#would rather die than clean the kitchen. bathroom sucks too

[autoneurotic]

forgot i’m trying to move out by June (hopefully. our budget and savings have been good for the first time since like. 2020) and my place is just soooo hit. it’s so bad. i’ve been here for like fiiive? years now? we have so much shit. why do i have two coffee tables and five end tables. why do i have a non-functioning sewing machine just taking up space. no less than seven laptops in this place and only one works. we suffer both from Well Maybe We’ll Need This Later Or Can Get It Fixed Later syndrome.

[wheels-of-despair]

A Situation Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: There's only one thing in the world that could make Eddie turn Evil Woman Action down… and it's down there. Contains: Embarrassment, vague mentions of an uncomfortable development in a sensitive area, lying, angry eating, Uncle Wayne being glad he doesn't have the full story, kind of a fight, eventual reconciliation… oh, and some good old-fashioned fruit-fucking. Words: 2.4k

Note: Youths and ageless blogs, DNI. Writer will block your ass.

Other Note: This will never come close to My Beloved Melon Fic, but @fictionaldaze bullied me into another fruit fic anyway. Enjoy! 😂

"Hey," she purrs. Wrapping her arms around his waist. Nuzzling her face into his chest. Breathing out a satisfied sigh that permeates his t-shirt and warms his skin more than the afternoon sun beaming down in the parking lot of Hawkins High.

Eddie relaxes into her and inhales deeply, getting a heavenly whiff of his favorite smell: his one and only.

"Wanna go fool around?" she mumbles.

Eddie feels his dick twitch at the suggestion. No! Stop that!

"Uh… can't today. Promised Wayne I'd scrub the bathroom." Right. Bathroom. Cleaning. Scum in the tub. Hair in the drain. Things that are not at all sexy.

"Need help?" She would really help him with this? That's so sex--NO. Not sexy! Plunger! Wads of slimy hair! The smells!

"Nah, wouldn't want to subject you to that."

She sighs, but it's not the good kind of sigh. She's getting mad. This is the third time this week that he's rejected her advances. And he feels terrible about it. But it's for her own good! Really!

There's something going on down there. He doesn't know what it is. He doesn't know why it's there. He doesn't know how he got it. But he knows that it's ruining his fucking life.

Is it a disease? A rash? Something he picked up in the locker room? Or The Hideout's bathroom, which hasn't been cleaned since 1959? It looks a little less horrifying that it did yesterday, but what if it's a fake-out? What if that's what it wants him to think? What if it's contagious? What if he gave it to her? He'd never forgive himself.

He'd picked up the phone to call the free clinic three times. Once, he even dialed a few numbers before hanging up. He was too ashamed to show anyone, even if they could help him. He'd rather just let his dick fall off and die horny and alone.

"What's with you this week? You're usually all over me, but you have now turned me down THREE times. What are you, on the rag?" She's pulled away. She's glaring. Not good.

"I'm just… not in the mood," he lies, rubbing the back of his neck.

She rolls her eyes and starts walking in the other direction.

"I thought I was taking you home?"

"Not in the mood," she yells without looking back.

Fuck.

Eddie watches her stomp onto the big yellow school bus that she loathes. Oh, boy, is he in for it.

Stop that, he grumbles at himself, adjusting the front of his jeans with a wince as he hops into his van. He speeds home wondering what's more likely to happen first; his dick shriveling up and falling off, or his girl getting mad enough to rip it off and feed it to him. Either way, he's fucking doomed.

When he gets home, he enters quietly, hoping not to disturb a snoring Wayne. He steps into the bathroom to rid himself of the Mountain Dew he sucked down at lunch… and glares at the object of his ruination. Betrayed by his own cock. He sighs at the sight of it - although it does look less alarming than it did yesterday - and after a gentle shake, stuffs it back into his boxers with a hiss.

Eddie's stomach rumbles while he's washing his hands. Don't want that spreading, he thinks as he dries his hands on his shirt. He tiptoes to the kitchen and stares into the pathetically stocked cabinets, hoping for a snack to present itself. He never had this problem at her house. As soon as they got there, she'd throw a bunch of seemingly random stuff together and turn it into something creative that he'd happily bust a gut on… if Gareth would let him.

Shit. Forgot he was supposed to take some of the guys home. It's literally why they were there, loitering in the parking lot instead of peeling out of Hawkins High like two bats outta hell.

Eddie sighs and reaches for a can of pineapple. He'll save the Spaghetti-O's for dinner. And definitely go buy some damn groceries tomorrow.

He grabs the dull can opener, and after a fight, finally gets the top most of the way off. He bends it out of his way and grabs a fork from the dish drainer, leaning up against the kitchen counter to eat right there and reflect on what a shit-show his life has become.

She bought him the pineapple. And the fruit cocktail he ate a few days ago. And the green beans Wayne heated up for dinner last night. Just walked right in and started putting away groceries and lecturing him on "vitamins" and "minerals" and "eating a damn vegetable every once in a while."

He'd blushed and thanked her at the time, but now he wishes he could thank her over the kitchen table. Hard. Deep. Fuck. Stop it!

He stabs a ring of pineapple and lifts it out of the can, letting it drip for a second before tilting his head back and cramming the circle into his mouth. He stares at the takeout coupons on the fridge as he chews, wishing anything sounded appealing right now.

He'll never get to thank her properly ever again. Not that he'd have a reason to, since he'd rejected her so many times, she didn't even want him anymore. What an idiot. He had one thing going for him, and his dick fucked it all up.

He stabs another ring and lifts it to his mouth, spilling the juice down his chin and onto the front of his shirt. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and chews angrily.

Why does his mouth feel weird?

Eddie looks at the can. Ingredients: Pineapple. Pineapple juice. This isn't any different than the other can, is it?

Oh.

He didn't exactly eat the other can.

He'd opened the can a few nights ago, being unable to find any proper junk food as a midnight snack, and after he got the lid off... he looked down to see a perfect hole just waiting for him.

He'd been all alone. So lonely. Thinking about his girl.

A strong man would've been able to say no to that perfect hole.

But Eddie Munson was not a strong man.

But after… wait.

Is this it?

Is he allergic to pineapple?

Did he stick his dick in something he's fucking allergic to?

The realization makes him choke. He coughs, leaning over the kitchen sink as chunks of yellow devil-fruit fly out of his mouth at high speeds.

"Y'alright, boy?"

Shit. He woke Wayne up.

Eddie tries to answer, but it kicks off another coughing fit.

When he finally catches his breath and rinses the sink out, he turns… to see Wayne sitting at the table.

"I taught you to chew before you swallow, right?"

"Yes," Eddie sighs with a roll of his eyes. And then he remembers what set him off. "Can you be allergic to pineapple?"

"Is that what you were choking on?"

"Yeah."

"You ate fruit voluntarily?"

"For the very last time. Am I allergic?"

"Mouth feel weird?"

Eddie nods.

"Bromelain."

"What?"

"Bromelain. Meat tenderizer."

"I didn't eat any freakin' meat tenderizers!"

"It's in the pineapple. That's what makes your mouth feel weird. Something with the enzymes trying to bite back or something, I don't know. Used to bother your grandma real bad."

"So it's genetic? I'm allergic?"

"Can you breathe?"

"Yeah."

"Just a weird feelin'?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, shifting uncomfortably.

"You'll be fine. It'll ease up when you quit eatin' it."

Son of a bitch.

"Wayne, I gotta go. Sorry for waking you up."

"Almost time to get up anyway. Stop by the store on your way back."

"I will," Eddie says, darting around Wayne and grabbing his keys.

A knock on your bedroom door interrupts your wallowing.

"No," you grumble into your pillow. When the bus dropped you off a few minutes ago, you'd walked straight to your bed and fallen into it face-first. You hadn't moved since.

You'd spent the loud and bumpy ride home wondering why Eddie didn't want you anymore. You don't know what changed. He was always ready to go at the drop of a hat. Hell, he'd get horny if the wind changed directions and blew against him just right. And then, all of a sudden… nothing. Even when you made the first move - which he used to love - you got shut down. What was the fucking problem?

You hear your door open, and wish you had the energy to throw something at your dumb brother.

But Eddie is the one who crawls into bed next to you.

You don't want to look at him. You turn your head so you're facing the other direction.

"I brought you a flower."

"Kay."

"I stole it from Mrs. Wallace's garden."

You smile, even though he can't see you. Mrs. Wallace is the old bat down the street from him who's always yelling at kids for playing too loudly and creating a public nuisance. Like her screeching isn't a public nuisance of its own. It's a wonder she has any blooms left, with all her spite-pickers.

"I love you," he says.

"Doesn't feel like it."

Eddie sighs a deep sigh.

"What changed?"

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean, a week ago, you were practically humping my leg every time we got a second alone together. Now it's like…"

"It's not like that."

"What's it like, then?"

"I had… I had kind of a scare."

He pauses so long, you prod him with a "Continue."

"I had kind of a situation down there and I thought something was wrong but it's getting better and I didn't want to freak you out."

You turn your head back toward Eddie, who is lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. "A situation?" you ask.

"It was nothing, it's getting better, everything's okay, it'll be back to normal in a few days."

"A situation like a zit, or a situation like something you need to go to the clinic for?"

His face goes red. Your blood turns to lava. You prop yourself up on your elbows and glare down at him.

"Because I know I'm clean, and since you were a fucking virgin when we met, there is no reason for you to--"

"It's not that!" he cuts you off.

"Because if it's that, you need to tell me right the fuck now."

"It's not!"

"Then what the fuck is it, Eddie?!"

He brings his hands to his face and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Eddie!"

"I…" he squirms. "Did something stupid."

"How stupid?" you spit.

"So stupid we're gonna laugh about it one day."

"Spit it out, fucker."

He spreads his hands to cover more of his face.

"Eddie," you warn him.

He slowly drags his fingers down his face and exhales.

"Ifuckedacanofpineapple."

"What?"

He winces.

"I fucked a can of pineapple."

He… what?

"And apparently there's something in pineapple that I'm allergic to or something? Wayne said my grandma had it too. But it fucked me up for a few days and getting hard hurt so fucking bad and that's why I've been distant but it's getting better and it's gonna be fine."

You stay silent for a minute, trying to process Eddie's confession. How the fuck… why the fuck… how?

"You fucked a can of pineapple?"

Eddie rubs his face. "Yeah."

"How?"

"I just… don't make me say it."

"Oh, you're gonna say it," you tell him, turning to lie on your side. "I need details. I need to know everything."

"No you don't."

"Eddie, I have never wanted to understand something so desperately in my life. Explain it, or we're going into the kitchen for a demonstration."

"No!" he barks, instinctively drawing his legs up and covering his crotch.

"Explain!"

He whines, and he squirms, and he looks at you pathetically. But you're far too curious to let this slide. Eddie pulls the pillow out from under his head and covers his face with it.

"Edward."

He lets out a long groan, and eventually moves the pillow out of his face. He hugs it to his chest.

"I was high and bored and lonely and hungry and I figured I'd try it so I could tell you I ate fruit and you'd be proud of me and stuff and I got the top off and there was just this… big… wet… hole? UGH!" Eddie groans and flips over to his stomach, taking the pillow with him to cover his head. You watch him wallow in his misery, becoming more amused by the second.

"Oh my god," you say in wonder. "I'm in love with a moron who literally fucked a can of pineapple."

Eddie tilts his head just enough so that you can make out his mumble: "I took it out."

"Took what out?"

"The can had sharp edges. I took out the pineapple and put it in a sour cream container before…"

You snort. He hides his face again, and you picture Eddie Munson dumping a can of pineapple rings into an old sour cream container the Munsons use as Tupperware and going to town on it. Right there in the kitchen. Sloshing pineapple juice down his legs and the cabinets and onto the floor.

You lose it. You cackle until your sides ache and tears stream down your face. You wipe them away with the backs of your hands, and look to Eddie. He's less red, but still clearly embarrassed as he stares at the ceiling.

"I take it you're not mad?" he asks.

"That you cheated on me with a can of fruit?" Another giggle fit erupts, and he lays there calmly while it passes. "Sorry," you say finally. "So you're allergic to pineapple?"

"I think it's safe to say that it's not something I'll be trying again anytime soon."

"What did it do to you?" you ask curiously.

"It kinda… it… uh… wasn't pretty."

"Can I see it?"

"No."

"Are you okay?"

"Will be."

You scooch closer, and he holds out his arm so you can snuggle into his side. You rest your head on his chest and slide your hand across his stomach until it reaches the other side.

"I'm glad you're okay," you say quietly. Eddie's hand begins stroking up and down your back. A thought occurs to you, and you smirk. "But it serves you right for trying to cheat on me with a can of fruit."

[bakumu-archive]

you already have me

bakugou x reader

wc: 1.8k

summary: you expect to spend the night relaxing while bakugou spends time with his friends, until game night gets cut short and you become the center of his attention

cw: porn with little plot, daddy kink, praise kink, creampie, unprotected sex, a lil cum eating (idk if it counts but just to be safe), he carries the reader (he’s strong, he could carry you), a lil fluff as a treat, aged up characters, established relationship

a/n: posting for third time hoping to show up in the tags ✌

“DIE, YOU NERDS!”

Chuckling to yourself as you hear Katsuki scream obscenities from the game room, you continue your work in the kitchen making dinner. Standing by the stove and waiting for the water to boil you can’t help but miss his presence, even if he’s only a room away.

Your thoughts drift through various ideas: what are you going to do for the rest of the night, if your favorite fanfic has had an update come out, what Katsuki’s schedule looks like next week… Your thoughts always drift back to him, the love of your life and you can’t help but be jealous of his keyboard right now.

Gaming night with the boys was—as much as he would never admit it—one of Katsuki’s favorite things. He missed seeing his friends every day like back in their UA days, but since becoming a pro hero, getting engaged, and buying a house he has had to shuffle his priorities around. Usually, you spend the whole evening trying to relax as his shouting soothes your eardrums from the other room, but tonight is different as his footsteps suddenly sneak up behind you.

Grabbing your hips, he pulls you back into him. “Hey princess, I’ve missed you.”

His voice is huskier than normal, sending vibrations right to your core. His hands grip your hips tighter and you push your ass back into him.

“Katsu! I thought you were playing games tonight?” Your question sounds whinier than you intended but right now you couldn’t care less.

He hums behind you, grinding his growing erection into you some more before muttering, “Denki had to stop, early patrol tomorrow.”

He turns you around and picks you up so you are sitting on the countertop, hands skimming down your sides until he is gripping at your hips again. Stepping between your thighs to get closer to you, his eyes rake up your body taking you in. Your breathing is heavy, making him chuckle.

“You’re so worked up already, have I been neglecting my pretty girl?”

If you weren’t so turned on, you would have rolled your eyes at him, but all you do is whimper. You pout as he smirks at you, moving his hands under your shirt to rub your soft skin with his thumbs.

How he is able to turn you into a whimpering mess with just a few actions is always a surprise to you, but it has been a few days since he’s given you this much of his undivided attention.

His mouth is just a breath away from yours as he stares at your lips. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

Ghosting his lips over yours, toying with you, trying to drive you crazy. Surging forward, you try to capture his lips, but he pulls away just out of reach. As you beg him with your eyes to kiss you already, he licks his lips and lets out a deep groan before crashing his lips onto yours.

Tongue and teeth clashing into each other, he reaches one hand around your back, pulling you closer to him, while the other traces up your body to your neck. Angling your head, he kisses you deeper. A moan you didn’t even know you were trying to keep down emerges, breaking the kiss.

Feeling entirely too hot, you grab the bottom of your shirt and pull it over your head, quickly following it with your bra. Sucking in a breath as you expose your chest to him, he follows your lead, throwing his shirt across the room. Your eyes watch your fingers as they ghost across his abs before they move slowly up his body, bringing out a shudder from Katsuki. He’s holding his breath, waiting for you to make the next move. When your hands make their way up to his neck, you meet his gaze. His eyes are hungry, consuming your soul. It feels suffocating, but you can’t look away.

He moves his lips back to yours needily. He peppers kisses down your face before starting his assault on your neck. He starts out lightly kissing your skin at your pulse point, but as you moan more, he can’t hold himself back. He sucks and bites at your weak spots, intending on leaving his mark. His lips start to ghost down your chest as he moves his palms from your waist to your breasts, kneading them before attaching his mouth to one of your nipples.

Moans escape from your mouth as your hips move on their own against his cock. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans and your mind goes numb at the thought of him. Your hand reaches down to rub him through the fabric and you feel him pulse under your palm.

“F-fuck. Keep doing that, princess, and I’m gonna cream my pants,” he whispers breathlessly. He must be as frustrated as you if he’s already this close.

Looking down at him, you bat your eyelashes and whisper, “I’d rather you cum in me, daddy.”

A guttural moan leaves his throat. He suddenly turns to the stove - shutting off the burner that you had completely forgotten about with a slam before moving his hands back to your body, gripping under your thighs. You wrap your arms around his neck as he effortlessly picks you up off the counter. Wrapping your fingers into his hair, he resumes his assault on your neck as he makes his way to the bedroom.

He places you down on the edge of the bed and you stare up at him. His body looks like it’s glowing. A thin sheen of sweat on his skin, fiery eyes roaming all over your body, and with some of his hair sticking to his forehead, you think he looks like a god. He slowly starts to take off his jeans, dragging them down his hips slowly. He’s teasing you, knowing that you are getting wetter from watching him.

His cock springs free and you gasp, realizing that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. The sight of it makes your core clench. You desperately wish for it to be in your hands, your mouth, your cunt, honestly anywhere on you at this point.

“If you see something you want, you know you just have to ask for it,” he says as he closes in on you. His body encompasses yours. Looking down from above you, surrounding you in all of his heat, he places his hands on either side of your hips, waiting.

“Please, Katsu. I just want you.”

He lets out a small “tch” before reaching down to pull off your pants and underwear.

“You already have me, dumbass,” he says affectionately.

Your eyes meet and bask in the tender moment before his lips are on you again. Scooting you back on the bed, he climbs on top of you. Your lips meet in a frenzy, swallowing each other’s moans before they can escape. Both of you lose yourself to the kiss, tongues meeting in unison. He pulls away from you and you groan at the loss of contact.

His hand runs down your body, before dipping between your folds. A groan leaves him. “Fuck, baby. You’re already so wet for me.”

He gathers up your slick on his fingers before he brings them up to his mouth. Keeping his gaze locked with yours, he places his fingers in his mouth and moans. His eyes flutter as he sucks them clean. “You always taste so good. Mmm. If I didn’t need to fuck you so bad I’d eat your cunt out for hours.”

You can’t help but feel your empty hole flutter at the thought, but you agree. You are way too needy right now.

“Please, Katsu. Fuck me already. I need you, daddy.”

You can feel his body shudder when you drawl out those last words. He’s losing his composure and it’s exactly what you need right now.

He slowly spreads your legs out wider for him. He slides the tip of his cock against your clit and through your folds, drawing out moan after moan from you. And from the looks of it, Katsuki looks like he isn’t faring any better. He’s concentrating on not cuming already and he’s not even inside you yet. He places his elbows on the bed next to your head as the tip of him slides inside of your wet cunt, stretching you so deliciously. You missed his cock so much, even if it’s only been a few days. He pushes in you slowly and when he finally bottoms out, you both release a small, “fuck.”

His lips move against yours as he slowly pulls out before slamming himself back in, hitting that perfect spot inside of you. You break the kiss, arching your back, not being able to concentrate on anything except how he feels inside of you, as he keeps a steady pace fucking you expertly.

Your walls already fluttering around him and he moves his hand down to thumb at your clit. “Gonna cum for me already? That’s my good girl.”

At his praise, you feel your whole body tense. Your orgasm races through you, causing you to cry out his name like it’s the only word you know, vision turning black as you see stars, and your head swims in your high. His hips stutter as he lets out a string of curses before he pushes his cock deeper into your dripping cunt, spilling his cum into you.

He stays inside of you as he relaxes his body, putting some of his weight on you. Both of you are trying to catch your breath, as he looks down at you and smiles.

“I love you so much, you know that?”

You grin back at him, looking into his eyes that are so full of love and tenderness. “Yeah, I know, Katsuki,” you reply.

You kiss his nose, causing him to blush and you laugh. “Really, you just fucked the life out of me, but one kiss on your nose has you blushing? You’re so cute.”

He pulls out of you, rolling his eyes, and retorting, “Shut up, dumbass.” He climbs off the bed as you laugh. You roll to your side, watching him and following his ass with your eyes as he picks the discarded clothing off the floor. He reaches out a hand to you to pull you off the bed. “Lets get cleaned up and figure out dinner.”

You accept his help, using his hand to anchor yourself while your legs return to their non-jelly form. He kisses your forehead once you’re stable and as you make your way to the bathroom, he slaps your ass.

“Keep doing that, Katsu, and we’re gonna have to go for round two,” you tease.

He pulls you back into his warm embrace and wraps his arms around you. “Oh yeah? If we order takeout, I bet I could get two more rounds in before the food gets here.”

You laugh while he goes to find his phone to order from your favorite restaurant. You can hear him yell from across the house. “They’ll be here in 40 minutes, get back on the bed!”

God, you were in for a long night, but with Katsuki you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[teacup-crow]

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

Fun bit of survivors’ guilt for @badthingshappenbingo, based pretty heavily off Don’t Poke the Bear and Variations on a Theme. Post-finale.

They take it in turns to keep watch for when he wakes up: Doug, Reneé, Isabel, first names still such a novelty. Just his luck, he opens his eyes to the impassive face of Captain Lovelace.

“Hi, dickbag. Sore head?”

“Unnnnhh…” he whines as if he’s lying under a ton of rocks rather than a cosy quilt on Renee’s living room floor. His face is a patchwork of bruising. “Aspirin?”

She takes pity, and passes him two and a glass of water. The sitting up takes longer than he thought it would.

“You look terrible. Lucky for you, Renee makes a mean chilli con carne. Never would have guessed she could cook.”

“No thanks, I should, should be going-”

“You need food in your system, that’s non-negotiable. First thing’s first, though, you’re having a shower, and you either go willingly or get dragged bodily, because you goddamn stink. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles automatically, and he remembers the Colonel - Warren? Was it on a day he could call him Warren? - once saying something similar and his head pounds. ((“mr jacobi, of all the irresponsible, stupid shit i have seen from you this really takes the-“))

“Bathroom’s on the second floor, just past the master bedroom. Dominick put a pile of clean clothes in there before he left for work. And it’s Isabel, okay? Not sir. Not Captain. Never again.”

***

“Who did this to you?”

He grips his mug of sweet tea like it’s thousand dollar whiskey. He’s still ashen. “I did this to me.”

“You beat the shit out of yourself? Okay, yeah. Don’t buy that one.” Isabel repeats the question. “Who did this to you?”

“Just some guys I pissed off. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who. Happy now?”

The room goes silent. Isabel continues:

“And did you go provoking them deliberately?”

Not for the first time, Renee wonders whether they should have included Doug in this little intervention. He’s been through so much just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t know it, and he’s clearly freaking out at the situation.

“Why would he want something like that to happen? He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know, Doug,” Isabel says levelly. “Care to answer, Jacobi?”

He’s not on a first name basis, apparently.

“Not… I didn’t... no. No, no, no. I was too drunk and… picking fights, but suddenly there were too many of them, okay? But I got out. And if I want to drink then that’s my own problem, so thank you for the hospitality but-“

Renee cuts in there. “When you drink yourself into a stupor, get attacked by a gang in a back alley, and stumble into my doorway at 0300 hours after six months of radio silence, it becomes our problem.” Her look of pity makes his stomach churn even more than the chilli did. He breathes in, hold, out; in, hold, out; in-((alana’s breathing technique and why why why is she everywhere in everything why does he have to see her out of the corner of his eye when it’s been so long he can’t properly remember her face-))

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“You are a good man and you saved every single one of our lives and we need to understand why you’re so intent on throwing yours away.”

Jacobi starts laughing then, guttural laughs that worsen the ache in his head and bones but he can’t seem to stop them. “...me? I’m a good man? Oh my God, Lieutenant, that’s hilarious. Give us another.”

“You need to take this seriously! This is a form of self harm! You could have died!” Isabel is pacing up and down. She and Renee do good cop, bad cop like it’s a professional sport.

“Boo fucking hoo. And the world would forever be worse off for my passing.”

Isabel stops, and turns back towards him with some heat in her gaze. “I have lost too many crew members who deserved to die far less than you do. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Do you need me to reconfirm that you are a an asshole? Do you need to hear about how Fisher, and Hui, and Fourier, and Lambert were all far better people than you will ever, ever be? Or will you accept that you are good in there? That deep down you’re on the right-“

“We burned their letters.” He’s staring at the duvet he’s wrapped in, running his finger over the flowers on the pattern. “Okay? Still think I’m a good person?”

“...wait. What?” She laughs a little, in shock perhaps. “But you told me…”

“I told you what I needed to tell you to make you trust me. We burned your crew’s letters. Lambert’s… I remember those especially. His hands were shaking really hard when he wrote them, weren’t they.”

It’s not a question.

Isabel stops pacing, and Jacobi grins again but it doesn’t reach his bruised eyes when he looks up at her. “More than mine, even. You could tell he was sick. They didn’t make any sense. We laughed at them. The irony of a Communications Officer who can’t communicate. Are you listening to me? We read their letters and we burned them and we laughed about it-“

Renee loses her softness. “Jacobi, that is enough!”

Isabel has a hand on her chest as if something has hit her there. She counts to ten in her head, ((fisher’s technique to try and stop her fighting with sam, never worked but still stuck in her head, or this copy of her head, or whoever she is now-)) and leaves the room.

They hear her slamming drawers in the kitchen.

Doug glances at Jacobi and shakes his head, before hurrying after her.

“How could you,” Reneé says. “How could you.”

“I don’t know. Will you let me go and ruin my own life now?”

“Never,” she replies. “Because, God help me, you’re still a member of my crew.”

At that, his eyes prick with tears he can’t explain. He rolls over on the air bed, and closes them.

***

“Lovelace?” Jacobi finally makes himself walk into the kitchen, grimacing like each step is on hot sand. The words are monotone. “I’m so sorry. What I did and said is... inexcusable.”

“Nope. That’s too large a word for your vocabulary. Come back to me with an apology Renée didn’t script,” Isabel snaps, going back to scribbling in a sketchbook.

“Look, I’m not much good at this-“

“You’re telling me.”

“I’m… really used to people yelling at me and hitting me until they feel better. Or you can shoot me if you like!”

“Jesus. Well, I am not about to do that to ease your guilt. You look like you’d snap if one more person poked you. So apologise properly.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For?” Isabel prompts over the top of her book.

“I’m sorry for burning your crew’s letters.”

“You did what you were ordered to do. It is what it is. I’m not condoning it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Jacobi realises she’s waiting for him to continue. “And… I’m sorry for bringing it up. That was… needlessly cruel. It sucked.”

“It really did,” she replies, putting the book down. “Tell you what: that sounded somewhat genuine, and Goddard brought out the shit in all of us. You look so pathetic, I’m going to forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don’t bear grudges. Not anymore.”

She holds out a hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you.”

“Wow. That actually hurt for you to say.”

Jacobi nods. He sits down across from her at Renée’s huge darkwood table, and thinks about how she and Dominick must have bought this when they moved in together with plans to have people over for dinner every other night. Maybe even plans to have kids.

He wonders if Dominick ate at it alone while his wife was gone.

“So, you gone on that holiday yet?”

“No, actually. I’ve legally been dead for about seven years, so getting a passport is proving pretty tricky.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where have you been, anyway? We tried to get into contact with you. We drove down to your old apartment - got your address from the Goddard database - but it was cleaned out.”

Jacobi looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I’d mostly been staying at Alana’s for the last few years or overnight at… yeah… so I’d not been a very good tenant and turns out they took ‘lost in space’ as the perfect opportunity to kick me out. So I’ve been sofa to sofa, on the streets a bit-”

“For heaven’s sake, Jacobi. We would have helped you, you stupid asshole! All you had to do was ask and you could have stayed here! Renee and Dominick would probably even let you have a cheese collection or whatever the fuck it was.”

“Guess the amount of drinks it takes for me to lose my pride is somewhere over eighteen?”

“How do you have a functioning liver?”

They sit in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, Isabel reopening her sketchbook.

“I never knew you drew.”

“You never knew me outside of a life-threatening situation.” Isabel sighs, twists the pencil between her fingers. “I don’t think I did. Before. The old ‘me’, I mean. But I was bored and I can’t get a job because of the ‘being dead’ issue, so I thought I should take up a hobby or something. Might be therapeutic. I’m not very good at it…”

“Can I see?”

“I, uh,” Isabel suddenly looks uncertain. “I drew her. Maxwell. I drew everyone, actually. Are you sure you want to look?”

“Yes.”

He leafs through the pages, at first simple doodles before branching into full portraits. Eiffel, upside down and smoking a cigarette. Hilbert, looking troubled at a shadow behind him he can’t quite see. Two ghostlike figures in lab coats staring out at the star, the man with a prophetic terror etched on his face - must be Isabel’s old crewmates. Mr Cutter smiles up at him with far too many sharp teeth in sharper lines where the pencil was pressed far too hard and he turns the page quickly. There’s Kepler, mid-whiskey speech and it almost stops his heart. He pauses. Maxwell.

In the picture, her eyes are shining as she stares at Hera’s console, fingers nothing more than a blur - the three-day stint she spent trying to get the AI online. Aside from the orange and blue of Wolf 359, elsewhere in the book Isabel has barely used colour, but here the room is bathed in a serene green light from the screens. Behind Maxwell, Jacobi sees himself, little more than a stocky, sketchy outline, waiting for her to finish.

He looks so proud of her.

He looks so… content.

After staring for a long moment, Jacobi closes the book and hands it back. “Thank you.”

“You can keep the pictures of them, if you like,” Isabel offers, but he doesn’t know whether he would like, so he says:

“Tell me about your crew.”

“What?”

“Your old crew. Tell me about them. Was Lambert the one staring at...?”

“No. No. No, that was Kuan Hui, our senior astrophysicist. He was whipsmart and funny and fearless, until the time Goddard Futuristics played around in his brain, stretched out his perception of time. He was completely alone in the dark for two weeks. His smile never really reached his eyes after that.”

Jacobi sips tea awkwardly, even though it’s cold.

“Something like that, it stays with you. At least he had Fourier, though.”

“That’s the woman behind him?”

“Junior physicist. Victoire Fourier had eyes like stars. Cleverest person I’ve ever met. She played six instruments, spoke four languages and she had the most gentle soul. She used to read to Hui when he got sick with Decima. Coughed up every organ in his body. I thought it would break her, but she was made of stern stuff. She vanished off the space station in the final days and I still don’t know what exactly happened to her-”

“I… do. If you want to know, I mean.”

Isabel shakes her head. Then pauses. Then shakes her head again. “I get the feeling whoever is to blame is long gone.”

Jacobi shrugs. “Who else?”

“Well, there was Mace Fisher. Fisher… Fisher died because of me, not Goddard Futuristics. Asteroid shower tore him from my hands. He had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was sensitive, sensible, grounding. A real older brother type. I- I didn’t deal particularly well with his death. Well, you know that much.”

((Pill popper!)) Jacobi gulps more cold tea.

“And Lambert?”

“Sam Lambert. Officer Samuel Lambert had a stick up his ass. He was whiny, and authoritarian, and he treasured his copy of Pryce and Carter more than Reneé and Kepler combined did. He drove me nearly insane, and I drove him likewise. The best second in command you could ask for. A damn good man. Sam got sick after Hui, so we knew what was coming. What it meant. He was brave, though. At first.”

((“C-Captain, please shoot me, please, it hurts, it hurts, Captain, please, I just want it to-”)

She falters.

“Lovelace?”

“Yup?”

“You know, it’s not even really about the Hephaestus. I keep… it’s insane, but I keep thinking about… I was an explosives guy for the Air Force. Before Goddard. A trigger failed and two men died. Andrews and Sullivan. I haven’t thought about them in years and suddenly-“

“They’re everywhere?”

There’s a sudden understanding between them.

“They’re everywhere. Them and Maxwell and Kepler. They’re in mirrors, in the back of my brain, around corners.”

“Flashes of them.”

“And if you just reach out far enough, maybe-“

“Maybe-“

“Maybe.”

((let’s go be monsters)), Jacobi’s brain echoes. He grits his teeth.

“Did it stop for you? When does it stop?” He finds himself asking. Isabel doesn’t answer.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 24

First

Previous

Next

~~~

She groaned when she felt someone shake her shoulder, nuzzling her face further into her pillow. Did she notice that her ‘pillow’ was far harder than usual? Maybe. Did she care? No.

“Encore cinq minutes, Maman,” she murmured.

“Marinette, please,” Red Robin pleaded. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Sucks.”

The vigilante cursed and she tried her hardest not to grin. She waited a few more seconds to sell it before pulling away.

“Kidding, kidding.”

He gave her one tiny grin before running to the bathroom. She could hear the sound of people scuffling until, eventually, Robin was pushed out.

She shouldn’t laugh. Really shouldn’t. Everyone’s first hangover is easily the worst one, and he hadn’t exactly made it easy on himself the night before by gradually getting into it. But...

She wheezed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth in a fruitless attempt to stifle it.

His face reddened. “What?”

“You look like you got run over or something!”

He huffed and sat on the counter. “I feel like I got run over.”

She grinned and pushed herself to her feet. She dusted herself off and looked around.

Red Hood was easily the best off, puttering around the kitchen with interest. When he saw Robin come out he gave a cheeky grin and handed over a grocery bag. “Here, use this.”

The kid clearly didn’t know what it was for, because he nodded and put it over his head.

Marinette sighed and plucked it off of him. “No. It’s to throw up in,” she informed him.

He blinked a few times and then nodded again.

Her eyes fell on Nightwing. He looked stressed as he typed on his phone. He himself was drinking from a glass of raw eggs with a bitter look on his face.

She supposed she’d be looking bitter, too, if she was drinking raw eggs.

She shook her head with a sigh and walked to the kitchen and started whipping up a hangover cure. “You guys are vigilantes, how can you not deal with a little headache?”

“I’ll kill you,” Robin hissed.

“Oh, like you tried to kill Red Robin?”

His eyes widened. “Who told you about that?”

“You did. Last night.”

Poor Robin. He rested his head in his hands. “How much did I admit to?”

“You only got a few rounds in, so not as much as you could have,” she promised.

She combined her ginger, tangerine extract, and brown sugar, then handed them out to everyone.

After a few seconds of thought, she replaced the glass in Nightwing’s hand. She was pretty sure that the raw egg thing was a myth. He didn’t even notice, too focused on his phone.

Red Hood beamed as he took it. “Not the best, but I do like the taste better,” he said cheerfully.

“How are you... okay? You drank the most! You were blackout drunk!”

He grinned and ruffled her hair. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yes! That’s why I asked!”

Red Robin finally came out, his hair wet. The moment Robin heard the door open he pushed past his brother to get back inside.

She grinned. “I guess he’s too good to puke in a bag like the rest of us?”

Red Robin grinned. “Probably.” She handed over the concoction, but he just shrugged. “It’s fine, I took a shower, I feel better.”

Marinette huffed. “I’d hope so. You smell like my soap.”

He gave a small shrug. “I figured I’d look like the responsible one instead of smelling like alcohol.”

“Oh. Smart.”

He winked. “I’d like to think so.”

The receiver clicked in her ear and she saw all the bats reach up to cover their own with pained expressions. Nightwing looked even more pale than normal. The temptation to turn on her own to see how guilty she should feel about them getting chewed out was almost too hard to manage.

Red Hood came up behind her and slung himself on top of her like a backpack, pressing his cheek to hers. “Thanks for the cookiiiiieees,” he cooed.

She almost pushed him off before she noticed something. She could almost make out the words Batman was saying. She rolled her eyes as if annoyed, but leaned into him.

“-- VE YOU LET ROBIN DRINK. HE’S A KID. LET ALONE YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE GOING TO GO ON PATROL, NOT A WORD ABOUT HOW YOU WERE GOING TO HANG OUT AT MARINETTE’S HOUSE. AND YOU RED HOOD, YOU --”

She winced slightly and pulled away. Marinette thought for a minute about how to help. “You should actually be able to get the cookies before you thank me, huh?”

He grinned. “I mean, I stole a few from the freezer, but I’d love a completed one.”

She rolled her eyes a bit but went to work.

Red Robin watched over her shoulder with a frown on his face. “You don’t fill the whole way?”

She shook her head as she carefully twisted on the top. “The filling would overflow.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“For taste? It’s great, but not so much for looks.”

He snickered. “Looks don’t matter here.”

“Obviously. Have you seen your outfits?”

His smile dropped and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong with them?”

Marinette glanced at his face to make sure he wasn’t joking. And he wasn’t. Oh, wow, they don’t know. She was saved, yet again, by Red Hood coming over.

“Shoo! She’s making cookies! Don’t distract her by making her list every flaw of our outfits! She’s a designer, we’d die before she finished!”

She grinned and piped frosting for a little while until Robin stumbled out of the bathroom.

“I threw up blood.”

“Okay, but how much?” Said Red Hood.

Marinette rolled her eyes and gave him a small shove. “You’ll scare him.” She turned and gave him a small smile. “It means you drank a little bit more than you should have, but as long as it wasn’t too much you’ll be fine.”

“How much is too much? I thought any blood is too much!”

She sighed. “You’d know if it was too much. Relax.” She handed him a cookie.

Red Hood looked offended. “Why’d he get first cookie?”

“‘Cause he’s suffering and you’ve already eaten a few shells.”

He gave a shrug. Fair enough.

Nightwing finally stood, groaning as he walked over. “Great. At least it’s mostly over. We need to head home before Bats gets even more upset.”

She nodded and gave them a Tupperware each (she had a feeling that if she put all of them in the same one Red Hood would eat them all). She wasn’t finished, but she only had a few more cookies to make, and she’d like to give them to someone else.

Nightwing and Red Robin were the first to leave, giving small waves over their shoulders as they disappeared around the side of her building.

Red Hood wrapped her in a hug. “Spar soon?” He whispered.

She smiled and hugged back. “Give me, I don’t know, a week.”

He pulled back and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before jumping out the window.

And so it was only her and Robin. She raised her eyebrows slightly as she watched him shuffle his fee uncomfortably, unsure if he was going to say anything if she didn’t make him spit it out.

She opened her mouth after a bit in irritation, but he chose that moment to speak up: “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have drank last night. I used you for alcohol, that was wrong.”

She blinked. Where was the prick that had nearly gotten them both killed in his anger? He didn’t apologize for that but he was apologizing for drinking underage? What?

“I’m not... supposed to drink.”

“Whaaaat? I couldn’t tell,” she said with a weak smile.

He only gave a small frown in response.

She sighed and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t mind. Just be more careful about it while you’re figuring out your limits, okay?”

He looked skeptical for a second, before nodding. With that, he left.

She watched him leave with a small frown.

The worst part of cleaning wasn’t the germs, or the exhaustion afterward. It was the monotony that left you with nothing but your own thoughts. And she didn’t like where hers were going.

She’d been rude to Chloe. Right after she’d found out the girl had actually done something very nice for her. She was literally attempting to help make sure her wound was okay and Marinette had insulted her to her face.

And Robin... hadn’t actually been all that awful. He’d actually been rather pleasant to be around, he clearly was enjoying himself and his laugh had been infectious the night before.

Her grip tightened on her mop as she closed her eyes. Had she been wrong about them?

~~~

Glad to know I’m not the only one using this fic to procrastinate

~

Also I am here to tell you all that you need better sleep schedules. You reply at all hours of the day. SLEEP.

~

Taglist

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<3

[ri-ahhh]

Okay, but with Grayson complaining about being lonely and wanting a girlfriend I CANT HELP but to think about how horny he probably is on top of that. Like- its been on my mind for days, so can you PLEASE write something about gray meeting a bitch, like through friend or something, and realizing he likes her and then having these dirty thoughts about her, and like he doesn't want to but he just cant help it... I will die and love you forever, you're writing is my absouloute favortie.

Ur so sweet babe haha thank you😊 hope this is along the lines of what you wanted.

Getting his dick wet has never been a problem for Grayson Dolan; not since receiving his first sloppy, inexperienced blowjob when he was on tour at the tender age of 16. There’s been a steady flow of girls in and out of his life ever since, fulfilling both his needs sexually and the fleeting desire for noncommittal intimacy. And that’s how he likes it for the longest time. Easy and no-strings-attached.

But he’s older now, and even though quarantine hadn’t stopped him from hitting up his favorite one or two booty calls every now and then, he feels empty in a way that’s becoming all-too familiar. It’s not a new feeling, but every time he leaves their homes (because that’s his number one rule — hookups stay out of his bed), there’s a longing that wasn’t satisfied and that’s becoming more and more apparent to him.

So he stops fucking around — literally. He believes in the power of the mind and manifestation almost to a fault, and considers that maybe he’s letting casual hookups interfere with what he really wants: companionship.

It seems like a breeze at first. Grayson swears he feels lighter, clearer in the head, more focused on what he wants out of his life. He puts his mind to being the best version of himself and hoping that it’s enough to attract the same kind of person that he can put all of his love and effort into in return.

As months roll on, however, he realizes that sometimes the universe just doesn’t listen right away. And for the first time in his life, Grayson discovers the monotony and reality of what it’s like for the ‘regular’ guys out there, whose only sexual pleasure comes from their own hand and the porn category of choice for the night. He was used to that as a filler, for sure, but not as his one and only outlet.

Plain and simple, he’s horny. All the time. Which makes him grumpy, and irritable, and frustrated with both himself and everything around him. So when Ethan tells him in passing that his girlfriend is flying in from New York with her friend to visit, it just makes him grunt. The fact that his brother is in such a happy and healthy relationship himself is a point of contention for Grayson in his head. He’s thrilled for Ethan, but he can’t help but dwell on the creeping jealousy in his chest. Here he is, starved for both intimacy and sex now, and Ethan will get served both of those the following night in excess while Grayson lies in his bed alone.

The next night, they’re all having dinner at the kitchen table — all four of them, including her. The friend. The friend that Ethan had mentioned would be coming but that Grayson had so brusquely ignored. The friend that had his eyebrows raised the second she walked shyly through his front door, drawn in immediately by her beauty.

The friend he can’t keep his eyes off of now as she goes to town on the roasted sweet potatoes and black bean burgers he had made himself. She’s quiet but witty and has a cute laugh that makes his heart flutter a little in a way he hasn’t experienced in a long time.

He feels a nudge against his ribs, and startles when he jerks to the side to see Ethan staring at him pointedly with a knowing little smile on his lips.

“You’ve got ketchup on your shirt, bro,” he says, nodding to the blob of red on Grayson’s white shirt that had dropped from the forkful of sweet potatoes, which had only made it halfway to his mouth as he listened to her talk.

“Shit,” he mumbles embarrassedly, flushing a color near the tomato-red that’s now stained his shirt. Of course, the first time he’s feeling real feelings around a beautiful girl, he has to revert to awkward, clumsy Grayson rather smooth, relaxed Grayson.

He starts to scrub up the mess with his napkin, but she reaches out from her seat across the table from him and grabs his wrist in her petite hand. “Oop, wait! Dab, don’t swipe, or you’ll make it worse. I know how to get that out as long as it’s not smeared around into the fabric.”

Grayson swallows, his arm flaring with goosebumps at her gentle but insistent touch, but tries to keep his cool. She’s grinning at him amusedly, then sits back in her seat when Grayson follows her instructions.

“I thought ketchup was one of those things that you’re just kinda fucked if you get it on your clothes, Ethan says, filling the silence left by his brother.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Peroxide will get it right out, especially if you wash it after. Do you have any?”

Ethan cocks a brow and looks at Grayson, hoping he’ll use the opportunity to speak to her. Thankfully, he does, even if it is lacking a little bit of gracefulness. “Huh, peroxide? Oh... uh, yeah, I — yeah, in my bathroom.”

“I’ll help you when we’re all done, if you want,” she offers before taking a modest bite of her burger.

Grayson nods, and can’t help but watch the way she sucks a bit of barbecue sauce off her thumb once she swallows. His heart picks up and he has to shift in his seat a little when she winks at him, his pants tightening under the table. Damn it. He’s been trying to avoid that reaction and those thoughts, determined to do this right.

He fixes a smile to his lips, and hopes his face isn’t giving him away. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Everyone helps clean up the table and dishes, and Grayson leads her into his room while they leave the other two to have some alone time. He prays that he made his bed that morning and that there’s no dirty underwear on the floor or used tissues on the nightstand.

Luckily, the floor is relatively clear, and the bed is made, if haphazardly so. She follows him into the en-suite bathroom and watches him dig under the cabinet in the first aid bucket he has down there.

She’s wearing jean shorts and a loose-knit sweater, and when Grayson starts to stand back up he takes a moment to appreciate the tone in the muscles of her legs and the flashes of skin he can see through her top, hoping he isn’t being too obvious.

She takes the brown bottle from him and tugs on the hem of his shirt. “It’ll be easier if you take this off.”

Grayson nods, and can’t help the laugh that escapes him when she turns her back to him. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you your modesty! I don’t know you, for all I know you might be super insecure.”

“At the risk of sounding like a total douche, I promise I’m not,” he answers, reaching behind his neck to tug the collar up and over his head. “Here you go.”

She turns back around, and Grayson doesn’t miss the way her eyes travel over his sculpted torso. He can’t help but smirk a little, thrilled at the cute blush that tinges her cheeks when she meets his eyes and realizes she’s been caught.

He hasn’t had a woman look at him like that in months, however, and he’s grateful when she tells him, “This will need to go in the laundry tonight if you want to make sure the stain comes out, so you’ll need another shirt anyways.”

It gives him an out to duck into his closet, taking a moment to collect himself before grabbing the first T-shirt his hand touches and slipping it over his head.

“Cold water first,” she informs, smiling at him through the mirror when he re-emerges as she leans over the sink with the water running. She shuts off the water and squeeze out the excess, then takes the peroxide and pours some onto the stain.

“Woah,” Grayson says, eyebrows raised in surprise at the fizzing bubbles visibly picking up the bright red from the fibers of his shirt. “Where did you learn this trick?”

“I work in the toddler room at a daycare. We keep this stuff on sight and scene to avoid 20 outfit changes a day on a few two year-olds. I’m sure you can imagine the amount of ketchup and blood stains a toddler procures on the daily.”

Grayson chuckles. He feels himself growing more fond of her by the second. “You like kids?”

“I love them,” she replies with a grin. “Working in childcare is pretty rough, but it’s been a great college job. Lots of experience for my degree. And, you know, good practice for the future one day.”

If he hadn’t been sold by now, that does it. Beautiful, smart, and good with kids?

He takes a moment to assess himself and his thoughts. He doesn’t think he’s letting his dick lead him right now, even if he does want her that way. He’s just as attracted to her mind as he is the curves of her body and the features of her pretty face, and finds himself wanting to talk to her for hours on end.

He doesn’t realize there’s a heated silence, both of them standing there staring at each other, until she clears her throat and holds up his shirt. Grayson glances down at it to see just a faint brown rim around what use to be a bright red mark. “All done.”

“Thank you,” he says, taking it from her and tossing it in his laundry basket. “Come on, hopefully we don’t walk into something we can’t unsee.”

“You make a pretty good meat shield,” she says jokingly, following close behind him. “All big and broad. I can just hide behind you and keep my eyes unscarred.”

Grayson laughs loudly, his ego swelling, and he has to resist the urge to take her hand in his. That would be too much. Right?

Thankfully, the couple is just cuddling innocently on the loveseat when they enter the living room.

“Movie?” Ethan asks when the two of them settle on the couch, a respectful and calculated distance between them — not too close and not too far.

“Sure.”

They’re all in a fun and lighthearted mood tonight, so they settle on Moana. Grayson wants nothing more than to throw his arm around the beautiful girl next to him, who sings along playfully to the songs she knows, her enthusiastic movements shuffling her closer to him. He doesn’t know if it’s intentional, but he doesn’t really care; her presence in both body and spirit feels good to him.

Ethan’s girlfriend only makes it about halfway through the movie before she’s passed out, tired from the long flight earlier that day. He looks down at her fondly and chuckles when he sees her nuzzled sound asleep against his chest.

“I’m gonna take her to bed,” he announces quietly before standing with her in his arms. “Goodnight, guys.”

They both murmur back “goodnight” and watch Ethan disappear down the hall. The movie plays on for a couple of minutes, before she’s turning to him and making small talk. Which turns into broader conversation about bigger things. Which leads to them settling so close that their knees touch. She finds an excuse to pick an invisible fleck of something off his hand, which turns into their fingers playing with each other’s teasingly.

Which turns to Grayson checking his watch in a quiet but not unpleasant lull, and muttering, “Oh, shit,” in surprise.

She checks her phone lying on the couch cushion behind her. The time shines back at her 1:27 AM.

“Damn, when did it get so late?” she wonders aloud, looking at him amusedly.

Grayson shakes his head. “Time flies,” he says. Whether it’s the late hour, or him getting his mojo back, or just the fact that he’s so naturally comfortable with her, he suddenly feels bold enough to reach out and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Are you tired?”

She blushes and bites her lip, allowing him to keep his warm palm pressed to her neck while his thumb strokes the ridge of her jaw gently.

“Not really,” she answers, scooting that much closer to him. “Not ready to go to my bed, anyways.”

She’s referring to the guest room she’s already settled her things into. Grayson smiles. Rules be damned, he thinks, until he realizes in the next moment that there’s no way this amazing girl is going to be just a hookup. There’s no rule to be broken.

“Why don’t you come to mine, then?”

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Respect

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings:  Mentions and depictions of smoking/tobacco usage

Next chapter | AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

The alarm clock on your phone is loud and annoying, but it’s the only sound that will wake you up without fail so you can get a head start on your more demanding days, like today.

Groggy and neck a bit strained, a sign that you’ve slept on it wrong, you carefully push yourself up and off your bed. You come across your first hurdle of the day. A few wolf cubs had settled on your chest and your sides during the night. You try carefully to move them off of you and to the side of their mother, who has settled near your feet and isn’t afraid to growl or snap her jaw should you even think of shifting or moving away from her. Unfortunately, the pups seem determined to stick by your side despite your efforts. Luckily the pack’s alpha, Gunter, is settled right behind your head and acted as your pillow for the night. He must be why your neck feels stiff as hell.

You reach back and start petting behind his ear, rubbing into the bunch of dotted scars beneath his coarse hair. You feel his body stretch and shake as he wakes up as well. A small whine comes out of him as he gives out an enormous yawn. It makes you yawn as well.

“Ready to start the day?” you whisper to him.

He huffs with a bit of attitude as if to say, “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

You redirect his attention to his pups, preventing you from sitting up without disturbing everyone else. With silent understanding, he removes himself from underneath your head and carefully steps over one of his brothers, who has graciously allowed you to use him as an armrest somewhere during the night. After another good morning stretch, Gunter begins the slow and steady process of picking the pups up from the scruffs off their necks and setting them elsewhere on your bed.

While he does this, you grab your phone and do a quick sweep of all your notifications. You have a few emails, one a weekly newsletter about current and future school events, most of it spam. You have a couple of dozen messages from Ace and Deuce detailing an argument over whether the former ate the latter’s piece of strawberry shortcake they were saving for after dinner. Apparently, they thought to ask you to be their mediator since it was clear they weren’t going anywhere arguing and pointing fingers back and forth at each other.

Unfortunately for them, they messaged you right after you conked out. You were exhausted yesterday, having to deal with an especially rambunctious and mischievous Grim. You were also scrambling to gather the reading materials needed for one of your classes before the other students can snag them. The most recent and urgent incident is figuring out what to do now that the only generator that powers up all of Ramshackle is going out or outright failing to even start up at all. You also have a decently sized garden to tend to, and the next large harvest is today. Once everything has been properly collected, washed, and either stored away in your pantry or given to Sam so he can sell and make a profit on your behalf and his own (it’s a 60/40 split and you had to fight tooth and nail for that 60), you have to replant everything once again after you’ve tilled the soil…

To say that there’s a lot on your plate is an understatement.

Free from your furry prison, you’re finally able to sit up and move your limbs freely. Something slightly damp presses against your bare shoulder, calling for your attention. Gunter, still clearly tired (expected of anyone, human or wolf, having to wake up at six o’clock in the morning), is now awaiting proper payment for his services.

“I got some dried venison in the kitchen,” you offer. The way his one good eye pops wide open and his tail begins to rapidly wag, the deer jerky will suffice.

You give the top of his head one last rub before standing up and heading straight for your bathroom to take a quick shower. Since the availability of electricity has been scarce lately, so is the availability of heating throughout the dorm. Unlike the ghosts, who can’t differentiate between hot and cold (unless it’s magically sourced), you can. Unlike the ghosts who are already dead, you will die in this late winter cold. Grim has better control of his blue flames compared to when you first met him, so he can now essentially be his own heater. He seemed a bit too comfortable keeping himself warm and letting you freeze to death, considering you’re the only reason he’s enrolled in this school.

You make do with what you have and your situation. Even when you gathered all the untorn and clean blankets and piled them on top of you last night, the cold still found its way underneath your cocoon. Gunter, the leader of a small bunch of wolves you had been taking care of during your first few weeks in Twisted Wonderland, must have seen you struggling to stave off the cold and settled himself next to you during the night followed by his brother, his sister, and finally Gunter’s mate and their pups.

Of course, with three full-grown wolves and four chubby wolf babies as your immediate heat sources, you overheated in no time and had to throw off all your covers and strip down to your underclothes in the middle of the night since your pajamas had quickly gotten soaked in sweat (and most definitely covered in their thick fur). A cold shower is just what you need to clean up after a long night drenched in sweat.

You also need to clean your sheets, but without electricity, your washer and dryer are out of order for the time being…

Dammit.

Cold showers suck, but once the ice-cold water hits your back, it woke you the hell up. You probably spent only five minutes in there before you quickly rinsed off and got out because of how unbearable the ice water was.

Once you’re properly toweled dried, you head to your closet and change. You put on clothes you don’t mind getting covered in dirt and sweat; a simple wool sweatshirt and some overalls lined with thick fleece. You also put on a pair of knitted crew socks and secure them to your leg with a pair of garters.

Right as you snap the final metal clasp on the knotted fabric, you feel a familiar bump on your shoulder. Gunter is giving you his best pleading face he can manage. Most people likely wouldn’t fall for it, what with the many scars littering across his body and face, making him look scary rather than cute. You feel a little tug in your heart. Luckily, you’re all dressed up and ready to start your day, so you quickly straighten up and usher him downstairs to give him his well-deserved treat. You grab your phone before you exit your room so you can peruse it on your way.

As you read over old texts and useless emails, a new notification comes in. It’s another message. As surprised as you are to receive a message so early in the morning (Ace and Deuce are likely still snoring and drooling into their pillows at this hour), it is the sender of the text that makes your slowed strides halt completely.

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant and well-deserved night of rest. I’m currently getting ready to head over to the Ramshackle dorm to help you with your harvesting, as I promised. The coat you’ve made and gifted me during the holidays also fits perfectly and is by far the most comfortable piece of clothing I now own.

Thank you again for your most generous gift. I will inform you when I have arrived.

Yours truly,

Malleus Draconia

You can’t help but smack your palm on your forehead. You’re not annoyed or exasperated, it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re happy that Malleus’s charm can somehow manifest even within a text message. In fact, this isn’t the first time he’s sent you a message formatted and written like a formal letter. If someone were to look at the small messaging history between you two, they’d see that a great majority of it is just Malleus sending you these long strings of text. They would also find your messages, or rather, your poor and embarrassing attempts at mimicking his language and style (he says he gets a laugh out of them, so maybe they’re as bad as you think). There’s also always a follow-up message, gently reminding and encouraging him to relax and not worry about offending you for speaking casually for you.

His response is always the same, and it makes your stomach feel strangely fuzzy.

You have earned my respect, now I must strive to earn yours.

It’s only been a little over a month since he dropped the bombshell that was his desire for your friendship to evolve into a proper, romantic relationship. To say it surprised you is another understatement. You were thoroughly flabbergasted once your mind finally registered his words as genuine. To hear him say “I love you” and direct such a powerful statement towards you was truly the last thing you expected since arriving in this strange world.

But through all the outer uncertainties there was one thing you were certain of, your inner uncertainties. Malleus is a dear friend of yours. Even amongst Ace or Deuce, two individuals who have been with you since the beginning and nearly every overblot incident that has come your way, Malleus holds a special place in your heart as your dearest friend.

But a friend is all he’s ever been in your mind. There was truly never an instance where you pondered or even held some amount of desire or expectation that your friendship could evolve into something more. You felt like a total prick during the end of his confession, asking him if you could sit on his words for a while and come back to him when you have a more certain and final answer to give. Watching the hope and nervousness in his eyes turn into one of pure and utter sadness and even embarrassment, yet he willed himself to conceal his heartbroken emotions back for your sake. It hurt like hell. What was supposed to be an exciting and relaxing end-of-winter-break party in Scarabia’s dorm (and an apology party for Jamil’s actions against you), turned awkward. Neither of you stayed any longer once you went your separate ways.

Despite what had happened, when you received a proper smartphone (and a proper phone plan to boot) as a gift for Christmas, one of the first things you did was transfer all your old contacts into the new device. The first person you messaged was Malleus, wanting to check in on him after your last encounter and to wish him a happy holiday. He answered back in a matter of minutes, much to your surprise. While he’s not the most tech-savvy, your major concern was whether he was holding up well after what happened and if you guys were going to remain as friends. You went on a whole tangent, trying your best to not sound so desperate and ensure that your response is in no way his fault because it most certainly is not. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.

Gunter suddenly tenses up. His fur instinctually puffs out, trying to appear bigger in anticipation of whatever threat he’s detected in the kitchen. Metallic clanking and clashing come from underneath the kitchen island where you store all the pots, pans, and heavy-duty appliances. A loud and harsh crash riles up Gunter enough that he feels the need to growl at whatever is underneath the cupboard.

You quietly move past him and wave your arm, signaling him to move back a bit. He listens to your orders and takes a few slow steps back. You position yourself on the side of the cabinet, fingertips pressing onto the top of the door to prepare to open.

“On my mark,” you whisper to Gunter. “One... Two…Three!”

You yank the door open, and Gunter quickly launches himself towards the potential threat. Though, not a second passes before he’s suddenly skidding across the floor, trying to immediately halt himself. He barely avoids hitting his head against the wood and giving himself a nasty bruise. When you ask him what’s wrong, he sticks his head into the cabinet and pulls out the apparent intruder.

It’s Blossom, a young fawn you rescued from the rose gardens of the Heartslaybul dorm. It was during the preparation of the unbirthday party near the start of the school year that subsequently led to dorm leader Riddle’s overblot. Cater assigned Grimm, Ace, Deuce, and yourself to paint the roses red with him. On top of rose painting duty, Cater was also on the lookout for a supposed ‘rose thief’ who had been snagging some roses from their garden right from under their noses. The scoundrel they were looking for was the fawn before you. From the way he still wobbled on his feet, he wasn’t even a month old when you initially rescued him. He’s lucky you found him when you did. His front leg was caught in a rusted and dull, but full-sized bear trap they set up in case the thief was a wild animal.

“What are you doing in there?” you ask the little troublemaker. “Probably trying to find a snack to chew on, huh?”

Blossom thrashes, trying to break free from Gunter’s hold on his scruff. He of course fails, but not without giving out a distressed scream and trying to plead for forgiveness by giving you his best innocent look. You shake your head before looking up at the small clock hung up on the wall above the refrigerator. It runs on battery so you have to worry about the time no longer being correct when the house lacks power.

It’s 6:15, still way too early. You tell Gunter to let go of Blossom and he does it without argument. Blossom quickly runs up to you, using your own body as a foothold to jump up into your arms. Once you have a hold of him, he bombards your face with little licks and nuzzles of his snout. While this action is normal and you would gladly accept it, you know better than to think it’s not the fawn’s attempts at trying to distract you from his misdeed.

“If you’re looking for the sugared flower petals, you won’t have any luck down there,” you tell him. He immediately stops his loving ministrations and gives out a disappointingly snort before relaxing in your arms.

You chuckle and give him a few apologetic pets on the head as you walk over to one of the upper cupboards and rummage around the various jars, trying to locate the dried venison for Gunter. You also grab a jar placed far in the back with the aforementioned candied rose petals Blossom was most definitely looking for. The moment you open the jar and the heavy scent of sweetness and floral whiffs in the air, Blossom begins to excitedly thrash about in your arms and tries to stick his head into the container. Luckily, the small nubs on his head, his newly budding antlers, stop him from reaching too deep.

You spend the next few minutes feeding your companions their early morning treat. The doorbell rings as you let Blossom lick the last specks of sugar off of your now damp palm. After rinsing your hands off and drying them, you head to the door. You open it and take in the sight of a newly arrived Malleus, dressed in a simple black dress shirt and a pair of loose-fitting linen pants you made for him when he expressed discomfort over his PE uniform the last time he helped you in your garden.

“Good morning!” you greet him as brightly as you can without being too loud.

“A good morning to you as well,” he greets back. Unlike you, who is still groggy and slow, he seems properly energized despite the time. You’re jealous. You’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn for years, at least a decade now, yet your body isn’t used to the early routine. Though compared to the hundreds of years Malleus has on you, you probably won’t show any sign of improvement until your hairs are gray.

“Have you eaten yet?” Malleus asks.

You shake your head. “The electricity is out, so I can’t use the stove or open the fridge too often.”

“Crowley still hasn’t replaced your generator?”

“No,” you frown. “Every time I try to bring it up he either gives an outlandish excuse or just flat out tells me I don’t need a new one.”

His eyebrows pressed together, clearly upset as you are at the headmaster’s failure as your caretaker. You reassure him it’s fine. Everyone in the dorm has been saving money for emergencies like this, and it just so happens that the money you’ll make for selling the produce you collect today will bring in just enough to buy a brand new generator. You’ll be out of electricity for another week, two at most, but have enough firewood and nonperishable foods to last until then.

“You should at least make yourself some coffee,” Malleus urges. “It’s bad to work on an empty stomach. You've said so yourself.”

“I will once Grim and the ghosts wake up,” you reassure. “For now, let’s head to the back and get started. There’s a lot to harvest, so the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish up.”

He’s clearly unhappy at your dismal of his concerns. You know that being so nonchalant towards a fae is rude, but you don’t want to worry him with your own issues. You also have no desire to eat or drink, not this early in the morning at least. If you tell him as much, he’ll probably freak out like he did last time, thinking you were unwell and forcing you to lie in bed for the rest of the day.

Yes, you could have pushed back and argued that you were fine, but it’s very hard to tell him “no” when his intentions are purely out of concern for your well-being. Better to let him hover over you and see that you’re fine than to leave him stewing in his anxieties in silence.

“What have you been growing this season?” Malleus asks as he tugs on the loaned gardening gloves you handed him.

“The usual spread. Some potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. The only fresh additions I planted are some peas and kale. Oh, and broccoli!”

“Did the crops hold well when you were gone?”

“They did thanks to the ghosts. The heat from the fire faeries around the campus also made them easier to protect from the cold,” you explain. “I should probably give them some type of exotic wood as a little thank you gift.”

“You can never go wrong with a bit of mahogany,” Malleus says as he ties back his hair.

You hand him a straw hat, one that you weaved to accommodate for his black horns. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles at you before turning back to your garden. “So where shall we start first?”

“I’ll work on picking the cabbage heads. You can cut off the pea pods and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well. I’ll follow your lead.”

It’s 8 a.m. You know this because Ace and Deuce are woken up at this hour by Riddle and one of the first things they do is bombard you with text messages which usually forces you to turn your phone on silent mode. Despite it being late winter, you’re already working up a sweat from the repetitive and demanding motions of picking and carrying around baskets full of vegetables and cleaning them. Malleus is no better, hand continuously raising to his face to wipe away the constant wetness clinging to his forehead. You know he’s not used to manual labor like you are, so you try to bring him a pail of water every so often so he can stay properly hydrated.

“Oh my, you’re already up?”

You turn around to see who’s speaking to you and see one of the ghosts that live with you and Grim in Ramshackle floating towards you.

“Good morning!” you greet him. “Did you need something?”

“No no,” he shakes his head. “I just came to check up on my bees and saw you already hard at work.”

The ghost (Franklin is his name, but you all call him Frankie for short by his insistence), affectionately ruffles your hair with his large white palm. He’s one of the tamer ghosts, but he’s still capable of pulling a prank on you or his fellow housemates now and then. You and he have been cultivating and maintaining a small beehive since October, but he does most of the work and maintenance since he has more experience in the ways of beekeeping than you from when he was alive.

Frankie does a quick once over of the garden, his scanning gaze doubling back at seeing Malleus carefully rinse a couple of heads of broccoli.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since 6:30,” you answer back. “Why?”

“No one gets up that early unless it’s for someone they fancy,” he says rather nonchalantly, but the way he quickly side-eyes you show that he’s clearly talking about you. You try your best to appear unaffected and give a “Is that right?” type of hum, but your efforts are in vain since he just laughs at you.

“If even you know, that means he’s got it bad.”

You say nothing back because you honestly don’t know what to say, or if you should. You’re content to just go back to plucking potatoes out from the ground, but Frankie doesn’t seem to want to leave you alone just yet. He asks you to come with him to the greenhouse where the hive is being kept. The small glass enclosure also houses some flowers and herbs you use for cooking or medicine.

You quickly close the door behind you once you enter, reveling in the warmer air that hits your face. While Frankie lights his cigar and gets a heavy cloud of smoke going (his personal method of keeping the bees calm), he has you open the top and carefully pull out the panels one by one while he checks for any signs of a decaying hive and ensures the queen is alive and healthy. One of your initial worries about beekeeping was getting stung, but Frankie reassured you it’ll only happen if you purposely upset the bees or fail to care for the hives consistently. Now, you gladly let the buzzing honeybees wander around your bare skin.

As Frankie pulls out his cigar from between his lips and taps off the ashes into the respective ashtray, he looks over at you and asks, “Is everything ok?”

You give him a confused expression as you snap the cover for the hive back into place. “I’m fine?”

“You sure? Because if you ask me, you don’t seem like it.”

“I mean, I already have a pile of schoolwork I need to finish and a rundown dorm to take care of. I’m as ok as anyone in my position can be-“

“I’m not talking about any of that,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about you. Forget about Grim and your studies. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answer again.

“Are you sure?”

Well, when he puts it that way, even he must be able to see that you’re clearly not doing alright. In fact, you haven’t been alright since you were literally kidnapped and held against your will in the Scarabia dorm. Luckily everything worked out fine for everyone else, but not so much for you. You’ve noticed that your appetite is waning and you wake up multiple times during the night because you don’t feel safe, even in your own room.

Malleus’s confession unfortunately was another wrench being thrown at you. With your hands already so full of this and that, you’re struggling to figure out what needs a priority and which issues you need to either drop entirely or find someone trustworthy to take care of it in your stead. It’s hard to ask people for help when they either find a convenient reason to say no or you feel as if you can’t trust them to do something as simple as watering your plants. The only person you feel you can trust and ask for help is Malleus, and things aren’t exactly as they were between the two of you.

“Talk to me kiddo,” Frankie prods. “What’s been eating at you?”

He lifts his ashtray and makes to snuff out his cigar so he can focus on speaking to you, but you hastily reach over and stop him. You take the smoke from him and bring it up to your lips and puff a few grey clouds. Strangely enough, it tastes rather pleasant, floral, and creamy. You didn’t expect to taste like this because of the way it smells, like soil that was just freshly rained on.

“Sorry,” you hand it back to him. “I haven’t eaten and I’m practically running on fumes.”

“That’s alright,” he says, handing it back to you. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Malleus carefully blows small bits of green fire onto his freezing fingertips, trying to warm them up after being drenched in the icy water from the water pump. He looks over his shoulder, over the stalks of peas, towards you. You’re still in the greenhouse and frantically moving your lips. He can see your eyes are glistening with a fresh layer of… tears? You don’t allow a single drop to get past your lids, wiping them just at the last second before they can pass over the threshold.

He’s only ever seen you cry one other time, when he came to your rescue in Scarabia over the break. He initially thought he frightened you with his aggressive display of magic. Once the dust settled and the blot on Jamil was expunged, no one was more shocked than he was when you boldly ran straight towards him and jumped into his arms. It was all he ever wanted, what his mind dreamed of every single time he closed his eyes. He could no longer brush off the fluttering in his stomach as the mere excitement of making and spending time with his first genuine friend. He was determined to keep his newfound affections for you with him under lock and key, not willing to risk ruining your close-knit friendship with his selfish and potentially one-sided desires.

Your desperate embrace, your toughie exterior lowering to that of a sniveling and shaking human, gave Malleus the impression that the only reason you would display such vulnerability before him was that you reciprocated his sentiments. It gave him a sense of confidence he never knew he was lacking, usually so sure of himself most other times. It made his chest burn with an aching desire to say “to hell with it all” and spill his heart right then and there.

When you extended the invitation you received from Kalim to him, he saw it as his proper opportunity to let his affections be known. He was upset (according to Lilia, more than usual) that he had to take Sebek and Silver along with him for the usual security, but he was determined to get them distracted long enough so he can pull you aside and confess to you without fear of interruption or letting his personal affairs be known to anyone else, at least, for as long as he can keep something so monumental under wraps.

As a prince, he has been taught to look at the long term for each of his decisions, as they carry substantial weight. The long term of pursuing a relationship with you meant having to deal with the prejudices and stigma against humans that still live within the hearts of his people. For once in his life, he didn’t want to think like an heir. As he watches you continue to talk to one of Ramshackle’s ghosts with increasing frustration, he realizes his love utterly blinded him back then. The only long-term his rose-tinted mind could comprehend was of the happy moments he had long conjured in his head becoming a reality.

You didn’t explicitly reject him, however; he knows your behavior well enough to know that once his feelings were laid bare before you, you would not take them into your arms and hand yours over in return. Arms crossed and avoidance of eye contact, you do this when you’re nervous or unsure, sometimes both. He held onto the self-indulgent hope that you’d show him what you look like when flustered. Perhaps you’d stutter?

You did stutter when you spoke up, but they were not the words that he wanted, that he thought he was, going to hear.

“Malleus...I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, you’re here early!”

“It’s just that…I don’t think I can…”

“Hey! Are you listening to me? You better not be ignoring me on purpose!”

“It’s not that I’m telling you I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t exactly say that I do. It’s just... I’ve never- “

“Tsu-no-ta-rou!” Grim’s shrill voice, still a bit riddled with drowsiness, still pierce Malleus’s eardrums and nearly causes him to drop the vegetable in his hand. “Pay attention to me when I’m speaking!”

“Quiet,” he growls at the monster. “If you need your master, they’re in the greenhouse. Though, you might want to come back another time.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Malleus lifts Grim from the back of his fuzzy robe (you must have made it and gifted it to him during the holidays) and points to you. Frankie has one of his translucent hands on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly now and then while he speaks. You were no longer wiping your face so furiously, allowing your tears to fall and drip off of your jaw and wet your shirt as you listened to your fellow dorm resident.

“What happened? Did you smash all the tomatoes again?” Grim cranes his neck to look at Malleus accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. Those are out of season.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at Scarabia,” Grim muses. “They haven’t been sleepin’ too good since we came back, y’know?”

Malleus nearly drops the cat. “They haven’t?”

“Nah,” the cat answers, far too casually and dismissively for the fae’s liking.

“This is news to me,” Malleus says, almost whispering to himself. He’s sad, almost offended, at the fact that you haven’t told him you’ve been having some difficulties this whole time. You normally keep him up to date with your personal life. He’s even more offended once he realizes that you’ve been worrying and reassuring him that your friendship with him isn’t ruined after what’s happened.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, conniving and twisted, that feeds into his already prevalent belief that your unwillingness to share with him your personal problems anymore is a sign that he hasn’t earned your respect. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but no amount of reassuring from either you or himself is going to stop his Mind from asking such a multi-sided question. Surely, if you thought admirably of him, you’d continue to allow him to bear witness to your moments of weakness and vulnerability. He feels close to you, connected to you in a way he’s never felt. He can be slow and downright miss some references to your jokes and behavior. You always put on a face of understanding, but is he so lost that your patience has worn paper-thin?

Are his feelings for you truly one-sided? Is he still jumping to conclusions too soon and just needs to give you more time and space? Did he just set a course for a ruined friendship or could his hastiness have been a fruitful gamble?

If it’s not iron that kills him, it’s the uncertainty within his heart and mind.

A shrill whistle pierces through the air and Malleus’s eardrums. Grim hisses at the sudden noise and the hairs on his neck stand up. Even Frankie and you can hear and turn your heads towards the source despite still being in the middle of a conversation. The one who whistled was another one of the ghosts who live in Ramshackle. Johnathan is his name, usually shortened to Johnny. His sunken cheekbones make him look unassuming, but you’ve rightly warned Malleus never to turn your back on that one for too long. It’s a miracle that you can keep up with all their shenanigans.

“I got the generator to start up and made some coffee!” Johnny happily announces. “Come get it while it and the dorm are nice and warm!”

“I’ll have a cup or two, so long as there’s a ton of cream and sugar!” Grim says whilst smiling. “And I ain’t skimping this time on the sugar!”

“You better if you know what’s good for you,” you sternly say, now out of the greenhouse along with Frankie. “We’re short on sugar and I’m not stocking up till next weekend.”

“Whaaaat?!” Grim exclaims, his lower jaw almost reaching the floor. “Since when did you become such a cheapskate?”

Everyone, including Malleus, did a sharp intake of breath as soon as the words passed the cat’s mouth. Everyone turns their head towards you, awaiting your reaction to Grim’s comment. This isn’t the first time Grim has gotten lippy with you and, given his nature as a mischievous little monster (a common trait between Ramshackle’s residents, Malleus is now noticing), it won’t be his last no matter how badly you scare or pull a fast one under his clawed feet. Even when your face is all puffy and wet with semi-dried tears, the look of “oh you’re in it now” is still so panic-inducing to everyone, ghosts, and feline alike. To the sole Fae present, he thinks of you as nothing short of adorable and wants nothing more than to wipe your messy face clean.

“Well, if you want more sugar there is one way you can get some more.”

“W-W-What is it?” Grim says, pudgy body shaking and sinking into the comfort and small safety of his fuzzy robe.

You approach him and bend down to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him so he’s at your eye level before deadpanning, “Get a job, Make some money, and then buy your own.”

Once you set Grim down, he scrambles back into the home with an almost comical amount of fear in his eyes. He screams about how he’s never getting a job even if it kills him and his continued determination to find the small money vault you have hidden around the dorm and spend it all on canned tuna. Johnny, Frankie, and you all give a unison chant of good luck to him before he disappears completely.

“Has he made any progress in his search?” Malleus asks.

“Our money vault isn’t even in the house, so no,” Johnny answers, resulting in you and Frankie cackling and high-five one another.

With the power back on, you announce that it was time for a well-deserved break. It’s your turn to make breakfast and you immediately begin to ask everyone for their preferences. Frankie cuts you off and insists he take over your duties for the day. You normally would protest and insist to whoever was offering to cover for you it wasn’t a problem for you at all. “I enjoy doing [insert chore], so it’s fine!” is your usual go-to reasoning, but not this time.

Malleus notices the way you make to protest as usual, but you quickly back down and just let Frankie go ahead inside to take over for you. In normal Ramshackle fashion, Frankie mentions the cigar you were puffing and waving around earlier and says that you owe him another one, particularly an artisanal one that he’s recently read about in the local newspaper and has been aching to try.

“You got any more highly specific goods you want me to fight tooth and nail for?” you sneer.

“No, just the cigar will do,” he says before turning around to head back inside. Before he can close the door behind him all the way he pulls it back and says, “If you get it sometime this week I’ll buy a new bag of sugar.”

You whisper an impressive string of curses under your breath. Malleus has to restrain the urge to laugh at your colorful vocabulary.

“In that case, I hope your schedule is free tomorrow night. I’ll have it by then.”

Frankie gives you a thumbs up before heading back inside. Once the door behind him clicks shut, you turn towards Malleus and he physically feels his body shift from somewhat relaxed to stiff and proper. You notice this and crinkle your nose a bit, something to do when you find something endearing or as a way of silently giggling. Malleus watches with such an unnecessary amount of focus as you reach up to adjust his straw hat and wipe a bit of dirt off the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for leaving you hanging back there,” you say as you pick off a stray leaf that somehow got tangled in his dark locks. “I’m also sorry you had to see me crying like that. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

There it is again. That damn twisting ache right in his heart.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “But if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, is your lack of sleep really all that’s wrong with you?”

You give out a long sigh. “I’m guessing Grim told you a bit of what’s been happening since winter break?”

“He has.”

Your arms cross and the ground suddenly becomes more interesting. You’re unsure, but the way your eyebrows press together is a sign that you’re conflicted. Malleus feels his frostbitten hands accumulate a layer of sweat as you silently mull over your thoughts. Despite the pain and hesitance in his heart, he wills himself to grasp you by the arm and pull you into an awkward hug. He knows it’s not exactly what you might need at the moment, and he was fully preparing you to push him away. He’s relieved when you bring your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace.

“I’m tired,” you sigh

“You haven’t been resting well, so it makes sense.“

“No,” you shake your head, the tips of your hair tickling Malleus’s neck. “It’s not just a lack of sleep that’s making me feel exhausted. After what happened with Scarabia, especially with Jamil, I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Are you afraid?” he asks. To think of you as fearful is an entirely foreign concept for him when you’ve only ever been confident and certain of yourself since the first time he met you.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit without skipping a beat.

Considering what you told him, Malleus thinks your fear is justified. You have no defense against magic…

He fills a strain in his neck as his entire body suddenly seized up. You notice this and pull away to ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, but you don’t let him go silent on you.

“If,” he hesitates. He’s thinking too rashly already, yet he’s still so compelled to act upon his thoughts. “Should anyone attempt to do you harm, I swear upon my name and title that I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

He means every word, but you seem to take it far too casually than he would have liked. You press your face against his shoulder and laugh against his skin, your breath bringing him some much-needed temporary warmth. Such an ordinary action, yet it causes another pang within his heart. It settles next to the one that arose before, but he bites his tongue and endures it for your sake.

“Maybe you could play that electric violin for whoever comes after me,” you jest.

As embarrassing as it is to hear that you know about that incident (he’ll have to reprimand Lilia for telling you about that), he can’t help but laugh along with you. If making a bunch of teenagers’ foam from the mouth amuses you, then so be it.

“Thank you for offering to get your hands dirty for my sake,” you say. “That’s one thing I respect about you. You take care of the people you care for.”

His body goes still once again. “Is that right?” is all his mind can wrap around and say.

“Yes, oh Wise and Great Lord Malleus. I do, in fact, respect you.”

He cringes at that title. It’s something he has heard Sebek try to enforce you to refer to Malleus as, which you never do purely so you can get a rise out of his loyal guard. Before he can ask you to never call him that again, a bunch of howl’s ring out, and the two of you pull away from each other. The wolf’s howling is usually a sign that food is ready, which you seem rather eager to get to as you interlock your arm with his and drag him inside with you.

He looks back at his basket of still dirty vegetables. “What about-“

“It’s alright! I’m not throwing a fuss over a few broccoli heads!”

Crispy bacon, over easy and scrambled eggs, and a mountain of sizzling hash browns. Once everyone grabs a plate and sits down at the dining table (Malleus sticks close to you, hoping he can sit next to you), they grab whatever pieces of food they want in whichever quantity. Somewhere in the next room over, a faint melody plays through the speaker of an old record player. The vintage singer has a rather cheeky attitude in her vocals but with the accompanying music, it all comes together harmoniously. It’s perfect for a rather excitable breakfast.

It seems you never told the ghosts too many details about your sudden disappearance during the break. You downplay the true extent of your dilemma as you willingly giving your time and effort to help a desperate Jamil figure out what was causing his normally kind dorm leader to have a sudden personality switch. The ghosts listen carefully, and as you gradually get to the big climax that is Jamil’s betrayal and overblot, followed by Malleus’s sudden appearance, they’re all practically hanging on the edge of their seats. Your tale even intrigues the wolves and Blossom. They gather and settle near the legs of your chair, ushering you to continue your story by whining and scratching your ankle.

You don’t exaggerate Malleus’s part in your tale, something he greatly appreciates. You tell them how things happened just as they did: Grey clouds suddenly covering the sky and the occasional peak of lightning through their fogginess. Just when it seems like Jamil has the upper hand and is going to put an end to Grim and you, as well as Jade, Floyd, and Azul of Octavinelle, Malleus appears out of nowhere and effortlessly zaps the blot right out of the vice dorm leader of Scarabia.

“That deserves some praise,” Benjamin, the third of your ghostly residents, raises his half-filled mug of coffee and extends it towards the middle of the table. “To Malleus!”

Everyone, including you and Grim, raises your glasses and repeats his chant. “To Malleus!”

“To me, I suppose,” Malleus half-heartedly raises his own cup. “It really wasn’t much effort, or any praise really.”

He catches you looking at him in his peripheral and he feels a lump form in this throat that he immediately swallows. “I simply did what I believed you would have done for me if our positions were reversed.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you say after swallowing a hefty mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But it’s nice knowing you have my back. It makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” Malleus is surprised to hear you say this, considering what you told him earlier. “I make you feel safe?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “Y-Yeah. I guess you do.”

“You guess?”

“You do,” you say, more definitively this time. “I promise. If you didn’t you’d know.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I can only imagine what interacting with you would be like then.”

“Probably not that good, or not at all. I steer clear of people I don’t particularly like.”

His eyebrows raise in intrigue as he sips his now lukewarm coffee. “What makes you dislike someone?”

“I dislike people I have no respect for,” you say casually. Malleus thinks you might be joking or poking fun at him, but how you take the time to look up to him while you busy yourself with feeding Gunter a few bits of bacon clearly means you’re trying to tell him something secretly. It’s definitely something along the lines of, “I don’t know where this mindset of me not respecting you came from, but it’s a load of bullshit and you need to get that thought out of your head.”

Even within his head, your language is still so vulgar and blunt. Only you would talk to him in such a rude manner.

But he respects that part about you.

[cocos-cocoapuffsarenotforsale]

His Little Witch~~Part 8

MASTERLIST

Part 7

Main Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Background Pairings: Harry Potter x Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood x Neville Longbottom, James Potter x Lily Potter, Draco Malfoy x Pansy Parkinson

Tags: SMUT, Swearing, Controlling!Tom Riddle, Controlling Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Possessive Tom Riddle, Soulmates, AU, CANON DIVERGENCE, Minister of Magic Tom Riddle, Out of Character Tom Riddle, nice Tom Riddle, Dumbledore and Tom get along, sane Tom Riddle

Taglist: @chewymoustachio, @peachsnyder138, @marvelous-glims, @ingeniouscollectionthing, @thedarkshiningknight

A/N: Special thanks to @thedarkshiningknight for reaching out to me and inspiring me to continue this story. As of now I am planning on writing 12 parts though it could be more. Love you all so much and I hope you guys like this new update!

————————————————————————

“C’mon guys, just a quick visit. An hour at most.” You were currently trying, unsuccessfully, to convince James and Sirius to let you visit Hogwarts.

“Y/n, you can’t even leave the grounds. Tom made sure of that with that bracelet,” Sirius huffs annoyed.

“You guys are telling me you can’t figure out how to get it off? Really losing your touch eh Padfoot, Prongs?” Ok, you were trying to goad them into helping you but it had been six days. Six days of being locked up in the manor. Tom hadn’t been home yet but he had sent Lily and Remus to tutor you for the time being. Lily and Remus had been staying with you as well, not wanting to be away from their mates for too long.

“Nice try Y/L/N,” James says pointing an accusing finger at you. “But you are not going to suck us into this. We know better.”

“You damn well better,” Remus mutters as he enters the room. “If you two help her, the Minister will have your necks.” 

“Don’t worry about us, babe. We aren’t gonna be tricked by a rebellious eighteen-year-old.” Sirius boasts cockily. Remus shakes his head, not quite as sure of that as Sirius was. Sirius tugs Remus down on his lap and nuzzles into his face into Remus’s neck.

“Get a room you two,” you grumble. You normally didn’t mind their affectionate displays but after being away from Tom this long you were getting grumpy.

“Aww, don’t get grumpy just cause you haven’t gotten any lately,” Sirius teases, causing you to throw your book at him. He flicks it away with a chuckle.

“Nice try, love,” he chuckles, only irritating you further. You huff and stomp out of the kitchen and towards your room. You had to find a way out of this house.

“Y/n, you ok?” You heard Lily ask as she trailed behind you. You fling yourself down on the bed as soon as you enter your room, frustrated at the whole situation.

“No, I haven’t seen Tom in six days and he’s off hunting some maniac. We haven’t been apart for this long since we found out about each other. One day is hard enough but it’s been 6 days and no word. Just a couple of check-ins with Percy in the fireplace.” You grumble into your pillow.

“I know sweetie, James, and I haven’t been apart for more than a week since we found out we were mates. And that week was hell.” Lily replies softly, rubbing a hand up and down your back like your mom used to do when you were upset. 

“Why were you apart for that long?” You ask, turning to look at her and wiping the tears from your eyes.

“It was the last time Gavin Grindelwald went on a rampage, Harry was little and they needed all hands on deck, even then James and Sirius were Minister Riddle’s right hands. So he had to go with the Minister and his guard to try and hunt Grindelwald down. It took them seven days to catch him that time, and then he escaped a couple of years ago. They couldn’t track him down that time, and now he’s back.” Lily lets out a shaky breath and you can see her hands are trembling a little.  

“Lily? Are you alright?” You ask, reaching out and putting your hand on her shoulder.

“It’s just he vowed revenge on all those who caught him last time, mainly Minister Riddle but James and Sirius too. To be honest I’m a little relieved they aren’t out there this time. But then I remember how much of a target-” she stops herself remembering who she’s talking to. Her cheeks turn bright red in embarrassment. 

“Then you remember how much of a target Tom is and by extension I am. And your husband and best friend are responsible for protecting me.” You finish for her. Her face immediately turns apologetic. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She says softly.

“It’s ok, I know I’m a target. I’m sorry that James and Sirius have been assigned to me. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” You whisper as more tears well up in your eyes. You couldn’t stand it if James and Sirius were hurt because of you. How would you ever look Harry in the eyes again? And if something happened to Tom, especially if he was protecting you…

You would die of heartbreak.

————————————————————————

“Little Witch,” you awake to Tom’s hushed voice.

“Tom?!” You ask excitedly as you open your eyes to find him leaning over you.

“Hey love,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“When did you get back?”

“Just now, I’m sorry I woke you, I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too Tom. I’m glad you woke me,” you sit up and wrap your arms around Tom’s neck.

“Did you catch him?” You ask after a moment, Tom stiffens at your question and that’s all the answer you need.

“Not yet. But the first task is tomorrow and I have to be there to keep up appearances. We don’t want people to start freaking out. And I missed you. I’ve got the best people on it.” He assures you, nuzzling his face into your hair, and inhaling your scent.

“Except for James and Sirius,” you grumble under your breath.

“They have a much more important task, you.” He replies placing a quick kiss on your nose before standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going, Minister?” You ask suggestively. 

“Well, darling, I’ve been working for nearly six days straight and I haven’t had time to shower. So I thought before I crawl into bed with my lovely mate I’d better get cleaned up.”

“Why don’t I help you?” You walk over to him and slowly start unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“I would love that, my Little Witch.” He replies moving his hands onto your hips. He quickly pulls your shirt over your head and throws it onto the floor.

“No magic?” You ask as you slid his shirt off his shoulders.

“Sometimes the muggle way is fun,” he whispers against your lips. You hurriedly undo his pants and he kicks them along with his boxers off to the side. He fingers the top of your pants and slowly eases them and your panties off. 

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers as he places soft kisses along your inner thighs.

“Tom,” you plead, breathless.

“Yes, Little Witch?” He scoops you into his arms and carries you to the shower stall. He switches the water on before testing the temperature. Once he has determined it to be satisfactory he sets you down in the shower.

“Tom, need you,” you whimper, he backs you against the shower wall and lifts you up by your ass.

“Where do you need me, Little Witch?” Tom asks as he grazes your pussy with his hard cock.

“Tom, please,” you beg as he twists your already pebbled nipples.

“Where, love?” He asks with another brush of his cock along the lips of your glistening pussy.

“My pussy. Please, Tom. Please fuck me,” You plead, making him smirk in triumph.

“Anything for you mate,” he mutters as he lines himself up with you. In one quick motion, he thrust himself into you making you gasp at the sensation.

“Tom,” you let out a low moan causing him to growl as he nips at your neck. His deep and hard thrusts build your pleasure and push you to the brink.

“Cum for me Little Witch,” he commands in a gruff voice. You allow yourself to give in to the pleasure and let yourself come apart around him. He groans, feeling you tighten around him and he finally releases his seed into you. He stays inside you until he begins to soften and then he gently eases out and sets you down carefully.

“That was quite the welcome home, Little Witch,” he teases, walking under the stream of water.

“I missed you a lot. And it’s not as though I had much else to do,” you grumble, remembering that you were supposed to be mad at him.

“We talked about this already,” he huffs, rubbing shampoo in his hair. 

“No, you talked about it, and ignored everything I was saying.” You move to help him rinse out his shampoo. You may still be pissed at him but you couldn’t resist touching him after being apart for so long. Stupid fucking mate bond, you think to yourself annoyed.

“Love, I did listen, I just disagreed. I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger,” he replies as he squirts some shampoo into his palm and motions for you to turn around. You comply and he gently massages it into your hair.

“Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world,” you argue, switching places with Tom to condition his hair for him after he rinsed the conditioner out of yours.

“Yet you’ve sustained how many injuries there? And the Manor is safer, when I created that bracelet for you I also made sure you were added to the wards, the Manor will protect you. That’s why I prefer you to remain inside while Gavin Grindelwald is still at large. The grounds are protected but it’s safer inside the Manor.” He explains as he gently massages conditioned into your hair. You try to think of a good response while you both rinse out your hair and step out of the shower, but you draw a blank. Dammit, why did he have to make good points?

“I’m not a prisoner, it’s not fair to keep me locked up,” you reply tugging on your silk bathrobe.

“No, you aren’t a prisoner. But you are my mate and that makes you a target for my enemies. I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it pisses you off. I’d rather have you hate me and be alive than love me and be dead,” He whispers in a pained voice. And that’s when you remember what you had heard about his past. Tom’s father abandoned his mother when he found out she was a witch and in her heartbreak, she ended up dying right after giving birth to Tom. Tom had been raised in an orphanage that was overrun with children and never really received much love. Then it had taken him 20 years to find his soulmate, someone he could love and be loved by.

“Tom, I could never hate you,” you place a soft kiss on his lips and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers as his grip on you tightens.

“You won’t,” you promise, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“So can I go to the first task tomorrow?” You ask, making him groan in annoyance.

“Of course, why not? It’s not like there is a psychotic maniac out there who tortures people for fun and has a vendetta against me and anyone I care about.” He replies sarcastically.

“So it’s a yes?” You ask playing dumb as you pull away to get a better look at his face.

“No, absolutely not. We still haven’t caught him. He’s planning something big, and it could easily be happening tomorrow. It’s the first task in the Triwizard Tournament, he knows I have to be there, there will be a large crowd, parents, students, teachers and other citizens. It’s the perfect target. I will not have you go there and be put in danger.” He argues.

“Tom, I’ll be fine, I’ll be with you. There’s gonna be plenty of security measures in place. It’s probably safer for me to be there with you and tons of Aurors than stuck at home with only James and Sirius. Plus Harry’s competing tomorrow, I have to be there and so do James and Sirius.” You plead, looks like this argument was going to be harder to win than you thought.

“No, no. I can’t put you at risk like that. I will not lose you too. Not when I finally found you.” He says harshly, his jaw tightening.

“You aren’t going to lose me. I’ll be fine Tommy. Please.” You beg, throwing him your signature puppy dog face. 

“As adorable as you look, you aren’t going to win this with a puppy dog face.” He says smirking at your childish attempt at making him change his mind. Alright, time to switch tactics then.

“What about this?” You ask sliding your silk, black bathrobe off your shoulder and showing off more cleavage.

“Nice try, that isn’t going to work either.” He chuckles, we’ll see who’s laughing in a couple of minutes…

“Alright,” you pretend to give up.

“What?” He asks confused. You ignore him and turn around before shrugging off your robe and slowly sliding it off. You walk over to the bed before climbing onto it and laying down in the middle. Putting yourself on full display for Tom.

“I said alright. Sex isn’t going to convince you to let me go tomorrow.” You say, gently running your hands over your breasts, flicking your nipples softly. You see Tom straighten up and watch you carefully.

“Need some help there, Little Witch?” He asks confidently.

“No thanks. You didn’t want sex,” you reply, running your right hand down your stomach and cupping your pussy.

“No, I said that sex wouldn’t convince me to put you in danger tomorrow.” He argued.

“Well, since I don’t get to have any fun, ugh,” you moan as you rub your clit, “then you don’t get to have any fun.” 

“C’mon love, don’t be like that,” he groans and you can see him hardening at your moans. 

“All you have to do is say yes Tommy,” you tease, spreading your legs wider to give him a better view of you.

“No, love, I won’t say yes.” He argues but you hear his voice crack when you let another moan.

“Then neither will I.” You tease, sliding your index finger into your pussy slowly. “Aw, Tommy please, just say yes. Then we both can get what we want. Please Tommy say yes.” You beg. You see his guard falling.

“Fine, but you stay by my side the entire time understood?” He relents.

“Yes Tom, I understand.” You agree.

“Now can I help you take care of your problem?” He asks, eyeing your pussy hungrily.

“Yes Tommy,” you whisper breathlessly. He is on you in a second, sliding into you just as quickly. His thrusts are slow and deep, teasing you as you had just teased him. 

“Faster Tommy, please,” you beg. He shakes his head, his face breaking out into a smirk.

“Not yet love,” he says before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. 

“Please Tommy,” you whimper as he rolls your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Your wish is my command,” he replies before thrusting into you faster and harder.

He locks his lips with yours as he thrusts in and out of you, deep and hard. 

“Tom,” you moan as you near the edge.

“Let go, love, cum for me” he commands gently.

“Yes Tom, agh,” you groan as you give in to your release.

“Good girl,” he praises before he stiffens and shots hot jets of cum inside you. 

Once you both come down from your high he gently eases out of you and tucks you under his arm. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead and then buries his face in your hair. 

“I love you,” he whispers softly. 

“I love you too Tommy. Everything is gonna be ok.” 

“I can’t lose you Little Witch,” he mutters, his voice raw with emotion.

“You won’t Tom, I promise.”

————————————————————————

Part 9

[sapphirewolf1122]

I Need a Hero to Take Me Home

Summary: Drunk you forgets how to climb stairs and calls a certain hero for help.

Word Count: 1,104

A/N: So...this randomly popped into my head as I was walking up some stairs and just seriously over analyzing the whole process. Thank you @gemstoneconstellations for helping me with the drunk speak and title (as usual); I suck at those.

Bakugo walked into his apartment, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table as he made his way to his bedroom. He didn’t even bother turning on the lights; he was too exhausted for that. There had been an emergency rescue mission and he was one of the heroes on-call tonight. He hadn’t expected it to take so long though…

Reaching the edge of his bed, he glanced between it and the door to his bathroom. He really should take a shower, he was still sticky with sweat from the mission...but he really wanted to climb into his bed…

With a groan, Bakugo headed to the shower, stripping as he did; he’d rather take it now and sleep longer than have to worry about it in the morning. Once in, he was really glad he did; the hot water soothed his sore muscles. 

Finally in his bed, Bakugo was drifting into the long-awaited sleep...but he had barely closed his eyes when his fucking phone started vibrating. 

Fuuuuck...don’t tell him there was another emergency. Picking up the phone off his nightstand, he squinted at the bright screen. He grew confused at the sight of your name on the screen.

Slightly irritated, he gruffly answered. “The fuck you calling me for? You know what time it is?”

“Bakugoooooo, you answord! I didn’t….didn’t think you’d pick upppa! But you did! I kneeew you would. Uuuuh, it’ssss mmmm...night timmmmmuh? It’s dark and spoooky, soooo, yeah. It’ssa night time, yup. Anywhosies, I needs help…,” he heard your voice on the other end, sounding cheerful but kind of...childish?

He leaned back to glance at the screen. “What the fuck do you need help with at two in the fucking morning?”

“I can’t, I can’t remember how to do it.” He could hear the pout in your voice.

“Do what?”

“To climb stairs! Do you know how to climb stairs?” you whispered. 

“Haaaah?!”

“There-there’s just too much! How do our legs know what to do? They just start going and, uh, POOF! You’re at the top! Buuuuuuut my legs forgot...I can’t get to my apartment. Help me?

Bakugo was silent for several moments but then his sleepy and sluggish mind finally put two and two together. “You’re fucking drunk, aren’t you?”

“Maaaaaaybe! And I need helpppppp! The stairs are hard!”

However, before he could form a response to that, another realization hit him and he shot up in his bed. “Are you by you’re fucking self?”

“Uhhhhh...yes! I wanted to go home, so I did—”

Bakugo wasn’t listening anymore. He was now scrambling around his room, looking for a pair of pants and his sweater. What fucking idiot had let you wander around drunk by yourself?

“___, don’t fucking move, I’m coming.”

He heard you gasp on the other end. “You coming overrr? I neeed to clean the howse, I don’t want you to see all that messss...wait...I can’t get up the stairrrrrs…”

Practically ripping his door off its hinges, Bakugo sprinted out of his apartment, muttering to himself the whole way. Some extra was gonna die for this.

~

You were sitting at the base of the building when he got to you, using the wall as support. As soon as you caught sight of him, you threw your arms in the air and happily yelled, “Bakugooooo!”

Without a word, he grabbed hold of you, flung you over his shoulder, and started walking up the stairs.

“Whoaaaa, how’s ya do that? You need to teach me when I'm sober. You’re magic!” you said from his shoulder, sounding genuinely impressed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Uh...a lot? To both questions?”

“No fucking shit. Give me your damn keys.”

Once inside your apartment, he carried you to your couch and set you down. “Stay.”

You nodded, a stupid smile on your face but doing as you were told. “Yess, shur.”

Going into your kitchen, Bakugo started searching for something to feed you and a glass to give you water. As he did, he started rambling a lecture at you. “What the fuck do you think you were doing, walking home drunk by yourself, huh? Who was with you? I fucking want names. I’m going to teach those motherfuckers a lesson—”

“I didn’t think you cared so much, Bakugo. But I knew you did.” Bakugo was stopped mid-rant by your statement and he looked over at you, speechless. You still had that stupid smile on your face. 

Until you were leaning over the side of the couch, retching into the small waste bin there. Bakugo ran to you, cursing the whole time as he held your hair while you continued to throw up.

“Of course I fucking care, you idiot,” he muttered under his breath, brushing a strand from your face. 

After that, he helped you to the bathroom so you could wash up and grabbed some clean clothes from your room. You ended up throwing up a couple more times but managed to make it into the toilet.

Once you were clean, Bakugo guided you to your bed, placing another waste bin next to you just in case. Then he headed back to the kitchen to grab the snack and water.

He made you nibble on a couple of crackers and drink about three glasses of water before letting you lie down. Once it looked like you were falling asleep, he stood up to go clean the mess you’d left in the living room, deciding he would sleep on your couch tonight. But before he could turn to go, he felt you grab at his pants.

“Where you going?” you mumbled sleepily.

“Gonna go sleep on the couch,” he replied gruffly.

“Can you stay?” 

“I am stay—”

“Noooo, stay here,” you pouted. “With me.” Your grip on his pants grew tighter.

“You...you want me to sleep in the fucking bed with you?”

Your eyes closing again as you drifted to sleep, you managed to nod slightly and moved to make room for him. With a sigh, he climbed in.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered softly. You just smiled in your sleep and snuggled closer to him. 

~~~~

A/N2: Apparently drunk me has said Anywhosies🤷🏽‍♀️😆

[princessdevy03]

Tumblr Exclusive!!!!

For @anybodihearme....

QuarantinEdd

They were supposed to be quarantined.

But they were essential employees, so off to work they went, Edd to the hospital and Kevin to the town’s only mechanic’s garage.

Edd going to work made sense. He was an ER nurse and desperately needed in the midst of a pandemic, but Kevin wondered if the governor had lost his mind by letting businesses like his remain open.

He had enough money to pay everyone for ninety days and if he got a small business loan to help offset any losses from the pandemic, he could afford to pay everyone for another ninety more. Not to mention being able to pay for a decent cleaning crew to make sure everything would be safe once the people smarter than him said it was safe to open.

But people were still out driving for small gig jobs like online food deliveries, off and out of work parents were taking the time to teach their now homeschooled kids to drive, and for some reason, the number of fender benders repairs thanks to speeders quadrupled.

And that was in the first sixty days.

It was now day 132 and Kevin’s numb.

He’s down to a third of his crew because someone had either caught the virus or has been in close contact with someone who has, customers that have been coming in for decades were taking their business elsewhere because they just couldn’t deal with his simple requests to keep their facial coverings on and to stay at least six feet from each other in the shop’s oversized lobby, parts were taking forever to come in because they weren’t essential items so they were low shipping priority, and he can’t remember the last time he’s seen Edd.

Video calls are verboten in the hospital because of HIPPA, but he hasn’t even gotten a meme from the man in a week.

Stepping out of the hottest shower he can bare to take, he checks his phone.

There were the usual texts from his mother, Nazz, Rolf, and he thinks his baby grandson has gotten a hold of his mother’s phone again, or his daughter in law has had a stroke.

Quickly opening the last text, he saw the baby had sent him a seven second video of himself running with said phone and his mother screaming at his father to catch him while his sister declared that he had to come with her if he wanted to live.

His chuckle turned into a high pitched scream not unlike that of the lead starlet in many of the B List horror films The Eds watched when they were kids when the bathroom door swung open. 

Edd fell to the floor with a cackle, holding his sides as he rocked side to side and laughed til he cried as Kevin stormed out of the bathroom, quickly donned his housecoat, and threw an old quilt some great aunt from Ireland made his father when he was a baby over his head.

“YOU SCARED ME!” He screamed at his husband as he went to stand over the man still tittering on the floor.

“You look ri-ridiculous,” Edd snickered as he sat up and did his best to catch his breath.

“How dare you?!” He huffed, arms crossed, looking rather ridiculous considering his usual immodesty of just walking around naked when no one but Edd was in the house. “And what are you doing here anyways?!”

“I live here?” Edd shrugged and Kevin finally got a good look at him.

His hair was wet and he only had on an old tshirt and shorts he had made out of an old pair of sweatpants.

“You’re home?” Kevin asked softly, a bit disbelieving what he was seeing.

“As of today,” Edd answered as he looked at his smartwatch before taking it off and placing it on the charger on his nightstand, “I get the next two weeks off, pending the results of my latest round of tests.”

“What happens next?”

Edd looked the worried man in his weary face and tried to be as honest but as gentle as possible.

“If I’m not sick, I go back. If I’m sick, I stay home til I get worse and then I go back because I’m dying.”

And for some strange reason, Kevin thinks he can fight Death.

“You won’t die,” he said, voice low, the quilt hitting the floor and his housecoat quickly followed.

Edd had to admire his moxie, even if he was being a bit ridiculous.

“You gonna fight a novel virus for me?” He smirked as he walked over the naked man in front of their dresser, arms crossed defiantly.

HIs back hitting the bed and his shorts hitting the floor was his answer.

But then Kevin realized that if Edd was in the house, so were the germs.

“Where did you shower?” He asked as he straddled him, arms crossed but his dick was getting harder by the second and Edd is about to die.

“Main bathroom in the hall,” Edd groaned, batting at his chest to get him to get back to business.

“Clothes?”

“Washer downstairs? Your stuff is still in the one in the garage.”

The great thing about the house was that the first owners put the washer and dryer in the garage, the next family built a laundry room addition off the kitchen for some reason, but it was awesome because Kevin could always use the old set in the garage for his heavy, greasy coveralls, while the laundry room was used for their everyday clothes.

But before Edd got stuck at the hospital for the last way too long in Kevin’s mind, they both had been using the garage for laundry to keep from bringing the germs the CDC was only now getting an inkling of an understanding of, in the house.

If he used the sanitize cycle on the fancy set in the laundry room, they’d be ok.

“Sanitize?”

“I’ll roast you in it myself if you don’t blow me.”

“But I don’t want to die, Eddward!” Kevin pouted, feeling randy, confused, and oh, so frustrated.

Edd sat up and pulled his shirt off to bring Kevin’s warming body closer to his burning own.

“I’m ok,” he whispered lovingly. “I got the clothes washed and I took a shower, just like you. We can clean the cars tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“Fuck that, I’m having Jimmy’s cleaning crew over here first thing to do it,” he said matter of factly as he wiggled himself off Edd and grabbed his legs to pull him to the edge of the bed so he wouldn’t be roasted in the fancy washing machine.

Tears pricked the edges of Edd’s eyes as Kevin swallowed him whole and his hands lost themselves in sunset red locks.

Never had he been able to hold onto him like this and he distantly thinks of suggesting him never cutting his hair again because -

“OH GOD!” He screams as he pushes him away, embarrassed that he was to the edge so quickly.

“You like that, huh?” Kevin snickered at him as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waggled his brows at him.

“I hate you,” Edd huffed back but his body had other plans.

It was a bit like riding a bike.

But it was also almost like going through the motions, though.

Kevin’s mouth nipping at his neck as he grabbed the lube off his nightstand.

Them trading kisses between trading the lube between themselves; Kevin coating his hand and Edd coating Kevin’s dick.

Then Kevin’s first knuckle dropped inside.

Edd hissed in the back of his throat as he quickly squeezed the dick in his lap before he tossed his head back with a groan.

He knew he wouldn’t last long, but this was gonna take a bit.

“Just breathe for me, Babe,” Kevin huffed, trying to set his mind right.

If he was this tight on his hand, he’s gonna lose his damn mind once he gets inside of him.

Edd took a breath and Kevin wiggled his finger as gently as he could. The stretch lasted for only a moment before Edd picked up his hips for a bit more, but Kevin stayed him with a hand on his stomach.

“Breathe,” he ordered as he slipped down off Edd’s torso and Edd’s breath is gone as quickly as he took it because his dick is in Kevin’s mouth again, naturally.

He relaxes into the bed, taking everything in.

The softness of the sheets, the spicy musk of the air freshener plugged into the wall, the soft dampness of Kevin’s hair in his hands, the soaking warmth of his mouth.

When his head hits the pillow, it’s like he’s been wrapped up in something.

He gasps as another finger is added to Kevin’s ministrations and when he tosses his head to the side he realizes that Kevin’s been using his pillow.

Dear Lort…

The man has his head between his legs, two, no, three fingers up his ass, and his pillow smells like him.

Kevin wouldn’t be mad if he came this instant, but he’d rather he fuck him like he wants to do his pillow right about now.

“Kevin, please.”

The way he spoke was just so urgent that Kevin didn’t argue.

He just moved.

He grabbed the lube as he came off of him, squeezing some quickly into his hand and then giving himself a couple of strokes as he got into position. Resting on his knees, he pulled Edd into his lap and said, “You do it, ok?”

Edd nodded because they both knew if Edd could control the motion, he’d be less likely to be hurt.

No one wants a trip to the hospital in a pandemic over something like this!

Bracing his hands onto Kevin’s sides and Kevin doing likewise, he slowly worked his hips back and forth til he was fully hilted, his head falling onto Kevin’s shoulder with a thunk.

Neither moved for a few, long, tense moments.

When Edd finally brought his head up, Kevin whispered, “I’m...I’m not gonna last long.”

“Me, either,” Edd sighed as he placed a chaste kiss to Kevin’s lips and moved a bit.

Kevin groaned into the soft movement, his hands falling onto Edd’s hips, and his mouth searching for those soft lips again.

His gut whirled tight when Edd pushed their mouths together and his brain shorted out when the needy man in his lap started sucking on his tongue like he would his dick.

He moaned into the kiss and Edd’s hips picked up speed.

Lean arms around his neck made his hips jerk up, but he dug his knees into the bed to anchor himself down when Edd wrapped his legs around him.

Hands explored every inch of skin they could touch and they kissed each other breathless as Edd drove himself up and down on his dick as fast and hard as he could.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Edd whined before kissing him again.

But it was harder this time and his hips weren’t moving in any sort of rhythm anymore.

Kevin brought him closer with one arm, the other slipped between them and started to stroke Edd’s throbbing cock.

Kevin couldn’t wait to get his mouth on it again, but for now, he’d suck Edd’s tongue in his mouth to give him a taste of what he wanted to do to him, with him, and just for him for the next two weeks.

The hand on his cock and the mouth on his tongue made his hips jerk.

HARD.

And Kevin’s dick hit a spot in him that hadn’t been touched in weeks.

He could barely scream as he fell apart, his ass squeezing the hard dick inside him as his whole body begged for more.

Long, thick, milky white strips of cum bursts between them as a roar came out of Kevin.

Strong hands grabbed lithe hips and Edd’s gone.

Release like he hadn’t known in far too long coursed through his whole being as Kevin came as hard as he did.

Once the room stopped spinning, Edd realized that they had fallen backwards, their heads at the feet of the bed.

“You need a haircut,” Kevin grinned affectionately at him, running a weak hand through dark, thick, wavy locks.

“And If you ever cut your hair again, I’ll kill you,” Edd absolutely purred, relishing the gentle touch.

“So noted,” Kevin chuckled as he willed himself up.

“Where ya goin now?” Edd whined.

“Bathroom,” Kevin grinned as he snatched the lube up from where it had fallen on his pillow and made his way to the bathroom.

Edd scrambled as best he could on his baby deer legs to follow him.

Kevin didn’t go back to work and Johnny’s cleaning crew didn’t come for two weeks.

Kevin and Edd shrugged it off and said they were busy catching up on projects at home.

[artificialqueens]

No Strings Attached, Part 3 (Willaska, Bitney) - Albatross, Veronica

AN: New life, new university, new friends…what more could Alaska ask for? Following the end of her relationship with Jinkx, Alaska has decided to pack up and move to a new college…on the other side of the country. Nothing like a bit of space to get over a break up, right? As she settles in for her new life, Alaska must navigate her new surroundings and of course, her new roommates with some very strong personalities of their own. A collab with the amazing @veronicasanders.

All things considered, Alaska was having a pretty decent start to her school year. Sure, the first couple of days had been difficult. And sure, she still had times when she just wanted to crawl under her covers and block out the entire world. But she thought she was adjusting quite well, otherwise.

When she first met Bianca, she was completely thrown by her particular brand of in-your-face, abrasive humor. But over the next few weeks, she began to see Bianca for who she really was – consistent, reliable, organized to the point of compulsiveness, and (though Bianca would never admit it), genuinely caring. She was the one who brought home orange juice and medicine when Alaska got a cold. She was the one who kept the liquor cabinet stocked and the kitchen clean and made a schedule for the bathroom on busy mornings to keep them all from losing their minds.

Alaska had to admit, also, that they had a bit more in common than she first assumed. Even more than the fact that they were both gay transfer students who sometimes felt out of place. They could both appear a little judgey and uptight. But once they trusted you, both of them were ride-or-die loyal. And both, with just a little arm-twisting, could be persuaded to really cut loose, having no problem keeping up with their life-of-the-party roommates.

Alaska had written Courtney off that first day as a vapid, overly familiar busybody. The type of person who sailed through life with a pretty face and shallow charm. But quickly, she realized that Courtney’s sometimes endless questions were just a sign of genuine interest in other people, a desire to get deep – maybe a little too quickly for Alaska’s comfort, but certainly with the best of intentions. Her bubbly personality, rather than annoying Alaska, soon became endearing, and Alaska found herself looking forward to their chats, to getting recaps of her favorite lectures and even to opening up.

And then there was Willam. Alaska still hadn’t quite figured Willam out. She liked her; she knew that much, but she remained a bit of an enigma. For starters, Willam never seemed to crack a book. While the rest of them would be stressing over papers and exams, Willam would be out shopping, partying late into the night and then up at the crack of dawn to go to the gym. Of the four of them, Willam seemed to be the only one who regularly brought home any overnight guests. (As far as Alaska could tell, Bianca’s liaisons were discreet and off-campus. And Courtney, despite being the most flirtatious person Alaska had ever met, seemed to keep her romantic adventures limited to above-the-waist making out at parties.) More than once, Alaska had stumbled out of bed in the morning to find a “friend” of Willam’s being entertained in the kitchen. Usually by Courtney, with Bianca offering them coffee and a complimentary STD test. As for Ms. Belli herself? She’d be at the gym or the mall, content to let her forgotten tryst fend for themselves.

And that was the other thing. So far, every one of her one-night-stands was with a boy. Which was fine, and Alaska was usually the last person to judge someone’s romantic choices. However, Willam had been pretty clear about being bi, so it made Alaska wonder. Why only guys? Was she actually attracted to girls, more than just in theory? And if so…what kind of girl would she like? Alaska tried not to dwell on all the questions, especially the last one, but it was hard. Willam was just such a mystery. One she found more intriguing than any others.

But in spite of that, and the elusive weirdness of how Willam earned her money (thankfully, Alaska still didn’t have more details on that), there was something truly compelling about her. Her wicked sense of humor, her surprisingly soft heart, her ability to make any and every situation fun.

Although occasionally, her need for fun got a bit out of control. Like tonight. Alaska and Courtney were sitting in the living room studying when Willam waltzed in with a healthy buzz and a man on each arm. Tall, dark, identical men, like a pair of Ken dolls.

“Jeremy, that’s Courtney. She’s the one I told you about,” Willam said, then added in a stage whisper, “No gag reflex.”

“Hey Bill,” Courtney said with a wary smile. “What’s going on?”

“Not much. I just thought you’d like my friend Jeremy here. He’s got a nice dick.”

“You haven’t seen my dick,” Jeremy laughed.

“No, but you guys are twins, right?” Willam smirked, then turned back to Courtney, saying, “It’s real nice, trust me.”

“Good to know,” Courtney said, voice just slightly clipped. She might have had a tense, polite smile on her face but Alaska could easily spot the growing irritation in her eyes.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Alaska muttered, gathering up her things. Time to go hide in her bedroom, she figured. Hell, she’d almost rather study in the dorm’s parking lot than stay in the living room for whatever this was.

“You sure?” asked the Not-Jeremy Twin with a wink. “You don’t wanna stay and party?”

“She’s a lesbian,” Willam informed him. “But Lask, if you’re curious-”

“Uh, no thanks. Have fun, kids.” Alaska saluted and hightailed it into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door firmly behind her.

As soon as she had dumped her belongings on her bed, she dug out her headphones and blasted some music in preparation for what she’d likely be hearing later on. The only thing she had wished she’d remembered was to grab a snack from the kitchen. Likely Willam and Courtney would be busy entertaining for the next few hours and the last thing she wanted to do was walk in on something. Especially given how loud she’s already heard Willam being from time to time, even when knowing one of her roommates was still around.

Oh, well. It was only a few hours. Could be worse, she figured. Now to figure out what playlist to use this time.

*******

Hours later, Willam emerged from the bedroom, yawning, hair a mess, expecting to find Courtney and Jeremy on the sofa. Instead, her roommate was curled up beside Bianca with a huge bowl of popcorn, watching some bullshit on Netflix.

A bit miffed, Willam marched around the side of the couch in front of the pair of giggling women and put her hands on her hips. “Uh…hello?” she asked, annoyance tinting her voice.

“Hey,” Courtney replied, neck craning to keep her eyes on the TV.

“Where’s Jeremy?” Willam demanded impatiently.

“Gone,” Courtney replied simply and with a pleasant smile to boot.

“Yeah, I see that. What the fuck, Courtney? You were supposed to keep him entertained!” Willam was getting even more irritated at the way Courtney practically ignored her.

“Yeah, well, for some reason, he was under the impression that I was gonna blow him, so things got real awkward real fast.”

Bianca snickered in the background, then noticed Willam’s angry glare and looked away quickly, shoving some popcorn into her mouth. Still a grin was still present on her lips as she undoubtedly listened with bated breath for what would happen next.

Willam stepped closer towards, arms crossed and asked, “So why didn’t you just blow him?”

Courtney rolled her eyes and said irritably, “I’m not gonna suck a dick just because you tell me to.”

“You should be thanking me!” Willam exclaimed. “You haven’t gotten laid all semester and he was hot. I was doing you a favor.”

“Thanks, Bill. You’re so generous,” Courtney said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Whatever, you’re such a baby!” Willam flounced from the room, beyond annoyed and not wanting to look at Courtney’s stupid face anymore. She just didn’t understand how Courtney could turn down such a hot piece of ass (who was clearly up for anything) in order to just laze around on the couch with Bianca! She thought Courtney would be grateful to her for bringing home such an easy score. God, the nerve of her sending him off! She could have at least given him back to Willam.

******

“Hey…” Alaska nodded to Willam as she approached the coffee maker. She’d obviously just come home from the gym, and per usual, hadn’t gone straight for a shower. Instead, she was sitting at the table, sipping some hideous-smelling vanilla protein shake.

“Morning,” Willam replied.

Alaska poured a generous mug of coffee, blowing on it softly while she leaned against the counter. She looked at Willam again, questions from last night still swirling around in her head.

“You and Courtney still fighting?”

“Huh?” Willam blinked in confusion.

“Bianca said you guys were fighting last night,” Alaska replied slowly and carefully, “Over the whole Jeremy thing?”

Willam’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Jeremy?” she asked, as if she really had no idea who Alaska was talking about.

Alaska’s jaw dropped in amazement. How could Willam not remember this? “The twins!” she exclaimed, “The one you brought home for Courtney?”

“Ohhh.” Willam waved her hand dismissively. “That wasn’t a fight. I just didn’t understand why she’d turn down perfectly good dick. She’s basically been celibate all semester, it’s weird.” Alaska raised an eyebrow, and Willam quickly added, “She doesn’t have a reason, like you.”

“Maybe she just…isn’t interested in dick right now. Even if it’s good,” Alaska offered. Her nails drummed against her coffee mug.

“Pfft. She is, you should have seen her last year. She’s just…I don’t know, punishing herself for something.”

Of course, Alaska had noticed how Courtney hung on Bianca’s every word, laughed gleefully at every joke, eyes sparkling with adoration. She noticed the way Courtney’s touches would linger on Bianca’s skin, the way she leaned into Bianca with every chance, had to force herself to leave Bianca’s side. She thought you’d have to be blind not to notice. And Willam, it appeared, was blind.

“Right. Well…I’m glad you guys are cool.”

“Yeah, we’re always cool,” Willam laughed. “Even when she’s a spoilsport.”

“While we’re on the topic of dick…” Alaska began tentatively, and Willam’s eyes lit up.

“Reconsidering that threesome idea?” she asked. Willam’s stomach flipped in anticipation of the answer.

“Definitely not. No, I was just wondering…” She hesitated, unsure if she really wanted to go down this line of questioning. It was potentially invasive, and she knew that Willam might very well get defensive. Or worse.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Alaska said, wrinkling her nose and taking another sip of her coffee. “It’s probably offensive.”

“I dare you to offend me,” Willam challenged, eyes narrowing slightly, but still shining with joy.

“Well…you’re bi, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve only ever seen you with guys though,” Alaska said carefully.

“So?”

“Well…so…are you sure you’re into girls, too?”

“Wow. You’re right. That is offensive,” Willam deadpanned.  

“I just mean…you know, you talk about dick a lot,” Alaska said. “But I’ve never heard you express any…you know what, it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” Willam stirred her drink violently, lips pursed.

“Okay then.” Alaska began to back out of the room. “Sorry.”

Willam heaved an aggravated sigh. “Alaska.”

Stopping in her tracks, Alaska replied softly, “Yeah?”

It took a few beats before she answered. Her eyes had dropped to her smoothie, suddenly having lost any desire to finish it. Her stomach felt like it was in knots as she debated letting Alaska see this more vulnerable side of herself. There was a reason she didn’t really like to go on about girls. A very good reason. One she doubted Alaska would truly understand. “I guess I just have a harder time with girls. I don’t really know how to read them. Even flirting sometimes just feels…risky.”

“I can’t imagine you ever having a hard time flirting,” Alaska said, a cautious smile curling at the edges of her lips. She took a few steps closer to Willam and cocked her head to the side as an invitation to continue.

“Well. It’s relative,” Willam began to babble, “I mean, guys are so easy. They’re like…simple, basic, dumb creatures. You know? It doesn’t take much. Usually nothing more than a smile.” She looked up for a second, then back at Alaska, eyes clear and bright. “So I don’t have to work hard, or be intuitive, or sensitive. Women are more complicated than that. And…it’s a lot harder to brush it off if they don’t want me. So…” she trailed off. 

Alaska sat down next to her, saying quietly, “That may be true. But…what if it’s worth it? The extra suffering?”

“Good question. I dunno.” Willam chuckled wryly, shrugging.

“Just some food for thought,” Alaska said, giving her a big smile and quick wink.

******

“Come on, please?” Willam pleaded as she shadowed Courtney around the tiny kitchen space. “For $500? It’s such easy money!”

Briskly preparing her tea, Courtney replied firmly, “I said no, Bill!” Irritation was beginning to creep in at the edges of her voice. But Willam was relentless.

“But you’re not even getting naked.” Willam argued with a heavy sigh, causing Bianca and Alaska, sitting at the kitchen’s island to exchange a look of confusion and curiosity with one another. “Just sitting on your bed, reading. You said you had a lot of reading to do.”

Courtney swirled in a dash of almond milk with her tea, clanging the spoon quite deliberately against the sides. “Yeah, I do! And I need to concentrate,” she stressed, raising the cup to her lips. After taking a shallow sip and deciding she needed one last glug of milk, she huffed out, “I don’t need some gross dude heavy breathing at me while I do it.”

Now things are starting to make more sense, Alaska thought to herself. Bianca shared another expressive look with her and returned back to flipping through the study packet in front of her. Taking that as her cue, Alaska pretended to find something much more interesting on her phone. In truth, however, she was listening in quite acutely and she had a guess Bianca was probably doing the same as well.

Groaning in frustration, Willam pointed out, “He’s not that gross.”

“High praise,” Courtney muttered as she rolled her eyes and returned the milk back to the fridge.

Willam watched in bewilderment as Courtney settled in at the island with their roommates. How could Courtney refuse such easy money? It was literally getting paid to just sit somewhere and go about her business.

But she needed Courtney for this appointment! She had her eye on a pair of new Louboutin heels that were supposed to be released in the next month or so and she had to get her preorder in now! They always ran out of her size by the time they actually hit the shelf and who knew how long it would be before they were restocked?

This one appointment, if all went well, would be the last chunk of change she needed in order to confirm her preorder. This client had been a long standing one, scheduling regular sessions every few weeks, especially if Willam could entice another cute co-ed to join her, even if it was just in the background. And when she saw him reaching out at the most absolutely perfect moment, Willam immediately offered pull in a second person. 

Normally, Willam would have simply reached out to Tatianna, a flirty sophomore she met last year at some frat party. Tatianna never had an issue joining Willam’s appointments for a cut of the action and was always up for a quick make out session, on or off camera. She was absolutely perfect for this client but as Willam soon discovered, she was working off-campus today with absolutely no chance to get back in time for the appointment. Even Willam’s second, third, and fourth choice all had plans or simply weren’t interested.

Fuck!

But maybe…she might be able to entice a certain roommate of hers…she hoped.

However, Willam could see that Courtney was absolutely not going for it. Wincing to herself as she made this decision, she offered, “Fine, a thousand.” Good bye, matching sunglasses.

“No!” Courtney squealed out. God, Willam was persistent today. But even Alaska had choked a little as she heard the amount.

Perking back up, (and confirming Alaska’s suspicions she’d been listening with bated breath), Bianca was baffled, “You’re turning down a thousand dollars?”

“Would you do it?” Courtney countered, staring at her with a pointed look in her eyes.

Not even having to think twice, Bianca answered, “Hell yeah.” Turning back to Willam as she gathered up her text book, study packet, phone and pen, she asked, “Right now?”

Seeing some light at the end of the tunnel, Willam’s beaming smile returned and offered up a high five, “Alright, B!” She stuck her tongue out at Courtney for good measure.

Nose wrinkling, Courtney asked with disbelief, “You’re really gonna let some disgusting mouth breather watch you study just to make a few bucks?”

“It’s a thousand dollars,” Bianca pointed out as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And really, wasn’t it?

Even Alaska had to admit she had not seen this coming. She’d given up all pretext of staring at her phone in order to watch this exchange instead.

But before Bianca could scamper off with her things, Willam piped up with, “Whoa, whoa, whoa…I said I could get her a thousand dollars. I don’t have an offer for you yet.”

Bianca opened her mouth in indignation to begin arguing but Courtney cut her off with a very confused, “She should get more than me. Her tits are bigger.” 

“That’s not exactly how the pricing works,” Willam laughed out. If only Courtney knew the half of it, she thought to herself.

Drumming the fingers of her free hand against the counter, a smooth, rhythmic clicking sound filling the kitchen, Bianca remained thoughtful for a moment before asking, “So how much would I get?”

Even Alaska was curious about the answer. “Probably at least five hundred,” Willam shrugged before unlocking her phone. “Gimme a minute.”

How does that conversation even go? Alaska wondered. But then her thoughts drifted back to Willam’s entire business venture. How did Willam find her appointments, book them…talk to her, um,… clientele. 

Maybe some day she’d ask about that. Maybe even what, ahem, “services” she offered. Willam would probably be more than happy to tell her but somewhere deep in the pit of Alaska’s stomach, a twisting winding knot was starting to form. It often happened when her thoughts trailed towards questioning Willam’s side job and she learned pretty quickly just to let it drop after that. The twisting wasn’t exactly unpleasant but it was more than weird and Alaska just didn’t have the energy most of the time to figure out why.

As she thought about this, Bianca scurried over to Willam, looking over her shoulder and down at her phone. “I’ll do it for a thousand,” she said, trying to read Willam’s tiny ass messages running across her screen, “Why can’t I get a thousand?”

“Well, she’s blonde and she looks 16,” Willam replied simply as she messaged her client and answered his questions. 

Courtney let out an emphatic groan of disgust, “Gross!”

Bianca’s eyes narrowed at the implication Willam was trying to make. Pursing her lips, she asked testily, “Are you saying I’m too old to be a cam girl?”

“No!” Willam said all too quickly, head popping back up. “It’s just…you know, you look…like…early 20s?” There was a slightly apologetic tone to her voice that Bianca didn’t care for.

Annoyance creeped into her answer as she stated, “I am early 20s.”

“Right.”

“Rude,” she huffed out. “I could totally be a cam girl if I wanted to.”

“Of course you could, dearheart.” 

“Fuck you,” Bianca grumbled. “Bet I’d make a better one than you .”

“Look, just chill out, okay?” Willam muttered. Not her best attempt at smoothing things over but that was alright. “I can get you…750? But only if we kiss,” she quickly added in.

Bianca went thoughtful and silent for a few moments, mulling over her options. Courtney and Alaska watched her carefully while Willam returned to typing away on her phone. What’s she gonna do? Alaska mused. Seems like she’s really thinking about it.

Courtney looked to be holding her breath as well but her expression was a bit difficult to decipher. Cloudy, certainly, but not angry. No…maybe even- 

Finally, Bianca broke her silence to ask consideringly, “Would I get the money today?”

“Bianca!” Courtney gasped out.

Ignoring her, Willam answered in her most professional-sounding voice, “Yeah, they send it by Paypal.”

“Okay,” Bianca decided, “but I want the money first.”

“Fine,” Willam muttered, tapping away at her phone again, “Jesus.”

Bianca waltzed off with her belongings towards Willam and Courtney’s bedroom, smirk on her face and lazy thoughts of what she’ll do with the money, but Willam’s voice quickly interrupted her as she called out a strong suggestion of ‘prettying herself up a little’. “They love to think we just lounge around looking perfect all the time, waiting for them to call.”

“Ugh,” Bianca groaned, “This is turning into work.”

“Welcome to my life, bitch!”

******

Two hours later the women emerged from the Willam’s bedroom, laughing their asses off. Bianca was even wiping away the traces of a tear from her eye as they wandered into the living room. Both Courtney and Alaska looked up at them; Courtney from her text book and Alaska from her laptop where she may or may not have been streaming a podcast instead of reviewing her class notes.

“Appointment went well, I’m guessing?” Courtney spoke with a hint of suspicion in her tone. Or was that bitterness, Alaska wondered.

“Definitely,” Bianca assured her with a laugh.

Willam grinned as well and added in smugly, “Told you it was easy money.”

“Now I know why you do it,” Bianca quipped, resting against the arm of the couch nearest Courtney, addressing both of her roommates. “And I already checked; money’s in my account. $850, ” she boasted proudly. “He even tipped, the sleazy little sweetheart.” Then elbowing Courtney lightly in the side, she said with a smirk, “Betcha regret skipping out now, huh?”

“And having to kiss Willam for it?” she replied, her ears beginning to heat up. “Hard pass. I regret nothing.”

Bianca and Willam shared a brief look with one another and broke out laughing once again. Now feeling her cheeks beginning to grow warm, Courtney huffed out, “What? Didn’t you do it? Or was it just a stage kiss, like where you kiss your thumbs?”

At this, the women laughed even harder. Bianca even clutched onto the fabric of the couch as she tried to remain upright. Courtney’s eyes shot over to Alaska but even she had no clue what was so funny. All she could offer up was a very confused shrug after pulling out her ear buds.

“Care to let us in on the joke?” Alaska asked, her voice managing to sound both curious yet uninterested at the same time.

A teasing glint rose to Bianca’s eyes as they narrowed in on Courtney. Her voice was sweet and mocking as she leaned down and cooed, “Why don’t I just show you what we did?”

Courtney’s mind began to short circuit as a myriad of questions ran rampant through her thoughts. Was Bianca going to kiss her? Did she and Willam actually kiss? What did she mean by ‘show her’? Wait, was Bianca leaning in closer?

Every little detail felt like it was magnified by 100 as Bianca’s face slowly crept closer to hers. Then in an instant Bianca was on her feet again, one hand buried deep in Willam’s wavy hair while the other gently tilted her chin up and guided her lips towards Bianca’s. Willam’s own hands were gripping onto Bianca’s hips and pulling her in tight as they closed what little gap remained between them. Almost as soon as their lips touched, a low, drawn out moan echoed deep in Willam’s throat. The hand in Willam’s hair retreated, pulling a few strands along with it, as Bianca moved to carefully cup Willam’s cheek, stroking the skin softly with the pad of her thumb. Her other hand dropped to the curve of Willam’s back and kept her neatly in place; pressed tight against Bianca. Courtney had enough time to witness the subtle flexing of Willam’s fingers before a flurry of emotion swept through her.

All at once it was like a tidal wave had crashed over her as she sat dumbstruck on the couch watching their little show. Each emotion felt like it was clawing its way up through her stomach, trying to make itself known, only to be pulled back down again by another before Courtney could truly figure out what she was feeling. She was just beginning to recognize the growing sense of jealousy when her roommates broke apart, giggling like mad. Even Alaska didn’t seem much better off, her lips slightly parted in shock as she watched Willam and Bianca. She felt a strange burning in her chest. No, not exactly a burn but something heating up, overheating, twisting and knotting, feeling heavy and unmoveable.

“Definitely not stage kiss,” Bianca commented with a little wink for good measure as her hands finally withdrew from Willam’s body.

An awkward laugh escaped from Alaska as she noted, “Good job. Looked pretty real.”

“Thanks,” Bianca chuckled, smoothing out the hem of her shirt before settling in on the couch between Alaska and Courtney. “I’m a great actor, what can I say?” she added in dramatically before her giggling got the best of her. “But really, I did do a little theater work in high school.”

“Don’t recall any high school plays calling for that, ” Courtney remarked stonily.

Bianca rounded on her with a curious expression, as if trying to will Courtney to explain a little more. Even Willam raised a brow at her while she made herself comfortable in the recliner. But as Coutney’s gaze travelled from one pair of eyes to the next, she found herself withdrawing under the scrutiny. A strange sense of irritation was beginning to build in the back of her mind and was certainly not helped when Bianca mocked her with, “Something you wanna say, sweetheart?”

“No,” she grumbled all too quickly, then thinking better of it added in, “I just don’t remember any of my high school plays calling for something that…provocative.”

“‘Provocative’?” Willam repeated in that seal-laugh voice of hers. “The fuck do you mean, ‘provocative’?”

“I just-I don’t see any kissing like that in you know, Grease or Wicked or Our Town-”

“All straight couples,” Willam pointed out in a perfectly demeaning and mocking manner. “I see how it is. I’m sorry our rampant lesbianism offended your sheltered, innocent eyes.”

“Wow, Court,” Bianca added in, dramatically feigning a tone of surprise. “Didn’t take you to be such a prude.”

“I’m not!” Courtney interrupted, high voice climbing in pitch.

Willam pretended not to hear her and directed another “innocent” suggestion to Bianca, “Maybe she really is just homophobic?”

“I am not homophobic!” Courtney protested in a loud squeal. Alaska could see her becoming more and more frazzled but she was still trying her best to sound calm and level-headed.

She might have succeeded had Bianca not piled on with an incredibly disappointed, “Damn, Courtney. Homophobia in this day and age? I gotta say, I expected more from you.”

“Mh-mm,” Willam agreed with a nod of her head. “Cancelled!” she noted in a singsongy voice. 

Alaska picked up on the little smirks on each of the women’s lips but all of it went over Courtney’s head. She simply let out an angry huff and crossed her arms over her chest. “Whatever,” she grumbled moodily, “If you guys wanna be porno actors, go-”

“Oh!” Bianca interrupted with a scandalized gasp. Turning back to Willam with wide, appalled eyes, she said, “Did you hear that? She’s attacking sex workers now!”

“Double cancelled,” Willam stated all too seriously. “Very disappointing.”

Shaking her head sadly, Bianca continued to mock Courtney with a sugary sweet, “You wanna go for a triple? Say something about women of color, too?”

It was here Courtney completely lost it. She sputtered out protest after protest, or rather that was what Alaska imagined those stuttered, half choked off words to be. Courtney didn’t seem to know where to begin, what to say, anything really to defend herself. It was as if her brain had short circuited and every time a thought appeared that she tried to vocalize, in just another second, it would disappear without a trace and she’d have to start again.

Willam and Bianca found the whole thing to be hilarious; they were now outright laughing at her frustration as she tried to speak. Alaska however felt a sense of pity…and just a hint of irritation. Her stomach had grown uneasy as the teasing had built up and now it was just downright annoying. They just didn’t know when to stop and poor Courtney looked like she was nearing tears as she tried to explain herself.

“That’s enough,” Alaska interrupted through the loud laughter. Her voice was steady and clear. Polite yet firm. Leaning past Bianca, she placed a comforting hand on Courtney’s knee and assured her, “We know you’re not homophobic, Court. They just don’t know where to draw the line.”

She cast a pointed look towards both Willam and Bianca. The latter actually received quite a withering glare. Willam might be used to teasing Courtney like this but Bianca really ought to know better, Alaska reasoned.

Before withdrawing back to her seat, she offered a reassuring smile to Courtney. To her relief, Courtney didn’t seem as overwhelmed any more. She was able to return the gesture with a shaky smile of her own but she didn’t seem to trust herself to speak just yet.

Alaska’s glare seemed to have some kind of effect on Bianca, thankfully. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat then offered up a small apology to her roommate.

“It’s fine,” Courtney replied blankly, picking up her textbook again and trying to find where she last left off.

Alaska tried sending another glare down Willam’s way but she only rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. Alaska gave a heavy sigh and shook her head. Lost cause, she figured. But to her surprise, only a second or two after she turned her attention back to her laptop, she heard Willam saying in a shocking bout of sincerity, “Sorry, Court.”

It was reluctant, that much was clear in her voice, but she meant it. Courtney seemed equally as surprised by the apology as Alaska was. Her acceptance sounded rather stunned and amazed, if a bit cautious still. 

When Alaska glanced back towards Willam, she found her roommate staring at her with an odd expression. It was difficult to decipher but it almost looked…embarrassed? No, not quite that. Not ashamed, either.

Contrite.

That’s what it was.

Alaska had actually managed to make her feel guilty for teasing Courtney. A feat that seemed almost impossible to the both of them. And yet here it was.

Willam’s eyes darted away for a moment but once they returned to watch Alaska, the latter gave her roommate an approving nod of her head before returning to her business. If Courtney would accept her apology, then so would Alaska. Though she couldn’t deny there was still some queasiness in her stomach…especially when her thoughts trailed back to Willam and Bianca’s kiss.

But those thoughts didn’t belong in Alaska’s head. Instead she forced herself to think about other things. It didn’t sound as if Courtney had completely forgiven Bianca yet. They actually remained quiet towards one another for another hour, even after Willam turned on the TV and traded loud, sarcastic commentary with everyone else.

But by late afternoon, when Courtney had gotten up to retrieve another drink from the kitchen and Bianca followed, Alaska had the chance to witness their true reconciliation. She was a bit suspicious that Bianca had followed so closely behind but she noticed that again, Willam seemed blind to it. She was so focused on the trashy reality show on the TV, Alaska doubted that even realized anyone had left the couch.

Craning her neck, Alaska was able to subtly watch her roommates talking in the kitchen. She couldn’t hear them but she had a guess as to what they were saying. Bianca looked truly apologetic, even a little upset herself, while Courtney’s gaze was focused solely on her drink. Her eyes seemed a bit sad and dull to Alaska.

She watched anxiously as Courtney lifted her gaze to look Bianca dead in the eyes. Then those magic words played out on Bianca’s lips; “I’m sorry.”

Alaska didn’t need to hear them to know that was what she said nor that she truly meant it. There was a tense pause…then a slow, bittersweet smile rose to Courtney’s lips. She nodded her head just so and said something back that set Bianca’s nerves at ease. Bianca visibly relaxed at what she had heard and pulled Courtney in for a hug. As it was returned, Alaska would swear she saw Bianca’s lips moving once again but what she could be saying, Alaska could only speculate.

Shifting back to the TV, Alaska tuned in again just in time to hear another one of Willam’s hilarious, if slightly ridiculous,  commentaries. She laughed along with Willam, returned a jab of her own at the played up drama, and let herself relax with the newly restored peace.

******

The fear of midterms were now looming on the horizon…well, it was still like a month away but as Alaska found out all too dramatically freshman year, these kinds of things have a way of sneaking up on you. If you weren’t careful that is. 

Bianca was careful. Alaska was careful. Hell, even Courtney was somewhat careful. Willam though…

Alaska had yet to see her crack open a textbook for more than 10 minutes. Often she’d just pull one aside, sometimes open, sometimes not, and leaned over it with her phone in hand. She probably spent more time posting about studying than actually participating in it.

That frustrated Alaska. By now she knew all too well that Willam still had not chosen a major yet. She seemed to feel no pressure to pick out any particular field of study, or even just to study. Her grades seemed decent enough…so what was the problem?

She knew it wasn’t any of her business but she felt some concern for her friend. She wanted Willam to do well. She knew she could, if she had the right motivation. That was why Alaska kept reminding her about midterms, hoping she’d take the hint and finally look at her textbooks. But Willam’s only response was a carefree shrug, maybe a small noise of acknowledgement, and then she’d go right back to staring at her screen. 

All of this would cause Alaska to groan in frustration but she wasn’t ready to give up just yet. She kept reminding Willam of the upcoming exams and finally Willam agreed to accompany Alaska to the library. Unsurprisingly, however, she failed to bring a single book or a laptop with her.

While Alaska diligently took notes from her psychology textbook, Willam scrolled through Instagram, chuckling to herself and trying to find the best light for selfies.

Well, at least she got Willam through the door. That was some kind of progress, right?

After about two hours or so of being bent over her textbook, Alaska stood up to stretch, and Willam immediately perked up. “You done?” she asked gleefully, “Wanna go out? It’s two for one margarita night at Twist.”

Alaska shook her head, chuckling.

“I don’t think midweek margaritas are the best choice for me,” she said. As Willam’s expression fell into a pout, she added, “But I could go for some coffee. Wanna walk over to the café?”

“Yeah, I guess that’ll do,” Willam said, standing up and helping her gather her things.

By the time they finally sat down at the cafe with their lattes, Willam was practically dancing in her seat.

“Have you checked Instagram?” she asked giddily, blue eyes sparkling.

“Oh god, what have you posted?” Alaska asked, picking up her phone. She opened Willam’s story, and soon found herself scrolling through multiple selfies, followed by an elaborate, goofy stop motion story of two of her own highlighters going camping under a dictionary. The second to last frame was a shot of Alaska herself looking up from her notes.

‘You’re not taking a picture of me, are you?’ she asked, head tilted. An animated crown gif sat atop her head, the foreground filled with fat adorable bunnies rolling around.

‘Of course not!’ Willam said.

The last shot was Willam, flipping the camera back to herself and giving a mischievous, lopsided grin.

“You’re so dumb,” Alaska laughed, shaking her head.

“So, you liked it?” Willam asked, smile spreading across her face.  

“Yeah, very creative,” Alaska said. 

Willam was beaming by now. A perfectly happy smile that even reached her eyes. It was cute, Alaska realized, Willam was cute. Impulsively, she then leaned forward and planted a kiss on Willam’s mouth. Her finger tucked itself under Willam’s chin for just a moment before pulling back.

The first thing she saw was Willam’s comically widened eyes; she was in a state of complete shock. “What…what do you…I-” she stammered, and Alaska giggled.

“Calm down,” she assured her roommate, “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

Willam let out a braying laugh at that. “Touché, bitch.”

With that goofy grin back on her lips, she leant in for a kiss of her own. Each could feel the other smiling into the kiss. Willam could’ve sworn she must have been drunk or fallen asleep back in the library in order for this to make sense. But every brush of Alaska’s fingertips across her bare arm or the feel of the material of Alaska’s skirt in her hand as it traveled up her thigh told her it was no dream.

Pulling away, just enough to speak, she suggested in a low voice, “Car?”

Alaska’s nod was immediate and in seconds they had grabbed all that they brought and were rushing back to the parking lot. They had the small presence of mind to relocate to the back of the lot, far away from where most cars would usually park, but following that, there was hardly a rational thought left between them. The hook up was messy and quick, neither of them getting any more undressed than necessary. Part of it was fear of being spotted, most of it was simply impatience.

It took very little for either of them to get worked up. Between the frantic, sloppy kisses, the desperate pawing to remove just some of their clothes, and the drunken high of just being able to touch one another…it was all over much too quickly. Their hair and clothes were in an absolute state by the time they managed to separate themselves enough to realize what they had done.

“That…” Alaska began, “That was something.”

“Yeah,” Willam agreed vacantly. Her mind felt elsewhere. She knew there were things to ask, things to be discussed but it was so hard to think right now. Not just because of the after-sex buzz but also because she truly and genuinely happy right now. She didn’t want to shatter that illusion, not yet.

“I had no idea how much I needed that.”

Willam let out a huff of a laugh. “Really?” Alaska nodded. Her lips curled into an almost self-conscious grin. It was kind of adorable, Willam had to admit. Scratching the back of her head, she commented airily, “Well, anytime.”

Alaska’s eyes lit up with cautious consideration. “Yeah?” she inquired.

There was a loaded pause. Willam could hear the blood pounding in her ears. As much as she tried to ignore it, something in her felt giddy and overexcited. She wouldn’t have thought Alaska would consider this to be more than a one time thing and yet…just maybe…“Yeah,” she finally confirmed, keeping her voice level and steady.

That seemed to be all there was to say for the longest time. Each was slowly coming down from their high and trying to sort out the mess that was their hair and makeup. Or at least Alaska was. Willam still felt in too much of a daze to care at this point. 

She remained lost in her thoughts until Alaska ventured, ���We…Should we tell the others about this?”

“No-Yes! I mean…eventually, yeah, we have to but for right now, maybe just-”

“Our little secret?” Alaska proposed with a sly grin.

“Definitely,” Willam agreed with relief in her voice, glad to be on the same page. She really wasn’t sure how she could even explain this to their roommates. But that was a problem for another day.

She figured that’d be the end of this, at least for now, but Alaska managed to completely shock her by saying, “I really don’t want this to be the only time though. Is that okay?”

Willam’s heart was racing. She looked at Alaska long and hard trying to find any trace of this being a joke. She couldn’t get her hopes up like only to have them dashed away. But Alaska looked sincere, honest…She really wanted this…As casually as she could, Willam forced out, “Um, sure. Whenever.”

The smile she received shot straight through her soul. She was absolutely fucked and she knew it.

[foramomentonly]

@spaceskam So, your Jealous Michael stream of consciousness fic was so good it inspired me. And then I got angsty. I humbly dedicate this to you since basically I’m just copying your brilliant style.

 If you are reading this and don’t know what I’m talking about do yourself a favor.

It’s not that Michael doesn’t like this new guy Forrest, per se. He doesn’t, but personal incompatibility is not the biggest issue. He’s not trying to be best friends with the guy. He just wants to go twenty minutes in his own damn town without seeing him. Is that really too freaking much to ask? And maybe also to not constantly find him hanging around Alex like a puppy on an invisible leash.

First, it’s Bean Me Up, where Michael stops in one early morning to pick up coffee and pastries with which to woo a justifiably still frosty Maria. There’s Alex, dressed for a run, nursing what Michael can only guess is a black coffee. And he’s with someone. Someone familiar. Someone with a really bad dye job and a very stupid cardigan. Seriously, this is small-town New Mexico, a place full of unironic cowboy hats, functional boots, and ugly plaid and turquoise everything. The only individuals with a real sense of style are Maria, with her boho patterns and bright colors and flowy pieces, and more recently Alex, with his military-fashion boots and dark, tapered jeans and that fucking leather jacket. At least he’s not wearing the jacket. But all this to say you can’t just throw on a dull, shapeless cardigan and dig up some boxed hair dye from Alex’s high school medicine cabinet and call it a look. But Alex doesn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t seemed to mind at the ranch when they first meet Forrest, either. When Forrest was two steps from getting on his knees if Alex so much as asked to borrow a pen and Alex pretended not to notice and Michael glowered at them both. And now Alex is smiling at something Forrest says and raising a perfect brow, and when he catches Michael’s eye he doesn’t hold his gaze. Michael grabs his order and stalks off, and of course, it’s Forrest who runs out to tell him he forgot to pay.

***

Bean Me Up is just the first time. A few weeks later he’s finishing up at the lab with Liz and Kyle, and Isobel is hanging around because she’s not working right now and she doesn’t have much else to do.

“All right,” Kyle says, “if we’re done, I’ve got to head out. I’m meeting Alex at the high school track.”

“What for?” Isobel asks.

“Cardio,” Kyle beams, and Michael rolls his eyes. Who gets that excited about a hamster wheel for adults?

“Can I join?” Isobel asks, and, oh right. Isobel does these days.

Kyle says, “…yes?” uncertainly and Isobel flutters her eyelashes at him like good answer. Liz announces she’s coming to “the ab parade” too, and Michael wonders if she’s been sampling her drawer wine already. But the whole gang is game, so he is, too. He’s a joiner.

They get to the track and Alex is stretching idly in one of those sporty bro get-ups—shorts, athletic shoes, and the tee-shirt that’s been cut into an extremely baggy tank top that has more functionality as a wind tunnel than actual clothing. He looks relaxed and tan, and he has a prosthetic Michael hasn’t seen before; he guesses it’s specifically for athletics. He’s objectively admiring the view when Alex grins at someone to his left and Michael looks over and it’s fucking Forrest in a college tee-shirt and a fucking sweatband. He points to their group and Alex turns, smiling uncertainly.

“Do we have an audience?” he asks.

“Isobel asked to join us. I don’t know what these two are doing,” Kyle explains, holding his hand out to Forrest like it’s the most natural thing in the world for Alex to have company that isn’t one of them or dressed in army fatigues and letting him order them around. “Good to see you again, man. You running with us?”

Forrest grips Kyle’s hand, and these two fuckers would be BFFs.

“Yeah, if it’s cool with you,” he says, “I’ve been meaning to get more active-”

“Been pretty active lately,” Alex murmurs, smirking, and Michael literally gags. Alex shoots him a dark look.

“-and Alex suggested a run would be a good place to start.”

Kyle is spouting off fitness theories or whatever to Forrest and Isobel, and Liz wanders toward the bleachers, leaving Alex and Michael effectively alone.

“You got a problem, Guerin?” Alex asks, tone forced casual.

“You pick up a boyfriend since I saw you last, private?” he replies.

Alex, little shit that he is, has the audacity to laugh.

“No,” he says, “but I’ll be sure to update my Facebook status for you the second I do.” 

***

That’s the thing, too. Alex won’t admit he’s dating this tragic librarian loser. He doesn’t say anything to anyone. He brings F-word to The Pony where they sit on stools at the bar facing each other and practically fellating their bottlenecks from what Michael can tell from over the pool table, where he’s pretending to line up a shot; Alex has apparently introduced him to all their friends and Arturo, if their biweekly lunches at the Crashdown are any indication; and they text non-stop, Alex’s phone constantly buzzing in the pocket of his fatigues or the cupholder of the Jeep where he stores it while driving them to the library or the Project Shephard bunker, or dropping Michael off at the Airstream. 

“Want me to check that for you?” Michael asks when it buzzes three times in a row during a food run for what they now call the Secret Science Lab, thanks to Cam’s big mouth and Liz’s continuing mortification.

“No,” Alex says easily, “it’s Forrest. It’s unrelated.”

“Could be an emergency,” Michael goads, “what if he needs you to help him touch up his roots? ”

Alex glares.

“Spoiler alert: He needs you to help him touch up his roots,” Michael says in an exaggerated whisper.

“You could be a little less subtle, you know,” Alex says.

“What?”

“This whole ‘jealous ex’ thing,” he says, jaw clenched. “It’s getting old.”

“We’re not exes,” Michael says, “we’re bros. And I’m just looking out for you. Bro.”

Alex rolls his eyes.

“Well, look somewhere else. I’m good.”

Michael grits his teeth, tries to forget that they once told each other I don’t look away and that Alex absolutely remembers.

***

It officially becomes too fucking much when Forrest is at his house. Not the actual guy, though that would be bad enough, but his junk. Michael drops off some documents for Alex one night and asks to use the bathroom. Alex shrugs and steps aside to let him pass. Alex likes a neat space; he grew up in a military household with his fucking psychopath of a father and old habits die hard or sometimes not at all. So Michael notices immediately when there is just stuff lying around. Some folders scattered across the low coffee table; a glass on the side table still dripping condensation onto the wood; an ugly Forrest green sweater draped over the back of a chair in the kitchen. These things are very much not Alex’s, but there they are strewn around Alex’s space like half of a What’s Different About These Two Images puzzle come to life. 

Michael scoffs and says, “You know if I find his toothbrush in there I’m gonna use it to clean the toilet?”

Alex stiffens and his knuckles go white around the handle of his crutch.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he hisses, and Michael realizes too late that Alex is carrying all the markings of a crappy day in the rigid set of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, and the way he leans heavily on his crutch as though he’s too proud to admit he would rather be resting. But they’ve been dancing around this massive, electric blue elephant between them for too long, and Michael isn’t going to back down now. Not his style.

“Oh, just that you apparently have a live-in boyfriend you didn’t bother to tell anyone about,” he says, lifting his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “No big deal.”

“So what if I do? Where are you parking your Airstream these days, Guerin?”

Michael avoids the question by pointing at the glass still sweating on the table and asking, “Be honest, did he jump out the back window when I knocked?”

“Why would he?” Alex spits. “He belongs here. You don’t.”

They both pause, their anger deflating at his words that hit a little too close to the core of what they definitely are not actually arguing about.

“You can’t just bring someone into our lives like it’s nothing, Alex,” Michael says, switching tactics.

“I would never tell him anything,” Alex answers, taking a hesitant step forward. “You know that. I would never.”

I would never tell.

I never look away.

I loved you. For a long time.

Michael hates the past tense. But the present sucks pretty hard right now, too. 

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles and turns back toward the front door. “Think I’m just gonna hold it. Have a good night, Alex.”

“Guerin-”

“Tell Forrest I said hello.”

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Tests and Rice

First, Previous, Ao3

Word count: 1175

Warnings: Blood, Gore, (Food)

Logan watched the blood slowly drip onto the concrete floor. He put the voice recorder up to his mouth.

"Experiment unsuccessful. Subject bleeding strongly from ears, nose, mouth and left pupil," he poked the right leg. It wobbled. "Bones apparently splintered. Will have to take a closer look."

He set the recorder down again.

Slowly he took ahold of the subjects head and pushed it up. The skull moved, losing its shape slightly but he managed to look them in the empty eyes.

"How disappointing. I was honestly hoping this time it'd work. The bones are new but still not what I need."

He sighed and dropped the head.

"At least bone meal has a few uses."

Logan whipped away a splash of blood that had landed on his face and frowned at it. Cleaning all of his equipment would be a pain. He'd found a couple of ways to make it easier over the years but it was still the worst part of his research.

From upstairs he heard the front door fall shut.

"I'm home!" Virgil announced loudly.

Logan took off his bloodied lab coat and the gloves and made his way up the basement stairs, careful not to get any blood on anything.

"You were out late," he remarked as soon as Virgil was in his line of sight. "Did something happen?"

Virgil shook his head. "Mate of mine just needed some help."

He looked up from where he had taken off his shoes and frowned.

"I thought you said you didn't want to take work home anymore?"

Logan glanced down at his hands again. Some blood had leaked through his gloves again. He'd really need to get better ones.

"Sorry. It was just one subject. A failure too. I'll do my best to get rid of him by tomorrow," he promised. "I lost track of time so I didn't prepare anything for dinner but if you're very hungry we could eat out."

"Nah, I'm good," Virgil said. "How about you wash your hands and I check what we have?"

"Alright, then," Logan went on to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

He still wanted to examine the body further so he'd have to get it to a safe house. He knew why Virgil didn't like him conducting his experiments at home and understood it very well, the main reason being police and other people who might find blood, equipment or subjects. Still, having to drag a dead body through the city would suck. Maybe he could ask a thug or someone who owed him a favour to do most of the work for him.

That would certainly make it easier for him.

He washed his hands, wet a towel and used it to clean his face before throwing it in the bloody laundry bin, that was probably a lot bigger than socially acceptable, especially since neither of them had periods.

Virgil was looking through the fridge as he came into the kitchen. He had set out a bag of rice on the counter.

"We still have some leftover meat," he said. "Could mix it with the rice."

"Sounds good to me," Logan shrugged and got out a pot.

"We also still have some spaghetti and tomato sauce but we should probably safe that for your romantic candlelight dinner with Patton," Virgil added.

"Really?" Logan huffed. "For the last time, I might have romantic feelings for Patton but he does not have feelings for me and therefore I will just ignore them."

Virgil booed. "Codswallop! Just fucking elope! You both want to!"

He slammed the fridge shut.

"Confess! Your! Feelings! Or I swear to god I'll go to that flower shop and tell him that you're stupidly in love with him!"

"You will do no such thing," Logan said. opening the rice.

"Then you'll finally confess?"

Logan opened his mouth and closed it again.

"I don't want to ruin our friendship," he finally said.

"Everyone and their mother can tell that you are in love with each other. The only way you'll ruin your friendship is by turning it into a relationship."

Logan focused on food to avoid looking at Virgil.

"Do you really think so?" he finally asked.

"Yes! Fuck, yes!" Virgil yelled. "I've been trying to tell you that for years!"

"Alright," Logan took a deep breath. "I might ask him out for a coffee tomorrow."

"Is this heaven? Did I die?" Logan didn't have to look to see that Virgil was grinning brightly. "I didn't think I'd be allowed in heaven!"

"If there is a heaven, neither of us is getting in," Logan stated.

Virgil chuckled. "I'd rather hang with Lucifer anyway. He seems like a decent bloke."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes.

"I finished that assignment you gave me, by the way," Virgil said after a while.

"Ah, did you have any problems?"

"Nah, no really."

"Okay, then I'll take a look at it later," Logan promised.

While they ate Logan turned on the news. Sleep and Psyche were at the mall uptown, starting shit while showing off to any and all homophobes in a 100-mile radius that they were gay and in love just like they always did.

"I wonder what they'll pull when they get engaged," Virgil said. "They'll definitely make sure that the entire city knows."

"If Sleep doesn't make everyone hallucinate rainbows for at least the next two weeks he's probably been replaced by a clone," Logan added.

"Two months for homophobes."

"Oh, look, Heartrate has arrived."

"Who's that with him?" Virgil frowned at the two smaller figures. "Does Heartrate have sidekicks now?"

"Looks like it," Logan raised an eyebrow. "And two at the same time, too."

"Maybe there was a sale," Virgil joked. "I wonder what they call themselves."

"I hope they won't be too much of a problem for me," Logan decided to watch the clip later again. Maybe then he could pick up on their different fighting styles. "But maybe I'll be able to do some tests on them. I don't think I've ever used subjects that young."

He nearly bit his tongue. That wasn't exactly true.

"Do you think age will make a difference?" Virgil asked. So he really didn't remember.

"I'm not sure. I won't know until I test it," Logan forced out.

"They're not bad," Virgil said as the sidekicks took down Psyche.

"But they just pissed off Sleep, so they can't be too clever. And they're obviously very inexperienced."

To Logan's disappointment, Heartrate took down Sleep before he could get to either of the teens. It was a bit anticlimactic in his opinion.

The news station switched topics and began talking about some sport he didn't care about, so he switched it off again.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Logan asked.

"I'm meeting a friend after he's done with school. Other than that not really," Virgil shrugged. "Why?"

"Do you think you could go get groceries?"

"Okay, sure. But you have to tell me how asking Patton out went. I want details."

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake

[suncityblues]

No Do Overs

Dean/Cas + Sam   6k words  https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034862 

Sam and Dean end up renting a house just outside Saint Cloud, Minnesota. It’s a single storey brick building with a little fireplace and a big backyard. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen. A living room with enough space for a couch, a tv, and a bookshelf. Ugly yellow-tan walls and blue checkered tablecloths, Bob Ross knock offs and seashell art.

It reminds them a bit of the motel rooms they had grown up in. Uniformal and familiar in some ways, a clean slate in others.

“Cozy,” Dean says sarcastically on their first walk through. “Hah, yeah,” Sam agrees with a huffy laugh, trying to disentangle himself from a low hanging seashell themed windchime.

Six months later they’re still living there. One closet is filled with weapons and other hunter ephemera, and there are sigils and protective warding where they need to be, but from the outside everything looks exactly the same. They’re just two adult brothers and a shaggy dog living in a house that looks like it was decorated by their grandma. Sam’s talked about maybe getting a plant or putting up the free calendar they got with their purchase from the dog food store but doesn’t seem to ever get around to it, and Dean doesn’t even pretend to settle in. As cliche as it sounds, when push comes to shove neither of them really know how to make a house into a home.

But they’re trying.

They’re trying because everything they did, every hurt and every loss they suffered, they did to get to this place. And never in a million years did they think they’d get this far, or feel this free, and it’s not an easy adjustment. There’s a loss there too, the dream they’d held on to for so long is real, and has gutters that need to be cleaned, and a dog that needs to be walked, and now they have to make up new things to hope for.

And, they’re trying for Jack. Because Jack brought everything back, and everyone, to make them happy. To give them the life they wanted. Sam and Dean know they don’t owe Jack anything but they want to give him something. In some roundabout way they want to make him proud.

They hear through the grapevine that Jack brought Castiel back first. That it was Cas who scooped everyone who wanted to be scooped out of heaven and popped them back into existence outside the bunker, but the angel doesn’t stick around. He’s not at the big spontaneous party that ensues, and he doesn’t show up in the weeks afterward where everyone hangs around the bunker getting their bearings and planning out their new lives.

Most people courteously pretend to not pick up on how cranky this makes Dean, or how often he checks his phone. Except for Bobby who tells him he’s a dumbass in a way that somehow sounds apologetic, and Charlie who gives him a lopsided smile every time they’re in the same room. It makes Dean feel overly seen which he’s not sure he’s ready for, even though he knows they love him, so he’s grateful when people start to go their separate ways. Though there is, of course, an active group chat and almost daily phone calls.

In a dream Jack had pulled them each aside and told them this is it. No do-overs this time. This world is really real, and they’re going to grow old or die trying. Then, just like that, he’s off to his big home renovation in the sky, with a placid smile and a “catch ya later.” It gives everyone a lot to think about, and a very bizarre and specific feeling of knowing God’s phone number.

Sam and Dean decide to leave the bunker, and retire. Maybe temporarily, or maybe permanently, they’re not sure. They collectively decide they need a break, at the very least, and they’ll figure the rest of it out from there. They don’t say it out loud but they don’t need to after so many years: they want to know what the world can look like without the constant pressing fear of death, or their father, or great cosmic importance.

The first house they find with a sweet elderly landlord who accepts suspect money orders and doesn’t do background checks is in St. Cloud. Eileen stays with them for a few weeks and then realizes she can’t do it, domesticity is not the thing she hoped it would be, and returns to the bunker. It makes Sam sad, and a little sullen, but he understands and doesn’t fault her for leaving.

Dean doesn’t bring it up.

—

Sam decides to get a day job to distract himself, and reliably pay their bills without having to scam credit cards or hustle pool anymore. His fake ID says Sam Westen.

Sam Westen has a business degree from a Canadian college no one’s ever heard of and works in insurance billing for the local hospital. He wouldn’t call them friends but his coworkers are pleasant. Not too nosey about why he doesn’t have an accent, or why he lives with his brother at the age of thirty nine.

When they do ask conversationally about how he came to move there, he considers lying and saying his great aunt left them the house when she passed, but he knows from experience these communities are small enough that little lies can come back to bite him in the ass so instead he says, “We’re both trying to get back on our feet after breakups.” In some ways it’s true, and Sam is actually a little relieved to not be making it up.

Finding things in common with his coworkers, or anyone really, is a challenge but he doesn’t hate hearing about the friendly ER nurse’s kid or breakroom speculation about whether or not it’ll snow, as much as he expected he would. One day it sneaks up on him that he can see himself moving forward, and maybe making a life here. St. Cloud is as good as anywhere, really.

He worries he’s compartmentalizing too much though, but he’s not sure how else to adjust to a world that’s not ending imminently. He’s never had to think about global warming before, or a 401K, but he’s doing his best.

—

Dean, on the other hand, prefers to mope.

At night when everything is quiet he can hear the distant sound of cars on the highway from his bed and sometimes it gets too much for him and he’ll take off. Only for a day or two, and always with a note left for Sam on the table or stuck to the fridge. He could text or say something but he’s afraid Sam might try and stop him, or talk to him about his feelings.

Dean’s not stupid, he’s noticed how Sam’s brow furrows at him when he thinks Dean can’t see. They know each other better than anyone else, and Dean can sense there’s only so much time before Sam’s patience runs out and they have a fight or a drunken heart-to-heart or both. Dean’s trying to stretch the remaining time out for as long as he can.

When he leaves, he drives aimlessly. Music loud, just him and the road, like how it used to be in that narrow space before everything happened when Sam was in school and his father had cut him loose. It was lonely at times but the grip of the steering wheel made him feel safe and like he had a purpose, like he was doing things for a reason rather than just wasting time or avoiding his problems, and in a way it still does, so he always comes back to the car, and to the aimless driving.

He figures that if he had been given a different life he still would have wanted to spend it on the road. Maybe he would have been a trucker. Or a door to door salesman, charming lonely housewives into buying vacuum cleaners all over the nation. He knows it’s dangerous to dream about what the past could have been, that it just reminds him that he’s pushing forty-two years old and has no idea what to do with himself, but does it anyway. The other thing about aimless driving is that it has this way of bringing up buried thoughts and forcing Dean to process them, especially when he doesn’t want to.

He tends to think about the same couple of things on repeat. How at this age people are supposed to have families. A kid, a job, something, something. It’s an old wound for him, and he’s gotten tired of rubbing salt in it but there was a time when he wanted a normal life so badly it hurt to even think about. And now, with the possibility laid out for the taking he’s hesitant to pick it up, and that sucks too. He thinks he might be a little jealous of Eileen, figuring out what she truly wanted so quickly and then acting on it. Then he thinks about Lisa, but only for a moment.

He wishes he could become a new, different person. Someone who knows who they want to be, and how to not hurt everyone around him. Because, god, he is so fucking sick of being Dean Winchester.

And, he wishes Castiel would just pick up his goddamn cellphone.

Dean looks through the mirror at the back seat more often than he should, and especially when this line of thinking wiggles its way into his brain. He doesn’t find anything there, doesn’t expect to, but keeps looking anyway.

Dean’s seen glimpses of Castiel mentioned in the group chat, and it’s a relief. Apparently he talks to Charlie sometimes, but only in dreams and only on rare occasions. He’s not much for answering phones or prayers, but according to her seems okay, maybe a little busy helping Jack. She very deliberately mentions that heaven seems to have a minimal interference policy these days, but wants to know if Cas has appeared to anyone in person in a while. Anyone at all.

Dean doesn’t know how to read into the situation. He’s not sure if Cas is avoiding him because he has to, or because he wants to, or because he thinks Dean doesn’t want to see him. For a brief moment Dean had let himself believe that their communication problems were over, now that Cas had come back from the empty. Now that feelings had been spoken out loud, and finally put into concrete terms. Love. Romantic, explicit love. That maybe there was a happy ending for Dean Winchester, somewhere out there. But now he doesn’t know, and isn’t sure if he ever will, not if Cas keeps avoiding him. It doesn’t feel too good to think about.

When his mood starts to take this particular downturn Dean usually finds a bar, hustles pool to pay his tab and drinks for a while to clear his mind. If he gets too drunk he’ll find a motel, or crash in the Impala even though these days it makes his back ache like hell.

But, he’s still the same handsome, charming Dean Winchester and people come on to him often but he can’t bring himself to go home with any of them these days. Sometimes it’s because he’s too old for them. Sometimes it’s because they’re too drunk. When he can’t think of an excuse he slips out the door when they’re in the bathroom. Dick move, he knows.

He likes the steady hum of human interaction, and the freedom of never seeing these people after this night, but that’s it.

Except.

One night, at a biker bar in Lincoln, Nebraska Dean gets whiskey drunk. Feeling chaotic and sad and self destructive he says to the bartender, “I lost someone I loved recently, and I don’t think he’s ever coming back. And I’m pretty sure it’s my own damn fault for feeling like that. But, fuck, I wish he’d come back.”

He’s never said the words out loud like that before. It sobers him up immediately, because he’s in mixed company and who knows what kind of assholes are hanging around looking for a fight. Dean would have left right then and there if the bartender didn’t give him a beer and a shot on the house.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the bartender had said, and Dean knew he meant it. He was tall but not as tall as Dean, and tan, and thick lipped. Dark blue eyes, a bit of stubble. Terribly similar but not quite right. Still, Dean ended up staying until he was the only one left and halfway blacked out. At the end of the night the bartender had given him a pity handjob in the men’s room and then told him to head out so he could close up.

“But, hey, don’t drive tonight, okay?” he’d said, and that was that.

Before Dean passes out in the Impala he wonders if maybe he reminded the bartender of someone he’d lost, too.

—

Time keeps passing.

They’ve been in the house for nine months. It’s the dead of winter in Minnesota and everyday is somehow colder than the last one.

Sam has a girlfriend now. Her name is Mia, she’s blonde and wirey, has a seven year old kid named Leo and a deadbeat ex named Jonah. She’s a little damaged and rough around the edges but hard working, and smart. An ER nurse with a dark sense of humor, but under it all it’s easy to tell she’s an optimist, even when she has no reason to be. Dean likes her very much, and is happy for Sam.

But, Sam starts spending more time away from the house, and from Dean. It makes Dean feel like one of his organs is missing sometimes, but he resolves to get used to it, for Sammy’s sake.

Sam still gives him sad, searching looks when Dean comes back from a stint on the road, but says nothing. Dean pretends not to notice. They still haven’t had their fight, but the tension is palpable between them.

Dean thinks about getting a job but never follows through. He picks up smoking because, why not, he doesn’t have to keep himself in top hunting shape anymore, then quits. It’s too cold to hang around outside and it makes his lungs feel like shit, besides.

He gains healthy weight, and his cheeks look less hollowed out. He jogs with the dog and lifts weights to pass the time and somehow feels stronger than he used to be, but not as quick. He starts to feel like he’s inhabiting a stranger’s body, instead of his own, and doesn’t like that either.

Occasionally, Sam will gently suggest that Dean go out and meet someone. Download an app, maybe. Try and reach out again to… he never quite finishes the sentence. Sam intentionally doesn’t mention gender and the unspoken encouragement sits heavy and weird between them. Sam’s known for a long time and doesn’t care. He guesses everyone in his life knows, at this point. Dean’s tried to be subtle, with other men, with how he looked at Cas sometimes but it’s hard to keep things like that from the people who love you.

Still, it’s an uncomfortable subject to broach for the brothers, not because of the bisexuality thing but because it requires a level of emotional honesty and vulnerability neither of them have much experience with.

Sam just wants his big brother to be happy, to find someone, and to have something, anything to look forward to. Dean’s had that black mark on his heart his whole life, and Sam doesn’t think he can grieve Dean even one more time, or go through the rest of his life without his big brother to talk to. Not now.

It makes Dean feel guilty, like he’s hurting Sam by not being happy, because Sam is struggling too and worrying about Dean is just another issue on top of a mountain of issues. Besides, Dean is so, so tired of making Sam worry.

But he keeps up his disappearing act. He thinks it would probably be worse for them both if he didn’t.

—

Then, somewhere on the road between La Crosse and Dubuque, Dean sees a man in a trenchcoat standing under a streetlight. Dean stops the car but when he does a double take the man is gone.

It’s dark and Dean is tired so he tells himself he’s seeing things, and continues driving. He does not let himself hope.

—

It keeps happening though.

Small glimpses here and there. In a gas station in Boise, a dive bar in Pecatonica. Never in his car, which Dean is oddly grateful for, if only because he thinks he might be so irritated that he swerves off the road. But it pisses him off, all the same.

Because if Cas is going to come back like nothing happened and start acting like some kind of guardian angel, Dean is not going to play ball.

About a month in, Dean gets fed up and decides to pray. Just a simple: “Where are you?”

He gets nothing back. Life continues as normal. Dean can’t stop himself from feeling a little annoyed about it.

—

Then one day there he is. Poof. Just like that.

The microwave clock says 5:45 AM, and Dean is stumbling in after a long night. The grey-blue of early morning light comes in through the windows and there’s snow falling outside for the fourth day in a row. Castiel is sitting at the kitchen table, waiting patiently in the half-dark.

“Hello Dean,” he says.

Dean pauses, blinks slowly, and then silently walks past the angel and goes into his room to sleep. He thinks he can hear an irritated huff on his way out. Good.

About two hours later Sam shakes him awake.

“Cas is home” He says excitedly. Dean rolls out of bed. Reminds himself to make fun of Sam at a later date.

—

Something strange is happening in Altoona, Pennsylvania.

People are disappearing for days at a time, then reappearing as though nothing happened. The last thing any of them can remember is a flash of bright light over the Mill Run River. Claire is there checking it out and Castiel had been keeping an eye on her, and recently started providing an assist when needed. They’ve hit a dead end with their research.

“Claire suggested I come and ask you, I know you’re not in the game per se anymore but—“

“Aliens?” Sam cuts him off, incredulous. Dean can almost see the gears clicking together inside his brother’s head. “This isn’t the frickin X-files,” Dean kvetches. He’s still mad at Cas but he’s interested in the case, in solving the mystery, and he can’t seem to muster up the energy to make a big deal right now. He hates to admit it but seeing Cas alive and well in front of him replaces most of his anger with relief. Dean wishes dearly that he could reach out and touch him.

Cas nods slowly. “Claire’s been looking into it, but can’t seem to find any relevant patterns. I thought you two might know something.”

Dean puts on a pot of coffee while Sam gets his laptop.

No one says anything about Castiel disappearing on them for almost an entire year, or asks why he decided to show up in person for something that could have easily been a phone call, or even why Claire never thought to tell anyone Cas was spending time with her. But Sam is watching them both with a kind of intensity that makes Dean think he might get a sunburn on the back of his head from the heat of it. Cas doesn’t seem to notice.

The best explanation they can come up with is a Spooklight. A soul trapped searching for a lost lover. Relatively harmless, a standard salt and burn once they locate the bones.

“Huh,” Sam says after he reads the definition out loud. If Dean didn’t know better he’d think his brother sounded a little smug.

Castiel thanks them and then he’s gone. In the distance Dean hears the clink of the seashell wind chimes on the front porch.

“Huh,” Sam says again, this time in Dean’s direction, “I thought there’d be more yelling.”

Dean ignores him and gets himself a breakfast beer, while Sam texts the group chat.

—

Castiel returns occasionally after that, usually with questions about a hunt he could probably answer himself. He’s been keeping an eye on Claire it seems, keeping her safe, though he knows he should just let things take their course like he’s supposed to. But he has some Claire-related guilt to work through, and it’s not like he has to follow any rules in heaven anymore, anyway. He is God’s dad, after all.

At some point Sam asks why Castiel stayed away for so long, and Cas replies simply, “I had thought you might like some time to adjust.” Sam gets a little huffy, but makes Cas promise not to do it again. They are both studiously avoiding Dean’s direction when they talk.

Later, Sam speculates to Dean that Castiel is in the same boat as they are: not fully able to accept everything is over. And, maybe a little bored.

Sam has said “I wish he’d just come home, and stay here,” so many times and in such a pointed way that it makes Dean want to hit him or break something.

More recently, Cas has come by just to say hello, but only ever when Sam is home. Because Sam had specifically asked him to, and Castiel doesn’t like saying no to his friends. They’ll watch TV or talk about Sam’s coworkers and sometimes Castiel will talk about a particularly interesting hunt he’d helped Claire with, and then stop himself, and ask if it’s okay to continue. Both Winchesters listen with rapt attention, and always ask for more details. Cas has met Mia and they get along, he’s even babysat Leo so Sam and her can go to an R rated movie. Mia’s never asked Dean to babysit. When Dean finds out he’s not jealous but he is something.

Dean finds himself staying around the house more in case Cas stops by while he’s out. He goes a whole month without leaving, a record for him. He can tell Sam’s noticed, and is pleased. They still haven’t had their fight.

Castiel continues to pop up in the corner of Dean’s eye from time to time when he’s out, until one day Dean gets fed up and yells “Knock it off!” To a very confused Buffalo Wild Wings employee.

Dean has to tip extra to make up for it and mentally adds it to Cas’ tab. He thinks it’s around a million billion dollars now.

—

It’s early spring, and still unbearably cold outside.

Dean now owns a pair of sturdy waterproof boots that are fuzzy on the inside. They’re so warm that he doesn’t even care that they’re ridiculous and girly. If he’s got to shovel and salt the walkway for the third time that week, he’ll be damned if he’s going to do it with cold feet.

Dean could pretend to be surprised when Castiel pops into existence on their front porch but there’s no point. Almost nothing surprises him, and hasn’t for a long time.

“Dean” Castiel says grimly, “I apologize if I offended you.”

It takes Dean a moment to even remember what Cas is talking about.

“Is this about Buffalo Wild Wings, man?” He asks. He keeps his tone light, like an exasperated joke.

Castiel nods. “Yes.”

Dean exhales loudly through his nose.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, to make sure you were adjusting well, but I didn’t realize I was being so… conspicuous,” Cas continues with a head tilt.

Dean doesn’t think this is completely true, Cas can become an invisible wave of celestial intent on a whim but Dean doesn’t want to argue about it.

“It’s whatever, Cas, but you know you can just text me if you want to check in, right?” Dean says carefully, “We’re, ah, we’re friends.” Then, with emphasis, “We’re family.” He knows those aren’t the words he wants to say, and feels a sharp pang at the unhappy look on Cas’ face when he repeats Dean with a nod, “Friends.” But Dean doesn’t know what else to call them. It’s been almost a year of radio silence.

He still wants to get mad, he wants to yell and and throw things and ask Cas what the fuck happened back then, to please just spell out how he feels, but the truth is, Dean’s not sure he’s brave enough to hear the answer. You don’t avoid someone for a year for no reason and it’s all kind of a headache.

Dean realizes belatedly that this is the first time Cas has come to visit when Sam isn’t around to referee. He stands in the snow and wants to tell Cas to stay and watch an old movie with him but can’t seem to find the words so he just keeps shoveling. He thinks about putting his arm around Cas. He thinks about leaning over and kissing him during the closing credits. Then, he feels stupid and embarrassed. He doesn’t need to look up to know Castiel is gone.

About forty five minutes later Dean takes off for the first time in a long while. He forgets to leave Sam a note and wakes up in Minot to five missed calls.

Just another fuckup for Dean to add to his ever growing list of fuckups.

—

Castiel stays away for a few weeks after that, and Dean can’t help himself from taking it out on innocent bystanders. Usually it’s Sam, sometimes it’s dinner plates, other times it’s Jim Beam.

When he finally reappears in the kitchen it’s as smooth a landing as it always is, but Cas seems a little off kilter. When Sam asks about it, Cas brushes him off. Sam doesn’t press the issue, and instead asks about how Claire is doing.

Dean is cooking some eggplant recipe Sam printed out from the internet and pretends not to be listening as intently to their conversation as he is.

Mia and Leo are on their way over for dinner and Dean has the sinking realization he’s been lured into a trap. Cas would never say no to doing a favor for Sam, even if it’s just to pretend to eat during a family dinner. Dean has no excuse. He really should have known something was up when Sam told him to double the recipe and he can’t believe he’s stuck cooking dinner for his own trap. Typical.

Dean gets a beer from the fridge to drink while he cooks.

“Hey, Cas” he says on his way. He cautiously pats Cas on the shoulder.

“Hello, Dean” Castiel replies.

—

Dinner isn’t as awkward as Dean had expected.

Mia tells a grizzly story about an ER case involving a wood chipper and a truckload of watermelons which enthralls Dean. Castiel covers Leo’s ears while she tells it, but nods along, fascinated. Sam’s heard the story before but enjoys the company, and he keeps looking hopefully between Dean and Castiel. Dean pretends not to notice, but some part of him wants to chuck a fork at Sam’s head.

After dinner they eat a fudgy cake Mia had brought and watch a movie about a gruff-yet-socially-inept detective trying to solve his wife’s murder. It’s boring, and Dean’s seen this kind of movie a million times before so he gets a beer and takes it outside to drink. The weather is finally warm enough that the snow’s melted into sloppy mud but cold enough that Dean needs to wear a jacket.

Still, it’s nice to not be stuck inside all the time anymore. Dean thinks he’s officially over midwestern winters.

He’s not surprised when Cas joins him. He has a beer in his hand too, which Dean knows is actually for him. Just keeping up appearances for the unsuspecting humans, as Castiel likes to do, but he’s forgotten to pretend to need a coat. Dean doesn’t bother telling him to get one since Mia is so busy snuggling into Sam’s side that she probably didn’t notice anything.

They sit on the back porch in silence for a while, watching the stars.

After a moment Castiel says, “You know, Dean, I heard your prayer. I’m sorry I didn’t come. I wasn’t sure if you...” he trails off.

“What, in the car?” Dean asks. “That was nothing, no big” he shakes it off like it didn’t put him in a bad mood for a week afterwards.

”In the bar” Castiel corrects, “In Lincoln.”

”Oh,” is all Dean can muster. He’s a little embarrassed Cas saw that but doesn’t let it show.

They’re quiet again, then Cas turns towards him. He starts to say something but Dean shakes his head and Castiel stops.

Dean drinks a few more beers, and then sneaks two fingers of whiskey while Sam walks Mia to her car. Castiel stays by Dean’s side. It feels like old times. They shoot the shit, and Cas even laughs at Dean’s jokes. Dean didn’t realize how much he missed the sound.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the late hour, but Dean falls asleep with his head on Cas’ shoulder. He wakes up a few hours later hungover and sour mouthed but warm, unnaturally so. Castiel is still next to him. He smiles benevolently down at Dean. Dean smiles back.

He acts on autopilot and presses a chaste good-morning kiss to Cas’ lips, like he always wanted to do. Because this world is real now, and maybe he can do that. Just once, so he knows what it feels like.

Then Castiel disappears, and Dean falls out of the chair.

—

Dean can tell Sam’s disappointed in him when Dean says he fell asleep outside.

“That’s it?” Sam asks “You just fell asleep?” He cocks his head, “Nothing else happened?” “Nope,” Dean confirms, tensely. He hates this conversation deeply. “Oh. Cas didn’t say goodbye, so I thought maybe—“

Sam’s trying to tiptoe around Dean’s own hang ups. Dean can tell he’s really trying.

Dean’s head is pounding as he gets himself a cup of coffee, takes a sip, then says fuck it and pours a bit of whiskey in it too. Hair of the dog and all that.

Sam huffs.

“You’re forty-two years old, Dean Winchester” he snaps. Dean knew this fight was a long time coming, and is honestly relieved it’s finally bubbled to the surface, but the difference between them right now is especially stark. Dean is unemployed, hungover, wearing yesterday’s clothes and drinking in the morning. Sam is ready for work, having already gone for a jog and showered. Dean can smell Sam’s fancy shower scrub from a few feet away. Sandal wood.

Sam gets up and grabs his work bag, says “When are you ever going to grow up, Dean?” But doesn’t wait for an answer. Not like Dean would have one anyway.

Dean pours a little more whiskey into his coffee while he watches Sam pull out of the driveway in his used Ford. He thinks to text Castiel and apologize but then decides not to. He feels like a tool who is ruining everything all the time and totally incapable of changing, and he doesn’t know how to properly convey that in text form without sounding needy or unhinged.

Instead, Dean jerks off in the shower, gets dressed, and writes Sam a note. Then he gets in the Impala and takes off.

He makes it halfway to Bemidji before he breaks down and prays. He stops to piss on the side of the road in some no-name stretch of forest between Bakus and Akeley and when he gets back in the car Cas is there waiting for him in the passenger seat.

“Took you long enough,” Dean teases as he pulls back onto the road, but it’s an act and they both know it. “Dean.” Cas says his name like it’s a warning. Dean knows Cas might bail out at any moment, so he stops kidding around.

It helps Dean to have his eyes on the road while he’s talking. It settles him down, and it’s easier to say what he wants to say without having to make eye contact.

It still takes him a moment to compose himself.

“I’m sorry” he says, “for yesterday, I didn’t mean to upset you. And I don’t want you to disappear on me, on us, again.”

Cas is quiet. They don’t say anything for a long time. And then, sadly: “I was trying to be your friend Dean. I was trying to be family. Friends don’t kiss each other. But I wanted to kiss you, so I thought maybe...”

On a whim Dean turns and starts driving towards Grand Forks. Some lame joke about friends with benefits being totally valid bounces around in his brain but he doesn’t say it. When it becomes clear Castiel isn’t going to say anything else, Dean sighs.

“Listen, Cas, I’m bad at this. You know I’m bad at this. Talking. Feelings. All of it. But,” Dean doesn’t have to look over to make sure Cas is still there but does anyway, “I want to try. With you. For real. If you want.”

Dean can feel Castiel’s stare on him for a long time. He gets nervous so he goes on.

“And. And I wish I had told you how I felt years ago, I wish I had had the chance to-to make you happy,” Dean is glad he’s able to look at the road and not Castiel, “But, fuck, why didn’t you come back?”

“I’m sorry, Dean” Castiel relies, cautiously, “I should have. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me, and I was afraid, but I know now that was stupid.” A bitter pause, “I tried to give you space, to let you move on. And, Dean, you were supposed to move on, and forget me, and be happy.”

Dean’s not sure what to make of that, and doesn’t want Cas to disappear out of the car on him so he reaches over and grabs Cas’ hand in his. It’s warm.

The words don’t come easy so he hopes Cas hears the prayer: I could never, ever be happy if I didn’t have you here.

They keep driving in silence for a long time until Cas says: “Pull over there”, and points at a sign for a roadside diner just off the next exit, “I want French fries.”

This, Dean knows, is bullshit but he does what he’s told.

They eat French fries and drink stale coffee and talk.

On the way back to the car, Dean pushes Castiel up against the side of the Impala and kisses him and doesn’t care who sees. Castiel kisses back this time. Dean feels the happiest he has in a long, long time.

—

It’s the very end of summer and Mia is moving into the brick house with the little fireplace and the big backyard. She’s insisting on painting the walls, and getting rid of the seashell art. She keeps the Bob Ross knockoffs though, says she finds them calming after a stressful work day.

Leo is moving into Dean’s old room.

Sam bought a fold out couch for whenever Dean is back in town, and when they save up he promises they’ll move into a house with a guest room just for him. And Cas. And the dog.

Dean pats him on the shoulder. In exchange, Dean promises to check in with Sam every day, and call if they ever need help with anything. Dean plans to, and misses Sam already but knows it’s time.

Even after two years, everything Dean owns can fit in three duffel bags, one for clothes, and two for weapons. He puts them in the trunk of the Impala and looks up at the house one more time, then gets in. Cas is waiting for him in the passenger seat.

“Where to?” Dean asks. “Anywhere,” Cas replies.

And, so, Dean drives off aimlessly.

[goobergamer]

Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 4/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge.

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: Alcohol use in this chapter

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). Also crossposted to AO3.

Wash is a chronic homebody rapidly chewing through the books on his shelf and the TV shows he can stand to be semi-present for. The phone never rings when he’s there, but he still can’t help and check every morning and night hoping the voicemail light will have come on.

He’s pretty sure he saw a couple of his teammates when he was taken in by the medical team, half-coherent. No one has been in touch since, through his care or discharge. He’s not sure what he expects them to say. Wish you were here, xoxo? Sorry you’ve cracked? (He’s not crazy.) Thanks for compromising the mission, asshole? How could you have fucked up so badly?

Wash isn’t sure. But he thinks he’d take any of it over the dead light and the dial tone.

---

It just keeps getting hotter as they approach midsummer, and one day when Wash steps outside straight into a wall of humidity, Sarge joins him only to suggest that he come inside for coffee so they don’t just up and die on the porch from the weather.

Wash is pleasantly surprised when Sarge gives him a tour of the downstairs space; it’s cluttered, but not a junk pile as he may have guessed. Rather, the home looks lovingly lived-in. A card table is open in the corner of the living room, with parts and tools for some sort of electronics project scattered across it. The TV stand is covered in small piles of DVDs; at quick glance Wash sees serious war documentaries mingling with old family sitcoms.

Of course, it still shows little signs of Sarge’s quirkiness beyond the multiple locks on the door. Despite the gun cabinet standing against the wall with his scarlet beret sitting atop it, there’s a shotgun casually leaned up against the coffee table that Wash only hopes has the safety on. Everything that can come in different colors is red in Sarge’s apartment; upholstery, painted wood, you name it. There’s a strawberry Yoo-hoo balanced on the couch armrest, and Wash halfway wonders if the flavor was chosen to fit the color scheme.

They take their coffee on very red chairs at the very red table in the kitchen. Sarge is polite enough to only harass Wash for two straight minutes about how he takes his coffee (“Washington, without sugar you’ll have no energy to defend yourself!” “Defend myself from what?”) The new location doesn’t change much until Wash asks, “Which way to your bathroom? Is your side of the duplex the same as mine?”

“Flipped. Upstairs to the left.”

When Wash walks into the bathroom, it takes him a moment to register what’s off. At first he thinks Sarge had installed a full-size towel rack above the sink, but after stepping closer, he sees that a bath towel has simply been strung across the medicine cabinet to cover it.

He remembered, Wash realizes. He remembered the mirror.

Something in his throat tightens, almost imperceptibly. It was a small, simple gesture, but an appreciated one all the same, at a time when the world feels minimal in its kindness.

---

When Wash hears a knock on his door early one evening, he only pauses a moment before opening it without the chain in place, having an easy enough guess of who it will be. “Hey, Sarge. Something you need?”

Sarge is leaning against the doorframe all too casually, an atypical grin splitting his face in two. “Washington, when was the last time you went out anywhere?”

Wash pauses for a moment, thinking. “I go running every day? Beyond that, I picked up groceries three days ago.”

Sarge switches battle tactics. “When was the last time you went somewhere to do something fun?”

Wash has a sinking, suspicious feeling he knows the ballpark where this is heading. “...I don’t mind grocery shopping.”

“...Well, that answers that.” Sarge chuckles. He doesn’t seem too surprised. Wash supposes he can’t really be insulted; a serious answer to Sarge’s question would have been ‘on shore leave over a year ago’.

“There’s a legion a couple towns over,” Sarge continues. “A few of the guys I know are catching up there tonight! There will be drinks! General merriment! And YOU are cordially invited!”

“I wouldn’t know any of the people there.”

“I can introduce ya’!”

Wash knows that Sarge isn’t the type to take no for an answer when his mind is set on something. And he has to acknowledge that he has become a hermit in the months since his discharge, to an unsustainable extent. At some point he’ll have to reconnect with the real world. May as well do it with a friend to guide him. “Alright, fine.”

“That’s the spirit!”

They take Sarge’s Ford, a decades-spanning oddity; the truck itself is from the 70’s, but has a new high-tech radio system Sarge says he installed himself. The radio will only tune into an obnoxious polka station from god knows where and which Sarge will claim no fault in his installation process for. The drive is still nice with the windows rolled low, Sarge resting his elbow on the sill as he steers with one hand, Wash turning in his seat so the early evening sun shines down on his face.

They’re quickly hailed by a chorus of both greetings and heckling from a far table when Sarge leads the way into the Legion. There’s one chair left open for Sarge when they approach, but he grabs another one from an empty table and plants it next to his own for Wash, the nearest guy shuffling over to make more space.

“Men, this is Washington,” Sarge announces when they’ve settled in. Wash receives some amicable nods and hello’s from the ensemble; apparently Sarge doesn’t think more introduction is necessary, and neither do they. “Washington, this is Tucker, Caboose, Donut, Lopez, Simmons, and Grif.” There’s a surly element to his tone when he introduces the last one, who seems unperturbed, just offering Wash a late “‘Sup?” before some earlier conversation picks back up.

Wash takes the time to examine the group unnoticed, observing that they look ragtag in more ways than one. They’re all young, younger than Wash, though it's not always easy to tell under the scars; the majority of this group look like they had to physically claw their way out of warzones. Wash can pick out four prosthetics between what he can see of just two of the people at the table, and with the extent of Lopez’s, he might guess prosthetic legs were hidden out of sight too. Grif and...Donut? sport some major scarring visible above the table. Grif’s scars, a layer of patchworks across his cheek and down one arm, look too clean to be from anything in-field; skin grafts, maybe? With Donut’s ear and eye gone, and the side of his nose and lips halfway there, it’s easy to assume that he took something hard straight to the face.

“—Before I can catch whatever gave Private Pinhead that stroke of inspiration, I’m going to get a drink!” Sarge huffs, brushing off a conversation with Grif to rise. “You want something, Washington?”

“Oh, I—whatever you’re getting is fine. Thanks.” Wash reaches for his wallet to offer him payment for the drink, but Sarge has already moseyed over to the bar.

“So, Washington, how do you know Sarge?” Simmons asks, all attention now turning to the new guy.

“He’s my neighbor.”

“Man, that sucks,” Tucker replies, though obviously without true rancor.

“Could be worse. He could live next to Donut,” Grif says.

“Hey!”

“That’s right, has Lopez gotten his insurance pay back after that fire yet?”

“No.”

“Hey, I said sorry, I didn’t think a hair dryer could overheat like that! I guess I’d been doing too much blowing.”

Amidst a chorus of groans, Sarge returns with a pina colada in each hand. “Can’t believe the bartender didn’t card me! They’re supposed to card anyone under forty.”

“And why would they card you, again?” Wash asks as he takes one of the drinks. Sarge’s efforts to convince Wash that he’s some ludicrous age are drowned out by amused laughter from others at the table.

The longer Wash is there with them, the more he feels himself settling into the rhythm of the conversation, becoming comfortable enough to laugh and joke along. By the end of the night, he’s been wrapped up into a number of ridiculous and crazy anecdotes that tell him two things: Sarge surrounds himself only with those that are as insane as himself, and that Wash has had the best night in as many weeks despite his hesitation before he came.

“They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots,” Sarge says fondly in the car on the way home.

“I can see why. They’re good guys.”

“We’re there every week. Just let me know if you want to come along again.” Washington looks at Sarge, but Sarge is cheerfully watching the road as he says it.

It’s an unexpected offer, but certainly not unwelcome as he thinks about the dark apartment he’s about to return to. Remembering the warmth of the rum and the night’s festivities is a strong pull. “I just might take you up on that.”

[btsrmono]

Trial & Error | chapter 6

Main Pairing: (jimin): student/idol x (main): foreign student

Side Pairs: main x taehyung,, main x (nct) jaehyun

PART 5

You and Jimin did start hanging out a little more often after that Sunday. Your relationship grew and you could see the way he would attempt to make you a part of his plans every here and there and not to get you wrong, it wasn't much but it was a start. Not to mention an upgrade from how he used to treat you, which wasn't the worst, looking back at it, but for some reason, you just wanted his attention and he never really gave it to you so you guess you could say you grew bitter feelings towards him because of it.

As for Taehyung, you hadn't seen or heard from him in a couple days which made you worry about what happened. You really wished that he wasn't in trouble because of you. Whenever you asked Jimin about him, he would just tell you not stress over it and that he's okay but that was about it. But Taehyung was your best friend, you just needed to see if he was alright for yourself.

So after school on Friday, you decided you should make your way to their dorm. You had never been there before but you knew their address because Jimin gave it to you to come over a day prior.

When you got to the apartment, you almost didn't want to knock so you just stood at the front door, debating like a weirdo when someone suddenly opened the door.

It was Jungkook. You noticed him from school. You two occasionally talked but you knew very little about him. He never really showed up to school and when he did, he didn't necessarily associate with anybody who wasn't already his friend. But around his members, he seemed really outspoken and loud.

"Hyung, I told you it was her!" he shouted over his shoulder, banana milk in his right hand, slightly smirking at you.

You shyly smiled back, hoping he wouldn't see how nervous you were. Jungkook was one of the most popular boys at your school and in BTS in general. You swear, like, everyone had a crush on this man. And you couldn't blame them to be honest. He was hot.

"We have CCTV," he explained. "Saw you on the camera."

You swiftly nodded your head in understanding. "Ohhh, gotcha." You then looked away awkwardly, finding it hard to look him in the eyes with the way he was smiling at you in a cocky manner.

Just then, Jimin came up. "Yah, stop flirting with her like that," he teased Jungkook, making him laugh as he walked away. Jimin turned to you. "Hey, I didn't know you were coming today, come in."

You did as told and as he locked the door behind you, you took a moment to scan their living room. It was quite cramped and messy, which honestly didn't surprise you but still, something needed to be done about it.

"Jimin, this place is a pigsty," you said in disgust.

Jimin put his hands on his hips and stared at you. "Well, maybe if you told someone you were coming over, miss."

You cocked your head, disapprovingly. "So you mean to tell me you only clean up when you have company?"

He laughed. "What? No. Pfftt--"

"Yes he does," a voice spoke. You turned your head to see where it was coming from only to find a semi tall boy with black hair and tan skin, coming out of one of the rooms. He was wearing red boxers and a white T-shirt. "He never cleans. If and only if someone is coming over and he half asses that too," he continued as he walked to the kitchen.

You started laughing. He looked like he was annoyed at just the thought of it. "I believe it," you said back to him.

Jimin sucked his teeth. "Wow, so you guys are just gonna gang up on me, huh? I see how it is."

You and the boy both laughed before he looked at you fully. "I'm Hoseok," he finally introduced himself.

"I'm y/n," you replied, slightly bowing in his direction. "It's nice to meet you."

"Y/n," Hoseok repeated, slowly scanning over Jimin, grinning. "I see, I see." He looked back at you. "Well, it's nice to meet you too." He then turned around and went to the fridge.

Jimin rolled his eyes. "Let's go to my room," he said before grabbing your arm and pulling you into his room with him. It was small with two bunk beds, stuffed animals scattered around on almost every one.

"Well, wait," you spoke, making him turn around and look at you. "I actually came here to check on Taehyung. Do you know if he's around?"

Jimin's eyebrows raised in realization. "Oh... Taehyungie.. I-I told you he's fine, you don't need to worry about him." He shook his head and sat on his bed.

"I know you said that," you replied, sitting down next to him. "I just want him to know that I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Getting him in this mess. He'd be okay if it weren't for me."

Jimin sighed. "It's not your fault, y/n. Or his. You guys didn't do anything wrong. It's just some fans... they... I don't know. But you didn't do anything and he's not mad at you."

You thought about it and he was right. You had no reason to feel guilty but for some reason, you did. "I just want to see him," you whispered, looking down.

You could feel Jimin staring at you as you both sat there in silence for a while. It had to be at least a minute or two before he spoke up again. "He's out right now and I don't know when he's coming back but I can tell him to give you a call."

You shook your head, knowing that there really wasn't any other option.

"And it's okay," he reassured. "We're not even that famous, this will die down in a few days," he laughed. "I honestly am surprised there were people that cared in the first place."

Honestly, this made you feel a little better about the situation. "Hey, don't say that," you chuckled. "You guys will be big one day, I just know it."

"Ha, yeah, right," he said, rolling his eyes and laying back comfortably. "Have you even looked us up? Like at all?"

Your eyes widened as you tried not to burst out laughing. You truly hadn't look them up and you never really thought to until he mentioned it. You suddenly felt like a horrible friend and you guess the fact that you, in fact, hadn't was present on your face because Jimin rose back up and got closer to you, examining your face. "Wow," he said. "You haven't looked us up, have you?" he shook his head in disbelief. "You're a fraud."

You felt like sinking. "I'm sorry?" you attempted to apologize. Eyes closed, he shook his head no. You grunted. "I'll do my research when I get home later. I promise!"

He opened his eyes. "And you have to take me out for ice cream. Maybe then I'll accept this apology."

You sighed at the pettiness but agreed anyway.

After leaving, you went straight home, took a shower, ate, studied, then did your research on the boys like you said you would.

If you were being truthful, you never looked them up, not because you weren’t interested but because you wanted to continue looking at the boys as friends rather than K-pop idols. But alas, you knew the day would come where you would have to see their work someday.

You took a look at the only three music videos it appeared they had. You liked them. Honestly. They were so talented, it left you in shock. You saw some dance videos their company uploaded and was even more in awe. How come they never bragged about their talents? And Jimin's doubting that they're gonna be big? Not a chance in this world, not with that kind of talent.

You also decided to take the time out to listen to their albums. You pretty much watched and listened to them all night long, eventually falling asleep to their music. You now saw why the little amount of fans they had went as hard as they did for the boys. Can't say you could blame them. They were different from other groups and it showed. You knew that with time, they could really be something huge.

~~

The next day at school, you excused yourself to use the bathroom and while heading towards your destination, you saw a familiar face walk by, stopping you in your tracks. He glanced black at you but continued to walk away. Did he really just walk pass me? you thought. You scratched your head in confusion.

"Taehyung," you called, turning around.

He stopped walking and just stood for a while, looking down at the ground. You repeated his name. He turned, an extremely annoyed look on his face. "What?" he asked blandly.

You flinched at his tone. It was much different from the one you were used to hearing from him. "Are you mad at me?" You knew Jimin said he wasn't but you just had to ask because with the way he was acting, it sure seemed like he was.

He sighed.

"You haven't been answering your phone or coming to school," you continued. "I tried to talk to you yesterday but you weren't home... Jimin said he'd tell you to call me."

"He did," he said sternly. "What about it?"

You started to feel sad, as if you were about to cry or something. Your eyes were definitely teary, at most. Taehyung was such a good friend to you, you had never seen him be like that before.

"Tae... What's wrong with you? Why are you acting this way?" you sulked, looking down at the floor.

"I'm not acting any way, y/n. Just leave me alone, alright?"

"What?" You looked back up, your heart beating a bit faster than before. What did he mean leave me alone? "Tae, come on. You don't mean that--"

"I do."

You were at a loss for words. This wasn't like Taehyung at all. He would never be so harsh and he was someone that truly valued every single type of relationship he had, no matter who it was with. This was way too out of his character and that's what caused a tear to drop.

You then heard a tsk as he rolled his eyes and looked slightly away from you, clearly feeling a tad bit guilty. 

"Taehyung, I don't want to lose our friendship over something so dumb," you stated. You had no idea how serious this was and some part of you actually did believe that he wasn't mad at you at some point. But you were wrong. He was mad at you, as you thought the first time. Before Jimin made you believe otherwise.

"It's not dumb, Y/n. My career is in jeopardy. And we're still rookies, it's not too late for them to kick me out--Jesus, why am I even explaining to you?" He scrunched his eyebrows before rolling his eyes once again. "It’s not even like you would get it. I'm leaving. And don't even think about contacting me again. It's best that we both keep our distance so that these rumors clear."

He turned and was ready to walk away before he stopped and turned around one last time. "Oh and that also means staying away from Jimin," he added.

You couldn't believe the attitude from him. It was so usual. What got him so upset? You understood about his career but the way he spoke to you was just so uncalled for. Maybe if it came from someone else's mouth you would have been okay but hearing it from Taehyung's was another story. Feeling hurt, you proceeded to head to the ladies room where you locked yourself in a stall and cried it out in private.

It only last about 30 seconds before you got it together and got out the stall to fix your appearance in the mirror. Your eyes were still puffy and red but at this point, you had been out of class long enough to stall any longer so you made your way back. You re-entered the class just as Mrs. Lim was putting in a movie.

Walking back to your seat, you passed Jimin who was leaning on his desk as if he were about to fall sleep. Until he saw you, that is. He peeped his head up, staring and looking back at you as you sat. His assigned seat was two rows up and one seat left of yours.

You looked at him, looking at you. "What's wrong?" he mouthed, seeming concerned.

You shook your head. "Allergies," you lied. You didn't want him to know. Not only was it embarrassing but you didn't want him and Tae to argue. So you decided to keep things quiet.

A few minutes passed. The lights were out and the movie was now on. Out of nowhere, balled up paper landed on your desk. You already knew it was Jimin.

"Pizza after?" it read. You semi smiled, looking up to a cheeky Jimin. You nodded your head as a ‘yes’, then put the note away and focused on your work for the rest of the class, although it was kind of hard to.

You was honestly just worried about how you and Taehyung would end up after this. You didn't want to stop being friends with him or at least make sure that it didn't end of the way that it did. You felt the two of you still needed to talk regardless, you just needed a plan on how.

A/N: Sigh, poor Y/N. that was a different side of taehyung huh. will they makeup though? stay tuned <3

PART 7