pull him from your nape, cursing whatever deity that made him so goddamn tempting.

“C’mon lets get you ready for bed hun.”

“Mmm... Babe...”

He groaned lowly as you sat him down at the foot of your bed, his large frame slouching over his knees. Crouching down you gripped his ankle and raised his seemingly massive leg into your lap, silently untying his shoes whilst feeling his vivid gaze burning holes into your skull. Placing his shoes to the side you began to fumble with his belt to get rid of his ebony jeans. Amid doing so, Katsuki had graced with a lazy smirk and casually reached his generous hands to your head, running his fingers through your (h/c) strands.

“Hell yeah, this is what I like to see baby.”

Fuck. The way the words fell from those lips made you utterly weak. Your face felt like it was on fire with how carnal his gaze was, you were sure you looked like a fish out of water with the shock and overwhelming arousment you were feeling. Nevertheless, it was short lived when Bakugou dropped onto the bed and burst into a fit of laughter and giggles just by your reaction. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle with a twitch of your brow, you gave a quick smack to his thigh and tiredly tugged at his jeans once he had calmed down. His endless taunting was never so apparent until now and frankly, it was debilitating and instigating all at once.

“Stay here. Please don’t try and get up, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Yeah.. Sure.”

He released a small giggle and his head rolled to his left shoulder, laying tired on his back upon your white duvet. You rose from your spot on the floor and exited the bedroom to get him a glass of water and some ibuprofen to somewhat relieve his hang over. You didnt think you’d return to find a very naked and very erect Katsuki laying splayed out across the bed, the remainder of his clothes discarded on the side of the bed and his arms crossed behind the back of his head, his sculpted six-pack presented to you in such a way it made you drool like a fucking dog.. And the same arrogant smirk he’d been adorning for entirety of his stay among your apartment, the same enticing glimmer in his optics.

“Oh my god Katsu! What the fuck?!”

You shrieked, averting your eyes to your feet and stumbled around to find his boxers or at least something to conceal his manhood. Bakugou cackled our in delight before he was met with his boxers on his face, picking up on a faint grumble and your feet stomping toward the nightstand next to him.

“Put on your damn boxers Bakugou! I’m too fuckin tired for this shit..” You hissed at your dopey, idiotic boyfriend as he just began to fumble with the garment and mishandle them up each leg, snickering throughout the whole process. “Okay okay... No need to yell. So much for trying to serve it to you like a Hot ‘n Ready Hotpocket.”

You’ve never laughed so hard in your damn laugh at that. He grinned at your shaking form, watching intently as you struggled to breath through each laugh and chuckle, snorts coming out every few seconds. God, you hated him and loved him simultaneously for doing this to you. You wanted to give in to his desire because Jesus the sex was with him was down right unbelievable. Man, did this hunk of a man know how to pleasure a woman and fuck was he exceptional at doing so. Although, at the same time you were tempted to knock his ass into sleep. Either way you couldn’t officially decide. After several moments you composed yourself, taking deep breaths as you made your way into your restroom. You managed to stifle a few chortles in the process of grabbing a rag and moistened it with lukewarm water from your sink, then returned thankful you hadn’t walked in on another naked Bakugou. Making your way around the king sized mattress you were pleased to find he had already taken the ibuprofen and the water both absent.

“Let me clean your face baby. It’s all sweaty and sticky.”

You mumbled out drowsily, sitting down beside Katsuki and tilting his chin up to face you and nimbly wipe his face clean. You looked up at him to make sure we wasn’t falling asleep and you froze, your heart erupted at the sight you were provided with. Katsuki’s face was free of his usual scowl, instead his eyebrows were relaxed, tilted upward and his lips in a small, soft smile. Those dazzling vermilion eyes staring into you, glistening with so much adoration and passion for you. You choked, mesmerized with how calm and serene he looked. The next words to tumble from his lips could’ve sent you melting onto the floor like wax.

“I am really really... Really in love with you (y/n).”

You believed every single word. You never even questioned it for a second in that moment. Really because you had no reason to discredit his love for you, he was a genuine man with a sharp and palpable tongue 24/7. You both were aware of that, and you didn’t complain. It was nice to have him so honest with you, and yes sometimes he wasn’t always nice with the way he expressed such honesty you had grown accustomed to it. Which is why you had been so shocked to see the brash and usually loud brute suddenly become so hushed and tender.

“I mean it princess. I love you so fuckin’ much. I know I don’t really show you how much I do like normal shitty couples, and i’m really fucking sorry for that but I love you with everything I got babe.. I know how much I can be a pain in the ass sometimes.. But.. I promise I’ll never stop lovin’ you, and I’ll show you every damn day just to fucking prove it. M’kay? Your fucking stuck with me until you’re too damn old to even try and fight me on it. I’m so happy I met you and I’m terrified at the same, ‘cause fuck babe I never knew I wanted love until now, until you. I never saw the fuckin’ point. So please jus.. Fuckin’ stay and be in love with me too.”

He refused to give you a chance to reply before he gingerly took your face into his hands and brought his lips to yours. The world fell away as you felt his soft, chapped lips against your own. The kiss with just as delicate as his words and touch, moving smoothly and overwhelming emotion. You immediately raised your hands to weave together behind his neck, pulling him in gently to deepen the kiss. In response to this, Katsuki rolled his tongue across your bottom lip in a silent request for an entrance. You whimpered, opening your mouth as his tongue began to explore your wet cavern, faintly tasting the alcoholic beverages from just hours before. His thumbs swiping tenderly across your cheekbones and your fingertips tangled themselves around his strong neck.

It wasn’t rushed or rough in any way, not like the many nights were he would intend on fucking you senseless, this is when he would truly let himself be vulnerable. Moments like these when he was so damn soft and loving toward you, and only you.

The kiss lasted for what felt like only a minute when in reality lasted 15 minutes. He left you seeking for more. Heaving for breath at the mere intensity of the make-out, resting his forehead against yours, noses brushing against each other gently. You both stayed like that for a moment, just basking in each other’s loving glow with stupid grins across your lips. You took your time taking in this hidden side of your boyfriend, loving each second of it while you still could before he would return to his sullen self. You reveled in every moment you lost yourself in his soft caress, were it was nobody but the two of you acting almost as one. In which you could feel close to him away from intercourse and instead with sensual kisses and grazes. Nonetheless, he was certainly the half that made you whole.

“I’m in love with you too Katsu’.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Thank you so much for reading! Request are open, and feel free to leave feedback or ask any questions! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔ

- 𝖑𝖎𝖟 ☾ ✩

𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 : (𝟔/𝟐𝟏/𝟐𝟎 - 𝟏:𝟓𝟓 𝐚.𝐦.)

[nonbinarychaoticstupid]

do 41 for catradora

ghost/living person au

behold! another thing i banged out and didn’t edit! kjjdnjjhdn this was fun! i decided to call it hello, my old heart after this song because i am cruel

(also... i think after i write the sequel bc i can’t just leave it like that i might expand this at some point or maybe write multiple versions? i like this a lot jejtnjrtnrnnm)

Adora doesn’t remember most of her childhood. Or much after that, really.

Everything up to the age of 18 is a... haze. Memories of life, of friends, of her identity, are either buried so deep she has to struggle to find them, or gone entirely. Faces, names, places, all gone somewhere she can’t follow.

It’s a given at this point, another piece of the debris of a life her carers left her with. She can’t fix it, and she can function without knowing her neighbour’s favourite colour, so why does it matter? It doesn’t hinder her too much, nor does it really make an impact on her functionality. It does annoy her, though, for reasons she can’t really explain.

There are things left behind in the fog of memory she... needs. Things that might explain this hole in heart, this deadening sense of loss that seems to follow her everywhere now. Things that might make everything make sense again.

Specifically, there’s... a memory of the traces of a memory. Someone Adora hurt, or someone who hurt Adora, or maybe both. And the girl who walked by her side for the first 18 years of her life, the girl who vanished at the drop of a hat, the girl she didn’t allow herself to grieve for. 

She knows how important the girl was to her. And missing her, dreaming about her without knowing why, hurts more than the loss. There’s something... something between them she has to fix. And it might hold the key to everything.

If she could remember, if she could find those shattered memories and piece them back together, she might remember why they took her past from her, and why Catra vanished. Why Catra died.

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She doesn’t know exactly why she came here, to the shell of the abandoned home on the hillside. Maybe because it holds her last memory of a memory of Catra, alive and standing in front of her, laughing as she turns to push the door open. Maybe because it’s where she feels her memories... return, in whatever capacity they are able to,

It’s darker than she remembers it. The hole in the roof has since been covered with tarpaulin and framed with a web of crumbling scaffolding, leaving dark, angular shadows climbing the walls and forming ominous shapes on the floor. Adora couldn’t begin to try and decipher the patterns there if she tried.

If she focuses, she can trace the paths they left in the dust together as kids, winding around battered marble columns and up the staircases and back down again, like trails in the snow. 

Like... 

Adora pushes back the tears. Why am I crying? What is it about this place that-

Oh.

A memory. Of... her.

“You’re trying to remember me, aren’t you? Stars, I’m so sorry, Adora.”  

If she focuses, she can remember the first day they came here together, a pair of awkward 14 year olds with too much energy and too little time, and hid in the shadow of the stairs on the left, waiting for the night to pass. The details are blurred together, half-buried under a white haze, but if Adora tries, maybe she can -

She can’t. 

“You can. If you want, you can. What they did to you - it isn’t permanent. You can break out of it if you try. It’ll hurt, but you can. I did.”

She shakes the - the memory (a memory, nothing else - something she’ll have to sit and examine later) off. 

Adora picks her way across the floor, careful not to disturb the spiderweb of shadows. It feels... familiar, instinctual. Something more than muscle memory. Almost... almost like she’s being guided by the past she can’t reach.

There are memories here. Adora can feel them in the back of her mind, pushing her gently forwards, urging her on. 

She makes her way into the centre of the main hall of the building - it was a mansion once, she realises - and tries to picture it as it was before - well-lit, grand, beautiful. She tries to see it how Catra would have (because she knows how much she loved this place, even if she doesn’t remember it), filled with stars and candles. 

Adora switches off the torch and stretches out her hands, as though feeling her way forward, except there’s nothing to touch but air. And it feels... heavy. Like she’s being watched.

Except there’s no-one here. She’s alone. 

I’m alone. I’m alone... right?

“No.”

A growing feeling of terror rises, unbidden, in her chest, and she whirls around, brandishing the torch in front of her like some sort of sword, doing her best to  clamp down on the cry building in her throat.

Nobody. Nobody’s there. 

“I am. I’m right here. Adora, I’m right here -”

Adora lets her shoulders drop. She feels... defeated, for some reason. Empty. 

But the feeling doesn’t go away. And she can’t leave until something happens. She can’t leave until - until she gets her answers.

“What answers do you want, princess?” 

Okay, the voice was definitely real that time.

Adora spins around again, nearly dropping the torch, and - there she is. Or rather, a memory of her - a girl no older than seven, with a tangle of dark hair and vivid heterochromatic eyes, her outline flickering and fading and - 

She reaches out to touch her - and is met with empty air. The girl meets her eyes, and something in them looks so desperate that it makes her breath catch in her lungs, and then she just - vanishes. Melts into nothing. 

She almost cries out. Almost fucking sobs. Because she was right there, all the answers could have been within her reach, and she just watched the girl she almost remembers melt into dust- 

“Not her,” the voice tells her gently. “She’s not real. She used to be, but she isn’t now.” 

Adora shakes her head and doesn’t answer. 

“There are more of them here. Memories. Kinda.” 

“What happened to her?” Adora whispers. They’re the first words she’s spoken in a while, and her voice sounds disjointed and out of place, echoing over and over down the hallways.

Something settles on her shoulder (at least, she thinks it does). “She’s... a fragment. That’s the only way I can think of describing it.” A laugh, one she... recognises. “I think they’re all part of the memories they took from you. They’re shadows. I’m the only real one. Well, real-ish.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Turn around.” 

Her limbs don’t want to co-operate. Because I’m afraid of what I might see.

It takes a monumental effort to get to herself to rise, turn inch by inch, raise her eyes past the cracked floorboards. It takes even more to comprehend what she’s seeing.

“Hey, Adora.”

Catra. It’s - Catra.

Catra - but not. Not quite the girl she watched disappear from her memories three years ago. Her eyes are slightly hollower, her hair is shorter, and she’s... dead.

Very obviously dead, too. It’s not like Adora could miss a stab wound in the front of her shirt.

But... but she’s there, she’s standing right in front of her, wearing an infuriatingly familiar half-smile, and she wants to cry - 

“Ca... Catra?”

Her smile widens. “That’s me.”

“You’re here,” she whispers, and it comes out as more of a sob. She’s here she’s here she’s here she’s here - 

“You’re here,” Catra - Catra -  echoes, beaming. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” 

And Adora can’t do anything except let out a small sobbing noise in response. 

“Do you... remember?” she asks softly, hesitantly, hands toying with the fraying hem of her shirt. 

Adora shakes her head. “Not... much. I remember knowing you.”

Catra nods carefully. Her form has this odd translucent quality to it; she wonders if touching it would cause her to flicker like a hologram and vanish, only to re-materialise again in another place. “That’s something,” she offers. “Better than I’d hoped for, to be honest.” 

Her eyes fix on the torch in Adora’s hand, then flick back up. “I’d put that away if I were you. Light kind of... uh, dispels ghosts. That’s what I am. A ghost.” A smile. “I think.”

Adora stuffs it into her pocket without registering the movement. “H-how -”

“How do ghosts work?” Catra guesses. “Not sure. How am I a ghost? Again, not sure.” She shrugs, as though brushing it off. “It’s been... a long time.”

“I missed you,” she says, in a much smaller voice than she expected. “I missed you so much. I missed - I missed knowing you. I-” 

Catra smiles, and the movement causes her face to flicker at the edges, like static. “I missed you too. A lot.”

Adora bites back a sob. “Wha- What happened to you? How did you- ?” She shakes her head, shrugs. “Long story.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Adora catches herself staring at the outline of her form, the trails of half-shadows it leaves on the floorboards. In the half-light, she could almost be real. Alive.

She’s dead. She’s dead. It would hurt less if it wasn’t so clearly her fault.

“And - what about you?” Catra asks, breaking into her thoughts (which is a relief). There’s genuine concern in her eyes, she realises. 

She really cares about me. I must’ve cared about her, too - I do care about her. I just - why?

“I... also a long story. I think you know most of it already.” She huffs a laugh, blinking back tears. “More than me, at least.”

Catra nods again, slowly. Her eyes flick up and down, taking everything in like she’s seeing it for the first time. And some sort of realisation crosses them, then fades away as quickly as it came. 

“Do you want to... come back?” she asks. 

“Come back?”

“Come back. To the house. I could... I could show you what happened. If you want. It’s getting late, and Glimmer’ll be worried about you.”

Despite herself, Adora almost laughs. “You’re worried about me getting in trouble with my roommate for coming home late?”

Catra grins. “I’ve interacted with Sparkles before. She’ll be pissed, trust me.”

Adora smiles too, and for a moment, it could almost be - before again. Before her memories cut off and leave her with a white wall of nothing. Before Catra died.

“I don’t know if I can,” she says softly. “I might be... I might be dreaming, or you’ll be gone when I come back, or -”

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere,” Catra cuts in. “I kind of can’t.”

She sits down on the floor and crosses her legs, a clear request for Adora to join her. “It’d be easier if I show you now, but I don’t want to make you pass out and have to figure out how to cart your ass back home.”

“Show me what?” Adora breathes. This is it. This is it. I might be able to... to fix things. Finally.

“What happened to me. And what happened to you. It’s a long story, like I said.” She smiles at her, a little sadly, and presses her palms flat against the floorboards as she sits down. Adora wonders vacantly if she can feel it, if her hands are passing through the wood right now, if she’s solid or just a... a ghost.

If she’s really gone.

Thinking about it fills her with an even deeper sense of loss, somehow. She can’t shake the feeling that it’s her fault, even if she knows that’s not true. And it hurts.

For a moment, they sit facing each other under the shattered skylight, and it could almost be - a memory she can’t quite reach. It could almost be just them again, like she knows they were.

“Are you sure you’ll be able handle this now?”

She nods. Once.

Catra gives her a small, sad smile. Her eyes are transparent, filled with guilt and an emotion she can’t quite place.

The room starts to fill with a soft blue light. It creeps up through the floorboards, making the shadows stand upright and wheel towards the fractured ceiling, making Catra seem to glow from within. Adora has to force herself not to stare (then wonders why).

Smoke tendrils begin curling up through the floor beneath them, wrapping around their legs. She swallows her panic in time to see Catra lift her hands from the wood, leaving scorch marks in their wake, and glance encouragingly up at her. It’s... comforting. Familiar.

“Try to relax, okay?”

Adora nods again. “Okay,” she whispers. It’s all she can manage.

The smoke curls up around her torso and expands, filling the entire room with a blue haze. She narrows her eyes against the strengthening glow, closes them entirely - and opens them again when the door swings open and nearly flies off its hinges.

Before she can move, before she can do anything but cry out, Catra’s hands - Catra’s solid, real hands - clamp as gently as possible down on her shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not real,” she whispers. “They can’t hurt us again.”

“Again?”

She turns to meet Catra’s eyes, and for the first time since they saw each other, she looks... serious.

“Again.”

And two kids come running through the door.

Adora almost gasps again, because... because it’s her. Her and Catra, covered in mud and soaking wet and shivering, hair in disarray, eyes filled with sheer terror.

As soon as Catra skids in, past Adora slams the door shut, hinges screaming in protest. She watches it happen as though underwater. It feels... it feels familiar. That fear in their eyes - it’s real, and she remembers it. Except she doesn’t.

“Are you okay?”

Past Catra nods, clutching her wrist to her chest. “I’m fine. Are they gone?”

“I don’t think so.” Past Adora jogs over to her and helps her to her feet, smiling faintly. Despite everything, despite the wound at her temple and the blood caked on the hem of her shirt, despite the rain and the terror in her eyes, she’s smiling.

And Adora... remembers.

She remembers everything at once, a hail of flashing images and thoughts and words and feelings. She remembers emotions she didn’t even know she had experienced - burning, horrific grief, loss, missing her so badly she wants to scream at the sky and quite literally burst into flame, choking on sobs in bed - sheer, unending terror, pushed deep down into the centre of her chest, the need to protect, protect her, keep her safe, because she can’t be scared if Catra is - 

Someone is calling her name.

Someone is... Catra is calling for her, holding her against her chest as she trembles, whispering her name over and over again in her ear. 

“Adora, Adora - “

And Past Catra... Past Catra is bent over on the wood, coughing and crying her name, letting out choking sobs, a hand pressed over the wound in the centre of her chest. The door has been blown open again, letting in the wind and the rain, and Past Adora is gone.

“I’m-” She sits up, which is much more of a struggle than it should be. “I’m here. What happened?”

Catra gives her a concerned look. “You- passed out, I think. I mean, I know I said you would, but I didn’t expect.... this.” 

Her voice has begun to distort again, fading into a soft, static hum. The vision, or whatever it was, has begun to flicker and die into nothing, the threads fraying and unravelling until all that’s left is the girl bleeding out in the middle of the room.

Adora detaches herself from Catra’s fading grip as carefully as possible. Because, fuck, the things she remembers-

“You didn’t see half of that, did you?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t.”

Catra’s face falls slightly. Adora can’t even imagine what the experience was like for her, having to relive her death again for the sake of her memory. 

“But I did...” She clears her throat, rests a hand inches away from Catra’s. “I did remember. Everything.”

Her eyes light up from within, something that has nothing to do with the faded blue glow sinking back through the floorboards. “You did?”

Adora nods. The movement makes her head spin. She remembers... everything. Especially falling in love with the girl sitting opposite her, watching her with wide eyes. Especially the - the magic they tried to wield on her to make her forget, to make her immune to loving. And the way she tried to escape, to take Catra with her to keep her out of their reach, and it backfired in the worst way possible. She remembers her memories being stolen from her one by one, sucking the grief out of her until there was nothing left. 

Most importantly, she remembers waking up in her bed and feeling for the space where Catra should have been the day after they told her she was dead.

“I did,” she whispers. 

Silence stretches out between them, and Adora wonders if they could possibly be thinking about the same thing. 

Without saying anything, without thinking twice, she blurts, “I love you.” 

Catra’s eyes widen.

“We never said that. When you were alive. I always regretted that. I wanted to tell you, and I never got to, and I’m sorry for that. But, stars, Catra, I love you. I love you.”

She’s staring at her like she’s never seen her before, like she did the night - the night they kissed for the first time, the night she can remember with almost perfect clarity now, the night that was hidden from her for so long - 

“Adora -”

“I know it’s been - wow, it’s been years - and I know so much has changed, but I just - I have to tell you that. I have to -”

And Catra laughs. Softly. Her hand comes down and through Adora’s, leaving a wave of - of warmth in its wake, and settles against her palm, and it feels so close to getting to hold her again she swears she could cry again.

“I love you too, idiot.”

[shyvioletcat]

Rowan and Aelin talking about their dream house

Guess who’s back? Enjoy the return of our favourite firefighter.

Fluffy prompt-a-thon masterlist

Striking Matches Masterlist

~~~~~

Aelin was only half way and she had given up. She had three more flights of stairs to go and she was puffed and exhausted and didn’t know how long it would take her to gather the strength to get up the rest of them. The fact that it was winter was a blessed relief, at least she didn’t have the heat to contend with, even though she was most definitely sweating. She was only 7 months pregnant and she was struggling to make it up the stairs. How was she supposed to do it once she was even more pregnant? How was she supposed to climb six flights of stairs with a baby?

Those were things that she had been thinking about a lot lately. She loved her little dingy apartment, or rather loved what had happened there. That was where she met Rowan, where the whole door fiasco had happened. He had proposed to her in that apartment, carried her all the way up these damned stairs after they had got married. The apartment meant a lot to her, but it was getting more and more obvious that their time here was running out. 

Finally catching her breath and willing away the tears in her eyes Aelin started to climb again. And she refused to stop until she got to the apartment door, even if that meant she had gone at a snail's pace at some points. She was just glad that Rowan wouldn’t be home and she would be able to compose herself and swallow back her emotions for when he got home, hopefully. Her emotions and hormones had not been her friends of late. So when she opened the door and saw him sitting on the couch it caught her unawares and she almost burst into tears at the sight of him.

Rowan immediately saw that something was wrong and he was up from the couch, taking her work bag from her and put it on the ground before gathering her into his arms.

“Aelin,” he said onto her head and she held him tighter. “Love, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aelin said into his chest, her voice muffled. “It’s just a lot of stairs.”

Rowan kissed her head once then let her go. “You sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

Aelin did just that, sitting on the couch and taking her shoes off her swollen feet. Rowan was back in a few moments, giving her the bottle of water as he sat down beside her. Aelin immediately lent into his side, taking comfort of the feeling of his body against hers. Then she took a drink.

“What are you doing home?” Aelin asked, her voice still a little strained. 

“I convinced Lorcan to let me be on call from home,” Rowan said. That explained while he was in his uniform. “I had a feeling you might need me.”

That was what broke the dam on Aelin’s tears. Damn him and his intuition.

“We can’t stay here,” Aelin said before he could ask. “We can’t stay here and that makes me sad. Because this place was so important to us, but we can’t have a baby here. I can’t do the stairs pregnant, I can’t do the stairs with the baby. There will always be so much to carry and I know I can’t do it. We can’t do it.”

Rowan looked down at her, as she looked up at him. “I know.”

“You do?” Aelin asked.

“Yeah,” Rowan said, the left corner of his mouth dropping in a frown. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

“You have?”

Rowan just nodded. Then they were both quiet for a while, both just thinking Aelin guessed. That's what Aelin was doing, a thousand different thoughts running through her mind. All of it getting a little overwhelming. Would they buy? Would they rent? Where would they go? When would they go? They were on a pretty defined deadline.

“One step at a time,” Rowan said quietly, no doubt reading the tension in her body. “We don’t even know what we want.”

Rowan was right again, they had never really talked about moving in a real sense. It was one of those things they just assumed they would do when the time was right. 

“What’s your dream house?” Rowan asked, relaxing back into the couch. “What makes or breaks the deal?”

Aelin took another sip of water as she thought. “I think it has at least four bedrooms.”

“Four?” Rowan said looking down, brows high. “What on earth are we going to do with all those rooms?”

Aelin smiled coyly up at him, her hand running over her belly. “Oh, I don’t know.”

Rowan chuckled. “I think I want a place with our own private bathroom.”

“Why’s that?” Aelin asked.

“Privacy,” Rowan said simply.

“For?” Aelin pressed. 

Rowan just rolled his eyes at her. “Whatever your imagination wants, Aelin.”

That made Aelin laugh, then she glanced around the room. “I want a dining area. Somewhere we can have a real dining table. And a big kitchen. Not huge, but big enough that we can move around in it together without running into each other.”

“I like running into you in the kitchen,” Rowan said.

“But things always burn, or we’re late. I think it’s best if we have some space,” Aelin explained matter of factly, but she didn’t miss how Rowan's arm tightened around her at the mention of taking ‘space’, like the thought of it right now was abhorrent. Aelin found his hand and squeezed it. “I want a yard. Big enough so we can get a dog.”

“And space for the baby to play and run,” Rowan added.

“I want the house to be cute too,” Aelin told him. “I don’t want some ugly modern thing. I want it to have character.”

“I like that idea,” Rowan said. “Maybe we could find a place on the edge of the city. Still close enough that we can keep our jobs, but a little quieter, more land.”

“I think I would like that,” Aelin agreed. “I don’t want to leave all our friends.”

“Even Lorcan?” Rowan asked.

Aelin let out a burst of laughter. “Yes, even Lorcan. But mainly for Elide’s sake, but please don’t tell him that.”

By some divine intervention Rowan wasn’t called out to an incident, so they spent the whole evening talking about and discussing their new house. They playfully fought over room colours as they ate dinner, whether they would have carpet or floorboards in the bedrooms as they half paid attention to the show on the TV, discussed what exactly they would use all those bedrooms for while they got ready for bed. By the time Aelin was tucked into Rowan’s side under the covers they had a decent idea of what exactly they wanted from a house. 

Unbeknown to Aelin, Rowan started looking while she was asleep, trawling through pages of houses. By the time his own eyelids were dropping he hadn’t found anything, but he knew he would find something, it might just take a little bit of time.

~~~~~

It took Rowan about 2 weeks to find something that fit almost all their requirements. He hadn’t expected to find the perfect home but this came pretty damned close.

He’d spent the night at the station on night shift, using the quiet the time waiting looking through every real estate site he could think of searching for right house. And found it he did. It was nearly 2 am so he didn’t call or message Aelin in case she was sleeping, something she was getting less and less of these days, but it left him humming with an excited energy.

When he walked through the apartment door Aelin was in the kitchen making herself breakfast. Rowan went straight to her, kissing her sweetly before holding his phone up for her to look at.

“Rowan, what…” 

Rowan watched for her reaction, as her brows furrowed in confusion but then when she saw what was on her screen her eyes went wide.

“It’s… that’s perfect,” Aelin said, taking his phone from him.

“Well, it’s not,” Rowan said, swiping his fingers across the screen to flick through the photos. “The kitchen is old and terrible and the paint job throughout the old house is retro and not in a good way. But those are all things we could fix. The yard is huge, there’s this big old tree in the yard we could hang a swing from. It’s got some flaws, but I don’t think we’ll find anything much better.”

“I love it Rowan,” Aelin said, putting his phone on the counter and wrapping her hands around his neck. “I’ll contact the real estate on my lunch break and –”

“I already have,” Rowan said with a smile. “I’ve emailed them, expressing our interest. I’ve got it all started.”

Aelin grinned and then kissed him. “Thank you, Rowan. You are too perfect.” 

Rowan smiled, “Anything for you, my love.” 

~~~~~

I just love these two SO MUCH!

Tags:

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[lynnsaundersfanfic]

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order:  Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded  |  Chapter Ten: Dreams  |  by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

[drprettyboyspence]

Memory Lane

Dr. Spencer Reid/reader

Summary: Reader just can't seem to get to sleep one night so she decides to walk around the house she shares with her boyfriend, Spencer Reid. As she travels around the house she remembers significant moments in their relationship.

words: 2.9k

warnings: season 12 spoilers, mentioning of mental illness, nothing else to my knowledge! (just a lot of fluff) 

a/n: This is my first Spencer Reid fic and I kinda went off the rails with the word count, let me know if you enjoy it :)

I turn myself over in bed for what feels like the four hundredth time this hour, facing the ceiling now. I can hear the rustling of leaves outside and the distant sirens of the city, remembering how those sounds used to bring me some sort of comfort as a child, now all I can think of is the death and tragedy being an FBI profiler has brought me into contact with, the horrors at the end of the trail of sirens. Mostly noticeably though, I hear the steady breathing of the man lying next to me in the king bed, glancing over at my boyfriend of almost 4 years I smile warmly, his unruly hair draped over the pillow, glad to see him in deep sleep. Recently he hasn’t been sleeping well, suffering from PTSD from his time spent in prison as well as all the trauma the poor man has been through in the last 10 years of his life. I quietly get out of bed, making sure not to bother him, he deserves a good nights sleep and we have to be at the BAU in a depressingly minuscule amount of hours. My feet hit the cold wooden floors and I wonder for the uncountable time “Why did we decide on wooden floors?” A memory of an argument with Spencer answers my question,  

“Because silly, don’t you know that carpets can hold up to 200,000 bacteria per square inch, this room is 100 square feet, 144 square inches per square foot, that is 28,800,000 bacteria in our bedroom alone.” I remember shaking my head at him, he’s always been such a germaphobe. In fact, when we first met, he shook my hand, and later when I confided in JJ and Penelope that I had pretty intense feelings for the resident genius of the BAU, they mentioned that he usually hates shaking hands, is known for refusing to shake the hands of many people the team comes into contact with on cases. He shook my hand right away, it’s one of the things I love about him and we always say we knew right away that we had a special connection. I glance at Spencer’s sleeping frame one more time before leaving the bedroom and making my way down the hallway. There are pictures there, pictures of me and Spence, him and his mom, pictures of the team at work, Spencer won’t admit it often, but he wakes up every morning scared that he won’t remember those he loves, his mother’s dementia and schizophrenia have impacted him greatly. I stop in front of a picture of me and Spence, it’s the first picture we ever took together, Halloween almost 5 years ago now, at the FBI Halloween party.

October 2015

“Come on Y/n! How can you not love Halloween!”

“Spencer, what’s so great about Halloween!” I had asked laughing while filling up a plastic cup with punch. The party is fun, but all this dressing up just seems silly to me sometimes.

“It’s a uniquely American holiday! I mean, despite its obvious origins in the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Christian All Saints’ Day, it really is a melting pot of various immigrants’ traditions and beliefs. It became a little more commercialized in the 1950s with trick-or-treat, and today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity!” I catch JJ’s eyes from across the room, she gives me a sympathetic look as I’m stuck in another of Reid’s constant statistics rants. Frankly, I don’t understand how the rest of the team can cut Reid off when he’s like this. He’s so genuinely excited by this holiday it makes my budding feelings for the man standing in front of me even stronger.

“Aw you guys look so cute! Say cheese!” the always-hyper voice of Penelope Garcia shouts from across the bullpen, snapping a quick picture of me and Spence before running after Derek. I glance down at my phone and see a text from Penelope “It doesn’t take a profiler to realize how gone you are for him Y/n” I blush profusely before continuing my conversation with Spencer.

Present day

Tearing my eyes away from that specific picture, I continue walking to the end of the hallway, painfully aware that the floorboards are squeaking with my every step, hoping Spencer’s just-finished-a-case level of exhaustion will prevent him from waking up. I pass the threshold into the kitchen and see the dim light of the clock over the stove, the red 2:15 blinking back at me through my tired eyes, I just can’t seem to get to sleep tonight, I’m sure Spencer would say something like

“Chronic insomnia is usually tied to an underlying mental or physical issue. Anxiety, stress, and depression are some of the most common causes of chronic insomnia but even if you do not suffer from chronic insomnia, 35% of Americans report their sleep quality as poor or only fair.” Dating a living encyclopedia definitely has its perks I suppose. I walk towards the fridge and glance at the refrigerator, my eyes traveling to a postcard held up by a doctor who magnet. Houston, Texas the postcard reads.

February 2017

Me and Spencer had been dating for less than 6 months but as we had known each other for over a year I was falling head over heels in love with him. The last few months hadn’t been easy, Spencer learned that his mother had been diagnosed with dementia and not a day had gone by where he didn’t try and find a cure, he had been traveling to Houston,Texas to talk with his mother’s doctor, he then brought her to live with him in Virginia, it had been difficult to say the least. My fingers traced the edges of the postcard I had received in the mail this morning, then flipped it over and saw Spencer’s familiar scraggly handwriting, it read

Dear Y/n,

I was able to speak with my mother’s doctors today, I feel as though there must be more I can be doing, she seems to be responding to the medicines but I am looking into new methods of treating the disease. I miss you so much Y/n, and I miss the rest of the team as well, tell them I will be back as soon as I can, I hate the thought of you putting yourself in danger on cases without me there, not because I doubt your ability to protect yourself, but because I doubt my ability to handle being 1,402 miles away from you. Please do not worry about me, if you’re anxiously awaiting my return, stop looking at the clock because remember, when looking at a clock our brains anticipate what we’ll see faster than we actually see it, so the clock seems to stop, Ill be back before you know it Y/n.

With all my love, Spencer Reid.

I giggle quietly at the added facts, only Spencer would describe the phenomenon of a clock appearing stopped when glanced out. I’m concerned about Spencer though, I’m not sure what is going on, but there is definitely something not right with him and if I didn’t trust him so much I would consider asking Garcia to do a background check to check the legitimacy of his travels to Houston.

Present Day

This postcard is extremely bittersweet, the next week we were all rushing to Mexico, responding to a call that Spencer was in jail, I was a nervous wreck, we all were, it was an extremely rough 6 months, truly showing me how strong the man I love is. I push some of those harsh memories out of my brain, choosing to focus on the happy memories if I ever want to fall asleep tonight. There’s a coffee machine next to the fridge, if there’s one thing Spencer loves more than me, its coffee, or rather coffee flavored sugar with the amount of sweetener he puts in his cup every day. Spencer smells like coffee, almost always, he struggles to sleep most nights and therefore is always hyped up on caffeine. It's actually played a huge role in our relationship.

August 2016

Dr. Spencer Reid and I are walking to the BAU together as we do every single day, we live close to each other, close enough that he walks about 5 minutes before arriving at my house, we then walk to the coffee shop on the way to the train station. We’re best friends, but I’ve been secretly in love with him for months. Walking into Quantico, we get the daily glances from Penelope, Derek, and JJ who are sitting together looking at pictures of Henry. Penelope always teases me that we’re both so in love with each other that everyone can see it but us, it’s ironic actually. As much as I don’t believe Pen, I have been noticing small changes in Spence’s behavior the last couple months, prompting me to, in the deepest corners of my mind, hope that maybe he feels the same way, our friendship is worth too much to risk him not feeling the same way though, so I’m forever stuck. We aren’t on a case right now, so there’s a lot of paperwork to be done, at one point during the day I get up, asking Spence if he wants another cup of coffee before walking to the break room. I return after a brief 5 minutes and am surprised to see Derek sitting in my seat, arguing with Spencer.

“Come on Pretty boy! We both know you’re in love with her! Just ask her out man, she’ll say yes!”

“Morgan, quiet down, she’ll be back any minute, besides I’m 35 and Y/n is 32, I’m not saying there would even be a chance that we would get married but the marriage success rate in the United States is only 50%, the worst it has ever been, that therefore shows the state of relationships in the country as well, I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I could never lose her. Besides, I’ve never been good with women.”

“But that’s the thing pretty boy, you don’t have to be good with women, you’re already good with Y/n, she’s the one who matters, just ask her out man, you’ll regret it if you don’t.” With that Morgan walks away and I take a deep breath, its now or never, walking over to Spencer and setting down the cup, whispering in his ear,

“You never know how good with women you are until you try, Spence” He looks up at me with wide eyes and licks his tongue across his lips, something he does often.

“Um, Y/n, y-you heard all of that?” I nod and I can see Spence take a deep breath just as I did before walking over, “W-would you like to um- go to dinner with me Y/n?”

“Hmm I don’t know…” Spencer’s face starts to fall as I quickly continue “Of course I would love to go to dinner with you silly, what did you think?” His smile lights up the entire room as he pulls me into a deep hug.

“Well finally you two. You couldn’t have waited just a few more months though, I assumed you lovebirds wouldn’t get it together until after Spencer’s birthday” Rossi says from behind us, passing a pretty hefty stack of bills to Penelope.

That was the day that started the greatest adventure of my life.

Present Day

I leave the kitchen and walk to the living room, a chilly breeze blows my hair slightly askew, its June in Virginia, warm enough that all I’m wearing is one of Spence’s oversized MIT shirts with pajama shorts, but the night air causes slight goosebumps on my skin, sending me into my memories once again.

August 2019

Spencer and I are sitting on the couch, participating in yet another Doctor Who marathon on the tv, it's a rare day off from work and the hot summer air fills our living room even with the fan blowing through the house. I lie my head in Spencer’s lap as we watch the tv and his strong hand strokes the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to pop up all over my arms. I giggle and glance up at him causing him to pointedly look at me asking me with his eyes “What is so funny that you dare distract from Doctor Who?”

“It’s just strange, its 95 degrees outside but your hands on my neck give me goosebumps like its a crisp fall day, isn’t that funny baby?”

“Of course the most common cause of goosebumps is cold weather, but when you’re experiencing extreme emotions, the human body responds in a variety of ways. Two common responses include increased electrical activity in the muscles just under the skin and increased depth or heaviness of breathing, resulting in goosebumps.” I roll my eyes at him and playfully swat his hair out of his eyes.

“Only you, Dr. Spencer Reid, would take a romantic statement and turn it into statistics, and I love you for that” he kisses me and well, the Doctor Who marathon was quickly turned off after that.

Present Day

As I turn the corner into the living room I smile warmly, it’s the room that Spencer and I like the best. There are book cases lining the back wall, Spencer loves books, I’d ask him what made his books so special and he’d tell me stories of his childhood, his mom reading him 15th century literature, I loved when Spence told me stories about his childhood.

December 2017

I knocked on the door of Spencer’s apartment, it wasn’t like him to be late for our daily walk to work especially because he had been on probation after his time in jail. I received no answer, prompting my concern as I unlocked the door with the key he had given me. I walked into his living room and saw him, Spencer was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by books, running his fingers up and down the pages as he does when he’s reading at his top speed.

“Spence what on earth are you doing! Where did all these books come from? We aren’t on a case are we?”

“This year in the United States alone there have been 328,259 new books published, I read at 20,000 words per minute but at an average of 100,000 words per book, it would take me 27,377 hours to read all those books!”

“Oh Spencer how I love you, you don’t need to read every book ever published, are you going to start reading romance novels?” I tease while picking up a copy of 50 Shades of Gray from the ground at Spencer’s feet.

“Okay maybe you’re right, I just feel like I missed so much time when I was incarcerated, all that reading I could’ve done when I was trapped in that place, it's time I can never get back.”

“Spencer, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you, but this is not going to help that feeling go away, let’s go to work.” Spencer nodded and began to tidy up the floor before following me out the door.

“Wait, Y/n, I have to ask you something that I’ve meant to say since I’ve gotten out of jail, and I might as well say it now, will you move in with me?” He’s chewing on his bottom lip again and I jump into his arms in excitement, kissing his hair as he caresses the back of my head.

“Of course I’ll move in with you! I love you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“And I love you Y/n Y/l/n.”

Present Day

I’m coming around to the opposite side of the living room now, sitting down on the couch in front of the fireplace. I love the fireplace in our house and I think secretly Spencer does too. We argued for days over the safety of having a fireplace in our house, Spencer of course supplied with enough knowledge of house fires to last him 5 lifetimes, “But Spencer it’ll be so cozy, doesn’t it sound romantic to cuddle up by the fire?” I had pleaded with him the day we toured the house for the first time.

“Y/n, there were an average of 357,400 residential fires per year in the US between 2012 and 2014, an average of 22,300 of those fires were caused by a fireplace or chimney!”

“But Spenceee, that’s only 6.24% of the residential house fires during that period, 43.9% were from cooking equipment, are you going to forbid us from having a kitchen too?” Hey, don’t underestimate how useful a cellphone calculator and a quick google search can be in winning an argument against your genius boyfriend. Obviously, we had ended up agreeing on the fireplace, but Spencer was still overly cautious whenever it was in use. As I stood in front of the fireplace I became hyper aware of the floorboards creaking in the hallway just as they had done when I left the room earlier, I felt a presence enter the room and the 6’1” frame of my boyfriend wrapped his long arms around me from behind while burying his face in the hollow of my shoulder.

“Hi, baby, what are you doing up so late? Are you feeling okay? Can’t seem to get to sleep?” I nod back at him and recline my head so it rests on his strong chest.

“I was just taking a trip down memory lane I suppose” I say before smiling up at the love of my life.

[sarahwroteathing]

Just One Kiss (15)

Word Count: 2578

Summary: Bucky returns home

Warnings: A touch of language and a whoooooole lot of love

A/N: IT’S TIME! Thank you so much to those who have stuck with me and left sweet comments on every chapter. I couldn’t have kept this going without you. 

Catch up here!

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Sounds of joy and relief echoed all around you, families reunited, crying and hugging and cheering as the sun sank towards the horizon. You doubted there was any lipstick left on your bottom lip the way you kept anxiously biting at it, straining up on tiptoes to peer through the crowd. 

“Should we check with Mrs. Barnes and Rebecca again?” you asked, settling back down on your heels with a disappointed frown.

“If we keep going over there it will defeat the whole purpose of splitting up,” Betty said gently. “If they had found him, they would have brought him over here already. Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to meet him?”

You gave a frustrated huff, pulling the note you had received a week ago out of your purse. An unfamiliar but well-dressed man had delivered it to your apartment, placing it in your hands with a “our mutual friend sends his regards.” It was a date and time, now two hours past. A ship had been scheduled to arrive then, as confirmed by one of Betty’s friends who worked at the docks. World-weary soldiers in their dress greens had flooded the docks, and given the lack of press and fanfair you would guess that no one was aware of who else had traveled home on that ship. 

“It doesn’t say,” you admitted, flipping the page over as if hoping new text had materialized since you’d last checked five minutes ago. “But he had to know I’d come here. I could hardly just sit around at home and wait for him to show up, now could I?” 

Betty started to laugh at your grumpy expression but cut off abruptly and grabbed your shoulders. 

“I spy a star spangled man with a plan! Look!” 

Betty steered you in the right direction, and the two of you took off weaving through the crowd as quickly as you were able without the use of aggressive elbows. You were halfway to him when Steve noticed you, moving in your direction with a soft smile. He had an easier go of it, people stepping respectfully out of his way until he reached you. 

“Steve! I’m so glad you’re home,” you said, throwing your arms around him. 

“I’m -”

“Move over! There’s room for both of us now!” Betty complained, coming up behind you. 

You shuffled to the side accordingly, and Steve laughed as he hugged you both. 

“You’re okay? You’re happy?” you asked as you pulled back, holding onto his shoulders and surveying his face with a worried expression.

“I’m happy,” he promised. 

You gave a pleased nod, but your smile faded when you noted the very clear absence of the man you most wanted to see.

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked nervously, but when Steve opened his mouth the answer, he was promptly cut off by a chorus of other voices.

“Well hello to you too.”

“No hero’s welcome for us.”

“Of course not. Have you seen yourself?”

“Fuck off, Morita.”

“Please, there are ladies present.”

Assembled in a loose semicircle around you were none other than the Howling Commandos, looking characteristically grumpy but nearly unrecognizable in dress uniforms. 

“Well, aren’t you a double ration of man,” Betty commented mildly, her eyes fixed on Dugan. 

“Betty!” you choked on a laugh, pinching her side as the men snickered and Dugan shot a wink at you.

You cleared your throat pointedly as you recovered your poise, offering your hand to each man in turn.

“Forgive my lapse in manners. It’s very nice to meet you all in person. Mr. Falsworth, Monsieur Dernier, I didn’t expect the pleasure of meeting you in person,” you said, offering a hand to each in turn. “We appreciated your letters. They were beautifully written.”

The comment elicited another round of laughter and nudges while Gabe Jones rolled his eyes.

“That would be my work, thank you. Be glad you never saw the unedited versions.”

The comment sparked a litany of protests from all but Dugan, who shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. 

“They haven’t quite wrung every drop of good publicity out of us yet,” Steve said explained quietly, shaking his head at the others’ antics. “We’re expected in D.C. in a couple of weeks.”

“Well they’ll certainly have their hands full with this group,” Betty commented mildly. “Though it looks like you’re one short.”

You reached out to squeeze Betty’s hand in gratitude.

“He went looking for his family. But he said to tell you he’s going to meet you after. Someplace special.”

“Where?”

“He said you’d know,” Steve answered with an apologetic shrug. 

You felt a little flutter in your chest and turned to Betty.

“A special place. Do you think…?”

“Has to be. Go!”

You gave a giddy smile and turned to run, but Steve caught your arm.

“Wait! Just… Go slow, okay? He was really nervous when he left. Asked us to stall. Give him some time.” 

“Why is he nervous?”

“It’s been a long time, Y/N. And he knows how important this is. He just wants to get it right.”

On impulse, you pulled Steve into another hug. 

“You’re a very good friend, you know. To both of us.”

“Go get him, Mrs. Barnes,” he said with a wink when he pulled away, and the Howling Commandos lived up to their name as you worked your way towards the street.

It took every ounce of self control you possessed to keep a slow and steady pace, forcing your steps to fall in line with deep, even breaths. You tried to keep yourself distracted, counting cracks in the pavement, fixing your lipstick, reciting a poem Bucky wrote to you from memory. The closer you drew to the park, the less helpful these little distractions became until you were stepping under the shade of the trees and the sound of the street faded behind you.

He was standing almost perfectly still when you reached the gazebo, his back turned to you, eyes fixed on the post where he had carved your initials that spring day now years past. His fingers drumming restlessly on the railing was the only visible indication of his nerves. 

“Bucky?”  

Your voice was barely a whisper, but that’s all it took. Bucky turned on his heel, you froze on the steps, and for a moment everything stopped. 

Then one breath.

Two.

A shaky inhale.

A breathless, nervous laugh, and you both rushed forward, colliding at a speed which knocked what little breath you had left out of your lungs, but you wouldn’t dream of complaining. Bucky’s arms closed around you, squeezing you to his chest as your arms went around his shoulders. Unsteady breaths stirred your hair, and you buried your smile against his neck as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“What’s all this for? I thought you didn’t miss me,” he whispered after a few moments. 

You huffed and pulled away from him, reaching back to pull his hands free when he only clutched your waist tighter for your efforts. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, keeping ahold of your hands, refusing to give up that last point of contact. 

The softness in his eyes did nothing to ease your nerves, and you drew a deep breath.

“I’m going to kiss you, James Buchanan.”

“Oh! Well… Whatever you say, doll.” He was doing his best to contain a smile and failing spectacularly.

You tugged him toward you breathlessly, anxiously, the remaining space between you closing fast yet somehow not quite fast enough. The very first press of his soft lips on yours felt like liberation. Your heart fluttered frantically in your chest, any reservations and lingering nerves melting away.

Your kiss shot through Bucky like a livewire, his hands moving to grip your waist reflexively. And when he thought he felt your mouth begin to curve up at the action, he pressed closer, desperate to taste that beautiful smile the way he had always wanted. You couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped you at single-minded tender energy he was pouring into this moment, giving a little start in his arms as his hold tightened and your feet left the ground.

It was your turn to grip him harder, your hands curling into fists on his chest, bunching the fabric of his jacket in a way that was sure to wrinkle and just as sure to escape both of your notice. One of Bucky’s hands slid up from your waist, taking the opportunity to press you more completely against his chest as it went, before venturing into your hair.

 You could feel him actively undoing all the work you’d put into your appearance that morning, disheveling every curl, loosening every pin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by it. Instead, it sparked a matching mischief in you, and you released his collar in favor of seeking playful revenge, snatching up that jaunty hat in one hand and doing your very best to ruffle and tug his carefully combed hair with the other. 

Bucky broke into a laugh, trying to hold it at bay but ultimately failing as you joined in with euphoric giggles of your own. You collapsed into each other, your head falling forward to rest on his shoulder as he nuzzled against your neck, the both of you thoroughly caught up in a wave of breathless, blissful laughter. 

“I love you,” he whispered against your skin, prompting a bright smile and a giddy sigh.

“I love you too, James Buchanan. With all of my heart.”

“Yeah?” 

“I swear it on all the letters under the floorboard.”

Bucky lifted his head, fixing you with the sweetest smile, but you couldn’t appreciate it for more than a few seconds before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“What is it, doll?” he asked, grinning wider at the sweet sound.

“You h-have lipstick all over your m-m-mouth,” you struggled out as you laughed, digging into your jacket pocket for your handkerchief. 

Bucky swatted at your hand when you reached up to wipe away the bright stain, signature smirk firmly in place.

“Hey, no! Leave it! How else will I know this wasn’t just another daydream, huh?”

“Stop - Let me - Bucky, quit!” 

He evaded your attempts for a few moments, alternating between pushing and capturing your hands when you tried to reach for him before surrendering, holding you close against his chest as a consolation prize as you wiped away the vibrant smudges. Though he was quite content with the arrangement, he put on a pout, winning him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

“That one you can keep,” you said, appraising the lip print with satisfaction.

“What about this one?” Bucky asked, squeezing you tightly.

“This one?” you laughed. “A very affectionate nickname. I’m honored.”

“I can do better,” he said with a nervous smile, squeezing you again for just a moment before pulling away to kneel in front of you.

“Bucky,” you whispered faintly. “What are you doing?”

“I know it may seem a little silly since we’ve only just had our first kiss, but…”

“Oh my god.” 

“I have loved you for... most of life. And I know it hasn’t been that long for you, and maybe you’re not ready for this yet, and that’s alright. You know by now I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes for you.”

Your eyes were burning, tears fighting their way to the surface as you tried to control your breathing.

“But I just… it’s all I could think about. Every second I was over there, and every time I looked at your picture or read your letters… And as soon as I got off the boat I saw this kid, and he was folding up this  gum wrapper, and… Well, I… I paid him fifty cents for it,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head at himself as he reached into his pocket for it, a delicate little ring made of carefully folded foil. 

“Fifty cents?” you choked out with a tearful laugh.

“I probably could have gotten it for free, but I panicked, and it seemed like the most important thing in the world at the moment. Remember when we were kids and I used to make these all the time?”

“You used to try,” you said breathlessly.

“I was practicing,” he shrugged. “And it seems a little ridiculous now. I know I can buy you something nicer, and I promise I will, but… I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to.”

“Bucky, are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to -”

“Of course I’m sure,” he answered with a warm smile. “You’re my forever. You always have been.”

When you dropped down into Bucky’s arms, he rose to meet you halfway, lifting you straight off the ground and clutching you tightly. You held him with a grip even stronger, your happiness flooding out in a wave of tearful giggles. Bucky gave you a couple of spins for good measure before setting you carefully on your feet, releasing you with one hand to reform the makeshift ring which had been crushed in his palm. He held it up for your inspection, watching you carefully, his nervous expression blooming into a brilliant smile when you slipped it onto your left ring finger.

Without a single word, he crushed you against his chest, burying his face in your neck as if he hadn’t the slightest intention of moving again. 

“You haven’t heard my answer yet, you know,” you teased, coaxing his head up so you could look into those gorgeous eyes you’d missed so much. You held his chin carefully, your thumb resting over the dimple that seemed placed for precisely that purpose. The corner of your mouth curled up against your will when Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, arching an eyebrow in challenge. 

“If you say ‘I’m not marrying you, James Buchanan,’ I swear….”

“You swear you’ll what?” you laughed, and he let out a pained sigh.

“I’ll keep asking. Every day until you say yes,” he admitted. 

“You haven’t even properly asked me today yet. Maybe try that first.”

He gave a slow nod, leaning forward until his forehead rested against yours.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke. 

“Nothing would make me happier.”

And once again you were lost in a flurry of swirling skirts and breathless laughter, Bucky dropping feather-light kisses everywhere he could reach until you were thoroughly flustered.

“You’ll still have to walk me home, you know,” you added once he’d grown a little calmer.

“Oh, no! However shall I manage,” he said groaned, taking your hand and pulling you towards the park path.

“Well, I have to benefit from this marriage somehow. It’s the least you could do.”

“You’re right. I plan to make you perfectly miserable, so your sacrifice is appreciated,” Bucky said, drawing you closer to his side, and brushing a kiss to your temple as you rolled your eyes. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So, we won’t get married until next week. I’ll be less ridiculous then.”

“Next week?” you cried, shoving at his shoulder in disbelief until he stumbled a few steps to the side with a laugh.

“Fine, fine. Tomorrow.”

“Bucky!” 

With his laughter echoing through the evening air, your heart felt  lighter, happier than you could ever remember it feeling. He was home. He was safe. He was yours. And that was all you were ever going to need.

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How do we feel? Sound off - who’s still alive?? Come scream with me!

Again, thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. Your comments kept me going, they really did.

Bonus Drabble questions will remain open, both for events before, during, and after the series if you want to know anything about their married life. And if anyone’s interested, there may be an epilogue forthcoming. 

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Tags: @aubzylynn @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd @kennadance14 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @wiintershero @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @jacks-on-krack @a-book-pressed-rose @fvckjamesbarnes @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @breezy1415 @notimetoblog @cherrynat  @multifandomgirl-us @teenybucks @angryteapot @nomadicpixel @raven-ur-mum @notimetoblog @vintagepigeon @withahintofpestoaioli @kindaace @sadanddeadsoul @thinkwritexpress-official @promarvelfangirl @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @majesticavenger @creideamhgradochas @buckybarneshairpullingkink

[halcyonnhood]

Changes || l.h

Summary: Sarah struggles to come to terms with her feelings for Luke, Ashton's a good friend, and Luke is an understanding boyfriend.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: implied past abuse. lots of emotions. a few curse words.

Authors Note: More Luke and Sarah content! Here the first part if you missed it. This part may seem redundant, but that's okay. I think this ended up being a vent fic, so please just try to be nice to me. If you ever have any thoughts about the luke & sarah universe just send me an ask!

- - -

Love feels a lot like sunshine on the first day of spring.

Not that Sarah would know what love feels like. She doesn't. She doesn't even know if she loves Luke romantically, how could anyone be so sure of that? Luke seemed so certain of his feelings when he told her and she had been oblivious to it the entire time. All she knows is that she feels different whenever she's around the lanky man. She feels warmth from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, as if she were basking in comforting sunny rays. Everything seems so much brighter and prettier with him, it reminds her of seeing flowers for the first time after a long snowy winter. She doesn't know if that's what love feels like. She could just be happy to have Luke home.

If Sarah is honest, she's envious of Luke and all of his certainty. He's always been so sure of everything in life. Sure that he was born with music in his bloodstream and talent flowing from his fingertips. Sure that he was made for fame in LA. And he had sounded positively sure when he announced his love for her when he returned from tour. She hadn't been so lucky, in fact, she is the complete opposite and doubts everything. She hasn't quite found her passion in life, she often times regrets moving to LA, and she can't figure out all of these twisted emotions. She wishes it could come to her that easily.

“What're you thinking about?” Luke questions, breaking the girl out of her daze. He twirls more noodles around his fork and watches her with his kind blue eyes.

Sarah bites the inside of her cheek for a moment and decides to tell him the truth, “Love.”

The response nearly makes him choke on a mouthful of food and his coughing sends bits of liquid spewing everywhere. If Sarah hadn't grown accustomed to both him and the boys, she would've considered it gross. She also would've marked this as a failed first date, but it's Luke and it's nothing she hasn't seen before. The sight just makes her laugh as she hands him an extra napkin.

“Love,” Luke repeats. She swears his eyebrows might fly off his face if he raises them any higher, “Love, right. What about it?”

“It's just that you were so certain about it...And I don't do love, Luke.”

Luke's expression softens, “I know.”

“You know?” Sarah looks up at him in confusion.

“I know you don't do love. I know practically everything about you. Sarah, you've only ever told me you loved me once and that was just platonically. That's okay. It's only the first date, I shouldn't have been so quick to say that.”

The two sit in silence for a while, the slurping of noodles being the only noise between them. Sarah wants to be able to tell Luke that she loves him, because that's just what you say in response to someone who loves you. It's something you should say if you think you love someone. It's definitely what you say after you kiss the man that loves you, but the words never come out. Someday she hopes she'll be able to say it to the man and mean it with her entire heart and soul. All she knows currently is that she's enjoying the date and every time he smiles at her, she feels warmer.

“I don't do love, but I do other things. I bake sweets, I take care of petunia, and I write really nice music reviews on every app I own.” Sarah finally breaks the silence. “It isn't a lot-”

“But it's how you show that you love me,” Luke finishes for her.

Sarah lets out the breath she was holding, relieved that he understands, “Yeah. I know my fears are irrational, but I don't want not saying it to stop whatever this is,”

“I have to say, I've enjoyed this date and it'd be an awful shame if a second never happens.” Luke tells her. She can see the playful twinkle in his eyes, but the words ring truthful.

“That really would be disappointing,”  She agrees. “I am looking forward to you beating traditional ramen. That's pretty hard to top,”

“Sounds like a challenge,”

/ / / /

Everything has to change. The seasons, the time, and emotions all go through changes. The summer turns to fall and long days turn to early sunsets. Sarah's tough exterior turns into a poorly supported shield. Which she isn't very happy about. She is not vulnerable. Or soft. She is consistent and strong. But she still finds herself lacking her normal demeanor whenever the blond curly headed demon is around.

Ashton invited Sarah over to his housewarming party, so naturally, she drives over with the tupperware full of cheesecake strapped safely in the passenger seat. The absurdity of buckling food into her car puts her in a giggly mood, but she didn't spend the night before baking it just to have it spilled onto the floorboards. She balances the gift bag on top of the containers and tries to carry it into the new home with steady hands. The task proves itself to be more difficult than she expected, because the bag covers her line of sight, and she doesn't know the layout of the house. She's barely into the foyer and she's already hit her hip on the sharp edge of a decorative side table, making her let out a hiss of obscenities at the pain. Ambling through hallways blindly is obviously not her strong suit, so when the bag is lifted out of her vision, she's happy to find Ashton in front of her. And to properly see the entrance to his house.

“You swear like a sailor, Sarah. You do know that, right?” Ashton asks her with a dimpled smile.

“Only because you have a table in your foyer!” Sarah huffs. Ashton laughs and turns to lead the two of them towards the kitchen, “Who puts tables in a foyer?”

“My interior decorator. It's been two minutes and you're already insulting my house, I'm wounded.” Ashton shakes his head in mock disappointment. He points towards the empty space on the counter next to the wings, so she can set down the containers.

After setting down the contents, she turns and takes in the sight of his new kitchen. She wishes she could find more to insult, but she really enjoys it, “It looks nice, Ash. I like the blue in here.”

“Me too, it feels appropriate. So, what'd you bring this time? Since you nearly fell protecting it,”

“I made two cheesecakes just for you! It took some research, but I made them coffee and cappuccino flavored,” Sarah tells him with an excited smile. “Just had to feed into the addiction,”

Ashton wraps her into a tight hug, “I think that might be the sweetest thing you've ever done. Thank you, Sarbear.”

“You're welcome. Just try it, loser. Since you're my biggest critic and all,”

Sarah leans against the counter while Ashton cuts himself a piece of each. She lets her eyes wander past the kitchen entryway to the living room where she can see some of their friends messing around. She can hear Luke's laugh before she sees him, even just the sound makes her heart race. When she does finally see him in the back of the room, curls bouncing as he laughs with Michael, it makes her heart clench. After multiple dates, lots of hanging out, and scattered kisses, she can still feel her heart melt into a puddle at the bottoms of her feet. And it frustrates her more than anything, because this is not her and this is not how she acts. Not towards Luke or anyone in her life. She can't figure out when she started looking at the man romantically, not in a best friend way or ‘just a couple dates’ way, but full blown “I dreamt I married him once” way. She does not do emotions, no matter what her stupid subconscious might say.

“It tastes delicious,” Ashton tells her. It breaks her daze and she focuses back on the black haired boy who gives her a sly smile.

Her eyebrows raise in shock. A compliment from her friend is rarely heard of when they like arguing so much, “Wait, really? I'm glad you like it,”

“Of course I do.” He rolls his eyes. “I know that look, by the way.”

“What look?”

“The one you have everytime you look at Luke. It's the same one he's given you for the past year. It's the same look that Michael gets when he thinks about Crystal,”

Sarah is immediately shaking her head, because she knows that look. She's seen Luke giving her that look, “No! There's no look. Besides, you guys have only been home for like three months, how can yo-”

“It's been a lot longer than that, he loves you and you know it. Sarah, I know you're this protected, cold, and unfeeling person, but stop denying this.”

“I'm not unfeeling, I just keep my emotions to myself. You learn to with five brothers at home.” She tells him softly, “I do love you and the boys.”

Ashton looks up from his plate in shock, “I love you too.”

“You all have been my best friends since I moved here. I've been up Luke's ass since day one and accepting that my love for him isn't platonic anymore is hard. All I've ever known is best friend Luke, not boyfriend Luke who is romantic and soft.”

“He can still be best friend Luke, but with a few upgrades. Admitting that you love people will not make the world implode. You'll be fine telling him,” Ashton encourages.

Sarah stares at Ashton silently. She's never realized that he could read her so well, but she's not sure what else she expected. He could see that she loves Luke and he can tell she's scared. She just wishes these things were as easy for her as it is for everyone else.

“And that's coming from the brother who wouldn't say that unless he trusted both of you completely.”

Ashton eats his piece of cheesecake in silence after that, the sounds of their friends filling the empty space. Deep down, Sarah knows that he's right. She knows that Luke loves her and she should tell him that she loves him too, but there's something terrifying about the unpredictability of emotions. She could tell him she loves him and there's the chance that his feelings could change. Or maybe he would realize he never loved her at all. If something ever did happen between them, could they ever go back to being best friends? Even worse than that, she hopes she never has to go back to being only friends.

What's the worst thing that could happen? Sarah knows that Luke loves her, he may have taken a step back from vocalizing it, but he shows it in other ways now. The worst thing is that she gets nervous and bails while trying to tell him. It wouldn't be so bad, to be able to show him her feelings for once. Right when she decides to tell him, Ashton bumps her shoulder and breaks her focus.

He holds his fork out to her with the last bite of cheesecake on it, “It's delicious, I swear. It's just rich and you're over here feeding me two slices.”

“You made the choice to try both,” She shakes her head, but still takes the fork to finish it. “Thank you though. I know how hard it is for you to compliment me.”

“Ashton complimented you? That's a miracle.” Luke comments. The unexpected sound of his voice makes Sarah jump, which brings out bubbling giggles from both men.

“Don't expect it too often. Anywho, I have a party to host. Catch up with you guys later!” Ashton winks at her, then leaves the two alone in the shiney new kitchen.

“Hey, honey.” Luke whispers as he pulls her into a tight embrace, “What were you guys talking about?”

Sarah snuggles into the warmth of his hug, “Just my absolutely amazing coffee flavored cheesecake and his poor choice of tables in foyers,”

“Sounds like an entertaining conversation,” He chuckles. He releases his grip from her and studies her playful expression.

"Oh, absolutely! You really missed out on that one. Just about as exciting as Ashton could get!”

"That's a shame, I must be so boring in comparison. I was just going to ask if you wanted to come over to my house after this.”

Sarah blinks up at his hopeful eyes and tries to keep the smile on her face, but she feels her brows furrowing some, “It'll be pretty late once we leave, Lu”

“I was asking if you'd like to stay the night with me.” Luke tells her softly.

His face has gone all serious and there's something in the sincerity of him inviting her over that just makes her crack right then and there. Sarah wants, scratch that, needs to tell him about the mess going on in her mind. He always knows how to organize the mess and it's not going anywhere until she finally admits what the issue is.

“I think we should talk,” She lets out a nervous sigh. By the look on his face, she can tell that's the wrong response to the invitation, but he recovers quickly and just gives her a tiny nod.

“Yeah, of course! Let's just get some privacy.”

Luke leads her to one of the rooms upstairs and explains that it's a guest room. He keeps glancing at their intertwined fingers and she knows that he must be thinking of the worst possible scenarios. She really wishes he wouldn't, she's just scared and needs to talk to both best friend Luke and boyfriend Luke. To accept that there's a difference in the two now, but all the same. And she needs to realize that no, the world will not implode if she tells him she loves him. It didn't when she told Ashton and it won't this time. The world will still be here continuing on with life and she'll be a bit more soft around the edges.

Except that Sarah has never learned to be soft or vulnerable. She grew up with five brothers and drunk parents. She was never given the chance to act like a proper little girl. It was always screaming, fighting, and blood. There were never any tears shed or lapses in her tough exterior, because the situation hadn't allowed for it. So, when she packed up and moved to LA she tried her best to push her own limits and act girly. She learned how to do makeup on her own and taught herself how to bake, without five boys waiting to make fun of her or parents to take everything away. She was trying to work on expressing herself when she met the boys and being surrounded by four boys meant that the exterior went right back up. They are her family here in LA and that means having three more brothers to protect herself from. She isn't sure she'll ever get the chance to be soft, but she wants to be. Especially for Luke.

Luke squeezes her hand lightly as the two sit on the bed. Sarah can't make out his expression or what he's thinking, but she still squeezes his fingers back in response.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Luke asks, breaking the silence. The question lingers heavily in the air and Sarah wishes a black hole would swallow her whole.

“Of course not,”

This time, Sarah can feel his warm blue eyes burning into her skin, “It feels like you're going to.”

“I'm not, I promise.” She tells him with furrowed eyebrows. She stares at the cream colored carpet beneath her feet and makes a note to tell Ashton that it was a bad choice. Light colored carpets are just asking for stains.

"I know we're still in the ‘new’ stage of this relationship and I'm really not trying to push you into being more serious. But you need to tell me things,” Luke lets go of her hand.

She watches as he paces the length of the room and struggles to piece together the words she needs to say. Everything is scattered in pieces, the words that Ashton told her, what she wants to say, and the stupid fucking carpets. But nothing is coming out, yet again.

“You never tell me things and I'm really trying to understand, but I can't when you used to tell me everything. If you can't talk to me and we're only three months in, we can't do this. Sarah, I am trying my best here and I don't know what else to do.”

"I told you everything because you were my best friend. And now you're my boyfriend and things feel different.” Sarah says quietly.

“I'm still your best friend,” Luke tells her. He squats in front of her sitting spot and strokes a thumb over her soft hand.

Sarah avoids his gaze, “I am used to being cold, it's just how I grew up. I had to. Then I met you and was able to express some things to you. Now that we're together there's a whole new set of emotions and I have never had to deal with them.”

“Are you trying to s-” Luke starts, but she cuts him off. He just pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and watches as she takes in a shaky breath.

“I love you, Luke.” Sarah tells him. And she waits for the world to implode, for the house to crumple on top of her, or for him to laugh. The only thing that happens is Luke looking up at her with glassy eyes as he kisses the backs of her hands.

“I love you too, Sarah.” He smiles, “Is that what all this was about?”

“I was scared that something bad would happen if I told you. That you would change your mind or you would laugh at me...I don't know, my family never reacted well to me talking about love and I didn't want a repeat of that.”

"Oh, honey,” Luke whispers and joins her on the bed so he can wrap his arms around her. “I would never ever do that to you.”

Sarah leans into the warmth, “I'm trying to get better at this. I just have to remember that you guys are different and emotions aren't weaknesses for you.”

"Never. You're human, you're supposed to be emotional. I know your family wasn't very nice to you, but you're here now. You have a loving boyfriend and three brothers who would do anything for you.” Luke explains softly.

Luke wipes the tears from her cheeks and places a kiss on her forehead. He remembers Sarah telling him stories about her family and how she wasn't too fond of them. She ended up in survival mode most of the time, but it never hit him that she was so cold because of it. He doesn't even think that she had realized that before tonight. She was just scared of emotions and didn't know what love felt like due to family. He hopes that she knows that they would never treat her badly.

“I'm sorry for crying all over you, I promise that it's not because of you,” Sarah giggles a bit, “I just love you so fucking much and I can say it,”

“You can say it,” Luke laughs with her, “I love you more than you'd ever realize.”

For once in Sarah's life, she feels completely at peace. She can do the whole “emotional” thing and nothing bad will happen, because all the bad stuff is in the past. It feels good to admit all the pent up stuff. And most importantly, loving luke DOES feel like sunshine on the first day of spring. Warm, fuzzy, and everything nice.

And she's certain that she's happy. So sure of it. She gets to be happy with the best person in her life and that's all she could ask for.

[egg-of-mankhad]

Prompt 30: Darkness

Part 2 of Prompt 29; Cavort

You take a step off the stage.

Everything is just as silent as before. Just as empty as before.

With every step you take the world around you seemed to grow older. Aging and rotting as your presence passes. The wood beneath turning black and soft. As mites scamper out from beneath your wooden slippers. And you would start to sink lower….and lower…

Until you cannot see nothing at all.

Damp. That is how it feels here. In this solitary place beneath the floorboards and foundation set by men of old. Cold. It feels cold. Freezing dew slipping in between bare toes. Moistening the earthen soil so that it may dissolve into a muddy liquid full of mealworms and roaches. Rolypolys and ants. And other creepy, crawly invertebrate things. And lower you go.

You sink beneath the muddied waters. Your body floating down underneath the inky waves. You start to forget how to see. How to speak. How to breath. Your body tenses up as a heavy pressure befalls upon you. The silence is now a constant irritating ringing in your ears. And it won’t stop. This feeling won’t stop.

You want to disappear. To leave the plane of existence forever. And as you think this you start to lose all feeling in your toes. In your fingers. You start to forget how to touch, how to feel. You can’t even begin to notice the lack of a constant thumping in your chest. Nor can you notice the lack of feeling in your nose. Everything ended. And you close your nonexistent eyes.

You are happy. You finally got your wish.

You have never existed.

==============

the day has come where night descends,

and dark hearts are eased

the moon shines

and the shadows of the mountains all become one.

==============

Black ink dripped upon a piece of parchment paper. Pure white in color. It was handmade by monks from fiber from the gampi tree. Lovingly cooked upon a single sheet. Out in the sun, surrounded by the song of nature. Canaries and sparrows calling playfully to each other on a hot summer day.

Kaito was trying his best to recreate such a scene upon the long empty scroll. He does not know your name, and likely never will. That is good and well. He is busy considering just what sort of bird would live on the gampi tree anyways. What that sort of bird’s nest would look like. Whether or not there would be flowers of any kind. His gaze peered thoughtfully upward at the misty grey sky. Wondering whether it would be asking too much to wish to take a break and go out for a stroll. It had only been a few days since he had been commissioned in any case. 

“...Kaiiii-tooooo-chaaaaan!!”

Nevermind. Even if Kaito had wanted to go out, which he did. He couldn’t possibly go anywhere with that handsome mess of a blond inching his way towards his temple. A metallic box of some sort kept well beneath his arms.

“I brought a gift my friend!”

Kaito couldn’t possibly know just what sort of gift the eccentric man could have brought him. Frankly, he didn’t wish to. Any kind of gift that came from Buteo had to spell trouble. Either that or some sort of odd favor that Kaito would have to return sometime in the near future.

“I hope you’ve made progress with that Hitoshirezu place. Because I’ve been doing some prepwork myself” Buteo would offhandedly mention once the door was politely opened by his stoic friend. “Remember the story I told you about the resurrected Emperor Xande and his pact with the Cloud of Darkness?”

“I really don’t”

“Well...I have been studying the chains that the Warriors of Light used to bind Cerberus in my spare time….”

“I have no idea what that is”

“...And I’ve been thinking. What if we used something similar to those chains to bind the primal of Hitoshirezu?”

The priest stared blankly at Buteo. Who looked so stupidly hopeful that a serious and sophisticated individual such as Kaito would even consider his plan--

“You’re right, it’s a stupid plan.”

“Oh thank the gods.”

“--BUT...I still think we should have something like these bad boys as a backup.” He would give the container in a good SMACK. Which was presumably where he had hid the chains he intended to use on this primal of his.

Kaito honestly wasn’t even sure that his primal existed. “...About that whole thing, Buteo. I visited the altar. Multiple times. I do not think this primal that you seek so fervently actually exists.”

“Noooonesense! Haven’t you heard the stories around these parts? Of the curse of Hitoshirezu? Of how people have continued to die there?”

“Yes!! Of DISEASES, Maybe the water there is poisoned or polluted. Buteo….WHY are you so bent up over this? Is this really that important to you that you keep on dragging me repeatedly to this empty ruin? What’s going on inside your head?”

Something in Buteo’s normally confident look faltered. That cold, hard metallic casing that he gathered up in his arms in the form of a hug would fall to the floor. Nearly falling open from the impact, it’s weight falling over to a pathetic resting position. The small boy that stood beside Buteo, who had been watching the birds flutter about him with a sense of wonder and amazement, would startle at the sound; his eyes staring with a deep concern and fear between the two men.

Buteo wouldn’t speak right away. It was almost as if his voice had been caught up in his throat. Even the briefest sound, was starting to become a struggle.

“Sh….”

“Buteo…”

“She…”

Kaito hadn’t seen Buteo begin to cry in such a long time. Or ever, if he could recall correctly. But there was no mistaking the streams of wetness that would coat the cold, pale skin that stood up handsomely against greying blond hair. It was like watching a porcelain urn overflow with sorrow.

“Tell me about her” he whispers. “Whoever she is”

==============

over here, the demon's hand, it's coming closer

over there, the ghost is coming closer to the drum

jump and whirl among the shadows of the world,

and let us all be released from our bodies

==============

You couldn’t hear her name. Anything you might have been able to make out was now lost to the sky’s breeze. Dissolved in the ocean, just like you were. But you could still make up a blurred vision of a maiden, emerging like a ghost beside Buteo. She looked...angry somehow. Even though you couldn’t make out her face. All you could truly envision was dark midnight hair, cut short to a modest length. Obscuring a good deal of the head as it swayed in some nonexistent breeze.

You heard a familiar whistling noise from the wind. Almost a howl. And as you continued watching her a portion of her hair would fall away. Showing you her face. Oh gods it was terrible.

Your mind would erase the very image away--melting it off of your immediate memory like wax falling off a candle. Your whole being would turn away. Focusing its attention instead on the infamous courtyard where the House of Trees once stood. This secret place which everyone knew about, but no one dared touch unless they were the unfortunate ones; the dirty ones.

You can see it more clearly now, the sheer energy this place held. Invisible bodies piled on top of invisible bodies. All of which were naked and charred beyond human recognition. The only thing recognizable about them was genitalia, which would be in various states of becoming parted--becoming filled--insertations---and orgasmic release. Inky blackness dripping from these reproductive openings. Blossoming outwards with sharp petals that oozed with a poisonous beauty. Fountains of sex spilling out from mouths and landing in mouths. Landing in holes. Landing on the chests and the stomach which were ripped open with tiny hands grasping out towards nothingness.

Towards you.

All of these beings cried out in unison. Cried out your name. Asking for sympathy. For salvation. Their forms contorting about, twisting erotically around eachother as hips began to thrust and fuck. They wanted you to join in. To become one with their myriad of eternal pleasure. Anything to take away from the ever present burning pain. Help them. Join them. Become the rain you so desperately wished to become. Before it all falls apart.

==============

on days when the drought drags on

dark hearts accumulate

the lonely night is a kaleidoscope,

set fire by every myriad moon.

==============

But then you open your eyes. As someone reaches out and touches your face. You close your eyes, and you think of the sun. So warm. So comforting. It reminds you of summer days when the sky was lit up with fireworks and you were surrounded by friends and you were happy. It reminds you of their faces. Of how utterly filled with joy they all seemed. How at ease. How peaceful and bright.

You remember every time you’ve given those faces something. How touched they seemed. How special it was. You thought of each of them. You remembered their likes or dislikes..And you specifically chose to give each something you know they would adore.

Why do you do that, you who do not exist? Does it matter that your deeds will fade alongside your name? Your body? Your soul?

In those tiny, miniscule moments. A thousand suns are born. A thousand suns have died. And at least one sun in the sky, even by a million miles, had to bear witness to these small moments of absolute warmth and light.

So many loving feelings. It reminded you of something. Something you can’t quite place. Something you never really ever truly have known.

Questions leave you. So many questions...

That the touch does not answer. It just lifts you up a little from the darkness that you found yourself lost in. Like a clouded bubble, immersing you in that strange familiarity.

You who long so much after the sun in the sky.

Why do you not look inside your very heart.

==============

over here, the demon's hand, it's coming closer

over there, the ghost is coming closer to the drum

jump and whirl, those with no chances left,

we and that drum become the same.

==============

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Two Truths and a Lie

Aqua breathes new life into the phrase ‘stormed out’, as she tears through the black archway, out of Hot Topic, dragging Vanitas with her like an empty black trash bag caught in a windstorm.

It takes Roxas a long moment to process this sudden departure and another to think to turn back to Axel, still leaning in the back door frame and looking vaguely whiplashed, like he ought to be picking stray leaves out of his hair.

Roxas finds himself moving toward him, dodging Clearance fixtures like a skier dodges flags. “Are you okay?” Concern wears down his voice, but he doesn’t think Axel will mind. His feet halt a few feet apart from the man, still staring out the entryway and frowning hard. “What was that about?”

Axel glances down at Roxas, silver pierced, red brows arching like it hadn’t occurred to him he might actually have to explain what’s just transpired. “I think I mighta broke Aqua.”

Axel tries to smile, but it’s a weak little twitch, and it makes Roxas a little sad that Axel feels like he needs to smile for him when he’s clearly no longer in the jovial mood he had been not fifteen minutes ago. (Even after Roxas had made the stupid mistake of telling him about pushing Sora off a pier and into the ocean. Which, okay. Sounded much worse than it was. Sora has a waterproof phone case. So, no harm done, really.)

Axel’s arms cross and he looks up, toward the top of the door frame where the paint’s started to scrape off. “Had to...uh, send someone home early,” he rubs at his arm, “low numbers and all that.”

Another person angry with Axel for just doing his job? It doesn’t seem fair...

“Aqua drew the short straw,” Axel continues with a shrug. “I’m sure she’s just pretending to be angry with me.”

“Sure, Axel.”

It feels too simple, like a lie. It certainly hadn’t looked that way to Roxas. Although, he supposes he hasn’t known them all long enough to really judge. Still something in his stomach tightens. He realizes Aqua getting upset could have been easily prevented. Still could be, but…

“I really, really need the hours,” Roxas argues with his conscience aloud, Seifer’s quick sneer and upturned nose back on his mind. (It should be impossible for anyone to look as stuck up as Seifer always did while also wearing a super dumb beanie, but he’d always managed it.)

Roxas backsteps, the echoes of Aqua’s ‘Screw you, Axel,’ ringing in his ears, as he watches regret play across Axel’s face.  

“But I guess, if she’s that upset, I’ll go after her...”

“You’ll…?” Axel shakes his head swiftly, pacing forward to set hands on Roxas’ shoulders. “It’s like day two for you, right? Stay.” Axel’s voice smooths out to a gentle salve. Between that and his hands—warmer than human hands are supposed to be, Roxas is pretty sure—Axel effectively stills Roxas’ entire being. “She’s fine. Really. She didn’t want me to tell you guys this, but she asked me if she could go.”

Roxas takes a slower breath. “Oh.”

So, her anger had been an act to cover up her calling first dibs to leave after Roxas and Vanitas duked it out earlier. Smart.

Also, kind of… offensive, right? Roxas hadn’t hurt Vanitas that bad. He’d just been milking it.

Chicken wuss, dismisses the Seifer in Roxas’ brain. Seifer, who Roxas had once seen bounce back to his feet, swaying, with his pretty nose broken, a couple displaced teeth in one fist and his Struggle bat poised to strike in the other. Always ready to go another round. The idiot.  

Axel reads Roxas’ mind, or the frown lines etching into his face at least.

“As for Vanitas, he’ll be back after Aqua tells him to behave himself.” Axel leans his elbow into Roxas’ shoulder to get closer to eye level. Amused overbright green halts his thoughts and Axel’s elbow digs a bit near his neck. Roxas can’t bring himself to mind. “You know. Probably.”

Roxas tilts his head in turn, eyes narrowing, tracing the silver constellation of piercings highlighting Axel’s sharp features. Lip ring, nose ring, brow studs, earrings, plugs… “Probably. So, you’re saying it’s just you and me?” “Actually.” Axel takes two fingers and presses Roxas’ cheek, turning his face to face the register. “It’s just you. Time to show me your stuff, check out boy.” He taps Roxas’ cheek in emphasis, and starts to strut toward the counter, the stained-glass window designed plugs Roxas gave him earlier waving in the air at him behind Axel’s back.

Roxas mouth opens a bit at this light-hearted shift, but he trails after, taking up his post behind the register and arming himself with a hand-held price scanner. He nods solemnly and reaches out a palm. “Right.”

Axel returns the soldierly nod and drops the plugs into Roxas’ hand, along with a packet of Pop Rocks—the green ones. “Did I find everything alright?” Axel prompts sportingly.

“Yeah, yeah, you did, thank you,” Roxas mumbles back dryly, scanning the first tag. Axel scoffs, the hard edge starting to melt off his grin.

Axel starts to type away on his phone. Not leaving Roxas all alone after all then, the newbie realizes.

*          *

Even missing his winged eyeliner today, Axel’s jade gaze is striking. Roxas can feel it burning the back of his neck as he turns to tap at the computer screen. He’s trying to find the stupid employee discount option Demyx had shown him so he won’t seem completely incompetent when he screws up something else later on.

Axel starts clicking his tongue the second Roxas gets it right, and Roxas pauses, unable to withhold a flash of confusion. “Tsk, tsk, Roxas,” Axel drags out, amusement growing at Roxas’ immediate, doe-eyed look of disappointment, “week one and you’re already sharing your employee discount with tall, handsome strangers? I’m not sure if I’m scandalized or impressed.”

“Tall, handsome...?” Roxas’ mind immediately jumps to Axel. His better judgment rejects that idea and his tongue stills, eyes flicking between Axel and the nonexistent checkout line. “You mean you?”

Axel feigns indignance, sweeping a fatigued looking wallet toward his chest and offering a dry, “Thanks for noticing.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t saying you’re not—” Roxas fumbles too quickly, words tangling, “I mean, I didn’t mean to say—Wait.” Roxas blinks as Axel leans back to watch his meltdown with an unwavering smirk. “You. You’re saying you’re not an employee?”

Axel sighs, nods, tugging at his tight black tee. “Just dress like one.”

Roxas watches the cotton snap back against Axel’s lean chest, and then shakes his head, trying to understand. “But you’re always here.”

He’d helped with Roxas’ training, logged him into the register, known every single employee’s name and personality flaws and amusing anecdotes…

“Right next door, technically.” Axel flicks a thumb. “Like I said, I just swing by to help Saïx keep his life in order.”

Wait, Axel had already told him this? Puzzle pieces begin to click. Why people get pissed at him for taking charge, for example. “And that’s why you never stay long.”

“Bingo. Gold star.”

Roxas sets the scanner down, arms crossing. Axel hadn’t needed to be so fucking cryptic about it. “So, what do you do?”

Axel pauses to consider, an arm stretching behind his neck. Roxas wishes the guy didn’t flex so much, as he gets distracted by a flash of the tattooed tongue of flame above Axel’s wrist and the edges of black etchings further up, wrapping lean muscle.

 “Stab people with needles, mainly.”

 Roxas tongue goes dry. What the what? “You’re… some kind of nurse?”

Axel laughs, short and bright, leaning his arms on the counter. “That’s flattering.” His head shakes like he’s trying to picture himself in jet black scrubs. “Jesus, no. Here.” He flips open the billfold in his hands. “Remember when I told you knowing about piercings was my only job?”

 He slides a business card across the table, featuring a complex glossy black and white geometric design that reminds Roxas of a mansion gate. Apparently cryptic is Axel’s forte.

 “I thought you meant knowing everything was your only job.” Roxas’ teasing lacks gravity as he squints at the card, unsure what to make of it.

 Axel smiles. “That’s more a hobby.” He glances down at the card and then, with a ‘Whoops’ flips it over. “Friend and I own a little tattoo and piercing place down on the boardwalk.”

 “Never,” Roxas reads from the simple, seriffed, gold font overtop the black and white design, feeling incredibly stupid. He imagines a neat little shop, all weathered boards and open glass, hung with elaborate posters, the smell of salt on the air, and punk rock thrumming through the speakers, gently vibrating the floorboards.

 Roxas glances back up to the attractive man, reconsidering the inverted violet teardrop tattooed below each eye. “Kind of perfect for you.”

 “Yup.” Axel taps the counter. “We’re not wildly popular yet, but we’ve made a name and we do better than alright.”

 “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

 “Oh?” Axel stills, lip quirking, and Roxas stomach chills at his latest misstep, though he honestly has no idea what it was.

 “Well, if you show me yours…” Axel prompts, flicking up an eyebrow and pinching the collar of his tee, like he’s ten seconds from pulling it off.

 “Ah…” Roxas raises both hands, blue eyes widening, words too fast again, as his heart rate reaches a rate more appropriate for a jack hammer. “I meant your designs, that you drew…”

 Axel’s freckled nose crinkles, and he covers his mouth like he’s trying harder to fight another smirk. “I know what you meant, Roxas.” And Axel has apparently had second thoughts on the whole stripping in public concept, because he just nods, as if to say ‘Later, then’ and folds his wrists on the counter, head tilting in thought. “Y’know, I tell everyone they’d love the place, but I think maybe you actually would.”

 “Yeah, I …” Roxas nods, voice quieting, sliding the business card over to his side of the counter, “I think so too.”

 Never, Tattoo and Piercing Parlor, Xigbar Thornton & Axel Flynn

 This all makes such an incredible amount of sense, Roxas isn’t sure how it didn’t occur to him before. Oh right.

 “But you said earlier you work next door…”

 “Uh-huh.” Axel shrugs a shoulder, sliding his credit card out of his wallet. “More of a side gig.”

 Setting his card down, Axel dips a couple fingers into his shirt pocket and fishes out a small silver name plate. He clips the tag near his breast bone with a magnet, and then tugs it forward for Roxas’ viewing pleasure. “claire’s” is embossed across the top in crisp, bubbly, purple letters. Below this, printed in some cousin to Comic Sans, “AXEL” in vibrant magenta.   

Roxas’ brain back-fires again in a way better suited to an old pickup truck engine.

 Roxas tries to super-impose the man in front of him over an image of Claire’s. Claire’s, a cheap children’s fashion boutique with the overwhelming assortment of low-quality, cutesy micro-accessories: hair, jewelry, plushies, the whole nine yards. Claire’s with the pink, purple, and glitter color scheme that looks like something a unicorn vomited up. Claire’s which always smells vaguely of plastic and vanilla bean.

 Roxas can’t help but imagine that upon walking in, Axel, in his punk-goth-hipster glory with his unquantifiable number of tattoos and piercings, would be immediately escorted out again.

 They let you work at Claire’s.”

 “Hey,” Axel argues, with a hurt pout about as real as a Claire’s cotton candy blue hair extension. “I’m good with kids.” His eyes narrow with amusement as Roxas’ brows rise. “It’s the parents you gotta watch out for. And okay so,” his hands lift in a gesture of admission, “maybe I mainly just sit around, piercing ears and looking pretty. And maybe Marluxia likes for me to stay out of the way. And technically,” his fingers steeple, “I got the job as a personal favor, and not through an interview, but that’s just because I violate most of the dress code standards any given day of the week.”

 Roxas laughs outright. “God, sorry. I just feel like such an idiot.” He shakes his head and, at an angry beep from the register, returns his attention to his computer screen, responding to a prompt on the screen that asked if their transaction was still ongoing and another regarding Axel’s method of payment. “I thought you were, like, my manager,” he mumbles, thinking of the grief he’d given himself over his crush.

 “’S alright,” Axel straightens up, pocketing one hand, “You wouldn’t be the first to give me a discount. Especially on account of me n’ Saïx.”

 Axel plugs his card in the reader, keys in his code.

 “Huh?” Roxas watches him out of the corner of his eye as he taps another button on screen. “What about you and Saïx?”

 Axel smirks again, and this one he doesn’t bother to hide, his voice reaching a new level of patronizing, “Your parents’ll tell you when you’re older.”

 The reader beeps, and Axel tugs out his card and taps it back in his wallet against the counter. Roxas is happy to turn his miffed expression away from the man’s striking eyes and mocking smile as he retrieves a bag for the earrings.

“What?” Roxas coughs. Axel had said he had a boyfriend, but… “You and Saïx?” 

 No. Way.

 Then laughter comes, quick and easy, imagining the playful, flirtatious red-head wrapping his arms around the neck of Roxas’ sharp, stoic boss. “Right, okay, sure.”

 “Well,” Axel’s smile drops off as he waves away the bag in Roxas’ hand, “they say opposites attract. And he is smart... successful... built like a tank...”

 Roxas laughs again, remembering Axel and Demyx’s serious discussion about checking out Saix’s butt in sweatpants. Maybe this is a long running joke of theirs.

 “Warm, charming, sympathetic,” Roxas mimics and rolls his eyes, tearing Axel’s receipt off the printer.

 Axel looks mock affronted, fingers to his chest again. “Don’t believe me, huh?”

 “Yeah, no. Maybe when hell freezes over.”

 “Is that right?” Axel chuckles softly at Roxas’ adamance, eyes terribly amused. “I’ll let him know you said so.”

 Hm. Maybe they really are good friends. Roxas remembers Axel draping a scarf around Saix’s neck in the training video. Saïx hadn’t seemed to enjoy it, but he also hadn’t stopped him.

 “Yeah,” Roxas says with slightly less certainty, forking over the receipt. “You do that.”

 “Thanks, Roxas.” Axel wraps the plugs in the receipt and tucks them back in his pocket. Roxas slides the Pop Rocks, forward as well, but Axel covers Roxas’ hand with his own to stop its progress. “Those were for you.”

Axel slides their hands back toward the cashier side, letting go only when Roxas wraps his fingers around the packet of candy.

 “Thanks,” Roxas mumbles, glancing down at the candy and wondering what to make of it.

 When Axel captures Roxas’ eyes again, he winks. “Hey, come by sometime. I’ll give you a free piercing or something.”

“I’m pretty sure all piercings at Claire’s are free.” Roxas wishes he could rewind his mouth. He doesn’t know what it is about Axel that makes him blurt the first thing that comes to his mind.

Axel chuckles. “And the equipment is crap, too.” He turns lazily to go. “But that’s not really what I had in mind.”

 “Oh. You meant...” Roxas slides the card on the counter closer still. “Pierce my… what, exactly?” That doesn’t sound the way he means it to, either, but this time Axel doesn’t call him out on it.

 “Whatever you want.” Axel nods over his shoulder, smirk both condescending and endearing. “My treat.”

 “I’ve never really thought about…” He has, actually, but after his tattoo, it’s safe to say his parents would murder him in cold blood.

 “So, think about it,” Axel replies, facing away from him again, walking off, “I’ve got a few suggestions.” He laughs lightly at some stray thought. “I’m sure Xigbar will too.”

 Maybe Roxas will just die now on the spot and save his parents the trouble.

 Sora would probably give the eulogy and get all blubbery and incoherent halfway though. Maybe he could tell the ‘my brother knocked me off a dock’ anecdote. Classic Roxas. So tragic.

 Axel saunters toward the door, and how had Roxas not noticed Vanitas coming in and getting back to work? How much of this conversation had he heard?

 Axel stops at the door and turns one more time, smile quick, “Never say never, Roxas.”

 Roxas leans his arms into the counter so he will not melt into a puddle on the floor. “That’s cheesy as hell, Axel.”

 “See you later, Roxas.”

[goldenchildkatsuki]

AFTER FOLLOWING THE PINK STRING

For the Camp Kacchako Secret Server Swap [@kacchako-server]

Writers note: 

Happy server appreciation week!

This is a piece I've written for the Camp Kacchako Secret Server Swap. Using the prompt "We're not friends, but we're not not friends".

For Milk. I hope you enjoy.

Word count: 6.920

AO3 link: (x)

Bakugou gripped a fist full of sheets and pulled them over his head. He wiggled his legs, crawling closer to the wall side of his bed. Eyes shut tightly and hunched into himself. He refused to answer to his father.

He heard the floorboards near his bed creak and the presence of his father looming over him.

"Katsuki, let's not be difficult now, shall we? We're going to be late," his father pleaded as he put a hand on the lump of covers and shook him lightly, "I can guarantee it's going to be a lot of fun," the smile he had on his face melted into the tone of his voice.

No matter how endearing his father tried to sound, Bakugou couldn't imagine a birthday party for a ten-year-old being ‘a lot of fun'. Therefore he would much rather stay in bed and sleep in until decent hours of the day. Until three or so.

Why did his parents have to be so difficult? Yesterday was one of his rare days off and he spent it back at home with the few middle school friends he could still stand. And of course, it got late. They hadn't properly spoken in what seemed like a lifetime. There seemed no end to their conversations, everyone had something to say and he bet that at the end of the night not everything was said.

At the moment he was desperately avoiding a social gathering running on five hours of sleep. His parents were more than aware of that, weren't even upset about him coming home late since they understood the circumstances, or so he thought. Somewhere in the middle of the night his parents changed their mind and didn't even think twice about letting him lay in and bringing a piece of cake back from the party.

Bakugou knew if he kept clinging to his covers and grumbling blunt responses his father would've eventually given in to his stubbornness.

"Katsuki Bakugou, when I come into that room you better be in a goddamn dress shirt or we're going to have a problem!"

But his mother wouldn't.

He rolled his eyes, threw his covers off his head to look at his father who was awkwardly cackling into his hand.

"How mad will she get if I wear the shirt and get back into bed?" Bakugou asked, seriously considering it.

His father's cackling turned into full-on laughter. "On a scale from one to ten? A nine."

"Masaru!"

The two boys both jumped and tensed up.

"Stop dawdling around, that boy should've been up and ready fifteen minutes ago! Do you want us to be late too? God, it's too early to have a headache!"

The man stood up and patted his pants clean. "Make that an eleven. Katsuki, for the love of everything, just get dressed." His voice now more desperate than endearing. He rushed out of the room, trying to calm his wife down as she continued yelling their neighbors out of bed.

Now the slightest chance of him having a quiet day, with the house all to himself, was completely gone. Accepting that there was no way out of this, Bakugou dragged himself out of bed and walked to the chair at his desk. His mother had laid out clothes for him, they were items from his father's latest collection and God was it too fancy for the occasion.

His mother was still trying to impress her sister huh?

That was realistically what all this was about. His mother trying to outshine her obnoxiously well-put together and practically overly-wealthy sister. And since they were very responsible adults -- and also parents -- they couldn't just put their rivalry to rest by screaming in each other's faces and yanking at each other's hair. No of course not. As the very responsible adults and parents they were they had to keep the fight things out by hosting lavish parties, bringing the better dish to serve at them, bragging about their family's achievements, and always go to every family function with husband and kids looking clean-cut and obviously arriving on time at so said function.

Bakugou lifted up the parts of his outfit one by one.

"Really? Fucking suspenders?" He mumbled to himself.

Face twisted with disgust, he released a clothing item from in between his two fingers and reluctantly shuffled to the bathroom. In the shower, he almost fell back asleep again as he was resting his head against the wall instead of properly showering. A loud bang of a door being slammed somewhere around the house forced him to yank himself out of his tiredness. Bakugou then quickly finished up, dried himself and got dressed.

He pulled at almost every part of his outfit coming down the stairs now feeling the discomfort he sensed when he first saw the outfit laying on his chair. Bakugou met his father putting on a necklace around his mother's neck as she was rambling on.

And occasional ‘yes, dear' and ‘it'll be fine, honey' came from the man as he struggled with the tiny chain.

"…I couldn't believe she didn't tell me Yu had found the time to come home. We're going to look so awful when we have nothing for her!"

Bakugou stopped adjusting his tie and looked up. "Wait, Yu is coming?"

His mother sighed. "Yes, now try to find a card in the office. That's the least we could do."

With not a single complaint Bakugou did as he was told, his spirits now much higher. It had been a while since he had seen his cousin Yu. He had seen Mt. Lady more than enough, since the up and coming heroine was climbing through the ranks like crazy. But it had definitely been a stupid amount of time since she ridiculed him until they were fighting like children on the playground. How annoying she could be, she was the only one he would even consider talking to at family gatherings. Yu was the closest thing he had to a peer in the family. Bonus points because she was the only one in the family beside him that couldn't get more bored by extravagant parties. And besides talking shit they could talk about interesting things such as heroics and the tv shows they both happened to watch.

As he looked for a card in one of the drawers in the office he caught himself smiling. Things were not going to be a snooze fest after all. Amidst the countless amount of papers and stationary Bakugou found a card and brought it back to his mother who was now pacing up and down the kitchen. His father stood in the hallway, jingling his car keys. It seemed like he couldn't have come back any sooner because both adults were extremely on edge. Bakugou handed his mother the card and a pen and walked over to his father to wait for her to write something too incredibly cheesy into it. In a matter of seconds, she was done and rushed her family out of the house and into the car by violently waving her hands around.

The drive was long. Long enough for him to take a nap, but the forty minutes of shut-eye barely did anything to him. Made him even drowsier when he got woken up by his father. When Bakugou opened his eyes he was already surrounded by festivities. Big silver and blue balloons everywhere, flags and garlands decorating the high, fresh cut, green hedges. In the front garden children with eyepatches and swords were chasing each other and getting their fancy attire dirty by falling over and rolling in the grass.

Bakugou stepped out of the car and wiped the drool away from the corners of his mouth. His mother noticed and walked over to him, way faster than a woman in heels, in gravel should. She straightened his collar and slicked his hair back as much as she possibly could. Too tired the fight off the woman's grooming he simply scowled at her. When his mother was done she took him by the shoulders.

"What are we going to do today?" She asked like she always did before any social event.

"Behave and enjoy ourselves," Bakugou answered her.

His mother nodded, "And what are we not going to do?"

"Compliment Aunt Takeyama's food. Only eat half of it and then throw the rest in the trash."

The woman smiled and patted her son's shoulder. "That's my boy! Alright, let's get going," she walked over to her husband, clamped to his arm and started walking to the open front door where his aunt was standing. Bakugou buried his hands in his pockets and dragged his feet behind his parents. He turned around to roll his eyes at his mother putting on the most plastic smile to greet her sister and talk about how beautifully she decorated the whole place. Only turned back around when he heard his aunt call out his name.

"Oh Katsuki, you get more handsome every time I see you!"

Before he could come up with an answer that wasn't along the lines of ‘fucking spare me woman' he got smothered by Takeyama, who wagged him from to side as she did. Loosely he wrapped his arms around the woman's back. When she stepped back she ruffled through his hair.

It was like he was in a damn petting zoo.

Bakugou shut an eye as the woman was rough with his hair and it made her laugh.

"Mitsuki dear, what did I say about doing unnecessary things to his hair? You're taking away some of his charm!" Takeyama leaned closer to Bakugou. "They love making you a walking advertisement for the design company don't they?" Before Bakugou could even make a face she stood up straight and laughed until she had to wipe away a tear.

His mother was definitely not going to be in a good mood the whole day, the way her left eye was twitching meant danger and that anyone that valued their life should stay as many miles as possible away from her.

It probably took her all her might but without saying a word to her sister she walked into the mansion, dragging her husband along with her by the arm. Bakugou sighed at the sorry sight of the adults and followed them into the house. The inside of the mansion was packed with people, mostly children. Small, hyperactive and loud children. For fuck sakes, he knew it was a pirate themed birthday party but was it really necessary to run around the house screaming ‘Arrr!' and ‘yo ho!', almost stepping on his feet in the process?

This has got to be one of the worst parties they have ever been to. Bakugou now understood the adults that would groan and say ‘I need a drink'. It seemed like there was no other way to actually enjoy this mess anyways. When he saw his mother come across a family member she actually could stand he decided to part from his parents and go to the kitchen where Yu most likely was, downing prosecco's like it was her twentieth birthday.

Bakugou waded his way into the kitchen, snatching a very fitting, pirate-themed snack from the island and shoving it into his mouth. He pushed through the mass that was standing around the food and almost fell into the other end of the kitchen. Trying not to curse he put his heel back in his loafer and looked up. He followed the legs of what seemed to be a girl. His eyes kept trailing from the outskirts of her white dress, up to her red band around her small waist to her collarbones. He felt his cheeks and ears getting warmer as he sized the girl up. When he reached her face he choked on the saliva he had to swallow down.

"Uraraka?!"

"Bakugou?!"

The girl almost dropped her glass of orange juice out of her hand, a bit spilling over the glass and onto her hands. Bakugou luckily shot forwards and could just about catch the glass with her. His hands covered hers and as soon as he realized that his skin was in direct contact with hers he took three large steps back.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He yelled at her.

She put her glass down on the counter behind her and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "What am I doing here? W-w-what are you doing here?" Uraraka stammered.

A question as simple as that he couldn't answer straight away. Bakugou was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was standing right there, in his aunt's kitchen. He didn't even know Uraraka that well, how was it possible that she was invited to a party his family was hosting?

Bakugou knew he always wanted someone his actual age at these kinds of things but did it really have to be her? Someone he only knew because they had mutual friends? Which was the only reason they came into contact in the first place.

His friend Kirishima had stayed in good contact with his middle school friends, unlike Bakugou. One of those middle school friends happened to be Ashido Mina, who attended an all-girl hero school. Kirishima often dragged Bakugou along with him when he was meeting up with her. If it was for the sake of helping Bakugou be less antisocial or if it was for emotional support as he was sure Kirishima had some kind of crush on the girl, he had no idea. But almost every week, he stood there in the arcade that met in the middle of their schools.

And sometimes with Kaminari who also managed to get himself roped up in the mess. But most of the time the guy was too busy talking to the girl at the gift shop or the guy waiting tables and Bakugou was left alone with the friend Ashido dragged along with her; Uraraka Ochako.

When that occurred more than anyone wanted, Uraraka made an attempt talking to him. But they could never hold up a conversation. The longest conversation they had was about school and that lasted about a solid three minutes. Truth be told, Bakugou didn't care to pay that much attention to her to keep up the conversation. During their awkward small talk, Bakugou would mostly glare at Kirishima, inaudibly demanding him to hurry up trying to woo Ashido.

Because of the lack of attention he paid to her he barely had an idea who she was exactly, but he sure as well knew she wasn't a relative.

But Bakugou still had to ask.

"Don't tell me we're-"

"-No!" She cut him off. "Definitely not!"

"Then what are you…?"

Out of nowhere Bakugou got gripped by the wrist and dragged back through the mass of people. He tried to pull away before he stumbled over his feet but the grip was strong. He prayed to God it wasn't his mother making him meet several people he didn't have any interest in. Once out of the kitchen he got pinned to a wall.

"Finally, I was looking everywhere for you!"

"Yu, what the fuck? You know you could just fucking pardon me, you know, like a normal person?"

The girl dragged one of the cabinets in the hall opposite him, pushed a couple of things aside and jumped on it. She let out a satisfied sigh and swung her legs in the air, letting her feet take a break from the ridiculously high heels she was most likely forced to wear.

Bakugou couldn't help himself from laughing at the sight.

He huffed. "I see you're also having a great time."

Slowly the heroine lifted her head and stared angrily at him. "Are you kidding me? I'm having an awful time! Have you seen these?" Yu pointed at her heels. "Mom is making me run around in those hellish things and take care of this party turned into a freaking daycare."

Bakugou folded his arms and smirked at his cousin. "You can say ‘screw that' now that I'm here. What do you say we go trip up some kids and bet on which aunt is going to get inappropriately drunk first?"

To his surprise, Yu's expression didn't clear up. Instead, her glare turned a frown. She groaned as she rubbed the heel of her foot. "I wish I could say ‘screw that' but mom says if I don't help the party go smoothly she's cutting off my extra funds. Do you know how quiet it has been lately? I have barely done any hero work this month. I need every penny I can get."

The boy was about to counter his cousin, not taking Yu's moaning or her mother's threats seriously but stopped himself from speaking as he heard the furious clicking of heels above the loudly speaking guests.

"Goodness, where have all the raspberries gone! And this white wine isn't cold. We need ice. We need more ice! Yu!"

Bakugou was about to swallow his words. He recognized that tone all too well. To the guests, it might sound like it's nothing harmful. But relatives from his mother's side could hear it. The menacing undertone that was hidden underneath a voice as sweet as honey.  His aunt really wasn't screwing around this time.

Yu flinched, jumped back on her feet and crawled behind Bakugou. The gigantification hero trying to make herself small behind him, how ironic. When the violent clicking of the heels faded and no one called her presence out, she went to stand in front of Bakugou.

"I have to take care of that as well? I can't take it. I still have an entire freaking treasure hunt game to host. I need to get people to play, I need to make teams, I need…" Slowly Yu's gaze drifted from Bakugou's eyes to over his shoulder. Bakugou followed her eyes and saw her looking at Uraraka who was still standing at the kitchen counter.

"Wait, do you know that girl you were talking to earlier?"

"Hah?"

Bakugou's cousin didn't even wait for him to confirm before waving the girl over, hissing at her as if she were a cat in an attempt to lure her over. Bakugou looked up at Yu as if she had gone mad but she ignored his perplexed face.

Uraraka peeped around the corner, wrapping her fingers around the doorpost of the kitchen. "I'm sorry, were you calling out for me?" She asked.

Takeyama nodded and took a few steps back, taking in the two. She pointed two fingers at the pair.

"Are you two friends?"

"Friends?" Bakugou and Uraraka raised their voice in unison.

They both stumbled over their words, taken by surprise by Takyama's forward ways.

"We're not!" Bakugou answered.

"I guess we are," Uraraka spoke over him.

The two turned their heads towards each other and got red in the face. Normally Yu would've been on the floor laughing, clutching her stomach and gasping for air after seeing Bakugou embarrassed like that but she kept staring at them, desperately waiting for them to elaborate the miscommunication.

Bakugou furrowed his brow. "We're not friends," Bakugou said, more asked, trying to confirm with Uraraka.

"Erm, actually we aren't friends no, but we're also not not friends. We have mutual friends so I thought I could refer to you as, erm…A friend," she explained whilst scratching the side of her head.

Bakugou blinked at Uraraka, trying to make sense of what she had just told him. Takeyama seemed to think that the girl's explanation was more than enough to continue her scheming. Satisfied she clapped her hands together.

"Right! I'm going to put you two in a team for the String Treasure Hunt. Man, if mom sees I got mister grouchy pants over here to participate then she'll be over the moon!"

"Grouchy? That's rich coming from you. And who says I want to participate anyway?"

Yu put on her one in a million menacing grin and loomed over him like she loomed over tall buildings in the city when fighting crime. She laid a finger on his chest and pressed down. "Because I said so. I already did you a favor by putting you in a team with a lovely girl instead of…"

She tilted her head towards the living area where children were screaming, tugging at each other and wiping their grubby hands on the tablecloths.

"Now you're going to go on the hunt. Oh, and I dare you to get difficult with me," she cackled maniacally. "I dare you to get difficult with me after all this anger I built up after running around in these stupid shoes for hours, see where that will get you."

Bakugou kept glaring at Yu, hoping that it would somehow change her mind but the woman was seriously dead set on getting him to play along. In the corner of his eye, he saw looking at the two, quietly fidgeting with the lace that hung over her white skirt.

He sighed deeply and then pushed Yu's finger off his chest. He did know better than causing a scene at a party, especially in front of someone who was only now really getting to know him. If he would bite back at Yu like he normally would then his mother won't let him hear the last of it.

"Fine."

Uraraka's face lit up a little and she flashed him a modest smile. "Maybe it'll be fun."

The boy clicked his tongue and pushed past the two ladies and lazily waved at them as he walked off. "Let me know when you're done, I'll be mentally preparing myself in a corner," he said to his cousin expecting for the preparations to take a while but the heroine managed to put pep in her step. Yu was strutting around the mansion faster than he ever imagined she could with all those blisters. Bakugou felt like he hadn't sat down for a minute or Yu had already dragged him off a chair in the sitting area.

As he tried to struggle against her grip, his cousin took him to the living area where different color strings were strung around, forming a vibrant spiderweb. The kids had taken off their eyepatches and ogled at, what Bakugou had to admit, the impressive game Yu had set up. Pretty good for someone that actually couldn't give two shits.

Uraraka was just as impressed as the kids were, fawning to Yu over the ‘amazing set up' with the lightest blush on her face. The girl had to be careful, she had no idea how quickly praise could go to Yu's head. As a matter of fact, it was already happening. Bakugou could tell by the way she laughed the compliments off.

"Can we start already?" Bakugou interrupted the two girls.

The kids chimed in, erupting in cheers. Immediately Yu's mood soured.

"Alright!" She shouted above the noise. "Little pirates."

Bakugou cocked his eyebrow at her.

"I'm going to keep it simple. You and your sailor buddy are going to hunt for treasure. Pick a string. Follow it and the first person to get to the end will get a prize."

Yu was barely halfway through her explanation or the children were already grabbing onto the string with the color they admired the most. She let down her front and blew the stray blonde strands out of her face as she glowered at the overexcited children. Bakugou shrugged and reached his hand out to grab hold of a string only for it to be slapped away.

"Ow! What the hell?!"

His cousin handed him a pink string. "You two are getting this one. It's a little more complicated so you don't win," she explained. She then noticed that the children had already started the hunt, without her start signal and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Now, just go," Yu said before falling on the couch behind her.

Bakugou wrapped his hand around the pink string and looked back at Uraraka who tried to check if his cousin was okay.

"Let's get this over with," he told her.

After giving one quick look back at Yu, Uraraka nodded and followed him as he followed the string. Though their start was a little delayed they kept bumping into children. Children that had taken the game too seriously and cursed ‘like sailors' at him for getting in the way of their hunt. Bakugou had to bury his nails into the palm of his hand to control his urge not to kick those brats into next week. Faster he started pulling at the string and he managed to get out of the web and sea of annoying children, relatively quickly. No one's paths crossed with other hunters anymore and in a matter of a few pulls, Bakugou and Uraraka found themselves completely separated from any string but their own.

When Yu she was going to make it a little more complicated, she was really wasn't fucking kidding. It was absolutely ridiculous. They had been to almost every corner of the mansion's gigantic first floor and as if it couldn't get any more stupid they actually managed to end up outside.

Uraraka had sensed that he was becoming tenser by the minute and has said a few things here and there to lighten the mood. What she exactly said Bakugou couldn't make out because he couldn't hear it over his own complaints.

"How did she even have the time to go all the way to here?!"

"We're so fucking far out I can barely hear people talking, this is stupid!"

"Who even needs this big of a garden?!"

A string of curses escaped his mouth as he saw the string disappear into a high hedge. He tugged at the string and felt like they weren't close to the end, there were at least a couple of meters left to chase. Upon finding that out, he had run out of patience.

Playtime was over.

Fuck strolling, he was going to dash to the end, even if he had to yank Uraraka with him.

Bakugou aggressively pushed his body through the hedge. His right foot touching a small ledge which he then too confidently slipped too far ahead. His heart skipped a beat as he fell through the hedge and saw that beneath him was the old pond, disgustingly green from the lack of maintenance. Bakugou squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact of the water as he came to terms that there was no way he could twist, turn or step to regain his balance.

Suddenly he felt pull at his arm, so hard it could've popped his shoulder out of its place and he got pushed with his back against the hedge. Bakugou had only opened his eyes for a second but just in time to see Uraraka fly face first into the pond and get indulged entirely by the green algae.

"Damn it!" Bakugou barked and jumped into the water without thinking.

With his arms, he waved around to find Uraraka in the thick sludge until his lungs shrunk small. When he started to get lightheaded he jerked his hair out of the water. Hurriedly he tried to fill up his lungs again, with the palms of his hands he cleared his face and upon opening, he saw the girl standing right in front of him.

The adrenaline slowly left his body and he stood up straight, the water only going up to his chest.

"I also thought it was deeper," Uraraka reassured, giggling when she did.

Bakugou looked around him. The water felt even more disgusting than it looked. His clothes were definitely ruined. More importantly, so were hers. She should've just let him fall in. That's what he would've done in her case. Only now it hit him how he hadn't been the most fun person to be around.

Like him, she had most likely been dragged here against her will and put in the middle of a bunch of snobby lunatics. Even dressed exceptionally nice only for it to go to waste because of his impatient ass.

You would think all her efforts had gone to waste. But she still looked particularly appealing. Which was kind of baffling, honestly?

Bakugou wasn't blind. He had noticed her alluring features before.

But the fact that they were still able to shine through underneath all that yuck she was covered in?

Yes, it really was baffling.

He reached his hand out and took the lily pad that had been sulking on her head. Bakugou watched his own movements and he slid the lily pad off her head and her giggling faded. Thankfully she bowed her head a little. He noticed more things were stuck in her hair and reached out again to get a few things out of her hair that was already starting to tangle. Careful not to pull any of her hairs too hard he continued to pick out the pond's dirt.

After some time she lifted her head making his fingers slide along the frame off her face. Her eyes met his and he noticed the bright gleam in them.

"Thank you, Bakugou."

Bakugou could feel a violent tug at his heartstrings which sent the fibers in his body into a panic. He turned away from her and went with his hand through his wet spikes.

"It's like she forgot how she got in here in the first place. Isn't she going to get mad or something?" He whispered to himself against his shoulder.

The girl waded closer to him and cocked her head. "Did you say something there?"

"I said we should get out of here." Bakugou lied.

Together they started wading out of the waters of the pond. Bakugou lifted himself back up the thin ledge carefully stood up. He then lent a hand to Uraraka and helped her out. Both of them were leaking guck and looked and smelled like wet dogs.

"Can we maybe..?" Uraraka questioned, gesturing to her clothing.

"Get a towel? Of course, I'm not trying to catch a cold either." Bakugou mumbled as he took out his dress shirt from within his shirt and wrangled the water out of it.

He led the way back from the neglected parts of the back garden to the side of the house. Bakugou was well aware that if he entered through the big slide doors and dirtied Aunt Takeyama's marble floor his mother and his aunt were going to join forces to scold the hell out of him. So he chose to go through a back door instead. Behind it a staircase that would lead to the second floor.

Bakugou opened the door and stuck his head around the corner, making sure it was actually an abandoned corner of the house as it was supposed to be. Fortunately, it was and he sneaked Uraraka to the second floor with him.

He hadn't been on the second floor for a hot minute. The last time was when he was half his age and he had to sleep over at his aunt's house when his parent's company was starting to really thrive and they had to go abroad to some sort of Fashion Week. Since then, obviously, a lot had changed. Somehow the interior had gotten whiter and the family added more unnecessary expensive interior.

"Wait here," he told Uraraka.

Bakugou looked down at their feet and saw that they were already starting to create a puddle on the white floorboards. Since they couldn't be gone for too long he couldn't have the water all across the second floor which he then had to clean up. He waited for her to nod at him and then went on the search for the bathroom, which had proven to be more difficult of a task then he anticipated. For some reason, it looked like that they somehow added doors to the second floor. Impossible of course. But the illusion sure sent his mind spinning. Bakugou kept opening doors hoping that he didn't have to walk around for much more and just stumble upon the bathroom.

Eventually, he didn't find what he was looking for, but it was good enough. He found the washing room which also served as a storage room for the towels. He grabbed two of the largest towels he could find, threw one over his head and the other over his shoulder. With a relieved sigh he turned out of the laundry room and saw that the second floor was empty.

"Uraraka?!" He hissed.

God damn it, so he wasn't imagining the echo of floorboards creaking and doors opening. As he tried to make his feet light as feathers he tried to rush over to the spot where he left her. Halfway Bakugou came to a halt as he noticed an open door and saw Uraraka sitting on her knees. He squeezed himself between the small slit the door and the doorframe and slowly put the door in its lock.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" He tried to keep himself from yelling as he crouched down next to her.

Uraraka held up a disc cover of a game in front of his face. "I can't believe they have all "The Hoodlums" games here! These are classics!

Bakugou shook his head as if he had to wake himself up from a dream before he could even try to come up with a reply she showed him another game.

"Hoodlums: Sin City. Hoodlums: The Last Bullet. Hoodlums: Burning Skyscrapers." Uraraka continued to ramble on as she flashed the disc covers in front of his face.

When she wanted to go into the box again to search for another game he lowered her hand. When he touched her it was as if I lightbulb lit up above her head. She had now realized what she was doing and understood that this was in fact, very strange.

Uraraka dropped the game she was holding and waved her hands in front of her face. "I'm sorry I-! I have a habit of wandering off, especially since I have never been in a house this big before. I never meant to actually go into a room. Oh and I swear I'm not making excuses for myself by saying it's a habit! I…Erm…Can you forgive me?"

She clapped her hands together and bowed, peeping through her lashes waiting for Bakugou to answer.

Damn, that girl didn't speak too much but when she spoke, she rambled. Again, he could barely get what she was saying. That didn't matter, however. There were other things that needed explaining.

"Wait, you actually know about all these games?" He asked.

Uraraka sat up straight again and blinked at him. "Y-yeah?" She then raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think came up with the plan to go to the arcade in the first place? I knew Mina was going to drag me along to hang out with Kirishima so I had to make sure I was going to get dragged to a place where I could at least have a little bit of fun." With the last breath she had, she blew the bangs upwards.

"But you never play any games in the arcade," Bakugou remembered.

Uraraka lowered her shoulders and let out another puff of air. "Because it's never really fun to play them on your own."

The boy opened his mouth but was then quick to close it. He stayed silent as Uraraka peered at him, confusion on her face.

Could she give him a moment? He had just now found out how much of a fucking dumbass he was. He didn't think of himself of that much of a clueless, socially-inept idiot but damn did he prove himself wrong. It made him wonder why she didn't drown him in the pond right there and then.

"…You wanted to play with me, right?"

Uraraka breathed out a laugh, "Yes."

"…But I didn't pay attention."

"Erm, unfortunately not."

That's it, the girl had gone through enough shit for one day. Bakugou took the towel off his shoulder and threw it over Uraraka's head. She pulled at the ends and wrapped herself in the towel properly.

"Come on then, let's play," Bakugou casually said.

"Huh?"

"I said let's play. Any game you want but don't complain if you fall behind." Bakugou heard Uraraka snort as he went underneath the tv and checked if the old console they needed to play the old school game with was still intact. When he confirmed it was still working he looked for two controllers and handed one to her.

Uraraka handed him "The Hoodlums: Sin City" one of the best games of the franchise. If he had to be honest, the release of that game was probably where the franchise piqued. The girl indeed had taste.

They went to sit with their back against the couch sitting in front of the tv. When they went onto the loading screen they both let out a satisfied sigh as they got hit by all kinds of nostalgia.  The two turned their heads to each other and Bakugou let out a small chuckle. He started a new game, set the game to two players and went onto story mode.

Bakugou put his controller on his lap and cracked his fingers. "Like I said, don't complain if you fall behind."

"Sure."

Did he sense a little sass in her voice?

Turns out Uraraka was sassy with him and rightfully so.  Watching her play the game was like watching a tutorial on Youtube. Hell, he started wondering if she didn't have anything to do with developing the game she was so familiar with it.

Bakugou knew the thought was silly but again, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, what do you parents do?" He decided not to beat around the bush.

"That's a little strange to ask especially since we're mid-shootout," Uraraka kept her eyes on the screen, biting her bottom lip as she hurriedly kept moving the joysticks around and clicking the trigger. Watching her sent shivers down his spine for some reason.

"My parent's have a construction company. My dad actually helped rebuild part of this mansion. Mister Takeyama was actually very grateful for that. They became friends I believe. When mister Takeyama heard my dad had a daughter he invited my parents and me over for the birthday party, not knowing that I was more than one and a half times older than the birthday boy."

Bakugou just hummed. No daughter of the developer of the game then. That did not explain her stupid amount of skill but it did explain how she ended up here.

He could tell that after answering his question that he should probably not ask anymore since she had leaned almost all the way forwards she was trying to concentrate that hard. Besides, he was slacking anyway. Later on, he realized that he couldn't be doing that. He had forgotten how tense the missions were the deeper you went into the story. It asked for a surprising amount of energy to defeat the gangs and their bosses that were getting tougher and tougher.

Uraraka had started to reach her limits he had noticed. Her back was back against the couch and her body was slumping. As they progressed through the story he gradually felt more of her body weight against his shoulder. Their bodies have gotten hot after sitting in the same place for so long and their heat was starting to merge together. The hottest areas on Bakugou body were his face and his shoulder, which Uraraka had now rested her head on. Between loading screens, he would peep at her from behind the towel he still had on his head.

She had stopped biting her lip and was now sort of pouting. Her cheeks were rosier than usual and one was squished against his shoulder. Her lashes batted slowly as if she could fall asleep any second from now.

Bakugou didn't dare move.

As soon as the loading screen disappeared Bakugou pressed pause and Uraraka took a while to react. Bakugou jerked his chin back a little to look at her.

"Let's take a break. I don't want you feeling asleep now."

Uraraka hummed and took her head off his shoulder. Bakugou got a thought, it shot through his mind lightning fast.

He actually didn't mind having her so close to him.

Uraraka yawned and held her hand lazily in front of her mouth, tears formed in her eyes and for some reason, it made the corners of his mouth twitch.

"You kinda suck you know?" She continued to yawn.

"Just because you play too good for you own good." Bakugou fired back.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, propped up her knee and rested her chin on it.

"You're fun to game with though." She whispered as if it were a secret that she was a little ashamed to even tell him.

Bakugou eyebrows perked up. "Oh?"

"Mhm."

"Then we should play games together more often." Bakugou made sure to look her in the eye as he told her that. He watched the drowsiness slightly disappear from her face as she took in what he said.

Uraraka leaned forwards. "Really?"

"Yeah…Isn't that the type of shit friends do?"

[peachmused]

READ ON AO3 // SUMMARY // CHAPTER ONE / CHAPTER TWO

yes, i’m going to try to regularly update this fic! yeah, we’ll see how that goes around finals season so, i’m really satisfied with how mc is turning out... but i’m still stuck in the “to name” or “not to name” dilemma rn. someone help pls n thx

anyways, as usual, hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Takashi, clear up the Magnolia Room, and report back to the kitchen when you’re done!”

“Ayu, the guests in the Clover Room need hot towels!”

“Pick up the pace, everyone!”

Servers and housekeepers weaved in and out of the rooms, their feet pit-patting against the wooden floorboards. Meanwhile, the aroma of spices, sizzling meat, and sugary delicacies melded together in the kitchen, a harmonious mix were it not for the rush and bustle. Shouts from beyond the kitchen’s swinging doors could be traced to none other than the main chef, Eizo, a bulky, weathered man in his late forties. Apparently, after my grandfather, Eizo was the most respected (and feared) staff member. Even though I was never on the receiving end of his admonitions, I’d heard enough within the past hour to infer what horrors were in store if I were to work for him.

Fortunately, I was safe and sound as I shadowed my grandfather, the big boss of the establishment. He showed me around the place, describing how Grandma inspired him to make each room flower-themed. In fact, his own office, the Lavender Room, was named after Grandma’s favorite plant.

The rooms themselves were stunning; each had a light fragrance corresponding to the flower it was named after, along with the personal touch of floral arrangements and handmade lanterns. Beyond the traditionally-designed building was a bridge leading up to the pond and nature trail, both made to be explored freely. However, I was not given the chance to explore them just yet.

Grandpa thought it necessary to have me greet each guest, and in doing so, I met many peculiar characters that morning. From a journalist currently in a slump to a set of mischievous triplets and their single mother, each guest carried their own, unique story. I was advised that in order to better serve those staying at the inn, I should get to know the guests and try to tailor their stay to match their preferences. As such, I spent most of the day taking notes and chatting with all sorts of people.

Above all, I learned that my grandfather’s dedication to Kanna Inn was unrivaled; he poured his heart and soul into ensuring that each guest could leave their burdens behind and come to feel ease under the inn’s roof. But, his focus was not only reserved for visitors. He had a special place for both guests and staff alike, and maintained strict rules of courtesy on both sides. Mutual respect, as he liked to say, was the key to any business’s success.

It wasn’t hard to see why people loved him so much. Even when some disagreed with his direction or ideas, no one could say a single word of distaste about the man himself. His sincerity was what drove the place, what motivated each soul to do their best. As the day progressed, I became more and more unsure if I could live up to the legacy he was leaving behind. Was I even qualified for the position? Was Grandpa simply handing it to me out of pity, or some sense of tradition? Had I not yet earned my place here?

Though bug-season was still months away, the questions swarmed through my brain like a colony of incensed wasps. Even as I helped clean up after lunch and headed back home, I couldn’t help but agonize over the reality that my grandfather had set the bar quite high. If things were to go as planned, I was to take over the inn at the age of twenty-one. Obviously, I had volunteered for this and was more than excited to go through with the deal. However, it was only after I saw my grandfather in action that I grasped what position I was to fill. In a mere four years, I would have to become the person my grandfather once was. Everyone would look to me for direction, hence it was essentially going to be my decisions that would either fortify or ruin the business.

Whether the inn would prosper or not was going to be up to me.

Releasing a heavy breath, I turned the corner, stepping on fallen blossoms on the road. The heavens above were clouded and dense, on the brink of a rain shower.

Once back inside, I was met with the ticking of the grandfather clock and the whistling of a tea kettle.

I managed a faint curl of the lips, taking off my shoes and slipping into velvety slippers.

“I’m home,” I announced, my features softening at the sound of Grandma’s voice. When I peeked into her room to see what she was up to, I spotted her hunched behind the sewing machine, with a variety of colored fabrics spread out beside her.

“What’s all this for?”

She paused mid-sew, melting all my worries away with her classic smile. “I’m just finishing adjusting Saki’s dress. She got one size too big, the poor girl…”

Knowing Grandma, Aunt Saki probably protested six times to the adjustments, yet still gave in because Grandma was so intent on making her daughter’s clothes perfect. It was a wonder that although Aunt Saki lived in the U.S., my grandmother still recalled her measurements, and exactly which fit Saki enjoyed. Truly, Grandma was a blessing.

Seeing her work so wholeheartedly made my concerns as miniscule as the needle laying right beside her. If my grandmother could dedicate herself to something and glisten this bright, then so could I. After all, we were related; I had to have some talent in me.

The clock hanging on the wall read three-thirty. As much as I wanted to linger with Grandma and hear all about her day, time was ticking, and my new school life was waiting.

The hour passed with me savoring lunch, pressing my uniform, packing my bag, and checking myself out in said uniform. For now, all thoughts of Kanna Inn were put on pause. Instead, my attention was directed to an undeciphered problem with my new look. I couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong; the ribbon, accents, and layered skirt meshed beautifully, yet my face seemed out of balance. Was it the failed attempt at a voluminous blowout? Or was it the position of my parting?

I picked and prodded at my hair, struggling to fix whatever mess I’d created. Eventually, Grandma poked her head through the doorway, informing me that I had only a few minutes left. Yikes. I took that as my cue to run my hands through the makeshift do one last time, grab my school bag, and bolt out the door.

The trees were in full blossom, gracing my walk to school with an exquisite path of baby pink against a sunset-brushed backdrop. Fortunately the house was near Ryoutei, meaning that it wasn’t long before more bodies joined me on the road. A pair of students with linked arms brushed past me, describing their anxieties about this year’s class rosters. Meanwhile, a group on the opposite side of the road burst into laughter at one of their friend’s antics.

Seeing how everyone was already paired up and returning to a school they belonged in left me just the tiniest bit lonely. The majority of me was thriving off the energy they were emitting; the more they giggled and bounced about, the more I anticipated finding my place in the academy, as well.

Nearing the tall, metal gates, I halted before the building to smooth out my skirt and adjust the straps of my bag. Students strolled by, their conversations deafening as I stared up at the gold lettering: Ryoutei Academy. The words rolled off my tongue like silk.

Not only was Ryoutei much larger than I imagined, it was much livelier in person. As I approached the main doors, I had already been stopped by two people welcoming me to the school and offering a map for the building. Perhaps it was simply because it was the first day that the staff and students were so energetic, but it certainly did no favors for my current state of mind. As far as I was concerned, being accepted at this prestigious school was a miracle. The fact that I was really here, stepping onto the pristine floors of the front lobby, was creating quite the buzz within me.

My gaze stopped at the delicate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, effortlessly illuminating the spacious room. Each teardrop-shaped light was fastened to a crystal piece, complementing the gold body of the chandelier.

I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s real gold, I thought, before a tap on the shoulder snapped me back into reality. Quickly, I shut my gaping mouth, and turned to face the person speaking to me.

“You must be new here.” a woman, probably in her twenties, stated. Of course I looked like I was new here; I was the only one frozen in place, like an idiot!

The woman curled a piece of sleek, hickory-colored hair behind her adorned ear. I flattened my own mop out in hopes of diminishing any possible frizz.

When I responded with an affirmative, she beamed, “Welcome to Ryoutei Academy! We’re so happy to have you joining us. My name is Ishikawa Marie, and I’m a student advisor—here to answer any questions you may have and guide you around the building!”

Wow, that sounded rehearsed.

Shaking her outstretched hand, I returned the beam. I took the initiative to ask where the rosters were, as I didn’t see them outside. Upon showing me to the front desk, Marie located my roster, and helped me find my first class. The woman was awfully helpful, but I couldn’t help feel bad for her; she was wearing stuffy heels, and a smile was plastered on her face at all times. That had got to be uncomfortable.

“Room 314, Building D.” she announced, as if that was the most regular thing in the world.

There’s three floors?! Just how big is this school…?

Naturally, I kept my lips shut, and followed the advisor up the stairway. If even the numbering system of this school’s rooms was different from what I was used to, then I highly doubted anything after this point would be familiar. Truthfully speaking, the entire building and its system was more like a university than a high school.

Two staircases and fourteen rooms later, we came to a stop. I found myself before a sliding door, then escorted in just seconds later. Around twenty heads, including the teacher’s, spun around to look at me. The rest were either too invested in their conversations to care, or catching up on sleep. Regardless, I suddenly felt like a specimen under investigation; the teacher ushered me in and dragged me to the front of the class, where I was under the scrutinizing eyes of my classmates.

Marie left as soon as she had arrived, but not before recapping who I was to my new teacher. He turned and smiled down at me, and I simply did what I was doing all along: awkwardly reciprocate.

“Everyone, attention please. We have a new student.” he announced, as if it wasn’t obvious enough. “Please, introduce yourself.”

Unlike what I’d seen on television, the so-called “snobby rich kids” were—for the most part—not the least interested in me, or at least, not interested enough to give me scornful glances or frown upon my averagely-priced shoes. Instead, they stared at me vacantly because they would get demerits if they didn’t shut up about the Italian leather clutch they’d bought the other day, or the new restaurant that opened up in the plaza. It only took one glance to understand that bullying was not their pastime, and that they would much rather prefer getting on with the introductions and returning to their everyday lives.

Consequently, I made haste in introducing myself, keeping it short and simple. It was refreshing to see that my classmates were just as nonchalant as I’d hoped, as that made getting used to the environment a whole lot easier. I finished off with a bow, and the class applauded me before I made my way to my new seat.

I was assigned a spot in the second-to-last last row, at the very end of the row. It was also the seat just in front of a burly, dozing figure.

Just as I reached my desk, I took a closer look at my snoozing neighbor. Though, his face was conveniently facing downwards, the more I observed, the quicker my smile disappeared. Not only was he twice my size, his brunet, disheveled mane was tied up in a style I knew all-too-well. More than his giant fingers, it was the half-ponytail that struck a chord in my mind. Every cell in my body tensed, the enthusiasm suddenly plummeting into an abyss of disappointment, confusion, and horror. My features paled, and my mouth was ajar.

It dawned upon me that this sleepyhead was no ordinary classmate.

No, this was a living, breathing Grizzly.

“It was during the Neolithic era in which human nutrition took a downturn. Small groups of hunter-gatherers transformed into sedentary societies…”

Chapter one of Fletcher’s Comprehensive World Study faded into the back of my mind. Rather than concentrating on the lesson, I was being bombarded with a million perturbations. Had I seen correctly? Was the irksome Grizzly really seated right behind me? I never imagined he would be a student at Ryoutei, let alone a high schooler!

More importantly, did he realize who I was?

That isn’t possible, I argued, he’s sitting behind me.  

Although it did feel like a pair of eyes were glued onto my back, I ignored the sensation and decided to assuage myself with a spoonful of logic. Boys growing out their hair was coming back into fashion, so the hairstyle wasn’t necessarily a decisive factor. And it wasn’t as if Yuma was the only one blessed with enormous bones; there were plenty of tall men in the world. Granted, seeing two people with a strikingly similar build and style was a rarity, but there was still a chance that my seat neighbor was someone else entirely.

“...Boring…” a deep voice complained just behind my shoulder. Stiffening, I held my breath as the being yawned, eventually relaxing against his seat and away from my neck.

That was him, that was definitely him, that was most definitely him—

“Are you all right, student?”

My head shot up to face the professor, who stopped before my desk wearing a concerned expression.  Without realizing it, my entire face had contorted; my nostrils were flared and my lips were scrunched together in a mix of deep thought and perplexity.

Immediately, my features flattened, and I nodded quickly. I assured him I was fine, but that was a clear lie. Not only had I recognized the irritatingly husky voice, it was the same, irritatingly husky voice that had threatened to “make me pay” if we’d ever crossed paths again. In other words, if I so as turned around, I would be dead meat.

As class proceeded, I contemplated darting out of the room and locking myself in a bathroom stall. However, that move was not only cowardly, but ineffective. One way or another, I was going to be caught. That, my brain asserted, was simply the fact of the matter.

There was no use in running, nor in hiding. Just like every other hurdle in my life, I would have to face this head-on. Besides, I had showed the man up once before, meaning I could very well do it again, right? After all, I was the daughter of two brilliant parents, and the granddaughter of a successful businessman and versatile grandmother. Just like my predecessors, I could handle this with grace and intelligence. If all else failed, I could roll up my sleeves, and dive headfirst into the volcano that was this situation.

Either way, I assured myself I could emerge victorious once more. My school life would remain relatively untouched, and I could proceed with accomplishing my dreams the way I’d hoped. That boy could threaten anyone he liked, but I would never be shaken by his words.

Wallowing in self-confidence, I cleared my throat, and continued jotting down notes for the remainder of the lecture. Life, sadly, is not always such a cakewalk. Unwittingly, I was setting myself up for a lengthy, relentless deathmatch. One that would prove to be far bigger a bite than I could chew.

[your-brother-crutchie]

I Want You

A sequel to Truth or Dare.

I do actually intend to write another part of this, I just thought that this worked well on its own so look forward to a part three! I’m giving this a tag so they’re easy to find together so just search ‘schenley park au’ on my profile to find them if you ever need to.

(Be grateful that I didn’t title this, ‘Sex Blanket,’ because I was so close to).

TW: Mentions of sexual abuse and abusive, homophobic parents

As Race sighed under Spot’s fingers, tracing gentle circles over his bare back, he tried to stop his mind from racing. He knew that Spot was going to start questioning why he was still awake, especially when he always fell asleep straight away after their starlit meetings in Spot's bedroom, but he just couldn't push everything that Jojo and his friends had said the other night out of his head.

Race loved Spot. There was no getting out of it anymore.

“Hey, what are you thinking of?” There it was. Spot travelled his fingers gingerly to the nape of Race’s neck, smiling when the boy cuddled closer into him as he twirled small curls around his fingers. Race could practically feel Spot’s eyes on him and he was struggling not to blush under it, even though he wouldn't see him with his face buried so tightly into the crook of his neck.


Quickly thinking of something to lie about, Race only looked up slightly when he knew that he could say it convincingly. There was no way that Race was risking letting this slip out, “It’s nothing. I’ve just got some exams coming up and Jojo won’t leave me alone.”

Race drew in a shaky breath when Spot sighed deeply, holding his body against his own tightly as he delicately left a lazy kiss on the top of his head, “What’s Jojo bothering you about?” It was obvious that Spot wasn't going to drop it until Race gave him a proper answer, an answer that didn't feel fake or forced or contrived. Unfortunately, those were the only kinds of answers that Race was willing to give out. He refused to admit to Spot that Jojo wouldn't leave him alone about telling Spot that he was in love with him.


“. . . It’s not important.” Whining slightly when Race felt Spot pulling him away to look at his face, Race tried to hide in his neck for as long as possible before eventually allowing himself to be positioned directly in front of Spot. He shuffled uncomfortably, looking around at anything but the boy in front of him until Spot caught his chin and held it in place.

Raising his eyebrows as Race's eyes still tried to dart away from him, Spot allowed his hand and gaze to soften as it was obvious that Race was panicked. Race could tell that he still wanted an answer out of him but had chosen a softer way of achieving that, “Tonio.”

That was the first time that Spot had ever called him, 'Tonio.' Race had told him that his name was, 'Antonio,' the week before but Spot hadn't used it. He hadn't shortened it into the most adorable nickname that Race had ever heard, especially when Spot was using it. It made him melt slightly, softening in Spot's grip as the boy leaned forwards to press a kiss to his temple
.

As he gulped slowly, Race ran every possible ending to this situation through his head with the possibility of that outcome. He knew that Spot would probably be angry if he told him but he couldn't lie to him anymore. At least when Race thought that all it was was sex, he felt fine lying to him. He could spin a tale from nothing, Spot accepting it immediately. Now, everything was questioned because Spot could tell that something had changed and it made Race want to explode, “My friends were asking why you were sitting with us now and I- um. I told them.”

Although Spot took that same adorable, heart-rushing nickname, the tone was cold and made Race shrink backwards, “Tonio.” He tried to avoid Spot's gaze but, with nothing to hide behind, settled with pulling the duvet tighter around himself. Unfortunately, Spot's twin bed made it difficult to get far away.


“I know but you don’t know them! I tried. Anyway, they're not bothered about that." When Spot eventually seemed to soften, Race sniffed slightly, realising that he should probably tell him what they were bothered about, "Jojo's just worried because I was at Schenley again.” He felt Spot shifting down in the bed, coming closer to Race and pulling the frailer boy's body into his own.

Spot buried his face into Race's hair, voice muffled by the curls as he was obviously trying his best to make Race comfortable, “Again?”


Nodding, Race barely avoided head-butting Spot when he looked up to study his eyelashes, wanting to be able to say it to him but needing something to focus on to hide from his eyes, “Yeah, I used to- uhm. I used to go quite a lot.” Race often focussed on Spot's eyelashes. They were thick and long and pretty and made Katherine jealous which made Race laugh. He smiled slightly thinking about it, glad for the distraction as Spot mulled over what Race had said.

When Spot did speak up, he held Race tightly against his side, obviously beginning to get worried about him. He couldn't blame him. If he'd heard that Jojo was worried then there was something to be worried about. Everyone knew that Jojo knew a hell of a lot more about Race than anyone else and they knew that he had to know some serious stuff. Although he rarely slipped up, anyone could tell that Race had a lot more going on than he let on, “How old were you?” Spot's voice came out in careful whispers against Race's hair as he ran his hand up and down Race's bicep.


“Fifteen.” Shrugging when Spot pulled away to stare at him, Race felt his face flushing and his eyes beginning to sting. He refused to cry because crying would mean that there was something to worry about. 


As Spot shook his head, he heard the calculated sniffs coming from Race and thought of what to do as he spoke, “Jesus, Tonio!” So, yes, Spot had been to Schenley too but as a consenting adult who could defend himself if he needed to. Race was thin and lanky as it was, let alone two years ago. He didn't even want to think about what could have happened to Race there.


“I know, alright, I know! I just-" Race had to stop for a moment, looking away from Spot furiously and swallowing thickly to stop any tears threatening to fall, before he could continue carefully, "Life’s not easy.”


As Spot brushed a hand through Race's hair, Race's heard the sound of the front door clicking and knew that Spot's mum was home. They were usually safe to stay so long as they were quiet, she only ever came in to check on him when the light was on or if she could hear something, so Spot carefully leaned over to flick off the light. He stayed quiet for a moment, yet Race could feel his eyes on him even in the dark.

After Spot's mum had gone passed his door, pausing at it before continuing into her room, Spot let out a breath as he turned to tap his bedside table lamp on. They waited for a moment for the usual creaking of floorboards that signalled that she was walking around the bed and climbing in before Spot started whispering, “You can talk to me.”

A part of Race wished that Spot had just left the light off and gone to sleep, as he sometimes did, but he knew that there was no escaping this conversation, “. . . I’m gay-” He knew that Spot knew that but it was the best way to start his explanation.

Cutting Race off, Spot stifled a bark of laughter by pressing a quick kiss to Race's lips, making the smaller boy's head spin as his eyelids fell closed and his fingers wrapped themselves into the duvet. When Spot pulled back, he chuckled at Race's soft whine before pulling him into a hug, “What? Really? Considering we just fucked, I had no idea!”


Race rolled his eyes as he grabbed a pillow, whacking Spot in the face with it and beginning to grumble softly about being interrupted, “Scotty-”


Quickly leaning over Race to turn the light off again, Spot gestured for him to freeze. Race listened, his eyes flaring when he heard Spot's door beginning to creak. Within the second that it took to open the door, Spot had given Race a good shove until the boy hit the floor with a quiet thud.

"Scott?" Spot's mum's voice was sweet and gentle and worried. It had always been a shock to Race just how well they got on, considering the fact that Spot was thought of as the tough guy around school but without a father around, it wasn't particularly surprising that they'd become incredibly close. It was nice for Race to see but, at the same time, disjointing. Happy family lives weren't something that Race understood and it always shocked him a little that people actually lived like that.

Spot, an amazing actor when under pressure, made a show of sitting up, stretching and yawning. He rubbed at his eyes blearily as if having to focus on his mother before sniffing a little and asking, "Yeah, Mum?" To be an honest, it was amazing.

Stepping in the door slightly but stopping when she saw just how tired her son looked, Spot's mum stayed hovering in the doorway, "Are you okay, honey? I thought I heard something." The danger was that she would come in, sit on the bed and talk to him as she sometimes did. Although Race was hidden on the other side of the bed from where she was currently standing, he'd be in clear view if she came much closer.

"Probably just the pipes." Spot shrugged gently, giving a soothing smile to show that he wasn't worried before making a point of yawning again and settling back against his pillow.

As she nodded, Spot's mum took one more step backward until she was on the other side of the door, "You're probably right. Sorry for waking you, I'll see you in the morning." Race heard her blow a kiss, giggling as Spot groaned and slowly letting the door shut, "Night, Scott."

Spot chuckled, throwing one of his throw cushions at the door and pulling the duvet up to his face, "Night, Mum." He sighed as she closed the door, waiting for the sounds of her settling into bed once again before he clambered out and helped Race up before throwing him pyjamas and getting dressed himself, “I’m sorry, come with me.”

Leading Race to his window, Spot slid it open silently and clambered out onto his fire escape before helping Race out after him. They climbed in silence, only stopping and resting once they'd made it to the roof of the apartment building. The New York skyline glittered around them as Spot pulled Race over to a pile of pillows under a canopy, dropping down and pulling the boy with him, laughing as he let out a squeak, "So, what were you saying?"

Race took his time getting comfy, avoiding the question but eventually sighing when he saw Spot staring at him, "I'm gay and that's an issue. Is this a sex blanket?" He pulled a blanket out from the pile and eyeballed Spot cautiously.

A snort leaping from Spot, he yanked it from Race's hand before laying it carefully over the pair of them, "It is not a sex blanket! Anyway, you're out? You're confident and you're perfect and you help the kids whose parents are shitty."


Immediately scrunching his face up, Race pulled himself away from Spot so that he could say this to his face. It made him angry and he refused to calmly utter it when cuddled against the boy he was sort-of-a-little-bit involved with, “Yes, because I'm one of the kids whose parents are shitty! My family life would be a lot easier if I’d just stayed in the closet! Maybe then my dad wouldn't hit me whenever I got home, my mum wouldn't have to turn a blind eye, and my siblings wouldn't have to see me bruised and crying all the time. I went to Schenley because there were people there who wanted me, which was a lot more than I could say for my family.” His breaths came heavily, his chest heaving as he realised that Spot was staring again, this time out of pity but also admiration.


“Tonio, why didn't you tell me?” Spot thought about it for a second before reaching for Race though quickly gave up when he jerked his body further away from him. Race was not in the mood for comfort and cuddles anymore. If he was being honest, his body was still store from falling and hitting the floor on old bruises.

Race shrugged when he had calmed down a little, struggling to fight the tears that he'd already promised wouldn't come, "I don't like talking about it."

Swinging onto his knees, Spot tried reaching for Race once again, grasping his hand lightly when the boy didn't back away. He clutched it as he spoke, obviously nervous as he refused to look up at Race, “I want you to. With me. I want you to talk to me about things. I want us to talk more. Also, I- I don't want you to go to Schenley Park. You don't have to because- because you are wanted . . . I want you." Spot only looked up when he heard Race sniffing, having failed.

As Race wiped at the tears gathering under his eyes, he tried to hide from the possibility that Spot was actually interested in him by focussing on the other part of the statement. He giggled a little, clearing his watery gaze and turning his fingers so that he could hold Spot too, "We would talk more if you weren't so horny all the time." Pulling Spot closer, Race leaned into his side and chose to move his attention to the skyline.

Spot laughed as he used his other hand to push tears away from Race's cheeks and hold the boy against his chest, "Yeah, well, we don’t have to sleep together every time we meet up. I like spending time with you. It doesn't just have to be sex," A spark of hope flickered into life in Race's chest as his breath caught in his throat, "we can be friends as well.”

Ouch.

Spearmint and Salt

[moonm0chi]

Upstairs (m)

credit

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: smut, fluff (?), dancer!college!Hoseok

Word count: 5.7k (I love a good build up)

Warnings: contains sex, sexual/explicit language

Summary: You finally get the courage to yell at the noisy neighbor upstairs and begin to realize that maybe you should’ve gone up sooner.

a/n: pls be kind first smutty thing I’ve written in A WHILE, idk if it’s any good I’ve literally re-read it like 15 times before posting. Enjoy! Hopefully more of my writing is on the way!!!

“Are you fucking kidding me!” You yelled in exasperation. The floorboards above you creaked and thumped as your neighbor pounded on their floor.

 It was currently 11:30 and you were trying so hard to get your presentation done for tomorrow’s class. You grabbed the broomstick that was becoming less for sweeping and more for hitting on your ceiling in shallow attempts at getting the ruckus to quiet down.  

The thumping stopped and you let out a sigh of relief but it was short lived when the stomps and thumps started up again. And you were almost positive they were louder. The nerve of this kid. But you just groaned again and hoped it’d die down by the time you went to bed, not having enough courage to go and ask them to kindly shut the hell up.

 But suddenly the clock read 3:30 and you could feel how bloodshot your eyes were and the incessant thumping didn’t sound like it was going to stop anytime soon. You sighed in defeat and re-dressed yourself before taking the elevator up to the next floor. It didn’t take you long to locate the door that was the reason behind your insomnia.

You knocked on the door furiously making sure it could be heard over the music in the apartment. It wasn’t long until the music died. You bit your lip anxiously and whipped your gaze from the floor to the open door.

A wave of heat immediately hit you, your gaze locked with the boy in front of you. He was wearing a low cut tank top and gym shorts, a towel wrapped around his neck. His auburn hair plastered to his face and beads of sweat rolled down his tanned skin. He had a shocked look on his face, clearly not expecting you. 

You gaped at the sight in front of you,  all thoughts fleeting for a moment before you are pulled from your stupor, “Hi..uhm can I help you?” He asks a wide grin replaced with his previously shocked one.

You clear your throat as you remembered the reason you’re there in the first place.

“Hi, I’m Y/N I live below you,” you smile sheepishly feeling slightly guilty for meeting on such awkward circumstances, “and I’m trying to go to bed…umm..do you think you c-could try and be quieter...” you look down shyly and waited for his response.

He lets out a laugh, “Yea, of course!  Sorry sometimes I forget about the other people living here.” You watched his smile stretch and you’re blushing at how dazzling his whole face looks.

He sticks his hand out, “I’m Jung Hoseok, nice to meet you neighbor!”

You shook his hand, and noted how large and warm it felt in yours. You thanked him for his understanding and curse yourself for your late introduction. You’d have went up sooner if you’d known a ridiculously attractive and sweaty boy would’ve been greeting you at the door.

 It looked like your broom was finally out of commission.

“Wait, Jung Hoseok lives about you?!?” Your friend exclaimed. You frowned in confusion not understanding the implications.

She scoffed, “He’s like… probably the best dancer in the department. Not that you’d know Ms. Business major.” she laughed at your pout.

 “Well he certainly practices like he’s the best in the department.” You complained “Yesterday I had to go upstairs and tell him to basically shut up.”

“You’ll be the reason he fails his showcase.” Your friend said, playfully jabbing you with a fry which you happily stole from her.

 “It was 3:30 in the morning!” You defended, “But, I’ll admit….he was so sweaty and it was…” you sighed trailing off into your memories of his glistening tanned skin.

 She laughed while you reminisced.

 But you ultimately shrugged off the whole ordeal. He was indeed incredibly attractive but as long as he practiced during normal, human hours, you’d have no reason to see him other than in your thoughts. And that would have to suffice.

But after having to practically beg him twice to quit practicing into the wee hours of the morning he finally proposed it’d be best if you guys just exchanged numbers.

 You were thankful for the more convenient method of dealing with him, although slightly upset to have to stop making your frequent trips up to sneak glances at Hoseok’s sweaty body every time you scolded him.

“I swear I’ll set a reminder to stop at 12.” He had promised you. And any anger you’d felt toward him melted at the sincerity of his smile and the way his eyes begged you to believe his good intentions. This is how it always happened. You could always feel yourself soften at his brown eyes staring at you, his apologies would hang sweetly between the two of you. You never could find yourself staying angry at him once you’d returned to your room. 

You came back from a party , that you were immediately regretting, to your apartment room well after 12. The effects of alcohol were ebbing from your system and all you wanted was to place your aching head on your pillow and drift off to sleep.

But that wouldn't be in the cards for you when you heard the incessant thumping and pounding on your ceiling. You groan and cover your head with your pillow praying it’d drown out the noise.

 You text him begging for him to be quiet and it seems that the pounding only gets louder. You are furious at this point. So done with his shit. But your phone pinged and a gentle vibration resounded on your nightstand and then it’s completely quiet. You hadn’t bothered responding. A sigh of relief escapes and you felt your body settle into bed.

Then there was a knock at your front door.

 You threw your blankets off your body and stormed towards the door. You’d been completely ready to curse Hoseok out, positive it was him on the other side of your door.

 But the sight in front of you had you weak in the knees. Much sweatier than you’d ever seen him and his chest was heaving from probably sprinting down the steps. A flush washed over his face, guilt written all over it.

 You bit your lip but quickly and tried to look upset. It seemed difficult keeping your eyes locked on his. You tried your best not to let your eyes travel, knowing the sheen on his collarbones or the veins running up his forearms would only make you forget what the hell you were supposed to be mad at him for to begin with and hastily accept his apologies.

“Hey” he smiled, his shallow breaths filling the silence between you.

 You smiled, struggling to keep your eyes on his once he began to speak.

“I’m so sorry, my reminder went off but the music was s-

 Keep your eyes up

“Seriously, anything, if you-

 Keep your eyes up.

The longer he spoke the farther you found your eyes drifting. They trailed down his long neck, your mind filled with thoughts that yearned lick and bite a trail from his jugular down to his collarbones. They were glistening with sweat  even under the shitty hallway lights and his low cut shirt showed off his hard upper chest.

You licked your dry lips and once you’d flickered your eyes back up to his you realized he had stopped talking.

“So really, if you ever want to just text me.”

You blinked at the empty meaning of the words, “What?” you ask completely dazed.

He chuckled and placed a hand on the back of his neck, “I said that if you want, I teach dance lessons on the side and I could give you some for free in exchange for putting up with my noisy ass.”

You blushed embarrassed at your actions and think you mumble something along the lines of “sure, I’ll text you” and that seemed to please him because he waved goodbye and you were shutting the door quickly. But all you’d been thinking about was the way his bicep flexed when he raised his arm.

Hoseok finally managed to be quiet whenever you asked for quite a while. But then dreaded finals rolled around and you’re ready to pull your hair out of your head. You were 10 pages deep in 1 of your 4 research papers and the thumping persists accompanied by a deep bass pumping in the background this time. Hoseok isn’t answering his phone and you’re way too close to a mental breakdown to sit around and wait for a response.

You stormed up to his room, skipping the elevator altogether. Your chest heaves with frustration and the stair sprint you just forced yourself to do. You’re knocking rapidly on the door and it isn’t until you’re eyes lock with his that you’re regretting just how fast you left your room.

 The loose tank top and flimsy bralette you’re wearing do little in combatting the exposure you feel under Hoseok’s gaze and your shorts should’ve never left the confines of your apartment walls. You curse yourself for not changing. You averted your gaze, and tugged at the hem of your shorts begging for some coverage that you knew wasn’t going to come.

He leant on his door frame, a smirk playing on his gleaming face and his arms folded.

“Well, from the urgency of those knocks it doesn’t sound like you’re here for a dance lesson.”

He watched you expectantly, studying your face before sighing when you stayed silent.

You opened your mouth ready to protest when he grabbed your arms, dragging you into his apartment. “Hoseok, what are you- really can you just please be quiet. I have so much work to do before the end of finals.” You pleaded finally getting your voice back and trying to shake out of his grip.

 He shook his head no, grip only becoming tighter and dragged you towards the speakers in his small living room. The couch and other furniture moved to make room for a makeshift dance floor.

“No, you are way too tense Y/N.” He laughed looking at your wide eyes, “No offense but you look cracked out right now and I think a dance lesson would really take your mind off things for a little.”

You pinched your lips together tightly and vehemently shake your head in protest. He ignored your protests and un-paused the music.

“You’re not leaving until you forget about your work.” He smiled and began to sway with the beat.

“I know I’ve been especially noisy lately but I have a reason.” He said, “I need to create choreography to this other students music. We’re doing a joint project for our final showcase.”

You watch as he switched songs, the heavy bass familiar, but much clearer than when you were in your apartment downstairs.

“Want to see?” He asked, his eyes shining with hope that you’ll say yes.

You nodded your head, not having the heart nor desire to reject his offer.

You watch his graceful and fluid movements totally transfixed on the way his body easily hits every beat like it’s been ingrained into his soul. It’s like no dancing you’ve ever seen before and now you can understand why he’s one of the top students in his program.

Hoseok noticed you watching him and that in your trance have started to gently bob to the beat. He slowly eased out of the routine and you blinked out of your trance, stopping your movement.

He knitted his brow together and came closer, “Why’d you stop?!”

“I didn’t know I was moving.” You admitted shyly.

“Okay, dance with me I’ll teach you.” He motioned for you to come closer to the center of the “dance floor” and showed you the “easier” moves from his routine. 

You began to relax as laughter bounced between the two of you so easily (unlike the dance moves he tried to teach you). Eventually you’re both sweating, the heat trapped in the small space leaving the air hot and heavy.  

But when a fast upbeat song comes on, you show Hoseok some of your “moves”- shaking your hips and twirling around. The song comes to an end and your skin is sticky with perspiration.

As the song switched, Hoseok grabbed your hips and a breathy chuckle sends a shiver down your spine when his hot breath fans over the nape of your neck.

“So maybe you don’t need dance lessons after all.”

Despite the compliment he began to move your hips, “So my next lesson will be on how to step up your moves to seduce any guy in the club.”

You laughed at his comments and play along, eager to keep away from your work a little while longer.

“Well I’m all ears.” You replied enthusiastically and placed your hands over his.

Another wave of warm air over ran over your neck. “Okay, so you start slow- you know gotta keep the guy guessing.”

You nod and began to swirl your hips slowly, brushing against Hoseok’s body every every so often, feeling the warmth that sent goosebumps over your flesh despite the heat.

His chest radiated heat and you could feel the fabric of your already short shorts riding up further the more you moved your hips. His grip tightened and brought you closer to his chest.

“So now you want to pick up the speed a little, make things more...sexy.  And if you feel comfortable you can do this.”

He grabbed one of your hands and brought it back so you’re fingers are ghosting over the nape of his neck. You tightened your grip and gently tugged at the baby hairs.

He inhaled sharply, “Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly letting up on your grip but not removing your hand from where he had placed it.

“That’s fine, it feels nice.” He replied honestly and tightened his grip on your hips.

His warm chest pressed firmly to your back. His hands twitch against your waist and you close your eyes, the intimate contact had started to make warmth flow towards your stomach and lower. You’d let your head roll back against his shoulder and you bit back a moan when he grinded your hips especially hard into him.

He watched your face flush and he leaned in to whisper, “I’ve always wanted to try this next move.”

You hummed, putty in his hands at this point until your eyes flew open when you’re being bent over at a ninety degree angle. Your ass flush against his crotch. In any other situation such a move would’ve had you laughing or pulling away, but as the situation may have it,  you couldn't help but moan. You turned your head and watched as your moan had been drowned out by Hoseok’s own throaty moan.

Your heart was beating so fast you’re sure it was going to come out your mouth any second. Sweat slid down your back and your hands flew out to the edge of an arm chair to keep you steady.

He had one hand on your upper back to keep you bent and the other tightly on your hip. All it took was one look at his blown out eyes and devilish smirk to tell he was enjoying this just as much as you were. The thought alone was enough to have you getting wet & rolling your hips into his.

Another deep moan left his lips as he throws his head back temporarily enjoying the friction. But after a few hip rolls, your legs begin to shake at the uncomfortable position.

“Fuck.” He growled and turned you around bringing your chest flush against his.

You could feel his hard dick against your lower stomach and bit your lip to stifle a groan at the sinful feeling. His face was inches from yours, both of you were breathing in each other's heavy exhales. His dark eyes looked at you and you’re slowly whispering, “I should probably go now...I have some-uh..some work t-to finish.”

You swallowed thickly as his eyes repetitively drift between your lips and eyes.

He expression is fierce, as he speaks, locking eyes with yours, “I can think of another way for you to forget about your work for a little if you want.” He tilted his head suggestively and poked his tongue out to run it over his lips .

You found yourself watching his tongue. You watch as he tried to control his breath, his jaw flexing waiting for your response. You trailed your fingertips up his arms, feeling the contours of his biceps and then slowly traced over his collarbones delicately.

All it took is one look at him before he’s cupping your jaw in his hands. Your lips met his in desperate passion. Hot and feverish, his tongue slipped into your mouth not even asking for permission- both of you knowing it wasn’t even be an option to deny.

You moaned and melted into his touch. Gripping his biceps to keep yourself from totally slumping into his chest. His hands traveled from your face to ass where he gives a rough squeeze.

“You must’ve known what you were doing to me with this outfit. Your whole ass basically on display.”

He gives another squeeze for emphasis and it makes you moan his name in a needy fashion.

You grind your core into him trying to get your throbbing clit some much needed friction. You bring him in for another kiss. His mouth so warm and every caress of his tongue making your core pulsate and clench.

You trailed kisses down his throat and nipped not so gently but soothingly would lap at the love bites soon after. You feel the moan vibrate from his throat and you lick a stripe from his jugular up to his jaw before you dropped your head to his collar bones. You’re sure he’ll have marks on them once you’re done with your assault.

Your head pushed into his chest and you squeezed your eyes shut as his hands dip into the waistband of your shorts. “Shit, you’re not wearing any panties?”

You feel him groan so sinfully you moan in response, his reactions alone were enough to have your knees practically buckling.

As his two fingers slipped into your folds, your hands made their way up his shirt. You felt his stomach muscles flex under your touch as you run your nails up and down his chest and stomach. Your fingers teased the area around his waistband, pulling at the soft material.

He grunted, “Stop teasing.”

You almost made a snarky retort when he sticks his two fingers into you, slowly pumping. You fisted the material of his shirt and moaned into his chest. “Ho-Hoseok, please move your fingers.”

Your whole body is tense and trying to get your thighs to shut to add some friction. 

“Yea you don’t like teasing now do you.” He chuckled and you can’t take it anymore so you trailed your hand down his body and you hear his breath hitch once your hand falls below his waistband.

You looked up and were immediately met with his dark brown gaze. Wearing a smirk, his eyes totally blown with lust. He licked his lips. His head fell to the crook of your neck and began to leave open mouthed kisses along the juncture between your neck and shoulder eliciting a shudder and small moan from you.

“Y-you have no idea,” he grunts when you ran your thumb over his swollen tip, “how long I’ve wanted this to happen.” He lifted his head, eyes squeezed shut and his head kicked back. Your lips open in pleasure at seeing him so fucked out and latched your lips onto his throat again leaving wet kisses.

“Shit...ever since that day you knocked on my door. I-” He swallowed thickly and you felt his cock twitch in your hand, “I would occasionally...accidentally...on purpose get louder… hoping you’d come back up.”

You smiled at his confessions, “Have you thought about me while doing this?”

You flushed with pride and excitement when he nodded his head.

“I’d always imagine you storming in here while I’m jerking off-ugh..” His elaboration on his fantasy is cut short when you squeeze tighter around the base of his shaft.

You were squirming under his touch, gently grinding into his fingers that have moved to rub slowly against your clit. Both leaned into each other for support and breathing hot and heavy in the already stuffy apartment. You felt him shift and when you looked up at him with eyes wide, lips swollen and a lovely flush dusting your face he snapped,

“Fuck this, I need you right now.” You let go of his shaft and he pulls his hand from your shorts, a sigh of disappointment heard between the both of you.

He pulled you in for another kiss while he gently guided you to the couch. You’re being laid back against the cushions and you’re pulling at his hair, bucking your hips into his thigh that rested between your legs.

“Hoseok.” You whined desperately.

“Please don’t say my name like that, you have no idea how close I’ll be to coming if you keep moaning like that.”

The insufferable heat of passion and from the apartment pushed you to rip his shirt over his head. His body was slick with sweat and your hands easily glided over his warm skin.

You’re ready to beg at this point. He ran his hands under your shirt slowly lifting the material until your bralette is the only thing that covered your very hard nipples. His hand cupped one and you let out a sigh of content at the more intimate contact.

But that’s not enough and soon you’re bare chested and his eyes never left yours while he took one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Mmm-my god. Hos-” your words die at the back of your throat as you arched your back to feel more of his warm tongue on your burning skin. By this point your clit is aching and the sorry excuse of trying to grind against Hoseok’s thigh just wasn’t doing it.

You take it upon yourself to slip your hand into your shorts as you began to pleasure your sensitive clit when a tight grip on your wrist pulled your hand out of your damp shorts.

Your arm in being restrained above your head and Hoseok is smirking at you.

“Clearly someone’s in a rush.”  He said with a devilish grin and a raised eyebrow. You suddenly felt a pang of guilt at his words.

“N-no I just…” But your sentence trails off too embarrassed to say that you’re about to cross over the fine line of lust and into absolute insanity- the need to cum and feel good the front most thought in your mind at the moment .

Hoseok wanted nothing more than to see you delirious with lust and so far gone with desire that you couldn’t help but speak whatever was on your mind.

“What?” He said pinching your erect nipples before lowering his head again to take one into his mouth.  

You whine his name, his warm tongue lapping at your skin was enough to make you lose your train of thought.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me what you’ve always imagined me doing.”

You pushed your modesty aside for your carnal desires and grabbed his hand from your chest and he watched with eager eyes. But he wasn’t expecting what you’d do next and his jaw was slack and a low groan escaped his lips as you placed two of his fingers into your mouth.

“Oh god that is so hot.” He palmed his hard length with his other hand slowly, careful to get too carried away by the scene laid out in front of him.

You made sure your tongue coated his fingers generously, never breaking eye contact through the whole gesture before pulling them out and guided down to your aching heat.

Too impatient to take your shorts off you slide them to the side and then his hand is hovering above your dripping core.

“Touch me.” you said resolutely but you can hear the sigh of desperation at the end of the sentence.

You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, a bead or two of sweat slid down the side of his face and he began to slide two fingers into you. That’s all it took for your head to dig farther into the couch and your back to arch off the cushions.

“Please, please go faster.” You pleaded and he obeyed, loving the way you looked at the mercy of his hand. The rest of your words crumbled to moans and heavy panting, your hips driving down on his fingers with his every thrust. You’re grabbing at his shoulders, bringing him closer to your body.

He swallowed your moans with kisses and his lips searched for all the weak spots on your neck. One in particular had your toes curling and a high pitched “please” spilling out of your mouth.

You’re so close, but it’s not enough.

“Hmm, tell me what exactly you want.” His skin stuck to yours, eyes ablaze and soaking in your wanton pants.  

“Ho-Hoseok please..y-your mouth...” But your hand is already flying to your clit so desperate for release. He smirked an understanding glint in his eye and he slid down your body until his head was in between your thighs.

All it takes is his mouth around your clit and about 10 seconds of his tongue pressed roughly to it and you’re clenching tightly around his fingers, a loud hybrid of a groan and a scream resounded through the apartment. The sight of Hoseok between your spread legs- an image you’ve fantasized since you’d knocked on his door -was enough to make you cum immediately.

He replaced his finger with his tongue, delicately licking at your entrance until you’re pushing his back from the sensitivity.

“Well that didn’t take long.” He says wiping his mouth, “Have you ever thought about me like that- between your legs?”

His smirk was telling you he was trying to get you flustered and it worked.

You covered your face as it reddened but hesitantly nodded your head. When you peak out from behind your hands his face held traces of a faint smile at the corners of his lips and his irregular breathing was enough to tell you he loved the idea just as much as you had.

He keeps his eyes glued to yours as he finally removes your shorts and stands up briefly to remove his own. Your eyes trail to his hard dick- the tip pink and glistening with pre-cum and it had your mouth watering, animalistic desire coursing through your veins for him to ram into you.

“I need to be in you right now....I seriously almost came so hard thinking about you touching yourself to me in between your legs” He says voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it, eyeing you as he slowly pumped his hard length.

You get up from the couch slowly, still a little shaky from your orgasm not long ago.

“Hoseok.” You say, barely audible.

He looked at you curiously.

You swallowed and swore your face couldn’t get any more red. But if this was only going to happen once you wanted it to be done the way you’d always imagined.

“Will….willyoufuckmefrombehind?” You say

You look up from the carpet shyly and you can barely make out his reaction of a dropped jaw before his face became stern and he growled out his next commands to you.

“On the couch, face down, ass up...now.”

You scurried back to the couch and got into position, feeling exposed in this new position but so needy that you barely cared. And he’s suddenly behind you rolling on a condom.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” Hoseok says, running a hand from the small of your back over the curve of your bottom before he squeezed.

A groan of admiration is heard as he spreads your ass to get a better look at your arousal. You squeak at the unfamiliar feeling.

He sighs, adoration and awe laced into his words, “Your pussy is so pretty,” he says swiping the tip of his head between your folds, “and so fucking wet, god. And it’s all for me.”

You don’t even need turn around to know he’s wearing a smirk of pride on his sun kissed face.

You can feel more heat pooling just from his words of praise before you’re moaning and gently pushing up against the tip that’s running up and down your folds. There’s a sharp inhale of breath as Hoseok pushes in slowly, the generous amount of arousal from your core making it that much easier for him to slide inside of you.

You moan into the cushions at the pleasurable stretch of him inside you- just enough pain to feel good.

“Shit..Hoseok-” you moan again as you started to swivel your hips around him once you feel he’s pushed completely the hilt, “you feel so good.” You let out in a whine itching for movement.

All it takes is a small push back into his hips before he’s gripped your hips roughly, the pace fast enough to hear skin slapping against skin.

He grunts with every thrust and you clench around him after one especially rough thrust as he brushed right against your g-spot.

“God you’re so-so unbelievably tight.” He says

All you can do is moan and meet his hips with more fervor, feeling the warmth of your second orgasm quickly begin to pool in your abdomen. You bite your lip trying to stifle your moans and form a sentence.

“Ho..Hoseok...I’m...so...soclose.” You manage in between his thrusts.

He’s leaning over you, panting into your ear his words goading you on further to your release “Come for me, I want to feelyou come around my sick.” A moan that got stuck somewhere in the back of his throat drew from his lips, eliciting a higher pitched whine that had you rolling your eyes at the overload of stimulus.

You felt your toes curl in ecstasy, and you pushed your hips up further, burying your head into the couch cushion as your jaw fell slack. You open your mouth but no sound came out, any moans dying in your throat and only a breathy squeak, barely audible, fell from your lips as all your breath is lost to the orgasm that’s enveloping your whole body. You let out a loud moan once you were able to breath again.

You walls clenched around Hoseok whose motions weren’t as powerful or deliberate as before. His grunts and shallow breathing were enough to tell you he’s close.

“Shit, Y/n….I’m gonna- where-” He trailed off, slowing his pace to get direction from you.

You quickly pushed him off of you and scrambled to your knees on the cheap wood floors. Pushing your chest up, you looked at him and simply said “Here”

You watched him jerk off once, twice, before warm spurts of cum are falling all over your chest, a few powerful lines landing on your chin as well.

You gently suck at the dip of his dick to milk him of every drop before you feel him begin to go soft and let your lips detach from his head.

His face is pure bliss. He’s looking down at you totally fucked out, a lazy smile plastered on his face as he scanned the art he’d left on your chest and face. He watches as you swipe the cum that’s on your chin into your mouth. You smile as his features show incredulity at your actions.

He ran his fingers through his matted hair as you get off your knees and he’s shaking his head, still staring at you.

“God, where the hell have you been my whole life.”

You blush thankful his back is to you while he gets a paper towel from the connected kitchen. He comes back, smiling softly at you. He gently places a hand on the small of your back before swiping the damp paper towel across your chest to clean up the mess he’d left behind.

You internally swoon at his gentleness, looking up at him fondly.

“Thank you.” you say searching the apartment floor for your clothes. You quickly dress, the heat fading from the room and a chill ghosting over your damp skin.

You bit your lip, looking back at Hoseok who’d chose to just dress in a pair of basketball shorts. You study his lithe muscles as he stretches. But you quickly shake yourself out of your reverence for his smooth, post-glow skin.

You smile shyly and pointed towards the door, “I think I should go. You know….still have papers to write.”

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth until his lips form a thin line. You turn, slightly disappointed- you’d hoped for a little more fluff after but quickly reprimanded yourself for expecting too much from something that was presumably a one time thing.

Your hand is on the knob when he’s grabbing at your wrist.

“Okay, so actually...uhm would you want to dinner me- er..what I mean is- would you like to go out...to dinner….with me.” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that’s not firmly gripping your arm.

You furrowed your brows,“No.” You responded curtly.

His downcast eyes shot up to yours, his look of disappointment as obvious as the blush that spreads across his face at the embarrassment of rejection. But a smirk played on your lips.

“Not until I finish my papers. So you need to be quiet.” You poked fun at him.

His laughter makes butterflies swarm your stomach. He pulled you into his chest and pecked your cheek before letting you go.

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

You huff at the vague response, “Guess that’s as good an answer as I’m going to get.”

You can’t help but smile though, more determined than ever to finish all your work. You get halfway down the hall before you heard the door creak open behind you and you turn around to see Hoseok leaning half out the doorway, smiling devilishly at you.

“You can always come up along the way if you need a study break!” He says

You can’t help but break into a bigger grin and giggle, only offering a small suggestive shrug before you stepped into the elevator. You roll your eyes at the eager text you receive only seconds later:

 “Or I can come down, maybe you could give me some “tutoring lessons” ;P”