#posting this at ass o’clock whoops

[fablepatron]

Charllie “God Wont Let Me Die” Lastname

My side of an art trade with @mineidrapi05 :3c

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

On Days Like This (Part 1)

Carwood Lipton x reader

Carwood Lipton never once doubted that you were good at what you did.

If anyone were to ask, he’d go as far as to say that you were brilliant- your skills as a mechanic having saved the Company’s collective ass several times when Lip had been positive the lot of them were doomed. 

Just yesterday he’d seen you dodge enemy fire while running to siphon gasoline from a wrecked civilian car to the Jeep had enough gas to get the injured men to the aid station, his heart in his throat the entire time and every bone in his body wanting to do something to help you. 

He’d have provided cover fire, run into the open as a distraction to the gunmen who seemed determined to end your life, anything to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

No, he knew how lucky he was, they all were to have someone of your skillset- you’d gotten your German down well enough that you could pass for an expat of some kind. 

And, because of your gender you had the unique position of being able to wander into occupied towns in advance of the company and confirm that all of Nix’s intel was correct. 

Without you, Carwood had no idea where they would be (or, more importantly, how many more of them would’ve been dead by now).

But Carwood still didn’t like that you were there.

He loved you more than he’d initially allowed himself to think possible, your very presence  a healing salve to the aching hopelessness that tried to eat away at the warmth in his chest. He couldn’t imagine a world without you in it, he didn’t even want to entertain the notion. 

A secret, guilt-filled part of him wished you’d get a little sick or lightly injured, just so you would be taken out of rotation and spirited off to relative safety- even if it was just for a night. 

He’d insinuated, not too gracefully, that you take some time to rest after you  had nearly got yourself killed for gasoline, and you’d looked so disappointed in him that he’d begun to apologize before he’d even finished speaking. 

You’d just nodded sadly, and Lip knew he’d really stepped in it this time.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Sir. Maybe next time you’ll get lucky and I’ll be out of your hair.”

That had been a week ago. You’d disappeared while out looking for Dike the next day.

Six days, and no one could find any trace of what could’ve happened to you.

Six days. Six goddamned days and Carwood didn’t even know if you were dead or not.

He didn’t want to think about that possibility too much.

The forests of Foy were cruel and unforgiving, with trees seeming to explode like random pressurized volcanoes and shrieks of explosives rattle his bones and swallow his screams.

He’d thought of his home and his ma and how’d he’d ever be able to look at fireworks without wanting to cry.

He thought of you.

He thought of you, lost in the woods in the middle of enemy fire and all alone. He thought of how your hand had felt in his when you’d first introduced yourself at Toccoa. He could see you laughing and smiling and screaming in sorrow when you’d thought he wouldn’t survive Carentan.

“Don’t you dare make me spend the rest of this war alone with these boys, Carwood. I swear to God I will Frankenstein you back to life just to kill you myself if you start talking like this is goodbye…!”

“—No fucking way!”

Carwood startled out of his worried thoughts, eyes instantly scanning for signs of a threat at Liebgott’s exclamation. “What? Tanks?”

Joe kept looking through his binoculars at something across the snowy field, along the edge of the clearing- the part of the forest closest to the town of Foy. The young man was making sounds of disbelief as he leaned forward as if to get a better look.

“Got your fucking binoculars, Lip?” he asked, and Carwood quickly got to work pulling them from his pocket and bringing it up to his eyes.

“‘Where you looking—?”

“Two ticks past one o’clock,” Joe said with an undercurrent of adrenaline, nervous energy rolling off of him in waves and crashing over Carwood. “By the stone fence with the moss on it…”

Lipton got his lenses to focus and pointed his binoculars to the place Libegott had directed, at first seeing nothing but muted earth tones and white snow.

But then an SS officer steps into his line of sight, turning and pointing to the ground beside him like he’s directing something to the spot.

Any fear Carwood had felt seeing you shot at before now seemed insignificant compared to the absolute terror he felt when you stumble forward and reluctantly stand before the German officer, your hands bound and your stride hitched.

“No fucking way.” 

This was worse, this was MUCH worse than the gasoline scare.

Lipton quickly drops the binoculars to rub at his eyes, wondering if this was just some strange waking dream and he was simply seeing things. 

But when he brought the binoculars back to his eyes he knew that even his imagination couldn’t concoct something as horrifying as seeing you captured.

“Liebgott, get Winters and Nixon.” Lipton was giving the order before he really thought about it, fear making his methodical, protocol following side take over while the part of him that loved you as a man loves a woman went into full-on panic.

“Should I get the Doc—?”

“I don't know, just get them here now—!”

If Liebgott took issue with the impatient tone Carwood had taken on, he made no mention of it. 

As much as Carwood cared for you, he wasn’t so blind as to not be aware that several other soldiers held you in high standing as well. To Liebgott, he knew you were  like one of his sisters- had been since the two of you had realized you were both from the Bay Area. 

If anyone could relate to the sickening fear he felt, it would be Liebgott.

It seemed almost cruel to have them be the ones to finally find you

Lip tensed as he watched you sneer at the Officer who was addressing you, and he was unable to help the pained sound that escaped his throat when he saw the man backhand you across the face and grab you by the hair when you didn’t immediately fall to your knees.

He could taste blood in his mouth as you licked your split lip, and in that moment Carwood made a promise to whatever higher power would listen.

Carwood Lipton promised that he would never raise an arm against another man for the rest of his life. 

He swore he’d finally settle down like his mother wanted and give her grandchildren to dote on. He promised he’d be the best man he could be, a better man than his father had been and a better father than he had been to his brothers. 

If he had to go to church every morning for the rest of his life he would do so gladly.

But only if I can do all of it with her. I don’t want it to be with anyone else. Please let me keep her.

Tightening his grip on the binoculars, Lip stares out into the cold.

You’d been alone for six days. Lip would try his damndest to make sure there wouldn’t be a seventh.

(YIKES A DOODLE, here yall go. Probably going to post part 2 even if no one likes this bc i’m an adult whoops)

[haileygarciasunshine]

Howling Commandos

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,143

Warning: Violence, swearing

Summary: The reader is enlisted in the army along side her best friend, Peggy Carter. Her life changes when she meets seven men.

Part One!

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Y/N!” Peggy exclaimed rushing over to you, before pulling you into a hug, “I see the serum serves you well!” 

Giggling you responded, “Yes it does! I’m glad to be here with you and Colonel Philips.”

“Me too!” She said excitedly, “He doesn’t know what a mistake that was.” 

Peggy began walking down the dirt path, as you walked beside her. There wasn’t a lot of female agents, let alone any females in the base. Both you and Peggy were in charge of training the project rebirth candidates. 

You and Peggy often ate meals together when it was time. 

“Look it’s her royal highness and her royal pain in the ass.” One of the recruits from your area mocked.

“Ignore them.” Peggy reasured.

“Yeah. Listen to the queen.” He continued to mock as he walked by.

Once the man sat down, you stood up making your way over to the table. Catching the eyes of a few men, they gazed at you in silence.

Clearing your throat you stood at the head of the table holding your wrist behind your back. Once you got the attention of everyone at the table, you looked around you.

“Can I have everyone’s attention.” You boomed. Sudden silence falling upon the cafeteria. “Private ... I didn’t catch your last name.”

“Connor.” His voice barely above a whisper.

“Come stand by me.” You motioned for him to join you. “Private Connor here doesn’t think woman should be respected.” 

“She’s going to embarrass herself.” One of your fellow supervisors attempted.

“No. She’s standing up for herself and any other woman supervisor to come.” Colonel Philips supported.

Fully turning towards Private Connor, you took an intimidating step forward. “As punishment I believe you should go apologize to agent Carter and clean the bathrooms with a tooth brush.”

Silence.

“You can’t do that!” Private Connor yelled.

“She can and she did.” Colonel Philips said from his table.

“As you were.” Lingering his table made fun of him as you left. 

Walking back to your table you packed up your dinner waste before throwing it away.

“I’ll see you ladies and gents tomorrow. Have a good night.” You said with a wink.

The night fall air was brisk and chilly. Wrapping your arms around your waist you attempted to keep your shivers at bay. The sounds of footsteps coming from behind you was enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Picking up your pace, you attempted to rush back to your shared quarters.

“Agent Y/L/N?” It was private Connor.

Halting your steps you noticed he had his friends surround you, under the lamp post.

“Did you really think you a female, could get away with embarrassing me?” He taunted.

Rolling your eyes, you attempted to show no fear even though it coursed through your veins.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” A husky voice sounded.

“What’re you gonna do about it Barnes?” He snapped.

His reply was out of earshot sounding like a deep rumble. Whatever he had said, was enough to make the men leave you alone but not before a few of them hit their shoulder against yours.

Turning around you were met with an attractive young man who was several feet taller than you with a built chest.

“Agent Y/L/N, I’m Sergeant Barnes.”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he had already shrugged off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders.

“Thanks.” You muttered. 

“Don’t mention it.” He replied with a soft smile, turning to walk back in the direction he had come.

“Sergeant Barnes.” You started, catching his wrist in your hand. Looking down at your shoes you hesitated, “Would...Would you mind walking with me back to my quarters?” 

Silence fell between you.

Over come with embarrassment you retracted your hand before mumbling “Sorry.” followed by a “Forget it.” 

Turning around you began walking in the direction of your quarters. 

“I...I would be honored to agent Y/L/N.” He finally said breaking out of his shock.

“Y/N.” You said smiling at him. “Call me Y/N.”

“James.” He responded, “But my friends call me Bucky.” 

“Nice to meet you James.” You greeted. 

Silence fell enveloped you both. However this time it was a comfortable silence.

“Are you up for a late night stroll Y/N?”

Both you and Bucky had lost track of time as you both walked laps upon laps around the base. 

Walking you back to the steps of your quarters, you stood facing each other continuing your conversation. 

“There you are!” Peggy exclaimed, yanking the door open causing you and sergeant Barnes to jump away from each other. “It’s way past curfew! Off you go now.” 

Looking at Peggy, your jaw practically hit the floor as you had widened eyes. Turning to Bucky you shot him a sympathetic look.

“I...I should go.” You whispered in sorrow.

He nodded his head, not taking his eyes off an enraged Peggy.

Making it up the final steps to your shared quarters, he finally broke his silence. “Would...Would you like to go on a date sometime?” He questioned full of hope. 

Turning around, you smiled at him. “Good night, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

Once you were inside your shared quarters, Peggy turned to you giggling like a schoolgirl. 

“Tell me everything!” She exclaimed giddily. “How was it? Did he kiss you? Did he hold your hand?”

Rolling your eyes, you told her about your late night stroll.

It had been two weeks since your last encounter with Sergeant Barnes. Walking down the dirt path you were looking over the files on your clip board as you made your way to Peggy.

“Y/N!” Bucky yelled from behind you. Halting your steps you turned around, as a chest hadn’t anticipated your quick stop. You went crashing to the ground with Sergeant Barnes on top of you. Looking up at him, his chocolate eyes had small golden flakes in them due to the bright outdoors. His nose was touching yours. The sudden close proximity caused heat to rise in your chest.

“Uh..Sorry.” He apologized quickly getting off of you. Extending his hand he helped you off of the ground. 

“It’s alright Sergeant Barnes.” Accepting his hand, you were off of the ground. Dusting off your army green pencil skirt, in the process.

“I have to go.” You quickly said retracting your hand from his. “Peggy really needs these.” 

“Isn’t she standing right there?” He questioned tilting his head slightly. Following his gaze, you were met with a Peggy sending you a sly smirk. 

“Yes she is.” You let out in a breathy tone. 

Walking over to you, she took the files from your hands. “Thank you Agent Y/L/N.” 

“As you were.” Peggy said with a smirk.

“Would you-“

“I should-“

You both had said something at the same time.

A light pink color danced along buckys cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck.

“What were you about to say?” He questioned.

Looking down at your shoes, you lightly moved the dirt around with your shoe, “I should get going.”

“Oh.” Hurt evident in his voice. “Right.”

“What were you going to say?” This time you tilted your head to the side slightly.

“Oh. It was nothing.”

“Surely it wasn’t nothing Sergeant Barnes.” Giving him your best doe eyed expression.

Letting out a sigh he caved, “I was wondering if...” he fidgeted with his hands, “if you’d want to go on a date...tonight...with me.”

Placing a hand on his bicep you stood on your tip toes, placing your soft lips against his cheek. Before pulling back you whispered in his ear, “I’d love to. 6 o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

Continuing on your journey down the path, you could hear a sudden group of cheers and whistles. Looking over your shoulder slightly, you could see Bucky grinning from ear to ear as his friends whooped and hollered, clapping him on the shoulder.

Placing your finished novel on your nightstand, you sighed looking at the clock. 9:00pm. Bucky hadn’t shown up for your date nor had he attempted to contact you. There was a knock on the door, you couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your face, as the butterflies began to erupt in your stomach.

“Don’t wait you for me!” You exclaimed to Peggy. Opening the door, your smile faltered.

“Good evening, Agent Y/L/N, Agent Carter.” Private Connor greeted. “I have something I think you both should see.”

Following Private Connor, he led you both down a dimly lit dirt path.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Peggy Whispered.

You shrugged in response.

“Here we are ladies.” He came to a halt just under a lamp post.

“Here we are where?” You questioned, as your heart began to race.

“See for yourselves.” He has turned sideways gesturing to in front of him. Moving forward, curiosity had gotten the better of you.

“What’re you doing, Y/N.” Peggy hissed.

Rolling your eyes your head was still facing her as you responded, “I want to see what he’s talking about.” A gasp fell from your lips as you watched the scene before you.

Peggy quickly moved beside you, gasping slightly.

Bucky was cozy with a tall blond, before he had shoved his tongue down her throat.

Tears had made their way into your eyes, threatening to fall from the sight before you. Without another word, you ran down the dirt path you had taken before. Ignoring Peggy’s pleas, you raced back to your quarters.

The next day, you had woken bright and early making sure to plan out your day, with the best possible options of avoiding Bucky. It wasn’t until dinner that your plan hit a snag.

Leaving the cafeteria, you began walking around the base as per usual. The sound of someone jogging towards you filled the otherwise silent air.

“Y/N!” Bucky said with a smile beside you.

Frowning you didn’t acknowledge him, as you continued walking. Grabbing your elbow, you stopped you from walking.

“Hey, look at me.” He said softly.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend you need to get back to Sergeant.” You snapped, yanking your elbow from his grasp quickly detouring to your quarters.

Bucky frowned in confusion as he stood motionless.

“We saw you.” Peggy said from behind him. “The other night with the blond. Y/N won’t admit it, but she likes you.” Stepping forward she continued, “The other night when Private Connor, brought us to the trail...”

“What? What do you mean?” He questioned frantically.

Frowning Peggy looked at him confused, “Private Connor had retrieved us from our quarters bringing us to a trial...”

“Agent Carter I was set up... Private Connor threatened Y/N’s life, saying if I didn’t do what he said....” his voice trailed off.

“I believe you Sergeant Barnes. But I’m not the one you need to convince of that you’re innocent.” 

The next day you tried to go about your day with as minimal interaction with Bucky as possible.

“Y/N!” He yelled as you passed his training area.

You didn’t acknowledge his voice nor his presence. 

“Y/N, wait. Let me explain.” 

Stopping you turned to face him, “Explain what Sergeant?”

“I...I can explain what happened that night.” He stuttered.

“I’m not interested.” You snapped, “I know all about your track record back home, Sergeant.” 

He frowned with a saddened expression. 

“I think we’re done here Sergeant.”

Days had gone by since you had spoken to him much less seen him. Peggy had been going on and on about a one of her recruits that she was training. His name was Steve. She didn’t want to let him in, afraid of getting hurt.

Finishing your work, you heard a deep voice say, “Barnes. B-A-R-”

“I know how to spell.”

Later that night, you went up to Steve.

“I want in.” You stated earning a confused look from him. “I want to go with you in saving your friend.”

“Y/N! You can’t go....” Colonel Phillips said, “You’re needed here and that’s an order.”

Not long after, there was a commotion in the center of the camp. There was a large group of men walking in. Recognizing the faces, they were all the missing soldiers that Colonel Phillips had presumed dead.

Walking beside Peggy, she was talking to Steve. 

“Y/N.” A familiar voice sounded. 

Turning your gaze towards the voice, you threw your arms around him pulling him in for a hug, catching him by surprise. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. 

“I'm sorry.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry too.” You replied pulling away slightly. Looking into his chocolate eyes, your gaze fell to hips lips, before flicking back up to his eyes. Leaning down he lightly pressed his lips to yours. One hand tangled into his hair, holding him to you while the other, gripped onto his bicep. 

[dopescotlandwarrior]

West Bound

Claire Beauchamp is leaving Boston and moving her surgical practice and horses to Arizona. Jamie Fraser is a world-class champion who leads Claire back to a passion she gave up when the wrong man said I love you. Trouble finds Claire in the cut-throat, competitive sport of the equestrian but she has Jamie, Angus, and Rupert behind her.

AO3

Ch-2   Ch-3   Ch-4   Ch-5   Ch-6   Ch-7   Ch-8 

Chapter One

Driving across the country alone can be daunting, especially if you are a young woman alone, pulling two horses. When Claire decided to escape Boston and move out west she planned meticulously, analyzed her vehicle and trailer options, and found the most suitable barn once she arrived. She sold her brownstone fully furnished. The only possessions going with her were her clothes, tack, and horses. She also purchased a new cowboy hat and a new pair of sexy sunglasses. She looked at her tight jeans and western shirt, put her hat and glasses on, and decided by the time she reached Arizona they would feel like a second skin. She still had trouble walking in anything less than a three-inch heel but that would come with practice.

Yesterday she turned the keys of her surgical practice over to the new owners without a second thought. Same with closing on her home last week for a cool 1.8 million cash. There was no sentimental pull or sadness. She felt utterly detached from her home of twenty-five years. Whatever made her feel so cold inside she hoped would be cured in Arizona. The last item on her list was to load the horses and get on the road. It was four o’clock in the morning.

Claire carried her grooming and wrapping bucket into the first stall and was greeted with a horse hug from Fred. She paused and hugged him coo’ing about their adventure. Fifteen minutes later she got the same hug from Ginger and got busy brushing, braiding, and wrapping tail and legs. “Don’t you two look fancy!” She led Fred to the trailer and walked him up the ramp and snapped him in. He was overjoyed at the heap of hay in the feeder and started eating. Next came Ginger up the ramp, a little more nervous but Claire was gentle and reassuring. With everything stowed Claire pulled out of the stables for the last time.

She loved this truck, a full-sized Ram with a matching trailer. The luxury interior package included ergonomic seats, blue tooth in the steering wheel, navigation, rear video, interior trailer video, and a bunch of stuff she had not found yet. All on voice command. “Change to interior video.” Claire watched Fred and Ginger munch on their breakfast. “You guys look happy. Here we go.”

She would drive for twelve hours stopping for 30 minutes to let the horses out at mid-day. She had reservations for each night at a B&B that also rented stalls and came recommended by her equestrian association for safety. Fred and Ginger were very special horses that were trained for therapy. Chosen for their docile and loving nature they were among the first group of horses trained at the equestrian therapeutics Institute. “And I’m taking them to Arizona,” she said with a giggle.

Claire had romanticized the first sunrise of her new life seeing the light coming up on a sleeping city as she barreled down the freeway. Reality is sometimes disappointing as commuters swarmed her on all four sides making her head whip between her mirrors and the video trying to negotiate each lane change. She saw her exit coming up fast and had two death-defying lanes to cross and no friendly commuters to allow her to move over. She was covered in sweat but made the exit and took a deep calming breath. “Holy shit.”

The drive became much easier once she was out of commuter traffic. She set the cruise control, popped in a CD and opened her window. “interior video,” all she saw was horse teeth as Ginger was tasting the little camera above her head. “What a goofball.”

Claire gripped the steering wheel when she pulled into the B&B. She was so tired she almost fell out of the truck when the door opened. She hurried to register and get the horses out of the trailer. It was a beautiful property with ample outdoor lighting. The owners offered her use of the arena and Claire was grateful. Once both were inside she closed the gate and clapped her hands sending them both speeding, bucking, and snorting around the large arena. Claire laughed at the high tails and swinging heads, pure horse happiness after a long stressful day. Ginger loped up to her and spread frothy goobers down her face. “Ew, Jesus Ginger!”

Once Fred and Ginger were safe in their stalls with food and water Claire got to her room, grabbed a robe and towel and headed for a hot shower. The soap smelled heavenly, the water was soft and Claire started to relax. Then the lights went out and the water turned ice cold. She shrieked trying to find the faucets in the dark to turn the water off. Groping for the towel, then her robe, then the door handle. She saw little emergency lights along the hall. Thank God she thought as she shivered down the hall looking for her room. She bumped into the manager in the hall and he used a flashlight to help her find her room. He pointed to a battery-operated light on the desk and she had enough light to find the bed. Fatigue pulled her to a blissfully dreamless sleep. At three o’clock in the morning, the power came back on and her room lit up with multiple lamps. She turned them off quickly and jumped back in bed squeezing her eyes shut and waiting. “Damn it! I really need a few more hours,” she whined.

The safety locks snapped down on the trailer doors, horses were brushed and re-wrapped and the Dodge roared to life. Claire was tired but anxious to put another two states behind her. She had one hour of unimpeded travel before the swarms of commuters came from all directions. Traffic slowed to a crawl for ten miles and finally opened up for normal speeds. She set the cruise, turned up the music, opened her window and felt the first pang of…what? Loneliness, sadness, loss, yearning? She couldn’t decide so she turned the music up louder, checked the video, and pushed the petal. Why not? She never had a speeding ticket in her twenty-five years. She was due. She set the cruise at 75 and sang to the music. She felt absolutely wicked speeding down the highway and hadn’t noticed the speed limit postings were 75 MPH.

Another B&B, another early rise to load the horses and another long highway stretched before her. She saw the signs to Phoenix on the fourth day and let out a whoop! Followed by Fred kicking the trailer sides in protest. She turned the interior video on and blew kisses to her favorite couple. “We are almost home you guys!”

Mid-afternoon she followed the exit to Mesa and headed East. Traffic was light and she looked at the buildings along the highway. She wondered if she would travel this highway a lot in the future. She flew through Mesa and finally saw her exit to Ironwood Drive. Her navigation turned her North for seven miles. She was so ready to put the horses up in their new home and then find a hotel for the night. This was the only night she didn’t prebook because she could easily find lodging for herself. She decided to find something with a huge bathtub and a full room service menu. She couldn’t wait.

She drove into the foothills and gasped at the sight in the rearview mirror. The valley floor spread out beneath her and she wondered what that must look like at night. There was desert all around her, exotic and beautiful. Tall Saguaro cactus loomed above her showing two and three arms raised in greeting she thought. Her heart was pounding as she turned into Fraser Equestrian. The place took her breath away and she stopped to just look at the multiple paddocks and pastures, deep green against the desert brown. New foals were sticking close to their mothers, and horses in the adjoining pen straining to see and smell. She pulled up the long drive and pulled next to the main barn. It was white with forest green trim and she counted twenty stall doors along one side with horses peering out half doors to look at her. It was glorious and a fitting home for Fred and Ginger.

“Good afternoon!” Claire turned to see two men walking toward her. They offered their hand to her and she shook them smiling.

“I am Claire Beauchamp, I have rented two stalls for my guys here.” They looked at the two rumps in the trailer and smiled.

“I’m Rupert and this is Angus. C’mon lets see where Jaime has put ya.” Claire followed. She spoke to Jaime Fraser on the phone from Boston and thought him friendly but a bit aloof. The bur from these two men sounded like him, so they were probably from the same area of Scotland. They walked the length of the barn without finding Jaime. The large board near the office had her name on two stalls where she was escorted.

“No, this is not what we agreed to! I rented two stalls that had doors to the outside, not interior stalls, and they have to be together.” Claire was overtired and getting upset. She wanted to be friendly but she just didn’t have it in her. Rupert suggested putting the horses up for the night and Jaime would figure it out tomorrow. Claire was too tired to argue and went to fetch Fred and Ginger from the trailer. Rupert watched her walk away with interest. He whistled low, appreciating the tight jeans, long legs, and champion ass.

“Can I help ye lass?” Claire gratefully accepted Rupert’s offer to lead Ginger to her stall.

“We can feed them tonight, what do they get?” Claire eased Fred down the ramp.

“They both get two flakes and a scoop of grain” she called. Rupert walked in a zigzag and noticed Ginger’s nose stayed three inches from his right shoulder. “Yer a good lassie, aye?”

When Claire walked Fred into his stall there was already grain and hay waiting for him. She leaned against him and dropped her head on his back. He moved into her and waited like he would with a child or challenged adult.

“I love you, Fred.”

Claire pulled out of the equestrian center and asked Siri for the closest hotel. The fourth motel Siri directed her to was as run down and frightening as the first three. Her fatigue was mounting and she did not know what to do. It was late and she just couldn’t drive anymore. She headed back to the center and curled up in the corner of Fred’s stall with a blanket. The wood chips smelled new and she was out in seconds. She dreamed of dancing with him in his shiny shoes and impeccable suit. He expertly twirled her around the dance floor. She felt graceful and adored, with her skirt flowed up her legs as he spun her.

“Hey!”

Claire’s head snapped up and she saw Fred startle at the loud noise. She tried to focus at the man coming into Fred’s stall.

“C’mon lass, this is no place to sleep, for a human anyway. Are ye doctor Beauchamp?”

Claire shook her head and blinked hard. Too many nights with little sleep made her groggy and weak. She stood up holding her blanket in front of her. She looked like a scared little girl and her first step pitched her forward landing in strong warm arms. She looked up at the face attached to those arms. “Wow,” came as a whisper followed by her hand clamped tight against her mouth.

“I, I’m sorry, yes I’m Dr. Beauchamp and this is Fred who is my horse and I couldn’t find a suitable hotel and Fred said I could bunk with him tonight.” Her last sentence was an effort to speak and she looked back at the corner she slept in and started moving toward it. Those annoying arms stopped her and she looked at him sharply.

“Alright lass, ye sleepin on my couch tonight.” He pulled her along and closed the stall taking her blanket. He stopped to make a note on the board and Claire sunk into a corner and closed her eyes. She was asleep before he turned around.

“Wait just a second lass, ye canna sleep there either.” He pulled Claire to her feet among strong protests and guided her out of the barn and into his golf cart.

“I’ll have ye wrapped and snug in two minutes Dr. Beauchamp.” He drove toward the house and felt her head come down on his shoulder. She was unconscious and Jaime chuckled.

“You musta left Boston with the devil chasin ye lass.” The house was set away from the center on a beautiful lawn of green grass with lights along the tiered walkway. He lifted Claire against his chest and carried her into the house. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and she snuggled down into it. “Thank you, mister, um, mister.” Jaime smiled at her. Noticing her long black hair tangled into her fingers he pulled her hand away and gently pulled the hair out.

“Well then, you’re a beautiful girl doctor Beauchamp, alone in the Arizona desert. What has someone done to make ye run so far?” Jaime estimated her sleep deprivation would keep her down at least until he woke up with the dawn. He climbed the wide circular staircase pulling off his shirt as he walked into his bathroom. He stripped the rest of the way and turned the knobs that shot warm water out of three heads. He stood still and let the hot water release his muscles and back. He thought about that beautiful face asleep on his couch. A doctor from Boston. He was very intrigued. He slipped into sweats and a t-shirt and stood at the railing of his upstairs loft looking down at her. He eventually dropped his body into his king-sized bed and barely threw the quilt up before he passed out.

Claire’s eyes popped open at five o’clock in the morning. Her surroundings confused her at first and then she remembered the owner catching her asleep in Fred’s stall. “I am an idiot,” she said quietly. She folded the extra blanket and pulled out a note pad from her purse to say thank you. Then she crept quietly to the door to slip out but the open door tripped the alarm bells which were loud enough to wake the dead, and Fraser, who flew down the stairs and punched in the code for quiet.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! I am so sorry Mr. Fraser, I didn’t think, I didn’t want, …” Claire hoped she would evaporate in her misery but she was still there. She just looked down and shook her head.

Jaime took the opportunity to notice her long legs, long arms, and long hair, then looked up to her eyes as she lifted her head. He was stuck and staring at the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen. They were the color of good whiskey and rimmed with dark brown making them look beautiful and exotic. He recovered quickly and tried to make Claire feel better.

“Tis fine lass had to get up now anyway. Would you like some coffee before you leave?” Take the coffee, please, he thought. I like lookin at ye and yer too rattled to drive.

“Another time perhaps, I’m sorry about the alarm and thank you for the rescue last night. Goodbye, Mr. Fraser.”

Jaime chuckled, at the slamming door. He watched her run for the barn and admired the backside of her not seen before. Her application to rent two stalls described her horses as therapeutic and gave impressive training credentials. It would be a pleasant change to have a nice lady doctor with docile horses for a change. He was sick of the cut-throat competition equestrians inspired, including his girlfriend. He picked up his cell phone. “Laoghaire my darlin where ye been? Ye have a show this weekend and ye horse needs some work. Call me.” He dropped the phone thinking about his blonde lass with cherry cheeks and a body to stop a mack truck. Put her in a tight riding jacket and the judges soon forget why they were there. It’s a good thing, she hasn’t been able to ride out of a paper bag lately.

[moondropcavernsanctuary]

i guess i should write a trial post, huh | Toyo | Trail 4.1 | RE: Hibiki

“Are you fucking stupid, Gima Hibiki?” Toyo’s words are sharp but her tone stays monotone. It appears that she is too busy staring at Yongliang’s empty podium to even spare a glance in Hibiki’s general direction. “Mm, no. Don’t answer that, actually. It’s apparent that you are. Annoying so, as well… After all, like you said, we know each other’s secrets. You know I would take a more hands on approach rather than set up a trap if I were to kill someone.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean! Freak.

She straightens her posture, and with a sigh, she placed a hand on her hip and looks over to him. “Though, I do see how you could get the impression that it’s me. The set up… The luring… It’s something someone as smart and beautiful as me would set up.” Being pretty has nothing to do with intelligence, yet she brings it up every time. “But, alas, I didn't do it. I… Rather favored his presence, you know. He was bearable to be around. It’s why he had that note in the first place.” The hand resting on her side tenses a bit at her words, fingers pressing down hard enough to bunch the clothing a little.

It isn’t often that she outright admits her thoughts on someone. Especially not when they’re positive.

But it’s true. She finds found Yongliang to be a person she enjoyed spending time around.

“Him and I traded memories during the last motive — the one where our memory was fading. You remember that one, don’t you? Or if your head stuck that far up your ass?” She purses her lips a little at raises her eyebrows as she continues to stare straight at him. Maybe it was better when she wasn’t looking at him at all. After a slight pause, she uses her other hand to fish something out of her pocket before displaying…

A folded up piece of paper.

“I wrote down some of my memories and he wrote down some of his. We traded them so neither of us would truly run the risk of forgetting everything. At least, not when we would have someone else to remind us.” Her words sound bitter. Not that she’s having to admit this, but that the person she did this with is now dead. It means that her little trust test went in vain. “But alas, I didn’t get to do that. This motive had me rather bent out of shape, see… Paranoia, extremely aggravated, crying… The whole nine yards, mm. It was because of my symptoms that I decided to seclude myself away the night before the murder.”

She unfolds the paper to display it to everyone else around her. I have no idea if this is the vain of note found in his pocket I didn’t investigate that. Whoops!

“I spent most of the night in the cooking area in the cavern. Made myself food. Ate. Finished and cleaned up around 3:30 in the morning.” Once everyone has gotten a look at the paper, she folds it up once more and sticks it in her pocket. “Given that the last thing I wanted to do was be around people, I went to rest in my tent. Neither you, Gima Hibiki, nor Shiba was there. It was splendid. Or… At least… It would have been if I didn’t hear people moving outside of my tent around 4 to 5 o’clock in the morning. I didn’t check to see who it was at the time given my mental state, of course, but I am positive I heard others.”

And that’s her alibi, baybe!

She tilts her head off to the side, narrowing her eyes. “I know you’d love to continue pointing fingers at me just as much as I love being able to pop your bubble.” With a click of her tongue, a smile tugs on the corner of her mouth. “By why don’t you use that head of yours for something over than being insecure, will you? Maybe then people would actually start liking you. Maybe then you’d actually be useful… Or don’t and you can continue being a worthless little nobody and everyone hates because you’re too spiteful and vindictive for your own good. Honestly, you are a disgusting little boy. Maybe you should have been the one to fall into the trap instead ofJia Yongliang. At least then it wouldn’t have been a loss at all.”

Her features fall at her final sentences. Does she really mean that, or is she just hurt?

[tjovalboy]

Marty and TJ rap battle

The FIghty FIght

Words: 2888 and I am so done

AO3 (please let me know what I need to improve)

Cyrus thumbed through the note document on TJ’s phone– his early preview given more because he begged for one than to give any critical input. “This is good, this is good,” he remarked. “I think you’re going to be fire out there. Absolute domination.”

“Okay, buddy. Easy there,” TJ chuckled, but he knew it was true.

TJ shoved his smartphone, in which he poured hours the past week perfecting his rhymed insults, into his back pocket. In an organized rap battle, the guy who doesn’t have his shit memorized is already ten times more lame than the other, no matter how good his lines are.

Cyrus punched his chest weakly, breaking him out of his thought. “I can’t wait to see the look on her face every time I’m gonna finish my baby taters this week, and hand her the check after I’ve finished every last crumb.”

He shook his head at him, then craned his neck over his shoulder to glimpse at their opponents. Marty Thupparty, a track star parallelling his finesse with the hoops, bobbed his head along to something Buffy Driscoll was explaining very firmly. It was probably something useless, anyway. It’s not like either of them had nearly as much experience as he did, which made this pairing an overkill.

The whole thing was Cyrus’s idea, really. He knew TJ rapped, and that Marty rapped, and that Marty was a little afraid of TJ at one point last year, so naturally, he thought a rap battle would be the sickest way to bring them together– a friendship ploy for Marty’s second initiation into the group since his absence from Buffy’s life.

The baby tater bet was to get Buffy involved for even teams. She only agreed to coach Marty if they bet that the losing rapper coach would have to buy baby taters at the Spoon for the winner the whole week afterward.

They were taking it a lot more seriously than he and Marty even were.

“We should get going,” TJ breathed after seeing their opponents start heading away.

The asphalt scorched the flat bottoms of his sneakers as he walked towards the court. It was like the entire world just decided to preheat on itself, he thought, as sweat began prickle his arms and the mass of excited chatter drew closer. He knew he didn’t make the decision to have an outdoor rap battle at three o’clock in the afternoon in June.

At Basketball Court Number Three, a large, but niche, clump of people had come to watch them rap. They had formed a space for both of them in the middle of the circle, in which Marty was already positioned.

“Alright, alright, settle down everyone! They’re both finally here,” announced Jonah Beck as some random little hands shoved TJ from the outskirts to the space across from Marty. There were whoops and shouts coming from directions he couldn’t pinpoint, and some were so close to his ear he didn’t know where to turn.

He eyed Cyrus and Buffy at most inner circle of the crowd and grinned as they playfully nudged each other, keeping fierce looks in their eyes. However, he couldn’t decipher what was going through his opponent’s head. He stood across from him with his hands shoved in his pockets as if he was watching a golf match, his face as flat as a brick as he alternated slight glances with the crowd, Buffy, and TJ.

“Most of you already know, but I’m Jonah Beck. I started walking home from school today, then I saw this crowd and stopped to say ‘hi’ to everyone, and now I guess I’m hosting this rap battle!”

The kids erupted in giggles, but TJ swore he was dead serious.

“On this side…” he stretched an arm out at TJ. “…captain of the Jefferson Basketball team, king of hair gel, and connoisseur of more redemption arcs than I can count– no really, I never learned how to count– my man, ‘True Jank Fruity!’”

TJ stuck his chin up a little higher and smirked. Jonah waited for the giddy chatter and whoops to fade before turning to Marty. “And over here– track star, lover of parties and, I think, country music; he saw me fall on my face once– ‘Eleven Point Yikes’!”

Marty ran his fingers through his dark hair, which was messier than usual. They stood so close that TJ could see his own frowning face in the reflection of his eyes. ”Ready to lose, Kippen?” he sneered.

“You wish,” he shot back.

Smartphones went vertical one after the other, waiting to catch every hard jab and mangled line between the two dogs, their fingers probably already on the ‘post’ button in hopes of garnering the most attention by sharing first.

“We’re doing two rounds, starting with TrueJank,” Jonah announced. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You say you’re ‘Marty From The Party’ but you’ve never been invited

When I see the pics on Insta, your blurry head looked like I smudged it

You should take advice from pocket lint, maybe then, you’ll get some relevance

I asked who I was battling, they said, “Middle Schooler #100”

It’s 2018 and they really named you “Martin”

Popped you out the womb and remembered their fifty year old accountant

I think I scraped you off the wall last week, now that needed an extra napkin

Four classes with me and you were nameless? Bro, look around. The whole school had that experience.”

The “ohh’s!” loudened after his most powerful lines, preceding a much larger display of fist pumps and hoots (even from the ones he’d bullied) after the verse was over. However, Marty, surprisingly witted for a newbie, hushed the crowd before he could take in the music.

“Let’s get things straight, TrueJank, you sicken me.

You think shitty rhymes make them pity you for an apology?

You’re like the last day of October, all face with no sincerity.

At least the other ex-bullies use their heads, they differ “sorry” from stupidity.

Aw, but, I know you feel bad; got all this baggage weighing on you

You swing at the park because your mind’s got too many issues

But it’s time to skip the angst, skip the coldness and the frown

Your just plain scary, and JMS won’t let you live it down.”

The screams seemed about equal to his.

“So you didn’t make my team. What a surprise.

I know you were out, and you were trying, but you tripped over every painted line!

I’d say go right, like Mario Kart you’d run zig zags like there was squid ink in your eye.  

You got Buffy calling witness protection cause she so embarrassed she let you inside.

Two athletes in a fight, Wit to wit without the fouling.

I throw words, you shoot em back and think “I’ll end him with these similes.”

We running lines in the weight room, spitting verbs where we kick grovel.

From a rapper to a rapper, we playing for different leagues

You couldn’t diss me better than you wipe the dirt off your cleats”

It wasn’t until after spat his final lines that he could focus enough to hear his heart pound. There was nothing more he had to show, but the world seemed to slow as Marty returned with his own final verse.

“Your hoodies upon hoodies got style enough for Fashion Week.

The critics say “eclectic” cause it’s “he-don’t-leave-his-basement chic”.

Runway shots of your ‘do be like White Christmas with the gel that flakes.

Your name says it all, the only fashion show you running is the coach ordered jank from the sports teams.

Yeah, you’ve rapped longer but your rhymes ‘aint unique

Jock, bully, kinda dumb, and lives a trope like a bad movie

Put some shades, baggy shorts, fake chains, and you’ll almost be a rapper

I’m a newbie? Why am I hearing your MTV lines a decade after?

You’re unoriginal.

Your first date hears “Perfect” by Ed and shakes at all the horror.

He sees your cliche ass boombox blaring like you’re Dobler.”

It took a few moments for TJ to register that his mouth hung open. His classmates were breaking into hysterics and patting Marty on the back like he’d just single-handedly fought a war for them and emerged victorious. He could vaguely hear Jonah amongst the crowd declare Marty as the winner.

TJ tried to pick Cyrus out of the crowd, but he couldn’t amongst the blaring amount of chaos. Teeth gritted, he decided he would just wait by the gate.

-

TJ, feeling a little selfless, held his full tray out to Buffy and offered her some french fries.

“No, thanks,” she stopped sipping her milkshake to reply. “I have practice right after this and I’m already stuffed.”

He nodded, and offered the same next to him. “Cyrus?”

His friend shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He set the tray between them and they both dug in for a handful. The calm chatter and occasional sound of the bell atop the entrance door overtook them at The Spoon diner. After a few moments, he noticed Buffy grimacing at him.

“…and Marty?” she pressed impatiently.

Oh, right. He probably wanted to feel included, too. With his lips tightened, he gave the fries a slight push so they slid forward and stopped at the spiky haired boy’s milkshake glass where he’d accept the offer if he wanted. “Take some,” he said simply, and Marty rolled his eyes at him.

Buffy gave Cyrus a look, then turned back to him. “You’re seriously still mad you lost the rap battle?” she bursted, holding back a laugh. “That happened a whole week ago!”

“I’m not mad,” he muttered in reply, focusing very hard on the pedestrian activity outside the window beside them.

“You totally are,” she pressed. ‘You’ve been weird ever since it happened.”

Cyrus sighed dramatically and slumped down with his elbow on the table. “And I really thought my friendship-making plan would work! I guess I can’t fix everyone’s relationship problems.”

Buffy patted his hand lamely. “It’s okay, Cyrus. You’ll get ‘em next time around.”

He and Marty’s tension had been going on since the battle. He was just a little irked that “I’ve-been-rapping-for-a month-Marty” pulled rhymes out of his butt that shanked his bully boy reputation into little pieces. He may have ignored a few of Marty’s texts since it happened, which pushed Marty into ignoring him, and therefore, neither of them hanging out with the Good Hair Crew that week in fear of seeing each other. While their excuses were believable, it was more difficult to get out of plans Buffy and Cyrus made for all four of them after school.

He almost wanted to tell Cyrus that his friendship-plan wasn’t gonna work from the beginning.

“While you were both amazing,” started Cyrus. “Marty, your last line about TJ being so cliche he’d hold a boombox above his head on his first date was hilarious.”

Buffy snorted. “That’s the part people keep sending me videos of. Someone would have to slap me in the face twice if I actually saw you doing that, Kippen.”

TJ didn’t know how to respond and just shook his head playfully. His gaze flickered toward Marty, and while a corner of his mouth tugged up at the look, he broke away quickly and returned to his comfortable frown.

“Listen, TJ,” Marty had his elbows propped on the table and his eyes bordered on desperate. “If you wanna talk, then let’s talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about because I’m not mad.” He surveyed the contents on his table. “I’m gonna go grab some more ketchup,” he excused himself without looking anyone in the eye.

-

At the ketchup pump, he pushed the lever down with too much force and much of the red blob squirted onto the counter next to his paper container.

There was a snort from someone behind him. “Nice one.”

He almost chuckled, too, but bit it back when he recognized the voice. There’s no way he was staying here alone with him, so he began heading back without a turn.

“Wait, TJ, you can’t just pout and stomp away. You have to tell me what’s really up,” he pleaded sternly.

He glanced at Buffy and Cyrus who were both in some heated debate and didn’t even seem to notice their absence, and before he could process his thoughts, he was face to face with Marty again and had blurted, “The boombox line.”

Marty hesitated, like he wanted to know what he meant, but he couldn’t admit that he didn’t. “Um, what?”

Your first date hears “Perfect” by Ed and shakes at all the horror.

He sees your cliche ass boombox blaring like you’re Dobler.

“The boombox line,” he repeated with a breath. “I thought you said that was your favorite part of our first date– the way I ended it.”

“It was. I always tell you that,” he replied.

“Well, you didn’t have to make fun of it,” he argued. “Yeah, I know we both hated the song and the whole thing was part of an inside joke, but I did it for you to see. Not for the whole school to imagine.”

Marty’s face went red much like the way it did when he held TJ’s hand for the first time at the soccer game, and when he and TJ sprinted down the street filling the sky with their laughs when Buffy and Cyrus almost caught them together, and the Friday they agreed they would go on a date the next day and plan absolutely none of it; thus it finishing with TJ blasting “Perfect” in Marty’s driveway while he cracked up from the second story bedroom window.

They were already calling themselves boyfriends by the time Marty apologized to Buffy and she let him back into their group (which included TJ). They were clueless about the countless dates they had been on since that first.

“Well, sorry, okay,” Marty muttered. “Literally no one suspected it was you and me, though, so you don’t have to be mad. I would never really make fun of you like that.”

TJ’s stomach twisted. He knew he used to scare him before they really talked, but they were countless secret dates past that. “I know. It sounds ridiculous to me now that I’m saying it out loud.”

Marty exaggerated a shrug and put on a dopey grin, showing him that they were okay. “Apology accepted, Kippen. Glad my boyfriend is talking to me again.”

TJ stepped forward couldn’t ignore the smell of greasy foods frying from where they were standing at the back by the kitchen door. He didn’t mind, though, as they were used to meeting in odd locations to talk. “I had no idea you would win, though. I’ve been rapping for so long and you’ve literally been doing it for two seconds!” TJ said through a laugh.

Marty smirked, grabbing his hand and letting it dangle between them. “Maybe I was born with it.”

As his mind ran with ways to banter back, he remembered another one of his problems. “It sucks that Cyrus thinks we’re never gonna be friends,” he commented.

Five weeks was a long time to hide a relationship. In hindsight, they could’ve at least pretended they were friends, but the enemies trope seemed more safe.

Marty rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb. “It does. Even after you rapped about me being as irrelevant as a T.V. show extra and I called you out on your ugly clothes, we still hate each other in their eyes.”

“Their” meaning Cyrus and Buffy. Cyrus was TJ’s closest friend, and Buffy was getting to be Marty’s. After missing Marty all week, he began to wonder how long secret relationships were supposed to last. He caught Marty’s gze flickering over his shoulder at them. “I think we should tell them soon.”

“We should.”

“But how? When?” TJ furrowed his brows, and Marty stared at him like he just suggested that boombox thing from Say Anything was a good idea for a first date.

“Duh, we rap it to them!” he hissed.

Holy shit. His boyfriend’s brain!

“We both wrote awesome verses insulting each other in like a week. It’ll be great!” he continued.

“Four classes and you were nameless? Bro look around. That’s a universal experience.” did have a certain energy to it that would be perfect for a relationship reveal. He was proud when he thought of that while his mother dragged his with her to the bank. He already couldn’t wait or this collab. “I am so in, Eleven Point Yikes.”

“Just let me have some of your fries first, in like, not a passive aggressive way, and then we can start, True Jank Fruity.”

They unclasped their hands to whip their arms around for a painful high five, causing some people to turn their heads. They jogged back to their table, where Buffy and Cyrus already had their necks craned at them, and grabbed the rest of the fries out of TJ’s tray by hand and skipped out the door ignoring their questions. Cyrus probably assumed they made up, but he’d be even happier when they told him in a few days.

TJ would remember to thank Ed Sheeran, or the rap gods, later.

[vankoya]

Extra Cheese, Please!

✽ Read the indecorous follow-up piece, Less Cheese, More Please!

Genre | Best Friends to Lovers / Housemates AU.

Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.

Words | 9,524 words.

Conspectus | Jeongguk dislikes three things: 1. Having his Overwatch marathon nights interrupted, 2. Dealing with drunk people while he is sober, and 3. Cheesy ramyeon. His best friend slash housemate slash insufferable crush is the drunk girl with an incessant craving for super cheesy ramyeon who interrupts his Overwatch marathon night, and ultimately proves that the aforementioned meal looks just as gross coming up than it does when it is first in the bowl. 

Luckily, there is always a silver lining. Even in the worst of situations.

Warnings | Swearing. Alcohol. Vomiting as a result of being overly drunk. Sexual innuendos. Fondling. Jeongguk cannot deal with cleavage.

Jeongguk guesses that it is nearing one in the morning when his phone buzzes four times in succession. The vibrations occur no more than a few seconds apart against his balls, which is where the device has slipped down to nestle over the course of the past eight minutes.

He knows he should probably reach between his thighs and retrieve it to check the slew of texts that tickle his dick through a pair of grey sweatpants. He is also ninety-nine percent positive that he knows precisely who the sender is. But the military bomb payload is that fucking close to being at the Deadlock Gang’s cave hideout, just having passed Checkpoint B, and Jeongguk is quite possibly playing his best Escort game since he planted his sweet ass on the living room couch. The four instant ramyeon packets that he inhaled at eight o’clock are still burning off in his system. Well-needed fuel for a long, uninterrupted night of Overwatch.

Well, the chances of that peaceful gaming occurring were narrowed to considerably slim once a certain someone had slipped out of her bedroom and announced she was going out for cocktails. She had managed to breeze through the front door before Jeongguk could really have enough of an opportunity to stare at her magnificent ass in those jeans. But if his calculations were correct, he has made it through a solid five hours of tranquility so far.

When he sees the attacking team’s Lucio put up a sound barrier, Jeongguk cannot help but blast a grin of victory. He unleashes his McCree’s deadeye, obliterating the entire team. There is a triumphant shout that is echoed amongst his own teammates, and he nearly throws his goddamn PS4 controller at the television when he fist-pumps the air out of excitement. Through the headset, Yugyeom makes a comment amongst his hooting along the lines of: “McCree, that OP motherfucker!” while Jeongguk spams McCree’s: “I’m the quick, you’re the dead,” voice line over and over in the final seconds that the payload reaches its destination and the game comes to a close.

Earning play of the game was expected after the shit he pulled last minute. Though Jeongguk finds himself surprised when he gets ten votes out of the twelve players, considering the opposing team is currently shouting a stream of insults. Because yeah, McCree is overpowered as fuck. But the sheer laziness in him cannot bear the thought of having to train up on a different hero, at this stage.

“I’m out,” Jeongguk announces to Yugyeom as he reaches down to grab his phone, beginning to vibrate against his balls again due to his lack of response. Yugyeom laughs, the connection slightly static.

“Gotta get your girlfriend, huh?“

“Fuck you, not my girlfriend,” Jeongguk barks before exiting the main screen, albeit with a tiny smile, and then shifts his headset to sit around his neck. When he clicks the home button of his phone, he is greeted by a screen lit up with eight notifications, confirming two things.

It is definitely past one in the morning, and it is definitely who he was expecting to be.

Jeongguk gets his heart stuck in his throat, bites his tongue and stupidly grins at the last text that was sent, chest tight at the thought of her missing him. He can picture that dumbass drunk smile of her’s so clearly; a sight that he has seen enough times to have it burned into the very cells of his brain. It is the one thing that is beyond fucking adorable when paired with her glassy eyes, staring roundly at him while she perches that amazing ass on his lap. Right on the zipper of his jeans so that the jagged metal presses right against his dick and– Fuck, too far.

He chances a glance at his sweatpants and yeah, shit, he is a little bit hard now. Jeongguk slaps himself, firm enough to properly wake up from his unexpectedly lascivious daze, and then he quickly punches in his passcode.

He sputters and incredulously shakes his head, running a hand through his hair because hell yeah, she is a twelve alright. More than that even, a hundred in his books, if numbers had to define her. Maybe Jeongguk should not think such thoughts about his best friend of seven years slash university flatmate of two. But then again, her attractiveness is common knowledge amongst their friends and all those alike who encounter her. As clear as the sky is blue and the grass is green. Simply, Jeongguk is just confirming the obvious and nothing more than that.

Yeah, definitely nothing more than that. Totally still not semi-hard over the thought of her drunk smile, of all the boner-inducing things about her.

Before he can text her back, the theme song to Legend of Zelda is filtering through the living room and the ugliest photo he has of her is appearing blown up on the screen. The image is one that is zoomed right in on her face from where she breaches the ocean, pixelated by the added effect of it being a screenshot. The fast motion of her coming up after a wave had crushed her makes it appear as though her face is being dragged down by gravity; mouth parted in a gasp; completely wet hair plastered to her scalp, and presented at such an angle that she looks bald. 

It is fucking hideous. Jeongguk had laughed so hard that he peed himself a little the first time he noticed it in one of the snapshots that he had taken on his DLSR at the beach that day, and he never let her live it down. But they did come to a mutual agreement to not allow such a monstrosity to be released to the general public on an unfortunate Facebook birthday post, or as a tactic for revenge. Otherwise, Jeongguk would similarly be having a picture of himself exposed as far as the eye can see. The one where he is slumped backwards over their coffee table, blacked out and wearing nothing but a pair of her pretty pink panties, the tip of his sad and soft dick poking out the leg hole.

Jeongguk stares at the caller ID photo a moment longer, eyes watering with hilarity before he swipes his finger across the screen to answer with, “Well, well, if it isn’t–“

“Th–The sexiest motherfucker you know?” slurs through the other end of the line, nearly drowned out by the commotion she most likely sits cross-eyed within. “Who s’about to be joined by a much less sexy motherfucker, hmm?”

“Let me guess,” Jeongguk runs his tongue over his teeth, unhooking the headset from his neck and placing it on the coffee table, “I’m the less sexy motherfucker?” he says as he reaches for the remote to turn off the television.

“Ding ding, ten points to Gryffindor,” she whoops and giggles, and god, Jeongguk melts a little as he stands up but definitely not because he thinks her intoxicated laughter sounds fucking adorable. No way. “Y’gonna come collect the goods?”

He stuffs his feet into a battered pair of Vans and reaches for his black parka, looking like a damn slob and all with nothing but a dark shirt and his grey sweats underneath. He has no plans to stay longer than absolutely necessary at the bar, anyway. “I can’t think of any goods I need to collect,” Jeongguk sighs, swiping his house keys and wallet from the dish atop the entry cabinet and making way towards the front door. “A drunken mess that unfortunately so happens to be my best friend sounds more accurate.”

“At leas’ she’s got a great ass!” she defends herself, Jeongguk mentally agrees, then literally has to slap himself across the face again for focusing too long on the mental image of it, which he has copied in high-definition into his memory. Her voice becomes distant from the speaker, shouts out, “No you may not touch it, fuckin’ perv! Go piss in yo’ girly fuckin’ Cosmopolitan, yeah?!”

“Please don’t get yourself killed before I get there,” Jeongguk raises his voice a little in hopes of her hearing over the music. A smidgen of the tension that is suddenly squeezing at his chest is released when he hears her indignant huff right against the speaker. “I’m gonna be pissed if I walk all that way just to find you’re dead.”

“It’s like, one kilometre tops, pussy,” she retorts, the eye roll practically audible as Jeongguk locks the front door and then heads down the hallway to the elevator. “A light jog’ll get you here in what, five minutes. So start runnin’, boy.”

“Fuck no. I’m hanging up. Stay alive.” He mutters, punching repeatedly at the elevator button as if it will make the doors open faster. 

Distantly, he wonders why he is in such a goddamn rush. He narrows it down to just wanting to get back home again as soon as humanly possible; to return to his disturbed Overwatch marathon. Yeah, of course that is why.

“Thanks babe, you th’ best!” she sings, hangs up before he can, and Jeongguk jams his finger against the button with a greater ferocity until the elevator dings open after what feels to be centuries of waiting. (It was not even thirty seconds.)

He ends up speedily jogging the entire way to the bar to build up his blood circulation because it is cold as tits outside, of course. Definitely not because it means he will get to see her sooner, make sure she is safe and sound and not being leered at by some drunken, creepy lecher.

Nope. No way at all.

They say that there is always a silver lining to every unfortunate and downright dreadful situation. Jeongguk is currently wondering where the fuck such lining happens to be once he finally finds a particular girl that he was forced and threatened to brave the cold in order to collect, only to be met by the pout that she knows gets him all pliable and willing. He does not know it yet, but the silver lining is still coming. Slowly, gradually, but it will.

Even if, right now, that shit seems as likely as getting a blow job from Beyonce.

“How much?” he shouts to be heard over the pounding music, repeats for the second time because he refuses to believe the sum that the bartender first announced. 

At Jeongguk’s hip slouches the self-proclaimed goods. The treacherous best friend, who keeps having to be hiked up by his arm curled tightly around her waist since her bones liquefied by liquor are failing to keep her standing. She has that goofy smile pulling at her plush lips, and Jeongguk is torn between wanting to slap from her face, or to kiss it away instead.

The bartender checks the amount again, then leans towards Jeongguk with a somewhat empathetic expression to call back, “Rounded to one hundred and eighty-four dollars.”

On the inside, Jeongguk might be crying a little. Funny how the reason behind his internal agony is also the same thing that is keeping him slightly sane through his mental calculations of how much money he has left in his bank account. Pressed against his side with an intoxicated, unfocused gaze that stares up at him too endearingly for him to be one hundred percent angry. He is at ninety-nine point nine-nine percent. Okay, maybe on the cusp of no less than ninety percent. Goddamn.

“I’m letting you go for a second,” Jeongguk warns her and begins to slowly recede his arm, giving her enough time to support herself on the bar. Rather than doing this, she wraps her own arms around his waist and nestles under his armpit.

In any other situation than the apparent one, where he has to aid his best friend’s spontaneous cocktail night with his own miserable funds, Jeongguk would be fighting to tame the glee. The kind that would be demanding to tuck her closer, and perhaps press his nose to the crown of her head so he can breathe in the soft scent of her vanilla shampoo. Unfortunately, no matter how much he wills himself to be dreaming that his weekly budget is about to be kicked repeatedly in the balls and that maybe, instead, they are just at home on the couch and it is one of those movie nights where she gets extra cuddly for no apparent reason, Jeongguk is still stuck in the apparent situation.

He glares at his tormenter, who continues to latch like a lock around his body, and barely manages to keep his tears from falling as he retrieves his wallet and flips it open, fingers shaky. An extra tug is required from the bartender to loosen the measly grip Jeongguk’s fingertips have on his debit card when he hands it over.

“Girlfriend?” The bartender politely chips in as he swipes the card through the eftpos machine and then faces the keypad towards Jeongguk. As Jeongguk punches in the pin number, the bartender darts his gaze up to him with a raised eyebrow. “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Neither, and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse,” Jeongguk smiles, the kind that conveys his immense internal suffering. The bartender gives a sympathetic nod and hands back Jeongguk’s card before rushing off to continue serving drinks.

The latest, monstrous attachment on Jeongguk’s side squeezes him with her feeble, jelly-drunk arms. Albeit the situation, something softens inside of him when he grabs her chin so that she will properly face him. She blinks languidly like an overtired kitten, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, lipstick smeared a little on her chin. Not in the way that suggests somebody else had their mouth on her own. It is definitely the familiar mark caused by the back of her hand rubbing against her lips after taking a shot. Jeongguk is still weighing up whether he prefers the latter to the former.

“‘m tired, Jeonggukie,” she whines, slumps closer to him, and he wraps his arm around her waist again, hoisting her up with a displeased sound.

“All that talk about wanting me to have a drink with you, and now you’re making me pay the bill and run?” Jeongguk teasingly chides, and she unabashedly nods against his right pectoral. Alarm bells start ringing in his head when her weight against his side grows a tad too close to the ‘falling unconscious’ side of the spectrum. “Woah, hey– No. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, ___. You still have to walk home.”

She hooks her chin on his shoulder and conjures that goofy, heart-melting grin that has Jeongguk crying a little on the inside, because he is such an absolute sucker for her. In that moment, her pout becomes the bane of his existence as she says, “Jus’ carry me, yeah?”

“Hell fucking no.”

Jeongguk carries her on his back the entire damn way.

By the time they reach the front door of their apartment, Jeongguk’s knees are weakly trembling and he feels utterly winded. Maybe it is a sign that he needs to get back into the gym on the weekends instead of indulging Yugyeom with Overwatch marathons. Or, more favourably, he needs to find a new best friend who will not 1. have him pay for her expensive, alcoholic ways, and then 2. make him piggyback her through the bitter cold night while she is practically deadweight against his shoulders in her partially asleep state.

“For someone who was calling me a pussy because I couldn’t be bothered walking to the bar, you’re awfully hypocritical in riding my back the whole way home,” Jeongguk says, gasping a little, jiggling the key in the lock and bustling them both inside once the latch clicks.

She clambers off his back, staggers slightly, and then catches herself on the back of the couch. Miraculously, she appears minutely more sober than she was twenty minutes ago. “Could’ve got an Uber.”

Jeongguk kicks off his shoes. “What, and paid him with the moths flying out of my wallet?”

She shrugs. “It would’ve cos’ like, three dollars.”

“That three dollars is lasting us until next Thursday, thanks to a certain someone who just made me blow my pay that I only got four days ago,” he hisses, sliding out of his jacket and hanging it over one of the dining table chairs.

And there it is again. That silly little grin tugging softly at her lips as she wiggles her hips against the couch. Strategically, Jeongguk briskly turns on his heel and strides into the kitchen before she can get her nails in him. Moulding him like the pathetic putty that he is. He can practically hear her pout when he ignores her blatant attempt at melting down his cold facade. Then, her heels unsteadily click across the vinyl flooring to watch him pull out a saucepan and fill it halfway with water, positioning it on the largest hotplate.

Jeongguk does not cast his eyes her way, even if every inch of his body, particularly his dick, is demanding that he do so. Because holy eight-pound six-ounce sweet baby Jesus in his cradle of hay, he did not notice in the dim lighting of the bar, but she is wearing a black v-cut sweater that exposes her shoulders and collarbones and a barely there shadow of cleavage. That, in itself, is saying something since her tits are a size that would fit neatly in his palms without any overflow. Just a nice, small and cute handful. God, he has never seen her with even a hint of cleavage like this before. This is unchartered territory that he has no idea of how to face, especially when he can barely cope with the sight of her amazing ass in any kind of legwear.

Jeongguk, staring blankly at the packet ramyeon in his hands, mentally forces himself not to get fucking hard like a teenage boy in the middle of their goddamn kitchen.

“What’cha doin’, good lookin’?” she hums, now perched on a breakfast bar stool with the side of her face mashed into the heel of her palm, elbow propped up on the kitchen counter. In his periphery, those small, adorable breasts spill from the v-neck onto the white laminate as a result of her slouched over position. Every single one of his nerve-endings is aflame.

Jeongguk releases the air trapped tightly in his lungs and then proceeds to make way towards the slowly simmering pot of water. He dares not a single glance at her, for the fabric of his sweatpants leaves little to the imagination, and she has definitely recognised a semi in them before.

“I’m making you something to eat since you always get hungry after drinking. Also, because I’m the greatest best friend that this world could’ve ever graced you with.” Jeongguk’s eyes are glued to his hands as he begins tearing into the packets. He dumps the dehydrated noodles and seasonings into the water, and desperately tries not to think about how sweet her tits would look in his hands. Praying that she takes the bait, he adds on as an afterthought, “Why don’t you get changed into something comfortable, and the food will be ready when you are?”

There is a pause, a moment where Jeongguk’s tongue pulses like a heart in his mouth, and he tries not to break into a nervous sweat. He can practically hear his own words clicking into place in her mind; connecting, disconnecting, reconnecting; fumbling through the drunken haze that still lays thick on her thought process. Twenty seconds pass, and he ends up so on edge that when she slaps her open palm against the countertop, he startles so abruptly that he rips open a seasoning packet with the ferocity of a gorilla. Beef flavouring bursts over his shirt and the stovetop in a cloud of brown dust.

“I shall go do that,” she announces. Jeongguk, going from nearly hyperventilating out of surprise to having a coughing fit from inhaling seasoning particles, sees her slither like a lizard off the stool out of his watering periphery. Except drunk, and with a goddamn, freshly fucking harvested cleavage.

He only lets a tear roll down his cheek once she has staggered down the hallway. This is Jeon Jeongguk, at the ripe age of twenty-three, accepting that he may die tonight.

Despite this possibility, he goes about cleaning up the spilled beef flavouring, saving as much of it as he can and depositing it in the simmering pot. The ramyeon-making itself goes rather smoothly. He manages to not spill the boiling water all over himself, nor accidentally rub his eyes after touching the chilli sauce like he did that one, hellish time that rendered him blind for just under three hours. He stirs the noodle broth and listens to her clomp around her bedroom, the occasional grunt and groan emitting when she cracks her hip against her desk, or whacks her shoulder against the frame of her walk-in closet.

She remerges in an acceptably less boner-inducing outfit. Consisting of one of his black hoodies that nearly reaches her knees, and assumedly (he prays, at least) a pair of unseeable boyshorts underneath. Jeongguk starts straining the ramyeon into a bowl.

“That’s mine,” he says about the hoodie while she clambers back onto the stool, looking soft and cuddly in her bundle of cotton and fleece. Her attire may not be as threatening to his vulnerable dick, but it is definitely as murderous to his weakened heart.

“Finders keepers, losers are weepers,” she immediately fires back, settling into her previous palm-smushed-against-face position, waiting for him to finish plating up the ramyeon. “Dun’ forget the cheese, either.”

At that, his whole body shudders with repulsion. For the first time since the growth of her cleavage was made apparent, Jeongguk faces her directly and hopes that the sheer suffering she puts him through is perfectly translated through his withered expression when he says, “You are disgusting,” before opening the fridge anyway and retrieving the container of pre-sliced easy-melt. “I will never understand how you can perform such sacrilege against the two holiest foods by combining them into the edible-equivalent of Hell.”

“Excuse you, cheesy ramyeon is the best gift this world has given us.” She frowns at the ceiling, thinks this over for a moment, and then corrects herself with, “Has given me, since I’m the best gift this world has ever given you.”

Jeongguk merely chuckles, does not deny it, because one may call him a deadset liar if he were to do so. Instead, he peels two slices of cheese out of the container and places them atop the bowl of steaming ramyeon, pressing them down with a fork so that they melt faster. 

She makes an iffy little sound, somewhat of a whine, and says, “Extra cheese, please!”

“You’ll make yourself feel sick,” he warns, yet all she does is glare adorably at him until he caves like the weak man that he is and adds an extra two squares. A thought itches at the back of his mind, informing him that he is most likely going to regret this, and he brushes it away just as quickly as it forms. Under that beguiling gaze of hers, she could ask Jeongguk to stick chopsticks up his ass and impersonate a popsicle and he would.

An over-exaggeration, but you get the point.

“Alright, one extra cheesy ramyeon for the drunk girl with disgusting taste in food,” Jeongguk declares, reaching across the counter to place the dairy-laden bowl in front of her before grabbing her hand, putting the fork in her open palm and forcibly curling her fingers around it with his own. He holds her hand a moment longer than necessary between his own, grinning tightly, remaining to ignore the voice that is now screeching in his head that feeding her this is a very, very bad idea. “Bon appétit,” he finalises, and the deal is done.

She smiles up at him, eyes shining and all of her teeth on display. Jeongguk wonders what wars he must have ended in his past life to be rewarded with this girl of starlight and vanilla and honey who winds around him, softens him into warm and easy. Before he can further dwell on such a tender thought, she shovels a grotesque forkful of cheesy ramyeon into her mouth.

“Tfhanksh Jeonguffie,” she says around the stickiness, and Jeongguk, now the perfect picture of nonchalance, wordlessly turns on his heel and begins to clean up the dishes. Anything, really, to distract himself from projecting the small amount of vomit that has lurched up to the back of his throat at the horrendous meal making contact with those lips that deserve so much better.

Minutes slowly go by, stretching past two in the morning and beginning to progress towards quarter-past. Besides the sickening slurps that she makes behind him, and the clattering of the saucepan with a handful of dirty dishes from his own dinner being washed in the sink, no conversation is made, and it is comfortable. These moments are precisely why Jeongguk has not risked it yet; asking her the big question; the determiner as to whether their best friendship will advance into something more. If she were to deny him, he believes he would be able to handle it, but he knows well that such knowledge would be on her mind every time she looks his way. The awkward tension would ensue, she would overanalyse his every move, and he would become distant because he does not want her to get the wrong idea. They would anticipate the day that the lease on their apartment runs out so they can go their separate ways as soon as possible.

So, he keeps quiet and basks in the contentment that they have created together in their little home. At the end of the day, she is his best friend, and he could not imagine a future without her in it. No matter if they were romantically involved, or purely platonic. Sure, he would love to kiss her collarbones and put his hands on her hips and maybe – just maybe – tell her that he loves her in the morning glow of a lazy Sunday, whispered across the pillowcases. But he can live without that. He can be a big boy about it and move on.

He keeps telling himself this, at least. Soon, he will genuinely be convinced that he can do it.

“Jeongguk.”

“Mmm,” he hums in response, turning around when her follow-up is delayed, and he instantly notices how her expression has suddenly transformed.

Honestly, Usain Bolt could not even compare to how fast his ass moves. Jeongguk skirts around the kitchen counter, pulls her off the stool, and hastily guides her towards the sink while cursing under his breath.

“I feel…” she mumbles as Jeongguk takes out the plug and then gathers her hair up as well as he can manage, holding it in a loose bun at the crown of her head and cringing when her torso slightly convulses. “Like I’m gonna– Ugh–“

“Oh my god.”

Jeongguk swears he did not make her that much cheesy ramyeon. But dear fucking lord, the sheer amount that comes up and splashes into the sink is simply horrifying. The noodles must have expanded in her stomach for such an extensive volume to now be regurgitated in disgusting, yellow chunks that make his own stomach turn with wooziness. He cannot believe he thought cheesy ramyeon looked bad in the bowl, because it is appearing to be at least ten times worse in the form of barf.

“You owe me– Ugh, christ– So big after tonight, you little shit,” Jeongguk grunts at her between clenched teeth and gags when he gets a whiff of the stench. Like over-fermented dairy left out in the sun for weeks, doused in a hefty helping of vodka.

The sound she makes is awful when the next heave is unleashed onto the stainless steel, and she reaches one hand back from where it is braced on the counter to weakly pat his stomach. When she shakily murmurs, “I’ll give you the best blow of your life as thanks,” Jeongguk has to bite the wet, fleshy inner of his cheek to stop the visualisation of her words from drowning his mind until it is all he can think about.

“Don’t talk about sucking my dick while you’re vomiting,” he groans with a small tilt to the corners of his lips despite himself, collecting a loose strand of hair that is falling dangerously close to her mouth. She halfheartedly laughs before another surge of cheesy ramyeon makes its departure from her body, and Jeongguk dry-heaves in perfect synchronisation.

By the time the contents of her belly have been completely and utterly expelled, Jeongguk is admittedly feeling much weaker in the stomach than he was before her bout of throwing up. Especially after having to wash it down the drain. Once there is not an inch of cheesy noodles in sight, he gingerly carries her bridal-style into their shared bathroom and props her up on the sink, one hand on her waist to keep her steady and the other reaching for her toothbrush. 

Jeongguk bites his lip to hide his smile when she leans forward and rests her forehead on his chest while he squeezes out a line of toothpaste. He wets the brush a little under the tap, and then takes her chin like he had back in the club, lifting it up so that he can see her sleepy, downright adorable face. Seriously, who looks this cute after vomiting up their breakfast, lunch, dinner, and all of the vodka sloshed in between?

“Open your mouth,” Jeongguk says, moving his fingers so they can squeeze her cheeks and make her lips pout like a fish. His heart weeps like the pathetic thing that it is at the sight.

She waggles her eyebrows to the best of her ability in her sobering, exhausted state. “What’re you going to put in there?”

“Not my dick, unfortunately for you,” Jeongguk chuckles, holding up the toothbrush, and she sighs loudly with faux disappointment. Well, he thinks she is joking. Surely she is.

Obediently, she opens her mouth. Jeongguk abruptly shoves the toothbrush in there and starts scrubbing at her pearly whites before he can think of the way she looks with her lipstick-smudged lips parted so obscenely like that.

His brain is the epitome of a keyboard smash.

It only glitches all the more when Jeongguk gradually comes to realise the entire position that they are both in; taking him over like a virus. His non-brushing hand still cups her small jaw. Glitch. Her bare thighs brush against his hips as she lightly swings her feet. Glitch. She blatantly stares at him, eyes half-lidded and looking like melted butter. Error: Jeon Jeongguk is no longer computing.

At least he can thank all of the deities that she is no longer wearing the Cleavage Sweater of Jeongguk’s Absolute Demise. Otherwise, he would have a bird’s eye view of the goods in question, and he, undoubtedly, would be a dead man.

Before he can linger on the dangerous thought of her small breasts while he is at this high-risk proximity, she makes a distressed gurgling sound. A sliver of Jeongguk’s sanity returns to him and he realises that toothpaste is spilling out of her mouth and onto his hand. With a panicked yelp, he yanks the toothbrush out of her mouth and she hurries to swivel around and spit out the accumulated mass of minty foam into the sink.

“Jesus H. Christ, Jeon,” she rasps, coughing once and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her glare is watery and suspicious. “Were you trying to drown me? Imagine that. Death by toothpaste.”

He sputters, swallowing down laughter. “Shit, sorry, I was just– Uh, thinking about something,” he mutters, sheepishly smiling and reaching around her to rinse off the toothbrush.

“‘bout what?” she hums, dipping her head down so she can cutely shove her face in his own. Jeongguk grunts and cranes his neck away, but she grins wider and follows him, accidentally bumping her nose against his jaw. “What’cha thinking about, huh?”

“Ugh, hey– Stop!” He lets the toothbrush clatter into the sink and smooshes her cheeks between his large palms, holding her still, approximately an inch away from his nose. Cautiously, Jeongguk leans back, redeems the blush that is steadily heating his own cheeks by saying, “I was just thinking about all the ways I’m going to make you repay me for making me deal with your drunk ass.”

She half-heartedly waggles her eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”

“Oh, you know,” he says as he drops his hands to her knees, but he does not fucking know at all since he was thinking about her tits again. His barely functioning, overtired and exhausted brain manages to conjure a handful of weak options. “I could make you do the dishes for a whole month. Or maybe, I could get you to buy the groceries for the next two fortnights. That’ll wipe your cocktail debt, at least.”

“You’re too soft on me, Jeongguk. Even when I can make your life a living hell,” she sighs, sleepily blinking at him. Unexpectedly, she knots her hands into the front of his shirt and pulls him close, successfully bringing his face back to the proximity that it was only a moment ago; nearly nose to nose. He can very suddenly feel his pulse practically vibrating in his throat. “‘m really sorry. You deserve something better than just some silly chores. I’ll pay you back the money of course, but– … Hey, what does my breath smell like?”

Before Jeongguk can even question her, she is forcefully exhaling onto his face. A gust of peppermint fills his nostrils, powerful enough to make him flinch. “Minty fresh. Why?”

Her lips stretch into a gentle curve, and beneath the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, it almost appears nervous. “Good, ‘cos here goes nothing.”

Jeongguk is about to frown, about to speak, about to something. He cannot recall. Not now that she has closed the short gap between them and is accurately planting her mouth upon his own.

For a moment, Jeongguk thinks he might well and truly be dreaming. That tonight was some ridiculously real, torturous fantasy that his imagination managed to conjure in his unconscious state. But then her soft, damp lips part ever so slightly. Warm with the heat of her mouth, yet cool from the toothpaste. She opens up to him, her hands sliding up his chest to lock around his nape, the tip of her tongue skimming along the rosy flesh of his lower lip, and he knows.

This is very, very real.

Holy shit.

It takes a second for him to comprehend that he should kiss her back instead of standing there like a startled creature. And so, he slides his hands up from her knees to the middle of her thighs, the soft flesh warm beneath his palms when he gently grips them, and he tilts his head slightly to the side to deepen it. At this, she makes the most pleasant, lovely little sound. The edges of her nails lightly graze against the hair on the back of his neck, and elicit gooseflesh that tingles along his arms. 

Jeongguk parts his lips, lets her in, groans quietly when her tongue brushes against the underside of his own and then recedes. He chases after it, tasting warmth and cool peppermint as he carefully sinks his teeth into her lower lip, nibbling at the plush flesh and releasing it. A thin string of saliva connects their mouths as they separate for the most infinitesimal of moments before they dive back in. They are abstrusely drawn to each other. Like a black hole has formed between their bodies and they are radiant stars, pulled to the centre by gravity, colliding and becoming one.

Jeongguk cannot think straight. His mind has become an unrecognisable labyrinth that he cannot navigate; sent into turmoil by the taste of her, the feeling of her underneath the weight of his hands. He searches higher up her thighs, skimming beneath the hem of the hoodie and over her boyshorts, finding her waist and anchoring his fingers there, pulling her closer. Now, with her torso melding against his own, she loops her arms over his shoulders and her legs around his hips, locking her ankles and hands so that the embrace cannot be broken. Jeongguk melts completely, and he prays that this is not just some measly, intoxicated repayment. That what he feels in the slow movements of her lips and the press of her tongue is what he thinks it is. 

What he has been hoping for all this time.

As if she reads his mind, she suddenly jolts away like she has been electrocuted. Jeongguk, startled and with his lips still parted, stares at her with awed, lovestruck eyes. She gazes back as though she is very, very unsure.

Oh no.

“Woah,” she breathes, then she is untwining her limbs from his broad figure and clasping her blushing face with something akin to embarrassment. Jeongguk would think it looks utterly adorable if the fear was not currently spiking his adrenaline. “Wow– That was– Oh. Geez. I’m so sorry–“

“Why are you apologising?” Jeongguk barely whispers, and he almost does not want to know the answer for the fear of her words shattering his feeble heart like a hammer taking to glass.

“I’m– What? I’m apologising because that– That was something I shouldn’t have done,” she stammers, then sighs, letting her hands fall into her lap and staring down at them. Jeongguk is frozen, his own palms still firm against her waist underneath the bunched up fleece. “It was out of line. We’re best friends. I mean, I could blame it on being drunk if I wanted to and we could forget all about it. But in all seriousness, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It was a very sober decision–“

Jeongguk exhales, and it shudders reluctantly out of his lungs. “You’re not making sense.”

“Okay, fine, fuck it!” she suddenly shouts, and it makes him jump. Her voice echoes around the bathroom, and she looks up at him again, eyes overflowing with frightening determination.  “Jeongguk. I like you, okay? There. I said it. I like you so much, and I get that saying this might fuck up our entire friendship but I really like you–“

He cuts her off with his mouth on her own and thinks: How were we this blind for so long?

This time, the kiss is brief, yet urgent. A sense of desperation hides in the corners of their mouths. Not searching for an answer, but out of the sheer desire touch one another, breathe one another after being oblivious for so long. Jeongguk begins to laugh, soft chuckles against her mouth that draw mystified, hopeful giggles from her own chest. The kissing becomes quite pointless, for they are simply smiling so wide out of the absolute ridiculousness that they could have been doing this for months, maybe even years, at this stage. 

They were just too foolish and scared of losing the other. Yet none of that matters now.

“Is this you confessing back to me?” she mumbles, and there is so much delight dancing like starlight in her eyes that Jeongguk’s heart races. He pecks at her mouth once, twice, then moves to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead and her chin until she is laughing all over again and holy shit, Jeongguk is quite possibly too in love for somebody who was so firmly denying it no less than two hours ago.

“Something like that,” he hums, squeezing at her sides before slipping his hands out from underneath the hoodie so he can reach up and cup her face. There is something radiant bursting through his ribs. Most likely, his elated heart. “I think I love you. At this stage, for me at least, I feel like I love you. I thought I just loved you as a best friend, but it’s definitely more than that.”

“Oh thank god,” she grins, and he feels it against his palms. “I was going to say I love you instead of I like you, but I thought it might be too sudden and scare you away. So yeah, I love you too, asshole. Also, I’m still a bit tipsy.”

Jeongguk’s face feels as though it is going to split in half from smiling so hard. He tucks her hair behind her ears, dies a little on the inside at the fact that he can do that, and so much more, now that they have laid their cards on the table. Brushing his thumbs over her faintly blushing cheeks, he kisses her, and then says, “Really? Wanna go to bed?”

“Yes,” she sleepily nods, latching her limbs around him again like a starfish. “Onwards to my bed, O’ Noble Steed!”

“God. You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love, bitch.”

“Wow, there’s the best friend that I know. Thought I lost you.”

“Nope. You fell in love with this, so you’re stuck with this.”

Grin still plastered to his face, Jeongguk hooks his hands underneath her thighs and lifts her up, delighting in the way she giggles with glee in his ear. In navigating out of the bathroom and to her bedroom, he carries her towards all the light switches so she can flick them off. He kisses her cheek with every single one. 

When they enter her bedroom, the overwhelming fragrance of her hits him like a shockwave. Even more so as he carefully lays her down on the bed and then tucks in behind her; the gentle, vanilla aroma lifting from the pillowcase. She rolls over to face him in the dark, and Jeongguk loops his arms around her waist so casually that anyone would think they have been doing this for years.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, pressing his lips to the centre of her brow. At this rate, he believes he may never stop kissing her now that he has started.

Languidly, she blinks, and then mumbles, “This is real, right? I didn’t black out on cocktails, did I? I’m not just having some crazy, amazing dream?”

“Definitely real,” Jeongguk chuckles, pulling her closer. She cranes her neck, angling upwards to catch his mouth against her own, still tasting faintly of mint and pure, unadulterated joy. He licks at her bottom lip, and she groans, pulling away.

“Don’t do that. You’ll make me more horny.”

Jeongguk’s dick, in an act of betrayal, begins to stand to attention for the nth time that night.

“Y-You’re horny right now?” He clears his throat, swallows saliva down his suddenly very parched windpipe.

“Yeah, ’cos I’m still a little drunk,” she whines cutely, but it is nearly lost on Jeongguk. Because now all he can imagine is peeling her out of his hoodie and the boyshorts, seeing her lovely and bare, and then making her cry out his name with every fluid thrust inside of her.

“Fuck, now I’m kinda horny,” he mutters, and she cackles evilly.

“Are you hard?”

“Half,” Jeongguk admits, and she shifts so that she is propped up on her side by her elbow.

“Can I touch you? I’m too tired to jack you off but– I just want to, y’know, feel it,” she is smirking through the shadows and Jeongguk cannot roll the yes off his tongue fast enough.

Then, her small hand is on his dick, almost immediately causing it to swell to its full, erect size.

Jeongguk releases a tight exhalation that whistles between his teeth, draws soothing patterns on her back with his fingertips to try calm himself from potentially blowing his load right here and now. He cannot believe that he has dreamed of this more times than he can physically count on both hands, and now it is actually happening. Out of fear of disturbing the moment, he keeps his muscles locked. She stays rather silent as she feels around him through his sweatpants; gently squeezing his shaft, his balls, her thumb gliding smoothly over the head. 

Then, she nods to herself. Her hand recedes, and Jeongguk feels the loss like a blade driving through his gut.

“I always thought it would be big after seeing your semi that one time, but this is quite impressive,” she very casually states while she lays back down, and Jeongguk’s heart stutters. He cannot decide whether it is torture or euphoria that he is experiencing right now. A concoction of the two, most likely, because 1. she thinks that he has a big dick, and yet 2. he refuses to drill it into her while she is still a few steps away from sober. He wants her head completely clear for that.

Instead, Jeongguk latches onto two of the words that she speaks, smirking himself as he says, “Always thought, huh?”

“Oh come on, you can’t say that you haven’t thought about my body, too!” she accuses good-naturedly, wriggling closer to him so that all of her curves and slopes press against him. His painfully hard dick nestles into her thigh. The desire to roll it against her spreads through him like wildfire. “I might’ve been drunker earlier, but don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were staring at my cleavage like a man deprived. That shirt is a godsend for my tiny titties, right?”

“God, you have no fucking idea,” Jeongguk shamelessly admits, burying his face into her neck and softly biting the flesh there, shivering when she squirms. She is better than he could have ever imagined in all of her reactions to his touches, the sounds that she creates. So real. “That’s why I told you to get changed. I thought I was going to die.”

She threads her fingers through his hair, softly stroking the dark locks. “I’ll make sure to wear it more often then.”

“Well, here’s your cautionary warning that I probably won’t be able to hold myself back when you do. I don’t care where we are or who sees.”

“That’s hot,” she laughs, and then yawns. Jeongguk untucks himself from the nook of her shoulder, licks his lips, and presses a firm kiss to her mouth. When she moves her thigh to wrap around his own, it brushes against the head of his hard cock and he has to swallow down a needy moan.

“Sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?” He murmurs. “And we’ll fix this horniness problem. Also, side note: can I hold your ass?”

“Yup, go for it,” she hums, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his own. Jeongguk smooths his palms down her spine and then over the supple flesh of her ass, and lord, it honestly feels as fantastic as he had expected. He gingerly gives it a squeeze, and she makes a soft, appreciative sound that has all the blood rushing out of his head, leaving him lightheaded and so fucking in love that it hurts. Well, hurts his dick, for the most part.

The room fills with placid silence, yet his heart thrums loudly in his ears, keeping him awake. He focuses on the way her breathing begins to even out, and tries to match his own to her pace. Slowly; in through the nose, out through the mouth. The minutes pass, and Jeongguk feels his body become heavier, heavier, until he closes in on the soothing edge of unconsciousness.

She stirs.

“Jeonggukie.”

“Mmm.”

“I think I’m going to vomit again.”

Jeongguk has been woken up in numerous unusual ways. Being punched in the face is a first, and is quite possibly one of the more painful methods. Even if it was an accident as a result of somebody flailing too close for comfort.

“Ow– Jesus!” He squawks, immediately rolling onto his back and cupping his nose where the fist had made sharp contact.

When he opens his watering eyes, he notices that his best friend is looming over him with a very confused and very concerned expression. The sight of her as the first thing he sees when he awakes is not abnormal, for she has proven to be a much more efficient alarm than his own cell phone on numerous occasions. Even if her method this time around was unnecessarily more painful.

But it is the fact that her bedroom surrounds the both of them that throws him off. Because that must mean he is sleeping in her bed. And why on Earth–

Oh.

That’s right. They confessed. They kissed. Jeongguk fell asleep with his hands on her beautiful ass after holding her hair back while she threw up a second time.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, a sleepy half-smile beginning to tilt his lips.

That is, until she very bluntly says, “What are you doing in my bed?”

The smile immediately vacates his expression, and he suddenly feels as though he has fallen off a cliff face and is plummeting through the air. Jeongguk’s voice trembles in the back of his throat as he quietly says, “What do you mean?”

“Why are you in my bed?” she questions him again, and Jeongguk thinks he is literally about to be sick. “Oh! That’s right. You came to the bar, didn’t you? Jesus. Did we get that drunk again that we ended up crashing in my bed together?” She shakes her head. “I bet it was like last time when we passed out in your bed after that frat party. You remember the one, right? Where we had a full-blown argument over pineapple on pizza–“

Jeongguk swiftly scrambles upright and out of the bed, his chest feeling tight in the worst possible way. Did he genuinely dream everything that occurred last night? Did none of it actually happen? Or was she drunker than he initially thought and she has completely forgotten everything that occurred?

“Don’t you remember, ___?” He whispers, and his voice cracks.

She tilts her head to the side. The sunlight filters through the bedroom window, casting her in a sheen of gold, and she looks so unbelievably, heart-wrenchingly gorgeous that Jeongguk feels something in his chest begin to splinter.

“Remember what?” she says, utterly clueless, and Jeongguk casts his eyes to the ground, confused and hurt beyond belief.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, starting towards the door. He cannot completely comprehend what is happening right now, but he knows that something is definitely off because he swears on his heart that it was not a dream. She was real. Her warm mouth shaped against his own was real. Her voice wrapping around the words ‘I love you’ was very, very real; he knows that he could never imagine such a confession so vividly–

Behind him, she bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god. Jeongguk, you’re more gullible than a dog running to fetch the ball that its owner pretended to throw!”

He whips his head around, eyes as wide as Jupiter. “W-What?”

“I remember what happened, dumbass. Everything. I kissed you in the bathroom, we confessed our undying feelings for one another, I touched your dick, yadda yadda.” She crawls across the bed until she is kneeling before him, carefully reaching up to clasp his face between her palms and Jeongguk is torn between wanting to beat her with a pillow or kiss her senseless. Huh, he supposes this is what angry sex must be all about. “Was I really that convincing?”

He closes his eyes, furrows his brow. His mind is still suffering from the sudden whiplash, and is now doused in liquid fury. “I’m honestly going to fucking kill you.”

“I love you too,” she placates him, rising up to tentatively kiss him. He cuttingly stares at her half-lidded gaze as she dusts tiny pecks to his unmoving lips until he finally caves through the simmering anger and gives in to her, flicking his tongue out to meet her own. Carefully, as if she is unsure whether he will tear her head off or not at the slightest misjudgement, she begins to travel her mouth down his jaw, mumbling, “I’m sorry, that was mean of me.”

“I genuinely thought for a moment there that I must’ve had the wildest lucid dream,” he mutters, settling his hands on her ribs and angling his head to the side so that she has easier access. “But I feel like I could’ve never imagined the sight, nor stench of regurgitated cheesy ramyeon with such disgustingly intense clarity.”

She chuckles, quietly apologising again, and the exhalation of it on his skin raises the hairs on his nape. She reaches the under of his jawline, plush lips coming into contact with an especially sensitive spot on his neck, and an involuntary moan escapes him when the light suck of her teeth sends shivers down his spine.

Jeongguk can feel the curve of her languid, wicked grin instantly forming against his skin.

“Instead of fucking killing me, how about you fuck me to my grave?” she suggests, and her tone is too saccharine around such filthy words. Unbearable enough to bolster his morning wood to its full capacity, even when the flame of rage from her awful joke is still dying out.

“You’re insane,” Jeongguk chuckles despite himself, and she leans back, divine smile still intact.

“Insanely horny after keeping my sexual frustrations for you locked up in my body for roughly a year now? Yes,” she confirms with finger guns and a wink. He shakes his head out of incredulity. “And, I do believe I have a dick to blow to say thank you for last night. And also to say sorry for scaring you just now.”

“Baby, I don’t think you realise this yet but if we’re really a thing now, then you’re going to be sucking my dick for a whole month to pay me back for the past twelve hours.” Jeongguk sighs, running his hand through his hair and then down his face. His heart soars from the way her expression meekly transforms at the sudden nickname. “I’m going to have to start a fucking tally.”

“Well,” she hums, slips her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, and Jeongguk becomes lightheaded, “consider this strike number one, baby.”

The way she says it melts him down like candle wax, and he cannot help but tackle her onto the bed, grinning at her surprised squeal that is soon suffocated by his lips. Jeongguk knows that they have all morning for this. That he can take his time to explore her body in all of its magnificence until he can perfectly map it out in his mind, can understand the raw shape of her, what glorious noises she makes when he touches her, and what specific places on her being elicit them. He mouths his way down her throat, catches the blissful sigh as it releases from her lungs into the early morning, and then detaches so he can sit back and look at her, straddled beneath him.

Jeongguk entwines her hands with his own and slowly draws them above her head. She simpers, her half-lidded, glassy eyes flooded with unadulterated desire, cast in golden sunlight that makes her appear unbelievably ethereal. He slides his palms to her wrists, leans down so that his lips hover just above her own, gazes right at her and thanks his lucky stars for gracing him with an embodiment of themselves in the form of a girl so radiant that she blinded him; enough, that he could not recognise the love cooped up in her eyes until she spoke it.

He murmurs, “___, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. Even if you destroy my savings account and eat the most repulsive meal known to humankind. You’re my best friend, and I want to escalate our best friendship to ‘best-friends-who-fuck-each-other-and-are-ridiculously-in-love’. What do you think?”

“Well, I love you too,” she smiles, her eyes flicking between his own, a glint of mischief hiding underneath the flutter of her eyelashes. “And I completely approve of such an upgrade. Partly because I cannot even express how long I’ve wanted to hold your hand and tell the world that you’re my boyfriend, and partly because I really want to blow you while you play video games.”

There, the realisation drives straight through Jeongguk’s heart. And his dick.

Ah, silver lining.

Note | I just wanted to write about Jeongguk’s phone vibrating against his balls. That is all. I have also never played Overwatch, so if any of the references are incorrect, I apologise. Thank you all for reading, liking, and reblogging this fun and silly little piece. I would love to hear your thoughts on it! ♡

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

[thetourguidebarbie]

yes! i'm gonna request it!!!! :P

The post in question can be found here. It was originally requested by @dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg so I hope you like it! Unbeta’d, first draft, etc.

“Ouch! Fuck, sweetheart. I’m not a knife block.”

“It’s not a knife. It’s a pin. Stop being a baby,” Caroline said, putting a hand on his shoulder to make sure he stayed still and taking another pin from between her teeth, sliding it into the tunic as he watched, his face pulled into a disapproving scowl.

“That can’t be sanitary.”

“It’s not like I had ebola. My cold’s been gone for like, three days now.”

“A cold could inhibit my ability to project.”

Caroline held Klaus’s eyes with a glare as she inserted a pin a bit more harshly than necessary, nicking him in the side, raising an eyebrow when he flinched. “Whoops.”

“Careful love, I could report you to the Dean for assault,” he grumbled, though his tone didn’t have any bite to it, and Caroline rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

“Yeah, and get laughed out of the office. Stop slouching.”

He straightened his spine and she walked behind him, adjusting the tunic to make sure it sat correctly and tried not to show how lowkey annoyed that her cold was gone. Sure, the sniffling had been irritating, but it was now a lot harder to ignore how good he smelled.

“I could ask Damon to replace you with a different designer, I doubt he’d see a problem with it.”

It was an empty threat and they both knew it. Damon might hate her for dumb reasons, but not only was she the only remotely competent design major willing to do costumes for the play, but she was also the swing for half the female roles. She’d effectively made herself indispensable. Even if that wasn’t the case, she knew Klaus wouldn’t trust anyone else to make his costumes.

“I’m terrified. Truly,” she said, dropping to her knees behind him to check the hem of the tunic before leaning back slightly. “Take off your pants so that I can do the hem really quick.”

“You just want me to undress for you.”

“I don’t have time for your half-ass flirting, Klaus.”

“Half-assed?” he asked, drawing out the word in an irritatingly good imitation of an American accent. “I’m wounded, love.”

“Not my problem. I still have a bajillion things to do, including finishing up your armor for the last scene. It’s almost done and I’m hoping to finish it by tonight, but I’m still behind on everything else. I don’t think I’ll have the time for more than one fitting for everyone before dress rehearsals.”

Klaus hummed in a way that could pass for sympathetic and let his trousers fall, stepping out of them and searching her face. “How long have you been here today?”

“Since like, eight, maybe?”

“Caroline, it’s nearly seven o’clock.”

“I know. I do have a phone,” she said grumpily, pressing on before he could keep talking, anxious to get him out so that she could finish. “Can you come back around eleven? I should be done by then and I can get you fitted. The armor is the hardest part, so—“

“I’ll be here, sweetheart,” he said, cutting off her babbling.

“Good.”

She grabbed the pants he kicked off and took a fraction of a second to admire his ass (she was only human) before standing up, heading to the sewing machine and plopping down in the chair. “Take off the tunic and hang it up by the door. Please don’t screw up the pins again, okay?”

She heard the rustle of fabric as he slid the tunic off and did her best to stay focused on the sewing machine. She’d caught a glance of his abs more than a few times in the past few years and it was best to not fall down the “what would they feel like under my tongue” rabbit hole, at least not in front of him.

From the first day they’d met he’d shot her lust-filled glances that made her cheeks heat, and she hadn’t been shy about returning them for the first few days. She had always tried her best not to let things get too complicated with anyone in the fine arts department, though. The industry was small and she couldn’t afford to make enemies this early. She’d turned him down regretfully when he asked her out the first week, and he seemed to take it as a challenge. He hadn’t made another overt move, but he did somehow manage to worm his way into her circle of acquaintances enough that he’d grown on her. They were solidly frenemies now, though she could privately admit that they were more on the friends end of the scale than enemies at this point.

He still sent her affectionate glances when he thought she wasn’t looking that made her heart skip a beat, and she’d given up on resisting the urge to do the same. Enzo had even let slip that Klaus might have gotten wasted at a cast party and implied he still had feelings for her, and she’d only recently grown brave enough to recognize that she might like him too. A lot.

Possibly too much.

As graduation drew closer, he’d started finding more reasons to linger near her, and she didn’t really mind…until now.

Tech week was serious business, and she couldn’t afford distractions, not if she was going to finish up the costumes. She tried her best to concentrate on that as the hours ticked by, to not stew on how once tech week was over she’d have to come up with a different, even dumber excuse for not giving into Klaus.

Or you could just give him a chance, a tiny, unwelcome part of her prodded. Maybe he wouldn’t be a vindictive, petty, life-ruining asshole if it didn’t work out.

“Shut up,” she mumbled to the (supposedly) empty room, flinching when Klaus spoke from behind her, sounding amused.

“Do I really walk that loudly?”

“I was just talking to myself,” she said, turning around to see Klaus with a tray containing two coffees and a bag that looked suspiciously like take-out from her favorite hole-in-the-wall pasta place two blocks from campus. “Oh my god, is that for me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the best, Klaus. Thank you so much! I seriously feel like I’m about to fall over.”

“Perhaps you should sleep,” he suggested mildly, setting down the tray and bag.

“I don’t have time—“

“Well, eat at least, then,” he said, gesturing to the food. “I had a feeling you’d be working yourself to death.”

“No eating near costumes or props,” Caroline said automatically, though she felt her mouth practically watering at the prospect of carbonara, and he rolled his eyes.

“Jeremy isn’t around to murder you for it and I’m certainly not going to tell. Or you could eat in the other room.”

“That’s true,” she said, glancing at the half-done gown for Camille spread across the table and making a mental list of things she still had to do before deciding she could make an exception just this once. “Okay. I’ll try to be quick. Let’s get you into the armor first though. You can keep your shirt on, but I need you to take your jeans off and put on the pants from your costume.”

His hands were already going for his belt when she’d finished, and she cleared her throat, looking away. It was harder to find the will to feign disinterest on this amount of sleep, and she found herself second-guessing her life choices. She waved him over to the table where she was storing the armor and grabbed the first piece.

She’d done her best to make the armor set fast and easy to put on. He had more than enough time to change, but it was always good to leave cushion for sudden emergencies. “I’ll be there to help you, but see how there’s a front half and a back half to each leg and to the top?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so the front half has straps that go around and buckle, like this.”

She demonstrated, lining up the front of one of the legs with his and reaching through his legs to wrap the strip of sturdy cloth around his thigh and buckle it securely before doing the same with his calf and switching to the other leg.

He was watching her intently as she adjusted the pieces, sliding the backs into place so that they fastened to the front part of the costume, and kept his eyes on her face when she stood. “What?” she asked, frowning and taking the front of the chest armor from the table.

“Nothing, love.”

“Put your arms out.”

He did, and she slid the armor up to rest against his chest, her palms lingering against his shoulders for a second too long, and she felt her cheeks heat as her eyes flicked up to meet his. She quickly darted behind him to buckle it into place and adding the back piece before putting the shoulderpads on. “Good?” she asked, wincing at how high-pitched her voice had gone.

“Yes, love.”

“Great! Just walk around the theater to get used to it and make sure you can move in it,” she ordered, already reaching for the food and coffee, determined to get away from him and have a breather to regain her footing. Hopefully the food would help. “And seriously, thank you. You’re a literal lifesaver.”

His lips twitched. “Glad to be of service. Yours is the one on the left with all the sharpie marks for your various customizations.”

“Thanks,” she said, checking it and feeling an unwelcome warmth burst in her chest that he’d remembered every single one.

She moved out of the room to the nearby green room, giving herself permission to check twitter as she was eating and draining the coffee. It had been about a half an hour by the time she returned to the sewing room to find Klaus in the armor looking a bit peeved.

“You okay?”

“I need you to take it off. I can’t reach the fastenings in the back.”

Her lips twitched, and her sleep-deprived brain pushed words out of her mouth before she could stop them. “What kind of bad pick-up line was that?”

“A true one,” he shot back, clearly amused at the horrified look on her face once she processed what she said. “Though as I’m sure you’re aware, Caroline, I’d be perfectly happy to let you undress me anytime.”

The statement hung in the air between them, and Caroline felt like the short distance between them was charged with energy, her skin prickling at the way he was looking at her, the longing and all-consuming need in his expression making her pulse race.

It was the boldest he’d been since that first week when he’d asked her out, and in her heart of hearts she knew he wouldn’t wait forever, that time was running out, that she had to make a decision. It was so unfair that it was harder to resist him without her usual impeccable impulse control, but she knew that if she was honest with herself, her control around him had been waning ever since the day they met.

“I know,” she said, biting her lip at the flash of irritability in his eyes, how clearly frustrated he was with her brush-off.

“Caroline—“

“And I wouldn’t either,” she said in a rush, anxious to get the words out. “Mind, I mean. Undressing you.”

He stared at her, clearly not having expected that particular plot twist, and she pressed her lips together trying not to giggle. He looked so stunned at her admission, that she’d actually acknowledged the heat between them instead of brushing it off the way she usually did. She wondered whether he’d thought it was hopeless. Maybe she’d been better at being subtle than she’d thought.

Or maybe he’d been over her for months and was just in the habit of the over-the-top flirting and she’d completely misread and said the wrong thing like she always did and—

Her mind went blank as Klaus took a few determined strides, cupping her cheeks and bending to press his lips against hers.

The kiss was slow, drugging, like he was taking his time, memorizing the feel of her lips against his. Her hands naturally fell on the cool metal covering his chest, her knees slightly week. She felt his calloused palms warm against her cheeks, and his thumb brushed along her dimple when she gave him a bright smile as he pulled away. She liked the way the blue of his eyes had darkened, the slight part of his swollen lips, and she wanted to see it again.

“I want to touch you,” she said, slightly embarrassed by how breathy her voice was, and it was his turn to smirk. “Turn around. Let’s get you out of this thing.”

He obeyed, and she made quick work of the back, pulling off the shoulder pads and unhooking it easily, leaning forward to nip and kiss his neck as she unfastened the buckles holding the front in place. Klaus shrugged it off, tossing it on the table, and she couldn’t help but feel satisfied at the mark she’d made on his collarbone and the heaviness of his breathing.

She dropped to her knees next, easily detaching and unbuckling the leg guards. “Take off the pants too.”

He obeyed, letting them drop to the floor as she scooted around in front of him, grinning when she saw that he was hard. She flicked her eyes up, holding his gaze and letting her tongue dart across her lips as she reached to palm him, but he caught her wrist. “Not here, sweetheart.”

“What?” she asked, letting him tug her to her feet and inhaling sharply when he spun her so that her back rested against his chest, his hard cock pressing against her ass. His fingers brushed just under the waistband of her jeans, tugging lightly at the front of her thong to give her friction that made her knees buckle, his other hand warm against her hip as he steadied her.

“Let me take you back to my flat,” he murmured between kisses to her neck, his fingers moving slightly to rub her clit through the cotton. “Bed’s much more comfortable than a nap on the couch, which is what I suspect you were planning on.”

He suspected right, but she didn’t want to admit it.

She really wanted to, the exhilaration of finally having given in, of letting the tension snap too delicious to ignore. Unfortunately, when she caught sight of the gown on the table, responsibility called her name. “I have work to do.”

“And you’ll do it better once you get some sleep.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, the sarcasm heavy in her voice, and she was surprised when she heard his breath catch, his hands tightening briefly on her waist. “What?” she asked, though she had a feeling that she had a pretty good idea of what.

He spun her around to face him, and she grabbed his biceps for balance, absently noting the taught muscles underneath her fingertips. Her lips parted at the want in his eyes. It set her skin on fire, her entire body sensitive and aching for him.

She could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, and his voice was low as he spoke, the tone of want making her nipples tighten. “Fuck, Caroline…”

“It could be fun,” she said, her voice husky, fingers brushing against his skin. “I like role-play.”

“Later,” he said after a moment of consideration. “I have so many plans for you, Caroline, so many ways I imagined taking you for the first time. Though I must admit that I’ve had more than a few fantasies of role-play involving those words coming out of your mouth, I want you first.”

“Tell me more. What you think about, I mean,” she breathed, her nails digging into his back, and she heard him chuckle. “Hey. You’re not the only one with fantasies, and I always had a feeling dirty talk would be on your list of life skills.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, pulling back to press his forehead against hers. “Once you come home with me.”

“Deal. I just need to finish—“

“Now, Caroline.”

His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but the tone of it sent shivers down her spine, made her breath catch, her walls tightening unsatisfyingly around air.

“Okay,” she breathed.

Maybe the gowns could wait, after all.

[classic-rock-roller]

1. Bonham’s watching the neighbor’s dog, and you and the boys are visiting her. She’s lying on the couch and the dog continues to lie on her face even after she pushes it away. After a while she says, “Dammit, Lion, my face is not your bed!” Randy looks over and says, “Yeah, stay off my turf, bud.” How do you and Kevin and Bonham respond?

Me, I blush like crazy: Um...

Bonham: I’d expect Kevin to say that but not you, Randy. 

Kevin: You’re right. I was just about to say it but he beat me to it. 

2. You’re out with Bonham and the boys one day and Bonham’s in a bit of a bad mood. At one point, Randy says to her, “You’re cheery today.” She looks to him and says, “I’m just one big fuckin’ ray of sunshine!” How do you and Kevin respond?

Kevin: You’ve got that right. 

Me: Come on, Bons! What do I have to do to get a smile out of you? 

I then proceed to do stupid things to try to get her to crack a smile. It works after a while, but only after I run into a wall and fall flat on my back. 

3. You’re with Bonham and the boys one night and as it gets later your topics of conversation get somewhat unconventional. At one point, Kevin asks Bonham “Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?” She says, “I’m a knife.” and Randy says, “She’s the little spoon.” How do you and Kevin respond and what does Bonham say to Randy for ratting on her?

Me: Aww, that’s so cute. But I already knew that. 

Kevin: Wait, how did you know that?! 

Bonham: Randy! And BabyCarrot! I thought we would never bring that up. 

4. You’re going on vacation with Kevin, Randy, Bonham, and your kids. You’re making sure everyone has everything, and Bonham makes a South Park reference. “Be sure to bring a towel.” She says in a high voice. Randy giggles at the joke, but Eddie doesn’t get it. He says, “We already have, like, 50 towels, Auntie Bonham!” How do you and Kevin respond?

Kevin laughs and I just tell Eddie that Auntie Bonham is being silly and that we are ok with the towels we have. 

5. You and Kevin are doing an interview about relationships between band members one day. The interviewer asks you, “You two are very popular with all of your fans. What do you plan to do about it?” Kevin’s kind of zoned out, so he responds by looking at you and saying, “I plan to put me into you like a fresh tattoo.” How do you respond and what does the interviewer do?

Me: Kevin! *blushing beet red like a tomato* Oh my god, I’m so, so, so sorry. Can that be stripped from the record, if possible?

Interviewer: *Stunned* Yes, I’ll strip it from the record. 

Even though she promised it would be, it was the huge headline for that interview when it came out the next month. 

6. You’re driving through the mountains and Bonham keeps spouting stuff about the geology of where you are. “See how these rocks are striped vertically? That’s totally unnatural, rocks deposit horizontally, so these were forced upward really violently by something.” Kevin groans. “Ugh quit making me learn stuff.” How do the three of you respond?

Me: You could stand to learn something, Kev. 

Randy: Yeah, expand your horizons. 

Bonham: Besides it’s not that boring. 

7. You forgot to get something at the store while your band was working with Crue, and you don’t have a car, so you ask Vince to take you. You get in the car and he says, “I’ve never started a car with a key before, this oughta be fun.” How do you respond?

That’s it. I’ll drive. Give me the keys. I know you haven’t been drinking but I do not want to ride with fucking Mario Andretti. 

8. Kevin’s visiting you one night when you thought Bonham was out, and you guys started getting busy. At one point, you hear three loud thumps and then a shout. “Other people live here!” How do you and Kevin respond?

Kevin: Ok, but we don’t care! 

Me: Kevin! Sorry Bons, we’ll try to be a bit quieter. 

Kevin: Don’t make promises you can’t keep, babe. 

9. Your band is collaborating with QR, and you’re working on the beginnings of a new song. Bonham and Rudy are noodling around on their instruments, and Kevin’s poking at the piano. “Wait what key are we in?” Randy asks. Kevin laughs a little. “No no no, none of that.” He says. How do you and the rest of your band respond?

Me: Key is kind of important. 

Linus is wailing away on his guitar trying to keep up with Randy. Daryl is beating the hell out of his drums while Drew looks at him like he’s crazy and Erik asks again what Key we’re in because it’s so loud he can’t hear anything. 

10. You and Kevin and Bonham and Randy are attending Mal’s graduation ceremony. After it’s over, Mal’s talking to you and one of his teachers comes up to him. Congratulations, Mal–oh my gosh, you’re Kevin DuBrow, you used to be a rock star!” Kevin shakes his hand and says, “I may be losing my hair but the magic’s still there.” How do you, Mal, Bonham, Randy, and the teacher respond?

Mal: Dad! 

Me: This is true. But I’m glad we’ve slowed down a bit. 

Teacher: Wait...no way! You and her are from War Angel too! You guys just finished a tour! 

Bonham: That’s right, we are. But we’re not going on another one for a while. 

Randy: It’s better to be slower now anyway. we get more time to refine and make our music sound better.  

11. You’re walking out of Walmart with Bonham and Randy and Kevin. Bonham perches herself on one of those weird concrete posts that stick out of the ground in the front of the building, and before she can say anything Kevin looks at her and says, “Anything’s a dildo if you’re brave enough.” How do the three of you respond?

Me: Kevin! Children are right over there! 

Bonham: This is true, but I don’t think this’ll fit. 

Randy just kind of stifles a giggle at Bonham’s comment and my outburst. 

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

1) You, Randy, Kevin, and your singer are driving through your singer’s hometown on the last leg of a road trip.  It’s really late, about three o’clock and your singer pulls into a diner. Kevin asks, “What are we doing here?” and your singer responds, “I’m fucking hungry. We’re going to the 24-hour diner.” She then gets out. Randy’s sleeping so what do you and Kevin do?

2) You’ve just finished a show and your band is onstage taking a bow. All of a sudden, your singer throws you over her shoulders and starts running around. You hit her back and scream because it's loud,”Put me down, you crazy!” What does your singer say and how do Daryl, Linus, and Erik respond and what does the audience do?

3) Your singer has been disappearing some nights and you have no idea why. She always comes home super tired and Kevin swears she’s cheating on him. One night you go to follow her to find her going to a bar. Once in there, you stick to the back and watch as she works the bar as the karaoke host. No one’s volunteering so she goes, “You want me to make a fool of myself?” The bar whoops and she looks to the DJ and says, “Hit it!” You soon hear QR’s song Last Call For Rock N’ Roll pumping through the speakers and she jumps on the bar top before completely crushing the song. She has a bunch of volunteers after that and a few tips. She’s about to say something when she stops in her tracks when she sees you and Kevin. What do you and Kevin say to her and how does she respond?

4) You, Randy, Kevin, and your singer are at one of Mal’s little league baseball games. You're sitting on the bleachers next to a parent that is getting too into it. He’s screaming, “Come on, Jimmy! Punch him out!”  Before you know it, Jimmy has taken a swing at Mal. Jimmy’s dad screams again and Kevin looks to him, “You want him to punch my son? Punch this!” before socking him right in the jaw. How do you, your singer, Randy, and Mal respond and what happens next?

5) You, Randy, and Kevin are sitting on your singer and Kevin’s couch when your singer comes home. She places her stuff down and comes into the living room but trips on the carpet and falls. She doesn’t get up and Kevin asks, “Are you ok, honey?” While getting up. She looks at the three of you and says, “That’s it. I’m going to be a dog. Just pet me and bring me food.” How do you, Kevin, and Randy respond?

6) You and your singer are out in the Kitchen and Randy is changing Will’s diaper in the nursery. You hear him shout and both you and you singer go to check on him. He has his shirt covering his nose and is going, “Ew, ew, ew.” Your singer looks where he’s looking and goes, “Oh my god, is that baby shit on the wall?” What does Randy say, how did it happen, and how do you and your singer respond?

7) You’re sitting out on the patio when you hear Jeremy scream, “Is anyone up there?” You look out to see him staring at the sky. “What are you doing, Jer?” He looks to you and says, “I’m just talking to God, Mom.” How do you respond?

8) You, Kevin, and Randy go back to your singer and Kevin’s house to find her spawled out on the couch hugging a pillow. Kevin looks to the tv and asks, “Are you seriously watching The Muppet Show?” Your singer looks to him and says, “I’m being a child. Leave me alone.” Before burying her face in the pillow. How do you, Kevin, and Randy respond and what upset your singer?

9) You and your singer are sitting on your singer and Kevin’s couch. Randy and Kevin are outside doing yard work and you hear, “Goddammit! Stop hitting us!” And a, “Get out of here you long haired fags! We don’t want you in our neighborhood!” You and your singer go to the window to see the old guy next door hitting Kevin and Randy with an umbrella. Your singer whispers, “Oh look. Carlton’s at it again” before screaming, “Hey, Carlton! Stop being an ass to my husband and Randy and go back inside you fucking hermit!” How does Carlton respond and what do you, Kevin, and Randy do when your singer goes down to have “words” with Carlton? 

10) Your singer’s sister is over and sitting at the kitchen table with you and your singer telling you about her date. Kevin and Randy come into the room and Kevin asks, “What are you guys talking about?” Your singer goes, “Shhh, My sister’s telling us about her date.” Kevin stops and goes, “Your sister got a date? How exactly?” How do you, your singer, Randy, and your singer’s sister respond?

11) You, Kevin, and Randy are at your singer’s job and you can tell she’s having a bad day. You hear yelling in the back and go to investigate. Your singer is in an argument with another server and the server takes a swing at her.  She ducks and then goes, “You know what? I don’t have to take this anymore. I’ve spent six fucking years of my life in his hellhole and I have no intention to spend any more time here.” She pulls off her apron, pulls the cash out of it and throws it to the floor. “I quit!” She then grabs her things and storms on out of there. The staff looks to you three. What do you do and what do you, Kevin, and Randy say to your singer when you see her pacing outside?

@osbournebemydaddy  your move Bonham, love         

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter eight: $192

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

holy shit do NOT expect updates from me this fast after november ends!!!!! i'm frantically doing nano as fast as possible and i am MAJORLY fucking myself over. after this is posted i'm writing 4 essays and catching up on readings (whoops)

this chapter has sooo much going on but a huge thank you to both sarah and flor for making it possible with your very different but very good ideas <3

warnings: depression, anxiety, references to suicide/past suicide attempts/self harm, some poor eating habits, a few mentions of drugs

enjoy and please read the end note on ao3~

High school is bulshit. Connor has known this since he first stepped into the annoyingly bright hallways freshman year because some asshole decided skylights were a good idea. It’s six hours of bullshit, with a bullshit twenty three minute lunch thrown somewhere in the middle.

It’s a lot of bullshit.

Somehow, having a friend makes it…less bullshit. A fake friend. Evan makes everything suck a little less. There’s something to look forward to when he shows up at ass o’clock in the morning. There’s a reason to push through the day, even if it’s just seeing Evan’s smile as he puts books back into his locker. Tuesdays are arguably the best because Connor gets a solid twenty extra minutes with Evan at lunch.

Which in and of itself is its own can of bullshit. A can that Connor should not have opened, but here they fucking are.

There are a few times where Connor genuinely considers telling Evan about his feelings. Platonic and romantic. And then he laughs at himself because no fucking way. On what planet would Evan Hansen like him in any capacity?

Connor is lucky that he’s been able to hold on to Evan as a fake friend. He’s not going to push his luck.

Every time he smiles at Evan he pushes his luck a little more. Every time he asks Evan to hang out without having a legit reason for it he pushes his luck. Every time he thinks about Evan—

Connor focuses on friendship. He focuses on friendship because he will settle for friendship. He would give anything to be Evan’s real friend.

It’s ridiculous but it’s true.

Connor is in way too fucking deep.

“Where have you been?” Larry asks from the couch when Connor opens the front door.

Connor rolls his eyes. “I was with Evan.” And Jared. It was weird but not the worst. Jared kept claiming he could beat Evan at Mario Kart and kept losing and had to buy the pizza. Even if all Connor got out of those three hours was the priceless look on Jared’s face when Connor rolled his pizza up like a burrito with the toppings on the outside, it was worth it.

“Hm.”

Connor shuts the door and pulls off his boots. He drops them by Zoe’s converse. “I told Zoe where I was.”

“So you’re talking to your sister again?”

Connor pauses. He was going to go grab a drink, but apparently not. “Why do you care?”

Larry lowers his phone. “Because she’s your sister.”

“…and?”

“How long have you known Evan?” Larry asks.

Connor frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question, Connor.”

Connor grimaces at the sharp tone. “I don’t fucking know—”

“Language.”

“—like seven months? Why does it matter?”  

Larry slides his phone into his pocket. “And how long have you known Zoe?”

Connor scoffs. “Seriously? Are you about to yell at me for spending time with my friend?”

Larry crosses his arms. “He’s always around.”

“Yeah, because he’s my friend and I like him? Zoe’s with her friends all the time, and you don’t say shit about that.” Connor walks into the dining room. If Larry wants to have this conversation, he either has to follow Connor or yell.

“Connor,” Larry says warningly.

“Maybe Zoe doesn’t want to spend time with me,” Connor snaps. Because Zoe doesn’t. And that’s fine. Connor has made her life hell so he doesn’t blame her for not wanting to have anything to do with him.

Larry stalks into the dining room and sometimes Connor forgets that Larry is where he gets his height. “That’s not the point.”

Connor throws his arm out. “Then what is the point!?”

“You have a better relationship with Evan than with your sister.”

Connor stares at him. “Why does this matter.” For some reason this hurts. It stings like he’s just submerged papercut covered hands in lemon juice. It hurts too much for fire to keep burning.

“You’ve known him for less than a year,” Larry says, voice low and dangerous.

“You think you’d be happy that I’ve found an actual friend,” Connor says numbly. The lie burns his mouth.

“You spend far more time with him than Zoe—”

“He actually wants to be around me!” Connor protests. Because he will listen to his father tear him down, but he won’t listen to him say anything about Evan. Not Evan. “Zoe—”

“Is your sister!” Larry yells. Connor feels his blood run cold. “When was the last time you were actually a brother to her!?”

Connor feels sick. The world cracks and crumbles around the edges and his insides freeze and shatter. He laughs. It hurts his chest. “When was the last time you were a father to me?” he whispers.

Larry’s expression doesn’t change. It stays hard. Cold and distant.

When was the last time— 

Connor holds eye contact as long as he can. But he’s broken and the world around him is numbing and dying.

So he leaves.

He pushes past Larry, dropping his eyes to the floor with his tongue heavy in his mouth. He shoves his boots on and throws the door open.

“Where are you going?” Larry yells. Because he can keep doing this. He can do this for hours.

Connor looks out at their driveway. The dying grass and dead plants in neat rows. Brown and wilted and dying and dead. “Why do you care?” he asks.

He slams the door behind him.

It feels good to have a door to slam.

—«·»—

His feet bring him to the playground. There aren’t many places to go in this town.

It’s getting dark. There’s a singular light by the school that still turns on with the other streetlights. It illuminates parts of the playground in a hazy glow.

It doesn’t look real.

Connor sits under the stairs that lead up to the slide. If he closes his eyes, he can bring himself back to elementary school. He digs his hand into the wood chips, cold and jagged and stabbing at his skin. He can pretend. He can hear screaming and laughter and kids running up the stairs trying not to slip. Kids hiding under here, whispering secrets to each other. Someone throws the woodchips at someone else and gets yelled at. They play clapping games and tic-tac-toe in the dirt. They pull up grass and throw it in the air and fall off the monkeybars and fight over the swings and stand under the trees and play in the mud—

Connor takes a shaky breath as hot tears run down his cheek. He scrubs them away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

He hates crying. He hates how it makes him feel. He hates how tears feel, he hates the runny nose, he hates the sobbing and the ragged breathing and how it makes him feel weak.

He sniffs and wipes away more tears. God, he needs to get high. But he refuses to go home and his stash is running out because he’s low on cash because he’s been spending it all on Evan.

Evan.

Connor flexes his hands — they’re cramped from the cold and from the fists he’s been squeezing them in — and pulls his phone out of his pocket. At least it hasn’t shut off from the cold yet, that’s happened to him before and it’s annoying to deal with.

From: Connor To: Evan      tell zoe im fine just needed to blow off steam      emphasize im not with you

He’s surprised he can type actual words let alone with no spelling mistakes. His hands are cold and shaking. He presses his phone against his forehead and takes a slow breath.

Fuck.

Every atom in his body wants to walk to Evan’s right now. He just wants to be near Evan. There’s something about Evan that’s undeniably calming, even though Evan could be described as nervous energy barely held together in a human form. Something about Evan that makes him feel less at war with himself.

But he already used up his time with Evan for the day. Even just texting Evan feels like too much.

His phone buzzes against his forehead.

From: Evan To: Connor      Ok  j ust did!!      Is everyhting ok??? Do you need ot talk ??

Connor stares at the message. He kind of want to cry again, which fucking sucks. And he told Evan that he would tell him if something was wrong but— no.

From: Connor To: Evan      no not now      maybe later

Connor stares at their conversations.

He asked Evan about cats at four in the morning once. Evan hadn’t responded until he woke up two hours later — good — but when he did he had a bunch of random cat facts. And pictures of Jared’s cat to share.

It felt like friendship. That’s what friendship feels like, right? Connor doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. But he thinks, somehow, he’s broken things. Whatever they are. Because he’s too attached. He’s too involved. Everything is too much.

He digs his fingers into the woodchips again.

Connor can’t decide if it’s better if Evan likes him or hates him.

—«·»—

Zoe texts him. He knows because his phone buzzes and he looks down and he sees her name right above Evan’s. Connor’s phone is at 4%. He turns on airplane mode and locks it without reading any of their texts.

Connor rests his chin on his knees and stares ahead into the darkness.

He doesn’t want to walk home. He knows he has to or he’ll probably freeze to death but that wouldn’t be too bad, would it?

No, that’s a bad idea.

Connor stretches his legs out in front of him. They feel weird, he’s spent so long with them pulled up against his chest. If he stands he might fall over.

He can’t feel his hands when he gets up off the ground. He climbs out from under the slide and holds onto the railing as his legs remember how they’re supposed to work.

He’s tired.

Connor squints into the darkness as he leaves the playground. The streets are so poorly lit in this area that he’s probably going to fall and break something. That’s what happens when people don’t use an area. They don’t care for it. And then some asshole teenager breaks his fucking leg walking home in the dark.

His phone would probably die before he could call for help too.

Connor stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts walking. He knows he should probably pay more attention, but he barely pays attention to the few cars on the roads as he makes his way down the sidewalk. As he gets into a more residential area, it gets a little brighter.

He looks up to cross a street and locks eyes with a doe standing in someone’s yard. It stares at him for a long moment before bounding away into the darkness.

Connor looks both ways and crosses the street, stepping around a puddle that’s starting to freeze over.

He stops when he gets to the bottom of his driveway.

If Larry tries to talk to him when he goes inside, he’ll leave. Connor’s already decided. He doesn’t know where he’ll go, but he’ll leave.

Connor huffs. He really just wants his bed right now.

The door is unlocked when he tries the doorknob. He frowns and slowly pushes the door open. A lamp is on in the living room, though the rest of the rooms are dark.

He quietly takes his boots off and closes and locks the door as softly as possible.

“Connor?” Cynthia asks as soon as he takes another step into the house.

Connor sighs. “Yeah it’s me.”

She gets up from the couch and hurries over to where he’s standing by the front door. “I was so worried,” she whispers, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Oh, Con, you’re freezing.”

“It is November,” Connor tries to joke. The singular stings.

The crease in Cynthia’s forehead gets deeper.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Zoe said Evan texted her— were you with him?”

Connor pulls away. “No,” he says sharply. “I wasn’t. I don’t spend every fucking moment with him, god.” He walks toward the kitchen. His hands are still ice and he needs something to warm them.

“I never said you did.” Cynthia follows him. “Your father—”

“Don’t.”

Cynthia sighs. “Connor, we can’t pretend that didn’t happen.”

“I’m going to try.” He debates making coffee, but all that will get from his mom is a disapproving look. He reaches for Zoe’s mint hot chocolate instead.

Cynthia makes a frustrated noise. “Where did you go, Connor?”

“Out.” He grabs the first mug he sees. He resists the urge to drop it when he realizes it’s one of Larry’s, old and orange and so well used that the logo has washed off the side of it.

“Were you out smoking again?”

“No.” He almost wants to laugh. He wishes. He takes the milk out of the fridge and pours it into the mug. He’s too tired to do anything more than microwave milk right now.

“Are you sure?”

Connor sighs and turns to Cynthia with the mug in his left hand. “Mom, you would know if I had been high tonight. Weed smells? Remember?” He brushes past her and puts the mug in the microwave.

Cynthia watches him with sad eyes. She always looks sad and it’s Connor’s fault which is… It’s kind of shitty. “I was terrified,” she says softly.

Connor grimaces.

“I kept thinking… I was so worried that maybe you…”

If she starts crying— Connor doesn’t actually know what he’ll do. “I was fine,” he promises. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“Would you tell me if you were going to?”

Connor can’t meet her eyes. He watches the numbers count down on the microwave. He pulls the door open before it can beep. Cynthia sighs as he puts too much hot chocolate powder in the milk. Connor stirs carefully, trying not to spill all over the counter.

“You can always talk to me, sweetheart,” Cynthia says, squeezing his shoulder. Connor shrugs and she presses a kiss to his cheek. “We can talk in the morning. Sleep well.”

Connor stares down into his hot chocolate as she leaves the kitchen.

He has the strong urge to just sit on the floor and waste away.

He takes his hot chocolate up to his room and sits in bed and watches the Great British Baking Show on his laptop. It feels weirdly fake.

At some point he falls asleep. It all feels the same.

“Connor. Connor. Connor!”

Connor groans and rolls over so he’s not facing his doorway.

“Connor, if you don’t get up now, you’re walking to school.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter. “‘m not going,” he mumbles.

Zoe grabs his shoulder and shakes him. “Get up!”

Connor shoves her hand away. “Go away!”

“I’m not dealing with your shit—”

“I’m not going!” Connor twists to glare at her. “Fuck off, I’m not going.”

Zoe stares at him. She’s all ready. Her hair is braided over one shoulder, her makeup is done. Connor can’t even remember when she started wearing makeup. He doesn’t know when Zoe grew up.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps. “I’m not going to school.”

She takes a step away. “Okay. Okay. Fine. You’re not going.” She keeps looking at him. Why is she looking at him like that? “Go back to sleep.” She slips out of the room and Connor keep looking at the space she occupied.

He hears the front door open and close. He pulls the covers over his head and goes back to sleep.

—«·»—

Connor wakes up a little bit before noon.

His head hurts and his mouth tastes like death. He stumbles out of bed just to brush his teeth. He probably wouldn’t move other than the fact that his mouth is gross.

While he’s looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as he mindlessly brushes his teeth, he realizes he never changed out of yesterday’s closes. He’s still wearing ripped jeans and an old sweatshirt.

His phone is still sitting on his desk with 2% left. Connor plugs it in and turns off airplane mode and puts on sweatpants that are a little too big and a hoodie that has old paint stains on it. Then he gets back in bed.

He watches videos on his laptop, not really paying attention to what’s on the screen. He looks away in surprise when his phone vibrates. He picks it up and skims through the messages. He never read the ones from last night.

From: Evan To: Connor      Ok IM gonna hol d you to that ok??

From: Z To: C      Why the fuck did Evan just text me????      Where are you?      What happened all I heard was Dad yelling and then you were gone      Connor      Don’t fucking ignore me

Missed call and voicemail from Z

Missed call from Z

From: Z To: C      Pick up asshole

Missed call from Z

From: Evan To: Connor      Umm Zoes freaking ou ton me?      Connr what happened wheer are y ou ?

Missed call from Z

From: Z To: C      Fuck you      Ok?      Seriously fuck you      You’re killing mom      I hope you’re fucking happy      If we find you dead in a ditch somewhere I swear

From: Evan To: Connor      Pl ease answ er some on e

From: Z To: C      I heard you and mom in the kitchen. Fuck you. You can’t do this      You’re terrifying Connor      You scare the shit out of me      I know you won’t respond tonight. I’ll tell Evan you’re ok      This shit isn’t funny

From: Evan To: Connor      Zo ejust text dme Im glad youre ok but I wsih you answered your phone      I know thing s get hard but please let people know yoru esafe because otherwise peoplestart to think the wrs t and then they bother you and dont let you leave their sight      We just want the bes t for you we want you to be ok      Ill see you tomorrwo

From: Z To: C      Just told Evan you won’t be here today. I’m guessing you still haven’t responded to him.      Maybe try to be a good friend.      Or even just a friend.

From: Evan To: Connor      Zoe said you werent coming in today?? A reyou ok?      Thats hte worst question to ask IM so sorry      Please talk ot me Connor      Its importan t      Im coming over after school      I knw thats invading on your personal space but I need to know if youre ok andif youre not going to answer texts I don tknow how else to reach you      I have to help alana with stuco stuff because no on eelse wants to hang posters but Ill be there afterward even if its only for like two minutes can we please talk??

“I’m home!” Zoe shouts.

Connor glances up to the top of his phone to see the time. Shit. It’s already two. He doesn’t know how he lost so much time to YouTube. Which means Evan will be here…soon.

From: Connor To: Evan      ok

“Connor?” Zoe calls out.

Connor stares at her texts and feels his stomach turn. “What?” he yells back.

“Come get your boots! Mom wants us to move ours shoes!”

He scowls and lays back down. “Fuck off!”

She yells at him to get them again, but he just puts headphones in and ignores her. He lays in bed and stares at the wall and listens to music that is way too loud. It would be nice to feel something right now. He distantly hears Zoe yell again and tries to turn the music up louder. The volume doesn’t increase and he makes a face and does a silent eulogy for his eardrums.

Zoe shouts his name again and Connor sighs and yanks out his earbuds. He tried. “What?!”

He can’t make out whatever she says next, but then she shouts, “You’re a dick!”

“Not fucking news,” he snaps. He’s about to put his headphones back in when Evan appears in his doorway. He’s still wearing his backpack and his arms are filled with food and there’s something tucked under his arm.

Connor stares at him. “What the fuck.”

Evan laughs awkwardly. “No dishes in the sink. We realized you probably didn’t eat today.” He looks down at the food he’s holding. There are chips and a container of strawberries and a loaf of bread and he’s carefully balancing a bowl on top of the strawberries.

“Why didn’t you—”

“Zoe had to run,” Evan says. “Something about an emergency piano job?”

Connor squints. “I forgot she plays piano.”

Evan nods. “Someone’s accompaniment is sick so I think she has to fill in. Can you, uh…”

“Oh, right.” Connor gets out of bed and takes the bowl from Evan. It’s filled with leftover mac n cheese. He puts it on the desk and then takes the chips.

“A-anyway, Zoe had to run and two trips are for suckers.” Evan puts the strawberries and bread down on the desk.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

“These are also for you.” Evan pulls a stack of mail out from under his arm. “Looks like mostly college stuff.”

“Fucking college board,” Connor mutters. “Never should’ve taken the SATs.”

“Yeah, same. They won’t leave me alone. Oh! And Alana gave me notes for you for english. She started saying something about like…chiasmic?”

“Chiasmus,” Connor mutters, looking through the mail. Nothing he cares about. Great. He can set it on fire.

“Yeah that’s it!” Evan takes off his backpack and puts it on the floor to take out a notebook.

Connor stares at him. “Evan?”

Evan looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“Are… Why are you wearing my boots?”

“Oh.” Evan stands up straighter and lifts one of his feet. “Zoe kept yelling at you to bring your boots upstairs. Figured if I was bringing you all this I just…take them too?”

Connor stares at him. Evan looks kind of ridiculous. Connor’s all too familiar black combat boots are paired with Evan’s usual khakis and a gray sweatshirt with a striped polo peaking out from under it. The boots go up a little too high on Evan’s shins which adds to the look and Connor is now noticing that they give Evan a few inches that he definitely does not actually have.

“Is this what it’s like to be tall?” Evan asks with a smile.

Connor snorts. “No, Hansen. It’s not.”

Evan shrugs. “I’ll take it.”

“Aren’t those kind of big for you?” Connor’s mind is still trying to process this. Evan is wearing his shoes. That’s definitely not something he’s thought about before. Or ever considered. He thinks his brain might be resetting.

“Oh god yes.” Evan sits down on Connor’s bed and unlaces one of the boots. “It’s actually a miracle I didn’t like…fall down your stairs or something. That would’ve been embarrassing.”

“And painful.”

“That too.” Evan pulls off the boot. He’s still wearing his old sneakers.

Connor opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Hey, Ev?”

Evan starts untying the other boot. “Yup?”

“You’re wearing…your shoes in my boots?”

Evan looks Connor in the eye. “I already told you, two trips are for suckers.”  

Connor laughs. It’s weird to laugh right now, like it’s the wrong emotion to feel. But he laughs and smiles at Evan because there is something about Evan wearing sneakers in his boots that’s ridiculous but also makes Connor’s stomach fill with butterflies. “Okay, Ev. Whatever you say.” He falls onto his front on the bed next to Evan. The moment feels too light. And then all of Evan’s texts come back at him in a crushing wave.

Connor grimaces. “Um…sorry for last night.”  

Evan glances back at him over his shoulder. “I…” He rubs a hand over his face. “You scared us.” He says it softly, like a secret, and stares at his feet.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Connor admits. “I just… Fuck, I just needed to get out. And then my phone was almost dead and I didn’t want to talk to people… I fucked up.”

Evan nods. He wordlessly pulls his sneakers off and then crosses his knees on the bed.

“I had a fight with Larry it was…” Connor rolls onto his back and sits up. “I needed to be alone, I guess. I wasn’t really thinking about other people when I left. I didn’t even bring my house key.”

Evan scoots further onto the bed. “What did you fight about?”

Connor searches Evan’s face. His eyes trail over Evan’s freckles. They dot his face like stars. “Nothing serious,” he mumbles. “It just got out of hand.”

Evan leans back on his hands. “Is that why you didn’t come to school today?”

Connor runs a hand through his hair. “I guess. I just… Zoe woke me up and getting out of bed just seemed like the worst fucking option ever. I think I yelled at her, but I barely remember waking up.” He grabs the bowl of mac n cheese off the desk. Food. Right.

Evan nods. “I… There are days like that. Where getting up makes me want to cry.” He holds out a hand. “Can I have the chips?”

“That sucks.” Connor hands over the bag of chips and continues eating mac n cheese. The sooner he finishes this the sooner he can go back to not being a person.

“Yeah, kind of.”

Connor sighs. “Aren’t we a fucking pair.” He pushes pasta around the bowl.

Evan tilts his head. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

Connor frowns. “What is it?”

Evan shakes his head. “Nothing. I thought of something, but it’s not important.”

“Are you sure?”

Evan nods and reaches for Connor’s laptop. “Let’s just watch something and pretend our lives aren’t horrible.”

Connor watches Evan carefully as Evan opens YouTube and scrolls through the recommended videos until he finds one that isn’t too weird sounding. “Yeah that sounds like a good plan.” He puts his bowl back on the desk— he only had a few bites but his stomach is kind of done with food.

Connor takes the laptop from Evan and scoots over so they can both lean against the pillows. He rests the laptop on his knees. Evan’s arm presses against Connor’s and Connor tries not to think about it. He tries to focus on the random video that Evan chose. It’s probably funny or something.

But he can’t. Because Evan is here.

Evan is warm and curled toward Connor and his hair smells nice and he’s leaning his head against Connor’s shoulder to see the screen better. And Connor’s heart is doing this weird thing where it feels like it’s being squeezed which is honestly so fucking rude.

Evan sighs and moves a little closer.

Yup. This is hell.  

—«·»—

“Connor!”

Connor’s heart races as he wakes with a jerk. He’s about to move when he notices the weight on his torso. He looks down to see Evan’s head resting on his chest.

Connor stops breathing.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy—

“Connor?”

Connor groans and squints into the bright light of the hallway. When did he fall asleep? When did it get so fucking dark out? Why is Evan sleeping on him? Why is Zoe always so loud? “Wha?”

“You aren’t dead.” A smile plays at the corner of her mouth. Connor squints at her. “Get your ass downstairs, we’re about to—”

Evan sits up, rubbing his eyes.

Zoe stares at him. Her eyes go from Connor to Evan. Connor wants to go back to sleep. He wants Evan cuddled against him because fuck that was really nice.

“Zoe?” Evan asks, voice soft.

Connor is not mentally equipped for this.

“…thought Evan went home,” Zoe says slowly.

“No,” Connor says. “Nap.”

“Right. Right.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Cool. Okay.” She clears her throat. “We were going to…” She gestures over her shoulder. “You know…”  

Connor narrows his eyes as he tries to figure out what she means.

“Friday night? Shabbat?”

Connor props himself up on his elbows. “Oh. Right.” He looks to Evan. Evan’s hair is messy and sticking up in all directions and it’s making Connor’s heart do weird things.

Zoe follows his gaze. “Uh… Evan can…join us? If he…?” She gives Connor a desperate look. “Or stay here? Or sleep…? Um…” She raises her eyebrows at Connor. Connor shakes his head.

“Uh…I don’t really…” Evan clears his throat. “My mom and I— we don’t really do anything for Shabbat at home…because… My mom works a lot so we don’t— I don’t really…know what I’m supposed to do?”

Tension seems to leave Zoe as she smiles at Evan. “Don’t worry about it, we can show you. Connor doesn’t know what he’s doing either.”

Connor flips her off and throws off his covers. “I won’t be insulted in my own fucking home,” he mutters.

Evan crawls over Connor’s legs to get out of bed. “You sure I w-won’t ruin it?” he asks Zoe, tugging on his shirt.

“Swear,” she says, drawing an x over her heart. “We haven’t set the house on fire yet, so you’ll be fine.”

Evan steps past her into the hallway and Zoe immediately raises her eyebrows at Connor. Connor gives her a look.

“What is this,” she hisses into his ear.

“What do you mean?” he whispers back.

She gestures to Evan. “When did you two get together?”

Connor jerks away. “What?”

Zoe stares at him. “You’re—”

“No!” He lowers his voice. “Zoe what the fuck—”

“I don’t know! He gets you to eat and sleep what the fuck am I supposed to think?”

“Not that?”

“A-are you two coming?” Evan asks from the top of the stairs.

Connor and Zoe exchange a look.

“Later,” Zoe says.

“No.” Connor walks over to Evan and tugs on his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

Zoe squeezes past them on the stairs, flicking the back of Connor’s head as she goes. “Mom! Evan’s joining us!”

Evan grabs Connor’s hand at the foot of the stairs. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do,” he whispers with wide eyes.

“It’s fine,” Connor promises. “Just stand next to me and do what I do. But you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Evan looks toward the kitchen. “I… It’ll be fine. Yeah. I-I want to do this.”

Connor gives him a small smile and pulls him into the dining room. Cynthia places down another glass as they walk in and smiles at Evan. Evan nods and fiddles with his hands and Connor resists the annoyingly strong urge to hold his hand.

Zoe passes around her purple kippot from a drawer near the sink, and Connor wonders how long it’ll take before his falls off this time. He watches Evan read the inscription inside of the date of her bat mitzvah, before nervously pressing it on his head.

They stand behind their chairs at the table, small glasses of grape juice — or in Larry’s case, red wine — next to their plates. Connor watches as Cynthia lights the candles and waves her hands over them before covering her eyes so she can’t see the flames as she sings a short prayer for the candles.

Connor tries to concentrate on the Hebrew instead of the glow reflected in Evan’s eyes. Those are bad thoughts. And it’s also not the time for them.

Cynthia moves to her seat and lifts her wine glass. Connor nudges Evan as the rest of the family does the same. Evan shoots him a thankful look and a tiny smile. They keep the glasses aloft as Cynthia makes Kiddush, only awkwardly joining in at the end of the blessing.

Connor remembers Zoe learning the other parts of it for her bat mitzvah, but she probably feels too uncomfortable to sing along with Evan here. Not that Evan is the most awkward and uncomfortable part of their dysfunctional family. 

Everyone takes a sip of their drinks — Evan a little belatedly — and Cynthia removes the ornate cover from her handmade loaves of challah on the cutting board. Connor remembers when she used to buy challah for them, ordered specially from a bakery, shiny and with white flour. Sometimes on holidays they had raisins.

Now she bakes them gluten free and several weeks in advance, but at least he remembers the blessing for once (the food was really the part of Hebrew school he looked forward to), so he joins in quietly with everyone, trying not to focus on Evan’s wavery stuttering. The bread is sliced and the cutting board is passed around, and they all take their seats.

Connor hears an audible sigh of relief from Zoe. Evan looks to Connor and gives him a half smile. He’s gripping the hem of his shirt in his hands under the table. Connor smiles back.

Zoe is still right, they haven’t burned the house down.

Dinner is awkward. Honestly, Connor wasn’t expecting anything else. It’s awkward and quiet and the little talking that is done is done by Zoe and Cynthia. Connor does his best to just not look in Larry’s direction. He will ignore this as long as he possibly can. Next to him, Evan is tense and keeps his eyes mostly on his plate. Sometimes him and Connor make eye contact and Evan will give him a tiny smile and Connor’s heart tries out a fun new pattern. Evan keeps touching his kippah, sometimes adjusting it, eyebrows furrowing whenever he does. He’s probably worried about it slipping or falling into the soup or something and honestly, Connor relates.

They survive. That’s the important part.

“Told you it’d be fine,” Connor says as they go back up to his bedroom. Evan probably has to go home at some point but Connor is very pointedly not thinking about that.

Evan laughs. “I thought my kippah was going to fall off. I’d probably find a way to make it catch fire.”

“I’d be impressed.”

Connor eyes the stack of snacks on his desk before grabbing the carton of strawberries and sitting on the edge of his bed.

Connor holds out a strawberry and Evan takes it while saying, “You know, we just ate.” Connor shrugs. “Fruit is healthy.”

“I mean you aren’t wrong.” Evan drops down on the bed next to Connor.

Connor stares at him for a few moments. He’s probably got some sort of embarrassingly soft look on his face but it’s fine. Then he remembers that Evan is here. “Oh shit, I have money here some—”

“No,” Evan interrupts.

Connor shakes his head. “We agreed—”

“Fuck Jared’s list,” Evan says. He glances to the doorway and lowers his voice. “I wanted to be here, Con. I wanted to see you. D-don’t… You don’t have to pay me.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asks softly. He feels…like he’s using Evan but worse. Because this is not the agreement.

Evan nods. “I’m sure.”

Connor runs a hand through his hair and looks away. “Okay,” he says, stomach turning. It’s okay. It’s fine. “Okay.” 

[rigginsstreet]

BillyxSteve fanfic recs?

thank god for this message honestly. fair warning theres probably gonna be a lot of smut?? because uh….thats the kind of bitch i am ANYWAY

(under the cut cuz whoops this is a long list)

Billy Hargrove Sucks: Hopper puts Steve in charge of sobering up a wasted Billy Hargrove one afternoon and suddenly things start to make sense. Until they really don’t. (10/10 do recommend. its probably my fave fic, definitely in the top 2. also….breakfast club references.)

Plenty of Fish: “As I said, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, Harrington. Pretty boy like you shouldn’t have any problems finding another hookup.” “I don’t really want a hookup.” “Maybe you don’t want one. But you sure as hell need it.”—Steve is spying on Nancy and Jonathan outside the Snowflake Ball. Billy happens to pass by.

In the Darkness (We are Free): Steve wasn’t really sure how he ended up on his knees behind the bleachers with Billy Hargrove’s dick in his mouth.

dazed and confused: Led Zeplin plays softly in the background and Steve hums along absently, his eyes are closed and he looks relaxed and happy. It’s fucking annoying is what it is. Billy takes a long slow drag from his cigarette and glares at Steve not that the other could see. They’ve been doing this kinda shit lately, hanging out after and just listening to music because Steve’s parents are never home so there’s no rush. They don’t talk about anything or even really acknowledge each other, it’s nice.

Post-Game Stress Relief: Steve’s intent on fighting turns into a slightly different activity.

i’ve been (touching you): Steve’s never really been good at the whole domestic thing.

All this bad blood here: If you asked Billy Hargrove exactly how he came to be standing in front of Steve Harrington’s huge ass house in the middle of the night, he’d tell you that he had absolutely no idea. It was only partly true, he’d been walking, desperate to get out of that cage of a house, away from his dad, away from Susan, Max. Away from every reminder that he was a huge fucking disappointment to them all.

hard and heavy, dirty and mean: “Remember,” he whispers in Steve’s ear, his breath hot. “You wanted this.”

feeling lonely (in the dark): Steve’s in the middle of making breakfast when he just-Stops.

The Break and the Reason Why: They were bound to fall apart. Maybe not from the beginning, not even since Nancy’s guilt started to agonize her, but from the moment Steve and Nancy saw Billy for the first time. And it wasn’t what Nancy saw when she looked at Billy, but what she saw when she looked away and back to Steve. She wouldn’t have admitted it - probably wouldn’t now - but, deep down inside, she recognized what she saw in Steve’s eyes, and it started to break her heart.

you shook me so hard, baby: “You’re awfully fuckin’ chatty tonight.” Billy comments, what Steve thinks is supposed to be casually but coming from him it’s mostly just dark and sinister and that does things to Steve’s dick.“I was just-”“I know, you just need something a little more productive to do with that pretty mouth of yours.”

The Pervasiveness of Loss: Billy makes a list. Steve helps him finish it. (my other favorite fic. i cried. twice)

Right beyond the cigarette and the devilish smile: If you asked Steve Harrington what the weirdest experience he’d had in 1984 was, he wouldn’t say fighting a small army of Demo-dogs, nor would he say becoming a babysitter slash friend to a group of 13 year olds (and he was a mentor, excuse you. Not a babysitter.). Nope, Steve Harrington’s single strangest experience of 1984 was being kissed by Billy Hargrove after they’d had a knock down drag out fight in the middle of his kitchen floor.

Word to the Wise: Dustin tries to give Billy a serious warning about dating Steve.

i think of your pretty face when I let it unwind: He fights himself on this as long as he possibly can because only a queer would jerk off thinking about another guy and Billy’s not gay.

we love making (whispers): Steve loves breaking Billy apart; loves being torn apart, himself.

consider him rocked like a hurricane: billy getting his dick sucked in a locker room! not much else to say about it

Glorious Results of a Misspent Youth: A half-drugged Billy kisses Steve and then doesn’t remember, but still flirts with Steve constantly. Steve pines for his new friend.

for a good cause: “What am I supposed to do with Billy, anyway? What do we have in common?” “I don’t know. What guys do when you’re around each other, I guess.”Or the one in which Max asks Steve to distract Billy for a few hours.

Stray: Steve almost runs someone over. There shouldn’t be anyone this far from Hawkins at this time of the day. Especially not Billy Hargrove. And yet he’s there.

when he (dreams): Steve knew Jonathan had the tendency to go for voyeuristic photos, but he just-He never thought the teen would have any of him, and especially not any of Billy.(Or the two of them, together.)

Mark Me (I’m yours): One thing that Steve quickly learns about Billy and sex with Billy, is that he loves leaving marks. Not just in hidden places under clothes, but in very, very obvious places. He’ll bite and mouth and suck until the skin on whatever part of Steve’s body he has his wicked mouth on is purpled and throbbing.

New Normal: Max thinks Billy is a mouth-breather. Billy has the worst case of heart eyes. Steve’s just here for the free cookies.

Billy In Leather Pants: I mean. It’s what it is, man. (honestly…another iconic fic)

Affection: "There were many reasons why Steve kept his distance from Billy Hargrove and he could list a few of them such as a) the guy was an asshole b) the guy was definitely crazy c) he was a shitty brother to Max, to say the least d) he had been shitty to Lucas as well, in fact, to all of his kids - sorry, not his, but his friends, his 13-years-old friends (God! He needed to get out some more) - and e) he had beat the shit out of Steve not so long ago.“

Nothin’ But a Good Time: What had he been thinking? Letting Billy lead him off into the night? Letting the other boy touch him, mark him?

shaking up all our doubting bones: There are a lot of things Steve is self-conscious about, and there are a lot of things he isn’t. The former is what he feels this time, his lack of mental dexterity a sore spot he doesn’t want provoked.

rest and (relax): Steve tends to Billy’s wounds after a bad run-in with his dad.

Restaurants and Reservations: They’d gone on sort-of-not-really dates before; late night drives to all night diners, full on make out sessions at the 3 o’clock show that no one ever went to at the Hawk, walks in the woods at night when the moon shone bright and ominous in the sky and Billy held his hand even though Steve insisted he wasn’t scared.But they’d never been on a real date, a planned date, a fancy date.

Halloween Smash: Steve sticks around and gets drunk after Nancy says he’s "bullshit.” Drunk Steve makes friends with Billy Hargrove. Briefly. After the drunk sex and the shouting, they’re probably not friends anymore.

Mr. Owl: How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

We Could Write a Bad Romance: AU- Steve is Dustin’s adoptive dad/big brother. They’re trying to live their lives as peacefully as possible when Dustin’s basketball coach, Billy, turns out to be kind of an ass. Steve will find himself oddly attracted to the weirdo. A weird friendship is born, and more.

Pour Some Sugar On Me: Surprisingly, Steve had kept to the promise he made to himself. Despite the heated looks and snarky comments, he had not found himself shaking against Billy’s heat in several days. Unfortunately, he had also been unsuccessful in getting the other boy to have a serious conversation with him.

Convenience: Steve has detention. Unfortunately, also in detention are: his ex-girlfriend, his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend, and the asshole who beat him unconscious just days ago. So. A little weird.

you know when you’re gone i struggle at night: Steve can barely stay awake at school. Probably because he was up all night thinking about Billy.

babysitters club: Steve hadn’t expected his high school life would come to this, not just that he’d end up with a bat filled with nails to fend off terrifying demo-dogs, that he would end up as a cab driver/babysitter for a bunch of kids. Dustin was one thing but in helping out one, he’d suddenly become the go to for favours from Hawkins own fantastic four.

Knight Rider and Greyskull: What would have happened if Billy showed up at the Byers house and was instead accidentally inducted into the Gang of Kicking Demogorgon Ass? Well, a lot. Too damn much, if Steve has anything to say about it. (how season 2 shouldve ended tbh)

also theres this fic and a sequel in which billy and steve swap styles that i fucking adore

[cushfuddled]

The Discarded Klance Fic

It’s becoming more and more obvious that the time for me to write this fic has passed. The character dynamics I had in mind are only really in line with season 2 canon (in terms of Lance’s relationship to Keith and Allura), so if I tried to write it now...it would feel backwards.

Here’s what it was going to be about, though!

-Allura is sick. She pushes herself too far during a battle (she’s piloting the castle) and collapses while mid-wormhole. Without Allura to maintain the connection, the wormhole collapses, and the Paladins are separated like they were at the end of season 2.

-This time, Keith and Lance are stuck on the same planet. It’s a barren wasteland, full of dust and weirdly-shaped rock formations. They explore a little and discover old Galra stations, along with some mining equipment. It’s apparent that the Galra left in a hurry, not bothering to pack their belongings. 

-Coran finally patches through the radio. Allura is still unconscious; he’s set her up in a healing pod, and until she wakes up, he won’t be able to teleport anyone back to the castle. Keith is worried about Allura, but Lance really starts to panic.

-At some point Lance calls himself “basically Allura’s boyfriend,” and Keith snaps. 

“What is wrong with you?” he demands. “Allura is never going to love you like that. When has she ever shown any interest in you?”

Lance gets all flustered. He tells Keith he just doesn’t understand because he’s terrible with women. “It’s basic stuff, Keith,” he says. “When a girl really likes you, she plays hard to get!”

And Keith yells at Lance about respect, and how if Lance really cared about Allura he should trust her to be honest about her feelings. The two Paladins yap at each other for a while until Keith finally storms off. They go to their separate lions to mope in privacy. 

-Lance wakes up to the sound of—holy shit, rain. He radios Coran like, “Please tell me this is actual rain. Please tell me this is safe to go out in,” and Coran’s like, “Hold on, let me run a scan................”

Lance: ୧☉□☉୨

Coran: “.....All right, you can g—”

And you can bet your ass Lance is high-tailing it out into the rain. He runs around for a while like a little kid, splashing in puddles and just like, tipping his head back and twirling with his arms outstretched...laughing and whooping at the sky. 

-It takes a while, but Lance manages to coax Keith out into the storm. For a while Keith looks like a cat caught in a hurricane, all pouty and pathetic...but then Lance grabs him by the arm, and they get to play-fighting in the rain. They dance around until they topple into one of the pools formed by the rock formations...and as they drag themselves out of the water, laughing and spluttering, Lance feels something flutter in his heart that’s warm and light and...different, from how he feels about Allura. 

-An hour or so later, Lance is dry and back in his lion, listening to the rain bounce off his lion’s “roof.” Finally he calls Hunk, who’s stranded on a nice tropical planet somewhere, and goes, “I think I might be bi.”

And Hunk is like, “Is this about Keith?”

Lance goes red as a beet. “Keith? What—why would you even think that?”

Hunk is totally unperturbed. “Because uh, you’ve been doing all these crazy stunts to try and impress him since like, day one.”

“I’m not trying to impress him! I’m trying to outdo him! There’s a difference!” 

Hunk goes on: “Also, I hear you’re stuck on a planet with him right now, so it makes sense that this revelation would be about him.”

And like. Fine. Lance is forced to admit that maaaaybe he hasn’t been that in tune with his feelings. Mayyyybe he was afraid to feel attracted to Keith, and misread his strong feelings as hatred.

[Part 2 to be posted tomorrow, when it’s not 3 o’clock in the morning]

[wordsbetweenthelines]

hey there self

you missed TWO POSTS because the first one you were OVER THE OCEAN which does not have wifi (weird) and the second one you fell asleep like woah

okay so. THURSDAY

you set an early alarm and then hit snooze a bunch during which time you had a running hiding dream ft. the oa. (new housesitter came in while you were naked and asleep which NOPE and then there was an accomplice and they miiiiiiight have been murderers but they were DEFINITELY doing human experiments in the basement jason-isaacs-style. the shower in the house was VERY SWANK tho, that was cool!)

you woke up, alone in the house, with a significantly less swank shower that you couldn’t even get to work anyway

so you did the pet things and then walked home and showered there

and finished packing

and stuff

and went to the AIRPORT

mom took your carryon through security because she got speedy-we-don’t-think-you’re-terrorists security and you did not. this backfired, because your bag is full of Suspicious Electronics and they were all “what do you have in here” and mom was “uh........????” and DEFINITELY did not tell them about the unrecognisable disc drive and they were Highly Suspicious of her for it and  you got through security faster than she did. whoops?

you fell asleep on the plane almost before it left the gate

in new york, you got a text from a client like ‘come get your money” and you were “CAN’T ON VACAY” “(YOUR TIMING SUUUUCKS)” 

and you got chicken and waffles for dinner

and you got SECOND DINNER on the next plane! it was like 11pm and ravioli and salad and bread and hummus-with-carrots-pita-and-celery and cheese-and-crackers and brownie and you ate EVERYTHING. EVEN THE HUMMUS and the soggy pita and weird celery. but you slept through breakfast, boo

your ass hurts like hell you hate chairs they can all burn

FRIDAY

you landed in edinburgh and mom and dad took forever at the car rental 

then you slept, uncomfortably, in the car, much like how you slept, uncomfortably, on the plane

the b&b is lovely. has lots of old art. which means, of course, it has lots of racist art. but otherwise lovely. your room has a fireplace with tiles the proprietor thinks are victorian?

in arbroath, you walked along some cliffs, very pretty, did not throw yourself into the sea

and browsed a lighthouse museum and finally learned how the rooms go inside for the lightkeepers

and went to a chippy for dinner and had a smoked sausage, battered, with chips, and it was yum

y’all brought the food back to your room to eat, and you ate, and browsed tumblr for a bit, and FELL ASLEEP and mom and dad kinda slinked out to their room

like, you were OUT. slept the entire night in your clothes (fleece pants! socks! two shirts!) under the blankets, laptop open, glasses....off, but still on the bed

you were SO TIRED

and your laptop seems to think it is 12 hours ago? you don’t know how to fix that....

UPDATE: APPARENTLY you did NOT sleep the whole night, your computer is NOT confused you JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND TIME IT IS STILL FRIDAY

so you got dressed and brushed your teeth and went downstairs precisely on time for breakfast and were so proud of yourself and then so confused that the breakfast room was closed? and it’s dark out? and did you get the time wrong? but now the window for potential breakfast times has closed? and mom and dad are snoring you can hear them through the door?

and now you’ve had to get actually ready for bed in shame

today

wake up

clothes

teeth

breakfast @??????? o’clock

pack

on the road again

MINI TRAIN???

farmers market

MYSTERY THEREAFTER