#you can down it with soda and cotton candy and feel like hell not even an hour later

[itacandraw]

I was very upset when I found out the boys forgot to sell the staple of state fairs, so I decided that Yuu made their own stand with Grim to sell more than literally anyone else.

[vampiredecay]

Hey dear, i have a weird request but could you do a Lost boys X reader or Marko x reader Where all the boys (Marko Dwayne David paul Micheal all of them or just marko Dwayne David paul) see the reader re put bandages on his scar but the scars would be like carls in the walking dead and they see the scar ( i wonder how they would react to it?)

thank you so much for the request, sorry it took me a hot second to post! its longer than my other stories on here so far, so i hope that makes up for it. i also hope that you like what i did with it!! its angsty in the beginning but it gets fluffier <3

Scar Tissue

rating: teen

word count: 2,908

tags/warnings: swearing, mentions of being in pain, mentions of scars, mentions of being in the hospital, harassment, fluff, the boys being sweet, the lost boys x male!reader, male pronouns used, poly!lost boys

--

You could have never predicted how your life had gone so sideways. Not in a million years- before the accident, you were pretty much an average joe. Decent family, decent friends, decent existence. Nothing was ever really exciting, but you were okay with that. Life didn’t need to be crazy or unpredictable to be fulfilling.

But, you supposed, the price of being a living being on this Earth was that life could never truly be predictable at all. It couldn’t be, with the events that followed you losing your eye, and pretty much all normalcy you grew to live with.

It was extremely painful at first, physically and emotionally. You had lost a vital part of your body, and you could never get it back. It was disorienting, and uncomfortable, like an itch you could never scratch. The skin around your eye was incredibly sensitive, the lightest movement or touch sending shockwaves of burning pain through your nerves. Tears were always on the brink of spilling over anytime you or a doctor had to replace medicine and bandages to keep the wound clean.

In the end, the pain wasn’t the worst part about it. No, you could deal with the pain. The people in your life, however, suddenly changing and disappearing was way, way worse.

Friends slowly stop coming to visit you at the hospital, calls go unanswered, gazes averted. Your parents supported you, of course. They still loved you, and you knew nothing could change that. But sometimes even they got this look in their eyes, something a little too close to pity.

It was an incredibly lonely first couple of months.

But the loneliness and the heartache slowly healed, along with your eye. The scarring lightened and stopped bleeding, and your skin no longer felt as if it was on fire every time you turned your head. You still had to keep it under wraps, to keep out infection, and to keep other people from seeing how bad it was. You knew that people seeing the bandages would cause looks and questions, but it was better than people actually seeing the wound, which would surely cause reactions that you didn’t have the patience to deal with.

As you were healing, you were also relearning how to do things in your daily life. Your sight and depth perception drastically changed, so things like walking and doing simple tasks had to be practiced all over again. You had to take things slow, which you hated, you couldn’t leave the house very often until you got used to walking without bumping into things.

The first place you wanted to go once you were able to was the boardwalk. It was one of your favorite places in the world, so loud and full of life and happiness. It was absolutely what you needed after all of the hardship you had to deal with lately.

So one night, when it got late and your parents turned in for the night, you went out and caught a bus to the nearest stop to the boardwalk. From there you walked until you saw the bright lights and heard loud screaming and chatter and laughter. You smiled as you took in the sight of the people and the games and the rides, it felt like you were breathing for the first time in months.

The first thing you did was buy a big thing of cotton candy and a soda, roaming the boardwalk and consuming sugary goodness. As you walked, you noticed that some people were giving you looks, but you ignored them, focused on just having a good time and living your best life.

Walking around for long periods of time still gave you a bit of trouble, you were starting to get a little dizzy, so after a bit you sat down on a bench to give your brain time to catch up with the rest of your body. This was nice too, you got to relax and just watch people for a bit. There were all sorts of people out tonight, families and tourists and couples, teenagers and surf nazis and locals, all in one spot, the heart of Santa Carla, enjoying the wonders it had to offer.

There was a group of guys that caught your eye, though. You didn’t mean to stare at them; in fact, you knew not to, you’ve seen them around the boardwalk in the past, and heard the rumors surrounding them. But, in your defense, it has been a while since you’ve been there, and you forgot how magnetic they can be.

They were milling near their motorbikes, smoking and talking and lightly harassing anyone that happened to walk by. Three blondes and two brunettes- had there always been five of them? You could have sworn there was only four- all dressed in black and leather, looking dangerous and infuriatingly hot. You would have noticed more, but by accident you make eye contact with one of the guys and you rip your attention away from them.

Shit, god damnit, you’ve been spotted now. There’s only one thing to do, and it’s to walk quickly away and hope you don’t run into them later.

You get up too quickly though, and you stumble straight into a man walking with who you assume to be his girlfriend.

“Hey! Watch it-” He starts to say, pissed off that someone ran into him, but then he takes a good look at you and lets out a laugh. “Oh, I guess you really can’t, huh?”

The girlfriend lets out a giggle, smirking behind a hand over her lips. You mumble out an apology and try to go around them, but the man blocks your path. “What was that? C’mon man I can’t hear you, you mute too or something?”

You look up at him and scoff, anger building inside you. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? Without thinking, you say “Yeah, real funny and original. Bet lines like that really score you in bed.”

There’s some laughter around you, making you realize that a crowd has been drawn. The man’s face turned bright red, his mouth curved downward into a frown and he got up in your space. “Oh, so you’re a tough guy now, huh?” He pushed you in the chest, making you stumble back. You get dizzy and almost fall, but you don’t hit the ground. Instead, your back hits someone's chest. You freeze, then slowly turn your head, to see a guy with spiky platinum blond hair staring at the man who pushed you. The four other guys with him were also there, glaring at the crowd of people just watching.

You turned to look back at the man who pushed you, all the color was drained from his face. His girlfriend was clutching his arm, trying to pull the man away but his feet were glued in place. The blond behind you smirked.

“There a problem here?”

The silence that swept over was deafening and unnatural, it was like all of the boardwalk was holding its breath waiting for an answer. The man swallowed, eyes gliding over the gang behind you, not focusing on one spot. “N-No, man. No problem.”

You let out a breath as you watch the man and his girlfriend back up, and the crowd starts to disperse. The man behind you gives a shark-like grin and chuckles deep. “Wonderful.” He says, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you away. You can hear your heart thundering in your chest as you walk away with them, listening as they laugh and push each other.

“N-No m-man, n-no p-problem!” One of the blonds says in a mocking wavering tone, “What a fuckin pussy!” The gang starts laughing again, it feels like the ground underneath your feet is rumbling from the force of it. After a little more walking, they stop in front of a different bench and gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a load off, little man!” You snorted as you sat down, grinning despite the slight lightheadedness. Two of the blonds sat next to you, one with a wild mane of hair and a smile to match swinging an arm behind you. You look at all of them, nodding your head a little bit. “Thank you,” You said softly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The spiky blond shrugged his shoulders and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N” You said, and he nodded. “I’m David. This is Dwayne, Michael,” He gestured to the two brunettes, one with curly hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt, the other with longer straight hair and not wearing a shirt at all. “And that’s Paul and Marko.” The two blonds next to you do little waves, the one that wasn’t right next to you has curly hair and a jacket so cluttered with patches it must be heavy.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N!” Paul says, nudging his knee against yours, making you smile more. “It’s good to meet you guys, too.”

After the introductions were out of the way, David offered for you to hang out with them, but you declined, saying you needed to get home. At that David offered a ride instead. You hesitated, but accepted in the end. Riding behind him on his bike was terrifying and exhilarating, you clutched his middle tightly the whole way home, but the blond didn’t seem to mind.

“You should come to the boardwalk more often,” David said as you got off his bike, now at your house. He smiled at you like he was letting you in on a secret, “We’re there all night.”

From that point on, you couldn’t ignore the boy's siren call. The next couple days you would take the bus over, wander until you found them, and then do stupid shit with them all night. A lot of it consisted of them terrorizing people who even looked at them funny, but you didn’t find it scary anymore. You found it powerful. It was the best you’ve felt in a long time.

It wasn’t long, though, until the questions started. You supposed you should have seen it coming, but hanging out with them honestly made you forget.

“So Y/N,” Paul said one night, it was just you and him and Marko. You were leaning against the railing in front of the carousel, waiting for the others to get back from getting food. When you looked over at Paul, he asked “What’s up with the eye?”

Marko punched Paul's shoulder, giving him a look, and Paul threw his hands up dramatically. “What? I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just curious.”

You sighed a little bit, mulling over what to say. You weren’t mad that he asked, you just hated talking about it. “There’s nothing much to say.” You said after a couple seconds of silence. “I was in an accident. Got fucked up. End of story.” Paul and Marko both nodded, taking the hint not to ask anymore. The taller blond wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head. A silent apology. You smiled a little and leaned into him, letting him know it was okay.

After that, David, Dwayne and Michael arrived back with food, and once everyone settled down at a nearby table to eat, David proposed that they go back to their place after eating. You were nervous to accept, but they were cool guys so far, so you didn’t see the harm in it.

Before you could voice your opinion, however, a sudden cold, wet substance suddenly splashed all over your face. You yelped and got up, trying to shake off whatever the fuck it was, when you heard laughter getting distant. Suddenly, the boys were all getting up and shouting, someone was holding onto your shoulders, and when you wiped at your eye you could see it was Dwayne. He looked absolutely livid.

“What the fuck just happened?” You asked, looking down at yourself, disgusted to find that your clothes were soaked now too. The brunette gripped your shoulders a little tighter, not enough to hurt but the pressure was there, “Some people have a death wish.”

You would have asked him to elaborate, but then something dawned on you. “Oh shit!” You exclaim, hand going up to your bandaged eye. “Fuck, I have to get home, I have to change this, fuck!” Dwayne's eyes widened a little, and he nodded, calling attention to the other boys, who were all talking angrily to each other. They all looked over, and when they heard that you needed to change your bandage, they all hurried over. “Our place is closer. Michael, take Y/N to get the supplies he needs. We’ll meet back up at the hotel.” David all but commanded, and everyone seemed to be in agreement. The rest of the boys took off on their bikes while Michael steered you in the direction of a small convenience store on the edge of the boardwalk.

“You okay?” Michael asked, worry written all over his face. You nodded at him, though in reality you were feeling gross, sticky and anxious as hell. You thought it was so nice of them to help you out, really, but you knew this meant that they would probably end up seeing your eye. Seeing your scars. The thought alone was enough to make you slightly nauseous. The brunette could tell that something more was going on with you, so he gently took your hand as you approached the shop. You looked at him, and he smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently. You gave a light smile back and looked away.

After buying the necessary wrap, tape and some bottles of water, you both get on Michaels bike and ride off to their place. You were just thinking about it now, David had said the word “hotel”. Did they stay at an actual hotel?

It didn’t take you long to figure out. When you arrived at the hotel, that was really more of a cave, you were in absolute awe of the place. It was massive and beautiful, you couldn’t believe these guys actually lived here. You had so many questions, but now that you were here, they would have to come after.

Michael led you over to a slightly dusty couch and you sat down, holding the items in your hands nervously. Everyone was sitting around you, you had a very attentive audience that you didn’t really want.

“Is there, uh, a private place I could do this?” You asked, and your heart sank when they shook their heads. “Most of the rooms collapsed when the earthquake hit. There’s not much left, and the parts that remain are too dangerous to go into.” Marko explained, and you sighed. You supposed there was no getting around it.

“Okay, well. Just, don’t say anything, okay?” You got out the bandage wrap from its packaging and took a deep breath. Slowly, you unwrapped the dirty bandage from around your face, revealing your eye to the boys.

All of their facial expressions changed, some more surprised than others. David looked the least shocked, eyes of steel trained on your face, just looking. Dwayne and Michael looked a little more concerned, Michael especially, but otherwise they tried to keep their expressions neutral. Paul and Marko looked intrigued, if anything. Like they wanted to ask questions but were reigning themselves in.

Overall, they kept quiet, and they didn’t shy away from your appearance, so you counted your blessings as you cleaned and dressed your eye as quickly as possible. When you were all finished, Marko and Paul launched themselves at you, sitting next to you with wide smiles on their faces.

“Dude! You’re so badass!” Paul shouted, and Marko was quick to agree. “You should get an eyepatch or something. Crank up the badass factor.”

You laughed at their antics, blushing a bit at their words. You could tell that they really thought you were actually cool. It warmed your chest and you smiled as they went on about eyepatch ideas.

Eventually, David dragged the two away, saying it's getting late and they should probably take you home now. You nodded in agreement, letting out a yawn. You didn’t realize just how tired you were.

Dwayne was the one who ended up taking you home, the ride was a lot gentler and smoother than it usually was, which you were grateful for. When you arrived at your house, and you got off his bike, Dwayne pulled on your arm before you could leave. You looked at him, confused, but then he got off his bike, and he stood in front of you, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You froze, heart pounding. Dwayne pulled away and let go, giving you a small smile. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard as he got back on his bike. “Yeah- you too.” You stumbled out, making him chuckle. He then rode back off into the night, and you were left stunned on your front lawn.

You didn’t know what would happen now, you had absolutely no clue when it came to the gang of bikers. But you found yourself at peace with it.

Life could never be predictable anymore. And you were more than okay with that.

[yeojaa]

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween.  What he loves more than that?  You.

pairing.  gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating.   idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded.  it’s just that fluffy.  (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings.  established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower. 

wc.  9.7k

beta reader(s).  the lovely @kerikaaria​​​ read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy.  tysm!  💛  i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif​ gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly.  oops... 

author note.  this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo​‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves.  while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside.  i hope you enjoy it!   

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened.  You remember, faintly, the mention of a party.  Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc.  He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought.  If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway.  Win-win or whatever.  

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge.  Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean. 

“Zarya’s one!  Zarya’s one—“  You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen.  You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too.  There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch.  “Zarya’s actually one!” 

No one cares.  She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map. 

“Jesus—“  Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue.  You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.  

I need healing!  I need healing! 

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way.  Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though.  There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point.  Stupid.  You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support. 

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked.  So infuriating and yet— nope.  Just infuriating. 

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise.  Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise.  He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face.  You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru.  He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team.  A silver lining, you suppose.  

Your second round starts well enough.  Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta.  Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana.  You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn.  Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost.  (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado.  The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong.  Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter. 

“You winning?” 

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction.  You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.  

(It’s not your own fault.  He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!”  You want to be more mad.  Really, you do.  You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long.  Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn. 

“What?”  Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime. 

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves.  All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.  

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder.  You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days.  You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery. 

It’s a little distracting;  he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual.  You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck.  Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see;  it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over.  You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication.  (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.) 

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so.  You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words). 

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet. 

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya?  She has grav.”  Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon.  Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock.  If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game. 

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void.  Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces.  Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next.  Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,”  says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head.  He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match.  It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.  

“Rip is right,”  you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map.  If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms.  Jungkook chuckles at that.  

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well.  There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested.  Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”  

You don’t turn your head.  Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you.  Sometimes, you love it;  other times, you hate it.  Most times, though, he’s right.  He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame). 

“Can we go top left?”  You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main.  Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team.  Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited.  “You should be back right by the stairs.  You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point.  Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav.  She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you.  As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen. 

“Told you,”  he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore. 

“I was going to say thank you.”  Just not right now.  You can’t multitask quite like he can. 

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display.  “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock.  Thank freaking god.  You can win this, you think.  Easy.  No problem. 

“Go Ana on defense.”  At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth.  You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin. 

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time.  He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Do you just want to play?”  You don’t mean it seriously.  You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you.  It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship. 

“Nah, I’m snacking.”  He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon. 

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions.  He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do.  He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do.  He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t. 

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.  

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair.  You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears. 

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game.  There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back. 

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie.  “We won,”  you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug. 

“Of course you did.”  He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you.  He’d been a great coach. 

“What’re you doing here?”  It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest.  He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair.  (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines.  You don’t care.) 

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.  

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.”  You remember, because you’d been disappointed.  Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,”  he states, like he’s talking to a moron.  You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.  

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen.  Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena.  It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it. 

“Yeah, we,”  Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker.  “Halloween party, baby.  Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises:  (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party?  You didn’t think idols had those.  Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no.  Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.”  It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach.  It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day. 

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face.  It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way.  Why’s he looking at you like that?  Why’s your memory so bad?  Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions? 

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance.  It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage.  A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns. 

“I— don’t remember that.”  You’re lying through your damn teeth.  Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass. 

“But you did!”  He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal.  It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me!  You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate. 

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here.  It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia.  “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular.  You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish. 

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs.  (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs.  You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.)  It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing.  The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames.  Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them;  Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.  

“I don’t think I can pull this off,”  you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious.  (You were, once.  Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.) 

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places.  Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest.  You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it.  (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention.  Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you.  You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp.  A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue.  “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance.  It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway.  “You have to say that.  You’re my boyfriend.” 

“I don’t have to say anything,”  he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten.  It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot.  It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart.  “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then.  He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened.  He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom.  How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure.  All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up;  yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug.  You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.  

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson.  They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay—  that was scary.  I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.”  A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees.  It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?”  You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there.  He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms;  he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh.  His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised;  Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer.  (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.”  Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end.  It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature.  You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee.  Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact.  A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious.  You look—”  You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose.  A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon.  “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it.  Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders.  You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!”  You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself.  All part of his plan, you suppose.  “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.  

“Okay!  Sorry!”  Except he doesn’t look very sorry.  More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you.  You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”  

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie.  You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment.  (Not that you really mind.)  

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip.  It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting.  Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks.  It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love. 

Today, it comes after the fourth count. 

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.”  Well, of course you will.  As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas.  It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams. 

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times.  “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins.  It’s unfairly adorable.  Still, you push.  Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you.  From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted. 

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot.  You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum.  A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to.  You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you;  rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.”  By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful.  The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday. 

It turns out to be the opposite:  one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend.  He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger.  You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another.  For tonight, they’re one and the same. 

“Joker?  Seriously?”  You can’t hide the delight.  It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction.  Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask.  “Don’t sound so excited.”  It’s an actual concern of his.  He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.  

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more.  He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting. 

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky.  You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises.  It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently.  You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared;  you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.”  You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes.  It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes.  It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling.  Bastard.  “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker.  You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter.  He’s dressed this way because you like the character.  

“Oh,”  you say, because there’s not much more to say.  Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it. 

“Yeah,”  he parrots back, a little smug.  

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life.  He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set.  You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better.  (You suppose he is.)  

“Angel, come here!”  He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side.  Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love.  There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).   

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.  

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball.  You don’t mind.  You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.  

“I’m winning,”  he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.  

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh.  Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst.  Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.  

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.”  You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element.  He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some.  It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is).  “How many games have you won?”  Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.”  God, his ego.  You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best.  Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck.  He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you.  To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.  

“Can we play?”  Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks.  You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.  

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs.  Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend.  (How fitting.)  “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch.  “No, you’re just bad at games!”  He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes.  Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink.  In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus.  (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?)  You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily.  Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.”  And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.  

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond.  He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life. 

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”  

“Ahhhhhh, stop!”  It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own.  Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads.  “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!”  You know it isn’t true.  Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines).  But together?  It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.  

You absolutely loved it. 

“Sure, sure,”  the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot.  One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins.  A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour.  You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one.  Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour.  “Aren��t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.  

“Drink this!”  

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?”  You’re incredulous.  Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless.  Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!”  The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too.  “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy?  It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?). 

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it.  Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body.  “Don’t die!”  He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”  

“No, you’re fine.”  He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up.  You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement.  “Your face, oh—  Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane.  You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together.  It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor.  Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms.  You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?”  It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies.  He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile.  “What’re you doing down there?”  

“Just hanging out,”  you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft.  A modern day olive branch.  “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close.  Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like.  It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like.  Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away.  You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness.  “You sound drunk, angel,”  he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek.  It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin.  It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves.  “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,”  comes Jimin from beside you.  There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.  

“That’s the plan,”  Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment.  It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him.  He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation.  When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case.  “Want to head home?”

You do.  You really, really do.   

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are.  Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—”  There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet.  “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway.  “Sorry,”  you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused.  It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.”  He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh.  Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away.  “Here, let me.”  

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time.  (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,”  you tease, clinging to him like a koala.  You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven.  “Or are you the court jester?  That’s what Joker is, right?”  It’s a joke and a bad one at that.  Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.  

“You’re drunk.”  He says it more kindly than you expect.  Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve.  You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded.  There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare.  It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought.  You have to tell him.  Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it.  “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down.  As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands.  (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.)  “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?”  You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon.  You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.”  It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that.  You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style.  You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression.  “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does.  You pout, as you so often do. 

“Okay,”  you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder.  You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings.  “Will you wash my hair?”  You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.”  Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).  

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck.  When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips.  You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat.  Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.”  As if that’s meant to stop you.  He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention.  He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,”  you mumble into the expanse of his chest.  He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable.  You think you could live in the feeling of his arms.  (You’re lucky you get to.)  You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most.  “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation.  You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless.  It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.  

He’d explained it to you once.  Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first.  Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t.  JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm.  Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that.  You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.”  You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon.  You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure.  “Gotta get undressed to shower,”  he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises?  It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”  

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.  

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care.  Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow.  You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep.  He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle.  His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck.  You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight.  You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits.  There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest.  He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.”  The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. 

“We are, angel,”  Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back.  It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame.  “Just need to get you warmed up first.”    

“The shower’ll be warm,”  you say - or think you say, anyway.  It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).  

“Do you want me to stop?”  It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off.  Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat.  “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”  Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern.  You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.  

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise.  “I never want you to stop.”  

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair.  He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted.  “I love you,”  he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.  

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment.  He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off.  You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders.  You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.  

“Start the shower.”  

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that.  You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away.  The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,”  he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream.  He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip.  You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does.  You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside.  It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you.  You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.  

“Hair?”  You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder.  It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.  

“Patience, baby.”  It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess.  He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue.  (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—”  The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand.  Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it.  It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips.  A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit.  The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump.  Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.  

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair.  “Patience,”  he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist.  He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue. 

“Kook,”  you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess.  There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest.  A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.  

“Relax for me.”  You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.  

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more.  You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish.  (You wish you could see him.) 

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him.  (It was.)  He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense.  Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.  

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures.  With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,”  comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care.  Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls.  He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.  

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard.  Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot;  it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.  

“K-Kook.”  It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.  

“I’ve got you.”  And he does - hook, line, and sinker.  He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave.  It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go.  He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn.  See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service.  Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him.  You should recognise the look on his face.  “Kook?”

“My turn.”  It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward.  There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you.  It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in.  “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.  (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed.  In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine.  It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat.  His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear.  It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure.  “Oh fuck,”  he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.  

“Always so good for me.”  Another thing he says, often and without prompting.  It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet.  “Always so perfect for me.”  

“Because I love you,”  you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.  

“Love you too, angel.”  He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway.  He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted.  He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart.  Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust.  An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision;  it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard.  He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high.  You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings. 

“Kook,”  you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower.  The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm.  You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing.  It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.  

“P-please, Kook.  Please.”  You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his.  He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation.  “Come for me, Kook.  Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars.  Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you.  It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs.  You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.  

“I love you,”  he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.  

“I love you,”  you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours.  “But I still need you to wash my hair.”  It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days.  “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.”  Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements.  He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery.  Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.  

“I thought I was an angel.”  You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks.  Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline.  Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice.  “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”  

You can’t argue with that. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​

[ghosttotheparty]

say my name and say it twice (cotton candy skies)

26. also on AO3 chapter twenty five 

Lucas is nervous, if he’s honest.

Nervous about accidentally looking at Jens too long, about giving Milan or Robbe or Moyo or Aaron a hint at what they have, nervous about sending him too soft a glance, too familiar a smile.  He’s had to smother his nerves, stop his knee from bouncing up and down, his fingers from twisting his ring (though this happens without his noticing). 

Milan is excited, seemingly too excited to notice Lucas’s nervous fidgeting. He puts out a few videos games, a few movies, a few bowls of chips, a plate of fruit, a few beer bottles, a few soda cans, and all the while Lucas twists his ring a few times, tugs his curls a few times. When Milan finally looks at him across the living room, as Milan is tossing cushions onto the sofa and Lucas is laying on the other sofa, his legs kicked over the armrest, kicking the air. Milan grins, and Lucas’s fingers stop fiddling with his ring. 

“Excited?” he asks, watching Milan step back and analyze the sofa before going back in and moving all of the pillows up against the back. 

“I’m so excited.” Milan’s voice is shimmering with eagerness. “It’s not often that all of them come over, especially because Robbe moved out.”

“Mm.” 

A few minutes later, Milan is in the kitchen, doing something. Lucas doesn’t know. Maybe he’s getting cookies out of the oven, maybe he’s setting up a bunch of flowers on the table. Lucas is a little distracted. He tugs at the sleeves of his sweater, staring up at the ceiling, still kicking his legs. There’s a storm of excitement and nervousness and anxiety. He’s excited to see Jens again but unsure of how he’ll act. How he’ll greet Jens. A handshake? A nod? A quick muttered “Hey”? A smile? What kind of smile? Lucas’s fingers drum over his stomach as his eyes dart across the ceiling, avoiding the light bulb. 

His eyes only move away from the ceiling, going to the door as his head turns on the sofa when he hears voices outside. His hands and legs still and his eyes widen, glancing to the kitchen door, waiting for Milan to appear, but he doesn’t, and there’s a knock, startling Lucas. 

“Luc, can you get it?” Milan’s voice calls from the kitchen, and Lucas huffs, pushing himself so he rolls off the sofa, landing on the floor and standing. He pushes his hair back but doesn’t bother trying to straighten or fix his sweater. 

He opens the door to Moyo, who grins. 

“Luc! What’s up?” He holds his hand out and Lucas slaps their palms together, smiling. 

“Not much, you?” 

“Hanging with my bros.” 

Lucas laughs and steps to the side, pulling the door open for them to enter. Aaron does the same as Moyo, hits their palms together and lets their fingers hook momentarily before stepping past him to the living room. Robbe’s next, greeting him with a “How are you?” and Lucas responds “I’m doing okay, you?” and Robbe grins before saying, “Great.” He does look great, his eyes shining under his growing curls, one hand behind him, laced with Sander’s. 

When Sander’s passed him, after a smile and a “Hey,” and a handshake, Jens appears, and Lucas suppresses his smile into a casual greeting smile. 

“Hi,” he says, softer than intended, and Jens’s smile grows. He holds his hand out and Lucas shakes it, the same as he did with the others, ignoring the urge to pull him in close. Jens squeezes his hand gently before letting go and stepping out of the way so Lucas can shut the door. Lucas catches Jens shoot him a wink as he follows the guys into the living room. 

Jens sits next to Moyo, in the corner of the sofa Milan was trying to decorate earlier, farthest from when Lucas sits after he enters the room. Sander is on Moyo’s other side, Robbe on the floor between his legs as Sander’s fingers comb through his hair gently. Aaron sits on the floor under Jens, who has his legs pulled up in front of himself like he’s trying to look small. Lucas wonders if he is. If he always is. 

“Hello, my darlings,” Milan says as he enters, tearing Lucas’s gaze away from Jens. He’s carrying another bowl, a smaller one filled past the brim with grapes. He sets it on the coffee table before going around, pressing kisses to everyone’s cheek, starting with Jens, and Lucas feels the quick sharpness of jealousy that he can do it, but Lucas can’t. 

He considers texting Jens. But he wouldn’t know what, or if the notification would come up if Moyo would see it sitting next to him. So he doesn’t.

The boys chat with Milan for a bit, but Lucas is only half listening. 

They play some video games, but Lucas is only half paying attention. 

His eyes keep reverting to Jens sitting in the corner. From the angle he can see his profile, occasionally constricted by Moyo’s hair as Moyo leans forward, focusing on the game. Jens is smiling, the corner of his eyes crinkled up as he laughs at Moyo losing the game to Aaron. There are loud “No-o-o!’’ shouts, and Lucas laughs along with the others, looking to the television before looking back at Jens.

He draws him in his head, gentle, curved and harsh, sharp lines forming his profile, and he almost smiles, knowing exactly what brushes he would use to paint him. (He hasn’t painted him yet, but the collection of drawings hidden in the dictionary on his desk continues to grow. He’s been drawing constellations around him lots lately; either that or music notes and flowers.) He’d use the small, angled brush to paint his skin, the old frayed brush to blend the shading of his cheekbone and neck. The tiny, thin brush would work for his lashes and brow. The thick, tapered brush would work for his hair, but he’d go over it again with the thin one to do stray strands. 

Lucas forces himself to look away, watching the game on the television for a little bit, listening to the boys shout and laugh, until he’s bored, and he looks down at his phone. He scrolls aimlessly, pausing to read memes and watch videos, and he doesn’t notice Jens glancing at the guys before looking at him, doesn’t notice Jens smile softly. 

“Lucas!” Milan says after a while, when the room is quiet, strained with Moyo’s and Aaron’s focus, and Lucas looks up, startled. “You should show Sander some art.” Sander, Robbe, and Jens all look at him, and Lucas will his face not to burn up pink. 

“Oh, yeah!” Sander exclaims, looking at Lucas, his eyes wide. 

“I can get some paintings from my room,” Lucas says, slowly lowering his legs off the sofa, and Sander nods. As Lucas walks across the room, toward the door, he’s acutely aware of Jens’s eyes following him. 

When he comes back, two canvases and two papers in hand, Sander sits up, shifting in his seat, and Robbe moves back on the floor, away from Sander’s legs so Lucas can place the canvases in his lap. They’re both landscapes done in oils, photos he found online, and Sander analyzes them both carefully, quietly. Lucas stands to the side awkwardly, and he glances up to see Jens looking at him, not the art. They both suppress smiles, and Lucas is longing to reach out and touch him. 

Lucas stoops and picks up a beer bottle from the table after a few seconds, when Sander finally speaks. 

“How the hell do you keep the paint layers so thin?” He looks up at him and Lucas cracks the bottle open. “When I use oils it ends up with globs of paint, and it takes, like, months to dry.”

Lucas laughs, taking a sip. 

“I have no clue, honestly, I just paint.” 

Sander shakes his head, looking bewildered, and looks back to the paintings. 

“I love this post here,” he says after a second, pointing to a fence post covered in snow. Lucas smiles, That’s his favourite part of the painting, the snow on top of it, the shadow underneath it. Blending the colours was fun, if a little tedious, making sure the perfect shade of greypurpleblue, making sure not to go over the line of the shadow too many times so it didn’t blend with the white of the snow. 

Sander carefully places the paintings on the coffee table in front of him before he looks at the drawings Lucas brought. One is the portrait of  Zoë, the other a portrait of a woman he found online, her tongue sticking out, her freckles standing out against her skin, box braids falling over her shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Sander says, lifting the latter to look closer. “Her braids!” 

“I’m proud of that one, it took a while.” 

“You should be.” Sander holds it out to the side and Robbe cranes his neck, cooing as he scans the paper. 

“Is that Zoë?” Robbe says, looking past it to the drawing still sitting on Sander’s lap, and Sander lifts it. 

“Yeah,” Lucas says, lowering the bottle after taking another sip. “She makes me think of Girl With a Pearl Earring, so…” 

“Jens, look,” Sander says, holding it up so Jens can see past Moyo, who is staring intently at the screen. Jens lifts his head, looking up from his phone in his lap and just barely glances at Lucas before looking at the drawing. 

“Oh, shit,” he says, and Lucas just manages to suppress a laugh. “That’s incredible.” He looks to Lucas, raising his brows in earnest, and Lucas cheeks heat. 

“Thank you,” he says, looking to the ground. 

Sander and Lucas continue talking about art, even when Lucas sits on the other sofa, drawing his legs up in front of himself and leaning against the armrest, holding the bottle between his torso and his legs. Robbe moves back in front of Sander and within seconds, Sander’s fingers are back in his hair, combing through the strands as he tells Lucas about the classes he takes, about what projects he still has to complete. 

Lucas listens intently, nodding and sipping his beer, absentmindedly rubbing the glass of the bottle, the same way he rubs the fabric of his pants or his sleeves when trying to pay attention in class, the same way he does when listening to Jens talk about ballet. 

While focusing on Sander, he doesn’t see Jens peering at him over Moyo’s shoulder. 

---

When the bottle in Lucas’s lap is empty, he doesn’t realise until he goes to take another sip and nothing comes out. He lowers it, looking to the guys, who are almost all watching Robbe compete with Aaron (who won the last round, much to Moyo’s dismay), and sees that their bottles seem to be empty too. He stands, tossing his phone to the sofa. 

“I’m gonna get another beer, do you guys want anything?” 

“Can I get a beer too?” Moyo asks, looking at him, and Lucas nods. 

“Robbe? Sander?” 

Robbe doesn’t look away from the screen, his fingers moving over the controller quickly, but says “Can you get me one too?” 

“Yeah. Sander?” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Aaron?” 

It takes a second for him to respond, his eyes wide, staring intensely at the screen. 

“Uh… Yes, please.”

Lucas laughs lightly and looks at Jens, who is already looking at him, and jerks his chin up. Jens shakes his head. 

“No, thank you.” 

Lucas nods and heads into the kitchen, carrying his empty bottle. 

He tosses it into a plastic bin under a counter, wincing as it clatters loudly against other containers, bottles and plastic boxes. The bin was his and Zoë’s idea. Senne had gone out and gotten it the same day, and Milan didn’t notice it until after he’d gone out and gotten another one. Lucas stole this one, put it beside his desk, where it sits almost full of discarded paper. 

He gets more beer from the fridge, and as he’s placing the third bottle on the counter, about to reach back in to grab an extra for Milan, the kitchen door opens and he glances over the fridge door to see Jens, turning and closing the door quietly with both hands. 

“Hey,” Lucas says casually, trying not to grin.

Jens turns and steps toward him, grabbing the bottle out his hand and placing on the counter before tossing ht fridge door shut and placing a hand of Lucas’s hip, pushing him so his back presses against the counter. 

“Hey,” he murmurs before pressing his mouth to Lucas’s. Lucas gasps, his hands flying up to hold Jens’s neck, and Jens pulls him in, his fingers tightening on his hip as his other hand grips his shoulder. Lucas lets out a quiet hum when Jens’s tongue sweeps across his lip. 

“Thought you were gonna repress the urge,” he says quietly when they pull away for a breath. 

“Can’t,” Jens replies, sliding his hands up to Lucas’s neck, pulling him in and biting down on his lip. Lucas’s heart glows, glad to know that Jens was struggling as much as him. Part of him wants to slip his hands under Jens’s shirt (or pants), but another part of him half expects the door to the kitchen to swing open. 

“You don’t think this is a little dangerous?” he whispers when Jens pulls away. Lucas tilts his head and presses his lips to Jens’s jaw, gently, slowly, kissing down his neck, and Jens moans, low in his throat. Lucas smiles, biting his skin softly, and kisses to the neckline of his sweatshirt, a red one with an abstract design on the front. (Lucas loves it. If he has the opportunity next time he’s at Jens’s, he’ll steal it.) He opens his mouth, licking a stripe up Jens’s neck, and then pushes him back. Jens steps away, opening his eyes and looking at the ceiling, smiling resignedly. 

“Can’t be too long, they’ll get suspicious,” Lucas tells him, his voice still lowered just in case. He opens the fridge again, feeling Jens watch him, and grabs two more beers, handing one to Jens and turning to pick up the others from the counter. 

He pecks Jens’s lips lightly before stepping past him to leave, and Jens follows, huffing dramatically.

“You didn’t say if you wanted one or not, so…” he says when he hands a beer to Milan, who smiles gratefully and takes it. Lucas hands Milan Aaron’s beer as well, and Milan places it on the floor next to him. 

When Lucas is sitting on the sofa again, beer opened and in his lap, a leg hanging over the armrest, his phone buzzes. He has to reach behind himself to get it, having forgotten to pick it up from the sofa before dropping himself onto it. 

It’s a text from Jens, and Lucas looks up at him, suppressing a smile. Jens shoots him a glare, weakened by a soft smile, before looking at the television, laughing and smacking Aaron’s head as he messes up.

why would you do this to me

Lucas balances the bottle in his lap carefully before responding. 

:)

It’s a few seconds before Jens looks at his phone, still laughing as Aaron curses at Robbe. When he does, Lucas sees him roll his eyes, smiling, and almost laughs out loud. 

fuck you

Lucas takes a swig from the bottle, grinning. 

maybe later

He looks up at the television as he sends it, and pretends not to hear Jens clear his throat, a recovery from choking on his beer. 

He only looks over, faux concern across his face, when Sander says “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good, I just— breathed it.” 

“Been there,” Milan says, shaking his head in sadness as he looks away from Jens back to the screen, and Lucas snorts. 

They don’t text for the rest of the afternoon. 

But, of course, there are lots of stolen glances, longing gazes. 

---

“So,” Milan says, shutting the front door. Lucas looks up from his phone, up from a ill call you tonight text from Jens, to which he responds counting down the seconds. 

“So,” he repeats as Milan enters the room. Milan leans against the door frame, and Lucas feels like he’s his father, about to have a Talk with him. 

“You like the guys?” 

Lucas lets his phone fall to his chest. He’s laying on his back on the sofa, his legs over the armrest, similar to how he was before they arrived. 

“Yeah, they’re cool. Sander is really nice to talk to.” 

“I thought you’d like to talk to him,” Milan says, smiling. “So what about Jens?” 

Immediately, Lucas heats up. He can feel his face flush with anxiety, feels his shoulders suddenly feel too light. 

“What about Jens?” He tries not to stutter. He also tries not to fidget, keeping his hands still on his phone, though he wonders if the complete statuesque stillness could also be suspicious. 

“I saw you stealing a few glances at him…” Milan tilts his head and narrows his eyes. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I don’t…” Lucas can practically feel red radiating off his face, unsure of what to say, what to do. 

“Do you like him?” 

“Milan—” Lucas sits up, setting his phone to the side, but he’s interrupted by a squeal. 

“Oh my god! You do!”

“Mi—” 

“Oh, Luc, I’m sorry,” Milan interrupts again, suddenly looking sad. “I’ve only known him to date girls.”

Lucas stares.

“But,”  Milan continues, “He had been known to cuff his pants so maybe there’s hope.” 

He tries desperately not to laugh. 

“Okay,” Milan says, clapping his hands together and crossing the room to sit on the floor in front of Lucas. “Tell me.” 

“Tell you...what?”  His heart is pounding. 

“Tell me why you like him. I know you’ve only met him like twice but go on.”

“I— I don’t know,” he says, shifting so he’s facing Milan, crossing his legs on the sofa in front of him. “He’s pretty.”

And sweet. And nice, and kind, and funny, and supportive, and encouraging, and considerate, and gentle, and careful, and everything Lucas could hope for. And more. 

“He seems nice,” he adds.

Milan’s face breaks up into a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his nose scrunching. 

“Do you think you might have a crush on him?” he asks, almost signing it.

“I don’t know, maybe.” 

Milan seems unreasonably excited about the prospect of Lucas having a crush on Jens, but Lucas won’t complain.  He feels giddy with it, with being able to talk about Jens (even if he can only talk about the interactions they’ve had in the flat) (and not even all of them), with having someone that’s this supportive and excited about it. It feels like this is what he should have had, all though middle and high school, this experience of sitting with someone else, and just talking, openly, freely. 

He never told anyone (except Noah, right before Lucas moved) about his crush on Kes. It was a secret, a burden, a stone to carry in his heart until it eroded away. So he tells Milan. He tells Milan everything. About Kes, about how his crush developed in middle school, how he fell for him hard, but hid it away, hoping, praying even, that it would just disappear. About the whole situation with Isa, about how badly he felt. He tells him about how he’s hardly spoken with Kes, with Isa, with Jayden, as of late, even though the whole mess from that year was behind them, even though Kes and Isa, as far as Lucas knows, are friends again. He tells him about how he’s scared of it, of losing contact with his friends, but somehow he’s at peace with it at the same time. 

And Milan listens. 

This goes on for a few hours. 

Zoë comes home in the evening, finds them sitting on the sofa together, still talking. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with glasses and a bottle of wine. 

If he could draw this moment, he would. He watches the two of them, Milan talking and Zoë sipping her wine, Zoë talking and Milan sipping his wine, them both looking at Lucas as he talk, the way they look at each other when they laugh, the way they hold their glasses out as they do, careful not to spill it on the sofa or the rug. Memorising it all. He would draw the whole day if he could. It’s been a good day. Sneaking looks at Jens (not so subtly, apparently), exchanging secret smiles, laughing at how the guys interact. 

He could paint it later. Something abstract. The idea of this day. Something with lots of reds. 

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 15 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉@theshove  ​👈

👉@kamyru 👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 14 is right here! Happy reading :)

And I just want to thank everyone that’s been consistently reading this fic, I know it’s a slow burn but I think it’ll be worth it :D

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature, Abuse, Kidnapping, Torture.

~~~~~~

Early the next morning, I dressed in my loungewear to go to Juna's apartment. She had an outfit of her's waiting for me; I didn't own anything pink like the dress code she wanted. Grabbing a quick bite from the canteen and a coffee, as I have now remembered the difference between tea, I get the train to her apartment.

"Katsumi! You're here!" Juna bounced towards me, or as best she could under the weight of her almost grown baby, and stole the cake box I was balancing in one hand, holding my bag to my side with the other.

"Sorry I'm late, the metro was hectic." I sighed, kicking off my shoes as she shuffled back to the kitchen counter. There, I saw Kanto hurriedly putting up bunting. When he saw me, he directed his gaze to the space under the stairs where a set of drawers sat. Curiously, I stepped towards it, opening the top draw while Juna was distracted and found the ring I wanted. Pulling it out, I slipped it into a pocket in my bag.

"Your dress is in the bathroom if you wanna change!" Juna called over her shoulder as she pulled a box of strawberries out of the fridge, planning to chop them up.

"Sure thing!" I called back, knowing my way around the apartment since I lived here for months.

The dress in question was somewhat short and pastel pink. There was an upside-down triangle cut out of the back, the top half was tight and anything below the top of my hips was flowing. It was surprisingly comfortable, even if I felt like walking cotton candy.

"Told ya you'd like it!" Juna squealed in joy when she saw me emerge with a light blush on my face.

"It's not horrific." I pouted and went to help decorate the small balcony outside to escape her complimentary pestering.

~~~~~~

Once the arrival time for the party came around, more and more people started showing up. I didn't even think to ask my sister how many people were coming, but I sure as hell didn't think it would be this many people. There were so many, I was getting a little warm and the number of times I had to dart out of the way, getting my earring caught in my hair in the mad rush, I decided to put it up. I was bestowed with the job of answering the door so, when it rang again, I jumped up with a sigh. Because I was so used to seeing faces I didn't know, having everyone comment on how alike my twin and I looked, I was shocked when all the instructors showed up on the other side.

"In-Instructors, you made it?" I blushed when I saw them all in their casual clothes, instantly anxious when I remembered the outfit I was wearing. They all obeyed Juna's wish of them wearing pink or blue, all of varying degrees of severity, except for one. Can you guess who it was?

"Com... Come in. You can leave your shoes here." When I realised I had been staring, I jumped out the way to let them in. ‘God, Katsumi. Keep your cool!’ I internally screamed as I watched them filter in. Then, I directed them to the food when Juna finally approached us.

"Detectives, I'm so glad you could make it! I hope you enjoy yourselves. There's beer in the fridge, so have at it. There's plenty to go around!" Seemingly much more used to the instructors than I am, or she's just more sociable, Juna had a bright smile on her face. "Detective Kaga, you're not wearing blue." She frowned at the one person in the room not giving in her wishes.

"Juna, please." I begged her not to embarrass me as Kaga 'tsk'ed to himself. Then, he extended his hand to her, which held a paper bag. She took it and looked in to find a gift.

"Kaga, this is so cute! Look at it, Katsu." She squealed at the small bear with beady black eyes. It was kinda adorable and I blushed at the fact my sternly faced mentor had gifted it. The tag still attached to it said it was a nanny cam. My embarrassed and confused gaze fell to him and he sneered.

"My niece liked it." 

‘Is he... pouting?’ It was almost too strange to tell with the faint blush on his face. ‘Is he already drunk? Wait! He has a niece?’ My blush deepened as I imagine how Kaga might act with a child to know her so much to know her favourite toy.

“Did none of your friends come?” Soma interjected my thoughts from beside me, seeing as Juna had gone to Kanto in the kitchen. I almost jumped out of my skin, but only because I was scared he could read my mind.

“Oh, no. No they… They were busy.” I quickly made up a pathetic lie, not wanting to throw Naruko under the for being afraid of the instructors. “Anyway, can I get you guys any drinks? Like Juna said, we’ve got beer, soda, water?” I listed off a few options so I could just escape this cluster of men, and even more people started to swarm us at their appearance.

“How does Juna know such good looking, young men?” A very forward older woman instantly clutched Instructor Goto’s arm, either drunk or that was just her rich nature. I instantly started panicking again. 

“U-Um, Miss, they’re my bosses. Please… Please let go of him.” I was frantic as the instructor looked increasingly uncomfortable because of her flirtations. Almost everyone here was Juna’s work friends or spouses of, so they were all high standing members of society, not anyone I ever expected to mingle with.

When the woman just wouldn’t let go of him, I decided it was time to amp it up a gear. “Actually, I think your husband was talking to the composer’s daughter by the bathroom.” I gestured to an older man and a girl around my age talking up a storm on the other side of the spacious room, and the woman almost simultaneously stormed over. 

After profusely apologising to Goto for what he already had to go through after just arriving, with the instructors still around us, Shinonone expressed how shocked he was that I could diffuse the situation somewhat quickly. 

“I used to work in a club downtown. It was part of my job to get a feel for relationships in the room. O-Of course, you saw me working.” I was almost sweating with how nervous I was, remembering how rude I was to the instructor when he didn’t even know it was me at the time. Ayumu smirked at the memory of the interaction, and probably what I was wearing then too. 

Luckily, Juna called me away to help her with something before I could be teased further.

~~~~~~

Later on in the party, I felt the need to step outside and take a breather, so I headed to the balcony and was surprised to find no one there. It was spring, the weather; surprisingly warm, and the flowers Kanto had been growing for Juna were in full bloom.

With my elbows resting on the railing, I suddenly realised what Kaga being here means. "I passed." I gasped, my heart filling with pride and doing a little dance to try and expel my joy. A rush of relief flooded over me and I don't think I've been happier than that moment. Not just relieved, but happy.

"It's been a while since I've seen that dance." A man's voice spoke up behind me and I turned in curiosity. For a moment, I truly believed it was one of my captors, but my vision quickly corrected it to Noburu. My heart raced as I saw him standing in the doorway, eyes wide. I hadn't seen him in a month. I was never told of him visiting. I was a little angry, he hadn't even texted me. But, above all else, I was scared. He sent alarm bells ringing in my head as if he really was the captor that fed me. That stood by and watched as I deteriorated into a heap of weeping bruises.

"No...Noburu. What are you doing here?" I panicked, stepping back and finding the railing block me from going over the edge. In an instant he was in front of me, holding my face as tears grew in my eyes.

"I missed you so much. I went to visit but you freaked out. I was so worried." His face was so close all I could see was him as he held my cheeks, his fingers extending into my hair, which I had let down again. I struggled, the image of that man seared in my brain.

When he saw me trying to get away, he crashed his lips on mine, taking my breath and any words I wanted to say to reject him. I tried to tug on the hands that kept me in place, but he wouldn't let go. His grip was vice-like. When he parted his lips to breath, I was able to whimper out "stop".

After I said that, he went to kiss me again, but he was pulled off me by someone yanking on his collar. There, holding the bewildered Noburu, was Kaga, rage painting his face. Embarrassed and afraid, I covered my mouth to hide my tears and sobs, darting by them, careful not to fall in my short heels as my legs shook.

~~~~~~

Bored out of my mind with all the aristocratic assholes Katsumi's sister was friends with, I decided to find the servant I found so fun to tease. My gaze flew around the room to find women surrounding most of the men from the PSD, except Goto who looked as bored as I was. Then, my gaze found the glass balcony doors and the woman I'm looking for. She was talking to a man, someone who looked dishevelled and not belonging to this group of people. Then, I noticed the tremble in her lip and her wide, astonished eyes watering out of... fear? I decided to head over and check if everything was alright.

When I opened the door, the man pounced on Katsumi, holding her face as he kissed her. A feeling in my stomach lit up my jealousy and anger as I watched them, but Katsumi seemed to be responding. I couldn't really tell when his hands were covering most of her face and his body was covering the rest of her.

As I turned to leave, I heard a low, high-pitched sound.

"Stop."

I spun around in a second, storming forward and gripping the back of the man's collar before yanking him off, possibly choking him in the process. I glared at him before checking to see if Katsumi was okay. Tears were falling down her face and the lipgloss she had on was smudged. Her hair was a mess and her knees were cowering a little. When she noticed what happened, her hand flew to her face and she ran back inside.

"Dude, what the hell?" The man who assaulted her frowned and my enraged glare returned to him. That was when I noticed it was the guy Katsumi used to work with at that club. I remembered watching her bend over the bar to talk to him, noticing how high her dress rode up her thighs, just shy of flashing everyone there. I growedl, remembering how much trust she must have had to talk to him the way Ayumu said she did.

"Get out or I concave your face." I threatened, dropping his collar. He was angry at first but when he saw how likely it was for me to do it, he ran to the front door.

~~~~~~

Stepping out of the bathroom, having cleaned myself up and calmed myself down enough to stop crying, I got to work; cleaning up the bottles and cans surrounding the room- mainly to distract myself. The party was still in full swing and I didn't want to ruin my sister's special moment. I could suck it up for now. All I wanted was for Noburu to be gone.

"Hey, idiot." A quiet voice erupted from behind me as I grabbed a few glass bottles from the counter in the kitchen, which was pretty vacant. I quickly recognised it at Kaga.

"I don't want to talk about it," I grumbled, not caring who he was in that moment.

"I kicked him out." He announced. 

‘At least that's a relief.’ I sighed, feeling my tears return as I remembered how he had touched me. I trusted him. If he knew I had a breakdown the last time I had seen him, why would he still do that?

"Okay. I still don't want to talk about it." I complained, moving back and forth from the bin and the sink with trash and dishes to clean up later.

"Katsumi," Kaga said, but I ignored him, no matter how much him saying my name made my heart flutter. "Hey, moron." He grabbed my wrist as I dropped a few wooden skewers into the trash and spun me to see him.

"I'm not going to talk about it because I’ll cry. I'm not going to cry at my sister's baby shower." I gritted my teeth, returning his stern glare to try and make myself feel tougher.

"Why are you crying then?" He smirked and I sneered, noticing the wet drop roll down my cheek. I rushed to catch it with my unclaimed hand.

"He looks like one of them. Or he reminds me, anyway." I pouted, looking away from my instructor as he continued to hold my wrist. I'm sure he could feel my pulse race as my fear returned, mixed with the excitement of how close he was. I struggled to control my emotions when his grip tightened. I wasn’t intimidated. It was almost comforting, encouraging me to spill my guts right there in my sister's kitchen.

Suddenly, I was pulled towards him and enveloped in warmth and his scent. Slightly smokey, although whatever cologne he used did a good job of covering it up. I tried to look up from the chest I was being pushed against, but his hand settling on my head forced my gaze forward. My heart was pumping blood to my cheeks at an alarming rate and it was so loud I couldn't hear his. The pent up frustration I felt towards Noburu broke free from the weak dams I put up and my tears fell fast. My fist clenched on Kaga’s chest, angry that I had let someone I hardly knew so close. Before, I would have never gone out 'dates' with someone I enjoyed the company of- although I didn't really think of them in that way. I would have closed myself in my home, trying to keep to myself, not wanting to grow connections in case my father found me and I would have to leave everyone I had grown to love. It made it harder to justify how much safer I and those people would be if I left. I was mad at myself for letting go.

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat in the doorway of the kitchen. I darted back, making sure to turn my back to wipe my eyes before turning back to cleaning, pretending like nothing had happened. "Juna wants to cut the cake." It was Ayumu who spoke up, walking over to the fridge, between me and Kaga. Too afraid to talk in case my voice wavered, I nodded and walked out the room, heading to the table everyone was surrounding.

~~~~~~

The party pretty much drew to a close after the gender reveal. It's a girl, but no one's surprised. Juna had been going on about it for weeks. Even before they could tell what the gender was. 

"I'm gonna have a little Katsu of my own!" Juna cried with joy as she sat in front of the pile of gifts in front of her.

"At least give her a similar name. It'll be confusing if you give her the same as mine." I complained, picking up the wrapping paper she threw around the room. Thanks to my silent moment with Kaga, I was able to calm down enough to act normal for the rest of the party. All the instructors had gone home and it was just us and Kanto.

"Hey, are you okay?" Kanto asked as I walked into the kitchen with a trash bag  in hand. He was cleaning the dishes while Juna enjoyed herself to her heart's content. I nodded, hoping I wasn't giving any signals that said otherwise.

"Well... I, um... I saw Noburu earlier." His voice was low, scared that if he told me he'd set me off again. I froze mid-way picking up the trash and recovered as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, he... He kissed me." My own voice was also low, afraid that if I said it aloud it would cement the end of our friendship. Kanto spun around to look at me and I tried to stop frowning. "It's fine... Kaga got him off me before I could spiral." I bit my lip, continuing my cleaning to distract myself.

"I'm sorry." Is all I hear Kanto mumble as I escape the room.

~~~~~~

That night, I returned to the dorm but found that I didn't want to sleep yet. My mind was racing, the ring my mother left for us in my fingertips as I sat on my couch. I looked for an engraving in the inside of the band. Nothing. The clear crystal, which I'm sure was a diamond; too small for me to tell if there was anything odd going on. There were several smaller ones dotted around it.

"Could it be to do with the make? Well, it's not like I can tell." I sighed. I hardly wore jewellery anyway. I was hopeless trying to find clues. "Maybe the detectives on the case discovered something?" I got up and made my way to one of the common rooms to use a computer.

It was the dead of night, so silent I thought I might have gone deaf. Luckily, the hallway lights were always on. Pulling out a chair, I brought the file up before I even sit down. The notes say that they found wording embedded in the jewels. Nano-sized. But they couldn't make any sense of it.

"Juno charges towards Juna, aiming for Katsu."

‘Well, that's not cryptic all.’ I sighed, slightly stunned to find both my and my sister's names. I decided my best bet would be to look up the meaning behind our names. 

‘As a boy's name, Katsu means victory. Juna means woods and south. Could there be a battle in the woods or something?’ I frowned my brows, feeling wildly out of my depths and kind of silly for looking such things up on a school computer. Looking up the address of the murder, I looked at Google Maps because I knew I wouldn't be able to travel anywhere anytime soon. I dragged the picture south as far as I could, but nothing caught my eye. 

The woman murdered, my mother's friend, it seemed, was found in a lake just outside Tokyo. Surrounded by woods.

"Oh?" I gasped when I s awthat there were cabins for sale in those same woods. They had been around for years, it seemed, and a community had been made there. With a small supermarket and diners, it looked like a 20 person village.

"Could she..?" I led off, wondering if my mother could have moved there to hide. "No, she'd be too close." But the fact irked me in a way that I wanted to check. There was a link to the real estate agents website. There, I found a phone number. Without thinking much, I called it, not considering how late after office hours it was.

"Thank you for calling Juna Estate Agents. We are always happy to answer your questions, but you've caught us after office hours. We open at 8 am every day, so please don't hesitate to ca-!" I hang up before the woman's voice on the voicemail can finish.

‘I shouldn't be doing this.’ I think. I know. I shouldn't be tempting myself with the idea. It would only get my hopes up and I'd only come crashing down when I exhausted all the leads I might find. 

"She's dead." I reminded myself, pushing my father's questions to the back of my head, and turned off the computer.

~~~~~~~~~~

Monday came around and I was particularly exhausted. The last two nights had been the worst I had had in a while and I almost fell asleep cutting my own hair. 

Heading to the cafeteria, notebook in hand, looking down at the floor, I was almost sleepwalking. Thankfully, I was pulled out of my dream-like state by a certain excitable morning person.

"Katsumi, you look so cute!" Naruko squealed upon seeing my now short hair. It was cut just shy of my shoulder, hugging the ear I pulled it behind. My hair was still white, too scared to dye it again in case I messed something up. Juna was always the one that did it for me and I didn't want to bother her.

"Thanks. It's easier to maintain this way." I laughed uneasily, hiding the true reason I prefered it short. My 'uncles' liked pulling on my hair. It’s hard to grab when it's like this. With a skip in her step, Naruko pulled me into the cafeteria.

"What's got you in a good mood?" I asked as we sat down, putting my heavy eyelids to the back of my mind.

"Chiba bought me a gift just because. It was so cute." She squealed, holding her cheeks as if her smile hurt. I cocked my head.

"Why’s he buying you gifts?" I asked before taking a spoonful of cereal.

"Oh shit, I didn't tell you?" She gasped and I shook my head, still chewing. "We're dating."

Instantly, I started choking at the gasp of air I took in when she told me. She asked me if I was okay and I put up a singular finger to tell her I'd just need a minute to recover.

"Si-Since when?" Taking the napkin she held out for me, I quickly wiped the milk covering the sides of my lips. I tried to ignore the fascinated stares of the male population around us.

"Hmm, a couple of months, I think? You'd have to ask him, he's the one that keeps track of it all." She waved of her unbothered-ness and continued eating as if I hadn't almost just died. "That reminds me, how was the party?"

Blushing, I tried to push the memory of Kaga holding me to the side as I reported how utterly bored I was for the rest of the event. "Her friends are all musicians, so they were mainly talking about their next concerts. Someone asked Juna if she was returning to the orchestra and she started balling." I forced a chuckle, really feeling sorry for my sister who couldn't accomplish the dream she wanted. She would have to settle to play for us and her daughter when she's old enough to play herself. I was sure Juna would push the joys of playing an instrument on her, or any future children she intended on having.

"What about the instructors?" Her wiggling eyebrows were enough to tell me she thought something kinky happened. I blushed but said I didn't notice because I was so busy. "You sure?" She dragged out her question, sliding into the seat next to mine, peering into my face. I stuffed my mouth with the rest of my cereal and jumped up, pointing to the door like I was  in a rush to get to class. "You can't hide from me, Katsumi! I'm trained for this!"

~~~~~~

At the end of the day, I was sitting in the Instructor's Staff Room as usual, but couldn’t concentrate on my work. In the silence, my mind kept trailing to that clue my mother supposedly left for me. ‘Should I go looking for her? What if I end up leading someone to her? Could she be alive?’

As I thought, I didn't notice Kaga talking. Suddenly, I feel a blow on the back of my head and I jumped. "What're you spacing out for?" He glared down at me and I blushed an apology. When I tried to go back to work, he grabbed the arm of my spinning chair and directed it towards him, pinning me down by grabbing the other side.

"Are you still hung up on that kiss?" He whispered, his face incredibly close, gaze so strong I felt like I couldn't look away. "I can give you one if it helps you forget." The smirk on his face told me he was teasing, but I couldn't help my imagination run wild. 

‘He's your instructor, Katsumi” That's not appropriate.’ I told myself off and shook my head 'no'.

"What're you spacing out for then?" He kept interrogating me, making no move to back down.

"I... I didn't get much sleep last night." I muttered, scared if I talked too loud I would stutter over every word.

"You have your pills. Take them." He demanded and I looked away, embarrassed I needed help to even sleep. I felt pathetic. When I didn't respond, Kaga stood up straight and returned to his office. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and returned to work, completely forgetting about any possibility of finding my mother.

~~~~~~

Working away at my desk, trying to distract myself from any thought about the woman sitting just outside my office, Ayumu stormed in with a stern look on his face.

"Someone keeps accessing a case file on the database." He dropped the papers on my desk after making sure the door was closed behind him. I looked down and found a solved case from over a decade ago. "I looked at the security cameras pointing at the computer used and guess who I found." He slapped another sheet down with a dishevelled and tired-looking Katsumi pictured on it. My brows furrowed at this suspicious behaviour.

"I'll deal with it." Wanting to be the first one to hear her explanation, I slid the files into my desk. Ayumu's brows flickered together before he realised what I said. I glared up at him, daring him to argue, but instead, he excused himself, walking right back out the door as fast as he came in.

~~~~~~

"I can't believe we were caught making out on security cameras!" Naruko, almost giddily, cries out after telling me an instructor had confronted both her and Chiba about inappropriate behaviour in the common rooms. Apparently, they were getting hot 'n' heavy before escaping to her room and they got caught. Although, that's not the part of the story I was fretting over.

‘I would have been caught sneaking on the computers in the middle of the night. Are there rules against that?’ I have to stop myself from pulling at my hair as I freaked out. Kaga or Ayumu would have gladly said something if I was doing anything wrong. ‘Should I come clean before they need to? No, that's a horrible idea. I'd be admitting my own guilt.’ I shook my head at my internal conversation, Naruko too self-absorbed to realise. She was walking to me the Instructor's Staff Room before lunch because I was tasked with delivering some papers to Kaga. ‘Oh god, what if this is an excuse to get me here?’

~~~~~~~~

At lunch, Katsumi knocked on the door of my office. Her head peeked in first, her short bob only leaning slightly. I found that style on her so sexy. Her white hair against her fair skin. Her neck on display for every man to see. I had to stop myself from staring her into the ground as she approached my desk with light steps, scared for some reason. That's when I remembered the case file she was caught staring at.

"Instructor Akiyame asked me-."

"What were you doing looking at these?" I cut her off, pulling the papers out and dropping them in front of me as she put the stack she had down. She froze, staring at the first page like it had just threatened her life. I watched her gulp, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear, giving herself time to think. She couldn't look at the glare I had on my face and I couldn't say I wasn’t amused. She'd been caught and she knew it, thinking she could just magic her way out of here by not answering me? No way.

Standing up, I walked around the desk to meet her gaze. She stumbled back, but I could tell she wasn’t terrified. Not like that guy at the party. Her eyes were wide, but not with fright. It was almost curiosity that pulled her in. She gulped again as I cornered her into the desk.

Just as I was about to ask again, she announced her reasonings. "My... My mother was a witness in that case." She bit her lip, turning away and her hair fell, blocking my view of that innocent guilty expression. I was almost annoyed that I got to miss it. I knew she had more to say, the absence in the movement of her chest told me she's holding her breath, waiting for me to push her further.

"She left me a ring before she ran away. It was a piece of evidence." She continued to report as I dropped a hand either side of her on my desk. She leaned so far back she might as well have been sitting on the surface. I looked down and her thigh in the tight trousers of the academy uniform widened as she pressured backwards.

"I thought she was dead... But my... My father kept asking me where she was... So I got curious." Her voice was trembling now, so I knew she was remembering her time in that underground torture chamber. My eyes narrowed, heart-stopping when I heard her frail noises. It angered me that she had to go through that. For her whole life. And it angered me that I didn't try looking for her when she didn't show up in the hotel. I had an inkling that something was up. A body can't be incinerated like that, no matter how much of the building went up in flames. I should have followed my instincts, but I let Ishigami's facts get the better of me. Our Chief even had to talk me down. I was so angry at her for running in. It was such a stupid move. Even still, I remembered her saving me. Even if some people told me it could have been a hallucination caused by the lack of oxygen I was getting because of all the smoke I had inhaled. I never let Ishigami change my actions. So, why did I then?

It was even harder when we found the woman at the club who looked just like her. The only thing that was different was her hair colour and the way she acted when we were far from her. She was comfortable, completely in her element as she pushed that guy into the bar. She almost seemed bored by the constant string of criminal activities in that club. I almost believed it wasn't her when she stood on the foothold of the stool and bent over the bar to get close and personal with the bartender, her dress just covering her most discreet place. 

Yet, I saw the fluster on her cheeks when she turned to confront the suspicious man in the club she was meant to protect. I’ll be honest, I didn't think she had it in her to entice a man like that. On purpose. Not like the way she's intrigued me. Her unconscious movements and reactions to the way I treated her was a force that I hadn't enjoyed before. I always found myself wondering how far I could push her before she got mad and stormed away, not afraid to take the work I had given her before I even finished my demands.

I backed up when I heard her sniff. Her arm darted in front of her eyes so I couldn't see and I started to feel guilty that I was the cause of it. 

"I keep telling myself that she's dead, but I can't help thinking that she's out there. I even called this estate agent, using the clue in that ring, but it was too late at night and I backed out." She was pouring her heart out to me as she cried, still hiding her true pain from me. I sighed, wrapping my arms around her because it seemed like it helped her. She grabbed the sleeve of my arm. Not to push away, but to help support herself.

‘Moron.’ I wasn’t calling her one, she was perfectly allowed to be reacting like this. She was a broken girl who went through a traumatic event. I was blaming myself for feeling the feelings that I was. I noticed the way she bit the tip of her thumb when she was stressed, not because of an interrogation tactic, but because her frowning brows looked so cute. I noticed the way she lifted her glasses onto her head the second she could because she got so annoyed by them. I noticed the way she could just brush Ayumu's teasing off and how she had grown so used to all the men in the academy talking to her. She had calmed down since the beginning of the year, when she couldn't even sit down on a bed next to me. 

Now that I think about it, maybe that was for a different reason as well? She was always so cautious, so willing to prove herself to everyone else, I wondered how she would react if she knew how I felt? How I thought about her at night when I finally got a moment of silence away from Four Eyes or sudden changes to my schedule.

My gaze fell to the back of her neck, exposed under the hair that floated over her shoulders and I was angry with myself that that was how I reacted in the moment. It wasn’t appropriate and not okay. And, even though I say that, I couldn't help but be happy that I was the one that could hold her. I was the one that could back her up into a wall and tease her. She wouldn't tell me off, not like she did to Ayumu when he got too personal. I was the one that knew how her outdated sense in music calmed her down. I might not have known how much she was struggling, but I knew how to help her.

~~~~~~~~~

As I stood in Kaga's arms again, I couldn't help but think how safe I felt with him. His arms were so strong and his chest was hard but soft. The heat radiating off him would otherwise be unbearable but the way his breath blew on the back of my neck as I cried into him, it was tolerable. The cigarette smell mixed in with cologne didn't bite at my nose the same way my father did, he only ever smelt like the acidic stench cigars gave him. The glares he gave me were more encouraging than anything, daring me to do better. The way he held me on missions may be temporary and full of the facade we were trying to portray, but my heart raced every time. Sure, whenever a guy got into my personal space I'm embarrassed, unused to a towering figure that could be kind and protective, but with Kaga, it was different. I didn't know how, but it just was.

However, embarrassment quickly consumed me. I'm reminded of how unprofessional this was. I was meant to be a student learning to be a detective. Not a little girl who cried every time she got in her head. 

Taking a deep breath, I drew back and Kaga eased his grasp but didn't fully let me go. I looked up at him with an uneasy gaze and there was a look in his eyes that I didn't recognise. It was almost scary. He was the devil Instructor, so who's surprised? But this... This was different. It was the look he had when he pulled Noburu off me and I wanted to run away from it, too ashamed for him to see me act so deplorable.

Inching back further, he seemed to come to his senses and let me go entirely. The cool rush of loneliness almost made me miss it. Almost.

I was about to apologise for how I had been acting when the school bell rang, signally the end of our lunch break. 

"Moron, don't just stand there, get moving." Kaga’s expression had turned into a scowl again and he hit the side of my head with the papers I had previously set down. The light hud reminded me of how he hadn't done that since I returned. Had he been holding off until he knew I was completely healed? And he insulted me, something he had also been easing back into. I likeed the push of encouragement and my tears dried quicker than I would have liked. It was so childish to calm down so quickly. Almost like I was having a tantrum and someone just gave me a piece of candy. With the knowledge of that, I blushed and bowed before running out of the office, having dried my face on my sleeve.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 12)

Azula wishes that she could say her first date went flawlessly. But it didn’t. She was awkward as hell and she isn’t sure how she’d managed to get a second one. God, she doesn’t even know why she had been so awkward, they’d been friends since childhood. But she always finds herself tripping over her own emotions when it comes to love, romance, and softer things. 

She isn’t meant for it. She is meant for competition and relishing in victory. For bursts of power and excitement, the thrill of a new endeavor or achievement. And yet she found herself wandering the boardwalk that evening hand in hand with her childhood friend. The sun was well on its way down painting the entirety of the boardwalk in a vivid shade of orange. 

“Sno-cone?” Sokka offered. “Cotton candy?” 

He had been spoiling her all night and she was the one with the cash to throw around. She’d made a promise to herself to make sure to pay for their next date and to make it a somewhat upscale one. 

“Just cotton candy.” She answered. They hadn’t even made it to the tiki restaurant that he’d wanted to show her, she didn’t want to fill up on snack food before they got there. He held out a cotton candy cone, picked a small blue fluff of it off, and said, “open your mouth.”

“Why?” She’d asked holding her hand out. 

He had rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna feed it to you.”

“I can feed myself?”

His laugh had been precious, she almost didn’t mind that it was at her expense. Her cheeks had slightly colored. “Sometimes couples like to feed each other.”

Azula crinkled her brows, “why?”

“Because it’s romantic.” He replied simply.

“How so?”

He laughs again. “I don’t know, I didn’t make the rule. Now open your mouth.”

Hesitantly, Azula obliged and he popped the piece of cotton candy onto her tongue. There was a burst of sugary sweetness as it dissolved. 

“Was that so hard?” He nudged her. 

“It was agonizing difficult.” She grumbled, folding her hands over her chest. 

He slung an arm across her neck and over her shoulder. “C’mon, we’re almost there.” He pointed to a small little shack with a straw and bamboo roof. Colorful paper lanterns hung from the boarders of the roof and decorated the ceiling. On each of the four supporting posts, circled bright strands of cheap lights shaped like pineapples and flamingos. 

“Tacky.” She commented with a roll of her eyes. 

“Tiki.” He corrected, making her wonder why she felt so flustered when he’d been the one making the cringeworthy jokes. 

Even from that distance she had heard the thrumming, upbeat drums of that year’s most popular reggaeton hit. No wonder he’d liked that restaurant so much. He took her hand again and tugged her along in an excited speedwalk. “Alright, Azula, are you ready for the best smoothie you’ll ever taste!?” 

He was so enthusiastic that she had to crack a smile. “I hope that they’re as good as you say they are.” 

“They have some pretty tasty onion rings too.” 

It was getting easier but her tummy was still fluttering incessantly. Sokka pulled out a stool and motioned for her to have a seat. Azula looked the chair over and took a deep breath, she had to boost herself up on the lower rung of the chair and quite literally climb it to actually get to her seat, it left her feeling doubly awkward. Sokka’s chuckling hadn’t helped. He wiped a tear from his eye, “geez, sometimes I forget that you're that short.”

“Shut up!” She snapped, he only snickered harder. She was certain that he was getting a kick out of seeing her face go bright red. 

There were so many couples out and about that night, and somehow she felt like she just stood out among them. As though she were some sort of fake, a bizarre parody of what a girlfriend was supposed to be and look like. Her laughs had been too forced and there had been undertones of nervousness. And for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why. She’d known him for so long and she’d never had any problems conversing with him. Never had any problems being herself.

But somehow this was different. Something about it just was. 

She felt like she was on her way to ruining not just their new relationship, but their longtime friendship as well. 

“You alright?” He asked. 

She’d nodded. 

“You just…” he trailed off and took an onion ring and then a sip of his smoothie--mango-peach--and continued, “aren’t being you.” He seemed to think for a moment before backtracking, “you seem anxious. Am I doing something wrong?”

Her heart halted. Because it was her. Something was wrong with her, not him. She shakes her head, “you’re fine, Sokka.”  

He gave her a soft smile and cupped his hand over hers. His ocean blue eyes were so soft and loving, it made her feel that much guiltier. “This is your first date, isn’t it?”

She nodded. 

“It’s always a little awkward at first.” He assured. 

Azula thought that it ran a little deeper than that. Genuinely, she wanted the affection. Truly a kiss sounded nice. But actually receiving one? The very possibility that her night would probably end with one…? It caused her stomach to lurch. 

It was just that she hadn’t ever opened up before. Never found the courage to show a softer side of herself and it just felt weird and wrong to do so.

Sokka hummed softly, “hey, I have an idea!” He declared. 

“Is it a good one?”

He wriggled his brows. “It’s an idea.”

Azula buried her face in her hands, each time he’d ever said that, it turned out to be a dreadful one. 

“You just sit there, okay?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Sure, Sokka.” She paused, “but if this is awful, I’m going to throw you off of the pier, understand?”

He flashed her a mischievous grin, “guess I better get my swim trunks on.” 

That night she was exposed to the worst karaoke cover that she’d ever heard, but it sure as hell made her feel less obvious and out of place. For that night she was simply, ‘that girl with the karaoke boyfriend’. 

He certainly was no siren. He was more comparable to, perhaps a walrus where vocal quality was concerned. 

That night she pushed him off of the pier just as she had promised. 

That night, he told her that she could take her time to get used to things, that they didn’t have to have their first kiss right away.

That night they had their first kiss anyways; on the edge of the dock she’d just thrown him from. He hugged her close and soaked her clothes with ocean water.

.oOo.

A walk on the boardwalk is out of the question, because that is where Sokka had taken her. It feels dreadfully strange to have her hand in Jet’s. It isn’t particularly unpleasant by any means. In fact, Jet is very sweet and gentle. A stark contrast to Sokka, who enjoyed playing rough with and teasing her. 

It is both a relief and a sting. The contrast is so stark that she doesn’t feel like she is trying to use him as a fill-in Sokka but it very considerably accentuates that Sokka is gone and that she is with someone else.

“How about a walk on the beach?” He suggests. 

That would make sense, they spend a lot of time on the beach surfing. Maybe they can have themselves a more passionate practices. But the beach is very close to the cove, she and Sokka’s cover. Though that beach isn’t the only beach, it is simply the closest one to her house. 

“There’s a beach across town that I’ve been meaning to check out.” Azula says. 

“Alright, a walk on the beach it is.” He beams. He slides an arm around her waist and leads her to his car.

Suddenly she feels shamefully shy again. Sokka is the only person she’d ever let touch her like that. Sokka is the only person who she thought would. Though it doesn’t feel particularly wrong to let Jet do so. It, in fact, feels rather nice to have that kind of affection again. 

All the same it feels wrong. So horribly wrong to let him take her by the waist when she’d never truly called it off with Sokka. When he is probably isolated and touched-starved somewhere out at sea. 

And especially when she catches herself pretending that it is Sokka who is holding her.

“What kind of music are you in the mood for?” Jet asks as he messes with the radio dials, “personally I think synthwave has the right vibe for cruising down a road by the ocean.”

“Synthwave is fine.” She forces a smile. 

“Cool.” He pushes at his sunglasses and leans back in the seat. 

It is nice to have the wind in her hair, to feel it warmly on her face as she watches the palm trees rush by. In some sense it makes her feel alive again. She glances at Jet who nods his head to the music. The wind flutters his hair. One hand on the wheel he reaches for his soda and has a sip before putting it back in the cupholder. “Want a sip?”

Azula brings her lips to the staw, she can slightly taste him on it as she has her drink. “Thank you.” She says, putting the cup back down. 

“Yeah, any time.” He pulls into a parking spot. “Leave the boards here or do you think we’ll use them?”

Azula thinks for a moment. “Leave them. We can just walk this time.”

He nods, “sounds good, I think it’d be nice to just walk and get to know you better.”

Just like that it occurs to her that they talk almost daily but they never really had a real conversation. They mostly talk about surfing and parties. It will be rather nice to know his interests and hobbies. What his home life is like and what his pet peeves are. 

He holds his hand out and she takes it as they make their way down to the sand. For much of the sunset they sit at the shoreline and dip their feet in the water, discussing more mundane things. 

He really loves synthwave and his favorite color is brown of all colors. He says that it reminds him driftwood and that he used to build driftwood castles and pirate ships with his childhood friends before he’d moved to Port Tui-La. He’d called his crew the Freedom Fighters and they were ‘good and noble’ pirates. He mentioned that his first mate, Smellerbee caused a mutiny one time and took over the ship. 

Azula had, had a good chuckle at this. 

For herself, Azula mentioned the fish game. She also made note that she preferred tea to coffee and that blue is superior to brown in every way. 

After some time of quiet, just watching the sun show its last rays while skipping rocks and fidgeting with shells Jet says, “hey, I’m sorry about your mom and Sokka. The reason I moved is because I lost both of my parents in a house fire.” He pauses. “Some men in masks just poured gasoline all around and lit it up while they were asleep. I was at Longshot’s house…” he trails off. “I never did find out who they were or why they did it. I live with my uncle now.”

Azula swallows, her belly flutters for his loss. “Yeah.” She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “It’s...it never feels the same. There’s this emptiness…”

Jet nods. “And you can’t fill it.” 

“It’s like there’s a hole. You can meet new people, but that doesn’t fill the hole, you just have a mound of sand next to the hole. You can push the sand in but it doesn’t quite fill it right.”

Jet quirks a brow. “Yeah, that’s a good way of describing it.” He pauses. “But having a new mound is better than nothing at all, right?”

She can see it in his eyes that it runs deeper than just a general analogy. 

She thinks for a moment before finally nodding. “Yes. I think that it is better to try to make something new, even if it isn’t the same.”

Jet’s darkly colored eyes light up. He tenderly caresses her cheek and leans in.

For a fleeting moment she thinks that it might be too soon. She very nearly tells him not yet. But is it really too soon? It has been months. She hasn’t feel a connection like this, a warmth like this in months. 

She decides that it isn’t too soon. 

His lips find hers.

It is a kind kiss, soft and delicate. Her belly flutters again, both pleasantly and with a sense of melancholy. She isn’t alone. 

She deepens the kiss.

A tear slips down her cheek.

[luminary-gremlin]

Host vs Dark (Poly vs Poly)

Tagging: @thehostofleetrature @darkipli-ler I would tag more but this part focuses on these two the most!

Morning came and both polies sprung into action. Silver cooked up a healthy energizing breakfast for his group as Dark pumped up his team, for once allowing Wilford to eat as much sweets as he wanted and Magnum a hunk of meat while they discussed plans and their strengths and weaknesses and how they can turn them into strengths. Yandere made sure to put both of their boys through a casual training session the night before to keep their senses aware and what they need to work on. Host meanwhile focused on conserving as much energy as possible, even going to bed early an hour or two early. However, despite all this they all knew this was in good fun. Once it was time, they egos made their way to silver’s gym, a large room with a soft matt, perfect for battles.

           They all decided to have Host and Dark go first, all excited and pumped to see an epic magical duel between them both. The Host then took off his trench coat to reveal a baggy and loose tank top as Dark slid off his jacket and show off his my chemical romance t-shirt, as to be fair and not have any hindering armor for their battle. Dark adjusted his tie as he eyed down Host, already planning his next move.

           The Host meanwhile tried to conserve as much energy as possible, turning off his mind eye and depending on his other senses, he took a deep breath and did a little stretch before beginning.

           “You shouldn’t be tempting me with those stretches of yours Host.”

           Dark purred, hoping to tease and fluster Host into submission. Although it did cause Host to blush a bit, he remained calm and collected.

           “The Host is honored that Darkiplier can’t help but check out his body, perhaps he is checking out more than possible spots~.”

           The Host cooed right back with a cheeky attitude before both parties had their attention taken by Wilford.

           “Alright alright, come on let’s get started gentlemen. I’m practically bubbling with excitement to see who’ll win! On your marks, get set, FIGHT!”

           Almost immediately Dark made his first move, keeping his distance as he circled around Host, neither party planned to go easy on each other so all was fair game. He stayed as silent as he could, no teasing just yet to blow his cover as the Host strained his ears for some noise other than the sound of popcorn and slurping soda from the peanut gallery.

           “Aren’t you going to make your first move~? Or are you too scared that I’ll catch you Host?”

           “The Host is simply allowing Dark to move, as he already is. It would be foolish to pounce or charge and waste precious energy.”

           “…Oh so you already know you’ll be within my grasp.”

           Dark sneered with delight as he got closer and halted, standing behind host at a close enough distance, but not too close for Host to feel him breathing down his neck. He locked his eyes on his target like a prey and pounced.

           Host however, knew exactly where Dark was. Once he felt the shift of the matt under his feet he stepped aside and grabbed one of Dark’s arms, and held it and just as Dark was about to feel the recoil of his arm being tugged Host kicked his feet out from under him, thus tripping Dark and making him fall on his butt.

           “Dark’s cotton candy scent as he got closer is what gave him away to the Host. Perhaps if he wasn’t wearing such a strong scent he may have pinned the Host. Although I do ponder how a sweet scent is coming from the bold and masculine Darkiplier~”

           Dark was caught by surprise, mentally cursing himself for letting Wilf rub his scent on him, but quickly rolled up while host still had a hold of his arm and twisted so he was behind Host and pinned his arm to his back, wrapping his other arm around his torso with his free hand to gently scribble over the dip of Host’s exposed side.

           Host gasped and let out quite the cute squeal and bubbly giggles at the attack, quickly dropping down. Everyone gasped, thinking Dark had just had the opportunity to pin him, but because the angle and position became so awkward and so heavy that it made Dark let go. Host then kicked his legs out from under him and rolled over and pinned Dark’s arms above his head and sat on them, thus rendering Dark completely useless.

           “Heh, nice moves, but you can only reach so far!”

           Dark growled playfully as he squirmed and tugged his arms.

           “My hands may be limited, but my words aren’t~”

           Host purred before immediately going into it, tracing Dark’s pits with his blunt nails and narrating.

           “Dark then began to feel tingling his heels as if ghostly nails were spidering them under his socks, and slowly climbing up his soles dramatically. Dark’s stomach then began to fill with dread as he knew there was no possible way to escape his tickles.”

           Just as Host described, everyone could watch Dark’s legs begin to twitch as if trying to kick away the nonexistent fingers and tug at his arms. A wobbly smile began to form as he scrunched his nose and closed his eyes to focus.

           Host meanwhile wasted no time, although he was one to linger on a spot just to appreciate it, this time he couldn’t if he wanted to win. He began to climb down to a particular set of ribs when suddenly something wrapped around his waist and hoisted him off of Dark. Host gasped as he was tossed around in the air and the thing wrapped around his waist then grabbed his wrists and hung him in the air as a familiar object wrapped around his ankles. He opened his mind eye to perceive what was happening only to find Dark’s tendrils holding him in the air, and a very vengeful Darkiplier getting up.

           Ah one thing Host may have forgotten to mention, although both of them when tickled to a certain point make it very difficult to use their powers, Host’s is based off of words, so the slightest giggle or stutter the cancels out the narration.

           Dark grinned as he rubbed the feeling out of his feet and glared up at Host with a sneer.

           “Well, well, well. How are you going to get out of this one Host~?”

           “T-the Host….ahem… Darkiplier’s tendrils then began to l-loooHOHhohohohsehehehen ohohohoh nohohohoh!”

           As Host was about to narrate himself free, another tendril of Dark’s gently flicked over his side like a feather and poked gently and squished his side, thoroughly cutting off his narration. Host couldn’t stop the blush forming on his cheeks and just how quickly Dark took back control, all the while he just paced and paced around without lifting a single finger.

           The tendrils slowly lowered Host closer to the floor while the side one and the one holding his arms up began to tease his very exposed pits, causing the already meek librarian to squeal and tug his arms in desperation to protect the sensitive spot.

           “And just like that the all-powerful Host, stripped from his power and reduced to giggles. Now then I wonder what will break you the quickest, oh there is so many options to choose from.”

           Dark pondered, fake thinking as the tendrils around Host’s ankles began to slide into his socks, teasing all over his bare soles and leaving no nerve endings untouched. Host let out a very audible change in his laughter as he shook his head side to side. Poor guy was in tickly hea-HELL.

           “How about, here?”

           “N-nohoHOHOHOHOHOH NAHHAAH THTHEHEHEHEHEHHERE!!!”

           Dark then began to trace his waist that made the Host buck and arch, thus exposing even more waist.

           “Oh why thank you, you must really love this if you’re showing off your irresistible skin Host. I can see why your lovelies praise you so much.”

           Dark cooed, while also very much meaning it as Host was a little self-conscious about his body, so any meaningful compliment was very nice.

           “OHOHOHOH SSSHSHSSHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHSHHHSHHSHSSHSHS!”

           “Oh how they must love how you’re so willing to let them tease and tickle tickle tickle you. To let yourself be the one taken care of as they tease each and every spot on your delicate nerves, awakening each and every one over and over. I bet if we didn’t have this little competition, they’d march their way right over and kiss and nibble everywhere. Maybe even wear some lipstick so that way later at night you can feel that you’re all theirs.”

           The Host was beet red as all he could imagine is his lovelies loving him and tickling him to their hearts desires. He was craving it but as long as he was trapped he couldn’t. Not to mention the combination of his narrations plus being tickled in his top 3 spots began to tire him out. Eventually, the Host caved in, craving the touches of his loved ones.

           Meanwhile, a certain pink mustached man was certainly pink after watching Dark tease. Man why did Host have to be the lucky on- I mean, why did Host have to be the one that fights him?

           “M-MEHEHHEHEHERCY!”

           Immediately Dark had halted everything, giving Host some time to calm down before setting him down carefully and carrying him in his arms to his lovers, both of which wasted no time giving him the love he craved.

           “You did so well Hostieboo! I’m so proud of you!”

           “Yeah! Dark can be super hard to fight but you managed to pin him down that was amazing! We’re so proud of you!”

           Silver then pulled Host into his chest so Host could rest as Yan fed him some water to rehydrate their seer. Dark meanwhile crouched to his level with a reassuring smile.

           “You fought valiantly Host, it was an honor to battle.”

           The Host meanwhile gave a dazed smile as he snuggled into his hero’s chest and held Yan’s hand before taking a well-deserved nap, as well did Dark, his team rooting and cheering that they won the first round.

Sweets: 0 | Sundaes: 1

[jlalafics]

i beg of u. on bended knee. please write peeta on bended knee. by which i mean proposing. to katniss ofc

You asked for it...and here you go--

______

The bar—per every Friday night—was hopping. Round tables were filled with customers, old and young, and the noise was deafening. However, that was exactly how the owners liked their customers—jovial, bawdy, and just there for a good time.

Katniss looked around before waving at one particular waitress before reaching her usual table in the middle of the room. As she pulled out a chair and sat down, another woman approached with a group of her girlfriends.

“This is our table,” she stated before looking to her friends who snickered in approval.

Katniss smirked, clasping her hands and placing them on the table. “No, it’s not.”

“I know the owner and he said that it was my table,” she persisted. “So, you can just move—there’s room for you at the bar.”

“I’m pretty sure that he didn’t,” Katniss stated plainly.

Agitated, the girl placed a hand on her hip jutting it out aggressively. “How do you know?”

“Because he’s our Dad and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t say yes to someone who’s insulting the heir apparent to his business.”

A golden-haired waitress, blue eyes cool and strong stance, appeared before the woman.

“My sister has had this table reserved since she spit up on it as baby—not to mention, I’m pretty sure that she was conceived on top of it.” The waitress nodded her head towards the exit. “Now, beat it before you make the wall of people barred from Everdeen Spirits.”

The women quickly scurried away, and Prim snorted before turning to her sister.

Katniss stood up, hands on her hips. “Do you really have to tell everyone that story?”

“It’s gives the table a little more distinctiveness,” Prim responded easily. “Plus, I’m pretty sure our parents have had sex on at least one of these tables. I mean, I caught them making out behind the bar just last night.”

“Gross.” Katniss pulled her sister into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you!”

“Well, that’s what happens when you move to the city with your boyfriend!” They both sat down. “How is living in sin with Peeta going?”

Katniss frowned, resting back against her seat. “It’s been good—but lately, he’s been…different.”

Prim leaned in curiously. “How so?”

“He’s been working a lot lately,” she explained. “Then, there are mysterious phone calls where he hangs up right when I walk into the room and he’s been skittish.” Katniss turned to his sister. “We’ve known Peeta since we were kids—he has a tell. When he’s lying or doing something obviously stupid, he does this adorable thing where he scratches the back of his head…like he’s trying to come up with a good excuse for whatever he did.”

Prim look unconvinced.

“You’re right,” Prim replied. “We’ve known Peeta long enough to know that when he’s lying or hiding something, he’ll get caught.” She flashed her sister a smile. “The man loves you and you’ve been blissfully shacking up with him for a year now. Trust him.”

“And, you don’t think that he might be cheating on me?”

Prim reached, smacking her in the back of her head.

Katniss scowled. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Because you sound like a dumbass,” her sister retorted. “You love him?”

She sighed, nodding her head. “Yes.”

“Then relax, enjoy Thanksgiving week with our crazy-ass family, and get excited for karaoke!”

“Since when do we have karaoke at the bar?” Katniss asked with a smile.

“Since drunk people love to post videos of themselves or their friends singing ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ and tagging our bar,” Prim said. “I told Dad that it would be great for business and he agreed. Sometimes he even goes up there and sings—you know he has a voice of an angel.”

Katniss could see Darius, one of the head bartenders, setting up the microphone on the small makeshift stage.

“Oh yeah. Practically stole Mom’s heart with that voice.” Katniss smiled softly. “It’s nice to be home.”

Prim leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“It’s great to have you home. I’ll have Vick bring your usual.”

With that, her sister stood up and headed back to the bar.

++++++

Once karaoke got started, Katniss put her thoughts on Peeta aside. Prim was right; there wasn’t a bad bone in Peeta’s body, it was why she fell in love with him.

What was once a childhood friendship had turned into love during a middle school dance. After being dumped by her boyfriend, Cato, for a girl who looked like her but had bigger boobs, Peeta had come to her rescue and asked her to dance.

Then, under an overabundance of streamers and the sound of slow jams on the speakers, Peeta Mellark became her boyfriend.

Surprisingly to a lot of people, they had remained together from high school through college—attending separate campuses—up until now. She worked as a paralegal for Haymitch Abernathy, a prominent Manhattan lawyer while Peeta worked as a sous chef for famed chef, Beetee Latier.

They were content with their life together.

At least, she thought they were.

The volume of the crowd heightened when her father crossed the stage. Richard Everdeen, with his salt and pepper hair and kind coal eyes, became everyone’s dad as soon as they entered his bar and it was apparent in the appreciative applause as he took to the microphone.

“Hello darling!” Katniss turned to find her mother pulling out a chair across from her. They embraced before sitting down. “I would have been out sooner, but I was having a hell of a time dealing with these wine distributors.”

“It’s alright,” she told her mother. “You didn’t miss anything but a round of Journey songs and a really good rendition of ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody.’”

“I really just came to the front for your Dad.” Her mother’s blue eyes went soft at the man on stage. “And you, of course.”

Katniss chuckled. “Thanks Mom.”

“Oh, you know I love my first-born baby!” She gathered Katniss against her. “But I’m always hot for my man!”

“And, you wonder why you two were never popular with the other parents,” she responded.

Her parents were great, but they were a little more…boisterous than the staid parents that often ran the events at the girls’ schools. That never bothered Katniss or Prim though as their parents were as supportive as any parents could be.

The girls were often the top sellers during fundraising events as patrons at the bar would buy anything to support the Everdeen girls. Or whereas a parent might run a cotton candy booth during the annual springtime carnival, the Everdeens were the ones who ran the dunk tank which often featured her father promising a free bottle of wine or soda for anyone who dunked him.

“Who needs popularity?” her mother said. “We have each other.” She looked around. “Where’s Peeta?”

“He should be along,” Katniss said. “Had to work late…but he should be here soon—I hope.”

Peeta had texted his apologies, but he was once again caught up with the restaurant. He spent less time in their apartment the more successful he became.

Her mother gave her shoulder a squeeze. “He’ll be here sooner than you think.”

Katniss nodded, turning her attention to her father.

“Anyway, thank you for coming in for this new thing we’re doing. My girl Prim’s idea—” The crowd whooped and cheered for Prim who did a curtsey from the front of the bar. “It’s a joy to hear all your beautiful voices—”

“SING!” someone called out from the crowd.

Katniss looked around quickly before turning back to her dad.

“I guess we’re getting a request,” her Dad said with a humble smile. “I’m going to dedicate this to my wife. Pearl, darling, this might be a little past our time, but I think you’ll enjoy for many reasons. Also, Katniss, my oldest girl, is back home so I think she’ll enjoy this as well.”

The familiar strains of the song began, and it was like she was 12 again—all legs and arms with no tits, but feeling the beginning of womanhood and the beginning of love.

 “Darlin' I, I can't explain

Where did we lose our way?

Girl, it's drivin' me insane

And I know I just need one more chance

To prove my love to you—”

 There was a scrape of a chair and suddenly Peeta was sitting right next to her.

“Peeta!” She beamed at him. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

Peeta pressed a kiss to her lips. “Sorry I took so long…Beetee is so panicked about making sure that the holiday menu goes as planned.” He turned to Katniss’ mother. “Hey Mrs. Everdeen.”

“Hey sweetheart.” She stood up. “I’m going to grab a snack for you two—”

“Mom, it’s alright,” Katniss assured her.

“No, no…” Her mother was already heading away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back!”

Katniss turned to Peeta, who took her hand. “I guess she’s giving us alone time.” She smiled at him. “I really am glad you’re here. Truthfully, I’ve been a little worried about us.”

Peeta frowned. “Why?”

“You’ve been so busy…and sometimes I feel like you’re keeping something from me,” she replied.

“I’m sorry.” Peeta gazed at her, earnestness in those blue eyes of his. “I don’t know why you put up with me sometimes.”

“Because I love you, dummy.” His mouth widened at her words and she slid her hand to his cheek. “Always.”

Peeta covered the hand on his cheek with his own. “Always.” He looked to Katniss’ father and nodded a hello. “Do you remember this song?”

“Of course,” she replied. “It was the first song we danced to—when I got dumped for being Miss No-Boobs.”

“Trust me, the boobs came and more than made up for the delay,” Peeta told her with grin. He stood up. “Dance with me.”

She looked around the crowded bar as everyone listened to her father singing the chorus. Some people were even singing along. “Here?”

“Yes. I want to dance with my girl,” Peeta insisted as he stood up, pulling her along. He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. “I remember being so nervous when I asked you.”

“You were my hero,” she replied as they began to sway. “Imagine I was thinking that I was so heartbroken over Cato when you were in front of me all that time.”

Peeta met her eyes, suddenly nervous.

“I’m really sorry if I’ve been neglecting you. It’s just that I realized something; I don’t want you to be my girlfriend.”

Her heart suddenly ceased to beat, and she pushed away from him, her eyes filling.

“Then you don’t have to be.”

Katniss turned but Peeta still held her hand. “Katniss—”

“Let go!” She was full on sobbing in front of everyone. “I don’t need to hear anymore.”

Peeta obliged her and let go.

Katniss pushed past the rush of people, wiping her eyes. She couldn’t believe that he was dumping her in her family’s bar, on Thanksgiving week—

“I'm gonna swallow my pride

Say I'm sorry

Stop pointing fingers the blame is on me—”

 Why the hell was Peeta singing?

She turned as the crowd parted and Peeta, mic in hand, walked towards her.

 “I want a new life

And I want it with you

If you feel the same

Don't ever let it go…”

 “What the fuck are you doing—”

Peeta stopped in front of her, falling to his knees, as he continued to belt out the bridge of the Boyz II Men ballad.

 “You gotta believe in the spirit of love

It'll heal all things

It won't hurt anymore

No I don't believe our love's terminal

I'm down on my knees begging you please…”

 “You really should get off the floor,” Katniss told him. “It’s disgusting.”

“Not until you hear me out,” Peeta told her.

Her dad was suddenly by their side and Peeta handed the mic to him. The music stopped and the whole bar turned silent.

“I don’t want you to be my girlfriend, Katniss, because you are so much more than that. You’re my best friend, my biggest supporter, my guidepost, and advisor…because I do some dumb shit sometimes—”

She scoffed. “That’s for sure.”

“And, just like that, you keep it real. You’re also my soulmate,” he continued. Reaching into his pocket, Peeta present her with a velvet box. “I’ve already mucked this up, but hopefully this will help you understand.”

Her hands shaking, Katniss took the box and opened it. “It’s a ring.”

Peeta chuckled.

“That it is. A pearl in the middle because you love them so much—and of course, it’s your mother’s name,” Peeta explained. “The two diamonds to the left and the right are for your father and Prim. If you look at the outside of the band, there’s a small engraving of the signet that I found when I was doing research about the Mellark family during our senior year and if you look inside—”

Katniss pulled the ring out and looked inside.

“Always,” she read out thickly.

“I don’t want you as my girlfriend. I want you as my wife,” Peeta told her. “So, I’m on bended knee—on this beer-stained floor—asking you if you will please…please…be my wife.”

From out of nowhere, her mother pushed her forward. “For God’s sake, Katniss, say yes to the boy!”

“Yeah,” Prim said from the bar. “That floor is so gross and I’m pretty sure he’s wearing Armani.”

“Will all Everdeens please shut up—” Katniss called out. She joined Peeta, going to her knees, and looking into his eyes. “—so I can say yes to the man who’s loved me since before my boobs came in?”

Peeta blinked back in shock. “You’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying hell yes.”

Katniss watched as Peeta slid the ring on her finger with trembling hands.

Standing up together, her fiancé pulled her close to cover her mouth in a deep kiss.

“She said yes!” Her father bellowed to the crowd. “Free beer for everyone!”

The bar erupted in cheers as Prim, wiping her eyes, dashed behind the bar to help the bartenders serve.

Richard held his hand out to his wife. “I guess we’re having a wedding.”

Pearl wrapped an arm her husband’s waist.

“Our daughter must really love Peeta,” she said, watching the newly engaged couple, lost in each other’s embrace. “Because with a voice like that—”

“Well, let’s just hope that the children don’t inherit his voice.”

FIN.

Song: “On Bended Knee” -Boyz II Men

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Epilogue IV

Yet the next day still came.

My blankets all tangled, along with my bed sheets. My alarm was set for 10:00 AM but the time on my phone said 1:00 PM. I just let my alarm continue to go off. Some days were just like that. Where no matter what was going on around the world, the will to go on just felt like an elusive feeling, known only by the most ardent of explorers. Sheesh, where did I come up with those things? ‘Ardent explorers’? Really?

Some days however, I would panic at the thought of being late to my class, or work, or just being late to hang out with a friend. There was a handful of times when I would cancel or call in to say I couldn’t make it, and I didn’t really have an excuse other than I didn’t want to go outside. Was it that I didn’t want to or couldn’t? I thought of it as the former. Some days I just really didn’t want to face the world.

The truth of it all was that no matter which day it was, whether I was in the highest or the lowest of spirits, I always got the feeling like the end would come soon. But it didn’t. Each time. There were times when I even thought to end it, myself, tired of the waiting. But that didn’t come, either.

It really was funny when people talk about “living each day like it’s your last” like it was some motivational thing, when that very mindset was what plagued me. Sure, sometimes I could spin it into a positive, but most of the time I was just like “if today’s the last day, then why should I spend it any different? It’s going to end regardless.”

But even then, it didn’t end.

I knew I wasn’t immortal, that much was for certain. I could still bleed, bruise, and get sick, just like the rest of ‘em. What then? When days would continue, but I continued living like the next day, I might not?

Sorry. If anyone was to read my thoughts, they’d probably be devastated. No, they wouldn’t. I’d probably come off as over-dramatic. Well, that was fair. Maybe that’s what I was going for. After all, maybe all I wanted was just a little bit of excitement. But not external, and on my own terms.

That didn’t quite make sense, either. I was such a low energy person and the closest I came to a thrill was when I faced off against a final boss in one of my games. Though six out of seven days a week, that machine probably just sat there.

There were also days when I wished I could only experience things that made me happy. But misfortune would still arrive, regardless. That was life, yeah, but how many lives have I lived? Sleep and wake came for me like: live, die, live, die, repeat. Something else that didn’t help was that I was confused on whether I lived when I was asleep or awake.

Sometimes the things that I think would make me happy don’t soothe whatever hurt I have, or perceive to have. Well, that was grand, too. I did my best to hope for another time, before the end, when I would feel that warmth again. There are moments when I think I would like to stop my thoughts or take a break, just for a little bit. Give someone else the reins. Let someone else tell their story. Because mine was kind of a plain one. But then, my thoughts always turned back to me and only me.

On one afternoon, on the front steps to my apartment complex, I sat with my friend, Conrad. He was the only friend I had, and he was a bit of a conspiracy nut, if you caught my drift. He didn’t have any ill intentions, and I was a fan of all those outlandish things as well, more so for the novelty of it, but he was like the real deal.

“I’m telling you, there’s these aliens that have landed on Earth. People in NASA have met them, and so has every figure in government. They’re called the Beige and I suspect that they want to take over the world in order to get everyone high! They must be stopped, but they could be any one of us!”

“Bro, that sounds awesome!” I joked, then sipped some grape soda. Really, my favorite soda. Sometimes I would mix grape soda and root beer. Conrad would tell me that such a concoction was how people get mind controlled. I could never tell if he was joking or not. Maybe that was part of the fun.

“No, it’s very much NOT awesome! The devil’s lettuce, or weed, or Mary Jane, or Spider-Man, Laffy Taffy, whatever you wanna call it, is how they get you!”

“Who is ‘they’, dude? I mean, aren’t I a they?” Hey, I said what I said, but I think I earned the right to joke about my own pronouns by now. As long as I was the one doing it, it was cool.

“You know what I mean! This isn’t time for jokes, Blanc! This is serious!”

“I mean, yeah, I know, but some of these theories can end up being code words for harmful stereotypes and I mean, that’s not good for anyone. I’m not saying that those in power are good, hell, the things I have to deal with is no way to live, but blaming it on one specific group can end up really bad. I don’t just wanna go shouting at my neighbor that they’re Beige, because, I don’t know, some feature of theirs. Though, if there’s a Beige out there, let it be known that I’d be down to get smoked out with some chill aliens.”

There were many different ways he could have responded to that. Ranging from a change of perspective to horrible. I was grateful he went with a more comfortable route.

“You’re probably right. If I were just your run of the mill angry conspiracy guy, I wouldn’t have liked a single word you said, but you’re my friend, and while I get really scared sometimes, I don’t want to turn that fear into a hateful direction. I think it’s not really a person or group of people I’m scared of, but just the kind of world we live in. How it seems we get played, but whatever it is that plays us, and how powerless I end up feeling.”

“Dude, I feel that way, too,” I told him. “It’s hard this feeling of powerlessness. This whole...will I ever be happy with who I am? It really feels like the systems we have in place were designed just to fuel unhappiness, and sometimes I don’t even know why I’m going on.”

He knew I didn’t like to get into these more serious thoughts. I mean, sometimes I did. That was the key word that kept popping up: sometimes.

“Those theories can be fun, too, like ‘what’s the deal with The Velvet Underground?’ But I just worry, because I know it’s not guaranteed that’s how things will go, but it’s very easy for one thing to lead to another. It’s like with my negative thoughts, and depression. How it seems to escalate and escalate, even as I get lower and lower. I can get overloaded with these negative emotions, and I worry that I’ll explode. I know I’m not talking literal, but yeah.”

Conrad chose to change the subject, good on him.

“How’s your grape soda?” He asked.

“Grapetastic!” I replied, and we clanged our cans together. He preferred orange soda, and he only chose to do his own version of orange soda, which meant pouring orange juice and carbonated water into a can and letting it settle. He never did tell me how he sealed the cap back on.

Then, he pointed at the tattoo I got. It showed a little angel, halo, wings, and all, with the words ‘be happy’ underneath. It was a recent tattoo, and I never thought I would get a tattoo, but sometimes I just did little things that made me happy on a whim.

“What’s the deal with that?” He asked.

I shrugged. “Really, it’s more of a reminder than anything.”

There were things that I said out loud prior, and even though I wanted to steer closer to the positive, my thoughts drifted back to some of those words:

The way the world around me seemed unfit for me, or me unfit for it. When I would think to myself how everyone else had their shit together, but all of those things weighing me down, like trying to hold down a job, or get good grades for subjects I wasn’t interested in. Things costing money. Housing, food, my own health. I was lucky enough to have a friend like Conrad who could provide a few goods through less than legal means, but even with him, it was hard to feel happiness most days. Like I said, it felt like I lived in a world which was intended for me not to feel like I belong in it. In that sense, I belonged very well, as I was acting in just the way the system intended. Gee, could you tell why Conrad and I were friends?

That world, I knew it wasn’t like that everywhere in the world, but I felt stuck to the part of the world I was in. Where happiness was sparse and fed in such small doses. Where my depression could very well have been seen as a sign of success so that I didn’t try to speak up when I wasn’t satisfied with something. It seemed I was getting into conspiracy territory as well, but jeez. How did most people function? If they did at all. I was just struggling to understand who I was on my best days, and some just went about their routine.

Just like I did. But my routine could easily get broken. Just like I could.

I wanted to be that happy go lucky person, I wanted to think of everything in terms of positives, but that wasn’t doable for me. If I was lucky, I could see a therapist, but that wasn’t a guaranteed help, either.

Was there a takeaway from that life of mine? Maybe it was that I was glad to be in the company of a friend, or that one day I might live a peaceful life and not have my mind feel like a planet splitting in every direction. Yes, that was melodramatic.

So, whether or not it would work, time would tell, but I kind of just wanted that tattoo to remind myself. Not to be happy all the time, but…

Well, I didn’t know. Maybe that was my intention. Screw you. It could mean whatever I wanted it to.

I didn’t really subscribe to any sort of religious belief. The angel thing was more of a fairy tale sort of deal. Because as I took a sip of that grape soda and thought of cotton candy, I wanted to believe that there was a guardian angel out there, showing up on those days when I could smile and say that I was happy.

[shimmershae]

Daryl Dixon is the very definition of a one woman man.  But even if he wasn't, well.  These things would still hold true for me--

Disclaimer:  Other ship=anybody other than Caryl; could be Daryl + Dog--yep.  People are crazy, ya'll. 

 Other ship=Dippin' Dots. 

Carol + Daryl=The Kitchen Sink of Sundaes.  Like they sell one called just that at this little ice cream soda shop in WDW.

 Other ship=sparklers. 

Carol + Daryl=4th of July fireworks extravaganza complete with musical score. 

 Other ship=candy corn for Halloween. 

Carol + Daryl=all the brand name chocolate candy bars.  Full size. 

 Other ship=one of those kid's candy necklaces. 

Carol + Daryl=heart shaped locket with each other's pictures inside.

 Other ship=one hit wonder that nobody can pinpoint the actual name of. 

Carol + Daryl=oh, I don't know.  The Beatles or the Eagles.  Groups that have hits in the double digits and actual longevity. I mean.  Was I alive during these two groups' heyday?  Nope.  But I know who they are.

 Other ship=a shooting star. 

Carol + Daryl=each other's North Star.  Hell.  Each other's sun, moon, and stars.  Each other's galaxy. 

 Other ship=one of those sucker ring pops. 

Carol + Daryl=a family heirloom passed down through generations or a simple but classic wedding band with the most meaningful of inscriptions. 

 Other ship=Oreo thins.

Carol + Daryl=Double Stuff Oreos.

 Other ship=empty calories cotton candy that dissolves into nothing.   

Carol + Daryl=the most decadent chocolate that you have to savor. 

 Other ship=dandelions or ragweed. 

Carol + Daryl=a whole field of wildflowers that come back year after year and blanket a seemingly blank space like magic. 

 Other ship=a magazine cutout of cute puppies or kittens.

Carol + Daryl=a whole warm lapful of wiggly, snuggly, affectionate furbabies. 

 Other ship=a Furby or Chia pet or some other miscellaneous fad toy. 

Carol + Daryl=how 'bout the good ole Teddy Bear or other stuffed animal?  I mean.  Any classic, enduring toy will do here. 

 Other ship=Happy Meal.

Carol + Daryl=seven course feast. 

  My point with all this baloney is that Carol and Daryl for me?  Have more substance, have more longevity.  They're something extra special and inspire feelings in me that no ordinary, slapped together couple could ever, and lets get something straight.

 I do view Daryl as a one woman man and think he's a character that, because of his history, approaches something as consuming as love with an abundance of caution and suspicion.  He's not going to go for someone that he doesn't know inside and out, so the bright and shiny, charming newcomer or an interloper with tenuous ties with his established circle of friends and family?  It does not fit him. It doesn't fit him at all and this is a hill I'm prepared to die on.

 All those other ship comparisons?  Sure, there's people out there that prefer them just like you or I prefer Carol + Daryl.  And that's fine.  It's a free world and opinions are like assholes, hmm? And I don't mean that in the disparaging way one would infer, lol.  Promise. 

 I'm just laying out why I will always prefer Daryl with Carol in relatable examples should TWD decide to throw away years of character work and bulldoze through paths that have already had their foundations poured to take a path that doesn't have a legible, recognizable map.  That's all.

 Daryl Dixon is and forever will be a one woman man and Carol Peletier is that woman. His woman.

 Just try to change my mind. 

 Here's a hint:  you fucking won't.

[crimsonbluemoon]

H2O Vanoss: Merman

Final one! Okay, so this is my OTP and this idea actually was my LEAST favorite at first, but now? Now I love it. ugh, I’m a mess. Please enjoy this monster of a HeadCanon! ^.^

H2OVanoss Merman

Basis: Evan is a merman prince of an undersea kingdom, Del is a struggling artist who is in desperate need of a beach vacation according to his friend Luke.

IDEAS (...Basically just a story)

The story starts when Evan is about to assume the reign of his kingdom, as a sign of his coming of age on his 25th birthday. During the banquet just before the coronation, one of his advisors gives him a drink poisoned with human blood, known to mermaid’s as “The Loner’s Curse.” 

The poison weakens him to be stronger than humans but weaker than mermaids, and also turns him human. The advisor and some of his henchman subdue him and end up stranding Evan on shore, tying him to a post so he’ll drown when the tide comes in.

Instead, Delirious finds him while finding a morning surf shore that he and Luke had taken for the summer while Luke took over his uncle’s beach house and surf shop (with Delirious assisting him.) Evan is almost drowning when Delirious spots him, so once Delirious unties him he’s stuck dragging an unconscious Evan back to the beach house, where Luke and Del get him cleaned up. 

Luke berates Del about not dragging dead people into the house again as they’re doing this.

When Evan wakes up, he’s stuck as a human and has to find a way to reverse the poison that’s still in his system and get back to his kingdom and save it. He keeps track of the poison by looking at his veins in the moonlight, and where his veins glow is where the poison has reached. 

If the poison reaches his heart, he’ll literally drown in human blood and die. Thankfully, he has Delirious to help him, and Luke when he’s not managing the shop.

Not that any of them have ANY idea what they’re doing.

In the process of searching for a cure, there’s really cute moments! Evan hates being human (walking, the increased metabolism/need for sleep, basically everything to do with a human body) until he eats pizza for the first time. He’s literally addicted to the pizza from Panda’s Pizza Parlor, which has the best pizza on the coast. 

He also likes Panda, who can always tell exactly what kind of pizza he wants with a single glance (he does this with all his customers, and gives Evan an anchovy special each time he walks in, heavy on the fish.) 

Delirious absolutely refuses to try it, no matter how much Evan tries to get him to eat it (“They’ve still got their eyes, Evan! I can’t eat no fish eyes, they’re still looking at me an- and making me feel bad!”)

Evan is NOT used to wearing clothes and keeps “losing” them. The number of times that Delirious has turned around to/walking in on/returned to a shirtless or entirely naked Evan most definitely contributes to his attraction to the merman prince and his extreme embarrassment. 

Evan only really likes this one shark tooth necklace that Delirious bought for Evan, as it helps him to comfort him when there are too many people around.

Evan can’t be left alone in the house because he breaks SO MUCH STUFF. Luke has had to replace most minor appliances and is very tempted to “take a gutting knife to the damn fish already and have some peace again.”

Fire at the beach: Del teaches Vanoss how to dance for the first time, super intimate and romantic. 

Girls flirting with Evan at the surf shop annoys Delirious to the point of “accidentally” knocking a soda onto the girls and making them leave.

Luke is torn between snickering and groaning at the loss of profit

Del comes into Evan’s room in the middle of night because he’s crying in pain from the poison

This starts the tradition of then sleeping next to each other every night (despite Luke teasing Del every morning)

Del asks Evan about merepeople’s sexuality and kinda discovers Evan’s into men over women

Del teaches Evan how to surf (and fails miserably). 

They almost kiss for the first time before a wave pushes them away from each other and ruins the moment

Evan stumbles in on Delirious trying to draw in the window seat of the beach house, but from the crumpled up drawings and broken pencils, it’s obvious he’s not having any luck. Evan doesn’t know the first thing about art, but he likes to watch Delirious draw, and is genuinely interested in how he makes drawings and why he chooses certain styles or lines for parts of the picture. 

Del is a bit nervous talking about it at first, but as he answers Evan’s questions, he relaxes. By the time the questions are done, Del’s drawn a picture without even really realizing what he was doing. 

It ends up being a picture of Evan from the waist up, and Delirious ends up asking about what Evan looks like as a mermaid (the color of his scales, his tail length, etc). He draws Evan’s full form from the answers, and Evan is bittersweet looking at the picture of what he may never be again. But he asks if he can keep the picture, which Del lets him, worried when Evan leaves the room that he’s made a mistake drawing it.

One day when Evan is suuuuper stressed after a lead on the cure goes bust (their informant cancels on them), Delirious takes him to a carnival to cheer up. Evan’s instantly taken in by the sounds and colors, which nearly overwhelm him until Delirious grabs his hand and shows him how fun everything can be. 

Evan decides that cotton candy is the absolute best, candy apples are from hell (“Delirious, get this stupid thing off my face!” as the caramel adheres to his cheek), and he’s NOT a fan of heights. But he’s watched a lot of romantic movies with Luke over the past two weeks, and he knows that Ferris wheels are a romantic thing that people do. And he’s… kinda into Delirious, so he wants to go on it despite his fear of heights, insisting that his shaking knees and sweaty palms are from the poison (“Evan, that doesn’t make me feel better!”) 

Delirious pretends that he’s scared of heights to keep Evan from going on it, and they end up going on one of those little helicopter rides instead that go up and down in a circle, and Evan absolutely loves it.

When they get back home, Evan is left alone with Luke while Delirious grabs all the prizes they won from Evan being OP at carnival games. Luke asks if Delirious “made a move on you” on the Ferris wheel, as it’s his favorite ride. This leaves Evan confused, telling Luke that he was scared of it, but the Southerner is stubborn in his insistence that the wheel is his favorite “fucking stupid ride.” 

When Delirious comes back, he confesses that he does love the Ferris wheel, but also says that the carnival was supposed to be for Evan, to make him feel better, and Delirious would rather have fun with Evan than make him go on a ride he’s terrified of.

Essentially, it’s their first date, and it goes very, very well.

Luke: “Man, if all I had to do was convince you it was a date to stay off that ride, we’d be on our tenth anniversary by now!” and that’s what makes them realize it’s a date

However, there’s still angst… because now they realize that even if they can cure Evan, he’ll turn back into a mermaid and have to choose between his kingdom and Delirious. 

Evan starts to pull away from Delirious as a result of this realization, not wanting to hurt him with his eventual departure. He can feel his soul missing Delirious, though. 

He ends up in this mental limbo over the choice between Delirious and his duty to his kingdom, and ends up stumbling across this tiny aquarium on the edge of town.

Evan finds comfort in the small aquarium’s ocean window, and he ends up going there often when he’s overwhelmed or down on himself over the course of the summer.

And eventually, it’s his last night alive, as he hasn’t found a cure.

Evan goes there on his last night alive, as he doesn’t want to die in front of Delirious or the ocean. 

He leaves a note explaining that he’s grateful to Delirious for everything he did. It’s a sweet goodbye, ending it with a wish that he could have told Delirious “how he felt.” He doesn’t think he’s ever going to have a chance to explain it.

He writes this note on the back of the drawing Del did for him, adding his own little mess of a doodle of Del swimming next to him as a merman.

It’s dark in the aquarium, as it’s closing time, and moonlight is streaming through the window where he’s sitting and his whole body save his upper chest lights up. The owner ends up sitting next to him, a man named Brian.

“I should have known you’re just like me. Focking’ Christ.” And then Brian leans over the table and kisses Evan.

Delirious runs in screaming for Evan, panicking over the note he found, to the sight of a very panicked and breathless Evan yanking free of Brian’s kiss, and he’s rightfully infuriated and confused at the both of them for everything that’s happening.

Brian reveals that he used to be a merman, but was poisoned on accident while trying to save a “kid” who fell over the edge of his father’s fishing boat and scratched up his hands trying to climb up. 

Brian ended up swallowing some of his blood and was turned into a human, but was saved by the guy’s father. 

Brian knows enough about mermaids to know that the cure to The Loner’s Curse is to “share air” with either a human or a mermaid, turning the afflicted into whichever species kisses them until they go into/leave the water. And the stronger the bond of affection between the two, the longer the curse will be gone for- but only true love’s kiss can truly “cure” it. So Brian bought Evan time, but can’t cure him.

Cue a frantic Delirious begging Evan to not die and not accept this. In his panic, Delirious asks Evan to kiss him, recounting their dates and intimate moments as reasons why it would work. Evan is scared to die, but is more terrified of kissing Delirious- because it’s a double-edged sword. 

If he kisses Delirious and goes to the water and becomes a merman, then he’ll have to leave Delirious behind forever. But if he doesn’t turn into a merman, it’ll mean Delirious doesn’t love him, and he’ll lose him anyways when he dies of the uncured curse. 

So Evan, almost-coronated prince of the undersea kingdom, does the mature thing and runs away. Again.

Delirious follows him to the beach, tackling him to the sand before he can reach the water. He’s crying, upset and in love with this stupid dying mer-prince, and when Evan tries to get away Delirious screams that he’s “in love with you, and I have to do this even though it’s gonna kill me to let you go. Cuz it’ll make you happy, and all I’ve ever wanted is that you’re happy!” 

And when Evan is too stunned to reply, Delirious kisses him.

As they kiss, Evan’s whole body glows in the moonlight, the poisonous curse fading from his body. They break apart to breathe, but just as they go to kiss again the first wave washes over Evan’s body as the tide rises, and he starts to turn back into a merman in Delirious’s arms. 

Evan starts to tell Delirious he loves him as well, but Delirious cuts him off, inconsolable as he realizes he can’t love Evan and have him. As he starts to walk away, Evan realizes Delirious looks like how he did when he first tried walking (wobbly and shaken), and also that this is the first time Delirious has ever really broken down in front of him.

Evan tries to call him back, but Delirious says that he’s got a kingdom to save, “and I’ve got another purpose to find.” 

And then Delirious is running away down the beach, along the shoreline towards his house, and Evan is frantically swimming after him through the shallows trying to get him to come back. 

The jetty wall stops him from following, and Delirious gives him one last look of love and pain before running back into his house and leaving Evan alone in the water.

Realizing that there’s nothing he can do, Evan goes back and saves his kingdom. It’s the least he owes Delirious and their lost love. He wins, but he’s still heartbroken.

Every day for a month, he goes to the beach to see if Delirious is there, but the man never appears. 

Luke does show up, though, and absolutely rips into Evan for hurting Delirious and breaking his heart. He tells Evan how Delirious won’t surf, won’t go out, won’t even draw anything, and that “I hope your goddamn kingdom was worth it.” He tells Evan to never come back so Delirious will “find someone who can stand on his own two fucking legs and who won’t run away.”

Evan decides he’s gonna break into Brian’s aquarium, following the half-wild fish in through the pipes and scaring the absolute fuck out of Brian one night. He begs Brian to tell him how he’s still alive, as he’s seen Brian go in deep water and not turn back into a mermaid. 

Brian tells him that the secret is to kiss the person whose blood he accidentally consumed (Evan yells at him for kissing a kid, but really the kid was a young adult whose father called him “kid” as long as Brian knew him. Brian and Brock are now happily married and Brian still teasingly calls him “kid” because his dad joked at their wedding that “the kid fell head over heels” for Brian.)

Which means that he has to drink Delirious’s blood and then kiss him and they can be happy! 

The only problem is convincing Delirious to do that, which is where Brian, always a sucker for a happy ending and NOT having mermaids in his aquarium, offers his services of sticking Evan into a tank with a tarp on top and driving over to Delirious’s house.

Brock walks in on Brian putting the tarp over the tank, takes two seconds to look at Brian’s guilty face and Evan’s panicked eyes, and just takes a sip of his coffee before saying “Babe, I’m not gonna ask any questions so long as you buy me clams tonight” and walking away. 

Brian mumbles “jokes on him, clams always makes the sex better later” and Evan’s like “please just drive me to Delirious and never talk to me about your sex life again.”

They drive to the house, and while Brian’s trying to pull Evan into the pool Luke walks out and gets suuuuuuuuper pissed at Evan for coming back. 

Brian’s like “you like him?” and Evan’s all “no no I like the guy who showed up last time!” (“Who’s this, then, his new boyfriend?” “I’m his best friend, you dipshit!”) and it’s all a mess that ends up waking Delirious up.

When he comes outside and sees Evan and is absolutely flabbergasted and excited and very, very cautious. Evan, being the great person he is with words, asks Delirious if he can have some blood and then kiss him (“What the fuck, Evan?” “So I can live with you!”) And Luke is like, super done and tells him to fuck off and not to use “my best friend- whose heart you broke by the way- as a fucking sacrifice for your bullshit mermaid things!” 

But when he tries to drag Delirious inside after telling Brian to go give him to Panda so he can be on one of those pizzas he liked so much, Delirious blurts out “why are you still wearing my necklace?”

Everything sort of pauses around the two of them as Evan tells him he’s still in love with him, that he hated every day he was gone but he had shit to take care of before he came back, and that even though he tried every day to find Delirious and say he was coming back he was never able to. And he ends his speech with 

“Delirious, if I was gonna break your heart, it was gonna be for a damn good reason, and I wasn’t gonna leave it broken if I could come back.”

At this point Delirious goes quiet, and then looks to Brian and asks if the same rules apply about the kiss and going back in the water. Brian tells him the truth, which is that Evan would be with him forever, as a human, unless they weren’t in love anymore in which case he’d stay a mermaid. 

Delirious then bites his own lip with enough force to make it bleed, which makes Evan panic a bit from the sight. But Delirious says he needs to do it to start the first part of the ceremony, because he’s still in love with Evan, and Luke is like “are you serious” and Brian’s like “are you sure? You can’t go back from this” and both Evan and Delirious are like “absolutely, yes.”

So they kiss, and Evan is getting poisoned by Delirious’s blood as he kisses him, and the whole thing is over in a literal flash as his body glows from the poison and is instantly cured.

Has legs! It worked! And now Delirious, who is laughing and crying in happiness, is hauling him out of the pool and it’s happy all around (except for Luke, who warns him to not touch a single goddamn thing in the house without someone watching him.)

And they lived happily ever after.

[4chanbf]

All of the asks

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? Soda cans!!!

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? Depends on my mood

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? Bubblegum tastes better, cotton candy is more fun to eat

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? crying i think?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? cans or glass cups

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? pastel or goth

7. earbuds or headphones? headphones block out sound better:D

8. movies or tv shows? movies, cant concentrate on show:(

9. favorite smell in the summer? everything?

10. game you were best at in p.e.? everything:(

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? granola/cereal

12. name of your favorite playlist? i cant sleep lol

13. lanyard or key ring? key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? sour patch kids i think

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? cant remember:p

16. most comfortable position to sit in? gay

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? black doc martens with red roses

18. ideal weather? rain

19. sleeping position? idk im sleeping

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? laptop or sticky notes

21. obsession from childhood? i was a harry potter fan

22. role model? mcr?

23. strange habits? idk

24. favorite crystal? i like rosequatz

25. first song you remember hearing? christmas music i think

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? swim in the ocean (im trans so yay)

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? isolate myself and cry

28. five songs to describe you? too tired to think

29. best way to bond with you? talk about feelings?

30. places that you find sacred? my room and the ocean

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? FLANNEL I LOVE FLANNEL AND KANDI

32. top five favorite vines? in no particular order: tttttttarget, put Gerard BACK, cam down we dont need to panic at the disco, you got me bewitched, i have the power of god and anime on my side

33. most used phrase in your phone? lol, xd, keyboard slam

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? dont wait dial the eights (im not even american, my friend just sang it for me)

35. average time you fall asleep? its different

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? ?????

37. suitcase or duffel bag? suitcase

38. lemonade or tea? tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? pie

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? some girl put my shoes in the trash:(

41. last person you texted? my mom

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? jacket

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? hoodie

44. favorite scent for soap? i dont really care

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? i cant choose

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? my pjs

47. favorite type of cheese? i like mild kinds cheese

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? a kiwi i think

49. what saying or quote do you live by? i just got so emo i fell apart

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? my life. its a joke.

51. current stresses? history assignment, messy room, not indentifying myself bc my mom wont let me cut my hair (gee thanks mom)

52. favorite font? comic sans

53. what is the current state of your hands? huh?

54. what did you learn from your first job? i havent had a job:/ (im a dissapointment)

55. favorite fairy tale? uhm, i dont really know

56. favorite tradition? im not really fan of traditions

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? a very toxic friend (cried every day bc of them, lost all self esteem etc.), feeling lonely every day, my kpop phase

58. four talents you’re proud of having? i can somehow draw, thats it

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? fuck you, i hate you:)!

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? magical girl anime!

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? theres a lot

62. seven characters you relate to? Peridot from steven universe, Luna from harry potter, Steven from steven universe, Micheal from be more chill, i dont really know more

63. five songs that would play in your club? i would just make it emo hell, that would be fun

64. favorite website from your childhood? moshi monsters!

65. any permanent scars? a lil one under my lip, i fell when i was like, 3

66. favorite flower(s)? black roses are pretty edgy, but sunflowers are nice too

67. good luck charms? nope

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? everything i could find on the table

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? idk, im pretty stupid

70. left or right handed? right

71. least favorite pattern? leopard, its still ok tho

72. worst subject? GYM

73. favorite weird flavor combo? sprinkles + everything

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? 8?

75. when did you lose your first tooth? at like, 8

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? everything, patato is my life

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? yes

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? sushi, i hate cofee

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? i dont drive

80. earth tones or jewel tones? idc

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? fireflies

82. pc or console? console

83. writing or drawing? drawing

84. podcasts or talk radio? podcasts

84. barbie or polly pocket? idc

85. fairy tales or mythology? mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes? yes

87. your greatest fear? being outed, being attacked, everyone secretly hating me

88. your greatest wish? to be accepted?

89. who would you put before everyone else? my doggo

90. luckiest mistake? dont make those

91. boxes or bags? bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? fairy lights

93. nicknames? nope, i have for my deadname tho:/

94. favorite season? dont really care

95. favorite app on your phone? spotify

96. desktop background? a collage of stuff i like

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? 0

98. favorite historical era? idk man, i just really like hamilton

[thatlittlered]

Burning Desire | Quattuor

Warning: Some mild smut.

Summary: A late night at some trashy bar gets John a whole lot more than he bargained for but he’ll have to put on a fight just to keep it.

Series Masterlist.

The waitress makes her way to his table with all the grace of a newborn horse taking its very first steps. She has the air of a person in shock, someone whose brain is running someplace else. The girl looks as if she fell through a hole and ended up here, in this miserable place.

Tucking her dark hair behind about a thousand times, she pours him water with trembling hands. He feels bad for this poor young thing. Diane, her tag reads. She looks out of place in this shithole. Had it not been for his eyes searching for you everywhere, he might have paid her a bit more attention.

Diane looks relieved that the ordeal of filling his glass is over and rushes back to the kitchen, almost tripping over another patron’s foot. The whole tray comes down with a clang and it’s not long after that a stern, chubby man appears behind the counter.

He’s shouting loud enough for the half-broken light at the ceiling to shake dangerously, reminding John of a sling in the park just two blocks away from his house. This place is falling apart and he wonders what the fuck someone like you is doing in here.

There’s an ache in his chest for the girl that disappears behind some little door, tears pouring down her face as the horrible man follows suit. But then he hears your name being called, the one that’s lingered in his head all day. The same one he chanted like a prayer just hours ago in his bedroom.

You appear out of seemingly nowhere, a rug in hand and a frown in your face as you crouch on the floor to wipe it clean. John watches you in awe, you’re still a vision as much as before but there’s something wondrous about seeing you while dressed in evening light.

He loves that uniform on you. Then again, you could be wearing garbage bags and he’d think you’re fantastic. Still, the uniform suits you. It looks like something straight out of the 50s but unlike the rest of this place, it’s freshly washed and drowning in your scent, which he welcomes. It sits a little tight on your curves and he notices… everyone does.

There’s a light movement of your breasts with every swipe on the floor and well, he's trying not to stare but he ’s long lost all willpower. He watches your lips pucker, blowing away that annoying strand of hair time after time before you finally give up and push it back with your arm. That’s when he catches a glimpse of the bruise-like mark on your neck. It only shows for a second but he sees it, of course, and he can’t help but smile.

Pride swells in his chest to see he’s marked you.

He only wishes the others could see.

When you rise from the ground, it’s a siren wail in his mind and his face disappears behind the grease-stained menu. It stinks of fried junk food and spilled soda drinks… and then it doesn’t.

There’s a tingling feeling that washes through his body as he’s being overwhelmed of that powdery rose that he’s dreamed of. It succeeds in fogging his mind every time.

“Good day to you, sir. What can I get you?” your voice reminds him of canaries singing and he thinks he’d like to listen to you talk all the time. You didn’t do much talking last night.

When he sets down the menu, the smile on your face is inviting. It makes him feel like he could share all his secrets, melt right in your arms like he wants to.

You make eye contact and the smile disappears, only briefly, before it blooms again on your lips like a heavenly flower. Like a lovesick fool, he smiles back just as wide.

You glance behind you to check no-one’s watching and John has the time to admire you fully. That dress is weaved from cotton candy, he swears. Your hair is pinned up with about a dozen pens, not that he’s counting. It leaves a soft burning feeling in his heart.

“What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner.”

“I’m sure you are, but why here?”

“Ugh, I heard this place is good?” his eyes fall back on the stained menu and he sighs.

You laugh, open and loud for everyone to hear. Someone clears his voice behind you and you turn to see your boss glaring daggers at you with those small, beady eyes of his and you  You’ll stick a pen in his throat one day, that’s for sure.

The vixen’s smile returns upon your lips and John ceases to breathe as you lower yourself to his level, leaning down just enough to make him die with your cleavage and stop his heart as you whisper in his ear, “You’re a horrible liar, John Wick.”

His mind breaks out of its daze as if he was just doused in cold water.

“How d’you know my name?”

“It’s written on your doorbell, honey. I can read, you know.” You pull back and John takes this opportunity to breathe again. “It’s a nice name by the way… Sounds mysterious. What do you think, Mr. Wick, are you mysterious?”

His chest rumbles with chuckles and they’re warm. They make you smile wider.

“I don’t think I’m interesting enough to be mysterious.”

“Well, I find you very interesting. Almost as interesting as how the hell you managed to find me here.”

“Went back to the bar and found the owner closing up. He didn’t have a number to give me but from what he knew, you work in this shithole. I’m not still kind of doubting that course of action but… here I am.”

He feels your fingers softly knead through his beard and his heart stutters with every word that comes out of your mouth, “You shouldn’t. I’m glad that you are.”

He frowns at that.

“Are you? Because I did wake up alone, which wasn’t very nice, to be honest.”

You laugh at how this wonderful beast of a man with the broad shoulders and black onyx eyes has turned into a pouting puppy before you. It’s hard not to kiss him right now but you can feel the drilling gaze of the patrons on the table behind you and you figure they’ve waited enough.

“I had to leave for work and you were sleeping so peacefully, my heart couldn’t take it to wake you. You gonna hold that against me, Johnny?”

With a bat of your lashes, he melts. “You know I couldn’t.”

You smirk, “Goodie. Now go ahead and give me your order ‘cause the boss man inside is gonna have my head if we keep this up any longer. Spoiler alert; the food here tastes like cardboard.”

John breathes a bitter laugh.

“Well then, I guess I leave it to you to decide what has the least chance of killing me.”

“Alright then, I’ll be right back with your order.” You move to leave but his grip on your wrist stops you.

The way he grabs you is careless and unnecessarily strong, he can tell. And so he loosens it in fear of breaking what he deems so fragile. The thought that it may leave a bruise stings and you can tell by how soft his next words are.

“We’ll talk again?”

Seeing the doubt in his eyes saddens you and so you offer him a smile - one that you hope is comforting.

“My shift ends in an hour. I’ll meet you out in the back if you can wait.”

He nods and releases you but you don’t move away just yet. Your hand dances with his for a second and you squeeze it in hopes of putting him to ease. There’s a quirk on his lips that tells you it did.

Pulling out the very last pen, your hair is finally released and you sigh at the tingling feeling when some of it brushes against the sensitive skin on your neck, right where John marked you.

You never made an attempt to hide it. Why should you?

There’s nothing shameful to conceal from the world. And when it comes to a man such as John, you’d happily allow him to brand you all over. Your fingers graze over the bite mark, almost reliving the sensation right here where you’re standing. The effort he’d made to silence his moans…

It makes you shiver with excitement. You only hope he’s outside.

Making the best of the bathroom’s cloudy mirror, you try to fix as much as you can on your face. The heat in this place is unforgiving and it seems you can’t get rid of the heat on your cheeks. All you can do is wipe the last beads of sweat off your face.

As you lean down to grab your bag, a button pops open in your uniform, allowing more of your cleavage to spill out. You’ll have to fix that tomorrow, for sure, but for now, you simply smile at the thought of John’s reaction.

Waving Diane goodbye, you’re out the door in an instant, eager to be out of this godforsaken place and into the arms of a certain someone. John’s waiting outside as you asked.

He looks so good under the dim street lights, leaning against his Mustang with his hands buried deep in his pockets. A cigarette hangs from his lips and your mouth aches to replace it.

The moment he spots you, the cigarette is thrown on the ground and long forgotten. With a stomp of his foot, he puts it out before taking long steps towards you and grabbing your face in his hands. His palms are rough but incredibly warm and as they rub your cheeks so gently, they feel almost like cashmere.

Your lips connect far more harshly, teeth clashing together in eagerness. He tastes like coffee and smoke, but you find it hard to mind. When you finally part for air, you take a chance to admire him.

This look is a stretch from what you met him in last night; a full-on suit and slicked back hair. Tonight his hair is wild and welcoming to every touch of your hands. His suit is traded for a T-shirt and some jeans that you can’t help but think could cause delicious friction.

“You took pretty long.” He breathes just a couple of inches away from your mouth.

A laugh escapes you and you reach up to leave a kiss on his jaw, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I suppose you’re forgiven.”

You smile. “Any clue about where we’re going?”

“Someplace where it doesn’t smell like piss, preferably.”

Another giggle blesses his ears then, “Sounds like a plan.”

You don’t move an inch. The car’s still parked in the diner’s parking lot but you’re too busy making out like teenagers to care. John is half shadow beneath you, every muscle on his torso flowing from the light into the dark. He holds you tight against his chest, your legs hanging on each side of his body. Your sexes press together in the most sinful way, providing delicious friction but not nearly enough to satisfy.

It’s so hot outside, the car’s A/C is working on full. Still, the heat of your bodies is making the driver’s window fog. You figure that should you part now, you would most likely freeze. Thankfully, it seems John wouldn’t even consider releasing you.

The man is kissing you desperately, aching to feed off your very essence. You’ve rid him of his soul and he seeks yours to replace it. His rough palm is exploring your bosom, exposing the delicious skin there as the uniform’s button pop open one by one.

The other hand grips your thigh, climbing up your skirt oh so dangerously. But he allows it to wander no further as if the contact itself might burn.

When you part, your heartbeat rings inside your ear. The look he gives you makes you melt like butter inside his tight embrace. You almost fear he’ll stop holding you.

“Let’s move this at home?” his tone is that of a man in despair, always begging.

“I can’t. I have a dog at home that needs me.”

The very sentence hurts to say, especially so when you spot the disappointment on John’s handsome face.

“Well fuck, so do I.”

“There’s always my place… but I doubt my roommate will appreciate how loud you can make me.” You whisper the last bit in his ear and feel his member twitch against your skin.

John groans and shakes his head, eager to escape this maddening spell but it’s fruitless.

Feeling bad for the poor man, you cease the torture. Your smaller hands grasp his face and guide him until his onyx eyes are piercing into yours. Your sensitive fingers relish in the feeling of his beard.

“This isn’t over. Just postponed.” When you see the hope ignite inside him, you smile and kiss him sweetly.

He prolongs the kiss with a bite on your bottom lip and you sigh in pleasurable pain.

It hurts to detach from each other and every move is carried out impossibly slow. Fixing the last button on your shirt, you pause enough to breathe. John is lighting a cigarette beside you, his gaze never wavering from the disheveled you.

You grin and play with fire then. Inching closer, you grab the cig from his puckered lips and take a long drag. He watches you exhale and the smoke surrounds you, making you look like some dark daydream.

Handing it back, you peck his cheek.

“I have to go.”

“I could drive you home.”

A smile blooms on your face at his eagerness.

“There’s no need, I live nearby. Besides, you already know where to find me.”

“Most people use phones.”

“We’re not most people.”

You watch his dark locks move along with his head.

“This isn’t over, you said?”

The expression on your face softens, “Of course not. I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Mr. Wick.”

And with that, you’re out of the car and shutting the door behind you, you feel the hot air wash over you – a sharp difference from the cold air inside the Mustang. When you glance behind you, John is still looking.

He watches you disappear into the night.

Tags: @homesoutofhuman @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @morningriseghost @charmainemaclendon

[acrobaticcatfeline]

Roman Did You Know That I Love You? 12 Days of Logince Day 1!!!

Word Count: 1001

TW: None that I’m aware of other than like, aborableness to an extreme.

Notes: I’m very proud of this one, and I’m pretty sure its one of the longer ones.

Pairings: just logince today!!!

Summary: “what’s your favorite Christmas song Logan?” Logan was never one for Christmas songs but with some help from his lovely boyfriend Roman, he might be able to gain a small appreciation after all.

“what’s your favorite Christmas song Logan?”

Logan sanders sat in the living room of his dormitory curled up in the lap of his boyfriend Roman while working on his term paper. He could hear the soft sound of Christmas carols being played on the speakers and the soft breaths falling from Roman. He could feel his body heat and his arms curled around his middle and the chill in the air. In his peripherals he could see the white blanket of snow that lay across the area and as it turned darker, he saw lights shining. He reached over slowly to grab his scorching cup of hot chocolate. He took a long sip before snuggling closer to his very comfortable boyfriend.

“I don’t know Ro, I don’t usually listen to the festive songs of the season that much. Especially after I moved out of my parents’ house. I suppose Mr. Grinch is quite a classic?” for once, appealing to his boyfriends love of animation didn’t aid him, as Roman gasped, quite loudly, and then started fidgeting to try to escape his capture.

“how could you say such a thing? That’s nearly as bad as saying let it go is your favorite Christmas song!!! Its not even about Christmas!!! I must educate you! Release me from this warm prison!” Logan giggles softly before dead weighting.

“never! You’re too warm I refuse to be cold there is literally 8 inches of snow outside and if you leave, I will become a brain pop. Besides the remote is right there, you can mess with YouTube from here.” He hears Roman let out a laugh as he settles down again. Logan smiles and tilts his head up awkwardly and wraps his arms around Romans neck as he pecks his cheek. “thank you love”

The music gets louder as Logan sets his thermos down, blasting something that sounded far from recent. He sat for a moment attempting to recognize the soft voice; if living with Roman taught him anything, it was to recognize the voices of his favorite singers. The voice was slow and sultry, well annunciated and croony, it was old timey as well, if he had to take a guess he’d probably say-

“is that Marilyn Monroe?” he smiled brightly when Roman nodded and kissed his forehead.

“how do you like it? It’s called Santa baby, did you know that the most amazing Marilyn Monroe had a stutter throughout her career? Not really important but fun facts!” Logan listened a bit longer, stating it was nice and serenading but not what he’s looking for in a Christmas song. Not a second later they were onto the next. This one was also sultry but faster paced and newer sounding. It was also more soulful, he definitely liked this one better.

“Mariah Carey, right? I like this one, it reminds me of you.” Logan smirked at the shy blush that appeared on his boyfriend’s face and laughed when Roman shoved his face into his hair.

“not fair! Rude! Called out in my own home?! Anyways, yes, that was my queen Mariah, and it’s called all I want for Christmas is you. Another fun fact, Mariah Carey has the largest range seen in a woman! Almost the largest period, only beaten by Axl Rose and some dude named Mike Patton, I think he’s a metal singer.” After listening to the rest because Roman insisted, they move on. This one is acapella? He always had a large appreciation for acapella artists, as making an entire melody out of nothing but your body is extremely difficult. Of course, he knew this one immediately as they were pretty much the only acapella group Roman listened to.

“Pentatonix is always amazing of course I love it. Which one is this?” Logan always found joy in hearing Roman singing, so he stilled as Roman changed the song and began singing along softly. The lyrics were slow and deliberate and sounded like a metaphorical choir of angels. This was another cover by Pentatonix, their voices working in harmony to make a masterpiece, that was only improved by Romans voice and his skill with dynamics and his passionate portrayal of the biblical themed song. Logan was very content with staying in this moment for the rest of time. He felt the soft vibrations rumbling throughout Romans torso. He had fallen for Roman because of that aforementioned passion, it was something that he held dear about him. Roman without his passion wasn’t a person Logan knew, and he had no desire to ever meet him. As the song faded away Logan couldn’t react, he was too shocked at his boyfriends near perfection and too busy marveling at the fact that he was lucky enough to be with this angel right now. And though Roman may not be a real angel, he sure as hell was Logan’s. He was shaken back into focus by said angel.

“Lo? Did you really dislike that one that badly?” Logan was turning faster than he thought possible with a laptop laid in his lap.

“no not at all it was beautiful. Gorgeous. Heavenly. Angelic. I loved it and I love you and I know we already passed turkey season but I’m so grateful for you and I love you so so much. I think I found my favorite Christmas song.” Roman giggles at the praise from his boyfriend and continues on.

“I’m glad! Mary did you know is probably my favorite t-” he was about to start rambling, but Logan silenced him with a small kiss.

“no angel, my favorite Christmas song is any of the ones you sing to me.” Romans cheeks lit up and Logan smiled brightly at his flustered BF. He sat up, grabbed his hot cocoa, and went back to writing his paper. He was definitely ok with the increase in songs Roman was singing along to. And if he joined in once or twice, well that would be their little secret now wouldn’t it be?

Taglist: IDK who would want to be tagged so I’ll tag some big Logince fans. And my friends who are forced to deal with me. @sanders-sides-thuri @princelogical @charmingsides @voices-and-stardust @blanket-fortress @puer-mare @cryptidgen-z-millennial @wolfishhel @cotton-candy-soda

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next days or my writing in general!!!

Thank you for reading I will see you later ladies lords and nonbinary royalty!!!

[j0ebay]

Spiraling Ch 8

Warning(s): swearing, moderate angst, some fluff

Word Count: 2153

A/N:I’m really stoked this chapter is finally out so enjoy and feedback is deeply appreciated!! 💙💙

series masterlist

add yourself to my taglist!!

chapter 7      chapter 9

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams” -Dr. Seuss

Friday morning was painfully long for Peter. Hours didn’t seem like minutes to him, but days as he kept his head down and avoided talking to anyone and everyone. All he wanted to do was be by her side, be with her when she wakes up, help her fight through unconsciousness.

Tony made sure to update Peter every hour, even if there wasn’t much to say. He stayed by his unconscious niece, sometimes holding a mirror under her nose to ensure she’s still breathing. He brushes the hair out of her face and flashes a sad smile. He knew she was only trying to help but he couldn’t help but become aggravated about the whole situation.

He turns his head away, not being able to see Geneva like this. Tony didn’t see her eyes flutter open, or her hands squeeze the blanket once all the memories of the previous night race back.

“I’m really sorry, Uncle Tony”

Tony’s head whips back to see Geneva, awake, laying there. His muscles react before he has any thoughts and instantly pulls her in for a hug.

“It’s okay, kid. I’m not mad. You scared the living shit outta me”

Peter looked at the clock for the 8th time in 3 minutes. 1:48. Just a few more minutes. He sat in Spanish class just waiting, thinking back to all the memories they shared.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Brooklyn Nine-Nine before?” She asks, eyes widened in disbelief. They had been dating for a month and a half and were gearing up to have a marathon night at his house. She sat on his living room couch while he was standing, putting all the snacks on the coffee table in front of them.

“I dunno. I just- I haven’t gotten around to it. That’s all.”

He plops himself down next to her and she curls into his side, grabbing onto his arm and looking up at him with a playful smirk.

“Yeah, with you being Spiderman and all”

“Shhhh, May’s gonna hear you!”

She lets out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with her sweatshirt-covered hand

“Relax, Pete. You know I’m kidding.”

She lightly squeezes his bicep as her gaze turns towards the TV, now playing the opening credits to Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

“You are being safe though. Right?”

She looks up at him with eyes, wide with a hint of fear. He tightens his arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

“Of course I do. I mean, May would kill me if I died again and now,” he pauses and squeezes her shoulder.

“I have a beautiful girlfriend to come back to and she’s amazing and supportive and I’m so lucky to have her.”

She buries her face in the crook of his neck to hide her blush, as per usual and he laughs. She reaches up and lightly pecks his cheek before turning her head back to the TV.

However, his eyes are still trained on her. How her hair falls perfectly on her shoulder, how the shades of blue in her eyes is brought out by the light of the tv and how content she looked whenever she’s around him

“Is that my sweatshirt?” Peter blurts out.

She looks up at him and her lips curl into a smile.

“Maybe” She mumbles, being sure to drag out the ’a’.

All he can do is laugh and shake his head.

“You’re adorable” He mumbles into her hair before pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of his phone buzzing on his desk

Tony Stark Hey kid I said I’d tell you when she wakes up and she did about 5 minutes ago… She’s a little fuzzy as expected and we’re all a little shaken up but she’s fine with you staying the weekend. Well in her words “I really need to see him and i honestly don’t give two shits if anyone gives us crap I just need to be around him”. You did good kid

Peter lets out a sigh of relief and cracks a smile. His phone buzzes again

Geneva Stark✨ Hey you! Don’t worry about me cause I’m good, I’m awake now. So focus on your Spanish cause I’m fine. Well, Tony and literally everyone else won’t let me leave my bed and I’m starting to doubt my legs functioning once I do end up walking around but IT DOESN’T MATTER CAUSE I’M OKAY!!! I can’t wait to see you! ❤❤

Peter texts her back first

Peter Parker🕷 Glad to hear you’re awake! You had all of us so worried! As far as you staying in bed, I have to say I agree with Tony and everyone else on this one 🤨 I can’t wait to see you as well and I’m so ready to be the overprotective boyfriend and take care of you! See you later Gee ❤

And then texting Tony

Peter Parker Thanks for keeping me posted Mr.Stark you have no idea how much this means to me. Aunt May said it was cool if I stay with you guys this weekend if it’s okay with you so I guess you’re putting up with Gee and I in “teen rom com mode” for the weekend sorry.

Geneva smiles at her phone screen and types back a quick response

Geneva Stark✨ Sometimes I lay awake at night and think to myself “wow, my boyfriend will stop at literally nothing to make my uncle happy it’s almost scary. I wonder if that’s the real reason he’s dating me?”

Her phone buzzes immediately

Peter Parker🕷 That’s only 95% true and you know it

She lets out a chuckle, wincing in pain and clutching her rib cage. The image of her crashing to the ground flashes in her mind, along with the memory of Peter she took from Tony. Tears escape her eyes at the mere words echoing in her mind

“I don’t wanna go”

Geneva hears someone enter the room and quickly wipes the tears away. She looks up and sees Loki there with a hurt and remorseful look on his face as he realizes that he’s ultimately powerless in this situation.

“Stop being all depressing ‘n shit” she mumbles.

“I’m fine, really”

“Geneva,”

“Loki, I swear to you I’m fine”

“Really? Cause people who are fine don’t cry”

Gee can’t say anything to counter that, she just sits there with her mouth agape. Loki sits next to her on the bed.

“I brought you some tea”

She gives a sad smile and sips it with shaky hands.

“I’m afraid my limbs are still trying to figure out how to work”

They both smile before she says

“Before you ask, I was just worried about Peter. I’m scared it’s gonna really hurt him seeing me like this and knowing him, he’s probably gonna start blaming himself and I don’t wanna put him through that”

She feels the tears flow down her cheeks and her chest start to tighten.

“Hey, hey, hey Geneva look at me.”

She slowly looks up at him.

“It might sting a little for him cause it did for us-”

She puts a hand up to her mouth

“-Oh god what did I do?” She sobs even more

“Hey, Geneva you know what? We all know you were doing the right thing in your mind. You just gave us a little scare, that’s all”

“Oh my god I look like a mess” She says laughing a bit, while letting out a yawn

“Get some sleep, Gee” he says.

She nods while closing her eyes and Loki slowly gets up and walks out.

The elevator brings Peter up to the living space of Avengers tower as slowly as possible it seems. Once he gets to their floor, he sees Tony and drops his bag on a barstool.

“She’s in her room, kid. Just a fair warning, she’s still a little fuzzy on some stuff and she’s been sleeping a lot but other than that she’s been talking about you since she woke up”

Peter gives a soft smile before walking down the hallway to her room and lightly knocking on her door. When there was no response, worry started to grow in the pit of his stomach. He opens the door to see her, fast asleep with puffy eyes. He could’ve sworn he felt his heart break into a million pieces but still, he sat down on her bed and lightly brushed some stray hairs away from her face.

Geneva’s eyes flutter open and she sees Peter sitting above her.

“Hey, beautiful”

She looks away and smiles

“Hey, you. What time is it?”

Peter looks at his phone

“About 3ish”

She nods.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, carefully holding onto her hand and she lets out a light chuckle.

“I haven’t really seen myself and I know I probably look like complete and utter garbage right now but if I told you it’s not as bad as it looks, would that make you feel better?”

Peter cracks a sad smile.

“How bad is it?”

“Nothing terrible, I’m just pretty weak from being in bed all day and my limbs kinda feel like cotton candy right now cause I fainted, but other than that, my throat hurts a little bit but that’s it. I’m fine, really”

She squeezes his hand for reassurance.

“I have a surprise for you” he says.

She raises her eyebrows as he gets up and goes to the corner of her room, picking up a plastic bag and pulling out the items. Geneva loudly gasps.

“YOU BOUGHT ME CREAM SODA AND SOUR GUMMY WORMS?”

He laughs at her excitement and nods.

“How did you know?” She asks with eyes wide with excitement.

“Remember that one time I skipped school to walk you home and we stopped at that gas station? Maggie says she wants you to make a speedy recovery. She needs your big presence of light and energy around there”

Geneva laughs again and clutches her ribs and after seeing a puzzled expression on Peter’s face, says

“I fell on my side”

His eyebrows furrow and he grabs her hand again.

“What happened anyway?”

Gee sighs.

“So when I was five and I was discovering my abilities and stuff, I found out that along with moving things and reading people’s minds, I could also take away people’s memories if I really wanted to. So one night, I was woken up by my foster brother having some form of nightmare. So I took that memory out of him, ended up discovering that after doing that kind of thing, it would drain me so much that I would faint, scaring the hell out of my foster parents and eventually getting myself kicked out of the best foster home I would ever have. You ever read The Giver? It’s kinda like that.”

“Gee,” Peter starts.

“So,” she continues

“I get up from my couch to get some tea and see feel Tony in some kind of bad dream or I guess flashback or something and I do the same thing. I was only out for a few hours though, the first time it was like half a day or something like that.”

“Geneva, why?” “I thought it would help okay? I hate seeing people hurt and knowing I could do something to stop it.”

Peter lets out a heavy sigh. She was so heartless and that’s one of the many things he adored about her.

“What was the flashback you took? Just out of curiosity?”

Geneva tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat while looking away to try and hide the tears forming in her eyes.

“Hey,” Peter says putting his hand on her cheek and turning her head to face him.

“Look at me. Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you. It was the past and everything’s okay now alright?” She nods, tears streaming down her face

“It was awful, Pete.”

He wipes her tears away with his thumbs.

“It can’t get to you. It’s gone now.”

After describing the new memory to Peter, all he could do is hold her while she cried.

“I’m not going anywhere, Gee. You got that? It’s not gonna happen again. I promise. You know I’m being safe when I’m doing patrols and when I’m fighting people like that? I have you in mind and not only does that make me fight extra hard but it also reminds me to be extra careful because I have more people waiting for me to get back alright?”

She nods and mumbles

“You’re amazing you know that?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to her lips

“I know, beautiful.”

He slides into bed next to her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close to him.

“Let’s watch something yeah?” Peter smiles down at her.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

TAGLIST

EVERYTHING: @og-baby-ob14 @were-all-gay-down-here @softiespidey @saturn-aka-six @theasexualbunny

SPIRALING: @upsidedownparker @baglebites @spidergirl192327@nerdofthehighestcalibre @james1730

[battersbybrooklyn]

The 20 Best New NYC Restaurants of 2012

It’s been another year of memorable, waistband-expanding eating in the hyperactive restaurant capital that is New York City. When we reflect on the year’s openings, some major benchmarks stand out: The splashy arrival of the NoMad, for example, where the team behind Eleven Madison Park resurrected the tradition of the grand hotel dining room, or the influx of trendy New Nordic influences at spots like Acme and the short-lived Frej.

But buzz doesn’t necessarily translate to food you want to go back and eat again and again. Here, the First We Feast teams celebrates the places that we just couldn’t get out of our heads in 2012.

From neighborhood spots to ambitious modernist kitchens, and easy comforts like fried chicken to obscure regional flavors from China, there’s a lot to dig into. All the spots selected (and listed in no particular order) are ones we think should be in your rotation even when the next wave of newcomers starts flooding the scene in 2013.

Written by Chris Schonberger (@cschonberger), Sophie Brickman (@sbrickman), Hannah Norwick (@HannahNorwick), Shanté Cosme (@ShanteCosme), Erin Mosbaugh (@JayBlague), DJ Dieselboy (@DJDieselboy), Kristen Tauer (@ktauer), and Elyse Inamine (@elyseinamine)

It’s been another year of memorable, waistband-expanding eating in the hyperactive restaurant capital that is New York City. When we reflect on the year’s openings, some major benchmarks stand out: The splashy arrival of the NoMad, for example, where the team behind Eleven Madison Park resurrected the tradition of the grand hotel dining room, or the influx of trendy New Nordic influences at spots like Acme and the short-lived Frej. But buzz doesn’t necessarily translate to food you want to go back and eat again and again. Here, the First We Feast teams celebrates the places that we just couldn't get out of our heads in 2012. From neighborhood spots to ambitious modernist kitchens, and easy comforts like fried chicken to obscure regional flavors from China, there’s a lot to dig into. All the spots selected (and listed in no particular order) are ones we think should be in your rotation even when the next wave of newcomers starts flooding the scene in 2013. Written by Chris Schonberger (@cschonberger), Sophie Brickman (@sbrickman), Hannah Norwick (@HannahNorwick), Shanté Cosme (@ShanteCosme), Erin Mosbaugh (@JayBlague), DJ Dieselboy (@DJDieselboy), Kristen Tauer (@ktauer), and Elyse Inamine (@elyseinamine)

Perla

Neighborhood: West Village Address and phone: 24 Minetta Ln. (212-933-1824) Website: perlanyc.com Restaurateur Gabe Stulman has demonstrated his Midas touch time and again, colonizing a small swath of the West Village—dubbed ‘Lil Wisco in honor of his Midwestern roots—with perpetually mobbed dining rooms like Joseph Leonard and Jeffrey’s Grocery. But while his scene-making talent has never been in question, Perla may have be the first truly great restaurant in his oeuvre. Sure, the Italian grub served here is slightly easier to love than the Quebecois party food of Fedora (another of his white-hot joints), but nothing should be taken away from chef Michael Toscano, the former Batali-Bastianich lieutenant who heads the show. Lusty and bold pasta dishes include pappardelle laced with foie gras and duck, and garganelli in a chili-inflected sauce of tripe, tomato, and guanciale. Toscano is also a master with meats, whether balancing rich slices of lamb saddle with yogurt and salsa verde, or braising beef tongue to tender perfection. Add in a crackling scene and excellent cocktails (try to the Sazerac riff with Twizzler bitters), and Perla is the type of place you’d love to be a regular, if only you could afford it.—Chris Schonberger

Neta

Neighborhood: West Village Address and phone: 61 W 8th St (212-505-2610) Website: netanyc.com When eating at a pricey sushi bar, anything beyond flawless nigiri and sashimi can seem superfluous. Yet Neta succeeds in respecting tradition while incorporating its own creative take on things. If you can afford to splurge, go for the $95 or $135 omakase, a multicourse tasting of mostly raw fish, like a just-warmed scallop served in its shell with dots of briny sea urchin. One of the head chefs was previously in charge of fish buying at Bar Masa, so it makes sense when buttery toro, served in its purest form atop vinegary rice, is revelatory. Equally as memorable are the cocktails, like the Owl of the Woods, made with liquor distilled from Hitachino Nest White Ale, then infused with maitake mushrooms and mixed with buckwheat tea. It’s savory and earthy rather than herbaceous, botanical, or sweet—just another way in which Neta defies expectation.—Erin Mosbaugh

Empellón Cocina

Neighborhood: East Village Address and phone: 105 First Ave (212-780-0999) Website: empellon.com If there was one spot that every seeker of new and exciting food in NYC needed to visit this year, it would probably be Alex Stupak’s Empellón Cocina. The backstory has been rehashed countless times: Crazy-talented pastry chef from wd~50 and Alinea opens a (not-your-average) taco spot, then follows-up with a more ambitious, taco-less Mexican restaurant. But what’s great about the place is that you don’t need to intellectualize it to enjoy it—the flavors are delicious and playful without slapping you in the face with their cleverness. Wavy homemade masa cakes twist between pink shrimp and uni cream, guacamole is rocketed into another stratosphere with the addition of pistachios, and sensational desserts come courtesy of the chef’s wife, Lauren Resler. Dishes are fired at will, with the kitchen taking full control of how plates arrive. The whole experience is a daze of mezcal and combinations of flavors and textures that tend to stick with you, even if you aren’t paying too much attention in the moment.—Hannah Norwick

Rosemary’s

Neighborhood: West Village Address and phone: 18 Greenwich Ave (212-647-1818) Website: rosemarysnyc.com There are a lot of easy reasons to discount Rosemary’s at first glance: If the gaggles of rich girls flitting in and out don’t get your hater muscle twitching, the bouncer at the door who quotes you a two hour wait (on a Wednesday no less) probably will. But that feeling subsides as soon as you sit down, sip an aperitif, and thing, Why can’t every Italian restaurant in New York should be more like this? The prices are shockingly reasonable, with simple yet satisfying pastas—orecchiette with crumbly sausage and braised greens, linguini with chilis and just the right amount of acid—all hovering in the $12 to $14 range. The ingredients, some of which are grown on a rooftop garden, are exceedingly fresh, a fact which turns a soup as humdrum as minestrone into something vibrant and exciting. And let’s face it—the clientele is sexy as hell. Our advice: Take that chip off your shoulder and just enjoy the scene.—Chris Schonberger

Almayass

Neighborhood: Gramercy Address and phone: 24 E 21st (212-473-3100) Website: almayassnyc.com Why should white-table cloth dining be reserved for European fare? This Lebanese import—an offshoot of the famous Beirut original—is a worthy special occasion destination for those with a taste for Middle Eastern specialties like kibbe (rough-cut raw beef mixed with bulgur) and silky hummus, probably the best we've had anywhere in the city. The deep menu, mostly made up of shareable meze plates, warrants exploration on repeat visits. So far, we’ve discovered standouts such as soujuk flambée (a spicy salami, flamed tableside for dramatic effect); mini yogurt-soaked meat dumplings called manti; and top-notch eggplant dolma. End with the showstopping ossmalieh, a traditional dessert that’s something like sesame cotton candy laced with shards of pastry and sweet custard.—Chris Schonberger

Forager’s City Table

Neighborhood: Chelsea Address and phone: 300 W 22nd St (212-243-8888) Website: foragerscitygrocer.com Foragers Market is a great stop for any urban gourmand looking to stock up on artisanal goodies like Empire Mayo, P&H Soda Co. syrups, and Blue Marble ice cream. But really, it’s the sit-down restaurant in the back of the Chelsea location that caught our attention this year, with its easygoing vibe and intriguing menu that weds pan-Asian flavors with sustainable ingredients in a way that brings to mind Momofuku, minus the loud music and long waits. Highlights include succulent seven-spice chicken wings, lamb-belly adobo, and pork crepinettes. The latter are mini patties of house-butchered pork sausage, wrapped up in a delicate layer of caul fat that sears beautifully; wrap them up in Bibb lettuce, then dress them with Vietnamese-style accoutrement like mint sprigs, fresh chilies, and sweet-and-funky nuoc cham dipping sauce.—Chris Schonberger

Maysville

Neighborhood: Flatiron Address and phone: 17 W 26th St (646-490-8240) Website: maysvillenyc.com Drinking wine with dinner is so 2 B.C. How about we kick it up a notch and pair our crispy pig's ears, oysters, and smoked trout with whisky? Enter Maysville, the brand-new Flatiron joint named after a Kentucky port town that just so happens to be the birthplace of bourbon. Chef Kyle Knall, formerly of Gramercy Tavern and the great state of Alabama, brings a refined hand to creative southern eats—arctic char is marinated with bourbon then served with golden beets and boiled peanuts, and duck confit with grits is nothing like the bistro standard you’re used to. All of this is complimented by an awe-inspiring selection of domestic brown spirits, which you can taste straight-up, on the rocks, or in well-made classics like Old-Fashioneds and Manhattans.—Sophie Brickman

Bobwhite Lunch and Supper Counter

Neighborhood: Alphabet City Address: 94 Ave. C (212-228-2972) Website: bobwhitecounter.com Fried chicken—Southern-style, Korean-style, even Questlove-style—is in no need of extra exposure in this town. Yet out on Avenue C, a little spot called Bobwhite managed to overcome fried-fowl ennui and make a name for itself this year. The key is simplicity: Virginia native Keedick Coulter marinates his bird in sweet tea then pops it into the pressure cooker to achieve light, crackling golden crust and impeccably moist, slightly sweet flesh within. It’s damn near perfect, and reason enough to visit the friendly, white-walled dining room. But if you bring an appetite, you’ll also want to get busy with the delicious pork-chop sandwich, seared and topped with a sweet-and-spicy chow-chow relish. Word to the wise: There’s a great bar—ABC Beer Co.—right next door for pre- or post-meal brews.—Elyse Inamine

Mission Chinese Food

Neighborhood: Lower East Side Address and phone: 154 Orchard St (212-529-8800) Website: missionchinesefood.com/ny/ Vast pools of ink have already been spilled over this San Francisco import, and it seems like barely 24 hours can pass without some big-name influencer—Andrew Zimmern, Martha Stewart, Rick Bayless—hopping onto the Twitter machine to declare their love for the place. Part of the appeal is its complete lack of pretension: Prices are low (and some of the money even goes to charity), the decor includes cheeky back-lit photos of take-out dishes, and those who brave the inevitable waits cram together in the entryway drinking from a free keg of crappy beer. But it’s the grub on the plate—dubbed “Americanized Oriental” by the insanely likeable chef, Danny Bowien—that has really hit a nerve in post-fusion New York, where loud music and multicultural cooking represent the Holy Grail. What Bowien does so convincingly is produce food that transcends arguments about authenticity by having a voice and personality of its own. It also happens to be damn tasty—fill your table with kung-pao pastrami, salt-cod fried rice, mapo tofu, and basically anything else for that matter, then strap in for the tongue-numbing, sweat-inducing adventure.—Elyse Inamine

Gwynnett St.

Neighborhood: Williamsburg, Brooklyn Address and phone: 312 Graham Ave (347-889-7002) Website: gwynnettst.com This ambitious newcomer is the neighborhood restaurant redefined. Justin Hilbert—former pastry chef of modernist temple wd~50—tries his hand at savory, and the results are stunning. With an ever-changing menu of thoughtful dishes—think mushroom "steak" draped with lardo, chicken served with a hay-ash purée, and a pistachio tofu dish that straight up kills—Gwynnett St. is one of the restaurants pushing Williamburg’s dining scene into new terrain. Even the simplest opener on the menu, whiskey bread with cultured butter, is a knockout. But perhaps not surprisingly, the dessert menu steals the spotlight, with amazing creations that wouldn’t be out of place at the likes of Alinea. Believe the hype—Gwynnett St. is destination dining.—DJ Dieselboy

Pok Pok Ny

Neighborhood: Red Hook, Brooklyn Address and phone: 255 Smith St (718-852-8321) Website: pokpokny.com Everyone knew Pok Pok Ny was going to good before it arrived—chef Andy Ricker had already conquered Portland with his faithful renditions of dishes he encountered in Thailand, and he made no indication that he would stray from the script in Brooklyn. Yet still suspicious gastronauts made the pilgrimage out to Red Hook to make sure it wasn’t all hype, and almost all left as converts to the cult of Pok Pok. Papaya salads are pleasantly funky with fish sauce, and the now-famous chicken wings—a Vietnamese-style preparation—are as addictive as anything the Colonel ever created. But the menu, equipped with encyclopedic entries on each dish, will also introduce you to less familiar items, like coriander-rubbed pork neck served with a side of bitter mustard greens on ice—use them to wrap up the warm slabs of meat, then dunk each handful into spicy garlic sauce.—Hannah Norwick 

Swine

Neighborhood: West Village Address and phone: 531 Hudson St (212-255-7675) Website: swinenyc.com  Chef Phil Conlon, formerly of West Village brunch destination Café Cluny, harnesses the not-so-secret pleasures of pork in novel ways at this new venture in the same ’hood. There's a happy dissonance between Swine's barbaric name, its decor (think upscale dive), and the polished comfort food emerging from the kitchen. Homemade potato chips covered in silky cheese sauce, jalapeños, and pork belly are a worthy and inventive addition to the nacho canon. The charcuterie boards, which are the main focus of the menu, arrive laden with shareable housemade creations like duck rillettes and tongue pastrami, plus various locally made condiments. But it’s actually the burger that has the most star power—an indulgent mix of brisket, bone marrow, and beef that’s every bit as excessive as it sounds, and even more delicious.—Shanté Cosme

Gran Electrica

Neighborhood: Dumbo, Brooklyn Address and phone: 5 Front St (718-852-2789) Website: granelectrica.com People often talk about the Brooklyn dining scene becoming watered down, and Gran Electrica certainly took some shots from the ’hood’s detractors, particularly those who had problems with a bunch of white dudes preparing traditional Mexican food. But the whole enterprise exudes thoughtfulness, as the team behind hot spots Colonie and Governor seeks to combine real-deal South of the Border cooking with local ingredients fresh from the farmers market. So we say, haters be damned. Carnitas and lengua tacos are swaddled in hand-pressed tortillas; the torta ahogada is drenched in so much spicy sauce that diners rock plastic gloves to eat it; and the pozole, a rich stew of pork and hominy, gets added dimensions from tomatillo and pumpkin-seed broth. Add in some of the best margaritas in the borough, and we’d say they’ve got a hit on their hands.—Hannah Norwick

Boukiés

Neighborhood: East Village Address and phone: 29 E 2nd St (212-777-2502) Website: boukiesrestaurant.com When Christos Valtzoglou’s Heartbreak closed just two days before receiving a Michelin star, many thought the location had been cursed by restaurant gods once and for all. But this new endeavor from the same owner is one helluva comeback. The focus is on “Greek meze cuisine,” which translates to a smattering small plates plucked from different parts of the peninsula. Go with a group so that you can sample as widely as possible, fighting over standouts like smoky shrimp toasts with cauliflower cream, fried saganaki elevated by squirts of lemon, and eggplant dolmas stuffed with cinnamon-tinged ground lamb. Glasses of hard-to-pronounce whites round out the whole experience, which might not warrant a Michelin star, but will hopefully outlive its predecessor.—Hannah Norwick

The Pines

Neighborhood: Gowanus, Brooklyn Address and phone: 284 3rd Ave. (718-596-6560) Website: thepinesbrooklyn.com Beyond the swamp that is the Gowanus canal, and two doors down from his first hit, Littleneck, chef Angelo Romano has struck again with the Pines. The place is unapologetically Brooklyn, with Ghostface Killah on the speakers and an explicit neon painting on the wall. But we’re more concerned with the unexpected combinations happening on our plate: Apples dressed in sheep’s milk, a rich brisket agnolotti that manages to be delicate, and lamb’s neck swimming in mascarpone that satisfies a deep need you didn’t know you had. Yes, this all happens in Gowanus, but get over it already. While you hesitate, we’ll be sitting at the bar, scarfing down whatever chef Romano whips up next.—Shanté Cosme

L’Apicio

Neighborhood: East Village Address and phone: 13 East 1st St (212-533-7400) Website: lapicio.com Joe Campanale, one of the forces behind L’Artusi and dell'anima, has another bonafide hit on his hands, this time across town in the East Village. L’Apicio came onto the scene late into 2012, but it has hit the ground running with top-notch Italian comfort food—soul-enriching stuff like gnocchi with chicken ragu, cavatelli with wild boar, and pork-meatball polenta. Simply put, the restaurant makes food that you want to eat, drunk or sober. The fish and meat offerings run deep, appetizers and sides are as delicious and they are varied, and the wine and cocktail list is on point. Even in a city overrun with Italian joints, L'apicio stands out.—DJ Dieselboy

Niu Noodle House

Neighborhood: West Village Address and phone: 15 Greenwich Ave (212-488-9888) Website: niunoodleny.com We had to reserve at least one spot on this list for an outlier, and Niu Noodle House definitely fits in the category of sleeper hit. Due in part to some weirdly corporate branding, a crappy TV-lit front bar area greeting customers, and a rocky opening after the chef was sent home to China to sort out visa issues, it lacks the buzz that means so much to a West Village restaurant. But we just chuckle when people pass it by, knowing that they are missing out on what is essentially an ingenious mashup of a ramen joint and dim sum parlor. The owners are from Hong Kong, and their take on ramen (originally a Chinese invention) is built with not-too-heavy meat broths, outstanding handmade egg and rice noodles, and toppings like grilled flank steak and braised duck breast. The dim sum is handmade too—some traditional (plump steamed shrimp dumplings), some new-school (pan-fried steak and cheese dumplings), all delicious. And to seal the deal, Niu has one of the most insane interiors in the city, designed as an homage to the surrounding area, with a mural of a Washington Square Arch and stairs to the bathroom made to look like you’re descending into the West 4th subway station.—Chris Schonberger

Battersby

Neighborhood: Cobble Hill, Brooklyn Address and phone: 127 Columbia St (718-923-9322) Website: battersbybrooklyn.com The daily-changing menu and early hype at this intimate Brooklyn spot translated quickly into waits of over two hours for dinner, even on weeknights. But thus far, we're believers. Meals from chefs Joseph Ogrodnek and Walker Stern—alums of Alain Ducasse at the Essex House—begin with floral, rosemary-sprinkled foccacia and housemade ricotta, as well as clever amuse-bouche. As the meal progresses, the tiny open kitchen, on full display to the diners/spectators lucky enough to get a seat, turns out ambitious plates that are difficult to pin down geographically—some feel Italian, other Germanic, but all are executed with unmistakeable French technique. Past favorites have included a part-cooked, part-raw kale salad blanketed in a sweet dressing of bird chilies, sugar, and fish sauce; a thick-noodled pasta with hearty meat ragu and sofrito of herbs and vegetables; and beautifully cooked proteins like branzino to lamb. All the dishes are intriguing, with flavors that are pleasing even when they are hard to place.—Hannah Norwick

Yunnan Kitchen

Neighborhood: Lower East Side Address and phone: 79 Clinton St Website: yunnankitchen.com New York’s infatuation with Chinese food has traditionally revolved around Cantonese fare, with Szechuan and Hunan cuisines also making their mark in Flushing, Chinatown, and other pockets of the city. But this year brought an influx of novel flavors from Yunnan, a southern province known for its delicate, lighter dishes that make frequent use of wild flowers, spices, and herbs. Former Standard Grill manager Erika Chou and chef Travis Post (previously of Franny’s) have created the most exciting shrine to the region thus far, delivering brightly acidic, sometimes spicy dishes in categories of cold, hot, shao kao (grilled skewers), and rice and noodles. Salads are elevated by bright mint, chili flakes, and woody mushrooms, while lamb meatballs are full of cumin and spice. Head-on shrimp should be consumed from head to tail, with fried lime leaves to accentuate the sweetness of the flesh. The place has the comfortable feel of a neighborhood joint, but the food is unfamiliar and exciting.—Hannah Norwick

M. Wells Dinette

Neighborhood: Long Island City, Queens Address and phone: 22-25 Jackson Ave (at MoMA PS1) Website: momaps1.org/about/mwells Unknowing visitors might enter M. Wells Dinette—on the first floor of contemporary art museum MoMA PS1—and think that they've wandered into yet another avant-garde art installation. The dining room, set up in the style of a classroom, pays homage to the space's former life as a public school—rows of desks serve as communal tables and the menu is written on a large wall chalkboard, next to a listing of (mostly French) wine options. Following the brief but hugely successful tenure of M. Wells diner nearby, chef Hugue Dufour brings his decadent French-Canadian cooking back to Long Island City with this new project. Some signature dishes have been resurrected, including balls-out Québécois creations like bone marrow covered in escargot. Other items mash up Asian and Western influences to glorious effect: The "Bi Bim Wells" is a fresh take on the Korean staple bibimbap, built with oysters, poached egg, and bonito flakes. And you shouldn’t hesitate to pop in for sweets and coffee: Banana-cream crème brûlée, set in a pillow of whipped cream, is a reminder of how dessert should be: utterly indulgent.—Kristen Tauer

Source: https://firstwefeast.com/eat/2012/12/the-20-best-new-nyc-restaurants-of-2012/