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dojunie · 2 years

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ITWD [CH 1]; Wolves? Not as ravenous as one may think.

[★]; TWO BOYS. TWO UNIVERSITIES. TWO RIVALING TEAMS. And then there’s you, stuck weightlessly in the middle of it. The time left on the clock is running out— and soon, you’re going to have to pick a side.

[itwd masterlist] [next part]

sneak peek; You'd caught him staring at you quite a few times during warm up. Eyebrows always furrowed and bottom lip pulled perpetually between his teeth, watching you unreadably like he was deliberating something very hard. Had he just been oogling, you would have simply ignored it— but for some reason, you felt like whatever was running through his brain was a little more weighted than just stealing glances. "Hey you," you whisper. "01. I never got your name." The unclear look in his eyes doesn't waver when he glances at you. "...Jeno. Lee Jeno."

wc; 7.7k

warnings; none!

a/n: here's the first chapter of INTO THE WOLVES DEN! it's finally here! im probably going to make a separate post talking about update schedules and whatnot, so look out for that! thanks for reading!

taglist; @aedreamzy @grassbutneo

YOU AWAKEN TO NOISE. NOISY NOISE.

Not normal, expected sounds, like someone tromping around in the dorm above yours, or the early-bird tennis player that lives two doors down thwacking a ball around in the confines of their own room— because you can sleep through that no problem now, after all, since you've been living here for an entire week— but something closer. Something urgent and unyielding, thudding in your ears even after you roll over and pull your pillow desperately over your head.

The sun is still rising and someone is pounding on your bedroom door.

"What?" you cry. It comes out a tad ragged, like the last thing you’d done before you went to sleep last night was eat shards of glass. "What is it?"

The door squeaks on its hinges as it swings open, and your roommate Yooyoung pokes her head in with a pout so big that it can be seen even in the early morning light. What time is it?

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You told me to wake you up when I got up for practice.”

“Prac…tice?”

Being awoken so suddenly is wreaking havoc on your brain power. Practice, she’d said. Practice? Yooyoung played volleyball. You did not play volleyball. You haven’t had to wake up for practice in months. Why the hell would you—

“The basketball thing, remember? With your dad?”

She rolls her eyes after a moment, sounding exasperated. “Do not tell me you forgot today was the first day of classes, Y/N-ah. It's Monday. Are you serious right now?” And then, under her breath, “What am I going to do with you…?”

You mutter something rude in response, but now that she’s mentioned your father, the reason why you needed her to essentially beat your door down begins to form in murky clarity. First day of classes? (What an understatement. First day of your new life, more like it.)

White sunlight streams through the window of your dorm. Despite how short of a time you’ve been here, the room is already a mirror image of your personality: all your sneakers lined up messily against the closet, the signed Larry Bird jersey frame hanging behind your door (courtesy of Chenle’s incredibly expensive and completely bonkers idea of a ‘gag gift’), and a few of your favorite trophies scattered on various shelves; a dozen little peeks into your inner workings with the music posters on your walls and the pictures of your friends splattered on every blank surface.

You gaze over the photos, lingering on the newest addition— a shitty, half blurred, off-center photo Chenle took of you and Jaemin at Han River a few months ago— before turning to your dorm mate and rubbing the crusties out of your eyes.

“Maybe you should’ve woken me up with a soft, Baekhyun ballad or something then. Not your hulky volleyball punches. I thought we were being raided.”

Yooyoung just laughs a tinkling sound, blonde pony swinging as she disappears from behind the white oak.

Having succeeded in her mission of waking you up, you assume she’s off to clean up for her own early morning activities— varsity captain things that you do not envy— which leaves you to grumble and stew in the terribly bright sunlight of 8AM by yourself.

You should probably follow in her footsteps and go wash your face.

It would wake you up a little faster. It would give you something to do that isn’t sitting around and moping for the next hour before you’re actually obligated to get ready.

Washing your face would also rid you of any morning crusties that linger. It’s a good, formidable, and responsible idea…

…Which means that you only consider it for a second or two, max, before you flop back down into your mattress, kicking around until you’re completely resituated back under the duvet.

The magnetic pull of screwing around on your phone wins out over being a productive human being for a whopping thirty minutes. You spend that time scrolling through Instagram, texting stupid memes to your friends even though they’re definitely not awake yet, shouting goodbye to Yooyoung when she leaves for practice, and eventually end up succumbing to one of those stupid ads that show someone playing a mobile game just terribly enough to piss you off and make you download it out of spite.

It's right as you’re about to angrily sink five dollars into said game (cutting pixelated soap with a boxcutter), that a text swoops down from the top of the screen and allows your bank account a few more seconds to live.

[PapaPointGuard, 8:49AM] Hey, Kiddo. You mind coming into the practice court at 9:30 instead of 10? I'm in an emergency meeting w dean about scheduling. Need someone to set up drills and make sure everything is good just in case it goes over. [PapaPointGuard, 8:50AM] You sure you remember how to place the cones for through-backs? Ha Ha Ha

Very funny. You’d roll your eyes if you knew anyone besides you could see it.

[You 8:50AM] haha yourself, old man. It’s been six months, not a hundred years. i could probably set up tb's in my sleep. [You 8:51AM] i oughta report u to the labor board though for having me up at the asscrack of dawn [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] Language, Ace [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] And wear something nice, please [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] That means no basketball shorts or hoodies. I want the team to think of you like an extension of me, and to take you seriously as an aide to them this season. [PapaPointGuard, 8:52AM] And I know you’d never do anything to jeopardize your health, but remember our talk, yeah? Love you.

Your eyes trail over the last text one, two, and then three times, and your smile slips a little bit more with every iteration.

Of course, you think bitterly, climbing mood instantly taking a blow. Wouldn’t be a conversation with him without that, huh?

Shaking your head, you're about to petulantly toss your phone aside when the sudden ringtone makes you jump— Day 1, by Honne— and your dour mood stops right in its tracks.

Accept call from... 'Na Nana'?

Your frown slowly melts into a smile. He always has had inhumanly perfect timing.

“Oof,” Jaemin laughs. His voice is faint from how far he’d pulled the speaker from his ear after you squealed into the receiver, and you hear the distant chatter of other guys in the background too— was he at the practice gym already? “How are you so giddy this early?” he asks sleazily, a smile obvious in his voice. “It’s because it’s me calling, right? Right?”

“You wish,” you grin. “Gamdogja’s first official practice is today, so I was already awake. You’re calling me from practice too?”

“Yes ma’am. Got a few minutes before we warm up, so I thought I’d bother you. What are you doing?”

“Uhhhh. Good question?”

Putting on the clothes you piled up on your desk last night is what you’re supposed to be doing right now, considering that you’ve now got half an hour less to get ready to leave, but you’d forgotten about that instantly when the phone rang. Oops.

“I’m gonna put you on speaker so I can change, cool?”

“Icy cool. Actually, that reminds me of what Mark and I were talking about last night— we were saying how funny it would be if you wore a Yonsei Basketball shirt to their practice. Like, the brightest, bluest jersey you own, just to really rub it into those guys where your loyalties lay, y’know?”

You roll your eyes at how he cackles. “That sounds suspiciously like something you’d come up with without Mark’s help. You want me to get jumped, is that it? So I’ll come crying back to Yonsei?”

“Jumped isn’t the word for it, but you know if it meant you’d come back…”

“You’re sick, Na.”

Flinging the phone onto your pillow, you rush through tugging the GDSC Basketball shirt over your head and wiggling into your jeans. Before you can ask where Chenle is, belatedly surprised that your phone call with Jaemin hasn’t been interrupted yet by the screechy shooting guard, the universe answers that question for you.

“Noonaaaaa!” His high tone cuts through the air and makes you wince even from halfway across your room. There he is.

“Thought you could escape me, huh, traitor? Are you feeling bad yet?”

There’s a sharp smack on the line. Then the sound of muffled bickering. All you catch is Jaemin’s ‘If you wanna talk, call her yourself!’ before he’s back, huffing into the receiver.

“Anyway! Before I was so rudely cut off, I was going to ask why you're getting ready so early. I thought the wolves were on a mid-start schedule?”

“They are,” you explain as you lace your sneakers. (Do you have to start saying ‘we’ from now on, since you're technically a Timberwolf now…? Ugh. Identity politics.) “But Coach needs me to come in earlier today and set up drills because he’s talking to the dean about something or other.”

“Oh. So your official first day of coaching those brats is about to begin, then?”

“You know I’m not allowed to call them that, Jaem, and I’m not coaching them. I’m doing the same thing I used to do with you guys: Setting up drills, going over movebooks, conditioning, strategy talks…”

You easily list off all the tasks you’d had a hand in helping with when your dad coached Jaemin and the others at Yonsei. “All the regular stuff.”

“The ‘regular stuff’ for you is basically a coach’s salary worth of work, you know. Man, maybe Chenle was right— you’re totally a traitor, Y/N-ah. How are we supposed to compete when they’ve got your big brain behind their plays?”

You’re done getting ready. Realistically, you actually needed to go now if you wanted to get to the court for 9AM, but the last thing you wanted to do was tell Jaemin that. Even if it was through the phone, his voice was the most familiar thing you’ve had the luxury of bringing with you from Yonsei to GDSC— and it’s also the only thing keeping you from thinking about the fact that, in a few hours, you were going to be standing in front of a whole team of Gamdogja Timberwolves basketball players, alone— and the idea of being without him so soon brings a pit to your stomach.

So, instead of telling Jaemin you need to hang up like a normal person: you plop down on your bed and bring the phone back to your ear.

“I’m not a traitor,” you mutter tersely after a moment. “You guys act like I wanted this. To transfer here and leave all my friends behind. I didn’t.”

Even behind your half joking tone, Jaemin must sense the truth in your voice because he only makes a soft hum. “...Yeah. Yeah, I know. I said something stupid, right? I’m sorry. It’s just… weird not having you here.”

“Imagine how weird I feel. It’s like everyone here at Gamdogja is some walking, talking, sports anime caricature, Jaem. No one is allowed to just like soccer passively, or screw around with tennis for fun on the weekends— every student here is the absolute best at whatever they play. I tried to join a pick-up game of badminton yesterday and almost got laughed out of the park.”

“...Badminton? Wow. Don’t you know those freaks will take that game to the death? You should have known better, Y/N-ah, than to try—”

A whistle in the background of Jaemin’s call drags his attention, snapping you out of your grin as well. Shit. You’d gotten kind of carried away again.

Your wall clock now reads an unforgiving, blinking 9:02AM, and the reality of your situation once again hits you with unforgiving speed. You really needed to get going.

“Hold on,” Jaemin says, voice quickly solidifying, taking on a more distracted edge. From the sounds of it he must have to go too. “Coach Hyo is about to start conditioning so I’ve got to hang up soon— But before I go, you’re still coming to our first game on Friday right? The, uh… the team was asking me last night. I mean I don’t know if you remember but it’s on my birthday, so you’re kind of obligated—”

“Na Jaemin I cannot believe you just said that.”

“What! I don’t know, maybe you’ve already gone and made a bunch of cool, know-it-all private school friends. With all the new birthdays you might’ve put in your planner, who knows if you’ll remember mine.”

“You are such a baby. First of all, you know I don’t use a planner. And second of all, I’ve had your birthday basically tattooed in my calendar since we were eleven! I’ve been gone barely a week, and you’re already starting to doubt me? And you say I’m the traitor?”

He only giggles at your indignancy. Brat.

“Mmm… fine. I guess I’ll believe you, Ace. And I’ll call you tonight, alright? Don’t— Jesus, Chenle, I’m coming! You go start the relay if you care so much!— Uh… yeah, don’t let any of those snotty Wolves get you down, okay? Later!”

And without a moment for you to give him your goodbye, the line goes dead and your best friend drifts back into his own world.

Much like you should be, you suppose. But instead, for the third time this morning, you neglect being responsible and flop back onto your duvet for a moment of silence.

Just a week, right? Just a week. Actually, if you wanted to get specific, it was more like five days. You just had to get through five days before you could see him and all your friends again. It feels like endless forever right now, but that was probably because not being pasted to Jaemin's side for longer than a few days practically is forever to you. He's been your other half for half your life.

When you were sulking about the transfer a few weeks ago, your dad had tried to cheer you up by mentioning that it might be a good thing to separate you two for a little while.

"Maybe you guys need this," he'd said. "You both rarely talk to or about anyone else but each other, Ace. New perspectives is never a bad thing, and hell, maybe not being stuck to each other for 23 hours a day will teach you something new about yourselves. Try new things. Meet new people."

To which you'd so quickly replied with, "I know other people!" before he said the rest of the basketball team didn't count, and then... well.

He'd won the debate pretty quickly after that.

You look at the clock on your desk. 9:06, now. With a sigh, you finally force yourself to your feet.

Sitting around in here reminiscing surely wouldn't help your mood; and your first day in the wolves den wouldn’t start itself.

The TB is set up so quickly and so easily, that at first, you're sure you've done something wrong.

Orange cones on the half court line, white cones on the two. Three black and red, brand new basketballs on the half for whoever started the TB. That’s it, right? You'd gone over it twice to make sure you wouldn't get shunned out of the gymnasium for setting up the wrong drill or something stupid like that, but it was good. Perfectly placed.

They're all there, sitting pretty on their points for the team, but... it was only 9:35. You were already done.

And practice didn't start until 10:30.

You really didn’t think this through, and it seems like your dad didn’t either: What the hell were you supposed to do in here for an hour?

Sitting and just waiting was out of the question. All the good that would do is give your thoughts free reign. You look around listlessly and are only met with boring red stadium seats, an empty press box, and vast… silent gymnasium.

(With hindsight being what it is, it should have probably been around this exact point where your brain rumbled to life; where it realized where exactly these thoughts were going to lead. Where the brakes should have been pulled.

But, while regret is a constant in your life, common sense is not— and it should have been a surprise to absolutely nobody what you did next.)

Your hips creak as you bend over to scoop up one of the basketballs.

The dotted leather is firm against your fingertips when you spin it innocently between your palms a few times.

Truly, there’s no reason to pretend. If someone were to see you right now there’s no way they wouldn’t know what was about to happen, but feigning vague interest in the chemical make-up of a basketball makes you feel a little less guilty.

You turn and gauge the distance from here to the other backboard. It’s a little less than half court. 30 feet maybe, and you can practically hear Jaemin in your ear clicking his tongue at you in that way he knows you hate when you hesitate to bring the ball above your head.

'You know better," he'd scold. 'Your heart is pounding because you know you shouldn't be doing this.'

'One free throw has literally never killed anybody,' you think back bitterly.

Ugh. Almost out of spite now, you bend your knees and leap, watching with squinted eyes as it sinks through the net.

Swish!

Well...Alright. You guess you've still got it.

Half court has never been anything crazy to you, so you're not sure why you're so pleased that it went in; but it has been a few months after all. You hesitate a little before you retrieve the basketball, feeling like your lungs are taking up your whole chest when you walk it back a little further than halfway.

Just to see, of course, and what do you know. You make that basket too. But it could have been a fluke! A product of the wind... although you're inside a closed gymnasium, but who knows?

You'll only be sure if you do a few more test shots.

The minutes tick by without your knowledge and you lose count of how many baskets you make.

The intensity grows as well, your silent steps evolving into sharp thuds as you mindlessly go from easy free-throws to full solo attack plays... and fortunately for you, messing around like this is a great cure for boredom.

Unfortunately for you, it turns out to be a great cure for everything else, too— including self awareness.

So it's no surprise that you don't hear the sound of the double doors clicking open.

You only stop when you miss for the very first time. The luck had to run out eventually; you toss the ball wildly at the last second of your imaginary buzzer, and the warble of it cracking off the rim and off the court entirely rings out like a curse. The ball goes completely left field and at this you actually curse; breathing a little hard, you lazily watch it bounce off towards the sidelines forlornly.

Damn.

That’s about as bold a sign to cut it out as any, you think. God, you’re even sweating a little when you jog off to get the ball, returning it to it’s spot on the TB while you wipe your forehead with your wrist.

What time is it? It couldn’t have been that long, you barely—

“That last one was pretty close.”

Your eyes fly open.

Instantly, the gym shrinks. The pleasant warmth in your body turns ice cold.

You would have probably been embarrassed about the wail that came out of your mouth if you weren’t so, so startled; and when you instinctually whirl around to the source of the voice, you're not sure what you're expecting to see.

A murderer, maybe; Possibly a demon. Both would be pretty bad.

A vengeful basketball ghost might be the worst of all.

But of all the things you're expecting to be there when you turn, a boy standing on the other side of the court isn't one of them.

Just... a boy.

He’s dressed head to toe in red Timberwolf gear, but that’s the last thing you take care to notice.

"If you pull in your elbows," he starts, completely unfazed by your scream, "It’ll give you a little more accuracy—"

"What the hell, dude?!"

It comes out a little harsher than you'd intended, cardiac arrest and all, but all he does is blink. The pause gives you enough time to calm your pounding heart and drop back to reality. You’d been about to check the time before he materialized and more urgently than ever, your eyes fly to the scoreboard clock on the wall behind his head.

10:15, it reads.

But... that can’t be right, right? 40 minutes have passed?

“Oh," the boy says suddenly, slowly, and you snap back to him. “Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I thought you heard me come in."

You didn’t. At all. How your howl of absolute terror didn’t tip him off to that you have no clue.

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, and the movement drags you to his attire again. There’s a white ‘01’ stitched onto his sleeve under the tiny Timberwolf mascot and your eyes zero in on it. That’s a jersey number, isn’t it? That’s… a jersey number.

Oh, God. Wait.

"You’re on the basketball team?"

"Yeah,” 01 says. You hope he can’t see how you grimace.

A brief silence falls. You'd thought a lot about how your first interaction with a Timberwolf would go, and whatever was happening right now was not one of them. You stand there are stare at him for what feels like years, half embarrassed you'd been caught running around in here by yourself, and half mortified it was a Timberwolf of all people who'd caught you doing it.

You're expecting him to leave, or go sit down. Maybe even just stand there like he'd no doubt been doing for however long before he decided to say something.

None of those things is what he actually does, though, which is continue to talk to you.

“What about you?"

“What?”

"The girls basketball team," he clarifies.

“Oh, no— No. I’m not an athlete here,” you explain hastily. “I was just, uh. Screwing around. Shouldn't there be more of you?"

"They're outside," he responds simply. "One of the vending machines in the quad broke and it's spitting things out for 100 won instead of a thousand. They're trying to drain it before campus security finds out and fixes it."

"Oh," you say. That sounds like something Jaemin and Chenle would do. "You don't like vending machine snacks...?"

"More like I have no interest in getting arrested over a melted bag of Skittles."

01 doesn't say anything else after this, only pushes his hands deeper into his pants pockets.

Now is a better time than any to introduce yourself properly, right? But before you can tell him who you are, you're interrupted by the sound of an explosion. Or, wait. Scratch that— when you startle for the second time in five minutes (which cannot be good for your heart) you realize that it was not an explosion, but the sound of one of the double doors swinging open at mach speed and slamming into the solid wall behind it. Then, before you even have time to be worried about it, things get a lot more crowded.

Explaining yourself to 01 suddenly seems like the least of your problems.

Sneakers squeak onto the glaze without a care in the world. Bubbling chatter fills the air, player names and numbers flashing on the back of jackets like an out of control score keeper; The rest of the Timberwolves basketball team finally make their awaited appearance. They move in one rolling mass, a compact sea of red tracksuits and surprisingly shiny hair, nice wide smiles and boyish laughter.

The only thing that keeps your stomach from twisting into nervous knots is the fact that your father is in the group too, smiling warmly when he sees you.

"Ace!" he calls out. "There you are!"

Shit. Shit, okay. No more fun, casual conversation. It's time.

"Here I am," you call back. Coach points at his clipboard beckons you over but before you go, movement over by 01 catches your eye.

There are three others with him now. Two of them are oddly lumpy in the stomach area. The taller lumpy one, a boy with dirty blonde hair and possibly the most adorable baby-bird pout in the world, looks around suspiciously before tugging a bag of candy from the collar of his jacket and stuffing it into 01's hand like it's contraband and not... a bag of candy.

You already find the sight kind of curious before you recognize the red and rainbow packaging— it's Skittles the boy has given him— and the coincidence makes your smile only grow.

At least he won't have to go to jail over it, you think to yourself.

After Coach goes over the practice schedule with you, the sections he would have you run while he monitored other things, you’re actually feeling pretty good about everything.

(Good enough to plaster a convincingly relaxed smile on your face, at least.)

You stand behind your father when he blows his whistle to start practice officially and try to look pleasant as the Timberwolves all shuffle from their respective little groups and corners into a half circle around your dad, and consequently, you.

“Good morning, team!” Coach bellows.

A cacophony of deep, still-tired timbres croon back something illegible.

“Ah… Nothing like a bunch of babies crying to liven up my morning, huh? How about we try that again?”

Some of them snicker. “Good morning, Coach!” they shout back, much more lively.

“That’s more like it! So! As you all already know from last week’s briefing, Mr.Woobin, our beloved co-coach, had a… homely event come up recently. One that rendered him unable to participate with us for a while. On such short notice, getting a coach before the season starts tomorrow night—"

At this a few players whoop and holler, and you’re a little surprised when quiet 01 is one of them.

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t be hooting if I had averages like yours, Choi.”

A few ‘Ooh’s join the mix.

“Anyhow. Like I was saying…”

Your dad turns to you expectantly, and you take this as a silent cue to walk forward until you’re line to line with him.

“I’d like to introduce you all to my daughter, Y/N. She’s going to be my co-coach until Woobin returns from his leave. Y/N?”

Showtime.

You scan over their faces as you greet them as lively as they greeted Coach— many eyebrows furrow in curiosity, and a few of the bolder ones even wink when your eyes meet theirs. You fold your arms over your chest to mirror the stance of most of the men in front of you, straightening your posture so you look a little bigger as they quite obviously size you up.

“Like my dad said, you all can call me Y/N. While this is my first official week at GDSC, Coach has told me many good things about this team over the summer. I’m excited to see it first hand, if you’ll have me.”

Unsure of what else to add, you decide to open up the floor for the inquiries they no doubt have. “Any questions…?”

Multiple hands shoot up.

Your eyes land on the same tall, lumpy blonde from earlier, though he’s now mysteriously lacking any extra curves. “You, uh… 05.”

“Hi,” the boy says hesitantly. His voice is much deeper than you’d been expecting by the innocence of his face. “I’m, uh… Jisung. Park Jisung… I’m usually small forward, but sometimes I do other stuff. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one years old, Jisung-Who-Plays-Forward. But I don’t care all that much about honorifics and all that, so you can call me whatever you want. Just Y/N is cool with me.”

He smiles slowly and nods like he’s satiated, so you move on to the others.

“06?”

“Hey,” Number 6 says, voice a little smoother, almost melodious. “My name is Donghyuck, but everyone just calls me Hyuck. I cover power forward. Where’d you go before this?”

… Ah. Shit. There’s the first dreaded question. You hope the way your smile falters isn’t too obvious.

“I transferred here from Yonsei.”

This phrase causes exactly the ripple you’d expected it to. A handful of eyebrows shoot up. One person ‘boooo’s playfully. A few members even glance at each other, but thankfully no one outwardly scowls or spits on you or anything.

06, or ‘Donghyuck’ now, merely grins amongst his curious friends.

Tongue poking out from between his teeth, he tilts his head in innocent question. “Did you transfer here cause we’re better?”

A snort nearly rips it’s way out of your throat. Jaemin would get a kick out of that for sure.

“You can prove to me just how good this team is at the first game, yeah, 06?”

A few more ‘Oooh’s, but Donghyuck just grins even wider like the teasing has only energized him. So far, gaining their respect or appreciation or whatever seemed to be going easier than you thought it would be. You’re admittedly feeling a little giddy at how smoothly this is going until your eyes land on the less than pleased gaze of a shorter one in the front… and then to the hand he’s got up by his head. Yikes.

“…10?”

“Liu Yangyang,” he says simply. “Captain. Center. Do you even play?”

And there it is. The second dreaded question.

The obvious reluctance in your response doesn’t matter though. Because before you can even think of what to say, wanting nothing more than to shut down his obvious disbelief with a resounding ‘Yes’, your father is butting in for you.

“No,” he says factually, and you freeze.

Liu Yangyang’s eyes slide between you and your dad like he isn’t sure who to look at— and 01, who’d basically caught you pretending to be Stephen Curry in this gym not even ten minutes ago, is just straight up staring at you.

“Y/N doesn’t play. She can, however, coach the hell out of a few meatheads like you lot; which is why she’s going to run you all through a few warm-up rotations while I get the projector up for the season schedule.”

You can only blink before he wanders off towards the press box, completely absorbed in looking over the sheets on his clipboard and not at all noticing the stunned look on your face.

“What Coach means," you start, rerouting quickly to fill the awkward silence, "Is that you don’t have to worry that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been around this sport since before I could walk, and I’ve had years of experience with coaching and game strategy.”

Most of them merely nod.

“So!” you continue with a smile, clapping your hands together, “Uh, anyway! Until I’m more familiar with you guys I’ll probably just be referring to you by number. Is that cool?”

“You remember mine, don’t you?” Donghyuck asks sweetly, and you falter at the sudden gooey look he’s sending you. What’s with that tone?

“Yeah. Do…Hyung, right?”

He immediately looks so scandalized that you lose the façade and laugh.

“Kidding! I know you, Donghyuck. Go warm up.”

He pouts at your teasing, but he goes.

You didn’t enlist anything too cruel off the bat; just the regular gamut of jumping jacks, joint rolling and high-knees before pushing for the more taxing things like holding stretches and quick-pulls. They listen surprisingly well, which is a plus they’ve got on Yonsei; those white and blue punks couldn’t follow instructions if their lives depended on it. The projector finally descends from the ceiling right as the warm up ends.

You clap your hands proudly and direct them over to the stadium seats when you’re finished terrorizing their muscles.

You’re the last one over to the benches because you’re too busy turning the gym lights off and by the time you get there, the only space left is between Donghyuck and 01. Hyuck scoots over and pats the empty seat right between him proudly. It’s cute— so you laugh and indulge him.

Despite his obvious show of interest, though: it’s the guy on the other side of you that you find yourself curious about as you sit down.

01. Skittles, as you’d taken to calling him in your head.

You’d caught him staring at you quite a few times during warm up. Eyebrows always furrowed and bottom lip pulled perpetually between his teeth, watching you unreadably like he was deliberating something very hard. Had he just been oogling, you would have simply ignored it— but for some reason, you felt like whatever was running through his brain was a little more weighted than just stealing glances.

“Hey you,” you whisper. “I never got your name.”

The unclear look in his eyes doesn’t disappear when he looks at you.

“Jeno. Lee Jeno.”

And then almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Shooting guard. And my question is… My question is if I shouldn’t mention the basketball thing to anyone. From before practice.”

What? At first you have no idea what he’s talking about, too caught up on how cute it is that he’s still referring to the Q&A format from earlier, but then he glances over your dad up in the press booth and it hits you.

“Oh. Oh.” You feel your eye twitch. “I mean. I would really appreciate that, actually. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Okay.”

Jeno turns back to the projector screen like he’d never been talking to you in the first place, still gnawing at his bottom lip, but you can’t help but ask.

“Is that what had your mind so preoccupied during the warm-up?”

A very long second passes before he speaks again.

“Was it that noticeable?”

“A little. I could feel the heat on the back of my neck.”

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Sorry? It was really smart of you to pick up on that, though. Why sorry?”

“In case you thought it was weird.”

Jesus. Were you talking to a saint? For him to be as tough looking as he is and still apologize to someone he just met for maybe possibly being weird…

The slides on the schedule reel are ticking by and you’re sure Jeno is only half paying attention because he’s busy talking to you, so you just smile at him and turn back to the front.

“You weren’t being weird. It was nice. Watch the video.”

“Okay,” he says again.

It’s the last thing of substance that you say to him for the next few hours, being that immediately after the slideshow ends, Coach reappears on the court to whip them into the first run of practice practice— a 5v5 on the court with five off conditioning, rotating every twenty minutes.

You’re in charge of running the conditioning and very quickly you deem your first set of players ‘The Troublemakers’.

The leader of which is a mischievous Lee Donghyuck, who you become well acquainted with through the fact that he’s probably the cheesiest, touchiest, most giggly college basketball starter you’ve ever met.

At one point the shifty bunch managed to swindle you into a deal; they'd finish the rest of conditioning without complaining or messing around if you just answered each of their curiosities about your life, to which you'd begrudgingly agreed. It was how they found out you were an avid Chicago Bulls fan (Moonbin), allergic to lemons and oranges (Sanha), loved all colors too much to pick a favorite (Felix, though he'd called you a hack for not choosing one), listened to mainly R&B (Hyunjin), and, finally, that you were single (to the smug, pleased grin of one Lee Donghyuck).

After your playful bunch get rotated out, you receive ‘The Flirts’. Choi Beomgyu, who you learn wears his emotions on his sleeve… also apparently says them outright because not even five minutes in he verbally declares his love for you. His reaction to your slack-jawed stare is a sly smile, and a shrugged ‘What? I just wanted to be the first.’

Choi Soobin bickers with him, Kang Taehyun, and Choi Yeonjun for the rest of the session on who has the better chance of winning your heart, even though you’re literally right there.

The last group you get are the quiet ones. You don’t even have to nickname them because they’re simply that easy.

Jung Sungchan is here, who utters not a word to anyone except to shyly tell you your shoe is untied at the 25 minute mark. There’s Huang Renjun, who you’re sure is some other sort of demon on the court because he’s naturally very angry looking and positively tiny, and from experience you’ve learned to recognize the type.

Park Sunghoon is here too, who you actually have to beg to do the conditioning (he gives in once you weaponize your pout though, so you know he has a heart somewhere under those long legs of his), and finally, your introspective friend comes along too. 01.

Lee Jeno merely nods when he approaches, sweaty and heavy footed, and drops into his conditioning before you even need to bug him about it.

“Don’t push too hard, kid,” you mumble to Jeno when he just blows past the fifty calf lifts with no intention of stopping. “You’ve got a game next week, remember? Sore legs last forever.”

He slows to a stop, eyeing you silently before pressing his back flat against the wall to sink into a wall-sit.

“We’re the same age, you know.”

“We are?”

He only nods. He’s still looking at you, though, so you take that as an invitation to keep the conversation going.

“You look young. What’s your major, 01?”

“Audio engineering.”

You raise an eyebrow, and his gaze slides from you to something behind your head— probably the clock to see how long he has left. Once he’s not boring two holes in your face, you find yourself finally able to get a good look at him from closer than an entire basketball court away.

Maybe you hadn’t noticed it when he’d almost scared you to death earlier, but now that he was here in front of you, it was actually almost ridiculous how statuesque the guy was. Short, neatly cut, ink black hair. A jawline that could probably shatter stone. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a mouth like his either, bow-shaped lips that naturally curled up at the edges even when the boy was completely straight faced like he was right now— and a strong, straight nose right above it.

Dark eyes that eventually found yours as you stood there and oogled him monitored his wall sit.

“You play any instruments?” you continue curiously.

“Three.”

“Cool. Which ones?”

“Guitar, piano and bass.”

You could definitely see guitar and bass, but piano? You wouldn't peg him for a sonata-type.

“Do you?” he adds.

“Do I what? Play any instruments?”

He nods and you shrug. “Played drums in my high school pep band, but I was pretty terrible at it.”

“You were a band kid?”

“Yep. And an emo one at that. Just imagine me but in all black and all tired looking, with bleached, spiked hair. I looked insane.”

He gives you a look. “So now, without the bleach?”

What. Jeno’s face cracks into a big, adorable lopsided grin when your eyes go wide— and you almost reach over to swat him before you remember that 1. you’ve known him for like two hours, and 2. You are currently kind of his coach and that’s a little weird. So you settle with gasping scandalously and kicking the side of his sneaker with your own.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” he says a moment later when he eases down out of the wall-sit. “I mean… I bet you looked pretty cool. Carrying a guitar case on campus makes me look like a douche. Drumsticks would be so much easier.”

“I always assumed people who lugged guitars around were usually super-assholes or the coolest folk around. You don’t seem like the first type.”

You’re not looking at him as you say it, you’re picking at your nails, but the steadiness of his stare tells you he’s watching you anyway.

He sure is rather bold about the staring, you think. Even when you look up he doesn’t waver.

“Are you coming to the barbeque tonight?”

It’s obvious the question catches you off guard by the way your eyebrows jump.

“It’s tradition to get BBQ on the first day of practice,“ he elaborates. "It’s not a school event, so it’s not mandatory or anything. Just a thing the team does every season. Are you coming?”

“Ah…That’s just for team members, isn’t it?”

“You’re our coach now though.”

Oh. “Okay… well, assistant coach, firstly, and I don’t know if I’d go that far—”

“You have to come!” a voice behind you shouts suddenly, and the startled sound you make is nearly inhuman. Donghyuck is there when you turn, your apparent new shadow, looking chipper and happy and completely undeterred by the sea of sweat running down his face. He plucks up the water bottle at your feet without a word and you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s yours, not Jeno’s like you’re assuming he thinks it is, when he downs the whole thing in one go.

“No-Jam is right, you’re one of us now. Us wolves stick together. How are we gonna get to synergize with you or whatever if you don’t come and hang out with us…?”

“I mean…”

Man. Well. There’s nothing wrong with going, you suppose, but it feels a little overwhelming to be invited so easily. Ah, what are you doing? Isn’t this a good thing? You’re being invited out! Sure, the Gamdogja Timberwolves aren’t the exact type of friends you’d been intending to make today, but hell. It wasn’t like you knew anybody else yet.

And, even if most of your Yonsei friends thought they were all just stuck-up, arrogant private college kids— they’d been pretty damn nice to you so far.

“…Yeah. Yeah, okay sure. I’ll come. Where is this fabled BBQ place?”

Donghyuck whoops. Before he can answer, Coaches whistle blows from the court again, and a sea of groans and sneaker squeaking and bumbling bodies fills the air.

“Nevermind,” you laugh. “Off to the court with you two. Go. I’ll find you later.”

“Promise?” Donghyuck coos.

“Yes, Hyuck-ah, I promise. Begone.”

“Since you said it so sweetly~”

What a ham. You’re grinning as they leave though, oddly chipper, and wander over to where your father is standing when the rest of the boys reach the court. He hands you another clipboard when you get to him, 8 names listed next to a spreadsheet of sorts. He quickly goes over the plan for the last hour: splitting the team between your hoop and for 4v4s.

“How was the conditioning, by the way?” Coach asks. “I saw you got Sunghoon to do the wall sit. You’re performing miracles already.”

“Not many can say no to this face and live to tell the tale.”

He makes a knowing grunt of agreement and your groups separate. You’ve got Jeno, Donghyuck, Soobin and Yukhei, Yeonjun, Renjun, Sanha, and Sungchan in your half of the gym.

“What do you say we try a five minute scramble first, huh? First to 21 just to get the blood pumping?”

“My blood is already pumping,” Yukhei whines at you, bent over, hands on his knees. “What it needs to do is stop pumping. Be nice to me.”

“If your blood wasn’t pumping you’d be dead,” Sungchan says.

“So?”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes so hard that for a moment, you’re scared they won’t come back.

“Just get the damn basketball, pumper.”

Once they get into the groove, bickering and bantering and teasing fading into position call-outs and good-natured ribbing, you finally get your first glimpse at the true Timberwolf potential. And they’re all good. You come into this having no doubt about that, honestly.

Their technique is great, passing between each other with barely a second between one person and the next, the perfect balance of defense, offense, and speed. Even baby Sungchan, who you’d been sure was one of the tamer of the bunch, is throwing clutches and between-the-legs like it’s nothing.

They’re all ridiculously good.

But once Jeno gets to that ball, it’s like no one else is in the room.

You watch almost in a trance as he just… goes through people. He’s like a mirage when he gets the ball, and he gets the ball often— his teammates lobbing it to him at a milliseconds notice, to where he always just seems to be perpetually ready— and it’s like magic. He has the basketball for a moment, then he doesn’t, then it’s in the net and a bunch of people either groan or cheer and the game goes on.

With Jeno doing what he’s doing, his team gets to 21 points in about five minutes flat. Holy shit.

You send them off for a three minute break and try not to look appalled.

“Yeah,” someone says beside you, and you blink yourself out of your stupor.

Donghyuck is standing next to you looking smug. For what, you have no clue, until he juts his chin in the direction you were just staring as a hint— and you catch an eyeful of Jeno guzzling a water bottle down on the opposite sideline with a few of the other guys when you follow his gaze.

“He’s a monster, right? Injun and I think he used to eat basketballs when he was younger.”

You’re still too stunned to even laugh. “I mean all of you were… wow. For lack of a cooler phrase. You’re really goddamn good. I’m impressed.”

“Better than your Yonsei folk?”

This instantly gets you to break your reverie and Donghyuck howls with laughter at the sour face you pull. You're already so comfortable with this crew that you don't think twice before shoving him away from the sidelines with your elbow.

“Yeah alright, Hyuck. Way to ruin it for your buddies. Break over! Set up for lay-up drills!”

A chorus of groans meets you and you simply nod, accepting your whining and bereavement easily from your half of the squad as they shuttle back onto the court. You don’t notice the lack of one particular voice in the mix at first, the matching sharp black eyes watching you silently from the other end of the baseline— but by the time you glance in his direction, feeling the heat of someone’s gaze on your back, Jeno’s already looking away.

The rest of practice goes by pretty quickly after that and with the lot of them cracking jokes with you and actually listening to your advice and obsservations, it's actually pretty fun.

Maybe... Maybe this whole coaching thing wouldn't as dreadful as you'd presumed after all.

[itwd masterlist] [next part]

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lebenspurpur · 3 years

Text

AN: Helloo, wrote this because I spent today suffering through my post-drunk-vandalism hangover. Guess it's deserved but still, it sucks. After eating chicken broth my dad made, unsalted if I may add, for an hour straight I am now ready to be creative. I really don't know what this is.

Have the link to my Larry playlist while we're at it:

Pairing: Larry Johnson x reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol

Wordcount: 1744 words

🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓

Larry looks really, really stupid right now. Stupid and sick.

His tall form slumped over in defeat, big blanket wrapped around him but not too tight, otherwise he'd feel too hot, too feverish, he still needs some air. There are tissues scattered across the couch as well. Fucking hell.

Usually, this would disgust you but it's Larry, you think you've seen worse.

Small sniffles come from where he's laying, whenever he clears his throat hoarse croaking leaves his mouth and he cringes every time he hears it. He can feel your judging gaze on his body, hear your arched eyebrow without even lifting his head.

His radio is blaring some kind of metal music, you don't recognize the band. Technically, the music is useless since the TV in front of Larry's bed is playing an old horror movie, bloody screams only adding to the grimy ambiance in the room.

"I-", you start but Larry lifts his hand before you can even consider continuing.

On any other occasion, you would've noticed the rings adorning his slender fingers, the metal accessories leaving a trail of dark smudge on his hands. Damn, did he have some nice hands.

Thankfully today wasn't a normal occasion. The metalhead in front of you had worse problems than you drooling over his fingers right now, one of them being the sickness he caught.

"Don't you dare say 'I told you so.'", he croaks out while he finally lifts his head, bloodshot eyes meeting yours. He looks immensely tired. You can sense his annoyance at this sickness, this hellish treatment he's in and can't seem to escape.

You take a deep breath in and drop your bag next to his opened front door.

"Alright. I won't."

You close the door quietly and deposit your jacket as well as boots next to it.

His mom always screams at Larry to finally get something for visitor's shoes and bags but he never does. Too busy, too lazy, he figures his visitors get it. Who even visits him, anyway?

The floor is, as usual, covered in stuff he hasn't cleaned yet. Unfinished drawings, sketchbooks, take-out cartons, empty booze bottles, you keep wondering how he manages to create that kind of mess in a timespan of not even two days.

You tiptoe over them, careful as to not to step into something. Earlier experiences have taught you to never mistake one of these seemingly empty cartons as really empty. Just last week you stepped into a fucking pizza the man in front of you didn't finish.

You sigh as you sit down next to him and Larry tiredly raises an eyebrow.

"Dude, I know you don't want to move but Jesus, we really need to get you to bed.", you then state, voice comforting yet firm. You use the moment to stare into his eyes, adore the brown, thick, deepness of them.

Larry groans loudly, voice breaking from how raw his throat is. His head falls back and he closes his eyes, a pained expression on his features.

"Don't wanna.", he grumbles quietly and you involuntarily crack a smile. Larry always managed to do that, even in the most unbelievable moments.

"I'll join you if you do."

One of his eyes slowly creaks open, observing your face to look for any kind of sarcasm or irony. As soon as he doesn't find any, the other eye opens as well and he leans forward again, blanket clutched tightly in his fists.

"Alright."

You grin at his quiet answer, hand reaching over to pull him with you. He obliges, warm, slightly clammy hand tightly grabbing yours. He follows you through the messy room, his blanket leaving a trail of destruction behind the two of you.

You kick open the door leading to his bedroom. Immediately, the familiar images of various album covers greet you. The air in his room is colder and less damp and you hear him take a deep breath.

Turning around, you mention for him to wait while you walk over, grabbing the blanket on his bed. You shake it a bit, readjust the sheets as well the pillow, all while Larry's eyes never leave your back.

"There you go, sweets.", you add as you finish, quickly turning around to see Larry standing the same way you've left him. Tired, slumped, and emotional. The need to hug him starts boiling inside of you but you try and hold yourself back. First, you have to make sure he gets into bed.

Larry slowly stumbles past you. During the last few baby steps, he drops the blanket around his shoulder, faceplanting right into the freshly made sheets. He's not even wearing a shirt and you huff at his stubbornness.

Larry's back looks strong like this, muscles contracting beneath his skin as he tries to get more comfortable. Your eyes glide over his spine, his wide shoulders, the small bumps where his ribs encase his organs. His olive skin is sweaty and long, brown hairs cling to it.

You cringe at that, knowing the feeling all too well.

Softly placing a hand on his back, you move closer, forehead scrunched together.

"Larry, darling."

He grunts into his pillow, a muffled questioning sound.

"I got a hair tie here. Mind lifting your head real quick?"

Larry obliges and lifts his head quickly, taking a deep breath while he does so.

Your fingers find his scalp and start collecting all the strands, securing them afterward with the tie around your wrist.

The man beneath you hums in appreciation as the cold air hits his neck, sweaty skin finally being able to breathe. You kiss the small space beneath his neck real quick, a short sign of comfort before you stand up again, hands leaving his skin.

Larry whines the second you do so, all while quickly turning around, sending you a pleading look.

"You said you'd stay.", the whiny tone only makes his voice sound more hoarse and you can't help the small grin from appearing on your features.

"In a second, sweetie. You need some water and medicine first, alright?"

He whines again but the thought of something fresh and cold going down his throat is enough to soften the pleading look in his eye. You blow him a kiss and then quickly walk into the kitchen, which is right across from the brunette's room.

It's surprisingly clean but what did you expect? Larry never uses his kitchen unless he has to. Which isn't all too often.

Grabbing a water bottle and placing it on the counter, you keep searching for the small broth packets you'd bought exactly for this kind of scenario. You find them in the fridge, the only thing in this room that Larry actually uses.

Chuckling you get some water cooking, all while pouring the powder into one of the giant cups Sal has gifted Larry a while ago. According to the masked man, everything tastes better if it's being eaten out of a cup and so, everyone has their own sets of cups, a premium gift from Sal Fisher.

Soon, everything's done and you maneuver your way back into Larry's room. Said man is awaiting you, eyes still opened as he watches you creep towards his bed, hands full with water, soup, and medicine.

First, you feed him the medicine. Normally he'd do this himself but you know that he'll just ignore the bitter juice unless you force it down his throat. Stubborn motherfucker.

Larry's sitting up now, back propped up against one of the many big pillows he has. You hand him the broth and he inhales it in less than two minutes, apparently, this is the first thing he's eaten today. Shaking your head at the thought, you tug a few strands of hair out of his face, smiling at your lover's appetite.

Finally, after gulping down half of the water bottle, the brunette leans back and smiles, for the first time this evening.

"Thank you.", he croaks out and you touch his arm as an appreciative gesture, "Does that mean you're allowed to join me now?"

You're about to nod as you notice the faint traces of eyeliner on his skin.

"Did you take off your makeup when you got home?", you ask, throwing a teasing smile his way.

Larry clears his throat, embarrassed that you caught him. A faint blush raises on his cheeks and you feel your heart swell at the sight.

"I might have forgotten about it.", he answers, gaze slowly meeting yours again, "But please, let's just do this later, dude. I am so fucking tired."

Huffing, you roll your eyes at his answer but you nod anyway. He'd be fine with the makeup for a few more hours. You just have to remember taking it off tomorrow.

"You're lucky I love you."

Larry grins at that, the usual wide, blinding grin, that makes your stomach tingle with fuzzy feelings inside of it. His fingers find your arm and he tenderly pulls you down to join him. Soon, your head is placed on his chest, and his arms cradle your shoulders, pulling you into his body.

You can hear his relaxed breathing as he finally settles down, nuzzling his face into your hair.

His skin is warm against your cheek and you smile into it. It doesn't matter how often you've done it, laying on his nude chest always makes you flustered.

Larry's fingers start to draw stuff on your back, the feeling more than a delight for you. Humming, you snuggle closer and the metalhead next to you smiles.

His eyes already start to close slowly, lack of sleep finally catching up to him. The quiet sound of the ongoing movie in his living room, as well as the metal music, make for a great background sound and you both listen intently.

You notice the way his heart beats, slow and steady, beneath the tanned skin. Unknowingly, you start to synchronize your breaths with his. In and out. In. And out.

Soon, your eyes close as well. Damn it, you don't want to fall asleep. Though, you suppose it doesn't matter as the man next to you pulls you closer, his breath warm against your ear. He wouldn't let you leave anyway.

The thought makes you feel giddy, excited, in love. Smiling widely, you try to press yourself closer into him, and soon, you too, fall asleep, enveloped by the arms of the boy you love most. Your favorite boy.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Small Town Secrets

Warnings: noncon/rape, mentions of cheating, fuck machine, oral, blackmail, no edit.

This is dark!Lee Bodecker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The sheriff knows your secret and wants to share it.

Based on these drabble requests:

Lee Bodecker + “I’ve done so much for you, don’t you think you owe me?” + Blackmail + (I hope you can do this) I would like to consider this as a form of continuation of the story that you uploaded a while ago, it does not have to be this way if you do not feel comfortable. Lee continues to blackmail the waitress, when he is in the restaurant talking to her, he sees how her husband arrives to spend time with her and he gets jealous, so when he goes to see her at night he decides to make her his forever so he gives her the gift of having his babies [Sorry I will not be continuing this fic in a drabble if I do a sequel but I am more than happy to write a drabble with your prompts)

Lee Bodecker + “I heard you last night. I hear you every night.” + fuck machine + As always I’m leaving it up to you @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

Lee Bodecker + “You took the condom off?” + Blackmail + Lee forces himself on the reader one day and she tells him to at least put a condom and he never does and then that line comes on when he says something and she realizes he took it off and will impregnate her.

You poured another cup for the sheriff and took out your cloth to wipe away a clumsy dribble from the table. You tucked the rag back into your apron as Bodecker reached for the sugar bowl.

“Anything else?” you asked. The diner was dead, it was almost midnight as the sheriff came off duty.

“How about you sit?” he looked around, “isn’t very busy and you don’t need to be prancing around on my behalf.

“I really shouldn’t--”

“Oh come on, Jethro’s home sleepin’, he won’t know you been sittin’ on the clock,” he coaxed, “and ‘sides, I’d say I outrank him.”

You looked at him and hesitated. You put your hand on the corner of the table and slid onto the seat opposite him. You set down the carafe lightly. He stirred his coffee and watched the cream swirl and pale the brew. His lips twitched as his eyes flicked up.

“I heard you last night…” he said.

“What?” you chuckled.

“I heard you last night. I hear you every night,” his tongue poked out and he sat back smugly, “sneaking into Lawrence Hayes’ Chrysler, just outside the old hole down on Tulsa Avenue.”

You frowned. You gulped as your blood ran cold and you tried not to flinch.

“I don’t know what you mean, sheriff, and I should get back to my work,” you tried to stand and he caught your hand on the table top. He jerked your arm and you sat back down.

“You think Annie Hayes would be interested to know what you’re doin’ with her husband?” he arched a brow, “not hard to guess but considerin’ what I’ve heard, I can be assured my guess is correct.”

You stared at him. You ripped your wrist from his grasp and crossed your arms.

“Why are you bringing this up, then?” you hissed.

“How ‘bout you meet me down on Tulsa tonight,” he smirked, “don’t worry, I treat you better than Larry, I ain’t like fuckin’ in no back seat.”

You looked at the carafe. You glanced over at the kitchen then at the clock above the counter.

“I don’t get off till four a.m.,” you said.

“I can wait,” he gulped down and mouthful and watched you over the cup, “I already been waitin’.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked.

“I’ve done so much for you, don’t you think you owe me?” he taunted.

“Done what?”

“Kept your secret. You really wanna be known as the town whore?” he tilted his head, “nah, we can keep that ‘tween you and me.”

👮🏻‍♂️

The sheriff drove in silence. The anticipation and the knowledge of his intent kept you quiet too. His wandering eyes found you in the mirror as he pulled up to a house outside your small town. The sheriff lived out in the fields among the farmhouse, almost at the very centre of his county.

His door closing jarred you from your dread. He opened yours and grabbed your arm. The gravel gritted under your thin soles as he swept his arm around your waist and ushered you up the porch steps. The leather of his jacket squeaked as he pulled back the screen door and pushed open the thicker one.

He nudged you ahead of him and took off his hat. He hung it on a hook by the door and bent to untie his boots.

“Do me a favour, honey,” he said, “you go up and get yourself ready for me. Last door to the right.”

“I…” your voice trailed off, “I don’t…”

“Get naked, relax,” he snipped as he stood and kicked off his boots, “I’ll bring you something ease your nerves.”

You looked away and turned slowly. You went to the stairs and paused as your hand rested on the bannister. He passed by the steps and continued down the lower hallway. You climbed heavily and followed his direction to the last room. You looked around at the flowered canopy and the patched quilt.

You remembered the sheriff’s wife died a few years back. Everyone heard about that, they said he was crueler since then. In that moment, you would agree with them.

You undressed a piece at a time and shivered. You thought of keeping your clothes on and escaping through the window but you’d only hurt yourself in the drop down. You wouldn’t far neither out in the fields.

You sat on the end of the bed, legs crossed and arms hugging your chest. The dawn began to brighten outside the panes and the morning nip made you shiver. Bodecker entered and set down a glass in the dim. He flipped on a lamp and looked you over. He brought you the dark wine in the tall pint glass.

“You drink that down while I get set up,” he said, “you gonna want to drink it all.”

You took it and watched him. He snapped his fingers at you as he went to the closet. You turned away and sipped the acrid wine. It made your nose wrinkle and your throat tighten. You heard a creak and but kept staring at the door, your escape taunting you. You could leave but that meant your reputation and possibly everything else.

You’d come this far, you thought. You knocked back a large mouthful and coughed. You finished the rest and your chest burned darkly. You got up to put the glass aside and shyly spun back to the sheriff as he came up to the side of the bed.

You gaped at the odd machine he wheeled closer. The big wooden box had an arm attached to it and rubber extension in the shape of a man’s member. You covered yourself again and shook your swimming head.

“Go on,” he pointed to the bed, “on your knees there, let me see your ass.” You blinked at the odd machine and he huffed, “you’re makin’ me real tired of repeating myself.”

You got closer and crawled up on the bed, all pretense of modesty gone as you turned and exposed yourself to him. Your arms shook as you turned your ass to face him and his large hand spread across your flesh. He slapped you and groaned as you heard the wheels. He pushed it so that the rubber poked your ass.

“Get on higher,” he grabbed your hip and repositioned you, “that’s it.”

The rubber tip poked at your cunt and he slid a finger between you and the toy. He felt around until he found your clit and stoked with two fingers until you quivered. You bit back your voice as the cool air and the wine mingled with your reluctant arousal.

“Alright,” he pulled back his hand and pushed the machine against you once more. He guided your hips and rolled the machine to the very edge of the bed until it stretched your walls. You squeaked as he sheathed the entire length inside of you. “Now hold still and keep your legs locked,” he tickled your thigh, “we’ll go slow.”

He flicked the switch and the toy moved back. It shot forward again, then back, the forward, a steady but easy motion as you grew wet around it. You looked over your shoulder and he slapped your ass again. You clenched around the toy and he pointed over your head.

“Eyes forward,” he said, “I’ll give you something to focus on.”

He fiddled with the machine until the arm moved faster, a mechanical whir bit through the air. You groaned as your body responded to the constant fucking. Bodecker came around and walked across the bed on his knees. He undid his fly and pulled himself out. He stroked his dick as he grabbed the back of your head.

“I bet you ain’t never had it from both ends,” he purred and pressed his tip to your lips, “don’t even know what it is to be filled up completely.”

He shoved himself into your mouth and you gagged around him. Your throat squeezed around him as he invaded it and he soon matched the pace of the machine. His hips bucked as he moans floated around you. You hummed helplessly as your breath grew laboured and your eyes watered.

Your body tensed as the machine made you cum. You whined and the sheriff caressed your scalp with his fingers as he slowed your head. He slid out of your mouth and watched the strings of spit hang from your lips. He winked and growled as he backed off the bed.

“That wine must make you feel so good,” he said, “makes it easy, don’t it?”

He went around you and stopped the machine. He pulled it out of you and you twitched. He wheeled it back and you pushed your legs together.

“Don’t you worry,” he went to the dresser and turned back with a square in his hand. He peeled open the condom and slid it onto his hard dick as he neared, “we don’t want an accident now.”

He went behind you and pushed your ass down until you were on your stomach. He climbed up and kneaded your ass and thighs before he straddled you completely. He forced his hand between your legs and angled his dick against your opening. He leaned on you heavily, his arm across your shoulder and thrust into you.

You lifted your ass you ached around him. He went even deeper, the wool of his pants and his linen shirt scratching your sweaty skin. He moved his hips evenly, his hot breath against the back of your head, panting hungrily as he fucked you.

“You like that?” he asked, “Tell me Hayes ever make you feel like this?”

You groaned and pushed your face into the quilt. Your fingers curled around the stitches and you arched your back. He pulled back, entirely out of you, and slammed back into his limit. He jerked your body entirely and you cried out. He repeated the motion over and over, each time he seemed to sink further than the last.

“Mmm, any man’d keep this a secret, huh?” he purred.

Your head lolled back and forth, you whined and drooled like an animal as he rutted into you. Your walls tightened around him and your thighs tingled with another orgasm. You barely smothered it against the blanket but he kept going.

“I’m gonna give you a nice little gift,” he snarled, “we’ll see if he still wants you after.”

He slammed into you and you spasmed. He puffed into your neck as his weight made your body ache. He came with a tortured groan and you felt a warmth seep into you. Your eyes snapped open and you turned your head.

You shoved your hand down under you as he pulled out and threw himself off of you. He fell onto his back as his cum dripped down your fingers.

“You took the condom off?” you rolled over and sat up.

“Mmm, you like keepin’ secrets, don’t you?” he sneered, “that’ll be a tough one.”

👮🏻‍♂️ 👮🏻‍♂️ 👮🏻‍♂️

Reblog and let me know what you think! Please and thank you!

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #the devil all the time #request #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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early2000smovieimagines · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Ahkmenrah

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(This movie was my childhood. Brings back so many good memories ...and crushes.)

- You’d worked at quite a few museums in your day but none of them were quite like the Museum of Natural History; a fact you’d be made aware of very suddenly and without warning.

- You were somewhat new to the building, hired to do work on the exhibits since you were skilled in restoration and design. You weren’t a night worker, at least you weren’t supposed to be, but you’d accidentally dropped something as you were leaving your office and were forced to stay late to clean it up.

- After a few moments of sweeping, you’d heard a commotion upstairs and as you went to leave the museum; and investigate, you’d walked straight into the beautiful chaos of a night at the museum.

- Let’s just say that Larry had a lot to explain, all of which you took surprisingly well; though you didn’t have much of a choice now did you?

- Ahkmenrah spotted you from across the museum and watched as you made your way around the new magical world, staring at every person and thing in awe. He spied on you throughout the night and found that when he’d finally thought it appropriate to approach you, the sun was already beginning to rise.

- So the next day, he asks Larry about you, pretending as though he’s asking for no reason at all. Larry knowingly offers to introduce the two of you and the mummy drops the act, eagerly accepting.

“I’d like that very much, yes.”

- Larry approaches you with the sparkling pharaoh and is soon called away by someone else, leaving the two of you alone to speak. Ahkmenrah motions over to a bench nearby, commenting that it “must be a lot to get used to” as you both take a seat. You laugh in agreement and before you know it, the two of you are engaged in a conversation.

- Ahkmenrah’s sweet, he’s charming, he’s handsome, and he’s quite enamored with you; though you don’t know that just yet.

- Soon enough, it’s time for the sun to rise and he takes notice, begrudgingly standing and admitting that he “must say goodbye”. You respond with a somewhat disappointed goodbye yourself, watching as he begins to walk away before he turns and says “I should like to see you tomorrow ...to continue our conversation” to which you happily agree.

- The two of you become close fairly quickly. Anytime he spots you in a room, he makes a beeline towards you; both because he really likes you and because he’s somewhat awkward himself.

- He always likes being there for you, considering you’re new and not used to all that history coming to life stuff. He takes pride in being your guide and sort of likes the feeling of you depending on him a bit.

- Your “friendship” takes an obvious romantic turn, particularly; and outwardly, on his side; I say “friendship” because it was probably somewhat obvious from that he liked you more than that even from the beginning.

- He compliments you, oftentimes earnestly and quietly calling you beautiful, uses any excuse to touch you and your clothes, etc. He awes you with talks of Egypt and sweeps you off your feet quite easily. It’s really only a matter of time before the two of you get together.

- That “time” comes one day as you’re both sitting all alone. The room is dark and warmly lit and you’re sitting so close that his knees are touching yours. His hands hold yours as he speaks quietly to you and your face is leaned in close so that you can hear him.

- And then it just happens, your faces close in and you kiss, his grasp tightening around your hands.

- You’re interrupted by one of the others, most likely Larry who quickly apologizes and mentions something about the sun coming up before leaving the two of you be. Ahkmenrah turns back to you, saying something along the lines of “so we must once again say goodbye” with a small smile.

“It would appear so.” You respond, though you’re hesitant to move from your place. But alas, the sun has to rise and you have to go home.

“Tomorrow then,” He smiles at you, giving your hand one last squeeze. “...My queen.”

- You leave that morning, eager for the daylight to go and for you to be reunited with your newfound lover once more.

- Ahkmenrahs from ancient Egypt so I’m sure he isn’t particularly accustomed to “normal” Pda. That being said, he is somewhat dorky and practically has an entire hall to himself so he either just gives you innocent pda or the two of you go to his exhibit; and not have to worry about anyone seeing you.

- He’s been locked up in a sarcophagus for about fifty years; or more, so he’s arguably a bit touch starved. He’s always trying to touch you in some way and absolutely loves it whenever you touch him.

- He likes holding both your hands in his, occasionally bringing one of them to his lips. He just likes touching your hands in general if we’re being honest.

- Gentle caresses. He’s in love, leave him alone.

- Forehead and cheek kisses. He likes prolonging the amount of time his lips spend on your skin; a normal prolonged amount of time of course.

- Long, soft kisses.

- Loving makeout sessions. His hands roam your back and pull you in as close as they can whenever you have one.

- He likes laying between your legs and/or resting his head in your lap.

- Cuddling with your arms wrapped around each other and your head resting against his shoulder. He likes laying and talking with you, playing with the fingers that lay on his chest.

- Having his robes draped over and around you.

- He likes having you with him at all times, both because he’s protective of you and because he can’t bear to be away from you for more than a few hours.

- You’ll usually hang back and cling to his arm whenever you’re standing together. He likes feeling your presence at his side and the light grip you have on him.

- A bit clingy. He only gets to see you at night and has been alone for quite some time, of course he’s gonna want to be around you as much as possible.

- He always gets somewhat flustered when you give him gifts; particularly sweet things like flowers. You would have sworn you’d given him your underwear with the way he smiles and blushes in response.

- Ahkmenrah was the favorite son so he was a bit spoiled as a child. That being said, he’s surprisingly humble and sweet for a pharaoh that was given the best of everything.

- He’s probably teared up a little because of you at some point, whether it be your actions or just the fact that you’re there with him. He can get a bit emotional at times.

- Dancing together. We all saw how beautifully that man can move.

- Sneaking him out every once in a while. He really likes your apartment; even if you’re sort of embarrassed because he’s a literal pharaoh and lived in a temple when he was alive.

- Movie dates. They’re the easiest thing to do with him and he’s missed out on pretty much all of them so he’s got a lot of catching up to do.

- Listening to music together.

- Considering his time at Cambridge and just the way he is, he may or may not wax poetic about or at you on occasion. He gets a little embarrassed when he realizes that he’s doing it but it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard/seen.

- Compliments and lots of them; usually paired with a term of endearment.

- He uses a lot of pet names on you, usually somewhat old fashioned ones. My dear, my sun, my queen, etc.

- He’s the cutest when posing for photos. He tries to look all regal in the beginning but it quickly dissolves into the adorable dorkiness that you know so well.

- The boy is lovestruck. He could sit and watch you do nothing with this look of unwavering love on his face for hours. Need to do some work? Thats totally fine. He’ll just sit there and love you.

- Please let him braid your hair. There’s just something that’s so relaxing and sweet about it to him.

- He has a hard time saying no to you. You’re his queen after all, you should have everything you could ever dream of; and he’s just too sweet to deny nearly anyone.

- Polite and respectful, Ahkmenrah is a gentleman with incredibly good manners. You’ll never be disappointed in his behavior.

- Helping Larry and him take care of the museum and tablet.

- Teaching him about all he’s missed.

- Always having a translator. He certainly comes in handy when you’re traveling around the museum and run into some “hostile” exhibits.

- Getting quietly and excitedly told a bunch of stories. He’s always so adorably eager to tell you about his life; whether it be about Ancient Egypt or more present times.

- He wants to introduce you to his parents so badly; though he’s somewhat embarrassed by them. Maybe you’ll transfer to the London museum for a bit?

- Getting bragged about. He always makes you sound cooler than you really are, though in your case, that’s just how he sees you.

- Stopping him from making morbid comments; oftentimes at the wrong time, or just giving him a look. He’s got a sort of different view on what’s exactly an acceptable thing to say.

“Too dark?”

- Sharing looks and making comments to each other.

- He’s always so gentle and caring with you; especially when you’re hurt or upset. He prides himself on being by your side and taking care of you.

- He’s a fairly patient person; especially with you. I mean, he’s had to wait a lot more than a few years to be let out of his sarcophagus so one can assume that he’d be good at that sort of thing.

- He’s not a terribly jealous person. Arguably, if you choose to be in a difficult relationship with a mummy, then you obviously want that relationship, right? He’s loyal and he expects you to be as well; that’s how it was in his times.

- That being said: if someone shows interest in you then he’ll get a bit jealous; though he’ll save his real jealousy for when he gets to see how you respond to them and how they respond to him making it known that you’re together.

- The museum can certainly get a bit dangerous at times; and he can only be there for you when you’re there, so of course he’ll be protective of and worry about you. He looks out for you and tells you to be careful every time you’re saying goodbye.

- The two of you hardly ever fight or argue, you’re just compatible with each other; and you rarely have the time to do so anyway. Plus, your pharaoh doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and lives to please you, so why would he try to fight with you?

- If he’s somehow done something; which is highly unlikely, he’ll apologize the minute that he realizes he’s upset you or thinks that he has. He’ll give you space if you want or need it and welcomes you back with open arms when you’re ready.

- If you’ve upset him then he’ll do his best to give you the silent treatment and act professional with you; not quite cold but not loving like he usually is. He’ll do so until you apologize and he cracks, shyly accepting your apology and reverting back to his sweet self.

- Lots of I love yous. You’re his queen, what do you expect?

- Your relationship is certainly going to be a bit challenging, but the happiness and love you feel with each other is worth it.

#ahkmenrah imagine #ahkmenrah headcanons #ahkmenrah headcanon #ahkmenrah imagines #night at the museum imagine #night at the museum headcanon #night at the museum imagines #night at the museum headcanons #early 2000s movie headcanon #early 2000s movie headcanons #early 2000s movie imagine #early 2000s movie imagines #rami malek imagine

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1engele · 3 years

Text

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 9. hearts

Previous | Next

[warnings: mention of meth, swimming without pants on??, large body of water, momentary angst]

"why was it so easy for you to make it so hard for me?" —

You weren't drunk, but you were definitely not sober enough to comprehend how horrible the idea of being even relatively close to a large body of water whilst intoxicated was.

Ashley was not as much a lightweight as you'd proved to be, so she was virtually sober. the time you'd known her (just over a week) you'd come to know her as the most carefree of the group. She did things when she felt like it, and she did what she enjoyed.

Larry could be called carefree, as well—but he gave off more "I truly do not give one ounce of a fuck, and I will go along with any activity you want to do if I can smoke" vibes.

You hadn't figured Sal out yet. You tried not to think about it, but there were so many things you wondered about him. You'd seen his face. That had been your fault, and you were beginning to feel immense guilt for what you'd done.

You weren't going to inwardly speculate about what had happened to him—but you'd seen the look in his foggy blue gaze when he'd laid eyes on that dog at the party.

The car came to an abrupt halt, knocking you from your thoughts and lurching your body forward. Your eyes widened, and you look around frantically to figure out where you were or if you'd just had an accident—but turns out, you'd made it to Wendigo Lake.

"Well, you said you wanted to go to the lake," Ashley grinned, locking eyes with you.

You blink repeatedly, your pupils dilating to focus on the sight of the large body of water in front of you, glistening beneath the moonlight. A smile slowly etched into your face, and you reached to your right to open the passenger-side door.

It wasn't long before you'd reached the point where the slope began into a downward incline, your feet planted in the grass as you gazed down at the lake you knew had to be freezing—but the road-like reflection of moonlight on the water continued to call your name.

The breeze blew into your face.

You hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps and the crunching of grass when Larry, Ashley, and Sal walked up and joined you.

There was something melancholic about knowing that you were living in a moment you knew you'd miss.

"We should swim," you say, nonsensically.

Sal looks away from the lake and to you from his place on your right side. You turn your head to lock eyes with him.

"Y/N, someone's gonna get sick. I don't think you understand how cold this water gets-"

"Okay then," you mumble. "I should swim," you correct, "and if anyone wants to join me, they are more than welcome."

Larry and Ashley's laughter echoes into the dead air as you ambled down the slope, Sal standing there, watching—before following your lead.

"Let's think this over," he tries, matching your pace with ease. "You're going to regret it when you're shivering all the way home."

"Ashley can blast the heat."

"What if you drown?"

"I won't," you respond, "because you're getting in with me."

You're both stood on the shore of the lake now, locking eyes and regarding each other with your own equally stubborn determination.

"Hey!" You hear Larry's voice call from up the hill. The tension that's formed within the eye contact breaks once you've looked away from each other and peered up at the height of the slope.

"We're gonna go check out that forest over there," Ashley shouts, pointing towards the cluster of trees that were a measurable distance away. "Heard there's some gnarly satanic shit in there. Call if you need anything."

You exchange a glance with Sal.

"Alright," he yells back. "Don't get lost!"

"Can't promise that!" Larry sends both of you a grin before he and Ashley both head towards their destination, the sound of grass crunching steadily quieting as the distance between you grows.

When they're far enough away, you let out a quick sigh of relief. "Finally," you reach down to your shoes and began pulling them off, including socks.

You then reached down to the button of your jeans.

Sal yelps. "What're you doing?!"

You look up with raised eyebrows. "You think I'm swimming in these? I'll sink." You return your focus downward, pulling the zipper down and hook your thumbs around the waistband of your pants. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

It was almost excruciating to hide your sly smile as you bent at the waist to slide the denim down your legs. You stepped out of your jeans, pulled your phone from the pocket, and tossed the shed article of clothing farther up the hill, tossing your phone on top of it.

The device landed with a thud, resulting in an inward cringe on your part.

You didn't allow yourself to regard the fact that you were now standing in front of Sal with no pants on, so you just turned, stepped forward, and tested the water with a toe.

"Liar," you submerge a foot in, your body instinctively shivering against your will. "It's not that cold."

He scoffs, reaching down to rip his sneakers and socks off in your peripheral vision. "You're saying that now, but I'd like to hear the same thing when your bare legs are in there."

Sal tosses his shoes off near where you'd thrown yours along with his phone. He watches you submerge your other foot in, before following your lead.

Sal seems to handle it with a lot more ease than you, both feet now immersed in lake water. He doesn't seem to react physically, only standing with slack shoulders and his head tilted slightly upward. You watch the side profile of the prosthetic, and the way he lifts a hand and passes ringed fingers through vividly blue hair.

Moonlight illuminates the white face of the mask.

You can't see his real face, but you can picture him now. The tranquility of his expression, the curve of his dark eyelashes, his tongue passing over his lips...

The water is up to your calves now.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, angling your chin towards him. It's rushed, and sudden, and you momentarily doubt he even heard it beneath the rippling of water as he moves a bit closer.

"For what?" He asks, turning his head away from the moon and to look you in the eyes.

"I shouldn't have taken the prosthetic off without your permission. The guilt has been churning inside of me and I felt I needed to apologize for it eventually. I'm sorry."

Sal looks down, his eyes following the shape of your thighs before he locks gazes with you again. "You make me feel normal, Y/N. You'd never even asked about it before—and that means the world to me. I won't hold what you did against you."

"But..." you try, but he stops you.

"Y/N," he laughs sweetly. "Don't try and villainize yourself—you did nothing wrong. If anything... it was almost nice to know you weren't scared of seeing what was underneath."

You intake breath for the first time since the conversation began. You felt almost stupid, tears forming in your eyes as you stood within a freezing lake in just a crop top and your underwear.

"You should stop apologizing so much, too. You don't have anything to say sorry for."

"I'm sorry," you repeat, nonetheless.

He chuckles, fixing his gaze onto yours, an almost otherworldly perceptiveness burning in his striking eyes. "I understand how it feels to constantly find fault in yourself for something," he murmurs. "To live with it, to experience that guilt..."

You watch his Adam's apple bob. "It's hard."

A wave of despair washes over your body, and you don't even understand the context of Sal's statement. You're close to him now, and you can tell he's searching for an excuse to put an end to the topic—so you take his hand and divert attention elsewhere.

"Your rings," you utter, holding his hand delicately, looking over the silver and black rings that adorn his digits. "Where are they all from?"

He lifts his other hand for you so you have full access to every band that he's wearing on his fingers. Once he's shown you his right hand, two rings that seem to share the same theme catch your eye.

"I have a few more in my room," he replies, watching you trace a fingertip over the matching heart rings. "I don't know, I guess I collect them—some are gifted, some I've bought myself..."

"With whose money?" You tease, peering up at him through your lashes. The water swishes a little as Sal adjusts his weight.

His eyes squint a little, so you assume he grins. "I'm not dead broke if that's what you're insinuating."

"No, no," you trail off, looking back down at the rings with admiration. "I love these."

"Got them at the thrift store—something told me I would regret not buying them." He looks back up, stares into your downcast eyes for a long moment, and speaks again, "Why don't you have one?"

Your heart flutters. "You want to give me a ring?"

"Sure. Which one do you want?"

"Sal..." you can't help but smile, tracing his pale knuckle with the pad of your thumb. The swift breeze blows over your bare shoulders and conjures a shiver from your body. "You paid money for these. I don't want to take one from you."

"Don't you want a ring?"

You grin shyly. "Of course I do."

"Okay, pick."

You bite your lip nervously, sliding your finger over the silver ring with multiple black hearts engraved into the entire loop of the band. It didn't take much consideration—you'd fallen in love with the ring as soon as you'd laid eyes on it.

"This one," you audibly decide, meeting Sal's eyes anxiously.

Without another word, he eases the ring off of his middle finger and slides it onto yours. His hands are bigger than yours, and you fear it may not be small enough—but it does. It's a perfect fit.

"It was always kinda small on me," he began. "It's better for you."

You hold your hand out up and toward the moon, twisting it in different angles to examine the way the ring hugs your finger snugly.

You lower your hand back down to his, giggling. "We match now," you say softly, referring to the silver ring with the singular black heart that remained on his hand—the one that corresponded to the one now on yours.

As you absentmindedly turn his hand over, passing your eyes over his rings and the lines of his palms, you notice a faint bruising on his fingertips. Your eyebrows raise in alarm, and you meet his eyes and open your mouth to voice your concerns—but he beats you to the punch.

"It's from guitar strings," he murmurs. "Happens when I press too hard."

"Isn't that supposed to go away once you've played for a while? I've heard you mention once that playing the guitar isn't something new to you."

"Yeah, you're right. It is supposed to," Sal replies, intrigue on his tongue. "I don't know. I guess I'm weird."

You grin, stepping forward and submerged yourself further into the water—just enough so you were immersed up to your knees. You turned to face him. "I don't think you're weird. If you were weird, I wouldn't have gotten into a lake with you. At night... with no one else around. Oh, and with no pants on. That too."

Sal gestures his thumb over his shoulder. "Ash and Larry aren't far. If I were to murder you, they'd hear."

You shrug light-heartedly, bending just a bit to immerse your fingers into the water and flicking some towards him. "You could always cover my mouth and drown me. Effective and easy."

He raises his hands in poor defense, but the light splash still lands, lightly speckling his dark, long-sleeved shirt.

Sal bends just as you had (albeit a bit less, his arms were longer than yours) and splashes you gently. "After I've gifted you one of my prized possessions? Why would I do that?"

"That was only means to gain my trust!" You exclaim playfully, now using two hands to splash him.

"Splash me all you want, but I won't confess to something I'm not guilty of."

You stick your tongue out. "That's what they all say. You're only making yourself look stupid."

"I look stupid?" He laughs, pointing at himself before lowering his hand to splash you with a flick of the wrist. "You're the one with no pants on—in a lake, at night. If you die of hypothermia, it won't be anyone's fault but yours."

"All the more reason for you to murder me in cold blood."

"You're making no sense. Are you still drunk?"

"Ugh!" You groan dramatically, splashing him with much more vigor than the previous few times. He genuinely recoils this time, holding his hands out in defense before dropping them. A light shower rains down over his head, just barely dampening his hair and casting a wet sheen on the prosthetic.

"I'm not intoxicated! How dare you!"

Sal genuinely laughs from his chest, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting him. "I can't believe this," he says, running his hands through his hair.

You roll your eyes and move to immerse yourself in the lake water further, the questionable liquid sloshing around your thighs. That's when you hear a familiar two voices, laughing and yelling, and growing closer.

You and Sal turn to each other—Sal being a lot less concerned than you.

"Oh no," you murmur, looking down at yourself. "I have no pants on!"

Sal laughs (his laughter is normally a sound you genuinely enjoy hearing, but now it's obnoxious because it's not what you need to hear right now) and flits his eyes over you amusedly. "I can see that."

"Larry's a guy! He can't see me in my underwear!"

You look out at the open land, looking for your friends' approaching figures worriedly, but you see no one. You hear splashing as Sal continuously closes the distance between you both. "Yeah, I am too."

You roll your eyes, mutter something about boys never understanding anything, and start trudging through the water, back towards the shore.

Sal follows you through your efforts until you've stepped onto land, remaining perfectly patient even though the coldness of the water slowed your movements the entire journey.

He walks forward and tosses your jeans at you, along with your shoes, then sliding your phone in his pocket along with his device for safekeeping.

"I don't have a towel," you mumble. "My legs are too wet. I'll never get these on in time."

Sal blinks at you after somehow already getting his socks on. "Roll in the grass," he quips tightly like he's holding in a laugh. "That'll dry you off."

You scrunch your nose up and throw your shoe at him. It lands, bouncing off of his head with an audible thump, and then lands in the grass.

"Ow," he deadpans, placing a palm on the place the sneaker had just bounced from. "Geez, how hard can you throw?"

"Hard," you snark, wrestling your pants up your wet legs. Eventually, by the grace of whatever existential forces may exist, you managed to pull the denim up and over your hips.

You're zipping up your fly when Ashley and Larry finally appear.

"Dude," Larry gasps like he's been sprinting, bending to place his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. "Dude."

You and Sal stare at him curiously.

"There was a-a homeless guy!"

Ashley's laughing hysterically, and Larry doesn't evaluate, so Sal asks for context. "You're gonna have to evaluate, Larry. What do you mean there was a homeless guy?"

"Some dude was living in the woods! Had a whole fuckin' setup! I'm pretty sure he was cooking meth?!"

Sal just blinks repeatedly, like he was astounded, and couldn't believe that this was happening right now. "Did you guys bother him?"

"No," Ashley wheezes. "As soon as we saw him we bounced."

You're slipping on your shoes when Sal speaks again. "Yeah, maybe we should go..."

Larry finally stands up straight and starts up the slope, running his hands through his brown hair that's been messed while running. "Then in the name of the Lord, let's fucking get out of here."

You keep the seating arrangement you'd had on the way to the lake��girls in the front, boys in the back.

As soon as every door of the Ford Fiesta is shut, and the car becomes alive once again, the heat is immediately turned up. You breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning your head back against the headrest and allowing the hot air to blow against the cold flesh of your neck and shoulders. Your thoughts wandered as total relief washed over your body.

"Your jeans are dry," Ashley comments idly, startling you out of your reverie.

You hear what sounds like a laugh quickly concealed by a faux cough emanate from the backseat.

"Yeah," you reply dumbly. Ash stares at you, probably expecting you to say something else, but your mind goes blank, so she doesn't ask any further questions.

"Did I say he had no pants on?!" Larry suddenly blurts, clearly still mildly traumatized. "Everything was- it was just hanging out!"

Ashley cringes. "Don't put that image back into my mind, Larry."

"It wouldn't be the first person half-naked at Wendigo," Sal quips, locking eyes with you in the rearview mirror. No one questions his statement, most likely taking it as a reference to the infamous chaotic nature of that whole area—but you understand, sending him a contemptuous squint.

Ashley loops the car around to the exit path and it isn't very long before the vehicle is back on the road.

As heat sinks into your skin, reaches your cold bones, and the excitement slows down—your thought process de-thaws. You stare out of the window, watching the streetlights as they pass and listening to the sound of an acoustic guitar on the radio.

The music grows louder and drones in your ears. It's not even an electric guitar, but you still think of Sal, and his bruised fingertips. You twist his ring on your finger, running your opposite thumb over the heart-shaped indentations of the band.

Your mind wanders again. You think of that day in the storage room at the school, and that night in his father's car.

Eventually, you'd return the favor. You wanted him to feel as good as he'd made you feel. You owed it to him—and twice over.

But you'd have to wait. Patience was key—and all locked doors needed them.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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anne-writes · 3 years

Text

Yaoi Fandoms; Representation or Fetishization?

1,305 words, 5 min~ reading time. Seperated into 25 paragrpahs for easier reading/writing. I worked on this while very sleep deprieved so comment an edits uwu. Essay under the divider.

TW: Sarcasm, slight meaness (from me and others), inappriopriate messages to minors, censored cursing, babies?, I’ll update if I figure out any more.

+===========================================================+

It seems whenever a thing in the media with plenty of men in it (youtube groups, bands, shows, ect.) will eventually come out with an MLM ship. This isn't inherently bad because men loving other men is amazing. Good for them. I'm so proud. The problem comes from the stans focused on this ship/couple.

Stans, am I right? The majority of unneeded cancel-culture and cyber-bullying. (Note how I say unneeded) I don't actually mind a lot of stans, probably since I don't use Twitter often.

Now my problem with stans is they find a content creator (musician, artist, YouTuber, ect.) and they try to make this person fit into their specific box of expectations via bullying, and fear of being cancelled and their career ruined.

This sucks for many reasons, because, these content creators are still human, right? Stans don't usually seem to know this and put these people on an unreachable pedestal. Kind of like your parents who expect you to stay the same gifted kid throughout your life. It eventually gets exhausting. Let's put this train of thought on hold for just a few minutes.

Now all of that brings me to my point of writing this. Are yaoi fandoms a good thing or a bad thing? Are they asking for representation or fetishization of their faves? Are they trying to get more LGBTQA+ creators known or are they looking for their uwu gay babies?

I think the question boils down to, who is writing the majority of the fanfiction and what kind of fanfiction is it? Are straight women writing your gay man smut for other straight women to enjoy? I think this is a good telltale if your yaoi fandom is good or bad.

Now, I don't mind straight women writing gay characters having sex, having angsty sex, discovering themselves and falling in love, and straight women reading it, because good on you for not caring about what kind of romance story it is! Everyone loves a good romance story for the many different tropes, I'm partial to enemies to lovers.

I do have a problem when it's not really meant as romance and more something for straight women to get their rocks off if you catch my drift. Getting off to a gay relationship because it's gay is really weird in my opinion. (I'm looking at you, straight boys who watch lesbian porn).

It's quite weird to get off to these kinds of relationships and leads to fetishization. We already are trying to tell the straight boys this, but the gays aren't around for straight people's porn-watching pleasure. It's the same as women liking gay men for being gay. Or men liking lesbians for being lesbian.

I feel that a lot of Yaoi stans aren't asking for representation more so are they asking for two men making love for their pleasure. This leads to the box of expectations that seem to come with every stan. (I told you we'd come back to that earlier point)

As soon as the ship is adopted by stans, it seems to always get joked around by the content creators associated with it. Examples can include, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, and Dream and GeorgeNotFound.

There's now the notation of 'well they brought it up so it must be true!'. And so, if the content creators continue making jokes about their shipname, the more of a cultish following grows and the more expectation for this to be real.

This is pretty dangerous, as whatever one of those men gets a girlfriend, or a partner that isn't this specific person? Then the fandom turns against the 'traitor' and tries to solve any problems standing in the way of their ship. See Babygate. Whether or not you believe in that situation, the way they (stans) treated the families was just downright terrible.

I mean sending porncaps to an underage minor? Just because you think the actress might also be the same girl that the minor's brother got pregnant, wtf. (Apparently, those larries aren't very approving of sex workers and porn actors/actresses /maybekidding,whoknows)

As terrible as that situation was handled and everything, it does show what kind of people those stans can be when something or someone gets in the way of their perfect ship.

They also share the argument of 'this man is in love with another man, so he is gay' which makes me think they're even less so wanting representation. Because representation at its finest would be all sorts of sexualities, genders, ect. not just one specific sexuality.

Representation can come without fetishization. Many content things have been able to accomplish this. For example, some nice MLM webcomics can be found on Webtoon. Blades of Furry is quite cute, and perfect for all my furries out there. Boyfriends is about a Poly MLM group of 4. (Kiss it goodbye, Not So Shoujo Love Story for you WLW in need) (I wanna be a cute anime girl for my trans cuties.) (The Four of Them for a story about a group of kids discovering themselves.)

You can ask for representation without it being about the actual sexual component. LGBTQA+ smut is good for communities with these kinds of ships, but it shouldn't come at the cost of sexualization. Their relationships shouldn't become all about sex, because a lot of people do actually have the ability to keep it in their pants y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶o̶r̶n̶y̶ ̶f̶*c̶k̶s̶.

Posters being obsessed with their top and bottom components and how this person has to act a certain way because they are a top or a bottom are just the same people who think dom and sub roles need to be in every relationship. Who cares about who's the top or bottom when we can just care about their love?

I'm not here to tell you not to ship MLM ships or WLW ships, or any of that. Honestly, that would just be hypocritical of me. I just want people to realize that by allowing yaoi fandoms to sexualize these kinds of relationships, you are solidifying a point in your brain, and other impressionable people's brains that gay people are only for sexual enjoyment.

Whilst I think that IRL ships are pretty weird, everyone is going to probably do that anyway. Just allow that person to be straight, or any other sexuality, allow them to have other partners and don't make their entire life and career around one little thing.

Don't expect people IRL to obey/act how YOU want them. They're humans too, and relationships are complicated. Maybe down the line, your fave comes out of the closet, but you shouldn't force them to come out just because you can 'sense' it.

It's their life, it's their sexuality/gender/identity, allow the choices to be theirs. Forcing someone out of the closet makes you a d*ck. No matter what. No 'but it was so obvious!'. No 'well it was true!'. Forcing someone to reveal a private detail about themselves is creepy and d*ckish. Who cares if you're right, you could've harmed that person's homelife or anything. Maybe they wanted to keep it secret because who are you, as the fan, to dictate what they can share with you.

And so, I leave you with some final words. Not everyone has to be gay, as much as, not everyone has to be straight. Sexuality and Gender identity are a spectrum and you cannot decide anyone else's. Allow people to be who they are, and don't stalk people. That's f*cking weird.

I hope you all have a fantastic day/night/whatever. And next time, think about if your actions will be helping the community or not. I'm sure no one means to harm it, but it's ok to check in with yourself and your actions every once in a while to better yourself.

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

Text

The next chapter is going to be the last chapter. It’ll mostly end on a happy note, though there will be something at the end :3

@petrichormeraki @helleborusangel

Grian was glad to finally finish sorting through all the paperwork, narrowly missing Lynn arriving with another Watcher to discuss his kids. He dragged Grifter along with him and made a portal back to his base, glad that it seemed everything would be calm for a while. Until Grifter screamed.

Grian was sure it was just going to be a chicken left over from Hermit Challenges since those always seemed to appear at the worst times. Maybe someone wearing a chicken head who happened to be around. But instead, there was actually someone standing there. Someone Grian ever so vaguely recognized.

“H-hi there person I haven’t seen before. I’m Grian and that’s Grian and we cloned oursel-” Grifter quickly tried to say, but then freaked out as a chicken appeared next to him.

“Don’t lie. I already know what’s going on. I don’t like it, but you’ll get out mostly scott free. This time.”

“Ha ha ha... “ Grifter weakly laughed, glancing at the chicken to his side. “Hey, so is Mini-”

“Go home before I change my mind Ze.”

“Um, I actually changed it to-” Grifter started to speak before the chicken next to him hissed, making him jump and then make a portal back to helscraft.

Grian looked away from where his copy stood to where Punch was floating. As a Watcher, Grian could feel the death magic radiating off of the man. The man signaled to the chicken which hopped over to him and fluttered its way up to his lap where he pet it like a villain would their cat. “So. Xel I presume?”

After seeing how Punch had responded to Grifter correcting him, Grian just nodded. “Yeah.”

For a moment, the man just stared at Grian before smiling. “Well I’m sure you’re much better than my nephew. It’s a shame that your guide ignored you all those years ago.”

Grian had no clue what was being talked about. “Guide? What guide?”

“Something that could be discussed another time. You have more things to worry about. I’m sure your mother won’t be happy about me sticking around here too long, so I’ll leave you with a gift.” The man looked down to his chicken. “Kokatori, why not stay with Xelqua for a bit?” The chicken clucked once before hopping back down to the ground and standing next to Grian. “If anyone asks, you got it from a guy named Pablo.”

Punch looked like he was about to leave, but then at the last moment to turn back. “Oh, and by the way, I’d check your calendar if I were you. It’s currently May.”

Grian was left puzzled for a few moments as Punch disappeared. May? What did it currently being May have to do with anything. The only thing going on was closer to the end and- Grian pulled his comm out and checked the date. They had been so focused on the mess of the past week that Grian barely registered the days were actually passing. “I NEED TO FIND MUMBO!”

Mumbo watched as Grian was using Watcher magic to multitask. He had explained everything that happened while Grian was gone to him, and the builder was glad to be filled in, but before Mumbo could ask much, Grian pulled out a calendar, his communicator, a book, and also a lead which he put his new chicken on. “Grian, are you doing okay?”

“NO!” Grian stressfully shouted at Mumbo, making him take a step back. Had something happened? Was someone hurt again? Was it the boys? “I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF GRUM CAN EAT CAKE!”

“I’m… sorry what are you talking about?” Mumbo asked, a bit calmer but much more confused.

Grian thrust the calendar into Mumbo’s face. “It’s currently May 21st! We have less than a week to get everything ready!”

“Ready for…?”

“Are you- GRUM’S FIRST BIRTHDAY!”

Mumbo’s eyes widened at Grian answer. “Oh my word! That really is just around the corner, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I already had some plans in place of course but now it’s basically all out the window since there’s more family and friends involved to invite. Right now the only thing taken care of is presents!”

“Right, and did it get delivered?”

“Of course it did! I hid it in a por- I HID IT IN A PORTAL! THE BOYS COULD ACTUALLY GET THERE NOW!” Grian yelled, freaking out.

“Okay, calm down. It’s going to be fine. If we need to, we can hide it somewhere else. And I’m sure even if we don’t move it, it’s going to be perfectly fine. I doubt either of the boys will manage to get in there.” Mumbo did his best to calm Grian. “I know the boys wanted some people to visit today. Possibly you can get those people to come and we can find time to ask them more about who else the boys might have gotten close to and get a guest list that way.”

Grian was glad to finally finish sorting through all the paperwork, narrowly missing Lynn arriving with another Watcher to discuss his kids

Grian snapped his fingers at the idea before putting almost everything away. “That’s a great idea. Let me message Tommy on the change of plans. You said they wanted Fundy and Michael?”

“And Michael’s parent since he’s young. Parents? I’m not completely sure, I’m sure all those time problems didn’t help.”

“I’m sure they didn’t.” Grian remarked as he finished sending a message. “There. Now I guess we wait for Tommy to respond.” And he didn’t need to wait long as a message arrived. “Okay! He says I can pick them all up, though I might need to search a little for Fundy. But I’m sure he’ll want to visit Iskall at the very least.”

“Oh, that’s right! There’s one thing I forgot to mention.” Mumbo spoke up, making Grian’s head whip in his direction. “It’s maybe a little concerning, but I’m sure it will be fine. It… it just looks like Grum might be skittish around Iskall again. It makes sense after everything that happened of course, but better I remember to tell you now and not let you find out yourself.”

“I guess you’re right about it making sense. It sort of was like he got… void he got brainwashed again.”

“Hey, he managed to do well on his own. Might not be the best way to take after you, but it’s still good he took after your survival skills.”

“Oh ha ha. I don’t have survival skills.” Grian rolled his eyes. “The amount of times I’ve dive bombed or exploded myself. I mean, You know how many times I died testing my minigame mister ‘Watch This’.”

Mumbo chuckled for a moment. “Not one of my finer moments. But I meant about when you were growing up. I know it’s not your favorite time, but you made it through that part of your life. Grum was able to do the same.”

“I wish he didn’t have to. I wish neither of them got stuck there.”

“I’m sure no one did. But they did and got through it, and that’s what matters. So let’s just work on making sure they know everything’s fine now. Go pick up Tommy and the others.”

“Alright. And thanks for the talk Mumbo.”

“Always.”

Jrum was practically bouncing off the walls when he saw Michael. Grum was a bit more reserved, but was also pretty excited. It seemed Michael was a little nervous being in such a new place, but Jrum was quickly at the ziglin’s side to reassure him. To the side, Fundy was currently admiring the marvel that was the spawn area. Since Jrum had gone with their friend, Grum made his way to the hybrid. “Um, hi Fundy.”

“Wh- Oh hey Grum! How’re you doing?”

Grum rubbed his arm. “Better. Thank you for helping me out when everything was happening. You didn’t need to.”

“Of course I did. You’re a kid and what Dream was doing was seriously fucked up.” He got a look from Grum. “Well, okay. Maybe I wouldn’t have normally, but he kept getting me involved and Iskall knew you, so it was kind of different.”

“Well, thank you very much for that.” Grum said, hugging Fundy. “Well, I bet you want to see Iskall’s tree.”

“Oh hell yeah! Where’s the Omega Tree?”

Immediately Jrum was back next to them. “I can take him there! I’ll also see if Iskall is there or can get there soon! You can play with Michael while we’re gone!”

Grum nodded and looked to Michael. “Do you think that your parents will let you follow me through the nether to a place to play? I know a safe path and Dad assured me if something were to happen, you would absolutely safely respawn.”

Michael snorted before running over to Tubbo and Ranboo, interrupting their conversation with Tommy. Grum followed him over to elaborate on whatever he would say, or just translate in general. When they were told of the idea, Ranboo and Tubbo weren’t entirely sure about it, but Tommy put in a good word. “C’mon, Grian and Mumbo let the bots run around on their own all the time. This place is safe, so he’ll be fine.”

“I guess… but only if you two stick to the overworld. The nether might be faster, but it’s also dangerous.” Tubbo relented.

Grum thought it over. They would need to take a boat over to where they were going, and there would be a bit of a trek through the jungle, but there was a path they could take. “Of course! We will do what we can to stay as safe as possible. Now…” Grum pointed to the bubble elevator. “Up the tube!”

Michael followed behind Grum to get to the surface and the bot crafted up a boat for the two of them. As Grum rowed, Michael looked around at everything around them. Though there wasn’t too terribly much in the ocean in the direction they were headed, there were enough large builds that could still be seen to keep Michael in awe.

Eventually they landed and Grum led them through the jungle. “The best place to play is in Uncle Scar’s village. It's got plenty of buildings to work with and the style is perfect for games! And then nearbyish is Larry the snail and the magic arrow.”

Michael oinked a quick question and Grum elaborated as they walked. When they finally reached the village, Michael quickly ran into it and started exploring, Grum quickly following behind the ziglin. Though the buildings themselves were interesting, Michael decided the best thing were the small mushrooms that had built along the path.

“Yeah! My Daddy really likes those too. He also found a haunted bed when he owned the place for a bit. I wonder if it’s still haunted. Ooo!” Michael pretended to be scared before laughing, and then the two went off to play in the village together.

Back at spawn, Tommy was still chatting with Tubbo and Ranboo when Grian arrived. “Hey, have you guys seen my boys?”

“Yeah, Jrum took Fundy to Iskall’s and Grum went with Michael to play.” Tommy answered. “Why, is something wrong?”

“No, I was actually making sure they weren’t around.” Grian looked to Ranboo and Tubbo. “Are you two willing to come back with Michael in like five days? It’s going to be Grum’s birthday and maybe Michael can be one of the guests?”

“Oh hell yeah, you two need to come. It’ll be so pog!” Tommy said, hoping they would agree to visiting again.

“I guess we probably can, but it’ll also depend on how today goes.” Ranboo answered, Tubbo agreeing with him.

“Okay good.” Grian nodded, writing something down. He then looked over to Ranboo. “Do you have any idea some of the people the boys were close to when they were stuck over there?”

“Sometimes I barely remember my name.”

“Hmm, alright I guess I’ll have to ask Fundy.”

“Hey, I do know one thing.” Tommy piped up. “Or maybe two. Wil’s also a big music lover, so there might be something there. The other bit you probably aren’t going to like though.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. What is it?”

“Pretty sure Grum’s favorite uncle is Techno now.”

Grian was just silent as he contemplated the answer. Tommy nervously glanced at his friends before taking a slight step back, worried about how exactly Grian would react. When the avian’s wings started puffing up, Tommy was sure they would need to run, but instead Grian just took a deep breath. “Alright. Fine. I was already planning to invite him since he’s family and all. Yep. It’s fine. Totally fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.” Tubbo spoke up, and Grian quickly looked at them with a glare, though he was still smiling.

“Nope. It’s absolutely completely fine.” Then Grian sighed. “Well, I guess I’m going to find Fundy and ask him some questions. If you think of anything else, just message me.”

Tommy agreed before the avian flew off and then looked to his friends. “Alright, so this is probably the best excuse to show you around the shopping district since I’m going to need to pick something up. And if you guys want to buy something, just say the word, I can spare some diamonds.”

“Are you sure? We could get our own-” Ranboo started to speak up, but got stopped by Tommy.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll probably earn back whatever I spend in like a week. Probably from one of the redstoners.” Then Tommy led them to the bubble column. “Now let’s go. Oh, and Ranboo, if you need some armor to help with the water, just grab one from one of the stands. That’s what they’re there for.”

“You mean… the full netherite armor?”

“Yep.”

“Something tells me even I won’t have trouble forgetting all of this.”

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #hc x dsmp #grian #watcher!grian #grian xelqua #avian!Grian #hels!grian #mystery character #the watchers (evo)#mumbo jumbo #grumbot #jrumbot #tommyinnit #tubbo #michael_beloved #michael underscore beloved #itsfundy

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eury--dice · 3 years

Text

glitter and tree branches

happy (belated) holidehs, @singtomeinstead! thank you so much for your wonderful prompts and your even more wonderful dedication to this beautiful @sincerely-us gift exchange. hope your 2021 is off to a good start <3

(ao3 link in the notes!)

It all starts in Ellison Park.

Maybe that is the one thing, across any universe, that stays the same - that cannot change. No matter how you slice their story, it all starts in Ellison Park. Whether that beginning is a fall from a tree, a single form illuminated against the endless expanse of pink morning sky, or -

This.

It all starts in Ellison Park, 2006, when four families tangentially decide a trip to the park is the perfect spring activity, bundle up their five-year-olds and head off.

The Murphy’s arrive early. Larry guides the car over gravel until stopping, Connor and Zoe’s cheers from the backseat audible to everyone outside. Larry and Cynthia share a tight grin over their excitement, eyes pulled taut from lack of sleep.

“Ice cream!” Zoe shouts, eyes catching on the closed Dell’s lemonade cart just outside the gate. Connor is already chanting “le-mon-ade,” albeit much quieter than his sister. Cynthia raises a hand to massage over her eyes.

“It’s 11 am,” Larry points out. “No ice cream yet, sweetheart.”

“No!” They wail in perfect synchrony, only to promptly forget about sweets as soon as they’re unbuckled from the car and tearing off to the park. Cynthia sighs, gesturing for Larry to follow them while she gets what they need for the day.

Six-year-old Evan Hansen is decidedly a morning person. He has been a morning person since the day of his birth, and he will be one for the rest of his life. So while kids his age nod off against their parent’s shoulders on park benches and in their booster seats, he presses his nose against the window of the car and lets his breath fog it up even though he knows his father will scold him for the messiness later. As soon as they step into the park Evan’s vision tunnels into everything around him, sheer joy taking over as he pulls his hand from his mother’s and takes off towards the nearest tree.

“Evan!” she yelps, momentarily distracted from her argument with Mark. Since Evan normally never darts away from her, she’s caught off guard by his sudden energy, her heart rate skyrocketing with Mark’s words intangible in her ears. But Evan pays her no heed; he just runs, his parent’s arguing fading into the background for the first time he can remember. He stops at one of the trees, laying a palm against it and closing his eyes. Through his fingertips, it’s like he is rooted to the ground; like he himself is steady, consistent, and ready to provide comfort.

Heidi stops in her tracks once she can see that he’s safe, turning to Mark with an “are you seeing this?” expression, but he staunchly refuses to return her gaze.

Jared Kleinman is distinctly not a morning person, much to his friend’s dismay. Their parents always joked about it when they were little more than babies sharing naps in the Kleinman’s living room; Evan fussing at the first sign of light while Jared took more than a fair bit of commotion to so much as stir. So the Kleinman’s amble into the park a little after the Hansen’s, a still sleepy Jared leaning between his moms like a tiny labored soldier. He perks up on hearing Heidi’s voice, attuned to trouble as always, but his mom tightens her grip on his shoulder before he can run forward.

“Plenty of time for that,” she said in an undertone. “I don’t want you bonking your head because you’re sleepy.”

“I won’t,” Jared insists, offended at the mere notion he could mess something up.

His mother studies his eyes for a moment before relenting. “All right. Go see your friend.”

Jared takes off at once, a direct beeline to Evan - so direct that he doesn’t see the child-shaped obstacle in his path, immediately bonking heads and falling back onto his butt on the pavement, two glasses clattering noises filling his ears. “Oh my god,” he hears his other mom groan.

“You should be more careful,” a voice says, little-kid saccharine but mature beyond its years. “You’re Jared, right?”

“Alana! Are you okay?” a man calls at the same time Jared’s mom calls, “I told you!”

Jared hadn’t expected to see Alana Beck from his kindergarten class there, but he did all the same.

“Are you okay?” She says before he can respond. “My head hurts a bit. Does yours?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jared says. “A bit.” He reaches blindly for the first pair of glasses he can vaguely see, but when he puts them on his vision explodes and contorts.

“Are these yours?” they say at the same time, so Jared guesses she must have picked up his. They swap, and Jared frowns at a long scratch in his right lense before putting them back on.

“That’s why you need to look where you’re going,” Alana says, noting his frown. “My grandma says people get hurt when they’re not aware of their surroundings.”

“I guess.” Jared feels a little stunned into silence, even as their parents come over to check them. But finally, he manages to say “Do you want to come play with me and Evan?”

Alana scrunches up her nose, her glasses following. “Evan Hansen?”

“Yeah.”

She thinks on it for a moment, then throws a look to someone who must be her younger sister. “Okay,” she says, and that’s that.

The three unite by Evan’s tree, though Evan is a squirrel so he climbs nearly all the way up while Jared and Alana watch. Alana talks enough for all three of them, jabbering on about her family and what she misses from school now that they’re older, and that seems to ease Evan’s discomfort around a new person. He’s content to climb while they carry the conversation.

All three of their heads turn at the sound of a sudden splash followed by the shouts of two dismayed children. Jared laughs reflexively at the sight of horror on their nearly-identical faces, freckles elongated with their widening mouths. Evan drops down nimbly from the tree almost at once.

“Dad!” the boy calls, hands flying to his short curls to tug, and after a moment they recognize him as another classmate - Connor Murphy, in a different section, known to dominate the monkey bars at recess. “Why’d you throw it in the lake?”

“Emergency landing,” a man with graying hair replies, a little ways off from where Evan’s parents had settled. “Sorry, Con.”

While a few of their parents chuckle, neither of the kids appears sated; in fact, both look close to tears. The three by the tree exchange a look.

“Should we?” Alana says, and Evan nods, Jared already setting off towards the lake.

“What was it?” he asks loudly, once they near the two who lean over the surface of the lake longingly.

Zoe, who he only knew through Connor’s sharing time about his family, shot him a watery glare. “A airplane,” she bites out.

“An airplane,” Alana corrects, though she quiets when she’s on the receiving end of Zoe’s glare.

“We don’t have an airplane,” Evan says, looking between Alana and Jared for confirmation. “But, um…you can play with us?”

The two stare at each other for a beat, still working back tears, before they sigh.

“Not even one airplane?” Connor asks.

“Not even one.”

“My sister might have one,” Alana puts in. “I can ask?”

Connor eyes them warily for a beat before sighing again. “Fine. Zoe?”

“I guess so,” she says, voice small.

Friends acquired…apparently.

***

Most of the time, Zoe wishes she and Connor are real twins.

They feel enough like it - given that they almost always just played with each other - and even looked enough like it, if random people in the supermarket’s judgment could be trusted. People sometimes said they were Irish twins, which Zoe never quite understood, even after Cynthia sat her on the couch and explained the concept to her. Being Irish twins is fine and all, even though only their dad was even a little Irish (thanks, Murphy surname). But it isn’t as good as being a real twin, sharing the birthday she so desperately wants, sharing the grade above her own.

Instead, she’s stuck, out of the loop and behind. Alana comes over in the lunchroom on the days where she can, seemingly only willing to break the rules that keep her separated from everyone else due to grade. Zoe gets quite used to the sight of Alana beelining across the cafeteria, her star-patterned lunchbox unzipped and held to her chest as she weaves around students and faculty alike with a grace that Zoe assumes comes from dance. And she gets used to Alana parking herself right across from her, unzipping a small ziplock bag of baby carrots around the surprised looks of elementary school underclassmen, and saying something along the lines of “did Mrs. Gould teach you about magnets today?” And Zoe takes the offered baby carrot, puts away the felt-tip pen she’s been doodling with, and smiles.

She drags the other three over one day, though Connor’s lips set in annoyance over having to babysit his little sister and Evan’s set in something that looks closer to anxiety, casting anxious glances over to the faculty presiding over the lunchroom. Jared simply throws her an amused smile, squeezing between her and her friend from class and cutting Zoe off with a loud “Howdy!” before she can apologize for his behavior. Evan takes the unoccupied space on her right, his fingers messing with the clasp of his lunchbox. His eyes jump across the faculty members even as Alana and Connor sit across from her. She’s so used to seeing both of them across from her that it takes a moment for her to remember how different they usually are. Alana only ever looks like this, separated by a grainy plastic table and fluorescent lights, but normally she sees Connor under their warm kitchen lights and the honey-colored wood of their kitchen table.

“You don’t have to come over here,” she says quietly, words muffled into the collar of her sweater.

Alana just smiles and launches their normal lunch routine, this time with the added chatter from Connor and Jared, before Evan’s face shifts and Zoe lifts her eyes to see a faculty member appear just behind Alana.

“Aren’t you all at the wrong table?” They say, and the five scatter as quickly as they can, hoping to avoid docked recess as punishment. On the playground, Evan bites the corner of his nail nervously and Connor refuses to look in Zoe’s direction, staring instead towards the faculty hovering by the fences.

So much for trying to spend time together.

Out of school, though - out of school is equal for everyone, regardless of grade. No time to share, no privacy for their conversations, no good locations for their games.

“We should have a secret hiding spot,” Alana declares later that same day. Even from her position hunched under the bunk bed she shares with her younger sister, her voice carries such a sure tone that no one could even disagree.

“Should we all join you?” Jared quips. Connor responds by smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

“Not in my house,” Alana says, and for some reason, Zoe expects an eye roll or something of the sort, but she’s Alana so of course there’s only confidence and surety. “Do you really want my dads hearing everything?”

“We don’t have secrets,” Evan points out from his spot on the floor between Jared and Zoe. His sleeve brushes against Zoe’s when he fidgets, his hands moving his shoulders.

“We could,” Jared says. “How else are we going to steal all the Jell-O from the cafeteria?”

“I think you’re the only person who actually likes that Jell-o,” Zoe says, before immediately regretting it. The words slip through her teeth, liketh thad dell-o, rounded and off compared to all of her friends. Evan’s arm brushes against hers again.

“Of all the criminal plots, Jared,” Connor agrees.

“It’s gross,” Evan adds in an undertone, and Zoe is pretty sure she’s the only one who can hear it.

“But it would be a secret!”

“We’re not going to do that,” Alana says; words getting caught in a sigh. “But wouldn’t it be nice to talk without-”

As if on queue, her younger sister bursts into the room, catapulting herself onto the top bunk with a frightening speed. Evan falls into Jared as she hurtles over them, and Connor jumps practically a foot in the air.

With a comical precision, almost like something actually out of a comic in the paper that Larry loved to hand them on Sunday’s so they could “learn to read a newspaper,” they turn to look at Alana.

“Like I said,” she says, assuming her teacher voice.

“…Well, where?” Jared finally replies. “Our houses don’t work too well.”

“Outside?” Evan suggests hopefully. “Maybe the park?”

“It’s too cold, and our parents can’t always drive us there,” Alana says. “But maybe…hm…

At once, Connor and Zoe’s heads swivel towards each other.

“We have a place,” Connor says slowly, reading understanding on Zoe’s face. “Or…we will.”

Larry has passions that ebb and flow just like Cynthia, and for once Zoe is certain she and her brother are thinking of the same thing; the influx of wood he’d been purchasing recently, the power tools they heard whenever he was off work, the constant questions over whether they wanted to help.

A week later, the five stand in the Murphy’s backyard. Cynthia and Larry observe at a distance, their faces careful as they watch the kid’s reactions but obvious joy in the lines of Larry’s tiny smile.

“Oh my God,” Jared breathes. “Is it real?”

“No, dummy,” Connor says, voice filled with a pompousness that Zoe hates. “We bought a treehouse decal and spent all night getting it up there just to play tricks on you.”

“Don’t be mean, Connor,” Zoe says with the snobbiness she knows he hates. He sticks his tongue out at her in return.

Evan steps forward first, laying his palm against the tree trunk and staring up with a reverence Zoe never expected. He smiles gently, the light brushing his cheeks like burnished bronze, and Zoe looks away with a smile similar to her father’s.

“Well, let’s go,” Connor says, and Evan must take his words as invitation, because he forgoes the ladder and chooses instead to scale the tree limbs until worming his way in through the “window” of the treehouse. Zoe heard something like a fond laugh behind her, most likely her mother’s doing, before she raced off to the tree herself. She did opt for the ladder, however. Connor follows Evan’s dramatics, and Alana and Jared are close on Zoe’s heels.

“Woah,” she hears Alana breathe, and, well. Woah was right.

The treehouse isn’t very large, but to a bunch of elementary students it certainly feels like it. The smell of fresh pine assaults her nose, dust still floating around and tickling her eyelashes. The late fall light streams in through the slats and windows, leaving a gold-washed tint around the treehouse and all of her friends.

Connor wanders over to a small platform, and she follows, letting her other friends scatter about the room, chattering idly about the treehouse. Zoe leans her head on Connor’s shoulder, but just as she does Connor nudges Zoe with his elbow. Uncaring to her yelp, he asks “Do you have the thread in your room?”

“Thread?” She repeats, as it takes her brain a moment to catch up. “Ohh. Yeah. I think so.”

“Want to go grab it?”

“Why?”

He motions to his wrist and then to the group as a whole.

“Whyyyy me?” She says, the y drawing out into a whine in a true younger sibling move.

All the same, she’s on her way back up the treehouse with a tub of bracelet thread tucked under her arm five minutes later. Maneuvering up the ladder with it tucked under her arm proved to be a bit of a challenge, but nothing Zoe Murphy can’t handle. She does throw it through the window before her, though, which (by Connor’s horrified yelp) isn’t the brightest move. When she reenters, Connor is already gathering up thread and shaking dust out of it.

“Oh, yes,” Jared says, surging forward and grabbing a green and purple thread from Connor’s hands. He sits heavily on the ground, immediately beginning a complicated braid without any prompting. He looks up at their surprised faces a moment later. “What? I learned at camp this summer.”

“Did you learn, Evan?” Alana asks, likely remembering they went to the same camp.

Evan looks away, one hand reaching to pick at an imperfection in the wooden wall. He shrugs. “‘M not very good,” he says, and Zoe can’t help but remember the snatches of conversation she remembers overhearing accidentally from her parents - she had to drive down and couldn’t handle it and maybe talking to the school counselor came to mind.

She crosses to him without thinking, grabbing his hand. “I’ll teach you,” she blurts without thinking. Connor hands her her favorite colors without prompting, and Zoe begins a tri-color braid that’s probably more complicated than Evan needs, but he catches on easily enough after a few minutes, twisting the blue and purple and pink together into something beautiful.

They pass their first hours in the treehouse like that, singularly focused like only little kids can be, and when Zoe’s parents bring up pizza and Sprite they pause only to admire their fine work. Several bracelets adorn each of their wrists, each twisted by someone else and infused with why Jared jokingly called the power of love. And the sun sets on them all together, smearing grease across their faces and throwing loose bits of thread across their haven in the sky, and Zoe smiles.

***

It was nearing dinnertime, far too cold and far too quiet to be in a treehouse.

Connor and Zoe took to hanging around the treehouse even when their friends weren’t there, much preferring it to their former hiding places within the house. As the winter wore on and the days grew shorter, so did Murphy tempers, and cabin fever mixed in only made enclosed spaces more liable to combust. So, with the treehouse available, Zoe tended to grab Connor and the ukelele she’d just begun learning to play and sneaking out the sliding door into their backyard. That particular evening, the layer of fluffy snow that had just fallen masked their escape and allowed them entrance to the treehouse and cushioned any residual noise left from the kitchen. They still were bundled up, however, their parkas and hats pulled tight. Both had forgone gloves, however; Zoe felt her fingers stiffen and slip on her ukelele strings, while Connor seemed unperturbed by the cold while he sketched in his brand-new sketchbook. Save for her muffled ukelele noises and the faint rustling of small creatures in the snow and Connor’s pencil etching against paper, all was still.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to bring string instruments into the cold,” Connor said, breaking the silence. Zoe responded by strumming an e minor chord more aggressively.

They fell back into their rhythm, and Connor started to hum along to her strumming just as the pinks and purples broke through gray winter sky.

“We have a project,” a voice declared. startling both of them out of their individual reveries. Alana’s head popped up in the treehouse window, a giant pom-pom hat perched precariously over the intricate braided bun Zoe could remember seeing at school that day.

“Jesus Christ, Alana,” Connor said, sounding very much like a kid who was trying his hardest to get a handle on cussing and sounding cool. “How did you get here?”

Alana blinked, righting the large box she held in her hands. “Your parents said you were here.”

Connor stilled abruptly, while Zoe’s foot started bouncing. “You talked to them?”

“Yeah,” she said, and as if she knew their next question - likely because she did, from years of experience - “They seemed like they were calming down.”

“Good,” Zoe said quietly.

Impervious to the Murphy siblings’ shifted expressions, Alana dropped the metal box to the floor and followed it, dropping to the frosty pine boards like there was nothing else she’d rather do. “Anyway, we’re making a time capsule!”

“We are?” Zoe said, feeling amusement creeping into the edges of her voice.

“Yes. You’ll thank me in ten years.”

Zoe and Connor shared a look. Connor cut off the awkward silence that suddenly descended. “The ground is frozen. How are we going to bury it?”

Alana grinned over the lid. “My dads were talking about the thaw later this week.”

“No snow?” added a new voice. Evan popped up barely a moment later, likely having taken a wild path up the tree rather than using the ladder like anyone else, even when ice coated to every nook and cranny of the bark. “Already?”

“Apparently,” Zoe replied.

“Won’t it get all covered in mud?” Jared added, and Zoe spun her head around to look at Alana, fixing her with a sharp look.

“Did you invite everyone over to our house?”

Alana shrugged. “This is important. And there isn’t that much mud if you dig deep enough, Jared.”

“Again - why?” Connor interrupted.

“Because she says so, and it’s a kick-ass idea,” Jared said.

“Didn’t expect you to latch onto sentimentality, Kleinman,” Zoe muttered, startling a laugh out of him.

Alana pulled a binder free from the backpack she’d slung to the ground. “C’mon - what do you want to add?”

“Cheerios,” Jared said at once, earning a scowl out of Alana.

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, Jared-”

“He’ll shut up,” Evan rushed to cut him off. “So not food items?”

“More sentimental, I think,” Connor said.

“Exactly.”

Under Alana’s direction, they did just that. After a successful thaw later in the week Zoe took a shovel from the garage and helped them dig and re-bury dirt in the Murphy’s backyard, marked by a small stake Connor painted with acrylics from their mom’s craft supply.

“Now we wait,” Alana said.

***

Somewhere along the line, things get… tense.

Zoe reads the self-help books and watches the videos her teachers play on VHS tapes during their “health” classes. They all describe the same thing, a switch flipping with no warning once elementary school draws to a close and sixth grade begins. Admittedly, she watches them a year later than everyone else, forever cursed to be a year behind. But she knows it’s coming all the same - fault lines crackling out through the earth and darting between their feet, setting them all adrift on different paths, thunder drowning out their words where there used to be laughter.

Nothing could have prepared her for the actual occurrence, though.

The treehouse really is their de facto hangout spot, given the Murphy’s lasé-faire attitude towards where their children were and the complete privacy it afforded. With their newly-acquired Jazz Band extracurricular, Zoe and Jared always arrive late, normally to the sight of Evan and Alana reading and Connor drawing or some other combination of their group’s preferred activities. But when they climb the ladder to the treehouse that day, the air is…stilted, like Zoe has grown to expect inside the house. That kind of expectant anger, like you know something is going to go wrong but aren’t sure what it is yet.

Evan sits, his eyes darting between Alana and Connor and over to Jared and Zoe as they walk in like he can sense a disaster brewing. Jared flounces over to Connor, sprawling, earning himself a glare.

“Can I help you, Kleinman?”

He nods to the sketchbook in Connor’s hands. “Might want to clean up those lines.”

It only gets worse from there - cutting barbs thrown this way and that, all ready to strike and hit. Nothing too bad, at least not until Connor says get the fuck out of my house and Jared says at least I have other people who will take me and Alana says honestly can’t you two even try to act mature and Zoe hears herself say at least we’re not miserable all the time before she realizes that’s - patently false. And one by one, they storm away, hopping down with practiced agility they no longer have reason to use.

And there Zoe sits. Shutting down, like she always does.

***

Connor felt like he was suffocating.

Everything was aggressively there-every word spoken grating his ears, every shadow a little too dark and every light a little too bright, every glance so heavy it weighed on his chest. He felt uneven and on edge, like one loud noise would send him spiraling off of a cliff and bursting into tears.

“Zoe,” he’d said, coming up behind her as she stood at the counter. Maybe if he’d looked he would have seen how her shoulders tensed as soon as she heard his voice. Maybe if he’d listened he would’ve heard how Zoe’s breath hitched and how she quickly ran a hand over her face. Maybe if he’d paid attention he would’ve noticed how her hands clenched around her mug and she steeled herself. Maybe the glint of pain and fear and loneliness nestled deep within her eyes before she put her shields up as she turned around would’ve stood out to him. But he couldn’t even handle analyzing himself, and there was no hope for understanding Zoe.

“What?” She said, and even in his funk he noticed how her words appeared differently than normal. Maybe, if he’d taken a moment to think, he would have identified the source-fatigue, cutting through each letter. There was none of the venom they’d grown used to hurling at each other and pretending it didn’t burn once it touched skin. She sounded tired.

He rubbed the edge of his sweatshirt sleeve with us thumb, trying to pull an excuse out of nowhere. In reality, he just needed something to anchor him to Earth, but he couldn’t say that to her. “Could you paint my nails?” He bit out, risking cutting his gaze up to her face. Her eyes had widened slightly since he last looked at her, eyebrows lifted silently with them. She pulled her bottom lip between her front teeth, and she looked down and away, foot tapping some unfamiliar rhythm against the tiled floor. Silence hung between them, dark and heavy, nearly drowning out the tap tap taptap tap of her foot. He looked back up towards her, not quite meeting her eyes, perhaps a bit more expectancy in his gaze than he would have liked.

She shook her head slightly, ring finger tapping against the side of her mug. “Why?” She said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

“Why am I asking…?”

“Yeah,” She said, same fatigue in her voice. “Why are you asking me? When this is the first time you’ve talked to me in…what, four months without being forced to?”

Connor shrugged a little, taken aback by this reaction. A soft, incredulous laugh built in Zoe’s throat.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, voice choked. “I don’t understand. You’ve broken down my door twice. I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. Why would you want me to…”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, voice uneven. Zoe shook her head again.

She stared evenly at him, and maybe if he’d been paying better attention he would have noticed the thin sheen of tears in her eyes as he raised his eyes to meet hers. “What color?”

“What?”

“Nail polish. If I painted your nails. What color would it be?”

Connor resumed rubbing his sleeve. “Black.”

She bit her lip again, the edges of her mouth curling into a bitter smile, words sounding just as bitter. “Damn. I’m out of black.”

The edge of Connor’s mouth twitched even as he felt something sink inside of him. “I see,” he said, a touch harder than the previous words had been.

Zoe shrugged, hand still wrapped around her mug, as she pushed her hip against the side of the counter to launch herself away from it. “That’s that, I guess.”

“I guess so,” Connor responded, voice hollow.

Maybe, if he’d looked up instead of locking his gaze on the floor, he’d have seen the tense hold of Zoe’s shoulders, the moment of faltering before she continued walking.

“I guess so,” she repeated faintly, all edges gone form her voice and tiredness abundant.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, she was completely gone from the kitchen. He gazed around for a moment, letting the view of the kitchen wash around him.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

***

Zoe is desperately glad she and Connor are only Irish twins.

Distance - distance is what she needs more than ever. She’d hated it, that chasm between her and everyone else, but of course she couldn’t have known just how wide that chasm could get. Would get, with time and urging and their circle falling apart under the right amount of pressure.

The right amount of pressure, she thinks, poised to flee on her kitchen chair, leg bouncing and heart coiled, for Connor to come home. He does, of course, sullen and tired, but in front of her eyes all the same. It’s only been a year since they reached critical mass in the treehouse, but the shift in all of them came quickly and without mercy. Alana buries herself in more work than Zoe had ever thought possible, always hurrying away whenever Zoe tries to get a word in edgewise. Jared just darts his eyes around like a caged animal, calculations churning behind his eyes as though searching for his best way forward. Evan she still sees somewhat regularly, making sure that her parents still drive him home and letting him crash on their couch when Heidi works too late, but she’s seen him retreat into himself too often to think he’s okay. And Connor…

“What are you doing up?” he whispers, the sound traveling across their kitchen table.

“Waiting for you,” she responds in a similar hiss, snapping her laptop shut.

“You should’ve just gone to bed, Mom’s gonna be pissed if she sees the li-”

“When she sees her son walk through the door at-” she lifts her phone dramatically, searching for the little time symbol. “1:12 in the morning?”

“Well she won’t see it if you just go to sleep-”

“What are you even doing?” she says in a normal tone, though she recoils and presses a hand over her mouth when Connor’s eyes widen in warning. She and Connor freeze with their hands stifling their breathing, trying to hear any shifts from their parents upstairs with their identical eyes wide. After a beat of nothing but the house shifting in the wind, she lowers her hands, swiping up her laptop with the one closest to the table. “You don’t need to be out this late, Con.”

His eyes flash over to her, then back up to the ceiling. “You don’t need to stay up for me.”

“Oh, sure, I’ll just stop worrying, I’ll just go to bed and dream sweet dreams when you’re doing hell knows what-”

“I didn’t ask you to fucking worry about me!” He cuts out. “I don’t need your pity, Zoe!”

She balts, shakes her head, feels her braids sliding against the material of her jazz band sweatshirt. “Pity?” she repeats.

Connor holds his jaw, looking away.

“Pity,” she says, then laughs a single time, too loud, but she’s past the point of caring. “I don’t know where you got pity from in the last fourteen years, Connor, but none of it is coming from me, that’s for sure.” She brushed past him. “Fine. You don’t deserve my worry anyway. I’ll tell mom in the morning if you’re so insistent.”

Connor’s footsteps hurry after her, until his fingers wrap around her wrist. She jerks it away as soon as he makes contact, “Don’t. Please.”

“You want me to stop worrying?” she says lowly, dangerously. “Fine. Then I’ll make sure you can’t do anything that worries me. See how you fucking like that.”

It was like a switch flipped in Connor, like as soon as their group fell apart so did he, growing more liable to shut down and ramp up at once. But he just leaves her grasping at straws always, never able to say anything right.

Middle school bleeds into high school, the chasm and pressure growing between them, small disagreements exploding into screams and something valuable shattering. Doors they’d never closed before close with racorous clangs, and Zoe grows tired of sleeping outside of them and waiting for him to open them up.

You don’t need to worry about me, he’d said, and she can’t ever stop, really, but she can ignore him until the worry clawed at her a little less urgently.

Try as she might, she couldn’t just forget all those years, especially when she saw reminders of them all around school - flashes of Jared’s shirts, an edge of Alana’s backpack, a flicker of Evan’s eyes. She still goes to the treehouse, sometimes, but mostly she keeps to her room, her guitar, the things she knows.

Her phone buzzes one night, and when she sees Evan Hansen flash across her screen she picks it up without a moment’s thought.

“Hello?”

“Zoe?” Evan says, voice breathy in her ear.

There’s a beat. “Yeah,” she finally says. “You okay?”

“I’m - yeah, um, I’m fine, it’s all - uh, my mom is pulling a night shift.”

“Oh?” She says, barely a hum.

“Yeah. She - look, this is, um, really dumb, I know, but can I - can I stay at yours? Tonight? I know it’s been, um, less than ideal, I can just-”

“Yeah,” she says, again without thinking. She squeezes her eyes shut, forces enthusiasm into her voice. “Yeah. ‘Course, Ev. I’ll - you need me to pick you up?”

“What? Um - no, I’m - I’m at the park, actually, walking is…fine.”

Her eyebrows pull closer together. “It’s late.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Really.”

Ten minutes later, Evan is on their front porch. Cynthia greets him with a warm smile, and Zoe leans against the doorway of the guest room while he sets himself up.

“Are you okay, Evan?” She hears herself ask.

His head jerks up quickly, locking eyes with her. “I-I’m fine.”

Zoe shakes her head, letting out a but of air through her nose. “What’s up, then?”

His hands still over his backpack, and he looks just past her head to the hallway. “I couldn’t be alone in that house.”

She hesitates for a moment, nods, looks to the corner of the room. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

Her eyes snap back over to him. “What?”

“Do you - have you been alone, Zoe, through all of this?”

She snorts. “Good as.”

“But never actually-”

“Loneliness isn’t always distance,” she spits out. “But if it was you’d be all set, given how much you run away from all of us.”

Time slows to a crawl; Evan lets his hands fall to his sides, eyes wide and searching on hers.

“I’m,” she begins, the word getting stuck in her throat. She looks towards her feet. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, but before he can say anything she says “I’ll drive you in tomorrow” and is gone, set off down the hallway.

The next morning she gets to her car early, knowing, somehow, he’ll climb in with enough time to get there. And he does so wordlessly.

Somewhere, on the way to school, he murmurs, “I’m sorry for pulling away.”

She taps her index finger against the wheel, looking out towards the road rather than him. The scene is desolate, still early-morning and deserted with the yellowing pools of light from streetlights that have yet to switch off. “Yeah, me too.”

Every day, he swings by her house - a long walk, making his day longer, but he’s always been an early bird - to get a ride to school. Connor joins them occasionally, but mostly he arrives by his own means that Zoe isn’t too interested in learning. He talks to Jared, little by little, and she sees Connor and Alana in the library and Jared and Alana with their heads bowed together at lunch. She finds a picture of them in the treehouse and texts it to them as a group, and things feel a little closer to okay.

After high school, things start to calm down, like an inflamed cut that needs to be soothed. She and Connor stand in each other’s doorways until they have the courage to walk inside, and their newly-reinstated group chat keeps a steady flow of bad memes and musical theater jokes. It’s easier to breathe when she’s at school, easier to move and be. She’s used to being alone in a house full of people; being alone in a city of lonely people is close enough that the transition is almost nothing.

She misses everyone, though. Evan texts her pictures of the trees back home and around the community college, and Connor snaps Jared and Alana when they’re around. She’s the only one who left, this time around. Removed by physical distance rather than a measly year.

She gets home for winter break halfway through December, and an unusually warm one at that. Connor follows her up to her room, watching her unpack likely half in an attempt to give her some privacy from their parents.

“You seen Evan yet?” He asks at some point, once he’s grown bored of watching her fold clothes.

“No, not yet,” she replies with saccharine sweetness.

“You should,” he mocks in a similar tone of voice.

“I will.”

Their ridiculous miming comes to a halt when she withdraws a rattling bag from her backpack and throws it onto her bed. Connor dives forward, grabbing at it. “Is this-did you just throw nail polish?” He demands.

She looks him dead in the eye and does the same with her other bag.

“Dishonor on you,” he mutters, already unzipping it and rifliging through the colors with a clink each time. “Want me to do your nails? They’re looking…” he trails off, eyes dipping to her unpainted and bitten nails, worn down by her guitar strings.

“I could say the same to you,” she says. “Stones and glass houses, dear brother.”

“Point taken.”

They take the time to paint each other’s nails after dinner, sitting on their living room couch. Connor opts for a dark blue instead of his gala black, and chooses gold glitter for the upcoming holidays for Zoe.

“Please don’t get nail polish on the couch, Zoe,” her mother says as she passes by to go to the kitchen, and she and Connor lock eyes. He rolls his; she smiles tightly.

“You’d think she say it to me, given that I live here,” Connor whispers.

Her phone bzzs in her pocket, and instinctively she reaches for it, noting the way the golden glitter glints against the denim of her jeans.

Evan Hansen: gonna leave mom’s for a walk, you tied up?

She feels the corners of her lips twitch involuntarily. Yes, please. Ready in 10?

“I’m gonna take a walk,” she announces loudly enough her parents should be able to hear it from the next room. “It’s just Evan,” she adds in an undertone to Connor. “Want to come along?”

“Nope. Have fun, though, I guess.”

“So enthusiastic.”

Evan is waiting outside, bundled up in a scarf and parka. His eyes pinch at the edges like they always do when he’s tired; she surges forward and slides her arms around his neck, colliding with him softly so he lets out an oomph. She feels a kiss pressed to the top of her head a moment later.

“Hey,” she says, muffled into his coat. “You’re overdressed.”

“You’re underdressed.”

“Fleece is never wrong.”

“…I suppose you’re right?” And then, with some trepidation, “oh no. Not again.”

“I’m always right,” she says lightly, throwing him a smile so he knows it’s a joke. She reaches for his hand, tugging him forward lightly. “Heidi‘s doing well?”

“Well as always, yeah. Your family?”

“All…fine,” she says. “Just, y’know…stressed.”

“Mhm,” Evan hums, and she can tell he’s trying to say something, so she just squeezes his hand lightly and falls silent.

“Dad wanted me to go h–to Colorado,” Evan blurts. “For Christmas.”

She pauses a little at that, tugging his hand closer. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He swallows gently, watching the sky with a ferocity she can barely remember him having. She sees the stars shine in his deep brown eyes, though they seem a little too starry to be reflection alone. He blinks rapidly. “Mom encouraged me,” he adds, “but I–Zoe, I couldn’t.”

“I don’t blame you,” she says, letting out a jet of breath. “I wouldn’t be able to either.” She lets her eyes drift upward and pulls him a little bit closer to her, wrapping her free hand around his arm. “Can’t,” she amends, all breath.

“He still doesn’t care,” Evan says, almost to himself. “He knows what I fucking celebrate, and he still doesn’t–care.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a dick,” Zoe says before immediately wishing she could take it back. That kind of bluntness helps her and Connor, but never Evan.

But Evan surprises her all the same. “You’re not wrong.”

A laugh bursts from her chest, and after a moment Evan joins her, albeit hesitantly. “Like I said,” she repeats, “never am.”

Evan’s ghand remains chilly in hers, despite his best attempts to keep warm with his jacket; she brings his hand over to hold it in both of hers, wincing a little as his cold fingers meet hers.

“How are you so cold all the time?” she murmurs, massaging over his knuckles with one hand.

“How is it for you?” He asks suddenly, his brain taking him in a whole new direction. Zoe isn’t phased by the topic change.

“It’s…like it always is,” she admits, her voice low. She pulls Evan’s hands closer to her heart, trying to convince herself it’s just to warm him up. “Better with Con, I guess. But it’s still…” she swallows roughly. “I feel like I can’t…breathe, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Evan says quietly. “It can be hard.” He frees his hand, only to wrap it around her shoulders. She steals his other hand as soon as they get situated in a good walking pace.

Almost nothing about Evan is calm, but he’s calming all the same. He’s all Zoe can think of as they turn in front of Ellison State Park.

Evan stills, and Zoe keeps walking forward for a moment, accidentally tugging at their conjoined hands. She looks back at him immediately, tone filling with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Is that…” he mutters, before surging forward and pulling her rather than the other way around. “Alana! Jared!” He calls, uncharacteristically loud. And sure enough, in the distance, she can see Alana and Jared leaned over something just inside the bronzed gates of Ellison Park.

“Evan!” Jared calls, only to immediately get shushed by an old couple taking a walk around the park.

They hurry across the street, waving wildly to the single car that seems perplexed by their crossing, and Alana passes something to Jared before pulling them both into a too-tight hug that reminds Zoe of her mother.

When they pull away, she ruffles Zoe’s hair like she’s a little kid again. “There’s our city girl.”

“You should’ve joined me!” Zoe protests, already moving over to Jared to hug him.

Jared looks like he might shy away for a second, but he relents only a second later, a hug almost as tight as Alana’s. Zoe’s pulled away by a pressure at her leg, something soft poking through the tears and a panting noise. When she looks down, the downy face of a dog stares back up at her, tail wagging and tongue hanging out. Without thinking, she drops to the ground, offering him a hand as she balances on one knee. He nearly knocks her over a moment later when he bounds forward to lick her cheek and request pets. She looks back up at the obvious joy on Alana’s face.

“You adopted a dog??” She asks, remembering the powerpoint Alana made in middle school trying to convince her parents.

“Yes! We just got him this weekend and he’s already the best boy.”

The golden glint of a collar tag catches her eye. “Archibald? Well, aren’t you just a joy, Archie!”

“He doesn’t like Archie” Alana says a bit curtly, mid-coaxing the dog back towards her. She flips a few braids that had escaped her ponytail over her shoulder just in time for the dog to make a grab for them. She grins down at him before looking back up towards Zoe. “Is Connor around? I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Zoe says. “Here, I can…” She pulls out her phone to tell Connor to join them, making a silly face when the dog makes a u-turn to lick her cheek.

Connor Murphy: are you and hansen bein gross

Zoe: alana and jared are here dork

Connor: with archibald?

Zoe: how. how did you know this

Connor: lana and i have a snap streak of 150k. keep up

Zoe: side note do you know why she named her dog after an elderly british man

Zoe: and won’t let me call him archie

Connor: says archie’s a dumb name and she “thinks its refined”

Zoe: lmao k

“Connor should be by soon,” she relays, smiling back down at the dog. He takes a particular liking to her; she can’t quite get used to it. “You’re a good baby, aren’t you?”

Something occurs to her all of the sudden, and she pulls her phone back out.

Zoe: WAIT are you still by the house

Connor: just leaving why

Zoe: …yknow that old time capsule?

Connor: are you going to ask me to dig it up in mid december while you’re hanging out with our old friends so i can bring it to the park

Zoe: yes

Connor: you were put on this earth to test me

Connor: be there in 15

“He’s bringing something,” she adds, and ignores their curious looks in favor of the dog.

When Connor’s shape finally appears, it’s carrying a bag rather than a box. “It was shot,” he explains in an undertone once he gets close enough for Zoe to hear. He reaches out a hand and lands a spare pat to Archibald’s head. “Had to improvise.”

“Hey, Connor!” Alana says, almost too cheery. Connor raises a hand, plopping the bag in the middle of their circle but out of Archibald’s reach.

“We don’t want your weird sex stuff, Connor,” Jared says, and Zoe shoots him a glare.

“It’s the time capsule, actually, but thanks for the input,” Connor says before Zoe can speak.

A beat passes, no noise but Archibald’s panting.

“Oh,” Alana says after a moment. “Your parents let you keep that?”

“They didn’t know,” Zoe and Connor deadpan at the same time. Jared stifles something that sounds like a cough but is probably closer to a laugh.

Zoe looks at Evan and reaches out to lace their fingers together again. He looks around the group, studying each person’s face. “Should we…”

Jared reaches forward and overturns the bag.

Glitter is the first thing Zoe sees; she hears Evan hiss “shit” as it explodes everywhere over the grass. It’s green, which makes that portion of grass look unnaturally healthy and shiny. Jared looks up; some had reached his glasses lenses, as he was the one to set the glitter loose.

“Alright,” he says. “Who put the glitter in?”

Alana grimaces and holds Archibald back from the pile of glitter. “I’m pretty sure that was you, Jared.”

“…Oh.”

Zoe leans forward, picking through the cacophony of items and silently handing them out. A few purple, pink, and blue friendship bracelets find their way throughout the group, and Connor even puts one on to a joke from Zoe about stealing the bi colors. Jared reclaims a few of the Connor has to make a quick grab for a few sheets of paper in the wind that turn out to be filled with his sketches. Zoe picks up a purple ukulele pick, feeling it slide between her calloused fingertips. She hands Evan an outdated pamphlet from Ellison State Park about their rangers program to Jared’s exclamation of “That’s what you put in??” and throws a few ballet ribbons and a small journal in Alana’s direction.

Jared’s makes her pause, and he takes advantage of the lull to surge forward and snatch the object from her hands. The silicone abides easily. “So that’s where I put my iPod!”

“Why did we let you do this?” Zoe says. “Why did your parents?”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Jared admits, examining it for quality. He looks up and around their assembled group. “I forgot about it immediately after burying it.”

Alana laughs first, and then she sets everyone else off, a group of college-age kids giggling over a pile of glitter and their childhood treasures in the park where everything began. Evan falls into Zoe’s side, unable to curb his laughter; she buries her own in the top of his head, his curls tickling her cheeks and making her laughs worse. And as they get dirty looks from everyone around them, the night only feels like another beginning.

#sincerely us #deh #dear evan hansen #bandtrees #evan hansen #zoe murphy #alana beck #connor murphy #jared kleinman #mine #deh fanfic

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snezfics-n-shit · 3 years

Note

it's only been two days and i'm already missing whumptober 😔i am craving sneezefucker phoenix so like... if you're interested 👀

Anon I love you and also of course I’m interested :3

Your wish shall be granted under the cut.

Phoenix drummed the table with his fingers. He knew Miles wanted to make this a particularly special dinner, being their first night out since Phoenix had earned his badge back, but Miles was taking so long to arrive that Phoenix wondered if there was a mix-up in how the couple interpreted the reservation time.

The hostess took him to his table fine enough, so Phoenix knew he wasn’t the one who had misinterpreted the time. Why didn’t he and Miles just take the car and arrive together? Phoenix sighed through his nose and checked his phone, pleased to see Miles at least sent him an update.

Going to be late, love. Just left my last errand; on my way now. Sincerely, Miles Edgeworth.

The timestamp was a minute ago, which meant, depending on distance and traffic, Miles could be at the restaurant anywhere from five minutes to a half hour.

Phoenix took another sip of the sparkling grape juice he thought was in a far too expensive glass for a nonalcoholic beverage. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have ordered wine, which would have been more appropriate; he didn’t even drive, anyway. He just had a hunch that if Miles were to keep him waiting for long, he’d find himself absentmindedly sipping to the point of being inebriated before Miles even arrived.

He knew well enough it wasn’t polite to stare, but Phoenix found his eyes wandering, imagining what conversations the other elegantly dressed diners could be having. It may not have been the most mature thing to do, but it passed the time.

Was that... Winston Payne and his wife? So it was true Payne’s wife was quite the catch, like an older version of the models Larry would attract somehow. Phoenix ducked his head as soon as Mrs. Payne turned her head in his direction.

“HrnxXT... gh.” The sound of a stifled sneeze perked Phoenix’s ears enough for him to look up.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Phoenix should’ve known the instant he felt his face heat up at the sight of a map of pink on Miles’s face, most prevalent under his eyes, just barely visible behind his glasses. Of course, if Phoenix wasn’t, well, Phoenix, he’d know from the large bouquet Miles was barely hiding behind his back. “Babe, you shouldn’t have.” Miles really shouldn’t have, for both the obvious reason and the fact they were in public.

“Do you like theb?” Miles’s smile contrasting with the clearly irritated features of his face made Phoenix want to stare for a longer time than what would be comfortable. He placed the bouquet carefully in the vase the restaurant had provided for romantic gestures such as this. “Flowers have a whole ladguage, I’ve heard. The florist said... saihhh-- HH’RnnXT!! HhNNXTT... guh. Excuse be. She said this bouquet was perfect for todight.” He sat across from Phoenix, almost giving him a show as he sniffed.

“Uuhh-huh,” was all Phoenix could coax out of his mouth. He anxiously fumbled his hands inside his suit jacket pocket. When Miles helped him pick out his new suit for work, a set of handkerchiefs accompanied the purchase, so at least one of them resided in each pocket Phoenix owned. He normally wouldn’t dare offer one for a purpose other than wiping lingering raindrops off Miles’s glasses, but tissue boxes were not exactly a common find at such an elegant establishment. Without another word, he presented the square of soft cloth with both hands, thinking how he could just die right here.

“Oh, thagk you, sweetheart.” Miles had to use some force to pry the handkerchief from Phoenix’s tight grip. He was just barely in time to use it for an extended stifling effort. “HhrrNNKTT! HnnXTT! HnggXXT!! HggKXTT... gh.” There was a wet quality that could be heard each time he pinched his nose.

Phoenix would have focused on eye contact with Miles if it weren’t for those glistening allergic tears making his face almost as damp as the handkerchief against his nose. Oh god, he was rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

“W-What do you want to order, hon?” Phoenix choked on his words. Miles was doing this to him on purpose, wasn’t he? The prosecutor may have been the type to show his affection with gifts from time to time, but Phoenix would eat his hat if this was merely a romantic gesture. “Um, bless you, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m hardly done.” Miles laughed, again going right for Phoenix’s racing heart. “There’s a lobster dish made especially for couples to share, if you’re interested.”

“I’m very interested!” Phoenix slapped his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. “In the lobster dish, I mean.” He heard that light wet sniffle that served as a warning another fit was on its way.

“Just a moment, love.” Miles held the handkerchief slightly farther away, giving Phoenix full view of his twitching pre-sneeze expression. “HiigGXTT! HigkXNTT! HrgxxNTT... kh.”

“I don’t think, um,” Phoenix swallowed, “stifling like that is good for you.”

“Look at where we are.” Miles used both hands to hold the handkerchief when blowing his nose into it. He had to know he was driving Phoenix wild.

Why wouldn’t he look at where they were?

“Oh, uh, the server’s coming to our table!” Phoenix frantically waved his hand to let the server know he and Miles were ready, desperately needing to take his mind off everything Miles was doing to him.

“Are you alright, sir?” The server’s voice was gentle enough on Phoenix’s ears to distract him from his mind’s broken record of Miles’s recent stifles.

“I’m fine, ma’am!” Phoenix blurted out. If he looked anything like how he felt right now, he was sure someone ought to have called an ambulance by now.

“I mean your date.” She smiled.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Miles shrugged. “Just hay fever.”

He said that. He really said that. Yup, Phoenix was definitely going to die here.

The server glanced over at the full vase and made a face without saying anything. She proceeded to take the couple’s order, periodically blessing Miles after every single sneeze interrupting his inquiries on various wines. When she left, Phoenix let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Why didn’t you take anything, babe? If you really wanted to give me flowers, you could have taken some precautions.” Phoenix avoided saying anything that would make him even more flustered than he was now. Had he already crossed the threshold of merely being flustered? Most likely, yes.

“I was under the impression we would be drinking tonight.” Miles gently dabbed his eyes with one of the few dry corners of the handkerchief. “Antihistamines greatly lower my alcohol tolerance.”

“I thought that was just you being a lightweight.” Phoenix laughed nervously.

“Tonight is very special, after all. Why not celebrate?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Phoenix finished off his grape juice so as to not make a waste before the wine would be delivered. “Our first date since I got my badge back. It means so much to me that you’ve been such a great help, to both me and Trucy all these years.” Phoenix caressed Miles’s hands from across the table. “Thank you so much.”

“I think it could be--” Phoenix’s grip tightened as he watched Miles’s expression change, preventing Miles from pulling away for another stifle. “Sweetheart, I need t-to... HH’RRSHHOOOH! HU’RRSHCHOO! H’RRSSHOO!!”

Phoenix was so caught up in his fascination that it hardly dawned on him how quiet his surroundings became after Miles sneezed. Luck was in his favor when he only came back to the moment once the diners shrugged off the noise and returned to their own conversations.

“I hate to say it, but that felt a lot better.” Miles blew his nose again. Did he always get this pink when his allergies were acting up for this long? That shade of pink was taking up a rank in Phoenix’s favorite colors.

The stellar customer service advertised in the online reviews was evident with the quick arrival of both the wine and meal. Other than Phoenix’s quick glance at the server to thank her, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Miles.

He had every opportunity to steal an extra bite each time he saw Miles hopelessly, furiously rubbing under his nose, but he abstained. He thought back to Miles teasing him for being in a similar situation when the two visited Phoenix’s mother, whose family of cats seemed to grow every time they visited her. Of course, the comments Miles made then were mostly regarding the irony of Phoenix’s circumstances rather than the temptation to steal the last slice of Mrs. Wright’s homemade pumpkin pie.

Phoenix felt a pleasurable tingling in his mouth that forced him to smile as he swallowed some wine, not losing eye contact with Miles for even a moment.

“Phoenix Wright.” Miles using his full name grabbed Phoenix’s full attention to bring him to his senses. “I think I’ve had you on the edge of your seat long enough.”

What was this about? He was messing with him after all, wasn’t he?

“You think?” Phoenix’s voice cracked.

Miles smirked and stood up. He sent Phoenix’s heart out of his chest by leaning forward, face first into the bouquet, looking for something inside. So he meant Phoenix on the edge of his seat just waiting to keel over?

“Ah here it is.” Miles looked up, even more pink and dripping, no, streaming than before. He slid his hand in and out of the vase, making a fist. Whatever he was holding was small enough for him to use the same hand to pinch his nose. “HhgkKXT! HihgxXNTT!!” He let go of his nose and presented his elbow with the duty of muffling his sneezes. “Oh, I cad’t do this ady lohger. HuURSSHHOOOH! Hr’RRSSHOO!”

“Oh my god.” Phoenix at last allowed himself to say something. He watched Miles crouch down on one knee. “Oh my god.”

Miles smirked; his timing was perfect, as he planned. He prepared himself, nose and all, for what he was so eager to say.

“It’s been an honor, no, a blessing to be your boyfriend.” He waited for the pun to register with Phoenix before he opened his hand to reveal a ring resting on his palm. “Would you further bless me by being my husband?”

Phoenix felt weightless as he took the ring. He knew he was going to accept; why wouldn’t he? In all but legal documents, he and Miles had been essentially married since Phoenix moved in with him eight years ago. But what would he say? Was a simple ‘yes’ too easy? Then it hit him that Miles was going for something here.

In that case,

“Bless you, hon.”

#Anonymous #sneezing #snez #snz #sneeze kink #snez attorney #My writing #my fics

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