#might even call the closest record store tomorrow to see if they have it. need. need need need it.

[running-in-the-dark]

okay I love Fast Car, just like everyone else, but I just heard For My Lover for the first time and now I'm so mad I didn't buy this album on vinyl that one time I almost bought it (I had it in my hands!! I'm so stupid) 😫 oh my god.

[odd-birds-and-booksellers]

Five times Jo asks Alex to dance and the one time she asks someone new.

The first time Jo and Alex ever dance together, they’re just friends. It’s new…their friendship. Alex isn’t exactly sure what to call it, in the space of two weeks she went from the annoying intern he was happy to keep as nothing more than a work colleague to the person he spent most of his time with. In the last week, she’s spent more nights on his couch than at home and they’ve grabbed dinner together every day. It’s funny they seemed to have fallen into this pattern without any real thought, it was the day after Ben and Bailey’s wedding they’d become inseparable, she’d sought him out at the end of shift insisting she needed pizza and beer and that he was paying thanks to the raging hangover she was sure was his fault.

He didn’t hate it...having her around all time that is. Which surprised him, it had been a long time since Alex had genuinely enjoyed being in someone else’s company for such a long period of time. Even now when Jos’ has one too many beers and is singing along loudly (and out of tune) to Taylor Swift (not Alex’s choice of course) he finds himself happy just to sit and watch her.

“Oh this is my favorite Alex, come dance with me,” Jo calls from where she’s spinning around in the kitchen. She’s reaching out for him, her warm hand against his forearm pulling him towards her.

“I don’t dance.” Alex protests, remaining firmly in his seat. Shaking his head as she continues to pull at him. He tries to keep his smile at bay but he’s secretly amused by the way she attempts to give him a puppy dog look.

“Don’t or can’t?”

“Both…whatever answer gets you away from me.” He grumbles, trying to remove her grip on his arm but she’s quick, tangling their fingers together and giving him another tug.

“Come on Alex…everyone can dance. Just one dance…pretty please.”

He groans but drops his beer bottle down on the counter and follows Jo back to her makeshift dance floor.

“One dance…and you’ll leave me alone?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he sets one hand on her hip, the other still gripped in hers tightly. He doesn’t know the song well but he finds himself slowly swaying to the beat.

“I won’t bother you until at least tomorrow.” Jo reasons, smiling softly, a triumphant glint in her eyes that makes Alex think he should stop letting her get her way.

Alex's breath hitches as Jo lays her head against his chest a moment later, he’s sure she can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest. They stay that way for the rest of the song, just swaying back and forth and Alex is surprised to find himself actually enjoying holding Jo so close.

“See… dancing isn't that bad right?”

He pulls her closer, tighter until her chest was pressed flush against his. “No…no you're right, this is pretty good.”

The second time they danced was a couple of years later. They’ve just finished furnishing the loft, and Jos’ even surprised herself with how it had turned out. It really felt like a home…their home.

“I know you’re gonna say a record player is pointless, but it looks cute and before you laugh they were on like every Pinterest board I saw so we have to have one.” Jo reasons, hoping this wouldn’t turn into another disagreement as the throw pillows had. Apparently, because it looks good isn’t a good reason to spend money on Alex’s book.

Secretly she loves every argument/discussion they have. There's just something about them discussing their home, her first proper home that fills her with such joy.

Setting up the record player was easy. Jo had found it a nice home against the window of what she’d marked out to be the living room. She’d even picked up a few old records from the store, Elvis, The Beatles, even Ella Fitzgerald.

She set the record on the turntable and brought down the needle, then closed the lid. There was the crackle of static as the vinyl began to spin.

She reached for his hand during the first verse. “Dance with me?” Jo suggested her voice barely above a whisper. “I know you hate dancing but indulge me this one time.” She insists as he reluctantly places his hands in hers, allowing her to pull him in, their chests brushing up against each other as his hand finds her hip and he holds her against him warm and steady.

They sway like that for the duration of the song and Jo takes the time to scan their newfound home. It's everything she'd hoped it would be and more. She feels Alex's hand fidgeting over her spine as the song comes to an end as if he's contemplating ending their dance before she feels his fingertips drift lower, coming to rest on the small of her back.

“You’re happy right? I know you kinda hated this place at first but…”

“I’m more than happy…” He whispers, leaning back as he brings one hand up to rest against her cheek, brushing the loose hair from her bun behind her ear gently. Jo relaxes against him, letting her worries go at his reassuring words. “I’m home.”

The third time they dance together, Alex surprised them both by being the one to ask Jo to dance. They’re at their makeshift engagement party that the kids on the peds ward had insisted on having when Alex informed them all they couldn’t attend the wedding. It felt kinda surreal, to see various hospital staff all filter in as a handful of his patients gather in the family room. All these people gathered to celebrate him and Jo. He’s not sure how he’d ever got so lucky.

“For everyone who doesn’t know Dr. Alex and Dr. Jo are getting married this weekend…” Kimmy announces, tapping the microphone on the makeshift stage as everyone turns towards her. “And all of us here just wanted to wish you both a huge congratulations.” Alex feels a surge of emotion, as Jo wraps an arm around his waist resting her head against his shoulder. Her eyes were a little watery, maybe she was feeling just as overwhelmed as he was.

“So I thought I’d sing a little something for you both.” Kimmy grins, and Alex gives her a small nod, rolling his eyes as the familiar tune from Beauty and The Beast begins. Now it makes sense why she’d been practicing it all week.

“Think we should dance?” He asks, turning towards Jo.

“You wanna dance? You never wanna dance with me.”

Alex furrows his eyebrows at her statement, wrapping an arm around her waist, swaying them gently, “I never wanna dance full stop but with you…with you it’s definitely bearable.”

Jo rolls her eyes “Charming.”

Alex just chuckles as he takes a step back, keeping his hand firmly in hers. When their arms are outstretched, he tugs on her hand until she gets the memo and twirls back toward him. Alex catches her by the waist, grinning down at her as she laughs warmly.

Cheers erupt around them but Alex can’t bring himself to tear his gaze from Jo. She’s gonna be his wife and he for one can’t wait.

“I aim to please” He mutters before pulling her in closer, pressing his lips to hers as a few groans from the younger patients sound.

The fourth time they dance is a given. Their first dance as husband and wife, sure it's not the reception they planned but Avery's penthouse with everyone they care about most in the world feels as close to perfect as you can get.

“Come dance with your wife.” Jo cries as she makes her way through the crowd, reaching out for Alex who’s taken a seat at the kitchen island. He’d been enjoying a moment to just watch everyone around him. Days like this full of love and happiness were kinda rare to find.

“Jo, you know I hate dancing.” He whines but he's already on his feet, allowing her to guide him back through the crowd. He’s not gonna deny her today, not like he ever denied her before either.

She just smiles, and god it makes his heartache knowing that’s the smile he’s gonna wake up to every day for the rest of his life. “I know you say you hate dancing but I think you secretly like it.”

He turned his hand over in hers, wrapping his fingers around her palm before pulling her to him by the waist. Jo’s free arm sliding up to his shoulder as they spun slowly.

“Thank you…”

“For what?”

“Dancing with me even though you hate it.”

He holds their joint hands in the air, letting Jo turn herself away from him. She’s only out of his grip for a split second before she twirls back into him. He catches her, tips her backward until her hair is dangling down over his knee.

“I’ll always dance with you,” Alex whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before helping her stand straight again. He can hear the buzz of the party around them, see the bright light of flash go off somewhere as Jo wraps her hands around his neck, hiding her face against him.

“Should’ve put that in our vows.”

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, arms wrapped around each other swaying to whatever song is playing whether a slow dance suits it or not. They might be in a room full of their closest friends and chosen family but neither one can focus on anyone else.

“It’s funny…” Jo mumbles after a while, lifting her head so she can meet Alex’s gaze.

“What’s that?” Alex asks, his thumb tracing a soft pattern against the small of her back as her left hand sorts out his.

“In those lifetime movies, I used to watch. You wait the whole movie for the couple to kiss in the last five seconds and then you just assume that they end up together…in reality, it’s probably never a happy ever after.”

Alex frowns, he’s not quite sure what Jo was getting at but if she was doubting what happens next she shouldn’t. If they could make it through today and still end up married and all in one piece then they could make it through every day that came next.

“We don’t have to worry about that.” He smiles, the hand still clutching hers lifting a little higher so she can see the light catch against her wedding set as he runs his thumb across them.

“No, we don’t.”

The last time they dance together is a couple of days before Alex leaves. He seems to have thrown himself into work the last few weeks. He’s so busy he’s almost never home. They’re like ships passing in the night and Jo’s not ashamed to admit she misses her husband.

“Come on…” She mutters, turning the radio up slightly so the music can be heard over in the kitchen, holding her hand out to Alex who’s been staring at various charts since he’d arrived home in the early hours of the morning.

“Not now Jo…I’m exhausted okay?” He sighs brushing her hand away as he turns back to the pages before him.

Jo shakes her head refusing to take no for an answer as she carefully takes the documents from his hand. Setting them down on the table. She cups his cheek, turning his face towards her. “One dance. Come on.”

She watches the internal argument he’s having with himself, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

“Alex you promised…you’d always dance with me...for better or worse...till death do us part?”

He tenses at her words closing his eyes, but before Jo can even question it he’s up, slipping his hand into hers, leading them towards the empty space between the kitchen and the unused dining table with a frown.

“I know Mr. Grumpy…you hate dancing, you've told me before.”

“That’s Dr. Grumpy to you.”

Jo drops his hand only to lift her arms around his neck and Alex sets his hands loosely on her waist.

“I love you.” He breathes after a moment. He leans his head over her shoulder and drops a kiss to the side of her head, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist.

Jo smiles softly at his words as Alex presses her hand into his chest, over his heartbeat. They're gonna be okay, she's sure of it. They hold onto one another, dancing slowly as the song continues.

“I love you too, Dr. Grumpy.”

They keep swaying even as the song ends and another begins, Jo can’t remember what song had played next, but she knows they’d danced to it anyway.

Jo didn't dance much after Alex left. Didn't do much of anything that reminded her of him. She’d got rid of nearly every trace of him. She’d gone into survival mode and removed every last reminder of him from her life. That is except for the few things she just couldn’t bear to lose.

His shirt…the first one she’d ever borrowed. Back when they were just friends and she was crashing on his couch after one too many beers. The same shirt that’s now hanging loosely off her shoulder as she tries to tidy up after her rambunctious toddler, who’s currently making a mess pulling every record out from its cover and onto the floor.

Their wedding album hurt too much to keep. She couldn’t skim the pages without feeling sick. But she keeps one photo…she can’t not. There’s one photo taken at their wedding reception, Jo wasn't even aware of it being taken at the time. She's mid-spin, her hair fanning out around her, hand clutching Alex's tightly above her head. She looks so happy and carefree in that photo but that's not the reason she kept it, no she kept it because of the way Alex's looking at her in it. Like she was the only one in the room. He looks at her so intently that just the photo sets a fire deep inside her. No matter how painful the ending was, she knew how truly loved she was by him.

“Mommy…princess dress?” Luna asks, pulling the worn photo from its hiding space in an old record sleeve. Of course, she's found it, she’s into every draw and cupboard she can reach these days. Her eyes shine as she shakes the photo in Jo's direction.

“Yeah, mommy had a princess dress,” Jo agrees, lifting Luna up from the floor and settling them both on the couch. She’s too young to know that it's a wedding, too little to ask who the man holding her mother is. She was just excited that her mom looked like one of her favorite Disney characters. Jo stares down at the photo, it's not lost on her that she's sitting in the same spot the dance took place.

“Hey, Lulu?” Jo hums, pressing a kiss to the little girl's hair as she wriggles in her lap. “Shall we have a dance party?”

Jo hasn’t had much time to dance these last few years, hadn’t had much desire too but as she stares down at her daughter she suddenly feels the urge to dance again.

Luna nods, as Jo lifts her up off her lap before turning towards the old record player in the corner. She wipes her hand across the dust that’s settled on it before opening it up, taking a second for the slow melody to filter out. When she turns back Luna is already twirling around, her tutu flowing out around her.

Jo laughs as she lifts her baby girl up onto her hip, spinning them both. She throws her head back laughing as Luna squeals in delight, ordering Jo to keep spinning until they're both dizzy and their giggles drown out the music.

[jlalafics]

Could you please reblog your lesbian!Peeta story for me

Sure! I hope this is the one you’re thinking of!

_______

“You can shut off the lights now.”

Delly Cartwright, Peeta’s friend and business manager, looked to her and gave a sympathetic smile.

“You did well for a new business owner, Peeta,” she continued. Gathering some of the go-backs, Delly started to head over to the racks. “You opened a record shop. It wasn’t exactly going to be busy every day, but from a business standpoint, you did well for your first week.”

Peeta gathered her golden locks into a ponytail and took the broom next to her to sweep up.

“I guess you’re right,” Peeta replied.

She had fair sales for her opening week; it had always been her dream to open a shop of her own and her love for vinyl clinched her decision to open a record store. There was hope of expanding to a used bookstore, but it seemed that it would be awhile before that would happen.

“Don’t you have a husband to get home to?” Peeta asked her friend. “Thom must be annoyed that you’re spending all your time with me.”

“Thom wouldn’t have a full-service coffee bar if it weren’t for his wife’s business savvy,” Delly retorted. She pushed herself onto the wood counter. “He can sacrifice time so I can help out one of my best friends.”

“Really though.” Returning the broom to its place, Peeta met her friend’s light eyes. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Suddenly, Delly’s mouth formed into a smirk. “I mean it wouldn’t hurt if you had a partner to support and help you out. I met this great girl at Thom’s bar—”

“You know what—” Peeta lifted her petite friend off the counter easily, placing her by the front door. “—I think you should go home. You’re obviously exhausted.”

“You win this round, Mellark,” Delly declared with a chuckle. “We’ll see you for Sunday brunch at our place.”

Stepping out, Peeta watched her friend get into her car and drive off before walking back into the store.

Sighing, she let herself admit that she was lonely.

It had been two years since her last relationship and about six months since her last date. Her brothers were both in long-term relationships; Dean, her eldest brother, married to Olivia, his college girlfriend, with two kids and one on the way while Rye, the middle child, engaged to Johanna, one of Peeta’s closest friends and her former roommate.

While she, the youngest and only girl, was still single.

Peeta wasn’t looking for just anyone.

Whoever she was had to be more.

So, for the time being, she would just have to focus on getting the store up and running.

++++++

Locking up the store, Peeta buttoned her rust peacoat and headed towards her bus stop. Her place was fifteen minutes away—just a few blocks—but the fall season had caused the city to go dark once it hit six in the evening.

“Hey girl!”

The group of guys from the bar across the street called out. There were a few catcalls and she ignored it, speeding up her pace towards the bus stop at the end of the block. Her heart stuttered in nervousness as she heard the footfalls heading towards her.

Suddenly, one of the guys was standing in front of her. “Where you heading, sweetheart?”

Peeta didn’t reply, only taking in a description of the guy…mid-twenties, dark beard, medium height, sharp dark eyes wearing a grey hoodie, black tank, and dark jeans.

So, basically any random guy.

Dean was a cop and he had always taught her what to do if she was in a situation like this. However, it didn’t seem to be helping as she found herself surrounded by the rest of the group.

So, Peeta went for Rye’s method and fully rushed at the guy in front of her, trying to knee him in the groin.

He pushed her and Peeta was knocked down, the back of her head hitting the concrete.

There was the pain of impact…and then darkness.

++++++

“Miss Mellark…can you open your eyes?” Peeta blinked, her vision blurred and the white light causing her eyes to close again. “Take your time.”

She followed the kind voice, allowing herself to adjust before opening her eyes once more.

“There you go,” the voice said gently. “You gave us a scare when you came in.”

Her vision cleared and the warmest set of eyes greeted her. Almond-shaped and dove grey, the eyes were set in a heart-shaped face along with a pert nose and rose lips, her skin was a soft olive and her raven hair was tied back in a neat braid.

“Where am I?” she asked as the bed was slowly elevated.

“You are in the hospital,” the woman in the blue scrubs informed her. “My name is Katniss and I’m your nurse. You were mugged; the perp got your credit cards but left the rest of your wallet since there wasn’t any money. Can you tell me your name?”

“Peeta. Peeta Mellark.”

Katniss looked at her in confusion. “Your ID says Pieta Mellark.”

“When I was born, my parents tried to teach my brother Rye how to say me name properly, Pee-et-ta, but he couldn’t get it and kept pronouncing my name as Pee-ta. So, it kind of stuck.”

The nurse chuckled. “I like both your names.” Katniss looked over her chart and then to her. “We’re just making sure that you’re CT scan comes out clean and then we can release you. Do you have anyone that we can call? Your family?”

“I don’t want to worry my parents and they’re an hour away, and my brothers have families,” she explained. “Once I’m released, I’ll just head on home.”

“Your name fits you,” Katniss remarked. “Pieta means compassion. A lot of people would milk themselves getting injured, but not you. You’re more concerned about everyone else around you.”

“Give me a day or two and I’ll be at home, feeling sorry for myself,” Peeta replied. “Your name is a plant.”

The nurse grinned. “How did you know?”

“When we were all kids, my parents took us camping,” she explained. “And my Dad told me that if for some reason, I got lost in the woods then I just needed to find you to survive.”

Katniss blushed, her cheeks flooding with color, and Peeta found herself breathless in the prettiness of it all.

“I suppose that could also apply to non-camping situations,” Katniss responded. “Get some rest, Peeta, and I’ll check up on your results.”

++++++

“I’m really alright, Haymitch,” Peeta assured her business partner on the phone. “They kept me overnight for observation, but they didn’t see anything in the CT scan.”

“We should install cameras in the front,” the man insisted. “You could’ve been killed or assaulted!”

“Well, they checked if there was any trauma down there and everything seemed right as rain,” she assured him. “My vagina is perfectly intact.”

There was a cough and she turned to see Katniss standing before, a black bomber jacket over her scrubs and her hair down in long waves.

“I really didn’t need to hear that,” the man muttered. “Just call me when you get home, okay? Also, get an Uber and put it on our business credit card.”

“Ah…you should probably call about that,” Peeta replied. “Some of my credit cards are missing.”

“I’m right on it,” Haymitch responded. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll open the store tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Hanging up, Peeta stuffed her phone into her jean pocket before turning to the woman. “Getting off?”

Katniss looked to her in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Work. You off from your shift?”

The blush invaded her lovely face and she nodded quickly. “Oh yeah! Just heading out. How about you?”

“Yeah, just needed to check in with Haymitch, my partner,” Peeta explained.

“Oh.” Katniss’ expression dropped. “Why wouldn’t your boyfriend pick you up?”

Peeta snorted at the idea.

“Haymitch is my business partner.” She looked to the woman beside her. “You heading home to your boyfriend?”

The woman shook her head. “I’ve got some leftover pasta and A Walk to Remember on Netflix, but that’s about it.”

“Would you want to join me for a cup of coffee?” Peeta found herself asking. “Thom, my best friend’s husband owns a coffee shop a few blocks down. It will be on me—or on Delly, my best friend—your coffee, I mean…”

Shit, Peeta was going about this all wrong. She didn’t even know if Katniss was into girls.

“Sure.”

Her head snapped up at Katniss’ response and Peeta smiled. “Okay.”

They headed onto the sidewalk in front of the hospital. It was a beautiful morning, chilled but brimming with potential to be a gorgeous day of clear skies and temperate weather.

“How long have you been a nurse?” Peeta asked as they headed down towards Thom’s coffee bar.

“About three years,” Katniss said. “Got this job right out of school. My mom was head nurse at the hospital before retiring a few years ago and I guess nepotism worked in my favor. I might actually be a really crappy nurse.”

“No, you definitely aren’t,” Peeta argued. “You have a natural empathy.”

“How so?”

“When I woke up, I was scared as hell,” she told the woman next to her. They stopped at the crosswalk and Peeta met Katniss’ gaze. “But, when I heard your voice, I knew that I would be okay. You made me feel safe.”

“That’s a lot to put on a girl,” Katniss said quietly. “But I’m glad that I could help.”

Their eyes met and it was like a magnetic force that Peeta found her hand tucking back a tendril of Katniss’ hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered, feeling the softness of her dark waves and Katniss’ breath caught at the gesture.

Her hand covered Peeta’s and the sensation drew a sharp gasp from Peeta’s mouth.

It had been a long time since she had felt like this.

Stepping towards Katniss, she waited to see if the woman would retreat.

However, Katniss remained still, her mouth parted and her eyelids going half-lidded as Peeta close the space between.

The kiss was careful, her mouth slanting over Katniss’ gently. The feeling of her soft lips caused a groan to draw up from the pit of Peeta’s stomach and escape between their mouths.

It was scary but exhilarating all at once and Peeta never wanted to let her go.

However, Katniss hummed against her lips and reluctantly she pulled away.

“I probably wasn’t supposed to do that,” Peeta told her.

Katniss looked disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“I mean not without taking you out on a date first.”

Katniss let out a relieved laugh. “Well, we just cut out the needless tension of the first kiss, didn’t we?”

“I guess so,” Peeta replied, taking her hand. “So…”

‘…would like to stay indefinitely?’

“Would you like to have coffee first and then dinner later?”

“And, between then?” Katniss asked, her thumb caressing the top of Peeta’s hand.

“Whatever we want, I have all day.”

I have forever for you.

“Okay.” Katniss beamed. “Let’s start with the coffee.”

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #5: for the birthday boy (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles]

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: For Taehyung’s birthday, you’ve planned a special surprise-filled evening just for him as his best friend by day, fuck buddy by night. But especially after a few drinks, he finds it difficult keeping his hands off you, which isn’t a good thing in front of all your friends.

Genre: drabble, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: teacher/student roleplay (if you’re not into that, just skip to the next scene, it’s meant to be slightly sarcastic anyway), brief lap dance, oral (m&f), overstimulation (m&f), unprotected sex (your girl finally invested in the pill yay), cum dumpster, facial, cum play and consumption, squirting, basically filth, light BDSM like spanking, handcuffs, choking, the usual, daddy kink (you know HW!Tae)

Word count: 11.3k yikes

A/N: Happy early birthday to the best boy! Why do I call these drabbles when it’s basically a series at this point smh -_- Enjoy this filthy monster~

.

“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

Taehyung jumps beside you as you switch on the lights to your flat, illuminating the room full of people leap out from their hiding place at his arrival. The last syllable of their celebratory chant hangs in the air for an awkward moment as he takes in everything you put together for his birthday surprise.

Shiny party streamers decorating the walls, black and gold balloons bobbing against the ceiling, printed photos of your best memories together hanging from shelf to shelf, all his and your closest friends gathered to greet him. And of course, the impeccable two-layered strawberry chocolate sponge cake sitting on a platter that you know would excite him the most.

A smile spreads his mouth wide and square as he turns to you, his cheeks bundling up like rising bread in sheer elation.

“No you didn’t, Y/N.”

Then you’re being suffocated in a bone-crushing hug, your ribs almost cracking under his snake-like squeeze. His chest rumbles in the most boyish giggle.

“Hap-pee-burf-day-” You manage to utter as you move your arms between two to create some space for you to breathe.

Seeing Taehyung this happy, especially knowing you’re the cause of it, is truly a feeling matched by no other. You don’t have a massive squadron of friends, you are more the type to carefully select those you actually like and get along with. To put it badly, you’re picky, judgy and quite a bitch when it comes to making friends. But the few you actually care about, you love ferociously and passionately, willing to cut off your own limb for them. And Taehyung is at the top of that list.

“You’re actually the best, I love you.” When he finally lets you go from his painful but appreciated embrace, his hands rest on your waist, lingering.

You had just treated him to a birthday dinner at his favourite steakhouse, roommate to roommate, in order to enable this surprise party. A few pints might have been downed for the occasion, which explains his excessive touching. Taehyung has never been able to hold his liquor, always a lightweight. The number of times you’ve had to half-carry half-drag him out of a club and stick your fingers down his throat in a dark alley is truly embarrassing for him.

“I am the best. You’re lucky I love you too, dork.” With his nostrils flaring from excitement, you can’t help but pinch his nose before turning to the guests and properly starting the party.

To be honest, you wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without the help of anyone else. His parents have come to town to visit him during the day, so off he went to show them around the food market, the park and his favourite vintage stores. Which gave you plenty of time to set up the house, prepare the refreshments, and buy the birthday cake. But keeping him from returning home was a feat that you had to enlist his parents’ aid in, and ever the obedient son, Taehyung of course did not argue when his folks disagreed with his suggestion to go back to the apartment. Then, it was a matter of taking him to dinner, deftly urging him to meet you there rather than going together from the flat so not to miss your reservation. The rounds of alcohol and your tiny bladder slyly masked the many bathroom runs you took in order to text Lotta to gather everyone to your place. And when everything was set, you headed back with the clueless Taehyung, giddy with a belly full of Michelin star food.

It was purely out of your headstrong resistance that you two didn’t stumble into the apartment making out, exposing your on-going debauchery to all your unaware friends. He had begun to feel you up on the way home, grabbing your ass one too many times for it to be merely playful. Honestly, it’s never easy rejecting his advances, not with your nymphomaniac track record anyway. But tonight was especially difficult, knowing what you have planned for him after the party…

From the corner of your eye you see Taehyung chattering away with friends from his class, and from the way he’s waving his hands around, you can tell it’s about the latest Christmas horror story of the two of you trying to stuff a turkey.

The memory of you yelling at each other to grab-this-grab-that warms your chest more than the white wine you’re sipping on. It’s always these stupid anecdotes that mean the most.

“Looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

Lotta’s voice startles you from your thoughts. Hands held behind her shyly, she smiles at the sight of the outburst of laughter from the guests at his story.

Aside from Taehyung, you would say she’s your best friend, having gone to the same highschool together and now the same university. You knew you would be close the moment she told you her star sign - there isn’t a more iconic duo than an Aries and a Leo. She puts up with a lot of your shit but also isn’t afraid to scream some sense into you whenever you pull something rogue, which you guess is very often.

“Yep. He should probably stop drinking though.” You say as you watch him tip the contents of his glass down his throat. “I swear to god if he throws up on the couch, I’ll chop his dick off.” Of course you wouldn’t, how could you ever bring yourself to hurt that godsent meatstick that fuck tears out of you? You both giggle nonetheless.

“You’re funny with him.” Lotta is wearing a smug expression that you distinctly dislike.

“What do you mean?”

“You act like he’s some annoying brother who you hate, but then you go and take him to this boujee-ass steakhouse, throw him a surprise party and splash out on his birthday gift. You beat him up when he uses your shampoo, kick him when he accidentally scrunches up your notes, and threaten to emasculate him if he spills alcohol on your favourite couch that you treat like your newborn child. But you secretly care so much about him that I know you’d give him your kidney if he needed one.”

You blink at her.

Not quite sure what to say.

“Well, yeah, of course I care about him. Like you said, he’s a brother to me.” Okay, but do you let someone who’s just a brother to you cum on your face? “You don’t live with him so you don’t know what a useless brat he is. He burns pasta, Lotta. Pasta. Seriously, he’s such a dipshit, but of course I care about him. What’s funny about that?” Lying straight through your teeth is a Y/N specialty. As long as you say it with enough confidence, you can sell any bullshit.

But maybe you’re sounding a little defensive.

Lotta is clever, it is why you’re friends. Where this observation of hers is headed, you’re unsure of. She could turn this into a lecture about your abrasive personality, or suspect that something else is going on between you and Taehyung other than sharing rent.

“Nothing, I just said it was funny. The way you are.” Her smile tells you that it’s probably the former of the two possibilities.

“What can I say, I’m a funny person.” Not entirely buying it though, you shrug and play along.

Another bout of laughter breaks out from Taehyung and his friends, catching both your attentions. He thrives in social situations like these, good at entertaining people with his odd humour. You watch the flash of his teeth, the crinkle of his amused eyes, tongue flicking out to wet his lips every other sentence.

“You know, he actually is really hot.” Now, that you didn’t expect at all. Your head whips to face your best friend, whose eyes fixes back on yours but not before you catch her checking him out.

“Um, what?”

“I’m just saying. You can’t deny that he’s gorgeous, charming too.” Brows raised, Lotta lifts both hands up in defense when she see the arrows your glare is shooting at her. “Definitely the best looking guy I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re drunk. Since when did you admit that Taehyung is ‘hot’?” In complete ridicule, you scoff at her. Though, her point is completely 100% valid and true.

“Do you see me with a drink? I’m sober tonight, got an early shift tomorrow.”

“Why are you suddenly saying this? Weren’t you the one who wouldn’t shut up when I went to Mykonos with him because you thought I was too blinded by his looks to even know if he’s a serial killer?” Never has Lotta expressed the slightest, most remote of interest in Taehyung, not once properly acknowledging his attractiveness.

“I’m just saying. It’s a shame that you can’t see him that way anymore after spending so much time together.” It’s her turn to shrug, again with the annoying cocky expression.

Yes, after spending so much time sleeping together, more like.

“Yeah, no. That’s gross. You won’t get it because you don’t have a guy best friend. But trust me, no way would I ever go there with him.” Go ahead and call you a pathological liar, you don’t care. You’d never hear the end of it if Lotta finds out you and your ‘guy best friend’ have been knocking boots for over half a year.

You catch Taehyung glancing over to you, eyes twinkling with amusement, signalling for you to come over and join his crowd. Telepathy is one of your secret talents nowadays, you just know each other so well that spoken words are not a necessity for communication.

Taehyung watches you manoeuvre past those chattering bodies from across the room, making your way towards him with Lotta trailing behind. He knows he is definitely drunk, so it might just be the alcohol getting to his head but something looks a little different about you tonight. By that, he doesn’t mean your curled hair, or that new red dress you’re wearing that introduces your cleavage to the entire world. You’re kind of… glowing. There is a permanent smile on your face, even while resting the corners of your lips are turned up. And when you’re in a good mood, you are so transparent about it that you basically radiate like a disco ball in the room.

His chest feels warm. Maybe it’s the wine.

“Fuck, she’s so fit.”

For a second, Taehyung is worried that he thought out loud, but then realised that the voice belonged to Seojoon. He turns to his friend to find him ogling at your figure.

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s weird if he agrees. But he also doesn’t trust his inebriated state to execute a flat out lie that convincingly.

“You don’t know how lucky you are to have Y/N as your roommate, man. If it were me, I would’ve tapped that on the first night.” Seojoon continues, taking a swig of his beer.

“As if you could.” Taehyung snorts, unable to help himself. “She’s out of your league, ass.”

“Fair point. I heard she is a freak in bed, too. Do you ever hear, like, sex noises?” A freak indeed.

“Sometimes…” It’s true, even now. Occasionally he will stumble home with a girl he picked up at the bar only to hear the bed creaking furiously or breathy moans sounding from your room. Walls are thin. Sometimes it turned him on, other times it pissed him off.

“Bet you wank to it, eh? Taehyungie?” Seojoon ruffles his hair just as you and Lotta come within earshot. Liquor-brazen, he is suddenly overcome with an urge to announce to the whole room: Y/N and I are fucking. Yeah, that’s right. She’s my fuck buddy, so you can stop trying to hit on her right now because I’m gonna be the one she’s riding tonight. Seojoon, fucking suck on that. I don’t need to wank to her sex noises when I’m the one coaxing them from her.

However, a small sober part of his conscience tells him that he really shouldn’t do that; if he does, he probably won’t get any riding tonight. So he clamps his mouth shut.

You arrive amidst them in that sinful dress that reduces Taehyung to a teenage boy, and you take your turn giving them brief hugs as formalities, your best friend beside you mirroring your action. When you reach Taehyung, he pulls you in roughly by the waist, wine sloshing in his hand. From his careless force and lazy grin, you can tell he is almost completely gone. Taehyung is a wine-killer, but wine is also a Taehyung-killer.

Highly conscious of the presence of all your mates while he clearly isn’t, you pretend to roll your eyes and pry his hand off the small of your back. It doesn’t budge. So, awkwardly, with your midriff locked in Taehyung’s arm, you lean over to hug his last friend Woosik who gives you a shy pat on your shoulder.

The conversation resumes, morphing into Lotta telling everyone the most embarrassing stories of you during high school - back when you had braces and had the biggest crush on the captain of the football team. You don’t even try to deny it, laughing along at your pathetic 14 year old self. Though, you’re only half paying attention, the other half is keenly aware of the way Taehyung’s thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your pelvic bone. When you peek up at him, you find him already staring at you with eyes you know too well.

The ‘I’m gonna eat you out until you squirt’ eyes.

Fuck.

Then you notice Lotta’s sharp eyes on Taehyung’s hand gripping your waist. The ‘hold up, what could be happening over here?’ eyes.

Double fuck.

Tipping your toes, you whisper into your roommate’s clueless ear. “Let go, people are watching.” You almost allow your lips to graze his skin because you know how much it turns him on, but you remember to behave. But this close, his warm familiar scent tingles your nose in a way that makes you want to hug him.

Taehyung pulls away to look at your face, clearly displeased, then regards everyone in the circle. When he notices Lotta’s focus on the two of you, he slowly withdraws his paw, but not without purposely brushing past your ass.

.

“Strawberry-flavoured lube?”

Taehyung audibly gasps in disbelief as he tears open his poorly wrapped present.

“Yeah, you like strawberries right?” Seojoon chuckles and claps his back so violently that he falls forwards. On the other side of him, you haul him back up onto the sofa.

Everyone is gathered around the pile of birthday gifts on the coffee table, but not before witnessing you scold Woosik for not leaving his drink on the kitchen island from which the couch is a safe distance to prevent any spillage. Lotta just laughed at your fixation.

So far, the array of presents Taehyung has received ranges from Amazon vouchers, to expensive whiskey, to a funky tie. Yours sit furthest away from him, which he practically leapt in excitement when he saw the size of, only to be forced to open it last because you insist it’s going to be the best one.

“You’re insufferable, Seojoon.” Taehyung rolls his eyes yet fails to suppress his grin. Oh, you’re definitely trying out the lube at some point.

After ripping into a couple more, he finally arrives at your present for him. It spans an entire arm’s length; you know every guest must be wondering to themselves what it could possibly be. Taehyung drops onto his knees before it and carefully peels away the tape this time, knowing it probably took you awhile to wrap it up this neatly. You watch his long cautious fingers reveal the gift you had spent weeks raking your head for.

“Stop…” His eyes light up at the polished cedar easel that he caresses over as gentle as he would your skin. But as he continues to unwrap the present, a box of oil paints, a wooden palette and a set of 16 expensive natural fibre brushes are unveiled. “Oh my god, there’s more?”

Ceasing in action, he looks up at you, jaw so slack you bet you can throw a pea into his mouth even with your bad aim. The surprise on his face, almost a replica of his expression when everyone jumped out at him and yelled ‘Happy Birthday’ an hour ago. Except this time there is something more tender about how his wide pupils bore into yours. It makes you squirm.

Then without warning, he dives onto you, crushing you in the most fatal of embraces; you swear something in your spine cracked as you fall back onto the cushions, suffocated. People let out a sound of amusement at your struggle, but with his warm breath fanning your neck, you don’t even hear them.

After allowing this sweet painful moment for a few seconds more, you shove Taehyung’s heavy body off you, harder than you need so he slumps onto Seojoon.

“You’re actually the best, I love you.” He squeals like a boy on Christmas day before examining the paintbrushes with the utmost careful touch, as if afraid he would bend the bristles the wrong way.

What is he so cute for?

You kind of really want to pat his head and kiss his cheek right now. But there’s an audience obstructing.

Looking up, you lock eyes with Lotta. She is smiling, endeared by the purity of his reaction as well. See, not even she is immune his stupid cuteness. How are you supposed to?

Taehyung’s heart is constricting as he strokes the fine wooden edge of the giant disassembled easel. Of course, you know him better than any of his other friends. He has recently expressed an interest in painting, though his love for art and sophistication has been harbouring for a while now. He has only ever made subtle comments about wanting to properly get into it but not having the proper equipment to and not knowing the best brand to purchase. Yet you had picked up on it nevertheless. Everything combined must have costed you a significant portion of your allowance. Even he would not have splashed out this much on himself.

He turns back to you again from where he kneels in front of the coffee table. You are observing him with a thing he wishes to be adoration, a glimmer in your smile that wears more beautiful than any dress on you. For a second, there’s a flutter in his stomach and it confuses him because it feels an awful lot like butterflies.

But then you kick his back with the heel of your foot to get him to stand and Taehyung remembers that you are best friends. He’s not supposed to be thinking like that.

.

After cutting the cake, with food being a major satisfaction factor of any party, everyone sort of just hovers, huddled in their little groups with their plate of dessert in one hand, while they resume their conversation. The music is turned up loud so they all have to half-yell; some don’t even bother talking as they dig in, you included.

Being a quiet eater that you are, you stand by the island counter, sipping your wine in between bites of that chocolate decadence. Taehyung approaches you with his already empty plate; you haven’t even made it through half your slice yet. Judging by the lethargy in his step and that icing-slathered grin he has worn the entire night, you can tell he was the one who finished the second bottle of wine you opened.

“Hey.” Your fingers do a weird little wave that is so completely uncharacteristic, but tipsy-Y/N is sort of that friendly and laid back.

“Hey, pretty.” His hand trails around the corner of the counter surface and traps you between it and his body as he comes up behind you. Immediately you stiffen, looking around to see if anyone, especially Lotta, is looking. But when you find everyone preoccupied either with each other or the cake, your shoulders relax.

“What’s up? You having a good time?” Twisting to face him, you edge back until the counter digs into your back. Taehyung’s face is a dangerous proximity to yours.

The anticipation for the night you have planned for him in your bedroom thrums in your core. Patience has never been one of your strengths, and right now it is testing your very limit. You could kick everyone out right now if you really wanted to. But you won’t. You’ll wait.

You wipe the chocolate off the corner of his mouth with a swipe, the gesture you can’t tell if motherly or romantic. And just because Taehyung is peering down at you so longingly, you flick your tongue out and suck the sweetness on your thumb.

His breath hitches.

“Uh- I…” For a second, all thought is scattered in his brain, and you almost laugh aloud at how susceptible he is to your attacks. “Yeah, of course. I’m having the best time.”

“Am I the best roommate ever or what?” You watch his eyes trained on your mouth. From his alcohol scent, you don’t trust him to have enough restraint not to kiss you right now so you turn your back to him and rest your elbows upon the island top, leaning over to finish your cake.

In your peripheral vision, you spy his hands crawling towards your sides to cinch around your waist, his front pressing into you as he holds you from behind. The warmth of his body seeps into your back, and you swear you can feel the beating of his chest against your shoulder blades. A tingle shoots straight down your spine when he plants a soft, brief kiss on the shell of your ear.

Good thing you turned around then, your intuition was right. Taehyung has never been able to suppress his overt affection after a few drinks, and certainly not after this many. And no matter how much you want to just turn around and pull him into your lips, you fight it.

“Babe...” He groans into your ear and though it was barely audible even to you, you quickly glance up to see if anyone has heard. Of course, no one heard, they are all stood far enough that even without the music, they’d have to strain their ears to hear his whisper. Paranoia is eating your head away.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, Taehyung.” Your heart is racing, which is weird because you swear you used to be completely immune to his charms. “You’re being too obvious, babe.”

“You don’t ‘babe’ me. I can’t control myself when you call me that.” The warmth of his breath fans all over the back of your neck, sending a convulsion of shivers down your spine.

One of his hands stretches for your wine glass, but knowing him well enough to predict it, you draw it away from his reach. “Stop drinking, you’re literally about to pass out.”

“No, you’re about to pass out. On my-” hiccup, “dick.” You keep your eyes locked on the crowd, ready to shove Taehyung away if anyone looks your way. But still, you can’t help but lean back into him.

“That made no sense.” You chuckle, fingers brushing over the smooth thin skin of this hand.

“Just one sip.”

“Taehyung. Stop. Drinking.” You grab his hand that tries to make a run for the wine again.

“But, Y/N…” He whines and slumps onto you, knowing that whining has gotten him what he wanted before.

You turn around, grab his face and pull him towards you until your mouth is brushing his earlobe. “Be a good boy and stop drinking if you want the best birthday sex of your life after this party. You better not get whiskey dick because a have a lot planned for you.”

At that, Taehyung stops breathing, stops resisting. Against your shoulder, you feel his chest jump. “Oh. Um. Okay, yup, no more drinking. Got it, ma’am.”

He sighs, completely at your disposal, as your touch trails from the sensitive side of his neck down to his torso. “Good.” After looking around again to check that no one is looking, you press your alcohol-infused lips onto his hastily, savouring his softness for no longer than a few seconds before pulling away. God, is it difficult to pull away. You’re aching for him. “Go entertain the guests while you sober up.”

Satisfied grin from the kiss stretched across his face, he nods obediently and scampers over to his friends.

.

“Are you ready yet?” Taehyung calls, impatient and giddy, the music that you’ve put on playing softly in the background.

“Give me one more second.” You reply from the bathroom, doing up your last button and regarding yourself in the mirror. Hm, not bad. You’re pleased with how this turned out, if you do say so yourself. Taehyung is going to lose his mind.

Sheer black stockings stretched thin over your legs, you strut into his room where he is seated on a chair in nothing but his boxers, wrists shackled to the back. When his eyes land on you, a strangled noise emits from his throat.

“Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck. Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck.” He chokes out.

The checkered material of your school skirt flies up at your every step teasingly, not high enough for him to peek your panties, but enough for your thighs to be flaunted.The clip of your stockings sit cool and beguiling on your quads. First two buttons of your white blouse undone, the matching red tartan tie hangs loosely around your neck between your exposed, pushed up cleavage. Your hair is tied into two school-girl braids, decorated in ribbons.

You’re Taehyung’s walking talking fantasy.

Innocent, chaste, ready for him to defile.

“Sir.” You address him, committing to your character, as you bow your head in courtesy.

Taehyung doesn’t appear capable of words, Adam’s apple wobbling in awe. So you continue your approach, making sure to regard him with large, demure eyes. As you sink down onto your knees between his widespread trembling legs, you notice a prominence already erecting in his boxers. You try not to smirk.

“What can I do for you, sir?” You put on your sweetest, most virgin of voices and bat your lashes once at him.

Chest rising quickly, Taehyung gulps as he realises that he’s most definitely going about to have the best sex of his life. “Um. Uh. Um.”

Smiling at his malfunctioning cognition, no thanks to you, you decide to help him out a little. “I’ve been sent to you for being a bad girl, sir.”

Do you find this slightly humiliating and degrading? Yes, you’re a woman of pride and a feminist. But does Taehyung’s birthday outweigh your morals? Yes, if only just for this night.

“What… What did you do, baby girl?” Voice dangerously deep, Taehyung watches you from his handcuffed posture, watches you twirl your braids in your fingers before they move sensual down your front, curving over your breasts and travelling to your core.

“It’s embarrassing to say but…” You look down in feign shame. “I touched myself.”

His whole frame tenses, arms straining to be freed from the cuffs so he can throw you onto the bed and fuck you mercilessly. His lips are parted, breath unsteady, cheeks still slightly stained from the alcohol but you made sure that he’s mostly sober by now. “Why did you touch yourself?”

“I was thinking about you, sir, and I just couldn’t help myself. Something started tickling down there and it felt so good to touch it.” Biting your lip, your fingers reach your clit over your skirt and start rubbing. The other hand traces swirls slowly up his thighs, higher and higher, until he’s buckling his hips.

“Wait, pause.” He says, your touch ceasing at his command. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m not going to last if you do this to me. I might even cum my pants.”

Usual smugness returning as you smirk up at him, your teeth digs deeper into your lower lip, refusing to break character. “Well, it’s a good thing we have all night then, sir. A water hose doesn’t just fire once does it?”

“Fuck.” Shutting his eyes, his head falls back to reveal his gulping jugular. Already so malleable? Yeah, he’s definitely not going to last. The first round. “Okay, okay. Resume.”

Your fingers reach the hem of his boxers, skimming through his tan, lustrous inner thighs. He jerks, his hard member jabbing out the soft cotton, begging to be freed. “So I was wondering if there is any way I could get out of this punishment, sir. My parents can’t find out that I’ve been a bad girl. I’ll do anything you want me to do, sir.”

“I see, Miss Y/L/N… How about, you warm up my lap for me first? I’m feeling slightly cold.” He wets his lips and bounces on his toes, his hard length jolting along with his legs.

“Oh, of course, sir.” When you stand up, you make sure to do it slowly, curving your body towards him to give him a good look at your breasts. He doesn’t miss the chance to devour them with his eyes.

Your hips begin to sway in the rhythm of the slow sensual music while you turn until your back faces him. You feel his glare immediate follow your ass, skirt sloshing side to side to reveal your plush cheeks. But rather than falling onto his lap as he wants, you stride over his leg, hand trailing across his chest as you begin to walk around him.

Massaging up his bicep, your hand arrives at his collar as you lick a thin strip up his neck. Taehyung shudders, struggling against his handcuffs again, cursing. “I can do anything you want me to, sir.” He shivers as you whisper into his ear, teeth grazing his skin. Your own heart is racing from excitement. Maybe you should do this more often. It’s selfish of you to do so since it’s meant to be his birthday sex after all, but you enjoy having him helt under you, seconds away from whimpering, gone be his natural preference for dominance.

As you walk around him, his head turns with you, not wishing for his sight to miss a second of this private show. Patience isn’t something he’s born with, he is a man who’s used to ceasing everything he wants. You know what must be going through his head right now, the anticipation, the hunger. So finally, when you’ve done a full circle around, hands not once missing the opportunity to feather his chest, you decide to ease him a little.

Deliberately unrushed, you sit inch by inch down onto his lap until his dick is burrowed between your warm cheeks underneath your skirt.

“Baby…” Taehyung immediately sits up, mouth arriving at the back of your neck, exhaling his hot fervour. The feeling of his skin pressed on the strip of yours between your skirt and cropped blouse has you craving for him to pound into you right now. Nothing can describe the flash of desire you get when you feel the touch of his naked body.

Then you begin to roll your hips, drawing loops of infinity with your ass to the beat of the song. The groan you elicit makes your cunt pulse. Taehyung’s stiff length jerks between your wiggling ass. His head falls onto your shoulder in a huff, metallic sound of his chains ringing as his arms clench.

“Sir, is that warm enough?” Your hips are merciless, rock back and forth, providing him with the friction he so craves. Hell, maybe you should start doing this for a living.

“Y… Yeah.” There is defeat in his voice, a croak that tells you that you’re the only woman to ever put him in his place like this. The only he’d ever submit to.

Slowly, you peel yourself off his lap, delighting in the small stained spot on his boxers, evidence of his drooling dick. You sink onto your knees before him again, fingers crawling playfully up his thighs. “You seem a little stiff, sir. Do you want me to ease some tension in your muscles for you?”

“Please be a dear.” The fervour in his eyes as he gazes down at you is pure, undiluted. It stirs something beastly inside you.

You’ve sucked Taehyung off a hundred times before, but something about the fact that he’s handcuffed to a chair on his birthday, almost cumming his pants, makes you especially eager this time.

A string of precum greets you as you take his lividly throbbing cock out of its restraints. You spare it a few pumps before you enclose the warm wet cave of your mouth around it. It’s perhaps evil of you, but you cut to the chase and go straight to deep-throating. He lets out a yelp of surprise when his tip slides smoothly through and hits the back of your throat. He’s going to cum soon, might as well give him your all, right?

Your mouth has gotten used to resisting the gag reflexes by now, engulfing him like a strawberry ice lolly during the summer heat. The occasional scrape of your teeth, just the way he loves, has him shiver beneath you. If he likes it rough, he should be able to take it rough. And when your tongue begins its inexorable attack at the pinch of skin where his tip ties to his shaft, Taehyung lets out a throaty cry. Not even a moan, a cry.

“Fuck, I’m losing my mind. Y/N, oh my god, keep going.” Through your curled lashes, you gaze up at him. His brows furrowed, guzzling up his favourite view in the world, maybe second to you riding him. Jaw unscrewed, he heaves at your large feign-innocent eyes, wrists dying to be freed so he could fuck your mouth.

Two throbs at the base of his cock, and he’s cumming right down your throat. It’s a larger load that either of you’d expected, telling of his obscene concupiscence. There’s so much cum that you can’t swallow, so you have no choice but to let it flow down his cock. With you still staring at him, he watches his white hot fluid dribble out your mouth and onto him, his features screwed tight in pleasure.

“Lick it off, baby.” Taehyung rasps, half his mind completely gone, dilapidated.

You hum as you spread his liquid around his tip and along his shaft, lips now glossy, before you slowly lap it all up. You know he is particularly sensitive after cumming, so you wallow in teasing his head a bit more, watching him writhe on his seat, whining your name. “Sir, how was that?”

Taehyung’s head is tossed back, eyes shut to recover from that post-orgasm intensity. He doesn’t speak at first, still trying to piece back together his mind. “I… That was… You deserve a worse punishment for doing that to me.”

Your core twists in excitement.

Briskly, you fish out the key to his handcuffs and unlock him, thrumming from the molten fury in his eyes. “What did I do wrong, sir?”

As soon as his wrists are free from their shackles, Taehyung stands and throws you over his shoulders. Smack. He hits your ass, your skirt doing little to soften the blow. You never knew yourself to be a masochist until it comes to Taehyung; his are the only hands you’d allow to spank you.

Then he tosses you onto the bed, your skirt flying up to reveal your peachy ass as you land on your front. “You just love it when I’m under your control, don’t you? Even this innocent school-girl roleplay is just a disguise to get me to beg for you, isn’t it?”

Twisting your head back, a smirk plays at your lips as you regard his frustrated yet immensely pleased expression. His fingers glide up your silky stockings enticingly, sending shivers coursing up your legs. “Sir, I have no idea what you mean.”

“Look at your fucking ass in this skirt, holy fuck.” He begins to knead the supple flesh of your behind, pushing up the skirt until it sit on your lower back.

Another smack.

He’s such an ass man through and through.

“Do you like my uniform, sir?” You moan between his smacks. Nothing really is compelling you to continue with this roleplay, but something tells you that Taehyung is bursting from it.

“I fucking love it, baby girl.” Smack. You can practically hear him grinning in satisfaction. His palm massages the redness he inflicted like smearing paint, touch growing closer and closer to your core.

Then with one push at your inner thighs, he spreads your legs wide open.

“Fucking hell. Crotchless? You’re really spoiling me tonight.” Like a little boy on Christmas Day, he marvels at your glistening slit, gaping at him in anticipation. Another small surprise for him.

“Of course- ahh!” You break into a moan when he runs two fingers down your folds, all the way to your bulging clit. “For the birthday boy.”

“Okay, now you definitely deserve the best head.” He lies on his front and grips onto your thighs to pull himself up to face level with your cunt.

You won’t tell him to prevent further ego inflation but every head he gives is the best head.

“Wait, Taehyung, it’s your birthday. Just let me-” You squirm in his clutch, trying to flip around, but he holds you still.

“Exactly. My birthday. I get to eat you out if I want to. It’s what my baby girl deserves.” For some reason, you blush. Who are you to resist head, especially from Taehyung?

Heat of his breath tickling your entrance, you plant your face onto the pillow and clamp down on your lip, preparing for that mind-twisting sensation that has a way of robbing you of sanity. His mouth finds your thighs first, kissing, sucking, blooming roses of his affection. You let him mark you - you are completely his tonight. Then his breath arrives at the sensitive crevice where your folds begin, a slow seduction towards your tingling bud. When he finally latches onto your clit, your eyes roll to the back of your empty head, a whimper ensuing.

His tongue is a predatory serpent, ceaselessly rolling your bud in his mouth. He’s rough, generous with the waves of pleasure he sends. You wish you aren’t lying on your front right now, just so you can look down at his concentrated face and pull on his wavy mop of hair.

With every flick of his tongue, you swim closer to your orgasm. His fingers are digging to your thighs, his breath quickening with his face buried in you. When he adds his long slender digits, you know your demise is round the corner.

“Fuck, daddy.” You yell into the pillow, that name coming so naturally to you that it requires zero brain processing to leave you.

Taehyung hums in response, those baritone vibrations shaking into your core until your leg involuntarily kicks back. Gripping onto the sheets, a string of profanities expel from you as that euphoric current comes crashing onto you, drowning your surroundings so that all you feel is his face, his tongue, his teeth, still mercilessly going despite your state.

“Fuck!” A tear slips from the violent stimulation at your clit continuing past your orgasm. You guess it’s payback.

Not one minute later, a second climax hits you, this time stronger than the last as it rides on the residual pleasure. The orgasm disperses into tension down your thighs, dying for more friction to relieve your cunt of the blissful ache. Warm tears stain the pillowcase your face is buried in, your cries muffled.

His pace gradually decelerates into soft kisses on your flower, fingers withdrawing to massage your folds. You are motionless, completely depleted after the dopaminergic release. Delicately, his lips travel up to your ass, where he sucks more colours as he awaits your recovery.

“How was that, baby girl?” Taehyung slowly turns you over onto your back, a lazy grin on his glistening mouth, your wetness slathered all over his nose. It views in your eyes as a display of your possession. You don’t miss the triumph in his gaze; you wonder if he likes making you cum more than cumming himself.

“Your mouth is fucking incredible.” You bask in the post-orgasm high, pulling him atop you, hand locking in his curls. You taste yourself as you kiss him, slowly and lethargically, your energy ebbing back to you.

“Yeah?” He smiles against your lips. “You know what’s incredible? You in this fucking uniform.” Pulling away, he scans your body top to bottom. And as you follow his gaze, you notice his hardened cock, once again ready for another round. You surprise yourself with how ready you are to take him, exhaustion not yet settled in from his overstimulation.

“You like it that much?” You press your lips together, and as used to Taehyung’s constant flattery as you should be, you still feel proud.

Taehyung nestles his face onto your neck. “If we went to high school together, I would 100% have been your bitch. Not a single doubt. Whipped.”

Your heart squeezes. Whipped.

You kiss his hair, resisting the urge to make a comment about what he said. “Haha. I would not have noticed you, I was obsessed with the captain of the football team.”

Taehyung lifts his head up, frowning at you with a playful annoyance. “Are you sure you want to mention another man in front of me right now?” For emphasis of his possessive mood, he grinds his member into your thigh. You can’t help but push back to feel him digging into you. Possessive Taehyung toys with your strings.

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” You taunt further, pulling on his locks. Taehyung’s competitiveness is an easy target for manipulation; everytime he starts to go soft and sappy on you, all you have to do is tug on his jealousy and the bull will come charging back full force.

Surely enough, he growls into your ear. “Don’t forget who you’re speaking to, miss. You wouldn’t want your parents knowing the naughty things you’ve been up to, would you?” So he does love the roleplay. His tone slightly sarcastic, but also not really. But before you can hiss a witty response, he silences you with his teeth on your neck. As he sucks on your tender skin, your nails rake across his back in pleasure. He’s growing bolder with his territory.

“More hickeys?” You purr, not exactly in the complaining tone you’d wished it would come out in.

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” He mocks, leaving a wet purple trail across your throat.

You allow it for the sole reason that it’s his birthday. Otherwise, you’d be kicking off.

You’ve never liked the idea of hickeys, the notion that someone feels entitled to mark your skin as theirs. You don’t belong to anyone. This is your own skin, and no one else’s. Yet - right now, as Taehyung nips at your neck, hand yanking on your uniform’s tie to pull you closer to him, you feel like you do belong…

You don’t finish that thought.

Reaching down, you begin stroking his patiently awaiting cock. “You’re brave for someone who’s dick is in my hands.”

Taehyung breaks away from your neck and reviews his work of art. The wolfish grin an indication of his pride. “You’re going to kill me tomorrow.” He says without the fear that should come with such statement.

Yes, you’re definitely going to.

“Then fuck me until I forgive you.” You challenge, unbuttoning the first button of your shirt while your stroking quickens.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Fingers scrambling to undo the rest of your shirt, his mouth finds yours again, sucking on your bottom lip until it’s sure to swell later. Your bra falls loose with a dexterous flick, a gesture he can do in his sleep. Yet, he makes no move to remove your checkered tie at all.

When you try to loosen it yourself, he grabs your hand and pins it against the pillow. “That stays on tonight, along with the skirt and the stockings.” Voice laced with carnality, there’s a feral glint in his glare.

“Yes, sir.” Smile unstifled, you fall back into obedience.

Taehyung dares to plant more bitemarks down your chest before taking your nipple in his mouth, tormenting the sensitive bud relentlessly. Patience wearing thin, you line his tip with your slit, dallying it around to coat it with your dampness.

“Wait, grab a condom.” He mutters.

“Don’t need one.”

He looks up, confused. “What? Why?”

“I started taking the pill. Surprise.”

The look of pure shock and delight that usurps his face, for the third? fourth? time tonight, sows a seed of joy in your core.

“Wait, seriously?” You swear you feel his cock twitch happily in your hand. That stupid boxy grin that makes him look like a kid again… You want to kiss him dizzy.

“Yes, seriously.” You would never admit that you started taking contraception solely for Taehyung, because that would be weird, you absolutely did not do it for Taehyung. You’d always wanted to start contraception anyway. This was your own decision, influenced by no one else.

Certainly. No one else. Of course.

“Holy fucking shit. Y/N, you’re amazing.” Taehyung cannot contain his glee despite its juxtaposition with his pulsating cock about to enter you any moment now. “All this for me?” He asks, still in disbelief, as if the answer isn’t already written in big bold black letters.

“For the birthday boy, and the birthday boy only.” Your nose grazes his. These are the very words you’d be embarrassed to be caught saying to any guy, yet you’re currently too fuelled by the desire to please him to berate yourself.

Without another second gone to waste, Taehyung pushes his girthy member into your heat. Though it glides in with ease, your walls are stretched so wide that your inside stir, a sore pressure squeezing around him with each thrust. You always seem to forget how well he fits into you, and so each time comes as an eye-rolling surprise - the way he fills you so completely and entirely with his hefty cock.

“Oh fuck, you feel so-” He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, too caught up in the raw unobstructed sensation of your slick walls.

Lifting your leg over his shoulder, the cavernous angle allows him to jolt deeper into you, his tip violently punching through you. While one hand remains on your ankle, the other twists your tie around his wrist and pulls as if it were a leash. “Sir…” You choke out at the constriction around your throat.

“Are you going to bad girl again?” He grunts, sweat beading on his forehead while he continues to ram his hips.

“No, sir. I won’t touch myself again,” you moan under him, “unless you are watching.”

“Fuck, Y/N.” One eye shut, Taehyung sticks his thumb into your mouth to suckle on. Your tongue swirls around his finger, biting down every time you need to shriek in pleasure.

After a while, he flips your bodies over so that you are riding him, watching, mesmerised, as your breasts bounce freely each time you spring on his dick. Your body falls back at the rippling coil inside you, hands braced on the mattress to keep you upright.

Taehyung could watch you ride him for the rest of his life. Hell, if he has a heart attack and dies this very moment, he would die the happiest man.

Sometimes, while you’re fucking, Taehyung gets a sudden rush of jealousy. Jealous that he wasn’t the one to ruin your innocence. Jealous that someone else other than him got to, or still gets to, fuck you like this.

He pulls on your tie so that you fall over him, lips colliding to remind himself that he’s the one fucking you right now, the rest shouldn’t matter. The way you moan into him reassures that no one has ever, or can ever, fuck you the way he does.

Then a messy whimper leaves you like a symphony, and for the third time tonight, you come undone, unravelled.

“Fu-u-u-uckkk.” You cry, arms looping around Taehyung’s neck, holding on as if he’s your lifeline because you yourself are unsure how much of this you can take before you drown.

“Baby, you’re so good, cumming for me again.” He sings, knowing that words like these thrums something in your core. You lap up his praise, smiling against his teeth despite yourself. It’s honestly a miracle how your usual brusque controlling self is suddenly transformed into his docile little girl, especially after a round of orgasms. “I’m going to cum again too.”

“Daddy, fuck, please. Cum inside me.” You pant, hips bouncing as fast as your aching muscles allow. Truth be told, no one has ever finished inside you before. And you are dying to find out how it feels.

Taehyung seems to know this. He grabs onto your waist, holding you in place, and plunges unforgivingly into you, penetrating your walls so ardently that you are shoved near the brink of yet another orgasm.

A grumble rippling through the room, finally, you feel a hot jet shoot into you, squirt after squirt of his thick cum filling you up. He frowns, a hoarse cry from the immense pleasure arriving at his cock, taking over him. Fucking hell, this is hot.

And kind of really intimate.

However, you notice that his pace has yet to slacken.

“I’m not done with you yet.” His eyes open to reveal pupils glowing with vehemence. Your clit throbs.

Still inside you, he turns you over so that you are both on your sides spooning, one of your legs hoisted up by his rough grip. The slap of your skin rings crisp and clear as he continues to fuck you. You lean back into him, ignoring the sticky coat of sweat coalescing your skins. His cum lubricates each thrust as you feel some spill out of you. His fingers start to stimulate your clit to help you reach your ultimate climax, viciously rubbing your sensitive swollen bud so much that you begin to see stars.

For him to keep fucking you even after cumming despite his tremendous sensitivity… Taehyung is going wild tonight.

“Are you going to cum one last time for me, baby girl?” He pants heavily in your ear.

“Yes, daddy.” Your own cunt is leaking profusely its tears of joy; you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before.

In a few more thrusts, Taehyung is cumming inside you again, this time naturally less than the last, yet from his loud coarse groan, you deduce is much more intense. He pounds slowly yet robustly, milking every last drop into you. Due to the sheer oversensitivity, he has no choice but to pull out of you immediately after, leaving a spurt of his cum surging out of you.

“Oh my god.” He moans into your neck, both your heads spinning from the vigour of your intercourse.

But he knows you’re still a minute away from your orgasm. And never one to disappoint, he quickly sits up and spreads your legs open.

“Holy fuck.” Taehyung freezes at the sight of his cum slowly trickling out of you. To him, it’s a sign of possession, ownership. Apart from his ex, he has never fucked without protection, certainly not those random one night stands. To him, it’s a sign of intimacy.

Catching his white liquid in two fingers, he inserts it into your already gaping mouth, smearing it all over your tongue. In your cute little braids, you swallow it willingly, and Taehyung swears that he could fuck you again right then and there.

“You like that?” He asks, sticky fingers entering your core, feeling how clenched you are due to the pent up pressure.

“Mhmm.” You nod, hips lifting off the bed so that he can reach deeper. His thumb massages your clit, long digits moving in a come hither motion, stretching your walls in cusps that his cock did not have the ductility to reach. “Ahh, shit.”

Determination worn on his face despite his tiring limbs, Taehyung fucks you with his finger as you thrash beneath him. Your clit is already exploding with sensitivity from the previous rounds, and on top of that, with his thick knuckles push into you again and again, you are clawing at him while your whole body convulses.

The coil within your finally snaps. The ecstatic sensation exploding within you, flooding your every fibre until tears spring out your eyes. A clear liquid shoots out of you to both your surprises, and sprays its droplets towards Taehyung. His eyes widen, marvelling at your beauty as you cum not only on his fingers but all over him.

“Jesus Christ!” Chuffed with himself evidently, he leans in to kiss you, deep and desperate, while his fingers slow their steady thrusts to let you ride out the remainder of your high. His mouth is warm, a familiar taste as you regain your sense of self and surrounding that you tend to lose during sex.

As your brain begins to function again, the first thought you register is how much you don’t want to stop kissing Taehyung, how much you don’t want to let go of him.

“Taehyung…” You whine, bottom lip in the possession of his teeth.

“Feeling good?” He lets go of his bite, but lips remain dearly magnetised to yours. Dragging out his fingers, the wet noises of your clenched walls ring. Taehyung sucks on his dripping digits as you push his sweat-dampened fringe out of his face to survey his eyes. Full of yearning. And the way he is sucking… appears almost as a last display of submission after completely ruining you. A last shred of I’m yours.

“So.” You peck him. “Fucking.” Another. “Good.” Peck. Your bodies naked, your skirt creased and skin claggy, you refuse to release each other from your embrace. “But Taehyung…”

“What it is, my baby?” From on top of you, he is looking down at you as if you’re some delicate little buttercup in a barren field, a ray of joy radiating from his smile.

You tense. My baby.

You two might be kind of screwed...

But you’ll think about that another time. Right now, you just want to be held and kissed and looked after.

“It’s not fair. This was meant for you, but you made it about me.” You don’t know what’s taken over you but you pout at him, the same way he would do to you when he wanted something. But why, of course, it’s just like Taehyung to make you come four times despite it being his birthday sex. You don’t even know what to expect for your own birthday.

His own hair dishevelled, he tucks your loose braids behind your ears, a gesture of affection. “Nothing gets me off more than making you feel good. This was about me. This was everything I wanted. Best sex I’ve ever had. But in what world would my best sex not include making you squirt?”

Your don’t know why but you feel incredibly vulnerable right now, your hard edges softening. It’s the after-sex glow that you’re seeing everything in. You feel warm, bubbly, tender.

And now your chest feels weird, like something itching to rupture out of your ribcage. You want it to stop, yet also don’t.

“Taehyung…” You whine his name again. “No fair… You can’t be like this.” Your brain offers no explanation as to why you’ve adopted his usual saccharine manner, other than the fact that he has fucked you completely senseless.

“Like what?” He asks, egging the rare words of sweetness out of you.

“Like… You know… So giving and nice and perf…” Your voice trails off when you notice his excited smirk. God, what the fuck are you saying? You flush in embarrassment.

“Perf…? His smug grin only grows at your shyness.

“Stop. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Stop teasing me.” Taehyung chuckles at your frustration, taking the chance to kiss the tip of your nose before you try to squirm out of his arms like a cat.

“No, go on. You need to be better with your words. Tell me how you feel.”

Your entire face is heated.

“I… You’re just… You treat me so well. How am I supposed to sleep with anyone else anymore?” You immediately wish you didn’t say it out loud. Because your phrasing implies that you want monogamy, commitment. It’s not what you meant at all, you don’t think. You just meant… You don’t know what you just meant.

You search his eyes frantically, in fear that he’s thinking the same, only to find them calm, content. “I mean, I guess I’m pretty fucking awesome. Thanks.”

Rolling your eyes, you’re grateful for his childish humour obstructing any serious consideration of your words.

“Don’t make me take it back, moron.” You scoff, pinching his round cheek between your knuckles.

“Too bad, it’s my birthday, everything I say is the law.” Still hovering over you, he presses gentle kisses all over your face, delighting in the way you pretend to hate it even though you can’t suppress the smile. When he stops, his face is sincere, the playfulness gone. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Thank you so much, honestly, from the bottom of my heart. This was… the best birthday I’ve ever had. Not just the sex, but the whole time with you, the dinner, the party, everything.” Your heartbeat quickens, unable to hold his gaze so you focus on the curve of his collarbone instead. “Even better than the pirate-themed birthday party my parents threw me when I turned eight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Honoured. It was my pleasure.”

“Seriously, I lov-”

Taehyung catches himself before he could finish that sentence. Those unspoken words hang over your heads like a puppet.

Because for some reason, although you’ve said ‘I love you’ to each other a plethora of times in the past, this time feels like a different connotation is implicated. The line between platonic love and romantic love feels blurred. And neither of you know which love is meant.

Taehyung is a sentimental guy, you tell yourself. Of course he means he loves you as his best friend. And that’s surely what you mean too when your eyes are pleading him to keep kissing you.

There’s a moment of silence, for you both to gather your scattered thoughts, staring at each other, unsure what to say.

You clear your throat, dispelling the tension in the air.

“Lets go clean up.”

“Yeah.” Taehyung rolls off you, avoiding your eye as much as you are avoiding his.

The clean up is wordless, both pretending to be too preoccupied to spare the unspoken words any thought.

Except they’re all that’s playing at your mind.

Taehyung didn’t mean it like that. Taehyung doesn’t love you like that. You’re just overthinking. And he’s overthinking about you overthinking. You two are fine, you’re normal.

Examining the purple clouds he had imprinted on you, a stream down your neck, a cluster around your breasts, then the large ones between your thighs, you’re surprised to find not one drip of annoyance. A scary thought dawns on you. What if you like them? What if you like being marked by Taehyung?

What the fuck is happening?

You wait for him to crack a joke to ease up the awkwardness, glancing up at him in the mirror as you dry your hands on the towel by the sink. He doesn’t. Instead, he’s perched on the edge of the bath tube. Zoned out.

Have you finally taken it too far? Finally overstepped that hazy nebulous line that you perhaps should have set more clear?

“Hey, Taehyung.” His head snaps up at you, eyes large with uncertainty. “You okay?”

You want to reach out to touch him, brush his cheek, kiss his forehead. But you hold back. Not wanting to fuel the fire of confusion. But then he tugs you towards him by the hem of your skirt, corner of his lips turning up, imbuing you with a gust of relief.

“Just thinking.” His fingers crawl up your legs, holding onto your hips like his hands belong to nowhere else. “Come here.”

Chest pounding, you walk towards him, let him sit you down on his lap. Though you wish not to look at him with his face so close to yours, your eyes cannot pull away from his striking beauty. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Taehyung’s feel more like the front door to your home. When you look into them, no matter how you’re feeling, whether you’d been fighting or kissing, you just feel embraced in a cloud of clarity, security.

You don’t want to think about the complication between you two at the moment. You just want to be looking at him, touching him, holding him.

You watch him glance at your lips, hesitancy playing at his mind. You know he’s thinking the same.

“We’re okay, right?” Throat tight, you ask, rather pointlessly.

“Of course. We’re great, same old us.” His arm around your waist feels warm and safe, and when your mirror his growing smile, you almost believe him.

But when your lips gently press against his, you know it’s a lie.

You’re not the same old you.

Taehyung feels different. Skin smoother, tastes sweeter, mouth softer. The roughness of his usual kisses is gone, replaced by an inexplicable tenderness that makes you feel things in your gut. You swat those feelings away.

Something is changing. And as much as you don’t want to acknowledge it, you don’t think you can ignore its booming presence.

You don’t dare make a sound as he carries you back to his room. You don’t protest when he throws one of his t-shirts over your head. Nor when he holds you into his chest, lips tracing your forehead with a soft sleepy smile.

Noting that you’re being uncharacteristically quiet, he pokes the nub of your nose. “Who stole your tongue?”

Act normal. Just be your loud annoying self.

“Uh… You.” You murmur, unable to meet his eye even with strenuous effort

Well, fuck.

“Okay, let me give it back to you.” Before you can protest, he is kissing you again. And you want to push him away because you feel your heart lurching to your throat, and you don’t think it is healthy. But your feeble hand that was meant to shove him off lands weakly on his pec, and somehow with a mind of its own, snakes up to his neck and pulls him in. His tongue unfurls onto yours, gently sweeping away any logic.

When his lips finally leave yours, you’re out of breath.

You don’t know what’s happened to you. Since when did you react like this to Taehyung?

Forcing your usual smirk, you try to wear a convincing facade that you feel nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m expecting great things for my birthday, though to be honest this is going to be hard to beat.” The underlying dishonesty tastes sour. You’ve never had to put on a front with Taehyung, and doing so now feels… alien.

“I’ll start planning it tomorrow, don’t you worry, your highness.” Taehyung pretends to roll his eyes at your demand, though the circles he’s rubbing down your back is telling of his genuinity. He isn’t an classically romantic guy, not one for flowers and chocolate, but more a sentimental gift that leaves a deep meaning. You know you’ll love whatever he plans. It worries you that you’ll perhaps love it too much. “But seriously, thank you for everything. The easel? How much did that cost you? I’ve looked at that brand before and there’s no way it was cheap.”

“It doesn’t matter how much it costed.” Warmth is creeping up on your cheeks again. You try to excuse it as Taehyung’s radiant body heat. “Let’s just say I had to resort to prostitution to pay for it, okay?”

Bodies shuddering in laughter, some tension in the air is thankfully alleviated by your humour, filling you with hope that things should and will return to normal in no time. You just need to stop overthinking.

“Hey, can you sleep here tonight?”

You freeze at his request. Because despite your constant fucking around with each other, one clear boundary has been that you don’t physically sleep with each other after sex. If you do sleep over, it is always just a completely platonic gesture. No kissing or fondling. Something about falling asleep in each other’s naked bodies is too mushy and couple-like. The type of thing that make you puke.

“Why?” You frown defiantly at him. “It’s not even your birthday anymore, it’s past midnight. So technically, I don’t have to treat you like royalty anymore.”

“Why not?” Taehyung rebuts, that cocky expression making you want to nipple-cripple him. This difficult son of a bitch, does he not know that the line is going hazy between you two?

“It’s weird, we just had sex.”

“So? What do you have against sleeping together after sex? Scared that you’ll fall in love with me?”

Your chest sinks to your stomach. You swear to god, Kim Taehyung is going to be the fucking death of you, stupid shit. How could he even say something like that so casually?

“In your fucking dreams, prick. If anything, you’d be the one to fall in love with me first, I just made you cum three times.” Taehyung chuckles at the flash of fury in your eyes, amused by how easy it is to strike a nerve in you.

“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” Though his tone is playful, and the wiggle of his brows suggests his mockery, you don’t know if he is completely joking anymore. And suddenly, everywhere that you’re touching - your entangled legs, his hands on the small of your back, your chests pressed on each other - everywhere starts to burn.

“Shut up, I’ll fucking sleep here, okay?”

And so this night, for the first time in the seven months you’ve been on-and-off fornicating alongside your unwavering friendship, you rest in Taehyung’s bed, your frame tucked snugly in his, his arm reposed on your waist. And despite your fatigue, it takes too long for sleep to find you as you watch his shoulders rise and fall in the dark, lips slightly parted, beckoning you to kiss them.

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26/12/19

© Copyright 2019

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@taexxxiiaa @shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @expensive-bangtan-girl@gingerpeachtae @spring2787 @askingtheimportantthingshere @casualminiaturetimemachine @xblackclover13x @vasysauce @deadinsidebitch2412 @emiyooa @i-dont-even-know-fck @chimycthulhu @gixanjos @hisunshiine @xtaeyi @softjellyjimin @bluemooncnblue @malfeitofeitto @bangtanfancamp @keopitae @out-of-jams

[obscureoperations]

And for the world record of asks, this person is back again. I’m just a huge sucker for your stories, I’m sorry bro 🤧🖤

When you have time and you feel like it why not try doing something like Martin’s s/o is a soldier and she just came home from, as my uncle said it, ‘Nam? So let’s say Martin is really excited since she’d been gone off and on for a couple years and a lot the final year it was all going on. He was getting ready to go to the air port but was working the last couple minutes of his shift. Then like a bus or something pulls up and she gets out and waits for him outside the shop. And he just kinda notices she’s like stoic and shell shocked so he tries his hardest to let her know he’s there and cares about her. I know that’s way too detailed but I’m a romantic fool for war reunitings like that. Also I apologize for the time shift lol. Hope you’re well, don’t feel like you have to write it 🖤

Ohh man, three decades later...

I really loved this ask, I thought it was really sweet<3 but apparently, I have to offer some sort of disclaimer.

I know nothing about war. I never wanted to be a solider. The closest I've got is an uncle who participated. I know nothing about Nam other than the textbooks-- and I'm not making light of anyone that died on either front. Let me just write the thing please... with no disrespect.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of your voice was etched into his brain, it was one of the few things that helped him fall asleep. He read the letters every day, the weeks were pretty much a blur. All filler days until Wednesday came and you had the opportunity to call him. There was so much he wanted to tell you, but he had no idea where to start. He just wanted to listen to your voice, you seemed excited at times-- almost exaggeratedly so. He just wanted to hold you. He refused to look at the news. He couldn’t imagine you immersed in such destruction. He only skimmed through the articles in fear that he might find your name in bold print in the very back.

Despite the situation, Martin was extremely proud of you. Your bravery, the sheer commitment to your country. You always said that you were going to enlist... so it didn’t matter whether or not you were drafted. For the longest, he figured you were joking. There was no way he could Imagine you, over there. Surrounded by chaos and destruction--and death. But, you were never more sure of anything in your entire life. He heard all the stories about your father,and his numerous accomplishments and accolades from war. The way your eyes would light up whenever you talked about him. He knew that you were about to live out your dream.

You were extremely serious about your training, you always had been. He was left in awe of your sheer athleticism. Even before you even mentioned your interest in enlisting-- you seemed as though you were preparing for something.

The weeks before your departure flew by in a blur. Each moment seemed to slip through his fingers, he wanted to be around you all the time. He tried to take in every detail, from your smile to the freckles on your cheeks. The way sunlight would bounce off your hair, the feel of your hand holding his. There was only time that he actually broke down, he actually begged you not to go. “We.. we can run off somewhere.. They’d never find you. J-just please don’t leave.” The words just seemed to escape, he instantly regretted them as he buried his face against your neck. He tried to control the sobs, but they continued to roll in wave after wave. So forceful, his voice no longer sounded like his own as his fingers grasp aimlessly at the hem of your shirt.

You weren’t phased...you didn’t yell at him for asking you to put off your dream. You began to rock him, gently as your fingers card through his hair “Sweetheart..it’s alright..It's gonna be alright. I wouldn’t leave if I felt any differently.” More muffled sobs, and you hold him tighter. You could faintly hear him mumble “I’m sorry” “It’s okay.” After a while, something seemed to switch over in his brain, you never lied. There was no way that you would leave him forever. You were going to be alright. He was sure of it. Needless to say he ended up ushering you upstairs, to your room. If Cuda wondered anything about him-- that was just too bad. He was adamant on staring with you for the rest of the night.

~~

He shouldn’t be this nervous.. It was the moment he had been anticipating for years. You had been involved for the duration of the War, the Months home seemed so few and far in between. Every time you returned, he promised himself not to get disillusioned. He enjoyed the moments he had with you--but constantly had to remind himself that it was only temporary. Sure, it sounds like an awful way of living--but he refused to let himself become complacent. He didn’t want to pretend that everything was normal, and you were finally here for good. He clung to you all the tighter--seemingly finding fascination in the little things. He appreciated you so much more. The depth of your kindness,all the little things you did to show him your love.

Martin’s hands flew over the register keys in a flurry of motion. If he kept moving, his hands didn’t seem to shake. His stomach was in knots, heartbeat hammering against his ribs. He could still remember the call from yesterday at two thirty in the afternoon. It was a call directly to the store, somehow the ring didn’t sound the same. For some reason, an image of you flashed through his mind and for a moment he wanted to be sick. That was another recurring change since your departure. He was so afraid to pick up the telephone. He was so scared that someday he’d pick up the phone to be met with a stranger informing him of the worst.

He reaches for the receiver only to be met with an empty dial tone. Someone else must have grabbed it. Knowing Martin’s luck, it was probably Him. He did his best to reduce the line, scanning..bagging items in a frenzy. After a while, Cuda Moved to join him behind the counter, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The old Man had been alarmingly nice to him for the past few months. It was almost like when you first went away. Martin refused to leave his room, he’d neglect to come down for breakfast or supper. The old man would bang on the door, before slamming down the tray. “Eat! Nosferatu… I will not have you wither away in my house!” In a way your departure, and Martin’s reaction towards it left him actually human in Cuda’s eyes. He must care about the sanctity of human life just a bit. He cared about you. He tried to keep his insults to a minimum.

“Here… take it!” Cuda shoved the receiver into Martin’s hands.

He wanted to be sick… his vision began to blacken. He was expecting to be met with one of the patrol officer’s voices.

“H.. hello?”

“Baby, it’s over!”

It was you… he was so relieved.

“What?”

He could hear loud jeers from the background, muffled laughter as you spoke in the background.

“It’s over.. It’s finally over! I’m coming home on the next flight.”

From the sounds of it, you were at a pub or something, he could hear the jeers from your fellow soldiers. You seemed so overly happy, nearly frantic. He wanted to hold you so badly.

“Okay… When can I see you?” He tries to keep his voice as calm as possible. You weren’t calm in the least, he could already tell. You were simply trying to amp yourself up.. Attempting to sound excited as possible. His heart ached, just imagining everything that you’ve seen.

“Tomorrow.. Honey. Please meet me at the airport.” and with that, you hung up.

He would meet you there.

~

That night passed in a gray and grainy blur. He couldn't sleep, he kept envisioning your face. He continued to hear massive explosions, the sound of brick collapsing over mortar. Children crying as missiles explode. He had this vision of you huddled in a doorway with one of your fellow men clinging to your arm. He could almost feel your tears seeping into his shirt, Please hold me closer. Your eyes were wide and frantic as you search his face for any form of shelter.

You’re alright...y/n.. Everything’s okay. Just come back to me now

~

Once there was finally a lull in the barrage of customers, Martin found himself staring out the window. This was the day, he couldn’t wait till three thirty. He would be at the airport, eagerly awaiting for you to arrive. It must have been a smudge on the glass, or either his mind was really starting to slip. Directly outside, standing under a billboard for Pepsi cola, he saw a lone figure that eerily resembled you.

“No… couldn’t be. It was only half past noon. “

He steps in closer pretending to wipe off the glass--as he peers in through the window. All color seems to drain from his face, pins and needles. It was you. Poised directly outside the shop, at the bus stop- duffel bag resting at your feet. You looked so tired and thin, he could almost see right through you.

You looked incredibly gaunt, the delicate curves of your cheeks replaced with harsh lines and angles.Your head was tilted towards ground, you were fiddling with some small object in your hand. Martin rushes out in an instant, completely ignoring the older woman that stepped into line. Everything seemed to move in slow motion the second he barged out the door.

The cars honked at him as he darts across the street, it was mere seconds until he was at your side. Grasping at your hands. “ Y/n… love, please look at me!”

You seemed to be in a bit of a trance as you continued to fiddle with the object in hand. From the looks of it, it was a small polished stone. Martin really didn't need to know where it came from or from who. He didn’t stop to question it, all he needed was you. The moment your eyes actually met, his arms immediately moved to your waist. You nearly fainted. Whether from shock dehydration or whatever else-- you found your arms draped across his neck. He carried you inside the shop, past the customers--ignoring Cuda’s stare, all the way into the break room.

The old man’s eyes settled on you, and he decided to keep most of his complaints at bay. He was so tired of watching Martin melancholically wither away at the table. You were home now, and hopefully you'd move him out of his sight.

~

Martin rummaged through the coolers to find ice packs to place along your neck. Digging out fresh pieces of steak to soothe your swollen eyes. You could hear Cuda ranting behind the walls--you glance over to Martin fretting over the deep freezer.

“You know that it was you right?” Your voice was barely a whisper. Martin immediately drops the frozen slabs of beef in his hand, as he scrambles close to your side.

“Me what?” His fingers lightly trace over your arms as he nuzzles in close. After everything, he was not going to cry. Not again. You were actually here. The faint smell of your skin… and your shampoo. The way your right hand immediately entangles in his hair. He missed you so much. He began to tell you all the things that he wanted to say, without the restraints of parchment paper.

He wanted to take care of you. Despite your tightly starched uniform, the pins on your collar digging into his cheek, you were exhausted.. To the truest extent of the word.

You were slouched back against the brick, sitting on top of one of Cuda’s deep freezers. The sight alone reminded him of the beginning of your relationship. He wanted to scoop you up into his arms, only to escape through the back window and sprint back to your place.

But instead, he was finally looking at you, in all of your glory, and completely broken at the same time. He continued to hold you, arms draped across your waist as you murmured...

“The memory of your face..Mar-you've got me through so much. I was never gonna leave you."

[mldrgrl]

No Such Thing as Perfect

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Here you are, the long-awaited sequel to A Few Thousand Plus One.  Mulder and Scully’s first date.  

He’s driving her nuts.  Not because he’s doing something, but because he’s not doing something.  It’s been nearly six weeks since he made the insinuation that he was going to ask her out on a date, but there’s been no further mention of it since he brought it up.  More importantly, it’s been nearly six weeks since she insinuated she would say yes, and he’s done nothing about it.

She could tell she surprised the both of them by agreeing to a date.  She would admit, though not out loud and certainly not to Mulder, that she was curious about what a date with him would be like.  He was right, it had been so long since she’d been out with a man she could barely remember when it was, let alone what the guy’s name was.  Ron?

So why then, nearly six weeks later, was she still waiting for him to make his move?  Was he not as genuine as he seemed?  Was he waiting for a perfect moment?  They’d been in town for the last four weekends straight, a record for them, and they were coming up on another.  She can’t handle the anticipation anymore and she’s a little tired of the monotony of housework and errands.

They’re shutting down on Friday evening, he’s already got his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie loosened.  She packs up her laptop slowly and takes her time with the straps of her bag to work up the nerve.  Finally, she takes the few steps needed to stand in front of his desk and taps her nails lightly against the empty space in front of his nameplate.

“Mulder,” she says.  “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Might play some basketball at the rec center.  The Gunmen are having a hack-off at some point and I’ve been told I could have the honor of adjudicating.  Wanna come?”

“You owe me a date.”

His eyes grow wide at first and his forehead wrinkles as he lifts his brows, but then he smiles so broadly that the apples of his cheeks become suddenly prominent and his eyes turn into twinkling crescent moons.

“Scully, are you asking me out?”

“You’re the one who asked, I’m just holding you to it.”

“Oh, I see.  It’s about accountability then?”

“And trying to get it over with so we can move on with our lives.”

“Oh.”  His smile falls flat and her stomach drops as she realizes how harsh that sounded.

“I don’t mean it like that.  Only that it’s been six weeks since you asked and...I thought you would have planned something by now.  Or are you going to wait another seven years?”

“No, I guess I just wasn’t quite sure you took me seriously.”

“Were you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“So…”

“So...I’ll pick you up tomorrow night?  How’s seven?”

“Seven works.”

“Then it’s a date?”

As bold as she was to bring it up, she’s suddenly hesitant again.  A date means trying on a dozen outfits and finding something wrong with every one of them.  A date means carefully selecting the right perfume.  A date means spending extra time on her hair and make-up.  A date means butterflies and expectations.  Hopefully.  If it’s done right.  A date means looking at the man who’s her closest friend, and at this point, maybe even her only friend, a little differently.

“Yes,” she says, slowly.    “It’s a date.”

*****

After a sleepless night, she regrets bringing up the date at all.  The continued anticipation of when he would ask was less stressful than the anticipation of the actual date.  She tossed and turned thinking about how things would go, what they would talk about, what it would mean going forward.  And god, what was she going to wear?

She’s at the mall in the morning before it even opens, waiting impatiently at the doors of a Macy’s as the manager fumbles with the keys.  She heads straight to her usual section of pantsuits galore out of force of habit, but has to remind herself she’s not shopping for work, she’s shopping for a date.  Contemporary fashion is distressing, all halter tops and paneled skirts, leather pants and bare midriffs.  Date or no date, it isn’t her.

She tries on what feels like a hundred dresses and finds flaws in almost all of them.  Too revealing, too tight, too baggy, too long, too fancy, too casual, too young, too old.  Finally, finally she finds one that she deems acceptable.  It’s navy blue, so dark it’s nearly black, a-line and sleeveless, with a simple open lace design across the collar.  She even finds a sweater to match and she knows she has a pair of heels at home that will work with it.  It’s a little shorter than she’d like, but at least the hem falls below her fingertips when she drops her arms to her sides.  Most importantly, it looks good on her and she looks like a woman on a date, not a FBI agent.

Back home from shopping, she’s surprised that it’s not even lunchtime.  Time seems to drag by, but then again, a watched clock never boils.  Or something like that.  In an effort to pass time she does laundry, she cleans, she changes her sheets.  Finally, it’s late enough to start getting ready.

In the shower, while she’s shaving her legs, it occurs to her that she’s shaving her legs for Mulder.  No, she tells herself, she’s shaving her legs for the dress she bought.  The dress she bought for her date.  With Mulder.  She bought the dress for her date with Mulder, therefore she’s shaving her legs for Mulder.  She knicks herself twice, distracted by the idea of Mulder  noticing and appreciating her smooth calves and bare thighs.

The lotion she slathers on later, the perfume she dabs behind her ears and on her wrists, the rose shade of lipstick, the hint of blush, the exposed mole above her lip, the untamed freckles, the soft curl in her hair, is all for Mulder.

It comes as a surprise to her that he’s early.  Only ten minutes before seven, but still, he’s early.  Hes never early.  She’s standing before the full length mirror on the back of her bedroom door when he knocks and she has to place a hand on her abdomen to remember to breathe.

And there he is, when she opens the door, in a dark suit and a plain silk tie, looking like he just stepped off of a GQ magazine cover.  He smiles at her and it sends a nervous flutter across her stomach.

“I know you said no flowers,” he says, presenting her with a small potted bonsai tree.  “But, I couldn’t show up empty handed.”

“Oh…”  The gift almost makes her laugh, which she finds oddly calming.

“The guy at the store said it’s easy to take care of.  Regular sunlight and water is all it needs.”

“That sounds pretty standard.”

“You look amazing.”

“Oh…”  She looks down at herself, but the plant she’s holding is now in the way.  The nervous flutter comes back though she knows it’s ridiculous.  After all, she wanted him to notice.

“I got us in at an Italian place a few blocks away.  7:30.  We can walk there.”

“Nonna’s?”

“That’s it.”

“I’ve passed by it many times.  It looks nice.”

“But not too nice.  Casual dining with a nice ambiance and two and a half stars.  I spent the morning in the Barnes & Noble cafe with a Zagat’s Guide.”

“Okay, well let me just...find a place for this and I’ll get my sweater.”

She brings the little bonsai tree over to the bay window and clears a spot on her desk for it.  Mulder stays by the door, his hands in his pockets.  She glances at him on her way to the bedroom to grab her sweater and her purse and he smiles at her.  She wonders how he can look so calm and collected right now when she feels like her nerves are tangled into knots.  She pauses, takes a deep breath, and tells herself there’s nothing to be nervous about.

“Ready?” he asks, holding his elbow out to her like an escort as she comes back into the room.

Dear god, no, she thinks.  “Ready,” she says.

***** If Scully believed in signs from the universe, and she didn’t, but if she did, a lost reservation might be a sign from the universe that they should end the date before it begins.

“I’m sorry sir,” the hostess says.  “I don’t have a reservation for a Mulder.”

“I called today, around one.  7:30.  For two.”

“Our next opening is for 9:15.”

She can tell that something sarcastic is rising in Mulder’s throat and she takes his elbow to stop him before he says something she’ll regret.  “It’s okay,” she says.  “We’ll go somewhere else.”

“I’d like to speak to the manager,” Mulder tells the hostess.

“No, we don’t,” Scully interjects, pulling on Mulder’s arm.  “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he argues, but follows her out the door.  “They can’t just lose people’s reservations.”

“Well, they did.”

“What do you want to do?”

Good question.  She looks past Mulder down the block.  There aren’t many restaurant options on this side of her neighborhood.  It’s a quieter area, mostly townhomes and a handful of bodegas.  There is a French place another three blocks or so ahead, but it’s not one she was ever interested in.  They’ve already walked all this way though and they’ve both gone to a lot of trouble for this.

“Um,” she says, stalling to make up her mind.  “We can...there’s another restaurant a few blocks…”

“Do we need a reservation?”

“I don’t know.”

Mulder scratches the back of his head for a few moments.  He looks longingly at Nonna’s, like it was something he’d had his heart set on, but then his expression changes and he drops his hand and smiles at her.  

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s give it a try.”

*****

Deep down, they both know it’s a mistake the minute they walk in the door of the next restaurant.  The maître d’, with his haughty attitude, gives it away.  He peers down his beak-like nose at his book of reservations and sniffs disapprovingly before he rather reluctantly finds an opening and leads them to a table.

The menu is in French and prices are unlisted, which says a lot.  As soon as she’s seated and she’s had a moment to give it more than a cursory glance, she feels a whole new kind of nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach.

“Mulder,” she whispers, leaning towards him a bit.  “We should go.”

“We just got here.”

“I know, but…”

“What do you think a ‘tartiflette’ is?”

“I don’t think we should get anything that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I know what escargot is, but I don’t think I’ll be having that.”

“We can do this another time.”

“Are you sure?  We’re here and no other plans for the evening.”

Scully hesitates and takes a few glances from the menu to the four corners of the restaurant.  It’s too fancy for her comfort, unnecessarily gilded, chandeliers all over the place, impressionist paintings cluttering the walls.  It doesn’t feel right for a date with Mulder.

“Madame, Monsieur,” a waiter materializes between them and startles her.  “May I get you started this evening with something to drink?”

“Scully?” Mulder asks.

“Um…”  She hates how flustered she feels.  She fumbles the menu, turning it over and back to stall for time.

“You like Merlot, right?” Mulder says.

“Yes.”

“We’ll take a bottle of Merlot,” Mulder tells the waiter.

*****

She’s trying as hard as she can to recall a single conversation that she and Mulder have had that didn’t involve work, but she can’t.  Sips from her glass of wine and tries to think of something to say.  Oh, but there was a conversation once, on that rock, in the lake.  They’d talked about Moby Dick and Mulder had said he’d wanted a peg leg.

“Earth to Scully,” Mulder says.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you had decided on an entree.”

“Oh, um…I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Are you still interested in a peg leg?”

“Exactly what are you proposing?”

“I just remembered that time on the lake when the boat sank and we were stuck on that rock.”

Mulder takes a look around and then takes a sip of his own wine.  “Hopefully a cold, wet rock in the middle of a cryptid-inhabited lake isn’t comparable to this place.”

“There’s no such thing as cryptids,” she answers with a smile.

“Ugh!”  Mulder feigns distress and slaps a hand over his heart.

“I was only trying to think of a time and place where we had a real conversation.”

“We have a thousand real conversations every day.”

“You know what I mean.  Not about work.”

He scratches the back of his neck for a few moments and contemplates the menu.  “Bellefleur, Oregon,” he says.  “You were worried about those mosquito bites and it was raining and the electricity was out.  I told you about my sister.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Does that qualify as a real conversation?”

“It does.”  There’s a brief silence and she averts her eyes for a few moments back to the menu.  “Mulder?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me about the Mongolian Death Worm.”

“The locals call it olgoi-khorkhoi,” he says, and she puts down her menu to listen.

*****

They both order what they’re relatively certain is chicken.  The waiter sniffs disapprovingly when they pass on appetizers, but she isn’t interested in pate or anything tartare and she knows that Mulder has an aversion to seafood.  It actually catches her off guard a little that she knows that about him and she can’t remember how.  It’s not an allergy, of that she’s sure, he just doesn’t like it.  

“Arcadia Falls,” she says.

“What about it?”

“When we went to dinner at the Shroeder’s, Cami made tuna noodle casserole.”

“The things I do to be polite.”

“You don’t like fish.”

“Nope.”

“Why do I know that?”

“We probably talked about it at some point.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t like beets either.  Or coconut.”

“I don’t like figs.”

“No one likes figs.”

“Or raspberries.”

“Really?  Raspberries?”

“It’s not the flavor, it’s the texture.  It’s all...bumpy.”

“True.  So, blackberries are out as well?”

“Never had one.”

“Huh.”

When the food arrives, they both look at their plates and try to disguise their disappointment, at least until the water leaves and then Mulder leans closer to her to whisper.

“I thought I ordered a chicken, not a canary.”

She chuckles.  It’s the smallest portion of anything she’s ever seen.  Maybe they should have considered the escargot to start, at the very least the snails are cooked and not fish.

“Bon appetit,” he says.

“You too.”

*****

He convinces her to share a charcuterie board when the dessert menu is presented.  She really doesn’t take much convincing though.  The wine has made her feel a little lethargic and the chicken wasn’t anywhere near satisfying.  Meat and cheese sounds pretty good right about now.

“Though, why the hell meat and cheese is a dessert is anyone’s guess,” he says.

“I think that’s just how they consider it in France.”

“But, it’s meat...and cheese.  More wine?”

“Please.”

Mulder pours the remainder of the bottle of Merlot into her glass.  “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?”

“That’s an odd segue from meat and cheese.”

“I was just thinking about how I’d probably be run out of Paris for daring to eat my meat and cheese before dinner and wondering where else in the world I’d like to go.  So, I’m wondering where you’d like to go.”

“You need my answer to formulate your answer?”

“Where you go, I go.”  He smiles and swirls his wine a little.  “Just wondering.”

“Ireland, I think.”

“Yeah?  Why?”

“My father’s side of the family is Irish, though a few generations back.  I think I’d like to see it for myself one day.”

“I took the ferry there a few times when I was at Oxford.  The countryside is beautiful.  I think you’d like it.”

“What about you?”

“Galapagos Islands.”

“The...really?”  The answer surprises her.

“Yeah.  it’s entirely possible I could meet a giant turtle that met Darwin.  How cool would that be?”

“Pretty cool, actually.”

“And, of course, there’s the Monstro de Archipiélago de Colón to look for.”

“The what?”

“Galapagos Monster.  It was first spotted in 1992, but there’s been an additional two sightings just a few years ago.”

Of course, she thinks.  Of course.

*****

In Scully’s experience, the fancier a cheese is, the more unappetizing it appears, but as soon as the charcuterie board is placed before them, the smell of one of the three cheeses is overwhelmingly pungent and her eyes water in defense.  Mulder is staring at the board with a look of skepticism she isn’t accustomed to.

“Here we have Roquefort,” the waiter points to a moldy blue cheese and continues down the line.  “Camembert, and Epoisses.  The meats are Capocollo, Soppressata, and Prosciutto.”

“Wanna take a bet on which one of these is the one that smells like the bottom of a dumpster on a hot day?” Mulder asks, as soon as the waiter is out of earshot.

She laughs and blinks the tears out of her eyes as she points to the moldy cheese at the end.  Mulder takes a small piece off the corner of the cheese with his knife and brings it closer to his face.  Tentatively, he takes the small bite off with his teeth.

“Nope,” he says.  “It’s actually pretty decent.”

“Do you have any idea what the meats are?”

“I mean, I don’t know if all those words were French for salami and ham, but that’s kind of what they look like.”

She’s not uncultured, but there’s a reason she doesn’t like upscale places like this.  They make her feel ignorant of basic things like meat and cheese.  She takes a cut of the cheese Mulder tried and pairs it with the thin slice of curled meat that resembles salami and takes a bite.

“It’s good,” she agrees.

Mulder has continued with his cheese inspection and tested the Camembert.  It’s the one cheese she’s familiar with.  He nods approvingly and adds meat to a second bite, obviously a fan.

“That means,” he says as he wipes his mouth with his linen napkin, “through the process of elimination, that is the culprit.”  He makes an accusatory stab at the last cheese with his knife and gives it a poke.

“Do you think it tastes as bad as it smells?”

“Only one way to find out.”  He cuts into it and then brings the knife closer, but then turns his head and scrunches his face.  “Jesus, we’ve been in morgues that have smelled better.”

“Don’t do it.”

“I have to solve this mystery, Scully, or I won’t sleep at night.”

She watches in horror as he quickly takes the cheese off the knife and then he puckers his mouth in distaste and swallows heavily.  Immediately after, he drains the rest of his wine and then coughs lightly.

“Well?” she asks.

“If evil took a cheese form, it would be whatever that was.”

She chuckles as he pushes the cheese to the far side of the plate and then covers it with decorative sprig of parsley so they don’t have to look at it.

*****

“Will there be anything else?” the waiter asks.

“Scully?  I think I saw chocolate mousse on the menu.”

“No, thank you.”

“Very well.”  The waiter places the checkbook directly in front of Mulder and quickly retreats.

“Well, that was sexist,” Scully says.

Mulder shrugs.  “Maybe it’s an old-fashioned assumption, but it is a date.”

“Still.”  She reaches for her purse, but Mulder puts a hand on her arm.  

“What’re you doing?”

“We should split it.”

“It’s a date, Scully.”

“That doesn’t mean you should have to-”

“It does to me.  I wanted to take you out.  Let me take you out.”

“Technically, I asked you out.”

“No, I did.  You just held me to it.  You can get the next one if you’d like.”

She sucks in a breath.  She hasn’t even considered a second date.  Mulder swallows again like he did with the terrible cheese and so she relinquishes the hold on her purse and puts her hands in her lap.  She thought this would be the end of things, that they just needed to satisfy the curiosity and then move on.

Does he really want this?  Does he want her?  And, does she want this?  Does she want him?

*****

It’s cooled down a little since they entered the restaurant, and Scully shivers as she steps out into the night air.  Mulder has his jacket off almost instantaneously and slides it over her shoulders.  She smiles at him and pulls it closed across her chest with one hand.  He puts his hands in his pockets and falls into step beside her.

“There’s a 7-11 down that block,” he says, nodding to the left as they cross the street.  “Want a hot dog?”

“A hot dog?  Mulder, we just had dinner.”

“We had a baked parakeet and corpse cheese.  I could go for a hot dog if you could.”

“I guess the portions were rather small.”

“Hot dog?”

“Sure.”

*****

They leave the 7-11 with one chili dog, for Mulder, and one plain hot dog, for her.  Gentleman that he is, he lets her pay the $2.79.  “See, I told you you can get the next one,” he says.

*****

At the sidewalk in front of her apartment, she gives him back his jacket, which he slips back on.  They stand in front of each other, she with her eyes down and scuffing the toe of her shoe against the sidewalk.

“Well,” he says.

“Well.”  She looks up at him and then sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.

“Please just tell me it wasn’t too terrible.  That you’ll give this a second chance.”

“It was far from terrible, Mulder.  But…”

“No, stop right there.” He puts a hand up to halt her.  “No ‘but.’  I’ll take ‘far from terrible’ any day.  The end.”

“But, I still don’t know if this is a good idea.”

He sighs and rocks back on his heels, tilting his head to look up at the night sky.  His Adam’s apple bounces as he swallows and then he looks down at her and nods.

“Okay,” he says.  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

She shakes her head a few times.  He smiles ever so slightly and takes one hand out of his pocket.  His fingers tickle her palm as he tries to hook his index finger around hers.  When he finally does, he gives her a squeeze and swings their hands back and forth.

“Date’s not over until I walk you to your door though, right?”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he says, cutting her off and giving her finger another squeeze.  “Let me see it through.”

“Alright.”

His finger stays hooked with hers as he walks her up to the front door.  Reluctantly, he lets her go so she can pull out her keys.  They’re silent in the elevator and down the short hall to her door.  She stops and turns to face him, but doesn’t look him in the eye.

“I just want you to know that I did have a nice time,” she says.  “Despite...well, you know.”

“So did I.”

“You know, I think that part of it is just...it’s just that dating is such a difficult road to navigate.”

“How so?”  He slouches with his back to the wall, head rolled towards her.

“Well, by and large it’s based on false pretenses.  This really isn’t us, is it?”  She makes a gesture towards the dress she’s wearing and looks down at her feet.  “And that restaurant?”

“A little pretentious.”

“Wouldn’t you have much rather just been at home with a pizza and a beer?”

“Alone?  Or with you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I grant you that aspects of it are...awkward.  But, I disagree that it’s false or that either of us were disingenuous.  Isn’t it just about putting your best foot forward and hoping the other person sees enough good there to want to know you better?”

“I already know you, Mulder.”

“I guess I’m pretty lucky then.  You’re still here and I wasn’t even trying to impress you.”

“You weren’t?”

“Well, maybe a little.”

She finally glances up at him and meets his eyes.  He gives her a smile and then she drops her gaze again.  She takes a deep breath.  “There are just so many reasons why it-”

He doesn’t let her get any farther than that.  Swiftly, but gently, he takes her face in his hands and cuts off her protests with a kiss.  She’s stunned by it, but not unwelcoming, even grabs on to the lapels of his jacket as though she’s trying to bring him closer.

He smiles and she makes a tiny noise of protest so he presses her into the door as he slips his tongue past her slightly parted lips.  She tugs roughly on his jacket as she shifts her feet, whimpering into his mouth.  He can feel the heat of her cheeks under his hands.  

Rubbing the apples of her cheeks, he breaks their kiss, only to slant his head to the other side and start another.  He goes deeper this time and leans into it so his chest pushes into hers and takes her breath away.  

When he pulls back, her eyes are closed and her breasts heave against his chest.  He leans back in to drag his bottom lip across her mouth once, twice, and then he softly kisses the curve of her upper lip before moving back.  He traces her mouth with both thumbs until she opens her eyes and holds his gaze.  She looks like she’s just woken from a wonderful dream and he can’t help the dopey grin that spreads across his face.

“You just keep saying we shouldn't,” he whispers, sliding his hands back to rub her earlobes between his thumbs and index fingers.  Her eyelids droop.  “Not that you don’t want to.  And if you tell me you don’t see me the way I see you well then...”

“How do you see me?”

He doesn’t answer, just pierces her with an unwavering gaze that has her knees shaking and makes her feel absolutely liquefied.  The love and desire she sees in his eyes almost seems tangible, like she can pluck it from the air and hold it in her hands.  

He blinks languidly and then stands a little taller, his hands slipping away from her face.  It takes her a few beats, but she slowly opens her hands and lets go of his jacket.

“Good night, Scully.”

His voice gives her a little jolt and tilts her head like she doesn’t understand what he’s said.  He chuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets as he retreats, moving to the stairwell instead of the elevator.  When he looks back, she’s leaning against the door, lightly stroking her bottom lip with her index finger.

“Hey,” he says, and she drops her hand and turns her head towards him.  “Told you I was a good kisser.”

The End

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝couples’ photo shoot.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki ]

「Bakugou’s mother sends Class 1-A an invitation to be involved in a photo shoot for an upcoming magazine. She learns about her son’s crush on S/O and decided to pair them up for the couples issue.」

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Today, something very unexpected happened. Ever since moving into the dorms―no, a little bit longer than that―with the very advanced technology we have today, it was uncommon to receive letters. But earlier this morning when you returned from your short trip to the convenience store, you spotted a small package sitting in front of the door. You read the label carefully, noting that it was addressed to everyone in the 1-A dorms and signed by Bakugou. At first, you assumed that it was something for your explosive classmate but it was meant for everyone.

When lunch time rolled by, a few people pointed out the small package that sat on your lap. You had been in the common area for a while, looking through the package, only to find a white envelope inside. Seeing how it was addressed to everyone, you thought that there was no harm in reading it yourself. While you were reading, all our classmates began to slowly show up to the common area to have lunch together. Asui was the first one to spot you sitting on the couch all on your own.

“Whatcha got there, [First Name]-chan?” Asui tilted her head slightly, pointing at the package on your lap. You had already gone through the insides of the package earlier. There was nothing but a single envelope sitting at the at base. You had read through everything before everyone came.

“Ah, I just read through the details before you all came down. Apparently, its an invitation.....” your eyes searched for Bakugou and you spotted him in the kitchen, helping himself to a glass of water. You eyed him for a few moments before turning your curious classmates.

“.....It’s from Bakugou-kun’s mother.” you finished. The ash blonde spit out his water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A few people eyed Bakugou with surprise, watching as he stomped over to where you were sitting. He stood in front of you, looking a little bit ticked off and you never felt so small before. With his outstretched hand, he spoke.

“What the fuck did that old hag send me? Give me that, munchkin!” he demanded. You tentatively handed him the letter within the envelope, silently hoping that he won’t explode it on the spot. Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero and Ashido crowded around the ash blonde, peeking to see what the note entails.

“Well, it something about a photo shoot. Your mother wants you to be in it, Bakugou-kun and well.....” you trailed off, watching the four students eagerly look at whatever was written.

“To Class 1-A students.....you’re all invited to a photo shoot session for the upcoming couples issue that will be published in Fashion Times next week!? Modelling and photo shoots?! Sounds cool, let’s go everyone!” Being the closest to Bakugou, Ashido was able to read the words clearly. The pink haired female skipped over towards you, smiling brightly and grabbing hold of your hands.

“Sounds really fun, should we go?” Hagakure questioned, waving her arms in excitement.

“M-Modelling, huh? Is it alright for us to do something like that?” Midoriya muttered sheepishly. Half worried because he might not be one of the good looking guys in the class and half worried because Bakugou might just yell at him.

“Midoriya, you don’t have sweat over the small stuff.” Todoroki consoled the viridian haired male.

“Well, Todoroki is already good looking so he doesn’t have to worry about that kind of stuff.” Uraraka pointed out, rubbing her cheek nervously.

“Like hell you guys are going!” Bakugou crushed the paper in his hands, glaring at his classmates who seemed a little bit too excited over something like this. Kirishima found himself grinning widely, slinging an arm over the ash blonde’s shoulder and getting close to him. Bakugou let out a groan, glaring at the red head, prepared to yell his ear off.

“C’mon, Bakugou. It’ll be fun, when was the last time you saw your parents. This is like a golden opportunity for you.” the red head said. Bakugou couldn’t agree with Kirishima, this was no golden opportunity, it was more of a one way path to be embarrassed in front of his classmates. That wasn’t only it either. He turned his attention towards you, wanting to see how you would react to this situation. Most of his friends were eager to do this thing but he has yet to hear your opinion.

“Well.....we’ve been invited and all, tomorrow is our day off too. It’ll be a waste to not take up on the offer.” you muttered. Bakugou internally slapped himself. Of course, you would say something like that. You were always too damn nice for your own good.

And then, the dreaded day came. Bakugou Katsuki never imagined that a day his parents would meet his classmates would ever come. What’s worse was that you were there too. He had long admitted that he had a crush on you and it was driving him insane. There’s always this voice in the back of his head, telling him to behave around you and not embarrass himself. And he was terrified that his mother would do just that.

“Hello, I’m Bakugou Mitsuki. Thank you for putting up with my son’s shitty attitude.”

“Who the hell are you calling shitty!?” Katsuki yelled angrily at the woman.

“Shut your mouth, brat! You’re disturbing everyone!” Mitsuki smacked him on the head, only to earn an agitated growl from him.

“Thank you for accepting the offer kids. Didn’t think you would accept it with Katsuki strongly disagreeing to it.” Mitsuki said, slapping her son’s back repeatedly, earning a loud hiss from the young Bakugou.

Despite being a woman in her late thirties, she looked really young. Most of her traits were shared with Katsuki, her ash blonde hair and red eyes were a splitting image. If it weren’t for her introduction, you would’ve mistook her as Katsuki’s older sister instead of mother. Another thing you noted was her aggressive personality. However, unlike Katsuki, she was far more calm and respectful. She had welcomed you all warmly and spoke in a very motherly tone.

“We’re really thankful that you can make it. We don’t have many young models around your age, we usually hire people but there’s no one available. So, Mitsuki thought about inviting you all.” 

“I’m Bakugou Masaru, Katsuki’s father and Mitsuki’s husband. We’re pleased to have you all here.” he smiled sheepishly, bowing curtly.

Your eyes landed on a middle-aged man who had short brown hair, a short mustache and glasses. He was dressed nicely, donning a collared shirt and a pair of long pants. ‘He’s so polite and calm!’ was what everyone thought at that time. Compared to Mitsuki and Katsuki, he was behaving like a normal person. As they guided you to the room, you couldn’t help but think that Katsuki’s family was very unique and interesting. Speaking of the boy, you spotted him walking at the very back, hands shoved into his pockets as he grumbled something under his breath.

“So, as I mentioned in the letter, we need your help with a couples issue that is coming out tomorrow. Is this all of you?” Mitsuki asked, noting that there weren’t a lot of you despite knowing that there’s usually 21 of you. Iida took it upon himself to tell her that some of them had things they needed to do today thus not being able to make it.

“Then, please help yourselves and wait until we give you your clothes. We have some drinks and snacks over there.” Masaru said, leaving with his wife to retrieve the clothing.

“Here, Bakugou-kun. You drink Oolong Tea right?” you asked, handing him a bottle of Oolong Tea you were holding on your right hand. Before you handed him the bottle, you looked at the bottle on your left hand.

“Or do you prefer normal green tea?” you hummed in a confused manner, looking back and forth at the bottles of tea. Katsuki abruptly stood up, grabbing one of the bottles before twisting the cap open.

“It doesn’t matter which one it is anyway. Tea is tea.” he said, taking a few gulps.

Mitsuki who had been mindlessly tapping her pen against the clip board while observing her son’s interaction with you, found herself humming and a little intrigued. She looked around and spotted Midoriya talking with Todoroki and Iida. As she wasn’t familiar with everyone else, she decided to approach the curly haired male. Her gaze never left Katsuki and you, recording every single interaction her son had with you. She noticed a few things. Katsuki was unbelievably and uncharacteristically calm, he let you in his personal space without throwing a fit about how friendly you were being and most importantly―

“Hey, Izuku.”

“Y-Yes! What is it Mitsuki-san?”

“Who’s that girl Katsuki is talking to?” she asked.

“Oh, that’s [Last Name]-san. She’s our classmate, a very strong and talented one too. Out of all the girls, she’s the only one that Kacchan acknowledges. Perhaps it’s because he sees her as an equal or something like that.” Midoriya rambled on, watching you talk with Uraraka and Jirou.

Even with Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero talking excitedly about something among one another with Katsuki sitting nearby, the ash blonde’s gaze was fixated on you, watching your every move. You laughed, chatted and joked with the girls while he just stared. Mitsuki found this very cute and decided to devise a plot to push her son―but she might just push his buttons. She made her way to where Katsuki was sitting, shoving him a piece of clothing before ordering him to go change.

When he came out from the changing room, he walked aimlessly, pulling at the shirt so it fitted him snugly. Unaware of where he was walking, he stopped when he heard your voice. You stood in front of him with your own clothing bunched up in your hands.

“Mhm, it suits you, Bakugou-kun!” you beamed with a small nod, examining his outfit from head to toe.

“You’re just like a model even though you’re actually studying to be a hero. You work out every day so you’re really well-built.” you complimented the ash blonde endlessly. The male knew that you always said these kind of things to anyone but when it was directed to him, he couldn’t help but feel happy.

“Tch, you say that to everyone.” he grumbled.

“Really? I don’t notice.” you laughed softly.

“[First Name]-chan! Let’s go change together!” Uraraka had called out to you.

“Coming!” you left the ash blonde alone who stood there, watching as you retreated to the changing room before walking away. He unconsciously walked towards where the boys were crowded at, already dressed in clothes that his mother provided.

“Since this is supposed to be couples’ set, we’ll be pairing you guys with your classmates. So, is there anyone you would like to be paired up with.....or maybe you’re uncomfortable with this please tell us beforehand....” Masaru said, looking at the males for any signs of disapproval. The boys exchanged glances, shaking their heads.

“Then! I’ll be pairing you guys up!” Mitsuki suddenly butted into the conversation with a wide grin.

Katsuki let out a sigh, narrowing his eyes at his mother. He knew what that grin meant, she was up to something. Two by two, the students of Class 1-A were paired up by Mitsuki and with the help of a professional photographer, the pictures were taken at a nice angle. Katsuki was too busy to even notice that he was the very last to get his picture taken. He couldn’t care less who he was paired up with. When he was called to the platform, all he could say to himself was ‘Let’s just get it over and done with.’ 

As soon as he stepped onto the platform, from the other side, came you. You smiled sheepishly at him, waving your right hand as you approached him. You had been given a similar sweater to his, the model was similar but the colors were just different, no doubt a matching sweater. It looked a little big on you, just going past your stomach and hugging your hips a little. You looked fucking adorable.

“It seems like we’re a pair.” you said.

“.....yeah.”

The photographer clapped their hands to catch your attention before ushering the two of you into position. You both merely stood side by side awkwardly, unsure of what kind pose you two were supposed to do. But without any instructions, all you could do was smile at the camera as you stood next to Katsuki. After at least 3 shots, Mitsuki intervened, stopping the photo taking immediately. She walked towards the platform and shook her head.

“Be a little bit more natural. Maybe a friendly gesture will do. [First Name] right?” she turned to you. Giving her a nod, you awaited her instructions. She gently grasped your hand and roughly grabbed Katsuki’s and forced him to hold your hand. The male was about to hiss, yell and complain but his mother cut him off.

“There we go! Now look at the camera.” she skipped back to her position beside the camera man. He took one glance at you to see you looking back at him with a blush on your cheeks. Katsuki looked away almost immediately after getting caught looking at you, a red hue decorating your cheek. You squeezed his hand lightly and he slowly looked at you again. With a meek smile, you gazed at him as if silently asking whether he was comfortable or not. He squeezed back in response and your smile grew a little wider. The next few instructions were simple now that the two of you were somewhat comfortable with holding hands.

Just shifting around, changing positions and locking arms―nothing to major. Even if you both were standing there awkward, you tried your best to act natural, giving a small smile as they took photos.

“Well, it’s all good and all but we need a new position. Can you both move a little closer and put your arm around each other or something? A little bit more couple-like if you could.” the photographer said, motioning you two to squeeze in together.

“Come on, Katsuki! A little bit closer, will you? Don’t be a brat and man up for once. You’re already a high school student and you’re acting like a damn virgin around a girl!” Mitsuki scolded, her tone a little bit playful to appear nice in front of you. 

“Hah!? I’m no fucking brat, you old hag! I’ll fucking do it all right!” he shot back, wrapping an arm around your waist. His hands were trembling and he was barely touching your waist, it was just hovering above your sweater. Mitsuki shook her head disapprovingly, slowly walking to the two of you.

“Grow some balls! This is how you do it!” she forced his hand to hold onto your waist and pushed him closer to you until you were both pressed up against one another. Satisfied with this, Mitsuki quickly walked away and told the guy to start taking the pictures. You were a little bit too stiff and you attempted to shift a little but Katsuki stopped you, pulling you closer.

A small, surprised squeak left your lips when your face collided against his chest. Katsuki wasn’t given a second to think about what kind of position he had put himself into. He was holding you against his chest like how a boyfriend would do with their girlfriend.  There were a few of your classmates around, witnessing the whole ordeal. The girls were amazed at how calm Katsuki was and found themselves grinning ear to ear at the sight of your bashful expression and red cheeks.

“Bakugou-kun, your heart is beating so fast, are you okay―”

“Just look at the camera, munchkin.” he said, hoping that you would heed his words and look away from him. 

Once the photo shoot ended, Katsuki hurriedly let go off you and stomped away with a bright blush decorating his cheeks. You stood there dumbfoundedly, watching your classmate storm off. Was this really embarrassing for him? Or did he hate doing these kind of stuff? The girls crowded you, complimenting the sweater you were wearing before poking at the fact both you and Katsuki were embracing each other so openly earlier.

“E-Eh? Didn’t you guys do that too?” you muttered in an embarrassed manner.

“How did it feel?” Uraraka questioned, leaning closer and shaking her arms in excitement.

“It felt like standing next to a model. Bakugou-kun is a natural, he’s good looking and all so it felt a little bit awkward for me to stand next to him....” you mumbled with a small smile. Ashido swung an arm around your shoulder.

“D’aww! Don’t sell yourself short! You’re pretty cute, [First Name]-chan!” she smiled, rubbing her cheek against yours, eliciting a laugh from you as her hair tickled your face. 

Katsuki watched from a distance as the girls lavished you with endless compliments, giving you small pats on the head and on your back with encouraging smiles. Mitsuki spotted her son standing all alone and decided to annoy him a little. The male was snapped out of his staring when Mitsuki’s phone entered his vision, it showed a picture of you and him in the photo shoot.

“Look, aren’t you guys cute?” Mitsuki showed off all the pictures from the photo shoot and a few that she had secretly taken before the shoot. There was a picture of the two of you talking with you smiling and laughing with him. As she continued to swipe, he spotted a picture of you looking at the camera and smiling awkwardly. His cheeks burned a bright red.

“When the hell did you take these shitty pictures!? Delete them!” he demanded, attempting to grab hold of the device. Mitsuki moved her phone behind her back quickly.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Katsuki. I’ll send you them, including the ones of that girl you like......[Last Name] [First Name] right?”

“The fuck!? I don’t like her!”

“You think you can hide it from me? I’m your mother and I know what it feels like to be in love. Just from the way you look and act around her was more than enough to give away your cute, little crush on that [Hair Color] haired girl.” his mother teased, nudging the ash blonde’s shoulder.

‘Out of everyone it had to be her who knows! Just my fucking luck!’ Katsuki cursed repeatedly inside his head.

“Now be nice and go help her with clearing up the table, because she’s doing it all alone there.” she pointed. Katsuki huffed in response, he didn’t want to give in nor give his mother the advantage.

“No, get someone else to help her.” he was about to walk away until,

“I’ll tell her about your little crush on her! Just look at this picture of you gazing at her so lovingly.” she hummed, smirking when her son abruptly stopped in his tracks. Katsuki grind his teeth together before stalking over to where you were.

“Haa.....New blackmail material for me. A job well done.” Mitsuki patted herself with a satisfied smile.

Total: 3216 words Published: 25.03.2019

Thank you for requesting! (ㅅ•᎑•) Y’all know why this was long? Because we got carried away, really, a little bit too much I guess ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting! It was a really, really interesting scenario for the two of us. The idea was a so cute that we got a little carried away;; ― author Natsuki

We opened up an ask meme [?] If you’re interested please have a look here

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[honeymoonjin]

*now honeymoonjin

Chapter Two

genre: survival, angst, zombie outbreak!AU || word count: 1.7k || warnings: brief descriptions of explicit violence

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Nine excruciating hours. The sun begins to slip low over the horizon, though it's barely six pm. Yoongi had managed to fall asleep after a while, his body and mind exhausted from the stress of the panic attack and everything that had followed. You listen to him, the familiarity of his deep breaths keeping you grounded as you stare outside the window.

Things aren't so peaceful out there.

The large window overlooked the carpark, and from above you had seen everyone quickly grab their cars when those sirens were gong off. After a bit of a chaotic bottle-necking at the entrance, they soon were all gone, bar a few. Including Yoongi's car, which was on the far row, closest to the exit.

Over time, it had started with a distant wisp of smoke here and a scuffle there, but you counted the minutes and watched as it become overrun with people, feral and thrashing.

You made sure Yoongi didn't come close to the windows while he was still awake; the last thing you needed was another panic attack. And now, as he slept, you held sentry over the chaos outside.

There was one word that came to mind as you watched these rabid people, but you didn't let yourself think it. It sat on the tip of your tongue, a sickening term that made you wonder if you'd ever get out of here.

Around four-thirty, an old lady had slipped out of a tearoom across the road, locking up behind her. The same way everyone knew everyone in this town, you recognized Mrs. Moon, the deaf owner of the store. She had let you and your friends bundle up in front of the fire every winter after school when you were younger, even after closing. With a building dread, you covered your mouth and watched in a stunned silence as she turned and hobbled down the street, eyes locked into the depths of her purse as she fished around for her car keys. Around her, people you technically recognized surrounded her on all sides. Their clothes were torn, and most of them had dark stains around their mouths. You felt bile rise in your throat as the group of about eight to ten individuals fell in and pushed her to the ground, writhing in unison like one hive minded parasite.

After a few excruciating moments, they parted around her and pushed themselves up again. Mrs. Moon stood up too, though her body had been mauled, and her mouth was foaming. Like clockwork, she fell into step with the others, head rolling limply on her neck, eyes unseeing as they made their way slowly through the otherwise-empty street.

That hadn't been the last time you had seen someone fall victim to those hordes of animalistic people. You didn't want to think about the others.

Now, though, you were forced to acknowledge the gravity of your situation. Violent, murderous, sick humans were roaming the streets, and you and your fiancé were stuck in a room that wasn't even heated. You couldn't get out, and at this point you didn't even really want to. You just wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"Mm, honey?'

You tear your gaze from the evening gloom outside, from the smears of blood on the parking lot that looked blue-black under the glow of the moon. "You awake?"

Yoongi grimaces and holds a hand to his temple. "God, I feel like my head's been in a blender." He pushes himself up in the armchair with a groan, grabbing at your jacket, which you had earlier thrown over him as a blanket. "Is there… Has anyone else called in on the radio?"

You shake your head silently.

He groans again, then gets up to join you. Before he can make it closer to the window, you dart over to pull him back to the armchair. "That's fine," he muses reluctantly, "I'm sure the authorities are just busy sorting out the situation. We might just have to hole up in here for the night and then tomorrow morning when the manager comes back in, he can let us out and we can go back home. He better get here early; I'm pretty sure I left the oven on."

You laugh before you can help it, though the jerking of your shoulders quickly becomes frantic as you start to sob. In an instant, Yoongi's arms are around you, tightly holding you to his chest. "I don't think we're getting out of here, Yoonie," you hiccup, "it's bad out there."

"Sh, sh, it's alright, okay? Maybe it's not looking so good outside, but we're safe in here. And we're together. That's the important thi-"

You jump in Yoongi's grasp with a shriek as a loud bang gets your attention. Yoongi's grip on you falters, then comes back with a vengeance. You unwrap his arms from you so that you can push him gently down onto the armchair and stand protectively in front of him, watching dark shadows move behind the frosted glass of the office door. "Hey!" you yell out, seeing the humanoid shapes freeze. "Who are you? Are you coming to get us out of here?" Yoongi's fingers curl around your wrist. You can feel them trembling.

You hear muffled murmuring before one calls out, "yeah!"

You wait expectantly, but no further explanation comes. "Uh, okay, thank you? Can you open the door? We're locked in."

Yoongi's hand tightens and you feel the pressure of his head pressing into the small of your back. "Y/n," he mumbles shakily. "I don't like this."

You turn on your side so that his face can press into your stomach instead, and you hold him close. From outside the door, there's more conferring amongst the two shapes. "Okay!" one cheerily replies. "We have a swipey-swipey! You guys promise you're not zombies?"

Yoongi shudders, and you honestly can't blame him. That word. It makes it seem like you're in a horror movie, that this situation is far more dire that you would ever imagine it could be. "We aren't sick, I promise! We've been locked in here since before it even started."

"…okay," a different voice says, this one calmer and lower-pitched than the other. "We're going to open it for you, alright? We're not sick either."

Their words do a little to comfort you, but your heart is still thumping frantically in your chest as you hear a beep, and watch the handle of the door turn to reveal two tall men, both looking younger than you and Yoongi.

The first one to enter has golden brown hair and tanned skin. He calmly steps inside, hands in the air, checking behind him as the other follows. Although his companion is taller and seems more athletically-built, his long black locks cover a baby-ish face, alight with excitement.

Yoongi goes lax, head lifting up and arms slipping away from you. "You two?"

A cheer in unison. "Yoongi-hyung!"

--

"Man, what are the chances?" Jungkook asks rhetorically as he practically skips down the stairs. "Stuck in a mall during a zombie apocalypse with my best friend and our hot babysitter. All we need are some freeze-frames and an ending song and we could win best k-drama!"

Taehyung brings up the rear, and you get a strange feeling of authority from him although he's younger than both you and your fiancé. "Don't stress," he reassures Yoongi, who's been skittishly glancing around every corner and jumping at every noise, "we've cleared out the area. There aren't any of those infected people inside."

"Come on, hyungie," Jungkook begs, not even turning to face him as he leads the pack, "call them zombies! At this rate, if I went ahead and sucked your blood, you wouldn't even call me a vampire, you'd just call me 'thirsty and confused'."

You and Yoongi walk between the two friends hand-in-hand, the banter between the two easing some of the anxiety in your heart. At least the two of you weren't alone anymore.

"Vampires aren't real, Koo-koo, don't be silly."

"Who knows what other secrets the government are keeping from us? Until this morning, you thought zombies weren't real."

"Wait," Yoongi intervenes, voice still trembling though his face isn't as pale as it was before, "you said there aren't any sick people in here. Did you two manage to secure the entire mall yourselves? How can you be sure-"

"Chillax, Yoongi-hyung," Jungkook jokes, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder, "we never said we did it by ourselves. A bunch of us have set up camp upstairs in the food court. Hyungie and I were just finishing up scouting the perimeter like total action heroes."

A thought strikes you. "Hey, Yoonie, they mentioned 'babysitter'. Were these the Terrible Two you told me about ages ago?"

Yoongi laughs, and it gives you a spike of happiness to see a smile on his face again, albeit briefly. "Yeah, this is them. I'm surprised Jungkook's mom ever let me look after them again once they convinced me to take them to a nightclub that one time."

"My mom totally had the hots for you, that's why," Jungkook explains, turning onto a frozen escalator and walking up it. "I'm pretty sure almost everyone had a crush on you back then."

You turn to Yoongi and grin at him. "Hot babysitter, huh? But you did look pretty different when you were younger."

Taehyung's voice is soft as it comes from behind you. "You look good, hyung… Are you two together? Sorry, we haven't been properly introduced."

Yoongi doesn't catch the sullen flicker in Taehyung's eyes as he holds up your intertwined hands, showing off the engagement ring, but you do. "This is my beautiful fiancé, Y/n."

Jungkook laughs and wolf whistles, while Taehyung gives his congratulations. Once you make it to the top of the unmoving escalator, you see two men sitting silently at a large round table. Their body language is startlingly different. While one hunches over, jiggling his foot nervously and drumming his fingers on the table, the other sits perfectly still, leaned back in his chair with his legs spread wide in a casual stance.

They both glance up when you arrive. You recognize the face of one of them.

Jungkook's bouncy energy seems to dissipate as the four of you approach. "Guys, this is Yoongi and Y/n, Yoongi and Y/n, this is Namjoon from the record store and, uh, Jimin? Jimin."

---

TAGLIST

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[wheezyeds]

Burn it to the Ground

Finally! Here is my gift for @hanscom as part of the fic exchange! Thank you for being a sweetheart and giving me some more time to work on this. I hope it was worth the wait. Also, thank you to @jannuaryembers for being a fantastic beta and working on this with me!

Warning for moderate violence, closeted sexuality, acts of arson and a controlling relationship. No gore, but a permanent injury resulting in disability in the end.

(Prompt #1 - an AU based off of your favourite movie. My favourite movie is IT so it wouldn’t exactly work, but another film that I like definitely would so here we go)

Eddie couldn’t take it anymore. He had been living a lie for so long that even he himself was beginning to forget who he really was. See, Eddie Kaspbrak was married to a woman, Myra, who was exactly like his mother in personality and in size. Myra Kaspbrak was huge, though she’d only been big when Eddie had married her. He always figured she would achieve hugeness eventually. She worried about him, took care of him and made sure that the medicine cabinet was always stocked with everything that he needed; Anacin, Excedrin, Excedrin PM, Contac, Gelusil, Tylenol, a large jar of Vicks. Vivarian, Serutan, Milk of Magnesia - the chalk flavoured one - Rolaids, Tums, Di-Gel, all of the vitamins a person could think of and then some more, calcium, cod liver oil, One-A-Day multivitamins too. She even makes sure to keep a bottle of Geritol on the top of the cabinet itself just for good measure.

Eddie was tired of it all - the sterile smell that made his own home smell like a hospital despite looking as though an eighty-something couple lived there. He was tired of the old Barry Manilow records that seemed to be the only thing they listened to, and the old TV set that Myra refused to let him upgrade. Actually, he wasn’t tired. He was exhausted, and he needed to get out. Thankfully, during the night Myra slept like the dead and snored loud enough to wake them, too. Eddie managed to slip out of their shared bed silently without being noticed, and he packed his black leather bag that he usually saved for business trips. He filled it with socks, boxers, pants, shirts, belts and shoes. Next was his toiletries, and as he began packing what he might need from the medicine cabinet he decided that he didn’t need any of that stuff, and tossed every little pill into the water in the toilet where they floated like little bodies. The old Eddie Kaspbrak needed mounds of pills to keep him healthy, but the new Eddie certainly did not.

When he was finished, Eddie crept downstairs, avoiding every creaky floorboard to make sure he didn’t wake his wife when he was so close to being free. He used to do the same thing when he snuck downstairs as a child to have a tasty snack so that his mother wouldn’t notice. He used the phone to call his own company, hiring one of his drivers to take him down to the bus station. He couldn’t just take one of his cars anywhere, they all had trackers and Myra would absolutely use that to find him. He needed an easy, clean escape and a bus ticket would give him that.

While he waited, Eddie used the notepad that they kept by the phone to write a message to his wife. He couldn’t find the words for what he was doing, he couldn’t explain to her on paper that he was running from her to live the life he really wanted. So, he settled on ‘sorry… x’, and just as he set down his pen, he heard the car pull up outside and he grabbed his bag, practically hurrying out of the house before he could stop himself and go back to the comforting routine of the past six years. He jumped into the back of the car and as they pulled away, he looked up at the house just as the bedroom light flickered on. He was out, he was free, but only just by the skin of his teeth.

****

At the bus station, Eddie didn’t use any of his credit cards, he used cash that he’d taken from his personal account a few weeks ago when he came up with his plan to leave. He bought a one way ticket on the first greyhound out of town, with no destination in his mind. He planned to jump off at the first place he liked that was far enough away nobody would find him.

He stayed awake for the first three hours of the ride, head resting in his hand as he watched the world to whizzing by in a beautiful blur as the sun began to rise. By dawn, he was too tired to stay awake any longer, his eyes grew heavy and he drifted into a dreamless sleep, for which he was thankful. That afternoon, the bus was making a stop to refuel and all of the passengers had an opportunity to stretch their legs and pick up some supplies. Eddie needed to use the restroom, and he could use a sandwich if he was being honest, so he grabbed his bag and walked off of the coach.

He didn’t know where he was, but it was beautiful. They were in a small town somewhere by the water, it was peaceful and beautiful. Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever been drawn to something so quickly, and in his gut he knew that he needed to stay. This was his new home.

****

The Denbrough brothers, Bill and Georgie, own the general store in town by the waterfront. During the summer months, they make enough money to keep them going through the rest of the year. Every day, coach loads of tourists pass through and buy some novelty garbage that they sell as well as food and supplies for the rest of their journey. Nobody ever stays in town for more than a few hours unless they have someone worth staying for, but today was different for everyone.

Three coaches had all arrived within a few minutes of each other, and Bill spent the better part of the next hour serving customers until the place was practically empty again. There were still a few locals picking up some groceries and his friend, Stan through the back working on their books. Bill stayed standing behind the counter, adjusting the gum by the register when something outside caught his eye. A short man, standing by the coach stop with a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked lost, and Bill stepped outside to help him.

“Excuse me?” Bill spoke up as he walked through the door. “Did you miss your ride?”

The other man turned around when he heard Bill’s voice, looking startled for a second before he relaxed a little and held his bag a little higher on his shoulder.

“No, actually, I, uh, decided this was my stop.” The other man answered with a nervous laugh bubbling up in his throat.

Bill was honestly surprised. By the sounds of things, this guy hadn’t expected to stay here anymore than Bill ever expected a tourist to hang around.

“You’ve got somewhere to stay?” Bill asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“No, I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.”

The look on the poor guys face made Bill feel kind of sorry for him. Surely someone must be in a tough spot if they’ve made a last minute decision like this - showing up in the middle of nowhere with no place to stay and no friends.

“Why don’t you come inside? I can give you an address, somewhere to get your head down for a few hours, at least.”

“You… really? You’d do something like that for someone you don’t even know?”

“Well, you don’t know me either and you’re considering taking me up on my offer.”

The other man stuck out his hand to Bill, which he took and the two of them gave each other a friendly shake.

“I’m Eddie.” The newcomer introduced himself.

“Bill.”

“I’m Georgie!”

Bill whirled around to look at his brother, a playful glare across his face as he watched his brother attend to the gas pumps for a second.

“Get your ass back to work before I kick it, kid!” Bill threatened, despite Georgie and Eddie waving politely to one another before the young kid rushed off back to work.

“So, this address?”

Bill helped Eddie back into the store with his bag and used the landline phone to call his friend, Ben, about the cabin he owned and occasionally rented out to anyone who needed it.

Eddie walked around the store, making sure he hadn’t forgotten to get anything, he could hear Bill on the phone across the room.

“Ben, hey buddy. Yeah, yeah.. everything is great over here, but I’ve got someone- yes..”

Eddie couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation but he assumed this Ben was nice enough from the exasperated smile on Bill’s face.

“Last minute decision, by the sounds of it. He’s sticking around for a while.. how much? Really? Alright, you’re the best. Give Bev a kiss for me, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Bye.”

Eddie was pretending not to have eavesdropped as he checked out the display of reading glasses when Bill approached him with the address written down on a folded up piece of paper.

“It’s about a ten minute walk from here, pretty easy to get there. Ben, my friend, he thinks it’s best if you take the weekend to make sure you like the place enough to stay before you put down any payment.”

Eddie was surprised by that. Surely nobody was actually that nice, but apparently Bill was being serious.

“This is perfect, Bill. Thank you.” Eddie said sincerely, a thankful smile on his face that lit up his eyes. Bill figured this guy was pretty cute, but there was something going on with him.

Bill hoped Eddie would stay around long enough that they could get to know each other.

****

*one month later*

Eddie worked his way among the tables, the breeze across the water whipped through his hair. He carried five plates in total, three on one arm and two on the other. His old button-up shirts had been replaced with a thin, cotton T-shirt that read Ivan’s: Try the Fish Just for the Halibut. He served the food to a group of women all dressed in tennis gear; the one closest to the window caught his eye and smiled. She seemed to be trying too hard to just be friendly, he knew that she watched him as he walked away. Richie, Eddie’s coworker had mentioned the women that come in from out of town before, how they tipped bigger when they were made to feel extra special.

Eddie fetched a pitcher of iced tea, refilled their glasses and returned to the waitress station. He took a moment to glance at the view, it was late April and the temperature was so close to perfect he could almost taste it.

“Eddie - can you take another table?”

Eddie was stirring up some sweet tea when Richie spoke him. Eddie looked out across the diner, counting how many of his tables were already filled.

“Sure.” He nodded.

Bill had told Eddie about this job opening. Much sooner than he expected, Eddie had been running out of money. One Tuesday, he and Bill were having some lunch together in the sun, Bill pointed out the ‘Now Hiring’ sign on the window and admitted to being good friends with the owners, assuring Eddie that he could put in a good word. Eddie hadn’t wanted to cry in front of him, so he managed to wait until he was home before breaking down. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but by that point he was already broke and hadn’t eaten anything for two days.

After finishing with the tea, Eddie headed to the kitchen where Patty, one of the cooks winked at him as she always did.

“Doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down today,” Patty commented. She was beautiful, a head of dark curls and only a year or two older than Eddie himself. She lived with Stan, Bill’s friend. “Every time we start catching up, we’re slammed with more customers.”

“It’s beautiful out.”

“Exactly, so why are they here? On a day like this, I’d have thought they’d be at the beach or fishing. That’s exactly what I’m doing when I finish up here later.”

“That sounds like a nice idea.”

“You need a ride home later?”

Patty always offered to drive him, at least two days a week. “No, thank you. You know I don’t live that far.”

“No problem,” she persisted. “I’d be more than happy to do it.”

“Walking keeps me fit.”

He handed her his stack of tickets and Patty pinned them on the wheel and located another order, taking it to her section and dropping it off at the right table.

On his way home that evening, Eddie stopped in at the store for some fresh milk just in time before Bill closed up for the night.

“Is that everything?” Bill asked politely as he rung Eddie up, putting the chilled carton in a brown paper bag.

“I just need one more thing,” Eddie admitted, glancing down nervously. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“I’m off Saturday. Why?”

“I was wondering if, maybe, you’d want to come and have some dinner with me. Just the two of us, no kid brother.”

To Eddie, this point of their friendship felt like one of those defining moments. The two of them had been tip-toeing around their situation for a while, neither realising that they both had more than friendly feelings for one another. They’d spent a few nights having dinner together, but they always ate with Georgie, too.

“Yes,” Bill answered, holding Eddie’s gaze. “I’d love dinner.”

“Great!” Eddie beamed. “Saturday, my place, six?”

“That sounds perfect.”

When Saturday night rolled around, Eddie took a second shower that day, he moisturized with his favourite lotion and put on one of his new outfits, including new shoes. He blow dried his hair and combed it into place, happy that he looked good enough for tonight. As he turned one way and the other in front of the mirror one last time, he heard an engine approach outside. Eddie took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Then, after walking across the room and opening the door, he stepped outside onto the porch.

Getting out of his truck, there was Bill, dressed in jeans, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was standing against the driver’s side door, leaning inside of the car seemingly reaching for something.

Bill brought out a bottle of wine and turned. Seeing Eddie, Bill almost froze, his expression one of surprise. Eddie was standing in the last rays of the setting sun, perfectly radiant and for a moment all Bill could do was stare.

“You made it,” He said.

The sound of Eddie’s voice was enough to break the spell he had on Bill, but he continued to stare. He knew that he should say something witty, something to charm Eddie and break the tension the way someone like Richie would but Bill couldn’t think anything other than ‘I’m in serious trouble.’

They spent the next couple of hours eating and having a few glasses of wine. With his filter a little looser than normal, Bill finally had the confidence to ask the question that had weighed on his mind since he first met Eddie.

“What happened?” He asked bluntly, confusing Eddie.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were married. What happened?”

“Who told you that?” Eddie asked defensively.

“Nobody had to tell me anything, but you have a tan line on your ring finger where I’m assuming a wedding ring used to be.”

Eddie set down his wine glass and looked at his hands as they trembled, noticing that he did indeed have a little line of pale skin wrapped around his finger.

“Technically… I’m still married.” He admitted.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. You don’t have to tell me anything.” Bill apologised but Eddie shook his head.

“No, I want to tell you. I want to tell you all of it.”

That was how Bill ended up staying at the cabin with Eddie until after midnight. Eddie cried, but he told Bill everything starting from his mother right up to the night he left Myra and ran from his sham marriage.

“You did the right thing by leaving.” Bill assured him.

“She’s looking for me, though.”

“How do you know?”

“My business partners emailed me. Apparently she’s been botheriering as many people at my company as she can, trying to get any information they might have.”

“So, she’s actually a psychopath?”

“No..” Eddie sighed sadly, pinching the pride of his nose. “She, well, she just doesn’t understand. I didn’t tell her that I wanted a divorce, I didn’t tell her that I wanted to leave and I definitely didn’t tell her that I’m gay. As far as she’s aware, her husband just up and left in the middle of the night for no reason.”

Bill took Eddie’s hand in his, stroking his thumb across the bumps of Eddie’s knuckles.

“But you have a reason, a legitimate one and you don’t have to explain anything to her if you don’t want to.”

Eddie felt himself well up with emotions that he’d been swallowing for so long. Nobody had ever told him that he didn’t have to do something before, and it felt so good.

“Thank you, Bill. I-“ his eyes raised to look at Bill’s face, but he choked when he realised how close they were, and how amazingly blue Bill’s eyes are.

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

Eddie nodded so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, but the touch of Bill’s large hand cupping his jaw was enough to calm him down and flip his stomach all at the same time. Before either of them could think too much of it, their lips met in a tender, delicate kiss that said everything they couldn’t put into words.

****

Exactly one week after their date, Eddie was still floating. It had been a busy week and tonight would be the first chance to spend some real time together again, and Eddie was secretly hoping for more than just a kiss.

Eddie was unloading some laundry from the washing machine into the dryer when there was a knock at the door. Strange, because Bill wasn’t due to arrive for another hour yet.

Leaving the laundry, Eddie walked through the cabin and answered the front door. The polite, expectant smile dropping from his face when he saw the woman standing on the other side of the door casting a large, dooming shadow over the threshold.

“Myra, what.. what are you doing here?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I’m here to take you home, Eddie-Bear. You ran away, you didn’t tell me where you were going and you forgot all of your pills, baby.”

Eddie started to argue but she pushed him out of the way as she stepped inside, the old floorboards creaking under her obscene weight.

“Now, Eddie. We don’t have time for your apologies, you can explain everything on the bus ride home. We have to get going, or we’ll miss the departure time.”

Eddie watched in shock for a few minutes as Myra found the bedroom and began to pack Eddie’s belongings back up into his bag.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Myra. I’m sorry.”

She ignored him, not even acknowledging that he’d said anything. She only continued to pack, humming a song Eddie had heard a thousand times under her breath.

“Myra. I’m staying here.” Again he was ignored. “I want a divorce.”

When Mrs. Kaspbrak turned around to look at her husband, the waterworks were turned on and fat tears rolled down her fat, flushed cheeks.

“Eddieeeeee!” She sobbed. “Don’t be like this! Come home, so that we can fix everything!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I have to do this to you, but I don’t have another choice. I don’t love you, Myra. I never have. You deserve better.”

“But I want you, Eddie-Bear. Come home.”

Eddie shook his head and walked to his wife, standing only an inch taller than her. He kissed her forehead and wiped her tears.

“Listen to me, okay?” He pleaded, holding her hands in his. “I’m gay, Myra. I’m sexually attracted to men, not women. Not you.”

****

Bill arrived at Eddie’s with a picnic basket, planning to take Eddie out into the woodland surrounding the cabin for a late night bite to eat before back inside for desert. However, he wasn’t expecting a woman to put a spanner in the works when he arrived and found Eddie helplessly trying to console a crying woman. His wife, Bill assumed.

Eddie looked at Bill with apologetic eyes and a pleading look, Bill just nodded. Whatever Eddie needed, he would do.

“You have to understand, dear.” Eddie spoke so softly and calmly to a woman he didn’t love, reaching for Bill’s hand. “This man, Bill, is my boyfriend. I’m planning to move in with him soon. Do you understand me?”

Myra looked between the two of them, seeing that they were both handsome men and there was a clear chemistry between them. They both seemed somewhat uncomfortable, but she assumed that was just because she was there.

“Okay,” She croaked, voice hoarse from all of her crying. “I understand.” She stood, clutching her purse to her chest. “I’ll have my lawyer contact you when I decide what I want to keep.”

Myra left and Eddie let go of a huge sigh of relief, slumping into Bill.

“Thank you.” He whispered, wrapping around the other man. “For going along with that, I mean.”

“No problem,” Bill assured him, kissing the top of his head. “You’re a saint, being married to that woman.”

Eddie laughed and immediately the tension was broken, the air between them returning to normal.

****

Eddie didn’t think that anything else would come from Myra. He expected a few phone calls maybe, and the divorce papers when she made it home but what he didn’t realise, was that she didn’t go home.

Myra stayed in town, hidden for the next two days. She watched Eddie make his trips to the store and to work, then back home again. He kept a new routine in his new life and she was happy to find vitamin bottles, empty, in the trash. At least he was keeping himself healthy while he was without her.

Tonight, the whole town was having a firework display to celebrate the beginning of summer. Myra would take her chance then, ruining Bill Denbrough’s life so that he had nothing to offer Eddie.

As the boats made their way out onto the water, loaded with fireworks for the display, Myra took her chance and snuck into the empty store with gas canisters full of petroleum. As she walked up and down the aisles, she poured the liquid all over, covering everything she could reach. Back at the door, she stepped outside and lit a match, tossing it into the building which was immediately consumed in flames.

Eddie was sat on the pier, waiting for Bill and Georgie - Bill was grabbing beers from the cooler out back, and Georgie was getting a blanket for the three of them from his apartment above the store.

The fire started, and the whole world stopped. Eddie’s blood ran cold and he got to his feet, watching for a moment that felt like a lifetime as Bill’s livelihood began burning to the ground.

“HELP!”

Eddie looked up when he heard the scream, and he saw Georgie on the tiny balcony up on the second floor.

“GEORGIE!” Bill screamed, running to the entrance, but he couldn’t get inside.

Everyone was rushing to help with hoses and buckets of water but it wasn’t enough. The flames were too strong and taking over too fast, they had to get Georgie down. Eddie went to fetch a ladder from a nearby garden, but he was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. When he looked up, he saw Myra.

“Eddie-Bear. I told you to come home with me.” Her tone was so calm that it was terrifying. The woman had lost her mind.

“No! Why are you doing this?! You’re going to kill him!”

“Nobody will want you, baby. Bill won’t want you, knowing that he lost everything because of you.”

Eddie tried to fight Myra off, but she was too big and she had her sausage fingers wrapped tightly around his throat. Just as the edge of his vision began to blur, Myra fell off of the top of Eddie. She’d been hit in the head, by Stan who stood wielding a broken pipe.

“Crazy bitch.” He panted, helping Eddie up off of the ground.

“We have to help Bill and Georgie.”

The two men ran back to the store to help, Bill was desperately trying to get in while a few neighbours and Richie tried to convince Georgie to jump and that they would catch him, but he was too scared.

“I can get in.” Eddie spoke up. There was a small gap that the others were much too big for. “I’ll go up, push him out and you catch him.”

Before Bill could stop him, Eddie was off. He climbed up the gap in the edge of the building, through a window and then he was up on the balcony with Georgie.

“Eddie?! What the hell are you doing up here?!” Georgie cried, his words followed by a fit of coughing. He’d already inhaled so much smoke.

“I’m getting you down, okay? Just look at me. Look into my eyes.” Eddie stayed as calm as he could manage, holding the kid by the shoulders, forcing him to keep stilL and look at him. “Count with me, so you can calm down and breathe, okay?”

Georgie nodded and Eddie began to count. He got to four, and pushed him from the balcony.

****

Eddie couldn’t remember what happened after that. It was all heat and smoke and pain, but he was coming around. The constant beeping from a heart monitor was irritating him, and his arm itched like crazy.

“Eddie?” Asked a familiar voice. “Are you awake?”

“Hm?” He grunted in response, trying to will his heavy eyes open.

“Come on, tough guy. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

Eddie blinked a few times until he could see, and as his vision cleared, he saw Bill sitting by his side.

“Bill? What are you doing here?”

“Like I was going to leave you after you were blown up.” Bill scoffed. “Just… don’t panic, okay?” He pleaded, nodding down to Eddie’s arm.

Eddie looked down, and let out a cry of shock when he realised that his left arm was missing.

It wasn’t the end of the world, after all a missing limb was bearable if it meant living his new life as his true self with his wonderful boyfriend and his new family.

[asterinjapan]

City in style

Good evening from - well, slightly out of Imabari I guess, since my train just pulled up from there. I'm currently on the train back to Okayama, but since it's a long ride, I'm typing my report on the way. Battery of my phone is at 40% and it’s a fast train, so this will be tricky, haha.

The reason I'm so far out is that today, I went to visit Matsuyama! I had to cancel that side trip last year due to flooding, so this time, I reserved a seat on my first full day in Okayama to make sure the trip was on this time. I was really excited for it! Matsuyama is the largest city on the island Shikoku, and is directly connected by train with Okayama if you're okay with sitting in a train for almost 3 hours. It's a limited express, which means miles of leg space and seat reservations, so yeah, I was okay with that, haha.

Spoiler: I had such a good day that I caught the last direct train back to Okayama, oops. To be fair, that one leaves at like 6:30 pm, but still. Follow me below for today's report!

I had a seat reserved in the 8:30 train, which would bring me to Matsuyama at a little past 11. It's an hourly train and it's still the holidays, haha, so I refused any train earlier than that. My train is called the shiokaze, which has no specific characters that determine the meaning, so I suspect it's the first translation I can think of: salty wind. Which would make sense, as this train rides almost entirely next to the Seto Inland sea, so lots of salty air. The train took me over the Seto Ohashi, the world's longest two-tiered bridge system, and continued along the coast, allowing me to see quite a bit of Shikoku, as Matsuyama is at the other end of the island. It's so close to the water that I'm surprised they managed to get the train up and running again in a matter of weeks last year. The view is lovely, though, and I found myself wondering if that Dutch tv show Rail Away has featured this line before.

I dozed off a bit, nibbled on a delicious rice cake I'd bought yesterday and safely arrived in Matsuyama. I checked out the tourism office, which was pretty small, and decided I could do this with my own notes instead of a big guide book I'd only partially use. I did some quick math and learnt that a tram pass wouldn't pay off, so I just went to the tram stop and hopped on the first one that would stop at Okaido. Which doesn't sound very interesting until you learn that's the stop closest to Matsuyama castle, haha. You didn't think I'd go this far out if the city didn't have at least one castle, did you? (I'm kidding. OR AM I.)

Anyway, the castle is on a hilltop, but they've been so kind to install a rope way and a chair lift. You could pick either, so I was gonna go with the rope way because it was pretty windy, but then I decided, no! I shall overcome my fears! And so I got on the chair lift, haha, which at least didn't require a wait. And it's not like they catapult you up to the top, the pace is much like an escalator, so that was actually pretty nice even with my fear of heights!

I still had to walk for a bit to find the main tower, but the sun was breaking through the clouds as I did so, making for lovely views over the city and the Inland Sea as I got there. This castle is one of the 12 which survived the end of the feudal era intact, although it is the most recent one. It was originally constructed in the 1600s, but it burnt down due to lightning and was only reconstructed in the 1820s, mere decades before the end of the Edo period and with it, the feudal time. The castle went from 5 to 3 stories high, although it remains an impressive sight, and was actually rebuilt in a time when its primary function as a defensive fortress was no longer needed, as the Edo period was a time of relative peace with no wars to fight on Japanese soil.

The castle grounds are big, and the main tower covers a lot of area to explore. And they'd put in an effort! Some other original castles only have the bare bones inside with the occasional information plaque,  but this one had a proper museum, with a ton of information in multiple languages and even some interactive bits, like feeling how heavy a samurai sword is or trying on armour. Though I must say the stairs were a bit tricky as they tend to be in original constructions. I've definitely seen worse (looking at you, Matsumoto) but it was still a bit steep and narrow. By no means as accessible as Shuri, but to be fair, this wasn't a castle for living, but for defense. It sure had a ton of gates for that purpose!

I had a great time exploring, and by the time I left the premises, I realised it was already 2 pm, oops. No wonder my stomach was rumbling! I uh, had pasta for lunch (with avocado and shrimp! And a salad! Healthy!), because I needed something quickly, and then made my way back to the tram. Next stop: Dogo Onsen!

Yeah, okay, I wasn't planning on going into the bathhouse, but I had some other sights here too and the building looks lovely, so might as well check it out. The station itself is really nice too, and across the street is the Botchan Karakuri clock. The clock is named after the novel by Natsume Soseki, one of the most famous Japanese writers of modern times, and every hour, figurines from that novel come out to chime in the new hour. I was here too early for that, so I walked through the nearby shopping street to find the Dogo Onsen main building, the Honkan. It was constructed in the 1890s and is such a refined bathhouse that it also welcomes the imperial family as guests. The building is said to have served as an inspiration for the giant bathhouse in the animated film Spirited Away. I've seen other claims which dispute it, but regardless, the sheer size and style are certainly reminiscent of that movie. The building is undergoing renovations, but the front is still visible whilst the back is covered with a lovely Phoenix by legendary animator Osamu Tezuka, so it's still an amazing sight.

Back through the shopping street (also housing a Ghibli store - the animation studio behind spirited away, that must have been on purpose), I caught the clock chiming 3 PM. I recorded it on my camera, but I hadn’t accounted for it actually spouting extra levels on top, so there’s some random zooming going on in that video, haha. Still though, this was a nice sight to behold, I’m glad I waited here for a bit to catch it.

Next, I made my way to my next destination: Isaniwa shrine. There's a huge and steep staircase in front of it, but it was surprisingly light to climb, and oh, so worth it! This must be one of the most photogenic shrines I've ever seen. The vermilion stood out splendidly against the blue skies, and I took a good while wandering around here.

I then took a slight detour through Dogo park. You see, Matsuyama used to house another castle: Yuzuki castle. The park was built on this site and not much of the castle is still around, but it's a nice walk and has a great viewpoint hill from which you have an unhindered panorama view of the city. Also, I could wave at Matsuyama castle from here, haha.

My final stop was Ishiteji temple, which was also the sight furthest removed from tram stops. This was an - interesting temple to say the least, haha. It's the most famous one in Matsuyama and part of the 88 temples in the Shikoku pilgrimage. The complex is big with a nice pagoda and an eclectic mix of statues. It also houses a cave that apparently branches out in two directions, I'm learning now. Dang it, missed the inner temple, but that cave was pitch dark for the most part and had stairs, so you know what? I'm proud I braved it once and didn't break my neck, I'm not going in another time, haha. I didn’t see anyone around who could have helped me had I tripped, so I was a bit scared to be honest. I’ve had this ‘trip in the pitch dark’ event before in Kyoto, but there, it was flat ground and plenty touristic. Here, before I entered the area, they had put up a box asking to pay 100 yen (or 200 yen in English, a very interesting translation, hm). I paid, but like... there was no-one to check? This so would not work back in Europe, dang.

Anyway! With the temple behind me (quite calm for the most famous one), I made my way back to the tram stop at Dogo Onsen. I just missed my transfer at Matsuyama station, so I booked a seat on the next shiokaze, also the last one for today, oops, and killed time with buying dinner and some stationary at daiso, where everything is 100 yen plus taxes, haha.

And now I'm still in the train, on the way to Marugame, the last station on Shikoku. Typing on a moving express train is pretty challenging, so I'll clean up this entry in the hotel and then share the photos of today too.

Now off to decide on what to do tomorrow, hmmm... anyway, I'm really glad I got to go to Matsuyama, the long train ride is definitely worth it. Also, I’m making some good progress on my list of castles, haha.

Good night for now, see you tomorrow!

[cupofteaguk]

all too well | 06 (m)

summary: you and Yoongi shared a loving relationship with one another until you both agreed to end things and pursue your separate careers. but two years later, Yoongi is a member of the ever growing Bangtan Boys, and you are a new makeup artist for their upcoming tour. 

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

genre: idol au, makeup artist au, exes au | angst/smut

warnings: slight voyeurism, fingering, unprotected sex. there’s angst at the end sorry not sorry lol 

word count: 7k

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A lot of things have changed in the past two years—you are the last person who would ever try to deny that.

For instance, you don’t know if Yoongi still likes caramel macchiato with his two shots of espresso, or if he still reaches out to cling for the nearest source of warmth while remaining on the brink of unconsciousness, or even if music is still the most important thing in his life. You don’t know if he can still record the lyrics floating around in his mind as easily as gathering strings of cotton candy, or if he hides his emotions underneath miles and miles of apathy. There’s a lot of things you no longer know about Yoongi. You’ve changed a lot in two years and it would be foolish and naive to assume that Yoongi had not.

But there’s one thing you know has not changed over the course of that time, and that was how naturally you could fold yourself into Yoongi’s touch, how his lips could still light all the nerves underneath your skin like fire, sparking you into life, and how readily you could feel yourself responding to him.

When Yoongi dives back into for another kiss, one that contains just as much passion, anger, remorse, and desperation as the first one, you can’t deny on returning the gesture with equal frenzy. He still does good in making your mind spin like a top, your sense of gravity severely distorted as you feel like you might topple over if you don’t grip onto the closest thing that just so happens to be the fabric of Yoongi’s t-shirt. The material is soft in between your fingers, clenching it to pull him closer and he doesn’t protest. The kiss is hard, teeth and tongue and shallow breathing as Yoongi grips the edges of the makeup counter behind you as a means to cage you in and keep himself grounded.

You lose all sense of coordination, even forgetting where the pair of you were to the point in which you didn’t care anymore if people were just outside the door, soon to be looking to where you both had run off to. You don’t care, you can’t hear anything except your own heartbeat and the breaths intermingled in the air as Yoongi pulls away from your mouth to start working his way down across your jawline, down your neck, nipping at that one spot below your ear that’s enough to make you see stars. It should almost boggle your mind how much he remembers the mapping of your body, which areas to settle upon that would rile you up the most.

“Y-Yoongi,” You gasp, shutting your eyes tightly as the pleasure that surges through your entire body goes right between your legs—!

“Shut up,” He gruffs, his voice sending vibrations through your body. His hands move from holding the edge of the desk to one against the back of your neck to keep you still, and the other against the small of your back to press your hips close to his. You can feel the toll this session has had on Yoongi nudging itself against the inside of your thigh, and you can feel your mind reeling with a million questions at once, ones you cannot sort through properly because it feels like you’re trying to crawl through honey.

But you’re well aware enough to feel a strange sort of odd panic wash over you, because what exactly did this mean for your relationship with Yoongi? Was he going to take you on in this vacant dressing room, quick and breezy before anyone could truly discover that both of you had disappeared and then go on pretending as if nothing had happened? Was this going to damage your friendship for the rest of the tour?

“Yoongi,” You manage in between pants, cloudy mind while the boy continues nipping gently at the skin, leaving behind a ticklish yet so, so pleasurable sensation that you are forcing your breathes. “I-I need—!”

But the boy never gets to find out what you need, nor do you know what your statement would have consisted of if you had allowed yourself to keep talking. The pair of you are interrupted by a familiar voice sounding right beyond, lingering down the hallways as Seokjin calls for Yoongi’s name, something in the older boy’s voice implying that he wasn’t going to stop until he saw the boy in question.

“Yoongi,” You let out with a little more force, pressing the palm of your hands against his chest. “Seokjin is calling for you—you should…”

Yoongi’s slows down in his exploration across your skin, stopping but lingering over to inhale in your scent and he’s so close that you have to close your eyes to breathe in. Two years later, and he still smells the same—underneath all those layers of popularity and perfection is still the same Yoongi, who smelled like he spent a little too long atop the morning dew of an evergreen forest.

It’s in that moment, you realize it might not be too late to stop Yoongi from pulling away, it might not be too late to pull him back in and whisper against skin that what you need is Yoongi. You need every part of him that he was willing to give to you, every part of him that you were denied for two long, painful, agonizing years. You desperately long to form the words, only you don’t know how to, the previous ministrations with the boy leaving your mind behind to waddle around like it’s trying to go through honey.

It feels like forever, but also much too soon, when Yoongi pulls away to level his gaze with yours. You wonder if you look the way he does now, breathless and waiting, patient but yearning so deeply for something, Yoongi’s gaze piercing through your thoughts and feelings. You think back to a few weeks ago when you chided him for seeing through you too easily, able to read the air around you like reading a book, but now you find that you are endlessly grateful for it.

He leans back in, pressing his lips against the shell of your ear. “Stay here,” He whispers, a command, a promise, a request and you feel your legs immediately freezing on the spot as Yoongi pulls away. He paces briskly to the door, opening it and cursing at once. “Hyung—!”

“Yah, Yoongi, we’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Seokjin’s voice sounds from the other side, the state of his voice mirroring one of an overprotective mother who just lost her son at a grocery store. “What—what are you doing in an empty dressing room?”

“Uh, I got a call from my mom. You know the service in here is great.”

“Huh.” Seokjin doesn’t seem entirely convinced on the subject matter, but he’s never been one for pushing a topic the boys aren’t fond of brushing upon. “Alright then.Well, everything is pretty much cleaned up here and prepped for the flight over to Manila tomorrow afternoon. Everyone’s heading back to the hotels now…”

“Yeah, okay, just give a second to grab my jacket.”

You can tell that Seokjin is nodding his head on the other side of the door, one that has been opened just enough to let Yoongi barely squeeze through. The boy is about to dismiss himself from the conversation before: “Oh, also—have you seen Y/N anywhere?”

Yoongi pauses for a moment. “Has the other makeup crew left already?”

“Yeah… I think one of them wasn’t feeling too well so they went back a little early. She’ll have to ride with us, assuming we can find her…”

“I’ll look for her,” Yoongi reassures. “I’ll meet you out in the back in five minutes?”

“Sure.”

With one last departing nod, Yoongi and Seokjin separate, as Yoongi watches Seokjin disappear down the hall before he shuts the door again and makes his way over to where you are standing, still planted in the spot he left you. “C’mon, you’re coming back with us.”

You don’t say anything as Yoongi takes you by the wrist, hauling you out of the dressing room and down the hall, mirroring the footsteps Seokjin must have taken a few seconds ago. You still don’t speak a word, too afraid to ask the question about what was going to happen next between the two of you, now that too many emotions have been exposed and pushed out into the open. Yoongi doesn’t initiate conversation either, even as he’s shouldering open the back door and exposing you to the chilling air. All the boys are near the company car, on their phones and laughing, but they all fixate their gaze on the pair of you as you approach them.

“Glad you could join us noona,” Jungkook greets, the casualness he displays towards you such a polar opposite of what you were just dealing with a few moments ago with Yoongi that you can’t help but exhale in a laugh.

“Thanks,” You manage in a breathy tone, cutting yourself off when Yoongi’s grip around your wrist tightens, the feeling of skin on skin practically overwhelming that you swear you might actually lose your mind when he brings his thumb out to rub at your skin.

“Y/N and I will sit in the back,” Yoongi says by way of arrangement, earning an oblivious nod from Jimin as the boy drags you forward, pushing the chair forward in order to slip through onto the seats in the back of the van. Jimin snaps the chair back into its original position as the rest of the boys start filing into the remaining spots, conversations bright and lively and oh so painfully unaware of the tension plaguing the air, so thick that it becomes increasingly difficult for you to pay attention.

It isn’t until the car is started that you start to become mindful of the position you and Yoongi have found yourselves in—you have occupied the middle seat with the boy at your direct left, your joined hands resting atop your thighs. The bare skin of your leg brushing against the denim of his own jeans, sending a nervous prick up your nerves that a part of you longs to shy away from what this closeness could imply. But moving away now would definitely catch the attention of everyone, especially now that the car has made its way onto the road.

You recall that it’s only about a fifteen minute drive from the venue to the hotel—it’s not a lot of time, but it’s definitely enough to squeeze something in. You aren’t aware of these thoughts until you feel Yoongi loosening his grip from around your wrist, resting his palm against the skin of your exposed thigh.

You can’t help but squeak a little as Yoongi pushes his hand up, pulling the hem of your skirt along with his movement, slowly but not quite so, every inch of skin he touches with his own enough to make your head spin because it’s been too long, it’s been too long—!

“What’s wrong?”

You look up to stare at Yoongi, only to realize that he’s staring right back at you, eyes full of the emotions and intensity that is severely lacking in his voice.

“Uh…” You struggle to form words as his hand settles right between your thighs, skirt up to your hips. You suck in a breath as he nudges at your legs, cursing at how easily they open for him. “N-Nothing,” You manage, watching the way he quirks an eyebrow at your response. Yet the slight twitch as the corner of his lips curl up is enough to get you to melt in more ways than one.

“Good,” He remarks casually, keeping his eyes on you as his fingers hover over the spot you want him the most, blocked by the covering of your panties, which doesn’t do a good job at concealing the state of your arousal. This minor inconvenience in your life doesn’t stop Yoongi, however, because without a warning, he runs a finger up your folds, the cloth causing enough friction to get your hips to buck up.

But Yoongi wouldn’t be Yoongi if he refused to let up, leaving only the smallest of milliseconds for you to prepare for what he could possibly be planning for you, before he starts drawing small, yet lazy circles on your clit. The gesture is done without any preamble, as you release breathlessly how much you’ve missed Yoongi beyond the emotional state—there were also physical things he did for you that you had almost written off entirely from your life, such as his hips and his fingers and his tongue—!

You choke on a moan, the desire surging between your legs, as you’re sure that you’ve just soaked right through your panties, and judging from the flicker of desire swimming in Yoongi’s eyes, he’s very aware of the thoughts running through your mind.

Social norms be damned, you’re about to force Yoongi to slide the cloth of your now very useless panties to the side, to bask in the ultimate skin-on-skin contact you haven’t even realized you missed or vaguely desired until this very particular moment in time—but your past experience regarding small gestures of this public degree never ended well when you decided to be particularly vocal or expressive about your desires.

So you bite your lip, reach your hand out to grip tightly on the wrist drawing circles against you, unsure whether you want to pull him away or bring him closer. You find that you can’t entirely make up your mind anyways, given that a large percentage of your mind is trying to draw focus away from your vocal chords.

Given how long it’s been since you’ve had Yoongi’s hands on you—or just anyone’s hands on you in general, it’s been a very long 2 years alright—it embarrasses you how quickly you can feel the coil in your stomach tightening, how quickly you can feel yourself approaching that edge. Your fingers tighten around Yoongi’s wrist, the other desperate to find purchase in the leather seat as your head lolls back and you have to remind yourself more than once not to roll your hips.

The rubber band is about 5 seconds away from snapping in your core, before his hand is suddenly gone and your head snaps up from the loss of contact. Your fingers fall easily from his wrist, muscles and mind far too weak at the moment to make sense of the situation, before your eyes flicker towards the window and realize that the car has just pulled into the parking lot of the hotel.

The commotion from the other boys in the front, with the seatbelts and the ruckus and the conversation, it’s enough chatter for Yoongi to lean over and whisper in your ear: “Good thing you were wearing underwear, you almost soaked the seat.” But he’s gone before you could process his words completely, and you are left with nothing more than to unbuckle your own seatbelt and slip out from between the chair Jimin has pushed forward for the pair of you.

Yoongi follows close behind, all the boys lingering near the company car as you note Hoseok all the way towards the back of the group, the furthest vantage point he could physically be from you and Yoongi. His eyes are on his phone, and you know he must be so embarrassed from the previous encounter that suddenly feels so long ago. You feel as if you might walk over there to try and console him (although really, what could you say—after all, the boy had confessed to you) but Yoongi’s hand is at the small of your back.

“I’ll walk Y/N back to her room,” Yoongi states, motioning you forward after quick goodnights have been exchanged between everyone. You can practically feel the urgency in his steps as the pair of you enter the lobby and approach the elevator, but you can’t blame him. You feel much more riled up than he probably is—although you vaguely remember the weight of his desire pressing itself against your thigh back in the dressing room.

When the elevator reaches the respected floor, Yoongi pulls you out and the pair of you pace quickly down the hallway, passing by similarly styled doors and wallpaper and carpet until you reach your hotel room. Yoongi grabs the room key you hand him, clicking in, the green light of acceptance flashing before he opens the door and drags you in.

All you’re aware of is the door slamming shut behind you before your back is against the door with so much force it nearly knocks the wind out of you, but Yoongi’s lips are back on yours—leaving you little choice but to respond with equal vigor.

Even as he trails kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin, it’s all too much yet nowhere close to being enough. You grip the material of his jacket tightly, trying to formulate words. The only thing you can come up with is: “Y-Yoongi, I don’t know—if we should—do this—now—!”

His hands make their way down to the back of your thighs. “Tell me to stop then,” He pants, a simple request that hangs in the air suddenly, but he’s still kissing your neck, and his hands are gripping your thighs in a silent order to jump.

You do, his previous statement still lingering as you wrap your legs around his midsection, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket, trying to pull it off—!

Your own jacket gets removed first, the fabric of your short-sleeve shirt brushing against the skin of your arm as it becomes exposed to the chilly air.

“Y/N,” He speaks, voice gruff and hoarse, uncertain and hesitate, yet his arms alternate on leaving your legs to help you slide his jacket off his body, the sound of the material hitting the ground vague in your hazy mind as the pair of you continue kissing. “Y/N—tell me to stop.”

He groans when you run your tongue along his bottom lip. “Yoongi, shut up—just kiss me.”

Three words. That’s all it takes for you to hand over the consent, your willingness, the acceptance that you want this just as badly as he does as you can feel him melting into your touch. He stops trying to talk after that, diving back in, kissing you so fiercely that you can taste the desperation on his lips as he is suddenly walking backwards, abandoning the hallway and blindly seeking out the bed until it finds you—knocking into the back of Yoongi’s knees. The pair of you fall atop the mattress, you on top, as you straddle his waist, his hands moving from your thighs to cup your face.

You lose breath a lot quicker than he does as Yoongi pulls away to dust his lips along your cheekbone, across your jawline, your fingers curling into the blanket underneath.

“I missed you, Y/N,” Yoongi whispers against the skin of your neck, his hands helping to angle your head up a little to expose more of the flesh, running his lips down, across, his heart ramming against your chest at every little whine you let escape the back of your throat. The fact remained that only his touches, even the minor and seemingly insignificant ones could light a fire inside of you, drive you absolutely crazy. “I missed you so much. I missed kissing you and holding you—god.” His nose nudges the spot underneath your ear. “These past 2 years have been hell.”

“I know,” You whisper, closing your eyes to bask in his affectionate touches as his lips circle back around to find your own. “I’ve missed you too.”

You exhale when Yoongi’s hands trail down your back, stopping when they reach the hem of your shirt, tugging down once, twice, to showcase his intentions. “Can I?” He says, the vibrations against your lips setting a shiver down across your body.

“Yes, yes, take it off Yoongi,” You order breathlessly, lifting up one arm at a time to help as he slides the material off to reveal your black bra, breasts straining against the material, as you resume your original position of resting your forearms against the mattress.

His kisses move down to your collarbone, hands settling temporarily on your hips to pull you up enough so he is leveled with your breasts. The onslaught of sensations is enough to get you to whine once more, and you can’t help yourself this time as you start to roll your hips against the fabric of his shirt. Even with the shirt as a barrier, he can still feel the leakage from his previous ministration on you, which is why he groans, hands tightening themselves on your waist to get you to stop moving before one moves to grip the zipper of your skirt, sliding it down and pushing the skirt off your waist and down your legs.

“W-Wait,” Yoongi grumbles and you stop the movement of your hips, lifting yourself up on your arms to study his expression. “Let me top.”

You laugh breathlessly, nodding in approval as one of Yoongi’s arms curl around your back and he shifts his weight, rolling you over so suddenly—one of his arms keeping you close while the other slows the fall the only thing keeping you from plopping into this new position ungracefully. There are a few adjustments made as the pair of you straighten slightly so your head can rest against the pillow while Yoongi remains hovering over you. He sits up for a moment to tug off his shirt, sliding off the jeans after you had loosened the buttons, and it’s hard to miss the state of his own arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers.

He’s quick to lower himself back on you once more, setting back along your neck while his hands wrap around your back to unhook your bra. He tugs the material off your chest, curling his fingers around your wrist to pin you down as his lips quickly find your nipple, mouth wrapping around the bud and biting gently. Your reaction is immediate, back arching as you try to roll your hips against his own, if anything to relieve the pressure between the legs that has merely intensified ever since entering the hotel room.

“Y-Yoongi,” You gasp, sure you would definitely lose your mind at this point. “Yoongi, please.”

Yoongi chuckles breathlessly, the vibrations against your chest as he lets go of your wrist to settle them along the waistband of your underwear. “You’re still so cute when you’re desperate.”

He’s slow in removing the last article of clothing clinging to your skin, fingers leaving a tickling sensation behind as he finally slides the material down your legs, tossing it to the side and not wasting another second to press his fingers against your clit. Your hips buck up, his mouth suddenly upon your own to muffle your moans as he draws small circles against the bundle of nerves.

“Didn’t even need to lick my fingers,” He reports against your lips. “You’re so wet.”

“Who’s fault is that?” You retort, your words getting drowned out once more by your cries as he circles your clit once, twice, thrice before sinking a digit into your folds. He keeps one hand against your hips, keeping your still, his mouth trailing down once more to nip at the skin of your breast, the overwhelming regard to your senses too much for you to take as you press the heel of your palm into the mattress, desperately trying to escape Yoongi’s hold on you in whatever form that could take. But like in the car, he doesn’t let up, and because there isn’t the impending possibility of anyone discovering you at the turn of a head, it only drives him to push you further to the edge. The speed of his finger merely increase, adding another digit, your legs shake when he starts curling them inside you—you almost hate how he still remembers the entire mapping of your whole body.

You nearly scream when his thumb against your clit starts to increase, matching the speed of his fingers, your head lolling back to press into the pillow as his teeth come out to start biting at your nipples, his other hands curling into your hips to make escape near impossible.

“Y-Yoongi,” You gasp, arms shaking as you try to push yourself away. “Yoongi—oh god, I’m not going to last.”

The boy doesn’t say anything. He merely hums against your breast, but his fingers go faster, thumb settling at just the right angle to send you hurtling towards the edge at an even quicker rate. Your release hits you too soon, much like it always done with the orgasms Yoongi provokes from you. Your fingers curl into the blankets, knuckles shaking from the amount of pressure you’re applying, body desperate to move away from Yoongi, who only pulls away when you start spasming from overstimulation. He removes his hand from your center, as his mouth goes back up to kiss you on the lips again. “Still so fucking hot.”

You don’t say anything as he kisses you one last time before straightening up to slip off his boxers, his erection springing free, the tip red and precum already trailing down from the slit. You can feel yourself swallowing thickly at the sight, as Yoongi grips himself at the base, pumping himself a few times before leaning down again to hover over you, using one hand to prop himself up.

“You still on the pill?” He asks against your mouth.

“Yeah,” You manage, whimpering when he slides the tip over your folds, coating him in your juices. This only goes on for a few strokes before he pushes himself into the entrance, his lips swallowing your moans as he sinks into you slowly, inch by inch, as you swear you can feel him across every inch of your nerves, stretching you out in the best way possible until he’s buried in you at the hilt.

“Fuck,” He hisses in between clenched teeth, both arms now caging you between the bed and his body. “You’re so tight—shit.” He groans when you clench around him. “Stop that!”

“Well sorry, it’s been two years!” You snap back, trying to relax your muscles as you dig your nails into the skin of his shoulders. “Okay, okay, I’m ready. You can move.”

With a sigh, Yoongi starts, pulling out until he’s halfway into you before slamming back with such unprepared force that you whimper at the sensation, legs twitching as you push hard at his shoulders. “Oh god—do that again.”

The boy doesn’t protest the request, repeating the action until it starts to take on a steady pattern, one that isn’t too slow but not quick enough for you as you try to match his thrusts with your own. Your legs wrap around his waist, desperate to bring him in deeper, but the gesture is halted when Yoongi slows down significantly, the loss of friction making you whine. He straightens up into a sitting position, curling both his fingers around your ankle, bringing them up so they drape over his shoulders. Without a warning, his hips pick up the pace again, only going faster, the new angle allowing him to brush over a set of nerves inside you each time that leaves you gasping and panting for air, fingers curling to find purchase in the blankets underneath you.

The air is filled with the calls, grunts, and whimpers of you both calling each others names. Making sure that your legs are still over his shoulders, Yoongi leans forward slightly, both his hands gripping the edge of the headboard above you to give him something to ground him. The steady point of the headboard gives him enough leverage as his hips move even faster until he’s drilling himself into you with so much force that your whimpers turn into cries. The bed is rocking, shifting under the weight as it knocks into the wall behind you, but you don’t give a fuck. You don’t care who might be on the other side of these walls, as Yoongi fills you up in a way that makes you feel almost complete—leaving your mind on a reel, unable to believe you had missed out on this for the past two years.

But even with the rocking of his hips against yours, it’s still not enough, as you linger near the edge, lips parted but unable to voice the words so desperately lodging itself into the back of your throat. Yoongi, sensing that you need something more, pulls one of his hands back from the headboard, settling it in between your legs as his thumb immediately moves to circle your clit in a tight, fast gesture. Your hips buck up in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cries become long and drawn out.

“Yoongi-ah—ah—ah—I’m so—I’m so close—mm—!” You whine, back arching as the rubber band in your stomach pulls out further and further, steering you close to what you think will be one of the most intense orgasms of your life. The force of it almost scares you, but with your legs draped over Yoongi’s shoulders and your bodies joined at the hip, his arm above you to grip the headboard, there isn’t much you can find yourself doing as you feel yourself getting shoved closer and closer.

Your release hits you suddenly, coating your nerves in white hot pleasure as your back arches, hips twitching as you can feel yourself screaming, thighs shaking as you can feel yourself pulsing around Yoongi as he continues to thrust into you—albeit, it’s a little more sloppy now that he can feel his own end nearing, but he keeps his hand at your clit to milk out your orgasm even as your body starts to shake from the overstimulation.

Your fucked out expression, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as you whine and whimper against his touch is what brings Yoongi to his own end as he pushes himself into you one last time until he’s up to the hilt, releasing his desire into you in the form of white string, stilling for a moment as you twitch at the feeling. He gives you three more long, deep strokes to ride out both of your highs before he pulls out of you, your legs twitching as the loss of contact before he falls down to lay next to you. The air is filled with the sound of your pants and gasps and breathes as he brings his arms out to curl around your body.

As soon as you feel yourself resting against Yoongi, face buried in his neck, you exhale in a breath, eyes closing as the exhaustion starts creeping up on you, the feeling of finally being reunited with Yoongi making your heart sing as you realize once more that he’s wanted to be with you again just as badly as you’ve wanted to be with him.

You sigh in content as Yoongi brings his hand up to start threading through your hair, the soothing sensation enough for you to drift away.

“Y/N?” You hear him whisper, voice so soft that it just barely breaks through your mind as you find yourself grappling with unconsciousness.

Your mind is so hazy with the sleep you are just starting to embrace that the best you can manage is the smallest noise of acknowledgment, a gentle and careful sound.

You feel the shift of his movements, his lips pressing against your temple. “I’m still in love with you.”

He can’t see you, but you can feel the muscles in your face curving up into the smallest of smiles, mind reeling once more as you hope more than anything that the appearance of morning won’t change anything.

.

The sunlight streaming in through the windows the following morning is what stirs you out of your sleep, very quickly followed by the alarm you’ve set on your phone—a reminder that you needed to get to the Beijing venue for one last cleanup, one last look-over, and help with the packing of the set equipment and materials before boarding the plane to the next stop later that afternoon.

You turn over in the bed of your hotel room, opening your eyes slowly as you find that you immediately greeted with an empty bed.

At once, the memories of the previous night wash over you as you sit up straight on the bed, the covers falling down around you as you realize that you’re not wearing anything—another reminder that whatever happened last night most certainly had not been a dream.

The only thing that is missing from this otherwise picture perfect setting is the man himself.

Frowning, you reach over to run your hands over the spot Yoongi once occupied, only to find it cold, meaning that he must have left a long time ago. All his clothes are gone from the floor of the hotel room, your own folded and placed on top of the dresser from where it had been shattered the night before. Frowning, you kick the blankets off and dress into a new attire, tugging a new coat over your long sleeve as you find yourself searching the different rooms, as limited has it may seem.

But Yoongi’s presence is devoid from any of the rooms, no sign anywhere to indicate he had even set foot in this place less than twenty-four hours ago and that makes your heart beat a little faster with nervousness. If Yoongi had gone, shouldn’t he at least have left some sort of note? Or texted you? Or woke you up himself to tell you he had to leave early?

The happiness you once felt over Yoongi’s reappearance back into your life slowly starts to dissipate from your bones as the nerves in your body are overtaken with a variety of different anxieties. You suddenly long to call him or text him, reach out to him in some way to find out where he had gone.

You check the nightstand one more time, just to make sure he hadn’t left some note and hastily put it down before leaving.

But there’s no note, no text, no phone call—Yoongi was gone.

And you have no idea what to think anymore.

.

You’re about five minutes late to the meetup at the venue, and when you walk in you find that the usual commotion of taking down sets and packing up equipment is already starting to take its toll as people walk around you. Morning greetings find your ears as you smile and wave, making your way backstage where you know Irene is probably in the makeup room ready to give you a lecture about the importance of being on time. You don’t know how important that speech will be to you right now, especially given that your mind is still so preoccupied with thoughts of Yoongi.

You wonder where on earth he must be, if he’s even here in the first place, and why he would even be trying to avoid you if that just so happened to be the case. He didn’t have anything to be ashamed or embarrassed of—he may have confessed to you, but it should have been obvious to anyone living and breathing with sight that you returned obviously returned his feelings with the same clarity and determination.

As it turns out, you don’t need to wait too long, because just as you turn the corner to make your way down the main hallway of the backstage area, you crash right into Min Yoongi himself.

“Y-Yoongi!” You exclaim, eyes widening at the sight of him and how tired he appeared to you. His hair was a mess, eyes just as wide but with hints of red along the edges, but displaying absolutely no knowledge of what the pair of you had done the previous night.

He opens his mouth, but words never come out because his name is suddenly called by Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon, who catch sight of the pair of you and immediately start down the hall.

You try for a smile. “A-Ah, good morning you guys.”

“Morning noona,” Jimin greets, but his words are drowned out by Taehyung and Namjoon who have 110% of their attention focused on Yoongi.

“Yah, Yoongi-hyung, where were you last night?” Taehyung inquires. “You never made it back to the hotel room!”

You shift awkwardly in your position, although something in Taehyung’s words strike a chord in you. If Yoongi never returned back to his own hotel room, and he wasn’t with you this morning, where was he?

“Yeah, you went up with Y/N and we didn’t see you since!” Namjoon reports, switching his gaze between the two of you and you’ve never felt more exposed until this very particular moment in time. “Did something happen with you guys or—?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi interrupts, his voice throaty as the protest of the question strikes with so much sharpness in his tone that you don’t know whether to shrink away or praise his acting skills—he’s gotten better at being able to lie to people. “I walked Y/N up to her room and went for a walk around the city. I guess I just got track of the time, it’s really inspirational out there.”

You keep your gaze fixated on the boy, hoping that if you look at him long enough, the weight of your stare would settle themselves on Yoongi like hot coals. But he never once looks your direction, never once spares you a glance or a smile or even a flicker of acknowledge. His gaze is trained so intensely on the other boys that it makes you feel small and suddenly insignificant, as if he’s purposely trying not to look at you, as if the mere sight of you is enough to make him sick—!

You stop these thoughts before they could plague themselves too heavily in your mind. There’s no way Yoongi would dismiss you that easily, absolutely no way. He told you he still loved you, that he missed you, how could he easily pretend as if that conversation never existed in the first place.

You look up, only to find that Jungkook is staring at you, eyes narrowed in observant curiosity. He tilts his head to the side, as if to say “You okay?” but you merely respond with a tight smile and a quick nod.

Namjoon is finishing up on his lecture towards Yoongi, making the older boy promise to at least call next time he decided to make some ridiculous walking trip around the city before the three boys dismiss themselves, saying they promised to help the set crew with packing up the equipment.

“Yoongi,” You whisper, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater.

He walks past you, going in the opposite direction the three boys had just gone, stepping deeper in the hallway. You ignore the quiet flicker of hurt in your heart, deciding to steel your nerves and follow after him.

“Yoongi,” You speak again, a little louder with a little more force.

He spares you the quickest glance. “What?”

You exhale in a breath—was he really not going to bring this up to you? Or at least be decent enough to give you a smile or something? “Are we really not going to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” He dismisses, sparing a smile to the makeup crew as the pair of you pace past the opened door.

You can feel the initial positivity over this working out with Yoongi slowly dwindling from your mind. “Are you serious right now?” The pair of you are just about to pass the room in which all the costumes and clothes are packed along hangers—but the fact that it’s devoid of any singular presence gives you the courage to grab Yoongi by the wrist. Ignoring his protests and sputters of your name, you pull him into the room, shutting the door behind you as you whirl around to face him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Yoongi replies, his expression hard and you almost falter with how devoid of any emotion it is. “I should ask what you’re doing—dragging me into this closet.”

“You’re not giving me a choice, we need to talk about what happened between us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Yoongi, we slept together last night—and you left this morning. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about!”

“You’re right, I did leave this morning,” He explains. “That means I don’t want to talk about what happened—there’s nothing to talk about.”

His lack of cooperation is enough to leave you wanting to pull the hair out of your roots, unable to comprehend how something so right could turn into something so wrong over the course of just a few hours.

Yoongi seems to take your silence and internal dilemma as something he doesn’t want to busy himself with, as he gives you one last look of finality. He moves to brush past you, but you sidestep him before he can leave. He groans. “What now—?”

“You’re a fucking coward,” You seethe between clenched teeth. “How could you not want to talk about what happened?” You catch something flicker in his eyes. “Don’t lie to me—you promised you would never do something like that to me.”

“Fine, you wanna talk about it?” He retorts, taking a bold step towards you. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Fuck Y/N, what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth! Don’t tell me that you’re still in love with me and try to pretend that never happened.”

“Fine, you wanna know what I think?” He snaps, his eyes alit with so much aggression that you almost want to shy away from him. It’s like he’s looking at a stranger, or something he’s finally releasing years of pent up annoyance towards. “What happened between the two of us was a mistake—we shouldn’t have done something like that, it was stupid and reckless and irresponsible.”

The word mistake is enough to get your heart to stop, the words you’ve so carefully planned out in your mind gradually starting to fade away.

“Fuck, do you have any idea what would happen if people found out about us?” Yoongi continues, looking as if he’s gone over these thoughts for hours, which only leaves you feeling worse. “Do you know how much trouble we’ll get into? How much trouble I’ll get into? If people found out, this could fuck up my entire career—and I’m not ready to lose everything because of you.”

You recoil at once, the weight of his words sinking in as you realize for the second time in your life, Yoongi has made the decision that his career and his music was more important than your love for him. Your heart starts hammering, pounding more and more forcefully against your chest, parting your lips as the breath starts to leave your lungs more and more quickly until it hurts to breathe and it hurts to be alive. You feel your stomach churning like you might be sick, your head spinning like you might fall over, the initial inability to understand Yoongi’s words now beginning to hit you like a nail on the head.

He didn’t love you—he hated you.

You weren’t worth the decency you thought you had earned in his life—you weren’t worth struggle and conflict as Yoongi battle against his career and his job.

Your breath comes out in pants as you feel the tears stinging your eyes, all that hope and all that love that had been building up for Yoongi over the 2 years crashing down. You think you knees might give out, you might collapse on the ground as the tears fill your eyes so quietly that your vision is foggy before you can even think to look up at Yoongi.

As for the boy, he’s silent as well, breathing in and out as the gravity of his words start to weigh down upon him. You can see the realization dawning across his features as his eyes widen with horror, all that stiffness melting from his shoulders and his body as he—“Y/N, wait—!”

He takes a step forward, but you match him with a step backwards, shying away from his touch as his words repeat themselves in your mind like a mantra, like a bell, a song you can’t escape from no matter how far you go, no matter how fast you run.

Yoongi’s eyes are still wide, desperate to keep them on you, to feed you all the words of regret and apology he can’t seem to voice out loud in light of all the regret and sorrow building up in his body. “Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry—!”

You avert your gaze quickly from his, biting hard on your lower lip as they start to shake, the tears spilling out past your lids and down across your cheeks. “I’ll, uh, I’ll leave then.”

“Y/N—Y/N, please don’t—!”

You wipe at the tears. “I—I wouldn’t want this mistake ruining the rest of your life.”

“No, no, no Y/N, I didn’t mean it, please believe me, please—!”

He tries to reach for your wrist, but you shake yourself out of his touch, backing towards the door, where you fling it open and dash down the hallway, leaving Yoongi alone in the closet. But you don’t care, even as you run, desperate to find a place where you could allow the sobs so desperately racking themselves against your throat.

You despise a lot of things in this particular moment, but you mostly despise hope—which is probably the worse of them all.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | epilogue

[jlalafics]

Could you write some lesbian!Everlark please?🥺

Anon, I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoy reading.

Summary: Peeta Mellark has an instant connection with a savior in scrubs. 

“You can shut off the lights now.”

Delly Cartwright, Peeta’s friend and business manager, looked to her and gave a sympathetic smile.

“You did well for a new business owner, Peeta,” she continued. Gathering some of the go-backs, Delly started to head over to the racks. “You opened a record shop. It wasn’t exactly going to be busy every day, but from a business standpoint, you did well for your first week.”

Peeta gathered her golden locks into a ponytail and took the broom next to her to sweep up.

“I guess you’re right,” Peeta replied.

She had fair sales for her opening week; it had always been her dream to open a shop of her own and her love for vinyls clinched her decision to open a record store. There was hope of expanding to a used bookstore, but it seemed that it would be awhile before that would happen.

“Don’t you have a husband to get home to?” Peeta asked her friend. “Thom must be annoyed that you’re spending all your time with me.”

“Thom wouldn’t have a full-service coffee bar if it weren’t for his wife’s business savvy,” Delly retorted. She pushed herself onto the wood counter. “He can sacrifice time so I can help out one of my best friends.”

“Really though.” Returning the broom to its place, Peeta met her friend’s light eyes. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Suddenly, Delly’s mouth formed into a smirk. “I mean it wouldn’t hurt if you had a partner to support and help you out. I met this great girl at Thom’s bar—”

“You know what—” Peeta lifted her petite friend off the counter easily, placing her by the front door. “—I think you should go home. You’re obviously exhausted.”

“You win this round, Mellark,” Delly declared with a chuckle. “We’ll see you for Sunday brunch at our place.”

Stepping out, Peeta watched her friend get into her car and drive off before walking back into the store.

Sighing, she let herself admit that she was lonely.

It had been two years since her last relationship and about six months since her last date. Her brothers were both in long-term relationships; Dean, her eldest brother, married to Olivia, his college girlfriend, with two kids and one on the way while Rye, the middle child, engaged to Johanna, one of Peeta’s closest friends and her former roommate.

While she, the youngest and only girl, was still single.

Peeta wasn’t looking for just anyone.

Whoever she was had to be more.

So, for the time being, she would just have to focus on getting the store up and running.

++++++

Locking up the store, Peeta buttoned her rust peacoat and headed towards her bus stop. Her place was fifteen minutes away—just a few blocks—but the fall season had caused the city to go dark once it hit six in the evening.

“Hey girl!”

The group of guys from the bar across the street called out. There were a few catcalls and she ignored it, speeding up her pace towards the bus stop at the end of the block. Her heart stuttered in nervousness as she heard the footfalls heading towards her.

Suddenly, one of the guys was standing in front of her. “Where you heading, sweetheart?”

Peeta didn’t reply, only taking in a description of the guy…mid-twenties, dark beard, medium height, sharp dark eyes wearing a grey hoodie, black tank, and dark jeans.

So, basically any random guy.

Dean was a cop and he had always taught her what to do if she was in a situation like this. However, it didn’t seem to be helping as she found herself surrounded by the rest of the group.

So, Peeta went for Rye’s method and fully rushed at the guy in front of her, trying to knee him in the groin.

He pushed her and Peeta was knocked down, the back of her head hitting the concrete.

There was the pain of impact…and then darkness.

++++++

“Miss Mellark…can you open your eyes?” Peeta blinked, her vision blurred and the white light causing her eyes to close again. “Take your time.”

She followed the kind voice, allowing herself to adjust before opening her eyes once more.

“There you go,” the voice said gently. “You gave us a scare when you came in.”

Her vision cleared and the warmest set of eyes greeted her. Almond-shaped and dove grey, the eyes were set in a heart-shaped face along with a pert nose and rose lips, her skin was a soft olive and her raven hair was tied back in a neat braid.

“Where am I?” she asked as the bed was slowly elevated.

“You are in the hospital,” the woman in the blue scrubs informed her. “My name is Katniss and I’m your nurse. You were mugged; the perp got your credit cards but left the rest of your wallet since there wasn’t any money. Can you tell me your name?”

“Peeta. Peeta Mellark.”

Katniss looked at her in confusion. “Your ID says Pieta Mellark.”

“When I was born, my parents tried to teach my brother Rye how to say me name properly, Pee-et-ta, but he couldn’t get it and kept pronouncing my name as Pee-ta. So, it kind of stuck.”

The nurse chuckled. “I like both your names.” Katniss looked over her chart and then to her. “We’re just making sure that you’re CT scan comes out clean and then we can release you. Do you have anyone that we can call? Your family?”

“I don’t want to worry my parents and they’re an hour away, and my brothers have families,” she explained. “Once I’m released, I’ll just head on home.”

“Your name fits you,” Katniss remarked. “Pieta means compassion. A lot of people would milk themselves getting injured, but not you. You’re more concerned about everyone else around you.”

“Give me a day or two and I’ll be at home, feeling sorry for myself,” Peeta replied. “Your name is a plant.”

The nurse grinned. “How did you know?”

“When we were all kids, my parents took us camping,” she explained. “And my Dad told me that if for some reason, I got lost in the woods then I just needed to find you to survive.”

Katniss blushed, her cheeks flooding with color, and Peeta found herself breathless in the prettiness of it all.

“I suppose that could also apply to non-camping situations,” Katniss responded. “Get some rest, Peeta, and I’ll check up on your results.”

++++++

“I’m really alright, Haymitch,” Peeta assured her business partner on the phone. “They kept me overnight for observation, but they didn’t see anything in the CT scan.”

“We should install cameras in the front,” the man insisted. “You could’ve been killed or assaulted!”

“Well, they checked if there was any trauma down there and everything seemed right as rain,” she assured him. “My vagina is perfectly intact.”

There was a cough and she turned to see Katniss standing before, a black bomber jacket over her scrubs and her hair down in long waves.

“I really didn’t need to hear that,” the man muttered. “Just call me when you get home, okay? Also, get an Uber and put it on our business credit card.”

“Ah…you should probably call about that,” Peeta replied. “Some of my credit cards are missing.”

“I’m right on it,” Haymitch responded. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll open the store tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Hanging up, Peeta stuffed her phone into her jean pocket before turning to the woman. “Getting off?”

Katniss looked to her in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Work. You off from your shift?”

The blush invaded her lovely face and she nodded quickly. “Oh yeah! Just heading out. How about you?”

“Yeah, just needed to check in with Haymitch, my partner,” Peeta explained.

“Oh.” Katniss’ expression dropped. “Why wouldn’t your boyfriend pick you up?”

Peeta snorted at the idea. “Haymitch is my business partner.” She looked to the woman beside her. “You heading home to your boyfriend?”

The woman shook her head. “I’ve got some leftover pasta and A Walk to Remember on Netflix, but that’s about it.”

“Would you want to join me for a cup of coffee?” Peeta found herself asking. “Thom, my best friend’s husband owns a coffee shop a few blocks down. It will be on me—or on Delly, my best friend—your coffee, I mean…”

Shit, Peeta was going about this all wrong. She didn’t even know if Katniss was into girls.

“Sure.”

Her head snapped up at Katniss’ response and Peeta smiled. “Okay.”

They headed onto the sidewalk in front of the hospital. It was a beautiful morning, chilled but brimming with potential to be a gorgeous day of clear skies and temperate weather.

“How long have you been a nurse?” Peeta asked as they headed down towards Thom’s coffee bar.

“About three years,” Katniss said. “Got this job right out of school. My mom was head nurse at the hospital before retiring a few years ago and I guess nepotism worked in my favor. I might actually be a really crappy nurse.”

“No, you definitely aren’t,” Peeta argued. “You have a natural empathy.”

“How so?”

“When I woke up, I was scared as hell,” she told the woman next to her. They stopped at the crosswalk and Peeta met Katniss’ gaze. “But, when I heard your voice, I knew that I would be okay. You made me feel safe.”

“That’s a lot to put on a girl,” Katniss said quietly. “But I’m glad that I could help.”

Their eyes met and it was like a magnetic force that Peeta found her hand tucking back a tendril of Katniss’ hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered, feeling the softness of her dark waves and Katniss’ breath caught at the gesture.

Her hand covered Peeta’s and the sensation drew a sharp gasp from Peeta’s mouth.

It had been a long time since she had felt like this.

Stepping towards Katniss, she waited to see if the woman would retreat.

However, Katniss remained still, her mouth parted and her eyelids going half-lidded as Peeta close the space between.

The kiss was careful, her mouth slanting over Katniss’ gently. The feeling of her soft lips caused a groan to draw up from the pit of Peeta’s stomach and escape between their mouths.

It was scary but exhilarating all at once and Peeta never wanted to let her go.

However, Katniss hummed against her lips and reluctantly she pulled away.

“I probably wasn’t supposed to do that,” Peeta told her.

Katniss looked disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“I mean not without taking you out on a date first.”

Katniss let out a relieved laugh. “Well, we just cut out the needless tension of the first kiss, didn’t we?”

“I guess so,” Peeta replied, taking her hand. “So…”

‘…would like to stay indefinitely?’

“Would you like to have coffee first and then dinner later?”

“And, between then?” Katniss asked, her thumb caressing the top of Peeta’s hand.

“Whatever we want, I have all day.”

I have forever for you.

“Okay.” Katniss beamed. “Let’s start with the coffee.”

 *I have more, but I wanted to keep this short and sweet. Let me know if you’re interested in more.

Pieta or pietà means compassion or pity in Italian. The word is most known for the Christian art depicting the Virgin Mary cradling the dead body of Jesus, mostly in sculpture.

Thanks for reading.

[spinebreak3r]

Ten

Ten moments that represent your relationship with Yoongi, based off of One Hundred Ways to Say I Love You x

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: ridiculous amounts of fluff and pining, friends to lovers, perspective changes, drunk BTS in 1., a mention and portrayal of anxiety (it’s briefly mentioned in 2. and detailed in 7. please stay safe)

Word count: 2,122

1.

Going out with the Bangtan Boys was always a mission. You had immense amounts of fun and they were considered some of your closest friends, but there was always that one point in the night where Jimin would get a tad too giggly and Joon would say something a little too questionable, and you would have to call it a night.

This was one of those times, as a tipsy Jin, Yoongi, and Hoseok lead a sober you back to your car after a karaoke night that had gotten a slight competitive and had ended up with Jungkook and Jimin doing push-ups to settle a winner.

They were arguing about it now, Jin pulling out his fist to settle it rock, paper, scissors, style and none of them barely noticed you get into your car and wind down your window.

“The rules of rock, paper, scissors are clear, Jin! It’s best two out of three!” Hoseok yells out into the night.

“You cheated!”

“You can’t cheat in rock, paper, scissors!”

“That’s exactly what a cheater would say!”

You honk your horn to get their attention.

“Night, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You ask.

They all nod and chorus a goodbye. Hoseok leans over to give you an awkward hug through the car window. You smile back and out in your keys.

Yoongi’s eyes are trained on you as you buckle your seat belt.

“Drive safely,” He calls out to you as you pull out of your space.

You wave back and smile.

2.

He was sweating.

Anxiety wasn’t something new to him, he had come to know how to deal with it after many years. But this was different. This was new. This was exciting.

This was almost a date.

He says almost because he never explicitly asked you out, and he knows very well that you probably think he sees you as just a friend. But you’re both sitting in a cafe, alone, without the boys, just the two of you.

So Yoongi has decided to call it an almost date.

You’re laughing so hard too, your eyes glinting in the soft lights, and Yoongi’s heart feels like it’s going to pop out of his chest. Were you always this beautiful? Probably. He doesn’t want this to end.

But of course, it does. You both have lives and jobs and other people to talk to. He takes a moment to be selfish though, a moment of bravery combined with high adrenaline, and he asks if you want to go to this new record store he found, on Saturday, just the two of you. You say yes. He smiles so hard his cheeks hurt.

The grin falls when you pull out your wallet, though. “No.” He says. “No, it’s my treat.”

You protest, as expected, but he’s quick to swipe his card before you can actually pay.

“Fine. But next time is on me.” You exclaim, full of certainty.

Yeah, he thinks, like I’m letting that happen.

3.

The call wakes you up.

You grumble repeatedly, tossing up between turning over and ignoring it or answering the person with several threats.

His name flashes on the screen and all the anger disappears from your body.

“Yoongi?” You answer.

“Did I wake you?” He replies. “I’m sorry.”

You look at the clock and see it’s two in the morning. You have to get up early too, but the way his voice cracks in the middle of his question makes your words easy to say.

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

He’s quiet.

“Talk to me.”

He does.

4.

“You’re warm.”

His hand hovers over your forehead, and you have to agree, you do feel hot. Though you suspect most of it is from being in such close proximity to your longtime crush.

“I’m fine.” You whisper.

He tuts before pulling out his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling Hobi I can’t make practice.”

You sit up quickly, making your head spin but you push it away. “I told you I was fine!”

“And I call bullshit!” He replies, looking you straight in the eye. “There. It’s done. Now you’re stuck with me.”

You look at him in annoyance only to spot an acne scar on his forehead you’ve never seen before. Your hand reaches out to touch it gently.

He pushes your hand away. “Now are you gonna be good and let me take care of you?”

Cheeks flushed and arms crossed, you pout. “Depends.” You reply. “Are you gonna make me tea?”

“All the tea in the world, your grace.”

“Then I guess I’ll behave.”

He grins, gums and all, and pats your head. “Get some rest. I’ll be back with your tea in a second.”

You watch him leave the room. You immediately miss him.

5.

Your best friend is gonna be so proud of you. You could hear their voice right now, all giggly and gushy. Even you were hyped.

You were on a date.

Not just any date, a date with Min Yoongi.

You weren’t fully convinced this was real life.

It had been a good night so far. You had hung out at his studio and listened to him rant about pitches and notes and beats. He was under the pretense of “teaching” you but you had gotten lost. Mostly because when he talked about music, he talked really fast, and also partly because he had a new perfume on and he smelled like vanilla and lavender.

Not that you would ever admit that to anyone.

After that, you went out to eat and instead ended up walking for two hours, too caught up in talking to notice you had long since passed the restaurant and ended up getting horribly lost.

Now you were back in the comfort of your home, arguing about how long to cook popcorn and scrolling through movies to watch.

It was definitely up there as one of your favorite nights ever.

“No horror movies.” He immediately states, reaching over to pull your legs onto his lap.

You pause on a classic, Star Wars, feeling in that kind of mood, only to see him grimace in the corner of your eye. You start to scroll again.

“What do you wanna watch?” You ask.

He looks at you, long and hard, and you wonder if he heard you properly. He opens his mouth before you can ask again though.

“Star Wars?”

Your surprise and excitement is not easy to hide. “Really?!”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

He falls asleep twenty minutes in but he does so with his fingers laced in yours, so you don’t mind.

6.

He has a hard time believing you’re real.

He’s always been a cautious person, always on his guard. Not trusting people is one of his flaws and he didn’t really care enough to put any effort into changing that. Then you came along, all kindness and beauty and hope, and he couldn’t help become immediately accepting of you.

Yeah. Sometimes he didn’t quite think you were real, that you were his.

Times like now, when you walk into his studio without him asking you, coffee and food in hand. You wanted to see him, you said. You liked to make sure he was healthy, you said. It’s no big deal, you said.

“It’s two sugars, right?” You say.

He kisses you before he fully realizes what he is doing.

Your lips are stupidly soft, he thinks, and you taste better than he had ever dreamed of. He can feel your breath against his cheek and you hair beneath his fingers and wow he thinks you are quite possibly the greatest thing in the universe.

You pull away and he winces.

“Sorry.” He feels the need to make sure you’re okay, to backtrack because you didn’t give him the clearest green light and he might have just messed up everything. “I just…”

There’s a pause and he’s a little startled by it.

“I just really like you.”

Your smile is small but your eyes are bright. “I really like you too, Yoongi.”

He kisses you again, just because he can.

7.

There’s something so strange about silence, how it’s never truly there. There’s always something, a car driving past, birds in the trees, water dripping onto the pavement, your heart beating…

Right now it’s only your breaths and Yoongi’s sobs.

You know anxiety well, well enough to understand it looks different on every person, which always makes it so hard to comfort someone because your methods are different to theirs and the last thing you want to do is make it worse.

So the both of you just sit there. Not touching but close enough that as soon as you get the signal you’re going to smother him in cuddles and kisses until he gives you one of his gummy smiles.

You love his smile so much.

You love him, even when he’s scared to feel the same.

“I’ll still be here when you’re ready.” Your voice is quiet but his back still tenses in surprise, in trepidation. “And if you’re never ready, that’s okay too. I’m gonna stay until you ask me to leave.”

A tear rolls down his cheek and lands on his hand.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He states.

“Then I won’t.”

He gives you the signal and you spend the rest of the night wrapped in his warmth.

8.

He loves his job. He truly, honestly does. Loves it so much, he could never even picture himself doing anything else.

There are parts of it he hates, though.

Like now, when the guilt and pain sits heavily in his chest because your face on his phone screen just isn’t enough and he misses you so so so much.

He can tell your only laughing like this to make him feel better, but it only serves to make him worse.

He cuts you off without fully realizing. “I miss you.”

You sigh, slightly agitated, more saddened. “I miss you too.”

“Come visit me. You’ll love this city.”

“I can’t, Yoon. It’s too much money.”

“There’s a botanical garden, and an old record shop, and one of those escape rooms we can do together…”

“That sounds lovely, Yoongi, and I really want to see you. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll buy you a ticket.”

You freeze, and Yoongi almost thinks the call cut off.

Then you move and you’re yelling. “Yoongi! No! You can't do that! It’s too much money and I won’t be able to pay you back and -”

“Too late. I texted my manager. He’s organizing it right now.”

“Yoongi!”

“I miss you.”

You smile again. For the first time since he left, he does too.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

Deep down he knows he would buy you an entire plane if he felt it necessary.

9.

The jacket is leather and black and it fits him perfectly. He’s a little confused, to be honest, doesn’t know why or how it was sitting on his bed, neatly folded with a note saying “I was thinking of you.”

Namjoon has a habit of buying ill-fitting clothes and donating them to Yoongi, but the leader doesn’t like leather so it couldn’t be him.

Jimin is a generous sweetheart but his notes are always signed with his name and a heart, ensuring that he would get full credit and praise, and this note had no such signature.

The jacket doesn’t feel expensive, nice and comfortable and sturdy, sure, but not high-end-tear-jerking-wallet-breaking expensive. So that rules out both Taehyung and Hoseok.

And then Yoongi’s mind drifts to you.

Sweet, beautiful, kind you. Who gives more than you receive, who kisses him on the cheek everytime he walks through your door, who makes his heart feel like it’s going to launch out his chest like a high-speed rocket. You.

He texts you with a message that reads: “is leather in style now?”

You reply with a simple wink emoji.

If anyone says he squealed, he will kill them.

10.

It’s midnight and you’re so exhausted. You had finally wrangled your boyfriend into bed. Tearing him away from his computer was a hard task, near impossible, but you managed it. You always did when his health was concerned.

He feels warm against your body and you can hear his heartbeat when you press your head harder into his chest. His arms are wrapped tightly around your waist, his breathing is ticking your neck, and everything just feels overwhelmingly right.

“Goodnight.” You tell him.

“Goodnight.” He replies.

You hold your breath and take the plunge.

“I love you.” You say for the first time.

“I love you.” He mumbles with ease.

You both fall asleep easily.

[kvhottie]

When a silly accident causes Kageyama to need prescription glasses during his 3rd year in Karasuno, he notices that everyone at school starts looking at him differently. Including Hinata, who for some reason gets red in the face every time Kageyama catches him staring.

Rating: General |Pairing: KageHina |Tags: Glasses AU, 3rd Years Au, Fluff & Humor

~Dedicated to my lovely friend @vangwen ~

[Ao3]

Somewhere in the back of his mind Kageyama knew this was a long time coming. Well, not exactly like this. He expected it to develop slowly, through old age as it did with his dad—not with a ten-year-old mistakenly hitting him in the face with a softball.

It was a blistering mid-August day, about three weeks before the end of Kageyama’s summer vacation during his 3rd year at Karasuno. He had just been walking through the neighborhood park on his way back to get a popsicle from the convenience store when all of a sudden he was on the ground, popsicle melting on the dirty pathway besides him, and his right eye badly stinging.

The mother of the kid that had just popped him in the eye rushed over in a fit of apologies and lifted his face to see the damage. If his blurry vision wasn’t already a clear enough indicator that he was not okay, the woman’s worried look definitely was. She helped him up while explaining that she’d drive him to the hospital. Her kid gathered all their stuff and he meekly joined them, also doing his fair share of apologizing once he got a good look at Kageyama’s face.

“It is Traumatic Iritis,” the hospital’s on-call ophthalmologist decided after examining Kageyama’s eye for some time. He returned to the chair by his desk to type notes into Kageyama’s medical record and begin writing out his prescriptions.

“What does that mean?”   “It means that because you took a blunt hit to the eye, your iris was injured and became inflamed. When you look in the mirror you’ll see that your eye is red and that your iris is bigger than usual because of this injury.”   And that’s when the haze was replaced by panic. “Wait, how long will this last? I play volleyball and—“   “For about two weeks,” the doctor assured him with a gentle smile and ripped the sheet from his notepad, passing it to Kageyama. “If you diligently use the drops I’m prescribing you, the pain, inflammation, and sensitivity to light you are feeling should go away in around two weeks.”   “Really?” Kageyama said with obvious relief. “And then my eye will be completely back to normal?”   “Well, hopefully. The blurry vision you are experiencing should decrease quite a bit, and with luck it will go away completely. But your vision might have been affected. We will test it once your eye is healed.”   “Okay.” Kageyama replied, a bit deflated. He got up and bowed slightly.   The doctor nodded. “Don’t worry too much and be good about taking your drops. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”   “Thanks…” Kageyama closed the door behind him and hooded his eyes from the harsh hospital lights. It hurt to look anywhere.   In the waiting room the guilt-ridden Yumiko and her kid, Reo, were still waiting for him, now also accompanied by his mother. They immediately stood up once they saw him approaching and his mother ducked her head to get a good look at Kageyama’s face.   “Oh, your poor eye, Tobio,” she lamented, gently touching the side of his cheek.   “It’s not as bad as it looks, Mom,” Kageyama explained. “My eye will be back to normal in two weeks or so.”   His mother looked down at his hand. “Is this the prescription for your medicine?”   Kageyama passed her the paper with a nod. “Yeah, he said I should use these drops.”   “Okay, let’s go get these right now.” She turned to Yumiko and bowed her head. “Thank you for driving my son to the hospital.”   Yumiko waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, it’s Reo’s fault he got hurt so I’m responsible. I’m happy to hear it’s not serious. If there is anything else I can do…”   “No, you’ve done more than enough already,” his mother replied with a smile. “I’m very grateful, and so is Tobio.”   They all walked together to the parking lot and went their own ways after another round of apologies, thank yous, and finally good byes. His mom then drove them to the pharmacy, leaving Kageyama in the car to rest his eyes while she went inside. After a little while, she returned with not only his eye drops, but also sunglasses and his favorite Ramune popsicle.   “Thanks, mom,” Kageyama said as he accepted them, sliding on his sunglasses and popping the ice pop in his mouth with a content sigh.   The day had been saved.

The next two weeks weren’t necessarily difficult they were just…extremely boring. Outside of applying his eye drops a few times a day and always being surprised by how much they dilated his eye, he could do next to nothing. Since anything emanating even a minimal amount of light bothered him and his eye was always slightly throbbing, he spent most of his time laying in bed while rolling a volleyball in his hands and listening to radio shows. He also entertained himself reading and answering texts from Hinata with his phone brightness as low as he could make it. Hinata and his family were spending a few weeks in Hawaii, and Hinata would send him pictures and descriptions of everything he encountered. Having known him for a few years now, Kageyama had gotten used to his insistent texting, but more than ever before he was actually grateful for them.   By the time his follow-up appointment came two weeks and a half later, Kageyama’s right eye felt completely normal. It wasn’t sensitive to light, or throbbing, or red—but some of that blurriness was still there.   “Yes,” the doctor confirmed after Kageyama finished his eye exam. “Your right eye is completely healed, but your vision was affected. I advise against contacts since they could potentially reinjure your eye, so you’ll need to wear glasses.”   “Glasses?”   The doctor nodded and took his seat across from Kageyama. “But, I have a hunch you would have needed them soon. The vision on your left eye isn’t perfect, so I suspect your right eye was in a similar place before the accident. Just that the injury accelerated your vision’s deterioration on the right. When was the last time you had an eye exam?”   Kageyama paused to think for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t remember. Maybe three years ago?”   “I see. Your vision has probably been decreasing so slowly you didn’t notice.” The doctor jotted something on his notepad, ripped out the perforated page, and passed it to Kageyama. “That’s a referral to an optometrist I recommend nearby. I’ll send them your documents, but they’ll probably still give you a quick check up before helping you pick your glasses.”   “Okay,” Kageyama said as he took the paper and stood up. “Thank you, doctor.”   “Don’t worry, you’ll be just as handsome with glasses,” he said with a grin and wave.   Kageyama nodded and left the room. That afternoon, after calling to make his appointment at the optometrist, Kageyama texted the only other glasses-wearing person he knew personally aside from his dad: Tsukishima.     To: Tsukishima Come with me to my appointment with the eye doctor and help me pick my glasses   From: Tsukishima No.   To: Tsukishima It’s tomorrow at 1 pm in the Owndays two blocks away from Ikezuku station   From: Tsukishima No.   To: Tsukishima Okay then. forget it   From: Tsukishima …. Fine, I’ll go. I want to be the first to see how ridiculous you’ll look in glasses.   To: Tsukishima Sure   Tsukishima and Kageyama had developed an odd relationship, ‘friendship’ would be the closest word to it, but also felt misplaced. Since the beginning of their 2nd year there was an increase of days that they’d end up hanging out, of course along with Yamaguchi and Hinata, but even when the their two hip attachments weren’t around, they didn’t mind eating lunch or wasting the break period together. They’d have simple conversations, if they talked all, and there was a sense of wordless, and often indifferent, companionship. But sometimes, they’d lean on the other for help. Like when Tsukishima reluctantly asked for Kageyama’s assistance the day before Yamaguchi’s birthday, and how Kageyama asked a favor of Tsukishima this time around. These were baby steps but in a sense, somewhat unwilling on both sides, this was turning into a comradeship—especially since they easily noticed, then admitted things to one another that they couldn’t admit to Hinata or Yamaguchi…because it dealt with the stupid one-sided crushes on their more oblivious hip attachments.   “Hey.” Tsukishima greeted as he approached Kageyama outside of Owndays. He was sporting a teal t-shirt, beige shorts, and white converse. He looked miserable. “It’s so freaking hot.”   “At least they have AC,” Kageyama commented as he opened the door and lead them inside.   Just like the doctor had told Kageyama, they gave him a quick eye exam and then ushered him to the section of the shop with the frames display. Tsukishima got up from the bench he was sitting on to browse along with Kageyama, amusing himself with the mental image of how silly most of these would look on Kageyama’s face.   “Can I see this one?” Kageyama told the lady on the other side of the display. He was pointing at black, square frames that looked quite similar to Tsukishima’s.   “Why those?” Tsukishima protested. “I don’t want to match with you.”   Kageyama took the frames the lady passed to him and put them on, looking at himself in the mirror nearby. “They seem like a sensible, basic choice.”   “Coming from you, that hardly sounds like a compliment.”   “It’s not a compliment or an insult. Just an observation.” Kageyama turned to Tsukishima, “What do you think?”   “Well, seeing you with glasses is something that’s hard to get used to. But aside from that, they don’t look horrible.”   “Okay. Then I’ll go with these—“   “—Hold on, idiot.” Tsukishima interjected. “I still don’t like the idea of us matching so let’s look at a few others.” Tsukishima had the lady take out three more pairs of frames for Kageyama to try on. The first was thin, silver, circle frames that made Tsukishima laugh right to Kageyama’s face therefore immediately disqualifying them. The second was similar to the first, but dark blue and a bit thicker. These received a shrug from Tsukishima, putting them in a lukewarm running alongside the black frames.   “I’m not trying on any more,” Kageyama complained as he put on the last contestant: semi-rimless, clear square frames. He took a hard look at himself in the mirror and nodded approvingly. “They’re clear so it’s like I have nothing on my face, I guess.”   Tsukishima started to snicker but when Kageyama turned to him his laughter quickly died down. He blinked a few times and then his eyebrows gathered, eyes narrowing with annoyance. “I think these win.”   “Then why do you look so pissed off?”   Tsukishima clicked his tongue and looked away. “No reason. I’m sure you’ll understand once you return to school.”   “Okay…” Kageyama took off the frames and gave them to the lady. “These, please.”   “Great choice,” she replied and put them into a little tray. “These come out to 11,000 yen. They should be ready by tomorrow.”   Kageyama passed her the money and folded the receipt she gave him, stuffing it into his wallet. He then followed Tsukishima out of the shop.   “I’ll treat you to ice cream,” Kageyama suggested when they got outside. He pointed at the Lawson convenience store across the street.   “Cheap, but I’ll accept,” Tsukishima replied with a grin.   They made their way to the Lawson and went directly to the freezer, weighing their choices as they stood in front of it.   “Why do you even need glasses again?” Tsukishima muttered as he finally decided on a strawberry flavored yogurt pop. “Your vision couldn’t have been bad enough to need glasses three weeks ago, during the spring high qualifiers. Right? Because if it was and you played regardless—“   “It wasn’t that, Captain,” Kageyama teased, pointing at Tsukishima with the Ramune popsicle he unsurprisingly decided on. “It’s stupid. A kid hit me with a softball in the eye and it messed up my vision.”   Tsukishima laughed through his nose. “That is stupid.”   “I know.”   They paid and ate their ice cream as they paced back to the station.   “Has Hinata been bombarding you with pictures from Hawaii?”   “Everyday,” Kageyama replied with a tiny smile. “While my eye was injured I couldn't do anything, so I enjoyed the ridiculous amount of texts he sends for once.”   “It gets annoying,” Tsukishima huffed. “I had to make Yamaguchi put his phone on silent because Hinata kept sending him texts while we were hanging out.”   “…Any development there?”   “No.” Tsukishima bit into his yogurt pop and his teeth’s sensitivity to the cold immediately made him regret his choice. “Mn…you?”   Kageyama shook his head. “Haven’t even tried. He’s a dumbass.”   They fell silent, each empathetic to the other’s battle. When they entered the train station, they tapped their passes and stopped before the stairs to the platforms.   “See you,” Kageyama offered.   “Yeah,” Tsukishima replied with a short nod. And they climbed down opposite stairs.

It turned out that getting used to wearing glasses was harder than Kageyama expected, for many reasons.   One: They just sat there, on his nose and constantly in his peripheral vision like a pestering barrier between him and the rest of the world.   Two: They constantly slid down. And needed to be wiped with a glasses cloth whenever they were too dirty to properly see out of (which was often because Kageyama kept touching the lens on the way to rub his eyes.)   And three: Everyone kept staring at him. He figured they’d look a bit weird on him, but not enough to warrant all these looks. The moment he walked into school on the first day of classes after summer vacation, he felt stares burrowing into his face, and heard whispers as he passed. But he did his best to ignore it all; it’s not like he could change the fact that he’d be wearing glasses from now on.   As Kageyama approached his homeroom he spotted Hinata chatting with Yamaguchi by the windows and he immediately felt a surge of warmth emanating from inside him. Hinata looked radiant—sun kissed skin and new gold studs in his ears shinning under the morning sun, pixie cut hair even more vibrantly orange than Kageyama remembered, and that signature smile of his…Kageyama had to take a deep breath as he walked up to them to at least appear composed.   Whenever he was near Hinata his head couldn’t help but fill up with thoughts of him. It was the curse of this unrequited crush he’s had on him since the middle of their 2nd year. But as time consuming and distracting and annoying as it all was, his was an easy love: as long as they were together, which they always were, Kageyama was perfectly satisfied. He didn’t feel a need to rush his own feelings, or push them onto Hinata (because that’s what he’d need to do for the oblivious Hinata to ever notice). He was going to take it slow, and eventually tell him when his own heart felt ready—hard emphasis on the eventually, since his heart couldn’t even take a ‘just back from vacation’ Hinata at the moment.   “Hey,” he muttered.   Hinata and Yamaguchi turned around and their eyes went wide. Hinata tried to open his mouth to say something but just shut it again, lips pulling up into a wide smile as he pointed directly at Kageyama’s face.   “G-Glasses!” he was able to get out, circling Kageyama excitedly, gaze steady on Kageyama’s new accessory.   “Yes, glasses,” Kageyama sighed.   Yamaguchi smiled gently. “They look really nice, Kageyama. Like the ones those models wear.”   “Yeah!” Hinata joined in, finally standing still in front of Kageyama. “They look super cool.”   “I doubt that...,” Kageyama replied sheepishly and unconsciously adjusted his glasses.   “Why are you wearing glasses, though? I didn’t think your vision was bad,” said Yamaguchi.   “It’s because a kid hit him with a softball in the eye and messed up his vision. Very lame story,” scoffed Tsukishima as he approached the group. “I helped him pick those out.”   “Good job,” Hinata mumbled and Kageyama could still feel his eyes burning into his face. But when he went to meet that golden gaze, Hinata ungraciously looked away, cheeks dusted with a tint of pink. “Did you also help him pick out dorky volleyball glasses like the ones you wear, Tsukishima?”   “He didn’t. I still need to get those,” Kageyama piped up, mostly in an attempt to bring Hinata’s eyes back to him. But Hinata only glanced at him and quickly looked away again, foot tapping the ground nervously.   “Uh, I forgot I need to finish the last bit of my summer homework during homeroom…” Hinata sputtered as he walked backwards to the classroom door, “…So I’ll head back first!” He then rushed inside, leaving the rest of them to look at each other in confusion.   And it would have been fine if that was the end if it. But Hinata’s behavior just grew weirder with every passing day. He wouldn’t meet Kageyama’s eyes whenever Kageyama talked to him (which was often, considering they were in the same class together). He would run out of the classroom the moment the bell rang, disappearing for all their breaks and lunchtime. He was obviously avoiding Kageyama, and he sucked at disguising the fact despite his attempts to act normal at volleyball practice. They didn’t even head home together anymore because Hinata skipped changing out of his uniform and was gone in a blink of an eye.   Kageyama was both worried he had done something wrong, and also angry that Hinata thought he could continue this behavior and Kageyama would just take it without saying anything. One of these days he was going to catch him alone and confront him…but first he had to stop getting ambushed by underclassmen girls. The frequency he was being called outside for confessions had increased for some reason, and although he knew it was pointless and he should just tell them no from the moment they asked for a bit of his spare time, he didn't have the heart to reject them right then and there. So he did what he always did—let them confess and then reply with a bow and a “sorry, I already like someone”.   But after a week full of exhausting attention from his female classmates, things finally calmed down and Kageyama was able to spend his precious lunchtime searching for Hinata. He went to every classroom of Hinata’s acquaintances, the cafeteria, the vending machine, behind the gym, and finally, the scorching rooftop. There he found him leaning on the wire gate lining the edge of the roof, looking out to the back of the school.   “Hey, dumbass,” Kageyama spat as he walked to where Hinata was standing.   “How surprising, don’t you have a confession to deal with today? Haven’t you gotten one at every break for the last week?” Hinata said with forced joviality while continuing to look down below.   Kageyama stood next to him and ducked slightly to try to get a glimpse of his profile. “How do you know?”   “Rumors…and I can see it from here during lunchtime. It always distracts me from watching the guys from our grade play soccer.”   Kageyama sighed, not even sure how to unpack that statement. “Hinata, why are you avoiding me?”   “I-I don’t know…” Hinata tightened his grip on the gate.   “Yes, you do know,” Kageyama growled, “You just don’t want to tell me.”   “It’s not tha—“   Kageyama grabbed Hinata’s left hand and swung him around to face him, trapping Hinata between his own body and the gate. “You suck at lying, you know. That’s why you keep avoiding my eyes.”   Hinata’s eyes widened and he brought up his arms to cover his face as it turned beet red. “Your guessing skills suck as much as my lying, stupid.”   “Why are you turning so red?” Kageyama questioned, face leaning in a bit closer to try to take a peek between Hinata’s arms.   “I don't know! I think I’m so used to seeing your face but then you went and got glasses, so I now have to get used to it. Just leave me alone for a bit and I’ll start acting normal again…”   “And for how much longer do I need to leave you alone?” Kageyama muttered, voice sulky and revealing more emotion than he would have liked.   Hinata slowly moved his arms away from his face but continued to look away, cheeks and ears still burning red. “Are you lonely?”   “If someone sticks to you like glue for two years and then all of a sudden stops…isn’t it natural to feel a bit lonely?”   Hinata laughed, eyes soft as they finally met Kageyama’s. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll stop avoiding you…so get off me.”   “No,” Kageyama replied stubbornly and leaned close again. “I think I know why my glasses are making you act this way.”   Hinata furrowed his eyebrows and looked away again. “…Why?”   “Don’t you think you might have a glasses fetish?”   It seemed like a logical reason. If Hinata was completely normal when Kageyama had no glasses, and then started to act all embarrassed and fussy once Kageyama had glasses, obviously the glasses were the reason. It all made sense.   “Wait,” Kageyama paused as he thought of a hole in his own logic. “Then how have you been acting normal around Tsukishima?”   Hinata just stared at him, dumbfounded. It took him a few seconds to even blink, but once he snapped out of the shock caused by the ridiculousness of Kageyama’s statement, he shoved him off.   “No, you dumbass!” Hinata exclaimed, face now growing red from anger. “I don't have a freaking glasses fetish. It’s YOU wearing the glasses that makes me nervous. How stupid can you be?!”   “Okay, one, I’m not a dumbass. And two, why would me wearing glasses make you nervous?!” Kageyama yelled back.   “BECAUSE I LIKE YOU,” Hinata screamed with his fists balling at his sides and eyes closed tight. After a few moments he cracked his eyes open and once seeing the confused expression on Kageyama’s face, let out a tired sigh. “Dammit,” he huffed under his breath.   “Since when?” Kageyama whispered. “If you only realized the moment I got glasses, then how do you know it’s not a glasses fetish?”   “No, you stupid jerk, “ Hinata half-laughed, flat and pathetic. “I’ve known since the beginning of the summer. I like you, okay? The glasses just make it harder to look at your face because they soften your eyes and make you even more attractive than you already are.”   “Oh.” Kageyama bit his lip and then grabbed Hinata’s right wrist, looking him straight in those striking golden eyes. “I like you too!”   “You’re lying.” Hinata muttered, eyes wavering.   “I’m not! I’ve liked you since last year, I just thought you were oblivious and would never like me back. So I’ve never done anything about it.”   “Really?” Hinata said, lips curling up to a wide smile. “Really.” Kageyama placed a warm hand on Hinata’s cheek and leaned forward to give him a soft, chaste kiss. He pulled away after a mere seconds, murmuring, “Do you want to go out with me?’   “Yes!” Hinata beamed as his launched forward to hug Kageyama.   Kageyama hugged him back tightly, and they spent a few moments embraced like this until they were interrupted by Kageyama’s growling stomach. “I’m so hungry,” Kageyama admitted.   “Me too.” Hinata slipped out of Kageyama’s arms and held his hand, leading them back to the door of the rooftop. “Let’s go eat before lunchtime is over.   “Just double-checking…” Kageyama said as Hinata opened the door. He took off his glasses while smirking. “Do you still like me like this?”   “Dummy!” Hinata laughed through his nose and pushed Kageyama out the door. It closed behind them with a bang.  

[greetingsfromthebottomofthewell]

PHOBIAS ARE SHAPED LIKE LITTLE GREEN PILLS - PART 1: ABLUTOPHOBIA

[source] [triggers]

hayong has a fun story to tell

Ablutophobia- Is the fear of bathing, washing, or cleaning. It’s one of the phobias the little green pills have caused me to experience.

Let me start from the beginning, my name is Hayong, and I was given an opportunity to experience fears that few people have gotten to experience. I have never had a phobia in my life, except for heights, and I have never experienced anything paranormal. A large part of me has always wanted to experience any sort of situation that is absolutely terrifying, but yeah, I guess it’s true that those things never happen to the people that search for it.

It all started with a message on Facebook. It was a guy by the name of Max Erckle.

”Hey man, I see that you are into horror, and I was wondering if you were interested in a new drug I developed. I work as a researcher at Vanderbilt University, but of course, this was created on my own free time, and I would really appreciate it if you could take a 7-day sample.”

Vague as hell, but still, the message gained my interest and I responded back after an hour.

”What kind of drug? I mean, what does it do?”

I waited anxiously for a couple more hours before I finally received a message back from him.

”Why don’t you meet me at 100 Oaks Mall, outside of the PetSmart. Let’s say, hm, in one hour? It is a unique drug, it draws out fears that you thought you never had. Of course, it won’t ever get approved by any institution but I felt like this could be our own secret research.”

I tried messaging him back with a couple more questions, but the profile was deleted.

I only lived around fifteen minutes away from the mall, and I had the day to kill, so I thought, “What the hell” and threw on some clothes. You may think I’m absolutely insane to even consider meeting the guy, but to be honest, I am just a bit insane. I really am being honest when I say I want creepy shit to happen to me. I want to experience near death experiences. I have lived a far too mellow life, and I know I have a lot of catching up to do. Anyways, I gave my cat a couple of treats and lovins’ and headed out.

I waited in the car for around 30 minutes, before I saw an older man walk up to PetSmart and look around. Nervously, I grabbed the door handle and got out of my car. As soon as I started walking towards the store, the man stared at me and gave me a small wave. I returned the wave and walked up to him. With my arm extended out I said, “You must be Max, nice to meet you.” He stared at my hand for a couple of seconds before he extended his out as well and gave it a limp shake.

Max: ”I didn’t think you would show up. I’m glad you did. Let’s go to your car and talk.”

Me: ”Um. I don’t really like having people I don’t know get in the car with me. Can we do this somewhere else?”

Max: ”Haaaa, stranger danger. Smart man. Well, we can just sit on one of these benches and talk, but I would like to give you the pills in the car like I said, it needs to be a secret.”

I walked over to the closest bench and sat down. He stood completely still for a couple of seconds before shaking his head a couple of times and sat down next to me.

Me: ”You seem a bit nervous. What exactly does the pill do?”

Max: ”It opens your eyes. It creates phobias that people experience every day, but it only lasts for 24 hours. I wanted to see if experiencing different phobias every day would drive a man insane, or if it would make them understand the world in a different light.”

Me: ”Sorry, but I’m a bit confused. Aren’t the pills all the same? Or do they activate random phobias?”

Max: ”If you keep listening to me, I will explain everything to you. Please try your best to not interrupt.”

He takes a deep breath, gives me a small smile, and continues.

”The pills are all different. I have them labeled as 1-7, and each pill releases a different phobia for you to experience. They are the 7 phobias I have found most interesting. Take, for instance, the first pill will make you experience what it would be like to have Ablutophobia, which in simple terms is, the fear of taking a bath, washing your hands, or taking a shower. Keep in mind, you are the first person to test this drug. I don’t know if it will drive you insane, and I will not take any responsibility for whatever happens to you. If you do take all seven pills and write out what you experienced from each drug, I will pay you $43,000. An odd amount of money, I know, but it is all of the money that is in my bank account.”

He didn’t talk for a couple of seconds. Instead, he just stared out into the parking lot and took a couple of deep breaths.

As soon as I started to speak, he put his hand up and asked, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to answer any more questions. Do you want to join my research or would you like to decline?”

Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting on the couch with a white paper bag in my hands. There were seven green pills with small numbers on them. Yes, I felt dumb for trusting a man I never met in my life, but I knew that if it was real, I would be able to experience absolute fear.

After taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and swallowed the pill marked as “1”. It was 14:45 and I was nervous as fuck.

I felt like making a log was the best possible way to record what happened to me.

15:04 - You know how dirty fingers get? Holy hell, three of my fingers have little spots of black on them. I want to wash my hands, but for some reason, I don’t even want to think about having to wash my hands. I feel like if I do, I’ll die, and no. Nope. Fuck that.

16:28 - I usually take a shower at this time, but have you noticed how dirty the water probably is? I never noticed it, but now that I think about it, the water is dirty. Bacteria, potential diseases, dead bodies in the river, I don’t need to clean, I don’t. There isn’t a reason to torture myself like that.

18:02 - I know, I know it’s the fucking pills. I ran into the bathroom and filled up the bathtub. Sitting on the couch now. Sweat is all over my face, I know I need to clean myself, but every time I get close to the bathtub, I feel like my stomach is going to explode. I already cried twice. Not of sadness, but because I’m fucking scared.

19:44 - No, no, no, no, I can’t do it. I finally managed to muster up enough courage to get to the bath, but I saw him. My father. He was lying in the bath and asking me to come over and help him. I love my dad. I love him so fucking much, but I couldn’t. There were roaches running all over his body. They started to rip up his skin and crawled into his flesh. There were dozens of open gashes all over his body. I ran out. I’m back on the couch. I called my dad, but he didn’t answer. Crying. Sweating. Fucking scared.

22:12 - My dad called me back. He was on a little vacation with my mom. They were celebrating their 28th anniversary. Before he hung up, he told me he was going to take a bath and go to sleep. I begged him to just wait to take a bath. He hung up while I was sobbing on the phone. Figures, he never really liked it when I cried.

07:08 - I had a hard time sleeping. The dried sweat mixed with my feeble attempt at masking it with cheap cologne caused my bedroom to smell like a YMCA locker room. I tried to convince myself to just wipe myself off with water, but I can’t. I ate some breakfast. Eggs, toast and a couple of pieces of bacon. Some yolk got on my hands, but I just wiped it on my pants.

11:52 - I called out of work. My manager was a bit pissed, but after talking to me for a couple of minutes, he could tell I was not well. He told me to get better and hung up. I could hear the sink running on the other end of the line, and it took everything out of me to not vomit.

13:41 - I can feel the phobia draining out of me. It’s a weird feeling. I managed to wash my hands, and rub some water on my neck. I stopped when it felt like I was being strangled by the water. It’s okay. Progress.

15:28 - I took a shower. I was fine. I still couldn’t get the mental image of my father out of my head. I tried calling him again, but he didn’t answer.

18:34 - My mother called me. Dad slipped while stepping out of the bath. He hit his head on the sink, gashed his head, and bled out. She was asleep at the time. She begged me to come see her. She couldn’t get the image of my father out of her head. She said that roaches were walking in the gash of his head and walking back out drenched in his blood.

That was the last log from the first pill. I am still trying to figure out if my father’s death is real, or if the pill is still fucking with me. Just to check, I tried calling my dad’s phone one last time, but he didn’t answer again.

I received a call at 9 in the evening. It was Max. After letting out a couple of deep breaths he said, ”How’d you feel about the first pill? Actually, don’t tell me yet. Tomorrow is going to be a bit more fun. Do you like walking? Maybe you do, Maybe you don’t. Doesn’t matter to me. Just prepare yourself. Again, whatever happens, while you take the pills, I am not responsible for. I just know your life was going to get shitty, and maybe the pills will help you stop a couple of the tragedies. Don’t ask me any questions. It’s not how it works, but keep that in mind. There is more than science involved with this research.”

I know I may be breaking rules posting on here, but I really feel like I should get this out to you guys. Of course, I know the guy’s name isn’t Max. I am also fairly certain he doesn’t work at Vanderbilt, but like he said, it might just help me. For right now, I’m fucking scared of what could happen, and I’m trying to figure out how Max knew what was going to happen to my father. By preventing tragedies, did he mean my phone call could have saved my dad if he had just listened to me? It may be already too late, but shit, if anyone has any knowledge of what I am going through, I would really appreciate any help I can get.

As always, it’s nice talking to the NoSleep community. My name is Hayong, and I am starting to feel like my life is about to get a shit ton more interesting.

[cloverscircle-blog]

PIPER MESSINGER is TWENTY-SIX years old and lives in BARDSEY GROVE. She is a FEMALE and works as a MAID at LITTLE SPOON MOTEL. She has been in Clovers Circle for 26 YEARS, is portrayed by KAYA SCODELARIO, and is played by ADMIN B.

Trigger Warnings: car crash, death

Most parents only want the best for their children and the Messinger’s were, more or less, like most parents. More than the best for their child, they wanted the best for themselves. The child, growing fast in her mother’s womb, would make a name for herself in the world; she would become a household moniker. It was necessary to bring the family fame and fortune, luxe and lucre. Or, at the least, be successful enough to move them out of the shit hole they thought Clovers Circle was. The expectation was there. However, Piper would never quite live up to it. A childhood drowning beneath the pressure of her parents’ projections budded a resentment for her family, steering her to find refuge under the roofs and in the arms of others. All the while, Piper managed to conceal her growing bitterness at home. Smarter than was anticipated of her, Piper dared to pretend she was the prized jewel of their hopes and dreams for the first seventeen years of her life.

At times when Piper felt like lashing out, she would frequently ride her bike out a mile in the direction of nowhere just to kick at the dirt and repeatedly scream and grunt at the greatest decibel she could manage. Again, the girl was smart. She despised that anyone could think she was stupid enough to succumb to inhabiting a life as their pawn for a better tomorrow. At seventeen, when her patience had finally worn to smithereens, she masterfully plotted her escape from her idea of hell in being leashed to her parents’ reigns. However, before she could breathe life in her seamless plan of action, circumstances took a turn in her favor. To be clear, none of what would come after was part of prior arrangements made by Piper; certainly, it was rather convenient to say it was Piper’s doing. Anyone who knew her true begrudging against her family might have connected the dots at least once, but then that’s where she never screwed up; she never told other people of the spite she felt toward her parents, not even her closest friends. No, these were the kind of secrets she kept to herself and would take to her grave.

Accidents were called just that for good reason. It was mid-January when it happened. Roads varnished with a thin sheen of ice, the only lights then came from the headlamps of cars passing through. It happened in slow motion, or at least Piper liked to think it did, as she wasn’t actually there. She imagined glass particles shattering and slicing through the air, their eyes slamming shut from the force of collision. Like the scripted shit in a goddamn movie. The victims of the crash: her mother, father, and an unnamed drunken driver with broken headlights. Especially when she didn’t get to witness and endure the scene herself, she felt all the more reason to let her imagination run its course. Piper’s father died upon impact from the oncoming vehicle and her mother was left in an indefinite state of comatose. It was unsure when she would resume her conscious mind, or if she would ever, but Piper made sure she never did.

With no next of kin other than a juvenile daughter who would be adult enough in some months to make a decision for her life or death, Piper waited patiently once more. Clever little thing, she was. It couldn’t be too obvious; she wouldn’t say the words until she was at least eighteen and three months. She couldn’t be too exact, either––maybe eighteen and eighty-one days. It would have been too soon otherwise. “Do it– i-it’s what sh-she would have wanted,” she lied in feigned tremors, “I ca–an’t watch h…I can’t watch her like this anymore. She wouldn’t want to be like this.” Crocodile tears rolled down the sides of her face, a stream of salty secretion matting loose pieces of her mangled locks. God it was perfect. It was so well-rehearsed that Piper may have even surprised herself with the performance of her life. It was a play of tragedy worthy of theatrical accolade. Not a single person could see the expertly hidden curl of her lips beneath the facade of grief. Leaving the hospital that evening was a walk of liberation; the weight dampening her shoulders all those years had lifted and it felt like for the first time, she was allowed air to fill her lungs. End scene.

❛❛  she tells lies, and i pretend to believe them… ❜❜

An entire life spent in Clovers would probably compel most to leave, but Piper remained. While she had initially intended to move far, far away and adopt a new identity as part of her ploy to ditch her shit show of a life, her parents’ accident brought about reconsideration. She didn’t have to leave anymore. The decision came easy when the two biggest problems in her life were no longer looming over her shoulder and breathing instructions at her, or breathing at all. As weeks elapsed, then months, then years, it seemed Piper’s stay in Clovers was indefinite. It seemed she might spend the entire rest of her life within the confines of the quaint town––a real native. Perhaps to appease the occasional achy wanderlust, she would buy a plane ticket for here and a plane ticket for there but she knew in her heart of hearts, she wasn’t really going anywhere else.

Now in the ninth year following the accident, Piper has since held up just about every job you can imagine, save for one that involves swinging around a pole for pleasure-hungry audiences. Her latest record of employment involves working as a maid at the seedy Little Spoon Motel after being fired from the record store in Holywell. Losing her job had been a long time coming, with her time and attendance to blame; the only reason she was kept was because there was never anyone that worked quite as fast or as well as her––you know, when she did show up for work. Come this past summer, they finally called her out and she was let go. Piper has made it her life mission to be the antithesis of what her parents wanted her to be; the more they wanted her to pave a career path that paid off, the more she hated and avoided the idea. These days, she’s just trying to get on day by day and have a little fun along the way.

✽ — Piper has a lot of bad habits, most of which are there for everyone to see and know. A bit too much alcohol, a bit too many one-night-stands, a bit too much porn, too much junk food. Not to mention the screaming and the punching random objects when she is too angry.

✽ — However, there are also a few things, habits and secrets and memories, that she would never confess, not even under torture. One of these habits she would never admit of having is that, every time she has to have an important conversation or to give someone a speech, she gets to know it enough in advance and spends an awfully long amount of time practicing what she wants to say in front of a mirror. Piper knows that words aren’t her forte and so, when she can, she tries to prepare, not to make an ass of herself…or to make things worse instead of fixing them.

✽ — Despite the good purpose from which the habit is born, she still considers it an “embarrassing, girly habit” and, for this reason, she always makes sure that she is alone or that the door of the room is locked when she needs to practice. If anyone happens to be around, especially while she’s at the motel, she turns on music or the TV to make sure that her voice can’t be heard. And, if someone, anyone, happens to walk in on her, she would try and fail to play it off by starting to recite random movie quotes or to pretend to have been singing and totally not looking into the mirror.

( + ) Adaptable, Focused, Uncomplaining

( - ) Brutal, Dishonest, Meddlesome