#sunday is having me in a headlock again

[witherbythesword]

Sometimes i think: "well there aren't much serious problems anymore that i have to work through"

and then i have to face the fact that someone wanting to give me pleasure feels like being offered something i truely don't deserve, like just the thought of admiting i want it is something i should be punished for and makes me wanna cry 👍

[lessi-lover]

teenage drama II k.cooney-cross x russo!reader ~

(did you miss me cause i missed you) maybe a series 😉 ... but you'll never know? #even pests need love!

23 ★ ~ k.cooney-cross x russo!reader

your sister smirked cheekily as she expertly dribbled the ball past your much smaller legs, slotting it effortlessly in the net a laugh falling from her curled lips as she turned back to see you flinging your head back in defeat.

"lessi please can we play something else? football is so boring!" you groaned, tugging on your sister's arm before she went to collect the ball to play again. "i dare hear those words come out your mouth again! or you'll be banned from movie night, you hear me!" she threatened with a wag of her finger.

the blonde knew just how much you loved movie night, lately it had become one of her many threats to her easily gullible enough sister once she realised how she could manipulate so simply. she didn't really have that kind of power but it was fun for your older sister to feel as high and mighty as her older brothers seemed to be.

your older sister who would make you run around the garden until you both collapsed on the ground in tired smiles, your mother calling out from inside that dinner was ready, the older woman chuckling as she watched you finally catch a breath.

your older sister who would pick your tiny frame off the ground and into her arms as she carried you inside to the table, shaking you out of your sleep as you dozed of in her hold. your older sister who would beg you to join the games night after dinner she had planned for weeks only to fall asleep in your bed the second you dragged her off to your room.

it was safe to say being the youngest russo was easily the most dangerous spot at the table, although your older siblings always argued that the love you recieved as the last grandchild was surely enough to make up for the countless unwanted tackles and jabs you copped from them.

being dubbed as "the nice one" you tried your best to stay out of the russo family wrestling matches, seemingly always the first to attempt breaking your older brothers out of quite literally clashing each others heads together, your older sister only spurring them on as she cheered from beside a worried you.

"go gio go! watch out for his arms you git!" she would squeal moving to jump on top of the sofa quickly out of the way as luca grabbed his younger brother in a headlock, the both of them rolling around all over the floor.

sure you and alessia fought not much differently to your brothers and not much differently to those of your friends, when the older girl would force you to play football with her for hours on end, as she sliced the ball past you almost taking your head with it.

and sure the england forward could make you think twice before telling her your weekend plans to see some of your mates when she would then proceed to show up with her own friends blasting the loudest music you'd ever heard. a shout from her car that "your lift had arrived!" embarrassing you to no end as she cheekily waved you over.

it was not long after that incident that you got your finally your own car three years later and suddenly your lifts from the older blonde were not required, so the blonde had decided you now needed to have a coffee date every sunday to catch up with her younger sister.

although a childhood friend of hers always tagged along and that saved you enough to not have to hear her boastful stories in your ear ever five seconds, though you claimed the older girl hyped herself up just to get on your nerves.

and even if the clumsy girl could be the biggest pain in your ass on a good day, you really did love your her and people would say the two of you would do anything for each other, to the ends of the earth they would say.

but she really could be a pain in your ass.

~

like right now.

"alessia i know how to be an adult! i don't need you on my ass every five seconds!" you seethed. crossing your arms moodily over your chest, ignoring her offer of a piece of gum and focussing on the cars speeding past.

"helicopter parent you are." you mumbled under your breath, smacking away her attempt to give you a hug with a huff. "i heard that!" she whined, giving you an amused smile as she continued driving home.

you sighed looking out the window, your eyes following the curves and edges of each familiar house as you drove past. "okay i'm sorry. can you forgive me!" she grinned with a pout, gripping your wrist over the console as she dragged out her words.

"fine but only because i owe you a coffee and this will cover the cost." you answered begrudgingly, pinching her arm to let go as the blonde let out a cheer and turned the volume of the music up.

you had never enjoyed football growing up, you knew your interests lay elsewhere from a young age. so whilst your siblings played rough house with each other in the garden, you preferred to spend time on your own. tucked away inside with a book often whilst your mother made dinner, the older woman listening to any and every thought of your for hours on end.

and as your siblings weekends began filling with games and tournaments, you now sat in the crowd still buried in your book, head lifting every so often when you would hear your father's loud cheers. different matches every saturday, travelling to the far ends of the country to support your siblings, but no matter how far you were always there for them.

when your sister had made the move over to states, you'd missed her greatly and if it wasn't for your brothers convincing that you needed to focus on your studies you were confident you would have nearly failed your last exams.

it wasn't long before you finished your final exams that you made the decision to move over to london to start your career in the business world. suddenly things began to become clearer, you knew your path lay elsewhere from your siblings.

your passion for business and entrepreneurship had been a driving force throughout your studies, and the opportunity to start your career in london was too good to pass up.

you'd of course settled in easily to the busy life of living in london, smoothly finding your feet as you were quick to immerse yourself in the fast work environment, joining a large company which offered you the chance to learn from experienced entrepreneurs.

now back to present day, you still hadn't taken your older sisters advice to finally take being part of a footballing family in your stride and you were still adamant that your days of kicking footballs with the blonde in the garden were long behind you.

it was through your company that you were able to secure a job at adidas by leveraging your experience from your previous company and network in the business world.

your reputation for innovative thinking and partnerships caught the attention of adidas' acquisition team, who were seeking fresh individuals for their corporate division. it was only after a series of successful collaborations which drove impactful projects, you were offered a high role within the company.

however things looked a lot different now, your sister had now finally moved back from the states and moved through the ranks to what she described as one of the top teams in europe, her training grounds only a mere fifteen minute drive from your apartment.

but given your new company's strong connections with many football teams, you found yourself collaborating with arsenal, or more familiar to you; your sisters club.

failing to realise how much of a pain your sister still was you had offered to help coordinate an event for the team, told by your marketing director to bring your skills to the table.

"right we're here grumpy pants, do you want my jacket in the back? bloody freezing this morning." she grumbled, zipping up her own jacket as she turned the engine off.

"no i'll be fine thanks." you replied, giving your sister a cheeky smile as you stepped out of the car. you pulled your scarf tighter around your neck and looked around at the different fields.

"you look so funny!" you giggled, tugging on your sisters clothing all branded by her club. "oh shush." she hummed, playfully swatting your hands away with a smile. "you're just as annoying as i remember!" she grinned down at you, the blonde easily a few feet taller than you.

"can't say i don't remember younger you at all!" you said sarcastically. pulling up your phone to show her your lock screen, your background a photo of the two of you in the backseat of the car, probably driving off to one of her games out west.

you laughed all the way into the building, unable to contain yourself when the forward pushed on a so clearly labeled pull door and smashed into the glass, causing her to almost topple over.

"less! are you alright?" you questioned, trying to stifle your laughter as as a red mark appeared on her forehead, your sister with a pout on her face. "oh less." you chuckled, watching as your sisters frown deepened.

you reached out to inspect the mark, still trying not to laugh as much as you wanted to. "stop laughing!" she whined, looking a little embarrassed as she made eye contact with her teammates coming through the entrance. "it was an accident okay! my heads sore now."

"okay sorry, i'm sorry!" you apologised, finally able to suppress your giggles. "do you need ice or something?" you asked, pulling the clumsy girl off the floor. "i'll be alright, come on let's go inside."

"well good morning miss russo times two!" you bumped into lotte as you arrived, all of you entering the building at the same time. "lotts!" you squealed, jumping into the older girls arms as she lifted you off the ground.

"tiny! haven't seen you in ages, how's london treating you then?" she asked. the three of you fell into conversation as if no time had passed since you'd seen your sister's best friend.

"but i won't forget the time you made me pick you and gracie up from the dock, the two of you were completely shit faced!" she laughed, reminding you of the time you and a couple of friends maybe not so accidently drank way too much at a party and drunkenly called lotte to uber you home.

"my learning curve was thinking beer and liquor would mix nicely." you winced, thinking back to the hours after the party that lotte spent holding your hair back as you emptied your stomach. "fun night that was." in hindsight it probably wasn't the best start to your last year at school, but it was an easy excuse to not ever get that drunk again.

"yeah pretty fun night until i was woken up in the middle of the night to you and lotte at my window." your sister grumbled, clearly not as amused by the memory as you and lotte. she shrugged her jacket off up in her locker whilst you sat down on the bench.

"oh don't be a grub. can't forget when you and tooney had big night down in london." you chuckled, referring to the time her and the mancunian came home at four in the morning after having taken their first night out in the city.

"mum's got the patience of a saint." the two of you shared a look at that before bursting into a fit of laughter. pulling yourself up from the bench to grab your sister into a tight hug, your bond ran so deep. "i missed this tiny." she spoke into your hair, not missing beth's smile over your shoulders.

"oi russo who's the new lass?" a girl you recognised from your sisters instagram walked over, as you broke away from the hug. "katie meet my sister, she's here on behalf of adidas for a marketing event." the blonde introduced you as a few more girls floated into the locker room.

"nice to meet ya." she smiled, her accent thick as ever. "likewise." you answered, easily falling into a conversation about what you did at college, the irish girl interested in your role at the company.

lotte and alessia shared a look as they too fell into check as katie sat down with you. you watched as katie grinned over your head, clearly smiling at another teammate as you heard them behind you. "look who finally showed!" she chuckled as three girls entered the room, one of them tucking themself into her side.

you couldn't help but let your eyes draw to the youngest of the three as they put their stuff down, there was something captivating about her energy and you couldn't quite place it. that or the fact that she was easily the closest in age to you and downright the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.

caught in your thoughts, you barely even noticed the look that your sister and lotte shared over your head. "awfully chipper this morning, love." she joked as the girl grumpily rested her head onto katie's shoulder, seemingly not have had a great sleep last night. "not my fault dean was away and steph can't handle the pest on her own." she mumbled tiredly, glaring at a younger girl who you gathered was sitting next to steph who looked equally as tired.

"this is cait, arsenal superstar, australian international and most importantly my girlfriend." katie explained, kissing the top of caitlin's head before a hand pushed her face away. "shut up," caitlin giggled as she pulled herself closer.

"hi i'm caitlin nice to meet you, you're alessia's sister aren't you?" she spoke and you nodded back. "yeah that's me." you smiled, shaking her hand as she extended it. "less hasn't stopped talking about you all week, think she's more excited i'm here than i am," you chuckled.

"only good things i hope!" katie said back as your sister sat back down next to you. "mostly good things." you teased as alessia swatted your arm. "tiny best get a move on before those two show you a washing demo!" lotte said, patting your head hearing you laugh.

"not a pest." the younger girl grinned as she came back, arms firmly crossed as she moved across the room, flicking both katie and caitlin. "such a pest" caitlin groaned, as she winked at you.

"you must be kyra." you deduced, recognising the unmistakable australian accent, your sister having described the girls when you met for coffee earlier this week.

"one and only! you're less' sisters aren't you, been looking forward to meeting you." she smirked and caught off guard you couldn't help but blush at her forwardness, but before your cheeks could redden further you caught katie's eyes as she grinned.

but your attention was quickly elsewhere as kyra pulled steph's bun out of it's elastic before grabbing her in a headlock. "quick take it!" kyra shrieked as steph tried to grab her, her hand brushing yours as she tried to give you the elastic.

the australian so easily drew you in like a moth to a flame as her touch lingered on your hands sending a shiver down your spine as you heard her laugh, you couldn't help but wonder if she had done it intentionally.

you felt your breath get caught in your throat as your cheeks once again reddened and you struggled to stay focussed on what your sister was saying. kyra grasped for help with her attractive smile as steph took her down on the floor, the blonde begging for your help as your connected hands brought you both crashing to the ground.

pulling yourself off the blonde you sat up against the wall, herself with a smug grin as you were left alone on the ground. steph having been fed up and walked off the rest of the girls still conversing after a long two weeks apart.

"well, seems we have made friends with the floor." she giggled and you knocked your arm against her with a smile. "seems so." you agreed, the two of you falling into conversation.

perhaps it was the blondes cheeky smile that lured you towards her, or maybe it was the way she seemed so eager to meet you, or even the way her fingers so easily grazed over your own or the warmth that disappeared with them.

~

[courtingchaos]

Dying

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

18+ NSFW No Minors

The snowfall stopped a few days ago so the roads have stayed cleared, albeit icy. He’d texted and asked if you’d wanted to go for a ride and seeing the sun still fully in the sky made you pause.

You know what time it is?

Do you want a coffee or not?

It’s still cold enough that you need a jacket and when you stand outside and wait for him your breath billows out in front of you in big misty clouds. The inside of his truck is warm though and the whole drive over to the good Starbucks he keeps his big hand over your knee. He orders for you and it makes you smile how his accent slides through when he orders your flat white. Distracted by your phone you don’t realize he’s holding your drink out to you or that you’ve even gotten through the drive thru.

“Did you get me a treat?” You ask when he tosses a bag at you.

“It’d be rude if I only got myself one.”

You miss his hand on your knee when you watch him use that same hand to bounce his danish out of thin bag. The fact that he thought to get you one too isn’t lost on you and the little flake of pastry stuck on the corner of his mouth makes you want to reach out and brush it off. You don’t but you do think about it while his phone shuffles through his playlist. This almost feels like a date, if you two did that kind of thing, though you’re starting to think that you need to stop lying to yourself about what he might mean to you.

“Do you ever think about death?” His questions comes out of left field and makes you pause mid bite. He finishes his last bite and crumples up the bag to toss on the bench seat and he steals a glance at you. A clear look, open and honest.

“Yeah.” Open and honest. You think about it all the time in between your wires and the guns in the shop. Every time you handle dynamite and when you sharpen your knives. It’s a hazard of this job you didn’t pick for yourself.

“Like how you’ll die or just in general?” He asks it like this is a normal conversation but you suppose this is the kind of thing you two would casually converse about. Right between him putting you in a headlock and laying on your chest to get his head scratched.

“Both.” You reason. “More just in general though. What about you?” You tilt your head and nibble on a corner of your pastry, intensely interested in his answer.

“I think about it but I also don’t.” Another shrug, his patented response when he doesn’t want to respond. You sigh.

“Even with your line of work?”

“Well it kind of got conditioned out of me.” He hooks his thumb along his steering wheel and turns sharp onto a gravel drive that you know leads to the sheriffs compound. It’s a Sunday and you know it’ll be deserted except for a handful of people but it still makes you a little nervous.

“Oh?” Your eyes follow the pines as they whip by beside you, needles still clinging to fragments of snow.

“Two tours in a desert full of IEDs.” He turns to you, his look flat. He hasn’t spoken to you about anything regarding his military time and you focus on him, turning your body fully to face him. “You tend to get a little numb.” He looks up at the headliner for a moment before focusing on the road again so he can pull into a spot. “If I cut the wrong wire it isn’t my problem anymore.” Another shrug but this one isn’t to brush you off. “You know about that.” His voice is gentle when he cuts the engine and sniffs before looking at you again. There’s that tight feeling in your chest again when one of his locks escapes the gelled back uniformity and when his eyes look at you softer than normal.

“Is that how you thought you’d go? Big boom?” Levity has never been your strong suit but this new mannerism of his is making you panic slightly.

“That or a punch to the head.”

“You fight a lot?” You know he can fight but not that he’d do it recreationally.

“I used to. Just for fun.” He huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head, an obvious memory crossing behind his minds eye.

“What about now?”

He’s quiet while he stares at your knee and chews on his lip. “Fighting or dying?”

“Dying.”

He hums low and keeps chewing on his bottom lip and starts patting his pockets. His fingers dig into the big pockets on his parka, fishing around for his Marlboros. When he pulls them out he taps the box slowly, a few times on the meat of his palm before he looks up at you from under his brows. “You?”

Of course he’d avoid that but he’d started this conversation and you’d finish it. “I want to move to like, Montana, something big and green. Get a big thing of land and live in the quiet.” Your fingers tap on the side of your cup and suddenly you don’t want to look him in the eye. Suddenly this feels very heavy and very personal. You think about all the things you could describe about this fictional, out of reach dream of yours and you cringe at all the normalcy you try to envision for your future fictional self. No, not normalcy. The peace and the quiet and the absence of worry.

“No garages.” All your movement stops and he waits a beat before he makes another noise deep in his chest and hooks those long fingers behind the knee you’ve tucked up under yourself. He wedges them in there and pulls himself closer to you but not touching, keeping his distance just incase.

You decide to just tell him. “And if I make it to my 60’s?” A big shrug of your own and a frown down at your cup, still avoiding his prodding gaze. “Even better, but that’s the limit I think. I’ll close up the house and make sure everything’s in order and then just like, wander off into the woods.” Gator stills beside you, his hand halfway to his cup holder reaching for his own drink.

“I’d do it in the winter so it’d be easier, quicker.” You say it quick like that would make it hard to understand. Like he wouldn’t hear you talk about a quick and easy death after an undeserved quiet end. It makes you scoff after a moment when you listen to yourself, really listen to what you’ve just admitted to him, something you’ve never said aloud and something you’ve barely let yourself think about. “God, do you hear me? I’m gonna get fucking shot or something before I turn 40 especially with my dad running shit.” The nerves bleed through your words enough that you can parse out the slight wobble so you know he heard it too. It takes a lot for you to pull your eyes up off the mat under your feet but you do finally with a sigh.

“Look-“

Gator never kisses you in a real sense. Always a hard press of teeth and lips but he cuts you off with something real. He leans into your space and slides a hand up behind your neck to hold you in place and it’s soft. He kisses you without rushing and without huffing and without either of you tearing at each other. You almost drop your coffee when your grip slackens from surprise and those snakes along your ribs coil and coil and coil until you can’t take a breath without a gasp on the end of it.

“I just need to run inside, I’m gonna be right back.” He breaks away but doesn’t move back, his lips moving against yours. You nod, no words forming on your tongue while the sting of a foreign feeling claws at your eyes. He leaves the truck running when he gets out and you watch him walk into the building, head bowed against the slight gale outside. He leaves you with a tight chest and a newfound feeling that had stayed buried in the deepest pit of yourself for months now.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Katniss Wants Kisses: Part Four

Drabble series: Katniss is fed up with getting no physical affection from Peeta during their training for the Quarter Quell, so she takes matters into her own hands. Rated T.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Read on ao3

My living room has been cleared of its smaller furniture, leaving the only items on the floor the ornate area rug and couches pushed up against the wall where Haymitch and I sit in front of Peeta.

“I want one thing to be very clear,” Peeta says, “Hand-to-hand combat isn’t the way either of you are going to take out another tribute. If someone attacks you, we’re going to focus on getting out and running away. From there you can regroup and make a plan.”

“Save the running away for Katniss,” Haymitch says. “If it comes down to my running, they’ll catch me. I’d rather fight.”

Peeta’s flashes me a look that I can’t decipher. Annoyance? Arrogance? But I know what he’s thinking. That Haymitch can’t be in the arena with me. That Peeta is determined to go in there and protect me. I have to push the thought away to keep focus on the lesson.

“Fine, we can work on that, too,” Peeta agrees. “But the focus is going to be on getting away. And to start off, you’re going to learn about the weakest points in the body.”

Peeta lectures and demonstrates the body's weaknesses–breaking against thumbs instead of four fingers, twisting away from the stronger muscle, and of course for the men hitting them between the legs. Peeta also points out that sometimes the key is getting close to the attacker, as if giving them a hug, and not further away, so the angle is too awkward to strike. 

We start with practicing maneuvering out of someone putting us in a headlock from behind and then choking us against a vertical surface. Peeta is always the attacker, with Haymitch and I taking turns as the defender.

I get so absorbed in learning the fighting that everything else fades away, even at times the fact that it’s Peeta’s arms holding me and hands grabbing me. Instead, I imagine us in the arena, the chance that Haymitch’s slip gets called and Peeta volunteers for him, and the balance of his life or death comes down to me escaping the attacker. I cry out, I snarl, I push Peeta hard onto the rug several times, to the point that he starts rubbing his hip and wincing.

“Did I do it too hard?” I ask.

“Just a bruise,” Peeta says. “It’s good. We want you to be able to throw down like that in the arena.”

We practice all week, Peeta coming up with different scenarios and positions someone might attack us from. Behind, straight at us, grappling at our feet, even attacking from above, if they drop down from a tree. The one position that keeps giving me trouble, though, is on the ground when Peeta is on top of me. Even though I know I’m safe, even though I know Peeta won’t really hurt me, Clove and her dagger against my cheek come to mind and the technique Peeta drills us and I complete the technique fine slowed down. Any skill disappears the moment we put it into a semi-real play,  though. I thrash, trying to get out, and do everything wrong. And outside of it, I know I’m wrong, but I can’t stop myself from getting flustered and then resorting back to flailing under Peeta’s weight.

By Friday, it’s the one area I’m still floundering in and I’m beyond furious with myself for it. We finish in the late afternoon but I’m not satisfied with waiting until Sunday to pick this up again. I ask Peeta to stay and help me practice the position on the ground after, and he agrees. 

My mother and Prim leave us to it in the living room, which I’m grateful for because having any audience only increases my distress. 

Peeta starts in the position he always does: knees on the outside of my hips, hands around my throat as if coming in to choke me. Going slowly, I can break his hold from bringing my hands between us and forcing his arms away completely. But as his hold on my neck tightens slightly I start pushing my hips up to try and force him off and pulling at his arms, unsuccessful in getting him off, and the panic begins to build. 

After Peeta gets off, gives me a chance to breathe, and hands me a water bottle to drink from, he says, “We’re changing tactics. Going to practice a different situation.”

I begin to stand, but he shakes his head. “On your back again.”

I’m confused but obey, the vulnerability clawing at me in this position. Peeta kneels by my side, hip to hip as we face one another.

“I think being on your back is difficult for you because of what happened with Clove,” he says. “You’re stuck in how you fought her then.”

I give a small nod in confirmation.

“What I want to do is teach you how to get out of it,” Peeta says. “If you can do that, then the others will be easy. How’s that sound?”

I swallow. I don’t really like the idea of being in that position again, but I could very likely end up there again. So I say, “Go slow?”

Peeta gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and settles on me up higher, nearly on my chest, his knees bumped up against my triceps, which are stretched out so my body forms a T.

“We’ll just pretend I’ve pinned your arms for now,” Peeta says. “How do you think you get out of this?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s impossible!”

“Stop. Think. Right now, what’s free? What am I leaving open?”

I wiggle my body, feel the length of my hips and legs that have nothing pinning them down. 

“My legs.”

“Good. Now how can you move them?”

I experiment, but I’m not very tall so they can’t kick him well. I’m about to snap at him again when I realize what it is. I rock my hips to get momentum and then throw my legs over and around Peeta’s chest, crossing my feet, and pull him back as I thrust my legs down. Once he’s on the ground I wriggle out from underneath him and get on my feet. Sprawled on the floor with a smile on his face, we both start to laugh, with surprise and relief. It’s the first time we’ve laughed in a long time. 

“All right, think you can do it if my knees are on your arms?” Peeta asks.

“Let’s try it.”

We get in the same position, this time with Peeta’s knees pressing down on my arms. I do the move again, only this time as I roll us backward, his legs straighten behind my arms and he locks his real foot against his prosthetic one behind my head. With my arms free I turn to my side and try to drag myself away, only Peeta isn’t as easy-going this time and latches his hands around my knees, our legs still tangled together.

In the arena, I would fight dirty. Kick him in the nose, knee him between the legs. Anything. But we aren’t, and some other predator instinct comes over me. I propel myself up and onto my knees before he can make it onto his. The momentum rolls him back, one of my legs between the two of his. As I kneel above him, something in the dynamic shifts. For the first time this week, I’m on top of him while he’s on his back. And there’s something there in his eye, the way his chest moves up and down rapidly, the parting of his lips…somehow, it’s not about fighting anymore.

He could overpower me at this point. He’s a wrestler, he knows what to do to knock me down if he chose to. And so when I lean down, my hands bracing the space between his head, and my braid falling across my shoulder, it’s clear what we both want.

My lips find his as eager as mine, and we kiss like we’re one another’s last meal. We angle to get as close as we can with our mouths open and tongues stroking and I let my entire body weight drop on him, my fingers raking his hair. His arms wrap tightly around my waist, a more solid pinning than anything he’s put me in this week. When I pull his bottom lip between mine and give it a hard suck, I catch a groan that vibrates against my lips and sends a shudder down my body and to the pit of my stomach. 

Kissing Peeta…it’s never felt quite this good before.Not even that kiss in the cave that made me want more. Was all we needed a little privacy this whole time? 

Then I’m surprised with Peeta rolling us over so he’s hovering on top of me, and when his eyes open, curls from his forehead hanging over me, the moment breaks. We remember where we are, what we were doing, and why. For me, it makes me curl my fingers tight around Peeta’s shirt in hopes that he’ll stay, while he scrambles off of me.

“This didn’t happen,” he says, bending down to shove his shoes back on while I barely sit up.

“Yes, it did,” I say furiously. “It did happen, and don’t pretend you didn’t want it, too!”

“The fuck does it matter what I want?” Peeta practically shouts as he makes a quick tie of his right shoe, not even bothering to double-knot.  

“Because we only have a few more months,” I say, standing up over him while he finishes the other shoe. 

He shakes his head, the only response I get from this as he straightens up and turns away without looking at me. I grab for his hand and beg, “Peeta–”

He jerks his hand away and practically sprints toward the entryway door where I follow him, desperate to make this right. I don’t want us to fight again. I don’t want him to be distant anymore, or be this hard coach he’s turned into. I want my Peeta back. But I don’t know what to say. He glances back at me, and he must see something in my face, because there’s a crack in his own frustration now, a sadness he hasn’t let me see since the announcement of the Quell. 

“Please, Katniss,” he says, voice rough. “Please forget what we just did.”

I shake my head. “No.”

He closes his eyes and grimaces at my refusal. And then, he leaves.

[danketsuround]

sunday six!

i'm doing it on time now (even though it's monday morning for me, feels on time for me.) i was tagged by @fire-tempers-steel who has been bumping fic ideas with me :prayer: :thank you: so it feels right to share part of the same thing i've been working on.

idk who of my followers is working on fic stuff so if you're reading this i'm tagging you.... and tag me too cause i wanna read it.

excerpt from a post-lj au involving kuwana, mitsuru, and reiko. *points downwards*

"How long have you been up?" he asks after a busy-sounding sigh. He stretches his bad leg, and limps a little to the induction burners.

Mitsuru fixes his shirt as best he can. "Maybe ten minutes."

"Oh, not bad. Your cicadian rhythm is catching up after we ruined it last weekend." Kuwana thinks of it fondly, remembering how they hunkered down in a karaoke bar to avoid a late storm, and Mitsuru's free orange juice in a frosted beer mug.

"Circadian," Mitsuru heckles from behind the kitchen table. "What happened..." He tries to point. "Leg?"

He stopped saying things like I told you that already long ago. "I was in a fight," he says.

"A fight?" His eyebrows are raised but he has been answered many times before. "Did you win?"

"No," he answers plainly. "Neither of us did."

Mitsuru slowly crosses his arms in thought, perhaps trying to picture Sensei in a fight. He imagines his mother with him in a headlock, and provokes, "I think you're just bitter."

Kuwana merely smiles. "I think you may be right." He sets a mandarin on the table. "Practice."

Mitsuru scrunches his face, and scratches the stem off with the blunt end of his nail.

There was a time when he was determined to walk again. In his dreams, he envisioned a future where he could carry his mother in her old age. Back in Ijincho, Kuwana sorted through pages of medical jargon he didn't understand, then glued them to the inside of an envelope and sent it to Reiko. After speaking with Mitsuru for an hour, Kuwana stuck his ear up to the speaker, and her voice coldly crackled: Oh, and thanks for the letter, Sensei.

A more helpful Yokohamian doctor explained to him that Mitsuru's brain was like a cellphone, and that its signals couldn't reach the lower half of his body; that his nerves were driving through an endless tunnel.

That felt a little unfair—all tunnels have two openings. So it felt exponentially more unfair to place the burden of metaphoric explanation onto Kuwana, in front of an audience who had yet relearned how to laugh. My head isn't a cellphone, Sensei, he said, and went back to staring at his feet.

Regardless, his response (and his ability to roll his eyes) was one of many miracles. But if Mitsuru waking up from his coma was simply unlikely, then his chance of ever walking again was impossible. Eventually, it didn't matter at all.

[f1]

Mercedes have more performance in the locker for coming races Russell | RaceFans Round-up

In the round-up: George Russell says Mercedes made clear progress between the first two races of the season and will bring more improvements in the coming rounds. In brief Russell sees early progress at Mercedes After being disappointed by their start to the season in Bahrain, Mercedes looked in better shape in Saudi Arabia where both drivers finished ahead of the Ferraris. Russell, who took fourth ahead of team mate Lewis Hamilton, said they “definitely made a step in the right direction.” “Above all we just truly maximised the potential of the car,” he explained. “We had a really strong qualifying which was really enjoyable. I’d really pleased to come home in P4 on the road because I felt like that was the maximum that was possible. “I was having fun up there, the car was feeling good. We know we’ve got some more performance in the locker, in some races to come.” “Every little margin matters” in “crazy” midfield Zhou Guanyu says the contest in the midfield is so close this year the smallest mistakes can have a significant impact. “I think realistically we are fighting from P9 to P13, 14,” said the Alfa Romeo driver, who finished 13th on Sunday. “Everything can happen and one little mistake or one little thing you get wrong, you could be compromised from a points finish to a struggle at the back. “So this season is really crazy, but it’s really nice in a way that’s every little margin matters.” Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free Links Motor racing links of interest: Norris 'was put in a headlock and robbed of his £144,000 Richard Mille watch' (Daily Mail) 'Suspect One slowly approached me and asked me: 'Is this your car?' I don't recall exactly what happened, but Suspect One then went behind me and put his right arm around my neck and his left arm under my back.' Canapino coming to grips with new sensations on Texas oval (IndyCar) 'Before the test I was really, really nervous, but now I am more comfortable, and I have (developed) respect – a lot of respect – for the oval. For me, the race will be a test race, the same situation as (all races) this year. I want to finish and learn.' Sao Paulo E-Prix round six (IndyCar) Lucas di Grassi: 'It’s very emotional for me to be racing there. I’m from Sao Paulo, I was born just a few minutes away and grew up there. It’s going to be amazing racing in front of my home fans.' Red Bull are in a class of their own once again, but is this an issue for F1? (The Guardian) 'At the sharp end of that organisation, despite Pérez’s victory in Jeddah, realistically it is Verstappen who will lead the charge. Pérez is bullish about his chances but it is hard to picture this season even presenting a two-horse race but rather another canter to the line for the world champion’s third title in a row.' In Profile: Beganovic (F3) 'Michael Schumacher (is my racing hero) – I really got inspired by what he was doing and what he has done to the sport. Then, he made me become a Ferrari fan as well, so he’s my hero.' F1 farce that saw Fernando Alonso wait four hours to confirm podium place proves FIA is not fit for purpose (The Sun) 'F1 and the teams are understandably running out of patience. Last Sunday was a mess and it needs to be addressed, not in the form of an amendment to an out-of-date rulebook that's open to interpretation, but by establishing a set group of professional stewards who oversee all the races and are answerable for their decisions.' We always endeavour to credit original sources. If you have a tip for a link relating to single-seater motorsport to feature in the next RaceFans round-up please send it to us via the contact form. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free Happy birthday! Happy birthday to Gary Richardson, Gaz, Thomahawk_93, Thomas Martin and Alec Glen! On this day in motorsport via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

[wiretchings]

memory log #56

tuesday, january 7th, 2025 -- 4:22 p.m. 

there’s no better way to spend a biting winter afternoon than icing the bruises on your jaw and stomach. so, obviously i didn’t fucking listen to elliot. i spent all of sunday and monday afternoon staking out his apartment, and it seemed that whoever’s patrolling the apartment complex gets there after 7 p.m. i assumed they wouldn’t expect him to try to slink back into his place in broad daylight, knowing that people were after him. 

i assumed wrong. 

maybe i should have kept watch for longer than a day and a half, but you try staying put and not losing your fucking marbles in this situation. i knew tye and carson would put me under house arrest if i told them where i was going, but i needed to tell someone in case something happened to me. i told sherry, big mistake, because she insisted on coming with me “if i was going to do something so fucking stupid.” i agreed, on the condition that she stays in the car so that we can book it if we get backed into a corner. 

i blew her a kiss before exiting the passenger seat and told her not to miss me too much. she rolled her eyes and said, “don’t expect to get out of your shift tonight if you get your ass handed to you.” and get my ass handed to me i did. 

they waited until i was about to lock his apartment’s door from the inside, one of the fuckers stuck his foot in at the last minute and forced it open. another guy came in behind him and put me in a headlock. i bit down on his arm and tore off a chunk of flesh, which caused his grip to loosen as he let out a guttural scream. “fucking freak,” he spat, kicking me in the stomach. i doubled over and pulled out my pocket knife, but the man who was holding the door open twisted my arm back and ripped it out of my grip. i struggled as they pinned me to the ground, the one who stole my knife held it close to my neck. 

“where is he?” he whispered through gritted teeth, i could feel the curved tip of the pocket knife tickle my skin. 

“why do you think i’d come here if i knew that?” i spat back. he stared at me, trying to read my expression. 

“what do you want from him? money?? i can get you money-” i was interrupted mid-sentence by a swift fist to the jaw. i tasted blood in my mouth, it was nauseating. 

“don’t fucking insult us, you piece of shit. if you have a key to his apartment, you’ve gotta know what we’re after.” his eyes were wild now. 

“i don’t-” the man pulled his arm back to punch me again and i lifted my head in panic, only for the back of my skull to bounce back onto the hardwood floor. “i-i i swear, i was just hoping to find some sort of clue as to where he disappeared off to! i have a copy of his apartment key b-because i’m his cousin...” i knew they didn’t fully believe me, but i was also useless to them as far as they were concerned. “he owes my dad money, so we thought he dipped because he didn’t want to pay...” 

the men got off me and i winced as i pushed myself up off the ground, limping towards the doorway. i turned back one last time and rubbed my jaw, “so you have no clue where he might be?” 

slipping my pocket knife into his jacket, the guy i’d spoken with chuckled and shook his head. “when you see him though, tell him that it’s only fair.” 

“what is?”

“a life for a life.” 

i didn’t understand and it was clear by the look on my face. 

“he can’t just kill our top man and expect to get away alive.” 

[khaleesiofalicante]

“We need to tell the kids.”

He has been waiting for the right time, until he realised that there is no right time. 

Not for this. 

Alec, who has just come out of the bathroom, doesn’t respond to that. 

Magnus knows what Alec is doing. 

He notices the way Alec has slipped into monotonous responses, the late nights at the office, the complete lack of acknowledgement of Magnus’ presence. 

He knows what this is. 

He is being punished. 

“Alec,” Magnus tries again anyway - because frankly - what else is there to do. “We need to tell the kids.”

“Tell them,” Alec replies, taking off his socks and shoes. 

“I spoke to my therapist and she said it’s important that we do this together and-”

“No.”

Magnus looks up. “What?”

“I’m not telling them,” Alec says, his voice made up.

“Alec-”

“I’m not telling them.”

“But my therapist said-”

“I don’t give a shit what she has to say, Magnus!” Alec snaps. “I’m not going out there and telling them our family is fucking broken.”

“It’s not broken,” Magnus swallows. 

Alec snorts at that. He goes back to the bathroom - to change his shirt. 

He doesn’t change his clothes in front of Magnus anymore. 

And it hurts. It fucking hurts. 

And that’s how Magnus knows he is being punished. 

“You will go out there and tell them,” Alec says - no, orders - when he comes out again. 

“I can’t do this alone,” Magnus responds. It’s both a confession and a fact. 

“We are both gonna have to do everything on our own from now own,” Alec says. “Might as welll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to,” Magnus replies. 

“What do you want from me!?!” Alec hisses, his face angry and confused. “What do you fucking want? You want a fucking divorce. Then you say you don’t want to do this alone, I don’t…I don’t fucking understand. What do you want from me, Magnus?”

Magnus takes a steady breath. “I want you to help me tell our children that we are getting a divorce.”

“I’m not doing that,” Alec shakes his head. “This is your decision. So, you are gonna do it.”

Magnus doesn’t want to. He has no explanation or rationale for it. He just doesn’t want to. 

Alec grabs him by the arm and drags him towards the balcony. 

Magnus looks at the pool. 

At his boys. 

“Stop it, you dick!” Rafael yells, covering his face with his book, sitting on one of the chaise lounges. 

Max, who is inside the pools, splashes Rafael even more. “Oops.”

“I’m going to drown you,” Rafael says, before putting his book away and jumps into the pool. 

Max laughs at that because,  for some reason, he enjoys being threatened. “Good luck. I’m the captain of the swim team.”

“We’ll see how the captain of the swim team likes it when I get him in a headlock,” Rafael says, swimming towards his brother. 

“Don’t come too close!” Max raises a finger. “Or I will pee in the pool!”

“Max! Gross!” Rafael groans, but he is laughing now too. “You are such a disgusting pig!”

“And the captain of the swimming team,” Max reminds him. 

And then they start splashing each other, screaming and yelling and laughing. 

“You’re going to tell them,” Alec says, his eyes on the boys. “I’m not doing it.”

“They are going to hate me,” Magnus whispers. 

Alec doesn’t respond to that. 

“Do you hate me, Alec?” Magnus asks, his voice barely audible. 

Alec doesn't respond to that either. 

“Boys!” he yells at the pool. “Dinner!”

- Sundays are for Divorce aus and Suffering in Silence 

[fluffymcu]

Butterfly kisses

This is a mashup of 2 requests

Request 1: Can I honestly say that I just love your work! I have been trying to gather my favorite pages and yours is definitely up there on the BEST! If I could maybe make a request that you can hopefully one day write some ruthless inner thigh tickles with Bucky, I would be so happy 🤞😻

Request 2: Helloo, if you're taking requests could you please write a bucky x reader where they're being all cute and kissing but his beard tickles and she pretends everything's fine/is convinced he hasn't noticed but he knows fully well what he's doing? Thanx 😊😊

——-

Bucky pulled you closer, taking in your scent as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. You had a bright smile on your face as you were comforted by his weight on your body. It was a Sunday afternoon which meant it was time to veg out and cuddle. You lived Sunday nights.

It gave you all a break from standard missions and meetings and thankfully coincidentally there never seemed to be an avengers level threat on Sunday’s. You were grateful for that.

“Tony wanted you to help him out with dinner later tonight. You goin?” You asked, rubbing his back.

“Nope.” He grunted, getting comfy on you. You chuckled and shook your head lightly. “I’m spending the rest of today right here.” He smiled, gently pressing butterfly kisses on your jawline and neck. You hummed happily and brought your hand up to cup the back of his head. This was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Bucky continued to plant his kisses along your jawline but the more he continued, the lazier his movements became. That’s when his stubble started to brush against your skin making you flinch with a stifled giggle. Bucky lifted his head to look at you. “You okay? I hurt you?” He asked. You quickly shook your head.

“No. Nothing. Just had a hiccup.” You said, shrugging it off. Bucky looked at you for a moment before shrugging.

“Okay,”

He went back to business and it wasn’t long before his stubble grazed against your again. This time you snorted and recoiled from his mouth but quickly composed yourself.

“You sure you’re okay? Am I doing something wrong?” He raised an eyebrow. You bit your lip nervously and shook your head once again.

“I’m sure. Like I said; hiccups.” You chuckled nervously, trying to change the subject by capturing his lips in a kiss. After that, he lowered his head back down again but you couldn’t catch his subtle smirk once he realized what he was doing.

Bucky had figured out you were ticklish just 2 weeks ago on a mission. You were undercover and posing as a couple from Texas interested in buying black market technology to expand your business. As Bucky was talking and giving out your fake information to one of the men in charge there and when he wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you to his side, it happened.

“Yes, we’ve been looking everywhere for something as advanced as this. The wife wouldn’t stop talking about it, didn’t you honey?” He laughed, scribbling his fingers into your side for just a second. He wasn’t expecting such a big reaction.

You had let out a loud laugh and arched your back away. You quickly played it off and playfully slapped at his shoulder. “Oh, stop, you know I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that tech. Can you imagine how much our profits would skyrocket if we had something like this? I’d pay any price!” You laughed.

“With my wallet, of course.” He joked, winking at the man who began to laugh as well. “Well it was great meeting you, I hope to see you later again at the auction.” Bucky said, excusing you both and leading you away.

As you were walking away, Bucky leaned into you to whisper in your ear. “You’re ticklish. Interesting.” He grinned. Heat instantly rushed to your cheeks and you looked down at your feet.

“I’m really not. I was just playing along with the situation.” You said defensively, shrugging your shoulders. You heard him chuckle lowly.

“Sure you were. We’ll have to test that out once this is all over.” He smirked. You gulped and prayed that he’d forget about it.

Thankfully he did, because it never came back up since that moment. But now...

Bucky then held you tighter in his grip and nuzzled his nose against your skin. “You smell so good, baby.” He said, trying to make you think the subject was changed. He had to bite back a chuckle when he felt you physically loosen up and relax.

“Thank you Buck.” You hummed, scratching up and down his back. You felt Bucky press another kiss right behind your ear but you felt his stubble more than his lips. You recoiled away and bit your lip and cleared your throat. Bucky didn’t say anything, he just kept going like nothing happened. Your heart started to beat a bit faster as nervousness began to settle in.

Then you felt Bucky’s hands start to slowly squeeze your sides and his nose started to rub more on your neck. A giggle caught in your throat and when he didn’t stop, instead moving his thumbs faster into your sides you burst.

“Okahahahay! I don’t thihihink this is innocent anymohohoHOHORE!” You cackled, Bucky bursting out in laughter with you and he finally began his full attack, shaking his fingers into your ribs while blowing a raspberry on your jawline.

“Not ticklish, huh? You know I almost actually forgot about this! I’m glad it came up again!” He grinned, sitting up and wrecking your hips. You arched your back as you let our hysterical laughter, shaking your head violently.

“STAHAHAHAP!” You laughed, managing to pull a leg out from under him and trying to push him away.

“Ooh, cheating are we? Let’s see them thighs!” He laughed, grabbing your leg immediately making you scream and protest. “WAHAHAIT!” He quickly started to knead into your inner thighs, eliciting a shriek out of you. Bucky threw his head back as he laughed, clearly enjoying tickling the snot out of you. “Wooow, these thighs are ticklish!” He teased, mercilessly switching from your inner thigh to the middle, to above your knee then behind it, then back to the inner side, and alternated; not giving you a second to get pluses to the feeling.

“JAHAHAHAMES!” You cried, slapping at him with no avail.

“Ooh, using my first name, that’s not good!” He whined sarcastically, blowing a raspberry on your belly. Your laughter began to turn hoarse but that didn’t stop Bucky from getting your other leg and repeating the same process.

You were in a screaming fit, wrestling with Bucky to let you go but he was obviously winning. He now had your legs in a headlock and tasing your thighs all the way up to your hips with a big smile on his face. You grabbed the pillow behind you and desperately started whacking him with it and he quickly grabbed it from you with a laugh. “Nohoho! No!” You begged, reaching for the pillow.

“Did you really think that would work?” He teased, tossing the pillow out of your reach and grabbing your wrists in one hand. You immediately started pulling against him in protest. Bucky smirked before lifting your shirt and blowing a raspberry on your ribs. That sent you into hysterics again and him nibbling and growling playfully did not help you.

“BUCKY STAHAHAHAHAP!” You shrieked, your cheeks sore from smiling so much. Bucky laughed asking with you playfully bit your neck while hugging your waist again.

“Ohohowww!” You whined with a giggle, gently kneeing him to get him back.

“Ah!” He hissed lightly, barely feeling it before kissing the spot he bit you on. “That was really entertaining. I’ll remember those spots for next time.” He smirked.

You growled and pouted. “You tickle me again and I kill you.” You threatened, even though to Bucky you were the least intimidating person on the planet.

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow, his hands finding their way back to your sides.

Laughter once again filled the room, bringing a wide smile onto Bucky’s face.

[drabbles-mc]

Game Day

EZ Reyes & Angel Reyes & Sister!Reader

Day 11 of the July Prompts and a request from @cherieann-2001​: football and How about American Football game with Ez/Angel/and Baby sister Reyes? They all like three different teams within the same division so whenever two of the teams play each other there is a lot of trash talking etc. But they love one another at the end of it all.

Warnings: language, alcohol

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: The Reyes Family deserves happy times together and that’s all I have to say about that.

EZ/Angel Taglist: @garbinge @ly--canthrope @noz4a2 @queenbeered @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @appropriate-writers-name @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @sillygoose6969 @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @chibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @sesamepancakes @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @enjoy-the-destruction @encounterthepast @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @masterlistforimagines​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @crowfootwrites​ @redpoodlern​ @punkgoddess-98​ @black-repunzel99​ @lexondeck​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ @berniesilvas​ @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo​ @helli4nthus​ @angelreyesgirl​ @starrynite7114​ @lilacyennefer​ @luckyharley1903​

“You guys ready to lose?!” Angel called out as he flung open the door to Felipe’s house.

You were fast at work in the kitchen, laughing and shaking your head at the dramatics of his entrance. Over the years, despite everything that had ever happened in the Reyes family, all of you still managed to come together during football season. Sometimes it felt like you only came together just to give each other shit over your teams, but it was nice that some things didn’t change, didn’t get lost.

He looked around and quickly realized that you were the only one in the kitchen, if not the entire house. Walking over, he placed a kiss on top of your head, “Hermanita,” he glanced around once more, “you the only one holding it down out here?”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “No, Pops and EZ are out back by the grill,” you looked up from the pan in front of you, “Feel free to go and help.”

“Nah,” Angel chuckled before going and grabbing a beer out of the fridge, “I’d much rather stay in here and bother you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Damn, and here I was thinking that you were actually going to offer to help.”

“You want my help?” he cocked an eyebrow.

Your sigh turned into a laugh, “That’s a fair point.”

“When’d you get here anyway?” he asked before taking a swig of his drink.

“This morning,” you covered the pan on the stove and turned the heat down, “Had breakfast with Pop before you boys could show up and disturb the peace.”

“What are you two troublemakers up to in here?” EZ asked with a chuckle as he walked inside, a plate in his hands piled with food that Felipe had been cooking outside.

“Oh, nothing,” you smile, “just figuring out how we’re going to celebrate when the Chiefs choke tonight.”

EZ scoffed, a smile on his face, “Big talk for a girl whose team is already out of the running,” he grabbed himself a fresh beer from the fridge and took a drink, “Brave of you to wear those colors around here, considering,” he nodded towards your jersey.

“This isn’t gang territory,” you laughed as you leaned back against the counter, “Besides if Angel can wear his, I can wear mine.”

“You can all go change,” Felipe said as he walked in with the last of the food, shaking his head all the way over to the counter.

All three of you laughed, knowing and loving that he always put on an annoyed front when you were all there. You knew that if the three of you showing up and causing a ruckus every weekend was really a problem, he wouldn’t hesitate to kick you all out. But he enjoyed it as much as the rest of you, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Time together with the four of you was rare, and no one knew and felt the value of it all quite as much as your father did. For all his grumbling about the yelling and the shit-talking, and shaking his head at the amount of food that three of you would burn through, you would always show up to a full fridge every Sunday morning when you came to have breakfast with him. And the living room would always be clean and set up perfectly for all of you to hang out there later. You loved him, though, so you let him continue to pretend to be bothered by it. It kept you and your brothers amused, after all.

“We gotta get you one, too, Pops,” Angel said with a laugh.

“One what?” Felipe didn’t look amused at all.

“A jersey,” he gestured to himself, “I feel like these are your colors.”

“No way,” EZ chimed in, shaking his head, “He’s not gonna—”

Felipe interrupted, cutting off the discussion before it could continue, “Is it done?” he looked at you and then nodded towards the stove.

You nodded, laughing at his dismissal of the heated debate that was about to take place, “Yea, all set to go. Was just waiting for you and Boy Wonder to finish grilling.”

“Boy Wonder?” EZ looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“What? Sounds like an upgrade from Boy Scout if you’re asking me,” Angel smirked.

“I’ll demote him again after his team loses,” you laughed.

“They won’t,” EZ shook his head, adamant about his position, “No chance.”

“We’ll see,” your voice was singsongy as you helped get everything together.

You were listening to the two of them going back and forth as you started bringing everything to the table. You might’ve all been grown, with your own lives, problems, and responsibilities, but something about getting together for games at Felipe’s turned all of you back into punk kids again. It was all jokes and headlocks and pushing each other off the couch after dinner. And Felipe would always sit and watch from his chair, fighting to keep a straight face and not feed into your antics but smiling and laughing along with you. But you could always see it in his eyes, even when he was watching you trying to tackle Angel to the floor in the middle of the living room, he’d rather have you all there than anywhere else in the world.

The game was well underway, and the now-empty dinner plates were all stacked off to the side. EZ kept promising that at the next commercial break he’d bring them into the kitchen, but it never happened.

“Oh!” you bumped his shoulder with your own, “Called it! Choked!”

EZ laughed shaking his head as he gave you a shove back, sending you into Angel’s side, “You sound more and more like him every damn day.”

“There are worse brothers to take after,” Angel laughed as he draped his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side and preparing to put you in a headlock.

“Angel,” Felipe spoke up, waiting for you all to look at him, and all he did was give a slight shake of his head, causing Angel to let you go.

“You don’t gotta protect me, you know,” you laughed, “He’s not even that strong.”

“Pfft,” Angel shook his head, “That’s it, you’re done.”

Your scream turned into laughter as he threw you in a headlock, threatening to pull you down onto the floor. You turned your body, managing to pull your legs up and press your feet against him, pushing yourself away and getting him to break his hold on you with a laugh. He easily lifted and move your legs back off the couch, shaking his head.

“Not even that strong,” he muttered as he returned his attention to the game, “Bullshit.”

“I mean,” EZ chuckled as he got up to finally bring the plates into the kitchen, “she did get out of that pretty quick.”

“Shut up,” Angel crumpled a napkin and threw it at him, “Aren’t you supposed to be watching your team lose?”

“Don’t make him drop those dishes,” Felipe spoke up, “Or you’ll be buying me new ones.”

“Oh,” you chimed in, “don’t let Angel pick out China patterns. Please.”

“We’re supposed to be friends, you know,” Angel chuckled, “If I can’t trust you on game day, who can I trust?”

“No one!” you laughed as you reached down, grabbing the napkin he’d thrown and chucking it back at him, hitting him square on the forehead.

“Heads up!” EZ called as he walked back into the living room, carefully lofting a beer bottle to Angel. He sat down, handing you one before passing you the bottle opener.

The three of you settled down a little now that you had fresh bottles, not wanting to spill anything on your father’s couch. That ran the risk of genuinely frustrating him. And you knew that the spiller would be the one who either had to clean it, or replace it. That wasn’t a responsibility that anyone wanted on their shoulders.

EZ was in his glory as the game came to an end, his team managing to come out of it all on top. He stood up, holding his arms out, “Called it!” he turned back to you and Angel, “And you thought they were gonna choke.”

“They did for a while, there, Boy Scout,” Angel piped up with a chuckle.

“Still won, though,” a cocky smirk was plastered across his face.

“Shut up,” you swiped the bottle caps off the table and tossed them all at him with a laugh.

You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees as you ran your hands down your face. It’d been a long day. Good, as they always were, but you could feel yourself starting to get tired. You glanced over at your father, chuckling quietly when you saw that he was passed out in his chair. You nudged Angel with your elbow, nodding over to the chair with a soft laugh.

“It’s exhausting dealing with you two knuckleheads,” Angel said with a laugh.

“Learned from the best,” you shot back with a smile.

You draped a blanket over your father, leaving him to sleep in peace. The three of you all cleaned up the kitchen and living room, restoring it to its former glory. As much as you wanted to say goodbye, you knew that Felipe would just be mad that you all woke him up. So with that, you all made your way outside. Their bikes were parked alongside your car, and there was something so reassuring about the sight of them all lined up together.

“Alright,” you gave them each a hug, “Stay outta trouble. Love you.”

“Love you,” Angel swung his leg over his bike, clipping his helmet on.

“Love you,” EZ smirked as he walked over to his bike, “And you can just call me whenever to tell me that I was right about the game. You have my number.”

You shook your head, smiling as you unlocked your car, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

[pepper-up-potion]

Sunscreen (Ginny Weasley x Gn!reader)

Summary: Ginny gives you a massage in the sun.

Warnings: mentions of food, a nude back (non-sexual nudity), maybe spelling mistakes, sorry. Other than that, it’s sweet sweet fluff. Let me know if I missed any of course!

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: sort of part 2 to my back rubs fic but you don’t need to have read it to get this one. When I think of this fic I can practically feel the warm sun on my skin. I’m actually quite happy with it, I hope you like it!!

Soft Sundays masterlist

“Uhhh lemons, we need lemons.” You think aloud. Ginny moves to the counter opposite from you and comes back with a bag of lemons. You nod opening your hands for her to place them into before setting them on the counter.

“Sugar.” You mumble, opening the cabinet at your feet and bending down to grab the sugar jar. You place the sugar next to the lemons as Ginny takes the measuring cup, and lemon juicer from the appliance drawer.

You get a cutting board and slice the lemons in halves. Ginny places the first half in the juicer and rotates the lemon, extracting its juice.

She continues as you finish cutting the lemons and move to measure out the sugar. You place a pot on the burner and turn it on. Ginny wraps her arms around you from behind and presents a measuring cup filled with lemon juice. You take it from her and pout it into the pot. Ginny doesn’t leave you. Instead, she nuzzles her head in your neck and gives you a couple kisses.

You smile and turn around to hug her properly. The two of you cuddle in the middle of the kitchen as you wait for the lemon juice to heat up enough to dissolve the sugar. You reluctantly pull away from Ginny to add the sugar and mix the warm liquid.

“It’s like potions class all over again.” Says Ginny as she peers into the pot.

“Oh but it’s better because it’ll actually taste good at the end. Remember when we had to drink that fresher upper potion? Argh tasted like seaweed and garbage.” You shudder remembering the taste so vividly.

Ginny laughs a little and runs a hand over your hair as the last of the sugar dissolves in the bottom of the pot. “Ready.” You tell her. She jumps and quickly gets the large, glass, pitcher from the counter and fills it with ice. You pour the lemon and sugar into the bottom of the pitcher. The ice cubes crack when the hot liquid pours over them. You fill a measuring cup with cold water and top off the lemon juice. You continue to do this until you have the right water to lemon juice ratio as Ginny temporarily leaves the kitchen.

Ginny comes back with a picnic blanket, a beach bag and a sun hat on her head. She places the blanket and bag on the floor next to the counter and walks up to you. She pulls the hat off her head and places it on yours teasingly. You tilt you head up to see her under the brim of the hat. She smiles warmly, admiring the view before leaning in and kissing you sweetly.

“Lemonade ready?” She asks, hand still tangled in your shirt collar, keeping you as close as possible.

“Lemonade is but I’m not. I’ve just got to change. Think you could set everything up?” You uncurl her tightly bundled fingers from your shirt and head to the bedroom to get ready.

***

The sun warms your skin as you step out of the house and into the yard. A ways away, out near the water you spot Ginny, fiddling with her shawl. You run towards, her stopping short of the picnic blanket she laid out while you were changing.

“Hello again.” You sing leaning down to kiss her and then rolling to settle next to her on the blanket. Ginny smiles softly, tilting her chin to look at you under the brim of her big sun hat.

Ginny squirms over and nuzzles into you as you lie together in the sun. You stay like that for a long time. Ginny playing with your hair while you slide your finger over her cheeks to connect her freckles with an imaginary line. Sometimes you lean over to kiss her warm cheeks, humming at the blissful feeling of the Sunday sun and the woman you love in your arms.

“Would you like a massage?” Asks Ginny after a long peaceful silence. Her voice is quiet, cautious not to burst the delicacy of the moment. You close your eyes and drawl a yes already feeling relaxed at the thought of it.

Ginny stretches her arms above her head and reaches into the beach bag she brought out earlier, pulling a tube of sunscreen. You quirk up a brow in question and Ginny shakes her head.

“SPF is no joke.” She hums seriously but you can see a smile pulling at her cheeks.

You turn onto your stomach and tuck Ginny’s folded shawl under your head as a makeshift pillow. Ginny unties the straps to your bikini and pushes them to the side. You listen as she opens the cap and squirts some sunscreen in her hands before rubbing it on her hands to warm it up.

She starts from your shoulders and swipes the cream down your back, covering your bare skin. You close your eyes focusing on the feeling of her hands, the sunscreen and the warm sun on your skin. She starts working on your lower back, applying light pressure, testing your comfort to the touch. You encourage her to apply more pressure and she does so accordingly. She very slowly works from your lower back up to your shoulders where she pulls at the tense muscles loosening the knots.

You sigh in relief as you finally feel your muscles shift into their original place. You hear Ginny shift besides you before feeling her lips flutter over your bare back. She gently pecks short kisses between your shoulder blades and feel your shoulders relax even further after every kiss.

Ginny ties your top and lies down next to you. You turn your head to look at her, eyes squinting because of the bright sun.

“Thank you. Now I can be sure I won’t get a sunburn.” You slur, voice slow and relaxed.

Ginny smiles. “Who knew sunscreen had so many uses. It’s like a three in one shampoo, soap and conditioner.”

You grimace. “Don’t compare sunscreen to that horrid creation.” You dramatisize

“What? It’s super practical, I use it all the time after quidditch.”

You gasp, horrified. “No, you don’t!”

Ginny laughs “yes, I do.”

You shake your head vigorously. “No.” You reach out and teasingly poke at her tummy.

Ginny squirms as she laughs loudly. “Yes, I do.” She reaches out and tries to poke your stomach. You block her her causing the two of you to engage into a playful fight. It ends with Ginny loosing holding you in a headlock and whooping.

“You’re such a jock.” You mumble in defeat.

“Yes but you love me.” Sings Ginny as she lets you go and places her hat that had fallen off during your brawl back on her head.

You hum in delight. “Yeah, you’re right.” You take your time. You watch as she pours your homemade lemonade into two glasses. You remain silent as she passes you on glass and sits back down next to you. “I do love you.” You finally add.

Ginny blushes, a bright red, before shyly leaning in for a kiss. You love seeing her like that. The strong, tough Ginny getting all shy because of something you said.

Ginny holds out her glass for you to clink yours with. “I love you more.” She counters with a quirked brow before taking a sip of her lemonade while maintaining eye contact.

You laugh. It’s a whole hearted laugh, filled with adoration and bliss.

“Everything’s a competition with you.” You shake your head but you can’t stop but think it’s one of the many reasons you’re so in love with her.

General taglist: @pottahishotasf, @oliverwoodmarrymepls, @cupids-crystals, @mwahforpeter

Ginny taglist: fill out this form to be added to this tag list!

[socheckitout-mikey]

heya birdies! this wasn’t requested, i’m just in love with brett talbot sm! enjoy! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Cuddling With Brett Talbot Hc’s:

° Brett has this heart melting habit of pressing the most tender of kisses on your forehead or temple whenever the pair of you are cuddling. That shit make you m e l t !

° Your fingers have made themselves a home in his wavy locks, so much so that whenever you stop playing with Brett’s hair, he’ll stare up at you with those big puppy eyes until you continue again.

° If it’s possible, Brett will play with your hair as well, and if that’s not your thing, he’s stroking your back till you fall asleep in his arms.

° Cuddling is an absolute must whenever Brett has returned from a late lacrosse practice. No matter your size and structure, he’ll pick you up from what you’re doing and place you on top of him, whether that’s on the couch or in bed.

° Sweet nothings being whispered ardently to one another.

° Comfortable silence. Brett doesn’t always feel the need to talk, he’s comfortable enough in your presence.

° Giggles littered profusely as you both engage in a brutal tickle war. Spoiler alert: Brett always wins.

° Brett is predominantly the big spoon because of his size and height, but whether you’re taller or smaller, you can also spoon his pretty backside too. He honestly would be grateful for it.

° So many “I love you’s” though not always spoken aloud. Sweet gestures also count.

° Cuddling naked because why not.

° Talking about anything and everything. It often leads to the pair of you having extremely husky voices afterwards, but Brett declares for the pair of you that it’s worth it because how else was he going to find out half the stuff about you he does now?

° Wandering hands. On both ends. I see y’all!

° Kissed necks, shoulders and collar bones. Doesn’t always have to be sexual, sometimes it’s sweet.

° Brett genuinely has a few playlists that consist of soft and chill music to play in the background when you both cuddle. It coaxes you both to sleep, which is his usual goal, because he’s a tired boii.

° Sometimes you’ll both have movies or tv shows on in the background. It all get’s forgotten about as soon as you’re gelled together on the couch.

° Lori barging in 10/10 times just to annoy the hell out of Brett. It works.

° “Satomi! Brett and Y/N are making out again!”

° “No we’re not, Lori! Shut up!”

° “C’mere, babe, let’s make out for real.”

° “Ew!”

° 99.9% of the time you dorks fall asleep. Again, it was part of the plan though.

° Ya boii latches onto you like an overgrown beanpole, so there’s really no hope in you getting up to go for a pee. You’re peeing the bed. Ya nasty shit.

° “Hey string bean penis, let me go! I gotta piss.”

° “String bean what?!”

° “Did you hear me stutter?”

° Brett’s sleepy voice ugh.

° Nuzzling your face into his chest or neck seems to make him melt into a puddle in the covers. He’s officially whipped, congrats!

° So Brett has bad days too and needs to be held. His go to is to smush his face into your chest, sigh deeply and off you go playing with his gloriously fluffy locks until you’re rewarded with even breaths not even two minutes later. Poor puppy fell asleep.

° Ya boii snores like there’s an avalanche happening in Beacon Hills. And yes, you did shove a pencil up his nose when he wouldn’t stfu. Yes, he did wake up just as the eraser went in, and yes he did also chase you around Satomi’s home until it drove the alpha mad!

° “Brett, stop terrorizing Y/N!” Satomi shouted with finality through the home.

° “They stuck a pencil up my nose and the erasers still up there!” Brett retorted swiftly, bending around the corner to look at his alpha, in hopes she would reconsider.

° “They only did that because you snore like Chewbacca!” Lori snorted loudly, shoving you into the hallway closet in hopes of hiding you.

° Brett literally kisses you so randomly during cuddle sessions. You’ve learnt to accept it at this point.

° Saturday and Sunday morning cuddles are a thing and you’re not leaving the bed. Brett’s declared that completely. If you resist, he’s wrapping his legs around you too.

° Brett randomly pokes your cheek and this one time he totally missed, poking you straight in the eye. You refused to let him touch you after that.

° Pouty Brett, but also, pouty you.

° Wrestling. You always successfully manage to get Brett in a solid headlock until he starts tickling your feet. You may not have you did kick him in the shin.

° "Loser,” Brett teases delicately into your ear as he pokes your sides swiftly, causing your body to jolt in response.

° “Okay, whatever you say, string bean penis!” You quip naturally back.

° “That’s not what you called my penis last ni-” Brett began strongly, fingers dancing under the hem of your shirt.

° “Can you two shut up? Werewolf downstairs!” Lori belts at the top of her lungs from the living room downstairs.

° So you and Lori are pretty close, there’s no doubt about that. So, you’re cuddled into Brett, spending time with Lori too, and as you’re watching a movie, you’ll feel a soft weight on your lap and there’s Lori, curled up asleep. Before you even have the chance to begin playing with her hair, Brett’s messed it up and now you’re caught in the middle of the two, Lori’s fists flying at Brett a 100 miles per hour.

° After that, Lori proceeds to tell you every embarrassing detail of Brett’s life and you’re living for it. Use it all against him the next time he laughs at you for falling down the stairs.

° You wearing Brett’s lacrosse jersey when cuddling? That shit just hits different and ya boii is living for it.

° Brett’s just addicted to cuddling you now, so say goodbye to your personal space lmaoo.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

if you enjoyed, please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

[luvknow]

parasitic | bang chan

genre: bang chan x fem!reader | college au ; roommates au ; enemies-to-lovers ; alcohol mention summary: your roommate is going abroad for the semester and now you’re forced to share your apartment with bang chan, who you basically lived with for the past semester except he didn’t pay rent, he ate all of your food, and crashed on your couch after a long night out. you were going to do everything in your power to avoid him until your roommate comes back. that doesn’t work out so well. wc: 11.8k a/n: omg a month late, but merry christmas to @channiechanchan!! did you know it was me?? LMAO I’M SO SORRY LKJDSLKFJ IT’S ALSO NOT EVEN XMAS RELATED BUT....... I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT, ILY SLKJDSL

The sun rays peeked through the gaps of the curtains letting you know that a beautiful Sunday was upon you. You would spend the morning making breakfast for you and your roommate, clean your room of all the bad vibes, knock out some homework, and light an overpriced candle to conclude a stress-free day.

A long morning stretch in bed was the start to your day, and you had the widest smile on your lips upon exiting your room as if there was nothing that could ruin your energy. That dropped quickly once you were greeted with a loud, snoring, almost-naked man face down and passed out on your couch.

“Sorry about him,” roomie Yeri said out of habit while practically crawling out of her room. “Again.”

She looked like a hot mess, with her hair frazzled in all directions and last night’s make-up still smeared around her eyes. Her timing was impeccable - it was like she could sense your annoyance through her walls. 

“Why?” you whined childishly. This had to be the tenth weekend by now!

“You know why! Lucas had his birthday party last night, remember? Which you were invited to but totally flaked last minute.”

“I have an exam this week.”

“We have an exam this week and it’s not until Thursday!”

“So? I like to be prepared!”

“Can you two shut up?” the bane of your existence interrupted. The newly brunette (who had dyed his hair in your living room, thanks to Yeri) ran a hand through his wild hair, hoping it’d alleviate some of the pain from his hangover. “I have a pounding headache.”

“And whose fault is that?” you scolded bitterly before yanking your blanket off of him. The poor man below you shriveled up and buried his musty legs under your beautiful couch pillows for some sense of warmth. “Not like you pay rent here for you to have the right to complain, or anything.”

“Lighten up, buttercup. You’re so uptight.”

“Gotta do my job around here and exterminate the parasites.”

“Suck my dick.”

“Too many STDs.”

Yeri chucked a pillow each at the both of you so you’d shut up and avoid waking up any grumpy neighbors. “Please, for the love of God, can you guys chill out for once so we can have a relaxing Sunday together?”

“Together?” you and Chan groaned simultaneously.

Yeri was not having it and shot a glare like an angry mother, to which you and Chan mumbled some sort of noise of confirmation and went about your separate ways. You inhabited the kitchen and Chan dragged himself to wash away the sticky shame and Hennessey in the shower. Yeri hopped over to help you make pancakes as if her two best friends weren’t just itching to pull each other’s hair out. She liked to think of herself as the glue of the group, like the quirky friend in the middle who was delusion to the tension in between. Neither of you had the heart to ruin her sitcom fantasy.

“Morning ~” she sang cutely.

“I hate him.”

“He’s not that bad!”

“You’ve been saying that the entire fall semester, but almost every weekend of mine has been ruined by his presence!”

Yeri winced and took a step back as she watched you vigorously mix the pancake batter faster than an electronic stand mixer. Another step back was taken while you violently dumped in the blueberries. Cooking and baking was one of your favorite hobbies and she knew you could be quite passionate about it, but she never saw you angry-cook before. It was a scary site to see, as if you being angry wasn’t scary enough.

“He’s only the way he is because you never gave him a chance.”

“What does that even mean?”

“He’s the type of person who likes to be liked, you know?”

“So? Don’t we all?”

“Of course, but it’s different with people like him. When those types of people meet someone who doesn’t like them, they can get a little… How do I say this? Defense mechanism-y?”

“Wouldn’t you think that would motivate him to, I don’t know, be nice to me and not inhabit my space and eat my food every weekend? Perhaps he’d kiss my ass a little?”

“Like I said, defense mechanism-y…”

“More like melodramatic.”

No matter how Yeri tried to explain to you how Chan was ‘different’, you weren’t buying it nor did you care to argue any longer. Why should you have to like him just because he was your best friend’s other best friend? This wasn’t some algebra problem that could be easily solved by the transitive property - this was a matter of respecting each others’ personal spaces and each other in general, and Chan had been the one to cross both of those lines first, that dick. While Yeri lectured like your math professor, you mindlessly hummed here and there pretending to understand, just as you would in actual math class.

The bathroom door opening prompted you and Yeri to shut up immediately. Then, a moist Chan walked out of the steam with nothing but a familiar lavender towel wrapped around his disgustingly chiseled waist.

“Is that my towel!?” you shrieked in fear.

“Yeah. Hope that’s ok with you!” The fake honey sweetness in his tone made your skin crawl like there were bees under the dermis. “By the way, you’re out of shampoo. I love this scent! What is it, tea tree and mint?”

Yeri had to hold you back from hitting him with a hot spatula and Chan managed to escape back into the bathroom with a change of clothes that he kept here ‘for emergencies’, of course. They hung on the open clothes rack in the living room that was meant to show off yours and Yeri’s tasteful jackets, but the aesthetic was ruined early fall and even your jackets began to smell of Chan’s sophisticated cologne.

“I’m gonna kill him in his sleep,” you seethed.

Yeri patted your head like you were an angry kitten. “Killing the captain of the basketball team isn’t exactly kosher, love.”

“I’ll show you kosher.”

“Can’t keep on threatening me, babe,” Chan tisked while throwing on a t-shirt upon entering the A and B conversation.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m just trying to make our friendship better. You know, since we’ll be roommates soon.”

Excuse me, what? “What are you talking about…”

“Oh, you don’t know?” a sly Chan smirked.

When you turned to interrogate Yeri, she quickly stopped the sign language that clearly meant ‘shut your GODDAMN MOUTH, Christopher’ and gave you that sweet, innocent smile that let her get away with practically anything because who could say no to her rosy cheeks and rainbow-shaped eyes?

“Yeri, what is he talking about…?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, about that… I got accepted into the study abroad program!”

“That’s amazing and I am very proud of you and I love you, but what does this cockroach mean when he says we’ll be roommates soon!?”

“Hey!” he pouted.

“Oh, shut it!”

“Ah, well, I figured to lessen the burden of paying double the rent, I thought it’d, you know, take it upon myself to save you the stress of finding a subletter and Chan was the only one available…”

“Really? Of the entire cheerleading team, the pottery club, the damn pilates and cycling club, hell even the other players on the basketball team, Chan was the only one free to sublet? The only one?”

“Um... yes?”

“You know, I don’t really consent to this -”

“Please, _____, it will only be for the semester, I promise! I leave next week and I can’t take much with me, and Chan is the only person I trust to stay in my room and not ruin anything and steal my underwear!”

“How can you say that when he’s probably going to bring girls home and do them on your bed!?”

“I would never do that!” Chan interjected.

“Yeah, ok.”

“No, really! Why would I ruin her bed when I can just ruin yours while you’re gone?”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Christopher -!”

“See!” Yeri brought the two of you into a esophagus-crushing headlock so you two would shut up. “You two are already getting along so well!!”

Chan managed to slip away and steal you from Yeri, giving you a rough knuckle sandwich. “We’ll get along swimmingly, Yer-bear, I promise. Isn’t that right, _____?”

Yeri couldn’t help but look at you both with sparkly eyes, thinking that yes, maybe there’s a chance that a beautiful friendship could blossom from this! Jabbing an elbow to his ribs with a fake smile of your own, you wordless agree with a nod.

As long as Chan stayed in his room and you stayed in yours, maybe there wouldn’t be much to worry about, right?

--

The first week with Chan was exactly how you expected it - seeing his bare ass because he never closed the bathroom door, stealing your snacks, taking up the living room space, and blasting his loud soundcloud music that you could hear through your paper-thin walls. Still, even through all the frustration and the annoyance, you thought it would be best if you two just lived your lives separately and didn’t bother making nice with each other. Rather than fighting and yelling, ignoring each other for the sake of everyone’s sanity was for the best.

What pushed you to the edge was when he took the last pack of fruit snacks you were really looking forward to after a long week of classes.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned into the cupboard. “Chan!”

“Yes, darling?” he called from his - Yeri’s - bedroom, to which you stomped over to confront him. Seeing a grown man on Yeri’s white desk on a pink gaming chair playing some PC game was truly a sight to see.

“Did you eat the last of my fruit snacks!?”

The sly boy swiveled the desk chair to face you. “Ooh, was that the last one? I swear there was one left…”

“Come on, dude!”

“I’m sorry, ok, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal! That’s not cool!”

“No, what’s not cool is that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

You were taken aback by his bold, although correct, assumption. You really didn’t expect him to call you out on this so early. “I… have not…!”

“You’re such a liar!” He pointed accusingly. Although you seemed heated in the argument, Chan was grinning because of course he was right, that dick.

“You don’t think I have anything better to do, like do my homework or-or hang out with friends outside of this apartment?”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean every time you come home and see me in the living room, you go straight to your room.”

“That’s normal!”

“Ah yes, but then you wait until I go into my room -”

“Yeri’s room.”

“- to cook dinner or grab a snack.”

“That’s just a coincidence -”

“How about the opposite, when I come home and you’re chilling in the living room and then you go to your room and shut the door? No ‘hi, how was your day’, or anything.”

“Well -”

“Or how about the mornings, when you’re sitting at the kitchen table relaxing and drinking something warm and sweet-smelling with a tired smile on your face because this is the only time in your day where you get to truly relax, but the second I leave my room to go to the bathroom or grab some water, you chug whatever’s barely boiling in your cup, dump it in the sink, and head out.”

“... I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Wow, look at that smug look on your face,” he pointed again. You didn’t even feel that proud smile on your lips. But Chan didn’t think it was amusing. His lips formed a frown, like he was insulted or even hurt at how cold you could be towards him. “What have I done to make you hate me this much?”

Your eyes bulged incredulously. “Let’s go down memory lane, shall we? Almost every weekend of the fall semester you; crashed on our couch, ate all of our ramen and eggs and sriraicha the morning after to recover from your massive hangover, used our laundry detergent, and used our bath products just to name a few! All without a simple thank you or even asking beforehand!”

Chan couldn’t deny that yes, maybe he’d been a little, um, unceremonious with his intrusion on your life, but come on, everyone deserves a second chance! The very prideful man in front of you rolled Yeri’s pink chair to the threshold only to clasp your hands together in his and now you were sweating.

“Ok, I’ll admit that I was a terrible guest this past semester.” Does an apology count if the guilty party rolls his eyes? “So, out of the goodness of my heart, I am very, very sorry.”

“My ass.”

“What!? Does this not look sincere to you?” he asked, pointing to his fake pouty face.

“Ok, I’m leaving.”

“No no no, c’mon!” Chan whined as he chased you into the living room. He grabbed your trailing hand to stop you. “Look, I’m truly sorry that I sometimes use your things -”

“Always use my things.”

“Most of the time use your things. I am sorry, really. Please believe me, ok? Aren’t you tired of avoiding me all the time?”

A tired sigh escaped you because you were absolutely exhausted from it. “I accept your semi-sincere apology. But why, for the love of God, why don’t you ever use Yeri’s things!? Why mine? She’s the one that’s your friend!”

“Honestly? I wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh, my God, what are you, five?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ignored me like a rude hostess from the get-go! You never gave me a chance!”

“My first impression of you was all I needed to not give you one.”

“I couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You puked in my backpack with some of my textbooks in it and poor Yeri had to clean up your mess!”

“Oh yeah, I remember that… That was on Sunwoo’s birthday.” You tried walking away again, but Chan’s grip was too strong. “Ok, fine, I’ll admit my first impression was horrendous, but you never let me redeem myself after that, so I kept annoying you so you’d confront me about it! That’s not fair that you judged me so quickly!”

“Yeah, and look how annoying me turned out! It went from my first impression to my thousandth impression.”

“I mean, it eventually worked, right?”

Another tired sigh. “Chan, is there a purpose to this?”

“Yes. I want to start over.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Start over? Like, erase all the shit that happened between us?”

“Exactly. A clean slate. Clean plates, I’ll even do your dishes tonight.”

You did hate doing the dishes… And you were so tired of stressing out over avoiding him, even if it had only been a week. After a long, painful pause, you held out your hand for him to shake. “Fine, a clean slate it is.”

A prideful and grinning roommate gladly shook your hand. “I pledge to not be an asshole anymore.”

“And I promise not to have a stick up my ass.”

“Wow, look how far we’ve come, huh? Cheers to a new friendship?”

“After you do my dishes.”

“... Fair enough.”

To commemorate this new and fresh friendship, you joined Chan in the kitchen. You didn’t do anything as he hand-washed your handmade dishes made in pottery class, but in return for eating your last fruit snack pack, he offered you some cookies he’d been hiding to which you gladly obliged. It was a peaceful silence in the kitchen other than the clinking of dishes and running water that offered some white noise while you read one of your books (after Chan called you a nerd). This had to be the most stress-free thirty minutes of your life.

“So,” your new ‘friend’, if you’d generously call him, began after finishing the dishes. He took a seat next to you and grabbed a cookie of his own. “Now that we’re cool and all, I would like to formally invite you to our basketball game tomorrow.”

"First of all, we're not totally cool just yet. Think of this as like a trial. Gotta pay your premium subscription fees before getting the premium benefits.”

“Yeah, yeah, so do you wanna go or not?"

"Hm, a basketball game? Like you're playing in it?"

"As the captain, I sure hope so."

You thought about it for a second - what terrible things could possibly come about if you went to one of Chan's basketball games? Well, it's set in a crowded and sweaty arena, whose crowd and players are also sweaty, it was loud, the food and drinks were expensive, and you literally could not care less about basketball. But, out of the goodness of your heart, which was now willing to give people a second chance for some reason, maybe you could tolerate sitting through a quarter or two.

"Sure, I'll go."

"Really? I wasn't expecting that."

"Then why'd you bother asking?"

"I'm tryna be homies, and that's what homies do! Invite homies to their basketball games."

"Please don't call me homie."

"Ok, home skillet."

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know anything about basketball."

"Like, at all?"

"I know the cool far shots are worth like three points, right?"

"Oh, darling, you have a lot to learn. Here, lemme do a spark notes run down."

Professor Chan, PhD in sports and partying, took however many hours to explain. You lost track after two. At the end of the night, all of the cookies and milk were gone and you both went to bed at two in the morning.

--

"You, at a basketball game!?" Yeri snorted from the other side of the world. "And you and Chan being civilized!? Lord, how long have I been gone?"

"I have many regrets…"

"Don't say that! I think it's cute that you guys are finally getting along. Who would've thought that locking you two in the same apartment for one week was all that it took?"

"It might have been sooner if he'd just apologized right away instead of stealing all of my stuff to get my attention."

"Yup, sounds like Christopher."

"So you're coming back soon, right…?"

"If soon means a couple of months, yes."

"Yeri ~!" you whined, hopelessly missing your Sunday night partner watching crime documentaries.

"Chill, you big baby, just hang out with Chan if you're so lonely."

"Ugh, gross." Ironically enough, you stepped on a freshly-spat wad of gum upon entering the half-filled gymnasium.

"But not too often cuz, you know, you might fall in love ~"

You hoped no one saw the way your face twisted in disgust. "Are you delusional!?"

"Or even worse, you two might get drunk and make out and then fu -"

"OH-KAY, bye, Yer-bear love you!" You hung up immediately, traumatized at the thought she planted in your head. You hated how your face heated up so brightly. Don’t sweat it, _____! There’s no way that something like that could blossom from something that was nothing!

"Hey, you actually made it -" Chan had burst into your bubble without a warning, causing you to jump and drop your phone. After wiping off another fresh glob of gum from your phone screen this time, you bucked up the courage to stand face-to-face with a confused Chan wearing his basketball uniform. "Jeez, you good? You're all blushy. Ah, you saw Jaehyun's nudes, didn't you?"

"No, idiot! You just startled me, although I should be used to you invading my space by now."

“Ha ha. Stop being weird and take a seat. We’re still warming up, but hopefully we’ll start soon.”

“Uh, is there like, designated seating, or?”

Chan’s dimply smile accompanied a rough hair ruffle. “How cute, you’ve never been to a game before, huh?”

“I would rather die than willingly pay to go here on my leisure.”

A strong, sweaty arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Sit right over there,” he said, pointing to a single spot in the middle of the one hundred level that allowed for the best view of the entire court. “You’ll see me in action the whole time.”

“Next to the dude eating a chili dog and the chick with a cut-out of Woojin’s face?”

“The superfan section truly is not of this world.”

“If I came all the way here just to watch you lose, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we never lose!”

The coach called Chan back to warm up some more which left you no choice but to enter the germ-infested purgatory and sit in between the superfans. Glancing at the other team, it was clear that they had the intimidation factor of being the taller and bigger players, so you weren’t sure how this was going to turn out. But your team, although smaller, had an enormous amount of unwavering energy. Perhaps it was because they were playing at home and had the entire half of this court filled to the brim cheering their names.

Chan was busy next to the couch, watching the form of his teammates as they were shooting three pointers. There was no doubt to anyone, even if no one had ever seen him before, that he was the captain. Who knew the barf-filled, void for a stomach, almost always naked asshole had the mindset of a lion? Every now and again, he’d pull one of his teammates to the side, probably a newbie to the varsity team, and help him with his form or give pointers or remind him of what play they were going to execute once the buzzer rang.

At some point, you realized you were watching him for far too long because he caught you right where he placed you. By the smirk on his lips, you’ll never hear the end of it if you see each other back at the apartment, and you would have looked away almost immediately if he hadn’t grabbed a ball not a second later. What was he doing?

Chan dribbled the ball to the free throw line (at least you think that’s what it’s called). He looked at you again, but this time he was pointing, like he was challenging you. Every pair of eyes in the gymnasium managed to pinpoint his target to you and if he thought you were blushy before, he should really see you up close now. After the very dramatic scene, Chan focused on dribbling the ball a few times which brought everyone’s attention back to him, thankfully. He dribbled a bit more, stopped to set up his shot, followed through and swoosh, there it went, right into the basket like a mathematician's perfect parabola.

“That was for you,” he mouthed silently with a sense of tease dripping from every word.

Normally, you might have flicked him off, but who were you to ruin the vibe just before the game started? Out of the goodness of your heart, you lightly clapped at his performance like this was the opera.

And so the game began! Mingyu, since he was the tallest member, did that thing where they toss the ball up in the air and they try to get it on their side, and since he was like 6’5”, it was easy for Chan’s team to start with the ball. There was a lot of back and forth head movements and eye scanning and you felt like your brain was being shaken up. To be honest, before you stepped into the stadium, you thought that none of this was going to excite you in the least. The idea of sweaty boys running around with a ball was completely barbaric, didn’t you think? But when someone, especially Chan, shot the ball or blocked it or did some weird dancey footwork, you gasped and cheered with the rest of the gym, the spirit of the game blooming in your soul much to your resistance.

The game ended almost too quickly and thankfully your team won. All of the superfans and the cheerleaders ran towards the team, congratulating them with cheers and hugs and mounting their beloved captain on their shoulders. Chan had his bright and dimply smile you’ve been seeing too often this week. You considered waiting until the crowd died down so you could congratulate him right then, but being the captain meant he was the center of everyone’s attention, not just yours. You shrugged off the impatience and headed for home. You could always congratulate him tomorrow, so long as he hasn’t puked anywhere.

Just before exiting the gym, you heard your name being called.

“_____, wait!” Chan yelled, sprinting to you as soon as his people made a walkway.

“I guess a congratulations is in order,” you said. “Congrats on winning. You looked super cool out there.”

“Hold on, can you say that one more time?” he teased, whipping out his phone to record you.

“Congrats, asshole!” you greeted the camera with double birdies.

“Thank you, m’lady. Where are you going now -”

“Channie!” a cute voice cried. Channie?

“Miyeonie!” he parroted back at the pretty cheerleader.

“Are you coming with us to Mingyu’s or what?”

You almost forgot it was the weekend already. It was time for drunk Chan shenanigans to ensue and that meant locking yourself up in your room and hiding the newly-bought fruit snacks.

“Oh, uh…”

Chan looked back at you like he was about to ditch his little sibling who had asked to play with him. Before any embarrassing pity invites were thrown out, you quickly bid your farewell.

“I’ll see you later, Channie ~” you waved off playfully.

“_____, hold on,” he said in urgency. Oh no, please don’t do what you think he’s doing… “Uh, I think I’m going to skip out on tonight, Miyeon.”

Both of you looked at him like he had three heads and two tails. Miyeon’s the only one brave enough to speak up on it. “Party Boy Channie is ditching us tonight? Why?”

“I’m super tired.” You’re full of shit, Chan! Why are you ruining my quiet night in!? “I’ll catch you guys next week, though.”

“Fine. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Ok ~” She then quickly kissed him on his lips and he welcomed it fully like they’ve been doing that for some time now. Could it be that Party Boy Channie has finally settled down, despite all of his sloppy stories he used to slur about every weekend? How was it that he, of all scumbags, was able to have a significant other and you couldn’t even get a tinder date! “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t get too wild tonight.”

“No promises!”

Chan sighed helplessly and turned to face a disgusted? Shocked? No, a very uncomfortable you who had watched a corny teen drama movie unfold right in your face.

“Sorry about that,” he said sincerely for once.

“Oh please, I absolutely love watching true love express itself right in front of me, Channie.”

He rolled his eyes. “First of all, it’s not love.”

“Really? You’re telling me kissing pretty cheerleaders isn’t your love language?”

“Not when they cling to me like mothballs.”

“You’re so cruel, Channie.”

“Stop calling me that,” he warned. “Secondly, what are we doing tonight?”

“We? I don’t know who this we is, but I’m going home.”

“Aw, c’mon, really? I just ditched a Kim Mingyu party and perhaps some ass for some quality roommate bonding time!”

“I did not ask you to do that.”

“Don’t you wanna go out to eat or something? I’ll even pay for you.”

“No, because there’s food at home.”

“There isn’t food at home, you liar!”

“Well ok, not yet, I still have to go to the market first and then I’ll cook.”

“Oh?” You can cook? He certainly didn’t know that. “You’re cooking us dinner?”

“I’m cooking me dinner.” Chan folded his hands and gave you a poor excuse for puppy eyes. But he did just win the game, and you bet doing all that sporty stuff made him starving. “But I guess I can make you a plate... I guess you and I can… eat together…”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m clearly holding back my excitement.”

Usually in movies or tv, they have the head chefs of famous local restaurants come to the markets between four and five in the morning. The amateur chefs like yourself prefer to pick off what was left for much cheaper at night time. It’s not that the stuff left over was any bad, it was just the important people managed to pick out all the perfect prawns and symmetrical vegetables and what have you. It was much less stressful in the evenings anyways, when everyone was already home cooking and you were left to wander as you pleased before the vendors packed up for the day.

“Do you come here all the time to grocery shop?” a freshly-washed Chan asked beside you. When he went grocery shopping, as long as the produce didn’t have any bruises and the meat was red, that’s all he needed. He never inspected the peaches for its plumpness or asked what time the fish was caught today, unlike you, though now and again he’ll slap a watermelon to test its juiciness.

“Goodness, no, am I made of money?”

“How expensive can this place be, they’re not even in a store.”

“Oh, Chan the naivete. Think of the most expensive piece of produce you’ve ever bought. It’s probably organic, right? Free of pesticides and the like?”

“I think it was an avocado.”

“Right, completely ridiculous that you’re paying $2.50 per avocado. The avocadoes here? Double that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I really wish I was. Those are the morning price avocadoes though. Nighttime shoppers like us are lucky to snag them for $3.50.”

“Why bother paying so much when you can go to the local store across the street from your house?”

“Even though I can get much more for the price I’m paying here,” you paused and handed Chan the brightest and quite possibly the smallest strawberry he’d ever seen. “You can taste the difference.”

Snipping off the green stem and leaves, the clueless boy popped the berry in his mouth and you watch the flavor brighten his eyes.

“Quality over quantity,” you bragged.

The rest of your time there, you had to stop Chan from eating a single grape from every little basket at every single vendor.

“You are a child.”

“Baby me, baby.”

Coming back to the apartment with your’s and Chan’s arms full of groceries, anxiousness rushed in the second you stepped beyond the threshold. It occurred to you that you’ve never actually cooked for anyone before besides Yeri. This will be the second time you’ll see someone’s first reaction to your cooking, and it’ll be from your worst enemy.

“Need me to sous chef, head chef?” he asked while unpacking.

“Actually, that would help me a lot. Could you wash the vegetables?”

“Sure. While we’re at it, can I get your opinion on something?”

You raised your brow in confusion. “Do I have the knowledge for it?”

“You have ears, so yes.”

From that point moving forward, you decided not to question Chan because he was going to do whatever he wanted anyways. As you prepped the kitchen, you ignored the loud rustling in the living room with the occasional ‘ow, fuck’ following a stubbed toe. Out of curiosity and right before yelling at him to hurry up, Chan had finally pressed the play button and an unfamiliar song played through his massive speakers that he brought outside.

“Is this your new song?” you asked.

He did the ‘hand-sexily-but-also-shyly-running-through-my-hair’ thing before answering. “Yeah, and I’m not sure if I like it that much. The guys say it sounds good, but they’re my homies so they have to say that, y’know?”

“At least you know I won’t bullshit you.”

“Be gentle at least, please.”

“I will once you help me with dinner finally.”

“Right, right.”

Of course one song didn’t cover the entirety of the dinner preparation. After the one, which you honest to God liked a lot (“Stop lying.” “I’m not! You asked me to be honest, dick!”), Chan shyly but happily showed you more of his work. Some of it was already posted to his Soundcloud and some weren’t uploaded because he either hated them or he was stuck and left unfinished.

“Like, how is it possible that I can’t finish a project whose finished product is less than three minutes long!?” By now, Chan gave up trying to help after he cut his finger several times and sat at the table munching on his expensive basket of berries as he explained his creative block to you as if you were his therapist. “It makes me seem lazy, doesn’t it?”

“People hit creative walls all the time,” you reassured. “Don’t get yourself down about it.”

“Have you ever even hit a wall before?” he challenged.

“I do in the kitchen all the time, you ass.”

“How is that even possible? What walls can you even hit in the kitchen?”

“The difference between baking and cooking is that baking has less room for error, but tons of room for visual creativity, which is why I think baking is much harder. Cooking measurements for a meal, on the other hand, are meant to be adjusted with freedom which is nice, but how many times can someone change the presentation of a bowl of rice, meat, and vegetables?”

A bowl of said food was placed in front of a drooling Chan who had to sit through the tortuous cooking process smelling the aromatics and satiate his rumbling tummy with sour fruit. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet and his eyes were already sparkling with anticipation. It was reactions like his that made you the most embarrassed because what if he tasted it and hated it!?

“Whoa, this looks delicious!” he beamed.

“You didn’t think I could cook, did you.”

“No, I thought you were joking and when you weren’t I was like, ‘I HAVE to taste her cooking’. I'm a little disappointed that it doesn’t look inedible.”

“Ha ha, just eat your food, parasite.”

With anticipation, you watched Chan take a huge bite with all the fixins on the spoon. You could sense the awkwardness when he turned away.

“Stop staring at me,” he mumbled with cheeks full of rice.

“Not until you tell me what you think.”

“Well, of course it tastes good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now stop looking at me, I’m not your zoo animal.”

A huge sigh of relief escaped you and a heavy weight off your chest was relieved. Something about cooking for new people always made you want to pass out, but if both your best friend and your best enemy admit to how good it is, maybe you’ll become more open to the idea of cooking for others more often. You DID like that huge sense of pride that rushed in.

Chan finished the bowl in two minutes. He held it up for you to take. “More, please.”

“Wow, ok.”

You were lucky enough to get a bowl yourself with Chan practically inhaling everything, and even then he still had room for dessert. It was atrocious how much a college man could eat.

“They say someone’s cooking says a lot about them,” Chan proposed while washing down his food with soda.

“They who?”

“I don’t know, the internet?” he shrugged.

“Oh, yeah? What does the internet say about a bowl of rice for dinner?”

“That you’re uptight and don’t like to have fun.”

“Hey!”

“And probably a virgin.”

Your cheeks burned an embarrassingly bright red at the proclamation. “Wh-What makes you say that!?”

“It’s a safe meal to make. You know, hard to mess up and a little simple so it’ll always taste good?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Where’s the excitement, _____? The improvisation!?”

“There’s not much room to improv in cooking, Christopher.”

“Don’t you want to live a little? Have some spontaneity?”

“Are we still talking about my cooking or…?”

“No, dumbass, I mean your life, too!” Chan hopped up from his chair and took your hand to twirl you around the kitchen like the scene in Beauty and the Beast. Oh God, you hoped you didn’t accidentally poison him or that he was having a weird allergic reaction to sesame, or something. “Have some fun for once!”

You somehow broke away from the hypnotic dance and stood as far away from that crazy man as possible. “Don’t act like you know me all of a sudden because you read some corny Buzzfeed article about a fucking bowl of rice and meat, Bang Chan!”

“What do you mean, I’ve come to know you for a whole semester.”

“A whole semester of being blacked out.”

“Hey, that means nothing!”

“Ok. Tell me one thing you know about me from a whole semester of being unconscious on my couch.”

“You have an in-depth skin care routine.”

“Anyone can guess that.”

“From the books you have lying around and a few paintings on the wall, you dabble in that horoscope bull shit.”

“So do a lot of girls, next.”

“You like heart and star-shaped marshmallows in your hot cocoa.”

You’ll admit that one had you silent for a moment. Only Yeri knew about that, but that was because those were the only marshmallows you bought specifically for hot cocoa. They add a little pizazz to your drink, especially with the edible glitter. “That doesn’t count, there’s no other marshmallow in the apartment.”

“True,” he began, pointing an accusing finger at you. “But you like a whole handful of marshmallows in your mug.”

“... S-So -”

“Ah ha, got one!” 

“So what, a ton of people like marshmallows!”

“Yeah, but not pink hearts and purple stars ones!”

“How do you even know that?”

“Hm. I think it was the night of Hongjoong’s birthday. Yeah, I passed out, woke up, whined to Yeri, and she made me hot cocoa and said, ‘Do you care if the marshmallows are shaped like hearts and stars?’ And I said, ‘I ONLY want hearts and stars’.”

A shy smile spread across your lips. It’s moments like these when you weren’t chewing his ear off that he finds you a little cute. Just a little.

“Is there a reason for those specific marshmallows?” he asked.

“They’re cute,” you pouted.

“Well, do I get a prize for knowing one thing about you?”

“Yeah, doing the dishes.”

“What!?”

“I cooked now you clean!” you said before running off to your room.

A tired, but willing Chan dragged his feet to the sink. He could just throw all of the dishes in the dishwasher, but somehow hand-washing while reminiscing about all the Fridays he’s crashed here with you barking like a chihuahua the next morning was much more fun.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much by the end of that night.

--

A virgin… How the hell does cooking a bowl of rice for your roommate somehow make you a virgin!?

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the most outstanding meal you’ve ever made or could have cooked for him, but that ungrateful man who couldn’t even fry an egg shouldn’t be so picky!

But why, of all the insults and swears he’s ever thrown at you, was virgin the one that hit you the most?

Who cares if you were or weren’t one! What difference did that make you as a person, right!? At first glance, of course no one would be able to tell whether you were or weren’t one, but what did that say about people who did know you, like Chan and Yeri? Was that the kind of vibe you gave off? Were you too goody-goody, too play-by-the-rules? Was Chan right when he said your life lacked that spark, that spontaneity he seemed to so-crave?

Now that you thought about it, you haven’t gone out on a date or even found someone remotely interesting in a very long time… Since your first year of college at the very least.

Maybe you should show him how spontaneous you could get.

“That’s another thing I noticed last semester,” Chan’s charming accent shook you from your thoughts. You looked to the boy intruding in your room who leaned against the door frame, once again in only his pajama pants and a wet towel slung over his neck to barely cover his torso. He was built like he was carved from the finest slab of marble - how was his skin so white and smooth? “You tend to space out a lot, especially when you’re working on something.”

“How can you tell?”

“You get that dumb look on your face.”

“You mean the same one you have on all the time?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Thank you. What are you getting all dressed up for on a Tuesday night?”

“Miyeon said she was coming over like, ten minutes ago and I felt musty, so here I am, half naked in front of your door like this is the greatest dream you’ve ever had.”

“Is that the cheerleader from your game last weekend?” Chan hummed as a response, drying his hair with the towel around his neck and a toothbrush in his mouth. “Is she your girlfriend?”

You heard him choke on the toothpaste. “God, no, why do you think that?”

“I mean she kissed you… ?”

“Eh, it’s kind of an on-again-off-again thing, but nothing was ever official between us.” A sudden realization hit Chan and then that sly smirk that loved to tease you came back to haunt you. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Jealous of some cheerleader who’s clearly in love with a man who has no interest in her while he lives with another woman?” you scoffed. “Green with envy.”

“At least I have someone in my life!” he called from the bathroom.

That, too, hit a little too close to your heart. He was right - at least he had someone who kept him company, who adored him, who he could go out on dates with… And what did you have? A lousy roommate who uses your body wash.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked after coming back fully clothed. Your bed was much softer than Yeri’s, who had a rock hard firm mattress. Perhaps Chan should take his naps here instead.

“Nothing. What is there to do on a Tuesday night?”

“Lots of things! It’s Taco Tuesday at that food truck on campus, it’s Tteokbokki Tuesday at that Auntie’s restaurant by the bookstore, ooh and the record store down the street gives out free seltzer water for the hipsters.”

“Is that what you and Miyeon are doing tonight?”

“No, she just wanted to make-out I think.”

“How romantic…”

Chan laid on your bed and kept his thoughts to himself for a while. Somehow after only a few weeks of living together did you tolerate his presence enough to not nag him to get out of your room, let alone off your bed. While you studied the infinite pages of words in your textbook, Chan was able to steal a few glances. The way your brows furrowed in frustration, the messiness of your hair, the slight pout in your lips, it was all quite cute for someone as grouchy as yourself. Although he supposed he’d be an asshole, too, if he was studying seven days a week. You must be tired and frustrated.

Without you paying attention, he whipped out his phone and texted his date.

“Darn,” he sighed convincingly. “Miyeon just cancelled on me.”

“Good for her.”

“Well, now that I’m free, it looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”

“Sike, I have some homework to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chan hopped off the bed and peaked over your shoulder at your homework. He was so close that you could smell his woodsy cologne. You kind of liked it. Kind of. “Homework that’s due on Friday? God, _____, at least try to be cool, you nerd.”

“Hey!”

“Get dressed, those tacos and tteokbokki won’t be piping hot forever ~”

“I’m not going!” you tried to argue, but that annoying boy was already out of your room and putting his shoes on. Evil chuckling could be heard from the living room - what a weirdo. As your stomach violently growled, it was really hard to resist such a tempting offer of food, even if it meant going with Chan.

An impatient roommate danced his way to exit. “I’m walking out the door ~”

“Chill, will you?” you mumbled while throwing on your coat. “How are you going to invite me and then abandon me?”

“Then move faster.”

“You move faster…”

“Ah ~” Chan pinched your cheek lightly. “You’re kinda cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

“You know, with trying to kick up the spontaneity in your life and what-not.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a cold Tuesday night and you almost heavily regret wanting to be spontaneous and cute and uncaring, all because a soundcloud rapper called you a virgin. But the thought of a hot cup of spicy rice cakes was enough for you to travel through the polar vortex. It helped that you weren’t the only one suffering.

“All those nights I crashed on your couch, I’d always buy a cup of this gold before heading over,” Chan admitted. “It was a shame for the days I threw it up.”

“Ah, no wonder your puke is red! I thought you were always almost dying.”

“Sometimes I wished I was.”

Of course the auntie knew Chan by the amount of times he’s stumbled upon the place drunk off his ass (“Wow, you’re walking straight and talking in sentences today!” “Ha ha, auntie…”). The fiery cup of rice cake was the perfect hand-warmer.

“Do I not give off the virgin vibe yet?” you half-joked.

A charming burst of laughter came from your annoying roommate. How could he forget that he called you that! “You’re not hung up on that, are you?”

“I just… I mean, do you think that’s the reason why…” you struggled to speak your insecurities into existence because once you did, that meant they were real and totally holding you back.

“Why what?”

“Tell me something - am I really that uptight? Does it make me seem… I don’t know, unapproachable? Unlikable, even?”

“Please, you are totally uptight.” A loud, unladylike groan echoed throughout the crowded streets of campus. “Unapproachable, yes. Unlikable? I mean, not necessarily? Some guys think that’s hot.”

“So what you’re saying is I’ll be single forever or marry some pushover.”

“Hey, don’t put words into my mouth! Look, if you really want to change how your aura appears to people, you already have! You’re out on a Tuesday night eating rice cakes with the sexiest guy you know. That’s progress in my book, all thanks to me.”

“Somehow you’ve turned my insecurities into praising yourself.” It was impressive, honestly. “You’re something else, Christopher.”

“Thank you!”

“What’s next on our impromptu tour of the town?”

“Ya like vinyl?”

“Huh?”

Chan said nothing else as he cut you off and walked right into the record shop and low and behold, potential buyers were holding skinny cans of flavored seltzer.

“C’mon, princess, there’s not enough seltzer for everyone!” Chan urged.

The vastness and number of collections of the record shop rivaled the local book shop down the street. Although much noisier and haphazard, the concept was still the same and the neon signs and signed posters gave the shop quite the personality. Actually, it was almost as if it was Chan personified. 

In front of you was a basketball-loving ear-pierced punk-ass roommate who wore leather jackets in sub-freezing temperatures and didn’t know how to fold his laundry flipping through the Wu-Tang Clan basket. And there was you, the personified small local bookstore, watching him longingly and wishing you could be like him, who was cool enough to attract other cool people and be someone so approachable and likable. He was the complete opposite of you, and yet somehow you’re both here together, acting like you never had to kick his ass for using your toothbrush four too many times.

How was it possible to think that one day, someone could be in love with a plain and boring bookstore like yourself? Could someone like Chan love someone like you one day?

You hoped so.

Chan wondered where you were and found you looking at him with tired eyes. Of all the things to look at, you somehow could only look at him. With his dimply smile, he said, “Falling in love with me?”

Something made you want to say yes. “Did you find something you like?”

He silently gestured to you to come over with a lazy hand. As expected, he pulled out one of the Wu-Tang Clan records and played it on one of the modern record players that had one set of headphones at the station.

“Here, put these on,” he instructed while putting the over-ear headphones on. A smooth and unique rap style voiced over the equally-smooth instrumentals. It was unlike anything you’ve heard before. Perhaps Chan’s intellectual layers lied within his knowledge in music.

A slight pressure pressed against your right ear. You couldn’t see from your peripherals, but you could smell Chan’s rustic cologne again, and that itself already made you blush deeper shades of red than you could ever imagine. Since there was only one set of headphones, Chan obviously had no other choice but to listen to this track with you like this - invading your space bubble and making you weak in the knees.

“Do you like it?” you could barely hear.

“I do,” you replied. The song wouldn’t be over for another two minutes and Chan refused to move. “Is this what you like?”

“It’s inspirational to me.” The vibrations of his voice almost sent you into shock because wow, was he close to you or what.

He knew you were nervous. He could tell simply by how your shoulders squared the moment his ear pressed on the outside of the headphones. That’s yet another detail he’s come to notice while crashing on your couch and living with you. Whether you were nervous because he was shirtless after coming out of the shower or you were annoyed because he’d eaten all of the ice cream you were saving in the back corner of the freezer, you always straightened your posture upon seeing him because God forgive you ever show any emotion. Why were you like those stuck-up librarians at the hipster bookstores down the street who turned a blind eye to anyone who didn’t look like they read books?

Or maybe, just maybe, you were liking this. You liked being in close proximity to the sexiest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. You liked the almost-but-not-really skinship you almost-but-not-really shared. You were nervous, not annoyed, weren’t you? Or were you annoyed that you’re nervous around your most hated enemy?

Either way, Chan wins, and that’s all that mattered to him.

You spent most of the spontaneous night in the record store listening to soul, trot, pop punk, underground hip-hop, and everything in between. Quite literally in-between, as Chan would not stop pressing his face to yours because he refused to find a second pair of headphones for him to borrow.

“Stop doing that!” you whined for the fifth time.

“I wanna listen, too ~”

“Then go steal another set of headphones!”

“But I like this. It’s way more fun. And your cheeks are so hot that the radiated heat is warming my face up.”

You’re silent at that point forward because your cheeks thought their purpose in life was to burn as hot as the sun and serve as a radiator to intrusive boys who wanted nothing more than to listen to good music with you.

Honestly, what’s there to complain about?

The record store didn’t close until midnight and you practically stayed until then. At that point, Chan with his black hole for a stomach was hungry again and led you to the taco truck he talked about earlier.

“Is it Taco Tuesday still if it’s past midnight?” you wondered.

“It’s still Tuesday until the sun comes up in my books.”

Tacos weren’t exactly an easy-to-eat street food, so you used the tin foiled rolls as hand warmers until you were back in the comfort of your kitchen where you could happily eat greasy tacos with your sworn enemy.

“What do midnight tacos say about me now?” you questioned the food and vibe expert across the table.

“They say you like cliches and you care a little too much about what people think of you.”

“How the hell did you come up with that?”

“Please, Taco Tuesday is so cliche! And you conformed to it because you want to seem more playful and less of a stick-up-your-ass, am I right?”

The pout on your lips was enough of an answer. “Now I feel like a virgin in sheep’s clothing.”

“Hey, we all have to start somewhere.”

“Do you think I’m more likable this way?”

Perhaps Chan was a little harsh with his words the one night you cooked for him. He thought he would be able to know you front and back after nearly a month of living together, but it seemed that he was farther away from that than he thought. After all this time, he thought you didn’t care one bit about how people perceived your feisty self. Maybe instead you cared too much and you had built a wall to prevent others like Chan from knowing.

“You were always likable,” he admitted honestly.

“Please stop lying,” you groaned.

“I mean it! Even when you were yelling at me or trying to kick me off the couch or stealing back the food I was trying to eat, I never hated you. It was so much fun messing with you because you were not afraid to cuss me out.”

“And that makes me likable how?”

Chan shrugged. “I have fun when I’m around you. Do you think I would have kept coming back to crash here if I hated you?”

“Yeah, to torture me.”

“Well, to clear things up, I don’t hate you. And I bet my bottom dollar that you don’t hate me, either.”

“Sike.”

“You’re telling me you still hate me after the fun we had tonight? Or the night you watched me play and cooked for me? Or even the one night after Lucas’s Halloween party when I passed out here even though your heater was broken and you wrapped me up in your fuzzy blanket?”

Another blush spread across your cheeks. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget the first night you showed me any compassion?”

“Fine, you’re right, I don’t hate you… You’re, in fact, quite tolerable.”

Who knew Chan’s eyes could light up so brightly at such a mediocre compliment, if you’d even call it one. “You like me ~”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna fall in love with me ~”

“Chan -”

“I bet you already have ~”

“Ok, I’m going to bed.”

“No, you aren’t!”

You tried to run out of the kitchen and into your room to lock the door, but Chan got to you just as you reached the living room. He entrapped you with his big, strong arms and held you in a suffocating hug, drowning out his giggles with your screaming. Your resistance was strong, but you were smiling brighter than he’d ever seen before. Today was a long day for both of you and the moment Chan rested his chin on your shoulder was when you stopped struggling to break free. His tufts of chestnut hair and slow breathing tickled your cheeks.

“Oi, wake up,” you demanded, hitting his forearms.

That only made him hold you tighter. “No.”

You stopped fighting him and let the poor boy rest on your shoulder. “You don’t think this is weird?”

“No. We’re just two roommates fighting, right?” he teased, shaking you in his arms.

“Yeah, fighting.”

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please.”

His giggle rang in your ear and made goosebumps travel throughout your skin. Then Chan did what spontaneous Chan does and surprised you by kissing your cheek with a loud, moist, audible smooch.

“A-Ah, Chan!!” you gasped.

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

Before you could scold him further, he had already let go and went to his room. How long was he holding you? Because now you’re left stunned in the living room feeling the cold from the draft of your windows. Your cheek felt like it had been branded by his soft rose petal lips. It burned so much that you ended your night lying in bed staring at the ceiling cupping the tainted cheek.

“I hate him,” you mumbled to no one. Your words hold zero weight the moment you screamed into your pillow.

--

The first couple of days after the incident were a little weird, to put it simply. You circled back to your old habits of avoiding him and keeping conversations short and that didn’t slip past Chan for even a couple of hours. At first, he thought he might have ruined whatever weird friendship you had together, but the way you avoided him was not how it used to be.

You were embarrassed - dare he say even shy. Your avoidance held no malice and didn’t feel icy as it did last semester. Rather, you fled because you felt vulnerable. Your words were no longer full of insults, but instead were soft and sprinkled with stutters. It was like a scene from a drama set in high school where the cute shy nerd has a massive crush on the super sexy jock and won’t admit her feelings because she doesn’t think she has a chance. And knowing you, you would never admit to having feelings, so how was Chan supposed to get a confession out of you?

Cornering you was the only option he thought could work, but sadly that didn’t.

“Chan, c’mon, I have to use the bathroom,” you whined on the other side of the door.

He didn’t say a word when the door opened and steam spilled out into the halls. Yet again was he dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a towel around his neck, hair still damp and hanging loosely over his eyes. He took a step forward and you’re given no choice but to back up.

“What are you -”

You cut yourself off when your back hit the wall and Chan had you in the palm of his hands. Proximity was close to nothing as your toes touched and you could smell your body wash from his freshly-washed chest. Seriously, he still used your body wash!?

“C-Can I use the bathroom or what…” you stuttered.

He stared right in your eyes, then admired your cute nose, and finally down to your lips. He was teasing you! Like, actually teasing! He’s making you think that he wanted to kiss you! All of the possibilities of him making a move on you were just as equal as him not going through with it and your mind was racing like crazy and it was really starting to stress you out! Why, why was it stressing you out!?

Then he took a huge step back to let you through.

“All yours,” he whispered.

Well, that sort of worked… You didn’t say a verbal confession, but your face sure showed it. But no, that wasn’t enough. He needed to hear you say it. He had to do more, and he knew exactly what to do to push your limits.

For the whole week, whenever you did something for him whether it was answering a simple question or giving him a plate of whatever you cooked for dinner, Chan would kiss your cheek. That’s right, those soft rose petal lips would every-so slightly graze your cheeks almost everyday and even when you tried to scold him or fight back, you didn’t, as if you were stunned frozen every single time. This of course scared Chan - no emotion meant uncertainty on his end. Well, did you like it, or not!?

At some point, after a whole week of cheek kisses, you kind of… got used to it. Got used to the damn kisses, his flirtatious winks, the invasion of your space bubble, eating all of your food, using all of your bath products, taking unsolicited naps on your bed while you studied, all of it! You’ve gotten used to being around the man that is Bang Chan and you would almost admit that you liked being around him… almost.

And neither of you spoke up about it.

So… what were you two…? That’s right, you’re asking yourself the infamous ‘so what are we’ question - it’s really reached that point. No longer were you enemies or just plain roommates living separate lives, and of course you two weren’t dating, either. So did you consider him a friend? Sure, I mean you wouldn’t cook dinner for just anyone, right? But everything Chan did was not what normal friends do. At least in your experience - who knows if he’s doing this type of stuff to his other ‘friends’, like Miyeon.

Speaking of which, you hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you were almost convinced whatever relationship they had was over when she called off their date that one Tuesday - until Friday night.

The night was still young when you arrived home to your roommate mixing and playing with some beats over those impossibly loud speakers. It’s been a long week dealing with school work on top of figuring out your conflicting feelings of the boy in the next room and a quiet night without any games from Chan would be ideal, but life never worked out for you in that way, did it?

“Welcome home, darling ~!” he greeted playfully over the blasting bass before turning it down. “Cookin’ anything for dinner?”

The tiredness in your sigh didn’t go unnoticed. “Nah, I don’t feel like cooking tonight. I might do delivery if you’re up for that?”

The charming man came out of the room all dressed up like he was planning on going out and not coming back for the night. “That’s ok, I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Miyeon’s taking me out to one of her friend’s birthday bash, or whatever rich girls like to do, before we all go out tonight.”

Miyeon, the gorgeous cheerleader. Somehow, you’ve completely forgotten her existence. Of course they were still talking, idiot! How could you even think that you could compete with someone like her?

“Are you her date?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to know the answer.

“If that’s what she’s callin’ it, I guess so.” Chan adjusted his shirt collar and unbuttoned the top. “Do I look good?”

“Do you not consider her your date?”

“Not really. All I have to do is sit and look pretty.”

“You don’t think she’s asking you because she likes you?”

“Please, she probably only asked me because Mingyu said no.”

“Chan, you don’t know that for sure.”

You began to feel his frustration when he threw his hands in the air in disbelief. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? “Why are you so hung up about this? Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t!” you said a little too defensively. “I just don’t think you’re being fair.”

“How?”

“What if she really likes you? What if she’s asking you out to this thing because she wants you to know that? If she does like you, can you even say that you like her back?”

“Tch, no.”

“Then why even bother going and leading her on!?”

“Who said I’m leading her on? I’m just keeping her company!”

“What, so you’re going to have your arm around her waist, look into each others’ eyes and kiss and it’s going to mean nothing!?” At this point, you were screaming before you knew it. “Because that’s what you two normally do, right? Kiss each other like it means nothing?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means, nothing! I -” Chan sighed heavily. “Ok, it does sound a little ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I promise it doesn’t mean anything! Wait a minute, why am I even explaining myself to you? Are you jealous, or something?”

No, you’re not jealous. You’re angry that Chan was that kind of guy who played with women like they were toys or little pawns on a cheap chess set. You’re angry that you were one of them.

“Have fun tonight,” you said flatly, retrieving to your room.

“_____, wait.” You didn’t wait and instead locked your bedroom door. “Fuck.”

Well, Chan’s End Game plan to get you to confess out of jealousy backfired badly. The party wasn’t even real! Dammit, now where was he supposed to go looking like this!?

A small lightbulb went off in his head. Off to the grocery store!

Maybe going to your room was a terrible idea because now you were left to reflect on how you poorly reacted. You had your strong points about how Chan didn’t know how Miyeon truly felt about him, but the flipside was that she could have felt the same - that she was just using Chan as some accessory and he was totally ok with that. Who were you to judge the weird mutualistic relationship that they had as head cheerleader and captain of the basketball team? The concept seemed corny and straight out of a teen movie, but perhaps those movies weren’t too far off base as you thought.

You’re also left to reflect on what he said before you stormed off into your room - were you jealous? At first, your anger could easily be mistaken for jealousy, but what was the truth? Of course you’re furious that Chan played these stupid fucking games with you! But you’d be less mad if you were the only one he cared to fool around with. 

You finally left the room around an hour after your sulking to bump into Chan’s rock-hard chest.

“Jesus Christ!” you screamed. “Chan, what the hell!” 

“Sorry, I was about to knock!”

“What are you doing right in front of my room, you werido!?”

The cheeky, dimply boy held up a paper bag. “Buzzfeed said people who like desserts are emotionally-driven and a little cold-hearted, but sweet as sugar once they get their fix.”

“Buzzfeed said that or YOU said that?”

“Both.”

You shook your head tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I lied. I don’t have some extravagant party to go to tonight. I haven’t texted Miyeon in weeks.”

“What? Then why did you…?”

“I had this dumb idea that you would confess your undying love for me if I somehow made you jealous. Clearly that didn’t work.”

“You’re right, you’re dumb ideas never work.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that! Fine, let me try Plan B. Let me know it it’s also dumb.”

“Gladly.”

“_____, I like you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Y-You what?”

“I like you. A lot. Since you threw that blanket over me that one night last semester and I knew you didn’t truly hate my guts after all. And then I got to live with you - to witness your multi-faceted personality, to talk with you, and to get you to laugh at my dumb jokes and cheek kisses. Tell me, _____, am I dumb for falling for you like this?”

“Well… I’d say yes, but that would admit I’m stupid, too.”

“Oh?” He smirked playfully, taking a step forward. “And that’s because…?”

You mumbled something incoherent. Then, Chan dropped the bag of desserts and scooped you in his arms again, nuzzling his nose in all the ticklish places on your neck.

“Chan, stop!” you giggled.

“Hm? What was that?” he asked. “I can’t hear you ~”

“I like you!”

Finally, he stopped, lifting his head to look at you but keeping you safe in his arms. “Do you? I mean, really, do you?”

“I like you. Surprisingly a lot. And I hate it.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” he grinned. He buried his face once more to flower you with cheek kisses. “Say it again.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Please ~” his kisses trickled down to your neck.

“It tickles!” you giggled some more. “If I say it, you gotta stop.”

“As much as that burdens me, fine.”

“I like you, Bang Chan.”

“See? Doesn’t that confession feel great? Like a huge weight lifted off your chest?” He pulled you in closer, to which you oblige and it only made his ego bigger and his heart beat faster. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” you sighed dreamily.

“Would you like dessert to commemorate this beautiful union, my love?”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Will you kiss me first?”

You pulled on his shirt collar to bring him down for a long, deep kiss that Chan thought he could only ever dream about. It left him dizzy and a little light headed and the way you break the kiss to let your sweet lips linger so closely was torturous and almost had him begging for more. Almost. Bang Chan did not beg.

“Whoa,” he sighed breathily.

“That’s what you get for the past couple of weeks.”

“Ah yeah, I suppose I deserve that…”

You left the stunned Chan to go ahead into the kitchen. “Let’s go, lover boy. I want some ice cream, please.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

--

EPILOGUE

“You two are what!?”

You and Chan looked at each other with fear written on both of your faces. Yeri was on the other end on speakerphone screaming curse words and ‘are you kidding me’s and ‘I fucking knew this would happen’s.

“Yeah, we’re uh, kind of dating now,” Chan repeated bravly.

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing! This is disgusting!! _____, what do you have to say for yourself, you hypocritical piece of poo!”

“I have nothing to say, I am just as ashamed as you are.”

Chan nudged you playfully. “Hey, we’re in this together, you know!”

“Ugh, I hate how I have to support this!” Yeri whined and cried and sobbed. “Just… Just don’t do it on my bed!”

“Don’t worry, apparently to Chan I’m a huge virgin because I know how to cook.”

“I was kidding!! And that’s gonna change now that I’m here -”

“Oh, gross! Stop! Please stop!” Yeri groaned. “I hate you both, I’m gonna kick your asses when I come back!”

“Love you too, Yer-bear,” you and Chan said in unison.

[missfangirll]

Congrats on the followers!!! If I may ask, Jealousy, fluff, for Weilan? (if you're inspired of course!!!!)

Thank you for your ask 🥰

You didn’t specify who exactly is the jealous one, so I decided Shen Wei has to suffer 😈

But I tried to make it as fluffy as possible 😊🥰

Title is taken from the song "Honey, I'm good" by Andy Grammer.

  

I will stay true

It had all started with a hand.

With Zhao Yunlan’s hand, to be exact.

To be even more exact, with Zhao Yunlan’s hand on the back of a witness.

The hand in question had lingered there for exactly seventeen seconds – not that Shen Wei counted – and had proved to be a source of rising blood pressure for Shen Wei.

Why, or rather why now, he couldn’t tell. Zhao Yunlan had a habit of touching people, especially ones he was close to, which included an uncomfortably large number in Shen Wei’s opinion.

Not that he had an opinion about Zhao Yunlan touching people. Not at all.

So, the hand on the witness’ back, clearly meant to calm the person, had the exact opposite effect on Shen Wei, but before he could analyze his feelings further, Hei Pao Shi had to portal the suspect away, the incident leaving him with a slightly uneasy feeling for the rest of the day.

It had started with a hand and only worsened from there.

He had never before noticed just how comfortable Zhao Yunlan was with physical contact that wasn’t directed at Shen Wei himself. He half lay on Da Qing to look at a file, threw an arm around Lao Chu’s shoulder, put Xiao Guo in a headlock and ruffled Lin Jing’s hair. (He even made an attempt to pinch Zhu Hong’s cheek but aborted that mission as soon as he saw her face.)

It is his team, Shen Wei told himself, of course he would be comfortable with them. But Zhao Yunlan didn’t shy away from invading anyone’s personal space. Eventually, when he was flirting with a female police officer at a crime scene, Shen Wei had to violently stomp down the urge to walk over and kiss him senseless, just to make a point. Instead, he hid further in his hood and closed his eyes, willing his heart to resume beating.

Shen Wei very deliberately made a point to not examine the reason for his feelings, well aware that the answer to that lay in a lollipop and a promise made a lifetime ago. So he swallowed the bile in his throat and smiled, just like Kunlun had asked him to. Every time Zhao Yunlan smiled at a waiter, flirted with a secretary or gave a friend’s shoulder a jovial pat, he felt his stomach knot painfully and had to lower his gaze as not to let his pain show on his face.

Zhao Yunlan didn’t stop touching him, on the contrary, but Shen Wei found it increasingly strenuous to keep his body from responding too obviously. He wanted Zhao Yunlan to touch him, wanted to be the only one to have that privilege, and the resolve it took not to act on that desire left him feeling exhausted.

Kunlun had promised him a future, but he couldn’t be sure if this was it, if, this time, he was supposed to be the one asking for a smile, or if doing so would ruin everything. So he waited, and loved Zhao Yunlan in darkness and silence.

*

He reached his breaking point on a Tuesday.

On Friday evening, at the time Zhao Yunlan would normally return home, Shen Wei heard two voices in the corridor, one definitely Zhao Yunlan’s, the other he didn’t recognize. Intent not to eavesdrop, he retreated to his bedroom, which was farthest away from the door. He tried to occupy his mind by reading in a scientific journal, but gave up after he had read the same line a third time and still didn't know what the text was about.

A day later he was on his way to Zhao Yunlan’s apartment and had just opened the door, when he stopped abruptly. Across the hall stood a woman in her early twenties, long black hair and a very short dress, about to ring the doorbell. When Zhao Yunlan’s door opened, Shen Wei made a hasty retreat and silently closed his.

On Sunday, he didn’t even bother to go over, having seen the second pair of shoes on the doormat.

Thus, when Da Qing called him on Monday morning to tell him he was needed for a case, he felt like he hadn’t slept the whole weekend and was in an appropriately bad mood. After he had portaled in, he stubbornly focused on the crime scene photos, dodging Zhao Yunlan’s attempts to throw an arm around his shoulder or pat his knee, much to the other’s astonishment. He excused himself with urgent university matters only minutes later, leaving a confused Zhao Yunlan behind when he hastily portaled out. The rest of the day he hid in his office, ignoring his churning stomach and his phone, which had started to buzz in his desk drawer shortly after he had tossed it there.

He couldn’t face Zhao Yunlan, not even in a text message. He was behaving irrationally, he knew that, but seeing Zhao Yunlan – his Yunlan, his Kunlun – with other people made his insides freeze and his heart ache. No matter how much he reminded himself of the fact that Zhao Yunlan wasn’t his, he couldn’t ignore the pain that seared through him since he had seen… Well, he hadn’t seen anything, but his imagination insisted on presenting him a whole lot of possibilities he would have preferred not to consider.

He wanted Zhao Yunlan to be happy, he really did, but his soul screamed in agony when he realized that happiness might not include him.

When he finally left his office, he didn’t bother to take the phone. He didn’t know what to answer anyway. Later at home, after having stared at his dinner for an hour, he went to bed, tossing and turning restlessly.

He startled out of bed when he heard a rather insistent knock on his door. His alarm clock showed almost six in the morning, which meant he had slept for two hours. Drowsy and bleary-eyed he made his way to the entrance, hoping it wouldn’t be an emergency at the SID.

Outside the door, in shorts, a ratty t-shirt and without shoes, stood Yunlan, a sheepish smile on his face.

Shen Wei was suddenly wide awake. “Have you locked yourself outside? I can open your door if you –”

He was interrupted when Zhao Yunlan made a step into his apartment, suddenly standing very close to Shen Wei, giving him a considering look.

“I wanted to see you”, he said slowly, not breaking eye contact. Shen Wei closed his mouth and stepped back, motioning him in. When Zhao Yunlan sat down in the center of the living room couch, Shen Wei encountered another dilemma: sitting on the sofa would bring him very close to Yunlan, while choosing the armchair next to it would seem strange, given their past closeness. He swallowed and sat down on the armchair.

Zhao Yunlan had watched his movements and now fixed him with a gaze that Shen Wei couldn’t interpret. He shivered unconsciously and the other’s eyebrow shot up.

“Are you alright, Hei Lao Ge?”

Shen Wei winced at the title and stared at his lap. “Why wouldn’t I be? I am perfectly fine, thank you, Zhao Yunlan.”

When he felt a hand on his knee, he looked up, and the look in the other’s eyes made his breath catch. They were burning hot with emotion, dark and intense. Shen Wei began to understand how mice must feel when a snake stared down at them. He swallowed again and tried a reassuring smile, which apparently had the opposite effect, because the grip on his knee tightened.

“Shen Wei.” Zhao Yunlan tried again. “Talk to me. Are you mad at me? Have I said something stupid again? I swear, when I said you ate all –“

“I am not mad.”

Zhao Yunlan blinked at the sudden outburst and raised his eyebrow again. “Well, maybe you’re not mad at me, but clearly something is wrong.” He fixed Shen Wei. “Talk to me.”

Shen Wei closed his eyes and stayed silent. He didn’t trust his face at the moment, much less his voice.

“Xiao Wei.” A hand on his cheek, in addition to that name, made him shrink back. His resolution was crumbling and the last thing he needed now was Yunlan touching him.

Touching him like he had… Like he did with… His stomach turned again at the thought and he opened his eyes, sitting up straighter.

“Nothing is wrong, Zhao Yunlan, I assure you. You can go back to your apartment now. It is quite early.” He inhaled shakily. “I assume you are missed there.” Before he could stop himself, the sentence had made its way out, and Zhao Yunlan’s other eyebrow joined the first. He didn’t answer, just gave him such a scrutinizing look that Shen Wei had to force himself not to recede further into the chair.

After what felt like another ten thousand years, Zhao Yunlan moved. First, Shen Wei thought he really would leave, but then he took a step closer and in a fluent motion, knelt in front of Shen Wei’s armchair between his legs. Shen Wei swallowed hard.

Zhao Yunlan placed one hand on his thigh, the other reached up to cup his cheek.

“Xiao Wei”, he said again, with a warmth and tenderness Shen Wei only hazily remembered from a different life. “Xiao Wei, what do you think I did last weekend?”

Shen Wei refused to answer and only shook his head miserably.

Zhao Yunlan sighed fondly and caressed his cheek, smiling at him. “I am guessing you saw Wen Yao and Bai Yukun last weekend?” It wasn’t a question and Shen Wei didn’t answer. “Well, I didn’t sleep with either of them, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” He shrugged, and Shen Wei found himself coughing violently, staring wide-eyed at the other man. “I didn’t… I don’t…”, he wheezed.

Zhao Yunlan chuckled softly, stroking a thumb over Shen Wei’s cheekbone, and it took all of his crumbling self-control not to lean into the touch. The other man continued, sounding slightly amused. “They are Dixingren, Shen Wei. Friends of Zhu Hong.” He gave Shen Wei a meaningful look. “I asked them to tell me more about Dixing. Its history and traditions and stuff. Lao Wen is a historian, I believe you met him at the conference last month. Amazing you didn’t recognize him.” Shen Wei shrank into his chair. “Oh”, he managed.

“Yeah, and A-Kun is a wedding planner.”

Shen Wei suddenly had the very peculiar feeling of all oxygen leaving the room.

“A... wedding… planner…”, he squeezed out, “Why would….” He couldn’t finish that question, he really didn’t want to know.

Zhao Yunlan grinned at him, seemingly unfazed by his predicament. “I asked her about Dixing traditions because I wanted to ask you out, stupid.”

Oh.

Oh.

Shen Wei’s brain was still busy processing that information, when Zhao Yunlan leaned in and kissed him. He tasted of toothpaste and home, and Shen Wei couldn’t suppress a sigh. He leaned into the kiss, trailing the tip of his tongue over Yunlan’s lips and shivered with anticipation when they opened for him. When their tongues met, he closed his eyes and let himself be drawn into the other’s heat.

When they parted, Zhao Yunlan leaned his forehead against Shen Wei’s, breathing heavily, his whole face split into a wide grin. “Xiao Wei”, he said, and caressed the other’s bottom lip with his thumb, “would you go on a date with me?”

[babbushka]

Good morning! May I please request Play wrestling, play biting, and giggly cuddles for Flip, please?

Anonymous said: ‘Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’ & ‘you’re so sexy when you’re all hot and bothered’ for Flip please. Thank you!

(1k ; fluff!)

You’re dusting to the tune of the soft radio when he comes home. Sundays are a lazy day usually, a day to simply lie about with the family in the sunshine, but with autumn in full swing up in your Colorado mountains, the weather had taken a turn for the chilly. Flip had gone out undercover for the morning, and you decided to take the opportunity to tidy up the house a little.

There had been no way of really knowing what time your honey was going to come home, so you planned on later rather than sooner – which brought you a big surprise, hearing the lock on the front door unlatch. You grin, dropping the duster at once and pulling the apron over your shoulder to go greet your husband when he calls out with a happy,

“Ketsl?”

You jump into his arms and he catches you with a deep chuckle, peppering your face with kisses that make you beam. Flip tickles your cheek, your forehead, your temple, the side of your nose with his goatee as he gives you chaste smooches all over. You lace your fingers together behind his back and rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him with adoration as leaves fall gently outside your window. He’s cold, his sherpa jacket clinging on to the chill from outside.

What a better way to greet him, than to welcome him home with a nice warm embrace?

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” You grin, puckering your lips for a proper kiss.

He gives it to you, your noses bumping together sweetly.

“It’s a gun.” He says with mock seriousness, and you laugh, happy that he’s home.

Flip closes the door behind him and without taking a hand off you, walks further into the warmth of the house. You’ve got some pies in the oven, the scent of apples and cinnamon, pumpkin and brown sugar filling the air.  

“Show me.” You say playfully, breathlessly, “Let me see your big gun.”

He sneaks a peek in the oven, and you fill with pride when he looks over his shoulder and gives you a very approving nod and a thumbs up. Your man will eat just about anything, but nothing is more of his favorite than what you make for him. He doesn’t need to know that these particular pies are for the autumn bake-sale charity fundraiser your synagogue hosts every year around this time.

“You want to see it?” Flip asks, pulling you out of your musings, and your heart skips a beat.

It can’t be later than noon, but you would be lying if you were to say you hadn’t been dreaming about being taken into your husband’s strong arms.

“Please.” You hop up onto the kitchen counter and pose yourself real nice and pretty, sultry for him.

You’ve got on one of your day dresses…and nothing else. Why should you need to have on underwear? You didn’t plan on going anywhere today. And if that happened to mean easy access for your favorite man, well, that was only a perk in your mind.

“You’re so sexy when you’re all hot and bothered.” Flip comes over to you and cages you in against the counter, kissing at your neck.

“You gonna fuck me about it?” You hum back, puffing your chest out so that his hands would automatically move to grope at your breasts.

They do, and you grin, you know him so well, your Flip.

You also know when he’s in a more playful mood than usual, and today seems to be one of those times. The undercover work must have gone over well today, and you’re looking forward to hearing all about it. For now though, he’s got a twinkle in his eye, and you know just what that means.

“Maybe.” He pretends to think it over, even though you know he’s going to say it before he does, “Or maybe I’ll make you work for it.”

“You remember what happened last time.” You remind him with a raised brow, thinking about the stitches he needed from busting his chin on the edge of the coffee table.

“Sure I do.” Flip rolls his eyes, remembering the more important part, “But I also won last time.”

“Bring it on detective.” You tsk against the roof of your mouth, before sliding onto the floor and dashing into the living room.

You wrestle like this, sometimes.

Not anything too serious, nothing dangerous, but certainly with a playful passion that gets you both in the mood like nothing else. He’s tackling you to the floor before you can even turn around, and you go down onto the big soft rug with a yelping laugh.

“Oh no you don’t!” He warns as your hands find one another, fingers laced through his as you both struggle to pin the other down.

Rolling around and around on the rug, he swoops down to bite and nip at your neck, your cheeks. You kick your legs and use your body weight to get him onto his back, only for him to push you backwards and straddle your waist.

“You’re such a fucking cheater!” You laugh so hard that your cheeks hurt.

He’s unfair, he plays dirty, your husband. He knows where you’re the most ticklish and he goes after those spots, waiting for you to call out uncle! and admit defeat. Not this time, you think, triumphantly ducking out from under his attempted headlock to pounce on his back.

“Me?” He mocks confusion, “I’ve never cheated at anything in my whole – hey get the hell back here!”

You’re a wiggle worm and you slip out of his grasp, and you’re about to get up and run into the other room for a chance to breathe after the onslaught of tickling, but he shoots up and grabs you around your calves, pulling you back down into his arms.

He catches you handsomely and doesn’t let you fall hard or anything, but in the process he manages to somehow bang his shin on the leg of his armchair, letting out a loud, fuck!

“Phil!” You gasp, crawling over to him and fretting, “Shit honey, you okay?”

“No, fuck I think I – got you!” He catches you by surprise and tackles you back down, pinning one, two, three, until you give up with a laugh and shake your head.

“I hate you!” You gasp happily against his lips as he kisses your neck and chest and cheeks and nose and finally finally lips again.

He holds you there, pinned under you, tongue hot and warm against yours as he licks into your mouth, sucks and worries at your bottom lip. You can’t even be mad at him, not when he’s so handsome, when he’s so strong and warm and all yours.  

“I did really hit my knee, honest.” He whispers against your lips, pulling away slightly to breathe.

“Does it hurt?” You pout, reaching down to rub at his jeans, soothing him.

“Yeah.” He sighs, as your hand moves up up up his thigh, palm pressing into his crotch where he’s, surprise surprise, hard as a rock.

“Good, cheater.” You nip at his lip and give his cock a squeeze through his jeans. He groans though, and you worry about his knee, worry that maybe he hit it hard enough to sprain, so you frown and kiss him, “We don’t have to have se—”

“Yes, we do.” Flip cuts you off, making you laugh in fond exasperation, “Yeah we do.”

“You’re too much.” You hum, eyes soft and so in love.

“Race you upstairs and you can tell me all about it?” Flip whispers back, and oh, you can’t help but think, it’s on.

It’s on.

[dismuch47]

STARTING POINT

Length: Longer than a drabble, but a one shot with no intention of continuing.

Marvel AU in which Vision (I’m calling him Paul) is the illegitimate child of Howard Stark. There are tensions between half-brothers, and this is the first time that they actually talk about something other than the strange family situation. And it happens to be about... a girl. I hope you enjoy.

This has been moved over from my deactivated blog, so no, this is not stolen if you recognize it.

“’Sup, nerd?” Tony let the door slam itself shut after flinging it open in a grand flourish. He flung his bag of dirty laundry on the mahogany dining table, let his leather jacket fall to the immaculately clean floor in a heap, and then trotted over to the kitchen fridge to excavate.

Paul shifted out of his cross-legged, curved shoulder posture (his studying posture) and sat up in a rigid manner. He placed his book on the cushion beside him, his lips in a thin line.

“Hilarious...considering your field of study in Quantum Mechanics and Theory, Anthony.” Paul called out for the other youth to hear. It wasn’t in his nature to give jabs to other people... but ever since Mr. Stark... or rather Paul’s biological father... had acknowledged the existence of a bastard son in England and the illegitimate child had been included into the multi-billionaire’s home at Mrs. Stark’s request... Paul had tried to rise to the challenge in order to “bond” with the golden son, Tony Stark. Apparently he only responded to sarcasm, rather than sincere attempts of friendship that Paul preferred.

Tony peeked his face from around the kitchen door, tilting the aviator sunglasses down from his face. “I study it, I don’t wear it. What is that, an argyle sweater vest?” His face disappeared once more as he grabbed one of his father’s choice beers from the fridge, closing the door shut with his hip.

“Mrs. Stark likes it...” Paul looked down placing a hand on the sweater vest. He didn’t dislike it... but he didn’t care for it. But anything was better then the second-hand clothing that was always too small for him back at the London shelter. And if it helped the mistress of this home approve of a bastard child more...

“Your mother will disapprove if she sees that rubbish on the dining table.” Paul warned his older half brother. He picked up his thick book and began reading again. “Why you insist on bringing that home when you can just-”

“Carmen. CARMEN will ‘disapprove’. I don’t think mother has done laundry or set a dinning table since her college days...” He slumped down in a white wing-backed chair across from the couch, separated by a glass coffee table. “Besides it’s all apart of the collegiate experience: announcing my arrival home with proof of my hard work and stank of my sheer brilliance.”

“Anthony, your father-”

“For the last time, it’s TONY.” He took off his sunglasses, his dark eyes like daggers at this blonde intruder of his home. He didn’t dislike Paul... he disliked how different Paul looked, sounded, and talked... forever reminding everyone in the household of his father’s infidelity. Of his mother’s pain... and tragic kindness for wanting this person to be part of the Stark family. The dark moment passed and Tony tossed his glasses carelessly to the glass table.

“...And dad can just deal with the mess.”

Paul’s blue eyes were cast downward, trying to resume his reading... recognizing the subtext of that wording, but Tony turned on the television to an outrageous volume, swallowed and sighed loudly over his beer.

“Tony-”

“Little brother, PLEASE.” Tony cut in. “Your bro is nursing a hangover at the moment.” He took another swig of beer. “Do you mind?”

There was no warmth in the word ‘brother’; it seemed more like a reminder that Paul was an outsider that Tony had to put up with. The lanky teenager began to slowly pack up his schoolwork, not feeling particularly welcome in the space...

Tony blinked darkly at the screen; images and colors barely managing to distract him from his mood... and guilt. He was mad at his father... not the accidental child resulting from unprotected sex. His brown eyes darted over to Paul, who was quietly collecting his things to leave.

“What are you reading?” Tony asked, monotone.

Paul blinked in surprise, then looked down at the book in his hand. “A Tale of Two Cities.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “This is why you are a nerd...”

“It is a school requirement.”

“Is it your first time reading it?” Tony raised a dark brow. “Or is it your 3rd or 4th time?”

Paul shut his mouth. It was his 5th. He couldn’t explain how it was that he was able to read so fast, or find a book so compelling upon a 5th or 6th reading. He traced his long fingers across the dog-eared pages.

“At the shelter, all I had was books. I...I like to revisit them...” He couldn’t meet the Stark’s brown eyes. “Like how Mrs. Stark likes to watch old movies over and over...she says they are ‘old friends’ that never change, but grow more enriching with each viewing.”

Tony looked down at the beer in his hand. That did sound like something his mother would say. He recalled her telling that to him. He also felt super awesome for reminding Paul about his life of poverty... which was still fresh. Tony turned off the tv.

“Fine. Books are the exception.” He finally looked over at Paul. “But you have GOT to get out of that gaming stuff if you ever want to get laid, Goggles.”

“Vision.”Paul corrected, a little too hastily. His hands held on to the book a little tighter. “It is live action role-play-”

“Oh my god, I can’t tell you how much I don’t care-”

“-And it is very therapeutic. It helps me get out the frustrations of being in a new home environment, learning American customs... feeling so different. According to Dr. Cho.” Paul defended, blossoming as he talked about this passion of his. “Vision is not just a character... he is an extension of my subconscious; trying to sort out and deal with my very average conflicts.”

“Yeah, that’s the ah...mutant...god... robot thing?” Tony asked, with a belch. Pretending to care was starting to give him a headache.

“Synthezoid.” Paul added.

“Right... with the magical jewel stone for... ultimate power?” Tony yawned

“Mind Stone.” Paul began realizing how stupid this all sounded. Tony had been present at the therapy session when Dr. Cho had explained how this experimental role play with peers might be good for Paul.

“Fascinating. I think I need to go whiz now.” Tony got up from his chair, setting the empty beer bottle, with out a coaster, on the glass table. “Well have fun with that sausage fest.”

“There are girls.” Paul blurted. “...A girl... there is one girl who does it too.”

Tony backed up, a bemused expression at Paul’s outburst. “I’m sure she’s a looker... geeking it up with the oily skinned, pimple-marked-”

“She is beautiful.” Paul’s tone took Tony aback; it sounded stoney firm and  indisputable. And Tony couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit emasculated with his younger half brother now towering above him.

“Prove it.” Tony beckoned.

Paul narrowed his eyes down Tony Stark, feeling it trivial to prove his truth... as if his best friend was some prized stock animal to be appraised. Tony didn’t deserve to gaze upon real beauty... but Paul was a teenage boy. And he wanted to make this college tech jock drool.

He sat down, pulling out his phone and searching for a picture of her. Tony plopped down beside him and yanked the phone out of his younger half-brother’s hands. Paul protested, reaching with his long arms, but Tony was athletic and broad. He put Paul in a headlock after a brief struggle, and scrolled through the pictures on the flip phone.

Tony gave a sigh at all the larp pictures... they were in COSTUMES. “Is that face paint? Really, Vision??? Oh my god, you are going to die a virgin...” Then he came across a larper who was entirely too hot to be hanging out with such nerds. “Whoa... whoooaaaa. Is that her?” Tony showed the screen to Paul, who was still gasping for air before pulling out of Tony’s lessening grasp.

“...Yes...” Paul tried to push his hair back into place.

“Name?”

“Scarlet Witch-”

“Her real name, idiot.”

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.”

“Russian? Like Natasha... oh what’s her name. You know, she’s a senior this year...”

“Wanda is from Sokovia.”

“Same difference.” Tony shrugged.

“Actually-”

“Which means she probably has one of those dusky european accents.” Tony stood up, looking at more pictures. “Please tell me she has a dusky accent.”

“...Yes.”

“Oh god.” Tony looked at the screen for a beat. “You’re sure she’s only in high school?”

Paul firmly took his phone back.

“Fine... too young for me. And way out of your league.”

Paul looked down at the screen. He knew that was true, but it didn’t hurt less to hear someone say it. “She is just a friend. My only friend.” He held on to the phone for a beat, then closed it. He returned it to his pocket and picked up his book that he had discarded on the table. His shoulders sagged, and the words on the page were blurring together. Completely unreadable.

Tony damned himself when he saw the effect that his teasing had on Paul. The oh so sensitive, yet robotic Paul. “Okay. I’m taking this away.” He took the book out of his half-brother’s hands and sat on the glass table, directly across from the tall teen. “You’re tall, you have a pensively sweet British accent, and some girls like the peach-fuzz stubble look. You just need to stop slouching, and you’d be any girl’s dream boat.”

Paul looked up. “You have said that I’m oafish, awkward, and that my dialect is ‘annoying as hell’.”

“I lied. It’s hard to compete with. I cut you down to make myself feel bigger. Thank you Dr. Cho.” That didn’t seem to make Paul feel better; he seemed to slump even more in his seat, eyes downcast at the floor. “What... what is this? I basically called you pretty and you're being a pooper. What’s  the problem?”

The blonde teen took a deep breath. “Steve Rogers.”

Tony blinked. “The star quarterback? The ruggedly handsome boy next door, class president, and so patriotic that he’s Captain America at all the Sunday Picnics? Sky-blue eyed, chiseled Adonis-bodied Steve Rogers? That Steve Rogers??”

Paul clenched his jaw and looked up at Tony.

“Oh man... good luck with that.” The Stark son gave Paul a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Paul leaned back into the sofa, feeling defeated. He looked up at the ornate crown molding on the ceiling. “She does not talk about him all the time... but she stares at him constantly. She wants to take our roleplaying sessions out by the football field just so he can see her in her costume. She has even invited him to one... and he came. She only stayed by my side because she was too nervous to be alone with him. He smiles at her and I just... I...”

“Wait... so they haven’t hooked up?”

“...I do not believe so.”

“Has he told her he even likes her?”

“Yes... well... he told the group that he likes us and what we do. He’s actually really nice and great in battle, which is an absolute annoyance...”

Tony rolled his eyes. “And have you told her? How you feel about her?”

Paul looked down at Tony. He opened his mouth but closed it. He looked away, trying to find anything else to focus on, but Tony drumming his fingers against the glass table drew his attention.

“If I told her how I felt... and she did not feel the same...”

“Well Vision,” Tony said standing up with a stretch. “Don’t you at least agree it’s a good starting point?” He made his way to the kitchen to throw away his empty bottle.

Paul sat, thinking about all the scenarios in which he could get rejected by Miss Maximoff. But there was one hopeful scenario in which she, in her usual tender way, is caught off-guard. Her eyes would warm and a broad smile would light him on fire inside...as it always did.

“Perhaps.”