#will refer to u as anything but his girlfriend and then fucks you nose to nose in missionary

[heich0e]

touya "we're not dating" todoroki who fucks you like he loves you

#will refer to u as anything but his girlfriend and then fucks you nose to nose in missionary #holding you as CLOSE as he possibly can #panting into your mouth between deep kisses and slow thrusts #like ok baby boy whatever you say!

[saetoru]

imagine being fwbs with gojo n in the middle of folding you like a lawn chair he noses at your cheek n goes “hey do u wanna be my girlfriend?”

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BEST OF THE BEST — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fwb! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, unprotected sex, mating press, creampie, non canon compliant (suguru and shoko are ur friend group >:( tyvm), very cheesy ending my b, yes i made a reference to this is where you’re weak, right? sue me, petnames (sweetheart, sweet girl, princess, baby)

“bet you were waitin’ for this all day, huh sweetheart?” satoru always has a way with words—a very unique, special, and irritating way with words that routinely manages to get under your skin.

you would scoff—in fact, you would call him quite a colorful variation of words if his thick cock wasn’t pressing comfortably against your sweet spot.

so instead, you gasp a quiet, “f-fuck—right there.”

“yeah, i know,” he chuckles, “this is where you need me, huh? where you’re weak?”

you can’t do anything but whimper at that, hands wrapped tightly around him as they claw into his shoulder. he always wears the marks you leave like a good sport too—shows up to the gym in a tank top that shows them off good and well, right for suguru to see them clear as day. you almost block satoru right on the spot when he sends you a selfie in the mirror, showing off the angry marks with a wink following.

it’s a bit of a predicament, fucking your high school friend and not letting anyone know. the idea of shoko and suguru finding out that every other night, satoru is in your bed as his cum leaks out of your abused cunt is enough to make you nauseous—but never nauseous enough not to open the door for him.

the most unfortunate fact you’ve learned in your life is that satoru knows how to fuck—in fact, he knows how to fuck you well enough that you let him come back. it’s a bit shameful, really, the way you let him knock on your door, the way you open it and let him in, the way you actually fuck him and let him sleep in your bed until the morning.

and then (because he’s an asshole) he wakes up, gives you a sly wink, and murmurs i’ll be back soon, yeah? keep that bed warm for me, sweetheart.

“c-close, toru—‘m gonna….gonna—”

“gonna what? cum? already? barely even fucked you yet,” he hums, hooking your leg over his shoulder before all but pressing you in half. you mewl at the way his tip brushes past your folds and splits you in half—deeper this time with the new position. “look at that,” he coos, staring down at the way his cock slips in and out of you, “takin’ me so well, sweet girl. i think you can go a bit longer, don’t you?”

“m-more, more—need—”

“i know, i know,” he grins, “need me to fuck you dumb, don’t you? don’t worry, princess. i’ll give you more.”

his hips snap into you, pelvis rocking against yours as his pre cum and your slick mix, making a mess between your bodies as it coats your skin. you gasp, pulling satoru closer as his head falls to tuck into your shoulder, his labored breaths fanning against the shell of your ear.

“‘s good,” you whine, “f-feels good, toru.”

“yeah? feel that? squeezin’ me so tight, i can barely move,” he groans, letting out a sweet, low sound into your ear that has your spine shivering—you think you could come undone from that, from the sounds he makes as your walls flutter around him.

you think everything about satoru is enough to send you over the edge, from the sound of his voice to that pretty face of his when he spills into you.

you know he’s close—you can feel the slight twitch of his cock as his pace gets sloppier, as his thumb finds your clit and rubs desperate circles into the sensitive nerves, as he practically presses your knees to your shoulders and bullies his throbbing cock deep into your dripping cunt. and you’re close too, head spinning as your eyes flutter shut and your lips part with a broken wail.

“c-close—‘gonna cum, toru,” you gasp, voice coming in labored pants as his breath hitches.

you look perfect like this—like you’re his, like your body was made for him to touch in sinful ways, like it was his cock that was always supposed to fit into you and make you fall apart. his hand grabs yours, and without thinking, both of your fingers interlace.

“baby,” he hums, his nose pressing into your cheek as he kisses the skin softly, “‘m gonna make you mine, yeah? wanna be my girlfriend? my sweet girl? you want it, right?”

you should be shocked—you should stop and ask him what he means, what he’s playing at, what he thinks he’s doing toying with your mind.

instead, you gasp, pulling him closer as your walls spasm around him, back arching and eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly snaps and you cum. hard. harder than he’s ever made you before. does the idea of being his really do that to you? does the idea of being his sweet, precious girl outside of your bed at night really send you hurdling over the edge like that?

evidently, it does—and your high sends him right into his own. like he needs you to fall apart so he can too, like the way he knows you feel good makes him feel good too. maybe he does want you, maybe it’s not a sick joke. the way his voice cracks with a strained call of your name certainly says as much—the way his hand tightens its grip on yours, the way his hips rut desperately as he presses impossibly closer, the way he presses hot, scattered kisses along your cheek and jaw as he groans through his release.

it’s messy. it’s filthy. it’s downright dirty the way satoru fucks his cum into you, letting it drip down your thighs and mark your skin—but it feels like being his.

you think you might want that.

he’s gentle when he finishes—carefully unhooks your legs from his shoulders before running a hand along your thigh and squeezing as he observes the cum dripping between your legs. you huff when he collapses over you, glaring at him as his weight presses onto your form.

“you’re heavy,” you grunt, smacking at his shoulder.

he hums, nose pressing to your jaw as he kisses it. “not moving till you answer me.”

“satoru, don’t joke about—”

“how rude,” he gasps, “you think i would joke while i’m balls deep in—”

“oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands, “please stop talking.”

he grins, chuckling as he shuffles up to bury his face into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin. “you don’t wanna be my girlfriend? that’s gonna hurt my feelings, y’know.”

satoru has always been like that, wearing an easy grin and plastering that playfulness on like a second skin. you can hear it though—the slight unease in his voice. you can’t fathom letting everyone know that sometimes, you let satoru fuck you…but maybe knowing that sometimes, you hold hands, and maybe kiss, and perhaps snuggle on the couch, and potentially even share a bed to sleep, not just fuck, but sleep—maybe they can know that. 

that doesn’t sound so bad. 

“that depends,” you hum, pretending to think, “how good at being a boyfriend are you?”

“excellent,” he plays along, “best of the best.”

“that’s just big talk. you could be lying for all i know,” you point out—but your fingers slip into his hair, twirling the sweaty strands along your fingers. 

“well, you’ll just have to let me prove i’m a good boyfriend—so that means i have to be your boyfriend. sorry, it’s the only way.”

if satoru hears the giggle you try to hide as you sigh exaggeratedly, he doesn’t mention it, lips pulling into a giddy smile as he pulls his head out of your neck and presses his forehead to yours. your hands cup his cheeks, squeezing gently.

“i guess if this is the only way,” you shake your head theatrically, “you can be my boyfriend. for now.”

“i’m grateful,” he snorts—and then there’s a peck to your lips. one, two, three gentle kisses before he presses a lingering one. it’s sweet, and slow, and just a bit needy as he presses deeper into you. “now i can tell suguru the scratches on my back are yours. he’s been asking a lot.”

leave it to satoru to speak and ruin the moment just by opening his mouth.

“satoru,” you hiss, throwing him a sharp look, “i think you’d be a better boyfriend when your mouth is shut.”

“then i can’t kiss you,” he gasps, “that’s the best part of being my girlfriend.”

and just to prove it, he kisses you again—and maybe, although you hate to admit it, he’s right. it is the best part. 

i wanna be his girlfriend :(

#thirstee! #teepods.writings #thirsts. #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you

[missmeinyourbones]

HUMIDITY & HEAVEN 

tags: camp counselor! touya au, non-canon universe, quirkless au, college student! touya who is just some guy and has a summer job as a camp counselor, i think reader is referred to as ‘she’ and ‘girlfriend’ once, purely self indulgent bc yuna mentioned it to me and i couldnt stop...can u tell i work in childcare | wc: 2.4k

The air is so hot that it feels heavy in your lungs. 

It’s the hottest day of the summer. You feel the heat radiating from the metal of the swing-set you rest against. Touya silently leans beside you, bucket hat on his head as he swings his water bottle around in hand. 

“How are yours today?”

Touya takes a hefty swig of his bottle. He offers you one with a wordless lift of his hand, but you shake your head. You watch his piercing duck in and out between his teeth as he chews on his chapped lower lip.

“Annoying, as usual. We already had two fights and a bathroom incident, and it’s only…” he trails off, patting his pockets for his phone to check the time.

With yours in hand, you beat him to it, “10:47am.”

“Fuck,” he groans, tilting his head back against the pole of the swing-set in agony, “it’s not even noon, yet.”

You scrunch your nose with a chuckle at his dramatics, before closing your eyes in agreement. “It’s gonna be one of those days,” you declare.

The two of you watch the campers run around in silence. Little legs carry them as fast as they can go around the grassy fields and over the littered tree stumps. A ball catches against a soccer net. Heavy footsteps clank around on the sturdy metal of the playground equipment. 

“What’s your activity this afternoon?” his voice breaks up the comfortable silence you’ve been held in. 

“Friendship bracelets, you?”

He grumbles, “Fuckin’ kickball.”

Yikes. Suddenly, friendship bracelets don’t sound too bad. You don’t mind the activity, as it usually consists of a silly group of girls who bother you about foolish things like their current crushes and favorite movie characters. Plus, you get to sit in the cafeteria with air-conditioning. Meanwhile, Touya’s stuck hustling outside with rough-housing boys and humidity that feels borderline criminal. 

“My condolences,” you half-heartedly tease.

Touya grunts in response, unimpressed with how his rest of the day seems to be planned out. Sure, he doesn’t want to make friendship bracelets, but he’d take sitting on the cool cafe floor with you and a few other campers over playing kickball referee any day.  

A group of voices captures your attention, and Touya’s follows soon after. A few campers, mixed in ages and interests, are beckoning Touya over to where they play.

You recognize the kids. They’re well behaved for the most part, aside from the occasional jokes going too far and bad attitudes from long days in the sun. They’re calling his name and waving him over with their little dirt-covered hands. With a scan of their crowd, the two of you are quick to recognize that they don’t need anything—no one’s crying or hurt, no blood or tears or frowns on their faces. They’re most likely bored and looking for their favorite counselor to torture. 

With a smirk, you nod your head their way, “I think you’re being summoned.”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Maybe, but I’m ignoring them until I have no choice.”

His comment gets a laugh out of you, and he’s grateful. Maybe you think he meant it in a way that would succeed in him spending less time with his kids, or maybe you’d actually read between his lines and see that he meant it as a plan to spend more time with you. Either way, he buys his time. 

It doesn’t last long, as it’s not even two minutes later before the group is now making their way over towards him. They giggle and prod his sides, teasing and grabbing him to come play with them. Their cheeks are blushing and plump, which mentally reminds you to reapply their sunscreen within the next hour.

Eventually, Touya succumbs, “Okay, alright, I’m coming. Get your grubby hands off of me.”

The little bodies pull him away from you, much to Touya’s dismay. You let him leave you with an enthused look adorning your face.

You call to him as he’s practically dragged away to the playground, “Have fun with kickball later. Hit one out of the park for me, will you?”

“Yeah yeah,” he waves you off with a quick flick of his middle finger before recollecting himself in front of his little ones. “Why don’t you make me a bracelet while I’m at it?” he jokingly suggests.

You decide to take him up on his offer. 

... 

Outside time eventually comes to an end and the counselors round up their groups, bringing lines full of tired and sweaty elementary schoolers into their next events. 

The kids have a choice between multiple different activities. You’re not surprised to see your usual friendship-bracelet-buddies making their way over to your assigned table.

A group of girls bobble their way over. Talking one another’s ears off, they’re just as energetic and bubbly as they were when they walked through the doors this morning. You can’t help but bitterly wonder how the heat doesn’t tire them out. 

One of the girls notices you and is quick to softly elbow her friend, getting her attention with a not-so-silent pssst! The girls exchanged a few excited looks before one of them takes a seat next to you and asks for a piece of string to begin her bracelet. 

Kids are weird, so naturally, you think nothing of it. 

Time passes as it usually does. The girls keep themselves busy with a few comments or questions for you every now and then. Eventually, the girl beside you calls your name once more.

Expecting her to ask for help with weaving her bracelet or to complain an inquiry of when lunchtime is, you turn—but the question that leaves her mouth is one unprecedented. 

She smirks, almost as if she knows something you don’t, before teasing, “Are you and Touya married?”

Giggles erupt in the circle formed around you as the camper drawls out the end of her question into a high pitched shriek. You slightly wince at the abrupt noise before continuing to weave the yarns of your bracelet.

“No, we aren’t married.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Another round of giggles bubbles throughout the group. As if their joy was contagious, the handful of girls bounce off of once another’s reactions at the taboo topics of love and dating. 

“No, he’s not,” your reply is a bit winded, but you're entertained, nonetheless,  “who said that?”

Another tiny camper jumps into your space while eagerly bouncing around on her heels. 

“Someone said they saw you guys kissing by the slide!” Her tiny curls bob up and down as she practically crawls out of her own skin with excitement. 

You smile at her innocent enthusiasm before urging her to sit back down and work on her bracelet.

“Well, that’s a lie,” you assure them, “I wouldn’t kiss Touya. He smells.”

The girls release another gaggle of outrageous laughter, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve won by making your little six-year-old friends smile so hard. They go wild at your response, some of them agreeing while others merely hide their giggles behind their palms. 

“I’m gonna tell him you said that!” one camper beams as she points an accusatory finger at you. 

You shrug with mischief as you place a few more beads onto your string, “Be my guest.”

...

The hottest day of the year eventually comes to an end. The very last camper is picked up by their guardian, and the remaining counselors are officially off the clock and sent home—just to do it all over again tomorrow.

Touya waits for you by the back door of the building. He likes walking out with you at the end of the day. He claims it’s a thing of habit, that he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it most of the time, but you know it’s because he likes to make sure that you get to your car safely. 

It’s still muggy outside as you go through the back entrance. The sun may have set, but the humidity persists. 

He lingers by your side as you make your way to the parking lot. “Rumor has it, I smell,” he scrunches his nose in distaste. 

You cough back a laugh and Touya raises his eyebrows at your failed attempt of hiding your amusement. 

You brush it off with a shrug, “Sometimes rumors are true.”

He grins. “Well, in that case,” he positions himself in front of you so you stumble on your own steps, “rumor has it, we kiss underneath the slide everyday. Any truth to that one?”

You roll your eyes before walking around his lanky frame. 

“Nope,” you simply state, “I think I’d remember kissing you by the slide.”

‘‘Why? ‘Cause I’d make it worth your while?” 

You scoff. “No, because I don’t have short term memory loss.”

You finally reach your car and Touya leans against the driver side door, blocking it to prevent you from climbing in and leaving him mid-conversation. Though he’d rather die than admit it, he’s not quite ready to say goodbye to you just yet. 

As if you’ve read his mind, your next question has him soaring.

“Are you working tomorrow?” 

He presses his tongue against the metal of his piercing as he cockily throws his head back, “I haven’t even left yet and you’re this excited to see me, already?”

You press a hand into his side as you push him off of your car. He chuckles when you roll your eyes at his cheeky comment. 

“Yeah,” he steps aside, letting you reach around for the car’s door handle, “yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow.”

You smile at him, and it’s the one he loves, the one he’s oh-so-very familiar with. The one where you pretend to be annoyed with his antics, but the childish gleam in your eyes gives you away.

“Okay,” you softly smile. Touya eyes the bead of sweat dancing along your hairline. Though the two of you are in desperate need of showers, he doesn’t seem to mind. 

He sticks his hands into his pockets, “Y’know, there’s still time to bring that rumor to life. It’s not too late.”

“Touya, I am not kissing you beneath the slide. Take me out to dinner first,” your response is meant to be sarcastic. It’s meant to poke fun at his silly request, to redirect the pressure since the implication has your throat running dry. 

However, Touya surprises you, as he always seems to do. 

“Alright, I will,” he decides. 

Your eyes snap up from the handle and to his own. You bore into them, to see if he’s joking, if he’s pulling your leg just to hit you with a classic, you should’ve seen the look on your face! 

He doesn’t. He remains silent as he awaits your response. 

A bit shocked at his blunt request, your mouth remains ajar, “Really?”

Touya simple nods. You see his smile meet his eyes as he laughs beneath his breath. He opens your car door for you, and ushers you inside with a silent wave of his hand. 

You find yourself nodding in return at his wordless actions, “Sure, we can talk about it tomorrow,” you conclude as you climb into the driver’s seat. “Meet me by the slide.”

Touya simply gives you a thumbs up, for he’s afraid that if he speaks, his voice will waver like a tiny camper’s when they get too excited. 

Before you close your car door, you reach into your bag and hand him something. He doesn’t look down to see what it is until you’ve driven away.

Once your car is out of his line of sight, his eyes flicker down to what sits in his hand. 

A flimsy bracelet woven of string into braids makes a circle in his palm. The colors of red, pink, and white dance along one another through the entirety of the strings. In mismatched beads, with letters of all different fonts and sizes, reads a simple word.

Smelly.

...bonus scene!

The clock on the wall reads 8:21am, meaning Touya’s been working for an entirety of two hours and twenty-one minutes. It feels like he’s been withering away in the confines of the building for eons, now. 

One camper returns from the bathroom in a new change of clothes, since he wasn’t able to make it to the toilet on time. In the corner of his eye, Touya can see two other campers bickering with their hands and exchanging harsh words. He expects it to escalate, preparing himself to intervene once someone starts to cry. 

The morning has barely begun and he’s already exhausted. 

He hears the whiny voice of one of his youngest campers at his side, before he feels a weak tug on his t-shirt. 

“Touyaaaaaaa,” is dragged out in a nasally song from a boy by his feet. 

He’s quick to bark back without any real bite, “What now?”

The boy’s expression quickly turns devilish, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Touya furrows his brows at the unexpected question. Not caring enough to play mind games with a five year old, he shrugs. “Depends, who’s askin’?”

“Is Y/N your girlfriend?” the camper clarifies with a cat-like grin. 

Touya’s heart stops beating for a moment, just a moment, before he decides that this could be fun. 

“Yeah, actually. She is.”

With an excited yell, the boy wastes no time shouting the news to his fellow peers, causing a ruckus and feeding the fire that is a classroom of feisty kindergartners in the summertime. 

The group around him is quick to ignite with chatter and screeches. Tiny little I told you so!’s and How romantic!’s fill the conversations erupting around him. 

Another camper tries to jump on his back, Touya catches her with a stagger as he hoists her upwards while she clings to his shoulders, “Do you guys like, kiss and stuff?”

He smiles to himself, before sliding her out of his arms, “Oh yeah, everyday. You guys don’t see us by the slide?”

“Ewwwwww!” ricochets off the walls of the building. The kids laugh themselves into oblivion, and Touya fans the flames. 

“We kiss by the swings sometimes, too.”

Another obnoxious chorus of shrieks and fake gags commences. 

Yeah, it might’ve been a rough morning, but Touya’s gonna have a fun day. 

#not proofread we die like men #touya todoroki #dabi #touya fic #dabi fic #touya fluff #dabi fluff #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader

[kythed]

“almost funny”

synopsis: suna rintarou thinks you’re out of his league, and you think he’s out of yours.

tagged: general dumbassery, fwb-to-lovers, some profanity, sexual references but nothing explicit.

commitment level: 5.6k words.

It’s almost funny, really. It’s funny how what started out as a purely physical transaction has now transformed into a one way ticket to Simpville with the name Suna Rintarou stamped on it in big red letters. Suna runs a hand through his hair in frustration as he stares down at your sleeping form, curled up in his SF Giants tee that fits you like an oversized nightgown. He loves how you look there, wearing his clothes, bed head resting on his pillows. It’s almost embarrassing how much he loves it. How much he might love you. 

He doesn’t really remember when he started seeing you as more than a good fuck. Maybe it was that time you told him he looked pretty with your lipgloss smeared across his mouth. 

“That’s a nice shade on you,” you’d laughed as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “You should wear it more often.” 

Then, before he could respond, you’d yanked him back in by the collar, licking into his mouth, deep and dirty. He shivers now even just thinking about it, recalling the taste of that lipgloss. Strawberry lemonade, the sort that comes in little bottles at the dollar store. However “pretty” he might’ve looked in that moment, he’s sure you looked a hundred times better. You always do, and you don’t even have to try. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even in your worst moments. 

Or maybe it was the time you remembered his birthday when no one else did. January 25th; all his friends had taken off on their ski trips or tropical vacations, but you showed up to his apartment toting a cupcake and a single candle, belting a loud, out of tune rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ until he shut you up with an impulsive kiss on the lips. You’d been surprised, but not so surprised you couldn’t kiss him back. Suna’s pretty sure most friends-with-benefits don’t do that sort of thing. They don’t sit across from each other at the kitchen table, splitting a vanilla cupcake and laughing over matching frosting mustaches. They don’t hug each other goodbye after two hours of scrolling through YouTube and nothing else, content to linger in that air of tentative familiarity and pseudo-friendship. 

Whatever the reason, whenever it happened, all Suna knows now is you’re more than just a fuck buddy. He doesn’t even want to associate the term with you — it feels disrespectful. He wishes he could just stop pretending. Stop pretending he doesn’t want you to be his. 

“Hey.” 

Suna grins at your low, throaty morning voice. It’s cute. 

“Hey,” he responds, reaching forward to flick your shoulder. “You slept in.” 

“Did I?” You blink the sleep from your eyes and squint at Suna’s bedside clock. 9:06. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.” 

You fly out of bed, wiggling into your jeans and tossing your hair into a careless ponytail before frantically scanning the room. “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

Suna exhales through his nose before getting up and walking over to his closet. “I hung it up last night so it wouldn’t be wrinkled.”

You freeze in your tracks, slowly turning with a teasing grin plastered on your face. “Oh? How considerate of you.”

Suna shrugs, avoiding your gaze. He feels a flush rise to cheeks and desperately hopes it doesn’t show. “Just being polite.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a little crush on me,” you crow before taking the sweater from the hanger and slipping it over your head. 

“You wish,” he snorts, but all he can think is you’re absolutely right. 

You ignore him and begin shoveling all your things into your purse: a compact mirror, lipstick, house keys. You glance at the clock again. “I’m gonna be so late to this lecture. Damn. Maybe I can text Aiko and ask her to record the first part for me.”

Suna raises an eyebrow. He remembers your friend Aiko from a party last year, before you and he began your… arrangement. She’s outgoing, friendly, and probably the flakiest person he’s ever met. “She’s not gonna do that. Just let me drive.”

“No, it’s fine,” you automatically brush him off, heading into the bathroom to splash your face with lukewarm water. “You probably have your own shit to take care of.”

Yeah, you, he thinks, but instead he says, “Not really. Plus, you’ll probably miss the whole thing if you try to bike to campus. Let me take you in the car. I’ll strap the bike onto the back.” 

You give him a look. “Are you sure, Rin?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he says, throwing on a shirt. “Outside in five, and I’ll have you there by 9:30, easy.” 

After a few more weak protestations, you finally agree, and as he drives you to your university, he lets himself pretend you’re his girlfriend sitting there in the passenger seat. He turns on your favorite artist’s Spotify mix on the aux and smiles to himself when you hum along, watching the city fly past out the window. What he wouldn’t give for that reality, one where he can love you without all these restrictions, these tricky boundaries between friends and lovers. When you jump out of the car, calling a cheeky “I’ll text you!” over your shoulder, he pretends it’s an affectionate “I’ll see you for dinner tonight!” instead. He pretends that instead of rushing to get away from him and into the lecture hall, you kiss him on the forehead and squeeze his shoulder, reluctant to leave.

“Fuck me,” Suna says angrily before slamming his palm into the horn, scaring a few freshman walking to class. “And fuck you too!” 

He’s not sure who “you” is. Maybe the universe. 

No, Suna Rintarou doesn’t know why or how it happened, but he’s in too deep now. And he’s pretty damn sure you’ll never feel the same way. 

+

You slide into your seat beside Aiko just as the guest lecturer pulls up his power point, breathing out a sigh of relief. Aiko shoots you a grin, waggling her eyebrows. Suna? she mouths, and you roll your eyes, nodding nonetheless. Aiko can hardly wait until after the lecture to start pestering you about it. 

“So,” she says as you leave the auditorium together. “Did you tell him yet?” 

“Tell him what?” You dig in your bag for your water bottle, groaning when you remember leaving it on the edge of Suna’s sink last night. 

“Tell him that you’re in loooooove,” Aiko sings, nudging your shoulder. 

You scoff. “Okay, first of all, I don’t love him.”

“But you like him,” Aiko persists, and you hold up a finger. 

“And second of all, even if I did, I would never tell him.” You yawn, rubbing your eyes before realizing you hadn’t taken your makeup off and thus probably have awful raccoon eye bags. “He’s so out of my league it’s not even funny. It’s kind of pathetic for me to think he’d ever like me back.” 

Aiko scoffs. “If anything, you’re out of his league. You could pull any guy you wanted to. And when I say any, I mean any. Like, I bet you could even get Jake Gyllenhaal.” 

You laugh. “Why specifically Jake Gyllenhaal?”

Aiko shrugs. “Dunno. Just the first hot guy that came to mind. But forget him. My point is, Suna Rintarou is definitely yours for the taking. All you have to do is —”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt. “All I have to do is confess.” 

“Exactly,” says Aiko. Before she can open her mouth again, you cut in. 

“Okay, but listen, Aiko,” you say. “Suna’s the kind of guy who doesn’t let himself get attached. He fully admitted to me when we first hooked up that he’d never had a girlfriend. And that’s obviously not from lack of female interest. It’s because he doesn’t want one.”

“Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t found the right person yet.” Aiko starts heading towards the campus coffee shop, and you follow her. 

“Sure,” you say, getting in line. The cafe is crowded with students getting in their daily caffeination, inhaling sugary lattes and bitter espressos just to stay awake through their next class. Ah… college. “Or maybe he just. Doesn’t. Want. One.” 

Aiko keeps arguing all the way up until you reach the cash register, where you realize you haven’t even decided on what to order yet. 

“Hey there,” says the cashier, smiling sunnily. “What can I get for ya?” 

You blink. He’s attractive. Very attractive, actually. Bleach blonde, a crooked grin that screams trouble in the best sort of way. Miya, says the little name plate pinned to his shirt. “I, uhh…”

“Take your time,” he says leaning forward like he’s about to tell you a secret. “Between you and me, we have an excellent mocha latte. Not too sweet, y’know?”

You find your manners. “Oh, um, yeah. That sounds great, actually.” 

“One mocha latte, then?” he asks, picking up a cup, and you nod. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of serving today?” 

When you tell him your name, he smiles to himself and scrawls it on the cup. “Pretty.”

You flush and pay, hands shaking a little when you slide your card down the side of the machine. The cashier notices and shoots you a knowing look. Five minutes later, when you pick up your drink from the other side of the counter, you see not only your name written on the lid, but a phone number, too, along with a tiny winking face. 

“What’d I tell you?” exclaims Aiko shrily when you leave the shop. “Any. Guy. Period.” 

You shake your head in exasperation, but you can’t help but throw a final glance over your shoulder, meeting the eyes of the cute cashier one more time. Maybe Aiko does have a point. 

+

That weekend, Suna’s stretched out on his couch, dangling his feet over the armrest and staring up at the ceiling. It’s one of those lazy Saturday afternoons, and usually he’d be enjoying his alone time. Not today, though. Today there’s something — someone — on his mind, and that someone is spelled y-o-u. His phone pings, and he snatches it up with embarrassing speed, groaning when he sees it’s just Atsumu. 

“Bastard,” he mutters, not even bothering to open the message. Probably just asking for the O-chem lab answers. 

Suna rolls over onto his stomach, pulling up your contact name. What he really wants to do is see you, but how is he supposed to do that without sounding weirdly desperate? Hey, he types out. Wanna come over and watch a movie? He pauses for a moment before adding, Pizza’s on me. 

He buries his face in his hands and deletes the text. That makes it sound like he’s asking you out. Well, that’s what he does want to do, but you can’t know that. He’s fairly certain if you knew how he felt about you, you’d freak out. Girls don’t like to be tied down, he reminds himself. Suna groans again, grabbing two fistfuls of hair in irritation. 

“Why are women so complicated?” he says aloud, letting the words echo in his empty apartment. He takes a couple seconds to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and unlock his phone again, this time settling on a simple Come over. Short, sweet, and to the point. Well, not exactly. That makes it sound like all he wants to do is sleep together, when he’d really rather just… talk. Spend time with you. 

“Oh, God,” he mutters. “I’m so done for.” 

It takes what seems like forever for you to arrive, breathless from biking, hair slightly mussed. Suna grins, biting his lip. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. Even if all he can get is the sex, then he’s sure as hell going to appreciate it. You smell like lavender laundry detergent, he notices when you press yourself into him, fumbling to close the door behind you without breaking the kiss. 

“Well, hello there,” you laugh when he finally breaks away and draws in a shaking breath. “Somebody’s eager.”

Suna rolls his eyes. “As if. You just took so long to get here.” 

You cock an eyebrow. “You texted me like half an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and you’re half an hour too late.”

You snort and hurl a pillow from the sofa at him. He catches it and smiles, taking your wrist and drawing you in for another messy, open-mouthed kiss.

“Sorry that I don’t have the power of teleportation,” you quip, laughing when he pulls you into the bedroom. Suna resolves to take his time with you today, undressing you carefully, trailing his lips down your sternum and collarbones, grinning to himself whenever you gasp. He almost catches himself saying “I love you” at one point as you cling to him, mumbling his name, but he placates himself with kissing you extra hard at the end instead, pulling you into his chest and falling back into the pillows. 

Usually, you’d take a few minutes to lay in silence, tracing shapes in his skin, and he’d lean back with closed eyes, imagining what it would be like to be loved by you. Slow early morning kisses, skin on skin, whispering and giggling and everything cheesy he used to hate but now wishes he could experience with you. Today, though, you peel yourself off of him and grab your phone as soon as it buzzes, fingers flying in response to whoever had texted you.

“New boy toy?” he jokes, almost choking when you don’t immediately say no. Oh, shit. “You’re kidding.”

“Just a guy I met the other day,” you say casually. Suna stares, slack jawed. “Works at the coffee shop near the quad.” 

“Coffee shop?” He furrows his brow. Doesn’t he know someone who works there? He internally scowls, digging into the back of his brain. Aran? Osamu? 

“Mm,” you say, suppressing a smile as the nameless suitor sends another text. “His name’s Atsumu Miya.”

Suna’s heart nearly falls right out of his chest and cracks at his feet. “No.”

You look up, raising an eyebrow. “No?”

“Not him,” Suna says, forgetting himself, forgetting the nature of your relationship. 

“I didn’t realize you were in charge of who I can and cannot be interested in,” you say bitingly. 

Suna sits up. “I’m not. It’s just, Atsumu… he’s not your type.” 

“You know him?”

“Yeah,” Suna says, thinking back on his days observing the Miya twins’ antics. “He’s not your kind of guy, trust me.”

“Pray tell then,” you say. Oh, fuck. You’re irritated. “Who exactly is my kind of guy?” 

Me, he thinks. I’m your kind of guy. “I don’t know. Just trust me though, okay? Atsumu… he’s difficult.” 

“Thanks, Suna,” you say, tone tinged with sarcasm. Suna cringes. You only ever call him by his surname when you’re upset with him. “But I think I can go out with whoever I want to go out with.” 

“Fine.” The word tumbles out more harshly than he’d meant it to. 

You stare at him in disbelief. “What, are you mad at me or something?” 

Suna exhales heavily. “No, I’m not mad. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. I just wanted to give you a little guidance. As your friend.” 

“As my friend?” you repeat. “My friend?”

Now it’s Suna's turn to be confused. “Are we not friends?”

“I don’t know, Suna,” you say, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, pulling your clothes on. “You tell me.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say here,” he says, watching as you struggle to pull your shorts back on. He knows what he wants to say. No, we’re not friends. We should be together. Isn’t it obvious? 

You huff, grabbing your bag and the water bottle you’d left behind the other day. “You know, I don’t really know either. Forget I ever said anything. I guess I just thought…” 

You trail off and shake your head, heading towards the door. Suna scrambles out of bed to follow you, pulling on his pants as he hops down the hall on one leg. “What’s that?” 

“I said forget it,” you call over your shoulder, trying to slam the door, but Suna catches your wrist. As you stare up at him, he thinks he sees your lip quivering, eyes shining with half-formed tears. “Let me go.” 

“I’m serious,” Suna says. “What did you think?” 

You draw in a deep breath, and for a second, Suna thinks you’re about to say the words he’s always wanted you to say. Then you look away. “Let. Me. Go.” 

Slowly, Suna releases you from his grasp, and you stumble backwards, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. 

“Don’t call me.”

“Wait, no —”

“Don’t call me, Suna!” you say loudly, before turning on your heel and speed walking down the stairs. 

Oh. Oh. Suna stares in shock at the place you were just standing on his doorstep. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

When he heads back inside, head empty but for the single thought, I’ve just lost the best thing that ever happened to me, he glances at his phone on the counter. In an instant, he’s opening up his messages, pulling up Atsumu’s. 

Met a cute girl LOL. Gonna bring her to that party on Friday. 

Then, in a separate bubble — Btw: chem answers? 

+

“And then he called me his friend,” you say angrily, handing Aiko the box of Oreos. The two of you are sprawled on the floor of her dorm room. “Just like we were two bros who got together to play XBox every once in a while, instead of two people who had literally just banged.” 

Aiko takes a cookie before handing them back to you. “Asshole.”

“I mean, I know technically we were ‘friends with benefits,’” you say, stuffing an Oreo in your mouth. “But I guess I thought we could be something more. I thought there was no way he could kiss me like that, look at me like that without feeling something. Guess I was wrong.” 

“Screw him,” Aiko says. “You’ve got boys lined up around the block, and he thinks he can treat you like rubbish? Absolute bullshit.”

“I don’t have boys ‘lined up around the block,’” you remind her, smiling regardless. “Just one.”

“And that one is hella cute!” Aiko says. “You’re way too cool to pine over some guy who thinks you’ll just answer his every beck and call without even committing to a relationship.” 

You sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… ack. I don’t know. Am I jumping to conclusions? He seemed like he wanted to talk to me more, but I kind of stormed off without saying anything.” 

“Seems like he was pretty clear,” Aiko says with a shrug. “Your call, though. If I were you, I’d forget about him. Plus, you have Atsumu now. That’s a promising route.” 

You smile down at the Oreos, thinking about the cheery bottle blonde. “Yeah… he invited me to a party this coming Friday.” 

Aiko gives you a look and nudges your knee with her own. “You’d better wear that black dress.”

“You think?” you laugh, momentarily forgetting about Suna. 

“Oh, definitely. Gotta look your best on the first date.” 

“Right, and then after that I can just dress like a bum,” you joke. You purse your lips. “Rin might be there. Apparently he and Atsumu are pretty close.” 

“Even better,” insists Aiko. “Make him suffer a little bit. He won’t like seeing you all dolled up on Atsumu Miya’s arm.” 

“I’m not gonna try to make him jealous, Aiko,” you say, and Aiko shakes her head.

“No, I just think he needs to understand what he lost,” she says. “You don’t even have to pay attention to him at all, though. You should try and get to know Atsumu a little better.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, before reaching down for another cookie. “Oh. We’re out.”

“Gas station run?”

“Gas station run.” 

+

When Friday rolls around, you’ve successfully managed to avoid thinking about Suna the entire day. You have a calculus exam in the morning, and then a club meeting in the afternoon, and by the time you get done with everything it’s already time to get ready to leave for the party. It’s across town at someone’s loft apartment, so Atsumu offers to give you a ride, rolling up in a shiny Lexus, a sharp contrast from Suna’s old Chevy. 

“Hey,” he says, getting out to open the door for you. “You look great.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you say. “Although, I might prefer the work uniform.”

“Oh, please,” Atsumu says with a grin. “That apron does nothing to flatter my figure.” 

“Mhm.” The ride there is a slightly awkward one, but that’s normal, you tell yourself. You’ve gotten so used to the easy, teasing camaraderie you and Suna have that you’re rusty in regards to flirting. Atsumu has a different sense of humor, too, nothing like the dry sarcasm Suna’s such an expert in. You shake your head. Stop thinking about him. 

Even sitting next to a new guy, you can’t help but run last weekend’s drama over in your head. The past few months have been a jumble of mixed signals, and last Saturday was no different. How he tenderly brushed your hair from your face as he hovered over you, how he pulled you into his arms afterwards … how he seemed almost jealous when you mentioned Atsumu. Was it really jealousy? Exactly how much does Suna Rintarou care for you? You roll the numbers inside your head, trying to quantify the soft touches and lingering stares. He’s not easy to read; trying to understand Suna is like trying to decipher Greek without ever taking a single class. 

Even trying to get a measure on how much you care for him is difficult. You definitely like him as more than a friend. The only reason you agreed to the whole friends-with-benefits thing in the first place was because of a little crush that grew, that fed on that intimacy… but you’re not so sure now. 

“Here we are,” says Atsumu, jolting you from your contemplation as he pulls up alongside the curb. When you climb out of the car, he takes you by the hand, flashing you a quick smile. Your heart trips over itself, and you smile back. “Let’s do this.” 

+

Suna doesn’t show up to the party. He spends most of Friday busying himself at home, paying off a couple electricity bills, cleaning out the fridge. He even does a load of laundry. That’s how bored he is. By the time the clock strikes eight, he feels as though he’s Swiffered every single kitchen tile, folded every shirt, and wiped down every counter in the entire apartment, all to avoid stewing over you and him and all the ways he keeps messing up. But after doing everything on his to-do list and watching a movie and cooking his own dinner (unheard of!) he finds himself pacing around the living room, biting at his nails and thinking about you. More specifically, you and Atsumu. He hopes you’re not wearing that little dress you wore to the club with him a couple months ago. Not that you don’t look great in it — you do, and that’s the issue. The better you look, the more likely Suna will never get a chance to be with you again. 

To be fair, he’s not entirely sure how much of a chance he’s ever had with you. You’re incredible, plain and simple. Gorgeous, intelligent, the best player two on every video game he’s ever played with you. You’re not especially adept at the games themselves; no, there’s just something about you. There’s always just been something about you he can’t seem to find anywhere else. 

“Damn it,” Suna grunts aloud, flopping down on the couch. It’s nearing half past eleven now. He wonders what you’re doing. Dancing to some shitty music in some crowded living room. Sipping a can of cheap liquor. Letting Atsumu touch your waist, his hand dipping lower and lower until — 

Suna buries his face in the couch cushion. He’s usually not one to let his imagination run away with him, but tonight seems to be one of many recent exceptions. If only there was a way to know where he stands with you, or at least where you stand with Atsumu…

Well, there is a way, actually. Almost of its own accord, his hand inches towards his phone, sliding it open and somehow finding its way into his Snapchat. Fingers shaking, Suna clicks on Osamu’s story. It’s dimly lit, a mass of bodies, loud, drunk guys and scantily clad girls. The music is too loud, even through the phone. Suna squints at the screen — there’s Aran, even Kita’s there, quietly sitting in the corner, but no sight of — Suna’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Because there you are, and you’re not alone. You’re sitting on Atsumu’s lap, but he can’t see your expression because Atsumu is kissing you sloppily, and — oh, God — it looks like you’re kissing him back. 

And you’re wearing the fucking dress. 

“Damn,” Osamu says in the background. “Looks like he’s getting some tonight.”

Suna throws his phone across the room like it’s a grenade, staring down at his empty hands in disbelief. This can’t be happening. Not to him. Not to you. 

For the first time, Suna Rintarou thinks he understands what it really means to want someone. Not in a sexual way, but in the deepest sense of the word. Want. He wants you, and he’s pretty sure he’s never wanted anyone or anything quite so much in his life. 

All of a sudden, before his brain even has a chance to catch up, Suna finds himself shrugging on a jacket and snatching his keys from the table, dashing out the door like he’s being chased. If he leaves now, he thinks, starting the car and nearly slamming the door on his foot, he can get to the party before you leave. And then, well, then he’s not quite sure what he’ll do, but he’ll do something. 

Again, though, it seems as if the universe might be against him, because there’s an accident on the highway and it takes twice as long to get across town as it should. Suna cusses loudly over the incessant honking and chews on the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. When the traffic lets up and he finally pulls up to the apartment complex, parallel parking in a spot that’s probably illegal, he races up the stairs and into the loft, grabbing the first partygoer he sees. The poor kid’s plastered beyond belief and stares at Suna like he’s an extraterrestrial, eyes glassy.

“You see a girl leave here? ‘Bout this tall, probably left with some douchey looking blonde dude?” 

The kid blinks, hard and slow, before nodding. “Yeah, man, you just missed her. That your chick or somethin’? Because she was sucking face with —” 

Suna spins on his heel before the kid gets a chance to finish his sentence. He’s lucky Suna doesn’t deck him the head, he’s so irritated. 

“Sucking face,” he mumbles, climbing back into the car. He has the route to your house memorized (although he’s not sure how), and he’s pretty sure he breaks about twenty traffic laws trying to get there, so it takes significantly less time to arrive, but to Suna, it feels like an eternity. How did he ever sleep soundly at night knowing other guys had a shot at you before this? He doesn’t know, and he hopes he never has to worry about it again. Not after tonight. 

He gets there just as Atsumu’s pulling out of the driveway. Suna flashes him a mental middle finger and resolves to kick his ass later. No time for that right now. You’re still standing on the front porch, and when Suna stumbles out of the car, you turn towards him, mouth agape. 

“Rin? What are you—”

“Give me a chance.” He’s breathless, eyes wide and hair whipping around his face in the cool breeze. His heartbeat pounds in his ears like it’s about to burst blood vessels.

“Huh?”

“Give me a chance,” he repeats, reaching forward to take your hand. Your palm is cold against his. “I can do so much better, I promise.” 

You furrow your brows. “What in the world are you talking about, Rin?”

The dam breaks. The dam breaks, and everything — the longing, the frustration, everything — comes pouring out in a waterfall of rushing words he doesn’t even have time to think over before they splash at your feet.

“I can do so much better than Atsumu. He doesn’t know you. I know you, and I, well, I’ve liked you since forever, okay? I know your favorite color and your birthday and which Chinese place you like to get takeout from on Saturday nights.” Suna clears his throat. “I know that you like to be hugged from behind and that you hate it when people see you cry. I know so many things about you, and I want to know more.” 

“Rin—”

He holds up a hand. “Just listen. I know we’re just fuck buddies, or friends with benefits, or whatever the hell you want to call it, but I want to change that. You mean so much more to me than the sex. God, even if we never slept together again, I would still love you.” 

You stare at him. “Love?”

Suna swallows hard. “Yeah, fuck it. Love. I love you. Whatever that means to you, it means to me. I love your stupid jokes and your stupid laugh. To be honest, I’m so in love it feels like I’ll never love anyone else.”

He stops to take a deep breath and a shaky laugh. “Pathetic, right? I know it is. I can’t help it. I’m well aware that Atsumu is way more charming and outgoing, and I was probably wrong when I said he wasn’t your type… but I just need to know if I have even the smallest chance of winning you over.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Then another one. You’re gazing at him, head cocked, and the seconds tick by. He still has your hand in his, growing warmer via body heat. Suna feels himself grow increasingly nervous at your expression, curious and almost apathetic — until a wide smile breaks across your face. You laugh, and he thinks it must be the best sound he’s ever heard. 

“You weren’t wrong.”

“What?”

“He’s not my type,” you say. “We didn’t click.” 

“But — I saw, uh — Osamu’s story,” Suna stammers. “Sucking face.”

“Sucking face?” You squint in confusion before chuckling again. “Ah. Yeah, I kissed him. It was part of some stupid game. He’s kind of bad at it.” 

“Atsumu’s a bad kisser?” 

“Well,” you say, drawing the word out. “I wouldn’t say bad. It’s just… you’re better.” 

Suna’s silent for a second, letting the words ricochet around his brain. He’s better. He’s a better kisser. It was just a game. You’re not into Atsumu. “So… does that mean…?” 

“I love you, too.” You smile, and it’s not like your usual cocky grin. It’s sweet and almost… shy. 

“You love me, too?” Suna repeats in utter shock. He hadn’t expected to get this far.

“That’s what I just said,” you say. “What are you, a parrot? Speaking of which, though, I think that whole speech was the most I’ve ever heard you talk.” 

Suna doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a step closer and pulls you in for a hug. A real hug, not like the hesitant embrace you’d given him on his birthday, or the side hug he gave you after running into you at the grocery market a few weeks ago. No, this is a true, bona fide hug, and he translates everything he’s ever wanted to tell you but couldn’t into his arms wrapping around your waist. 

“So… wanna come in and watch a movie?” 

+

A little while later, Suna’s stretched out on your mattress with you between his legs, chin resting on the top of your head. You’ve changed out of your dress and wiped the makeup from your face, and Suna catches you yawning in the corner of his eye. There’s a trashy romcom droning on your laptop at the foot of the bed. To any outside onlooker, the scene is mundane, just a typical couple enjoying each other’s company. To Suna, though, this is paradise. 

It’s almost funny. It’s funny how, a week ago, Suna was a boy pining for a girl he thought he had no chance with. He looked at you and saw something unattainable, someone who would only ever want him temporarily. (And, unbeknownst to him, you felt the same way.) He experienced an overwhelming amount of want, heart knotting in on itself and twisting and turning until it pushed him over the edge, forcing him to confront his own desires. His own inadequacies. 

It’s funny how love is what everyone longs for, but it’s also the hardest reward to earn. It’s the most uncomfortable, heart-wrenching, nerve-wracking, anxiety-inducing pathway to happiness Suna’s ever seen. But still… he’d do it all over again if he had to. The months of headaches, the overthinking. It’s worth it. You’re worth it. 

Oh, well. What can he say? Suna leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your temples, and you tilt your head up to smile at him. Love’s a funny thing. 

Fortunately, Suna’s always down for a good joke.

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #suna #suna rintarō #suna rintarō x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintarou x reader #suna imagines #suna rintarō imagines #suna headcanons #suna rintarō headcanons #suna fluff #suna rintarō fluff #suna rintarou fluff #friends to lovers #f2l #fwb to lovers

[jungxk]

just one (viii)

summary: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

notes: first of all i wanna thank the people who supported me and encouraged me through one of the worst writers blocks of my life. all the messages and comments are the reason why i finally managed to post this. special thanks to @whippedforkook for helping me with the monstrous tagging process as well as giving me so much praise. and also @lonelyending for cheering me on for a literal YEAR bc thats how long i cried over this fic! this story is so special to me. we’re in the home stretch now x

warnings: mentions of illegal drug use and distribution, swearing, brief smut.

genre: drama, romance, humour, college!au

wordcount: 8k

tagging: @cutechim @benz-biarritz @gyukult @bangulin @eatersanonymous @alyssa1926 @skivv1es @a-sucker-for-them-sappy-shit @moonights @jeymuffins @juuneaux @catsukiii @andreaisaac @whatheydontunderstand @sreveles @noruls619 @henryharios @just-a-fuxked-up-kid @befriendswithj @btsbesharam @poemsandpunani @taelha @misosoup-forthesoul @jikooksmut @heart-eyedmf @the-piano-woman @angrysunshine @chaoticpaperfanhoagie @jsungshine @ci-yen @faby-montana @shinypeanutsportshero @jooniestrivia @alucards-s @cynamyngirl @jiminie-angel @myskoova @jkshoneybuns @smokintae @remmykinsff @majinbuwu @jangx2manboongx2 @potatodogs @seul-queen @alpharyth @blenxxxg @plsky @th-singularity @bapbaptothetop @hermiones-enchantment @stomachfilledwithbutterflies @euphorora @supachloe94 @jiminxjimout @ggukkieland @just-another-fic-recs-blog @jalexad​

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

x

4 years ago

x

jimin hated yugyeom.

well, maybe hate was a strong word. he just didn't like talking to him, being around him, hearing his name or interacting with him on any level, social or otherwise. he really tried though, since he was one of jungkook's closest friends and still respectfully referred to him as hyung above all else. and if anything, jimin would always have a soft spot for jungkook, the kid he used to coddle when his own brother wasn't around. but having said that, there wasn't really much basis for not liking yugyeom. it was just a gut feeling jimin couldn't explain, a very subtle callousness about him only jimin could pick up on. for the most part he was just like very other mild mannered boy by day and party animal by night, but jimin still ducks when he sees him enter the library.

"fuck," he hisses under his breath, scooping up his laptop to stride behind a book shelf for good measure. because sometimes, contrary to popular belief, jimin wanted to be alone. he didn't want to make small talk or listen to someone tell him about how well they scored on their last paper or complain about their annoying girlfriend. sometimes jimin wanted to have no thoughts and listen to fleetwood mac as per his human rights. which is why he shoves into the first private study room he sees.

and not an empty one at that. there's a girl inside, sitting cross-legged in her chair at a desk with an array of dried up paint tubes and brushes surrounding open sketchbooks. you don't look annoyed or even that phased, just amused as you give him a once over before going back to painting. "on the run from solji?"

jimin blinks, back still pressed against the door. "huh?" he regards you properly. "i'm sorry, have we met before?"

"not really," you admit with a sheepish smile, which is when jimin suddenly realises that you're...attractive. "solji is in my stats class. you hooked up with her last week at some party and she told me about it."

"oh," jimin takes in your plethora of art supplies. "you don't look like a stem student."

there's a glimmer of something in your eyes, and though you hide it well jimin knows he's struck a nerve. "yeah, i get that a lot."

"it's not solji by the way," jimin clarifies. for some reason. "that i'm hiding from. just a bellend i don't have the energy for right now."

you smile. "it's fine. you don't owe me your life story."

"i do when i'm about to impose on your...study time," jimin peers through the window in the door, wincing when yugyeom enters the hallway. "what would it take for you to let me stay in here for a while?"

you pause for a second. "honestly? just be quiet and leave me alone. is that okay?"

jimin perks up, a weight leaving his chest. "perfect, actually."

x

x

x

[jungkook 11:42pm]: why does it say wings on it

[jungkook 11:42pm] where is it flying

[you: 11:43pm] ffs kook

[you: 11:44pm] im still on the toilet can u just hurry up

[you 11:44pm] grab some tampons too pls

[jungkook 11:46pm] fine what size pussy do u wear

[you 11:46pm] i hate u

[jungkook 11:53pm] ???? ? ? well? ????

[you 11:54pm] REGULAR 

jungkook giggles at his phone, already having left the women's sanitary aisle to grab some chocolate. months later and teasing you was still bundles of fun. he knew for a fact that you were sat there with that angry pout on your face, nose crinkled. he had never bought anything like this before, but jungkook had enough brain cells to know that chocolate was another necessity for that time of the month. after grabbing a large hazelnut bar, he pauses beside the oreos before grabbing a packet of those too. just for good measure. he strides to the self checkout - because even he wasn't man enough for the cashier yet - nearly dropping his array of sanitary products and confectionary when somebody calls out his name from behind the queue.

"kook!" the voice is unmistakably yugyeom's, confirmed by the hand that clamps jungkook over the shoulder and swivels him round before he could think about hiding his socially compromising shopping items. it takes a second for yugyeom to notice, doing a double take at the pads atop his small tower of goods. he holds back a laugh, balancing a bottle of gin in one hand while he waves back at some friends to continue. they were clearly making their pit stop before a night out, probably pre's if they still start as late as jungkook remembers. with his hair styled and expensive cologne lingering, jungkook almost forgets he probably looks unrecognisable in his sweats and cotton-fresh hoodie. friday nights weren't for cuddling. still, yugyeom's smile is welcoming and familiar. "got the munchies? and maybe also a uterus?"

"shut up," jungkook grumbles, averting his eyes. he shifts to his other foot uncomfortably. "my friend just needed a favour, that's all."

"uh huh," yugyeom gives him a teasing look. "is this friend the reason why i barely saw you at jin's the other week?"

jungkook blinks back at him. "wait, you were at that party? i had no idea!" a boyish smile breaks over his face. "why didn't you call me? i haven't seen you since-"

"minseok-hyung's new years eve party," yugyeom throws his head back with a laugh. "remember how we ended up on a boat after the ball dropped and-"

"spent all of new years day detained by the coast guard!" jungkook finishes with a mischievous cackle of his own, nearly dropping the tampons in the process. "fuck, that was so much fun! we need to meet up again, i haven't been out with the guys in so long."

"well no wonder," he quips a brow at jungkook's shopping again. "word got out you're a family man but i didn't believe it. until now, that is."

jungkook's smile falls. "what do you mean?"

yugyeom looks at him for a second, confused by jungkook's surprise. yugyeom was never quite as diplomatic as namjoon or yoongi, to put it lightly. and definitely nowhere near as accomodating as jimin. which is why his next words make jungkook's back stiffen. "bro, look at yourself. you got dairy milk in one hand and tampax in the other. on a friday night. the next time i see you i wouldn't be shocked if you had a baby buggy and a mortgage." still, yugyeom throws him an apologetic look. like a mouse caught in a trap. "face it, kook. you're old news."

"what? that's not true," his brows furrow unhappily. "i don't know what you're talking about. it's not like she's my..."

he can't say the word, but it hangs between them like a dead weight.

"yeah, right," the condescending look on yugyeom's face was starting to agitate him. "you totally blanked us at jin's after she showed up. not even just jin's..." he thinks twice about holding his tongue, but as always, decides against it. "i don't know you, jungkook. whoever this new jungkook is. it's been months. you used to hit us up and be independent and spontaneous and wild and now you're just...someone's boyfriend.

"stop fucking saying that," jungkook snaps, all visible signs of friendliness gone.

"why?" a beat. "do you even use a wrap with her anymore?"

jungkook splutters, heat rushing to his ears and hands in a stinging combination of anger and embarrassment. "how is that any of your business? the fuck are you asking me something like that, as if you-"

"thought so," yugyeom looks away from him with a sigh. if anything, yugyeom knew never to overstay his welcome but that clearly backfired tonight. "whatever, jungkook," he looks over his shoulder at him. "guess you're the last one to find out you're officially married."

"you're ridiculous," jungkook scoffs. "all this over condoms? grow up, yugyeom."

"only couples do it raw," yugyeom turns away from him, alcohol in tow as he waves a hand over his shoulder to join his friends like jungkook was nothing but a lost cause. "you would remember that if you still had game."

jungkook stands there, dumbfounded while the group of boys exit the store noisily but he can't hear a thing. the siren that had been itching the back of his mind all this time was suddenly there at full force, right between his eyes. the glaring truth that yugyeom might be right makes his knees buckle. all those rules jungkook once had, all those measures he kept in place to protect his liberty, to prevent this very occurence - where were they? what happened to them? as the sweet and accommodating counterpart to jimin, why had you never complied? though, the blame wasn't on your hands alone. he got complacent, comfortable. lenient. and now without even realising he was here, a scene from a romcom in the middle of the night, with nothing to say for himself but fuck. the realisations wouldn't stop racing, one after another on the conveyer belt of his anxiety.

the photos on his phone; mostly you. time spent, usually with you. the portfolio for his latest photography module also had some resemblance to your interests. charcoal pencils, night drives, orchids. like the ones you always drew on any scrap of paper lying around. now that he thinks about it, he's seen nothing but your orchids for months. and not just that - you wore his clothes sometimes too. his bathroom had your toothbrush, contraceptive pills and coconut shampoo. his closest friends, his hyungs...not one of them was devoid of affection for you. he wasn't even confident that if the choice was presented, they would still pick him over you.

by the time jungkook finishes paying and practically sprints to his truck in a daze, he can hardly keep himself from shaking. he palms the wheel compulsively, he could feel the sweat in his sideburns, hoodie suddenly suffocating him. it smelled of you.

and then, like a final curtain call: was he just your latest fixer-upper project? some good girl wet dream to play out in the wake of your emotionally traumatic past? a slap in the face to seokjin, maybe, and nothing more? when you were done, when he was out of your system, when you knew his taste by heart and had nothing new left to try - would you stay? did you even know how to?

did he?

jungkook starts the engine. he drives to your door, drops your bag of snacks and pads on the porch, and texts you before leaving. he does not go inside.

x

x

x

"you sure you'll be okay with just the boys?"

you scoff at seulgi when she pins you with a worrying look, taking some of her clothes out of her bag to re-fold them just so you had something to do with your hands. jisoo had already left for the long weekend with her family, so there was no one there to fill up the empty space between your awakward reply. you didn't know how to tell the girls that jungkook hadn't contacted you in nearly a month. and even though he was a notable flight risk from the beginning, you couldn't help but feel like there was hostility there. every now and again he'd at least send a nude or have a quick phone call when he was drunk or high at three in the morning, but you hadn't heard a peep from him. you couldn't stand the idea of someone you cared about harbouring comtempt for you, but the fear of reaching out and somehow making the situation worse outweighed it tenfold. 

you look up to see seulgi still staring at you with concern. "of course i'll be fine! they're boys, not piranhas."

"at least piranhas contribute our ecosystem. boys just cause problems for the hell of it," seulgi lays a hand on the crown of your head like a berating big sister, swivelling you to look at her in your fit of giggles. the urge to nestle you under blankets like a baby bird made her chest heave, and you could tell. "i'm serious. if jimin tries anything, call me immediately okay?"

"jimin?" you snort. "out of a room full of delinquents, my ex, and taehyung, you're worried about jimin of all people?"

seulgi wrinkles her nose. "god, when you say it like that its like i'm throwing you to the dogs." she pauses. "something's up with jimin. i don't know what it is, but he's...off."

you tilt your head innocently, remembering the brief interaction you had with hobi at seokjin's party. you had been so caught up in jungkook - or lack thereof - you hadn't thought to press him about it afterwards. in truth, jimin remained as...jimin as ever. if he was acting differently you certainly couldn't tell. "you think so?"

"mmm," she leans on the lip of the open suitcase thoughtfully. "but maybe with jungkook there, he'll behave himself."

you gulp, fiddling with his watch on your wrist anxiously. "maybe."

x

x

x

you nearly yelp when you feel a big hand swivel around your waist, bucking into the kitchen counter reflexively. jungkook always did this before rubbing his boner against your ass, but the light scent of citrus and short squeeze lets you know immediately that its taehyung. hoseok, jimin, namjoon and yoongi were still in the living room playing video games, giving taehyung the perfect opening to intercept you. namjoon and yoongi had insisted that you come over to their place after finding out you'd be alone for the weekend, and you had completely refused before taehyung's coaxing. and of course, jimin's persuasive nudging. even though you felt safe and relaxed here, it felt wrong to be in jungkook's friends' place without him. almost like a breaching of an unspoken boundary.

and clearly, taehyung picked up on your discomfort by the way he stared at you so softly. his back was to the sink, his sillhouette particularly long and lean this evening. "you need to lighten up, princess. you keep looking over your shoulder so much it's making me nervous!"

your visibly droop with a sigh. "i'm sorry tae. i've had a lot on my mind lately, and..."

he claps his hands on your shoulders, teeth peeking through his grin. "you're not doing anything illegal by being here without jungkook."

you wince at his name. "have you always been able to read my mind like this?"

"absolutely," taehyung's brown eyes look so rich up close. "you're allowed to have friends that are also his friends, because - and try to stick with me on this - relationships between people are allowed to be independant from the primary circles they met in. mind boggling concept, i know."

you wack him on the chest until he laughs. "stop making fun of my anxious thought processes! its called mental illness, sherlock! i can't help it!"

his nose scrunches cutely, enjoying your first fiery outburst of the day. "whatever. i call it not getting laid for a month and losing critical thinking abilities from it."

you gape at him indignantly while taehyung roars with laughter. "you're such a dickhead," you hiss through gritted teeth, yanking his hair and jabbing your fingers in his sides the way you would with jimin during a tickle fight. "whores have feelings too, taehyung! whores have feelings too!"

you both fall about with laughter, knocking over half the snacks on the counter in the process which only makes the pair of you laugh even more. it's such childish chaos trying to clean up the mess on the tiny kitchen floor that neither of you notice the front door open, or the gust of metaphorical and literal wind that follows. watching taehyung trying to salvage a bag of broken crisps is just so funny that the presence of an another voice in the living room goes unregistered, as do the footsteps leading up the hallway to the kitchen, so you have no time to brace yourself or properly pull yourself together with you see-

"...jungkook."

yours and taehyung's heads snap to the doorway. jungkook stands there with almost complete lack of emotion on his face to the pair of you kneeling in crumbs and napkins. there's a brief pause where the tension in your eye contact alone was so strong that it felt wrong to breathe. but it is shortlived. jungkook tiptoes over you like spilled milk, reaching for a glass of water. you and taehyung lock eyes while the tap runs in the awkward silence. "hey. you okay?"

"um," you're not sure whether to stand up, hug him, look at him, or even face him. "yeah! yeah, i'm fine."

he nods politely. "hyung?"

even taehyung looks visibly uncomfortable. "i'm good."

"cool. see you later," he says, downing the glass impressively fast before leaving the room just as fast as he entered it.

you and taehyung stare at each other again, not understanding why you both feel like kids caught eating cake before dinner. you could feel the sweat pricking at your back from the realisation. jungkook had no idea you'd be here, and given that interaction he'd probably want to leave now. there was always the inkling woven between his radio silence that he was done with you, but you never let yourself take it seriously out of logic. because how could months of passion and tenderness and honesty be undone so irrevocably like that? it didn't make sense. you hadn't changed. you were the same girl he hit on relentlessly and chased against all odds. so what was different now?

"____," taehyung calls your name gently, and it's only then you realise you're already up and trailing after jungkook into the living room. when you walk in he's already putting his shoes on to leave again, barely making eye contact with you while he chats absently to his hyungs so he can look busy. the four boys on the large sofa can only reply wearily, eyes darting between the pair of you like a firework was about to blow to soon. and it was.

you could feel it in your throat, under your breast bone, bubbling up your stomach. "wait, jungkook. um...h-how have you been? i haven't heard from you in-"

"i've been good," he keeps tying and re-tying his laces without looking up. "super busy. you know how it is."

his curtness makes you flinch. this same time last month jungkook used to kiss you senseless before he had both feet in the door. he'd ring the doorbell incessantly like a child and greet you with the biggest, toothiest grin you had ever seen. he'd make fun of your bed head and squeeze your cheeks until you'd snap at him. and now when he looked at you he hated every second of it. your mother had the same look. your eyes start to burn involuntarily. "yeah, i do. how is uni? your final project is due soon, right? what theme did you pick in the end?"

"the one i told you about," he stands up abruptly. "sorry, noona. something came up. i'll see you arou-"

"something came up?" you step closer to him. "something came up the second you saw my face? or did you really just trek all the way to your hyungs' place for a glass of water, jungkook?"

jungkook stiffens, but is determined not to lose face. and it's difficult to do under your big, accusatory eyes and jimin's death stare at his back. the whole room was waiting for his response, so he just shoves his hands in his pockets resolutely. "i needed to see yoongi hyung, but i can come another time."

you fold your arms. "well it's clearly important, and you're here now. so don't let me stop you."

"but you will stop me," jungkook snaps. "that's the problem."

"kook-ah," yoongi warns quietly, but he took one look at your face and knew the damage was done. jimin was already standing up, circling around the back of the sofa towards you. the red lights were all there; your watery eyes, your trembling hands. every breath you took looked difficult for you to complete and only jimin noticed.

"what are you talking about?" you squint. it takes you a second to understand; yoongi's guilty expression, jungkook's indifference. "oh, you're fucking kidding me." your resolve breaks for a second turning away only to glare back at jungkook with so much fire you can hardly stand it. "you're selling again? are you insane, jungkook?"

"see," jungkook's eyes are stony. "i knew you'd get this way."

"what other way am i supposed to get?" his lack of response only infuriates you more. it felt disrespectful. "jungkook, you're not a kid anymore. if you get caught with drugs the consequences are serious! forget the potential jail time, you could get kicked out of university, it would go on your record forever and-"

"stop talking to me like i'm a kid!"

"then stop acting like one!" you hate raising your voice, but it keeps climbing without your approval. "did you think about this for even five minutes? this isn't like just going to juvie like before and being done with it jungkook. your hyungs can't bail you out of everything."

"this is a lot of talk for someone who lapped up those fancy paints without a second thought," jungkook says darkly. his eyes aren't like you remember, his face solemn and near unrecognisable. "or did you think that getting that kind of money overnight is only something that's possible through daddy's credit card?"

dread blooms like a garden inside you. "that's...that's how you bought the paint set?"

"welcome to the real world," he quips. "as if selling overpriced weed to a bunch of pick-me-freshmans is considered a crime against humanity to anyone but you."

"you think that's why i'm yelling at you right now?" your voice was growing hoarse, desperate. "you think that's the problem i have with you being literal drug dealer, jungkook?"

he hates it. the sweltering silence, the judgmental eyes digging into his back, the slow realisation that the tears in your eyes were not at him but for him. jungkook's ears ring enough to make him sway on the spot if his feet weren't planted so firmly on the dingy carpet, this metaphorical ground. he couldn't shake the feeling that his lifestyle was only an issue now because of you, how he never felt a shred of guilt about any of this shit until he met you. and if there was anything that jungkook never responded well to, it was pity. and he could feel it from every person in the room, all people that that once cherished and coddled him until you came along. he swallows, throat dry from the way he couldn't look at you knowing what he was going to say next.

"you're embarrassing yourself, noona. you're not my girlfriend and you never were, so stop acting like it."

cotton. it's very faint, under the layers of conflicting cologne and beer and smoke, but jungkook still smelled of cotton while he spat acid. nobody could speak, even though jungkook never raised his voice let alone a hand to you, it still hit like a slap in the face. it sunk into the walls, your clothes, suddenly every hair on your body felt heavy with it. dirty. the shame came first, the humiliation next. and then the sorrow, the dread, and finally the defeat. you knew the stages well by now, and they were cycling through you like clockwork. how foolish you were, to make the same mistake again. nobody dared to move, everyone but jungkook staring at you in denial and horror. they couldn't believe their eyes when you nod steadily, bowing your head to the floor.

jimin is already slotting himself between you, his jaw tight. "that's enough, kook. just leave already."

"no," you stop him, unnervingly resigned. that single word cuts through all six men with ease. "he's right." you step around jimin, closing the space between you and jungkook. for a brief moment he wonders if you'll actually hit him, but somehow watching you unclasp his watch from your wrist and drop it on the coffee table in front of him is far worse. the sound seems to ring like church bells, definitive and umistakable. "you're right, i'm not your girlfriend. you win jungkook."

they all watch you leave in dismay, listen to the door closing softly behind you. within a second jimin sprints after you, calling your name, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. jungkook's stare could bore a hole into the abandoned watch on the table, still ticking away like nothing changed. like his eyes weren't burning, lightheaded at the realisation that he would never wear a watch again let alone the one he put on you.

x

x

x

to an outsider, you looked like you were coping well considering you just got dumped in front of all your friends. but jimin knew that face. your stony eyes, lips pulled thin as if to seal inside the collapse of a monument. you took the tea he offered, and then his arms, your face finding his chest with ease. muscle memory. his torso was a tad shorter than jungkook's, his heart closer to your mouth as if the steady thumps were asking for a kiss of acknowledgement. every time you close your eyes you could see jungkooks face, hard and unforgiving and nothing like the man you trusted all this time. but it wasn't a new expression; you parents looked at you similarly the last time you saw them. it was the look of someone who had no regrets cutting all ties. and now, jungkook was behind them in a lost list of people who chose to be strangers over loving you.

jimin sighs when you cry into his chest, brushing the back of your head gently. he had been ready for this for months, but he still hated to see you this way. again. it made his bones itch, his skin crawl uncomfortably every time you weeped. the only time he considered violence was when you were crying. but he knew what to do, laying down across the sofa so you could curl up into a ball next him, head on his bicep and face smushed into the crook of his shoulder. you used to cry like this for hours and hours, his arm familiar with the prickle of pins and needles. but it was the only place you felt safe. tucked into jimin's side is where you would always belong, and that truth was more glaringly obvious than ever now.

"lets get something to eat," he offers eventually, hand craddling the crown of your head like a child. jimin's other hand on your hip is warm and heavy when he pats you soothingly. in your episodes, you responded well to touch. "what about thai food?"

"not hungry," you grumble against him.

"we could make something together?" he peers down at your lack of response. "come on, babe. you gotta eat something. you didn't even have breakfast-"

"why am i so stupid?" you whisper, a fresh bout of tears welling up.

jimin rubs your thigh. "it's not your fault."

"yes it is. jungkook gave me plenty of red flags, and i ignored all of them-"

"oh, i meant you being stupid."

you scoff. "cheers."

"what?" jimin cocks a brow when you lift your head to look up at him. he wets his lips and you follow the swipe of his tongue thoughtlessly, distracted enough by his touch and proximity that you take a second to digest his words. "it's not like any of this exactly came as a surprise. you ignored me, remember? wanted to flex your big girl pants."

you pull away from him and sit up, forcibly shutting out the daze that jimin routinely puts you under. "what's wrong with you? can't you be polite and wait for a couple hours before laying into me like a normal person? jesus, jimin."

"so let me get this straight," jimin sits up, watching your back as you sit away from him. "you're mad because i'm not telling you what you want to hear?"

"no," you say, head shaking. "i'm not mad. i'm upset because i came here to be comforted by my friend and you're just making me feel worse."

"what do you want me to say, ____? that i had high hopes from the start?" jimin pushes his hair back, brows now at a sharp incline from frustration. "i told you starting something with jungkook was trouble but you didn't listen. why should i feed your victim complex when all i've done is try to help you?"

"victim complex?" you repeat, standing up slowly. the sudden steadiness of your voice causes jimin to panic.

"not like that. don't take it like that, it's just," he's suddenly before you, his warm hands palming up your arms warmly. "i didn't wanna see you get like this and it happened anyway, is all i'm saying." he sighs when your scowl doesn't let up. "if hobi hyung hadn't have given up so easy, then maybe…maybe this would never have happened. maybe if i had been harsher with him then you would have-"

"what are you talking about?" you ask quietly, searching jimin's face. "give up so easy? what's that supposed to mean?"

he looks away, hands slipping off you. "it's nothing."

"jimin."

he struggles to look at you, tongue in cheek. his lips purse for a moment, pink like roses. he's wearing that navy jumper you like. "look, it's not a big deal. he wasn't supposed to fuck you or anything, just take you out for a while. get your mind off kookie, show you a nice time."

your blood runs cold. "what?"

jimin's expression softens. "it's not as bad as it sounds-"

"really?" your voice is sharp, sharper than he's ever heard it. you recoil as if you had been struck for the second time today. "because it sounds like you asked some guy to keep me occupied like i'm a fucking dog. all because you can't stand the idea of me being within a meter of jungkook-"

he steps in, but you step back. "you know that's not true, _."

"don't i?" you scoff, covering your face in disbelief. "jimin, you've been hellbent against me even looking at the guy since day fucking one."

"because i didn't want you to get hurt!" jimin counters, eyes downcast. "i know, okay? i know how much of a dick it makes me sound, but its not like it hurt you when you had no idea! hoseok broke it off before you even knew about it so why-"

"because it's worse," you turn away from him. "you tried to control me. choose what's best for me because you think you know better than i do. sound familiar?"

his jaw sets, and it's like you can hear the twine snap in his head, the percussion of his heartbeat above yours even though he doesn't close the space between you. jimin stares at you for a long minute before drawing in a thin breath. "fine," he steps in, and you can't look away. "you want me to say it? fine. i'll say it."

suddenly the air is lace thin around you as you stare at him, waiting. jimin looks off somewhere else, somewhere you can't reach. "don't tell me you haven't thought about it, because i know you have. if i have you must have too. and lately its all i can think about - being with you, holding you, being the one who gets to touch you. and yeah, maybe it took having to see you with jungkook for me to realise how much i want all that, i put my hands up. but you have no idea what's it like to watch the person you love most get toyed around with by a time bomb like that. i've seen jungkook go through girls like underwear and i love him, god i love him, but even the idea of you being one of those wasted girls sitting outside a party crying over his sorry ass makes my fucking ears ring."

"j-jimin…" you whisper, but you have nothing to say. your hands shake.

"you deserve more than that, ____. you deserve more than waiting around for booty calls or living up to what the next guy wants. from jungkook, hoseok, anyone. you deserve someone's devotion and yeah, maybe all this time i've been too much of a pussy to give it. maybe all this time i was tiptoeing around my feelings for you because i knew if i admitted to myself that i loved you - if i admitted i was just like every other guy - i'd actually set the bar for something other than disappointment. id actually have to step up, and i didn't know if i could do it. i still don't. but if it has to be someone…it should be me."

suddenly he's holding your hands, calming the tremble that rattles them. his words bunch up together in your ears, the meaning lost amidst your awe. "jimin….jimin what are you saying? where is all this coming from, i don't...i don't understand wh-"

"i'm saying," he cups your face. "choose me." he pulls you in. so, so close. "choose me, not jungkook. not anyone else. me."

and there's a part of you that has already caved. that's already kissing him, melting into his arms like you've wanted to for so, so long. you're falling back onto the couch with him in a fit of giggles, curling back into his chest to hide your watery eyes, asking him why the fuck he took so long. you chat together between teasing kisses, pour your hearts out, maybe cry a little. later you would make tea and order pad thai and watch the office all night and fall asleep together in the living room well past dawn and then-

you close your eyes. "i can't."

"you can," jimin says, so passionately you shudder. his brown eyes are teaming with too much determination and ardour for his own good, and you both know it. its difficult to grapple with how huge a risk he's taking, because jimin never takes risks. it made the whole situation seem dire. "you know you can, ____. it's us. there's no one like us."

you don't know how you're not crying yet. you only have jimin to hold onto, hands balled in his shirt without knowing if you're about to push him away or pull him in forever. "maybe back then. maybe if you'd have said all this before," you feel empty, the beat of your pulse suddenly strong in your fingertips. "but it doesn't matter anymore."

he shakes his head in denial, his determination palpable. "of course it does-"

"i'm in love with him," you say. to jimin. to yourself. to the world, finally. "i'm in love with jungkook." holding jimin's stare isn't as difficult as you thought it'd be. "you know if you'd have done all this a few months ago…if you'd have just...i was always yours without question, jimin. and you knew it." it's his turn to bristle under the strain of your voice. "jungkook isn't perfect. i'll be the first one to admit that. he's made me cry, he fucks up, he makes mistakes. but he's never lied to me. he never made decisions for me. he never passed judgement on what i should or shouldn't do with my life. something that i never thought i wouldn't able to say about you, too."

there's a brief moment where everything stops. neither of you can believe what you just said. jimin watches you, frozen in his place as you take your bag, eyes glittering with tears when he calls for you. suddenly he's the time bomb he feared becoming, the panic in his eyes lighting them up like fire crackers. for the first time in his life, he stumbles over his words, and then his feet when you reach for the door, all composure lost. he was unravelling like a tapestry in front of you, never to be repaired, and he could feel it. "____. ____, please," jimin chokes, his cheeks blotchy. "i wanted to protect you, i was just trying to help. don't go. please don't go. i was trying to help you."

"no. you were trying to have me." you say, closing the door behind you.

x

x

x

you have no idea what time it is when you hear the bell ring incessantly.

it had been hours since you'd returned home from jimin's, but there was no way for you to keep track when your only priority was just keeping yourself afloat. you turned your phone off, drew the curtains, and resolved to alternate between sitting in seulgi and jisoo's rooms until they came back. you didn't know what else to do. when you weren't crying you were hyperventilating, and when that stopped the absence of emotion was so powerful you could barely keep your eyes open. you were exhausted but could not sleep. starving but could not eat. it was a miracle you even made it down the stairs, using what little strength you had to yank it open without even thinking about who could be on the other side in the middle of the fucking night. but at this point, you would gladly take a serial killer over jimin or jungkook.

"taehyung," you breathe when you take in his face, relieved. you must look like absolute shit because he scans your face and winces. 

"jimin told me," he says, the apology in his voice and expression was almost painful to register. "he told me everything. ____, i'm so sorry. i should have told you about the hoseok thing, i just thought it would be worse coming from me, and then i tried to force jimin into confessing but then he didn't because he's jimin, and now-"

"you're only allowed to come inside if you stop apologising," you say weakly, voice haggered from the hours of crying.

taehyung's pouty expression almost makes you smile with how cute he looks, gingerly stepping over the threshhold. "i really am sorry though."

"for what," you say monotonously, closing the door behind him while he takes off his shoes. "my inexplicably terrible taste in men? my uncanny ability to get manipulated by literally anyone who shows me a scrap of affection? or my absolutey shredded-to-shit attachment style thats barely intact let alone functioning healthily? after hoppping between the first two for a few hours i'd personally go for the latter. but whatever."

"please shut up," taehyung sighs, bringing you into his arms before you could have a second thought about it. "you need to amp up the misandry in this context. a lot of this had nothing to do with you and everything to do jimin and jungkook."

you're too tired to open your eyes, snuggling into the softness of taehyung's chest. you’re too exhausted to argue. "where did you learn the word misandry? have you been reading?"

"yeah," you can hear his big, pleased grin. "i know you and the girls have been calling me a himbo behind my back."

"affectionately," you add, peering up at him. he wipes the wetness off your cheeks, moving upstairs to your room with your hand in his. he fetches you a glass of water before putting you into bed like he's paid to do it. taehyung was the cuddliest person you had ever met, but you had rarely seen him dote on anyone. "girls love himbos. it's a compliment."

"not all girls," he mutters when he returns from the bathroom with a glass of water. "drink this, would you? you look so dry it's making me itchy."

you do as he says with a roll of your eyes. "what do you mean?" you finish your water with a big gulp. "jisoo loves dumb guys, what are you talking about?"

taehyung looks away from you, bottom lip rolling up under his teeth so fast you barely catch it. he pulls up your desk chair next to your bed, thinking long and hard before meeting your eyes again. "i don't mean jisoo."

you don't understand at first, but after staring at his face for a long minute your stomach drops. "don't. don't you fucking dare," another beat of silence. you rip the covers off you to scamble to your knees, grab your pillow and hurl it at taehyung's head. "taehyung, please don't tell me that the one remaining, healthy relationship i have with a man has also been shot to shit because i swear to god i'm gonna-"

"it's not a big deal," he says firmly, and he really does mean it. taehyung catches your wrists when you lunge at him, effectively ending your outburst before it can begin. he keeps hold of them while he stares into your eyes, watching the way they fill up with a fresh bout of tears. "i've had a crush on you for a while, so what? it's not anyone's business but mine so don't worry about it."

you try not to scream at him. "how long?"

"...since the start." he shrugs. "it's not like i could have done anything anyway. with jimin around. he’d never have it."

"but...! but..." you splutter, the highlight reel of your friendship suddenly marred before your eyes. "but you let me talk to you about boys! you gave me advice with hobi and jimin and jungkook and...! you encouraged jimin to confess to me. and the whole thing with jisoo?"

he wets his lips guiltily. "jisoo is a nice girl. i like her, but...not like you. i've always liked you."

you shake your head in horror, your face crumpling. bile rose in your throat. "so all of that...playing with my friend like that. was just to get to me?"

"listen to me," taehyung says firmly, gripping your wrists to make you look at him again. he's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on yours, and you never realised how large taehyung's torso was compared to yours before. he could have smothered you, but he didn't. in all senses. "the way jimin and jungkook handled their feelings is on them, just like how this is on me. it doesn't matter if i'm fucking you or not, you're my friend and i'll always want people to do right by you. and that includes me."

there was nothing else to say, so taehyung wordlessly wipes your face again and fetches you more water before retreating to sleep on the couch downstairs. all the while you sat there in your bed, confused and bewildered and thoughtful. the same bed jungkook fucked you on. the same bed jimin held you in. out of all the men in your life, taehyung was the only one who treated his feelings for you with reverence. there wasn't one interaction you could think of where he made his feelings clear, where he even hinted towards wanting something more. if he hadn't have said anything tonight, in the wake of one of the most emotionally tumultuous days of your life, you would still be in the dark about it all. and that was the scariest part. you didn't know anyone else who hadn't let their feelings for you effect how they treated you. so ultimately, it was possible.

and jimin and jungkook chose not to do that. but taehyung did.

taehyung did.

when you finally pad downstairs after hours of ruminating, jisoo's bedroom door is wide open. and that's who you should be thinking about now - your friend and sister jisoo - as the sky begins to lighten with the signs of morning. you hadn't slept for over twenty four hours, you were hungry and thirsty, delirious from the whirlwind of losing the two most important men in your life in one day. but still, you are drawn to taehyung. taehyung, who never asked anything of you. taehyung, who was as silent as he was selfless this whole time. taehyung who routinely put what he wanted aside in favour of what was best for you. taehyung, who protected you without needing credit or recognition for it. taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung-

"taehyung," you whisper scraping your nails through his hair. his eyes fluttered open, twisting his head to face you as you hovered above him. he could barely see you in the darkness. "taehyung, wake up."

"what is it?" he croaks, sitting up with half-lidded eyes and a yawn. he doesn't know how to read the expression on your face. he swings his legs off the sofa in a sitting position, wearing nothing but his boxers and tee, visibly alarmed. "what happened? are you okay?"

you take his face in your hands and kiss him. 

taehyung stiffens against you, breath drawn thin. you pull away to gauge his expression, desperately searching his eyes in the darkness. for discomfort, disapproval, anything negative at all. the absolute ardour you find instead could knock you down if taehyung didn't reach for your neck, kissing you again. you whine at the feel of his tongue, having no idea where such sudden and intense arousal was coming from. when you pull away with shaky limbs, you climb onto his thick thighs so he can feel your wetness through his boxers. taehyung grunts at the sensation, and again when you kiss him passionately and without abandon. the sweet girl every guy he knew was agonising over, suddenly in his lap. he's barely had his tongue down your throat for ten minutes and you're already rocking into him, his erection betraying his resolve.

it's better than he dreamed. 

"taehyung," you gasp, palming him now. he groans when he pulls away to look at your mouth, glistening with his saliva when you take his hand and guide it down to your arousal. "please."

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook au #bts x reader #bts au #jungkook scenario #bts scenario #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin au #bts fic #jungkook fic #jimin fic #jungkook college au #jimin college au #bts college au #myfic

[bunny-xoxo]

Pretty People Supremacy Playlist 🖤

for my angel @1010andneji , I hope you love it 🖤

disclaimers: fem!reader, because this a request for someone with she/her pronouns, I believe the reader is referred to as she/her a few times, Kenma is aged up and this is based in him attending University just to be clear‼️

warning: it gets a little saucy in the make out department ?

gif not mine, credit to owner

a/n: ahhhhh!!! I’m sorry this took so long and I really hope you like it and you felt like it was worth the wait! Please let me know if you need me to change anything ‼️ i luv you bae 😔✊🏼 also thank you to my wife @ikigaitooru for helping me choose your matchup here! I was stuck between one other person but we ultimately decided on Kenma, we both believe he exhibits prime quiet himbo energy :) also I kind of went off and wrote a lot on this one 😶 sorry I think? Regardless, I hope you enjoy!!!

Relationship Headcannons

Ok so ultimately, I paired you together NOT just cause you thinks he’s pretty but I think you guys would be so good together!! Like you would be so good for him

You guys would balance each other out socially and just be the best pair to hang out with pleaseee

He knows he can be stupid and chaotic with you and you know you can let yourself wind down with him!!

Kenma CAN be blunt sometimes so I’m sure he’d have to catch onto your sensitivity at first, but he’d be so sincere if he ever accidentally said or did anything that made you feel some type of way

And once he is aware of your sensitivity he’s constantly reassuring you in little ways, not only that he understands and is trying to comfort you but just to reassure you he loves you, for example :

HAND SQUEEZES

I know some people have mentioned that he wouldn’t be into PDA but I disagree! It’s just not in the conventional let me be all over you types of PDA

I feel like it’s just not a big deal to him cause he’s like 🤨 what do I have to be embarrassed for?? This my mf baby and I’m gonna hold her hand if I want to ??

Like, I see him as a big hand holder frfr

He would just see it as such an easy way to be physically close to you and even if that’s just holding pinky’s he’s down!

It would also help him if he’s feeling anxious!

Like he’d fiddle with your hands and fingers if he’s feeling particularly antsy or nervous

OH

You guys are out and he wants to go in a different direction? He’s definitely bringing your hand to his lips to give a quick peck and pull you along

“C’mon, let’s look over here”

AND HES SO NONCHALANT ABOUT IT TOO LIKE HE JUST DOESNT QUITE REALIZE THE EFFECT HE HAS ON YOU WHEN HE DOES THAT (he totally does but he likes to be slick and act like he doesn’t 🙄)

He would also DEFINITELY let you play with his hands if you’re nervous or bored or whatever reason honestly, he’d find it soothing and knows it occupies you or fills a need (and you get to look at pretty Kenma hands c’mon now)

ANYWAYS there are other little ways he’d reassure you too besides hand squeezes and holding

Definitely the type to leave you little notes in places for you to find them and they’d always say such simple things like “hi- kenma <3” LMAOOOO PLS HES TRYING HIS BEST

I think the final biggest way he’d love to reassure you would be words of affirmation (this is definitely a private thing)

I think he’d still deliver them in a blunt manner but that’s how you know he’s sincere!

You two would just be chilling at his place and you’d do something simple like, ask how much water he’s drank today or play with his hair and tell him he shouldn’t overwork himself and he’d just look at you so seriously and be like, “I really appreciate you, you know that?”

And it’d be sort of deadpan but like !!!

And he’d just kiss your hand after - always the palm - and then he’d just press his cheek into your hand before kissing it one more time and moving on like that literally just didn’t happen KENMA KING OF HAND KISSES

Okok moving on before I get stuck on his hands again anskdkdksiaj

So we don’t talk about himbo Kenma enough!!!! Like ok

He’s NOT big and ripped like ya know Bokuto and he seems super smart but I’m telling you this man is a quiet clueless himbo ‼️

You can’t tell me you’d be talking on and on about biology or something and he’d just have this little lost look in his eye while he’s nodding along and smiling softly listening to you talk and you’re like ,,??

“Wait, do you even understand what I’m saying?”

And he’d really just be like no :)

“but your eyes are really pretty and I like watching your lips move while you talk :) (this man is also a king of innocent flirting and you can’t tell me otherwise!!!)

OMG and if you’re even the slightest bit flustered by his comment he WILL notice and he’ll do his best to hide his sly little smile and just grab one of your hands and squeeze it and be like, “keep going, I’m listening”

KENMA HIMBO NATION RISE

Ok ALSO you two would literally just be such a pretty couple? Just like so pleasing to look at????? Like you’re both so pretty it’s unfair! And your style OMG

Like you’re just so soft like the epitome of 🦋✨👼☁️☺️ girl and 🎮🎱🖤👾🌙 boy ykwim???

and his long hair PLS Kenma man bun supremacy 🙌🏼

I can’t stress enough how pretty you two would be it would just make sense seeing you two together ugh

UGH you dying Kenmas hair for him?? And he’d just sit cross legged in a chair while you do it and he keeps leaning and moving to wherever you are around him cause your hands are in his hair and it’s so soothing!! What’s he supposed to do??

“Kenma, stay still you’re gonna bet bleach on my shirt!”

“But didn’t you wear that in case bleach did get on it?”

“Kenma-“

“I’m just saying if that’s the case then I don’t understand why I can’t hug you while you bleach my hair? 🤨”

“😐”

“Ok so-“

“Kenma.”

“😒”

Yeah queue pouty Kenma acting indifferent 🙄✋🏼

Just give him a kiss on his nose and he’ll get over it even though he’ll feign his grumpiness to get treated like a baby a little bit longer

UGH PLS I GOTTA STOP I COULD GO ON FOREVER

Bottom line, Kenma’s your quiet little himbo and you’re his loud soft girlfriend, and it’s one of the most adorable things ever

Ok, so we’re finally to what you came for LMAO, your playlist!

OKOK so similar to the first one I made, there’s no theme besides music taste so I tried to make this like a soundtrack of your guys relationship if that makes sense?

I really hope you enjoy and please let me know if you need any changes or would like to be paired up with someone else 🖤‼️ Without further ado, your songs and explanations!

1. Siren - Kailee Morgue: ok I think this one still kind of fits the vibe you’re looking for but you can’t tell me Kenma didn’t see you as some bewitching vixen who’s caught his attention LMAO like he’s just like 👁👄👁 she’s so pretty and entrancing help me! and he’d try to be like haha I’m cool I’m cool I’m fine 😎🥴😎 but it’s so obvious he likes you too (you’d kind of be able to tell with the way he looks at you and how it took so long for the blush to leave his neck and ears whenever he’d talk to you) but he just really decides he has no choice in the matter, he wants you so bad LMAO

2. Juice - iyla: more off the first one, the way you just appeared into Kenmas life LMAO like he saw you and just 😳🥴😍‼️ and once he started to feel real feelings he’d be so 🏃‍♂️💨 WHERE THE FUCK DID SHE COME FROM??? But he wants you so BAD he can’t do anything about it, and now not only does he just want you 😳 but he wants you and he wants to be yours , pls he has it hard

3. See You Again (feat. Kali Uchis) - Tyler, The Creator: ok this is like THE song to your guys relationship just UGH I know you two would have such pining. Kenma would DEFINITELY be nervous to even talk to you at first cause he’s definitely like 🥴 she’s prettt hhng and he’s so shy and you just have such HEART EYES over him and you don’t even hide it that well LMAO (“it’s them rose colored cheeks yeah it’s them dirt colored eyes 😔😩”- u @ him) and it just makes him so NERVOUS!! But you two would definitely dance around it for a bit like you’d just be so 😍‼️ He’s pretty and shy hehe I like him gimme gimme 😍 and he’d be so flustered by it at first until you guys FINALLY get over yourselves (when kenma stops being a baby LMAO) like you guys jus wanna kiss so bad and literally everyone’s like JUST FUCKING DO IT, SHIT it’s adorable really

4. Doves In The Wind (feat. Kendrick Lamar) - SZA: ok I know this song is kinda saucy an idk if it’s overplayed but listen YOU CANT TELL ME THIS ISNT KENMAS FUCKING ANTHEM!! like he jus absolutely jams to this song definitely a sza stan and loves playing vibey music like hers during his gaming sessions but like the way he would worship the ground you walk on and be like mf im HERS do not get it twisted, in no way does she belong to me buT THE WAY I BELONG TO HER WHEW ‼️

5. Moment - Victoria Monét: ok why do I feel like most of the songs I added on here are vaguely steamy LMAO but ok this song? Yeah whew 💨 this is definitely one of those songs that play while you two would be lazily making out with those little led lights on (you just know kenma has those) and you two would just be laying there and know this is one of those moments you guys are never gonna forget. Your hands are just roaming and caressing each other while your lips are locked and you guys are so breathless and it’s just wow, you guys must have manifested each other cause this moment is so perfect between you two. And even though it’s a little sloppy it’s so intimate and you both feel like you’re living in a dream. messy hair flushed Kenma whos breathing heavy? Yeah I think so

6. Deep Cuts - Healy: Kenma is always trying his hardest to be the best he can when he loves something. We know this we’ve all seen him and Tora when it comes to volleyball and the way he gets with Hinata. And this wouldn’t change when it comes to your guys relationship, he is constantly going to be putting in his best effort to get to know you better, be the best boyfriend he can be to you and make you feel as loved as he can. He’s memorized everything there is to know about you and sometimes he gets lost in that and it makes him insecure about himself from his overthinking (you can’t tell me he’s not a chronic overthinker) and he’d forget to just enjoy himself sometimes. Like Kenma stop stressing, you can relax when you hold her hand. But he’d reach this point with you when he’d probably be being a bit difficult and you’d just make him feel so loved. He had been overworking himself again, which you HATED. You could tell from the bags under his eyes and the way his hair was messily pulled back into a low bun and the way the neckline of his hoodie showed he wasn’t even wearing a shirt underneath. But it was date night!! So what if he was tired and overworked quality time is important to you!!! I mean, that’s what he’s thinking. But you would just pull him into a hug and kiss his forehead and start to undress into comfy clothes and he’d be so confused like ?? Uhm, date night?? And you’d just pull him to your shared bed by his sleeve and under the covers and into your arms while you just kissed the top of his head. You’d take his hair out of his bun and run your fingers through it getting rid of some of the tangles and just be so CARING to him. “Let’s just stay in, you’re tired and I’d rather lay with you while you get some sleep, we can always go out another time.” Yeah he’s in love that’s it ‼️ you make him feel like he’s exactly enough for you as he is and that’s all he wants pls tbis is so long and for what??? Like this could be a Drabble in itself??? Anyways

7. Easy - DaniLeigh: you guys are definitely an exclusive couple but you really show Kenma what it means to just take it slow and relax! After the date night (deep cuts) he knows it’s ok to just relax into your guys love and he doesn’t have to force or rush anything cause it all comes naturally. Secondly , the WAY THIS BOY MAKES YOU FEEL - he just always looks at you with these deep eyes that hold so much love and it makes you feel so exposed every time cause he just loves you so much and it’s so intense l. It makes your face heat up cause he so clearly thinks your perfect. Also, this just gives total late night ride vibes. Kenma would definitely be driving on the freeway and this song comes on and he just places his hand on your thigh while he’s driving and he’s humming along to this song and he can feel you staring at him so he just casts you a quick side glance and goes “hmmm?” And you’re like 👁👄👁 nothing (Kenma is the king of late night car ride music fr)

8. CPR - Summer Walker: ok I don’t even need to explain myself with this one, the song is so self explanatory! You just make each other feel so at home. Point blank ‼️ like Kenma will just think back like 😇 where would I be without this bitch the thought makes him truly sad and he likes to avoid it at all costs

9. Rain - Lucy Park: pls this song is so soft (I hope it fits the vibe ahhh!!) but this is just more of kenma being an absolute softy for you LMAO. He’s not very good at taking care of himself sometimes and you’re always there to be like 😡‼️ NO‼️ and it makes him so soft he can’t help it, it’s not that he does it on purpose cause that’s insane but the fact you know his limits when even he doesn’t sometimes blows his mind and he’s never felt more loved than in those moments (let’s bring up Deep Cuts again 🙄✋🏼 pls this boy just needs someone soft to put him in his place LOL)

10. moonlight - dhruv: ok but when Kenma knows he’s in love with you, he has to tell you. And what better way to tell you than, well, tell you. He’d definitely try to plan it in his head to be perfect like ok what’s her favorite place? Where’d we first meet? Should I tell her there? Should our song be playing in the background? Kenma, your himbo and over thinker tendencies are showing, just tell her already! It’d be early in the morning, and you two are making breakfast together while he’s listening to you ramble on about the recent events of your favorite show and he’s just smiling and nodding, doing his best to recall the other plot points that have happened. And you, distracted with your ranting, go to take a bite of your freshly made breakfast- which is still scalding hot. You IMMEDIATELY start panting and drop your fork, running over to the faucet and shoving your head under it doing your best to soothe your mouth with the cold water. And Kenma feels awful, but this is fucking hilarious. So sure he’s holding your hair back so you can really get that water but he’s dying in the process. Almost keeled over and gripping at his stomach type laughter and you’re swatting at him to no avail and he just can’t help himself, “oh, fuck I love you.” He said it between his gasps of air from laughing and didn’t even realize it. Not until you stood up fully with water still dripping off your chin just looking at him. This idiot immediately started apologizing like omg this isn’t how I wanted to say it ahhhh but you assure him this was perfect, and that you love him too (pls love this man he can’t help but love you too)

11. Easily - Bruno Major: does this count as angst? ok call back to Kenma being an overthinker who overworks himself and probably overlooks his own needs at times, there’s bound to be some tension between you two at times. You’re concerned about his health and he insists he’s fine but you know he’s not, and while I don’t ever see him blowing up on you I could see little arguments about his self-care habits. Sometimes he stays up too late, or he’s stressing himself over something that doesn’t need that much thought! Regardless, he knows you just love him and he does the same thing for you and he just needs to get better at not being so stubborn when it comes to taking care of himself. And he just hopes that you know he loves you and appreciates what you do for him even though it doesn’t seem like it all the time, and that hopefully you won’t give up on him.

12. Streets - Doja Cat: ok I added this one mainly for the vibes but like you can’t tell me Kenma isn’t pined over in university LMAO. Like he’s pretty and polite but also indifferent, mentally ill bitches eat that shit UP; and there’s PLENTY of those in university LMAO. And like you aren’t a toxic possessive person don’t worry but MAN he’s fighting these girls off with a stick at this point LMAO and he just doesn’t get it pls, like he’d definitely be the partner in an assignment who just comes prepared and is kind of quiet to a fault but is so nice and just gets his shit done. Would also offer a pencil if you forgot one and maybe I’m just a whore but that gets me everytime 😌

13. Kiss U Right Now - Duckwrth: ok mainly for the vibes but !!! You and Kenma in the kitchen cooking and this song comes on and he comes up behind you and turns you around and your faces are all close and he keeps singing “I think I wanna kiss u” and smirking but he’s just ghosting his lips over yours instead and moving his head back every time you try to kiss him and giggling before doing it all over again! giggly Kenma supremacy

14. Butterfly - UMI: ok we been talking about how much Kenma would be devoted to you, but like you wouldn’t be the same!!!! Kenma means so much to you and you do your best to show your care and all you wanna do is see him happy as much as he wants the same for you, omg you guys are so in love it’s gross 🤢

15. Pick Up Your Phone - Hojean: what more can I say!!! You guys just love each other and love spending as much time together as you can!! (I like ending these playlists with a really happy mood :) )

——————

Here it is! Thank you for being so patient and I really hope you like this! I always get nervous posting for my baby’s 🖤 love you cutie!

-🐇out

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyu requests #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu playlist #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu kenma #kenma x y/n #kenma x you #kenma hcs #kenma kuzome #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kenma playlist

[1kook]

paint job, hand job

a some way, some how jk smut drabble  ((there’s references to it but honestly this could be read alone)) tags; established relationship, more autoshop fun, handjobs, praise pink, spitting :/, nipple play, jk gets pampered basically, hints of domesticity notes; I wrote sw,sh bc I specifically wanted to write this scene and in the end I forgot about it…. so here it is in drabble form 🤩

also thank u to my buddy @kigurumu for reading this over for me 🖤🥺 no more wrong usage of verb tenses🤩 and u have rumu to thank for it!!!!!! also thank rumu for sliding me this gif v.v

In the past few months, you’ve come to learn a multitude of new things about Jungkook. He was still as wonderful and endearing as he’d been his whole life, and with no soul-crushing secrets between you two, you were exposed to a whole new side of him. There were, of course, a lot of nice things, tiny actions you had only just begun to notice; the way his eye twitched when he was looking at a car, the mindless way he’d bump his foot against a wheel when he was thinking. But for all the wonderful things Jungkook was, you would also catch sight of weirder quirks. Not weird in that they made him a terrible person, but weird as in they weren’t exactly qualities the majority of society strived to have. There weren’t many, but the ones you knew of weren’t exactly ideal to your position as his girlfriend.

One, he was extremely bad at asking for help. One time you caught him floating through the bread aisle at the supermarket, hands drifting over the plastic bags as if his touch alone would remind him which was your preferred brand. It was amusing watching him wander like a ghost until you finally walked up behind him, gestured towards a loaf. You didn’t mind little things like this, after all you were very picky about buying the correct brands, and Jungkook knows this. At the time, you thought it was adorable. Overtime, however, you can admit that his fifteen minute detour to the bread aisle could have easily been cut in half with one simple text your way.

Two, he was easily stressed. Jungkook’s job was pretty grueling during the fall, when college kids were back on the roads and fucking up their cars every chance they got. Thanks to the multitude of employees on his team, he was never doing too many repairs at once. But every so often, he’d find a project that spoke to him and he’d pour every ounce of dedication into it. He always did good, always left customers happy. The real obstacle was Jungkook’s own need to always one-up himself. He was perpetually unsatisfied with his work, no matter how many times people praised him.

Lastly, and probably where you find yourself struggling the most, was his inability to communicate these things. He never asked for help, never told you he was feeling stressed. It was a guessing game with him, trying to figure out if he needed some extra support or not. You slipped up at times, tried to help him with something only for him to wave you off with an amused smile.

But there were other times where he desperately needed you and didn’t know how to ask. Like now, the shop completely dark save for a lamp shoved up beside his lonely form in the empty garage.

Rolling your sore ankles around once, your heels clack loudly as you enter the space, keys tossed somewhere onto the metal tabletop as you set to work preparing him a snack. His newest project was repairing a beat up Ford GT from the early 2000’s, a silver body with dark blue decals running over the hood. He had found it somewhere by his mom’s house, fell in love, and had been on a mission to revive it since. All this would’ve been fine, normally, if Jungkook wasn’t so set on getting everything perfect down to the last detail. Tonight, it was fixing the exterior. The garage reeked of paint.

It had been like this for the past three days. You would come over, catch him cooped up in the garage late after working hours, and make him something to eat. The weekend had been okay because you had stayed over most of the day and checked in on him when you could. But Monday was trickier to plan around; one glance at the clock told you it was a little past nine.

That morning, as you packed your lunch, you had been mindful of setting aside some for him too. Now, as you pulled a plastic container of washed and scalped strawberries for him, you were glad you had thought ahead.

It’s much brighter where he is compared to the rest of the garage, the yellow glow of the lamp glaring down at where he’s carefully running a brush against the edge of one, straight line. If he hears you come closer, he doesn’t acknowledge it, furrowed brows narrowed at the metal before him. Setting the container on a tool cart beside him, you lean down to brush your lips against his cheek. “Hi,” you murmur, wait for him to mindlessly turn his head and kiss you.

He does, a quick kiss, before diving back into his work. A beat of silence, and then, “hi, baby,” quietly, almost robotically. You don’t mind, leaning over his shoulder to glance at how perfectly he manages to paint along a straight edge, even with you breathing over his neck. He’s got the stool raised up today to properly lean over the hood of the car. Shorter than you still, but higher up than how you usually find him beneath a car. After a moment you return your gaze to the side of his face, pink bottom lip caught between his teeth as his eyes scan over his work, round glasses barely clinging to his nose. Cute, you think, faintly nudging the spectacles up the bridge of his nose for him. He mutters a soft, “thanks.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders when he finally leans away from the car, dark eyes scanning over the paint job. Occasionally you pluck a strawberry out from the container, hold it to his lips as he munches through it, puckered lips mindlessly opening and closing for you. You don’t stop until he’s eaten half of them, by which you then move on to your daily questioning. “What else d’you eat today?” You ask.

It takes him a moment to respond. “Subway,” he says, gestures with a nod at the discarded wrappers in the trash.

“And when was that?”

“Around noon.”

You sigh, rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Baby, that was a long time ago. Have you even showered today?” You ask, tug the beanie off his head to get a whiff of his hair. It smells okay, but you have a feeling his last shower was yesterday night. Jungkook doesn’t say anything but at the first brush of your fingers through his hair, he dissolves. His head rolls back, desperate to feel your touch on him for the first time in a while. You snort, dragging your nails along his scalp. “Feel good?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, body loosening. “So good.”

You beam, trace your fingers down the curve of his neck, until goosebumps are springing up. “You’re so tense,” you note, hands drifting to rub over his shoulders. Jungkook sighs, head falling between his shoulders as you get to work on them. “You need to relax, honey.”

“I know,” he sadly agrees, and, like a baby, stretches his arms up cutely, before letting himself slouch again. You let your hands drop, wrapping your arms loosely around his chest. “But I wanna do good.”

“You always do good,” you tell him, squeezing his middle in reassurance. Jungkook sighs like he doesn’t believe you. “But,” you add, and at this he visibly deflates. “You’d do even better if you relaxed every now and then. No one’s waiting on this car. It’s just for fun, remember?”

He’s always had this obsession with perfection. You suspect it stems from his past, his relationship with Sojin, and most importantly, his relationship with her dad. One can only take so much criticism from their lover’s parents until they snap. Snap, or begin to believe it’s true. He must’ve suffered through so much in their time together and never once did he fight back, a thought that makes you frown as you watch his knee bounce nervously.

Another sigh. You kiss behind his ear, rubbing your hands soothingly over his chest. However, you greatly underestimate how strongly your thirst for Jungkook runs, because even now with him all mopey in your arms, you want nothing more than to please him.

A subtle brush over his abdomen, and Jungkook inhales a tight gasp, abs curling beneath your wandering hands. The sweatshirt he's wearing is your only obstacle. Pressing your lips to the mole on the back of his neck, you move your mouth to his ear. “Let me take care of you?” You murmur, nibbling at one of the tiny hoops that lines his ears.

He tenses up, turning his head, half-lidded eyes analyzing your features. After a moment, he nods, cheeks flushed.

“Good boy,” you purr, hands creeping beneath the hem of his top, faintly tracing over his skin. Jungkook lets out a shaky exhale, muscles tensing under your touch. Another kiss beneath his ear.

It’s rare that he lets you do this, let’s you pamper him while he does nothing. Jungkook was a fairly proactive lover, always making sure you were completely satisfied before anything else. In the past few months of being in a relationship with him, you can hardly remember a time he came without you.

Which is why you take extra care gliding your hands up his chest, over his pecs. His heartbeat thunders beneath your palm, skin so soft and kissable. You’ll save that for another day, you think, tracing a finger over his nipple. It hardens quickly, and you don’t miss the way he shifts in his seat as you begin rolling it between your fingers. “You like that?” You hum, lips pressed against his ear.

It’s so easy to get as close as you’d like, breasts pressing against his back. Jungkook nods, shaky breaths escaping his throat.

While one hand busies itself on his chest, tugging at the sensitive buds until he’s jolting in his seat, the other creeps back around his waist. You run your hand along the skin above his waistband and relish in the way his muscles twitch, until you’re finally slipping it down over his sweats.

His cock is hard, painfully so, and a soft moan escapes him when you run your hand over his length, cupping the head gently. “Look how hard you’ve gotten,” you tease, pressing your palm down more forcefully. Jungkook huffs. “Just from me playing with your nipples,” you chuckle, kissing down the side of his neck. Even through the fabric, you can feel every twitch of his cock, every throb as he grows more and more aroused.

“You like having your nipples played with?” You ask, abandoning his cock to slip both your hands up his shirt again. Jungkook complains with a soft whine, rolling his head back to the ceiling. He’s choked off when you catch both nipples in your hands, pinch the pebbled buds. His hips squirm against the stool, rutting up into nothing, as you continue over his chest. “How does it feel, sweetheart?”

“G-Good,” he gasps, knuckled fists trembling on his knees, pale from how tight he squeezes them. “Can you…?”

“Can I what?” You hum, finally releasing him in favor of gliding your hands down his stomach and over his thighs teasingly. He’s pliant under your touch, muscular thighs reduced to two trembling masses at your every touch.

Jungkook bites down a whimper, eyes trained on the hands that dance over his lower half, barely brushing over his cock like he wanted them to. “Kook?” You croon, right against his ear. He bucks into the air, his head finally lolling back to rest against your shoulder. “Finish your sentence, babe.”

He nods but you can tell he doesn’t remember what he wanted anymore, eyes rolling back behind his foggy glasses. You smirk, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “I, um,” he falters, legs spreading wider as you continue massaging your palms over them. “You…um.” A few more stuttered ‘ums’ later, and then, nothing.

After a moment it’s obvious he won’t say anymore, mind a frazzled mess as he falls headfirst into the sensations you’re bestowing upon him. “It’s not proper to say ‘um’ so many times,” you scold, finally let your hand rest over his cock. He sucks in a breath, teeth clenched. “Good boys don’t do that, y’know.”

“S-Sorry,” he chokes out, and you forgive him with a squeeze around the head of his cock. “Wanna be good,” Jungkook pants, voice strung high.

“I know you do,” you murmur, kissing down his neck as your hand continues rubbing over his cock. His hips circle, body sinking further back onto you as he melts under your touches. “Wiggle your pants down for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes, yes,” he concedes, hands scrambling for his bottoms. Unravelling yourself from around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders instead, watching him as he struggles to tug the rest of his jumpsuit down.

“Kook?” you call, watching his trembling hands fight with his boxers. “relax, okay?”

He nods, takes a deep breath, and then slowly tugs his bottoms down. He doesn’t manage to get that far before his eagerness wins over, and he’s struggling to push them down past the bulge of his muscular thighs. You decide it’s enough, pushing his hands away as you wrap yourself around his waist again, nuzzling your face behind his ear.

“Good boy,” you praise, and a tiny whimper catches in his throat. You glide your hand over his thigh and let it sit at the base of his cock, thumb and forefinger teasingly wrapping around the base.

“Fffuck,” he moans, twitching beneath you.

There’s a pearly bead of precum that forms at the tip, creamy substance slowly dripping down his cock and leaving a glistening trail in its wake. “Pretty,” you comment, watch it pool around your fingers. “But not enough. Kook, spit,” you demand, feel the way his body tenses up at your words.

“Huh?” He chokes, ears and neck flushed as his brain fully wraps around what exactly you’re telling him.

You shift closer, tightening your hand around his cock as you listen to the whine that rips itself from his throat. “You heard me. Lean over, and spit on your cock,” you repeat, feel him shake beneath you. “You’ve done it before, right? Used your own spit to get yourself off.”

He doesn’t answer, so you give his engorged member another squeeze that has him sputtering back to life. “I-I have,” he admits, blush high on his cheeks. “But I never just...spit. On it.”

You hum, watch the way his fingers flex on his thighs.

Deciding to switch tactics, you push as close as you can, licking a thin stripe up the curve of his ear. “But I love watching you spit,” you pout, loosening your grip on him ever so slightly. His cock remains just as stiff, standing almost completely on its own. “Love feeling it all over my body, down my pussy,” you moan, and the way you rub your thighs together is no act. Jungkook throbs in your hold, biting down another groan. “Don’t you wanna know how good it feels?”

His breaths come out shaky, head nodding at your words. He ducks down, dark hair covering his eyes from your view, but not his mouth. His lips pucker, and ever so slowly, a thin trail of spit drips down from his mouth, glistening in the lamp light until it finally reaches his cock, coating his length in a thick sheen that drips down over your knuckles.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. “That’s it,” you gently encourage, slowly beginning to work your hand over his cock. The glide is slippery, squelching noises filling the huge garage as your fist pumps up and down his cock. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

Jungkook groans, bucking into your palm with every squeeze you give. “Ye-yes,” he pants, skin warm and flushed as you kiss over his neck.

His cock is still so hard, twitching for you. You could do this for hours, feel the heavy weight of his arousal in your hands, listen to his tiny gasps of excitement. His head lolls back again, and you can’t help the endeared smile from watching him fall apart in your hands. “Sweetie, look,” you call out, finally making your other hand useful as you cup his balls.

Jungkook hisses. “Babe, that’s—“ a moan rips itself from his throat, your hands massaging over his swollen balls, caressing him as your hand picks up its pace on his cock. “Too much,” he whimpers.

You press a kiss to his neck, nibble at the skin until it’s bruising. He’s quivering like a leaf, sweat trailing down from his hair and over his skin, your name falling from his lips like it’s all he knows.

The head of his cock is angry and swollen, dripping in precum and his own saliva. You want it in your mouth, but the moment was already so fragile, so close to the end, you didn’t want to mess that up by pulling away. So you tighten your grip, licking the beads of sweat from his neck until Jungkook spasms in your hold.

“Fuck, shit, I’m gonna,” he grunts, body caving over as his orgasm hits, grabs him by the throat until he’s gasping for you to stop, voice wobbling on every syllable. You don’t, choosing to stroke him through until his cock is limp, jumpsuit stained with pearly splatters of white.

After he’s done, you press another kiss to his ear. “Good boy,” you smile, straightening your back after wiping your hands against his soiled uniform. You step away and snatch some napkins off the metal table to wipe him down.

You can tell he’s not completely there yet when you crouch down in front of him, dark eyes unfocused as you make a lousy effort to wipe the splattered droplets of cum off his jumpsuit bottoms. “Hello,” you tease, nudge his chin with your hand. “Anyone there?”

Jungkook snaps out of whatever post-orgasm trance he’d been in and helps you to your feet. “Fuck, that was good,” he sighs, and you giggle. “Screw the car, can we just go to your place?”

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook drabble #jungkook drabble #mine #swshd

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 5: I’ve Lived The Life And Paid For Every Crime]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Some Kind Of Disaster by All Time Low.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to drugs and violence.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​ @writerxinthedark​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @loveandbeloved29​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Easy Questions, Evasive Answers

“So it was nothing,” Archer said, glancing up from where he was tinkering around beneath the hood of my 1999 Honda Accord, checking hoses and belts and dipsticks. “This is pathetic, by the way. That you can’t change your own windshield wiper fluid. Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow.”

“I never had my own car in Phoenix!” I objected around a mouthful of a Starbucks pumpkin muffin, my first of the season. And that was true: Renee and I couldn’t afford one. “I didn’t have to learn about car things!”

“No, it’s great, I love it, I have a customer for life.”

“It was totally nothing,” I told him. Meaning the photograph in the newspaper article from 1979. Meaning my paranoia surrounding beautiful, brooding, certifiably lethal Benjamin Lee.

Not Lee, I reminded myself. Benjamin August Hardy, born November 3rd 1893.

“Was it really?” Archer asked, skeptical.

“Uhhh, you were the one who was making fun of me for thinking he might be a time traveler. Or a bigfoot.” Or a vampire.

“Yeah, okay, true...” He let the hood of the Honda fall shut with a bang, then wiped the muddy streaks of motor oil from his hands with a stained rag. “But you were freaked out. Like super freaked out.”

“I was, yeah. But it wasn’t him in the photo. I took another look, there were freckles and, uh, like, uh, some other things that didn’t match up.”

“Huh.” Archer watched me with an expression I couldn’t read. “I didn’t notice that.”

“Ben laughed about it. Probably thinks I’m an idiot. A stalker and an idiot.”

Archer smirked slyly. “He must not have held it against you too much. I’ve never seen that guy laugh in my life.”

I took a moody bite of my muffin, rolled my eyes, feigned shallow schoolgirl angst. “Trust me, he’s not my biggest fan.”

“Ohhhh, and this bothers you?” Archer sauntered over and stole a crumbling hunk out of the pumpkin muffin. “Does someone have a little crush on the gorgeous, grouchiest Lee?”

“Definitely not.” I sipped my chai latte, contemplative, debating telling him more.

“Uh oh. There’s something else, I can see it. Spill the tea, you walking college-chick-who’s-obsessed-with-fall stereotype.”

“I’m so excited! I’m going to get to see changing leaves this year!” Cacti are majestic, ancient, intrepid, and they remind me of home; but they never change. They’re like desert earth that way, like the ocean. Like vampires, actually.

“We’ll have to do all the Instagram-worthy stuff. Pumpkin patches. Hay mazes. Apple picking...you can even bring that Ben guy if you want to. If he promises not to murder me with his mysterious time-travelling demon powers.”

Oh, kid, you have no idea. “So...I am kind of into a Lee guy. But it’s not Ben.”

Archer gasped, inhaled pumpkin muffin morsels, bent over as he hacked them out of his lungs. “Who?!” he rasped, scandalized, and then coughed again.

I couldn’t help but smile as his name spilled out: “Joe.”

“Which one is that? The Middle Eastern Men’s Vogue model one?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, not Rami. He has a girlfriend, by the way.” And has for the past half a century.

Archer wiggled his eyebrows. “Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score.”

“Oh my god, please never say that phrase again.”

“Joe is the...” He closed his eyes as he drummed his fingers against the metal workbench, trying to remember.

“The Italian one,” I finished for him.

“Ahhh. The annoying one.”

“He is not annoying! Why do people keep saying he’s annoying?! He’s hilarious, and sweet, and lowkey wicked smart, and, and, and...”

Archer whistled, grinning, his dark eyes sparkling. “Damn, girl. You do like him. You really like him.”

I sighed in defeat. “Okay. I really, really like him.”

“Like him as in would swipe right on Tinder, or like him as in you want to get married and honeymoon in Hawaii and have twelve pasty, angular babies?”

“Oh wow.” And for the first time, I was confronted with the singular enigma that was a future with Joe. Vampires had relationships with other vampires, obviously, even marriages; but that didn’t mean the same rules applied to humans. Did he like me? Could he like me? What would that even look like? How would it end? And it would have to end, of course, eventually. Unless somehow I stopped aging too. “More than just a right swipe. We’ll see about the twelve kids.”

“Just make sure he wraps it before he taps it. I’m too young to be an uncle.”

“Stop,” I pleaded, gulping down my latte, averting my gaze across Archer’s small garage filled with customers’ vehicles, pretending not to be intrigued and yearning and petrified. I couldn’t imagine hooking up with someone as faultless and—presumably—experienced as Joe and being anything but a disappointment. I’ve never hooked up with anyone. At all. Ever.

“What?” he asked, concerned, thieving another piece of my pumpkin muffin. Powdered sugar dusted his fingers like the snow I’ve only seen two or three times in my life.

“Nothing. I just really wish you went to Calawah too.”

“And give up all this easy money from clueless suburbs people like you?” Archer beamed, wily and proud and affectionate. “Not a fucking chance.”

No More Sad Spaghetti

Joe gawked in horror, chomping noisily on his Big League Chew bubblegum, as I unwrapped the peanut butter sandwich I’d packed for lunch. It was mostly cloudy in the early September sky overhead, but he was still wearing sunglasses. He had traded in his ubiquitous U Chicago apparel for a Cubs t-shirt. Squirrels scurried through the bigleaf maple trees that dotted the campus, snatching up acorns with tiny clawed paws, wriggling whiskered noses in our direction.

“What’s your problem?” I asked, taking a bite. “It’s not sad spaghetti.”

He blew a small pink bubble, then popped it with his teeth. “Yeah, but it’s...like...mangled.”

“It got trapped between my textbooks!” I protested. Admittedly, the accordion-shaped peanut butter sandwich—my vegetarian alternative to fishstick Thursday—kind of sucked.

“You can’t eat that. Oh my god. It’s making me so sad. Give it to the squirrels.” Joe pulled out his iPhone. “What’s your preferred pizza topping?”

“I can’t tell you,” I replied, tossing my sandwich towards the nearest tree. A hoard of squirrels immediately descended upon it and proceeded to battle for dominance, emitting shrill, peanut-butter-crazed shrieks.

His brow furrowed. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because you might not like me anymore.”

“Why would I not like you because of pizza...?” And then he knew. “Oh no, oh god, please don’t say pineapple.”

“I’m a pineapple pizza person.”

“Baby Swan,” Joe said, deadly serious, pressing his palms together. “That is straight up sacrilegious. You can’t put tropical fruit on a pizza. You realize I’m Italian, like an actual Italian. I’m so Italian I’ve killed other Italians for being the wrong kind of Italian. That’s how Italian I am.”

“I feel like maybe I shouldn’t socialize with literal mobsters. It’s unsavory.”

“Settle down, I’m ordering the half-pineapple pizza, you freaking barbarian.”

I watched Joe as he tapped his thumbs against the screen, humming to himself, amused, perpetually buoyant. And I couldn’t picture him as a monster, as a killer: pulling triggers, slitting throats, digging blades into soft vulnerable love handles, feeling for the mortal puncture of a lung or kidney. I asked him, my voice quiet, hesitant, almost lost in the autumn wind: “Did you actually hurt people?”

“Nah. I didn’t have the stomach for it, even back then. I was on the deal-making side of things. The business side. I was a people person, a smooth talker, astronomically charming.”

I smiled, mischievous. “That’s difficult to imagine.”

“Okay, so no cheesy breadsticks for you.”

“I’m sorry, mob guy. Please order the breadsticks. You’re so charming I can’t stand it. My jeans are unzipping all by themselves.”

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “So you’ll sacrifice your dignity for breadsticks. Good to know.” He finished typing and laid his iPhone on the grass. “Alright, next question.”

“Does your hair grow?” Joe’s hair—I couldn’t help but notice—seemed longer than it was the day I met him a week and a half ago, disorderly and auburn-tinted, ruffling in the breeze.

“It does, yeah. Hair and nails still grow. So you have to shave, but you can’t get razor burn. And any nicks close right up.”

“Very cool. How often do you need to eat? You know...actually eat.”

“It varies, but generally twice a week.”

“And what kind of animal has the tastiest blood? Besides...well...” I gestured towards myself. “The upright two-legged kind with opposable thumbs and a partiality for pineapple pizza.”

He blew another bubble, then leaned in towards me. And I realized, for the first time, that he had his own inherent, exclusive, totally Bath-And-Body-Works-worthy scent as well; Dr. Gwilym Lee was sandalwood and campfires and log cabins, Mercy was roses and vanilla...and Joe was pine trees, peppermint, cold night air, like all of that eternally youthful magic of Christmas Eve sieved into a bottle. I popped the sheer pink bubble with the cap of my blue pen. Joe asked: “Do humans like chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Coffee or tea? Baseball or something hella lame?”

“Depends on the human.”

“Exactly. Same deal for vampires. I prefer bears, especially grizzlies. Lucy and Mercy like deer, elk, moose, animals like that. Ones with hooves. Weirdly, Rami’s favorite is crocodile, I think because it was the first thing he ever tried in Egypt. He doesn’t get it very often, but has been known to buy them on the black market on occasion. Scarlett likes mountain lions. Also domestic cats, but you didn’t hear that from me. Gwil is a wolf guy, but he won’t kill the endangered kinds. Such a gentleman.”

“How about Ben?”

“Ben’s still coming around to the whole eating animals thing. I don’t think he has a favorite yet.”

Joe isn’t a killer, and he never was; I could believe that. But Ben... “Why is he so different than the rest of you?”

“That’s...kind of a long story,” Joe replied carefully.

“It wouldn’t be such a long story if people stopped talking about how it’s a long story and actually told it to me.”

He flashed a grin, revealing white canine teeth filed into points; they were subtle, yes, but they were there. Fangs. I envisioned pressing a fingerprint against them and feeling the flesh split in two, the blood dripping down onto his tongue like Washington rain. And unlike Joe’s skin, mine wouldn’t knit back together on its own. “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of tormenting you with the prospect of incredibly juicy yet confidential information!”

I rolled my eyes, sipped my can of Diet Coke, returned my attention to our lunch plans. “So garlic doesn’t repel you. That part of the lore is completely made up.”

“Yup. Thank god. Eternal life would be worthless without pizza.”

“Can you do drugs? Get drunk?”

“We can’t overdose, but we can get the effects of anything we consume. It’s not a good habit to get into though. If you’re nodding on heroin for like four days at a time, it’s pretty easy for some other vampire to find and murder you.”

“So a vampire can be killed by another vampire.”

“Absolutely. Next question.”

I consulted my mental list. “Do you sleep?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of. We nap for a few hours a day.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“We get bitchy. Really bitchy. We essentially turn into Ben.”

I laughed, chewing absentmindedly on the end of my pen. “So that’s his problem. He hasn’t napped in a century. Now it all makes sense.”

“Something like that,” Joe said. “You gonna come over tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to present The Walruses And Me tomorrow and I still haven’t started the book.”

“What do you know, I can tell you all about The Walruses And Me!”

“Seriously? You’ve read it?”

“No, but I can enthusiastically narrate the Wikipedia article to you while you pet Mercy’s alpacas.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Terrible for your grade in Marine Mammals. Good for your development as an interesting and happy human.”

“Nice try, but I’m already both of those things.”

Joe reached out suddenly, jarringly, and ran the back of his hand across my cheek. My favorite Lee, I thought, thoroughly transfixed but trying to hide it. Oh no. “Interesting, definitely. But I have this gnawing, distressing suspicion that you’re still working on the happy part.”

“I miss the desert,” I confessed. That wasn’t quite all of the problem, but it was accurate: I missed the heat, the sun, the parched prehistoric air I had always called home. Although I was beginning to find reasons to like Forks, Charlie and Archer and the promise of a Pacific Northwestern autumn; and then one big reason in particular. A very old, pale, chatty, Italian reason.

“A bit of a quandary for a future marine biologist,” he replied gently, perhaps apprehensively.

“I always figured I’d live somewhere like San Diego or Los Angeles or Galveston. Someplace on the ocean, but also sunny and hot and with palm trees. The best of both worlds. But you couldn’t go there with me, could you?”

Oh no.

Oh NO.

Oh fuck, this is definitely a crushing-on-Lee-boys zone.

Joe stared at me through his sunglasses, chomping on his Big League Chew, the corners of his mouth turned up and etching lines like parentheses into his face, pleased and nodding slowly and triumphant somehow. Then he struck out his hand again, this time with his pinky raised like a flagpole. “No more pathetic depressing lunches.”

“You got it. No more sad spaghetti. No more sad peanut butter sandwiches. You have my solemn, human vow.”

He smiled as his pinky entwined with mine. “No more sad anything.”

“So this vampire thing sounds like a pretty sweet gig. No dying, no consequences for a hellacious diet or wild condomless orgies, literal superpowers, perfect hair...why doesn’t everyone get to live that way?”

He shrugged; and there was an unfamiliar, meditative tension in his face. Almost sorrow. “It’s not all pizza and orgies and heroin. We have weaknesses too.”

“Like what?”

“Hey, look!” Joe piped cheerfully, twisting around towards the parking lot. “I think our GrubHub guy is here.”

Bad Blood

I was definitely regretting that fourth slice of pineapple pizza as I waddled into Chemistry, navigating sluggishly around the hulking frat boys and giggling sorority girls and mousy bookish types who lugged around colossal backpacks that were always threatening to knock an unsuspecting passerby off their feet at each unthinking turn. But while I was arriving in the classroom—physically, anyway; emotionally I was standing in an empty field somewhere screaming I cannot be falling in love with a hundred-year-old mobster vampire!! into the void—Ben was a countercurrent darting through the crowds and towards the hallway door.

“Where are you rushing off to, old guy?” I asked him. “Bingo? To renew your AARP membership? To walk vigorously around the inside of a mall?”

Ben responded in that deep, low, humorless voice. “They’re doing some kind of blood typing experiment today. I probably shouldn’t be around for that.”

“Oh.” I glanced over at Professor Belvin, who was indeed hunched over the table at the front of the classroom and laying out rows of Q-tips and rectangular paper cards and alcohol swabs and bottles of clear liquid, whistling what sounded like Time Of The Season.

Ben sighed irritably, rubbing his crinkled forehead. “I already used up all my absences. I’m gonna have to make up a compelling last-minute tragedy. Tell Professor Belvin my grandma died or something.”

“I mean, technically, she did at some point.”

“Ugh,” Ben replied, not consoled at all.

“Wait, I got this.”

I gripped my belly, sank into the nearest chair, and groaned dramatically. It really didn’t require all that much acting. Ben watched with huge green eyes, confounded.

“Miss Swan!” Professor Belvin cried, rushing over. He was wearing khaki pants, a white shirt, and suspenders and a matching bowtie patterned with bubbling multicolored test tubes. Belvin had been Charlie’s classmate from kindergarten through high school, and still palled around with him over Bud Lights and low-quality nachos on bowling league nights. Bowling was, evidently, the sport of choice for middle-aged Forks dads. Also for Welsh vampire pseudo-dads born in the 1400s.

I whimpered in reply.

“Are you alright, Miss Swan?” Professor Belvin asked worriedly. A few students had begun to congregate around the scene. I felt a pang of genuine nausea as perspiration beaded at my temples. You better appreciate this, Mr. Hardy.

“I’m okay,” I said, in my most pained and martyrish voice. “I don’t want to miss...today’s lesson...it looks so fascinating...but I didn’t wash my kale thoroughly last night and then I had a salad for dinner and now I might have food poisoning.”

“You poor thing!” Belvin exclaimed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about class. You can just answer some textbook questions or something, no problem. Please go get checked out to make sure you’re alright.”

“Could someone...maybe...help me get to the campus clinic...?” My eyes listed towards Ben. “Maybe...my lab partner?”

“That’s a good idea.” Professor Belvin turned to Ben. “Mr. Lee, would you be willing to escort Miss Swan to the clinic? You can do an alternative assignment as well. If you don’t mind missing the blood typing lab.”

“I’d be delighted to help,” Ben responded, still puzzled. I offered him my hand, and Ben took it, grimacing as he led me out into the hallway. As soon as we were alone, he dropped my hand and opened up several feet of space between us.

“Thanks so much, Miss Swan, you are a lifesaver,” I said, imitating his morose, rumbling British accent. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Ben. You can repay me in basic courteous conversation and Starbucks gift cards and by maybe not killing me.”

“So you’re totally fine?” Ben asked flatly.                

“Of course. Nobody with taste eats raw kale.”

Frowning, frustrated, he started puffing on his vape pen. “You need to stop doing nice things for me. It’s extremely disorienting.”

“This may be difficult for you to come to terms with, but you, Ben Hardy, are worth being the recipient of nice things.”                          

“No, you still don’t get it,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist, spinning me around to face him in the empty hallway. “That’s all I’ve ever done. Kill people like you.”

The Fire

“Who is the cutest little alpaca I’ve ever seen?!” I cooed in a squeaky falsetto, scratching her wooly brown chin. “Who’s going to come home and live with me and Charlie forever?!”

“That’s illegal, ma’am.” Joe was watching me, arms crossed over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, smiling wistfully.

“It is not!”

“It actually is,” Rami added. He was lying on the grass and gazing up into the roiling, grey, late-afternoon clouds with his fingers laced behind his black hair. None of the Lees were wearing sunglasses now. “A house has to be zoned as farmland to have alpacas, which ours is. Yours, tragically, is not.”

“What are you, a lawyer?” I shot back.

Rami grinned. “I was once. And I will be again, in approximately...let me count...five years.”

“That’s what you want to do with your boundless time and energy? Be a corporate shill?”

Joe cackled. “He tried that already. It lasted about five minutes.”

“Manhattan in the 1980s,” Rami reminisced dreamily. “Hundred-hour workweeks. Cocaine everywhere. What a time to be alive. And I hardly ever left the office, so the sunlight thing wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, so you’re not in it for the Maseratis or the drugs...”

“I’m going to be an immigration attorney,” Rami told me. “Help refugees apply for asylum to come to the United States. Arabic-speaking refugees, in particular.”

“Wow. I stand corrected. That’s wonderful, Rami. I now feel like a total tool for only aspiring to save sea turtles.” But it made sense, of course. What would any good person spend eternity doing? Making the world just a tiny bit better. I glanced at Joe, teasing him. “And you just study how to get rich, huh?”

“I’m a venture capitalist,” he said brightly. “I invest in small businesses, counsel them, encourage them, connect them with other people in the industry, help them grow. And I don’t need the money, so I take a practically microscopic equity stake. I’m basically a professional charitable donor.”

“And you get to put all of those charming mob-guy skills to use.”

Joe winked. “Exactly.”

“Doesn’t it get old?” I asked both of them. “Being college students?”

Rami shrugged. “No really. The world changes, schools of thought evolve, our own interests fluctuate. Every few decades we circle back and go for another round, fresh degrees, maybe new professions entirely. You learn something new every time.”  

“And I’ve been waiting for all my old professors to die so I could go back to U Chicago for fifty years!” Joe shouted. “I’m fucking pumped!”

“But...don’t you already know everything...?”

Joe chuckled. “We’re vampires, Baby Swan, we’re not prodigies. We’re sharper than the average person, sure. But it still takes effort to learn. And we all have things we suck at.”

“Like not being obnoxious,” Rami said, nodding to Joe.

“Like not minding our own fucking business,” Joe hurled back.

“I cannot control the fact that I’m a literal mind reader—”

“You boys behave yourselves,” Mercy called in her relaxed, drawling Southern accent, swinging a basket of carrots and zucchinis and cabbages that she’d dug out of her garden, wearing a long flowing yellow dress and her hair tied up in a scarf. She plodded over in her bare feet, handed me a few carrots, then pointed to the chocolate-colored alpaca I was petting. “That lady there is Athens. And the black and white one by Joe is Augusta. Then there’s Norcross, and Alpharetta, and Savannah...and that real chubby grey one heading into the barn is Marietta.”

“I adore them,” I replied, beaming. Mercy had sheep and pigs and a couple of cows too, all ambling contently around the emerald green field as the first threads of fiery, rust-hued sunset were lighting up the horizon.

“We used to have ducks, too,” Mercy mused. “But they disappeared recently...”

Rami passed Joe a knowing smirk. Joe mouthed back menacingly: Do not.

“Hey mom,” Rami piped.

Joe jabbed an index finger at him. “No, don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare—”

“Joe ate the ducks.”

“You bitch!” Joe cried.

“Oh, Joseph,” Mercy sighed mournfully, lifting a brush out of her basket and dragging it down Athens’ fuzzy back.

“I’m sorry! It was one time! I was weak!”

“I’m not angry, sweetheart,” Mercy said. “I’m just disappointed.”

“Mom, that’s worse!”

Rami climbed to his feet and swatted grass and leaves off his cardigan sweater. “Alright folks. My work here is done. Peace out.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do a hit and run like that, hey, Rami, hey, hey, come back here!”

Joe trotted after him, shouting a litany of insults, as Rami laughed hysterically and careened into the house. Lucy and Gwil were in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies; Scarlett was in the garage changing the brakes on Ben’s Vantage; Ben was noticeably absent from the Lee household and presumably out hunting. It was remarkably easy to picture his fingers closing around bloodied flesh, a wolf’s or a bear’s or an elk’s, lowering his fangs to a pulsing jugular.

“So you’re really into this whole farming thing,” I said to Mercy, looking out over the field rimmed by towering western hemlock trees. I didn’t know exactly how many acres of land the Lees owned, but it was a lot. Mercy adopted rescue animals, donated vegetables from the garden to local food pantries, and occasionally rented out the barn as a wedding venue.

“I’ve always loved it. I had a farm, you know. Before I met Gwil.”

Before she died.

“I didn’t know that,” I murmured, wanting to learn more, afraid to ask, never meaning to pry or offend. “I remember you mentioned the Civil War, and a barn...being...well...being trapped in it. When it burned down.”

Mercy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s the polite version of the story, isn’t it?” She set down her basket in the tall grass, tugged distractedly at a dark strand of hair that had escaped her scarf, stared glassily out into the sunset muted with cloud cover as Athens moseyed away. “Do you want to know what happened? I’ll tell you if you do. But I don’t want to upset you, dear.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “I’d like to know.”

“We had a little farm out in the middle of nowhere,” Mercy explained. “My husband Arthur and I.”

And it felt so outlandish to hear her say those words. Husband. She had a husband before Gwil. She had a whole life before this one.

“He had a bullet in one leg and a limp from a hunting accident when he was a boy, so he was never called up to enlist. It was a rich man’s war, but it was the poor men they sent to die in it. That’s how it always goes, I expect. And how it always will. We had two daughters, twelve and fifteen. I won’t tell you their names. Don’t take that personally, dear. I haven’t spoken their names in a hundred and fifty years.”

She turned her murky eyes—like homemade bread crust or coffee or the wood walls of a log cabin—to me.

“When the Union Army came through, they were beasts. Men like that...men who have been killing and looting and burning their way across hundreds of miles...all they want to do is get blood on their hands. That’s all they remember how to do. So that’s exactly what they did. They slaughtered our cattle for meat. They burned the house down. And then they took me and my girls, and they...they...well, you know what they did. What men do when they’re monsters. And when Arthur tried to stop them, they shot him in the chest and spit mouthfuls of chewing tobacco on him as he bled out in the dirt. Called him a coward and a deserter. Told him everything they were planning to do to me and my girls. And when they were done doing all of those things, they locked the three of us in the barn and set it ablaze. I was the only one still alive when Gwilym got there. And believe me, I didn’t want to be.”

“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my throat burning for Mercy, for her family, for this divinely kind and benign and tender woman.

She patted my cheek fondly. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. I got a second chance. Gwilym gave me a second chance. That’s what he does, you know. He finds broken people, fixes them, loves them fiercely. He gave me forever. Two more daughters. And three sons.”

Three sons, I thought. Rami and Joe and Ben. She counted Ben.

“Does someone have to be dying?” I asked her softly. “You know. To become like you.”

“No, honey. That’s just how Gwil does things.”

“But...why? What’s the possible downside? Why not change anyone who wants it?” Why not change someone like me?

And Mercy peered over at me, contemplative, curious, like tiptoeing gingerly over rotted floorboards, like weaving through a minefield. Like she was trying to figure out what I’d already been told.

“Hey Baby Swan,” Joe said, startling me. I whirled to see him waiting with a patient smile and his hands buried in his pockets. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

He led me upstairs to Gwil’s 1960s-style office, where Dr. Lee had cleaned and stitched the tiny gash in my forehead after my misadventure with Ben in the woods outside Calawah University, where the wall above the sturdy oak desk was adorned with a massive painting filled with gorgeous, unfamiliar, inhuman faces. Joe took a deep breath, and then he began.

“This,” he announced, introducing the painting, “is the vampire version of the mob. They can trace their existence back to before the Roman Empire. They find people who they think have potential, have talents. They turn them. And then they offer them a hundred-year contract. You sign it, or they murder you. When your term is up, you get to decide whether to renew or leave. But almost no one ever leaves. After a century of taking orders and guarding and killing, what else do you know how to do?” He pointed to the terrifying woman with long white hair and red eyes. “That’s Liesl. She’s literally Satan, only blonder. The chick with the tattoos is Akari. She can meet a human and tell what powers they’ll have once they’re changed. Very useful, obviously. The dude who looks like Idris Elba is Cato, and he’s actually an okay guy, he’s the one currently assigned to keep tabs on Gwil’s coven...”

I soaked the names in like rain into dark, lush Washington earth as Joe relayed them to me, strange and beautiful names: Aruna, Phelan, Morana, Adair, Zora, Araminta, Honora, Victorien, Rigel, Sahel.

“Who’s that?” I asked, gesturing to the young man standing at the center of the painting, the one with black hair and eyes so light and luminous a brown they were almost gold and a sinister, unmistakable magnetism.

“Very good question,” Joe complimented. “That’s their Al Capone. That’s Larkin.”

“And what’s his vampire superpower?” He has to have one. I know he does.

“How do I even put that into words? It’s more than charisma. It’s slightly less than mind reading. He can see through people, what they want most, what they fear. And he can make them do things.”

I gazed into those omniscient glowing eyes, feeling myself getting caught there, feeling some primal dread swelling in the capillary beds of my heart and lungs and bone marrow. “Joe, I’m thoroughly enjoying this captivating backstory, really, but...why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because you asked why Ben is so different than the rest of us. This is why.” Joe waved broadly at the painting, at the closest thing his world had to a mafia, to unrepentant killers, to actual demons. “This is where he came from.”

[toddtakefive]

Can I Have a Ride Home? I’m at a Party and I Don’t Know Any1

fandom(s): Gravity Falls, Over The Garden Wall

pairing(s): Pinescone , Mabcifica (mentioned)

words: 5314

rating: M (reasons listed in trigger warnings + swearing)

work type: One-shot , AU

tw(s): homophobia , use of slurs , violence and references to past violence

Also on AO3!!

Wirt wasn’t entirely sure how Sara had managed to drag him along with her to Senior Prom, hell he wasn’t even sure how she had managed to get a suit for him when he’d refused to go in for a fitting, but now he was standing in a crowded gym full of high-schoolers and he already wanted to leave. In his defense, they’d already been there an hour and that was an hour longer than he was at most parties.

If he was going to be completely honest, the party wasn’t that bad. Sure the music would cut off whenever there was a swear - everyone would still sing it anyways -, and sure the punch tasted weird, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad party as most parties go. The reason it was a bad party is because it was a party full of nothing but high-schoolers, and high-schoolers are scary. At least to Wirt.

He lost Sara twenty minutes ago -he’s honestly starting to think she’s underneath the bleachers flirting with the girl from her Chem class- and he’s getting bored so he pulls out his phone and starts typing a quick text to Dipper.

‘Bored. Wish you were here :/’.

The reply is immediate, 

‘Lol r u a postcard??’ ‘Wish I wre ther too <3 drving rigt now txt you lter′. 

The next text he receives is a picture taken by the person in the passenger seat, likely Mabel, with a peace sign while Dipper attempts to get his phone back without taking his eyes off the road. The caption for the photo is ‘road safety laws are bogus B)’. He laughs to himself. Yup, definitely Mabel.

He looks up at the sound of steps approaching, expecting it to be Sara but instead seeing evil incarnate. He takes in a deep breath before plastering on a fake smile.

“Hello, Trevor.” he says. 

Trevor Martin. No offense to the British actor Trevor Martin, of course, but Wirt fucking hates this guy. He’s book smart, Wirt’ll give him that, but that’s his only redeeming quality. Not only is he a totally fuckwad, but he has the audacity to say he’s not and try to date Sara, a very loud and proud lesbian. Like, dude, at least Jason Funderberker had the decency to back off when she came out. Plus, never trust a guy with a first name for a last name.

Trevor, wearing his slimy little smirk like he always does, doesn’t even meet Wirt’s eyes. “So, where’s Sara? I figured she’d be with you, you know, since you’re like her fucking boyfriend or whatever.”

Wirt scrunches his nose just slightly, he doesn’t want this situation to escalate more than it has to. “I’ve told you this a thousand times, Trevor. She is not my girlfriend.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, “Sure. You get pissed off that I’m trying to date her because you aren’t her boyfriend. Got it.”

Wirt shakes his head, “I get pissed off that you’re trying to date her because she’s a lesbian. Which is literally common knowledge, by the way.” he throws away his plastic cup and walks out into the hallway. Trevor, being an idiot in everything but school subjects, follows him into the hallway.

“She’s not a lesbian, she’s just saying that to get me to leave her alone.” Trevor explains, causing Wirt to roll his eyes as he walks.

“That’s not how that fucking works, Trevor. Besides, if a girl is literally resorting to faking being a lesbian to get you to leave her alone, maybe you just don’t know how to take a hint.”

He hears Trevor scoff, “Well she’s dating you, so she isn’t a lesbian.”

“She isn’t dating me! And you do know people can be bi, right?”

“If she isn’t dating you then why are you always talking about your relationship in World Civ?”

Wirt, just wanting this idiot to leave him alone already, stops walking abruptly and turns around. Trevor runs into him and falls back a little bit, he has a look on his face that Wirt thinks is his ‘gotcha’ face, but he’s really had enough of the whole ‘Wirt and Sara are dating in secret’ thing when they’re both very out homosexuals.

“Because I have a boyfriend, Trevor.” he deadpans, and sees that smug look fall off of Trevor’s face. God he loves the look of confusion that floods his features, it’s pure poetry.

“What?” Trevor asks, with all of his genius.

“The reason you hear me talking about my relationship -in conversations that didn’t involve you, by the way- is because I have a boyfriend. He lives in California.”

Trevor looks as though his entire world view just got re-shaped. He’s between wanting to believe and wanting to think it’s a prank, but, to Trevor, Wirt isn’t cool enough to pull a prank like this with a straight face.

The long minutes of silence is starting to get awkward, but just as Wirt is about to walk away Trevor speaks up again, “Wait so,” he pauses, “you’re a faggot?”

Wirt tenses immediately. That word. God he hates that word. The first time he heard it was when he came out to his biological dad when he and Dipper started dating back in Sophomore year. It wasn’t a great conversation, and Wirt vividly remembers the bloody nose he got out of it.

“I- uhm. Y-yeah. I- yeah.” Wirt stammers out. Trevor’s entire demeanor changes.

“Wait, what the fuck?” he says, distancing himself from Wirt by a couple inches. This causes Wirt to snap out of whatever funk he was in. He raises an eyebrow.

“Me having a boyfriend isn’t new information, Trevor. You’ve heard me get teased for talking about him before.”

“Yeah, but I thought they were joking! I didn’t think you were actually. You know.” he makes a wild hand gesture in Wirt’s direction.

“Gay?” Wirt asks with a furrowed brow.

“That! That. I didn’t think you were that.” Okay, now Wirt’s getting pissed. Obviously the use of the slur pissed him off, but not even being able to say the word gay? Come on, dude.

“Is there a problem with that?” He asks, crossing his arms. He’s not entirely sure where this newfound courage is coming from, but he can think about it later.

“No it’s just, dude have you been checking me out in the locker rooms and shit this whole time!” Trevor asks, his stance becoming defensive.

Wirt flinches back a bit at the question. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re.” Another wild hand gesture. Dude, just say the word.

Wirt sighs, “Gay. Right, yeah. We’ve established that. But I don’t go around creeping on the guys in the locker room. That would be fucking weird. And, again, I have a boyfriend, and you also aren’t my type so we’re covering all the bases of ‘I’d never do that’.”

Trevor takes a step forward that causes Wirt to take a step back, “I don’t believe you.” he says, voice lined with anger.

Wirt, quickly realizing he should have just walked away while Trevor was confused, holds his hands up in defense, “Good for you, but I don’t really care.” he glances over Trevor’s shoulder to see if he could make a break for the door. That idea is quickly thrown out the window when Trevor grabs Wirt by the collar. Wirt laughs a bit to himself, “You know, this looks kinda gay.”

Trevor’s hold on the front of his shirt tightens, he brings his hands up higher to make sure he isn’t touching the other boy anywhere, “Okay! Okay, okay, okay! Okay. Look, honestly man, never watched you while you were changing! I don’t think we’ve ever even had a P.E class together, if I’m being honest. And besides, I don’t think watching sweaty teenage boys change is that appealing. Especially not you, cause no offense you’re not really anyone’s type. At least not any gay persons type I mean! I’m sure some girl at the college you attend will think you’re hot, she’ll probably have kinda low standards but a girlfriend’s a girlfriend, right? And she’ll marry you right outta college, and you’ll become a fucking accountant or something else just as soul sucking, and you’ll have two kids, and a dog, and feel free to cut me off whenever you like.”

There’s a crunch and a massive amount of pain that makes Wirt stop talking. His head is spinning faster than a tornado, but he knows the feeling of hitting the school floor well enough to know it happens somewhere within the time he gets punched in the face a second time and kicked in the stomach the first.

He’s not entirely sure how long he’s on the floor, but he does know that when he finally opens his eyes Trevor is standing above him, heaving, staring at his own hands like they’re covered in blood- oh they are. That is blood. That is definitely blood. That’s a lot of blood. Wow.

Wirt pushes himself off of the ground, there’s an ache in every fiber of his being but the floor is cold and dirty and he’d rather not be down there right now. As he rises, slowly, he can see a steady drip of blood coming down from his face. That’s not good.

By the time he’s fully standing, Trevor looks ready to burst. “Wirt! Oh my god, dude. I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t. I don’t know why I. I never. Fuck I didn’t, I just, shit are you fucking okay?” the questions are rapid fire. Wirt’s a little too out of it to be able to tell if they’re genuine or not, and he doesn’t really care if they are at this point. This guy eats paste.

“Trevor.” Wirt finally says, “Shut the fuck up.” his words are slurred, and it’s obvious he’s still scared if the tremor in his voice is anything to go by, but he really just needs it to be quiet right now. To his credit, Trevor does shut up, but he just stands there.

There they are, two guys standing in a hallway, five feet apart cause one just beat the shit out of the other for being gay. Prom night is great. In his delirious state, Wirt can faintly hear ‘Lover Is a Day’ by Cuco playing from the gym. The beats pulse under his feet, and it’s just adding onto the pain right now.

After maybe five minutes, Trevor speaks up again. “Wirt I really am sorry, dude. I don’t know why I did that. I was pissed and you wouldn’t shut up and I didn’t what else to do! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Trevor hits the locker to his right with the side of his fist. The sound rings through the otherwise empty hall, and Wirt just stares at the first still on metal.

Wirt runs a hand through his hair, “That’s great and everything, but was the getting on top of me and repeatedly punching me in the nose necessary? Or, you know, any of it? You just fucking committed a hate crime dude, do you even realize that?” he’s talking slowly, his voice is tired and he would rather be anywhere else.

“I know! I know it was! But it honestly didn’t have anything to do with you being,” he pauses, and Wirt is about to finish for him before he continues on his own, “Gay. It didn’t have to do with you being gay, okay. I just. I have like severe anger issues. It’s some fucking long ass name, but the shortened thing is IED. It’s not really something I have any control over, and it’s been a while since I’ve had an episode that bad, and I promise it has nothing to do with you being gay or anything! That fucking chill, man! This stuff literally just happens, I swear on my motherfucking yeezys!” Wirt, who is finally coming back down to Earth and is able to process English language again, raises his brow, “ Okay, I don’t own yeezys, but you know what I mean.” He looks down to the floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Wirt sighs, wiping under his nose with his suit sleeve. It doesn’t help, the blood keeps flowing and now his suit is ruined. Fuck Prom night, dude. “Look, Trevor. If you actually have a genuine mental illness that does that, you get a fucking pass on the beating the shit out of me part.” Trevor flinches at that, “But you’re still kinda homophobic dude.”

Trevor looks up from the ground, “What? How?”

Wirt shrugs, crossing his arms again. “Assuming someone isn’t a lesbian when they say they are is pretty high on the list. Actually, assuming a gay guy is checking people out while they’re changing is also pretty high on the list. Both of the things you said are pretty high on the list, actually.”

This time it’s Trevor who furrows his brow, “But she isn’t a lesbian. I asked her why she thought she was a lesbian a couple weeks ago and she said it’s because she thinks girls are hot and that she wouldn’t mind kissing them, but that’s normal. Like, I know a couple guys in my classes that I wouldn’t mind kissing or like fucking or something and I’m not gay or whatever. Everyone thinks like that.”

Wirt’s mind just fucking imploded on itself. He’s joking. He has to be joking. Oh fuck he is not joking. Oh dear. Wirt cringes to himself, “Oh Jesus.” he whispers, “Trevor, you do know that isn’t a universal thing, right? Like, you know not every guy would be fine with fucking another guy, right?”

“Wait, really?” Trevor asks, his voice quiet. Wirt simply nods and watches as Trevor seems to contemplate his whole existence in front of him. “But I’m not. My mom told me that I couldn’t be gay, I just needed to find the right girl and it would be fine. I don’t like guys like that, I’m not.”

Fuck, why does Wirt have empathy. If he was a dick he could just walk away from this situation and not feel a thing, but he can’t leave this guy in a crisis. Even if he did just beat his ass.

“Trevor, why do you like Sara?”

“She’s funny, and kinda cool, I guess. I just want to hang out with her more, plus my friends kept saying I should go for it, so I figured why not.”

“Dude, you just want to be her fucking friend. That’s, what you want is a friendship. Jesus dude, you don’t even actually like her do you?”

Trevor shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, she’s cool and everything.”

“Would you kiss her.” Wirt asks.

“What?” 

“Would you kiss Sara. Or any girl for that matter.” He asks again, slower this time.

Trevor rolls his eyes, giving Wirt a look that suggest the answer should be obvious, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. It stays open for about ten seconds before he frowns. “No I. I wouldn’t” he lets out a dry laugh void of humor. “Holy shit, I fucking wouldn’t. What the fuck.”

Wirt sighs taking a few steps over to Trevor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Trevor. You have had more than enough action tonight.” his hand slides off and he turns around to find the nearest bathroom, he about to round a corner when he remembers something and looks over at Trevor, who hasn’t moved an inch, “Try to refrain from using the f-slur before you figure out your whole mess, maybe?” He gives the other boy a quick smile before walking away.

The nearest bathroom is way too fucking far away, in Wirt’s humble opinion. And why are half of the lights off in these hallways? God, he feels like the character about to die in a horror movie. Thankfully, the light switch in the bathroom was easy to find so he isn’t completely in the dark.

He grabs some paper towels and wets them, and then he finally looks in the mirror. Jesus fucking Christ.

Trevor did a number on him, and if it were any other situation that required less brain power he would be kinda impressed. His nose is definitely broken, if the aching and gushing blood are any indicator, he’s got a black eye, a busted lip, bruises across his face and collarbone -and if the amount of times he was kicked in the stomach is as many as it felt, he’s got them there too- and, the cherry on fucking top, his suit jacket ripped a little bit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he finishes wiping the blood from his face, but his nose is still bleeding. Pulling his phone out of his back pocket he finds two new messages. One from Sara, saying she scored with the girl from her chem class and that she has a date next Saturday, and one from Dipper saying they’ve finally stopped driving.

Wirt texts Sara back congratulating her on her suaveness that she most definitely didn’t have (see: nearly puked on a cute girl for complimenting her shoes once) before opening up his texts with Dipper and taking a picture in the mirror holding up a peace sign. He masterfully captions the photo: ‘babys first hate crime <3′. 

His phone rings immediately.

He picks up right away, and is greeted with a very frantic, “Where are you?” there’s faint music in the background, they must be at their dance right now.

“Uhm. The bathroom in hallway E, I think. Why?” Wirt asks, throwing away the bloody paper towels.

“We’re on our way.” Is all he gets in response.

“What? You’re in California how are you supposed to. Did he fucking hang up on me?” Wirt pulls his phone away from his ear, “Wow, okay.” He pockets his phone and stares at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. It’s gonna suck having to explain this to anybody, and he knows his mom will go full Godzilla mode on the school board if he tells the truth, but he can’t just out someone. Fuck, man.

The door to the bathroom swings open and two rapid sets of footsteps approach him, he’s almost expecting to be beaten up again until he’s turned around and hugged tightly. His confusion only lasts for a second when his land on Mabel, but then it flares up again because what the fuck that’s Mabel.

He pushes away from the person hugging him and is met with a person he both did and did not expect to see.

“Dipper.” He not shocked that Dipper did actually find hallway E, they broke in last summer to investigate if the place is actually haunted (it is), so he learned the layout pretty well in that instance, but he’s shocked that he’s even in the room. “Wait. Am I concussed? Is this a hallucination?”

“Er, wrong!” Mabel says, pushing Dipper out of the way and hugging Wirt tighter than a strait jacket. He lets out a sound of pain and she lets him go immediately. “Sorry! I forgot you’re like, dying right now.”

“Not dying, per se, but getting there if my nose doesn’t stop bleeding soon. I didn’t even know I had this much blood, if I’m being honest.” Mabel laughs a bit and wow did he miss that sound. He missed them, really. It’s always better when they’re around.

“What happened?” Dipper’s voice finally enters the conversation, and it makes his heart flutter but also reminds him the situation in which they’ve been reunited. Especially if the pissed off tone is anything to go by.

Wirt shrugs, “I got into a fight?”

Dipper gives him a look, “You called it a hate crime, before.”

Wirt laughs, “Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t, technically? I don’t know I’m still having trouble processing the whole ordeal. But I just got into an argument with Trevor, you know who I’m talking about, and he got really mad so he fucking beat the shit out of me and,” Dipper turns to walk out the door but Wirt pulls him back by the arm, “don’t walk away, I’m not done yet. He has a thing called IED, or something? He didn’t know the full medical name for it, but he said it had to do with like uncontrollable anger? Like it just happens or something.”

Dipper nods, “Intermittent Explosive Disorder.”

“Yeah, probably. But he felt really bad after, and I can’t blame him for having something he can’t control, dude. That would be a dick move. But yeah, we talked it out I guess. I think I just made him question the entire universe.”

Dipper sighs, still tense but loosening now, “So you called it a hate crime, because?”

“Well, I mean, okay. At first I thought he did it because I was gay, but from our little conversation we had after, it was definitely not that.” 

Both twins raise eyebrow, “Are you gonna give us any more info, or?” Mabel asks and Wirt just shrugs. Dipper lets out another, deeper sigh. He’s known Wirt long enough to know that little shrug means ‘never in a million years ever’. 

“What are you guys doing here, anyways? I mean, I’m happy you’re here, but I live in Arizona? It’s like an eleven hour drive.”

Dipper shrugs, taking Wirt’s hand. “Guess I missed the ‘Team Roping Capital of the World’.” he teases and Wirt groans.

“Shut up! You know I think that’s stupid as shit.” He says, and as the twins laugh at him he takes a second to admire his boyfriends face. Dipper always laughs freely, and Wirt thinks that’s one of the reasons he fell in love with the younger (”by two days!”) boy at summer camp. His hair isn’t in his usual baseball cap with a pine tree on it, and is styled just the right way to cover his birthmark. He looks happy, if not still tense about the fact that Wirt got his ass beat. An easy smile finds it’s way onto Wirt’s face as Dipper calms down.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Dipper says, leading him towards the door. Mabel follows quickly behind, flicking off the light. She runs ahead of them, twirling around the hallway and nearly falling over herself in the process.

“So, I know Wirt is gonna wanna bounce because he’s covered in human juice.”

“Stop calling blood human juice.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Dipper. But what are we gonna do when we skedaddle out of here?”

Both twins look to the brunette for an answer, he huffs as he tries to think of something. “We could get burgers and shakes at McDonald's? And then head home, probably. Greg’s gonna be super excited to see you guys.”

“Oh! I can’t wait to see him! We’re here for the next four days, by the way, god I can’t wait!” She pushes open the doors to the gym and the music floods over them. Jesus, was it always that loud? How long had Wirt been away from the party?”

“What time is it?” He asks Dipper, trying to ignore all of the strange looks that are being sent his way. He can’t blame them, it looks like he got mauled by a pack of wild dogs.

“It is, nine forty-eight.” The other boy responds, Wirt nods as they exit the gym into the parking lot. Dipper’s car is still as messy as it was the year before, if not more, but Wirt thinks that just adds to the charm.

Sara, who had apparently been in front of the gym the whole night, drops her punch at the sight of Wirt. “Oh my god! Wirt!” she rushes over.

“I’m fine, Sare. Really. It’s all good.” He gives her a smile, but she doesn’t stop giving him a look.

“Trevor did this, didn’t he? You know he came out here like thirty minutes ago fucking covered in blood and looked like he pissed himself when he saw me. So don’t cover for him.”

“I’m not covering for Trevor! There were circumstances that I don’t know if I’m allowed to share.” Wirt says, gesturing wildly with his hands, thankfully Dipper doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wirt, if he’s blackmailing you just tell me. I can fix it!”

“Sare, I appreciate the thought, but this is really something that should be left alone, alright? I might tell you on a different day, but right now it is confidential. No I’m not being blackmailed, if anything the information I got out of him after everything could be considered blackmail, just. Not tonight, okay?” He can tell she doesn’t want to give up but he really can’t explain all of this right now, “Please?”

She sighs, “Alright. Fine. But I expect a detailed report of what happened tomorrow morning.” Wirt nods and it’s then Sara finally notices the twins, “Oh. You found him. Cool, see you guys.” The twins giver he simultaneous ‘later’s’ and she walks back to the girl from her chem class.

Mabel moves to get in the front seat before she’s stopped by Dipper, “Ah ah ah!” he says, gaining her attention. He passes her the keys and she whines but moves to the other side anyways.

“You fucking suck, Dip-stick.”

“Sorry that I want to be able to comfort my boyfriend in the backseat of my own car and can’t do that when I’m driving.” he opens the back door and motions for Wirt to get in, and once they’re all set they drive to the nearest McDonald's.

Ordering food had thus been the easier part of Wirt’s night, but he’s hoping things will start going up from here.

The food sits in the passengers seat in the quiet car before Mabel presses play on the car stereo. Wirt immediately looks up from where his head was buried in Dipper’s shoulder, a smile crossing his face.

“Isn’t this the mixtape I made you?” He turns back to Dipper, absolutely beaming.

Dipper’s face is red, but he nods. “Yeah. I listen to it sometimes.”

“Liar! He listens to it all the fucking time. I have it memorized by now.” Mabel calls from the front. Dipper kicks the back of her seat, “Shut up! At least I don’t have an entire folder dedicated to pictures of him on my phone!”

“My Pacifica picture collection is none of your business! And you have like eight hundred Polaroids on him on your wall, don’t even try that shit with me!” 

Dipper’s rebuttal is cut off when Wirt presses a kiss to his cheek. The younger boy turns and immediately presses their lips together in a kiss. It’s soft because of Wirt’s busted lip, but it’s still incredible. It’s never not incredible when it’s the two of them.

Mabel makes fake barfing noises, causing Dipper to flip her off, causing Wirt to laugh. They pull up to the drive way, walk through the front door, and are immediately greeted by Greg. He rushes into Wirt, giving him a tight hug. Even at ten years old, Greg still has as much energy as he did at six.

“Welcome home, brother o’ mine. How was, whoa what happened to your face?”

Wirt ruffles his little brothers hair, “I got into a fight with a dragon, dude. I won, obviously, but my jacket didn’t make it out alive.”

“I can fix that for you.” Mabel says taking his suit jacket, she’s almost knocked over when Greg charges into her next which makes her laugh. “Hey there, space cowboy. I missed you too!” She pulls him into a tight hug twirling him around the foyer before setting him back down. Dipper gives him a hug as well, just as tight but without all the spinning, and then Greg’s attention is back on Wirt.

“Okay. Why was this dragon mad at you?” He asks. This had become their thing ever since The Unknown. They would talk as if they were still there, or at least like they were in a fantasy world, and explain things to each other that way. Wirt thinks it helps them cope, but it’s probably just a result of being some weird kids.

“Anger issues.” Wirt says. That’s way too simple a phrase for it, and he knows that, but Greg is nine. He can explain it another day, but this is now and it’s ten o’clock.

Greg gives him a goofy grin, “Alright!” he says, skipping into the kitchen. The three teenagers follow him, Dipper once again takes Wirt’s hand.

“What were you doing in here little man?” Dipper asks, noticing that all of the chairs at the edge of the kitchen.

Greg picks up Jason Funderburker, the frog, and smiles again. “Well, Wirt was at his dance, and I wasn’t allowed to go with, so I made my own! Mom and dad are out tonight, too so I can play is as loud as I want!”

Greg being allowed to stay home alone tonight was a big decision. Not because no one trusted him but... okay yeah no one trusted him. Plus, it was dangerous! But, tonight was their mom and Johnathan's ten year anniversary and his mom didn’t want him to miss out on his Senior prom -no matter how much he assured her he could live without having gone- so it was the only option. No one was available to babysit, again prom night, and they couldn’t exactly take their nine year old to a bar. It doesn’t look like anything is on fire or broken yet, so Wirt can say it’s been a success so far.

“Alright then,space cowboy, lets get this party started!” Mabel says as she turns up the music. The song is ‘You Really Got Me’ by The Kinks, how Greg knows this song Wirt has no clue, and it bounces off the walls echoing up the stairs.

Greg does his weird jump step thing that he’s been doing since he could walk. It’s literally just jumping side to side to music, with the occasional dangerously fast spin, but it’s not a bad move. Jason Funderburker looks sick from all of the motion and Greg stops his movement just to let the frog go.

Mabel has always been a crazy dancer, just jumping around, arms flailing, hair going everywhere from her shaking her head. She’s probably going to poke someone’s eye out one of these days, but at least she’s having fun. Or, maybe she’s trying to poke someone’s eye out. Either way, she’s having a good time.

Dipper makes sure his arm movements hit every beat, spinning around for the parts where there are no hard beats to hit but smiling nonetheless. He looks like an idiot, and he knows he looks like an idiot, but what’s the point in being around all of your favorite people if you can’t look like an idiot in front of them?

Wirt, not much a dancer in normal circumstances, is going all out right now. He’s much more graceful than Mabel is being, but other than that they’ve got practically the same vibe. Except that Wirt actually did hit Dipper in the eye on accident earlier, but that’s in the past now.

The song ends and another begins and that cycle repeats for an hour until they’re all too tired for it anymore. Wirt sits down in one of the chairs, looking out over the kitchen. Greg is sitting on the floor with Jason Funderburker while the twins argue over what terrible movie to watch simply to make fun of it.

They both turn, “Wirt,” Dipper says, “What do you think?”

Wirt smiles. Maybe Prom night isn’t so bad after all. 

#pinescone #mabcifica #highschool au #prom au #modern au #gravity falls #over the garden wall #gf #otgw #otgw wirt #wirt otgw #dipper pines #mabel pines #the pines twins #otgw greg #siblings #jason funderburker #the frog #violence tw #tw violence #tw homophobic slurs #tw slurs #tw cussing #tw homophobia #homophobia tw #fluff #at the end #dancing in the kitchen #fiction #fanfic

[ghost-in-the-hella]

I hope it's cool for me to drop another one, you just write them so well. Z: “Zip me up?” PriceMarsh

Absolutely! Prepare for a near-lethal dose of pricemarsh fluff.

CW for referenced homophobia and implied internalized homophobia. Also references to Rachel’s death because I can’t not at least mention that.

---

There’s no reason for Chloe to feel so nervous. It’s only prom. She’s never been one of those girls who considers their high school prom to be a pinnacle of her life to be surpassed only by her eventual and inevitable wedding day. Before she and Kate started dating, Chloe would’ve laughed at the idea of even going to prom. She was way too cool for all that mainstream, cliche high school shit even before she dropped out.

But here she is, sitting in the cab of her truck in the parking lot for the girls’ dorms, sweating through her tuxedo shirt as she tries to work up the nerve to go meet her prom date. Nervous. She and Kate have been official for a few good months now, but they’ve never done anything this, well, official. Chloe bought a corsage and everything. She’s wearing her dad’s old powder blue tuxedo from his prom, taken off mothballs for the occasion (lucky for her he was a total beanpole when he was in high school; Joyce barely had to take it in at all). It’s fucking go time.

She flicks her lighter a few times to steady her nerves. God, she wants a cigarette. But she knows Kate hates the smell even though she tries not to complain, and she wants tonight to be perfect. Not for herself, of course - she’s still too much of a hardass punk to care about going to prom, much less about having it be some kind of magical experience - but for Kate. Because Kate cares about going to prom, and Kate deserves a perfect night. She deserves, at the very least, a prom date who doesn’t smell (and taste) like an ashtray. If Kate’s going to risk outing herself to her family with prom photos of her with an obvious lesbian on her arm, well, Chloe’s going to be the best goddamn arm candy she can be.

She tosses her lighter into the glove box and switches off her stereo, silencing the pump up mix she’d been playing to get psyched. She takes a deep breath to ground herself. Okay. Okay. Now it’s go time.

She grabs her tuxedo jacket off the passenger side of the bench seat and slings it on as she opens the door and hops out into the parking lot. She pulls out her phone and texts Kate. 

Me: im here

Me: u ready to wreck shit up w ur hella hot prom date?

Kate: Almost :)

Kate: I need your help with something. Can you come up?

Chloe suppresses the instinct to shout NO EMOJI and restricts herself to a polite: sure

She checks herself out one last time in her side mirror. Her hair’s freshly dyed and combed to a silky sheen, every strand perfectly in place. She’s got a tasteful amount of eyeliner on, like any good pirate, and it makes the blue of her eyes pop. The tux looks surprisingly good for something that’s been packed up in the attic for longer than she’s been alive, and it accents her hair and her eyes both. 

“Your father would be so happy for you. I wish he could’ve seen you.”

Chloe swallows down the sudden lump in her throat. She already sobbed her eyes out enough when Joyce was helping her get ready; she’s not picking up her prom date with raccoon eyes if she cries her eyeliner into a mess (again). She adjusts her lapels (what was it with the late seventies and ridiculous lapels?!) and her blue butterfly boutonniere and strides toward the dorms. 

There are several people standing outside, copping a last smoke before prom. Victoria Chase is one of them, flanked by two girls Chloe only vaguely recognizes. She’s pretty sure the bottle blonde smoked her out once at a Vortex party after she’d lost track of Rachel, but she’s not sure they ever exchanged names. Victoria flicks some ash off her cigarette as Chloe nears, but she pointedly avoids Chloe’s gaze rather than engaging her. So, still kind of an ice queen but maybe she’s learned a modicum of civility in the wake of the absolute clusterfuck that was last semester, between her best friend getting arrested along with her favorite teacher for a gross assortment of sex crimes. And murder.

Chloe’s stomach twists violently at the memory. Fuck, last fall was a shitshow. She’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have survived learning about Rachel’s murder (officially “death by misadventure” because the Prescotts have lawyers out their ass, but Chloe’s nobody’s fool) without Kate’s shoulder to cry on. Chloe still doesn’t believe in god, but if she did she’d say that Kate’s been an absolute godsend.

Chloe spares the girls by the door a quiet nod in greeting as she passes, and two out of three return it (fuck you very much, too, Unnamed Brunette Sidekick). She climbs the stairs to the second floor and hustles to Kate’s door. Her whiteboard is blank today, so Chloe takes a moment to draw a cartoon heart on it before she knocks.

“Chloe?”

“The one and only,” she replies.

“It’s open; can you let yourself in? Alice is being a handful.”

“Ooh, bunny shenanigans!” Chloe opens the door and slips into the room, closing the door swiftly behind her in case Alice is in danger of escaping. Alice’s cage is, indeed, empty, and the bunny is nowhere in sight. What Chloe can see, however, is about half of Kate poking out from beneath her bed. She shouldn’t laugh. She really shouldn’t. She does anyway. Kate’s legs just look so formal as they stick out from beneath her bed at awkward angles, politely wrapped in dark tights and the jumble of what is clearly a very pretty dress that deserves better than to be mangled and coated in dust before it can even get its moment in the spotlight.

Kate giggles, so at least she’s aware of the ridiculousness of the situation and probably isn’t mad at Chloe. “She just will not go back in her cage! Can you help?” Kate flails out a hand in Chloe’s general direction.

Chloe crouches next to the bed and takes Kate’s hand, helping to slide her out from under it. “Hey, bun-bun,” she calls softly to the bunny beneath Kate’s bed. “Your favorite person is here! Come say hello!”

Kate gasps in mock offense and swats Chloe’s arm. “Her second favorite person, thank you!”

Alice hops tentatively out from under the bed and wiggles her perfect little nose at Chloe. “Ah-ha!” Chloe reaches down and gently picks her up. “Got you, you little rascal. Were you making life difficult for your momma?” She gives Alice a nuzzle.

“She’s been such a naughty bunny tonight,” Kate sighs. “I can’t tell you how many times she tried to nibble my dress. And poor Alyssa! Alice got half her corsage before either of us figured out what was happening.”

“Aww, I missed Alyssa?”

“Sorry; she had to finish her own makeup. She did mine, too. Is it too much? I haven’t gotten a chance to check.”

Chloe looks over at Kate and nearly topples over onto her ass, bunny and all. Kate looks beautiful, but that’s nothing unusual; she always looks beautiful. The subtle makeup that Alyssa’s used on her sets off her natural beauty perfectly, understated but lovely as always. Her hair’s in a braid with loose tendrils framing her face, which is a style Chloe’s never seen on her before and definitely could get used to seeing. And her dress is… Well. It’s a lovely dress; Chloe’s no great authority on dresses - she hasn’t worn one willingly since she was about four - but she can tell that much. It’s definitely picked up some dust here and there from Kate’s adventure under her bed, but it’s still obviously a nice dress. Tasteful, of course, or at least it would be if it were zipped in the back.

Which it definitely isn’t. 

On anyone else, it would still be a modest look. But on Kate… This is by far the most of her that Chloe’s seen in months of dating. Kate’s very much a “take it slow” kind of person, and even though historically Chloe’s tended to be more of a “take it as soon and as often as I can get it” kind of person she respects Kate’s boundaries and is happy to let her girlfriend set the pace. So getting an eyeful of Kate’s naked collarbones, the round curve of an exposed shoulder, the suggestion of a bared back is basically the Kate Marsh equivalent of a nip slip.

“Um.”

“Oh, no, is it too much? I asked her not to do anything too excessive…”

“No, no, makeup’s fine. Great, even. You look… amazing.” Chloe wobbles onto her feet and holds out a hand to help Kate up. She presses a kiss into Alice’s soft fur and walks her over to her open cage. “Okay, cage time for bunnies. No more mischief tonight.” She tucks Alice inside and locks the cage door behind her.

“You’re so good with her,” Kate says, wrapping her arms around Chloe’s waist from behind. Normally she’d burrow her face into Chloe’s back, but she restrains herself and Chloe appreciates the effort to preserve the integrity of her suit even as she misses the contact. “This is the best behaved she’s been all night.”

“What can I say? You’re her mom; of course she’s going to rebel. Me, I’m more like the cool aunt.”

“Hmm. Cool step-mom, maybe.”

Chloe’s face warms with blush. She reaches down to place her hands over Kate’s and gives them an affectionate squeeze. “You, uh, you almost ready to go, babe?”

“Almost.” Kate pulls back and Chloe turns around to face her. It’s a struggle, but she keeps her eyes fixed on Kate’s face even as they long to trace the delicate, graceful line of her clavicles. Then Kate turns her back to Chloe, glancing back at her over her shoulder with a soft smile. “Zip me up?”

Chloe blinks stupidly for several seconds before she answers with a silent nod. Her mouth is too dry to speak human words. She has to close her eyes and collect herself for a moment when Kate turns her head away again, waiting patiently for her assistance. Her hands are actually shaking as she reaches for Kate, which is stupid. She’s literally stripped women before. She’s just helping one put more clothes on. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking over that.

She tenderly sweeps Kate’s braid aside with one hand, draping it forward over her shoulder to keep it clear of the zipper. Her fingertip barely skirts against the bared skin of Kate’s back, but she can feel her warmth like a brand. Chloe takes a deep breath in and blows it out slowly to steady herself as she reaches for Kate’s zipper pull. It’s only when she sees Kate squirm slightly that she realizes she’s released her breath directly against Kate’s exposed back. She freezes.

“It’s okay,” Kate says when she feels Chloe tense up. 

Chloe tries to force herself to relax. She attempts to ease the zipper up and it catches within the first inch. Tentatively, she reaches to brace one hand against Kate’s hip for leverage. The zipper slides free and Chloe delicately zips up the back of Kate’s dress. It traces the elegant line of her spine up toward the perfect points of her shoulder blades (Chloe notes two small birthmarks on Kate’s left just above her bra and suppresses the urge to lean down and kiss each in turn). 

Chloe reaches around to gently guide Kate’s braid back to its rightful place when she’s done. She leans in boldly to press a kiss to Kate’s (still bare) shoulder, pausing millimeters away to give Kate time to signal her yes or no. Kate gives a small but unambiguous nod and Chloe kisses her shoulder firmly. Kate reaches her other arm across to tangle fingers in Chloe’s hair, holding her there gently for a moment.

Kate gives a contented sigh when Chloe pulls back, slipping her fingers free from Chloe’s blue locks. “Sorry if I messed up your hair.”

“Worth it,” Chloe tells her with a grin. She steals a quick moment to check her hair in Kate’s mirror, prompting a knowing giggle from her girlfriend. The damage is minimal; definitely worth it. She tidies it with a few quick sweeps of her hands. 

Kate steps into the frame and slips an arm around Chloe’s waist. Chloe reciprocates with an arm around Kate’s shoulders. “What do you think?” Kate asks. “Prom Queens?”

Chloe wrinkles her nose. “I’ll be happy as long as they don’t dump pig’s blood on us. Anyway, I think someone would have to stuff the ballot box pretty hard for me to get elected anything at Blackwell after I dropped out.”

“A year after you left to pursue other options,” Kate corrects her. “Now that you’ve got your GED, I don’t think you technically count as a dropout.”

“Aww, but it’s my whole identity,” Chloe teases. She dips her head to drop a light kiss to the top of Kate’s head as Kate scowls playfully.

“Guess you’ll have to develop a new one, then.” She squeezes Chloe’s hip hard enough to shut her up. “You look really good in that tuxedo. I can’t wait to show you off.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows. “Yeah? Not still worried about what people are gonna say when they see our prom pictures?”

“I’m still concerned,” Kate says thoughtfully. “But I’m more excited. I never thought I’d get to have this.” She turns to look at Chloe, and there’s so much warmth in her eyes that Chloe feels a sudden threatening prickle of tears in her own. “My mother and aunt fed me so many… bitter thoughts about what being gay might mean. All the things I’d never get to do or have because I didn’t think that gay people were allowed them. I never thought I’d get to love someone so much. I never thought I’d get to be loved in return. I never thought I’d get to just be a normal, happy girl on prom night, getting ready with her prom date to go and dance with her friends and have fun like anybody else. But look at me. Look at us!” She turns back to the mirror, leaning into Chloe’s arm. “We’re doing this. I’m going to the prom with my girlfriend, and we look amazing together, and we’re going to pose for stupid pictures and dance until our feet hurt and celebrate with our friends, and at the end of the night you’re going to walk me back to my room and kiss me goodnight because I won’t have to worry about my lipstick anymore and it’s all going to be perfect. And even if it isn’t perfect, it’s going to be ours.”

Chloe feels like she’s going to shake apart she’s so close to crying, eyeliner be damned. “H-hey, Katie?”

“Mm?” Kate turns to look at her sweetly, and god how did Chloe get so lucky to end up with this incredible girl.

“How much do you really care about the lipstick thing? Because I really want to kiss you right now.”

A dimpled smile breaks out across Kate’s face and Kate goes up on tiptoes, touching Chloe’s face lightly as she tilts up her face to kiss her. Chloe does her best to kiss her back like a normal person and not like a drowning woman. “Not as much as I care about you,” Kate answers when they pull apart again. She wipes a stray tear from Chloe’s cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so fucking okay. I might be the most okay I’ve ever been in my whole stupid life.” Chloe plants another kiss on Kate’s forehead. She’s about to start leading Kate to the door when she realizes she’s forgotten something important. She fumbles the corsage out of the inner pocket of her dad’s jacket and presents it to Kate. “Come on, let’s finish getting you suited up so we can light up the fucking dance floor and give all the haters the middle finger. The metaphorical middle finger,” she amends when Kate starts to open her mouth. “Not gonna get myself thrown out of your prom; don’t worry.”

Kate holds out her wrist and Chloe has to bend to slide the corsage into place. There’s a surreal moment when she’s holding Kate’s perfect hand in hers and gently guiding the corsage into place, practically down on one knee to get the proper angle, where she wonders if this is what it might feel like to propose. She can see it so clearly in her mind’s eye: getting down on one knee, probably wearing this same tuxedo because that way it’s like her dad would get to be there, still holding Kate’s hand, still looking up into her beautiful and shining eyes as she gazes down at her with more love than any human heart could hold, Gramma Price’s ring resized to fit Kate’s finger…

Chloe wobbles, suddenly lightheaded, and Kate reaches out to steady her the way she always does. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asks again, brow furrowing slightly with concern.

Chloe presses a reverent kiss to Kate’s knuckles and rises back to her feet. “I’m good,” she says, trying not to sound as dazed as she feels. “I’m great. I’m fucking amazing. You’re amazing. We’re amazing. Let’s go show all of Blackwell how fucking amazing we are.” 

Kate nods, grinning. “Yes, please.” She holds out her hand and Chloe takes it. Before they can make it all the way to the door, Chloe’s phone buzzes in her pocket. With an exaggerated sigh, she pauses to check it.

Mom: Chloe Elizabeth Price, don’t you dare forget to send me pictures!

Kate reads over her shoulder. “Maybe we should show your mom how amazing we are first?”

Chloe grumbles and rolls her eyes but obligingly opens up the photo ap on her phone. As annoying as Joyce can be (seriously, wtf with the Mom ESP?!), Chloe knows that Kate relishes this kind of maternal approval and that she’s never going to get it from her own mother. Joyce has her faults - fucking hell does she have her faults - but even Chloe has to admit that she’s been pretty awesome with Kate. She’s all but adopted her, honestly.

Chloe holds up her phone and lets Kate nestle under her arm. A perfect fit as always.

“Say ‘prom night!’” Kate says, grinning giddily.

“Prom night!” Chloe says without taking her eyes off of Kate, and she takes the picture.

#prompt fill #prompt fic #prompt ghost #fanfic #life is strange #chloe price #kate marsh #pricemarsh #ghost writes

[for-emilia]

Taking The Media By Storm.

enjoy, i love u lots x

Being in the public eye wasn’t Dele’s favourite part of his job. Don't get him wrong, he loves the fans and, of course, he’d never complain about the free PR and perks of that manner, but sometimes it felt like eyes were on him constantly, critiquing every single aspect of his life. All footballers go through it to some extent but from his debut, Dele has always had more intense scrutiny from the media than most. It was truly unfair and he hated it, the media clung to him like a parasite, and there’s nothing he could do about it.

It made all aspects of his life harder and more tedious, but there’s one aspect the media loved to hone in on and make extra torturous: his love life.

He had met Emilia 6 months ago. He wasn’t particularly looking for anything or on the hunt for a relationship but everything fell into place and it was the happiest he’d ever been. Dele tended to not actively look for love, partly because Sally engraved into him that “love finds you”, and partly, again, because of the media. Being a well known athlete meant it was difficult to differentiate between the girls who truly did like him and the ones who liked his fame and fortune. With Emilia he didn’t even consider if she had ill-intent, he knew from the first night that she had a heart of gold. In their initial meeting, it helped that she was a Chelsea fan, that in itself gave away how much she liked him, she’d not touch a lilywhite with a 10ft bargepole; Dele was an exception.

They’d silently agreed to keep things to themselves as they navigated their way through the first stages of the relationship. Dele had seen how horrific the media was to his teammates’ girlfriend’s and wives, quick to brandish them as gold diggers or tear apart their appearance and invade their privacy, and that’s the last thing he wanted for the gorgeous girl who had fallen into his life, especially not because of him.

-

The first few months consisted of sneaky late night drives and meeting up inside either one of their houses, slowly getting to know each other before making any decisions regarding how serious they were or taking it public. After a few months, it became less casual and Emilia found herself, to her own disbelief, in the stands watching Dele do what he does best on the pitch. Weeks passed by before their eyes as they relaxed into it, Dele knowing every week that Chelsea played away, Emilia would be cheering him on in the stands instead, going perfectly undetected due to the mass crowds around her and her obvious aversion to wearing a Spurs jersey with his name on the back. But it became harder to hide as time went on. Dele had posted a few stories here and there of dinners, clearly only being consumed by him and one other, or a boomerang on his story of a film set up on the tv in front of a blanket, so people were suspiciously questioning his relationship status. However, not a single eye was on Emilia… until the paparazzi got the better of them one match day. It was the second Alli Derby day they’d endured in their relationship, a cold November night filled with tension and expectation ending with a tight 0-1 win to Chelsea, with Dele involved in commotion more than once, earning himself a yellow card well into the second half. The media knew how stressed and riled up Dele could get so at the news of him receiving a yellow card, swiftly followed by him being subbed off, they set up their cameras just outside the stadium car park to snap photos of his angry demeanor to plaster all over their articles. Their narrative soon changed as they got more than they bargained for as the camera rolls filled with photos of Emilia climbing into the passenger's seat. Mere hours after the final whistle, photos of ‘Dele Alli’s mystery Chelsea-clad woman’ were circling the internet, some people theorising she was a fan who needed a lift home after various incidents they were imagining, some claiming she was a friend of his sister’s or even a cousin who simply went to go and watch him, but the most obvious shout was that Emilia was Dele’s girlfriend. The pair sat together, thankful for a distraction from the stress of the match and Dele's uproar, now figuring out what to do about this new stress.

-

“So, Dele, you’re taking the media by storm at the moment?” the interviewer laughed as Dele, fresh off the pitch, brought his hands up covered by his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, giving a breathy giggle followed by, “yeah, I guess you could say that.”

The interviewer proceeded to ask him about the 1-4 win, Dele having involvement in all 4 goals, particularly focusing on the hattrick from the man himself.

“One freekick, a header and top bins goal, of course not forgetting the goal you put on a plate for your good friend Son, how does it feel?”, Dele went through the usual procedure of a post match interview, beaming from ear to ear and clutching the Man Of The Match trophy close to his chest, glancing down at it every so often and widening his grin.

In the midst of his high, he forgot all about the speculation swimming the internet, until the interviewer brought it up with no way to get out of it.

“Even before tonight, you’ve been a hot topic in the media, haven’t you?” he inched towards asking the real question, you could see the cogs turning in Dele’s brain before his smile faltered a bit, thinking up what his reply would be to the next question inevitably coming his way, “the hot question at the moment, Dele, what happened after the derby on Saturday?”.

“I was just trying to go home to be honest, it was a rough match, with the loss and me being given a yellow rightfully or not, so yeah we just wanted to go home but the paps are always around,” he gave the sort of laugh that’s more like just an expulsion of air and rubbed over the back of his neck. He looked slightly uncomfortable but the small smile on his face said otherwise, obviously thinking about the pretty girl in his car.

“I’ll take that ‘we’ as all the confirmation people want.. I have to say, it’s not often you see a player dating an opposition fan, especially not from the same city. I hope I’m not stepping a line when I ask this but, how do you navigate that situation?” the interviewer held the microphone closer to Dele’s mouth, ensuring he doesn’t miss any of the gossip.

Dele half scoffed, thinking all decency and ‘lines’ are abolished in today’s media, knowing none of them give a fuck as long as they have a story and are harbouring clicks for them. In truth, they navigated the situation with a lot of angry sex but he couldn’t say that, trying to surpress the various images drifting through his mind and scramble to think of a suitable response.

“We don’t,” he pauses for a second to laugh at his own joke before continuing, “nah yknow, we have our ways, we make it work... I’m not just a Spurs player and she’s much more than a Chelsea fan.”

He panics a little bit knowing he’s just outed them on live television but they’d discussed it and agreed it wouldn’t be too bad, only 6 months in but it felt like 6 years and neither of them had any doubts it’d last a lifetime. Looking down at his MOTM trophy, he smiled knowing what he was going home to and the welcome he would get as a well done for his hattrick.

Dele didn’t say much, quickly wrapping up the interview after that and walking into the tunnel to head for his phone to read his girlfriend’s reaction, undoubtful that she was watching everything he said.

Emilia (19:22)

here we goooooo

Emilia (19:23)

not an invasion of privacy my arse

Emilia (19:23)

much more than a chelsea fan huh?

Emilia (19:23)

ur cute

Emilia (19:24)

and sexy

Emilia (19:26)

stop wiping your brow like that its arousing

Emilia (19:28)

now get dressed quick quick quick smelly boy x

Emilia (now)

i love u

-

Dele couldn’t help but mention Emilia in interviews. Without a doubt, her name or a reference to his girl always came up. It got to the point where the other lads involved would place bets on how many times it would happen and challenge him to not do it, but it seemed an impossible task for the man in love.

During an interview for Soccer Saturday, he was asked about his injuries and his setbacks throughout the past few seasons and how he coped with it and snapped back to match fitness like he always did.

“It must be rough for you, not being out on the pitch doing what you do best, Dele, how do you deal with that every time? Does it get any easier?” Dele scrunched his nose up at the question, he hated thinking about and talking of his injuries.

“Yeah, you know it’s the worst feeling in the world just wanting to be up there helping the team out but not being able to, it’s unbelievably frustrating. But I have a great team of physios around me and available at Spurs to help and get me back as soon as possible, and all of the lads still make sure that anyone injured is still involved in team things so that’s amazing,” his mouth turned up at the sides at the thought of his next sentence. “I have my brother at home with me who’s my best friend so he tries to keep my morale up, as well as my girlfriend Emilia who is always by my side and knows me better than anyone else, yeah she’s amazing.. always cooking for me and looking after me even when I’m not injured” he laughs out.

In the same interview even she came up again, later on when he was asked about the fan presence at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.

“How much do the fans on a match day influence your performance? Do you think it helps significantly to hear the fans singing your chants and acting almost as the 12th man on the team?” he asks, and Dele thinks it's an extremely obvious answer.

“Oh definitely, nothing compares to 40,000 people singing your name or celebrating alongside you when you put one in the back of the net, having fan presence at the games means everything to us. Makes losses easier and wins even sweeter. Of course a lot of us have our families and friends in the stadium as well which tops it all off, most matches I know that my girlfriends up in the same box, and it always helps to look up at her cheering me on when me or the team is doing bad, or to look up at her little smile when I score, makes everything feel worth it.”

-

Even a year or so later, he was sat parallel to Eric making another of the iconic roommates videos for England. Eric had already had his turn to answer the questions while Dele guessed, getting himself a respectable ⅘. But now it was Eric’s turn to guess.

“Question 2: What’s the first thing Dele does after a match?” Eric rolls his eyes already knowing the answer, “A) gets a massage, B) texts the missus, C) has a shower”

He cranes his neck to turn and look at Dele doing some stupid wiggle to a song playing through his headphones before turning around and finishing the question.

“Well the answer is B, texts his missus, but he’s had your life there with that answer, the woman’s normally waiting in the tunnel for him, or if she’s not then yes he texts her immediately.. then sends her a photo.. then calls her.. then ignores all of us and leaves to get back to her, they’re like magnets,” Eric muses warmly, rolling his eyes and making fun of them both but deep down he loves it. He loves that his best friend has found someone he loves so much and my god were they an exact match. He found it creepy at times how perfect they were for one another.

“So Delboy, question 2.. Bro I don’t even have to ask, its B, moving on,” Eric quickly flips through the question cards getting to the next question as Dele’s shriek of a laugh echoed around the mostly empty training hall.

“Stop it, am I that obvious?” Dele laughs pushing Eric to the side and blushing slightly.

Eric simply looks at him, then looks back at the camera, then looks at Dele again and cocks his eyebrow.

“May as well get her name tattooed on your forehead mate.”

-

Roaring from the crowd filled his ears, eliciting a warm feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know what came over him. Dele looked up at the box after his celebration, half ignoring the cheers and pats on the back around him, and gave a cheesy grin and kissed his ring finger as always, laughing as Emilia kissed the air in her direction and stood with her hand on her stomach.

He’d just put one in the back of the net against Wolverhampton and immediately ran to the corner, picking up the ball from his feet on the way and sticking it under his shirt.

The expecting parents had been to their 20 week scan that morning and found out they were having a boy and Dele couldn’t stop thinking about it, even on the pitch. The excitement bubbled up and it just felt like the right time to ‘make the announcement’ after his goal. They were going to post maternity pictures this week anyway but the opportunity seemed too good to pass up right now. He was elated.

“Dele, we and everyone else at home has noticed the tape on your ring finger for a little while now along with your wife up in the stands, but do you have some news? Did we see that celebration right?” the interviewer prompted a beaming Dele.

“Well, I wasn’t meant to say anything until she could make her official post this week, so I’ll get into the tunnel and be battered by her,” he said through gritted teeth and a laugh, “but yes, we’re so excited to start this new chapter.”

The Spurs midfielder looked to his right across to the tunnel to see Emilia joking with Jose, rolling his eyes mentally at how her and her mum insist he’s her long lost dad.

“It comes as a surprise, you’re still quite young and love a party, it’ll be difficult to give up the nightlife and non stop partying for a life of nappy changes, no?” He hates this interviewer. He’d love to just rip into them but that’d just prove their stupid opinion right and give them more to feed off and fuel their narrative that he wasn’t ready to be a father.

“You’d be surprised,” was all he said. Ever since he was young he’s been labelled as a party boy and the sort of footballer who goes out on a weekly basis picking up girls for a fuck and chuck, but that’s never been him. At every party they found themselves either leaving early together or in a corner somewhere just the two of them, they hadn’t spent a night apart for 99% of their relationship and the times they did weren’t by choice and they still fell asleep on facetime, they were even married now for god's sake.. But the media still see him as ‘Dele the party boy’. There’s nothing he’d love more in the world than a baby with Emilia, and as annoying as it was, they both loved to prove everyone wrong and show it will last.

-

“On your screens now in the stands is Dele Alli’s missus and newborn.. His first time at Tottenham Hotspur stadium at only 4 weeks old, I wonder how long it’ll be until his first appearance at Stamford Bridge,” Martin Tyler let out a chuckle as the camera panned to Emilia sat in her usual box, Isaiah’s face nuzzled into her neck as she bounced rhythmically trying to soothe him.

-

Both sides of the pair became more open and active on social media as time progressed but still kept their own privacy. The fans loved to see the side to Dele they rarely got to see and it was so lovely for their friends and family to be able to see what they were up to and the stupid reasons why they weren’t replying to texts.

Little Instagram posts and stories here and there at random times. For example, early on in their relationship, Dele posted a video of a monopoly board in front of them with hotels and houses scattered messily where they weren’t meant to be. The video slowly panned up and stopped on Emilia sat opposite him bending to pick some more up from the floor, but at the sight of Dele filming, she threw one straight at his forehead, eliciting a hyena like laugh from Dele, captioning the video ‘landed on one of my hotels and couldn’t afford it, the woman doesn’t take Ls’ alongside Emilia’s @.

Another time, Emilia posted a video to her story, still in bed with the camera pointing outwards towards the door. Dele’s t-shirt was visible on the floor and the duvet was messed up on his side, evidence he wasn’t there, as the smoke alarm blared through the house. She simply captioned it ‘when he tries to make you toast in bed as a surprise at 8am.. someone come collect him @dele.’

There were various cute posts and stories as well as the jokey ones though. About half way through the pregnancy, Emilia posted a photo of her husband fast asleep strewn across the huge sofa, one hand hanging off the end and one hand holding a book against his chest that eagle-eyed fans could just make out to be a parenting book called ‘Happy Mum, Happy Baby’ alongside Rome laying across his legs and Diesel on the floor near his hanging hand. Emilia made a joke of it, captioning it ‘we haven’t even had the baby and my man’s already tired enough to pass out at 4pm.. he ain’t seen nothing yet’, but the pull in her chest showed she thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

A fan favourite was a simple photo on Dele’s story not too long after Isaiah was born and announced on Instagram. The photo was framed from up a height and captured all 3 pairs of their legs, Dele on the left, Emilia on the right and Isaiah’s little legs in between them, one leg on Dele’s thigh and one leg on Emilia’s thigh. The family were all wearing grey joggers and white trainers, Isaiah included, and they were the picture of cuteness in their matching outfits.

Throughout her pregnancy with Mabel, Emilia captured too many moments that pulled at her heart strings, she couldn’t not post some. One night she posted a photo which was mostly dark but you could make out the top of Dele’s shoulders along with his messy bed hair and big hand sprawled over her bump, holding his wife and unborn daughter close even in his sleep. Emilia couldn’t help but share her love with the world, captioning it with a simple white heart emoji and leaving it at that.

More videos popped up throughout the months of that pregnancy in particular: sneaky videos from behind Dele of him in shops picking up little baby clothes even though they already had surplus, videos from afar of them in the Enfield training ground cafeteria zooming in on him making people listen to the heart beat for the thousandth time, a video of the baby inside her stomach making bumps and movements from under the skin but stopping when Dele speaks.

After Emilia’s pregnancy and birth of Mabel, the world knew it didn’t quite go to plan and there were more complications than they’d imagined, so when Dele made his return to football after his extended break for his little girl, all eyes were on him. The commentators and pundits made comments wishing him and his family well, claiming how pleased they were to have him back and recalling his tweet from a few days prior: ‘Thank you for your patience over the past few months. Making sure our daughter was happy and healthy is our first priority but I am excited to make my return on Saturday. Appreciate the support.’. That evening, Emilia posted a video of Mabel in the baby swing chair from behind so you couldn’t see her face, with a smiling Dele zoomed in on the TV during the pre match warm up. She captioned it ‘watching her daddy <3 always proud of you’ in the centre and lower down hidden in a smaller font ‘both had a tantrum at leaving each other this morning ffs’.

Even as the children grew up and Dele stepped out of the limelight, every so often a post would pop up and make people melt. A little picture of a sunshine that Ora had painted in school that says ‘smile’ underneath in her messy handwriting that Dele posted to his feed. A photo posted of a fort that Isaiah had made from whatever he could find around the house, insisting that he had to have his dinner in there, resulting in Emilia going to check on him and snuggling up herself ready to watch Monsters Inc with him; even though she had to squish up and become a contortionist to fit, it was the cutest thing Dele had seen. Or a story of them on a dog walk, first showing Emilia, Isaiah and Ora along with all 7 dogs in the field in front of Dele before panning down to his muddy wellies alongside Mabel’s similarly dirty wellies next to him.

Odd appreciation posts for each other every now and then, showing that even after being married a decade and coming so far from the start, they were still more in love than most people could imagine, candid photos of Dele’s bare back in the kitchen adorned with dribbling emojis or a sneaky video of Emilia getting ready for an event, turning around at the call of her name and rolling her eyes at the sight of his phone pointed at her and his wolf whistle with the caption ‘my girl’ and the sweating emoji alongside.

They had a love hate relationship with the media throughout their lives but they couldn’t deny they loved being able to broadcast their love to the world, bursting at the seams with pride and joy for what they’d created.

[fandom-smut-shots]

Hello! Is it possible that I could have an NSFW alphabet with Finn from Adventure Time? Thank you and I hope you are staying safe during this pandemic!

Thank you for your concern! I hope you’re staying safe as well!

So Adventure Time requests, for future reference, will be written with a sort of modern twist in mind, so they’ll have like cell phones and sex toys and things. 

Oh! And the reader will default to female unless you specify otherwise, because body parts are kind of a crucial detail for sexual encounters.

Also, third time is evidently the charm! I tried to write this twice, with minimal inspiration, but my browser kept crashing and deleting it. I sat down this time and wrote out everything, with longer answers than I had previously! Woo!

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

It takes him a little bit to to get a rhythm down, but he’ll soon figure out the gentlest way to clean you up and hold you so that you’re not too sore. If you want, he’ll draw you a bath with bubbles and a bath bomb and climb in behind you to massage your head and back while you relax.

B - Body Part (their favorite body part of yours)

Your fingers. He completely loses his mind to feel your fingers dancing across his chest or feel them tangling in his hair. 

C - Cum (Anything to do with it)

He’s not usually easily embarrassed, but his inexperience causes him to shy away at times, so he tries to make as little mess as possible. He’s very clean after sex, disposing of condoms and towels and anything else that was used as soon as his legs allow him to stand again. 

D - Dirty Secret

He saves every single thirsty text and naughty photo you send to his phone, for private use later on.

E - Experience

You’re his first awww.

F - Favorite Position

Sitting up or laying back while you ride him. Holding your hips so he can thrust in time with you, pressing kisses along your neck while your hands tangle in his hair, gazing into your eyes and watching your face contort when you climax.

G - Goofy (how serious are they in the moment)

Boy’s a goofball, come ON. He’s giggly and uncoordinated and it takes a few tries to align himself with your entrances, but once he’s inside you he’s a whole new Finn and you better hold on.

H - Hair (how groomed are they)

He never really cared about that until you came along, so now he tries to keep himself shaved (or at least trimmed) because nobody wants a noseful of pubes when they’re trying to go down on you. speaking from personal experience

I - Intimacy (how romantic are they)

He tries his hardest to be a romantic. He lights candles and throws petals on the floor and sets a playlist of “mood music” to make you comfortable and content. Sometimes the petals are wilted and the candles burn out and the playlist acquires a stray rap song that disturbs the ambiance but you usually don’t mind.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

When he’s alone for too long, that’s when his collection of photos and texts come in handy. He prefers to actively text you while he strokes himself, but if you’re busy, he’ll make do with the naked pictures he saves to a locked photo album on his phone.

K - Kink

Bondage. Surprised the hell out of him, too. Tying you down. Being tied down. He loves it either way. Relinquishing control to you was a bigger turn on than he ever anticipated.

L - Location (favorite place to have sex)

Your place. Jake has interrupted one dozen too many times for him to even want to get down and dirty at his house. If he’s gonna love you like you deserve, you’re gonna be secluded the entire time.

M - Motivation (turn ons)

Seeing you in lingerie is an immediate mood changer. Lace especially - cupping your breasts, lining your lower lips, and if you found some crotchless panties, heaven help you.

N - No (What will they absolutely not do)

Any sort of pain play. No knives, blood, whipping. He doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

O - Oral (skills, prefer giving or receiving)

He gets shy about receiving, but he’ll cave if you really want to. And honey he’s a master at giving. Boy’s a people pleaser, so he’ll listen to every single thing you tell him to do to make sure he’s flicking his tongue or sucking your clit just the way you like it.

P - Pace (slow and sensual, fast and rough, etc)

Slow and sensual, usually. He likes to take his time warming you up, stretching you out, making love to you rather than just fucking you.

Q - Quickie (how they stack up against proper sex)

This is where just fucking you comes into play. If you’re busy and don’t have time for the full endeavor, he can work quickly. He’s good with any kind of sex, really, if he gets to be with you. He’ll rip off your panties and fuck you against the wall before you have to go somewhere.

R - Risk (do they like to experiment)

He’s willing to try anything you want to do, but he’s hesitant as everything is new to him and he doesn’t entirely understand ball gags or unconventional positions.

S - Stamina (how long can they last)

Long rounds, but not many of them. He makes your orgasm last for hours, but he can only fuck you a couple of times a day.

T - Toys (do they like/use toys?)

If you want them, you’ve got them. He likes getting you off with his own tongue, fingers, and cock, but if a vibrator or something else will make your orgasm stronger, he’ll give it a shot.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If he’s feeling playful, get ready for edging. He learned that he loves hearing you beg and whimper, and the tighter you’re both wound, the more powerful your climaxes are. 

V - Volume (how loud they are)

He was quiet at first, but the second you told him you wanted to hear him, the whole ass land of Ooo could hear his moans. Boy is loud. And high-pitched. And a little whiny. 

W - Wild Card (random dirty headcanon)

Sports hickeys with pride. He won’t point them out, but if someone happens to notice, he preens like a peacock. “Oh, this? Yeah, my girlfriend did that. Isn’t that great? She’s really hot.”

X - X-ray (what’s in their pants)

Size doesn’t matter, baby - it’s how you use what you’ve got. He’s not partciualrly large or thick, but he can rock his hips like no other.

Y -Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

All day every day. He can distract himself with missions and adventures and whatnot, but if he’s left to his own devices, he’s thinking about you, thinking about fucking you, thinking about sneaking out to your place.

Z - ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep)

At night, he falls asleep pretty fast. Pleasing you is a workout, okay, and he’s a tired boy. If it’s during the day, it pumps him up, and he usually needs a fuck or at least a handjob to go to sleep.

[artificialqueens]

Not Nineteen Forever (12) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex)- Ortega

a/n: hey friends! here’s chapter 12 of Not Nineteen Forever, i’m sorry it’s so late but i want to thank everyone who waited patiently and was so polite and encouraging while waiting. it really made me smile! remember i always love and am so grateful for sweet comments either on AQ, through reblog, or on my blog, so keep them coming bc they motivate me no end!! hope u all enjoy this chapter (p.s. finally accepted the ninex in this fic is not in any way background any more xo) xxxxxxx

trigger warning: alcohol n naughty texts xo

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: Monet and Nina continued to be adorable, Yvie and Scarlet continued to be cute, but Brooke wasn’t sure if she wanted the same for her and Vanessa.

this chapter: there’s library woes, a flat party, a lilac-haired, tattooed bombshell, and Yvie confides in Scarlet.

***

Scarlet let a long puff of air out of her cheeks and blinked at her laptop, bored. She’d been so eager for Uni to start back again, so excited to get back to the city and see her friends that she slightly forgot about the whole academic aspect of everything. Lectures had started that week and in between trying to force four different modules’ worth of information into her head she had caught up with Vanjie, chatting before, after and in between lectures when they could. It was interesting, Scarlet thought. Before Christmas she could never get her to shut up about Brooke and how things were going with her but ever since the holidays it seemed as if Brooke was a subject to be avoided. Scarlet knew something must have changed but she didn’t want to push Vanjie for information if she wasn’t ready to share it. They still seemed to be together, anyway, even if things seemed a little strained.

At least she could say that wasn’t the case for her and Yvie. After many long evening Skype sessions during the holidays, the pair of them had decided that they couldn’t bear to be apart a moment longer and so Scarlet had taken the six hour train to go and stay with her girlfriend at her family home for a few days. She had been a bag of nerves at the thought of meeting Yvie’s family, but her Mum had been lovely (and seemingly just relieved that her daughter had settled down), her Dad had been welcoming, if a little quiet (“He’s under strict instructions not to speak because every time he opens his mouth he embarrasses me”), and the brothers and sisters that were still at home and not out somewhere or back to uni themselves were kind and friendly. In the three days they spent together, Scarlet and Yvie went for cold, crisp walks along the beach, curled up on Yvie’s old battered leather sofa the family had had since she was small and watched Disney films, gone ice skating, and looked out over Yvie’s city on a rickety ferris wheel that had looked as if it would take one good sneeze to knock it down.

But all that movie-screen romance was behind her now, as the most romantic Scarlet had been with Yvie in the week since they’d been back at uni was a Tesco Finest £10 meal deal cooked in Yvie’s flat and then watched in front of the TV as a perfect accompaniment to Coronation Street. They were both busy and waiting for their academic life to slow down a little again. The same could be said for their whole friendship group, really. The whole gang hadn’t done anything all together since their Christmas dinner, and Scarlet was itching for a night out where she could get absolutely off her face and forget that she was working towards the degree that would define the rest of her life. Sighing again and feeling the words on her laptop merge into a big blur, Scarlet looked up at the big clock on the wall. Five o'clock. She turned to Akeria who was sat at the desk beside her. She and Silky had come to join her mid-study, the latter having been dragged into the library by her flatmate because she still hadn’t handed in an essay that had been due since before Christmas and Akeria was quite frankly concerned.

“Akeria,” Scarlet whispered, the other girl quickly finishing a sentence she was working on, turning away from her laptop towards Scarlet and pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I want a night out. This is shit.”

“This is what we signed up for, baby,” Akeria gave a small laugh and shrugged, turning back to her laptop. Akeria’s dissertation wasn’t due until May but she had already started writing it, which struck the fear of God into the majority of their friendship group and made them all feel like slackers. “This is uni. This is our fuckin’ degree, girl.”

“You’re really making me feel better,” Scarlet rolled her eyes, Akeria giving another laugh under her breath.

“Hey,” Silky said from her position at the desk across from them, her voice entirely at speaking-pitch and causing a few heads to turn their way. “What’re you hoes talkin’ about? I want in.”

“We’re bitching about you,” Akeria deadpanned, tapping away at her keyboard.

“Fuck off, Kiki.”

“I want a night out,” Scarlet hissed over to her as quietly as she could. “But Little Miss Law Degree wants to stay in the library from dusk til dawn every evening until she graduates.”

Scarlet’s face lit up as Silky bellowed a laugh so loud it caused the girl beside her to put a set of earphones in. Looking at Akeria and hoping she hadn’t been offended, she was relieved to see the other girl giving her a wry smile.

“This bitch can be so savage when she wants to be, Jesus. Ouch. No, I’m just sayin’! This was what we chose to do, so quit complaining,” Akeria rolled her eyes, leaned back in her chair and stretched. “That being said…I do think I’ve earned a night out.”

“Well me fuckin’ too, bitch!” Silky exclaimed incredulously, Scarlet laughing in spite of herself.

“How much have you written, Silk?” she asked, the girl opposite looking down at her laptop, clicking a few times, then looking back up to the girls in front of her.

“You know what…it don’t matter how many words I’ve done, it’s the level of mental energy I have needed to use in order to-”

“Silky, how many words,” Akeria demanded, fixing her with a stare that looked as if it could slice her in half.

“Ninety-four.”

“Jesus Christ on a crystal meth binge,” Akeria sighed, Scarlet letting out a splutter beside her. Silky looked at them both pleadingly.

“Hey, now don’t make me feel bad! We only been in here-”

“An hour and a quarter,” Akeria stared at her.

Silky threw her hands up. “Well I been doing readings an’ shit! Do you know how hard it is to get any articles that have the exact quote ‘Boris Johnston is a piece of dog shit’? Fuckin’ hard!”

“Why the hell are you looking for that?” Akeria blurted out, unable to keep herself from laughing. Scarlet was laughing so hard she thought she would pass out.

“Because, bitch! I want to use that exact wording in my essay but I need some academic shit to back me up.”

“Fuck me.”

“To be fair, that is the worst,” Scarlet shrugged, not wanting Silky to feel too demoralised. “Searching for three hours to find one reference that can back up one of your points. Like, why can’t you just make the point because you want to? You know? Why is your opinion only valid if it’s been previously thought up by a white man in a suit?"

"Very profound,” Silky nodded emphatically. “Anyway, this bitch needs to get her drink on. I’m going to ask the girls."

As she watched Silky pick up her phone, Scarlet was reminded to check her own. She’d deliberately sat on it and put it on flight mode in an attempt to force herself to do work. Now, she felt as if she could excuse a small break. Turning off flight mode, she watched as a small flood of notifications came through. There had been fifteen new group chat messages, Nina had tagged them all in a meme, and she had two messages from Yvie. She checked the latter first, wondering if she would ever get tired of the feeling of her heart soaring like a balloon every time she saw, heard or spoke Yvie’s name.

Y: if i told u i was considering buying a set of faux-leather underwear would that be weird or a turn-on

Y: also that lasagne is even better on the second day u need to have some of it when ur round

S: Sorry this took me so long!!!!!! I turned my phone on flight mode in an attempt to get some work done

S: No such luck

S: Leather look underwear is a yes from me but i’m inclined to ask for pics first xoxoxoxoxo

S: Also yes i want lasagne

S: That’s not a euphemism btw i actually really do want some lasagne

Y: 😈

As Scarlet gave a soft laugh to herself, she checked what had been going on on the group chat since she’d been studying. She wondered what exciting plans could have been made, or what drama could have happened, or if anyone had any exciting or interesting news.

Okay Then: oh my god

Kim Kardashian-West: ??????

Okay Then: has anyone seen the state of Simon Cowell’s face

Scarlet gave a colossal roll of her eyes. She should have known that, at times, the groupchat could become one massive shitpost.

Kim Kardashian-West: No??? What’s he done to it?? Has he been in a crash?

Okay Then: he might as fucking well have been

What followed was a picture of what seemed to be a man whose face had been partially melted with a blowtorch, until Scarlet looked closer and realised that it was indeed the TV talent show judge.

mose: Jesus Fucking Christ what’s he done to himself

Scarlet’s bitch: that’s frightening

Okay Then: RIGHT???

Scarlet’s bitch: that’s what i see in the corner of my room when i have sleep paralysis

Kim Kardashian-West: That is TRULY the stuff of nightmares!!!!

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: Fucking hell Plastique don’t fucking frighten us like that!!!

mose: He must surely see that he looks like shit? Like how could you not?

Okay Then: how can he see anything when his eyebrows are now entirely obscuring his eyes

Kim Kardashian-West: I am actually quite frightened guys

At this point, Scarlet caught up to the current conversation.

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: AS TERRIFYING AS SIMON COWELL’S FACE IS

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: CAN WE TALK BUSINESS FOR A SECOND?

Kim Kardashian-West: Of course!

mose: I’m all business

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: Sure you are baby xxxxxxx

Scarlet’s Bitch: that is fucking vile keep that shit off the groupchat u big gays

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YA FAV BITCHES ARE IN THE LIBRARY AND WE ARE GAGGING FOR A NIGHT OUT

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: WE AIN’T HAD ONE IN AGES

Okay Then: yaaaaaaaaaas bitches let’s do it

Okay Then: thursday night fever

Kim Kardashian-West: Well Monet invited me to this flat party she’s hosting tonight

Kim Kardashian-West: I could ask her if you guys could come too?

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: Omg yes I’m down!

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YES BITCH FLAT PARTY!!!!

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: AND IF SHE SAYS NO JUST SAY SHE AIN’T GETTIN ANY PUSS FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE

Kim Kardashian-West: SILKY!!!!!!!! THAT IS DISGUSTING!!!

Yvie’s Bitch: We were all thinking it xoxo

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: AHAHAHAHAHA SILK

Okay Then: YES Scarlet

Kim Kardashian-West: You’re all horrible. And uninvited.

mose: Ninaaaaaa

Okay Then: Nina pls

Scarlet’s Bitch: fuck i’m not even sure i can do tonight ladies

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YVIE DONT YOU DARE

Scarlet’s Bitch: i’ve got a 9am tomorrow and i want to get that first u know

mose: Yvieeee the last time we were all together was literally over a month ago

Scarlet pouted to herself, disappointed at the thought of Yvie being the only one not out. Suddenly, an idea began to form in her head. Biting back a smile, she took to her chat with Yvie.

S: Yvieeeee

Y: Scarleeeeet

S: Please come to the flat party :(((((((

S: I’ll do anything you want

Y: anything i want?

S: Yesssss

Y: that sounds like a challenge princess

Scarlet crossed her legs and felt herself squeezing her thighs together. Looking around at the rows of silent people, she turned her phone brightness down to make extra sure nobody could see her messages, just in case the conversation turned the way Scarlet thought it was about to.

S: Well it depends on what you want me to do x

Y: wellllll

Y: i’ve been wondering if u can take a strap like a good girl

Scarlet felt briefly as if she’d been shocked by a defibrillator. Yvie always seemed to go from 0 to 100 real fucking quick, and Scarlet couldn’t help but love it.

S: You know I could baby

Y: i know you could, you’re such a good girl

Y: so how about if i come to this party i get to watch u bounce on my dick until u cum all over it

Scarlet could feel her face growing red. She and Yvie had messaged like this before, when they had been at home and miles away from each other and alone and very much not-in-a-public-place, but this was so fucking different.

S: Christ Yves I’m in the library!!!!

Y: shut up u started all this!!

S: Yeah I kinda did

Y: deliberately getting me to tell u what i want to do to u later when ur sitting in public in a fucking silent building

Y: jesus fucking christ Scarlet that’s so hot

Scarlet felt an urgent pulse of heat between her legs and she squirmed in her seat.

S: Where are you just now?

Y: i’m in bed

Y: touching myself at the thought of u sitting absolutely soaking wet and being able to do fuck all about it

S: So you’re coming to the party baby?

Y: how about

Y: if u can get to the flat before i cum i’ll fuck u into the mattress and i’ll come to this party or whatever

Scarlet nearly jammed her fingers in her laptop in her haste to get it shut, wrenched her charger out of its socket so hard it almost broke, and muttered a near-breathless goodbye to a confused Akeria and Silky all in the space of about twenty seconds as she struggled into her coat and sped out into the stairwell.

Five hours later Scarlet had managed to fit a lot in. She’d hurried round to Yvie’s to find her in bed in the black lace underwear she knew drove Scarlet crazy, and they’d fucked twice (fast, rough and passionate then sweet, tender and gentle) before Scarlet had reluctantly dragged herself out of Yvie’s bed to head back to her own flat and get ready for the party. Nobody seemed to know what the dress code was, least of all Nina who had sent about nine different outfit options to the group chat for opinions, so Scarlet settled on a tight black bandage dress that stopped at her calves, with trainers to dress it down a bit. She’d hurriedly munched down a bowl of pasta a la whatever-was-left-in-the-fridge, then set off across town to meet the girls at the edge of the park, where they had decided they would all meet then walk together to Monet’s flat.

Scarlet heard her friends before she saw them, Vanjie’s distinctive laugh ricocheting off trees and mixing with Yvie’s Bond-villan one letting Scarlet know she was heading in the right direction. Finally reaching the group, Scarlet gave them all a hug in turn and took in each of their outfits. It was still icy and cold, so most of them had opted for trainers over heels- save for Plastique, who always wore them for any night out and Vanjie, who was wearing chunky heeled boots. Much of their clothes clashed with the weather, though. Plastique and Akeria were in tight dresses, Brooke and Silky were in short skirts and tops. Vanjie had chosen some loose-fitting ripped denim jeans and a tiny bodysuit which left little to the imagination. Nina had gone for a light blue t-shirt dress and a chunky pair of trainers, her nerves palpable even in the group dynamic. Scarlet thought Yvie looked the best though in her burnt orange velvet skirt and tight black long-sleeved bodysuit, her unruly hair tamed and brushed into two huge bunches.

"You look nice, Nina!” Scarlet complimented her in an attempt to calm her down.

“Aww, Scarlet! Do I actually?” Nina smiled brightly, then cringed at herself. “Fuck! Why can’t I just take a fucking compliment like a goddamn normal person? I do this with Monet all the time!”

“Because you got a big-ass crush,” Silky shrugged. “It’s almost as big as Akeria’s ass. Not quite, though.”

“Shut up,” Akeria rolled her eyes and shoved her friend.

“Does it even count as a crush if you’re seeing the person in question?” Scarlet wondered out loud. Plastique shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Don’t know. Ask Brooke or Vanjie.”

The group exploded into laughter, something about it not quite meeting Brooke or Vanessa’s eyes. They were both standing close together, hands entwined, but Scarlet didn’t know. There seemed as if there was something off. Forced, even.

“Okay, let’s go, motherfuckers. I’m freezing my vagina off,” Vanjie said decisively, Nina moving first and making to lead the way.

“Right, a few things before we arrive,” Nina began speaking at a mile a minute before Scarlet could even compliment Yvie on her outfit. “Monet has somehow got it into her head that you guys are cool enough to be invited to this party. She doesn’t know the truth yet, so just try to act like a group of normal fucking human beings?”

“The truth? What the hell is that meant to mean?!” Brooke let out a laugh.

“That you’re all fucking weirdos! And she, for some reason, still likes me, so I am not having you all put that in jeopardy, capiche?” Nina snapped back, only half-joking.

“Jeez, thanks,” Akeria rolled her eyes, Nina instantly protesting.

“I’m joking! I’m joking. But not really. Like Silk, please try not to overdo it tonight?”

Silky raised her eyebrows and sucked her cheeks in. “I’m making no promises, girl.”

“Akeria, please don’t accidentally make out with anyone’s boyfriends?”

“Oh my God Nina! That happened ONCE!” Akeria cried out incredulously.

“And Vanjie, don’t-”

“Nina. We’re not going to embarrass you. Chill the fuck out,” Yvie rolled her eyes and squeezed the shoulder of the girl in front of her.

The girls all finally reached Monet’s old, red-brick building and her front door, and Nina pressed the buzzer nervously. There came a crackly screech of mayhem through the intercom which contained unintelligible speech, and then the girls were all quickly buzzed in. Scarlet looked to Yvie questioningly as she wondered if she’d heard any words, but she also appeared to be as clueless as she was. It didn’t seem to faze any of the other girls though, as Vanjie was already bounding up the stairs with Akeria as fast as her chunky heels could carry her. They didn’t have to walk far, as Monet’s flat was on the first floor. Vanjie moved to open the door first when it was suddenly wrenched open from the other side to reveal a tiny, skinny blonde girl with her hair curled and loose on her shoulders. Her pink dress was as tiny as she was, but regardless of her size she looked ready to fight.

“Who the fuck are you?” she addressed Akeria, barely acknowledging the others. “You here to sell us girl scout cookies, or an Avon catalogue, check our meter readings maybe?"

Just as Akeria looked as if she would instigate a full-scale fight, Nina poked her head out from behind Brooke’s tall frame. "Cracker, don’t be a dick!”

The girl’s face immediately relaxed into a wide, shameless smile. “Nina! Oh my God, you bitch, I never saw you! Come in, God!”

Akeria still bristling and Vanjie not too dissimilar, the girls all trooped into the flat which immediately struck Scarlet as something out of an American teen Netflix special. The hall was dark with the occasional string of fairy lights, and was packed full of people. Scarlet instinctively reached for Yvie’s hand in the crowd and got a squeeze back without even having to look at her. Nina and the girl, Cracker apparently, led them through to a huge bedroom which had obviously once been a living room but had been repurposed by a money-hungry landlord. The room was quieter but still had its fair share of people dotted about in amongst the Morrocan market wall-coverings, tiny elephant incense stick holders, and swathes of printed photos and posters that covered the walls like tiles. A huge bed sat to one side where Monet sat sprawled out with her shoes kicked off, chatting to a black girl with a huge afro that otherwise looked so identical to her Scarlet assumed they must be sisters. Cracker flung herself down on top of the mattress and joined them, gesturing vaguely to the girls.

“Neens!!” Monet suddenly squealed as she looked up, throwing her arms out as Nina launched herself half on the bed and half on top of her. Monet continued, muffled, as the rest of the girls awkwardly lingered. “I’m so happy you came, oh my God, this is so amazing!”

“I brought everyone too. Is that still okay? They can leave if not,” Nina instantly reeled off, Brooke bellowing out a laugh. Monet’s face lit up.

“Oh my God of course not! Brooke! Scarlet! Yvie!! Oh my God, come and hug me,” Monet beamed, her intoxication showing ever so slightly as Brooke graciously leaned down and hugged the other girl them got instantly pulled onto the bed. Monet gestured for everyone to come closer. “Guys! It’s so good to see you all, thanks so much for coming! There’s, like. Endless booze in the kitchen. Feel free to just drink us out of house and home.”

Silky’s face lit up and she immediately grabbed Akeria and Plastique, making to drag them through. “Vanj, you comin’?”

“Get me something? I'mma stay here with my girl,” Vanessa shouted back, giving a smile back to Brooke but finding the other girl looking down at her phone instead. Scarlet frowned involuntarily and then was suddenly distracted by a squeeze of her hand from Yvie (who still hadn’t let go).

“I’m going to go make sure Silky doesn’t give herself alcohol poisoning. You want me to bring you back a drink?” she offered, Scarlet unable to help the smile that spread across her face.

“You’re a sweetheart. Surprise me.”

“A pint glass of tequila it is,” Yvie deadpanned as she walked away, too quick for Scarlet’s hand that swatted at her in response. Scarlet tuned into the conversation that the girls were all having on the bed. It was big, but it was still a bed in a student flat, and so Brooke had her elbows resting on the mattress and her lower body on the floor and Scarlet had had to squeeze up to make room for Vanjie to sit beside her.

“She was guarding the place like fort fuckin’ knox,” Vanessa was saying, a playful side eye being cast to the blonde girl, who let out a laugh.

“You’re an animal,” Monet’s potential sister rolled her eyes. “A living guard dog. We should put a collar on you. One of those ones with spikes.”

“Nah. That’s only reserved for people who want to fuck me. Do you want to fuck me, Bob?” the girl asked easily, before taking a swig of the cider bottle she was holding. Monet hooted a laugh and the other girl didn’t even break her expression.

“I wouldn’t eat your pussy if it was made of chocolate fuckin’ fudge cake. Get the fuck out,” she retorted, Nina looking up at them all from her position on Monet’s tummy.

“Is that not that Lana Del Ray lyric? My pussy tastes like chocolate fudge cake…”

Scarlet let out a laugh that was more like a scream, the others on the bed doing much the same thing. Monet wiped her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Oh my God, okay. For those of you that haven’t met before- this is Cracker and Bob. Two out of the three girls I have the blessing or curse of living with, I haven’t figured out yet,” she gestured to the two girls in turn and then turned to Scarlet. “And this is Scarlet, Vanjie and Brooke Lynn. They’re Nina’s friends, so they’re obviously amazing.”

“Nina could throw up on your bed and you’d say it was amazing,” Cracker looked pointedly at Monet. Monet shrugged and threw her arms around Nina.

“And what?"

"Nice to meet you guys. Are you two sisters?” Scarlet asked, curiosity getting the better of her as she pointed between Bob and Monet. Monet laughed and Bob rolled her eyes.

“Are you saying that all black people look the same?” Bob asked her with a piercing stare, Scarlet’s entire stomach dropping at the thought of having offended her.

“Oh my God, no! No no no, I just thought-”

“She’s kidding, Scarlet. Being a dick, as usual,” Monet cut off Scarlet’s frantic protests and immediately calming her down. “No, we’re not related. We just look spookily alike.”

“You fuckin’ wish you looked even a tenth as good as me. Hey, where the fuck is Monique?” Bob asked suddenly, both Cracker and Monet shrugging.

“Flatmate number four,” Monet quickly cut in to explain.

“Away making some chaotic cocktail, probably,” Cracker shrugged. Bob gave another roll of her eyes, then turned and smiled at Brooke, Scarlet and Vanessa.

“Nice to meet you anyway. Are you all flatmates too?” Bob asked politely, ignoring the position of the slit on her long skirt as she crossed her legs.

“Not us three exactly. Brooke lives with Nina and Yvie, that’s my girlfriend,” Scarlet explained, her stomach full of fizzy fireworks at being able to say that for real. “Vanj lives with Silky and Akeria over on Antigua Road.”

“They’re the best hoes in the world. They’re through in the other room getting drunk, but you’d love them,” Vanjie cut in. Cracker let out a laugh.

“Oh yeah, shit. Sorry I was so mean to you.”

Vanessa smiled easily, the free alcohol that the flatmates were providing clearly making up for any perceived slight. “Don’ worry about it, girl. We’d probably do the same if some hoes we didn’t know turned up at our party.”

“What about you, Scarlet?” Bob asked politely, instantly seeming far less intimidating.

“I’m over on the South Side. Kinda far out. I found this girl on SpareRooms to live with, but she’s a bit of a dick,” Scarlet explained awkwardly. Cracker leaned in, her eyes shining excitedly.

“What’s her name?”

“Fuck, I don’t want to say in case any of you are friends with her!” Scarlet laughed, but no protestations came. She lowered her voice as she continued. “It’s Ra'Jah? Ra'Jah O'Hara?”

“Oh, FUCK!” Bob cried out, holding onto Cracker for support as she almost fell off the bed. “I know who that is! She’s in my Econ tutorials! Oh my God, she’s an actual fucking moron. I had a group project with her once and she did literally nothing but talk about drugs and bitch about people on our course.”

As Scarlet was about to launch into how horrifically messy a flatmate she was, Yvie came back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer and a tall black girl with a shock of lilac hair swept up into a ponytail and a matching straight fringe. She was wearing a black pair of jeans and a tiny black cropped t shirt which showed off her many tattoos, and in her hand looked to be an elaborate mojito-style concoction.

“I made a friend!” she cried, before slumping herself down beside Vanjie, Scarlet growing ever more squashed up against the bedpost.

“Oh, the wanderer returns,” Cracker deadpanned. “What did you make?”

“Margarita mojito,” the girl shrugged, sipping her drink to punctuate her sentence. “It’s basically a mojito with a big-ass shot of tequila in it. Guys, this is Yvie! She’s Nina’s friend!”

“Oh, you’re Scarlet’s girlfriend!” Bob smiled at her in recognition, Yvie clambering into a tiny space on the middle of the bed, handing one of the beers to Scarlet, and casting her a look through narrowed eyes.

“What have you been saying about me, bitch?” Yvie smiled playfully, the look she was fixing her causing a sudden flash of heat to strike between Scarlet’s legs.

“All good things, baby,” Scarlet smiled innocently, Yvie relaxing and leaning back against Scarlet’s chest.

“This is Bob and Cracker. They’re my other flatmates. You’ve already met Monique, then?” Monet introduced the girls to Yvie.

“Yeah, we bonded over watching Akeria flirt with people. The bitch is a fucking mastermind. She walked into the kitchen and had a guy talking to her within, like, one minute.”

“Introduce me, introduce me!” Monique bounced on the mattress excitedly. Vanjie came dangerously close to falling off the bed and Monique quickly noticed, reaching a hand out to her and pulling her up with it. “Shit, sorry girl!”

Scarlet watched as Vanessa swept some hair out of her face and cast a quick appreciative glance to Monique’s toned arm. “Holy mother of Jesus, I gotta start goin’ to the gym.”

Monique let out a bark of a laugh. Cracker caught her other arm and held it steady, the tequila/rum combo threatening to fly out of its glass.

“Brooke, Scarlet and Vanjie, meet Monique.

Monique, this is Brooke, Scarlet and Vanjie,” Cracker pointed to each of them in turn, finishing with Vanjie who still seemed to be casting her eyes over Monique.

“Well, Vanessa. But these girls call me Vanjie. Or Vanj. You choose, really,” Vanjie explained to Monique, the girl’s ponytail swishing as she cocked her head.

“You ever get called baby?” she asked, feigning innocence. Scarlet couldn’t help her eyes shooting wide and her brain almost went into meltdown trying to register everyone’s expressions at once. Vanjie was laughing, but her face had flushed pink, clearly flattered. Cracker was screeching a laugh, Bob looked long-suffering. Nina and Monet were looking at each other urgently, and Brooke was properly looking at Vanessa with interest for the first time since they all sat down on the bed. Scarlet couldn’t see Yvie’s face, but she’d felt her tense up, and she couldn’t blame her.

“Yeah. By Brooke Lynn over there,” Vanessa finally said through her laughter, Monique not seeming fazed as she cast a glance to Brooke, who was smiling patiently but inwardly seething if the red tips of her ears were anything to go by.

“Oh, sorry girl! I didn’t know she was taken,” Monique laughed pleasantly.

“Yeah, we’re a thing,” Brooke opened her mouth, breaking her silence. Vanessa was smiling at her from across the bed, and Brooke met her eyes and smiled back.

“A thing?” Monique let out a short laugh, spilling a little of her drink. “A thing is, like, a noun. Not a relationship.”

“Technically a girlfriend is a noun too. Thing, place, person,” Nina piped up, presumably in an attempt to diffuse the increasingly awkward vibe.

“Are you a primary teacher, Nina?!” Cracker asked, clutching her chest in faux-surprise. Nina sighed.

“If I could reach a pillow, I’d thump you."

"Monet, you hearing this? Your girlfriend is practically chatting me up,” Cracker laughed, then stopped suddenly as her face became a mix of horrified and regretful, Bob giving her a not-so-subtle thump on the arm. In lieu of gauging Monet and Nina’s facial expressions, Scarlet whispered her thoughts to Yvie.

“When the hell are they actually going to become official? It’s been ages!” she hissed into her ear, Yvie craning her head round to reply.

“Nina would have to be on a cocktail mixer of cocaine, Es and alcohol to gain even half the confidence it would take her to ask Monet, so she’s waiting on Monet to do it for her. The thing is, I think Monet’s not as confident as we all like to think either. Maybe sometimes Nina’s panic can present itself as disinterest.”

“So Monet’s maybe waiting until she knows where she stands with her?” Scarlet nodded in realisation.

Yvie sipped her drink and took Scarlet’s hand, tracing round her fingers absent-mindedly. “I think so. I mean, we all know Nina’s absolutely ass-over-tit in love with her because we’re her friends, but she’s not going to let that show to Monet until she’s ready.”

Scarlet watched as Yvie played with a large turquoise ring on her finger. Her brow was furrowed as she thought about the situation, and Scarlet’s heart felt like an enormous water balloon- incredibly fragile and full and feeling as if it was about to burst. She thought back to Yvie’s words on Christmas dinner night, the ones she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since she’d said them.

Suddenly, she was pulled out of her thoughts by a screech from Vanjie, who was looking at Monique with enrapture as she told a story. Admittedly, most of the other girls were looking at her too, but Scarlet didn’t miss the sparkle in Vanjie’s eyes as she listened.

“And there it was, I swear by almighty God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…a whole baggie of weed, in the bin, covered in Cracker’s vomit.”

It was an odd moment for Scarlet to tune into the story but judging by the roar the girls on the bed gave, it seemed to be over. Vanjie had doubled over laughing and was clinging to Monique’s arm for support, the girl in question smiling down at her as if her reaction was the only one that mattered. Scarlet frowned and leaned into Yvie once more.

“Hey. What the hell is the deal with Brooke and Vanjie?” she whispered, making sure to keep her voice extra low. She instantly felt Yvie tense up in her lap.

“What do you mean? They seem fine to me?” Yvie murmured back. Luckily for Scarlet, she knew that Yvie lied so rarely that it was easy to spot when she was telling one.

“You know something. What is it?” Scarlet hissed urgently in Yvie’s ear. Hearing her give a big sigh, Yvie shifted and then rose on the bed.

“Me and Scarlet are just getting another drink, save our seats,” Yvie announced to the circle, receiving a cheer from Nina.

“Enjoy your sex!” she cried after them, and Scarlet, confused, simply followed Yvie to another room. The hall was quieter now, but the same could not be said of the kitchen, where as they walked in they saw Silky, Akeria and Plastique ringleading a game of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Ignoring their friends, Yvie turned to Scarlet urgently, concern covering her face.

“Okay, Brooke told me this in confidence but you’re my girlfriend so I kind of can’t really keep anything from you, right?” she began, Scarlet nodding quickly and desperate to hear what Yvie knew. “But you CAN’T tell anyone about this, babe. Honestly, it needs to stay between us. Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Scarlet said instantly, her mind in overdrive. Yvie pulled a pained face for a moment, seemingly incredibly conflicted, and then looked to the floor.

“Brooke is having second thoughts about being with Vanjie.”

Scarlet’s face dropped. “What?!”

“Brooke told me that she felt everything was getting too intense, and that Vanj wanted more than Brooke felt she could give her. She’s sticking it out to see if it’s just a blip, but…yeah. Now you know why they’ve both been so weird,” Yvie explained, biting her lip and looking at Scarlet with concern.

Scarlet didn’t know what to think. It all made so much sense, the oddly distant vibes between them both, the strained atmosphere, Vanjie flirting with Monique. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Scarlet. “Does Vanessa know?”

Yvie rolled her eyes. “Yes absolutely, Scarlet, Vanjie is very happy staying with someone who isn’t even sure if she wants things to go further with her, Brooke’s told her everything!"

Scarlet’s mind seemed to fuse. "She needs to know.”

Yvie’s expression dropped. “Oh my fucking Christ, you literally just promised not to tell anyone.”

“Well I didn’t know what it was you were going to tell me! I mean shit, Yvie, imagine that was me and you and I was having second thoughts! Would you want to be kept in the dark?”

Yvie bit her lip and looked to the floor. Scarlet gave a snort. “Exactly, bitch. I’m going to go find her right now-”

“Scarlet, please,” Yvie stopped her quickly, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “Brooke would be fuckin’ raging at me. I told you this shit in confidence. I know it’s hard because you’re close with Vanjie, but can you please…I mean hold off at least. If she asks you about it then, fine. You can tell her. But don’t run through there just now.”

Scarlet’s head felt as if it was a mess. She tapped her foot against the linoleum floor. “Who’s she told?”

“Just me,” Yvie said sincerely, looking into Scarlet’s eyes. “Nina doesn’t know. It’s just us.”

Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m pinning all the fucking blame on you if she finds out I know, you know that?”

Yvie nodded understandingly. Scarlet let out a big sigh. The silence between them hung heavy in the air, at odds with the party happening around them. Suddenly, Plastique tottered into their line of vision, her eyes glazed and drunk.

“Oh my God guys! I haven’t seen you like all night! Selfie!!” she cried, sticking her phone in the air. Scarlet felt herself smile weakly but luckily the photo seemed to be too blurry for anyone to notice. Plastique immediately walked off again.

“Okay bye, nice seeing you,” Yvie deadpanned after her. Scarlet pressed her lips together to stop a laugh escaping them. Yvie caught her eye and snorted, and Scarlet couldn’t help but let out the laugh she’d been holding in. The tension had been diffused by a drunk Plastique, and Scarlet was relieved. She ran her hand down Yvie’s arm and squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just kept the fucking secret,” Yvie sighed, lacing her fingers through Scarlet’s own. She smiled at Scarlet, showing the little gap in her teeth, and Scarlet felt her heart jump. “Hey, I kind of want to go get chips, cheese and gravy and then head back to the flat and watch the Scooby Doo movie. You down?”

Scarlet smiled. She was kind of over the party. She’d been so eager for a night out, but all she wanted right now was a night in with her girlfriend. “Sounds amazing. Let’s go.”

The two headed back through to the bedroom to grab their jackets and say goodbye to the rest of the girls. Notably absent from the room were Brooke and Vanessa, and Scarlet was about to mention this to Yvie when they walked back out into the hall and spotted a tall, blonde girl and a small brunette kissing furiously in a darker, quieter corner. As Yvie opened the front door, she turned to Scarlet.

“I feel like they won’t be far behind us. Brooke must have sorted her shit out, then.”

As Scarlet grabbed one last look at the two girls against the wall, she desperately hoped Yvie was right.

#rpdr fanfiction #not nineteen forever #n19f #s11 #s10 #ortega #college au #lesbian au #branjie #scyvie #ninex #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #yvie oddly #scarlet envy #monet x change #nina west #silky nutmeg ganache #akeria davenport #plastique tiara #bob the drag queen #miz cracker #monique heart #university au

[shurisneakers]

espresso [9]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: implied homophobia, mentions of cheating swearing, angst, pining (????), wii music 

A/N: hello i’m barely alive what a surprise. this is my entry for the lovely @viktordrago‘s writing challenge. thank you to my girl @samingtonwilson love u and i hope you know that espresso would be nothing without u

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 8 || Espresso Masterlist

“Is that everything?” Bucky asked, turning halfway to face you. 

You gave him a thumbs up and he nodded, shutting the trunk of his car. “Alright, let’s get this road trip started.”

You tightened the scarf around your neck as you got into the front seat of his car. Rebecca had juvenilely shouted dibs on the back seats, saying she intended to hibernate for most of the trip.

Less than a week from Christmas, the three of you were driving back to your hometown for the holiday. New Year’s Eve, however, was to be spent in your grimy dormitories and apartments since Bucky was nervous to be even slightly unprepared for class and beyond anxious about being stuck in traffic with the rest of the returning students.

Of course, much to his dismay, it was only a half-hour before Becca began her moaning and groaning. “How long ‘til we get there?”

“I told you we should have brought the tranquillizer,” Bucky sighed to you, hissing and jolting forward when Becca flicked the back of his head.

“Couple of hours, give or take depending on traffic,” you let her know, looking at the Google maps route you had opened on Bucky’s phone.

She settled back down and chose to look at her phone instead, the device keeping her occupied for only a handful of minutes before she looked up again.

“Pass me the aux cord, I wanna play my music.”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Wii score soundtracks are not considered music.”

“Wow.” Her eyes were wide in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m related to such an uncultured swine.”

“Other songs also banned in this car are on this list I made for you,” Bucky reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a white, folded sheet of paper, handing it to her.

“What the-“ she began, quickly scanning over the list. You could hear the wrinkling of the paper as her grip tightened. “The fuck you mean All Star isn’t allowed?”

“It means I’ve heard enough of it this past year and if I have to hear it one more time I’ll personally remove my brain from my skull and run it over with this car.” 

You found the fact that he took time to create something so… petty was amusing, but apparently she didn’t think so.

“I miss my girlfriend already,” Rebecca huffed, feet on the windowsill.

Bucky, eyes on the road, replied, “Shoulda invited her to our place.”

“I wanted to, but she said she wants to see her sisters. She’s got a big family.”

“If it helps, you’ve got me,” you nearly sang, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

You received a scowl in return. “I’d rather have no one at all, thanks.”

Hearing Bucky hiss through his teeth at her comeback before fading into laughter, you rolled your eyes with a smile that matched his as you muttered “bitch” under your breath.

“Also, asking Nat to come to our place probably wouldn’t be the brightest idea,” she added, moving in her seat to lean against the car door. 

The light atmosphere dropped and you felt a palpable tension in the car in a matter of mere seconds. You spared her a glance. 

She looked unfazed but you knew otherwise. “You know, considering the circumstances.”

“Maybe he’s different now, Becks,” Bucky tried with convincing optimism.

“Right, because he’s been known to just do that.” 

The both of you fell silent, not wanting to push the conversation.

“Whatever, it’s his loss.” Becca looked back into her phone and continued aimlessly scrolling through Instagram. “What’s everyone else doing for the vacation?”

“Steve’s with Peggy. I think they’re staying at her house. Clint is with Bruce and Thor. I don’t think they’re going anywhere specifically but I heard they’re doing a bar crawl for Christmas. Sam and Sam are at Wilson’s place.”

“What about Dot?” you looked at your nails as you asked, attempting to look indifferent rather than desperate– which you most definitely were.

He hummed questioningly before peering at you. “Oh, she’s back in town too.”

“Wait– our town?” Becca straightened up, leaning forward on her hands. She stuck her head between both your seats, her interest piqued.

“Yeah, she went to Culver. On the cheerleading squad,” you muttered, “She told me she and Bucky almost dated,” you added in a less than quiet whisper with the intention of only letting her hear.

You could feel her glare burning the side of your face. You didn’t have to face her to know why she was doing it but you chose to ignore her.

“Did you know I almost joined the cheerleaders at Middletown?” Becca announced, loud enough to make your eardrums vibrate and you wince.

“You didn’t have to yell, Jesus,” Bucky muttered through his teeth, using a hand against her forehead to push her back to her seat.

“You did not almost join the cheerleaders.”

“Hell yeah I did! I got kicked out on the second day.”

“How?”

“I was told I tried to ‘make friends the wrong way,’” she said with her fingers hooked in air quotes, voice deeper for imitative purposes.

Bucky snorted. ”Knowing you, you probably offered to smoke them all out behind the bleachers with your stupid purple pipe.”

“Listen, it’s how I made friends in high school. A little indica, a little trip to Taco Bell.” She shrugged. “Thought it would work with them. Apparently fucking not.”

“Wait, how come you never offered to smoke me out?” you narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you not know how much I envied the stoners?”

“I didn’t need to waste the good stuff on you. I became friends with you because you kicked sand in my face when we were seven and thought it was the funniest thing.”

“Accidentally.”

“Your laughter said otherwise, you Jafar sounding bitch.”

“You know you’re gonna have to tone down the swearing when you get home, right?” He glanced at her expectantly as realization dawned on her.

“By how much?” 

“On a scale of one to ten, one being you on your best behavior and ten being your usual behavior, aim for negative twelve,” Bucky told her as she let out a groan again, head drooping into her hands.

“How many do you think I can get past her because she missed me?”

“Zero.”

“I can’t wait to see you struggle in front of your mom.” You grinned. “It’s my favourite part of dinner.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “’Course it is.”

“God, how many Christmases have we spent together? Twelve?” Bucky asked distantly, seemingly ignoring the exchange you both shared.

“This’ll be the eleventh. I spent Christmas three years ago with, uh– with him,” you answered, surprisingly without an angry edge to your tone.

“Oh,” Becca said, quietening down.

“Yeah.” You looked out of the window, your breath fogging up the glass. “I wonder what he’s doing now.”

“Last I heard, he was sent to the nurse with a broken nose,” she mused playfully, eyebrow raising. “Coincidentally, it was the same time my brother got suspended from school for three days for a fight in the cafeteria.”

Bucky and you shared a quick glance before a small smile upturned the corner of his lips.

“He’s a bartender or waits tables or something now, I think.” You shrugged, playing with a loose thread on your sweater. “Don’t know if he’s still here or he left.”

“Have you kept in contact with him?” Bucky asked, voice strained. You knew it to be a symptom of rising annoyance, one you rarely saw from him.

“Nah. Someone mentioned it to me,” you shrugged casually.

“You sure?” Becca’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed and you almost rolled your eyes at the dramatic concern. “It’s okay to still care about-”

“I stopped caring about his life the minute I found out he was cheating on me with some girl from another school,” you said lowly, hoping to make your point. ”Let’s just drop this, yeah? I don’t plan on ever talking to him again.”

Neither of them said anything for a while until Bucky broke the silence again, “Honestly, I wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose again if he tried talking to you.”

“Oh, I know,” you replied, smiling as he did, too.

In her usual dramatic fashion, Becca sighed and slumped against the seats, forearm thrown over her eyes. “How did we all end up here?” 

“Fate. Destiny.”

“A horse,” Bucky grinned at you knowingly resulting in your laughter at his stupid reference.

“Maybe because we’re all running from something,” Becca ignored you both, staring out of the window.

“Not that deep,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes, turning left. “Besides, I have nothing to run from.”

“Sure about that?” she raised her eyebrows at him. 

You looked at him curiously.

He shook his head wordlessly, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

“Whatever you say, bro.” She shrugged, before an evil smile took over her face. “Hey Bucky, guess what?”

“What?”

“You missed out a song on the list. Guess what we’re listening to on repeat for an hour.”

***

By the time you reached the town, it was nearly four. The plan was to stop at his place, drop off their stuff, say hi to his parents and then leave you at your house.

The Barnes’ house was clearly the most spirited one in the neighbourhood, with decorations lining the front yard all the way up to the door. Reindeers, coloured lights, fake snowmen- everything that you could think of was there.

Bucky lugged his and his sister’s bags out of the car, and held on to the both of them while you and her trudged to the front door. Becca had barely knocked on the front door when it opened with such force that the wind alone nearly knocked you off your feet.

“You’re here!” a voice you had grown up with for over a decade exclaimed, instantly brightening up your mood.

“Hi, Mom,” Becca almost squeaked as her mother half-crushed her to death before releasing her to look her up and down.

“It’s been ages since I’ve seen you both,” she said with a grin, pulling you into a hug as well, patting your back affectionately.

“It’s great to see you again, Mrs. B.”

“You look wonderful as usual, Y/N. How’s school going?”

“I’m scraping by,” you half-joked with a shrug.

“Aren’t we all?” Bucky’s voice nearly startled you from behind you and you parted to give his mother a more clear view of him. 

He beamed at her, adjusting the bags on his shoulder. “Hey, Ma.”

“Is this a horse or my son?” Winnie laughed, pulling Bucky into a hug as soon as he came through the door. Pulling at the strands of his hair, she sighed out another laugh, “Goodness, you’ve got a mane.”

“He’s definitely got the name for it,” Becca teased, earning a glare from him. “What? Bucky sounds like a horse.”

He discreetly flipped her his middle finger, picking up their bags and walking down the hall to their rooms to put them down. You watched him as he disappeared from sight, only snapping out of it due to the weight of a hand on your shoulder.

“You’ll be over for dinner on Christmas Eve, won’t you?” Winnie asked, arm around yours and Becca’s shoulders as she led you into the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls was almost overwhelming, but a quick sense of familiarity soon took over.

“Of course she is. It’s tradition,” Becca answered for you while her mother hummed. 

Your parents weren’t big on Christmas, instead choosing to just spend it like a normal day. For as long as you remembered, Becca had always invited you to spend it with her family and you gladly accepted and soon it became something you looked forward to every year.

“It’s going to be better than last year’s,” she sounded excited as she placed a plate of cookies in front of you. “Ever since these two left, the house has been much more livable.”

It did look cleaner than the last time you were here but the worn out wallpaper, the darkened mantle over the fireplace and the dining table that still had chips in it from the times it was run into remained the same. It was the same comfortable house you’d spent a lot of your childhood in.

“I’d be offended at that if you didn’t actually call me every second day to ask about my life,” she snorted, stuffing a cookie into her mouth, making her mother laugh. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’ll be late but he’ll be here tonight,” she informed her, taking a seat at the table. 

You reached for a cookie only to have the plate pushed towards you. You cast Winnie a grateful look as she just smiled.

“Great, now I know when to avoid him,” Becca said more to herself, and you stopped chewing.

“Rebecca-“ her mom sighed, leaning forward on her elbows.

“He made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to be around me the last time I saw him, Mom.”

“Just give him a chance to adjust, please,” Winnie tried. 

You swallowed thickly, knowing where this conversation was heading.

“Did you tell him about Nat?” Becca cut in, discarding her half eaten cookie on the plate. 

There was silence. 

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“Despite what you think, he doesn’t hate you.”

“He just can’t stand to be near me,” she finished, smiling a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

You had lost your appetite completely, choosing instead to just toy with your fingers and look away from the conversation as if you weren’t there.

“Becca, did you fucking carry your entire dorm room in your backpack or what?” Bucky grumbled as he walked into the kitchen, massaging his wrist.

“No swearing, James,” his mother reminded him softly as he bent down to press a kiss against her cheek.

“Sorry mom,” he didn’t sound very apologetic. He looked at you instead, jingling his keys. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go. I’ll text you Becks,” you said in a hurry. Your chair screeched as you pushed it back, standing up. “Thank you for the cookies, Mrs. B. I’ll see you soon.”

You waved at them, hearing a quick goodbye before jogging to Bucky’s side.

“I’m sorry you got stuck in the middle of that,” he whispered.

“I just don’t get it,” you sighed, ducking to sit in the front seat. “It’s been years now and he still hasn’t budged.”

“We don’t know that yet. Maybe he has,” his voice was unsure and he didn’t look at you as he pulled out of the driveway and back onto the road.

“Maybe.”

There was something playing on the radio that you weren’t paying attention to. It served as background noise as you took in your surroundings. It had been nearly a year since you’d visited home and you missed it, but sometimes it felt easier to avoid some of the things that had happened here.

“You’ll be over for dinner, right?” Bucky asked. His eyes were still trained on the road ahead.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Looking forward to it,” he offered you a smile, prompting you to observe him for a minute.

He had managed to pull a beanie on and looked softer than he already was constantly. His nose was bitten red from the cold, something that you found stupidly endearing even though you’d seen him like this over a hundred times.

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

“Of course you would,” he said, a boyish grin on his face. “Why wouldn’t you want to spend more time with me?”

“Remind me who you are again?” you asked with a tilted head, leaving him laughing. “Your mom’s cooking is the only thing I care about.”

“You’re breakin’ my heart.”

“Assuming you have one, that is.”

He murmured something under his breath that you didn’t catch but you chuckled anyway. You felt lighter somehow, the slight edge you were on smoothing out slowly.

“You excited to be back home?” He turned right into a familiar cul de sac, driving at a much slower speed now.

“Meh. I’m excited to see everyone but… you know.”

“It’s tiring?”

“Incredibly.”

He didn’t have to ask– he knew which house to stop in front of. It was one of the bigger houses on the block, stretching tall over the others in comparison. It looked newly painted and there were lights strung up outside serving as bare minimum decoration.

“Well, I hope you it isn’t as shitty as you think it’s gonna be,” he mumbled, twisting in his seat to face you.

“That’s a nice way to put it.”

“You deserve good things, Mario, you really do.” There was a pink dusting spreading over his cheeks as well, the jacket he had around himself unable to prevent it. Your eyes flitted down to his lips momentarily, finding them slightly dry due to the cold weather but they looked pretty anyway. He was pretty.

“Thanks, Buck,” your voice was unusually soft. “You do, too.”

Neither of you knew what to say and you could feel yourself wanting to put yourself out of your misery by just kissing the idiot. 

But you didn’t. You let yourself take him in for a second more before clearing your throat and looking away, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“I guess it’s time I go see my-“

“Y/N, listen, if you’re free later, or if you want to, I-“ he suddenly interrupted your actions, making you stop to look at him. He paused for a second, never dropping your stare. 

Oh Jesus.

“Yeah?” Please just ask me out, for the love of God.

“I could- I could set you up on the last date?” The what now?

“What?”

“I mean, it’s nearly the end of the year. It’s been months since we started and you’ve still got one date left. I know someone here you might like, if you’re up for it.”

“Um-“ your mind screamed to say no, to just tell him you’re interested in him and move the fuck on, but apparently your body had other plans because the next thing you could remember saying was, “…Okay, alright.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. Last date, right?”

“Yup. Fifth one’s the charm.”

“Ha, hope so,” you couldn’t stop the disappointment in your voice as you shrugged. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, nodding. ”Christmas Eve-Eve.”

“Cool. Catch you then.” 

He bit his lip as you got out of the car, watching as you grabbed the backpack with your stuff and swung it over your shoulder. 

“Thanks for the ride, Bucky.”

You waved at him, he waved at you, and you rang the doorbell. The door swung open immediately and excited arms swooped you off the porch and into the house, door shutting behind you.

Bucky exhaled. He twisted the key to hear the engine sputter before starting fully, knuckles almost translucent with how hard he was gripping the wheel.

“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself. He almost banged his forehead against the window. “You absolute fucking idiot.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #college!bucky #college!au #college!bucky x reader #kumis5kchallenge

[gwoongi]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (9)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 4761

On one hand, it could just be the neighbours cat who did, sometimes, come into the house when your grandparents left the back door open. On the other hand, this could be the exact same as The Walking Dead and you could open the door and find a legless zombie chasing after you- 5 dumb seconds of adrenaline.

a/n: this fic is still on hiatus, due to the rest of it being rewritten and revised!!! please be patient and thank u for all the love :D

warnings: flashbacks, drug use, alcohol, gore, death, twd references, brief suicide mention, struggling mental health

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare ↝ 07. thrones ↝ 08. moon motel ↝ 09. zombies

When Kyungmin heard the distinct sound of boots along the metal fire-escape she looked up from the gun in her hands, spotting Namjoon emerging up the small spiralled staircase to sit on the roof of the motel. She looked back, watching the stars appear sporadically in the dark sky with her feet dangling off the side of the roof, comfortable when her brother sat down next to her.

Namjoon reached into his coat pocket, opening a packet of Marlboro. He toyed with his between his lips, passing the packet to her openly with the raise of his brows, “want a light?”

She shook her head, cringing. “Can’t get over the taste. I’ll pass, thanks, Joonie.”

Namjoon shrugged, pocketing the cigarettes. With one hand, he lit the butt, and the other wrapped around Kyungmin’s hand, tightly, as if afraid to let go. He inhaled the smoke, letting it fill his lungs and choked it out, watching the smoke rush out towards the forest.

“Think they’re getting comfy back there,” he started, and Kyungmin looked over with raised brows, a smile twitching at her lips for a brief moment until it fell. “What? Jealous?”

Kyungmin shrugged.

“Maybe if you ask her, she’ll share him with you,” Namjoon teased, but then he paused, noticing how the skin on Kyungmin’s nose wrinkled, as if disgusted by the idea of being with Taehyung. Funnily enough, that’s exactly how it was. “What? You jealous of him?”

She shrugged again, huffing hair from her face. “It’s whatever, Joon. It’s one of those crushes where you’ve got nobody else to crush on.” Kyungmin waved her hand, “it’ll pass, don’t worry.”

“I guess. She’s pretty, though.”

“Yeah, she is.”

He thought for a long moment. “Is that why you came up here?”

More shrugging. “I had a hunch they’d get to it soon. In any case, it’s not like I wanna be with her. It’s just...a weird attraction. I don’t know. We get along. It’s nice to get along with someone other than you.”

Namjoon scoffed. If this had been any other normal day, without dead people roaming the streets, Namjoon knew everything would be different. 

Back home, back in Korea, he and Kyungmin were never close. With a couple years age difference, Namjoon never wanted to be with his little sister. He had his own friends and his own hobbies, he didn’t need the annoying sister he had to come by to his room and cry when she wasn’t allowed in to play Yugioh with his friends. She got him back for it; when Kyungmin got her first girlfriend aged fourteen, she didn’t want her big brother driving her around, knocking on the door to ask if they wanted something to eat when she knew the only reason he came in was to see if everything was okay. Kyungmin and Namjoon were never close, at least not until he went into translating for a big idol company in Seoul and Kyungmin transferred to LA for University.

He often thought it was funny, how they only got close when they were dragged further apart.

“I’m not that bad,” he muttered, offended.

Kyungmin dipped her head, fiddling with the gun. Bored, she began to reload it, spinning the chamber, the bullets rolling on the concrete next to her, ready to be slotted in. Namjoon barely paid any attention to it, glancing over at the spinning sound and dropping some ash off the edge of the roof.

“You shouldn’t play around with that.”

“Not playing, I’m loading it.”

“No difference,” Namjoon muttered, taking a drag. “If you accidentally shoot yourself, it’s gonna be on me or one of them to get it out of you. And I’m not trained in medicine.”

No, Namjoon had studied literature at a community college back in Korea since he couldn’t afford to go a proper University. That’s the difference between him and Kyungmin- one got all the good stuff afterwards because his parents got better jobs. Not that Namjoon minded much. He was happy studying something he liked at his own pace, whilst working for some company he couldn’t remember the name of for a couple months, building up his muscles and stamina, nicknaming himself Backbreaker with a couple of colleagues who worked in the statistics department.

Namjoon had never considered the slight chance that a zombie apocalypse could happen. Nah, it wasn’t possible to think about back when he was eight, thinking about what he wanted to do for a living. If he had known, he would have gone into medicine, or at least the army. Things would be different if the apocalypse was planned.

Namjoon gave up trying to lecture Kyungmin, knowing her well enough to understand that by now she was old enough to do her own thing and make her own choices. If she wanted to fuck around with a gun and twirl her butterfly knife like some Mob movie gangster, he couldn’t stop her. Taking a long drag from the cigarette, Namjoon glanced at her and held it out between his fingers one last time. “Final offer.”

Kyungmin glared at the cigarette, and Namjoon was shocked to see that the cigarette didn’t set up in flames at the intensity of it. She bit her lip roughly, and snatched it from his fingers. Namjoon smoked a lot lately; she knew that no matter how hard he tried to hide it, she could tell from the yellow staining on his fingers, the black nicotine pushed underneath his nails. Bringing the cigarette to her lips, she took an equally long drag, inhaling the smoke, coughing it out and stubbing the butt. The cigarette then fell, like suicide, from the roof onto the grass down below. Namjoon watched it fall, no longer an advocate for keeping the environment clean like he would have been before the Nukes. The world was ending anyway.

“God, it tastes like shit,” she spluttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Namjoon chuckled from next to her, nudging his shoulder against hers. They didn’t say anything after that, not much besides idle chat about the weather and how food supply was running low. Namjoon was a practical person, he liked things being neat and ordered and under control. As a silence fell over the siblings, Namjoon suddenly realised how easy it was to be around Kyungmin. Realistically, it had nothing to do with the fact that that they were blood related. Even if they hadn’t been related, Namjoon reckons it would have been easy being with her, being around her. Kyungmin had that vibe that mother’s have with babies, that somewhat maternal instinct that makes them nice to be around for a while. Kyungmin liked pretending she was Namjoon’s Mom. Maybe he liked that, maybe he liked having a sister and a mother at the same time, even when she was a couple years younger.

“Joon, I wanna stay with Y/N and Taehyung.”

He said nothing at first, swallowing the nicotine flavoured saliva and looking at her with a blank expression, devoid of emotion. Kyungmin frowned deeper, shuffling to face him, “hear me out.”

“I hear you, Kyungmin, I hear you.”

“It’s not right,” she breathed out, at last, shaking her head. “After everything they’ve done for us, and us them...it would be wrong to just leave them behind. We can’t leave them, Namjoon. I don’t want to.”

Namjoon pondered on that. “You’re my baby sister. The only thing I have left- I know, it’s hard, but I have to think beyond a couple of days. I need to think of the future- our future, Kyungmin, and-”

“We’re alive because of them,” Kyungmin continued, her voice raising slightly. But Namjoon didn’t flinch or cringe or even bat an eyelid. “This world is dark, and cruel, and evil. Like hell, are we leaving them behind in that. Look, Joonie, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but we need to consider the possibility of us not making it back home.”

Namjoon groaned, moving, “Kyungmin, no-”

“Please, Joon,” she rasped, holding onto his sweater paws. “Y/N has a group in Georgia with a boat-”

“-We don’t know that-”

“-and our best bet is on that boat,” Kyungmin explained, heating up her cheeks as she spoke. “And even if there is no boat, then fuck, at least we’re not alone on this ugly planet in this ugly country. Namjoon, I wanna go home more than anything else, but, it’s just not realistic right now. I want to stay safe and I think our best bet is to stay with Taehyung and Y/N. Or, fuck, I don’t know, invite them to come with us. Please, Namjoon. I don’t want to leave them behind.”

To be honest, Namjoon didn’t want to either. But it felt like he was the only person thinking realistically about the situation; there was absolutely zero guarantee that there would be anything in Georgia. Namjoon’s watched about a thousand apocalyptic movies, and the ending is never that simple. Without really realising he reaches for a second cigarette, the small box almost half empty.

Namjoon let out a puff of dark smoke, hissing between his teeth. God, no matter how many fags he smoked, he could never get used to that fucking taste. “I’ll bring it up with Taehyung tomorrow. Kyungmin, I just don’t know what to say anymore. We have to think of us. What do we wanna do?”

They left that question hanging for a bit, quietly watching the sky, trying to pretend that the world around them wasn’t falling apart by the second.

After the second night of staying over at the Moon Motel, Taehyung began to feel as though they had overstayed their welcome.

He proposed it over a tinned dinner, the little fire of salvaged wood from outside and pine cones, a leftover newspaper dating back to 2001 reporting the news of the Twin Towers. Just a quick run, to the small village he knew was nearby, nicknamed Shell-Shock, as he recalled from what he had seen on a left behind map back in the suite.

“It will take less than a day,” Taehyung had said. Namjoon didn’t look convinced. “We’re running low on gas, we’ve got about a day’s worth of food left…”

“It would be really helpful if you went, actually,” Kyungmin said around a mouthful of sweetcorn. “The world still spins, and menstrual cycles still exist.”

The plan was simple, the simplest of plans they’ve ever had all together. Taehyung and Namjoon would take the van for a short ten minute drive to the nearby town, scavenge the area and salvage some parts, and then come back. In that time, Kyungmin and yourself would completely pull apart the motel, looking for anything and everything to help the journey to wherever the fuck they needed to be.

“You know how to shoot this, yeah?”

“Of course I do, Taehyung,” you said, approaching him as he hesitated by the door to the van. Namjoon blinked, not caring about the slight delay, using the time to lecture Kyungmin on things she already knew off by heart. “You’ll be gone for a couple hours tops. We’ll be okay- I’ll be okay.”

He nodded his head frivolously, pulling you by your cheeks to plant a small, dry kiss to your temple. “Just making sure,” and then he was off and inside the van, pulling the doors closed.

Taehyung had never really paid much attention to the interior of the van until given the chance to look around. As Namjoon fiddled with the keys and anxiously checked the meter at least four times before driving off, Taehyung fingered the worn, holey leather and scrunched up his nose at the old and stale smell. It reminded him, now he thinks about it, of his first car after high-school. It was old, a 1983 Dodge Colt in red that had been sitting in a junkyard for around three months until he decided to save up at a job in his local cinema and buy the baby. Like the van, his Dodger had worn leather seats that he was too poor to replace, a deep maroon colour, the insides sticking out like tufts of fur.

For a first car, it wasn’t bad. Actually, it was kind of amazing, the kind of car you saw in those 80’s movies about vampires at your high-school. After he bought his first car, Taehyung bought a leather jacket, regretfully real instead of faux, and smoked his first cigarette. In his defense, it had been down to the peer pressure of his best friend, Seunghee, who picked up smoking from her friend Arin, who picked it up from her Dad during a weekend helping out at the garage he worked in. But, it’s a good memory.

He thought about the memory as the van rolled off beyond the small woods, onto the clear road and down towards Shell-Shock.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Kyungmin said after a while, tugging at the end of Taehyung’s leather jacket- the leather jacket- dressing your arms. “We should start near the kitchen, make our way up.”

3 YEARS PRIOR.

One, two, three. 

Seunghyun’s feet kicked annoyingly into the wooden frame of your bed, pushed up by the off-white wall, his head lulled back onto the dry paint as Jiyong stood hunched over your desk, one finger on his nose, the other tapping the table.

“Fuck, you got any more of this shit?”

Spinning in your chair, you pulled it across the matted carpet towards the bookcase covering a wall with a couple drill holes in. Honestly, when you moved in with your grandparents the Autumn after your mother passed away, you felt as if there had been little need to decorate the attic that was already looking reasonably liveable. With its slanted ceiling and cream walls, a running cream skirting board and old carpet that had been cut and lazily slapped down on the floor, it was enough to call a home.

The bookshelf ran a metre wide, a dripping deep brown shade with all sorts scattered on the shelves. Books from years ago that your grandmother had just put up for storage, a cactus from IKEA, a few photographs in worn out frames presenting Jiyong and Jennie and Seunghyun and whoever else had scurried into your life after the accident, and a sea-shell ornament placed at an angle, reflecting the light in a coral shade. A conch shell, from a trip to Portugal that your Dad went on after he divorced your Mum and spent the next three months pretending as if he gave a damn. The shell, pretty in its design, came in handy in several ways, as you fingered the hole to retrieve a little packet of glittery white powder, an obnoxious J written on it in red ink.

“There’s the beauty,” Seunghyun narrated, his attention alerted. He sat up straight, holding his hand out expectantly. “Gimme.”

Jiyong let out a sigh of relief, his gums aching as he collapsed onto the floor, shuddering like the shivers after a sunburn. “On second thought, that’s enough for me.”

“If you say so,” you said quietly, kicking the chair back towards the door where it hit the wood with a silent pad, enough to remind your grandparents that you were still up here, although occupied, and very much alive. They rarely saw you, actually. Not that they minded that much. 

Even before the accident, they were never very talkative, opting to living life as if their granddaughter wasn’t in the roof snorting lines and popping pills, doing everything and anything to forget and numb the pain, haze the memory of the cancer.

Seunghyun took the bag from you, promptly switching positions as he put the bag on the desk next to a sugary pile of cocaine Jiyong had yet to snort, bringing his attention back to the bed where you lay, staring up at him. You lay still, like a slice of ham. 

He grunted with satisfaction, always ready to dominate, and bunched up your shirt to roll it up over your head. Seunghyun sucked in a breath at the sight of a silk bralette, and a surprised gasp elicited your lips as Seunghyun brought back the packet.

“Please don’t fuck while I’m still in the room.”

“Whatever, we’ve done it before,” Seunghyun said, taking the vial from the desk and using it to draw a line of white on your stomach, a beginners position. Without a word, Seunghyun held his thumb to his nostril and sniffed hard, and with experience cleared up the line of white with a groan following. He tilted his head back afterwards, his eyes folding back, strands of bleached white hair falling back into his eyes when he looked back down at you.

His fingers were still white as he hooked his hands around your bralette, “can this come off?”

“Sure,” you breathed. Jiyong let out a groan, or something, you couldn’t quite remember, rolling back over to the desk to finish off the other line. The loud sound of Jiyong sniffing up the powder overpowered the inhale of breath from Seunghyun as he, with one hand, pulled away your bra, tossing it to the side to palm your tits with both hands, his fingers cold and powdery, the taste on his gums.

“Fuck,” he murmured, using the vial once more to draw a more shaky line down your sternum, gently holding back your breasts to clear the space. With what he had leftover, Seunghyun rubbed his fingers over his gums, groaning, and whilst numbing slowly, brought his face back down to snort his second line. That’s all your bedroom was now, a cave filled with white powder and the quiet sound of “Breaking News” that had disturbed the playlist session showcasing the newest album from Yeseo.

Yeah, you fucking druggies, North Korea might be sending cryptic messages about how those infected by their bomb are gonna rip everyone’s faces off, but it’s okay, yeah? As long as you’ve got your white lines, you’re cool.

“You want some?” Seunghyun asked after a long pause of silence. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you shook your head, sitting up to push his chest back. He stumbled.

“Nah. I’d rather not become a coke addict,” you replied. “Besides, we had a fair trade. Coke for the weed. As per usual…”

Seunghyun smiled razorblades. “Ah, you never let me down. You’re a good girl.”

“D’you think the Denver Quarantine is gonna burst?”

Seunghyun pocketed the remains of the coke in the packet, glancing at Jiyong hunched on the floor. In a whiff, Seunghyun noticed the smell in the room, something like weed and off-cheese, the twang of alcohol and the same old lavender candle on the dresser by the mirror on the wall. He grimaced, reaching towards the window to push it open, airing out the room.

“What’s that got to do with...anything?”

“Just asking,” Jiyong shrugged. “Cause the radio just said that. Said the one in Washington got blown up this afternoon.”

Neither you or Seunghyun said anything. The elder shifted uncomfortably on two feet, already starting his cigarette for the way out. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, at least it’s them and not us,” Seunghyun replied as if it was the easiest answer in the world. “Denver ain’t coming down. You seen the size of those walls?”

“That’s what they thought about the Washington ones, too,” Jiyong shrugged, tightening his belt. “Ah well, fuck it. If the tossers come out, they come out, eh?”

Seunghyun shook his head, sniffing once. “You’re too deep on crack, man.”

Jiyong snorted but said nothing more. Jiyong was practically family at this point, having been a friend since before the start of high-school, during the divorce, after the cancer; he shrugged on his brown Oak and Fort coat, kicking around a packet of pills off the floor and using his foot to shoot it up into his hands, already opening the door leading downstairs. No doubt your grandparents would smell Jiyong before he bounded down the stairs, since he never came round smelling like anything other than booze, fags or faint sweat. Naturally the smell didn’t even matter to you anymore.

Listening to the sound of Jiyong’s socked feet disappearing down the stairs, Seunghyun adjusted the waist of his jeans and shrugged into his own jacket, then moving to pull your face in for a brief, nonetheless deep, kiss, all in one movement. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The boys vanished together, as they came, back outside the small home and into Jiyong’s jeep. It didn’t take watching from the window to hear it groan to a start, the engine revving obnoxiously as if Jiyong was trying to make a statement. Too high to drive, he reversed into one of the ditches across the road, struggling to get up, and then he cruised down the road at a desirable speed, the sound of Babymetal on the speakers.

Downstairs, you could hear your grandparents shuffling around, switching off lights and moving into the back bedroom where they’d probably stay all afternoon. To avoid the smell, maybe. Moving on the chair to kick the door closed, you relaxed when it clicked shut and you rolled back to your desk, switching on the lamp, sliding into a shirt and opening Google Docs on your laptop. You rubbed your finger across the leftover powder on your desk, considering sprinkling it to the ground but at the last second spreading it across your own gums. Because nothing beat writing Seunghyun’s essay on Henry VIII’s foreign policy than being off your face whilst doing it.

The scheduled hour of essay writing slowly turned into six hours of sleeping at the desk, your face shoved into the crook of your elbows with the sound of Childish Gambino in your ears on full blast. By the time you stirred awake uncomfortably, the sky was a blood orange, and you barely registered the faint line of charcoal in the sky until the Childish Gambino record looped for probably the 100th time, the beat making your head bop as you moved to the open window to stare at it.

With the earphones still in your ears, you remembered feeling incredibly uncomfortable listening to Donald Glover sing in a high tone, watching the smoke rise from the Denver cityscape beyond the dense woods, and the sight of oil and blood and about three starfish bodies on the road outside your window. At first, it didn’t seem real, as if you were dreaming vividly. It reminded you of the movies, the first episode of The Walking Dead where Rick has no fucking idea what’s happening. Oh, what a day to feel like Rick Grimes.

Slowly you pulled your earphones out, Donald shutting up, straining to hear absolutely nothing outside besides the obnoxious car alarm, something like gunshots in the city and the very faint sound of scratching behind your door. 

At first you almost missed it, the sound so quiet that you could have ignored it all together. You probably would have done, if it hadn’t been for the fact that there were three starfishes out on the main road, and nothing but the very unusual sound of literal warfare in the city.

Setting your phone and earphones to the side, your feet moved towards the door, slowly enough that the noises didn’t cease as they would if something approached the door. Instead, the scratching continued, almost sounding like a kitty pining for attention. 

You didn’t own a cat.

Refraining from the stereotype of horror movies, you didn’t bother calling out to whoever- or whatever- was outside the door. As if out of instinct, you paused before turning the handle, suddenly as still as stone. On one hand, it could just be the neighbours cat who did, sometimes, come into the house when your grandparents left the back door open. On the other hand, this could be the exact same as The Walking Dead and you could open the door and find a legless zombie chasing after you-

5 dumb seconds of adrenaline; you yanked open the door and hurried back a few steps, a strangled noise clawing at your throat as the door hit off the wall and revealed an empty staircase. Well, partly empty, if you ignored the fact that your grandmother was literally on all fours on the floor with half of her face missing.

Fuck you, Rick Grimes.

Unlike most pop-culture-induced teenagers, you had never given a zombie apocalypse much thought. Understandably, you had no idea what to do except stumble backwards in panic when she- or it- crawled forwards on all fours, scurrying like a feral animal. With half her jaw hanging by a slick piece of flesh, she picked one bone thin knee up off the second to last step, and in a frenzy, you moved to kick it, sending her tumbling down the stairs in a small nursery rhyme sounding set of thuds.

A groan from down the stairs began to get louder, and you pushed yourself back towards the bookshelf, in a position where you wouldn’t make it to the door before she got up to you. With one million different thoughts racing through your head, and the sight of a white nightgown out the corner of your eye, you turned to the bookshelf and scanned for something- anything to use as a weapon.

You threw a stuffed animal. 

You don’t know why, knowing it would do zilch as it bounced off the top of her head, bobbing up the stairs like a buoy on water. And then you saw it, the same coral colour of the conch shell, the spikes protruding like tiny swords. It was this or nothing. Sorry, Dad.

Grabbing the conch with one hand, you turned on your sock to face the groaning and grunting body of what should have been your grandmother, her legs hanging down on the floor like they were useless, and they probably were. The nightgown she always wore to bed was shredded at the hem, one breast hanging out with blood smeared over her neck and jaw, her face torn open like a lion to a gazelle.

It groaned upwards, a hand pointing out, asking for something to grab, and you kicked it away. You cringed at the feeling of bone underneath your foot, your heel digging into her voice box as you moved to stand over her and her biting mouth, and all at once, you brought the conch shell to her face and smashed. 

The demon that had always been inside of you somewhere snapped, the smell of blood driving her insane as she wrapped her body around yours, lacing her fingers between your own, moving your hand down, down, down, down, down, to smash, smash, smash, smash, until the face between your knees was bloody and red, with piles of flesh and blood clots and a glass eyeball that rolled on the floor underneath the bed. Even with half her face missing, the grandmother-imitator writhed, her hands clawing at your jeans, although her blunt fingernails made no damage to the material.

“You gotta aim for tha head,” Rick Grimes said in your head, pointing to your temple, and you swore you could feel the coolness of a gun against your skull. “Come on, Y/N, it’s dead. Ain’t gonna get ya. Aim for tha head, darlin’-”

Smash. One dent in her forehead. Smash. The skin caved in, like a sinkhole, muddy red rising up as the white smashed against the blade of the conch. And she wouldn’t stop controlling your hand, guiding it down like a virgin in sex, whispering the ways of murder in your ears, “that’s it, sweetheart,”, cutting off Rick Grimes as he pulled the trigger of his gun against your head, the air escaping through your lips and as you jolted in surprise, you noticed that the conch shell was coated in glistening red, her skull smashed in to the point where the brain had been punctured, blood pooling out like a water feature, the body of the grandmother-imitator still and comatose on the floor.

Oh, what an inappropriate time for Zombies to play in your earphones on the bed.

#ktaenet #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #bts #bangtan #bts imagine #bts scenarios #taehyung #taehyung scenarios #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #taehyung fanfic #kth #bts x reader #bts smut #bts zombie au #bigbang #top #gdragon #choi seunghyun #kwon jiyong #kim namjoon #namjoon scenarios #knj #bts v #tlou #the last of us #tw: gore #tw: zombies #tw: death

[bubblieywubbliey]

Zoe x Reader Part 2

I’m sorry this took so long to post! I’ve been going through a lot of family drama and combined with my mock exams I’ve been so busy but here you go!

Zoe plopped her tray down next to you at the lunch table and she gave you a quick kiss before you returned to your conversation.

“No, Evan, trees are NOT better than dogs!”

“But trees are just big and strong and there. Dogs need so much work, and they’re scary!” Your best friend argues back and you threw your hands up in defeat.

“Fine!” You exclaimed and put a forkful of pasta into your mouth. You suddenly felt a hand on your leg and looked at Zoe, alarmed.

“Is something wrong, Y/N?” You raised an eyebrow and replied, managing to keep your voice even.

“No. How was your lesson?” She crept her fingertips to the hem of your skirt.

“It was fine, we had a supply so we didn’t really do anything. Yours?” She forced you to speak as she slid her hand into your skirt, knowing full well that your underwear was in her jeans pocket. You gave her a warning glare and she continued to disregard it.

This time you stuttered slightly, redness creeping onto your face as her her hand was creeping up your thigh towards her destination.

“U-uh it was fine.” You mumbled and she prompted you to speak again.

“What lesson was it again?” You knew this was bullshit. Zoe had your timetable memorised. Just as you began to answer, she brushed past your exposed clit and you gasped, not being able to help widening your legs slightly.

“Ah- um it was English.” You gasped and she smiled smugly as she pressed one fingertip against your entrance. Your face had turned completely red at this point and you could feel your clit throbbing at the teasing.

“Are you okay Y/N? You look really warm, are you coming down with a fever?” Evan places a hand on your shoulder suddenly, worry clear on his face as you jumped slightly at his touch.

“Uh, yeah! I’m fin-“ you cut yourself off as she suddenly thrust a finger into you, not even easing you into it. She held her hand completely still inside you and you attempted to cough over your moan. You squeezed your legs together to ensure she wouldn’t move again. “I’m fine.” You gently removed Evan’s hand from your shoulder and returned to your food.

A few minutes passed and Connor sat down next to Evan, kissing him on the cheek. Zoe pulled her fingers out of you and you sighed half in annoyance, half in relief as she settled for rubbing small circles on your thigh. The four of you chatted for the next ten minutes, a couple more of your friends joined you at the table, Jared and Michael sat down with Brooke and the three of them immediately started joking around. You felt something ghost over your neck and turned to see Zoe’s nose brushing against your neck.

“Why, do you wanna get out of here? I’m so done with all this.” She mumbled into your neck and pressed a singular kiss to your sweet spot before pulling away. You couldn’t help but pull her back in for a kiss. You pressed your lips against hers and her hand flew to your cheek, you didn’t even remember that you were in public until a chorus of ‘ooh!'s erupted from the other table occupants. You considered pulling away, but the feeling of Zoe’s fingers tracing your neck was too good to stop. She pulled away from you gently and turning to your friends.

“What?” She asked, as your friends all melted over the kiss.

“Zoe can you keep your tongue out of Y/N for 5 seconds?” Connor commented, rare laughter sparkling in his eyes.

“I’ll just put it somewhere else then!”

Zoe got up and ducked down under the table to pretend to put her tongue somewhere else in you, laughing as you feigned pleasure, gasping over dramatically. Laughter erupted around the table.

“Zoe!” You faked moaning and placed a hand on her head under the table.

“If you’re not careful this is gonna become a competition!” Connor said, tying his hair in a ponytail and fiddling with Evan’s zipper. More giggles as Evan turned red before pushing his boyfriend away firmly.

“Guys!” Evan mumbled and Zoe stood back up. You turned to see Jake stood over the two of you.

“Wow, you guys wanna go somewhere? I’m sure I outdo Zoe in that department.” Your ex-boyfriend appeared behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You snorted, automatically replying, “you really never did.” Before realising that this was Jake you’re talking to. His hand slid further down your back and Zoe glared at him as you attempted to shift further away. He slid into the seat next to you and placed a hand around your shoulder.

“Are you sure? I think you miss this.” He asked. You turned to him and smiled. “Yes. Definitely sure.” You turned back to your girlfriend, who had been ghosting her hand on your thigh. She slid her fingers back under your skirt and sunk them inside you. You tensed your entire body and barely held back a moan.

“C’mon baby, the things I’ve done to you, mmh. You couldn’t walk straight for a week.” He muttered to you and your eyes widened as Zoe thrust her fingers in and out of you.

“H-holy shit.” You muttered and pushed her hand away from you, standing up. You pulled her off the bench and dragged her away from the table.

“Shit baby, do I make you that hot?” Jake shouted, starting after the pair of you. You ignored him and Zoe yanked you into an empty classroom, pulling the blind down and before she could even turn around you pushed her against the door, kissing roughly down her neck. You heard a knuckles rap on the glass window of the door as Jake tried to come in.

“Girls?” He asked through the door but neither of you replied. Zoe flipped you around and wasted no time in pushing two fingers into you. You cried out, moaning her name as she thrust them into you.

“Can you take three?” She asked, referring to her fingers.

“Yes oh my god, yes, please!” You panted and whined as she kissed down your neck, whispering to you about how much she loved you, how hot you looked right now, how much she couldn’t wait for you to cum so she could see your face. You kissed passionately, her thrusting into you. You could feel yourself edging but you knew what you needed to push you over.

“Z-zoe… I need- oh god!” She thrust particularly roughly, sucking hard on your neck as she did.

“What do you need baby, tell me.” She whispered into your collar bone, kissing along it.

“M-my clit… please…” you moaned out, your chest heaving and hips thrusting against her hand. She pushed you into the desk and lay you down on it. You felt the desk dip slightly as it took Zoe’s weight as well, looking up you saw her on all fours over you.

“You’re gonna enjoy this.” She promised and you closed your eyes, taking in the smell of her hair as it draped over your shoulder. You felt her push back into you, you leaned up into her and she pushed you down with her free hand before she turned the wrist of the hand that was in you, her thumb making contact with your clit while she thrusted. You cried out and writhed on the table, Zoe kissing your neck and making her way down to your breasts. You felt her curl her fingers inside you, pushing you to the point where you could barely stand the pleasure.

She pulled your top up along with your bra and sucked on one and then the other, alternating as she edged you towards your orgasm. You felt it building in the pit of your stomach and heard her sweet voice guiding you there.

“Come on, baby cum for me, please..” She almost begged you, moving away from your breasts and kissing your jawline up to your lips. You felt yourself reach your peak and your leg started twitching as she kissed you deeply, her hair falling all over you and the fabric of her cuffed jeans rubbing against your exposed legs.

“Z-Zoe..” You mumbled as you came around her fingers. She kissed your cheek and then pulled her fingers out of you. You stood up on shaky legs and pulled your top down and your panties back up.

“Fuck, Zoe. That was really good.” You told her and she smiled nervously, her cheeks flushing red.

“Well, I knew I could do better than Jake,”

“You know it’s you right? God you’re better than him in every way.” You pulled her towards you, placing your hands around her waist and pressing your foreheads together. She nodded and you kissed her gently, before it became slightly more passionate.

“God please, do me.” She grunted and you pushed her up against the door again.

“Think it’s your turn now? Is that what you think? It’s not gonna be that easy.” You whispered into her ear. Fingers ghosting over her zipper as you kissed her. You pressed your lips gently to her neck and she tilted her head back to give you more access to her sweet spot.

Zoe was gasping against the top of your head as you unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down along with her panties. Suddenly you slowed down, dropping to your knees you kissed the inside of her thighs lightly, and definitely too slowly.

“Y/N… Please…” she begged you to touch her but you disregarded her request, instead standing up to unbutton her flannel shirt. “Oh for fucks sake.” She groaned, helpless and squirming against the door, knocking the blind as she tried to create some friction between her thighs.

You spotted her hand sneaking down towards her crotch and grabbed it, pinning it above her head alongside the other one and kissing down her neck, pulled her shirt off before restraining her again and placing torturous kissed down the called of her breasts, groaning into her soft skin.

“Y-Y/N…” She grunted, every movement of her body simply begging you to fuck her. You dropped back down to your knees and rubbed a finger around her entrance. You teased her until she couldn’t bear it anymore, she nearly yelled your name in frustration and just as she nearly snapped you pushed your finger into her, tracing circles around her clit with your tongue. She fell silent and her breathing became heavier as her knees wobbled. You thrust a singular finger in and out of her slowly, still teasing.

“Y/N I swear to fucking god if you don’t hurry up right now.” She almost commanded you and you simply reached a hand up to her chest, pushing her bra up and rubbing them roughly. Light moans escaped her lips as her head rested against the door. You released her clit to stand up and finally fuck her. You kissed her softly, whispering into her ear.

“I love you.” You spoke before finally thrusting two fingers into her at a wild pace, rubbing her clit with your other hand and kissing up and down her neck.

“S-shit, shit!” She struggled not to cry out too loud as she hurled towards her orgasm, using all of her willpower to prevent herself from screaming your name for fear of discovery.

“God you’re so hot babe, cum for me, come on.” You grunted into her ear as your hand began to ache, wanting her to get off before it cramped up completely.

“Y-Y/N… holy shit you fuck me so good, Jake could never…” she mumbled, barely coherent as her orgasm approached. You carried thrusting and kissing up and down her neck, occasionally sucking, forming a fresh hickey. Her neck was littered with them now, her chest heaving and her neck bright red and purple. You heard a small whimper escape your girlfriend and you know she’s about to cum.

“Y/N! God!” She gasped as you thrust in and out of her, clinging on to you as you kissed her through her peak, her fingers clenching around you.

You gently pulled your fingers out and she collapsed onto the floor.

“Y/N? Zoe? Are you okay? I told Jake to fuck off, yeah?” Connor knocked on the door and you helped Zoe up. Opening the door, you both stepped out.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just wanted to escape Jake, he’s disgusting.”

“That’s valid.” Evan replied, taking your hand and squeezing it comfortingly. You made eye contact with Zoe and saw the mischief in her eyes as Connor draped an arm over his sister, talking about how he was gonna “fuck Jake up for saying that shit” to his sister. You smiled and walked back to the lunch hall with them.

#connor murphy #dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen x reader #evan hansen x reader smut #deh #jared kleinman #x reader smut #smut #zoe murphy #zoe murphy x reader #zoe smut #zoe x reader #deh x reader #x reader #myownfics