#this is so nicely shot except for the strobe lighting

[maximura]

[thearmyprof]

Hubba Bubba

Rating: E

Pairing: Yoongi/Reader

Word count: 6,450

Genre: Fluff, Non-idol!AU, One-Shot

Warnings: No major warnings, language, soft smut, see full tags below for more details

Summary: Your coworkers insist on meeting at Club Hubba Bubba for a social outing. The night starts out miserable with clique-ish colleagues and a outing that is very not your scene. However, everything takes a turn when you run into a stranger named Yoongi, who proceeds to sweep you off your feet.

TLDR; very soft one-shot with some steaminess.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45192469

This work is also part of the Sound of Music bingo on tumblr for the squares: Butter & Min Yoongi

Tags: Light Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Sexual Content, soft smut, Bullying, Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, mentions of panic attack, a lot of laughter, Giggling, soft, so soft

As you stand in the brisk night air of February, you think about all your life choices that led up to this moment. You watch as one of your coworkers giggles cutely behind her hand and then immediately shifts your eyes away when she side-eyes you. They are all laughing at you, at your expense, you realize. Maybe it hadn’t been a silly mistake after all. Maybe this had been intentional.

You look down at your jeans, torn generously at the knees, your black combat boots, and your iconic Nirvana tee underneath an oversize purple plaid button up, hanging loosely, unbuttoned, off your shoulders. You knew there had been a fuck up somewhere when you approached your group of coworkers at the club line and they were all in neon colored spandex. Their hair was poofy and frizzed out. You had even double-checked the group chat: “meet at Club Hubba Bubba at 8! 90s fashion night, don’t come without a costume!” Judging from the entire line of people waiting to enter the club, everyone had gotten the “1980s”—not 1990s���memo, except you. 

Now that you’ve worked out that it wasn’t a mistake, you realize they must have a separate group chat even—without you—where a clarification of the decade took place. It’s too late to bail though, as the doorman looks you up and down.

“It’s a 30 dollar cover,” is all he says, his lips making a thin, displeased line across his face.

Your colleagues busily all push forward to pay with their phones, as you get yours out of your purse. You briefly think that 30 dollars feels like a steep price to pay for this utter humiliation, but running away now might be even more humiliating. 

The inside of the club is dark, save for the strobing lights on the dance floor. Your group makes their way to a u-shaped table along one side of the room. You drag your feet following them so that you can be on the edge of the u, for a quicker escape if need be. However, your colleagues seem to be aware of your game, calling you out immediately and shoving you in between several of them.

They order a round of drinks and sit back to chat about work. You half listen, half zone out. You imagine what you could be doing right now—including, but not limited to, taking a bubble bath with that pretty bath bomb you bought on impulse last week, listening to music from literally any other decade than the 80s, and certainly not thinking about work outside of working hours.

“Oh, but did you hear that Bradley had a meeting with HR last week?” one of your colleagues says. You squint at her pretty face, trying desperately to remember her name. 

If you’re honest, you don’t really make an effort with your coworkers socially-speaking. They are loud, clique-ish, and bubbly. You are none of those things. You prefer reading or a nice long walk along the river. At the beginning, you chalked the vague bullying as a kind of hazing ritual for being the new person. But, nine months at this position and nothing much has changed. You have been type-cast as the weird loner and now that’s who you are.

Still, company-encouraged social outings seem to be extremely important for some reason. The first time you tried to bow out, you had a manager having a “talk” with you the next day about not being a team player. So, here you sit, squashed between two loud, twittering social butterflies, pretending to nurse a shot of some kind of clear alcohol.

“Bradley is not gonna be around long, just watch,” another person adds to the conversation. You rack your brain for a “Bradley” and get nothing.

“Well, good riddance, he’s gross,” someone else chimes in.

A chorus of giggles erupts with someone shouting, “You can’t just say that.”

You have no idea what’s going on. You feel yourself sink lower on the cushion of the bench. Would they notice if you just kept sliding right down under the table?

You watch the dancers out on the dance floor. There’s a group of men dancing like it’s their livelihood. You feel kind of mesmerized with their fluid rolls and sharp hip thrusts. The bass booms, vibrating the floor underneath you, adding to the otherworldly feel of the moment. As you watch, you feel your cheeks heat and the close press of the women on either side of you suddenly feels that much more claustrophobic. 

“Aw, look at our Miss Wrong Decade, see something you like?” shouts one of your coworkers. The giggles and shrieks erupt all around you.

You stare at the table and will yourself to just vanish into thin air. Suddenly everyone is moving.

“Come on, you should dance with them!” the person next to you is shrieking at you and yanking you by the arm.

“Bet the hot guys would give her a pity dance!” someone else yells.

You feel yourself slide along the bench and are pulled up by your arm. Most of the group has already left for the dance floor and your feet feel like they’ve been made of lead.

“I- I’m not interested in dancing,” you stutter out.

Despite your protests, they pull you into the throng of dancers. Soon, there are bodies all around you, bumping and rubbing up against you in ways that make your blush more furious. It’s very public and you can hear the teasing giggles of your coworkers echoing in your head. You hate this.

You wiggle and slide through the crowd, pulling yourself free from your colleague’s arm and step backwards toward the table again. You keep your eyes down on the floor, avoiding the scathing looks of your coworkers.

You hear their faint protests and mocking your being a wall-flower. Your back bumps into something hard, which you assume is the table. So, you step to your right until you can feel the bench of the “u” behind you and you sit down.

You watch the feet of your coworkers walk away back to the dance floor as you sit frozen in your panic.

“Are you okay?” you hear a deep voice, right in your ear. You jump and whirl around to find the source.

You recognize two things at once. One, the man, with his dark, cat-like stare and dark hair pulled into a half bun on the top of his head, in front of you is the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. Two, you’ve sat down at the wrong booth.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was sitting,” you say. You push yourself up to a standing position immediately, bowing your head in apology.

You startle when you feel a warm hand wrap around your shoulder pulling you up from your bow. The man has stood up and is looking at you with the utmost concern etched into his features.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and say again, “I’m really sorry for intruding.”

“I don’t mind,” he says with a soft smile. “You didn’t want to dance?”

You swallow again, calculating whether this means he is asking you to dance—is he flirting with you—no, wait you sat at his table, not the other way around, or is he just a concerned citizen? You realize you’re just staring at him. You jump a little as you say, “Ah, it’s a lot of people.”

He nods at this, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Would you like to sit? I could get you another drink?”

“Oh,” you say. “I, uh, am just drinking club soda tonight, actually.”

He nods again and looks at you like this is a perfectly normal drink to have in a club. He waves his hands back to the booth, guiding you to sit, which you do in a sort of daze. Then he powers off towards the bar, presumably to grab the drinks.

“Who are you?” a tall man with black hair running to his shoulders asks, stepping up to the table. You realize he’s one of the dancers you were ogling earlier. Now would be a great time for someone to pull the fire alarm.

“I, uh,” you glance around for some kind of excuse or explanation. “I think I’m at the wrong table.”

You get up quickly and look around, pretending to look for your table while wildly debating how to escape this whole damn night.

“Hoba, she’s my guest,” says the man coming back with your drinks.

“Oh, your guest,” the new man, ‘Hoba,’ says with a raised eyebrow. He turns back to you and says, “I’m Hoseok. Nice to meet you.”

He looks at you expectantly, while your eyes flit between him and the other man. You take a deep breath and say, “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“You want to come dance, Y/N?” Hoseok asks with a dazzling smile.

“I’m, uh, I’m okay. Thank you,” you say. The first man hands you your club soda, which you gratefully take just to have something to do with your hands.

“Alright, well, have fun, kids,” Hoseok says with a cheeky click of his tongue and another sensational smile.

You watch as the first man slides into the booth and looks up at you with hesitance. He says, “I’m Yoongi, by the way. Sorry I didn’t get to introduce myself sooner.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say as you slide down next to him in the booth.

You quickly find your anxiety and fears about awkward flirting or stilted conversation are all unfounded. He nurses his whiskey and you your club soda and you talk about a range of subjects from latest reads to work to the quirks of life in the city. You are fascinated by his job as a music producer and are pretty sure you could listen to him speak on the subject for hours. Occasionally, your conversation lapses as you both listen to whatever song is on and just enjoy each other’s presence.

You find out that it’s actually Hoseok’s birthday, which is why Yoongi is at the club at all. He is there with his group of friends, humoring the birthday boy with his wish to have everyone together for the evening. It seems allowing Yoongi to “guard the table” was the compromise to ensure everyone had a good time.

Yoongi even laughs while showing you the e-book he has loaded up on his phone. It’s apparently what he was doing before you had crashed into his booth and upending his plans for the night.

“Y/N!” you hear screeches of your name, with raucous giggles following. Three of your colleagues from work have spotted you and have clearly decided to ruin the one good thing going for you this evening.

You turn quickly and utter a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows in confusion.

Your coworkers stand at the end of the table, eyeing you and Yoongi sitting casually together in the booth. They are still giggly and have mischievous grins on their faces.

One of them, wearing a skin-tight neon pink bodysuit, says, “You should introduce us to your friend, Y/N.”

You shrink into the back of the booth seat as you move your gaze from the expectant faces of your coworkers to the now-steely facade Yoongi has adopted. His eyes flit to your face and then he glances down to take in your whole body posture. He tenses up before looking back at your work colleagues.

You feel the need to say something to break the tension, so you say, “Uh, these are my coworkers. They invited me out tonight. This is, uh, this is Yoongi.”

You watch as they smirk at your shaky introductions and then turn a hungry gaze to Yoongi.

Pink Bodysuit says, “So nice to meet you, Yoongi. Wanna come dance with us?”

You curl into yourself a little more and slide down the seat a fraction, perhaps hoping to disappear completely.

“I’m busy right now,” Yoongi says. His tone is deep and dark. It contains none of the warmth he’d had while speaking with you.

“If you think you’re getting an easy lay, you might want to think twice. Miss Mousy is just a stuck up bitch and is probably playing you,” Pink Bodysuit says.

You feel like you’ve been doused in a tub of cold water. You stare, mouth agape, at Pink Bodysuit. The underhanded bullying and the teasing are one thing, but this is in your face. You can’t think of anything beyond how completely and totally humiliated you feel.

“I, uh, I just remembered- I have to, uh, I have to go,” you stammer out and rush to your feet. Dots dance across your vision, probably from getting up too fast, but also from the panic attack that is threatening to freeze your lungs.

Red hot tears burn your eyes as you push past your awful coworkers and you stumble as you make your way to the exit. You feel the first tear slide down your cheek as you double over on the sidewalk. The cool February air is welcome as it shocks your system, allowing your lungs to gasp in air.

You keep falling forward, eventually letting your knees hit the sidewalk and your right palm pushing out to take some of your weight before you face-plant into the concrete. People walking by give you a wide berth. You let more tears fall and are almost glad no one is stopping to check on you—almost.

You don’t know how much time has passed, probably only a minute or two, when someone wearing a black shirt, black ripped jeans, and a black leather jacket are kneeling directly in front of you. Their hands, fingers adorned with thin silver rings, are clinging to their own knees.

You look up and gulp in surprise when you recognize Yoongi. His cheeks are flushed red and his brow is wrinkled in worry.

“Can you hear me?” he asks.

You try to decipher whether that’s a strange question to ask, but nod all the same.

“Do you think you can stand?” he asks next.

You nod, even though you don’t actually know if that’s the correct answer. He holds out his hands to you, palms up, and you take them into your own hands. They are large, calloused, and warm. Safe, even.

He supports your weight through your hands as you both stand up from your kneeling position on the sidewalk.

“That’s good, you’re okay,” he murmurs.

“I’m so sorry, that was so mortifying,” you manage to say after taking a few deep breaths. “I- I don’t even know how you can look at me after that.”

He gives you the softest smile you think you’ve ever seen. Belatedly, you realize he’s still holding your hands and shows no signs of letting go. People are still walking past you on the sidewalk, but now you can’t find it in you to care.

“At the risk of sounding very, very cheesy, I think the trick is going to convince me to stop looking at you,” Yoongi says.

You make a choked sound as you try to groan and laugh at the same time. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Are you actually real?”

“Afraid so,” he says with his own laugh. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yes, please,” you say without hesitation.

Yoongi grins at you and then laces your fingers together in one hand before pulling you gently along down the sidewalk.

~

You casually wonder if the 80s, as a whole decade, is just out to haunt you this evening. You look around the small diner, completely decked out in 1980s decor. At least this place seems to be quieter than the club, with Blondie singing at reasonable decibels over the sound system.

“So, I don’t want to pry, but are you coworkers always that shitty?” Yoongi asks after you place your orders with the server.

“Uh,” you say before clearing your throat. “No, I mean, they are shitty, yes. But not, uh, usually that obvious about it.”

You shrug in an attempt to say this was not a big deal, like you hadn’t just had a panic attack in front of a whole ass club less than an hour ago.

Yoongi just nods, eyes searching your face.

“You left your friend’s birthday party,” you say.

Yoongi blinks for a moment before it’s his turn to shrug. “He’ll understand.”

Your mouth drops open and then snaps shut again, before you say, “You, uh, aren’t actually going to tell him what happened? Right?”

Yoongi studies your face before saying, “You don’t want me to tell him.”

“Uh, well, it was- is mortifying,” you say. You are really hoping this is obvious.

“The only people who should be embarrassed are those vapid people you have the misfortune of working with,” he says.

“Oh,” you say.

“So, Nirvana?” Yoongi asks.

You stare for a minute trying to understand the sudden change of topic. He waves at you. You look down and remember your shirt.

“Oh, yeah, they told me it was a 90s theme at the club,” you say. You add a little more quietly, “And, honestly, this is how I dress outside of work, anyway.”

“Well, their first album was published in 1989, so technically, you are in theme,” he says dryly. “Not everyone in the 80s wore obnoxiously neon spandex.”

You snort at this, a little mad you hadn’t thought of this clap back when your coworkers were torturing you earlier. Then you start laughing and can’t stop. You can feel the tears pricking at your eyes and your sides start to hurt, but you can’t stop.

Yoongi sits with a small smirk on his face, watching you. There’s a warm light in his eyes. As you start to sober up again from your hysterical laughing fit, you return the fondness with a smile of your own. You think very briefly about the childish hatred of your coworkers and how in one fell swoop, this man in front of you makes you feel like shrugging and saying, “eh, let them hate me.” Here this man is acting as the perfect mirror for you to understand the simple answers in life. Your smile grows.

“Can I have your number?” you ask.

Your reward for your impulsive bravery is the most adorably heart-melting smile you have ever seen. Worth it.

~

“Thanks so much for walking me home,” you murmur.

You’re standing outside your apartment building and want to kick yourself for not coming up with a clever way to make the evening last longer. You really don’t want to part yet. You kick the toe of your boot with the heel of the other.

You are holding hands again. You have been since leaving the diner. You look at your fingers woven tightly together. You don’t want to let go.

“It’s no problem,” Yoongi says. “I’m happy you accidentally sat in my booth.”

You huff out a laugh at that. You look up to his face, smile slipping into something more serious, and say, “Me, too.”

Yoongi leans forward, slowly, and when your brain catches up to what’s happening, you meet him in the last moments. His lips are a bit chapped, but gentle. You step closer to his body, not willing to let him pull away from the kiss. With your free hand you clutch at his shoulder, pulling yourself even closer.

You don’t know how long you stand pressing your lips together, before he’s pulling back just far enough to let you both breathe for a moment.

Into the air between the two of you, you whisper, “Please, don’t go.”

This close to his face, you can hear and feel his breath hitch. So, you double down and whisper again, “Please.”

He closes in on your lips again and kisses a little more fervently this time. Not breaching with his tongue, but setting a rhythm to the kiss that has you fighting to keep your knees from buckling.

This time when you break apart to breathe, you turn towards your apartment building and pull him by the hand you still have firmly grasped in your own. He doesn’t resist.

You stand shoulder to shoulder, next to each other in the elevator. You squeeze his hand. He looks towards you and you exchange small smiles.

You fumble with the keypad to your flat. 

“You don’t know the code to your own apartment?” Yoongi teases.

“Ah, I might be a little nervous,” you say with a chuckle.

“Hey,” he calls softly. You look up at him. “You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing will happen that you don’t want.”

You smile at him. “I know. I’m a- It’s a good nervous. I don’t, uh, do this much- or ever.”

You turn back to the keypad before you can freak out from whatever facial expression he might be making at your boldness. You breathe a sigh of thanks when you get the code right this time.

The light over the door inside the apartment clicks on automatically as you pull Yoongi in through the threshold. In your head, you envision the front door closing, Yoongi pulling you into a passionate kiss, both of you a tangle of limbs and shedding clothing as you stumble your way to the bedroom in the dark, and land in a heap of fiery passion on your bed. Of course, that’s what happens in movies or maybe for those giggling neon pink spandex coworkers. Not you and your awkwardness.

The door shuts with a soft clink and a beep behind you as you both silently bend over to unlace and take off your boots. Yoongi takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on an open hanger over the shoe rack. The automatic light clicks off and you are engulfed in soft darkness, the only light coming in faint from the city lights through the window in your living room.

“Ah, sorry,” you say as you hurry forward to push the button that turns the lights on in the living room.

You glance around nervously, glad you had spent the time earlier that day cleaning to work out the nerves about going out this evening. The apartment isn’t big, and honestly not much lived in. You spend a lot of time at work, being the new person still trying to make their mark on the company. You mostly come home, watch a bit of TV, and then read or sleep in bed. A quiet life, to make up for the too-much-drama that is your workplace maybe.

The room is enough to hold a medium-sized TV with a loveseat. You have a plant in the window that boasts a semi-impressive view, only blocked partially by another high rise in front. If you tilt just right, you can see a pretty good view of downtown, especially on clear nights, with the city lights twinkling. The kitchen is also modest, just right off the living, separated by the small breakfast bar. No room for an actual dining table.

“It’s, uh, not much,” you say.

“This is great,” Yoongi murmurs as he walks around the living room. He pauses to look at the photos on the wall.

“Thanks,” you say. “You, uh, can I get you something to drink?”

Yoongi turns and looks at you with a smile. “Sure.”

Having something to do, you spring into action, stepping over to the kitchen. You open the small fridge and cringe. “I, uh, I have water? I might have some tea.”

You slide over to the draw and pull it out. “Yeah, I have some green tea?”

“Green tea sounds good,” Yoongi says, still looking at your decorations. He pauses to admire the view.

You quickly put water from the bottle in the fridge into the electric kettle to boil. You pull two mugs from the cabinet and pull out bags of tea. “Sorry, it’s just tea bags. I don’t have company over enough to spring for anything fancier.”

Yoongi huffs a short laugh. “It’s fine.”

When the tea is ready you motion to the loveseat and bring the mugs into the living room with you. You set them on the coasters on the small coffee table, so that you can grab the throw from the back of the couch to put on your lap. After fiddling with it and settling yourself in, you pull up a lo-fi fireplace channel on the TV to fill the silence a bit.

After a few minutes of sitting together and sipping tea, you feel compelled to fill the quiet. “So, what, uh, book were you reading tonight?”

Yoongi smiles into his mug and proceeds to regale you with not only the book title, but an interesting backstory about the author and finishes with recommending you check it out. You respond with an animated recommendation of your own. The conversation flows easily and you cannot for the life of you remember why you were ever anxious around him.

Somehow, without you realizing, you both move closer and closer to the center of the loveseat. Soon, you are pressed up to one another and Yoongi has an arm slung casually behind you on the back of the couch. With the warmth of Yoongi’s almost-embrace, the gentle sounds from the TV, and the late hour, a wave of exhaustion washes over you.

As Yoongi is talking, you let the weight of your head rest on his shoulder and your eyes drift closed. Just for a moment. Then you realize how quiet it is. Your eyes snap open.

“Sorry!” you murmur. “I think I drifted off.”

You can feel more than hear Yoongi’s laugh with your side pressed into his. He says, his voice husky, “You were only asleep for maybe 10 minutes. I was just going to let you sleep. It’s late.”

You shake your head and realize he’s turned off the TV, which is why it’s so quiet now. You swivel yourself so that you are facing him and then scooch up so that you can reach his face with yours.

Rather than the burning passion you had imagined when you first invited Yoongi into your apartment, the kiss is soft, caring, slow. The almost-embrace becomes a full embrace as Yoongi pulls his arms around you. You settle in further by pulling your hands to his chest and grab at the fabric there.

As you melt into him, you let your nerves go and bite at his lower lip playfully. The moan he lets out in reaction goes straight to your core, lighting you on fire. You let out a pitiful whine in response and Yoongi tentatively slips his tongue out to meet yours. Rather than it feeling like a fight for space and dominance, the kissing feels more like a gentle appreciation of one another. You feel special, seen, full of care and cared for.

When you finally pull apart to breathe, you don’t hesitate to stand up and reach out for Yoongi’s hand. He looks at you for a moment before placing his hand in your outstretched one. You grasp at it and pull him up to stand with you. You stand on tip-toe to place a sweet kiss on his cheek. Then you squeeze his hand and you pull him around the loveseat and towards your bedroom door.

When you step into the dimly lit room, you take two seconds to thank your past self again for the anxiety-induced cleaning frenzy you went on earlier. 

You pull him into the dark room and hesitate before going straight to the bed.

“Uh, I just-” you start. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel Yoongi go completely still next to you.

You try again, “I just hope that this isn’t, uh, like a one time thing. Just to be clear. I don’t want this to be just tonight. Sorry, probably being a total buzzkill.”

You feel your face heat up and you stare down and your sock-covered toes.

You feel the warmth from Yoongi’s palm as he cups your cheek and lifts your face so that you’ll look at him. He has a soft smile on his lips. Your stomach feels like it’s doing back flips. 

He leans in and plants a chaste kiss on your lips before he says, “I have every intention of making you breakfast in the morning.”

He kisses you again and you feel your knees wobble a little, you squeeze his hand a little tighter to keep yourself upright. “And I will probably try very hard to wait to call you until tomorrow evening, so as to not overwhelm you.”

He kisses your lips, a little harder this time, with a little teeth grazing your lower lip as he pulls away a fraction. “And I will ask you if you’re free next weekend to take you out on a proper date.”

More kissing, his tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth, which you readily meet with your own. He pulls back again and says, “And then hopefully every weekend after that. Unless I get greedy and want to meet you for lunch in town sooner.”

You are the one to pull him in this time, reaching your fingers up to tangle in his hair. You step backwards towards the bed, while keeping your lips locked on his.

You let out a small grunt when you accidentally hit the bed frame too hard. Then you laugh as you fall backwards. Yoongi, not realizing what is happening until it’s too late, follows you down and manages to roll slightly midair so he doesn’t crush you completely with his weight. You don't stop kissing, but both of you are laughing now, smiling as you kiss, teeth knocking awkwardly.

When you pull back to try to catch your breath and regain the mood, you pant out, “I don’t think you’ll overwhelm me. Call me whenever you want.”

Yoongi leans over the top of you and kisses you again. This time slower, but you can feel the tension that’s building between your bodies. Hands that were cautious before now wander more freely. You slip your fingers under Yoongi’s shirt, tracing up his abs to his pecs. You appreciate how quickly his nipples harden under your touch.

In one swift movement, Yoongi reaches behind himself and pulls his shirt off. Quickly, returns to tracing your lips, jawline, and throat with his lips and tongue. You grab onto his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. You can feel the heat leaving a trail on your skin as Yoongi soothing draws a hand down your side, over your shirt, before squeezing lightly at your waist. His hand glides lower to wrap around your hip, the weight of which makes you realize you’ve been canting your hips slightly forward and back, your body chasing some kind of friction. That realization makes you moan—jarringly loud for the quiet of the room.

You feel your face burn a scorching red in the embarrassment of how turned on you are. When Yoongi stops kissing you and looks up into your face, you realize you’ve stilled your body. You pull one hand from his shoulder and cover your mouth and nose with your palm. The sleeve of your plaid shirt is hiding your fingers, which just reminds you of how very dressed you are while Yoongi is topless.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble behind your hand.

Yoongi gives a low chuckle. While pulling your hand away from your face gently by the wrist, he murmurs, “You don’t need to hide from me.”

You feel a giggle bubble up inside of you and you attempt to swallow it down, which leaves you making an awkward squeaking cough. Yoongi looks surprised and moves his hand from your wrist to pat circles into your back.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Just horribly awkward and embarrassed now, I’m fine,” you say while shaking your head. Another giggle escapes you. You squeeze your eyes shut and grit out with a clenched jaw, “Wow, what the fuck.”

Yoongi laughs loudly and rolls onto his back on the bed. The arm closer to the mattress gets pulled along with his body and ends up sort of tucked under his neck. He’s still laughing and you feel another giggle burst out of you.

“I- I don’t giggle,” you say, exasperated.

“Really?” Yoongi says while still laughing.

“Really!” you exclaim, staring forlornly at the ceiling. “I’m not a giggler.”

After another beat, Yoongi rolls back over onto one elbow so he’s leaning over you. He looks at you with a brilliant smile, making you catch your breath. With his free hand he’s pushing your hair behind your ear. His own hair has come loose from its tie and is now hanging down around his face. You mimic his motions by lifting your hand to tuck some of the strands behind his ear.

“Okay,” he whispers. His thumb is now caressing your cheek.

“Okay?” you ask with a raised brow.

“Okay, you’re not a giggler,” he clarifies. His smile reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the edges.

Instead of the million wonderful comebacks you are sure would normally be on the tip of your tongue, you push yourself up to find his lips again with yours. You run your hands through his now-free hair and whimper at how amazing it feels to be able to tangle your fingers in the long locks.

Soon enough more clothes are being shed and you are nestling at the head of your bed, exploring each other’s bodies. There’s no pressure to rush and you both take the luxury of pressing soft kisses everywhere. With the gentleness, the hesitation you felt earlier is completely gone.

When he’s tenderly entering you with a smooth motion, you’re both gasping into one another’s mouths, swallowing each other’s moans. He sets a steady, unrushed rhythm that your body naturally curves in to meet with each thrust. You revel in the feeling while twisting your fingers in his soft hair. You can feel your toes curl as your orgasm builds. Yoongi’s hands are caressing your skin. To you, he feels like he’s everywhere, touching every part of you at once.

Without any warning, the white hot ecstasy of your orgasm makes all the muscles in your body tense. Instead of crying out, you swallow your moans in surprise. Yoongi slows down, but doesn’t stop his ministrations as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure. He picks up the pace a bit as soon as your muscles relax again and you can almost immediately feel another orgasm building in your core.

You know Yoongi is close when his own muscles get more taunt and his pace slows, but his thrusts are harder, more targeted. He opens his mouth, perhaps to warn you, but you pull his face down to yours and you kiss him deeply.

Between the passionate kiss and Yoongi groaning as his own orgasm takes over, you feel another wave crest and your vision goes white again. You think every cell in your body is screaming in bliss. As you come down from your respective highs, your bodies melt into one another. The kissing and touching does not stop for a while, only interrupted briefly when you help clean each other up, disposing of the used condom, and laughing through brushing teeth together in your small bathroom.

Dawn light is creeping through the window as you curl up under the covers of your bed. Yoongi runs his fingers lightly through your hair in a soothing, repetitive motion until your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

~

You wake up to the sun streaming through your tiny bedroom window. You rub your eyes, sit up, and realize the bed is empty. A lump forms in your throat. You quickly get up and throw some clothes on before peaking out into the living area. It’s empty.

“Fuck,” you groan.

You walk out to the quiet space and try to sort out your emotions. You don’t really want to cry. You also feel a bit stupid.

You startle when there’s a buzz at the door. You walk over to the intercom and press the button. 

“Who is it?” you say.

There’s a pause, a delay in the intercom, and then a familiar voice, “Yoongi. Can you let me in? It’s freezing out here.”

You let out a giggle—thankful no one is in the apartment to hear you—and press the button to let Yoongi into the building.

You race to the bathroom to brush your teeth, now that you know Yoongi is coming back.

When you open the door for him after he knocks, he stands with his arms full of plastic bags. You quirk your brow at him.

He steps inside, placing the bags on the floor in order to take his shoes and jacket off.

“I said I would make you breakfast, but you had absolutely nothing edible in your kitchen,” he states. He turns from hanging his jacket up to smile at you.

“Oh.” You feel your face heating up and you don’t know if that’s embarrassment at the state of your pantry or the blooming feelings you have for this man in front of you. Both, probably both.

The man can cook. Breakfast is delicious. He stands at the door with his shoes and jacket on, clearly as reluctant to finally leave as you are to see him go.

“Thank you,” you say. You see the slight confusion on his face and add, “For breakfast.”

He smiles at that and waves a hand to shrug it off.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. He leans in and gives you a tender kiss that makes you want to keep being greedy for more.

“See you soon,” you say.

Then he’s out the door, turning back to give you another beautiful gum-filled smile, and disappearing as the door shuts with a click.

You walk back into your living room feeling a little empty in the now-too-quiet space. As you take a seat on the couch, your phone begins ringing.

“Hello?” you answer.

“You said I wouldn’t overwhelm you if I called you when I wanted to instead of waiting until a reasonable time had passed,” Yoongi says.

You laugh. “I did say that, yes. And it’s still true today.”

“Good,” Yoongi says. You can close your eyes and see his soft smile as he walks down the city street below your apartment.

Grinning wide, you ask, “Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

[insomniamamma]

Tricks (Or how Bee Girl got seduced into a life of crime): Ezra x F!Reader w/ Cee

A/n: This is a very belated writer Wednesday fic that took on a life of its own. Halloween is my favorite holiday and there's always people who bitch about folks driving in from bad neighborhoods to trick-or-treat in good ones, or kids who are too old to trick or treat. Those people can all get fucked. This takes place in the Liminal AU. Reader is Ezra's neighbor. Established relationship. Ezra is Cee's uncle/legal guardian. Modern AU. @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @clydesducktape​

Warnings: Language. Ableism. Food and alcohol. Mentions of Reader's ex, known as The Asshole. Mentions of infertility. Ezra overshares. A little bit of spice. Implied sex but nothing graphic.

          Every neighborhood has one. That one person who knows everyone's business and has no problem yapping about it to anyone within ear-shot. That one person who feels entitled to the private lives of everyone on the block. Yours is Marcie.          When you and your ex separated she was all cookies and casseroles and prying for the juicy details. Ezra's house had stood empty while he was hospitalized, you'd brought in his mail and mowed his lawn and opened the windows occasionally so the house wouldn't be all stale and dusty when he came back home and Marcie would be there watching her dog take a shit in your petunias and saying they were both high, both of them with that little girl in the car, can you imagine?          When you hear her calling hi Dearie, wandering across the street with her dog, (a perpetually angry little ball of fluff named Mr. Tiddly-Winks, whatever the fuck that means), you grit your teeth knowing you're going to get a run-down of neighborhood gossip whether you want it or not.          "Have you met those two men who moved into the Winslow's old place?" Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial just us girls kind of tone, "I think they're Homosexuals." You could hear the capitalization. And it took everything in you not the make some snarky reply. Marcie and her husband are retired, older than you, and it feels wrong somehow, telling her to take her gossip and shove it. You honestly pity her a little, her what has this world come to grievances are locked in like gears. Christmas is always about The War On Christmas. Easter is always about Jesus died for our sins and they've made it all about  candy and rabbits. Shut up Karen, you think, but don't say. Ok, Boomer, you think but don't say.          "I can't believe they placed that little girl with him," says Marcie, glancing, narrow eyed at Ezra and Cee while they fuss over a couple flats of flowers, marigolds and snapdragons. "I don't like how he looks at her."          "Ezra is Cee's only living family," you say, trying to keep your tone bland but inside you're already seeing red, you know where this is going. "Would you rather see her in foster care?"          "Of course not! Not at all! But a little girl and a single middle-aged man? Doesn't that seem strange to you, Dearie?" You fix Marcie with your blandest stare.          "No," you say, "Not really."  And go back to watering your tomatoes. She huffs.          "Well, you have a nice day now, Dearie."          "You too."

         Marcie's take on Halloween is what pisses you off the most about her. Your neighborhood, your block in particular tends to go all out for Halloween. Everyone sits outside on their porches or in their front yards handing out candy. Everyone decorates their houses to the nines, jack o lanterns, and inflatable figures and fairy lights and strobes and fake bones crawling up out of the ground. Every year she has something to say about how the decorations are too scary for little kids. Every year she whines about how those people on the other side of the highway drive into your neighborhood to trick-or-treat.         Everyone knows this happens and no-one else except Marcie gives a shit. The way she always mentions it just pisses you off on a cellular level. It's candy! You want to scream in her face, It's candy what the fuck is wrong with you? But you don't because like as not, she's your neighbor and she's the one whose going to call the fire department (or not) if your house gets stuck by lightning while you're out of town.          Marcie and her little dog make their way down the street, leaving you to put out your Halloween decorations in peace, fake cobwebs and glow in the dark skeletons and purple lights strung from the porch balanced on a kitchen chair so you can reach the cable anchors you've stuck along the ceiling.          "Looks like you just got a visit from Bob," says Cee. She's made a habit of wandering across the street to talk to you when she sees you outside.          "Gimme a couple of those zip ties would you?" You ask and hold your hand down, and Cee pushes them into your waiting palm. "Who's Bob?"          "B-O-B," she spells it out for you, "It's an acronym." You stop what you're doing and look down on her. She's got that up to no good smirk on her face.          "I'll bite. What's Bob an acronym for?"          "Bitter Old Bag." Cee smiles but there's bite behind it. Rumors flew after the accident. Marcie didn't start them but she certainly passed along every bit of gossip she heard.          "That's a good one," you say, "I'll have to remember that one. I'm always afraid I'm going to slip and call her 'Karen' by mistake. I'm a lot less likely to call her Bob." Cee grins.          "Hey Cee!" Ezra hollers from across the street, "Little help?"          "Gotta go help Ez with some finishing touches."          "What are you guys dressing as?"          "You'll see."

         Trick-or-treat goes from six to eight, and it feels odd to you that such a thing would be scheduled. Your memories of Halloween from when you were a kid do not include a time-frame, you remember going door to door until you got too cold or until everyone's lights were out or until it started raining. Maybe your folks were checking their watches the whole time, counting down to some deadline you weren't aware of. It's about quarter 'til and the block is setting up shop. You've got a camp chair in your front yard, a bowl of candy with more stashed on the porch. And, just like clockwork, here comes Marcie, with Mr. Tiddly-Winks barking his weird strangled bark.          "Oh, look at you!" She exclaims, "That is just darling!"          "Thanks," you say and you mean it, "I found the tutu at a garage sale and the rest just kind of happened." Marcie is dressed like a witch, her husband, Jim, is dressed as a black cat, hunched over, lighting the candles inside the jack-o-lanterns on their front steps.          "Hey Marcie!" says Ezra.          "Hi Mrs Davenport!" says Cee. Marcie freezes and you snort laughter. Ezra wears swim trunks, flip-flops, shitty drug-store sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt. The right sleeve is shredded and red-stained. Ezra's stump is coated in fake blood and something that looks unsettlingly chunky. And Cee? Cee is dressed like a shark, the shark's mouth frames her face, but she's made some modifications, a fake rubber hand sticks out of the side of the shark's mouth like a cigar and Cee has applied ample fake blood to her costume as well. Marcie just stands there.          "Oh my God," says Ezra, taking in your costume, the black tutu with yellow trim, yellow top, cut up striped tights on your arms, pipe cleaner antennae on your head, "You're Bee Girl!" You do the world's worst tap-dance there in the street and Ezra gives you one of those brilliant smiles, all dimples and teeth and crinkled eyes and Cee is giving Marcie a lesson on do it yourself special effects makeup.          "--I wanted the end of his stump to look chewed so I took some liquid latex and mixed it with dry oatmeal so it's got that kinda chunky look, and then I just went nuts with the fake blood. You can't use too much fake blood. Did you know fake blood is mint flavored? Anyway, we were kinda worried he'd have a reaction so we did a patch test a couple days ago and I used plenty of barrier spray so--"          "Do you really think this is appropriate?" says Marcie. Ezra puts on his best dumb face.          "I am a man with one arm dressing up as a man with one arm," says Ezra, "I fail to see how appropriateness comes into the conversation." Ezra is smiling, but it's that sharp edged smile that means he is about to destroy someone in an argument. You've been around long enough to hear him verbally flay people who have no idea they've stepped into it, like the frog in the saucepan who doesn't realize he's soup because the water heats so slowly.          "Well," says Marcie, making a big show of looking at her watch, "I have to get Mr. Tiddly-Winks crated before those kids start coming around. He's scared of children."          "Yep," says Ezra, "We best batten down the hatches before the seething throngs arrive demanding sugar." Marcie narrows her eyes at Ezra and he beams back. She huffs and turns on her heels, small angry dog trotting along beside her.  Cee pulls a face at her retreating back.          "You should come on over after the kids go home--"          "Yeah, we're gonna have a fire in the fire-pit," says Cee. "We're gonna do banana boats."          "Yeah? That sounds great."

         Trick-or-treat goes much as it always does, the usual parade of witches and vampires and zombies and Marvel and Star Wars characters. As always, there's older kids in  the mix, who say trick or treat but don't quite make eye contact, and your heart always breaks for them a little, you remember how that felt, knowing that you were going to grow up wether you wanted to or not, knowing that adulthood was inevitable and hating it. You've never understood how people could be so pissy about handing out candy to the older kids. Just let them be kids for a little while longer. Why is that so hard? At eight o'clock the streets empty like flicking a switch. All up and down the block people's porch  lights go off, and you wonder when things became so structured? So proscribed?          "Hey Sunshine!" Ezra calls from his front porch, "Come on over and we'll get that fire going."          "I'll be right over." Your first thought is to change out of your costume, but it's fun being Bee Girl, so you just throw on a hoodie. Some of the older parents caught the reference, but most were clueless.          "If you and Cee would be so kind," says Ezra, indicating the fire-pit already stacked with dry wood and kindling, "I've got to wash this shit off. It itches."          "Big baby," says Cee. "Hey!" She calls to his retreating back, "Make sure you use some lotion. Don't want your skin to dry out."          "You really nailed the make-up," you tell her, "It was pretty gross."          "Thanks," says Cee, "I was going for gross, but not, like, Tokyo Gore Police type gross."          "I have no idea what that means." Cee laughs as she hunkers over the fire-pit, lighting a bit of rolled up newspaper that's tucked beneath the neat pyramid of wood and kindling.          "I was gonna have a snapped-off humerus sticking out of the rest of the mess, but Ez thought that was a little too much," says Cee. The fire catches, bits of paper flaring bright yellow, white smoke rising from the nest of kindling. Cee blows into the heart of the fire and is rewarded with bright flames. "There we go. We're gonna have to wait a little for the coals to get good. But then it's banana boats for days."          "I'm excited. I can't even remember the last time I had a banana boat." Cee smiles and her eyes go far away for a moment.          "When I was little me and Dad and Ez would go on a big camping trip every summer," she says, "Dad would heat up baked beans and canned potatoes on the little Coleman stove and we'd cook hotdogs on sticks over the fire. And after that we'd do banana boats in the coals. When I was real small I'd fall asleep in one of those camp chairs by the fire and Dad would carry me into the tent and put me to bed..." She trails off, her face clouds, "That was before things got weird with Dad. We kinda fell out of the habit I guess."          "Hey ladies," says Ezra.          "My turn," says Cee, "It's too hot in this thing."          "Feel better?"          "I do," says Ezra, "The bathroom resembles the aftermath of a GWAR concert, though. I suspect our grout will be pink for some time." His arm drifts around your waist and you lean into him, relishing his solidity, his warmth, the gentle press of his body against yours.          "Are you having a Halloween party?" Marcie's voice shatters your reverie. There she is, still in her witch costume with her dog on his leash. Mr. Tiddly-Winks looks you in the eye while he craps in the weedy clover by Ezra's driveway.          "Nope," says Ezra, fake cheeriness bright in his voice, "Just a little back yard cook out. We'll be quiet as little mice. Promise."          "I should hope so," she gives the two of you a narrow-eyed look, "You have a nice night." She tugs on Mr. Tiddly-Winks's leash and heads off down the block.          "You too, Marcie!" Ezra calls to her retreating back, and then dropping his voice so only you can hear, "Wanna talk about an appropriate costume..." You huff laughter and draw closer to him, threading your arm around his waist. You lapse into companionable silence, peering into the fire, the soft hiss and crackle of is its own music. People have been staring into fires since they first figured out how to make them, you turn to say something like this to Ezra, but you are struck by the way the flames paint his face in shifting light, crescent scar on his cheek a flickering gold thread, the strong curve of his nose, the column of his throat, tender Cupid's bow of his lips. He turns towards you, catches you staring.          "Penny for your thoughts, Sunshine," he says. You shrug.          "Just admiring the view."          "View's pretty good from here too, Bee Girl." You poke him in the ribs.          "Keep it up. Flattery will get you everywhere." He raises one eyebrow and smirks, a cartoonish leer that always makes you giggle.          "Bold worlds, Sunny, what exactly does 'everywhere' entail?"          "I think you know some of the landmarks--" Behind you Cee clears her throat.          "I grabbed you guys some beers if you can stop being gross long enough to drink them." Cee hands you yours and then twists the cap for Ezra. Her face is still streaked in crusty fake blood.          "You know that'll stain if you don't wash it off, Birdie," Cee rolls her eyes at him, prods at the fire with a long stick, adds another couple logs and the dry wood flares bright, sparks whirl up towards the dark sky. She smiles, holding her hands out to warm them, her hair blazes like a crown in the firelight.          "You all wanna give me a hand with the folding table?" Asks Cee, "We get things set up now, the coals'll probably be good by the time we're done."

          You and Cee set up the folding table and Ezra holds the door while Cee passes you supplies from their narrow galley kitchen. Foil and marshmallows and chocolate chips, peanut butter and  jelly and raisins and roasted peanuts and maraschino cherries. And three bunches of bananas.          "Dang, Cee, how many banana boats do you think three people can eat?"          "Better to err on the side of more," says Cee, "Besides, if these get squishy we can do banana bread." Cee looks at you with a cocked eyebrow, "You ever have French toast made with banana bread? That's the shit right there."          "That sounds amazing actually."          "It's like having cake for breakfast." Says Cee,"You should try it sometime." She flashes you a knowing smile. She retreats back into the kitchen and hands you a cookie sheet with three foil-wrapped bananas, ready to be to be roasted.          "What've we got here?" Asks Ezra.          "That's for me to know and you to find out," says Cee.

         "I think you better bust out those double top secret classified banana boats now, Little Bird," says Ezra.          "What? You guys have each only had two," says Cee, "That's not a lot."          "You're a growing child," says Ezra, "You have two hollow legs to shake those banana boats down in to."          "Fine," says Cee, "Pussies."          "Language!" Cee pays him no mind, uses her poker-stick to shift the wood around just so, eyes narrowed in concentration, lays the foil wrapped bananas in the coals with long barbecue tongs as if she's handling live explosives. She grins big and drums her fingers together like a cartoon villain. "And now...we wait."          "I present to you, the Fat Elvis," says Cee waving her hand theatrically over the steaming foil packs, there's little hisses of pain all around as the three of you work them open, steam hitting eager fingers. Cee helps Ez with his. He's not wearing his arm. Taking this thing off is the best part of my day, he told you once, it rubs.          "You good?" Asks Cee and Ezra nods, and you are struck, not for the first time, at how much they care for each other. "Okay, guys, dig in." You scoop out a bunch of hot banana pulp, remember to blow on it this time, and tuck it in your mouth.          "Oh my god," you mumble.          "This is decadent," says Ezra.          "There's bacon in this," you say.          "Duh," says Cee, "Elvis Presley had a thing for fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches with bacon in em."          "And the marshmallows?" asks Ezra, mouth full and muffled. Cee giggles.          "That's what makes it a Fat Elvis," she says, "What do you guys think?"          "You could sell these out of a bougie food truck for eleven dollars a pop," you say. Cee laughs.          "Can you imagine? A food truck that just does banana boats? That would be the shit!," she says, "What do you think, Ez?" Ezra just makes a bunch of full-mouthed mumbles and you and Cee laugh.          "I'd say he likes it."          Eventually Cee gets too cold and goes in. You and Ezra stay by the slowly dying fire, crowding in closer rather than adding more wood.          "You getting cold?"          "I'm still good." The wind has begun to pick up, sighing through the trees. Marcie and Jim's motion-light comes on, bright as a supernova, and sure as clockwork, you can hear Mr. Tiddly-wink's strangled bark from across the street.          "I like dogs," says Ezra, "I like animals in general, but if I ever catch that little rat-bastard off his leash I will drop kick him out of my yard."          "You kick Mr. Tiddly-Winks like the football?"          "You're goddamn right I will," he says,"She never picks up after that thing. I get mightily sick of stepping in dog shit every time I gotta mow my lawn. You remember that e-mail she sent? Asking us to keep up on our mowing? Like there's actually a Home Owners Association here."          "Yeah, be sure to keep your grass short so my dog can shit in it," you say. "Remember how bent out of shape she got when the Ferrell's put the big peace sign on their house that Christmas? Jim's okay, he seems like a nice man, but...uggghhh. Whenever I see her coming I low-key want to run. Cause I know I'm gonna hear everybody's business whether I want to hear it or not."          "Cee's started feeding her disinformation," says Ezra, his mischievous half-smile creeping up his face.          "What?"          "Yeah, she's been spinning out some yarn about unmarked white vans circling the neighborhood at night," says Ezra, "Gives it to her in little pieces. I think lizard people might be an upcoming plot point."          "Ez!" You giggle, "That's not funny. I mean, it is, but what if she believes it?"          "What if? She's spread garbage about everyone on the block. I'd wager three quarters is utter bullshit, and the rest is stuff she has no business knowing about anyway, like what she said about you and The Asshole."          "What did she say?" You feel your hands prickling.          "She said he left you because you couldn't give him a baby," says Ezra. You feel your fingernails dig into your palms.          "That. Fucking. Bitch. My fertility is nobody's goddamn business. And, if you recall, I was the one who kicked his no-good cheating ass to the curb."          "I know, Sunshine, I was there." Ezra had stood guard while The Asshole came and picked up his things listened to him call you a frigid bitch, and a selfish whore and just about every other misogynistic slur he could string together. "And I still say he's lucky I didn't kick his ass right there in the street."          "She thinks you're a pervert," you say, "She said she doesn't like how you look at Cee." Ezra's eyes narrow.          "Cee is my family," says Ezra, "How anyone could even think--just--wow." Ezra falls silent, dim firelight playing over troubled features you squeeze your arm tighter around him and then he cracks a smile, his eyes lit up with pure trouble. He squirms his way out of your hold.          "You wait right here, Bee Girl,"          "Ez? What are you doing?"          "Just wait," he says and disappears into the house. You turn your back to the fire and try to warm up your butt. Ezra reappears in the doorway, kicks the screen open. He's got a partly used pack of toilet paper under his arm.          "The last of my pandemic stash," he says, "Back from when you could only find the cheap-ass single-ply shit. I prefer the two-ply myself, less likely to get stuck in the little--"          "Ezra. Stop talking."          "Oh. Right," he says, his smile bright like a crescent moon, "What do you say we indulge in some petty vengeance?"          "You're serious."          "I am. C'mon, Sunshine, we've had our fill of treats, now it's time for a little harmless trick." You feel your smile mirroring his.          "You know what? Yeah. Let's do it. Why the fuck not?"          "That's my girl," says Ezra, "You know how to fix them and get the spin on the throw?" You're already grabbing a roll from the pack and loosening the top layer.          "Yeah," you say, "I was twelve once."          "I say we go for the maple right in front," he says, "I get on one side and you get on the other. We go back and forth until the motion light goes on and then we bolt."          "Sounds good," you say, laughing high and breathless, "This is so fucking dumb. Let's go."          The pair of you creep down the alley, trying not to laugh. There's no one around,  no sound but the wind picking up and groaning through the tops of the trees and the drone of the nearby highway. You can't look at each other's faces, otherwise the giggles bubble up, the childish thrill of doing something utterly stupid has your blood singing. Ezra takes up his position on the opposite side of the maple tree and you huck the roll in a high looping arc, leaving a TP trail through the bare twigs and last clinging leaves, and then it comes back over to you. Back and forth, covering Marcie's maple in white loops, biting back laughter the whole time.          The motion light clicks on and Mr. Tiddly-Winks starts his ugly choking bark.          "Oh, shit," says Ezra, "Run!" And the two of you pelt down the alley, wheezing laughter the whole way.          The two of you stand by the remains of the fire and pant.          "Can't believe. We just did that." Your breathing is hard and fast.          "Gotta burn. The evidence--"          "Oh, yeah." You dump the remaining couple rolls of toilet paper into the coals and watch them flare bright.          "You know, you are really pretty when you're committing petty crimes," says Ezra.          "Really?" You say, and slide your arms around his waist, "What's next, mastermind? Wanna go cow-tipping? Spray-paint our names in a big heart on the overpass? Throw bricks through a Starbucks window?"            "Mmmmh," says Ezra, leaning in close, his nose brushing against yours, breath fanning your face. He grabs your ass and pulls your hips tight against his. "I like the way you think." Your eyes flick downward to where he is pressed against you.          "I can tell," you say, and he surges forward,  presses his lips to yours in a kiss that you return greedily. He tastes like beer and marshmallows and spent adrenaline. You bite his lower lip, graze of teeth against tender flesh and his hand leaves your ass to grip the back of your head, angling your mouth against his just the way he wants. Every time he kisses you, it’s like the first time, both gentle and wanting. Eventually you both have to breathe, humid exhalations in each other's faces, foreheads pressed together.          "It’s getting cold, Ez, let's take this inside,"          "Yes, Ma'am."

         The smell of coffee wakes you, your rumbling belly rousing you from sleep. Ezra has rolled on his side, the chilly light catching the planes of his broad back. You press yourself against him, your lips against his ear.          "Hey. Wakey-wakey. There's coffee." Ezra makes a series of vaguely word-like sounds, and then his snores resume. You have to smile. Ezra wakes slow. You tuck the covers over him, knowing it'll be at least ten more minutes before he comes shuffling downstairs, hair sticking up like quills, eyes slit against the weak morning light. Part of you wants to stay and bask in his warmth, but the lure of fresh coffee and frying bacon is too much. Your costume lies in a hastily discarded pile. You have no urge to put any of that back on, so you raid Ezra's dresser, one of his t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants and you pad downstairs.          "Hey, Cee." The first time you stayed the night, you were worried about how Cee would feel, you didn't want to encroach on them. Are you okay with this? You know, me and Ez? Cee gave you a look of abject teenage pity. I'm just glad you idiots figured it out. Huh? You like him, he likes you. What you get up to isn't my business, so long as I don’t have to hear it. You make your way to the counter and help yourself to some coffee, dosing it generously with cream and sugar. The pan of bacon spatters on the stove forgotten, but not quite burned. You turn the gas off and move the pan to a cold burner.  Cee peers out the window.          "Bob called the cops," says Cee.          "What?"          "Someone TP'ed Bob's house," says Cee. "Look." And sure enough there's a police car in front of Marcie's house and Marcie herself is screeching and pointing to her maple tree while the world's most bored looking cop scribbles on a notepad.          "C'mon," says Cee, grabs your arm and pulls you onto the front porch for a better view.          "It was those kids from across the highway! They should be arrested! They come into our neighborhood like they own the place every Halloween!"          "Ma'am? Ma'am, look, I can take your report, but if you didn't get a good look at them there's not a whole lot anyone can really do." You feel Ezra behind you and you lean back into him a little.          "Morning, ladies," he says, "I see Bob has been visited by the toilet paper fairy."          "She called the cops," says Cee, "Like they're really gonna drop everything and deal with a little bit of toilet paper--"          "You're not even going to question anyone?" Marcie points to the three of you clustered on Ezra's front porch, "They were out late around their fire pit! They might have seen something." The cop's shoulders slump, and he starts making his way over.          "I don't suppose you saw anybody toilet-papering Mrs Davenport's maple?" He asks.          "'Fraid not," says Ezra, "We stayed outside until about twelve-thirty? One at the latest, and then Sunny here got too cold so we went inside. Didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."          "How bout you, kid?"          "I was watching Repo! The Genetic Opera," says Cee, "I had it cranked pretty loud."          "Sorry to bother you folks,"          "Not at all," says Ezra, "I hope your day gets better."

         The three of you sit down to breakfast, eggs and bacon and toast, and Marcie is still arguing with the cop. They've reached the my taxes pay your salary bit of the conversation. Marcie is demanding his badge number.          "You guys did this, didn't you?" Says Cee around a mouthful of toast.          "No," you say reflexively.          "What makes you think that, Little Bird?"          "Your pandemic stash is gone," says Cee.          "Maybe I used it up," says Ezra.          "Bullshit you did," says Cee, "I had to hear you complain about how the single ply stuff got caught in your ass-hairs--"          "Cee!" Ezra goes beet red, and you splutter out your coffee and bray laughter.          "I knew it," says Cee.

For anyone who doesn’t get this reference, here is the origin of Bee Girl.

tagging @oonajaeadira​ @honestly-shite​ @grogusmum​ @writeforfandoms​ @beautyagegoodnesssize​ @fromthedeskoftheraven​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @cinewhore​

[starlsssankt]

@an-endless-saga​ /

Some days she found her family's descent into this life like a fever dream. She still remembered the days when she dined on china and shoped at Brunello Cucinelli. Old money and old relatives had done nothing for them.

She still remembered the day her family had split up. Their father was dead, shot by an old associate. Her older brother and sisters had been whisked away by her father's people. Her younger siblings had been taken by her father's family. She wondered sometimes why she and Jurian weren't taken by anyone.

Why had they been sold to this family? Why were they forced into this when no one else was? It's not like she could ask her mother - she'd killed herself shortly giving them away.

Anastasiya exhaled and smoothed her clothes down. What barely passed as clothes. She looked at the tiny mirror in her vanity. She had a job to do, what did the past matter now?

She left her room and stepped onto the stage as the music changed. She supposed it was nice she actually liked to dance.

𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, to meet potential associates here. In fact, this meeting has been one his mother has been insisting he keep. Aleksander isn’t sure why, of course. The family is an old one, a powerful one. But not any more so than his own. The Morozovas own this town, save for a few places that still claimed to wear white hats. 

He turns his head, as the other man speaks about some transaction or another. The entertainment on stage is mostly ignored, as one stripper grinds on the pole; he knows another is soon to take their place, as well; Aleksander has been at this place long enough to have seen five different sets. 

This meeting is one that he doubts will ever end. 

Aleksander rolls his eyes. ❝ If you want to work with me, with my family, insulting my mother isn’t a step in the right direction, Dmitri. ❞ He takes a swig of his drink, the ice clinking in the glass as the amber liquid floats around inside too. It warms him, but he’s quickly growing weary of this conversation. The other man, it seems, is intent on boring him and-- 

The music shifts again in the club, the lights so dark except the strobes and neon colors flashing, that in a way, make the whole scene tacky. Nauseating. Aleksander isn’t impressed with this particular establishment, and he’s on the verge of telling Dmitri such a thing when the newest stripper takes to the stage. 

Dmitri is still talking, of course, but Aleksander has long since tuned him out. He wonders if he can find out the name of this particular beauty... 

[starrybethany]

Clayton Keller: Part 1

Word count: 2408

Debbie. Fucking Debbie.

Jesus Christ, why did it have to be Debbie and not Chris? I would take Chris over Debbie every day, at least he doesn’t judge me when I get my rent money in a few days late. I’m a poor college student paying the rent by herself, give me a break.

“What’s up?” I ask, swinging the front door to my apartment open.

“Hi Y/N,” Debbie sends me a fake smile. “I’m just here to remind you that your rent is due in a week.”

“I have it written down, Debbie.”

“Oh,” she actually appears to be shocked. Is this bitch serious? Does she really think that little of me? Well, I haven’t given her much faith to have in me, though... “Well, just don’t forget to give it to me or Chris.”

“I know.”

She gives me another fake smile. “Have a great night, Y/N.”

“Yep, bye.” I close my door, rolling my eyes at the judgemental, middle-aged woman. “Fucking bitch,” I whisper under my breath, making my way to the living room to take a seat on the couch.

Okay, I do see why she’s concerned, though. I have been turning my rent money in late over the past couple of months but that’s just because of my lack of employment. I’m struggling to find a job that’s flexible enough that will work with my class schedule since I’m taking more credits next semester than I ever have before. This means that I have to use the little money I have saved up for rent. That money’s running out fast, though, so I have to find a job right now.

I scroll through the list on Indeed, sighing at all of the minimum wage jobs. None of those will be able to help me afford my apartment and I can’t move even if I wanted to. Every apartment in Glendale is expensive as hell and this apartment is close enough to my college that I’m able to walk to class instead of having to spend money on a car or a bus pass.

I apply for a couple of jobs anyway, figuring that I could always pick up two minimum wage jobs, despite how much I would hate it, and reluctantly check my email.

The government sent me an email an hour ago letting me know that my FAFSA has been submitted and I groan out loud, resting my head in my hands. How am I supposed to save money to pay back my student loans when I don’t even have the money to afford an apartment now?

I really have no clue what I’m going to do and all I want to do right now is drink away my troubles. I check my phone to see how long ago my friends told me they were on their way to come over to get ready and pick me up to go out to the club.

This is a long overdue night out.

I scroll through Instagram until there’s a knock at my apartment door and screams letting me know that it’s locked. I roll my eyes, standing up from my spot at the kitchen table and making my way towards the front door, opening it.

“I know it’s locked, dumbasses, Debbie was just here and I didn’t want her to knock the door open asking for rent money again,” I explain, letting my friends in.

“Just offer to eat her out instead of paying for rent next month,” Tyler recommends.

“Can you imagine? Debbie would pass out if you said that to her,” Besty giggles before walking down the hall towards my bedroom.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the club?” I eye Tyler’s T-shirt and sweatpants.

“Girl, did you really just ask me that?” He practically buries me with his eyes as we follow our other friend to my bedroom.

“What are you wearing tonight, Y/N?” Betsy asks, pulling random articles of clothing out of my closet.

“Why? Are you trying to figure out which of my clothes you want to wear?” I stand in front of the closet with her.

She sends me a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

“I’m definitely wearing this top,” I pull out the gold crop top. “And then some ripped jeans and my metallic blue vans. You can choose anything except those things.”

“Thank you,” she sings, pulling out clothes to look at.

I get dressed, throw my hair in a messy high ponytail and rest a gold chain around my neck.

“Who’s paying for drinks tonight?” I ask, walking into my bathroom to start my makeup.

“I’ll pay if you do my eyeliner,” Tyler offers, lying on my bed and playing on his phone since he finished getting dressed a long time ago.

“Get over here, then,” I order, pulling out my liquid eyeliner. I do his makeup carefully, directing his gaze towards the mirror to examine it.

“It looks great, thanks, babe,” Tyler sends himself a kiss in the mirror and I laugh, beginning my own makeup.

Two hours later we’re ready to go and stumbling down the sidewalk, some alcohol already in our systems from pregaming.

We’re all buzzed but not drunk yet, wanting to wait until we at least get to the club so we would be able to walk there. The bouncer lets us in the club with one glance, noting our slutty clothing and deciding we’re good enough to be let into the high class club.

The pounding music shakes the tiled flooring as we shoot straight to the bar, Tyler ordering us several glasses of shots and a variety of mixed drinks.

“Put it on my tab,” he yells over the bass to the bartender as she sets the tray down in front of us. I can barely hear his words over the feeling of the alcohol burning my throat as I take the shot of Jack Daniels.

“Dibs,” I call, reaching for the Sex on the Beach. The liquid sloshes out of the drink a little as I pick it up, the alcohol already taking over my system.

Betsy lets out a whine in protest at the same time she reaches for the Old Fashioned so I ignore her, directing my attention to the dance floor.

It’s honestly busier than I expected, which shouldn’t be surprising since it’s a popular spot for people to go to on a Saturday night. The dance floor is practically overflowing with people but if anything, it makes me want to jump in and go on a treasure hunt for the cutest boy to hook up with. I need a break from thinking and an attractive man is the perfect solution for that.

My vision sways as I stand up from the stool, setting the empty glass on the bar’s countertop before dancing my way over to the crowd. I enter besides a group of cute girls and they drunkenly invite me to dance with them, so there’s just five of us girls stumbling around and yelling together.

When I’m exhausted, I let out a loud giggle and move towards the center of the dance floor, closing my eyes and throwing my hands up in the air in carelessness and freedom. My body moves along to the beat of the music, the liquor swimming through my veins keeping me from caring about how I appear.

Soft hands press to my bare waist, firm enough to keep me in place but loose enough to let me go if I want to leave the grip. I let them rest, leaning back to rest my back on his chest. With my eyes still closed and the lyrics to the song belting from the bottom of my lungs, I wrap my arms around the stranger’s neck, playing with the long hair at the bottom of his neck.

I feel the chuckle that he lets out vibrate through both his and my body and his hands travel towards my belly button, connecting together and pulling me closer towards him. I smile hazily, one hand traveling down to rest over both of his and turning my head towards his. I have to lean up to reach his face but I leave a sloppy kiss on his jaw, opening my eyes to see what he looks like.

I can’t see much through the strobe lights of the dance floor but from what I can tell, he’s cute. His hair is not short but not long, it’s more on the longer side of short hair, if that makes sense. But I like it, I like long hair. He has a few cuts on his face and I can’t help but wonder what from. By his calloused hands I can guess that maybe he has a dangerous job or hobby, like working in construction or doing boxing on the side.

I can see a hint of a chain under his shirt and I reach for it, tugging it out of his T-shirt. He watches as I examine the silver cross, stroking over it with my thumb.

Something moves out of the corner of my eye and I turn my head towards it, noticing Betsy waving a glass of a daiquiri, my favorite drink, at me. Tyler laughs from next to her as I immediately launch myself out of the stranger’s arms, pushing through the crowd clumsily as I make my way towards the bar.

“Just as I was starting to sober up,” I comment, climbing onto a barstool and taking the glass from Betsy.

“Who’s your friend?” Tyler asks, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I sip on the beverage while moving along to the song, watching as Tyler leaves to talk to some cute guy at the other end of the bar.

“Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself?” Betsy finally asks after exchanging seductive glances with some guy on the dance floor.

“Betsy, please,” I stir my second daiquiri. “You deserve to get laid tonight, go.”

“If you need me, come get me,” she orders.

I roll my eyes, calling after her, “I won’t!”

I start to enter my thoughts as I notice someone sitting down on the stool next to me. I don’t look over at the person, focused on counting how many drinks I had tonight.

He coughs, then says, “Hey.”

I glance over at him and my eyes are instantly drawn to the cross dangling from his neck. It’s the guy I danced with earlier.

“Hey.”

“You were dancing with me earlier,” he states, jutting with his thumb towards the dance floor.

“I know,” I nod.

He flushes, nodding as well. “Oh.” He’s quiet. “So, uh, I’m Clayton.”

“Y/N,” I respond, sticking my hand out for a handshake.

He shakes my hand, sending me a small smile. Now that we’re in somewhat proper lighting, I can see what he looks like more, and dang, he is cute. I can tell now that his hair is a nice shade of brown and his eyes are this magnificent green color. I could stare at them forever and never be able to tell how many different shades and colors there are in his eyes.

“You from around here?” He asks, motioning the bartender over.

I nod and watch as Clayton puts in his order, turning to me. “Do you want another drink?”

“No, I’m good,” I reject.

He raises his eyebrows but nods, thanking the bartender for the beer. I like to play hard to get when it comes to boys. It makes the sex better.

“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding towards a blonde boy at the end of the bar.

Clayton turns to look, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “That’s my teammate. Why?”

“He keeps looking at us,” I take the final sip of my daiquiri. “Teammate?”

“Yeah I play for the Arizona Coyotes.”

“Oh, hockey.”

“Have you ever been to a game?” He questions.

“Yeah, I went on a date once and then you guys lost and my date got pissed so he ditched me in the middle of the arena,” I explain.

“Oh that sucks. I mean, I wouldn’t be with you at the game obviously but I’d love to take you out on a date after a game, if you would like,” he asks me out with a smile.

“No thanks,” I pass, watching as Tyler and the guy he was flirting with stand up from their stools. They’re probably going back to Tyler’s place to hook up now.

“What? Did you say no thanks?”

“Yeah I’ll pass on the offer, no offense. I’m just not looking for anything serious right now.”

A bunch of cash is thrown on the bartop in front of me and Tyler looms over me. “Money for the bar, and some extra for your rent next month. It’s not a lot but it’ll help until you get stable a bit, okay? And don’t you dare give it back, otherwise you’re paying for drinks next time when I plan to get blackout wasted. Oh, and don’t come over to my apartment for the rest of the weekend.” He winks, grabbing his hookup’s hand and leading him out the door.

I roll my eyes at Tyler, calling the bartender over to close his tab. Clayton watches as I pay the bill and shove the rest of the money into my pocket.

“You’re having trouble paying your rent, huh?” Clayton asks with a sigh, picking up his beer and swirling it around.

I give him a look. “Why do you care?”

“And you don’t want to be in a serious relationship but you want to have some fun,” he continues, “Looks like what you’re looking for is a sugar daddy.”

I scoff. “I don’t want to hop on some desperate sixty year old’s dick, Clayton.”

“Who said they had to be sixty? They could be, I don’t know, twenty one with seven million dollars to spend a year,” he responds.

“Seven million?” I almost choke.

“And maybe, that guy doesn’t know what to spend that money on but he sees a beautiful girl sitting in front of him and well,” he shrugs, maintaining eye contact while he takes a sip of his beer.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Dead.”

“If you’re really offering to be my sugar daddy-””I am.”

“Be prepared. I’m high maintenance.”

[peteywillproceed]

Falling

Author’s Note: Hi guys! Whew, this was a journey! Over 6k words and I am exhausted! It’s been through like ten name changes and five rewrites and I still think it sucks ass but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! x

Summary: You made the mistake of falling for a guy. He broke your heart. Moving on was the easiest thing in the world - until it wasn’t.

Word Count: 6.2k

Your breathing was heavy, ragged as lips trailed across your skin and sucked bruises on your ribs. You gasped as his fingers trailed across your chest, gathering you in his arms when he crawled back up to your lips and crashed into you like a wave breaking against a shore.

You were happy.

So happy.

Your heart swelling with joy as he laced his hands in yours and whispered quiet promises against your lips.

You didn’t know if it was light or dark. Morning or night. All you knew was the fire flooding your veins and the electricity setting your nerves alight.

The ‘I love yous’ and the promises of forever.

And then it all came crashing down.

*three months later*

Lights blared bright in your eyes, music so loud it stung your ears. Your hands were sweaty, wrapped around a beer bottle you’d held for so long it was warm and frothy. But it was the only thing keeping you grounded as you tossed your hair on the dancefloor and moved through the crowd of writhing bodies.

“You know how much trouble we’re in, right?”

You swung around, arms in the air and sight tainted by the haze of vodka. “Stop being such a buzzkill Houdini! Twat isn’t back till Tuesday.”

“Houdini? That’s a new one,” Harry raised an eyebrow and ignored your swipe at his brother, eyeing you warily as you stumbled over his foot. “Maybe cool it with the shots now?”

You cackled, pink and blue strobe lights slicing through your best friend’s body as you twisted and curved in time to the music. “Maybe cool it with the mothering, Harriet.”

“I’m only mothering you because you threw an illegal party in my brother’s house.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, finally stopping dancing when he gave you the ‘I’m serious, you’re an idiot’ look he’d perfected the first time you’d thrown a party. Except that time, it had been in your own house, and not your secret ex…whatever’s.

“Come on, like goodie-two-shoes-Tommy is ever gonna know.”

“He might, Y/n,” Harry shrugged, widening his arms “how are you planning on hiding the fact that three hundred people trashed his house?”

“By not telling him. Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this,” you grinned, moving your hips and dragging him back onto the dance floor “for one night your brother isn’t breathing down your neck, enjoy it and live a little! We can figure the rest out in the morning.”

He started to protest, pushing against your hands, but you strengthened your grip and pulled him into the crowd, ignoring the grunts from the people nearby. You loved Harry, you really did, you’d grown up with his annoying-as-fuck tendency to be a tattle tale, put up with the refusal to go out on a school night for years, and until you’d gotten involved with Tom you’d never questioned it.

But one night was all it took for everything you thought you’d known about your best friend’s brother to be completely shattered. And since then? Well, you didn’t exactly give a shit someone had smashed his Rolex tonight.

“You realise you could just admit the break-up upset you, right?” Harry laughed as you forced him to move “you don’t need to go full on Wild Child instead of talking about your emotions.”

“It was one night, there wasn’t a break-up, and your brother can get fucked,” you replied a little too quickly, wishing you were talking about anything else.

“I’m just saying, there are healthier ways to deal with getting your heart broken than destroying his house.”

You snorted and took a sip of your beer, almost gagging at the staleness. “The bloke already hates me, what’s a little property damage between enemies?”

“About £50,000 worth of legal fees.”

“Wow, you’re really bringing the heat tonight, aren’t you Holland?” you smirked, widening your eyes “almost like you learned from the best.”

“Yeah, Sam’s really good at one-liners,” he grinned in reply, and you punched his shoulder playfully.

Suddenly, you felt eyes on you, the unmistakable sensation of someone looking you over. You spun in a circle, zeroing in on every distracted party goer until you found the bright blue eyes burrowing under your skin and making you burn all over.

Nudging Harry, you pointed over his shoulder and forced him to turn around. “Hey, who’s that?”

“Err…I think his name’s Josh?” he gave you a funny look, like he couldn’t quite figure out the sudden change of topic. “He’s one of Sam’s mates from catering.”

“Is he single?”

Harry sighed at your smirk, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Jesus, Y/n, why would I know? If you’re so determined to get over Tom, go snog him or something.”

“For your information,” you grinned, starting to back away through the crowd “I’m completely over the heathen, but if it takes me snogging a cute guy to prove that to you, I guess I won’t complain.”

Harry had all but disappeared by the time you finished your sentence, but you knew he’d heard you when his middle finger shot up from somewhere in the middle of the heaving mass of partygoers, and you chuckled to yourself. You needed a distraction tonight, anything to not have to think about Tom and the trail of broken hearts he’d left in his wake three months ago.

Turning around, you were fully prepared to go and find Josh and put this whole mess behind you, when you slammed into a chest so hard you would’ve fallen over if it wasn’t for strong arms pulling you back up.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean…” you trailed off, spotting the sandy blond hair and cocky smirk “actually, you know what? I totally did mean to do that.”

“Just like you totally meant to loudly shout your intentions to make out with me?” Josh raised an eyebrow, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Thank God for foundation.

“Obviously, how else would you have known?”

Before he could answer, you’d pulled him down to your height and slammed your lips against his, surprise jolting through your body when you realised he was actually a good kisser. You were just getting into it, letting your hands slide into his hair, when a loud shout brought the room to a standstill and silenced the music.

“What the FUCK is going on?”

You jerked away from Josh, you’d recognise that voice anywhere, and spun towards the kitchen table. Tom was on top of it, his face livid and full of thunder, his eyes searching the room for an explanation. “Well?”

You gulped, goosebumps erupting across your body as the realisation of what you’d done set in. But then you remembered, Tom wasn’t even meant to be back from filming for another three days - why the hell was he here?

“It’s just a party, man,” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Yes, I’m aware of what it is,” Tom replied drily, his eyes finally landing on you “and I know exactly who’s responsible for it.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, the eye contact more than you’d had in three months from him. It felt funny finally seeing him after all this time, like you’d found a missing piece to a puzzle you couldn’t finish, but the cold look he was giving you was barely any different to how you’d left him.

He was looking between you and Josh, his tongue pressed against his cheek, and for some inexplicable reason you felt guilty. Like you’d been caught doing something illegal instead of just exercising your right to kiss as many damn people you fancied.

Finally, Tom set his jaw and tore his eyes away from you, the loss leaving you empty.

His voice dropped dangerously. “All of you – get the fuck out of my house.”

***

A few days later, you were hanging your clothes out to dry when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pushed a peg into your mouth and dragged it out cack-handed, juggling the pile of washing and the box of clean clothes as you struggled to read the caller ID.

“Have you heard from him?” you asked earnestly into the phone, barely breathing as you waited for a response.

“Nice to talk to you too, cheery,” Harry grumbled, the sound of sleep clogging his voice.

“Are you seriously just waking up? It’s eleven o’clock!”

“Did you forget I was twenty-one yesterday?” he replied “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t in bed until six am.”

“Oh, right, yeah I saw those pictures.”

“Yeah so you’ll forgive me if I’m not completely awake yet.”

You ran a thumb over your lip, your eyes dropping to the pile of crinkled washing on the grass. You’d only meant to put it there for a second, but you’d forgotten how much it had rained last night and now the edges were stained with mud and your once clean bedsheets were stained green.

“Typical,” you muttered, trying to dust some of it off. Why did it always feel like this? Like when you were finally taking a step forward, something else was dragging you back two. It was only a minor thing, you could always just rewash them - but it wasn’t just the sheets, was it? Ever since…that night, you’d felt like you were walking through treacle, balancing on a knife’s edge you hadn’t seen before stepping into the unknown.

“What was that?” Harry asked, the sound of pots clanging in the background jerking you back to your conversation.

“Oh nothing, I just um, I just dropped some washing. Are you cooking?”

“Um…yeah, sure that sounds good – oh, Tom, hey.” Your best friend’s tone suddenly flipped like a switch, the audible gulp ringing through the handset. You barely had time to wonder why he was acting so cagey about cooking when a rugged voice began muttering in the background. You froze, your grip on your basket loosening as you stepped through the door.

You could barely hear what they were saying, but then Harry’s voice reappeared on the other end of the receiver, a slight nervous wobble creeping in. “Hey, err Y/n?”

“Yeah?” you replied, shaking off your shock and beginning to throw the ruined sheets back into the wash.

“Tom wants to talk to you.”

“Well tell him that-”

“He’s not an owl, Y/n,” Tom cut you off. “He doesn’t have to pass messages back and forth.”

Heat rose in your cheeks, frustration flowing through your veins as you balled your hands into fists and raked them through your hair. Somehow his voice was even more annoying than before. “Don’t quote Harry Potter at me, Thomas, especially when you’re just as guilty of doing it.”

“Doing what, exactly? You’re the one that trashed my house.”

“Passing messages through Harry! You didn’t exactly have the balls to tell me yourself you were running off to Colorado for three months.”

“Because you blocked my number!”

You sighed, eyes flicking towards the timer on the washing machine. It was true you’d blocked Tom’s number, but three months ago you’d been lying in his bed talking about how you felt and finally, finally admitting everything you’d kept bottled up since you were fourteen.

And then the next day he’d told you it was a mistake.

Went running off to America like a coward.

Leaving Harry to pick up the pieces and you to realise that everything you thought you could’ve had was pure fantasy.

So yes, you’d blocked his number. But it wasn’t like you hadn’t had a reason, and he had to know that. There was no way he could be that thick.

“What do you want, Tom?” you said at last, leaning against the machines. Maybe if you just let him say what he had to say this would all be over and you could go back to not giving a fuck.

Suddenly, the line clicked and the monotonous hum of the phone shutting down rang in your ear.

“What the…?” you trailed off, pulling the phone away from your ear to stare at it in shock. Had he…just called you…to argue with you…and then hung up on you?

Beside you, the door began to creak open and you jumped into the air, your phone flying across the room and landing face up on the tiles. You swore under your breath, bending down to retrieve it just as you felt someone else step into the room behind you.

“Sorry, I’ll just be a- Tom? Your mouth fell open at the sight of the boy stood in front of you, the brown curls you’d run your hands through only months ago gone, the light you’d known in his eyes dead and scattered amongst the ashes.

“I think we need to talk,” he said slowly, holding his hands up as if you were going to shoot him “about everything.”

Your mouth began to move, words flying around in your brain, but no sound came out as you struggled to piece together any semblance of thought. “What are you doing here?”

“I just…after the other night I figured we needed to talk. Properly talk.” He reached for your hand but you snatched it away, your heart beating loudly in your ears.

“Y/n, I know…I know what I did was shitty. But I just need you to hear me out.”

You scoffed, backing away from him until you were pressed against the garden door. “You think now’s a good time for this?”

“I think the best time was three months ago when you were next to me in bed,” he bit his lip, and this time you looked at him. Like, really looked at him.

His jeans were stained in all manner of dodgy areas, his shirt the old Tesco one you’d got him as a joke for his birthday. He had huge, purple bags beneath his eyes, and his socks were two different colours, like he’d been in such a rush he’d forgotten to check; you didn’t even bother to ask about the crocs.

“Well,” you whispered, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “At least you finally realised that.”

He nodded earnestly, moving towards you and freezing when you threw up your hand to stop him. “I did. Oh God, I did. I spent three months feeling like the shittest person in the world and I didn’t know how to call you to explain.”

“So you thought you’d accost me in my laundry room?”

“It…wasn’t my best plan. But you didn’t exactly make it easy for me to contact you.”

Your mouth fell open, your hand flying to your chest. “Watch it, Holland, or I might think you just tried to blame me for this whole mess.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, it sure as hell sounded like that was what you meant!” He flinched as you raised your voice and your arms, but you didn’t feel sorry for it. You’d spent months feeling like a complete idiot, wishing you’d never even told him how you felt. And here he was, trying you blame you for the mess he caused. “So tell me, Tom, just what exactly you think you’re doing here.

“I came to apologise-”

“That’s a good start.”

“And to say that I meant what I said…y’know, before I left.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame with your arms crossed. Tom was halfway across the room now, his hands curled in front of him as he swiped them on his jeans. He was biting his lip, the glasses he didn’t need halfway down the bridge of his nose and it took every inch of you not to break and run to him, fall into the arms you knew so well and forget it had all happened.

You knew what it was like, the vanilla and the cinnamon that would waft up your nose and remind you that you were home. The strength of the arms that would ground you and hold you to Earth. It was so tempting, so inviting to just go back - but where would that get you?

No, going back wasn’t an option anymore. There was only forwards, where the path behind you was well trodden and full of tears.

“That’s nice,” you said at last, shaking your head. “But you can’t really expect me to believe you.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping when he realised you weren’t giving in. You wondered if he knew how deep he’d cut you, what those words had meant to you and how you’d felt when he’d snatched them away. You wondered if Harry had told him everything that happened over the next few months, how you’d almost broken and yet from the outside you looked happier than ever. You almost hoped he knew how you’d bounced back. How you were fine now.

Or at least, how you pretended to be fine.

“Maybe this isn’t the best place to do this,” he cast an eye round the room warily, and your skin bristled when his gaze finally landed on you. “Can we go up to your place?”

“Absolutely not.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think, shocking yourself more than you shocked Tom.

“Well…will you come to mine?”

“Sure, if I need to see Harry,” you responded as the washing machine pinged “is there anything else? My laundry’s done.”

“Y/n, we need to talk about this,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper “you can’t just ignore me.”

You fixed him with a look, throwing the clean sheets into your basket with more force than necessary and walking towards him. You were so close you could smell his aftershave, different from his normal, more minty than you would have liked. You could see every hair, every line on his face, but it was the look in his eyes that broke you, the sadness that you’d felt for so many months hovering just within him too.

“No, Tom, we don’t,” your voice broke and fresh hot tears began to stream down your face. “The time for talking about it was before you left for Colorado. Now…now’s the time for me to move on, because you broke my heart Tom, you broke it.”

You were full on sobbing now, choking on your words as you spluttered through them. “You smashed it into so many pieces that I couldn’t find them all. And now you’re trying to smash it again, but I won’t allow it. I won’t allow you to take anymore of my heart than you already have.”

“I didn’t-”

“I don’t care Tom!” you screamed, but he barely flinched. You threw the basket down so hard it bounced on the floor and spilt the sheets again. “You had all that time to find out, all that time to do something about it, and you didn’t! So you’ll have to forgive me when I say I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“So that’s it then? Everything you said all those nights ago means nothing any more?” his voice was filled with a pain that cut you to the core, the wobble in his throat making your heart ache more than you expected.

“It means everything, and that’s the problem,” you sniffed, dropping your head to the floor.

You felt Tom draw closer, his body so close to yours that you could feel his heat. He lifted his fingers to your chin, catching your jaw and raising your head so your eyes met his.

“Why does it have to be a problem?”

You paused, almost not saying it. “Because I can’t let you break me again.”

He nodded, backing away, his fingers leaving your chin and you felt empty from the loss. “I’m sorry.”

It was barely a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear but not quite deep enough for it to mean anything. He turned and started walking away, pausing at the door to look back at you. He opened his mouth to say something, his bottom lip wobbling, but he shut it again before any words came out.

Then he disappeared and let the door bang shut behind him.

Relief flooded your body, seeping through every crack in your bones and every fragment of your heart. You were done with the excuses, the comments, the desperate pleas from Harry that his brother was an idiot and too caught up with work to realise what he’d done wrong. You were busy too, but that hadn’t ever made you spew a bunch of crap about loving someone since you’d seen them in the lunch room. It had never made you fill somebody’s heart with hope only to crush it in the morning with just a few simple words and excuses blamed on alcohol.

The final click of the lock was enough to make you slide against the door. Sink down to the floor. Bury your head in your hands.

It was relief, that was what it was. That was what you had to tell yourself. So you could get back up again and walk back to your flat and make everything okay again.

It wasn’t sadness.

It couldn’t ever feel like sadness.

So why did it feel like it was?

***

“Are you sure you want to go tonight?” Harry asked as he watched you smudge your lips with red. “Nobody will notice if you’re not there.”

You rolled your eyes at the dramatics, capping the lipstick tube with a satisfying click and spinning on your heel. “Oh please, it’s a party – we’re not storming off to war.”

“Yeah but it’s…Tom’s party.”

“And last I checked we weren’t exactly on speaking terms,” you shrugged, grabbing your bag from your bed. “He’s not likely to come anywhere near me, there’s going to be hundreds of people there.”

Harry shook his head and pushed himself off the door frame, fixing you with the look you were tired of getting. It had been two weeks since Tom had come to your flat and you were still nowhere near over it; not that you’d ever admit it, but you’d never been over it in the first place.

When Harry had mentioned that Tom was throwing a party to celebrate the release of his new movie, your immediate reaction had been words you couldn’t repeat in front of a three year old. But then he’d turned on the puppy dog eyes and you were suddenly feeling bad about making him go it alone.

“You could make friends with a plant pot, what do you need me there for?” you’d asked.

“Yeaaahhhh, but who’s going to stop me falling face first into that plant pot when I’m pissed?” Harry had replied, grinning at your annoyed face.

“Fine, but I’m drinking the first thing in sight and you’re keeping Tom away from me.”

“What is it with you two? You spend half your time acting like you hate each other. Wouldn’t it just be easier to, I don’t know, suck it up and get together already?” Harry interrupted your thoughts, jerking you back to reality with a flick of his wrist.

You snorted. “We tried that, didn’t exactly work that well.”

“Well it might work a lot better if you actually talked to the guy.”

“Damn it Harry,” you slammed your palm against the door. “I don’t want to talk to someone who told me he loved me and then ran three thousand miles away the next day!”

You could feel the sob building up in your chest, the one you’d buried so deep you’d forgotten it was even there. The walls seemed to tilt towards you as you stumbled into the hall, barely noticing as you slid against the kitchen door frame and forced air into your lungs. God you didn’t want to talk about this, not now when everything you’d done to bury this had worked so well.

“But you do want to talk to Tom! Maybe not the guy that broke your heart, but the guy you’ve been in love with since we were fourteen,” Harry said, exasperated. “You’re going around pretending like you’re over him, like you haven’t thought about him in months. But you threw that party for the same reason you kissed that bloke for, and you know it!”

“Are we seriously fighting over your brother right now? Are you back to being the damn messenger, because I can’t…I can’t keep…” tears were spilling over your cheeks, searing your eyes and stinging the familiar patches of skin that had been stained with the same tears only a few months ago. You tried to breathe, tried to refocus your mind but the world was swimming and you could hardly see anymore through the blurry glass of your tears.

Before you could think, Harry had pulled you into his arms and smothered you against his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Sod the party, let’s just watch a movie and get some pizza.”

“No, no, I want to go,” you mumbled against his chest “I need this…I think. Just to see him and know that it’s all done, so I can move on and forget it ever happened.”

“Fuck that, Y/n, let’s just stay here.”

“Please? I really need this.”

Harry pushed you back gently, running a finger under your mascara stained eyes as he took a deep breath. You could see the indecision, the uncertainty at letting you step into the unknown written across his face. In this moment, it was you or his brother, and you hoped to God it was the latter. “This is the last time?”

“The last time,” you promised.

“Well,” he sighed, checking his watch, the long moment fading and passing into the night “I guess we have a party to get to.”

***

When you pulled up to Tom’s house, the lights were out and the curtains were drawn. You threw Harry a look, surprised that there was nobody spilling out of the doors and no music shaking the walls, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

“Err, where is everybody?” you asked, peering out of the window for signs of life.

“Haven’t the faintest,” Harry replied, pulling the handbrake on and reaching over you to open the door. “Do you wanna go in and I’ll catch up? I need to sort something quickly.”

You rolled your eyes and gathered your things from the backseat, feeling uneasy about the lack of people. “I can’t believe you’re sending me in there alone.”

“It’s just for five minutes, you’ll survive.”

“Or maybe I won’t and you’ll be reading my eulogy.”

“I look forward to it,” Harry smirked “I can finally tell people how nasty you are.”

You punched him in the shoulder and stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath before starting towards the house. You felt stupid in the heels, the red lipstick suddenly feeling to garish and over the top.

You rolled your shoulders and set your jaw, running a hand nervously through your hair whilst the other clung tightly to your bag. The clack of your shoes against Tom’s gravel set your teeth on edge, and on impulse you reached down and pulled them off, enjoying the bite of the winter air against your hot feet.

By the time you reached the door, your confusion had only grown, because the house was completely silent and there were certainly no signs of a party. You spun around to find Harry and demand that he take you home, because it was nine o’clock, there was obviously no party, and you weren’t facing Tom alone.

Except his car was gone.

You bit your lip in surprise, looking up and down the street in case he’d just moved the car to park it somewhere safer. But he was nowhere to be seen - the road was empty save for a man running to his van at the bottom. You rolled your eyes and reached for your phone, realising the guy was taking the piss and figuring that if you called him before you saw him again you might not actually murder him.

But your phone was gone and come to think of it Harry hadn’t even been dressed for a party. What the hell was going on?

You debated knocking on another house’s door and asking to borrow the phone, call for a cab and just go home. But it was late and you felt bad about disturbing people that were probably sleeping, all because your best friend was an arsehole and you were too much of a coward to knock on Tom’s door. At last, you gave in and walked back up the drive, pausing at the front door and bracing yourself to see him.

How the hell were you going to explain it? “Oh sorry Tom, no I didn’t actually mean to come here, Harry just thought it would be funny to play a prank and don’t worry I’ll kill him myself the next time I see him.”

At least you looked nice, you thought, raising your hand to knock. At least he wouldn’t think you were ugly and a bitch.

As you moved your hand towards the door, it suddenly swung inwards, the hallway dark and unlit. You gasped, stumbling backwards, peering fearfully into the house in case some burglar was about to come running straight past you. But as your eyes began adjusting to the light, you noticed something strange about the floor.

It was covered in rose petals.

“Tom?” you called out nervously, stepping into the house. “Tom? It’s Y/n. Your front door is open…?”

You moved deeper into the house, quietly closing the door behind you so you didn’t wake him if he was sleeping. Keeping your hands against the wall in case you slipped, you made your way down the hall, noticing a soft glow coming from the kitchen. You paused when you reached the doorway, wondering if you should’ve grabbed your keys or a weapon in case there really was a burglar in here.

But at the last second, you lost your footing and stumbled through the doorway, falling into the kitchen with a soft thud and gasp.

It took a second for you to process it all, but when you finally did you almost felt your heart stop. Fairy lights glittered over every inch of the wall, the floor here too covered with rose petals and flowers. The kitchen table, bowing in the middle just like everything else Tom had made on that bloody wood work course, was covered in a cloth, two plates and a single candle decorating the surface. You stared transfixed at the setup, your mouth falling open in shock.

And then Tom appeared.

Clutching the biggest bouquet of daisies you’d ever seen in your life.

“You like it?” he whispered “I know daisies are your favourite.”

“What…what is all this?” you breathed, still gobsmacked by the softly glowing room.

Tom smiled, moving closer to you and setting the flowers on the table. “A really over the top apology.”

“This is for me?”

“Obviously, dummy,” he laughed, flinching when you smacked his arm. “Hey! I spent money on these flowers, I’ll have you know!”

“And what a dreadful waste, Holland, don’t you care about our environment?” You were joking but your breath was still caught, your brain trying to play catch up as the scene played in front of you, like you were watching this all happen to someone else. Someone luckier.

“I care more about you,” he replied, and somehow he was even closer than before. “I care more about you than anything else in my life. And I couldn’t quite figure out how to explain that three months ago.”

“And you know now?”

He nodded, pulling you towards him. “I think I do, yes.”

“Then say it.”

His lips parted, his eyes caught on yours as he reached to cup your cheek. A waft of his aftershave made its way towards you, the mintiness of before replaced with the warm vanilla you remembered so well. The glasses were gone and he was wearing the burgundy suit you’d had too many dreams about to remember. 

But in that moment, none of that mattered. 

All you could think about in that moment was the way he was staring at you.

Like you were the most precious thing on Earth.

“Three months ago I told you how I wanted to spend forever with you, how you’re all I’ve thought about for years. How you consume every part of me, spend your days dancing in my mind and reminding me of everything we could have. But what I didn’t tell you was why.

“Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know why it is that I love you so much, and that’s what scared me – the fact that I could feel something so deeply for you and have no rational explanation for it. So I thought the logical thing was that the feelings weren’t real and they weren’t that powerful, that if I tried to move on then we’d eventually forget and nothing would be lost.

��Those months away from you were torture, not knowing how badly you were hurting and why you’d blocked my number. I didn’t realise how much of an ass I was until Harry flew out to America and practically beat down my door.”

“Harry went to America?” you interrupted him “when?”

Tom smiled, his thumb rubbing your cheek in slow circles. “That weekend you thought he had that photography competition. He flew out to kick my ass and ask what the hell happened.”

“I wondered how he knew so much,” you chuckled quietly “it was like he came back from that weekend and he knew exactly what to say.”

“Because that’s Harry, he always knows exactly what to do,” Tom shrugged.

“Tonight was his idea, wasn’t it?” you grinned, watching as he blushed fuchsia.

“Well, the idea was. But I take full credit for putting it together!”

You laughed at his face, the crinkles in his smile and the dimples in his cheeks so familiar you could have drawn them blindfolded. You reached up to trace them, still not quite believing this was real, when just two weeks ago you thought he’d left that laundry room and walked out of your life forever.

“Hey Tom?” you murmured, wrapping your fingers around his. “Two weeks ago when you came to see me…how did you get there?”

He frowned and looked at you like you’d gone insane. “Harry dropped me.”

“So he wasn’t cooking?”

“If Harry was cooking the fire brigade would’ve been called.”

You giggled, knowing it was true. He’d tried to cook pancakes for you last year and you’d had to throw out the pan because you couldn’t scrape it off.

“Why would you think he was?” Tom asked, smiling softly in the dim light.

“Well, it sounded like there were pans clanging in the background,” you said “I just figured he was making breakfast.”

“I told him to say that,” Tom admitted, his cheeks still red “I actually bought you a present back from Colorado but I broke it in the car.”

“You never were very careful, were you Tommy?” you smiled, reaching up instinctively to brush his curls behind his ears. When all your fingers found was stubble, your hand settled in the curve of his neck, cupping his cheek as you tried to find the words to explain what would happen next.

“All I know is that you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he replied, not taking his eyes off you “and if getting you back took Harry lying about making breakfast? Then I’m not going to complain. I don’t want to waste another second that I could be spending on you.”

You laughed, nestling your head into the crook of his neck as he drew you closer. Vanilla overwhelmed your senses as you sank into his familiarity, overcome by the sweetness and homeliness. You’d had so many questions, and so little time to ask them, but after it all there was still just one that remained answered.

“Why me?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes “why me when you could have literally anyone else?”

“I-” he stopped himself, stumbling over the knee-jerk reaction as he took a deep breath. “Because there’s never been anyone but you.”

“And this is real?” you whispered, feeling the unknown stretch in front of you as your heart skipped a beat. “Because if you say it is, that you want this, I can’t go back again. I’ll be jumping without a parachute.”

Tom smiled, tilting his head to the side. He caught your gaze, his hands wandering to your waist and pulling you closer whilst your heart beat faster than it ever had before. You held your breath as he leant forward, catching your lips with his.

The moment they touched was like he’d lit a bonfire inside you; your skin burned and your lungs filled with the smoke. You could hardly breathe, feeling your nerves spark alight and race with electricity, every touch bringing you closer to how you’d been three months ago. Memories of that night danced across your vision, playing like a record you’d longed to open – every kiss, every touch, every whisper on replay in front of you.

At last, he pulled away, taking the fire with him while electricity crackled in your veins.

“Then I guess, darling,” he whispered, hushed under his breath “I’ll simply have to catch you.”

 taglist:

@zabdisamor @jinxfanfics @jillanaholland @enjoymyloves @ihopethatwemeetinanotherlife @averyfosterthoughts @ziggyspurplehaze

[the-lack-of-errors-in-star-trek]

MIDNIGHT FLIGHTS - 0.1

Chapter 1

In a library, a young teacher, and a young FBI agent were browsing the same aisle of books on adolescent psychology, making efforts to stand a safe distance away. The first thing that Natasha noticed was a tall man with odd posture and interesting quirks for selecting a book, almost as if he were browsing psychological literature for fun. The first thing that Spencer noticed was that a relatively short woman was searching for two specific titles listed on a wrinkled sticky note, more than likely for the purposes of bettering her career. Both persons considered the other interesting for choosing to be in a library on a Friday afternoon when colleges, schools, and most workplaces were observing a winter break a week from Christmas.

Natasha is the first to leave the section with her two required readings, Spencer loitering around selecting three titles to occupy his afternoon in the library. While Natasha is checking out her books, she receives an incoming call, checking the number quickly before answering, expecting her mother on the line.

"Privyet, mama, what's going on?"

A familiar voice enters her ear, "Oh come on Nastya, I've been waiting on you for an hour now. Your mother is trying to get me to eat another bowl of borscht, please save me." The voice of her best friend, Anna, brings a light chuckle to Natasha.

"I'm almost done at the library, I promise, I'll be there in less than a half hour." She answers, handing her library card to be scanned by the sitting clerk.

"Da, please just hurry." Anna repeats her plea and hangs up, leaving Natasha to collect her items and hurry out of the lobby of the library, headed directly to the metro.

As promised, Natasha enters the small apartment above her family's store with 25 minutes to spare from Anna's disappointment. "Ya doma!" She calls out, a small "yay" can be heard from the kitchen as she sets her bag down by the door. Walking into the sitting room connected to the kitchen, she spots the clock as being 19:36.

"You need to eat dinner, Lisichka" her mother calls out to her, wiping down the counter and sipping on a coffee, lit cigarette in hand.

"And right after, we need to change, hurry." Anna demands of her, walking from the small kitchen to the living room couch, eyeing the news playing in the background.

Natasha's adult life was very much consistent, after a long week of teaching and grading middle schoolers, Anna would be right there to take her to the newest clubs in the D.C. area. Natasha took a moment to analyse her friendship while eating her borscht and bread. They had met in the local Eastern Orthodox church in D.C. Nowadays, both only practice in the name of tradition instead of the belief they held as children, but that bond was set when they spoke for the first time during a church meal, and most of the Eastern European community probably only went to church for that same reason, tradition. Nastya and Anna were practically sisters, and had felt loss in the same way. When Anna was 16, she lost her brother in a car accident, and finally understood why Nastya carried an air of grief around her. Losing family was losing a part of your soul, and that was an unshakable moment between the two teens, leading them to live in similar ways. For Nastya, she put her heart and soul into teaching, making the world better for young scholars one English class period at a time, and for Anna, working as an intern in a law firm while working towards the bar exam meant giving her family name a better reputation than just "some Russians" living in D.C.

Later that night, the metro ride to the heart of downtown was largely uneventful, both women dressed for a fun time in the city, Anna wearing her blonde hair up in a twist, exposing a black sweater and gold necklace, slacks and heeled boots to go with. Nastya was dressed in a similar fashion, a red sweater from light fabric and dark jeans going with her worn black heeled boots, both women holding their purses close while holding the same rail. Leaving the metro meant walking fast from the station to the club, as the cold December air placed a chill over their bones. Neon lights could be seen all over the city, entering a small queue where a bouncer was checking IDs for entry into a new and definitely not prestigious club.

With a side eye from the bouncer, most likely from the last names on their Virginian licenses, both Anna and Nastya enter the club with no further event. The lights were strobing different colors, the music was loud and pumping, and both women sought a beeline for the bar, hoping to clock in a few shots prior to dancing. The bartender is a kind woman who obliges in pouring the four shots, taking payment from Natasha immediately.

"I'll cover the next four," Anna states, washing the second shot down with a sip of coke.

"You better!" Natasha laughs, lightly tapping Anna's shoulder, and turning to look at the crowd. Both were thankful for the fact the club had a coat room, ensuring the only thing needed to carry was their phones and some cash. "Dance?" She asks her friend, looking to the floor.

"Definitely!" Anna shouts over the music, dragging Nastya by the wrist to the floor, alcohol keeping their chests warm as they begin to dance by themselves and next to each other. A few men pass by briefly, none getting too close, but a quite muscular man saunters over, seeming to try and seduce Anna. Nastya takes this as a cue to find something stronger from the bar, leaning over to Anna's ear.

"Have fun, don't leave without me." She commands, receiving a thumbs up from her friend before closing the gap and dancing up on the bald man who approached them. Nastya can overhear their introductions as she walks away and towards the bar. She orders a gin and tonic from the lady behind the counter, and sips on it while walking the perimeter of the floor, attempting to spot her friend. Assuming they went towards the middle of the floor, she hangs back, taking the next ten minutes to slam through her drink, leaving it on the bar counter before finally spotting Anna's figure at a table of people, the man she was dancing with not even 15 minutes before standing next to her. Nastya walks over, tapping Anna on the shoulder.

"I thought I told you not to stray far," Nastya starts in Russian, "I couldn't find you for a solid ten." She finishes in English.

Anna shushes her, "Dude it's fine, look these guys are awesome! They work here! In the D.C.!" Liquor had always taken Anna faster than Nastya, she was just hoping she could keep tabs on her. She shakes her head at her friend before looking at the table, spotting an oddly familiar face across from her.

"Are you two Russian?" A skinny brunette asks the both of them in broken Russian, alcohol makes anyone a polyglot with the right vocabulary. Both women nod, answering with a curt "Da" waiting for more conversation to enter the table.

"Well we love meeting new people, your friend already told me her name, I'm Derek, what's yours?" The tall buff man asks Natasha.

"Natasha, nice to meet you Derek, don't move too fast on her, she gets tipsy faster than I do." Natasha cracks a friendly comment, getting a laugh and a light slap on the shoulder from Anna.

"Nice to meet you both, I'm Emily." The brunette introduces herself to both young women on the spot, moving to point to the two people sitting next to her. "This is Penelope," she says, pointing to a slightly chubby and eccentric woman with cat eye glasses and an outfit to match, plenty of colour in comparison to the rest of their group. A short and sweet "nice to meet you" leaves Penelope's lips, moving to chew on her small bar straw in her red cocktail.

"And this is Spencer, our workplace genius." Emily finishes, the familiar man waving but finally looking up to face both women.

"Wait, I saw you in the library earlier today," he starts, shock coming to most of the table's faces. "Adolescent psychology, what was that for?"

"I'm a teacher." Natasha answers shortly, "I could ask you the same thing."

"Just light reading material." Spencer answers in the same matter of fact manner, the interaction leaving an odd air around the group.

Emily moves over slightly, "Please sit, the more the merrier, we can keep drinks going." Anna is the first to oblige, her boots new and not nearly as easy on the feet as Nastya's.

"Come on, Nastya, don't be a stranger, you need more friends than just me." Anna slaps the spot next to her, Nastya giving into the demands of her friend, as Derek excuses himself to grab shots for the table.

"So you know our professions," Nastya starts, "what brings you four together?"

"We work in the same office," Emily answers, her tone always warm and welcoming, definitely appealing to Natasha in opening up. "Federal agents, gotta cut loose every once and awhile."

Anna and Nastya nod, Anna piping up first. "What is that even like?"

"A lot of paperwork most of the time, but keeps us on our toes." Emily and Penelope seem to be the most talkative, the blonde answering the question this time around.

"Really?" Derek asks, coming back to the table and conversation with plenty of shots for everyone. "You're the one in the cave, Garcia, these girls were asking about our action packed adventures."

Everyone except Spencer takes a shot after making a cheer, catching Nastya's attention. "What is it, Mr. Spencer? Vodka not for you?"

"Actually it's Doctor Reid," he answers, taking Natasha aback, "and I've just never been crazy about drinking in general."

"Jesus, how old are you?" She asks, genuinely curious how a man looking so young could be that smart with a PhD.

"I'm 26 years old, a bit of a high IQ and fast reading will take you pretty far." He answers.

"Seriously? We're like the same age and you already have a doctorate?"

"Three of them, actually." This answer causes Anna to choke on her drink, an amused look from Spencer's work friends.

"Fucking impossible!" Anna calls out, "There's no way, you're too young!"

Derek laughs, "Anything is possible when this dude graduated high school at the ripe age of 12." Derek and Anna look at each other and nod, an unspoken agreement that both were bored and wanted to dance. Nastya moves to let Anna out onto Derek's shoulder, and takes her place at the table.

"So when did you leave Russia?" Emily asks, alcohol keeping the conversation on getting to know everyone.

"I mean, I was born here, by my parents left right at the start of the Glasnost and Perestroika," Natasha answers, no harm in answering the question no matter how odd it was to be talking to the FBI off duty. "Anna's family was a bit more lucky, her grandparents snuck out of the eastern bloc, making her second generation."

Penelope is the next to engage in conversation, "I can't imagine, have you ever travelled there since the wall fell?" She asks and it's a harmless question out of curiosity, but it places Natasha on edge. She shakes her head as a response. It was her time to ask questions.

"What even do you guys do?" She asks, not meaning to come off in a mean tone, but luckily Spencer sees through it and answers.

"We work behavioural analysis, most people assume that to mean we work to catch serial killers, but it's not just that, there's also arsonists, kidnappers, and rapists, and any crime in which behaviour can be studied."

"What a mouthful," Natasha responds, Penelope and Emily chuckling in response to the interaction.

"He's always quiet until he has something he can info-dump on you" Emily assures Natasha, keeping the same warm smile. It was certainly a nice group, but after an extra hour of small talk, and a few more rounds of shots, in which Natasha snags the numbers of all three at the table, it becomes evident that Anna had a very high chance of going home with Derek instead of back to Natasha's family apartment.

"You lost her?" Spencer asks, towering over her as they pack up to leave the club.

"Seems like it, metro should be loads of fun." Natasha eyes how Anna is practically climbing all over Derek.

Spencer looks between the two, and comes to a conclusion. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm driving for Emily and Penelope, I can drive you too. The crime rates at this hour skyrocket, especially if you're taking the metro by yourself."

Natasha decides to take up the group on their offer, making sure Anna left with Derek safely first. When stepping onto the street at a bright one in the morning, Natasha can't help but notice how far the temperature has dropped in just the past few hours. The group of four head to Spencer's car, and pile in.

The ride is largely uneventful, address after address meant that Spencer was left to drive Natasha home after Emily and Penelope, both remaining silent on the drive to the outskirts of D.C.

"It's this store right here, thank you." Natasha responds when Spencer pulls up.

"You live in a store?"

"Above it."

"Oh, yeah that makes sense..." He trails off, pulling into the side of the road. "It was nice to meet you, have a good night."

"Thanks again," Natasha answers, exiting the car with her purse, both of the adults creating an awkward silence between each other. "Good night." Spencer drives off right when she backs onto the sidewalk, getting into the store apartment with no alert to her mother.

As Natasha fell asleep that night, she wondered what kind of story Anna would have for her the next morning, as well as how the fuck the FBI got a lanky kid to hunt down serial killers, but couldn't teach him how to hold a conversation.

Taglist: @iwannabemorethanme​

[prettyyyboyluke]

Siren

inspired by this song, this one, and this one too, if it does well, we will turn it into something good ;) but for now, we’ll leave it at this. there will be lots of angst, some violence, and of course smut 

~ 

Siren: In Greek Mythology, each of a number of women or winged creatures whose singing lured unwary sailors onto rocks

The small lights decorating the streets barely did any justice. Everything that surrounded me was pitch black, with the occasional yellow and red lights from crosswalks and stop lights. I don’t understand why Kaileen would pick somewhere that is underground. Literally underground. Since it was such a secret location, you were either walking or you didn't go at all. I could practically rip Kaileen's head off right now if she was next to me. The heels she told me to wear weren’t giving much room for my toes, and I could already feel the blisters and pain in the morning. 

Tonight, I couldn’t pinpoint the exact idea of what I was doing. All I was told that once I got to a red brick wall with the numbers 11, 9, 12, 12, 5, 18 spray painted in black, I was at the right place. Oh, and I guess the most important detail was to tell whoever the security guards were the word, siren. 

This is not the night I was expecting at all. 

~

The wall came into my vision dimly, and I looked over the numbers, once, twice, three times before finally going up to the red rope. The two guards looked at each other before looking at me like I was some kind of lamb going to play in the tiger’s den. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in these streets?” The man, who looked like he could practically step on someone, asked. I looked at him with a dead expression on my face before opening my mouth and speaking, “Siren.” 

That seemed to knock them off their boots. They took the red rope and moved it just enough for me to slip inside. I quickly whipped out my phone to text Kaileen to tell her I was here. 

To: Kaileen Rivers 

I’m here, where are you? 

Read 10:53 pm 

From: Kaileen Rivers 

Go down the stairs and I’m standing by the entrance 

Sent 10:54 pm 

Entrance? I thought I was already here. I rolled my eyes and followed her very vague instructions. The stairs were very narrow, and you could see just how sticky they were. The heels clicked and clacked against the metal until I finally reached the bottom. The room was lit by a red and blue light, some corners were even purple. I saw Kaileen exactly where she said she was, all in her tall, blonde glory. She notices me by the sound of her Louis Vuitton heels she let me borrow. 

“Ryder! I thought I told you to be here at 10:30, missy.” She speaks, reapplying her classic sheer pink lipgloss. 

“Sorry I had to walk a mile in your Louis Vuitton’s! This isn’t something I normally do, Kai.” I sigh. 

“Enough of that! Tonight, we’re going to have a good time, and if that means I make you take shots and drink vodka cran all night, then I’m gonna do it.” She says, pointing her finger at me. 

That’s Kaileen. Kaileen June Rivers, a daredevil, and a somewhat intimidating blonde girl. She was just like Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls, but when you pushed her buttons, she fought back with everything she had. Everyone told me that since she was Bubbles, I was Buttercup. Not giving a shit about what people said, sometimes bitter, and would not hesitate to knock someone out if I had to. We haven’t found our Blossom yet, and I’m not sure we need to. 

I’m Ryder, Ryder Hailey Thompson, to be exact. I like adventure, but I never dared to enter a scene like this. It took the guts that I didn’t have, but Kaileen did. If you ask me what I’m doing on a normal day, I might just say either getting way too high to sit still or go drive to the nearest cliff and watch the world beneath me. 

We met in high school when we got paired to do our Chemistry project. She had the brains, I had the artistry, it was a perfect match. Ever since then, we’ve stuck together like glue. Most of the time she had to drag me to things like this. 

“How did you even find this place?” I ask, following her through the red lighting of the palace. 

“A little birdy told me about it, and I knew we had to come and check it out.” 

As we walked further into the palace, I was met with a beautiful smell of alcohol, sweat, and some type of narcotic I haven’t tried yet. Everyone was dancing, drinking, not having a care in the world. My steps were put to a halt once we were at the bar. Kaileen begins to talk to the bartender, they seem to know each other. I have never seen this man once. 

His hair was a jet black color, and it looked curly. He had sprinkles of tattoos on his arms, bicep, and wrist. He had a contagious laugh and smile. I couldn’t exactly make out the color of his eyes, but they looked like a hazel green from what I could see, with the strobe lights constantly going, it was hard to tell. 

“So, what are we drinking tonight?” He asks. 

Kaileen turns to me, giving me the ‘you need to loosen up’ look. I just shrug, not caring what I’m drinking, as long as it’ll get me to look like the people on the floor. 

“We’ll take two vodka crans, don’t hold back on the vodka.” Kaileen giggles, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ears. And there it is, the shameless flirting. The bartender hands us the drinks and continues to talk with Kaileen. 

I spin around in my seat, watching how the people on the floor looked. It might be weird to some, but I love to people watch. Watch how if they’re carefree, stressed out, or just a go with the flow type of person. I always used to make up stories in my head when I was younger until my mother scolded me for staring at others. 

That’s when I found the person to watch tonight. A tall, tan, tattooed man. He looks carefree, but aware of his surroundings at the same time. I assume the drink he is sipping on is whiskey, considering the shortness of the glass and the brown liquid inside it. We make eye contact for about a minute, which is way too long for two strangers. He gives me a sly smile and starts making his way over. But once he moved, I couldn’t help but stare at the man behind him.  

He looked about the same height, long blonde hair with half it covering his face. He also had tattoos, is there some tattoo memo I’m not getting? The room might be dark, but it looked like a spotlight was on him. It was like everything and everyone around us was floating, except the two of us. I didn’t realize I was practically drooling until Kaileen nudged my arm. 

I look up and see the man who I originally was watching. Okay, thinking that makes me sound like a total creep. 

“You sure got shy, I’m Calum.” The man, Calum, states. 

“I’m Ryder, it’s nice to meet you.” I smile up at Calum. 

I couldn’t help but focus back onto the other man who was standing behind him. We make eye contact, holding it for a few seconds before I break away with a blush creeping onto my cheeks. I look back just one last time to catch a small smirk on his lips. 

“So, tell me, Ryder, what’s gotten you to the palace tonight.” He asks, taking a sip from his drink. 

Before I could even answer, Kaileen jumps right into the conversation. “I decided to take her out, she needs more adventure in her life.” 

I roll my eyes at Kaileen’s response. “I’m plenty adventurous, I’ve just never been into the club scene.” 

“Hate to break it to you, Ryder, but doing shrooms and walking to 7/11 isn’t adventurous.” Kaileen giggles. 

That catches the bartender’s attention. “Shrooms, huh? Have you ever tried acid? Take a tab from Luke, and you’ll wish you felt like that all the time. I’m Ashton by the way.” 

So that’s his name. The conversation about narcotics continues, but I’m not listening one bit. The only thing on my mind right now is that blonde boy on the other side of the club. He was now sitting comfortably on one of the black velvet couches, in what I’m assuming is the V.I.P section. He has another blonde boy next to him. His hair long and curly, a red shirt that was opened down to his chest with a chain around his neck that hung down to his chest. And to my surprise, there were no tattoos, at least that I saw. 

Ashton and Calum seem to notice my stares. With the way my straw was sitting on top of my lips, the hooded look in my eyes, I was in a complete trance. “I’m starting to think you’ve got eyes for someone else, pretty girl,” Calum whispers down to me. 

I look up at him again, his chocolate brown eyes looking down on me. “Sorry, but, who are those guys?” I ask, trying to point across the club discreetly. 

Calum clicks his tongue. He looks over to where the two blondes are sitting, now with multiple girls surrounding them. “You don’t wanna meet those men, Ryder. They’re too, dangerous, for a girl like you.” 

My brows furrow, definitely not liking what he just said. “And how do you know I’m not dangerous, Calum? I could be your worst nightmare.” 

He just chuckles, not taking what I said seriously. “You’re a fiery one, aren’t ya? I like that.” 

“Don’t push her, Calum. That is a battle you will not win.” Kaileen defends. I huff and turn around, trying to push the image out of my head. 

Ashton slides me a shot. I don’t ask, I down it like it’s water. After that shot, I see another vodka cran in front of me, along with two more shots. I chug the drink, hiccuping before grabbing one of the shots and downing it. 

I close my eyes and my head starts to spin. The blue in my eyes becomes invisible as soon as my pupils dilate. With the music beaming throughout the palace, it only makes my head pound harder.

I tap on Kaileen’s shoulder, “I need to pee!” She nods and begins to get up, but I stop her. 

“Ryder, I am not letting you go to the bathroom alone.” She fights back. “It’ll be fine! Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll go and come back, nothing in between.” 

Once I know the direction, I make my way across the sticky floor. I come face to face with a black door and some normal lighting, no more of that red bullshit. I do my business and wash my hands. I take a quick look in the mirror, and I look completely disheveled. I don’t know how since all we’ve done since we got here is sit, drink, and talk. I smooth down my hair, fix the top a little bit before heading out. 

As I’m walking, I carelessly bump into someone, knocking me down onto the sticky floor. 

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going at all.” I apologize before standing up. A hand reaches down, insisting I grab it and pulls me back to my feet. When I finally look up, I see the man sitting next to the one I was looking at. 

His eyes are crystal blue and his teeth pearly white. It feels like I have to strain my neck just to look up at him since he is at least a foot or so taller than me. You can tell that he used to have a piercing in his lip from the tiny hole that was still healing. 

“It’s all right, angel. I don’t know where you were heading, but a girl like you shouldn’t be wandering this place alone.” The way he spoke was cocky. You sir, need an ego check. 

“I-I was just coming back from the bathroom, thought I was sober enough to go alone, but I guess not,” I say.

 He then asks if I’m headed back to the bar, and he walks me there, a hand hovering over my lower back. I mentally slap myself for running into someone as attractive as him. But hey, at least it wasn’t the other one. 

We’re back to the red scenery, the music is still pounding in my head. I point to where I was sitting, Kaileen perched high on the barstool, and he quickly recognizes Calum and Ashton. Once I’m back to my rightful spot next to Kaileen, Calum and Ashton begin talking to the other man. “Luke, this is Kaileen, and the little lady you bumped into, is Ryder.” 

Luke. Well, Luke, you’re a sucker for sore eyes. Wait, is this the Luke that Ashton was telling me about? 

“Ryder, you’ll be happy to know that Luke has any drug you could possibly want. If you’re still up for that acid, he’s got you covered.” Ashton says. I shake my head, not sure if I 100% trust him since Calum was the one to say they’re ‘dangerous’ even if it’s true, I’ll find out for myself. 

~ 

The next morning I wake up with a pounding headache and a large bruise on my thigh. I unplug my phone and adjust my eyes to the brightness. Apple really needs to have a ‘you drank way too much last night’ complimentary mode. And I see I have about four messages from Kaileen. 

From: Kaileen Rivers 

Wake up, Ryder! 

Sent 8:37 am 

From: Kaileen Rivers 

I have tea! Wake tf up! 

Sent 8:40 am 

From: Kaileen Rivers 

Okay, I forget how much you like to 

sleep after a night out, but my god woman

take some advil, chug some water

and get your shit together! 

Sent 8:42 am 

From: Kaileen Rivers

If you’re not up by 10

I will be knocking down your door 

Sent 8:45 am 

And that was the last one before I finally called her. It rings three times before I hear her speak, “Finally! Jesus woman, you need to hold your liquor better.” 

“Excuse me, we all can’t have the tolerance of a fucking mammoth.” I groan into the phone. 

“Alright, I’ll let that slide, but I have tea!” 

“What could you possibly know now, Kai. I swear you’re like a book of secrets growing by the minute.” I mumble. 

“Can you just shut up and let me spill!” Kaileen huffs. I couldn’t see her through the phone, but I know she’s rolling her eyes at me. 

“Okay, okay, what is it?” I asked. 

“You remember Ashton and Luke from last night?”

“The cocky asshole with bright blue eyes that I fell in front of? Yes, I remember.” I sigh, looking at how the nail polish has chipped in various places on my nails. 

“Well, while you were staring at whoever, Ashton asked me on a date, and of course I said yes.” She beings to say. 

“Okay? This doesn’t seem like tea, Kaileen, it just seems like a normal Friday night for you.” 

Yes, Kaileen is the one that all boys fawn over. If you look at her, she is the perfect mixture of an angel and a devil. She’s blonde, she’s pretty, she’s smart, hell even I wanna go out with her. I’m surprised Calum and Luke spoke to me without trying to win her over. 

“Anyways, Luke was eyeing you and he asked if you two could come along, so you, my sweet girl, are coming on a double date with me.” 

I groaned as soon as she finished her sentence. I don’t like the whole dating scene to begin with, after being in a four-year relationship and then just to get your heart ripped out when you thought everything was fine, sucks. 

“Do I have to go? Can you tell Luke I have, like, fucking crabs or something?” I was completely serious when finishing that sentence. 

“Ryder! I will not tell him that, I want you ready by 8:00. So, you go eat, shower, take a nap, and do whatever else you need to do so you’re ready on time.” She demanded. 

“Yes, mom.” 

Great, I expected to spend my day in nothing but sweatpants and ordering pizza while watching reruns of Bob’s Burgers. Now, I have to get dolled up again for this date. Part of me wants to blow the whole thing off, but the other half of me wants to see what’ll happen. I know Kaileen is only doing this because she cares about me, and would kill to see me happy like I was with Andrew. She still resents him to this day. 

Pushing all of those thoughts to the back of my mind, I start brewing some coffee and pull out whatever I find appetizing. I’m now starting to regret Ashton giving me those shots once I take a bite of the toast. Instead of focusing on not throwing my guts up in the kitchen, I focus on the man on that goddamn black velvet couch. If only it were him I bumped into and got this fucking bruise. Oh, who am I kidding, if it were him, I’d die of embarrassment. 

As soon as I’m finished eating, I get a notification. I grab my phone, expecting to see Kaileen’s name across it, but instead, it’s an unknown number. 

From: Unknown 

You’re quite hard to get a hold of, darling. 

Sent 11:02 am 

To: Unknown

Do I know you? You might have the wrong number… 

Read 11:03 am 

From: Unknown 

You should, you were staring at me 

all last night. Has anyone told you 

that it’s rude to stare? 

Sent 11:03 am 

It might be this fucking headache, but if I’m not crazy, this could be the man that I can’t get out of my head. How could he have even gotten my number? None of us even spoke to him! 

From: Unknown 

Be on your best behavior tonight, for Luke. 

I’ll be watching you, and if you want out,

well, you know the code word. 

Sent: 11:06 am 

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   3

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: Reader finally wakes up! And Sans is happy to see her… very happy to see her.

A/N: I don’t really have much to say, except hi… so… hi!

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Cute when you’re mad.

(Y/n) rolled to the side, her eyes feeling crusty and sore.

As she tried to move, her body felt sore, too, the kind of sore that came from laying in an uncomfortable position for too long.

A scratchy hum stuttered from her as she opened her eyes and looked around.

What the hell? She wondered, taking in what she could see. She had no idea where she was, nothing looked familiar.

“wadda ya mean?” A low voice drifted to her through the closed door.

“I MEAN THAT YOU STILL HAVE RESPONSIBILITIES, YOU STILL HAVE TO MAKE YOUR ROUNDS,” a loud, condescending, voice told him.

(Y/n) felt fear spike in her, not recognizing either voice, and feeling nervous due to one yelling.

She just needed to get up, say thanks as she passed them and run the hell out of there. She felt like anyone would do the same in her situation.

(Y/n) pushed the blankets down, stretching her sore muscles with a wince.

“bro, we ain’t in th’ underground any more! i know it makes ya feel better, but we don’t need-” the first voice started off aggressively, but then he stopped himself and took a deep breath to reset his tone. “hey, look, bro, i dunno what’s wrong wit ‘er- but-” his tone started turning tense again.

“WE DO NEED IT!” The loud voice exclaimed, making (Y/n) shoot up in the bed.

The sudden motion made her choke on her saliva, and the cough set off a coughing fit.

“doll?” The deeper voice asked from the side of her.

(Y/n) looked over and saw- a fucking skeleton.

Not literally a “fucking” skeleton, but- it was a skeleton!

He seemed a bit chubby, which may or may not have had something to do with his thick black, fuzzy trimmed coat, his dark eye sockets lit by twin red lights, and his sharp grin stretched into a concerned grimace, a single gold tooth gleaming.

She’d thought it was just a crazy fever dream, seeing a skeleton giving her water… Guess not.

“d-doll, ya ok?” He asked as he started toward the bed.

A stranger- a monster, who were known to hurt and kill humans- a skeleton - any of those things alone would have made her nervous, but all of them together, and when she was in a strange place? Trapped in a room with him? It set her off.

(Y/n) screamed, or, she tried to. What came out was a flutter of her vocal cords, a strobe effect of sound that cut in and out, until it caught and started her coughing fit again.

“doll!” The skeleton hurried toward her, concern showing, though (Y/n) couldn’t see it through her fear, or her coughing. “ya a'right?”

(Y/n) tried to get away from the large, rushing male, but her legs were still trapped under the blanket.

“shi- sweetheart, careful, y’re gonna fall off th’ bed,” he told her, hurrying around the end of the bed and catching her as she did, indeed, start falling.

(Y/n) was scrambling to get away from him, and he was trying to catch her so she didn’t hurt herself, leading to them fumbling and somehow ending up with her pinned against the wall, his one arm boxing her in, the other stuffed in the pocket of his coat.

“heh… so, uh… thassa bit different than th’ last time ya was awake…” The skeleton said, his nervous tone highlighted by the lightly glowing blush on his cheeks.

(Y/n) just stared at him in confusion, not sure what to do, but afraid to move. She just needed to watch the situation. It wasn’t a great situation, but she’d learned over her life to always watch for her chance to get out, knowing that she sometimes had to bide her time for the safest moment.

“you, uh… ya need-” His blush seemed to dissipate a little, his brow dipping to give the impression of a suave expression. “howabouta reminda?” He asked with a tilt to his skull.

His hand left his pocket and trailed the tips of his phalanges down her cheek, then cupped it, leaning in to kiss her.

(Y/n) was frozen in shock.

How did skeletons even kiss?! Were those his teeth pressing against her lips, or did he have some sort of boney lips?! Her hands went to his shoulders to push him away, but slid up over them as he pressed closer and deepened the kiss, his tongue- he had a tongue?!- slipping across her bottom lip and parting her lips to meet hers, warm, with just a hint of a tingle, twisting and turning in ways she’d never felt.

Oh woooow…

(Y/n)’s eyes drifted shut and her hands tightened on the fabric of his coat, her body arching to his, and she was having trouble holding back the moan that wanted to escape. Good thing her voice was virtually nonexistent.

He parted from her, the red glow still visible on his cheeks. “fuck, that wuz good… heh…” He murmured near her lips.

His sockets had closed to become half lidded- somehow?- and the grin showing off his sharp teeth showed his enjoyment.

(Y/n) realized that his body was touching her, pressing her against the wall, his hand still cupping her jaw.

Despite that kiss being- well, she’d be lying if she tried to say that it hadn’t been great, but he was still some strange guy that had her pinned to the wall!

(Y/n) tugged at his coat, pushing against him with her body, trying to get him away from her, or at least far enough to escape.

“hnnnn…” The sound rumbled from his throat, his expression falling into a more sensual one.

Oh shit… That was not the direction she’d intended to take this… She started pushing harder against him, starting to panic a bit.

“don’t, doll,” Sans tried to warn, feeling himself getting excited by her movements. She was so soft, so nice feeling…

She continued pushing and wriggling against him, exciting his body even more as her breasts pressed into him.

“doll…” Another rumble left him, and he licked the edge of his teeth. “dollface, ya gotta…” fuck… She felt so good pressing and bumping against him, inadvertently rubbing his pelvis.

Sans ducked his head, taking her mouth in another kiss, this one a little rougher, needier.

She was still struggling, and it pulled a growl from him, drawing his instinctual responses. He had her, pinned and against him. And she was fighting back , challenging his dominance. That deep down, forgotten instinct told him to take her, mark her to show everyone that she was his, to pick her up and hold her thighs around him as he pounded into her.

His hands grabbed her wrists, dragging them from his coat and pinning them over her head. Taking them both in one hand, his other trailed down her arm, following the line of her side, sending shivers through her body, until it got to her hip, sliding around to run over and squeeze her ass a couple of times before settling just above it and tightening his grasp, pulling her tighter against his growing groin.

He pulled away from her mouth, his sharp teeth giving a gentle nip under her jaw before he sighed out a hot breath over her throat and shoulder.

“fuck- sweetheart ya gotta stop-” another needy growl escaped, “ya gotta stop movin’…”

She didn’t. He pressed harder against her, trying to get her to stop by pressing her into the wall. She kept struggling and rubbing against him.

“trus’ me, sweetheart, hol’ still. y’re not gettin’ the results ya want, are ya,” he pointed out, licking his teeth again and holding back his needy frustration. “jus’ gimme a minute, doll… lemme get aholda myself…”

(Y/n) stilled, trying to hold back her panic. He at least sounded like he was trying to stop, and wasn’t planning on doing anything unsavory. God, she hoped her instincts were right… Though they’d served her well in the past. Enough to be alive now, at least.

After a minute he let go of her, pushing himself back from the wall. He was silent for a moment, just looking at her before he gave a chuckle. “heh… well. seems we did this kinda backwards. hi, doll, i’m sans. sans the skeleton,” he told her, moving his hand out for her to shake.

(Y/n) was completely and utterly confused. What the hell was this guy planning?

She poked her hand out to shake his, getting out, “-y ..a.. …s (…/n).”

Sans winced at her voice. “eh, thatta- that don’ sound good. ya ok, sweetheart, ya need some water?”

(Y/n)’s brows met in confusion at his sudden politeness and she nodded. He nodded a direction and waited for her to go first, directing her to sit on the edge of the bed and handing her the glass of water as he crouched in front of her.

She drank it down thirstily, not stopping for breath until the glass was empty.

“heh… ya ok, now?” He asked. She nodded and his grin widened. “good. now, what’s yer name, sweetness?”

(Y/n) tried again, getting out a quiet croak, then rethought it and leaned closer.

Sans smiled teasingly and asked, “ya wanna 'nother kiss, sweetness?”

(Y/n) blushed as her eyes shot wide, shaking her head and leaning back.

“ahh, tryna whisper.”

She nodded and experimentally leaned in. He didn’t move, so she leaned in and managed to whisper, “(Y/n).”

Sans felt his soul thump against his ribs. “(y/n),” he murmured. She nodded to him, her lip quirking up. “stars- ya look so pretty…” Her eyes shot open again showing her unease with that comment. Sans felt nervousness rise in his nonexistent gut. “s-so, why’d ya kiss me, doll?”

(Y/n) squeaked in shock as she denied it, shaking her head and pointing at him.

Sans stood up and looked down at her, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching for her. “nah, doll, before? 'n th’ alley. right before ya passed out.”

She stopped flailing, looking at him in confusion.

“don’t remember, huh?” He asked softly. She shook her head apologetically. Sans grit his teeth, supposing that it was too good to be true.

Before he knew it, his self protective instinct of pushing everyone away reacted.

“heh. ya weren’t tryna get a customer or nothin’?”

“-at!?” She demanded with a squeak.

She was angry, he could tell. Her face was flushed, darker than her fever had had her…

And he found he liked the way her reaction made her fill with passion. She looked so desirable like this; eyes flashing, cheeks flushed, chest puffing with her breath.

(Y/n) opened her mouth but paused, taking a breath and clenching her jaw, turning away from him with a glare on her face.

“hey, nothin’ wrong wit it if ya were, dollface,” though his soul felt a rage boil in it at the thought, “oldes’ profession in th’ world.”

(Y/n) shot to standing, glaring at him as though daring him to say anything else.

And who was he to turn down a dare?

“i mean,” he turned his head and shrugged carelessly, “ya jus’ met me and ya couldn’t keep yourself from tryna suck my face.” Her cheeks were darker, her eyes narrowed angrily, her teeth clenched and bared… and his cock was thickening. “though, there wasn’t any talk a payin’ beforehand.”

(Y/n)’s finger landed on his chest, her voice squeaking out as she tried to yell at him. He was pretty sure her speech went along the lines of “listen here, buddy,” telling him off.

His grin just pissed her off more, he could tell, especially when her finger stopped jabbing and her hand started smacking. His lack of reaction to her smacking was also pissing her off, and it turned from one hand to two slapping against his chest.

Sans caught both of her hands against his chest, holding them against him and taking a step toward her, ushering her so that the bed caught the back of her knees and she fell back to sitting on it. “careful, doll. ya might jus’ be gettin’ me all excited ‘gain wit yer indignant rant.”

(Y/n) looked up at him in confusion, but her eyes were drawn back about face level as he tilted his hips to her to get her attention where he meant. She gasped and pulled back, trying to escape.

How the hell did a skeleton get a hard on?! New meaning to the term bone-r… She winced internally at the awful pun.

“don’t worry yer pretty lil head, dollface; i ain’t doin’ nothin’ ta ya. jus’ lettin’ ya know th’ consequences a yer actions.” He pulled her hands away from his chest, ducking a little to place a kiss on the inside of her wrist with a wink.

(Y/n) felt her cheeks heating in a blush and hated herself a little more.

She’d known this guy for how long ? And she’d already basically made out with him. Apparently more than once.

She needed to get the hell out of here.

She tried to say his name, but it came out as a rasp, unintelligible to either of them. She tried again, but had the same result.

Her face twisted in irritation before she made a motion like writing on a paper.

“sorry, sweetheart,” he shrugged, “i ain’t really learned how ta read human writing, yet.”

After becoming very self conscious from Sans watching her pout at her inability to communicate, she finally just turned to the door and pointed.

He lifted a brow. “ya wanna go out?” She nodded. “nah, ya really don’t wanna do that, sweetheart,” he told her.

She made a nervous movement, pulling back from him, and he realized how that must have sounded.

Sans winced and dropped to his knee in front of her, his hand going out cup her face. “nah, doll, don’t get me wrong; this ain’t a prison, ya ain’t trapped in my room- my brudda is jus’ an asshole sometimes ‘s all. ‘f ya really wanna go out there, we can…” (Y/n) thought of whoever had that loud voice and shook her head, and he grinned. “good choice, sweetheart. we can get ta know each other betta in here wit’out that asshole.”  

(Y/n) shook her head again, and gestured with two hands like a pillow; “sleep.”  

Sans’ brow ridge dipped in confusion. “huh?”

She made the motion again and pointed to the bed.

“ya want a nap?” He asked.

She shrugged to herself; it was close enough. She nodded.

“if ya wanna,” he shrugged, then a wicked grin grew on his face. “my bed that comfy?”

(Y/n) shook her head in frustration. She again made the sleep gesture and pointed to the door, alternating between them so he got the message.

“ya wanna take a nap on the couch?” He asked, his hand leaving her to rub over the back of his skull as he looked away from her. “i mean, ya can, but i dunno why ya’d wanna when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”

He saw her cross her arms out of the edge of his eye socket and looked back to see the very unamused look on her face. “heh,” he gave an innocent chuckle.

She pointed at herself and then to the bed as she continued staring him down, as though telling him that she was onto his shit and knew that he knew exactly what she meant.

He cleared his throat, looking away angrily as his cheeks heated. “maybe I jus’ want more time wit ya when y’re awake,” he mumbled.

Sans heard her let out a tch before she smacked his shoulder. He turned back to face her and saw her mouth the word “why?” Before he could say anything, though, she followed it up with, “why not just ask?”  

His expression turned a little harsher, taking a turn toward self hatred himself. “don’t gussy it up fer me, doll- like any girl ‘s pretty as you would ever go for a guy like me…”

She was silent for a moment and his eyes drifted away, knowing that she was agreeing with him, but then she started humming. It was a human tune, a tune he’d heard before, but he couldn’t place it. It took her making a few gestures that went with the lyrics for him to figure it out, and when he did, his face got even redder.

“hey! that ain’t funny!” He growled, but she broke into a set of squeaky giggles. “i’ll show you ‘spooky, scary skeletons,’” he threatened without any real intent behind it. She just laughed harder, squeaks and wheezes making it out, and he found he couldn’t stay mad at her. After a moment he cracked a smile. “heh… bet that laugh a yers is even prettier when ya got a voice.”

She blushed and looked away again.

Sans was about to say something when he was interrupted by the louder skeleton calling him to dinner.

“you, uh… you feelin’ good enough ta eat somethin’?” He asked.

(Y/n) thought for a moment, but she did feel hungry, starving, actually, so she nodded.

“ya-” he looked away a little uncomfortably, “ya want me ta bring ya some food, or ya wanna come down?”

“SANS!!! DINNER IS READY !!!” His brother demanded his presence. Neither got a chance to say a word before he called again, “SANS!!!”

“fuck,” he grumbled, going to the door and opening it to call out, “i’m comin’! fuckin’ hell!” He turned back to her, apprehension starting to show in his posture. “so… y-ya wanna come d-down?”

(Y/n) thought for a moment before shaking her head.

Sans nodded. “a‘right. i’ll bring ya some food- smells like he made lasagna. b’right back.”

He left and (Y/n) let out the deep breath she’d been holding.

He claimed that she was free to leave, but he didn’t want her to enough that he wouldn’t let her. And his personality kept switching at breakneck pace, going from perfectly nice to horny to pissy in the blink of an eye.

That was not a good sign. People with that trait were usually a volatile sort who then turned out to be the sort to hit or otherwise abuse you.

Not that she had any experience with that! … or maybe she did… She rubbed her hand over her shoulder at the memory.

She sighed and stood, looking around for her shoes, seeing them with her jacket, which was folded nicely, on the chair by Sans’ desk. They were the only thing in tidy order in the room, which, from the state of it, she’d have to assume a tornado had passed through, tossing everything everywhere out of order. Her pockets were empty except for a receipt and a collapsable tampon, and her bag was nowhere in sight, which meant that her wallet, phone, and keys were all gone somewhere. Probably back where she’d passed out.

Ugh.

She put the shoes and her jacket on before running her fingers through her hair to try and make it presentable as she walked to the door and looked around before heading to the stairs. She could see the lower floor over the railing, a couch, a table, not much, but not empty enough to be poor looking.

She reached the floor and saw that the sounds of plates and cutlery were coming from the room off of the one she was in, just happening to be situated under Sans’ room.

No wonder she’d been able to hear them so well earlier.

Another skeleton sat at the table in the kitchen, this one seeming thinner and taller than Sans, he had on a completely black outfit with sharp shoulder pads, the only visible pops of color were his red scarf and gloves. (Y/n) saw a three marked scar over his left eye socket, which looked a little worse for the wear, and it, along with his sharp teeth, made him seem very intimidating.

Sans paused where he was heading toward the stairs with a plate of lasagna in his hand.

Both skeletons had their red pupiled sockets on her, and it made her start to feel a bit nervous.

“h-hey, doll, i was jus’ bringin’ it up ta ya,” Sans told her, looking a bit nervous and taking a quick glance at the other skeleton.

(Y/n) glanced over both of them, noting that the taller skeleton seemed to be observing her, not moving or saying anything.

She looked back to Sans and motioned to herself and the door, giving a smile and a wave.

“no!”

All eyes were on Sans at his nervous order.

“uh- i mean- ya can’t go out there!” He was babbling, looking a bit sweaty. “’s not safe fer ya!”

The other skeleton looked at him and his eye sockets visibly adjusted, almost like he was squinting at him.

“doll, don’t,” Sans managed more calmly, though he still looked nervous.

The other skeleton’s eyes were back to her, taking in the way she had recoiled, more each time Sans told her not to go. Her expression was one of challenge, as though she were going to try to dare them to stop her.

“ONLY A HUMAN DEVOID OF BRAINS WOULD GO OUT INTO THE MONSTER TERRITORY, ESPECIALLY ALONE,” he said, his voice sounding pompous and cruel. “EVEN THE ONLY MONSTERS THAT WOULD GO OUT AROUND SUNDOWN ARE THE ONES WHO ARE FOOLISH OR STUPID.”

Sans noticed the way she flinched warily at his brother’s loud, harsh voice and flashed him a glare.

(Y/n) pointed at her wrist, looking a bit stressed.

“what time is it?” Sans guessed.

“DINNER TIME,” his brother answered.

(Y/n) walked closer to Sans making gestures, and trying to get her point across.

“late? late fer what, sweetheart?” He asked.

How did she explain a job in a way that they would understand? She looked at the floor hopelessly for a moment, then looked up. She pointed at the sitting skeleton, mimicked a talking motion with her hand, pointed at Sans, lifted her finger up in the air, made a circle with it, then put her hand over her eyes and mimicked looking around.

It took a few repeats of the circle with added walking motion and looking gestures before he asked, “why’re ya worried ‘bout my lookout rounds, doll?”

She made the motions for his “rounds” again, then pointed at him followed by the universal sign for money.

“money- job. you gotta job, sweetheart?” He asked with a wince. She nodded vigorously. “they uh… they expectin’ ya wit’in th’ las’ three days?”

(Y/n) looked at him in confusion, and he could see the realization dawn on her as her eyes widened. She tapped her wrist again where a watch would be and pointed at the floor.

“doll,” Sans took a step closer, but didn’t reach out, seeming a little awkward about how to comfort her. “s-sweetheart… ya been here, outta it fer three days.”

Panic rose a little in (Y/n)’s chest and she pointed at where his pocket should be, miming holding a phone to her head.

“ya wanna use my phone? sure,” he told her, pulling his phone out and opening it in “guest safe mode” so she couldn’t get into any of his personal stuff.

(Y/n) took the phone and checked the date, worry etching itself on her face.

She’d intended to call her boss after she caught a nap and tell him she was sick, but… apparently she had passed out and spent the last three days sleeping in a stranger’s bed.

That meant she had at least one no call no show, but probably two, since they had probably already been entered into the system for the day. And she had no way to get back at the moment, so that didn’t bode well for tomorrow.

She opened the phone app and dialed the store number, hearing it ring and ring. She glanced out the window, seeing the setting sun.

It rang for five minutes before she gave up. They were probably already starting to close the store… Which would mean that the manager wouldn’t be able to hear the phone from the cash office.

After a moment of debating what to do, aware that both skeletons were watching her every move, she dialed her phone and put in the code to access her voicemail.

Four messages… great.

First one, her boss asking where she was, second one, an irritated boss asking where she was, third one a warning about getting a no call no show, fourth- a second no call no show and a warning that she was one away from being fired.

If she didn’t leave, if she didn’t make it to work tomorrow morning-

It wasn’t like she loved her job or anything, it wasn’t her life’s ambition, but it paid the rent!

Surely they’d be lenient if they found out what had happened? Being trapped in a war zone got people excused from work, right?

“WHY DOESN’T SHE SPEAK? IS SHE STUPID?” The loud skeleton asked.

(Y/n) looked over at him with a cocked eyebrow, surprise at his seeming ineptitude at social interactions filling her.

Sans turned to him, a coldness surrounding him as he glared at his brother with empty sockets. “she lost 'er voice,” he growled, then demanded, “why ya gotta be such a asshole?!”

(Y/n) warily watched him; this mood was not the time to bother someone with the potential to go violently off in.

But she needed to know.

With a slight shake in her hand, she touched the back of his arm, first handing him the phone to put a space between the moment he was angry and the moment she asked her question.

Sans set the plate of lasagna he’d been holding the whole time on the table and took his phone from her, shoving it back into the pocket of his loose basketball shorts.

Now or never… Well, not never , but she really should do it sooner rather than later.

(Y/n) took the back of Sans’ sleeve in her hand and brought his attention to her.

“wazzup, sweetheart?” He asked.

She pointed at him, her, then the door, her eyes not quite meeting his, in case that would make him more likely to be angry.

“ya want me ta go wit ya?”

“NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT! I WILL NOT LET YOU ENDANGER MY BROTHER’S LIFE!!” The sitting skeleton burst out.

Sans flashed him a glare when (Y/n) flinched and shifted to be more behind him, before turning back to her. “much as i’d love ta walk ya home, sweetheart, even a tough monster like me ain’t gonna last long traveling wit a human. even in th’ daylight.”

So. That was it, then.

It really would be putting his life on the line if Sans took her out of the house.

There was too much push back from both of them for it not to be reasonable, and, honestly, their arguments aligned with the warnings of the monster territory.

They’d even let her call out without any push back, like they weren’t worried about anyone finding out they had her there.

“s-so- ya wanna join us fer dinner, since y’re 'already down here?” The slight nervous shiver was back to his voice.

(Y/n) let out a sigh, dropping her head in momentary defeat. It’s not like there was anything else she could do at the minute. She may as well eat.

She nodded and sat down at the table. 

[tiptapricot]

Hey hi, I’m the Dana accidentally ends up saving Batman multiple times anon and I’m a complete moron for not thinking this until now!!!! 5 TIMES DANA SAVES BATMAN + 1 TIME TERRY SAVES DANA (AND EVERYTHING CLICKED TOGETHER)

Anon I swear this wasn’t supposed to take this long but it became 10k+ words of fluff, angst, and character study so I hope that makes up for it. You can read it on AO3 here, enjoy!

—

1.

The first time she isn’t thinking.

The lights of the club are still flashing, but the pulsing music is drowned out by screams and shouts as people run for the door. Dana should be with them, she should be running too, following Blade and Chelsea and Terry, but she can’t move. She’s huddled behind an overturned table, watching petrified as Batman dances through the strobe lights, dodging blows like a liquid shadow.

She doesn’t know what the goons want or where they came from, but they’re dressed in matching blue uniforms and wielding chains and maces that glow white hot and burn the patterned carpet when they drag on the ground.

She’s scared. She’s lived in Gotham her whole life and she can deal with Jokerz and weirdos but these are honest to goodness super villains, more like the ones you’d find in Metropolis.

The fight moves up the stairs to a higher level and she loses sight of them. There’s some kind of small explosion that sends dust cascading over the upper ledges of the club and Dana takes it as her que to move. She runs from wall to wall, trying to avoid getting caught in the open space of the dance floor. There’s a loud yell from somewhere above her, much closer than she thought the goons were, and all she can think about is that someone’s spotted her and that any second she’ll be dropped like a rabid dog. 

She dives behind the juice bar, pulling into herself and waiting as she tries to calm her breathing. She stays crouched and curled up tight against the tiled floor, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Nothing. The sounds of the fight have resumed and she’s fine, she can move. 

Dana peeks up over the counter, scans the room, and starts to get up. 

She’s fine. It’s fine. The door is so close. She can make it.

A body slams into the wood to her right and she screams. She hopes it got lost in the blaring music from the speakers but she isn’t sure. It takes her a moment to actually look at it, and the sight doesn’t make her feel any better. 

It’s Batman, splayed across the counter and barely moving. There’s a large rip on one side of his costume, the black peeling away to reveal a melted mess of circuits. Either he’s unconscious or… Dana gulps in breaths and tries to focus. No, he’s breathing, he’s not dead. 

She hears shouts and footsteps cutting through the beating bass. If they find him he’s as good as dead, and you are too. Dana slips her hands under Batman’s arms and drags him behind the bar. Her palms are sweaty and they keep slipping against his suit but she manages to press the two of them as far into the shadows as they can go. 

She hears the goons shouting orders, telling each other to “fan out!” and “find that bat-dreg!” and she hopes they’re invisible enough to stay hidden.

She glances over at Batman. He looks so odd, the contours of his face smooth and dark, the suit’s material reflecting the strobe lights in odd ways. They’ve only come face to face a few times, but did he always look this young?

A shadow crests over the top of the counter’s silhouette. Dana’s heart rate spikes again and she feels Batman shift next to her. Her hand flies to cover his mouth before he can make a sound. The white lenses of his eyes go wide and she feels an arm wrap around her back, flipping her over and pushing her further against the counter. She doesn’t even have time to feel weird about it, because a second later he disappears before her eyes. But he’s still there, she can feel his breath on her face and feel his weight pressing her into the bar. What the fuck?

They stay like that until the shadow disappears. She can feel Batman lean back just before he becomes solid again, pulling away. He glances over the counter and leans in so she can hear him.

“Wait a few seconds for me to lead them away and then run for the door, alright?”

Dana nods, eyes wide.

Batman smiles, at least she things he does, and then he’s gone, swooping back into the fray.

She hears a roar and a crash and then she’s running for the door. If the shouts are for her she doesn’t pay attention to them. She’s just running, running, drowning in light and sound and—

And the air outside is cold and fresh. A group of policemen rush up to help her away from the building and someone wraps a blanket around her shoulders. Dana’s hands are shaking and she’s still struggling to breathe but it’s okay, it’s alright. Her legs feel like jello and she’s not sure how long she can stand, so she wobbles to the curb and sits down, closing her eyes and taking breath after breath after breath.

Chelsea and Blade run up from the group of people still crowded around the building asking if she’s alright, their faces pinched with worry.

“I’m fine.” She says. But she’s not, at least… she’s not sure. 

The two of them sit down on either side of Dana and rub her shoulders. Blade goes to get her a bottle of water from the medics and Chelsea tells her she called her dad to pick them up. That eases Dana’s worry somewhat.

But Terry isn’t there.

Chelsea says they got separated in the crowd and they haven’t seen him since, so Dana calls him.

He doesn’t pick up. She calls again and he still doesn’t pick up. She sends him a text and calls his mom but she hasn’t seen him either. She can’t help but worry. What if he’s gotten hurt? Why else would he just leave? 

She worries all the way to Chelsea’s house, all the way through dinner, and all the way to bed. She and Blade stay over at Chelsea’s that night instead of going back to the GCU dorms and Terry still hasn’t responded to her messages when they get up the next morning.

Dana sees on the news that members of the Justice League had to be called in to finish taking care of the villains and she wonders for a moment if Batman is alright. He didn’t look in the best shape when she’d helped him, but there were no reports of a body, so maybe he’s fine. She hopes he is at least.

Terry doesn’t come to any of the classes they share that day, or the day after. When he walks into Science on the third day, he’s sporting a nasty black eye and limping. He refuses to tell her what happened and that worries Dana more than anything else.

She knows Terry. She knows his favorite foods and drinks, she knows he’s a sucker for retro 2000s pop, she knows what sent him to Juvie, but for the life of her she can never tell what he’s feeling. 

He doesn’t talk about his insecurities, even though she knows he has loads. He doesn’t talk about his dad much, even though she knows he’s still hurting, and now he won’t tell her why it looks like he was in some kind of fight.

What did he do that night after the attack? What did he get mixed up in?

She drops it after a few days and tries to enjoy the break he has from work. It’s rare Terry gets a day off, not to mention a whole week. He still does the odd job or two for Mr. Wayne or leaves to help his mom with something, but otherwise they’re free to go out and have fun. It’s awesome. Dana has almost forgotten what Terry is like as a boyfriend and she’s not disappointed.

They go to parks and malls and theme parks. He tries to help her learn how to ride his motorcycle, but it doesn’t work as well when he can’t actually show her. They still have a good laugh and end up taking Dana’s car to a movie. It’s nice. Terry is… nice to have around.

She just wishes it could last.

2.

The second time is nearly a month later. Dana is walking with Terry and Max to one of the arcades near the university when they hear a loud crash. They turn a corner, and Dana freezes.

A gang of Jokerz is crowded along the sidewalk, their bikes propped up against lamp posts and fire hydrants. A few of them are spray painting a small electronics store, its windows smashed, white faced kids laughing loudly as they ferry TVs and holo phones into a waiting, beat up, floater truck. 

It wouldn’t be the most uncommon thing to see in Gotham, except that the shop workers are kneeling outside with their hands in the air, bruises swelling on their faces, and a Joker is pointing a laser pistol at their heads.

Terry grabs Dana’s arm and yanks her back around the corner before they can be seen.

“What should we do?” She hisses.

“I’m gonna run to the police station for help and you and Max are going to go back to campus.” Terry says, ushering her away.

“What?”

“He’s right, Dana. Come on let’s go.” Max grabs her arm and starts to pull but Dana shakes her off.

“But what about those people? We can’t just leave them. Who knows what’ll happen before the cops get here?” 

“That’s not our responsibility.” Max insists. “Come on Dana.”

“Terry back me up on this.” Dana turns to look at him and realizes that he’s gone. “Where the hell did he go?”

“He took off for the police station just like he said.” Max grabs her arm again. “Now come on we should really be—“

But she’s interrupted by a shout and the sound of breaking glass. Dana runs to look back around the corner and stops in her tracks.

It’s Batman, in the middle of the day, slamming the Jokerz into each other as he flies above them, leaving thin contrails of smoke in his wake. The employees have managed to get a safe distance away, but the Jokerz are putting up a good fight and tearing up the rest of the street in the process.

Dana can smell the harsh scent of laser plasma and the shots are blinding. Max keeps trying to pull her away but she won’t budge. The night club was terrifying but the fight she’s seeing now is exhilarating. Batman’s red and black blurring through the blinding laser fire, the sunlight filling the street with a yellow glow, she can’t take her eyes off it.

And so she notices, and she sees that Batman doesn’t.

He doesn’t see that when he swoops down to knock over a Joker he lands himself against a wall, he doesn’t see the Jokerz picking themselves up to tackle him, he doesn’t see that if they manage to hold him still for even a few seconds there’ll be a smoking hole right between his eyes.

Dana moves as quickly as possible, ignoring Max’s shouts of warning and stepping over unconscious bodies as she runs for one of the bikes. She grabs a pipe propped up against the tire and rushes at the group of Jokerz as they close in around Batman. 

She knows which one has the gun, she sees that the others have grabbed onto Batman’s arms and are starting to restrain him and so she moves. The pipe hits with a sharp crack against the Joker’s skull and the guy falls limp to the ground. The other members stare at her in shock for a moment, and that’s all the time Batman needs to twist out of their grip. In the next second the gang members are lying in a heap on the ground, knocked out cold.

Dana stands with the pipe still raised, nostrils flaring as the adrenaline wears off. Max is at her side immediately, yelling about how dangerous that was and how she could’ve gotten hurt, but Dana stops her with a laugh.

“That was kind of schway.” She says, letting the pipe slip from her hands.

Batman is still standing there, and he seems to realize after a moment that he shouldn’t be.

“I, uh, I should go. The police will be here soon to pick up these guys so I’ll be… going. Thanks for the help. Dana, right?”

“Yeah, you saved me from that rat kid a few years back.”

“I’m… glad you’re doing okay. And thank you.” And that time he really does smile, she can see it. It’s not a scary smile, like she expected it to be. It’s soft and almost snarky, like he knows something she doesn’t. Batman gives them a nod of recognition and takes off into the air, wings fanning out behind him.

“Sometimes you really scare me Dane, you know that?” Max says after a moment.

Dana laughs and pulls her back to their spot around the corner.

“It’s better than being scared. C’mon let’s wait for Terry.”

3.

The third time is in the heat of the moment, cradled in light and pain.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

Matt isn’t in the ball pit or the tube maze, he isn’t in the game area or by the food counter or the bounce house. Dana has checked all those places. Twice. He isn’t anywhere. She’s asked the cooks and the mascots and the employees and the waiters, but they haven’t seen Matt. Oh god no one has seen him. 

She’d taken him to the bathroom before she went to get them pizza, but she hasn’t seen him since. That is not normal for an evening of babysitting, especially not for Matt. Usually she can’t get the kid to quiet down, and she knows he isn’t a fan of hide and seek, so something is wrong.

She calls Terry first. She knows he’s helping Mr. Wayne with some big event tonight, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

“Dana?” Terry picks up on the fourth ring. “You know I’m kind of busy, right?”

“Yeah, Terry, but something… came up.”

There’s a long pause and Dana can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“What happened?”

“You know how I said I was going to take Matt to Cheesy Dan’s tonight?”

“Yeah…” He says it slow, worry inching into his voice.

“He went to the bathroom and now I can’t find him. No one’s seen him for like, the past half an hour and I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Okay okay give me a second.”

“I think it’s serious Terry.”

“I know, I know. Are you still at Cheesy Dan’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, listen, I’m going to call the police and then see if I can head over. I’m really tangled up but this sounds bad. Talk to you later.”

He hangs up and Dana goes outside to wait. The air is cool and the early evening makes the buildings stick up in glittering silhouettes against the sky.

How could she let this happen? Matt was her responsibility and if she had allowed him get hurt she would never forgive herself. She owes it to Terry. He used to babysit Matt before his job got out of hand. He still works so hard, too. He hasn’t moved out of his mom’s house because he refuses to let her do everything on her own. He’s taking extra classes to try and get his credits done sooner and he still works seven days a week for Mr. Wayne, most of that money going to supporting his tuition fees so that his mom can focus on the house. It’s the least Dana can do to alleviate some of those responsibilities.

“Excuse me.” A finger taps on Dana’s shoulder, making her flinch. She turns and comes face to face with two pointy ears and a pair of white eyes.

“Batman? What are you doing here?”

“I intercepted a police call a few minutes ago from a kid who said his brother was missing. He also told the operator his girlfriend would be waiting for help at Cheesy Dan’s. I was in the area so I thought I’d stop by and see what I can do. What’s the situation?”

“I’m not sure.” Dana rubs her arms, glancing back at the restaurant. “I guess we can’t talk inside, can we?”

Batman shakes his head and gestures to the suit. “I’m not exactly the most inconspicuous company, why?”

“I’m a little, uh, cold.” She gives him a crooked smile. “And I’m guessing your outfit has a little more insulation than mine.”

“Oh… right.” Batman seems genuinely caught off guard for a moment. He looks up and around, thinking, before he presses something on his belt and grabs onto her waste.

“What are you—?” She begins, but a second later they’re rocketing upwards and she has to bite back a scream. She squeezes her eyes shut against the wind and pulls herself closer to Batman. When the air stops she’s met with dim red light and warmth. Batman sets her down and slides into a seat. It takes her a moment to realize she’s inside a car.

“Is this the Batmobile?” She asks, scooting behind his chair. Her legs are squeezed between the leather and the metal dashboards that circle around the interior. “It’s not very roomy.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.” Batman says absentmindedly, easing the thrusters forward. “There aren’t any better places to go, and It should only be for a bit.”

“Right.” Dana settles back against a console and watches the buildings blur by

“So,” Batman presses a button and swivels around to look at her, “tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem. It’s like he just vanished.”

Batman makes a humming noise and turns back to pull something up on the car’s screen.

“It says here one of the McGinnises has a record. Could it have something to do with that?”

“I guess, but Terry hasn’t been mixed up with those types of people since Big Time bit it in our Junior year.”

Batman visibly stiffens. “They never found the body though, right?”

“The Gotham river is big, maybe it just got lost. Though knowing this town, anything’s possible I guess.”

“Did Bigelow know you babysit the McGinnis kid?”

“I mean… maybe. I knew him before all the shit hit the fan when we were younger, but I didn’t babysit Matt back then.”

Batman taps his fingers thoughtfully on the console. He doesn’t talk, but she watches him pull up a few more specs before he turns to look at her.

“I’ll look into it and make sure Matt gets back to his family safely.” He flashes a smile and it’s not real. It’s strained and business like and it’s… jarring. “I can take you home if you want. Where do you live?”

Dana stares for a moment, before squinting in disbelief. “Wait, that’s it? You can’t just drop me off, I lost this kid, it’s my job to help find him too.”

“Dana, listen, you’re very nice, but you’re a civilian, I can’t just bring you on a case.”

Dana leans forward to look Batman in the eye and hits her knee on something. She bites her lip but doesn’t react further. This is Batman she’s talking to, if she wants to convince him she has to be confidant. She’s still nervous, she’s still just a kid, and she knows that, but Batman doesn’t know Matt. Batman doesn’t know Terry. Dana does, and she can help but she has to make him listen.

“If this actually has something to do with Terry, and it’s not something else crazy, then I could be an asset to you.”

“That really won’t be—”

“Batman, a little boy’s life could be at stake, you need all the help you can get.”

She can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. She’s talking down to Batman. Batman. 

He looks at her, and she sees something familiar in the draw of his brow under the suit, in the muscles and the contour of his face. He turns away before she can pinpoint what it is, and the oddness of the moment sticks in her mind.

“Fine.” He says. “But if there’s a fight you’re staying in here.”

“Can do.”

Batman sighs and the car speeds up. Dana stumbles slightly but can’t help but smile.

They spend the rest of the night together. Batman visits different gang hideouts to ask for information, stopping to end any fights or robberies they catch along the way. At first he’s quiet and serious, but he loosens up as the night progresses. 

He stops every few hours for Dana to drop down and get them coffee, he asks her questions about the McGinnises, even though he only seems to be half paying attention, he tries to make small talk, and he jokes. A lot. God Batman makes a lot of jokes. But Dana doesn’t mind. She always expected Batman to be this stoic guy who only cared about justice, but he’s chatty and funny and nice to be around. He’s a genuinely schway guy.

Dana calls Terry’s mom while Batman’s stopping a break in at a chemical lab and talks to her. She’s in a bit of a panic and Dana manages to calm her down. Terry isn’t home yet either, and Mary puts Dana on hold to call him. She checks back in a few minutes later and says he’s still with Mr. Wayne, and that’s a small weight off Dana’s shoulders if anything. 

Afterwards she leaves a message for her roommate saying she’s spending the night at a friend’s house and settles back in the driver’s seat. At least when Batman’s out she actually gets leg room. “Don’t touch the thrusters,” he told her, “Otherwise you’ll end up going at mach three with no way to steer.” She’d laughed at first, like this car could reach mach three, but he’d looked at her in a way that made her stop.

He’s Batman, of course it can.

At half-past three, Batman comes back to the car after a raid. She opens her mouth to ask how it went but he just shakes his head and starts the engine again. They drive a few blocks in silence before he parks on a rooftop and hops out, gesturing for Dana to follow. She pulls herself out and slides down to the car’s bumper, pausing a moment before jumping to the ground.

Batman has moved to sit on the edge of the building. He’s hunched over, his hands balled up tightly in his lap.

“I’m sorry.” She hears him say. He sounds less gruff than usual. “I haven’t found anything.”

“Do you usually solve your cases in the first few hours?” Dana asks, just a hint of laughter in her voice. She moves to sit behind him, not quite on the edge, but close. The drop is too far to sit right on the edge.

“You don’t understand, I don’t know where Matt is, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know what else to do.” Batman’s voice cracks on the last word and Dana watches him crumble. His shoulders shake and he curls in on himself a bit more. 

She’s surprised at first. After all, this is Batman she’s looking at, Neo Gotham’s hero, its legend. Of course, he’s not the same Batman from the history books, the one who helped found the Justice League, but he’s the only Batman Dana’s ever known. To see him so vulnerable, to see him cry, it’s like looking at a puzzle with pieces in the wrong places. It doesn’t quite… fit.

Besides, he seemed fine most of the night. He had quieted down in the last hour or so but Dana had just thought it was exhaustion. Maybe it was, but not the physical kind.

Dana hovers for a moment, unsure of what to do. She’s never really had to deal with something like this before. She’s never seen her dad cry and god knows Terry would never even think about it. Chelsea had had a hard time recovering from her time at the Ranch, but she’d mostly stayed home. The most Dana had been able to do was offer comfort.

And in a situation like this, what else can she do?

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Her hand reaches out to pat his back. She rubs little circles between his shoulders, distracted by the feeling of the suit. It almost feels like plastic silk, smooth and industrial. She pulls back after a second and averts her attention to the city below. 

“How about we go back to the car, get some more coffee, and try something else. He can’t have just vanished.” She offers.

“Yeah, that sounds… good.” Batman nods and sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “And, uh, sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t worry. You’re only human.” Dana smiles.

“Yeah I guess you’re— duck!” His hand shoves her roughly down against the building top as a barrage of laser fire explodes in the air above them. Dana’s cheek scrapes against the concrete and she winces before Batman yanks her back to her feet.

“What the hell?” She yells. Batman pulls her behind him and shields her with his body, firing several batarangs into the crowd of thugs running at them from the other side of the building. There’s a few more shots fired before he grunts loudly and takes a step back, pulling her closer to his back. They’re getting cornered against the drop, Dana can feel the edge against the heels of her shoes.

“Batman what do we—?”

He cries out in pain when one of the shots makes contact with his abdomen and stumbles back, just a few inches, but those few inches make a world of difference. Suddenly air is rushing past Dana’s face and whipping against the fabric of her dress and the two of them are plunging headfirst into a free fall. 

She screams and Batman twists to grab her, his wings snapping open. His hands are unsteady, and she can smell burnt plastic and feel the roughness of melted metal against her back. The laser fire follows with deafening blasts and they’re only in the air a few seconds before something bursts above Dana with a loud crack, showering her in smoke and sparks.

Batman seizes and goes limp, his arms loosening underneath her, and Dana glances up to see it was his wings. They’re shredded and trailing smoke like a burst jet engine. The tip of one of Batman’s ears is snapped off and Dana realizes with a start that he’s been knocked unconscious by the explosion. 

They start spiraling out of control, the bright lights of Neo-Gotham streaking past, and Dana chokes on her own breath as she tries to think. What can she do? What can she do? She twists so she’s holding onto Batman with one arm and looks around desperately. Everything’s going by so fast, too fast, she can’t see a thing. Dana reaches out blindly and tries to push herself through the air. She sees the lights of a building coming closer and reaches out desperately because how long do they have until they hit the ground?

Her hand smacks against concrete and bounces off, the palm coming away scraped and swelling, but she tries again. Dana reaches out and snags onto a window ledge, the force of stopping nearly yanking her arm out of its socket, and her grip slips again. They tumble a few more feet before she’s able to get hold of something solid. She winces as the pain in her hand flares, and she stops for a moment to catch her breath. They made it. 

Dana closes her eyes and lets herself relax a bit. She’s so tired. Her arms ache, she’s bruised and scraped, and she’s sweating like a pig, but she’s alive. They’re alive. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and hauls herself further onto the ledge, lugging Batman behind her. It hurts. He’s heavy and she’s not an athlete, not even close. Her muscles strain and burn, her hand starts to slip on the fabric of Batman’s suit, and her nails scrape against concrete, but she manages to get the two of them onto the ledge. 

Dana gasps and gulps and collapses back against the wall, chest heaving. Batman’s still knocked out, his head lolling to one side, but she doesn’t pay him much attention. Her head hurts and her limbs feel like lead and it’s so damn hard to focus. Dana sighs and watches her breath puff out in a cloud of steam. She laughs breathily and lets exhaustion have its way. Her eyes slide shut, and the calm darkness sinks in.

Gotham’s lights look so beautiful at night.

***

Dana floats in and out of consciousness. She’s somewhere cold and quiet, and there are voices.

I know it was a dumb idea but what the hell was I supposed to do?

Leave her behind. She’s a civilian, no matter how much you like her you can’t let personal ties get in your way.

But she saved my life tonight! This is like, what, the billionth time?

Third, and maybe you wouldn’t have been so distracted if she wasn’t there. You let those thugs get the drop on you.

Oh right, like that was her fault.

You need to focus on the mission Terry.

What mission?

She’s somewhere warm and soft, the dull hum of an engine surrounding her.

Think she’ll be alright? I mean, what am I going to say to her dad? I don’t think she’s visited him for like a year.

Say you two went out to go clubbing and got in a fight on the way home. That’s believable enough.

But my mom thinks I was with you the whole night.

I’m an old man, remember? It can’t be too hard to give me the slip.

Right.

She’s under a blanket, in a place that smells familiar. She’s home.

I’m sorry Mr. Tan, I did everything I could but we just barely got away.

I forgive you Terry, I’m just glad you’re both safe. I know you’re adults, but we will be talking about this in the morning. For now go get some rest and I’ll call your mother.

Thank you sir.

She wakes up the next day confused and sore, her face and hands tingling from healing meds.

“Good afternoon sleepyhead.” She sits up, rubbing her eyes groggily, and sees black hair and blue eyes.

“Terry?” He smiles, pushing off the wall near the door. “What are you doing here?” She pauses partway through pulling her blankets off. This isn’t her dorm room. Her bed is too big and there’s a dresser across the room with picture frames sitting on top. This is her dad’s house.

“Why am I here? What happened to Batman?”

“Woah woah woah. Calm down.” Terry walks over to the bed, wincing slightly when he sits down.

“Terr… are you alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” He gives her that strained smile, the one that shows too much teeth, the one he uses when he’s lying.

Dana sighs and moves so she can look him in the eye. “Alright, what happened?” 

Terry’s smile drops and he averts his eyes. “I, uh, kind of ditched Mr. Wayne last night. I was gonna go find you, but I ran into some Jokerz on the way over and got a bit roughed up. Nothing bad, but I couldn’t get to Cheesy Dan’s. Then…” Terry pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Then I was walking back to my mom’s house and this car drives up, real sleek, black with big jets, a custom I think. And… and Batman came out carrying you. He told me to take you somewhere safe and the first place I thought of was your house.”

Dana’s eyes bulge. “You mean my dad’s house? Terry you know I moved out for a reason.”

“What was I supposed to do? GCU is on the other side of town, I couldn’t carry you that far. Besides, do you have H628 in your bathroom cupboard? You were really banged up, Dana, you needed medical attention.”

“So? My dad’s probably going to make me stay here for a year because ‘I can’t keep myself safe.’ I’m honestly surprised he didn’t skin you alive when you showed up.”

Terry chuckles. “Yeah I thought he was going to too for a moment there. Turns out he was just glad you were alright. Well… mostly alright.”

“You didn’t tell him about, you know…”

Terry shakes his head. “I don’t know what you were doing with Batman, Babe, but I’m sure you had your reasons. I said we went clubbing and got mugged. Still going to be hell to explain that to my mom though.”

Dana laughs and pulls Terry into a hug. “I think you’re the only college kid I know who worries about a curfew, Terr.”

He holds her gently, burying his face in her shoulder. “Yeah, well… They still haven’t found Matt you know.”

“But they will.” She assures him. She stares at the shadows stretching across the carpet and smiles. “I’m sure of it.”

4.

The fourth time is the time she chooses. The fourth time is the time she’s sure.

Matt’s been missing for almost a week. No other kids have disappeared, but that makes the whole thing worse. Dana’s gone in for questioning multiple times, even though she always tells the police the same thing. Terry’s been skipping school more, coming in looking more worn out each day. She’s caught him covering up big injuries more than once, but he won’t talk to her. He hasn’t really talked much since that first day she woke up.

Dana’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel and she takes a deep breath. Batman has been on the news a few times since their night out. She knows he’s looking too, she trusts him. 

She turns onto the bridge that cuts over the river and merges into the flow of traffic. Honestly, at this point she’s not even sure whether or not there’s anything to look for. If it was a kidnapping situation, for whatever reason, a ransom would’ve been made by now, right? Dana has thought about it, she’s heard the police talking about it, she isn’t dumb. Sometimes kids just disappear and never show up again. It’s morbid, but this is Gotham. Anything can happen in Gotham.

A car honks loudly in front of Dana and she focuses back on the road. Something’s happening further down the street. She squints against the evening sun, keeping steady. It’s a cargo truck by the looks of it, swerving in and out of the lanes and banging into other cars. 

As she gets closer, pulling up just behind it, it’s side door blasts open and out comes a streak of black, as smooth and dark against the sky as ink. Batman. He’s followed by a hoard of armored goons, dressed much too familiarly for her liking. 

She sees blue outfits and glowing weapons, and for a moment she can smell the dust and smoke from the club, she can feel her heart in her throat, and hear the booming music vibrating in the air around her. Her hands shake on the wheel, and she blinks rapidly, trying to dissipate the memories of darkness and fear and focus on the moment at hand. She’d done scarier things since. The nightclub didn’t matter.

Batman is hanging off one side of the truck, something wrapped tightly in his arms. When he jumps to dodge a shot from one of the goons, Dana realizes with a start that it’s a child. It’s Matt.

Batman barely manages to dodge a second blast, sending himself careening further down the street. He curls protectively around Matt, landing roughly on the road and rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. 

The other cars have slowed or stopped further back on the bridge, and Dana wonders for a moment why she didn’t. 

The cargo truck begins to drive faster as Batman struggles to get to his feet and… No. No. Dana won’t let this happen, those dregs are not going to run them over.

She doesn’t think for more than a moment. Her foot slams down on the gas and she hurtles past the truck, sliding to a halt next to Batman.

“Get in.” She says, with much more authority than she expected. Batman jumps into the passenger seat with Matt in his lap and Dana floors it. She’s never been more angry and terrified at the same time.

The truck follows after them and she can hear the shouts of the goons and the purr of the electric engine.

She takes a cursory glance over at Matt. He doesn’t seem hurt, but he’s huddling into Batman, which isn’t a good sign. They hurtle off the highway and jolt when the car touches the ground for a moment. Dana swerves around a minivan and a hoard of honking cars.

“Take the next left,” Batman hisses, “they’re gaining on us.”

“Can do.” Dana puts on a small burst of speed and takes a sharp turn, entering a side alley. It’s narrow, her car crashing into trash receptacles and scraping against the walls. They emerge onto a busy street, Dana veering out of the way of an oncoming semi and into another lane, taking off with the rest of traffic. Batman looks behind them again and relaxes.

“I don’t think they followed us.”

Dana nods but doesn’t slow down, cutting between two cars and taking a turn towards the residential district. Batman doesn’t stop her, just settles back and closes his eyes.

They drive for a few minutes before Dana breaks the silence. “Matt, are you okay?”

“I wanna go home.” He says. It’s muffled, groggy, but she still hears it. She gives a nervous look to Batman and keeps driving.

They pull up to the McGinnises’ apartment and Dana leads Matt up to their floor. He’s out of it, recovering from some kind of knockout drug, but he makes it up the stairs alright. Dana knocks, Mary opens the door, and the woman bursts into tears.

Terry rushes in after about half an hour and pulls Matt into a big hug. Dana stays the rest of the night, talking to police, to Mary, giving her story. Terry pulls her into his room around midnight and they just sit by his window and hold hands. He massages her knuckles and asks if she’s okay and she leans against his shoulder and says that she is.

But in all the commotion she doesn’t get to talk to Batman, she doesn’t get to ask what happened. 

But Matt is safe, Matt is home, and in the end that’s all that really matters.

5.

The fifth time is the very next night. The fifth time she almost doesn’t.

Dana looks at herself in the mirror. She’s a little worse for wear, the bags under her eyes more pronounced, a few bruises still healing on her arms and shoulders.

Her dad had asked her to house sit while he was away on a business trip and she had agreed, if reluctantly. It’s weird to be back at the house. She hadn’t moved out under the best of circumstances, but the space still feels familiar and comfortable.

Matt had talked to the police that morning. She wasn’t there for it, but Terry had called her when he got the details and the things he’d said made Dana’s stomach churn.

Some guy had grabbed Matt in the bathroom and knocked him out, and when he woke up he was in a cell. He told the police the people didn’t want to hurt him, that they kept telling him he was only bait for Terry, but that didn’t make things better.

Every few days they moved Matt to a new location. He said they’d knock him out with a cloth, chloroform most likely, and he’d wake up in a different room with a different group of people. It was only Batman’s intervention on the truck that had stopped them from moving him again.

He said the goons talked about their boss a lot, apparently they were who ordered the whole thing, but he never saw who they were and the police were still on the hunt.

Dana’s stomach twists. She doesn’t want to think about why someone would want to get to Terry through Matt, because it makes her think about other things. The injuries, the lying, the disappearances. Maybe Terry is involved in some kind of gang after all. It would explain everything else.

She continues with her evening routine, brushing her teeth and washing her face, her thoughts running wild in the background. When she goes to dry off her face she presses her cheeks into the towel and takes a deep breath. It’s soft and warm and she feels on the verge of crying.

What is Terry doing with his life?

Dana finishes up in the bathroom and slips on her nightgown, walking quietly to her bed. She might be alone, but she doesn’t want to be loud. She doesn’t have the energy to be loud.

She grabs the edge of her comforter and slips underneath. It takes awhile to fall asleep, her thoughts keeping her mind awake, but she gets there eventually. She lets her mind relax, lets the weight and warmth of the covers surround her, and finally sleeps.

***

A loud crash jolts Dana awake. She sits up, looking around wildly, her fingers clutching tightly against her sheets. The window is shattered and the curtains are whipping about wildly in the wind. She yanks the blanket off of herself and stumbles to her feet, pulling on a pair of slippers.

“Hello? Is someone there?” She makes her way cautiously towards the window, expecting at any moment to be jumped by a burglar.

But there’s nothing.

The room is quiet except for her own, loud breathing.

Except… it isn’t just her breathing.

The sound is ragged and wet, interspersed with coughs and Dana turns sharply to find a crumpled shape lying near the stairs. Dark liquid is smeared in a streak across her carpet, joining the puddle seeping into the fabric closer to the body.

Dana is at his side in a heartbeat, because she knows who this is, she can see the ears and the smooth blackness of the uniform. She rolls him over and pales at the large gash in Batman’s side. It’s messy, bits of his suit sticking out at odd angles, frayed and twisted, the wound itself a mess of blood and tissue.

Batman’s breathing is slow and he reaches out to grab her arm, his mouth trying to form words, his face screwed up in concentration. He manages to say her name and give a strained attempt at a smile before a thick line of blood dribbles over his lips and his head lolls back. 

Dana slips into a panic.

“Batman? Hey, open your eyes, come on! Please don’t die, not like this, you can’t!” She doesn’t know much about medicine or wounds, but this is too much blood, way too much blood, for a person to be losing. She starts breathing too fast, her chest tightening as she squeezes Batman’s hand.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what you—what you want me to do! Please you can’t just—I don’t—tell me what to do!” She chokes out.

“Hello, can you hear me?” A voice crackles to life, deep and rough and oddly modulated.

“I— who’s there?” She looks around, blinking rapidly before realizing it’s coming from Batman’s cowl. 

“Who am I talking to?” The voice asks, the audio quality fluctuating like a fuzzy radio.

“My name is Dana.”

“Where are you Dana?”

“Why do you need to know? Who are you?”

“A friend. I want to help but you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

“I—yeah I can, I can do that.”

“Good. Where are you?”

“My house, 326 Eastside.”

“Is Batman awake?”

“No… no he passed out about a minute ago.” 

“Is he still breathing?”

Dana leans over to check, her heart hammering in her throat. The rise and fall of his chest is so faint, so slow, but it fills her with relief.

“Yes, he’s—yes but barely. He’s losing blood fast.” She keeps tripping over her own words. Her skin is humming with adrenaline and her tongue feels heavy and slow.

“Alright. I need you to listen to me very carefully. I need you to breathe.”

Dana takes a deep breath and steels herself. “Ok.”

“I’ve unlocked the belt for you, there should be a pack of medical capsules in the sixth compartment left from the buckle. Can you get them?”

Dana gives a small noise of confirmation. She counts along the belt, then counts again, shaking her head as she tries to focus. Her hands are unsteady as she unclicks the compartment and lets a few oblong, white, capsules roll onto her palm.

“I have them. What now?”

“Crush them and hold the powder to the wound. Wait until it foams and then let go.”

“O—okay. Okay.” She follows the voice’s instructions, cringing as warm blood runs over her fingers. After a moment, the foam spreads over the wound, stopping the blood flow.

“It worked.” She says, her voice breathless and relieved.

“Good. I’ve sent the Batmobile to you. Once it gets there, put him in the cockpit and press the center button on his belt. That will send him back to me where he can get proper medical attention. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Okay.” Dana’s voice is so quiet. 

“The car should come up by your window. You’ll need to get him there. Be careful, the wound is still—” There’s a burst of static and the line cuts out. Dana takes a deep, shuddering breath and tightens her hold on Batman’s hand. 

“Hello?” She tries. There’s no response. She looks briefly at the ceiling and tries to compose herself, but tears slip down her cheeks quick and smooth. She tastes the salt on her lips.

“Hello? Are you there?” She tries again. Silence.

Dana nods to herself, laughing ruefully and closes her eyes.

And then she waits. 

The voice doesn’t come back. The only sound is that of the breeze coming through the broken window. Whenever Dana shifts, her knees dig into the damp carpet, red staining her shins and ankles. 

She doesn’t want to open her eyes. She doesn’t want to see the dying man lying on her bedroom floor. Batman already looked so tired, and his breaths have only gotten quieter. She doesn’t want to look at him yet. She doesn’t want to open her eyes and see that the dying man has died. She doesn’t want to see that the hero has fallen. 

She hopes he’ll be alright.

After what feels like forever, she hears the hiss of a hover engine. She opens her eyes and tries to avoid looking at Batman as she drags him to the window. She kicks out a few more pieces of glass so she can get him through before lowering him as gently as possible into the batmobile. At least she can’t see the blood in the red lighting of the car. 

Dana chances a look at Batman before she presses his belt. His eyes have drooped closed, every muscle in his face slack and relaxed. He almost looks like Terry does when he sleeps. 

But that thought makes it worse, because suddenly it’s Terry sitting there, bleeding all over the fancy leather seats, inches from death. Because suddenly she thinks about finding him in some alleyway or parking lot, pale and cold and stiff in the wake of a gang fight. She sees him in that moment, and the next she’s stumbling back, her whole body shaking like a leaf, and the car is flying away in a blast of hot air.

Dana sits on the floor of her room, tiny bits of glass pricking into her palms, and stares after the Batmobile. She gulps in breaths of air and feels her tears dripping off the tip of her nose and the side of her jaw and her chin. She tries to rid the sight of blood from her mind’s eye and stares at the blackness outside the window.

The blackness that had swallowed the black car and the black bat and that was filling her room with black shadows.

You can’t see the stars in Neo Gotham, and Dana has never been more acutely aware of that fact until this very moment.

She sits and stares until the tears have become sticky tracks on her cheeks and the blood has gummed up the space between her fingers and toes.

Dana gets unsteadily to her feet, takes one last look out the window, and wipes her hands on her nightgown.

Her bathroom light flicks on and the water runs red into the sink and she looks at the girl in the mirror. The girl who had saved Batman.

+1.

The last time is on a sunny Friday in April, just after school, a two months after the night in her bedroom.

“Dana! Hey, wait up!” Terry jogs up next to her and slips a hand around her waist. It’s a welcome touch, seeing as he’s only been out of the hospital for a few weeks.

“Hey yourself. I thought you weren’t supposed to be back at school yet, Mr. recovering from a dog attack.”

“Yeah well,” Terry presses a kiss to the top of her head, “I just couldn’t bare to sacrifice my education.”

Dana laughs. “Yeah right. Like you actually want to listen to Mr. Eiten talk about the science of concrete for an hour.”

Terry chuckles. “You got me there.” He pulls away and laces their fingers together. They walk in comfortable silence and Dana is the most relaxed she’s been in months.

Batman is still alive. She had been worried when he wasn’t sighted for a few weeks after the night in her room, but he popped up here and there after a while. She doesn’t know what happened and she’s not sure she wants to know. She nearly had someone die in her arms, she had fallen off a building and been in a car chase and beaten up gangsters. The police still don’t know who kidnapped Matt, she still doesn’t know why Terry was getting hurt, and she still doesn’t want to think about it. 

She just wants to be here and now, to walk with Terry and feel his hand in hers and not worry about anything else.

Is that so much to ask?

Dana squeezes Terry’s hand and looks up at him. He glances over and smiles warmly, rubbing her hand with his thumb.

Is it so much to ask to be comfortable and happy and normal?

An old car squeals to a halt next to them, the doors open, and in the next second Dana is being yanked up into thick gray arms.

Terry tries to grab her back but he’s knocked to one side by a knotted hand the size of a tire. Dana writhes and screams and she can feel laughter brushing against the top of her head, deep laughter, a voice she remembers.

Charles “Big Time” Bigelow wraps one hand around her throat, each of his fingers thicker than her arm, and begins to squeeze. He smells like burnt rubber and stale chemicals but all Dana can focus on is the air being pushed out of her lungs.

In the next moment there’s a blur of movement and Bigelow stumbles with a grunt. Then two more accompanied by the sound of quick punches. He lets go of Dana and she lands in someone else’s arms before being set gently on the pavement.

She catches her breath, coughing and gasping before she looks up and loses it all over again.

Terry is fighting Big Time. And he’s winning. He moves faster than she’s ever seen him move, vaulting off of street lights and Big Time himself, landing punches and kicks in quick succession. 

Dana can’t believe her eyes. She just watches, completely dumbstruck. 

Terry punches Big Time twice in the jaw as he soars over him. He lands on the car and pushes off, using his momentum to flip Big Time onto his side with a loud thump. Big Time lets out a grunt and goes limp, eyes fluttering shut. Terry steps back, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, and glances up. Their eyes meet and Terry freezes. 

One second. 

The fighting. 

Two seconds. 

The injuries. 

Three seconds. 

You need to focus on the mission Terry.

They’re the same. They’re the same person. 

Terry is Batman.

***

She helps haul Big Time into the back of the car after Terry finds its keys and the two of them drive in silence to the GCPD. The engine sputters and the seats are worn out but it’s fine. Terry calls ahead to the precinct. 

They don’t look at each other once.

Commissioner Gordon meets them outside with a squad to get Big Time properly restrained and then leads them inside. She tells Dana to stay in the waiting room while she talks to Terry but Dana excuses herself after a few minutes. 

She finds a bench out front and sits down. The air is warm and fresh. It smells like hover fuel and the stream of cars passing by the precinct is slowing as the last stragglers from rush hour finally make their way home. 

Dana reaches up to rub the sore area around her neck. The bruising has set in and she knows she’s going to be feeling it more in the next few hours. She swallows thickly around the ball of stress in her throat, feeling it squeeze in response, tight and hot, like every breath is the line between her and a breakdown.

Dana drops her hand back down and sighs, leaning further back into the bench. What a way to end the day. She’d been relaxed, she’d been happy, and something just had to ruin it. Her jaw is clenched and the muscles all along her arms and legs are taught. Her eyes are warm with barely restrained tears but she doesn’t know why.

She doesn’t have a problem with Terry being Batman, she liked both of them to begin with, and it’s not like she’s adverse to stress or danger, the last few months alone prove that. So maybe it’s the fact that they aren’t separate anymore.

Terry isn’t normal and safe, Batman isn’t a faceless person she can detach herself from when things get too stressful, they’re one in the same now. Sure, she’d bonded with Batman and seen Terry get out of bad situations, but the two still didn’t cross over for her. Terry was Terry and Batman was Batman.

Looking back she can see the signs though. Familiar things she noticed about Batman when they talked, or Terry showing up when Batman left and vice versa. Not that it makes it any easier to understand, it just makes her head hurt.

Dana hears the precinct door open and shut with a soft click.

“Hey.” Terry sits down next to her, “Didn’t know where you went for a minute there.”

Dana hums slightly in acknowledgement, her fingers tapping nervously against her knee.

“Babe… you okay? We can go see a doctor if you want, see about those bruises.”

Dana nods gently and takes a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Terry smiles nervously. “What do you mean?”

“That you’re Batman, Terr.”

He stiffens before his shoulders sag and he lets out a long breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Were you going to tell me at all?”

“I was, I just thought—“

“I mean this has been going on for years right? How long did you think you could keep this from me?”

“Dana—“

“I almost saw you die, Terry, you were bleeding all over my carpet! I thought you were in a gang for heaven’s sake, I thought you were… oh my god.” The tears start to fall, small and slow, little drops sliding over her lashes and cheeks. “What if I wasn’t there to save you? What if you go after some villain next week or next month and you get slagged? How am I supposed to deal with that if you never told me?”

Terry takes her hands firmly in his and starts rubbing her fingers with the pad of his thumb. His touch is warm and careful, and Dana slowly feels herself start to calm down.

“I was going to tell you today, actually. Take you out someplace nice and talk about it over dinner. Didn’t exactly turn out that way though, huh?”

Dana chuckles softly, reaching up to wipe her face.

Terry lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “I should’ve told you sooner, I’m so sorry Babe. You helped me out a lot with the Matt case and I should’ve trusted you more to begin with. But I’m here now, if you wanna talk or ask me stuff or just slap me in the face.”

Dana laughs a bit louder, kissing his cheek. “That’s tempting but I think you’ve been through enough.” She sits back and looks at his face. Just looks. 

He’s filled out a bit since high school, he’s broader, his hair a little longer, but he’s still the same Terry he’s always been, and he’s… Batman. Dana runs a finger along a healing scratch on his cheek.

Batman.

“Terr?”

“Yeah?”

“What… who have you been fighting?”

Terry shifts a bit, his brows drawing together. “Like recently?”

“Who’s been doing everything the past few months. The club, Matt… you know.”

Terry’s mouth makes a soft oh. “I’m not really… clear on all the details.” He says, settling back and pausing a moment before talking again. “When Matt first disappeared I couldn’t find anything. No one had seen him and no one had a grudge against me. Terry me. After we got attacked that night on the roof, Wayne smelled something rotten, so I used some of my connections in the underground to ask around. Found out it’s a new gang, call themselves the Riders. They’ve been given a bunch of high tech weapons, real schway shit, expensive. The old man thinks it might be prototype stuff from Luthor Enterprises, but we don’t know yet. So, I went after them. People told me where their base was, and I went, and… next thing I know they’ve slashed me open like a thanksgiving turkey. I should’ve known better. I couldn’t take them alone the first time, don’t know why I thought it would be different.”

Dana squeezes his hand a bit tighter.

“I knew their leader had something against Terry McGinnis, since they attacked me once and then kidnapped my family, but I didn’t know who it was,” Terry takes a deep breath, “until now.”

“Big Time?”

He nods. “We’ll know after the interrogation, but I think my original hunch was spot on. We didn’t exactly leave off on the best of terms. I was the reason Charlie’s gang gig got slagged, and knowing him, he’s sure to carry a grudge. Plus, I’m looking into a possible cover up by Luthor Enterprises. A few shipments went missing in September, right around when Charlie would have had to start putting the gang together, which accounts for the weapons.”

“So kidnapping Matt, going after Batman, going after me, it was all to hurt you?”

Terry smiles awkwardly. “Pretty screwed up huh?”

Dana nods, averting her eyes. She’d forgotten for a moment. She had looked at Terry and it had slipped her mind for just a second that things had changed. 

Dana rubs her throat again and remembers the way he fought, the way he moved. She remembers all the times he had to ditch dates and outings, the times in high school where he fell asleep during class. She remembers the weight of the body as she lowered Batman into his seat, red melting into red. 

That was Terry. 

Dana reaches out to hold his hand and takes a deep breath.

“What now?” She asks.

Terry smiles, his eyes soft, his dimples poking into his cheeks, and helps her to her feet.

“Burgers?”

Dana laughs, her voice a bit hoarse, and kisses his cheek.

“Only if I get to see the Batcave.”

“Yeah yeah.” Terry swings their arms back and forth as they start off down the sidewalk.

“I love you, by the way. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah Terr. I love you too.”

Dana had forgotten, but the moment has passed and it doesn’t matter. Terry is still the same person she’s always known. They’d gone through rough patches but he always worked to make things better. Now she knows he does that for the whole city.

So Dana is content, content with talking, content with waiting, content with seeing what the future holds, seeing what lies beyond.

[fandomgarbitch]

One Kiss (Ethan Dolan)

Most girls would describe Ethan Dolan as irresistible, charming, and the dream boyfriend. Me? I would describe Ethan Dolan as repulsive, egotistical, and probably the most annoying human being on the face of this earth. I know what you’re thinking, if you hate him so much why don’t you just stay away from him. I would except for the fact that he is my bestfriends twin brother. 

Grayson Dolan and I have been bestfriends since the good ole elementary school days. Believe it or not I used to be friends with Ethan too. That was until he dated Meredith. She changed him. He was no longer the cool down to earth guy he once was, instead he was this jerk who was so full of himself it was impossible to be around him now. Meredith ended up cheating on him, but Ethan only got worse. He was only capable of caring about one person. Ethan. 

“Grayson, I’m here.” I called as I walked in their luxurious home. 

Ethan sat playing fortnite on the xbox. I rolled my eyes as he noticed my presence. 

“wow did you miss me that much already?” Ethan smirked not looking away from the television. 

“as if.” I scoffed rolling my eyes. 

“keep rolling your eyes baby maybe you’ll find a brain back there.” Ethan joked. 

I could feel the steam coming from my ears. 

“you know Ethan being a dick won't make yours any bigger.” I smirked. 

Ethan stopped playing, putting his controller down before standing up to face me. 

“oh trust me it’s plenty big. I could show you sometime.” Ethan said smirking back. 

Ethan could push my buttons like nobody else could. 

“It’s really too bad your dick isn’t anywhere near as big as your head.” I snapped back. 

“oh babe in order for me to be insulted I’d actually have to value your opinion.” Ethan said putting a hand on my shoulder. 

I quickly shook it off. 

“wow Ethan, it must be difficult, exhausting all of your vocabulary in one sentence.” I glared, putting my hands on my hips.

Ethan let out a hearty laugh.

“how about we skip the fighting and just get to the makeup sex.” Ethan said smirking again. 

I was about to respond when Grayson walked out of his room. 

“I see you two getting along again.” Grayson said rolling his eyes at our bickering. 

“oh we’re getting along quite nicely aren’t we baby?” Ethan asked smirking at me.

“you must’ve been born on the highway, that’s where most accidents happen.” I said causing Grayson to bust out laughing.

“uh Grayson you do realize we’re twins who were born at the same time, so if she’s saying that to me technically she is saying it to you too.” Ethan said causing Grayson to stop laughing.

“ouch.” He whined looking at me.  

I laughed a little at the little pout on Grayson’s lips. 

“let’s go to breakfast, I’m starving!” I said clapping my hands.

“can I come?” Ethan asked. 

“NO!” Grayson and I yelled at the same time. 

Grayson and I went to breakfast every friday morning, it was like the best friend tradition that we had. Ethan sighed watching Grayson and I walk out the door. 

“how are you guys twins? He’s so frustrating!” I said throwing my hands up in exhaustion. 

Grayson laughed as he started up the car.

“you know he only teases you now because he knows how much it bothers you.” Grayson said pulling out of the driveway. 

“so I’m not supposed to respond to his ridiculous comments?” I asked giving Grayson a look.

“exactly, and he’ll stop.” Grayson said. 

Grayson and I looked at each other before busting up laughing.

“yeah that’ll never happen.” He said making me agree with him. 

Grayson pulled up to the restaurant and we ordered our usual, pancakes topped with fruit. 

“so how was your date with Thomas?” Grayson asked cutting in to his stack of pancakes. 

“ugh horrible, I think I’m destined to be alone forever.” I groaned resting my head on my hand. 

“forever? I don’t think so.” Grayson said. 

“seriously I’m going to be a lonely old cat lady.” I said laughing. 

“oh come on, if a guy doesn’t want you, don’t force a cat to be with you.” Grayson said making me choke on my bite of pancake. 

“you asshole.” I laughed throwing a blueberry at him. 

Grayson picked up the blueberry throwing it back at me. Grayson and I were laughing when we were interrupted by a girl standing in front of us. 

“uh Grayson?” She asked looking at us. 

“uh hi, do I know you?” Grayson asked rubbing his neck nervously. 

I looked at the girl, she was gorgeous, I looked down at myself feeling insecure. 

“I’m Kira, Ethan was supposed to call me uh do you know what happened to him?” She asked a blush spreading to her cheeks. 

I felt bad for the girl, she seemed sweet. 

“uh..” Grayson started but I cut him off. 

“Kira, you seem like a sweet girl, so I honestly would stay away from Ethan.” I said taking a bit of my pancake. 

“excuse me?” She asked confused. 

“Ethan doesn’t care about anyone but himself, he certainly doesn’t care about you and honestly, you are way to good for him anyways. If I were you I would text him to go screw himself and find a guy that is actually going to appreciate you, because that guy certainly is not Ethan Dolan.” I said staring at the girl. 

“uh okay.” She said walking away confused. 

“well that was a little harsh.” Grayson said looking at me. 

“it was the truth wasn’t it?” I asked huffing. 

“well yeah but you could’ve said it in a nicer way.” Grayson said. 

“maybe you’re just too nice, that’s why Ethan walks all over you.” I said biting in to my fruit. 

“he does not walk all over me!” Grayson said getting defensive. 

“hate to break it to you G, but he kind of does.” I said taking another bite of my pancake. 

“well not anymore.” Grayson said finishing his pancake. 

Grayson didn’t say anything as he paid our bill and then stopped picking up two of our other friends Bryant and David. 

“what’s up G,” David said getting in the car. 

“Ethan doesn’t walk all over me does he?” Grayson said as they got in the car. 

David and Bryant stayed quiet looking at each other and then me. I started to laugh making Grayson even angrier. 

“relax G, just don’t let him do it anymore.” Bryant said making Grayson calm down. 

As soon as we got back to the Dolan’s house we went inside and crashed on the big purple sofa.

“I’m having a party tonight, you guys in?” David asked. 

“you know I’m always down for a party.” I answered. 

“yeah I can make it.” Bryant said giving me a high-five.

“I don’t know man, I’m not in a party mood.” Grayson said. 

“he’ll be there.” I answered David. 

David was about to say something when Ethan came storming in the house. 

“what the fuck did you do?” Ethan asked coming to stand in front of me. 

“who do you think you’re talking to?” I sassed standing up to face Ethan.

“someone who needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.” He said getting in my face.

“look I have no idea what you’re talking about now how about you get out of my face.” I said shoving Ethan back a little bit. 

“does the name Kira ring a bell?” Ethan growled. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said playing dumb.

“Oh yeah that’s funny because she said that a girl with my brother told her to text me screw you and go find another guy.” Ethan seethed.

“Grayson has a lot of girls around him you can’t prove it was me.” I said sticking my tongue out at him. 

“look just because your jealous that I don’t like you...” Ethan started but I quickly cut him off.

“woah woah woah I love to shop, but you couldn’t pay me to buy the bullshit you’re selling.” I said to Ethan.

“wow if you were anymore of a bitch you could have puppies.” Ethan said 

“at least then you wouldn’t be the only dog in the room.” I quickly shot back. 

“GUYS STOP” Grayson yelled. 

“looked I’ll see you guys at the party tonight I’m serious going to lose brain cells if I stay here any longer.” I said waving goodbye to Grayson, David, and Bryant before walking towards the door.

“don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Ethan laughed.

I turned around giving him the middle finger. 

“love you too.” He said. 

ETHAN POINT OF VIEW

I sat down on the couch running a hand through my hair. 

“so did Kira dump your dumbass?” Bryant asked. 

“it doesn’t even matter I have like a million other girls who want me.” I said pulling out my phone. 

“except for Y/N she hates your guts.” Grayson said laughing. 

“please all it would take is one kiss to have her falling in love with me. I just like to mess with her.” I said texting a girl Bella about the party tonight. 

“I don’t know man I don’t think you could.” David said looking at me.

“I don’t either she hates you.” Bryant laughed. 

I quickly put down my phone smirking at the guys. 

“shall we make this interesting?” I said still smirking. 

“what are you thinking?” Grayson asked me. 

“a hundred bucks from each of you if in a week I can get her to admit she loves me.” I said holding my hand out for them to shake.

“well she’s my bestfriend and I know for a fact she won’t go for you so deal.” Grayson said shaking my hand. 

“deal.” Bryant said doing the same.

“isn’t this kind of mean of us?” David asked.

“so you think I can do it huh?” I smirked.

“no way man, deal.” David said shaking my hand.

“one week.” Grayson said holding up one finger.

“well then I better get ready for this party then.” I smirked walking in to my room.

READER POINT OF VIEW

I seriously hated Ethan Dolan like for real where does he get off? Our fighting didn’t use to be this bad but for some reason we hate each other more now then ever before. I was worried that Grayson was going to get sick of it and cut me out of his life. Ethan was his twin and even though they didn’t get along that well either a brother always trumps a bestfriend. 

“ethan dolan you will not ruin my night.” I said as I brushed the last bit of makeup on my face. 

I was cut out of my routine when my phone started ringing. 

“where the hell are you? you know I’m awkward at parties.” Grayson said on the end of the line.

“ha, don’t worry G, I’m on my way.” I said before hanging up the phone.

I grabbed my keys before walking to the car. 

“ethan dolan you will not ruin my night.” I said once more as I backed out of the driveway.

I could see the strobe lights and hear the music blaring as I pulled up to David’s place. I quickly parked and got out to find Grayson. He wasn’t as much in to parties as the rest of us were. 

“thank gosh you’re here.” He said finding me in the crowd.

“geez G just relax, have a drink.” I said grabbing two beers one for him and myself. (don’t drink underage children it is frowned upon by society) 

Gray loosened up after downing a beer and then he drank another and then another. 

“okay Gray I said relax don’t give yourself alcohol poisoning.” I said taking the sixth beer out of his hand. 

“then you drink it cause you need to lighten up.” Grayson slurred pinching my cheek. 

I rolled my eyes as he walked through the crowd grabbing another beer on his way through. I shrugged before downing the beer. 

“you look like you could use another.” Some random guy said handing me a beer. 

I gladly accepted before downing that one too. He handed me another. 

ETHAN POINT OF VIEW

I was swaying to music, cup in hand while Bella kissed all over my neck. God this girl is needy. 

“I’m going to refill my drink I’ll be right back.” I said pushing her off of me. 

I walked over to the drink table scanning my eyes around the room. Grayson was passed out on the couch. I laughed shaking my head as Lucid Dreams blasted through the house. I looked over and saw Y/N dancing with some guy I had never seen before. He was getting pretty handsy as he grabbed her another beer. I decided to walk a little closer to them.

“come on baby you’ve had enough beers how about we go upstairs now.” The guy said to her. 

wow, I’m an asshole but even I wouldn’t stoop that low. I knew I had to do something or else this could be bad. 

“I want to dance.” she whined making me chuckle. 

“come on baby let’s go.” He said grabbing her arm a little more aggressively. 

“no.” She said continuing to dance.

“come on please.” He said pulling her towards the stairs. 

I quickly grabbed his hand taking it off her arm.

“she said no, no means no, do you need to hear it Spanish? NO, N-O get it got it good.” I said pushing the dude back. 

He was clearly fully in control of himself and was just trying to get laid from a trashed girl. 

“what are you her boyfriend?” He scoffed. 

“nah, but she’s important to my family, so she’s kind of important to me.” I said. 

“whatever bro, she doesn’t put out anyways.” He scoffed walking away.

“you're a terrible person.” I called watching him walkaway. 

I turned around to see her still dancing. I laughed at how trashed she was. 

“Y/N come on I need to get you home.” I said grabbing her arms.

“Ethan, where have you been I missed you.” She said hugging me.

Now I know she was really trashed to say she missed me.

“I am here now, let’s go home.” I said picking her up bridal style. 

“okay babe.” she said making me laugh. 

I heard me name being called making me turn around. I rolled my eyes seeing it was Bella.

“what are you doing?” She said gesturing to Y/N in my arms. 

“taking her home she’s trashed and kind of important to me.” I said. 

“well how am I supposed to get home?” she complained putting her hands on her hips. 

I quickly scanned the room. 

“you see that guy passed out on the couch? he’s my brother in his pocket is twenty dollars take it and call a cab.” I told her before walking away. 

“you asshole.” She called after me. 

“you’re not an asshole you’re a really good person.” Y/N said looking at me.

I laughed shaking my head. 

“you would not be saying that if you were not incredibly drunk right now.” I said placing her in my front seat and buckling her in.

“Ethan wait.” She said grabbing my hand.

I looked at her waiting for her to respond. 

“you’re kind of sexy do you know that” She said gazing up at me. 

“okay drunk girl.” I laughed.

oh, how fun will it be explaining this to her when she wakes up. 

part two coming soon

[floralcyanide]

Roommates - Chapter Two

chapter two: heat

rating: M for mature, cursing, implied smut.

pairing: joe mazzello x reader

word count: 915

summary: in search of a roommate while juggling college, you meet a comical ginger who gets closer than expected.

A/N: sorry if this is shit,,,,, wrote half of this the other day lol. also even though the prologue is included in this and you’ve already read it, read this all the way through cause some stuff is different (: 

      "Do you wanna go out tonight?"

   You look up from your adult coloring book menacingly.

   You had spent the entire day coloring, watching Netflix and binge eating popcorn. The thought of leaving your spot on the couch hadn't crossed your mind once.

      "Am I really that boring?" You frown, mocking hurt as you cap your purple marker.

      Y/F/N scoffs, crossing their arms as they lean against the kitchen counter, "No offense, Y/N, but you're pitiful right now. You've probably got kernels hung in your stomach and I'm surprised you're not high off marker fumes."

      You cough as if to loosen the kernels from your insides, closing the coloring book, "Yeah, well. I have nothing else to do except wallow in pity."

      "You can go out with me tonight, then you'll have something to do."

      You roll your eyes and stand from your crunched position on the sofa, your joints popping as you stretch your cramped muscles. "If I don't have fun I'm blaming you."

     "Sure. Oh! Also, my co-worker said something about how he just moved out from a shared apartment to upgrade, I asked if their old roommate is looking for another."

      You cock an eyebrow before grabbing your car keys to find something nice to wear, "Did your co-worker mention a name?"

      "I didn't ask, I was too excited that you might be able to find a place," Y/F/N shrugs, walking toward their bedroom.

      Laughing, you pocket your keys and lean against the front door, "So you offered me up to live with a complete fucking stranger? Are you that desperate to boot me?"

      "Not exactly. I don't know, I'm just trying to help okay!" Y/F/N throws their hands in the air in defense while scanning their closet.

      You run a hand over your face. "I appreciate the enthusiasm. I'll look into it I guess, as long as they aren't an ax murder or pedophile."

      "That's the spirit!"

   You manage to dig out a red cocktail dress and some kitten heels to wear to wherever the hell Y/F/N was taking you. You hoped you get drunk enough to find solace in a stranger, even though that wasn't necessarily your style. However, before your breakup, you and Y/E/BF/N rarely had sex. He never seemed into it, and now you know why. So now that were able to be free sexually and socially, why not?

   It's late into the night, and you were abandoned in the club Y/F/N had dragged you to. In all honesty, you were content in being alone, as you could talk to anyone who approached. You've never felt so confident in being single before. You've never felt so confident period.

   Sticky heat rolls off of your skin as the bass vibrates into your bones, alcohol burning your veins with confidence. Strobe lights of different colors float around the darkness, hitting everyone on the dance floor as they grind and jump along with the music. You find yourself swaying your hips against someone behind you, the shots of tequila from earlier making you pay no mind. It doesn't take long for the stranger to meet your rhythm, laying gentle hands on your waist. The beat picks up along with your heartbeat, courage flooding your mind with the electronic riffs of David Guetta.

      "She's nothing like a girl you've ever seen before, nothing you can compare to your neighborhood hoe,"

   You grind your ass into the person behind you, matching the tempo to the song. The harder you stir around, the harder they seem to dig their fingers into your skin. As the beat transitions into another, you reach behind your head to rest your hands on the stranger's neck. They're not much taller than you, but the stubble amongst their jaw tells you they're a man.

   The air hangs hotter and heavier as you dance harder, prompting you to become thirsty. You abandon the dance floor and wander towards the bar, weaving between the dancing people you were apart of moments ago.

      "Another shot of tequila, Ben," you lean over the bar, shouting at the bartender. You came to this club often with Y/E/BF/N so you befriended the guys who work here.

      Ben rolls his eyes, shaking his head, "that's what, the ninth tonight? it's nearly time to close, Y/N."

      You roll your eyes in return, "you're no fun, Benji!"

     "You'll be thanking me in the morning, though. Where's Y/F/N?" he chuckles and quirks an eyebrow, but before you can answer, his eyes latching into someone approaching you two.

      "Just a beer for me and whatever this frisky lady wants," a voice says by your ear.

   You turn to see a handsome redhead next to you, not much taller than you, in tight jeans and a button up.

      "Anything for you, Joe," Ben winks.

      You hang your mouth open in disbelief, "you won't give me my drink when I ask, but this guy can waltz on up and tell you to get me a drink, and you give it to him? I feel betrayed, Ben. I really do."

   He only smirks as he sits the two beverages in front of you and Joe, presumably.

      "That was some dancing you were doing out there," Joe chuckles, nursing his beer.

      "So you were the guy behind me, huh?" you quip, throwing back your last shot. his lips turn up into a side smile as he nods.

      "You weren't so bad either," you giggle.

      "The name's Joe, Joe Mazzello," he says, offering a hand.

      "I'm Y/N," you smile, shaking his hand.

      "What do say we get out of here?"

   And you do.

roommates taglist:

@works-of-fanfiction @strangemaximoff @mrsmazzello @yannemoore @panicatttckiss @rogers-majesty @lizgarxo @ramibaby

[forever-more-never-again]

Rearrange My Heart (A Natasha Request)

Requested: Anonymous

Pairing: Natasha X Reader

Word Count:3344

Warnings: Kidnapping, Mentions of injury, blood and death

Request: I really enjoy your writing! Would you be willing to write a Nat x reader: where Nat makes a friend outside of the Avengers and slowly gains feelings for R. R is a regular civilian and therefore Nat is too scared to act on feelings bc of her enemies. Hydra captures/hurts R to get to Nat. When Nat finds R she learns that R can rearrange their organs so its incredibly difficult to wound them fatally and later admits her feelings. Angst with fluff at the end? Thank You!!

Masterlist

You were out at Central Park, enjoying the sunshine for once. Your life had been more hectic than usual. After the Chitauri attack last month, your company, a car insurance company, had been bombarded with frantic calls and policy holders.

Now, you were finally caught up, and taking a much needed break.

Your eyes were closed, as you tilted your face up to the sun, sitting on a bench. You let the sun warm your cheeks, smiling as you felt the warm breeze tickle the back of your neck.

“Excuse me, is this spot taken?”

You opened your eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun up at the person who asked.

It was a woman, with red hair put up in a bun. She looked nervous, so you gave her a small smile, “No, please, sit.” You gestured at the empty space next to you.

The woman sat down with a sigh, smiling shyly at you, “I’ve been working all month, it’s nice to finally have a break. What brings you to Central park?” You laughed, waving off the concerned look of the woman, “No, it's just, that’s why I’m here too. Taking a break from this month’s craziness after the Attack.”

The woman grimaced, “Sorry.”

You tilted your head, a smile still gracing your lips, “What do you have to be sorry for?”

The woman appeared startled, then relaxed, an easy going laugh emerging from her red stained lips, “I guess, for you working so hard. I don’t know.”

You laughed with her for a moment, enjoying the breeze, sunshine and birds chirping.

You turned to face the woman after a few moments, “My name is [Y/n]. I’d love to get coffee with you, if you have the time.”

The woman gasped, “Are you asking me..?”

You smirked, “And if I am…?”

She grinned, “I would say yes.”

You jumped up, “Then what are we waiting for!?” She laughed at your enthusiasm, Standing up and holding hands with you. As you began walking out of the park, she said, “My name is Natalia. I think meeting you is the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time.”

You smiled at her over your shoulder, “I think we are going to get along famously.”

~~~~

Two months later, and you and Natalie were still going strong.

You stood outside your office building, waiting for her to pull up. You smiled when you saw her black sports car rounding the corner.

Jumping in, you leaned over the console to give her a quick kiss.

“How was work?” She asked, as she drove into the city.

You groaned, leaning back in the seat, “It was slow. I’m kinda missing the hectic days after the attack. At least then, I had something to do.”

You didn’t notice your girlfriend flinch.

“How was your day?”

Natalie parked outside the cafe where you had your first date, climbing out and opening your door for you before responding, “It was intense. I actually might be unavailable for the next couple days.”

You pouted, leaning against her as you waited in line to give your orders, “Your security company can’t spare you this weekend? It’s the weekend of the film festival, I already bought our tickets!”

Your girlfriend ruffled your hair, a small smile on her face, “I’m sorry. But you know that my company needs me. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

You grinned, stretching up on your toes to kiss her, before pulling back and gazing into her green eyes, “You better.” You warned, laughing with her as you stepped up to place your coffee order.

~~~~

The next night, you finished putting on your outfit and fixing your hair. Glancing into your mirror, you smirked at your reflection, “Looking good [Y/n].” You snapped a selfie and shot off a text to Natalia.

In seconds, your phone buzzed as she replied, ‘Looking good. Already miss you, be home soon.’

You smiled, texting back, ‘Hopefully this millionaire that hired your security company is nice.’

You shoved your phone in your purse and headed out to the film festival.

New York was lit up like the fourth of July, with strobe lights, and limos and stars everywhere.

You were unashamed as you gawked. Walking around with eyes wide.

Finally, you managed to get inside the exhibit. Grabbing a glass of champagne off the table by the door, you walked further in, peering in doorways.

“What’s a spectacular beauty like you doing alone?”

You turned to face the cultured german accent, attached to a distinguished gentleman.

You smiled up at him, a feeling of unease settling in your stomach at his sharp silver eyes and silver hair as he stared down at you like you were prey.

“My girlfriend couldn’t make it. I’m just exploring.”

He smiled, sipping his own champagne, “Ahh, young love. How the fruit of labors gains pain in the absence of love.”

You frowned, trying to figure out what he was saying.

Edging away from where you, you realized, he had backed you into a secluded corner, you muttered, “Excuse me, I think they’re showing the new Quintera film now.”

Before you could leave, his hand stretched out and gripped your arm tightly.

You winced, tugging on your arm, “Let me go! You’re hurting me!”

The man glared down at you, his accent becoming more pronounced as he growled, “What does she see in a quivering civilian like you?” He shrugged, tugging you down an empty hallway, “No matter, we just have to keep you alive for a few days anyways.”

Your heart and mind were racing a mile a minute as you struggled against his iron grasp, screaming, “Help! Someone help! Help me!”

The man laughed, as you exited the back of the building, he pulled you so that you were in front of him, your champagne glass shattering on the ground, “Yes, cry, scream. It will bring your girlfriend to us that much faster.”

You glared, “What do you want with Natalie?”

The man peered at you, curiously, “She never told you? She really left you in the dark! Oh, this is just wonderful!” He began smiling, his eyes glimmering with a dangerous malicious light.

You spat at his face. His smile disappearing as he wiped the spittle from his cheek. “Just because we have to keep you alive, doesn't mean we can’t have some fun.”

And with that, a car drove up next to him, and he injected a needle into your neck.

The last thing you saw before the world went dark, was another man with a mask and a symbol of a multi headed snake on his jacket, opening the car door.

~~~

You blinked groggily, your head lolling around on your shoulders.

Slowly, the memories of what happened edged into you mind. Jolting awake, you raised your head to look around.

You tugged on your arms, and looking up, saw that your hands were tied and hooked onto a chain, elevating them above your head.

Your feet scrambled on the ground, as your toes barely reached. You were dangling like a fish on a bait hook.

Looking around, peering into the dark shadows, you conferred that you were in some sort of warehouse. It looked abandoned and decrepit. You smothered a gasp as you saw a body hanging like you were on the other side of the building. Only, they appeared to be no longer alive.

A puddle of dried blood circled under their feet, their eyes glassy, seemed to stare into your soul, warning you.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you mumbled a prayer.

Out of the shadows, the man from before appeared, he held a knife and was cleaning it with a rag. He didn’t look up at you as he spoke, “Nice of you to wake up and rejoin us, [Y/n].”

The tears overflowed, and you spoke through gasps and hiccups, “Please! Just let me go! I’ll pay you whatever you want! I won’t turn you in, please...just let me go!”

The man smiled, he crooned, coming close, he gently ran a finger down your cheek, tracing the path of a tear.

You struggled, trying to turn your head so that he couldn’t touch you.

“You don’t understand yet. Because she left you in the dark. Her mistake. She should have known that we would find her weakness...you.” He pointed the knife at your chest and you swore your heart was going to give out on you.

Your throat closed up and you fought through the sobs, “What are you talking about? I’m no one special, please! Just let me go!”

The man sighed, the smile disappearing and a look of disinterest appearing, “I grow bored of you thinking this is about you. News flash, [Y/n]! You’re no one special. No one cares about you. Except for a certain Avenger.”

Your sobs slowly let up, your arms straining against your restraints and your feet struggling to support your weight. You begged the man in front of you, “I don’t understand! Please, just let me go!”

The man sighed, flicking his knife towards the shadows. Lights came on, blinding you. You squinted against the sudden onslaught of harsh light, your tears dripping onto the concrete as you struggled to realize that you were most likely going to die in the warehouse. Because, surrounding you and the man before you, were hundreds of armed men clad in black masks, wearing that symbol that you recognized from the driver.

“Who are you guys?” You whispered.

The man laughed, “We are Hydra. We are the next generation of Humans! And you, my dear, are our secret weapon at finally destroying one of our enemies...the Black Widow.”

You frowned, trying to see what he was talking about. And then it hit you. You gasped, struggling against your restraints as you thought back over your relationship with Natalia.

How she had striking red hair and green eyes. How she was secretive about her job at a ‘security company’. How she had apologized when you first met her when you spoke about the Chitauri attack. It all clicked.

“Natalie is...Natasha?” You mumbled to yourself.

The man’s smile widened, “Ding ding ding! We have a winner gentlemen!”

The assembled men all laughed, the sound causing you to flinch as you remembered where you were.

The man raised his knife and trailed it down your chest, settling it against your abdomen, “You will remember the name Misha Petrov. Because, my dear, we are going to get very intimate as we wait for your girlfriend to come to your rescue and ultimate demise.”

You screamed out, sobs pouring forth once again as the man, Misha, slowly pushed his knife forward.

Searing pain sliced through you as he cut through tissue and muscles.

When the hilt of the knife hit your skin, you were barely able to breath, pain shooting through you.

Misha frowned, wiggling the knife as it was wedged inside you. You screamed out, “Stop! Please!”

Misha shushed you, “Shut up! What are you!?” He glared up into your eyes.

Your vision was hazed over in red, the pain blinding you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please, stop!”

He backhanded you, the slap resounding through the warehouse, “What are you!? I should have hit your intestines and kidney! Instead, all I feel is air! What are you!?”

He pulled the knife back out and slammed it suddenly at your heart.

You gasped and shut your eyes, waiting for the sudden death.

When you still felt alive, you slowly opened your eyes.

There was the knife...sticking out of your chest, right where your heart should be. But you could still feel your heart beating...only now it felt like it was coming from the right side of your body instead of the left.

Misha breathed out, “What..?”

You sniffled, snot and tears running together off your face onto the ground. Your shirt was now torn to shreds and soaked in your blood. Your body on fire from being stabbed...and yet you were not focused on the pain now, rather, on the fact that you still seemed to be alive and your organs intact.

Misha and the men surrounding you were startled when a new, feminine voice rang through the room, “And what are the chances of running into Hydra again? All in a day's work I suppose.”

From the rafters, a figure in all black dropped down to the ground. Whipping their hair out of their face you gasped, “Natalie!?”

She startled, staring at where you were strung up, “[Y/n]!” Her eyes landed on the knife that was still in your chest. Her eyes widened and she screamed, “[Y/n]! Hold on!”

She pulled out her gun and rolled to the ground as the surrounding men opened fire on her.

Your eyes stayed trained on her, marveling at how fluid she was, the determination in her green eyes as she shot off bullets, dropping the Hydra men like flies.

Misha stayed by your side, and for that, you were oddly grateful, because no men were shooting your way. No way you could evade a bullet when you were strung up unable to move.

Misha yanked the knife out of your chest and held it up to your neck, his hot breath whispered in your ear as the gunfire rang out from around you, “Now, let’s see just how much your girlfriend loves you, after all….she hid who she truly was from you, who knows what else she lied about.”

Eventually, the warehouse grew silent once again. The bodies of the Hydra men lay scattered on the floor, their blood pooling together.

Natasha whipped her hair back, her skin shining with sweat as she marched towards you and Misha. He tightened his grip on your neck, the knife drawing a thin line of blood from your throat.

Natasha halted in her advance, her eyes worried, glancing between you and Misha. “Hey, now, we can discuss this without harming them.” She spoke to Misha, her gun aimed at his head.

He laughed, but the sound was deranged, maniacal. And ice cold fear slid into your veins.

“Like I will take the word of the Avenger aiming her gun at my head!” The knife dug further into your neck.

Natasha carefully pulled the gun away and holstered it, and then raised her hands, inching forward, “Okay. The gun is gone. Now why don’t you release the civilian?”

Misha breathed deeply, his mouth close to your neck, “You mean your lovely little partner? Do tell us, Natasha...or should I call you Natalie? It would seem you left some details about your life in the dark. I wonder if [Y/n] will ever trust you again. After all, you are the reason they are in this mess in the first place.”

Natasha looked pained, she met your eyes, “[Y/n]...I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you’re here. I’m sorry for lying. I’m just...sorry.”

You gave her a weak smile, “Well. Natasha. If you get me out of here, we can discuss things over coffee.”

She smiled, tears sliding down her cheeks, “I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

Misha growled, “This is all very sweet, but I want you to put your gun to your head and kill yourself, or else I kill your little lover!” He screamed at Natasha.

You nodded at Natasha, who let a feral grin spread across her face. In a single leap, she punched Misha and he stumbled back, the knife leaving your throat.

He growled, rushing forward, he ducked under Natasha and slammed the knife into your back. You screamed out as you felt the searing pain of your skin being cut into. But you didn’t feel the knife hit your spine, or hear a crack, or anything. And you felt funny.

Like you were standing tilted.

Natasha screamed out in pain, yelling your name “[Y/n]! NO!”

With a sickening shot, and blood spatter appearing in your peripheral, Misha slumped to the ground, face down beside you, a pin hole in the back of his head from a bullet.

Natasha rushed to you and began untying your hands.

You dropped to the ground, but Natasha caught you in her arms and began carrying you out of the warehouse.

She cried, “It’ll be okay, [Y/n]. Just stay with me.”

You frowned, searching within yourself, but aside from the pain of cuts in your skin from the knife, you felt fine.

Once you reached outside, you saw a jet sitting in the distance. Natasha rna and jumped in, the jet starting up, “Tony! Bruce! I need you!” She screamed. Laying you down on the floor of the jet carefully.

You looked up at her, “I think I’m fine Natalie. Really.” You started to sit up. But she pushed you down.

“You were stabbed [Y/n], and it looks like more than once.” She carefully peeled off your shirt, revealing the abdomen and chest stab wounds.

She covered her mouth in horror, “How are you still alive?” She whispered.

By then Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, who you recognized from the news, came rushing towards you and Natasha with a medical kit.

“Tony, scan them plase.” Bruce said, kneeling on the ground beside Natasha, peering at the stab wounds.

Tony’s arm turned red as he powered on his suit, a blue light wrapping your body as he scanned you.

He frowned, “Uhh...Bruce...You’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bruce stood up and walked over to him, peering at the hologram of your x ray.

You sat up, ignoring Natasha’s worried hands. “What’s wrong?” You asked, glancing between Tony and Bruce.

Bruce looked at you, eyebrows scrunched together, puzzled, “It appears that your spine and Heart are not in the right spot. But…” He gestured for Tony to scan again, “They seem to be slowly moving back… This isn’t possible.” He muttered.

Your eyes widened in shock. You turned to share your look of disbelief with Natasha. She was frozen, eyes wide as she stared back at you.

“Who are you?” She asked.

You laughed, “You have the nerve to ask me that? After you lied to me for three months about who you were?”

She shook her head, getting out of her stupor. She grabbed your hand and clutched it close to her chest as her green eyes caught yours, “I’m still the person you love. I’m still Natalie. I never lied about my feelings for you. It’s just,” She sighed. Neither of you noticing that Bruce and Tony had left. “When I sat next to you on that bench in Central Park and realized that you didn’t recognize me...I wanted to be human for a moment. And then I fell for you. I fell hard. And I thought I was protecting you by not telling you I was an Avenger.”

You sighed, “Well, that didn’t work.”

She nodded, “I know. And I’m so sorry.”

You reached up with your free hand and cradled her cheek. Her eyes closed for a second as she allowed herself to lean into the caress.

“ I don’t know what I am...I’m scared Natalie.”

She opened her eyes at your words. She scooted closer to you and pulled you into her arms, “We’ll figure it out together. If you still want to be with me?”

You smiled up at her, you leaned in and kissed her deeply.

Pulling back, you laughed at her dazed expression, “Of course. I love you, Natalie.”

She pulled you closer, “It seems you’re able to rearrange your organs to prevent fatal injury...but you somehow managed to rearrange my heart as well.”

You kissed her again, the hum of the jet fading to the background as you focused on the love you had for your girlfriend. Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow to the rest of the world. But top you, Natalie Koshave, the girl who loved you.

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @littlestfangirl @rainydaysrnevergrey @not-jk-rowling @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither

Natasha Taglist:

@ludwigvonbaethoven @hanjiscience-slut @kitten-q-p @morbid-gaymer @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare @sunnyandtwisty @zoeyknight @kurlyafro @thewomanofwonder @5aftermidnight

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc

[verytamenow]

Reputation Tour Movie: Reactions

On the off chance anyone has wanted to know what it’s like to deal with my commentary when I will not shut the fuck up, click that read more to get my Reputation Movie commentary!

Opening

- Taylor is the most extra bitch. I love her.

- Opening video still gives me chills

...Ready For It?

- The strobe lights make this as sometimes irritating to watch as it was live. Which is a pity because I love the performance.

I Did Something Bad

- Will idsb ever not give me chills and murder me?

- I want her to bite me when she snarls

- Her hips. The idiot giraffe is blessed.

- Her vocals

- Fuck Me Up

- The most precious happiest koala😭

- (spots a rep room wristband) lucky bitch

Gorgeous

- I’m So disappointed a step above gorgeous being gorgeous didn’t get immortalized in the tour video

- The assholes (I say out of jealousy) with the triangles. Why didn’t we think of that!

- “And I’m Taylor” Bitch I hope so. I spend so much on your ass.

- Stop looking like that Taylor it makes me feel things

Style

- I get why style made the set list and love the songs but justice for ootw

- That guitar riff gives me ALL THE FEELS

- yes bitch strut! Thank you Karlie Kloss

Love Story

- Aww all the throwback and legacy feels 

- Is it legal not to jump during this song?

- Boop.

- “I keep waiting for you but you never cum” is probably not a problem Taylor has. On either end.

You Belong With Me

- (proceeds to bounce in place because Taylor owns me)

- The parent holding up her daughter is Kristen in the future

Look What You Made Me Do

- The lwymmd pre video is my sexuality

- I want murderess snake queen Taylor to end. my. life.

- Would let her choke me

- I’m the bitch mouthing oh my god

- This is my favourite part of the tour ngl

- THAT SMIRK

- side note: also remember when we thought it was a dragon and not a snake?

- She really snapped and killed a bitch with this song

- THE INTENSITY WENT OFF AND HOW IS PIT NOT LOSING THEIR SHIT

- like mosh or something fuckers

- KARYN!

- I weirdly love the back vocals she recorded for lwymmd. The short “ah”s really make it

- The sass

- A queen

- I’m so gay

- This is why I’m doomed with whoever I date

End Game

- The disappointment Ed never guested on the tour

- The choreo for this is 🔥

- I mean all of it is but her hips

- Her legs are worth every penny of 40 million

- The hand over the face bit is an objectively weird closing move

King Of My Heart

- How do we actually make her America’s queen

- This is the softest song

- I stan komh so hard

- Like I love delicate but this is just as soft. Softer even

- I love I’m getting to see the other half of the choreo because we sat on the left side each time

- Up on the roof with a school girl crush /  Drinking beer out of plastic cups / Say you fancy me not fancy stuff / BABY ALL IT ONCE THIS IS ENOUGH

- This is the closest we’ve come to a poc love interest in anything she’s filmed. Except the End Game MV sort of.

- We didn’t stan the dancers hard enough

- The drums made this tbh

Delicate

- Oh gods I’m not ready for the delicate speech

- I’m the dude who screamed he loved her

- Bless the rainbow dress

- “Shit is that what is was on my wrist? I thought her stalker and taylurking ways had just finally gone to tracking bracelets.”

- (knock at the door) Me, pausing: umm I blocked out this entire 2 hours for our lorde and saviour Taylor Swift???

- (Scott Swift voice) I’m going back into my zone

- The lights are so pretty. No wonder Taylor loves the bracelets

- Bitch we know your unreleased stuff

- Do let’s go/battle as a surprise song and be shook

- 1! 2! 3! LET’S GO BITCH!

- Can you believe she flew right over us

- That little dance. She’s so fucking precious

Shake It Off

- B stage. Remember how she gave invisible to the gays

- And finally played breath

- The only redeeming thing for shake it off is that she made it as gay as she could

-I still wanna know what inspired “my ex man brought his new girlfriend...to the fella over there with the hella good hair” bit

- What did Di do? And who did Taylor hit on? Or is Karlie the one with the hella good hair?

- Giuseppe got down on one knee long before Karlie ever will

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

- How smug was Taylor when her jump to pop worked?

- There must have been so many I told you so’s

- It started raining. The closest I’ll ever come to a rain show.

- I can’t believe she played this song in Nashville with Karlie right there and kept her shit together

- Taylor’s never more magical then when it’s just her and a guitar

- I would give anything and go deep in debt to go to an acoustic show

- This filter was unnecessary and such a call out

- She had one fuck left and it’s name is alliterative All Too Well

- I hope she keeps doing acoustic surprise songs like this next tour. Where it’s a set thing.

- I’m so relieved she approves of lyric tattoos. Like....imagine if she didn’t and I have my entire forearm

- Put down your fucking phones and watch her be magic personified

- Also fuck this song for being so powerful

- The way she sings the bridge

- Now did she really lose the 12 minute version or is it just a little too obvious who it’s about

- Her wink! I’d die

- Is that chick okay? Did she live?

Blank Space

- The crowd walk! I’m still so so fucking endlessly proud

- Look at her!

- My precious angel reclaiming walking through her fans

- How the fuck are these people not dying tho?

- Still want her to hit me in the face with the golf club

- And kick me in the face with her boots

- This is also still my favourite mv

- It was so perfect

- This is also quality choreo. I wouldn’t have made it had it seen it right in front of me

- Gay icons

Dress

- Holy fuck dress is so gay

- Like.....we been knew but still

- This song is why she didn’t dare film in Nashville

- The vocals should be illegal

- Like, they’re NSFL (Not Safe For Lesbians)

- The first time she did that (strip tease thing) and the Nashville show were the best ones

Should Have Said No / Bad Blood

- This is still the most fucking random mash up

- I mean it works and redeems bad blood but wtf

- The person sitting on someone else’s shoulders has to really be pissing off someone else who can’t see

- Aggressive banjo

- Can’t believe she puts on a show and sells like this and Borschetta wouldn’t give her the masters. Idiot

- The dudes dangling are braver than any US Marine

- Instead she negotiated for better artist pay AND her future masters. The Legend jumped out

- I remember watching this the first time and being briefly confused because this sort of drawn out thing is what they normally do for show closing but it was too early

Don’t Blame Me

- Oh fuck here we go

- THIS IS MY FAVOURITE TOUR OUTFIT

- PERIOD

- ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES

- this entire fucking performance. No words

- I love all the dude dancers had the blinders like headgear. As if such powerful sapphic love is distinctly not for their consumption

- I have found religion

- I stan a queen

Long Live / New Year’s Day

- I love she knows how many people work on the tour and genuinely appreciates their effort

- I hope this mashup sticks around, at least as the surprise song at the closing show of the next tour

- I’m not crying you’re crying

- Hold on to the memories, they/I will hold onto you is one on my favourite lines she’s written

- Along with with please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

- Oh my fucking god stop letting her be this precious

- Remember how fucking loud we were in Denver?

- This is my favourite moment of the entire show - for her. You can tell how much it means to her

- She owns my ass and wallet forevermore

- “I had the time of my life....with you” is a whole emotional mood

- Her quick little thank you 😭

Why She Disappeared

- Oh that’s the first time I’ve heard the echos

- Those boots probably cost more than my life

- This should have been the close or open of the getaway car mv

- Imagine if it shows up in an mv next era. Starts with a car on a pink x

Getaway Car

- The 1989 neon is an interesting choice

- Is that the shift to pop being a getaway or the close of the 1989 era being one? (More thoughts on this later)

- Hits you like a shotgun shot to the Heart is a fucking amazing line

- I loved that bit straight away

- I can lowkey see getaway car being about switching labels tbh

- This last album maybe IS the getaway car (more, again, later)

Call It What You Want

- Ciwyw is one on my favourite love songs of hers

- Trust him like NO OTHER was right at her fingertips

- Who the fuck would say no to running away with her?

- I would let her RUN ME OVER, running away WITH her? Fuck yes

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together / This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

- WANEGBT/TIWWCHNT is a brilliant mash up

- But fucking ridiculous to type

- “But I’m not the friend you’ve lost lately” is the shadiest fucking line and I love it

- I’m disappointed we never got video of her recording “cause forgiveness is a nice thing to do”. I can only imagine the sass and snark

- “Taylor the mic is picking up you muttering ‘fucking prick’. You need to record it again.”

- “.....Taylor, muttering ‘backstabbing motherfucker’ isn’t any better. Maybe try it without the muttering?”

- The mouthed “I love you guys” ❤😭

- They’re not showing people collecting confetti? How unrealistic.

- Oh, there they are.

- “The words are all the same over and over again and I know that’s my fault....” still funny as hell

- “What’s a 767?” What’s it like to have that kind of money?

- Will pay to watch Taylor skip through a stadium

In conclusion: Taylor owns me. Kristen puts up with a lot from me. And I can’t wait for the next chapter.

[ivyfics]

When you’re sober — (fic)

When air is back in his lungs he manages a, “Whoa. Who’re you?”

Long fingers land on the bridge of black rims, pushing them up even when they haven’t moved an inch. “Tsukishima.” Eyes behind glass settle on him for a second before their gazes break, jump away. The blond snack stands straighter and asks, “And you are?”

“Not straight,” Tetsurou replies, dazed and with a croaky throat.

Rating: Mature Pairing: Kurotsuki

Read on AO3

The night is lost between strobe lights, deafening beats, and way too much tequila for four people to consume—three and a half if the shots Akaashi’s given away as to protect his liver are brought into consideration.

He’s not sure if his face is numb or his entire skin is on fire but he’s swaying slowly between those two the same way he sways on the dancefloor, the amount of alcohol in his blood caught up with his motor skills and taking him from frantic head-nodding and hip-popping to that sweet, sweet rocking of his knees to a beat that does not match whatever the DJ is playing.

Crowded, loud, hot both in the way that leaves Tetsurou with the kind of glow people buy exorbitantly priced fine-milled stardust to achieve and in the two tutoring sessions the bouncer’s niece is getting out of Akaashi to agree to let them cut the long ass line curving around the block.

Do not be fooled, this is not your usual club.

It’s an epiphany, one they get to experience only after being vouched by Terushima’s minute nod to the gatekeeping stack of muscle. Not that his man, his bro, the hot piece of ass he lives with could not take him if things went south. He has absolute faith that Bokuto is more than capable of decking the dude if necessary, as much as he has in the knowledge that he would never deck anyone undeserving of having their bone structure re-arranged.

Bokuto is out of his sight down to the tippy-tips of his frosted hair, a feat considering they tower over almost everyone else in the area around the booth they claimed for themselves when they arrived—courtesy of Terushima, as long as Kuroo pulls through with a hot number burning the contact list on his phone.

Bokuto was holding the Jose Cuervo and the fantastic, demonic amber liquid inside of it when he hopped into the crowd and vanished. The last thing anyone needs right now, especially Tetsurou, is to have Bokuto get completely fucked; there is no way in any ring of hell that any of them have the steady gait it takes to transport a completely fucked Bokuto anywhere. Oikawa, maybe, but the last Tetsurou saw of him was grinding down on the nearest unknown beefcake so that’s a total loss. Good night for Oikawa’s ass, terrible for them if they need some muscle to transport their own beefcake out to wherever they’ll head to next.

Somewhere with a bed they can all throw themselves on, or at least some blankets on a floor. Whatever that place turns out to be, Tetsurou will not be the one leading them there this time. He and Bokuto ran into some other friends with commodities on Terushima’s radar; they got some nice Dictador shots out of it, and Tetsurou is feeling it in the raging pit burning his guts.

Before anyone can go all judgey on them, they don’t usually do this. Going for a drink usually involves lots of beer, finger foods because Bokuto gets snacky when he drinks, and a place where they can all sleep over when they eventually get beaten by the blessed sleep that comes with getting a little more than buzzed. Also, fuck whoever judges them even if that weren’t the case. They do what they want.

The floor shifts, dancing party-goers along with it, and Tetsurou’s arms spread out to find some balance. He takes a second or two to steady himself and to realize that the floor is as solid as a rock, that he’s the one doing the walls-caving-in thing, and that maybe those shots hit him a little harder than he thought. He waddles through the crowd trying his best not to look down, eyes blinking faster than they should.

Vertigo doesn’t seem plausible when you’re only about six feet high (which he’s not because his feet are on solid ground even though his head technically is,seeing as that’s the height it would fall from if Tetsurou was to take a little spill) but Tetsurou’s felt some things before and there is no other way to explain the wave that rolls over you when you’re head-diving face first into a sticky, disgusting floor of a club.

Landing on the booth with his hip, Tetsurou admits that whatever line exists between him getting out of this club by his own means and not has been crossed—meaning: after all the undeserving mental bitching he’s being doing in slander of Bokuto’s name, he’s the one who is completely fucked. Luckily for him (and the ones who now have the responsibility to make sure he doesn’t wash up in a random alley somewhere when the sun comes up),  he’s not impossible to transport.

A little wobbly, sure, but easy enough to maneuver.

When the swirling of his sight calms down, he can see Oikawa in his line of sight. The brunette is doing something that Tetsurou will call dancing because he might be drunk out of his wits but he’s polite, ass not so discreetly backing up into the wall of muscle that is Oikawa’s prey tonight.

He looks pretty solid. Maybe he can carry Tetsurou out.

Writhing bodies flash in and out of darkness, eyelids growing heavier and then not until he feels a massive amount of warmth at his side, groaning. It’s a familiar feeling and Tetsurou groans back, setting some of his weight back on Bokuto. Guess it wasn’t all slander.

“I think it’s time we left,” Akaashi speaks up loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the music. He sounds sober, too sober, and Tetsurou envies him furiously around the spinning of the room and the numbness of his face. How nice it would be to have control of his physical form. Tetsurou turns to blink at Akaashi blearily, overshooting a little to the left and having to compensate. He finds him with a hand on Bokuto’s hair, the motion of his fingers combing through and working at the strands hypnotic to Tetsurou’s alcohol-addled brain.   Bokuto agrees with another groan, face flopping on Tetsurou’s rib cage. It should hurt, that with Bokuto’s nose being extra jabby, but Tetsurou is above that kind of sensory input right now. Tetsurou tries to move, his neck craned in a way that doesn’t bother him now, but that would hurt if he were any more sober than he is. “Oikawa is not going to be happy about that.”

Bokuto groans again, the sound barely audible from where it’s muffled at Tetsurou’s sweaty side. “Leave him. I wanna sleep.”

Akaashi hums, letting Bokuto deal with himself while he locates Oikawa on the dance floor. “He’s had too much to drink to leave behind, he’s not going home with anyone tonight.”

Bokuto’s head snaps up, eyes squinting to catch Akaashi’s line of sight. “Oh. Yeah.” The couple of strands of Bokuto’s hair that have come loose from being a sweaty gross mess flop against his forehead, cheek resting on Tetsurou’s shoulder when he’s tired of seeing Oikawa’s ass grind down on whoever that is.“He’s going to bitch at me about cockblocking him until he falls asleep.”

“But he’ll make pancakes for everyone as thanks for not leaving him alone with a serial killer.”

“Fuck yes, pancakes. Can we have pancakes, Keiji?”

Akaashi makes a noise of agreement. “When we get home and you guilt Oikawa into making them.”

“Can we go home now?”

“There’s a tiny problem,” Tetsurou says, because he owes it to them to disclose exactly how much it’s gonna take to lift him from this booth.

Tetsurou is the presentable drunk; he doesn’t puke, doesn’t slur his words or does crazy shit if he’s left out of sight even for a second—and how is Suga doing these days, he wonders?—but he does become a floppy meat puppet for a while, all while looking like he’s just over-danced and overheated. “I’m soooooo drunk, Akaashi, I can’t feel my legs.”

Akaashi’s face twist, just a little, at having two people to drag out. They try, really, to balance out who stays sober enough to make sure everyone’s safe (or keep an eye on Suga when he tags along—except Bokuto. Suga has the uncanny ability to drag him along in his shenanigans), but Akaashi has been it for the last three times they’ve gone out. He can’t cook for shit so it won’t be pancakes but Tetsurou is going to do something nice for him this week.  

“I guess walking back to your place is off the list.”

Right. That was the plan. Their shared apartment. The apartment that is at decent walking distance when you’re only planning to dance a lot and drink a little. Like they were supposed to do tonight.

“Keiji, I’m sorry,” Bokuto moans. “Tequila was a bad choice.”

Tetsurou makes a noise of agreement. He agrees with that all the way to his soul. “Tequila is always the right choice until it’s not. It’s always not.”

“It’s fine. I think I have a place we can crash at nearby. Let me go call first.” Akaashi gets up, pulling his phone out of his pocket because he’s an angel. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Tetsurou laughs a little. “Couldn’t even if I tried.” Then, he adds, “Maybe if I tried really hard.”

“Don’t try.” Akaashi gives him a sharp look, shutting him down before disappearing to work his magic.

Bokuto doesn’t move an single centimeter, only looking up when Oikawa comes back with the swole dude in tow.

Oikawa looks like an add for expensive, overpriced perfume. “Kuroo, you ratty bitch.”

Tetsurou is hurt. “How come I’m the only ratty bitch here? I’m not even the drunkest one.”

“Koutarou can do what he wants.”

“You heard him. I do what I want,” Bokuto laughs, followed by a groan. Kuroo rests his eyes for a while, enjoying the warmth at his back and the portion of Oikawa’s conversation that floats his way. Time disappears for an infinite moment, his body loose on his seat.

Akaashi comes back after an unknown amount of minutes, letting his presence be known by a flick to Kuroo’s forehead that makes him jolt, and in turn, makes Bokuto groan again. A quick glance tells Kuroo that his eyes are closed and he’s snuggling against Kuroo’s side. If they don’t get moving soon he will fall asleep on this booth. On cue, Bokuto says, “I don’t wanna get up.”

“Bokuto, get up right now. I can’t carry you by myself when you’re like this.” Akaashi’s voice is stern but Kuroo knows in his gut that his words are paired with his hands slicking Bokuto’s hair back from his sweaty forehead gently.

“I can help,” Oikawa’s catch of the day speaks up. “It looks like you could use a hand.”

He certainly looks like he can help, muscle tee showing off arms that would make sculptors weep. He can probably take care of Bokuto by himself. It’s not that any of them are puny, it’s just that Bokuto is so fucking ripped. He’s a wall of heavy, dense muscle, dragging down whoever carries him with his drunk dead weight. This new dude looks like he can keep up, though.

Tetsurou’s mouth goes off.  “Thank you, ripped stranger.”

The stranger shakes his head, amused. “Iwaizumi,” he offers. That must be his name.

“Thank you, ripped Iwaizumi,” he amends.  

Huh, maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

They somehow manage to get out of the club in one piece and without leaving anyone behind. Tetsurou doesn’t really know where they’re going, but the last two brain cells not taking a bath in booze are too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other without toppling over the pavement to care. Akaashi is leading them somewhere safe, he hopes. And comfortable. Please, be comfortable. He’s so done with walking.

Tetsurou leans a little heavier on Tooru. He’s rosy-cheeked and his eyes are half-lidded, Tooru’s energy level dropping a little without the dim lights and heavy music to amp him up. The toll of the night out is showing in his slow gait, sturdier that Tetsurou’s. Tooru is the one leading him but he leans his weight on Tetsurou, too, their combined efforts keeping them moving and upright.

Kind of like the less blind leading the blind.  

They’re at the back of their little group, Akaashi chatting with Iwaizumi with Bokuto between them in front of them. The road is quiet and glowing under the streetlights, aiding to the surreal feeling carried by the fresh breeze.

Tetsurou gets lost in the flexing muscles of Tooru’s dude’s arms for about two seconds before almost tripping and Tooru’s tensing arm around his shoulders break him out of it.  “He’s hot, Tooru. God job.”

“You mean ‘good job’?”

“That too.”

Tooru laughs, a big free guffaw fueled by the late night air and whatever level of drunk he still is, his body against Tetsurou shaking more than it should have for something so unfunny. The pair of them warble in their steps a little, and it’s Tetsurou who makes them still so that they don’t fall. Tetsurou looks forward and catches Tooru’s dude looking back at them, risking an unsteady Bokuto that clings to him for a glance at a laughing Tooru. He falters, minutely—but enough to have Tetsurou notice and Iwaizumi’s cheeks go red even under the dim lights before he quickly faces front.

The building they arrive at is so incredibly familiar that Tetsurou doesn’t doubt he’s been here before. Even without clinging to Tooru’s shirt his feet would find their way around, and he follows without paying attention to where they’re going because his body leads the way for him on autopilot. It takes them an eternity and Tooru’s death grip on his shirt to climb the steps to the second floor, but they make it relatively unscathed. Kuroo does bang his shoulder against the wall a little too hard, but the pain fades almost immediately.

They stop near the stairwell, the door a pale gray with a metal ‘2B’ above it. Kuroo fades out at this point, gaze weirdly entertained by the shiny ceramic frog sitting next to the doorframe. It’s pink, for one, and it has a yellow ribbon around it’s throat. It stares back at Tetsurou with jumpy eyes and a forever smile on its face.

It’s hauntingly familiar. He’s seen that frog before. He knows the frog. So much that he says, “I know that frog.”

Tetsurou’s voice is only for himself, but Bokuto manages to catch it. “ ‘Course you do. That’s Lola.”

What? How does Bokuto know the frog? How does Tetsurou know the frog? Before he can voice his concern the door opening cuts him off, and Tetsurou, he’s—he’s dumbfounded.

Standing in front of him is the damning proof that god is real, because the devil made whoever this is. He’s gorgeous , standing in the entryway in blue sweats and a white t-shirt. Soft fabric and a tall frame, pretty and short curls over sharp eyes.

When air is back in his lungs he manages a, “Whoa. Who’re you?”

Long fingers land on the bridge of black rims, pushing them up even when they haven’t moved an inch. “Tsukishima.” Eyes behind glass settle on him for a second before their gazes break, jump away. The blond snack stands straighter and asks, “And you are?”

“Not straight,” Kuroo replies, dazed and with a croaky throat.

Everyone goes quiet at that, stun broken by Akkashi’s groan of  ‘not this’ and Oikawa’s ‘pffffft!’

After they manage to move past Tetsurou’s mouth, the shuffle in to the apartment slowly. It’s small, but surprisingly free of clutter. The feeling that Tetsurou’s been here before grows by the second, down to the pleased sound he makes when his butt decides to rest on one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

Iwaizumi chuckles next to him, hands free now that Bokuto is starfished on the couch as much as he can.“I think that’s my cue to leave.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay, Iwa-chan?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good. I have to go back to my people.” Coming closer to Tooru, he places a hand on Tooru’s nape. “I’ll see you?”  

Oikawa pouts, but nods, face shifting to mischief almost immediately. “Thank you for your service. I’ll be sure to make it up to you,” he purrs. Oikawa leans in closer to his ear, probably to whisper dirty things, but Kuroo does not care even a single bit, not an ounce. He’s much too busy looking over at their host, their literal saviour. The very recent but very intense apple of Kuroo’s eye.

He’s still as pretty as he way when he opened the door.

Tetsurou stares at him awhile before a smile takes over. He leans forward, elbow catching his weight on the counter. “You know,” he drawls, “If I had a dollar for every time I saw someone as pretty as you, I wouldn’t have money to take you anywhere.”

Oikawa’s choked laughter fills the air behind him followed by, “You don’t have it now.”

Tetsurou whips to face him. He whispers furiously across the room, hand shooting out to point at the blonde. “Shhhhhh! He doesn’t know that!”

The outburst makes a quiet chuckle come from behind him, and when Tetsurou looks over his angel has a barely there smile on his face and is pointedly looking away from him. It brings a goofy smile to Tetsurou’s face. He’s making progress!

He clears his throat, brain going a mile a minute trying to come up with his best work. “So are you a bookworm or do you just dress like one?”

“Why?”

Tetsurou shrugs because duh, “Glasses.”

Tsukishima gives him a glance for less than a second before rolling his eyes. Akaashi’s bored tone speaks up, “That was terrible. ”

“Worse that terrible, that was lame,” Oikawa says.  

Alright, okay. A hit and a miss, but he can do better. “You’re like a long water bottle.”

Everyone goes silent until Akaashi’s tentative, “Did you mean a tall glass of water?”

“Yeah. Are you acid? Because I’m tripping over you.”

Oikawa sleepily boos in the background while Akaashi walks over to stand next to Tsukishima. “Do you have anything we can feed him? He needs to sober up.”

Tetsurou doesn’t stop. “I see you and my eyes hurt.”

Akaashi’s trek to the fridge stops. Then, he shrugs and keeps going. “I got nothing.”

Tsukishima hums, face fully in his fridge, giving Tetsurou the best view of his ass. It’s small but it’s so cute. “All I have is leftovers, but that usually doesn’t go over well. The only thing that won’t make him puke is cheese and crackers.”

Tsukishima plates it up for him, along with a glass of water. He sets it in front of Tetsurou and tells him, “Eat.”

“Thank you,” Tetsurou smiles at him, enamoured. He starts on them slowly, nibbling on the cheese. Tsukishima—and that’s so clunky to say, so long. He needs a nickname, something as cute as he is.

Tsukki, maybe. He tests is on his tongue. “Tsukki.”

“Yeah?”

“Tsukki. Tsuuukki. Tsu—kki.”

“What?”

“You’re so pretty. Your hair is so yellow,” Tetsurou says with a lilt, staring at the slice in his hand. Then, his eyes widen as he thrust it higher in the air. “Like cheese!”

Tsukki chuckles again, eyes closed and head shaking. “You’re going to regret so many things tomorrow.”

That might be true, but Tetsurou won’t regret trying to make him smile. “Are you a 175 degree angle? ‘Cause I hope you’re not straight.”

Akaashi sighs, “A nerd, even when he’s drunk.”

“You’re a punch to the face.”

It’s Bokuto who speaks up this time, laugh muffled by his face resting on the cushion. “A Knockout.”

“You’re a filthy thief! You stole my hea”— Tetsurou emphatically swings his arm, causing his cheese to slip and land on the floor—“Oh, my cheese.”

His cheese. His poor cheese. Tsukki gave him that.

Oikawa lifts his head from where it rests on Bokuto’s back. “Awww. Tetsu, that one was kind of cute.”

“Of course it’s cute. It has to be cute, cause he’s cute,” Tetsurou grumbles, “He’s like a—a“— Tetsurou’s hand shoots out, gripping the arm nearest to him and asking—”what’s the word that’s not mop?”

The arm nearest to him happens to belong to the blonde, who just stares down at him. After a second of Tetsurou’s inquisitive look, he responds. “Not mop. Broom?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m like a broom.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tsukishima closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “I’m going to regret this. Why?”

Tetsurou lets go of him and leaps to stand straight. “Cause you sweep me off my—”

And everything goes dark.

Tetsurou is dead. He’s either dead, or dying, or being digested by a giant beast but he’s dead. Something crawled into his mouth, took a shit and then died there, too.

After furiously praying to whatever god there is to please let him him succumb back to sleep until he’s not dead enough to feel like this—and failing—he slowly blinks awake, eyes tacky. The room is blessedly dark, and the familiar light green sheets underneath him are soft.

He, very carefully, gets up in search of people. While the room’s curtains had been drawn, the rest of the apartment is sunny. Tetsurou blinks against the light, keeping his hand on the doorframe for support.

“Morning, Romeo.”

Tetsurou stumbles out into the room, pouring himself on his usual stool. Long minutes pass by before,“Did I— Did I call your hair cheese?”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

Tetsurou whines, his forehead hitting the cool surface of the counter. “ Tsu—kki, why do you let me embarrass myself?”

Tsukki stands by the stove, glass of water in his hand. His laptop is next to Tetsurou on the counter, along with a stack of papers. By the looks of it he’s been awake for a lot longer that Tetsurou. With the most neutral expression, he answers, “It brings me joy.”

“Where is everyone?”

Tsukki hums. “Bokuto kept saying something about pancakes, so he and Akaashi left to get some.”

He would. Fuck Bokuto and his inability to suffer through hangovers like the rest of them. He probably woke up peppy and ready to face the day.

“Oikawa”—Tsukki makes a pinched face at his name. Knowing Oikawa, he made sure to annoy Tsukki as much as possible before taking off. Not that it was that hard for him, it took some time for Tsukki and Tooru to get along—”left to get ready for his date with, and I quote verbatim, ‘The adonis who is going to destroy whatever there is of me later.’ ”

Tetsurou frowns, going through the watery memories of yesterday. “I remember someone big and muscly.”

“That’s the one.”

Tetsurou hums into the counter. He remembers most of last night the way he does childhood memories, with vague and veilied understanding of what happened.“How could I forget you? And Lola!” Tetsurou looks over to the door, raising his voice. “I’m sorry, Lola.”

Tsukki lets him sulk in his head for a bit. He comes closer and Tetsurou can feel his elbows resting on the other side of the surface, in front of him. “Hey, Kuroo?”

“Hnn?”

“How come you never hit on me when you’re sober?”

He chokes. Tetsurou is too hungover to be having this conversation, because for a second there—and he doesn’t want to get to ahead of himself, here—it sounded like Tsukki was… pouting. That has to be a mistake, because Tsukki doesn’t pout. He snips.

“It just doesn’t seem fair that I have to put up with your terrible flirting when we aren’t even on a date. Don’t you think?”

While he’s right and Tsukki is decidedly not pouting, he’s also not not pouting.

And sure, Tetsurou’s given it some thought. Everyone’s given it some thought; he’s had nights chatting with Oikawa where he, too, admitted to having a thought once. Granted, Tetsurou might have given it a little more than just some thought to it.

A little but too much of it sometimes, when they spend time together and all he does is think about it, along with fleeting idea when someone mentions the blonde in front of him. Or when he sees someone trying to hit on Tsukki—which, why wouldn’t they? He’s all of that —and there’s this sudden sourness in his tongue he pretends isn’t there.

“It seems to me like you should rectify that, seeing as there is this huge backlog of your awful drunken flirting to make-up for,” Tsukki continues, like he’s not destroying Tetsurou’s mind.  

“How—How would I go about rectifying that?” Tetsurou’s voice wobbles.

“Lunch, for starters. Or coffee. I just—I need to know.”

“Know what?”

“If your flirting is actually that bad.”

“You want me to flirt with you? On a date.”

Tetsurou knows he sounds incredulous. It’s so unexpected. He never imagined Kei would be interested. How many times have they been here before? How many times has Tetsurou drunkenly flirted with him, only to make like it’s nothing the next day? Tsukki has always brushed it off good-naturedly to the point that Tetsurou thought he was so far off Tsukki’s radar that the only way he’d ever take any advances from him would be as a joke.

Kei sighs, “Forget it.”

He sounds so disappointed. Tsukki is (badly) pretending not to be, but Tetsurou can hear it. It makes him desperate to rectify this, hope making him jump even if his head will kill him for it. “No! No take-backs! I’m buying you lunch. And dinner! As a date, not friends—well, obviously friends, but friends that are on a date. Romantically. Full romo. And I’m flirting with you!”

Tetsurou’s head is pounding, his voice too loud but he takes a quick breath and sucks it up. “I’ll flirt with you right now. You’re—”

“Please don’t,” Tsukki interrupts him.”You look like you’re about to die.”

He’s not about to die, and he’s not missing this shot because he made Tsukki misunderstand.

“Save it for later,” Tsukki says, and there’s a light blush on his cheeks, his voice so flustered while he looks away and, oh, oh.

Tetsurou is so incredibly fucked.

[4419s]

blackout. | han jisung

+ fluff, high school!au, best friend!jisung, alcohol mention, swearing + word count: 2.9k + In the scenario of one of us gets way too drunk and says something that they really, really shouldn’t, Jisung’s always been the careful one. He’s surprised when it pays off, and for once, he isn’t the one caught running his mouth.

The pulse of the booming trap song’s bassline shakes the room and inside his chest, Han Jisung’s heart beats loudly alongside it. Underneath the magenta strobe lights, you’re dancing- tugging at his hand for him to dance with you.

“Come on, relax a little!” You prod, dangling your red plastic cup in front of him before taking a swig. The song hits its chorus and you drop Jisung’s hand to raise your arms and sway your body to the speakers’ reverb.

But how could he relax? How could he relax when you’re dressed to kill, looking way too good to be good for him? When your tipsy smile is so brilliant that he finds it constantly electrifying, even in the dim pauses alternating the flashing party lights? When you’re slipping your fingers through his again and lifting your hands to spin yourself around and around underneath the curve of his arm, laughing when he gives you that adorable, baffled look-

How could he relax when he realizes right then and there that maybe, just maybe, he wants to actually admit to you that he loves you a little more than a best friend should?

“Fucking dance with me, Jisung!” You interrupt his thread of thoughts, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t have time to be annoyed at how much of a pushy drunk you are, however, because in the blink of an eye, you’re leaning in too close, too quickly. The way your makeup-smeared eyelids slip shut and how your head falls forward makes the boy’s vision tilt; doing him more damage than the single shot of tequila he had downed earlier could. He isn’t sure if your intoxicated brain is making you do that on purpose or if you’re actually passing out on him right now, but he’s certain that if he had moved half a second too late, your lips would have sunk straight into his.

“Wh-! Dance by yourself, loser,” Jisung sputters, steadying your wobbly frame with worried, wide eyes despite the backhanded insult. “I’m going out for a breather, okay? Go bother Hyunjin for a few minutes or something.”

“Oops, sorry,” you giggle, stumbling but seemingly unfazed by the brief brush of his cheek against your mouth. Jisung moves to escape you with a playful roll of his eyes, but you cling onto his arm groggily. “Wait! Ugh, what- are you dumb? You’re my... best friend. You’re the one I’m supposed to bother!”

“Uh, yeah, I think we both need that fresh air, actually,” Jisung stifles a laugh and pats the top of your head, gently placing a hand against the small of your back to guide you through the throng of equally piss-drunk teenagers and towards the front doors. He’s not surprised by the sheer amount of kids trying to relieve some stress by indulging in temporary fun and rowdy company. The school had just ended and everyone was keen on starting the summer break with .

“Yeah, dumbass... take... take me with you,” you slur, slumping against the support of Jisung’s side. The brown-haired boy lets out a sigh, stealing a glance at how your head is nestled into the bend of his shoulder. For a fleeting second, he muses on the thought of how right it felt for his arm to be around your waist just like this. He clicks his tongue and pushes away the jittery feeling suddenly gnawing at him, choosing instead to focus on preventing you from faceplanting.

You both step through the main entrance to be greeted with a similarly packed, large front yard. Among the high school kids sharing packs of cheap beer, another set of speakers sit in the background, relaying the same party mix that’s playing on the ones inside the house. Fairy lights run haphazardly through tree branches and string out in lines across the charcoal sky, setting a much more mellow atmosphere in contrast to the previous chaos of beaming lights.

“God, what are there a shit-ton of people here for?” You groan, stumbling to pull Jisung along farther from the crowd.

“Duh, it’s Chan’s party. He knows everyone, [Y/N],” he replies, carefully hovering close behind, should your body choose to collapse on itself as you lead him to the outskirts of the party. You find an isolated curb on the edge of the lawn that satisfies you, and you plop down on the ground, motioning for him to sit with you.

“Oh, right! Chan! He’s cute, huh? His dimples... real cute...” you exclaim in response to his comment, perking up with recognition.

Jisung can’t help it when his heart sinks like a damn ship in his ribcage.

“He’s so nice too! Can you believe that? Honestly, how is he still single? Ugh, whatever. Must be because he’s always buried in work. Beats me,” you ramble on. In your baked state, you miss how the boy sitting in front of you visibly deflates.

This seems like such a joke to him. A cruel one, at that. In fact, he nearly laughs- the reason why he’s so cautious about staying clearheaded around you is because he knows all too well that drunk Jisung equals a hundred times more unfiltered Jisung, and that only opens up a million ways for him to slip up in front of your face. Drunk Jisung would know exactly how to get over himself and cough up the confession that’s been eating at him since the fifth grade. Drunk Jisung definitely, most certainly wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut about what he’s been meaning to say for so, so long.

Drunk Jisung would not pass up the opportunity to tell you that he likes you.

Yet, here you are- the hammered [Y/N] to his sober self. You’re going on about how you adore his other friends, recalling how cute Jeongin is, or how funny the thing Minho said the other day was. Every offhanded compliment you dish out about Woojin or Changbin, or about Hyunjin, Seungmin, or Felix drives another pin of jealousy into his gut. It makes him a little sick- guilty too, but here’s the thing: he can admit that he’s always expected the roles to be reversed if he weren’t always on guard; except his affections would revolve entirely around you.

Jisung watches you talk animatedly. The warm lights behind you cast a pretty glow against your figure. High above you, the crescent moon hangs a curtain of faded-out, pale moonlight that runs across the planes of your face and illuminates your features. The arch of your smile softens as your giggling dies down, and he snaps out of his absentmindedness when he sees you studying him back with an intent gaze that mirrors his own. And in that moment, he realizes that there isn’t anything he wants more than to be drunk out of his mind just to be able to tell you how he feels.

Maybe... it doesn’t really matter. She won’t remember jack shit about tonight anyway. Tell her, a nagging voice in the back of his head coaxes the teenager. His breath catches in his throat when you lean forward by a centimeter.

You don’t need anything else but the choice to be brave. Do it already.

In three- Jisung’s stomach is turning itself inside out as he straightens, plucking up just enough courage to look straight back into your eyes.

Two- despite his inner attempts to pull himself together, the butterflies he’s holding back go into a frenzy. Pairs of persistent wings flutter and tickle him, warming him up and egging him on.

One- who cares if his confession is in vain? He’s going to say it. He has to say it.

Your focused stare swallows him whole. The determined expression that appears on your face out of nowhere unnerves him even more, but he still opens his mouth and scrambles for the words he so desperately needs to get out. Just three words, and he’ll feel all better-

“I like you,” you blurt out, stopping Jisung dead in his tracks.

He waits for three, two, one seconds. He waits for what feels like an eternity for you to say “just kidding!” or maybe “you should see your face right now, ji,” but that doesn’t happen, and so he decides to finally find his voice, and a little bit of his courage.

“That’s my line,” is his reply, voice barely over a disbelieving whisper. His heart, which had been thrumming at a rhythm to rival a hummingbird’s, feels as if its emergency brake had been yanked at all of a sudden. It’s spiraling out of control for a few breathtaking moments before it’s turbulence comes to a halting standstill. If he was hooked up to a heart rate monitor right now, you’d see him flatlining.

“I like you,” you repeat, a little sturdier and a little soberer, but your eyelids are still heavy and your words are still slurring as you reach out to grip his forearm with an insistent, almost pleading touch. “So much... I like you more than... taking naps during that boring physics period we have after lunch. Who in the fresh fuck thought that would be a decent idea anyway?” you continue, softly shaking his arm as if you were trying to convince him. “I’ve liked you since forever... Like, even before Minho got his fucking cats! Do you know how long that is? Those cats are, like... older than my grandma... bet...”

Jisung wants to say something. He wants to laugh at your ridiculous, drunken analogies. Wants to teasingly mention how you can’t possibly kiss your mom with how much of a sailor mouth you have when you’re wholly shit-faced. He wants, he wants, he wants so badly to say something fun and dumb and annoying like “you’ve already stolen my heart and now you’re gonna steal my thunder too?!”, but he’s horrified to find his throat as dry as the Sahara, and the words he had quietly reserved for you are barely making their way past his lips because there isn’t any air in his lungs to help him push them out. He can’t even find his shaky pulse anymore- it’s lost in between the buildup of the music in the background and the loop of your confession playing on his thoughts as he tries his best to process what you’d said. He opens his mouth to try again, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“W-Wait... I’m... feeling kinda sick,” is what you manage to mumble.

Han Jisung barely registers the beat drop of Wasted by Tiësto echoing into his ears as you flinch away from him, turning around to empty out several cups of half-digested vodka sprite onto the street.

And then, you black out for real.

Your press the heels of your hands against your closed eyes, rubbing against ruined mascara. You’re fairly certain that you have the city dumpster raccoon look going on for you right now, but the boy standing to your left and setting down a drugstore bottle of aspirin on your nightstand is being nice enough not to make fun of you for it.

“So... I passed out?”

“Yep. The lightweight jumped out!” Jisung offers you a toothy grin, passes you a tall glass of water, and pulls his hand up to card his fingers through your hair. You peek at him in the soft morning light of your bedroom and your heart warms. He’s so bright. All endearingly crooked teeth and wide, wide smiles. Smiles that you can see in his cheeks and in his eyes and in the way it lights up the area around him.

“Ew, shut up. You’re not being funny right now,” you say, words laced with a laugh. It’s a blatant lie, obviously. You’ve been hungover the whole morning and Jisung is the first person to make you smile and forget your splitting migraine for more than a minute. The divide of his fingers in between your locks distract you and you look up to meet his eyes, corners of your lips quirking up to return your own affectionate smile. “You are being sweet, though. What’s up?”

He shifts from one foot to another. The faint pink that surfaces and then settles across his face confuses you, but it sets off the feeling of a bouquet blooming inside of your chest either way. 

Jisung had let himself in fifteen minutes earlier with only a short text that read ‘omw to take care of ur vodka aunt ass’ to notify you. Your household had grown so accustomed to the spontaneous nature of his visits over the years that your mom insists he should keep your spare key instead. He turns it down every time she suggests it, saying that he would most likely end up moving in with you and joking that the rental payments you issue are ridiculous.

“Well, you did throw up on the concrete, and you did burden me with the responsibility of carrying your unconscious body home. Do you know how many people stopped me to ask if I murdered you and if I was looking for a yard to bury the body in?” he rants, faking an exaggerated look of exasperation on his face. You let out a low whistle and sputter out a loud laugh. “I’m serious, I looked sketchy as hell! Felix was about ready to dial 911 when he saw me dragging you to Chan’s car without any context.” He insists, giving you a pointed look. You laughter settles down and you wipe away at the corners of your eyes, Jisung watching you in amusement. He shakes his head slightly with a tiny smile on his face, allowing his gaze to drop down to the ground. A certain fondness washes over you as you watch him. You’re both chest-deep in a pleasant silence, taking in the comfort you brought each other.

“But, I guess what I’m trying to say is... I was worried about the girl I like,” Jisung speaks softly after a short while, like he’s sharing a secret with you.

You would have reveled in the absolute serenity of the moment had you not choked on the drink you were sipping. An embarrassing, ten-second long coughing fit ensues and you repeatedly pound a closed fist against your chest to get yourself together. Your best friend rubs soothing circles on your back with big, concerned eyes, but it’s only making it a bit harder to breathe properly.

“S-sorry. Huh?”

Jisung takes a short breath and your surprised that it sounds shakier than your own voice right now. Your bed sinks with his weight as he drops down to sit right in front of you, hand moving to briefly push his hair back with a sigh.

“I like you, [Y/N]. I like you more than you like sleeping through afternoon classes,” he explains in reply to your previous response (or lack thereof), messing with the frayed hems of his grey hoodie. It’s old and worn-out and you couldn’t count on your fingers the amount of times you’ve borrowed it for yourself. More often than not for the comfort of knowing it belongs to you just as much as it belongs to Jisung, rather than for the purpose of keeping away the cold. “I like you more than I should if you decide to keep calling me just your best friend.”

“Shit, man, that’s a lot,” you murmur solemnly, trying hard to contain the anticipation you’re feeling. You’re wondering whether or not the alcohol actually has worn off, because you think you’re totally hallucinating one of the romanticized confessions that you come up with in your daydreams. Jisung only smiles crookedly and lets out a tiny snort. Your heart stutters when he decides to catch your hands and hold them in his. “But,” you trail on, “I’ve always liked you more than you like me so you lose by default.”

The grin that breaks out on his face is a hundred percent priceless, but you find yourself in motion before you can fully appreciate its radiance. It feels like you’re moving on autopilot when you lean forward. You feel Jisung’s hands glide up to rest at your upper arms, but your eyes shut too soon for you to watch them move. Something like déjà vu tugs at your inside, joining in with the backflips your stomach is performing. The familiarity of it is warm and welcoming, though, and it comforts you; making you feel like this is just right.

Jisung’s lips meet yours. You feel how he’s holding back that same grin to be able to give you a proper kiss and your heart threatens to actually explode. His kisses are so like him- they’re sweet and dizzying and you feel as if you can’t get enough of them. It’s gentle and a bit playful, and when he pulls away to plant light pecks across the bridge of your nose, up onto your forehead and then back down atop your eyelids, you think you’re going to lose it with how cute he is.

“All right, best friend- or am i supposed to call you something else now?” You giggle, bringing your arms up to hang lazily from Jisung’s shoulders.

He pretends to think, humming and furrowing his eyebrows. Impatience gets the best of his act, however, and he can’t help his beaming expression. “I don’t really care as long as I get to kiss you again.”

You find that you don’t mind that much either. All that matters is his arms now linked around your waist and your giddy laughter filling the space in between the both of you, getting quieter as he draws you in to press his lips against yours.