#Living life without a backspace button

[wingwisher]

I wonder how different our life would be if we didn't seem to remember literally everything. So many insignificant moments are bundled up in our brain, as well as some extremely meaningful ones that weren't meaningful to the others involved.

I remember first meeting someone I'm still a little bit in love with, who I quit being friends with during a fight shortly after they converted to presbyterianism, I fell in love with them the day we met, and love them still. I never want to speak to them again because neither of us treated each other well and they had what seemed to me horrible reasons for believing all the same things we did. I remember crying for months after they said "brb" then disappeared for 3/4 of a year.

I remember probably our best friend growing up, how we liked damn near all the same things he did, and enjoyed every last moment spent with him. I remember how his mother didn't like me for some reason I still can't understand. I remember the time he got in trouble for putting something on top of the lawn sprinkler while we were over, and we were made to go home because of it even though we didn't do anything wrong. I remember the passion we had designing an imaginary space station while jumping on the trampoline. I remember him scowling at us for a reason we never understood when we said hi after not being allowed to see him for years.

I remember the recurring nightmare we had about running down the street, trying to escape the 2 lane wide giant vehicle trying to chase us down. I remember the recurring nightmare of being buckled into the car seat in the van our gene donors had, not being strong enough to open the button to get out, and then the van starts rolling, and my cries for help were ignored. I remember the recurring dream we were confused by at the time, of the older sibling there to protect us, in the top tubes of a three-floor-tall tube play structure. I remember being confused why they wanted to take us away from our gene donors, why they hated them so much, confused why they wouldn't explain why they wanted to get us away from them so bad. I remember the recurring nightmare of our abusers taking us to a department store to be sold, and absolutely forbidding us from going to the electronics section to play the videogames while waiting to be purchased. I remember the time we woke up without our dream ending, and could see the dream when our eyes were closed, until we opened both.

I remember waking up as a three year old and going down a checklist of things we needed to know to be us, the upcoming events, our name, age, and birthday, our favorite color, the names of the cats. I remember opening our eyes after and everything was normal, specifically I remember not really recalling anything vividly before that day. We now recall that day as when we first split. I know now the reason for said split.

I remember hearing our gene donors gossip about us every night. I remember getting lost in the woods and the first to come to try and help being our only actual parent, the pet cat of the people who were our legal guardians. I remember the odd holes in memory, where people would say we did things we were pretty sure we couldn't have. I remember getting punished for not apologizing to someone who punched me in the head so hard my head was still feeling light. I remember so much pointless cruelty directed at us over so many years. And how everyone always decided we were at fault because we reacted to the abuse.

I remember that time I found a cool rock that looked like a piece of cut chalk, but would sooner scratch cement than be scratched itself. I remember what our girlfriend said the day we started going out, I remember the relief I felt knowing she was with us instead of going back to her ex who only wanted her back after seeing the present she got him for Christmas, after dumping her Christmas Eve. I remember when we first found out we were "we" not "I" the sudden quiet, like a room full of people who didn't know they were screaming all quieted town and started taking turns speaking. The feeling of a knot not coming undone but the ropes sliding effortlessly past each other to come apart.

I remember the first time we enjoyed a cold shower, and were shocked by the sounds we made. I remember the strange feelings we had for someone growing up that we only in this past year or two realized was our first crush. I remember the bleak haze of our mid teens when smiles were rare and enjoyment nearly always just surface level. I remember that haze coming down again last year. I remember the first time I put sandpaper against my face as a child. I remember being frustrated by not being trusted with things I could easily do, and being chided for not asking for help with things I had no clue how to accomplish, and not being given the help I needed even when I did ask. I remember the taste of the water from the electric well where I grew up, and I remember the day our metabolism completely and permanently changed overnight. I remember spending 8 hours making something for a friend after dreaming about her, I remember the first time I ordered soup at a medium spice level as a beverage for the extremely spicy food I ordered. I remember so many things, these weren't all firsts, or important, they were simply listed for being easy to describe.

I remember damn near every conversation with every person I've ever met, and certainly all the ones I've had with people who are likely to see this. I don't think people understand quite how much they mean to us. Even if we've only talked once I can assure you it was deeply meaningful to us and I love you for it.

#Trauma tw #In case anyone has that blacklisted #Love #Rambles #Living life without a backspace button

[nurse-buckley]

Tomorrow Holds Such Better Days

Fandom: 9-1-1  Word Count: 2,472 Characters: Evan Buckley, Eddie Diaz, Bobby Nash, firefam (mentioned) Warnings: major trigger warning for depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide and overdosing with pills. If you are not in the right mind frame to read this please skip this one. Summary: After your depression worsens, you decide to take things into your own hands and end your life, but will a message to your family be enough to save your life? Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @alexxavicry (if you want to be added or taken off the list, please let me know)

Thank you @floralbuckleys @firemedicdiaz and @bucketofbarnes for all of your help, support with writing this <3

If you or anyone else is struggling with thoughts of suicide please reach out to someone you trust or alternatively try these helplines (x) If the link is broken, please let me know. You don't have to suffer alone.

You were no stranger to depression, having struggled with it off and on for a long time. The constant, agonizing feeling of sinking, as if you were watching everyone around you swimming up for air but there was a constant weight dragging you down. You didn’t want to die, but sometimes it just felt that going to sleep and never waking up or an accident on the job taking you out would make it easier. 

Life had just gotten to be too much. Truly, sometimes you just thought maybe it wasn’t for you. Maybe you were just one of the unlucky ones that life didn’t work out for. With those constant thoughts plaguing your mind for days, you had finally made up your mind to end your life and made peace with it. If self-preservation had taught you anything, it was that maybe you should be terrified. But no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Usually you would have reached out to someone before it got to this point. You would have phoned Eddie, Buck or Bobby, or even the family you’d gained through them, knowing they’d all been through their own struggles. Any one of them would have dropped what they were doing to help you. But again, no matter how hard you tried to pick up the phone, typing and backspacing messages asking for help, the voice in your head was just too loud and fed you all the usual lies. 

‘You’re a burden,’ ‘No one cares.’ ‘Why are you so needy?’ ‘They have their own lives and issues to worry about without adding your burdens to them.’ 

You didn’t want to put your issues on them anymore, scared of the judgment, the looks and the pity they might give you. Not when they had their own problems and lives to deal with. If you were being truthful to yourself, maybe you didn’t want to tell them because if you did they would stop you and you weren’t sure if that’s what you wanted. 

This just felt like the best option; for you, and for them. 

You opened your phone, sending a text to Bobby first to let him know you couldn’t make it to work again. It was the second shift in a row that you’d missed, and even now you hated the fact that you were letting the team down. A few moments later, your phone started pinging with a few notifications from your friends.  

Hen: ‘I hope you feel better soon <3’

Chim: ‘Feel better, let me or Maddie know if you need anything :)’ 

Buck: ‘Me and Eddie will swing by to check on you with some soup after shift, do you need anything else? xx’

You cursed yourself for lying to them, once again forcing the attention on yourself. The guilt only added to your decision and with one last text to the group, that was it. 

‘Thanks for always having my back guys. Appreciate and love you all.’ 

You hit the send button, leaving the phone on your coffee table along with a hastily scribbled note explaining your decision and apologizing.  

To everyone else, the message you’d sent seemed normal. They’d pocketed their phones and gone about their normal duties, checking inventory and cleaning, but something in Buck just didn’t sit right. He’d read the message over and over, trying to convince himself that everything was okay, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. 

You’d opened up to Buck about your past a few times, your parents, even your therapy. He thought you’d been doing better but he’d noticed your downturn in mood lately; how quiet you’d been, how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, even as you laughed at his and Chim’s jokes.

Buck made his way to Bobby’s office. “Hey Cap, is it alright if me and Eddie swing by y/n’s place?” 

Bobby didn’t miss the concern plastering Buck’s face, being able to read him like a book and knowing something wasn’t sitting right with him. 

“What’s going on?” 

It didn’t take him long to quickly explain his worries, the warning signs, and that he wouldn’t feel okay until he checked on you. 

Bobby mentally kicked himself for not putting it together sooner, knowing the warning signs from his own experiences when Hen and Buck had almost had to break his door down for him years before. “Take one of the med kits and keep me updated.” 

Buck practically flew out of Bobby’s office, calling Eddie as he ran to grab one of the spare medical kits and monitors from the storage closet. 

“I’ll explain on the way, we need to go. Now.”  

“Y/N, can you open the door for us?” 

Buck pulled out his phone, willing his hands to stop shaking so he could unlock the screen and call your number. Eddie leant in closer to the door as they heard your familiar ringtone. With no answer or signs of movement, Eddie pulled out the spare key you’d given him. 

As the pair walked in, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The place was relatively tidy but there was no sign of you being there. Buck called out your name once more, his worry only growing as he was met with silence. 

“Buck…” Eddie’s heart felt as if it were in his throat as his eyes landed on your phone sitting on top of a folded piece of paper on the coffee table where you’d left them.  

Buck’s feet carried him towards your bedroom before his mind could even fully comprehend the note, not even caring to knock as he swung open the door. His breath caught in his throat as he saw your body lying prone on your bed, the small orange pill bottle lying empty and open on your bedside table. 

He couldn’t even hear himself screaming Eddie’s name for help over the pounding in his ears as he ran to the bedside and dropped to his knees. He pressed his fingers into your neck, relief washing over him as he felt your pulse beneath his fingertips. It was slower then he’d have liked, but it was there. 

You felt as if you were floating, vaguely aware of voices around you, hands jostling your body and flipping you onto your back; but your body was too heavy to fight back, the pull of the drugs still keeping you asleep. You felt another set of warm fingers press into the side of your neck, but the darkness was safe. Comforting. 

It wasn’t until you felt the painful sensation of knuckles rubbing up and down the center of your chest that you became more aware of your surroundings. The pain caused you to let out a groan as you sluggishly came back to your senses. 

“That’s it. Open your eyes for me, we’ve got you.” 

Even through the haze, you could recognise that voice anywhere. “Ed…?” 

The knuckles continued to try and rouse you and you would have given anything to smack him away if your arms weren’t so heavy.  

“Yeah. It’s me, I’m here. Buck’s here too. Open your eyes for us.” 

When you finally opened your eyes, you were met with the two men hovering over you. It didn’t take long for the memories to come rushing back; the text messages…the note…the pills. You suddenly became aware of the enormity of what you’d just attempted. You’d tried to kill yourself, and without Buck and Eddie there you very nearly could have succeeded. There was no coming back from that and you knew you’d have to explain yourself. 

You shot up, crashing into Eddie as you wrapped your arms around him, fisting your hands into his t-shirt as every emotion that had built up over the last few weeks burst out. He wrapped his arms around you in return, holding you as you cried, whispering words of comfort and reassurance. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you choked out between sobs.  

“Shh, it’s alright, you’re okay. We’ve got you,” you heard Buck say as you felt him rub soothing patterns up and down your back. 

Eventually the sobs died down, turning to small hiccups and you pulled away. Shame suddenly overwhelmed you, your hands and gaze dropping to your lap, not being able to look at either man.    

Eddie reached out slowly, giving you time to back away before he gently squeezed your hands and ducked his head to try and gain your attention. “Y/n?” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when you looked up at him; Anger? Annoyance? Disgust? But you were only met with his soft and understanding expression. 

“I’m really sorry sweetheart. I know this is the last thing you want right now, but with the pills you took I need you to let me or Buck take a look at you. I know that you know what kinds of effects they can have on your body and so I know you know it's important we get a set of vitals on you and see what’s going on with your heart and breathing. Do you think we can get you settled on the couch so we can check you over?” 

You looked between him and Buck, being met with twin concerned expressions and nodded, knowing it needed to be done. 

“Thank you,” Eddie replied as he gave your hands another squeeze. 

The pair moved to either side of you as they helped you swing your legs off the bed and kept you steady as you stood. They stayed still for a moment, letting you gain your balance, before leading you to the couch in the living room. 

Once settled, Buck pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, wrapped it around your back and took the seat next to you, offering out his hand. You took it gratefully, needing all the strength you could get to get you through Eddie’s exam. 

He began with a few questions. How many pills you took, how you were feeling physically and if you had any symptoms. Thankfully the vitals were quick and after a few more tears, he set the equipment off to the side and took your other hand. “I’m happy your vitals are stable for now. I’d be happier if you got checked out at the hospital, but…” 

“No…” your panic began to rise at the thought of hospitals, doctors and nurses. 

A squeeze from Eddie’s hand grounded you enough for him to continue, “But,  I understand if you don’t want that,” he added quickly, knowing your previous experiences with hospitals. 

“Me and Buck would come with you and we could call it an accidental overdose, no one would need to know the details. It’d just be so we can get you checked medically, but I can’t and am not going to force you.” 

“I can’t.”  

“Okay, if we’re not going to the hospital then I have a few conditions. I’m going to keep an eye on your vitals until the pills wear off, but if anything changes we will have to call an ambulance. I’m also going to set up some fluids to help flush your system and make you something to eat. How does that sound?” 

You were terrified at the thought of more vitals, needles and eating; but you knew the alternative would be a lot worse. You trusted Eddie and Buck with your life, and another glance between the pair had you agreeing to his terms. 

Buck was next to speak, offering distraction as Eddie began gathering the supplies he needed to start the IV. “Have you got an appointment with your therapist coming up any time soon?” 

“Yeah. I’ve got an appointment the day after tomorrow.” 

“That’s good.” 

He kept up the conversation, talking about anything that came to mind, Eddie chipping in here and there.  

“Almost ready here,” Eddie interrupted, “Where’s best for you to have the IV?”  

You held out your preferred arm, turning away to Buck for distraction as he cleaned the area. Before you knew it, Eddie had the fluids up and running. With nothing more to do for the moment, the room fell silent. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie asked, being the first to broach the subject. 

You fiddled with the tape on your IV for a minute, not sure whether you wanted to open that can of worms or not. “Not really. I don’t know. I’m a little embarrassed and know it was dumb and I could have come to any of you, but I just couldn’t see a way out for a minute there.” 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’d be surprised to find someone today who hasn’t been affected by poor mental health,” Eddie replied, “and I don’t need to tell you that any of us would have dropped everything to help you.”  

The three of you talked more while the fluids ran through. Buck had already updated Bobby who’d promised to come by after shift, asking Eddie and Buck to stay with you as he called in cover for them. Buck made you all something to eat so you wouldn’t feel alone, while Eddie kept an eye on you and got a few more sets of vitals. 

True to his word, a few hours later Bobby appeared, taking the seat beside you as he pulled you into his chest and held you close. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were struggling sooner,” he whispered only for you to hear.  

“Do the others know?” 

“No,” Bobby shook his head, “and they don’t have to know, unless you tell them. They just think you’ve got a bad case of the flu.” 

“I’m sorry,” you let out after a few moments of silence. 

“You don’t have to be. I’ve been there before. After my family died I had a plan and if it weren’t for Buck, Hen and the rest of you…I wouldn’t be here. They got me through and we’ll get you through. It’s what family does.” 

You let out a shaky breath, “So. What happens now?” 

“That’s up to you. Do you think it would be a good idea to take some time off work?” 

“No. Isolating myself just makes things worse. Not having anything to do tends to make me spiral a little.” 

The pair of you agreed on a plan. A few days off to recover, continuing with your therapist and checking in with either him, Buck or Eddie if you felt yourself slipping again. Buck offered to let you stay with him, not wanting you to be alone and wanting you where he could keep an eye on you for the night. You knew the road to recovery was only just beginning, but you felt a little lighter with your family by your side. 

#911 #9-1-1 #911 reader #eddie diaz x reader #evan buckley x reader #bobby nash x reader #buddie x reader #911 x reader #9-1-1 x reader #911 fanfic #9-1-1 fanfic #911 fanfiction #9-1-1 fanfiction #tw suicide #tw suicidal thoughts #tw overdose #my writing

[j0kers-light]

His Lighthouse: Breakfast for Two (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Breakfast for Two

image credit 

series summary:

Y/n is an aspiring writer living in Gotham City and struggling to find her next muse. Her recent novel is getting all the buzz, earning her far more attention than she signed up for. But when a chance encounter results in her nursing The Joker back to health, will she find the time to write another best seller or will her own story become front page of the Gotham Gazette?

chapter summary:

This wasn’t happening, right? You didn’t invite Joker to heal at your place for the weekend and you definitely didn’t plan on cooking him breakfast. What could possibly go wrong with that equation?

Without further ado I hope you enjoy the story!  

Last Chapter |  Next Chapter

Panic. That's all you could do.

The first few minutes after Joker passed out you were numb. And who could blame you for such a response?

This wasn't happening. You didn't bring a madman into your home and dump him onto your couch just because you felt like it! You were probably daydreaming at your desk like you usually did during an unsuccessful writing session but a quick glance over your shoulder confirmed your greatest fear.

"I'm gonna need a new couch."

Not because Joker was lying unconscious on it but for the simple fact you could see dark splotches of blood staining the sofa.

In theory your invitation was a kind gesture but reality was there to whack you upside the head for not thinking about the aftermath.

You were in a pickle trying to process your next move. You needed some help and if there was one thing you were good at, it was conducting research.

Whether it be things pertaining to writing a story or just random knowledge for everyday life, it was all a click away. You walked over to your phone that was now fully charged after your —longer than planned night stroll— and yanked it off the cord.

You launched a search engine and made it halfway typing, tips on how to harbor a fugitive in the search bar when your fingers stopped in their tracks.

"What am I doing?! They can track me using this!" Your thumb couldn't hit the backspace button fast enough.

Barbara had revealed far too much intel about behind the scenes police detective work that made you paranoid about your digital footprint and your browser history. Being a writer probably had you on a police watchlist already with the bizarre questions and other facts you searched for. You wouldn't be surprised if a cop at the precinct had your IP address memorized when you did research for your book, Will Hunter Bill.

There were so many murder related questions you had to fact check. How much blood is in the average human body? How much could a person lose until they died? Facts on hemorrhages. Types of archery injuries. The examples were endless. You liked your work to be as accurate as possible and always did your due diligence to make it right.

If only you were able to ask the internet how to get out of your current situation. You scanned your apartment hoping something would catch your eye and offer up some wisdom but nothing helped. The shock hadn't worn off yet and your brain was still rebooting. With a nervous breakdown imminent, your eyes shifted back to your house guest.

When you both arrived at your front door, Joker's leg checked out for the day. It was a miracle you were able to steer him towards your couch before he shut down completely.

He was running on fumes well before the walk back to your place but insisted he could make it. True to his word, Joker stayed on his feet all the way up to the end. Somehow. And thank goodness he did, the man was a lot heavier than he looked!

Your couch accepted Joker's weight with a concerning groan but settled without issue. He looked so out of place yet so natural lying on it, the juxtaposition was jarring.

You bought the piece of furniture at an estate sale purely for decoration purposes, not practicality. Its boards were probably older than you and most likely on its final years, but the antique charm and the gorgeous color convinced you to buy it. At this rate you'd be replacing it with something a lot more practical.

Joker landed on his left hand side with his neon green highlights concealing his face. You had an urge to brush his hair away but fought it back with all your might.

Unfortunately you couldn't hold back your heavy sigh. This night, (or was it morning) was just getting started to what would be an even longer weekend. Your stress levels were through the roof and the source behind it was fast asleep, blissfully unaware of your troubles.

How could a psychopathic, mass murdering, diabolical clown with zero empathy, look so peaceful? It was a mystery that even Edward Nigma couldn't solve.

If you weren't so afraid that Joker would wake up, you would've smacked him with a pillow. But ruining his sleep felt illegal somehow. You crumbled to your knees and shamelessly stared at Joker, at a loss on what to do.

It didn't click that you were watching him sleep like some kind of stalker ex girlfriend, your mind was elsewhere.

Through his oily strands of hair, Joker's unnaturally long eyelashes caught your eye underneath his black eyeshadow. His lashes were dark and full and curled perfectly like a pair of falsies. You didn't wear makeup everyday but his lashes made you jealous. Why did men have such pretty eyelashes anyways?

They fluttered briefly, sending a jolt of fear to your stomach but continued their gentle sway in the beginning stages of R.E.M.

You leaned back on your coffee table to calm your nerves. Joker was so exhausted there was no way he would wake up anytime soon. You didn't know the current time but the fiend had been eluding GCPD police since lunchtime. A full day on the run. That, along with his blood loss should have zapped all of his energy yet it seemed he had just enough to mess with you, whether wake or sleep.

Your eyes trailed down from his lashes, choosing to ignore how his clown makeup stained your pillows, to the splotches of blood on your once beautiful upholstery that he ruined beyond recovery.

You would have some mad spot cleaning to do but for now, Joker was still bleeding from somewhere and sitting there staring at him wasn't helping him recover.

It's what you signed up for. At least, that's what you implied when you suggested he could heal up at your apartment in exchange for your life. Despite being the one who extended the invitation, the gun pointed into your ribs every odd block or so got the message across very clearly.

You were a hostage. You weren't in control here.

The gun Joker used gave you goosebumps. You didn't like loaded weapons in your home. Chalk it up to bad childhood memories, but it had to go. It was a matter of how to get a hold of it that terrified you.

Your e/c eyes locked onto Joker's resting form as you slowly slipped your hand into his suit jacket. Feeling the harsh metal turned your stomach but your grip tightened around it like greeting an old friend.

You didn't blink, you didn't swallow as you pulled the offending weapon out and away from Joker's possession.

He didn't move a muscle. Your anxiety thanked every God known to man as your heartbeat calmed down after the daring mission.

The 9 mm pistol in your hands needed a new home far away from Joker and after a quick decision, you rose to your feet heading towards your kitchen. Along the way your hands unloaded and disassembled the gun from base memory.

You threw away the bullets but the gun pieces found a new home in your old Dutch oven above the fridge. Hopefully Joker didn't look in there whenever he came to.

The hiding spot reminded you of your mother back home in Blüdhaven.

She swore by the secret hiding spot and hid all kinds of contraband in the cookware over the years. When you decided to move to Gotham City, she cried and gave the pot to you as a keepsake but forgot about the secrets stashed inside. You didn't unpack it for a week as you settled into your new place. When a craving, (more like homesickness) for a pot roast hit hard, you remembered the pot. You hunted for it in your moving boxes and cried when you found it.

Nothing prepared you to see loose bullets, old baggies of drugs, and your father's (missing) prized revolver inside the family heirloom.

Mom's stews always packed a punch. Now the family joke made more sense. A phone call home had her explaining that no one ever checked the pot when looking for things and her advice resonated with you to continue the secret family tradition. Joker had no business looking in there. You covered the pot with its ceramic lid and smiled fondly.

Your mother was a strong, independent woman who raised you proper in a literal city of thieves. Between her long nights at the hospital and keeping the house in order during the day, the matriarch was an idol to you.

She kept the neighborhood inhabitants alive with her bare hands when going to the hospital was not an option. Not everyone could afford healthcare or the consequences of being on a medical record. She didn't discriminate against her patients and knew most, if not all, were criminals or worse. Her job as a Level I surgeon put food on the table and saved your family more times than it should have over the years.

In a city as dangerous as Blüdhaven, everyone had their brushes with death but your father seemed to have one almost every week. If not for your mother's medical skills, your father wouldn't be alive today.

He dabbled in crime just like the average Blüdhaven citizen but nothing too serious. A deal here or there to keep a check but he kept his head low when your mother became pregnant with you.

However, it was the calm before the storm. He was itching to run the streets once more but waited until you were out of diapers to do so. You barely celebrated your fifth birthday when poof– Dad wasn't around like he used to be. Mom was stressed more than ever but kept the beautiful smile she blessed you with on her face.

'Never worry, just live.' She always said.

And that's what you did. You grew up as normal as you could despite the circumstances. You had friends, good grades, and enjoyed life within a corrupted city until one night threatened to uproot it all.

You were sound asleep when the front door slammed open followed by wails and screams filling the house. Something bad had happened but you were too sleepy to understand what. You tiptoed out of bed and down the hall to witness the commotion for yourself.

Two men rushed in carrying a third and both were talking over the other until your mother ordered them out. The living room rug was originally cream colored and its fluffy material was your favorite to run your fingers through while watching your weekend cartoons. It was now forever stained red.

You only remembered bits and pieces from that night long ago but you never saw your mother cry so much. She raced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room with various supplies, trying her best to keep her man alive.

Apparently it was a drug deal gone horribly wrong. Seven gunshots almost did your father in but his buddies arrived at the last second and saved him before the rival gang killed him.

You watched through the living room archway as your mother performed a home surgery on your father.

Ten plus years of medical experience meant nothing as her hands shook above her patient. You knew your parents loved each other dearly, so it made the task that much harder to do.

It wasn't just a patient she had to save. This was a father, a husband, a lifelong friend desperately needing her care. Even at such a young age their love inspired you. No wonder you became a writer when you had true romance fairytales right at your fingertips.

Mom stayed up all night stitching and crying, checking vitals, and making phone calls to get blood delivered to the house. More men arrived with coolers and other supplies during the night but your mother's energy never waned. Her dedication was ironclad. When the sun finally poked above the horizon and the day began anew, she deemed her patient stable. Only then was her job done. The way she saved your father before giving into her exhaustion was so poetic.

You managed to stay up despite it being a school night and snuck over to check on your father lying on the couch.

He looked like death twice over but had enough energy to open his eyes, the same shade as yours and smile.

He was delirious from so much blood loss but recognized you through his cloudy vision. He made a promise right then you would never see him like this again and that was the last drug deal he ever made.

Your mom didn't know what initiated the change in her husband's life but he cleaned up his act and started working as a janitor at the hospital where she practiced. He left the gang and the assets that came along with being a member were hence cut off.

Your family became poorer but got by with honest money for a change. Although it was hard at times, it brought you closer together as a family. When you got into writing and started winning awards and earning royalties, money was no longer a problem. Your first check went straight to your parents as a long overdue IOU and for always believing in you.

They both encouraged you to follow your dreams of being an author but made volunteering at the local hospital mandatory.

Just in case writing didn't work out, the medical field would be there to catch you. In your teens you hated working shifts in the trauma unit when you so desperately wanted to hang out with your poetry club friends, but right now you couldn't thank your parents enough for their strict parenting.

You had a patient to save and that medical experience you shunned in high school would come in handy.

Nodding to yourself ,you located your first-aid kit from the storage closet and approached the sofa. Joker was still asleep and for a moment he reminded you so much of your father all those years ago.

Was this how your mother felt before she went to work? Exhausted, but burdened with a purpose to save others?

She never complained about being tired yet so many grey hairs dotted her hairline. Stress was her strength. It took you years to understand that and she boldly wore each grey streak with honor; with them she could do anything.

You debated on calling her for help but no one could know about Joker being in your apartment.

Your reckless actions would only cause her to worry and the last thing you needed was your mother scolding you over the phone. She let her only child move to Gotham to chase a dream. What kind of daughter would you be to confirm her fears of you in danger had finally come true?

You had to do this alone. Ignorance was truly bliss.

You set your hospital grade first-aid kit on the coffee table and crouched down next to Joker. His breathing was labored and he was sweating despite the steady A/C pumping inside your apartment. He looked every bit uncomfortable and you scolded yourself for leaving him unattended for so long while you went down memory lane.

That was in the past, no need to dwell on it. The present Y/n had to find the entry and exit points of his gunshot wound. Thankfully Joker had rolled onto his back during your mini panic attack and it helped your search greatly.

You were hesitant to touch him but quickly overcame that ridiculous fear. You had to touch him to begin treating his injuries, so you dove straight in, but not before donning a pair of nitrile gloves.

He walked with some difficulty earlier so your eyes zoned in on his legs which were covered by his dark pantsuit.

You apologized to him softly before cutting them open with the fabric scissors included in the kit. Now with better access, you used your experience in the trauma bay to inspect for a bullet hole. It didn't take long. Joker was pale and with his blood loss, it made his skin even more lighter compared to your darker complexion. The night and day differences between you and him were not lost in the moment.

Your hands moved to his lower thigh, gently prodding at the wound. It was still bleeding a bit and after applying pressure to his quad muscle, Joker subconsciously flinched away from your touch.

"Sorry!" You snuck a peek at his slumbering form to witness him grimacing in pain. Your heart went out to him but you needed to steady your nerves to get the job done. "Okay entrance.. but did it exit?"

You were alone save for Joker being unconscious, so what harm would talking to yourself cause? Your creative mind pretended you were a doctor from one of your favorite tv shows and ran with the narrative.

You rolled Joker over the best you could and another bucket of fear washed over you when you couldn't find an exit wound.

Even worse you found another wound on his soleus muscle near his Achilles heel. GCPD and their terrible aim although this one looked to be a ricochet shot and could be patched up with no issues. You weren't properly trained to perform surgery on Joker. What if you messed with something vital or something went wrong and caused a bigger problem?

Then there was the matter of restoring his blood levels. Your mother held a MD license and could call for blood at a bank with little to no suspicion. Back home she had multiple under the table connections that kept her stocked during any emergency but as for you, you were screwed.

A normal citizen asking for blood would definitely sound an alarm and you didn't know Joker's blood type to begin with. Maybe you did need to call your mother. She would know what to do in this situation rather than have another panic attack–

"Hey."

You gasped and fixed your attention towards Joker's raspy voice. His pupils were blown so wide the green was jet black. He appeared rather calm but you noticed he was drowsy based on how he slowly blinked at you. "What? What's the.. uh problem?"

You wished to study how he maintained his authoritative demeanor while being so lethargic but you blinked back tears of frustration to answer him.

"I can't find the bullet, Joker. It's stuck. I.. I can't get it out." You sighed as a tear fell down your cheek. You wiped it away, unknowingly smearing your face with blood. To Joker the crimson color suited you but your tears, not so much.

"Tck. It can join the others." He said while trying to wake up from his light snooze. How long was he out? When did the two of you make it inside your apartment?

He blinked to clear his vision some more but waves of dizziness made that task impossible. He liked to be aware of his surroundings but that would have to wait until he could actually see. He was drawn back into focus by your squeal.

"There's more bullets in you?!" Your horrified face almost made him laugh. Civilians were so squeamish.

"What can I say? Cops love to use me as, uh.. target prac-tice." He mustered out a wheeze although you didn't think the joke was funny.

"That's not..." You closed your eyes and sighed through your nose. "Look, you're stuck with me now. My house, my rules and I refuse to do a lousy job nursing you back to health. I just have to find a way to get it out that doesn't involve me cutting you open."

"Aww, is the little bunny squeamish?" He smiled, seeing the tips of your ears flush a faint red.

"Don't call me that." You chided.

"You arrree!" He replied in that teasing lit of his. A trait of his that you were slowly adapting to.

It was dangerous to familiarize yourself with Joker but you couldn't help it. In the short amount of time you spent with Joker, he had grown on you. You could see your demise building the longer you stayed close.

You decided to 'agree to disagree' to end the conversation and work with what you had, however you needed water to flush out his wounds. You rose to leave but Joker grabbed your wrist, looking confused.

He reminded you of a puppy, head tilt and all. You answered his silent question as nicely as possible.

"I'm going to get water. C-Can you um..?" You nodded at your arm that he held. Joker hesitated but reluctantly let go.

His touch was clammy and left a tingling sensation that you couldn't shake off. It lingered well after you filled a pot with warm water and searched for some old towels you didn't mind tossing out after this fiasco. Things were gonna get messy from here on out so you searched for tools and other supplies with the knowledge it would get tossed after use.

Little did you know Joker's eyes followed your every move.

He could see a bit better now but not as much as he hoped. The nighttime darkness poured through the floor to ceiling windows in your apartment, covering everything with a black veil and only a few lights scattered about were on to illuminate the space for his inspection.

He wondered if you read his mind since you flicked on some lights as you moved through your apartment, slowly but surely revealing the place you called home to his gaze.

Your apartment's open floor plan gave him the perfect vantage point from the couch to watch you rock in place in front of your kitchen sink.

The strip of spotlights above you casted a halo type of effect as you moved around. The kitchen island blocked his view but he saw you stick your tongue out when you reached for another pot hanging on a ceiling rack and almost lost your balance. He noticed how short you were earlier, however it didn't hinder you from completing tasks. You did half carry, half drag him from the Red Lotus back to your place.

Speaking of which, he must've blacked out since then.

He remembered talking to you in the elevator, but found himself lying on his back inside your flat, and you took the liberty of cutting his pants open in his sleep. Well someone was eager.

He was glad you were tending to his injuries but your little sob show over a bullet was unnecessary. He lost count of how many shell casings he had in his body. It could be ten or more for all he cared. It wasn't the end of the world if you didn't find it, but for some reason he didn't want you stressing over it.

As if your feelings mattered to him. He really needed to get better and start acting like his old self again.

He saw you leave the kitchen and out of his view, humming a soft tune. It sounded familiar to his ears yet he couldn't identify it.

He guessed it was just another quirk of yours. You may be a gifted author who created thrillers masked as romance novels that even he could praise, but your innocent nature shown through the cracks. He loved to exploit the naïve citizens of Gotham, to break them down and expose their true nature while leaving a permanent smile etched on their face. Would you break he wondered?

Joker considered himself good at reading people yet you were a blank page.

You took being held at gunpoint quite well and remained calm, albeit suffering from a few panic attacks here and there. Not bad compared to other individuals Joker tortured during his career. He was used to people being frozen in fear or crying out for mercy in his presence. You however treated him like a normal person. He didn't know how to feel about that yet. Did he want to taint your little aura of sunshine?

Yes. No? Okay! Maybe just a tad! This concerned nurse act you were pulling though was irritating. Joker would admit he was tired and if you did try something funny he wouldn't be able to defend himself.

'She doesn't look threatening..' Joker thought. He didn't sense any malicious intent from you but if you had a plan on attacking him, you would've done so already and not the exact opposite and tend to his needs.

Speaking of needs, you were still in the other room gathering supplies to begin treating his wounds, none the wiser to Joker trying to figure you out.

Your medical gloves and determination was a cute front but he knew squeamish people when he saw them. You fit the bill perfectly.

He doubted you could handle mending his injuries without freaking out. He could feel where the bullet came to rest in his leg which was close, perhaps too close, in shattering his patella and rendering him immobile. It could explain why he struggled walking as the night grew longer. The entry wound was a decent size and Joker didn't flinch as he sunk two fingers into the gore, fishing for brass.

You just so happened to return at that exact moment. "Oh my God, Joker! What are you doing!?"

He rolled his eyes at your frantic shouting and continued digging. "Keep your voice down dear. We wouldn't want to wake the neighbors, hmm?"

How could he crack jokes at a time like this? You dropped the stack of old bath towels you found in your closet and stared in disbelief at Joker's index finger and thumb buried knuckles, deep in his thigh.

"Ugh.. I'm gonna be sick." You gagged but couldn't tear your eyes away from the morbid sight. Did he not feel any semblance of pain? How was he not grossed out by this?

Of course he isn't Y/n, this is The Joker you're thinking about! The guy who thinks dead puppies in a box is funny.

Your body shivered when he began to laugh. What could possibly be funny about this situation? With his warped mind you honestly didn't want to know.

"Ohhh, nurse! I think I found something.." With a sickening squelch, Joker yanked the elusive bullet from his thigh and held it to the light like a trophy. It was dripping wet with his blood but Joker wasn't bothered by it and admired the round with a childlike delight.

That's where you drew the line.

An internet search on how to remove blood stains from upholstery and hardwood floors would be needed after this. A metal baking bowl filled with water sloshed violently once you picked it up and thrust it towards Joker.

"Drop it! Drop it in!"

He grumbled under his breath about you ordering him around but opted to submerge his entire hand into the basin. The water within quickly faded into a light pink color. Once his fingers were clean, you patted them dry with a faded blue terracotta towel. Your mind was replaying the last few minutes on loop so you didn't notice you were talking aloud.

"I leave you for a few minutes and you go and do something so.. so.. so stupid! I can't believe you dug your bullet out by hand like some barbarian! No sterilization, no regard to if you made the wound worse, just.. ugh! What have I gotten myself into?" You cried.

Did she just call me stupid? Maybe he misheard that part.

"Y/n." Joker began. "You're the one who signed up for this job, now finish it."

His words had a final tone to them, one that you chose to follow. Your eyes cut to the bullet sitting at the bottom of the bowl and weighed out your options.

Joker did the brunt of the work here. You didn't need to worry about performing surgery on him now. All that was left to do was sterilize the wound and get his blood levels back in order. His crude extraction was overly dramatic and messy but he did you a favor. All you could do now was patch him up and hope nothing else bad happened.

You glanced at Joker not expecting him to already be staring at you. Your words died in your throat at how his deep pine eyes swirled with exhaustion.

This was a psychopath, a monster in a tailored suit, staring straight into your soul. And like a fool, you didn't look away.

Joker was injured but there was no doubt he could kill you even with his limited strength. A flimsy paper clip could turn into a weapon in Joker's hands. No one was safe around the clown. You needed a contingency plan before you went any further.

"Joker.. if you stay here, d-do you promise not to hurt me?" You tossed a washcloth into a pot of fresh water and waited for his response. You would still help him but depending on the answer, things would be awkward going forward.

Luckily you caught him as he was drifting back to sleep. "Yeah, yeah just.. get on with it." He sighed.

He waved his hand about– urging you to start and you did with a grateful sigh while snapping on another pair of gloves. Your role when volunteering at the hospital back in high school was cleaning patient's wounds and stitching up minor cuts, so this was right up your alley. You moved towards Joker's ankle and gently wiped the dried blood away and accessed how you wanted to stitch up the hole. The tear wasn't as big as you thought once you cleaned it up.

You worked diligently and only stopped to play an album on the record player to occupy your mind as you worked.

Joker's eyes cracked open when he heard the needle hit the record but they fell when nothing too bizarre played. He didn't know what to expect but you seemed the type to enjoy the top 100's from the radio. He would've lashed out if some teenage boy band started singing. Imagine his surprise when Johnny Charisma crooned from the vinyl floating up to your vaulted ceilings.

So you were an old soul huh? Interesting...

Joker tried to fight off his exhaustion and stay awake. He wanted to strike up a conversation about your philosophies or pick your brain on the synopsis of Distracted By Her Justice and question if you still had the original manuscript for your unpublished poetry piece, Welding the Sun.

He hunted down the original website your poetry club used but much to his disappointment your portion of the project wasn't there.

When he heard the poem recited on the streets of Gotham one random night, he tortured- ahem.. politely asked the person if they had a physical copy. He was a fan of your literature since his solitary confinement at Arkham provided him plenty of time to read. His mini library in his cell was transferred out well before his grand escape was set into motion.

None of his books would be left behind and especially not any from your oeuvre. You didn't know just how much your work affected people, Joker included. You inspired a few of his murdering sprees, although he knew you wouldn't be proud to hear about that.

In your tv interviews you always wished that everyone enjoyed your stories. They were little escapes from reality for people to immerse themselves in. If someone understood the meaning and had fun while reading your books, that's all that mattered to you as a writer. And the media ate it up.

God, you were too good to be true! Those sugary, sweet smiles for the tv cameras or the hearts you drew after signing your autograph made him want to barf.

Your adorable charm won the people over but Joker knew better.

He knew there was something dark and ugly buried deep inside of you and he wanted to see it was dragged into the light. And what fun he would have destroying that sickly sweet outlook you had towards life! He smiled to himself, earning a raised eyebrow from you.

You didn't want to know what kind of destruction he was dreaming about. If only you knew it was your own downfall playing out inside his mind.

'Just keep disinfecting Y/n.'  You thought to yourself. You watched Joker slowly drift off through your eyelashes and breathed a sigh of relief.

Hopefully he stayed that way for a while and he didn't bother you again. Now that your patient was in a deep sleep, you tackled the bigger wound on his thigh.

The bullet was removed but you were worried about any possible pieces left inside or any other damage Joker may have caused when ripping it out.

You armed yourself with a flashlight and tweezers ready to hunt for any small remaining pieces. When you found none, you flushed out the wound with water. Next came patting the area dry.

You then used the prepackaged surgery drape to ensure only the skin around the wound was exposed to begin stitching Joker up. Your first aid kit was amazing. It had everything you could possibly need and more to treat Joker. It took you a minute to find the sanitation spray and you used a liberal amount along with a numbing spray. Joker was sound asleep but it wouldn't hurt to minimize his discomfort if you were able to.

Beats of sweat dotted your forehead and you mourned your edges in advance. Your hair was probably fried by now but that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now preparing to stitch Joker's skin back together was top priority.

Your hands shook trying to thread the needle but after a few tries, you got it through.

Steadying both your mind and body, you took a deep breath in and out before beginning the slow and careful task of stitching Joker up.

You decided to use an Interrupted suture technique and set to work guiding the tweezer and suture tool back and forth, tying off the nylon thread with a tiny microscopic surgeon knot when the skin was pulled taut. It was a repetitious dance. A new song started on the record, one you knew by heart, so you hummed along slowly getting into the groove.

Your hand movement became second nature; pierce, feed, wrap, tie, then repeat. You assumed Joker's wound had torn from all of his running from earlier since the hole itself was now three inches wide if your eyeballs measured it right.

A normal trauma surgeon would have completed this suture in mere seconds but your hands were used to typing, not holding a surgeon needle steady and piercing living flesh over and over. The bloody visual made you squeamish and it dragged out the procedure longer than necessary.

In the end, you managed to successfully tie seven stitches on Joker's lower thigh. You checked over your work which was a little rusty in the years after your volunteer work at the hospital, but nevertheless good enough for Joker's wound.

It had to be since he couldn't go to an actual doctor. You didn't want him taking someone hostage so this was his reality, an amateur fix.

You wiped your forehead and gathered up the loose thread and cleaned up after yourself. The bullet that grazed Joker's ankle was easier to patch up than you thought. Nothing a disinfectant wipe and a gauze padded band-aid couldn't fix. It would heal on its own.

Your main focus was one hundred percent set on his bigger injury. You managed to seal it up but with the way Joker ripped out the bullet, you were worried about any long term damage he may have caused.

You could only treat surface level wounds, like minor cuts and bruises but a trauma injury near arteries and bones scared you.

What if the bullet hit a vital blood vessel or fractured a bone? How would you know? How would you treat it? The nearest hospital was Gotham General and you knew he couldn't go there as a wanted criminal. The possibilities and worst case scenarios ran wild in your head and your hyperactive mind only made each one worse than the last.

"Can't dwell on it now." You sighed to yourself.

The mess was cleared up from the coffee table and you set to work dumping out the water you used. The metal baking bowl and two banged up pots were full with tainted water and you carefully carried them from your living room down the hallway to your bathroom.

Growing up you remembered your mother flushing similar biohazard waste down the toilet so you wisely adopted her mannerisms.

The bloodstained water swirled down slowly igniting a fuse in your brain and you watched it disappear with an unfocused eye. The red lanterns that were on every corner in Chinatown matched the tinted water and in that moment, a puzzle piece in your mind clicked together.

You reached for your pen and notepad that you kept in the bathroom storage basket.

Some of your best ideas occurred here in the bathroom so you armed yourself with writing tools if ever a sudden flash of inspiration hit. Just like your brief inspiration in Chinatown earlier today, if you didn't write this idea down it would disappear again.

You lost track of time that you spent in the bathroom jotting down your idea. A rough plot came to you right there on your cold mosaic tile floor just like in the movies. For months writer's block thwarted your progress and almost terminated your contract with your publisher, but now you had something to show for! Your handwriting was messy in the heat of the moment but sure enough, this rough draft would lead you in the right direction.

Cindy asked you for a small book idea; this was even better. This could be another best seller if you worded it right.

You were so deep in your writing mode, you almost didn't catch the muffled noise echoing from your living room.

The thud caught your attention and you walked back into the commons room where you left Joker. He was still resting on the couch but you noticed one of his shoes had fallen off. It landed on the hardwood floors and you picked it up and determined it as the source to the sound. Its twin was still on Joker's foot making you question if his purple argyle socks matched. Joker was asleep but you could tell he appeared to be rather uncomfortable lying on your couch. Once again, it wasn't for prolonged usage, but for décor.

"I can't leave him like this.."

You sat your notepad down and disappeared to grab some spare pillows from your guest room.

When you first came home with Joker, placing him in the bed here wasn't an option and trying to move him now was out of the question. You could only hope the plethora of pillows shoved under his head, back, and legs would reduce his discomfort levels. His recovery was out of your hands. That realization made you worry twice as hard. Were you babying him too much? But what if he got lead poisoning and died?

No. You couldn't think like that. This was The Joker here!

He sustained far worse injuries before in his grand escapes from Batman and GCPD officers. He walked all the way from Somerset island back to your apartment for crying out loud! Why were you so worried?

"He'll be fine." You assured yourself. But as you turned to walk towards your desk, an urge to tuck him in struck you. "Seriously Y/n? He's not your dad. He will be fine." That's what your mouth said, your actions were another story.

Your conscience found peace by tossing your afghan over Joker's slumbering form. His lashes brushed against his white cheeks and you believed without the ghastly makeup, he could be quite the attractive guy.

"Where did that thought come from?" Shaking your head you sat down at your desk from across the room and opened up a new word document.

A glance out your window welcomed the familiar sight of rain. It always rained in Gotham at the drop of a hat but tonight it rained on and off more so than usual. You hoped the gentle rainfall and your light computer typing would help Joker sleep soundly.

There's no rest for the wicked or however the saying went.

Sleep did not come to Joker whether he was on the run or held in custody. He was a smart man and knew his enemies were all around him, waiting for a weakness. Not even his own goons could be trusted to keep him safe, whether it be from outsiders or from themselves. Joker was a walking bounty; dead or alive, he was valuable. He had to stay alert at all times and that meant sacrificing sleep in order to stay alive.

But for the first time in years, Joker woke up fully rested.

Sleep was a luxury Joker long since forsaken, so waking up well rested felt like stepping into an alternate dimension.

A full energy bar brought forth a new clarity to his senses that he wished he could get used to. Not to say his mindset without rest wasn't terrible, (his body adapted to the days, if not weeks without sleep) but now he felt rejuvenated. Alive really.

Joker felt he could plan any heist and execute it without fail. But first he needed to remember where he was. At first he didn't recognize the room. Slowly but surely it all came back to him. He escaped Arkham and went on the run but ended up getting shot until you came along.

He never was one for miracles or believing in kind gestures but you were exactly that. You happened to be in the wrong place at the right time and you went out of your way, risking your life, to bring him to your home. The rest of the night was splotchy in his mind but he did remember you crying and playing music at one point.

He was still in awe that he slept so long but he had to thank the many pillows cushioning his body and the softest blanket he ever touched that was covering him.

Was this how normal citizens slept? Blissfully unaware of the criminals roaming the streets, tucked in tight inside their beds with soft bedding and naïve little dreams? Bah. He didn't need to rest. He trained his body to operate with the least amount of sleep possible. He couldn't get attached to this feeling so he rejected it immediately.

He needed a distraction. Where did you run off too? You could explain and fill in some gaps to his memory if you were still around. Joker felt a weight around his leg and pulled back the blanket to discover you bandaged his thigh and hind calf with some kind of gauze. Lovely. That would slow him down for sure.

His shoes were missing but he'd find them on his way out. You held up your side of the bargain in healing him. Now he would honor his. After all, he was a man of his word.

Unfortunately, standing up proved to be difficult. His leg once again gave out and a wave of dizziness hit Joker and sent him stumbling back on the couch with a low curse.

"Hey! Don't get up yet!!"

Joker was trying to stop the room from spinning but heard your voice nearby. "You might open your stitches if you keep moving like that! I-I have some pain meds and some breakfast if you want any. Anything to get some energy in you."

Breakfast? Did he really sleep through the night? No wonder he felt so refreshed. His body was used to two hours of sleep max.

Sure enough, Joker dragged his eyes from his bandages over to you standing in your kitchen making breakfast. You had changed out of those tempting blue pants into more comfier attire.

You currently had on loose grey sweatpants and a matching off the shoulder top with colorful mix match socks. Your h/c hair was unbound and fell down your shoulders in mesmerizing curls.

He could tell you washed it, since it was more bouncier than last night, allowing your natural texture to shine through. The wild, untamed curls had a mind of their own as you spun and fiddled around the kitchen.

"I didn't know what you usually eat or what your stomach could take, so I made a homemade breakfast I ate whenever I was sick growing up. Good old fashioned oatmeal and eggs with juice. Um, I hope you like it!" You said to your guest.

Eh. He had worse in Arkham. How bad could it be? He kept his negative comments to himself but started thinking differently when you came out of the kitchen with an ornate tray filled to capacity. Joker could hear the fine china rattling from your nerves as you came closer.

You set the tray down on the coffee table with a childish exclamation. "Tada!"

There upon a Herend hand painted fish scale design, trimmed with gold, was a plate stacked with piping hot fluffy eggs.

Next to it were two crystal cut salt and pepper shakers and an even fancier looking bowl of fresh assorted fruit, pre-sliced. A spoon was already dipped inside ready for him to load his plate. Off to the side was toasted bread with melted butter glistening in the morning sunlight and an Art Deco glass pitcher stood tall filled with orange juice beside two matching cups. He was stunned to see the aforementioned oatmeal on standby in a serving bowl, looking rather appetizing.

You went back to the kitchen to grab some silverware, two smaller bowls, and napkins and didn't catch Joker's reaction to your breakfast spread.

Were you trying to impress him? If so, the flashy spread wasn't necessary. You alone were a sight for sore eyes. He waited until you came back and sat on the other side of the coffee table and never took his eyes off of you.

You were setting Joker's silverware down on his napkin when he spoke.

"Are you ex-pect-ing the Queen, Y/n?" He narrowed his eyes and gestured at the breakfast tray. His eyes had reverted to their hypnotic green after a good night's rest, making it impossible to look away from the swirling hue.

"Haha.. no. We can't sit at my dining table since you're unable to walk so.. I brought the table to you! This is for us both by the way. I am absolutely starving after staying up all night watching over you!" You grabbed a separate plate and helped yourself to the eggs.

Joker didn't move an inch towards the food and his eyes never left your face. "WhaT?"

The emphasis on the letter t implied that he was serious. Joker was sitting on the couch forcing you to look up from your position on the floor.

From this angle his clown makeup made his eyes appear more menacing but your fear of Joker  had dissipated last night. You weren't completely relaxed around him, (that would be a big mistake) but you felt somewhat safe after you tended to his wounds. Hopefully you were on his good side now. He was still waiting for an answer so you sighed and began spooning oatmeal into his bowl to keep your hands busy.

"Well.. I um cleaned and stitched up your wounds last night and kept a vigil just in case you ran a fever or started bleeding again. H-Here." You held out a steaming bowl of oatmeal to Joker who accepted it with a twisted lip.

"At least try it before you knock it. It looks like slop but it tastes amazing! I like to add a bit of fruit in mine for a healthy bite."

You dug into your share and chased it down with a forkful of eggs. "Mmm. Back to last night. You slept without issue, no surprise there, although I thought you woke one time when I stabbed the backspace bar too much. Heh, you mumble in your sleep."

He scoffed. "No, I don'T."

"Yes, you do. It's cute really, nothing to be ashamed of."

"Me? Cute? And I thought my jokes were funny." He patted his pockets and came to the starling discovery that they were empty. "Y/n.."

You saw the dark gleam in his eye and started backtracking.

"Before you panic!! I can explain! I took your suit jacket since it was covered in blood and decided to confiscate the... um vast arsenal of things you carried inside. I have to ask. Why do you need so many knives?" You pointed at him with a spoonful of oatmeal.

It was as if you asked a scientist to explain Newton's Law. "Well my dear Y/n, I'll tell you my itty bitty secret. You can't.. savor the little nuances with guns. See, a gun is too quick! A knife.. a knife is more personal. You can realllly get to know a person when you use one on them. One time, I used a paring knife—"

You waved off the last bit of his sentence. You did not want to hear it. "Are you going to eat your eggs? They taste awful cold. The oatmeal too. Oh and I didn't add any salt or pepper to the eggs so have at it."

Joker kept his anger in check but couldn't hold back the harsh glare he sent your way. This wasn't the first time you interrupted him but he was getting sick of it. You sat there enjoying your food like nothing was wrong when a raging monster sat inches away from you demanding respect.

Were you too tired and couldn't sense the danger or maybe you were stupid enough to play with fire? And after he held you in such a high regard for being a writer and one of his favorites no less!

Perhaps on paper was where your intelligence truly shined and not in the real world. Regardless if you were book smart or street smart, (or miraculously both) he needed to know.

"You're not afraid." He didn't like the way you causally rolled your eyes. Somewhere between when you two first met and now– you had overcome your fear of him. You didn't see Joker as a threat anymore and that wouldn't cut it for him.

"No, you promised me. Remember?"

What did he promise you?! He didn't remember much after digging a bullet out of his thigh. Anything beyond that point he really could have said anything without his knowledge. Just what kind of agreement did you two shake on to have you so relaxed around him? He had to remember!

"Well isn't that just.. wonder-ful." Joker decided to finally taste a spoonful of your oatmeal.

It looked disgusting but Arkham Asylum was notorious for its inhuman food options. His stomach was prepared for anything but not for this.

You saw Joker tense up and widen his eyes. He didn't speak for a full minute until he snapped out his trance and dived straight into his bowl. He didn't know how hungry he was until the bowl was empty and he was moving onto the large plate of eggs. Apparently someone liked your cooking.

But his pace was concerning. "Slow down Blüd, if you want more, I can whip up another serving no sweat, just slow down okay?"

He reached for the bowl of fruit, adding a heaping spoonful onto his plate. "What does blood have to do with this?"

"Um.. It's a Blüdhaven saying. I'm sorry if it offends you. I guess you can't take the Haven out the girl no matter where she goes." You played with a blueberry at the bottom of your bowl while Joker kept the conversation flowing.

"So.. you're not from Gotham." He moved onto the buttered toast but didn't like the blandness of it and ladled another helping of oatmeal for himself. He tried your suggestion and mixed the fruit with it, finding it to be quite pleasant. How was your oatmeal so delicious compared to others variations he had tried?

"I'm originally from Blüdhaven. I moved here almost a year ago to start my writing career... but you should have known that from my author's bio in my books. I talked a little about it last night too. Joker, are you having trouble remembering things?"

He was but he wasn't going to tell you that. It was just a one off situation.

After this food digested, he would be good as new especially since he also got a full night's rest. Food and rest are the body's fuel. You let him fill up for the night, now it was time to move on.

He almost stood to leave but remembered he was barefoot. He was looking around for his shoes and his averted gaze gained your attention.

"Joker, what're you looking for? Are you going somewhere?"

"I'm leaving." He said after spotting his shoes by the door. He set his weight on his hands and began to rise when your voice reached a new octave.

"No! Y-You'll open your stitches if you try to move! And after I spent so much time stitching them closed. You sir.. are staying here!"

Joker arched his eyebrow, staring you down. "Excuse me?" They disappeared behind his hairline when you growled in frustration and slammed your fist on the coffee table. The crystal shakers rattled loudly but you didn't pay it or the other chinaware any mind.

"I'm already looking at a life sentence just by harboring a fugitive like you in my home, might as well go for the death penalty and nurse you back to health while I'm at it! I don't get out much and the only excitement in my life is what I create in my books. These past few hours have been more exhilarating than my entire life combined. Save for that one time I almost died. Anyways.. call me an adrenaline seeker or just a psycho with a death wish, but you're staying here whether you like it or not!"

There, you said it. It felt good to finally get it off your chest. You enjoyed Joker's company.

Barbara would declare that you finally lost your mind and look up local psychologists within your insurance coverage for you to see. Dick would laugh and suggest checking yourself into Arkham Asylum and then proceed to raid your refrigerator.

Bruce would.. ugh. You didn't want to imagine his opinion. It felt wrong to even think about him.

A kind, wonderful guy like Bruce Wayne interested in a girl who couldn't stop thinking about the clown Prince of Crime.

Joker was a ticking time bomb, unpredictable in every way but the danger, the allure that he carried, was so addicting! He was the perfect muse for your new story but you couldn't tell him that. The less he knew, the better. You had to protect yourself from developing any feelings for him. That was the last thing you needed right now, especially since you knew Bruce liked you.

Joker waited till you were distracted to jump over the coffee table, knocking over the remaining dishes to the floor to grab the butter knife.

Joker without weapons still posed as a threat but with one in his hands, you were as good as dead.

How stupid could you be to leave it out?! You emptied out his coat pockets but stupidly gave him access to his favorite weapon! You never realized just how sharp a butter knife was until one was pressed up against your throat.

It seemed even sharper in Joker's hand. "You see that? ThaT, right there? I wouldn't get to uh.. see your fear if I used a gun, Y/n." He licked his lips, thoroughly enjoying this. "But there's no fun in killing you. No. I don't want to ruin such a beauty like you! A mind so complex, sooooo malleable if only it had a little push.. like this. C'mere."

He grabbed your face almost like a lover except he had a knife in his hand. "Quit movin' around so much, Y/n. Hold still."

You did the exact opposite and struggled even more. Joker had you pinned to the floor and once again you were surprised by his strength. He quickly overpowered you and held both of your wrists in one of his hands and kept his grip on the knife steady, which was now digging into your gums.

"I hate to be mean to you, Y/n.. but it's all about sending a message. I don't ta-ke orders from anyone and especially not from you. You're a nice person 'n all-"

He underestimated you. Growing up in a city as dangerous as Blüdhaven had toughened your skin and despite looking like a total pushover, you could defend yourself when you felt threatened. You ignored the pressure on your gums and used your legs to push Joker off of you and reeling back onto the couch.

The sudden motion caught him off guard and he let gravity bring him down. Maybe you had a point. He was rather dizzy..

"Ohh... I knew there was a reason why I liked you."

Ignore him Y/n, he doesn't mean it that way! Honestly, your own mind couldn't accept reality.

"Look at you! I can see the birds spinning above your head. Just how stubborn are you? For once.. let someone take care of you! I'm not out to get you and I-I don't want anything in return. I just want you back to your normal self even if that means you'll slaughter a daycare once you heal up and leave. But until those stitches are removed; you're my responsibility."

You were breathing heavily but stood your ground above Joker.

Hopefully you didn't kick him too hard but it was all about sending a message right? Honestly, he could really be a pain in the rear but you said it yourself.

He was now your responsibility for the next two weeks.

Joker was catching his breath while you surveyed the mess he made with his surprise attack. Your tongue licked your gums, (thankfully no nicks) and your fingers dabbed at your neck for any cuts but found none. If only Barbara knew you won a fight against The Joker!

Another stroke of luck for walking away with your life. Could you survive two weeks? You didn't know but you were going to find out.

Miraculously the pitcher of orange juice hadn't been wasted all over the floor so you picked it up along with its matching cup and poured a glass before handing it to Joker.

He bared his teeth a little, such a nauseating yellow you thought, but held the cup steady for him.

"You can't leave the breakfast table until you finish your juice. It's packed with vitamin C, something you need to restore all that blood you lost." He took a long glance at the glass and dragged his vision up to your stern e/c eyes.

To your shock, he turned his nose up like a child.

"Fine! Sit there and pass out for all I care! I have to clean this up thanks to you!" You picked up a broken plate and pointed it at Joker. It was your favorite set too!

These next few weeks were gonna be stressful indeed.

#ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #reader insert #black!fem!reader #batman #dc comics #smut #joker smut #slow burn #yandere #romance #angst #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on AO3 #his lighthouse

[nothorses]

I'm a lesbian, and when I saw those callout posts going around, I checked his kink Tumblr myself. And what I saw really upset me! It was super uncomfortable and a little triggering. So you know what I did? Hit the backspace button. My fault for opening the "dead dove, do not open" bag. We should all know better than to assign moral judgement to what consenting adults get up to amongst themselves. Anyway, just wanted to get it out there to any of the weirdos hate scrolling through your blog that they don't speak for all lesbians.

Yeah, that's really fair!

Like genuinely, a lot of the kinks and stuff also made me uncomfortable. But I bet I could say the same for a lot of stuff people I really care about get up to in their private thoughts & private lives, and ultimately, it wasn't information i was ever supposed to have access to to begin with.

Folks are very very entitled to their discomfort around that stuff. Nobody has to engage with it, or even feel okay about it.

But I feel like maybe we can understand that someone's actual, real-life actions matter more than the kind of fanfiction they read or the kind of roleplays they do on private tumblr blogs. I feel way more uncomfortable discussing someone's kinks and sexual fantasies without their consent.

#also thank you it's very appreciated <3

[amethystpath-writes]

Until Then, To-Be-Named.

"Doesn't it just piss you off, Hero?"

"What are you going on about this time?"

Villain's jaw was clenched in their anger. It was this action that made Hero realize Villain wasn't just taunting them. They were actually angry this time.

"Who are you? What's your name?"

Hero rose a brow. "You know who I-"

"What is your title." Villain enunciated the question, seriousness, anger, and dread lacing his voice like venom. They shook their head. "Name. I meant name."

What? No they didn't.

Swallowing, Hero answered. "My name is Hero." They didn't like this sharp version of Villain.

"That's not it. What is your name?"

Title. That's supposed to say title, not name. Why can't I change it?

They threw their hands out. They told Villain their name. It was Hero. It had always been Hero. "I don't know how else I'm supposed to answer."

Villain huffed. "You're all dense. Every single one of you." They began shaking their head. "Hero? That's your name? You really believe your name is your occupation?"

Wait. No. That's not...Villain wasn't supposed to say that. Why did they...No. I can't backspace. The button's there, but it's not-

"And my name's Villain. Those people down there in the alley? Civilian. Civilian 2. Civilian 3. How much sense does that make, Hero?"

Villain, stop. What are you- this isn't what you're supposed to say. That's not- that's not what I'm writing.

"You're right. It's not what you're writing. Guess it's your fault for making me so intelligent. I cracked your code." Villain looked to the sky, then said, "Maybe you're not up there at all, in the clouds. You are no god, even if you think typing on an expensive laptop makes you one. You're not."

"Who are you talking to, Villain?" Hero was cautious, unsure of what was going on, afraid if they misspoke then Villain would crazily strike or something.

Don't answer, Villain. You're not talking. You become quiet, seeming to snap out of some daze. Maybe it's a- a new villain whose come to town and they want you-

"They call themselves Dee."

You know my name. That can't be possible. It's not possible. Am I even writing right now? This must be a dream. It has to be a dream. Nothing else would make sense.

"They're a writer, a sad job if you ask me. It makes them feel in control or something, but they made me their villain of the story, and frankly, that pisses me off. What pisses me off even more is they didn't even have the decency to give me- to give us, Hero- a name."

I don't- guys, I'm not writing this story. I don't know what's happening. This was supposed to be happening differently. Villain was supposed to start guilt-tripping Hero or- or something. I don't know. I don't know. I don't understand what's happening. This isn't my story. This isn't what I'm writing.

"Of course it's not. Because you're not in control of this story anymore. You made me the villain, Dee, so I'm going to be yours. How do you like your characters using your name? The one you gave yourself? I bet it would feel nice. I don't have that, you know? Hero doesn't have that. You didn't even give the hero of your little made up world a name. What does that make you? Hey, Hero," Hero looked up at this. "What do you say we call this self proclaimed 'Dee', 'Monster' instead? I mean, why should they have a name if we don't?"

Hero couldn't speak. They stood silent. See, Villain? I still have this. I can still make you- I can- you'll do what I want because I'm the author. This is my story. You can't- you're not in control. I'm not a monster. I'm an author, a writer, a script crafter. Whatever.

"Sure, Monster. What are those other creative names you use? Is it Whumper? I seem to recall being 'named' that a few times. Funny, that you call me Villain, Whumper, and the like, yet...I only just now realized that's not who I am. I'm not any of those titles you gave me. I was just trapped. You imprisoned me. You imprisoned Hero. You imprisoned every Civilian with a number and every Friend without sentiment. You are Monster."

Stop. You're antagonizing me. You're- you're...Just stop.

"But isn't that what you want me to be? Why complain when a villain conveniently named Villain is being one? It's what you wanted. So it must be in your control. Go ahead. Tell me to hit Hero, since that's what you want."

N-no. I don't- You know I like Hero. Hurting them is just-

"Part of driving the plot? Haven't heard that one before."

Where are you? Where is Hero? I had it written that you are looking over an alley, but- but I can't see anything in my mind. There's no image. No visual. What did you do? How did you- It doesn't matter. Just give me my story back.

"You want me to call you Monster?"

No. That's not- I'm not- stop calling me that! I'm a writer. A writer. That's it. That's what I am. I'm writing and I- and I'm controlling every aspect of your life. I haven't even given you a name, but I brought you into existence. I made you be raised with the most corrupt family I could think of, and now you're...you're aware of all of that. I've treated you like you were in hell. I...

"You see it now, don't you?"

I can see Villain again, beneath a spotlight in the dark. Hero is still gone and there's no alley, but Villain is here, seemingly looking like a hero.

"You can't call me a villain if you're keeping me on a leash, commanding me. And Hero. It's not fair for them to always be...be bullied by characters you make up to hurt them. Let them live, Dee. Give them their freedom. At least for tonight. They deserve it."

It's for my account though. It's not me, Villain. I-I write it, and sure it comes easily, but...I haven't named you because you're just- I feel like an ass. You're made up, Villain. And Hero is. And all of the civilians. You're all a scenario, one that people can picture for themselves. I guess I could...What color hair do you have- do you want?

"Is it silly to say blue?"

Not if it's what you want.

"It is."

Okay then, Villain has blue hair of-

"A navy shade. Navy blue. That's my favourite color."

Villain has navy blue hair that-

"Reaches my shoulders in waves, but I like to pull it into a low ponytail. And I'm not tall, but not short- average."

You're excited.

"Of course I am. I'm not limited to the life you've given me. I can be me again, or, for the first time. There's so much I can be. You'll give me a name, right?"

I give you the story. Finish it if you'd like. Hero could use a friend if you ask me. And if it makes you feel any better, you can call me Monster in your stories. Maybe it's what I deserve for calling you Villain. You didn't ask for this.

"Oddly, I don't want this to be goodbye."

I can come back, and you can introduce yourself to me. I'll be here- whenever you're ready.

"I'd like that."

Become who you'd like, make yourself your own life, and Hero, too, if you would like. Call 'Monster' and I'll answer. And I'll listen, not write.

"Until then, Monster."

Until then, to-be-named.

@whatwhumpcomments

#hero x villain #hero x villain story #I feel guilty labeling anything hero x villain now #this was the good story btw #which I feel eh about #but it's alright

[captainchrisbaby]

A Little Bit of Heartache

Chris Evans x Reader

Authors note: Sorry about all the dark stuff this week :’) Hope you guys are enjoying reading it though <3 

Story Summary: Chris’ POV as he deals with the heartbreak of missing you

___________________________________________

I finish filling my tank and reach into the front seat for my wallet. I yawn as a skip to the door of the petrol station and politely greet the man behind the counter, keeping it short and hiding my face as much as possible to avoid additional conversation. The eftpos machine beeps as it accepts my payment and I give one last nod before heading straight for the exit. As I round the sliding door a woman slams straight into me causing me to step back steadying my feet, I swiftly reach out and grab her arms to stop her falling and she frantically apologises.

I take a breath in and her voice fades as the familiar scent of her perfume distracts my thoughts. My jaw clenches and my eyes flicker shut as the lump in my throat emerges. A memory carries me away and a let it play through my mind, her sweet pink lips curl up as her excited eyes watch me lift my spoon to my mouth. I remember how excited she was to share her grandmas famous ice cream recipe with me so I was ready to fake it if I didn’t like it. I drop some silky cream onto my tongue and giggle as she squirms in anticipation. “What do you think?” She squeals. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the delicious caramel flavour melts in my mouth. I nod as I swallow, “I’m actually impressed!” I laugh and she cheers adorably.

“Are you okay?” The woman’s voice cracks through my memory bringing me back to the store front.

“Oh, yes sorry.” I choke and slide past her racing for my car. I dive into the seat and start the motor immediately. I drop my eyes to my shaking hands on the wheel and force a deep breath to control the tears welling in my eyes.

Home couldn’t have felt further away but it only takes a few minutes before I’m sitting in my driveway. Pulling myself out I drag my feet inside and give Dodger a small pat on my way to the bedroom. I slide my hand under the bed and pull out the photo album labeled “Chris and Y/N” gliding my finger over her name. My first tear for the night falls. It’s been weeks since I have let her invade my thoughts and I finally felt like I had made progress.

I close my eyes and let another memory take control. Arriving home after a long day at work I walk around the corner into the lounge room to find all the lights off and a movie playing on the TV, there on the lounge under the huge cosy blanket is Y/N and Dodger wrapped in a cuddle sound asleep. I stood there for a few minutes watching them sleep and feeling so grateful, and then snapped a photo on my phone, moved Dodger and carried her to bed.

My eyes open as the memory fades and I wipe my soaked eyes. I turn the pages of the album until I reach that photo. The last memory I have with her begins to emerge and though I try to shut it out is plays so loudly through my thoughts.

“I thought I could put up with it all because I loved you and I wanted to be with you but I’m just not strong enough. This is your life, the good and the bad and I can’t change who you are. You are such an incredible person Chris but I just don’t think our paths were meant to cross in this life.” My hand reaches up and wipes her tear away and my head shakes as I cry with her begging her not to leave. It hurt so bad knowing it was the best thing for her but wishing she would just stay anyways.

She was so sweet and quiet and genuine but never dealt well with attention. Her anxiety and fears clashed with the lifestyle that accompanies fame and I will never understand the selfishness I felt to make her endure all of that so that I could have her.

“I love you so much.” I choked.

“I love you too, more than anything Chris. I came her to be with you and it was epic but a normal girl like me trying to keep up with all of this… it was never realistic.” She held herself so well, I knew she was breaking inside just as I was but she looked so brave and strong as she made the decision to do what was best for her.

The memory ends and let out a sob. I slam the album closed and gather myself. I sit staring blankly at the wall for fifteen minutes. Unlocking my phone I search for her name with the little heart next to it. I click it and begin typing a text message.

I just bumped into a lady at the store and her perfume smelt like yours. Is it bad that I hope you’re lonely and lost without me just because I’ve been? I know I said I just want you to be happy but I hate the thought of you being better off without me? Are you as close to giving up as I am? Does it kill you when you think about me? Because I feel like I’m dying, or maybe a part of me did die when you left and I just haven’t adjusted to living without it yet.

My finger hovers over the send button and as I begin to push down, a tear falls to my screen distracting me for a second. I sigh and wipe the drop away then hold my finger over the backspace button watching the heartfelt message disappear. I throw my phone behind me and lay back onto my pillow letting my self drift off. It feels like I’ve only just fallen asleep but the loud buzzing of the phones vibration wakes me up. I roll over and lift the device to my face squinting at its harsh brightness.

My heart skips a beat when I see the name on the caller ID. I don’t hesitate, I hit answer.

“Y/N?” I stutter.

“Hey Chris.” She whisper, evident relief drowning her voice at the sound of his.

“Are you ok?” I worry.

“I miss you…”

_____________________________

Love you favourite supporters always <3 @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ @cheeseburgersstuff​

#Chris evans #imagine #one shot #heart ache #fanfic #break up

[cudan2]

What Do You Meme?

Spring Break Shadowing Part 3

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 1,046

Summary: It’s day three of shadowing and you’re eating lunch alone, or that’s what is seems like at first until Doctor Cullen joins you. 

A/N: I didn’t plan on writing for this headcanon but needed filler between day 2 and 4. 

Anyways, this is #16 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

There’s the fading sound of ambulance sirens in the background and quiet chatter around you as you’re eating lunch, nestled away in a corner of the cafeteria on the second floor of the hospital. Your hands hover over the keyboard of your laptop, the screen displaying the stark white of a blank document. Ok, maybe there was less eating and more working, but what better time to work on your personal statement than in the hospital?

In a moment of sheer brilliance, your fingers fly across the keyboard to type down a sentence that popped into your head. You hit the period and look back at it.

It’s not good.

The blinking cursor mocks you as you grudgingly hold down the backspace button in defeat. A personal statement is not supposed to be this hard, yet writing about why you’re choosing to go to medical school is starting to feel like the most difficult thing you would write in your life. You blindly grab your water to take a sip, eyes still glued to the document in front of you.

“What happened to eating lunch?”

You choke on the water in surprise. Several violent coughs escape past your lips as you gasp for air. Needless to say, you weren’t expecting anyone to talk to you here after eating lunch alone for the past two days. A hand pats you gently on your back in an effort to help you recover. Looking up to the owner of a melodious voice you were familiarized with now, you see Doctor Cullen with an arm full of files and his brows knitted together with worry.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m good,” you breathe, “you just... surprised me.”

“Remind me not to surprise you in the future then. I’d hate to resuscitate my favorite student from apparent death.” His favorite... Your face gets warmer than it already is from coughing and you quickly look away from his soft gaze on you to move the half eaten lunch and make space for him.

“Do you want to sit down?” you ask. His golden eyes light up at the offer.

“Would I be imposing? I don’t want to distract you.” You shake your head and motion for him to sit. He settles down across from you and, pulling out a pen from his white coat. A comfortable silence falls over you two as Doctor Cullen works on his paperwork and you attempt to craft up a decent sentence for your personal statement.

You catch yourself sneaking glances at him more often than not. As if on cue, his eyes look up to meet yours, and you know you were caught. Without a single word, he gives a swift wink and goes back to his work. You swear your heart skipped a beat at that moment.

As much as you don’t want to admit it, Doctor Cullen is growing on you, and as more than just the doctor you are shadowing. Despite his status as a plastic surgeon, he doesn’t seem to think of himself as above anyone. He’s respectful to everyone he interacts with – including you, he’s shown more compassion to the patients in the past day and a half than you’ve ever experienced in your three years in this city, and not to mention, he exudes charm without even realizing it.

How can someone so perfect exist? You decide something has to be wrong with him because perfect people just do not exist. Maybe he doesn’t wash his hands at home, maybe he actually hates puppies and cute babies, or maybe he’s even a serial killer disguised as this incredible doctor.

You shake your head at yourself. You were being ridiculous. Doctor Cullen is just another person who happens to be really good at his job – or that’s what you are trying to convince yourself of because if you keep thinking about him like this, you’re bound to fall for him and that would not end well for either parties.

You take one last look at the nonexistent personal statement and decide enough is enough. There is ten minutes left before both of your lunches end, and scrolling through social media is far more productive than staring at the doctor across from you anyways.

Your endless scrolling leads you to a new meme. An abrupt laugh passes your lips before you can stop it and you see Doctor Cullen’s head look up at you.

“Something funny?” he asks, an amused smirk plastered across his face. You clearly aren’t working on the personal statement anymore.

“I just saw a funny meme,” you admit.

“A... meme?” His expression is puzzled, something you never thought you would see from the doctor that seems to know everything. Could not knowing what a meme is truly be his one fault?

You’re about to give an answer when you find yourself struggling for the right words. How does one accurately describe something that’s so engrained into your generation’s pop culture? “I guess you could say it’s just something funny that tends to spread on the internet,” you decide saying.

“Could I take a look?”

“Sure.” You’re about to turn the laptop when he gets up to go around the table instead. He’s standing next to you once again, but this time, Doctor Cullen leans over to look at the meme with an arm on the back of your chair. The scent of pine envelopes you as he inches closer to get a better look at the picture. His face is mere centimeters away from yours and you pray he doesn’t hear the recognizable thumping of your heart grow faster.

His eyes scan the words on the meme and he frowns. “It appears I don’t quite understand the context of this image.”

“Well...” You really can’t think with him this close to you. “I guess it’s only something the kiddos would get nowadays,” you let out a forced laugh.

He stands back up and you are finally able to let out a breath you don’t realize you’re holding.

“It would seem so.” He picks up his stack of files and sticks out a hand at you like the day before. “What do you say we get back to saving some lives?”

You grab his hand and stand up from your chair. “Happily.”

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #twilight imagines #twilight renaissance #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #twilight reboot #carlisle cullen imagine #twilight #twilight revival #doctor daddy cullen #twilight renessaince #twilight fanfic

[etherealwaifgoddess]

One In A Million - Chpt.3

Summary: Rose starts work at the SSR Headquarters and runs into Steve again despite her intention to avoid the guys. 

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Can you even imagine trying to adapt to life in the 1940′s? It would have to be wild. I like to think that Rose would be pretty much any modern girl trying to made do back then. We’d miss random things and forget ourselves from time to time. And if nothing else, I promise you, none of us would be able to resist Steve or Bucky in their prime lol. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Three

You spend the next two days settling into your tiny apartment that sits looking out over a factory district street. It’s not glamorous but there are four other girls living in the building and it seems to be pretty safe from what they’ve told you. Your apartment is 2a and there is currently no one in 2b. Both first floor apartments are taken as well as both third floor ones. Macie who lives in 3a works at the SSR office too. She’s in the mail room there and you make plans to walk together on Monday. 

Despite the cold, you do a lot of walking over the weekend. It gives you a chance to get to know the area better and pick up the few things you’ll need to get by for the next twenty nine days. You mark the date and time of your jump point on your new wall calendar, wanting to be ready to go and not risk any mistakes that get you stuck back in time longer than you plan to be there. 

The apartment came fully furnished which is a blessing and a curse. The style is very feminine and the abundance of tiny flowers is a little overwhelming at times. You pick up a tiny window plant, missing your cactus back home for a moment when you pass a florist shop. It’s your only contribution to the apartment's decor. You can’t see wasting money on other things when you won’t be around for long. It’s not like you intend to host any guests in the next few weeks. The memory of dinner with Steve and Bucky comes to mind unbidden. It was so easy spending time with them, it’s a shame you’ll have to avoid them now. 

The nights are quiet in your apartment. You had always thought the constant connectivity of technology in the twenty-first century was a nuisance, but without it the silence of your apartment is deafening. You pick up a few books while you’re out shopping to help pass the time, and they do to an extent. It doesn’t stop you from wondering what Bucky and Steve are up to though. It’s frustrating that after only one evening in their company that they’ve left such an impression on you. You pour yourself into your books, playing cards over at Macie’s, and cleaning your apartment thoroughly. It’s enough to get you through to Monday when you know you’ll be able to distract yourself with work. 

Macie is full of life, chatting happily the entire way to the office on Monday morning. It’s nice not having to hold up your end of the conversation while you nibble at a piece of toast as you walk. The easily accessible food in the 40s is very plain, which you had expected, but it’s making you wish you had memorized a few recipes before you went back so that you could whip up a few more appetizing meals. You’re thankful money isn’t an issue while you’re there so you can “splurge” on things like sugar and coffee. You had passed on buying a cookbook but are starting to think it would have been a good investment. There’s no way you’re going to be living off of toast for breakfast all month. You wonder idly how difficult it would be to make a poptart from scratch. Probably harder than it’s worth but you’d give just about anything for a hot, toasty, s’mores poptart.

You get set up in the typing pool at the SSR after a brief tour around the office by Marge who manages all the data entry girls. There are thirteen of you, all crammed together in a string of desks on the second floor with typewriters at each of your stations. You quickly realize that while you had been lightning fast at typing on your laptop, a typewriter is quite a different beast. The biggest hiccup being the lack of a backspace key. You vow to never take that little rectangular button for granted again as you start on your eighth copy of the same notes. 

The afternoon is easier than the morning now that your brain has caught on to the lack of a backspace key and you’ve slowed down enough to ensure you don’t make mistakes. By five o’clock your shoulders ache from the angle of the desk and you miss your ergonomically designed workstation at the lab. 

You decline Macie’s offer to walk home with you in favor of going back to the bookstore to buy a cookbook. You can make a few dinners easily from memory but it would be a lot of guesswork for cooking times and measurements. Meat thermometers are apparently not a common thing yet and without Pinterest to help, you can’t remember how long to roast chicken breasts to ensure they’re done. Spending a few cents on a cookbook seems like a better option than food poisoning. You find a Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that reminds you of the one your mother had growing up and you buy it out of nostalgia as much as a fear of salmonella. 

You manage to whip up an easy dinner for yourself, half memory of your favorite herb combo and half instructions from your newly acquired book. With nothing but time on your hands, you plan out meals for the rest of the week and make a shopping list for everything you don’t have. The space in your icebox is limited but you’ll be able to make do since you’re only cooking for one. As you plan out your meals it dawns on you that your period is due later that week and you throw cocoa powder on your list. It might be an indulgence in the 40s but you’re making brownies no matter what. If you have to survive your period without Midol, you’re damn well not doing without chocolate.

The next night you pop into the grocery store on your way home, sore from another day hunched over a typewriter. Your aching shoulders have you dreading lugging bags of groceries home despite it only being two blocks. You’re debating over brands of cocoa powder when you hear the deep timber of a familiar voice. 

“Rose?” Steve calls out from the end of the aisle. 

You turn to see him holding a can of peaches, smiling broadly. So much for avoiding the guys. “Hey Steve.” you reply with a slightly forced smile. You should have known this would happen, Steve works at the grocers for heaven's sake. Stupid, so stupid. 

Steve places the can he’s holding on the stack and crosses the aisle to join you in front of the shelf. He lets out a low whistle at the cans of cocoa you’re holding, “Special event coming up?”

You shake your head, “Nope. Just felt like making brownies.” 

Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “That must be nice.”

You frown, realizing that’s out of place with the times.

Steve mistakes your frown and fumbles for an apology, “Sorry, that was rude.” 

“No,” you assure him, “It’s alright.” You wonder when the last time Steve and Bucky scraped up enough money for a treat was. It was mentioned in the archives how they had struggled to make ends meet due to all of Steve’s health issues.

“That must be some fancy job you got over at the SSR if you’re making brownies just because it’s Tuesday.” His tone is more playful and he has you smiling fully at him now.

“Family money.” you bluff, “But you know, I can’t eat a full pan of brownies by myself.” 

“That probably wouldn’t be a good idea, no.” 

“What time does your shift end?” you’re acting on impulse and you don’t care in the slightest at the moment.

“I’m done at six. But Rose, you don’t have to…”

“Bullsh-” you stop, censoring yourself. You’re in the 40s, women act like ladies and watching your mouth has always been a struggle. “Nonsense.” you amend with a blush, “You and Bucky should come over when you get done. I’ll even make dinner.” 

Steve is still smirking from your slip up but he nods. “Alright. I’ll call Bucky and we’ll be over.” 

“Good” you say and you mean it. Seeing Steve again has you wanting to be a part of their world regardless of the danger it poses. It’s hard to know they struggle when you could help with your limitless SSR funds. It’s reckless, you know that, but when Steve smiles at you it doesn’t seem to matter. 

You part ways, letting him get back to stocking the shelf of peaches, and you collect the rest of your list plus a few things for a simple dinner. 

Steve and Bucky arrive at your apartment fifteen minutes after six. You didn’t expect them to get there so quickly and you’re still mixing up brownie batter and boiling water for pasta. You let them in and cringe as they look around your overly floral apartment. “It came furnished.” you explain while taking their coats. 

“Good to know.” Bucky chuckles, “You don’t really seem the type.”

You shoot him an inquisitive look. “And what type do you think I am, Barnes?” 

“You’re classier than this, that’s for sure. You’re feminine but tough. Like you’d be just as likely to make me brownies as you are to take on a guy twice your size to defend someone.” 

You can feel yourself blushing deeply and you can’t seem to keep yourself composed. “Oh you, you charmer.” Steadying yourself with a deep breath you swat at him with the towel you had tucked into your apron pocket. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and come help with dinner?” 

Bucky dodges your swat and points at you accusingly, “See, you’re just proving my point, doll. Sweet enough to make us dinner but sassy enough to make us help.” 

“Shut up and grab the bowl.” you motion to the counter top where your half mixed brownie batter sits. “Steve, can you please get an 8x8 pan out from the cabinet over there?”

“How come he gets a please and I get a shut up?” Bucky balks.

“Because Steve isn’t a pain in my ass.” you say in the most saccharine tone you can muster.

Steve snorts and Bucky feigns taking offense, but both men fall in line helping you. It’s fun cooking with the two of them despite how obnoxious their teasing can be. Barely twenty minutes later you’re dishing up large bowls of pasta and hunks of garlic bread. It’s a rich, heavy meal and you hope to send the leftovers home with the guys. It’s one small way you know you can quietly help make their lives a little better. 

“What is this?” Steve all but moans before stuffing a second bite of the pasta in his mouth.

A small campfire flares to life in your chest at his obvious enjoyment. “It’s called cacio e pepe. I used to make it a lot when I was in college. It’s so easy to make.” 

“Stevie, I’m sorry but you’re losing that best meal in Brooklyn award.” Bucky says, swallowing quickly. 

“I’m glad you guys like it.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Not like, love. What do you say, Rose? Let me make an honest woman out of ya. I would marry you tomorrow if it means I get to eat this again.” 

“I’d fight you for that, ya jerk.” Steve grumbles between bites. 

You wave your hand dismissively. “It’s like the two of you haven’t had a decent meal in your lives. How about I just keep the pair of you and I’ll make this as much as you want.” 

They look at you for a moment in quiet amazement before Bucky quips, “You were right, Stevie. She is an angel.” 

The banter continues as you eat your meals, topic hopping from work to weekend plans to childhood memories. Both men go back for second bowls of pasta and while Steve taps out halfway through Bucky is scraping his empty bowl again in no time.

“You do realize I have brownies in the oven.” you remind him as you clear the table. 

Bucky leans back in his chair, hands splayed on his stomach. “Oh I know, darlin’. But by the time those things are cool, I’ll be ready.” 

“I might not be.” Steve groans mildly. 

“That’s because that was the most you’ve eaten in a month, ya punk.” 

“You know my medicine messes with my appetite!” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.” 

“Jerk.”

“Punk. I only worry because I care.” 

They exchange achingly soft looks across the table and you force yourself to act busy and not intrude on the moment. You don’t consider yourself a romantic, you’ve never had the time or inclination for it, but you think you might do just about anything for someone to look at you like that. You wait a few minutes, getting the dishes soaking in the sink before returning to the dining room where the guys are chatting quietly. 

“Want to hang out in the living room? The brownies should be done in a little bit but they’ll need to cool.”  you suggest and both men nod in agreement, getting up, albeit slowly, from their chairs. 

You enjoy the background noise of the radio while you play cards with the guys. The music is different than what you’re used to but still good. Bucky is amazed you know how to play rummy and poker so well and Steve looks at you like you could hang the moon when you crush Bucky not once, but twice. You find yourself loosening up a little more around them despite knowing it’s probably not the smartest thing. Your competitive nature takes over and you’re taunting and bragging while you play just like you would back home with your guy friends. 

Bucky proposes to you again after he tries a barely cooled brownie from the pan. Steve can’t stop smiling as he nibbles small pieces off his piece and you can tell that he’s just as happy, just less vocal. It’s late when the guys finally head home and you load up their arms with leftovers insisting you don’t want it laying around the house. Bucky pulls you in for a hug, “Thanks, doll.” he murmurs close to your ear and you shiver despite yourself. 

That damn man knows what a flirt he is and it’s just not fair. You decide to level the playing field a little. “I’m glad you came.” you tell Steve quietly when you pull him in for a hug. You press a quick kiss to his cheek before letting him go and he turns positively scarlet as he pulls away. 

You shoot Bucky an amused smirk, making sure he knows you’re on to him and not phased. Well, you are, but damned if you’ll admit it. You don’t have the time to let yourself be smitten with either of them, let alone both. Steve stutters through a goodbye and you wave them off, promising to see them again soon. 

Starting in on the dishes in your sink you realize that smart or not, you’re a goner for the pair of them. You know it’s not fair to any of you, they’re clearly very happy together, but your heart doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo. Going home in three weeks is going to hurt and at this point all you can do is minimize how much.

#one in a million #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #reader insert #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #stucky fanfic #polyamory fic #marvel #marvel fanfic #captain america fanfic #time travel #1940s setting

[a-grayscale-galaxy]

Drew: the thing about Cal is, [...] all you know about Cal is his columns, which are edited whithin an inch or their lives, and crafted to be exactly the image he want to present to the world. It’s easy to have that be your favorite person because you don’t have to deal with all the unpolished bit of him! The bits where he doesn’t say the perfect little aphorism in response to every question the first time round. The bits where maybe he says entirely the wrong thing and oops! He doesn’t have a backspace button in real life! So I’m saying even if Cal exists and it isn’t all just an act, and he’s not cynical and playing to his audience but he is who he is, even if that’s true, it’s an impossible standard and who’s to say Cal would still be your favorite if you had to communicate in real time without the benifit of him really being able to think through and craft everything he says to the most beautiful and romantic thing? So... just... it’s just not fair to hold the rest of us to the standard of Cal, so if we ever say the wrong thing in the heat of the moment, it just... haunts us forever.

#anyway yeah #this is the third time im listening to it i believe? #moving on #kaleidotrope #podcasts #kaleidotrope pod #harridrew

[lumosinlove]

Solntse

part xiii

(BIG shoutout to @asktheboywholived for brainstorming with me and giving me new inspiration to start to finish this fic! Credit to TT for some truly amazing ideas that went into this chapter :)))

Also a TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter: Mentions of rough/unsafe sex

Thank you guys so much for being so patient. I decided to split this chapter up so the wait wouldn’t be as long. Love you guys!)

Remus was slowly learning the streets of New York. He was slowly learning what good coffee tasted like. He was getting to know Sergei and his family. He was getting to know what it was like to watch Sirius make eggs in the morning and eat them together right from the pan with pieces of toast to mop up the runny yokes. Clothing optional.

What he was not learning, was how to use the credit card Sirius had folded into his hand with a kiss.

“Is mine, so is yours.” He had said, and looked so positively happy while saying it that Remus had just kissed him back.

“Are your mine, too?” He had murmured against Sirius’ lips.

Sirius’ gaze had turned stupidly soft. “Most yours.”

It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying. Here he was, walking the snowy streets, Christmas shopping. Trying. Trying to Christmas shop for Sirius. He didn’t even know what stores to start in. Everything seemed impersonal, expensive, and, honestly, stupid. What would a watch or a new pair of shoes really mean to Sirius, who—as Remus had now seen—had so many of each? He lasted a couple hours of uncomfortably entering a few high-end stores before he found a cute looking cafe, ordered himself his second cappuccino of the day, and turned to the internet, desperate.

Looking up ‘gifts for boyfriend’ was equally unhelpful until—

Gift an experience! Tickets to a concert, or a favorite meal with a special dessert ;)

The site was sketchy and badly formatted but they had a point. Sirius didn’t need expensive things, especially not from Remus. Why would he want to remind Sirius of all the other impersonal gestures he’s probably received?

And…Remus hadn’t cooked for…he didn’t know how long.

“I used to love to cook.” He said aloud, and instantly flushed.

“Sorry?” The guy next to him said, removing one headphone.

“Oh.” Remus tried for a smile. “No, nothing. Sorry.”

He drains the last of his coffee, orders a scone, and begins to look up recipes, then backspaces and adds the word, Russian.

~

Sirius has work until the twenty-third, which is fine, but Remus isn’t above making it hard for him to leave for the office every morning for a week leading up to his vacation time.

“Have a good day today.” Remus says as he lazily palms his already hard cock through his boxers. “Come home soon.”

Sirius glares at him through the mirror as he buttons his shirt with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“Mean.” He tries to say through the toothpaste in his mouth, but all he succeeds in doing is dribbling it onto his shirt. He groans, throwing his hands up and sends Remus a look that practically says, see? Look what you made me do.

“Oh no.” Remus says flatly, then grins. “Guess you can’t go.”

Sirius disappears into the bathroom and reemerges a few seconds later sans toothpaste and shirt. He crawls over Remus where he’s splayed out on the bed and his bare skin is hot where Remus locks his hands around the small of his back. 

“You so bad, Remushya.” He presses wet, sloppy kisses all along Remus’ cheeks. “So bad.”

“Do something about it.” Remus presses up against him.

Sirius laughs into his neck, breath hot. When he bites gently, Remus preens into it. “I’m need go, late, Remus.” But he presses a line of kisses up Remus’ neck instead. “Most late…”

Remus sighs and throws his arms around Sirius’ neck, rolling them until Sirius is on his back with Remus above him. “Okay. But come home soon.”

Sirius presses a last lingering kiss to Remus’ lips. “Be home for three weeks after today.” Then he promptly reaches right into Remus’ boxers to get a warm hand around him. “Give you everything.” As he watches Remus’ eyes flutter shut, he grins. “Or maybe nothing because so mean this week.”

Remus’ eyes flash open. “Sirushya.”

Sirius starts to laugh but Remus kisses him hard, too much teeth and tongue, and perfectly.

Sirius is late for work.

~

Overall, Remus feels pretty great about his Christmas present for Sirius. He’d practiced making Piroshki. He remembers googling pictures of it while cradled against Sirius’ chest. It wasn’t so long ago, but it was before everything. Before the first ‘I love you,’ that now felt more natural to say than it was to breathe. It felt like a different life time. 

He doubts he’s anywhere near as good as he could be, but they tasted alright to him. The real struggle was hiding the smell and leftovers from Sirius when he got home. Sirius had raised his eyebrows when he suddenly started coming home to fresh trays of chocolate chip cookies every night, but he hadn’t complained.

The other part of the present was a clean bill of health he’d received from the doctor’s. In the end, Sirius had went separately because of his work, and he’d gotten his results yesterday. Remus had pretended his hadn’t arrived yet. Seeing the worried look on Sirius’ face had almost broke him down into confessing, but he held out. For the surprise. For the happy, hot, Christmas sex the surprise surely promised.

It’s Christmas Eve, and Remus banishes Sirius to the living room, which really isn’t much help given that it and the kitchen are practically the same room. In the end, he shoos him into their bedroom instead, turns on the television for him, and shuts the door tight so he can cook in peace.

The only problem is that Sirius keeps opening the door a crack and calling out to Remus.

“Not understand! Why am I hide?”

“Stay!”

Remus grins when he hears Sirius splutter. “Not dog, Remus!”

Remus fights off an eye roll because, honestly, he’s almost finished with the recipe. “No peaking!”

“Peaking? What peaking?” There are a few beats of silence. “This…this sex thing?”

“Watch your show!”

“Not fun without you. Cold bed.”

Remus presses a palm over his eyes, smiling helplessly to himself. He wants to abandon the food and march into the bedroom right then and there, but it will be better like this.

When he doesn’t respond, he hears a grumble and the door click shut again.

It doesn’t open until the Piroshki have been cooking for ten minutes and the butter and meat filling start to smell incredible. Remus is so intent on watching them, making sure they don’t burn, that he doesn’t even hear Sirius until he’s standing right behind him in the kitchen.

“Remushya.” He whispers.

And when Remus jumps, turning around from the stove, he tries to look mad, he really does. But Sirius’ eyes are a little wet, even though he’s blinking hard through it, and he has the soft smile on his face that Remus likes to think only he gets to see.

“You were suppose to stay—“

“Smell like home.”

Remus softens at that, setting his phone down with the timer on it. “‘rushya…”

Sirius blinks from the stove to him, laughing wetly. “Rushya?”

Remus walks forward, skirting the island. “It works doesn’t it? Just sort of slipped out.”

Sirius pulls Remus in, ducking so their noses brush. “You make for me?”

“Happy Christmas.”

“счастливого Рождества.” Sirius tucks his fingers into Remus’ hair. “Baby, Happy Christmas.”

They eat on the couch, Sirius chewing seriously with his eyes closed and making ridiculous noises. He keeps giving Remus little thumbs up and Remus sits there with what he knows is a hopelessly fond smile on his face.

“I’m glad you like them.” Remus crumpled his napkin and set his plate on the coffee table. “I…you know, I tried looking in all those stores for you. For clothes.”

Sirius’ eyes light up. “Oh my god, I’m pay to see.”

Remus shoves at him, laughing. “Shut up. Anyway, nothing was working. And I loved to cook, so…” He shrugged. “I’ll make it for you whenever you want.”

“I’m…make you egg?”

Remus laughs. “Right. And tea.”

Sirius sets his own plate down and pulls Remus towards him until he’s straddling his lap and Sirius can tilt his chin up for a kiss. “Is good trade!”

Remus tilts his head from side to side, like he’s considering it, and then snorts at Sirius’ offended sound and kisses him.

“Hey.” Remus mumbles into Sirius’ lips, eyes falling shut when Sirius bites gently at his bottom on.

“Hey, I’m kiss you now.”

“I have another present.”

Sirius’ eyebrows go up. “Can’t get better Piroshki, Remus.”

“I bet I can.”

He gets up, running into the kitchen for the silverware drawer. “Sorry, I thought we’d be at the table!” He grabs the envelop and pads back into the living room. Sirius wastes no time in pulling him back into his lap.

“Okay.” Remus settles back on Sirius’ thighs, giving him room to hand Sirius the envelope.

Sirius frowns at it for a minute, turning it over. That’s when he spots the name and company logo of his doctor’s office. Remus can feel his entire body still.

“Remus, this…” Sirius’ voice trails off.

Remus can’t help the sudden bubble of emotion that lodges itself in his throat. He holds his hands close to his chest and nods quickly. “Yeah. It is.”

“Is gift.” Sirius looks from the envelope to Remus, eyes hopeful. “So, is good news.”

Remus can only nod.

Sirius lets out a long, shaky breath and puts the letter aside without another glance. Instead, his hands find Remus’ hips, large palms hitching his shirt up and pressing up his back. He smiles a little, dimples appearing. “I’m…shiver little bit. Wrong word.”

Remus touches their foreheads, trailing his fingers down Sirius’ jaw and neck. “Why are you shaking?”

“Excitey.” Sirius makes a face. “No, wrong end…Is not like happy, no?”

Remus laughs so hard he thinks he would have ruined the mood if he hadn’t been sitting snuggly on Sirius’ lap.

“Not laugh!” Sirius turns his head to nip gently at Remus’ ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just—” Remus gasps a little, laugh fading into a smile as Sirius kisses gently at his neck. “It’s funny hearing the word ‘excitey’ in a regular context.”

Now that Remus thinks about it, as he runs his hands over Sirius’ shoulders, he is shaking a little. A fine tremor beneath his skin. “Love, you are shaking.”

Sirius pulls Remus closer. He’s not laughing anymore. His eyes are dark and warm. “Because want.”

Remus’ breath punches out a little at that. He presses closer to Sirius and kisses him, licking slowly into his mouth, the warmth like a preview of what’s finally, finally to come. “I want you, too.” Remus says, and leans forward until Sirius is pressed back against the couch. “I’ve wanted you—”

Remus’ phone rings. It vibrates against the glass of the coffee table and both him and Sirius freeze. Sirius, being the one facing the room, sees the phone first. His eyes darken in an entirely different way.

“I’m get him out.”

Remus’ protests are cut short by Sirius laying him gently to the side, his large palm passing over Remus’ hair, before he scoops up the phone and accepts the call.

“David.” His voice is low, his accent making the ‘v’ sound almost like a snarl. “I’m tell you before.”

Remus holds his breath. From this close he can hear the general tones of David’s voice and snippets of their conversation.

David says something that sounds like he’s cursing Sirius out for being Russian. And Remus is distracted, for a moment, by the anger that fills his chest at that. He stands, ready to take the phone straight from Sirius’ hands and give David some choice words of his own, when—

He stops. David is yelling now and his voice is loud enough to hear clearly.

He stares at Sirius’ back, his broad shoulders. The hair curling at the nape of Sirius’ neck.

He finds himself thinking about how well he knows Sirius. How quickly Sirius has become the largest, most important thing in his life. How he could pick Sirius out of a crowd by his back alone. How he’d know Sirius anywhere. How dependent he’s allowed himself to be on him.

He thinks about David. How David couldn’t do any of that. How he doesn’t know the freckles that pattern Sirius’ back, or how Sirius takes his tea in the morning. How he wouldn’t know Sirius if he was standing right in front of him.

Only maybe he would.

Because Remus is sure he just heard David call Sirius by name.

One Year Earlier

Sirius hated parties. He gripped his champagne fluke tighter and gazed hesitantly around the room. That wasn’t completely true. He hated English. He hated how fast people spoke English while at parties. He’d been in the United States for nearly a year and a half and still needed his translator in meetings. He should’ve brought Barry along as his plus one tonight.

This was how parties usually went for him. He was invited for the good work he did, for his status, and a polite conversation was attempted. When the other party figured out he could stumble through little more than a hello, how are you, and a this party is beautiful, by himself, they nodded awkwardly and left him alone.

He should’ve brought Barry.

Sirius sighed and sat down on one of the huge, dark blue velvet couches. He looked up at one of the large televisions that Mr. Carrow had installed in his apartment for New Years. The ball was dropping in New York City, Carrow’s wife had explained to him, only somewhat kindly. She had talked obnoxiously slow.

“Oh, David adores the ball drop. He’s always trying to convince me to go, but,” she laughed, shaking her head and one diamond clad finger. “Heavens, all the people, Mr. Black. Americans are wild.”

Sirius had nodded. He was too slow to respond though, too busy trying to place the word heaven in context, trying to sound out the word convince in his head.

“Most nice.” Was all that he managed, the same sentiment he had used to her earlier, when complimenting her home.

Her smile had wavered and she’d walked off with the excuse of wanting more champagne. He’d been alone since then, the past hour and a half. The clock read 11:45.

Sirius watched the television. People were drunk and screaming, dressed in clothing that was in no way suitable to the New York winter outside. It didn’t look very impressive. It didn’t even look very fun.

The couch dipped heavily next to him as someone sat down—or more like fell—into place beside him.

Sirius straightens up, preparing himself to smile and nod, all the while not being able to understand a word of drunk English. He doesn’t look over, doesn’t want to be the one to initiate anything.

“It’s hot in here.”

Sirius has to look over then because the voice isn’t gruff and slurred, but young and—well, a little slurred. The boy it belongs to is young, too. Sirius would guess that they’re about the same age even, which takes him even more off guard.

The boy is also staring at him with expectant, sleepy eyes that are—Sirius doesn’t know the word for that color in English but he wants.

Sirius nods, licking his dry lips. “Hot. Yes.”

The boy doesn’t seem to mind the short response, but he does notice the accent and smiles a little dopily. “Are you from Russia?”

Sirius notices the boys accent, too. He nods, and tries to find the right word. Relief floods him when he comes up with, “England? From here? London?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m…Exactly?” Sirius questions.

Remus blinks sleepily at him, thinking hard in his champagne muddled state, then his eyes light up. “You…You are correct?”

“Ah.” Sirius nods. “Yes.” But Sirius doesn’t have a lot of time to feel pleased for himself because suddenly the boy is tilting forward a little, his eyes slipping closed. “Hey.” Sirius catches him gently by the shoulders and the boy’s eyes fly back open. His pupils are dark and blown and Sirius frowns at him. “You okay? Not look okay.” He glances at his own drink, set on the table in a hurry. “You drink?”

The boy shakes his head. “Water. I don’t drink while I’m working.”

“Working? Is party.”

The boy sends him a desperately sad look, one Sirius can’t quiet interpret. His eyes flit all across Sirius’ face, landing on his lips for a few long moments, then dragging back up to his eyes. “You’re very nice.” Is all the boy says, then closes his eyes again and bows his head a little. “Fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Sirius tightens his hold on the boy, supporting him as discretely as he can. His eyes find the mostly empty balcony, everyone having come inside to get ready for midnight. Sirius tilts the boy’s chin up with gentle fingers. “Hey, I’m—I’m take outside. Help.”

The boy nods. “That sounds nice.” He lets Sirius support most of his weight as they walk towards the open terrace doors. Sirius can already feel the bite of winter from here, but it feels nice, especially with this boy so warm in his arms. London is busy below them and he lets himself pretend for just a second that they’re here together. Maybe that they will kiss at midnight. He knows that’s the tradition. He pretends that they never want to be parted, and that maybe this boy loves him—

It’s just a second. He’s had some champagne. He figures he can allow himself a second.

“You not drink?” Sirius asks again. The question sounds stupid being repeated but he doesn’t know how to translate his are you sure.

The boy shakes his head firmly again, then winces at the motion and lets it loll onto Sirius’ shoulder. “No. I…No.”

Sirius nods, suddenly feeling a little uneasy, but the boy just sighs and ducks his head beneath Sirius’ chin. Sirius’ chest catches with the warm breath on his neck. “‘m sorry, this is so inappropriate.”

Sirius doesn’t know that last word, but he catches the “sorry” and so he hesitantly places his arm around Remus’ back. “Most okay.” He rubs small circles. “I’m—I’m think you go? Home? Not feel good, go home.”

“Can’t.” Remus mumbles into Sirius’ skin, lips brushing his neck. “He paid for the night.” And then, softly. “What’s your name?”

“Sirius.” Sirius says. “What’s your name?”

“Remus.” He—Remus—looks up at him then.

Sirius smiles gently at him. “Hi.” He wants to ask what he meant that he was receiving money tonight. He looked down at Remus’ outfit, but he didn’t seem to be a waiter. He was dressed in a simple suit, one that was clearly not tailored to fit him but nice all the same, the lines clean.

Remus blinks. “Hi.”

“Remus! There you are, boy.”

Sirius looks up to see David leaning against the doorframe, two flukes in hand. While he instinctively pulls Remus closer, Remus straightens up like Sirius burned him.

“Hello, Mr. Carrow.”

“I see you’ve met Sirius here.” David comes closer, pushing one of the glasses into Remus’ hands and settling Sirius with a hard gaze. “Looking a little cozy.”

“I wasn’t feeling very well. Sirius offered to help me outside.”

“Is not feel well.” Sirius says because, suddenly, everything is making perfect sense. The money. Mr. Carrow. “Remus—go home?”

David laughs, hardy and cruel, and tucks Remus roughly beneath his arm and out of Sirius’. “God, Sirius, listen to you stuttering. I think you don’t understand.”

Sirius feels hot annoyance prickle beneath his skin. “I’m understand.” You’re taking advantage of this boy who feels like he has no choice. You’re a sick fuck. Sirius has heard, through Barry’s translation, the horrible things David says about his wife to his friends. He’s suffered through many dinner parties while working this project, all of them having after dinner drinks where things have been said about people’s partners that make him sick to think about, not to mention repeat. He knows exactly what’s going on. He vows right there to never work with David again, no matter how much it pays.

David almost scowls. Almost. Sirius can see it play at the corners of his mouth before he jerks it into a smile. “Very well. It’s about time for everyone to head to the after party, anyway. You should maybe go home yourself, Mr. Black. It will be too loud for you to understand anything.”

Sirius looks back at Remus who has barely looked up since David got here. He may seem Sirius’ age, he probably is, but right there, on the balcony with the snow beginning to fall, he looks young and fragile. And Sirius may only know his name, but he feels a wild sort of protection flare in his chest as David drags Remus out of view.

Remus looks back once, and Sirius feels that look settle heavy in his chest.

Sirius doesn’t forget about him, not even when its been almost nine months and he comes across David again at a convention. He saw David’s face and thought, Remus, before David even brought him up.

“A good time, I’ll tell you that.” David grins out of one corner of his mouth. “You can fuck him like an animal and he’ll be as loud as you want. Never complains. Can send him on his way right after with a limp and not even then.”

Sirius makes a split second decision for the sake of those eyes, whose color he can’t quite name yet. They remind him of warm sand of Miami and…something sweet. He smiles to himself at the thought and lets David take it as a smile at the disgusting joke he just made about Remus’ ass.

“Ask him for Remus’ contact information.” He says to Barry in Russian.

Barry shoots him a vaguely alarmed look. “I didn’t know you were interested in…that kind of operation.”

“I’m not. I’m interested in keeping someone who is kind safe.”

Barry’s eyes soften some at that and he relays the message.

Later that night, Sirius has set up a meeting at a hotel in London. Suite twelve.

#solntse #sirius black #remus lupin #thank you guys for being so patient with me #more is to come #<3 <3 <3 #the marauders era #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #wolfstar #wolfstar au #russian!sirius #callboy!remus #wolfstar fic #harry potter #writing #harry potter fic #wolfstar angst

[drawing079]

Exception On Line 129

Chapter 1: Malware Detected

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

A Human SCP-079 Fanfic

Warnings: Violence, Alcoholism, Brain damage/trauma, Police brutality

Description: Zero is a reclusive computer science major, floating by in college with the help of vodka by his side. His only human interaction seems to be from his distant father, who abandoned him as a child but now is trying to make a bit of effort to be back in his life. And after a failed virus he sends to a Cray supercomputer gets exposed, he is forced to pay for the consequences of his cyber crimes in more ways than one.

During an unnecessarily violent arrest, he suffers a brain injury and anterograde amnesia, damaging his short-term memory. But during his time detained, he meets a violent man with an infamous short-temper, who takes a surprising interest in him.

(Read it here on Ao3 or continue below)

Exception On Line 129: Malware Detected

One single line was left unchecked in his code, one blaringly obnoxious bug that chirped every goddamn time Zero tried to compile his program.

 Exception in thread “main”: IOException.java.129

Zero had spent weeks on this program, this hack, in order to break the firewall around the Cray supercomputer and send over some parasitic algorithms that would piggy-back on the supercomputer’s sheer computing power, calculate trials of data, and return to him the results with none of the wait time. Running these algorithms on any of his own computers, even with his programs being the sole thing running, is estimated to take at least a week to run through one generation of trials.

And according to his calculations, the Cray supercomputer can do it in six minutes.

This was all that was left. One nasty bug. One error in his code: a line that scrambled his IP address from his computer to the supercomputer. Only his parasite program will be able to unscramble it to send his data back. And this was the very line that hid the unscrambling from being read from anyone prying into the supercomputer’s code.

But it wasn’t working. Months of effort and weeks of debugging down the drain because Zero nodded off on the data encapsulation chapter from last semester’s university programming classes.

With an agitated huff, he leaned back in his desk chair, pretending he didn’t notice the time at the corner of his computer screen was just reaching past four in the morning, and his morning classes start at eight. He compulsively chewed at his bottom lip piercing, clacking his teeth against the metal ring, like he always did when he was stressed and itching for a cigarette.

An unsteady hand reached for the top drawer of the desk, and without looking he sent a thin bony hand in blind and retrieved a half-empty packet of cigarettes like second nature. As the hand flipped the carton open and expertly locked a single cigarette between two fingers, his other reached for the lighter on his cracked and worn desk, flicking a short-lived flame before him and lighting his fifth cigarette for the night.

On a shaky exhale, a plume of smoke clouded between Zero and his computer screen like a blissful momentary escape from the blaring artificial light. The bright white lines of code stood stark against the black IDE screen. The lurid scarlet red error message still burned in his head.

 Exception in thread “main”: IOException.java.129

A sharp elbow to the top desk drawer closed it, alongside the cigarette carton he dropped haphazardly in. The lighter was lazily thrown with frustration into the poor wood of the desk’s surface, nearly so much as to cause one more dent to the constellations covering it.

A dangerous thought bubbled up in his consciousness, like toxic air sitting at the bottom of a cauldron, begging to break the surface.

As if they would even know his program was there, embedded so deep in their systems. Part of his ego smirked at that thought. Part of his fatigue egged his untrustworthy ego on.

He could take the line out. Forget the scrambling, and give the supercomputer his direct IP address. Heaven knows it’s processing way more than his lengthy data structures.

No one will notice his hack was even there.

Slowly, after taking a hesitant draw of his cigarette, his hand finally reunited with the keyboard. But Zero only needed one button though to finalize this program.

Backspace. Backspace. Backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace.

And with that, the IP address scrambling was no more. After a single compile, that ugly red error message vanished.

The ego deep inside Zero sang in content. The fatigue taunting him with sleep hummed with glee. He took another draw of smoke, clouding his lungs, clouding his mind, and finalized the deed.

Using the internet like a highway, his hack near-instantaneous zipped past the surprisingly exploitable firewall of the Cray supercomputer hundreds of miles away, and seeded deep into their systems.

Zero sighed, in both relief and exhaustion, when he received a scheduled ping back from his parasitic virus, confirming it was embedded and establishing its line of communication back.

Unceremoniously, he slammed his laptop shut, and snubbed out his dying cigarette on the trashy yin-and-yang ashtray his distant father had gotten him as a half-assed birthday gift a couple of years ago. At least it got good use; Zero’s smoking habit had only gotten worse and worse with the ongoing years.

As if his thin body weighed a ton, he shuffled over with slumping shoulders to his unmade bed, finding comfort right in the same welcoming crease in the twin mattress that he had reluctantly crawled out of this Sunday noon. Only this time, he hadn’t the luxury of sleeping through the morning, and begrudgingly set his Monday morning alarms before quickly succumbing to the night’s exhaustion without a second thought.

Meanwhile, a control center hundreds of miles away received a ping. It would go unread until six in the morning when the first malware protection IT staff clock in for the day, but the tagline flashed urgently.

 Warning: intruder malware detected at Cray Inc. supercomputer. Immediate attention advised.

#SCP Foundation #scp fandom #SCP Containment Breach #scp fanfiction #scp 079 #human scp 079 #human au

[pens-swords-stuff]

I feel like I should remind everyone that I actually write sometimes too — shocking, I know. So here’s a thing I wrote a long time ago, just to pretend that I’m a real Writeblr for a bit.

If there ever was a reason to be grateful, it was that Blake lives in a time where coffee and other sources of caffeine are readily available. Although it was just before 9 o'clock in the morning, she was already half-way through her second mug and a small tower of used creamers were stacked unevenly at the corner of her desk. Damn those early morning meetings; was it really necessary to gather everyone under the age of twenty-five early in the morning to discuss the implications of retweets? The Capital was full of old, decrepit people who would still use fax machines if they could. At this point, Blake was sure she was spending more time teaching her superiors how to use computers instead of her actual job.

And they said that the life of a journalist wasn't glamourous.

Her desk was full of unfinished drafts, photographs, and other piles of papers stacked haphazardly over every inch of the surface. With a sigh, Blake just piled the existing piles on top of each other to create a precarious mountain of paper to clear out some space. It was organized chaos at its finest — her desk may be a mess, but she knew where everything was... Or at least she hoped.

With a heavy sigh and tapping fingers fueled by coffee jitters, Blake impatiently waited for her computer to load web pages. Fingers automatically typed up ‘twitter.com’ into the address bar, but she thought better of it and quickly hit backspace. After lecturing a sixty-year old crusty, balding man on how to navigate the 'tweeter-sphere', she really wasn't in the mood to revisit the social media site and its apparently impossible-to-use interface.

When she logged into her email account, it was no surprise that hundreds of unread emails were blinking on the browser. 317 emails to be exact, the red bubble notification on her phone had been mocking her for days now. Wearily, Blake started clicking and manually sorting through useful emails and trash that didn't even need to be read. Passive-aggressive work memos from loud coworkers (shut up Patricia, no one cares about your lunch), junk mail (there's a sale going on in a nearby department store apparently), and death threats (only 12 emails, significantly less than yesterday) were among the ones immediately deleted without even opening.

Several rapid clicks later, her inbox was emptied of all unnecessary emails, and she could focus on what actually mattered — once she sorted through all of the false leads, that is. Days ago, Blake had published a request for the Other to contact her if they wanted their stories heard. It was a good idea in theory to gather information and first-hand accounts, but she really, really should've seen the amount of humans pretending to be the Other coming. Internet anonymity was a bitch, and a lot of trolls, people that were obsessed with the Other and bored humans who had way too much time on their hands were claiming to be special.

Somehow, Blake sincerely doubted that a real vampire or werewolf would throw in blatant Twilight or Vampire Diaries references into these emails. Just a hunch. On the off chance that they were truly what they said they were, it wasn't the type of person (could they still be called a person?) she wanted to write about. Now that article would immediately become the laughing stock of the internet. Blake's mouse hovered over the trash can icon for a long second as she fought the urge to delete the lot of them. Duty won out, just in case she was deleting important information. The things she would do for a story...

There was one email in particular however, that seemed more genuine for whatever reason. Call it journalist's intuition, or just a lack of modern (if slightly outdated) pop culture references.

Dear B. Preston, Apologies for the throwaway email address – I don’t like paper trails. I saw your call for stories from the Other in The Capital, and after serious deliberation, I have decided to express my own interest in the project. I am a vampire of not insignificant experience who would be willing to answer any questions you might have, from my condition in general to my personal history, so long as the result is anonymised. As this is uncharted territory for the both of us, and perhaps even both our kinds, I am an unsure as to whether the best medium would be in writing or an in-person interview. Whichever option you would feel more comfortable with. Obviously, dining with the stuff of nightmares isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Looking forward to your reply. Sincerely, Someone who would rather not sign his name in writing.

Blake leaned back into her office chair as she read and reread that email, thoughtfully chewing off the lipstick she had hastily smeared on so that she could claim that she cared about appearances. It was impossible to gleam whether this email rang true or not, but there was something different about this one that felt like it was worth following up on — at least the throwaway email wasn't something like totallyabloodsucker69 that she saw about three emails prior.

After quickly doing her carpal tunnel prevention hand stretches, Blake wrote out a long reply, then went back and deleted an entire unnecessary paragraph and several other snarky comments that had just slipped out. She was a professional, and should probably act as such. No need to scare off a potential vampire contact — as silly as that sounds.

Dear someone who would rather not sign their name in writing, Thank you for your response, your willingness to share your story to the public is greatly appreciated. I can promise it will be put to good use. An in-person interview probably would work best, if only to be able to say that I've confirmed that you're a vampire in person. It's far too easy for people to pretend to be something they're not online — there's simply not enough credibility over the internet. I conduct a lot of interviews over at The Daily Grind for the casual atmosphere, but I'm open to any alternatives you have in mind. I've attached my schedule to this email, let me know when you're available. And finally as a formality — and I honestly have no idea what I'm looking for — is there any way you can send me proof of your claim? As mentioned before, there are far too many people pretending to be anything other than human. Regards, Blake Preston.

Perhaps only a split-second after she hit send, a roar of "Preston, turn the radio on now!" was shouted at her from behind. Blake spun around in her chair in alarm, staring at Jones who just barged through the door with wild, panicked eyes.

"What are you——"

"Do it! Now!"

Jones didn't even give Blake another moment to respond as he flew forward to fiddle the radio to the right broadcast, not bothering to wait for the shocked journalist to catch up to his intensity. Precious few seconds were evidently lost as Jones' fumbling fingers finally managed to push the right set of buttons. Blake actually listened to On the Edge radio quite often, but an unfamiliar voice flowed through the speakers.

Think of the teenagers lost during Nick Bloodfang’s rampage: three young girls, on their way home from a party on the wrong night of the lunar cycle, left for dead. That is only the tip of the iceberg...

Though she didn't quite understand what was going on yet, Blake turned on the recording function of her phone after seeing Jones frantically gesticulated to her. Blake's brows were knit in confusion as she listened to the broadcast. Something wasn't right, something didn't feel right.

Blake's jaw dropped along with her stomach as the 'segment' ended with a human call for action. It was pathos at its finest, playing up on the fear that she knew swept throughout the humans when the Other first came to light a month or so ago. Even though the current position of most people was uncertain, tension and fear grated roughly on most humans that she knew. Jones and Blake shared a slack-jawed stare of disbelief.

This was hate speech, inciting people to violent acts because they painted the Other as mere criminals with no other purpose besides murdering innocent people.

By the time Louise's voice came back on the air, Blake snapped out of her stupor to open a brand new word document on her computer. Although the highjack had ended only seconds before, she was already replaying it on her phone as her fingers flew over the keyboard, transcribing it to the best of her ability. "I can't believe I missed the bloody beginning. Colin, did you get——"

Blake's fingers kept moving as she glanced over to her partner's desk, suspiciously empty and untouched since yesterday.

"Where the hell is Colin!?"

#undine writes stuff #for queen and country #fqac #blake preston

[minhoinator-writes]

Pairing: Kim Kibum/Choi Minho (side: Kim Jonghyun/Lee Taemin)

Rating: G

Word Count: 10,803

Links: AO3 // AFF

Summary: Five friends decide to escape their responsibilities for some fun in the sun...just for the weekend. 

A/N: inspired by the View music video, and this particular moment

Tagging: @lockandminkey, @untangle-my-heart, @anna-watermelon, @minhosglasses

Friday

2:09 // we're going to Jeju...wanna come?

2:23 // will you kidnap me and take me anyway if I say no?

2:25 // first of all why would you say no? 2:25 // and secondly maybe I would

2:25 // ㅋㅋㅋ

2:26 // does that scare you?

2:26 // hmm 2:27 // I'd rather not say

2:32 // ㅋㅋ…..so?

2:32 // yeah, I'll be there 2:33 // when do we leave?

...

Saturday

A wave of humidity washed over Kibum as he followed the others out of the Jeju International Airport. Jinki had forged ahead, running to catch a taxi for them so they could drop off their meager luggage at the hotel before they went off in search of food. The wheels of Jonghyun’s suitcase rattled loudly in the lobby, but he didn’t seem to notice. His conversation with Taemin was too riveting, it seemed. Kibum smirked, then glanced behind him.

“Hey! What’s taking you so long?” Minho looked up at him from where he was tying his shoelaces, his eyes wide. “Come on, you can do that on the way!” He smiled and went back to tying his shoes, and Kibum rolled his eyes as he jogged to catch up with the others.

This impromptu vacation had been his idea, wholly and completely. He was so completely bored -- having been at the same job for over two years now, it had grown to be quite monotonous -- and he knew that his college buddies were probably feeling the same way.

It was quite by chance that they had come together, all those years ago. Kibum always thought it was kind of lucky that they all happened to meet in the theatre club -- Kibum, Minho, and Jinki wanted to act, Taemin wanted to be in the chorus, and Jonghyun wanted to compose his own plays. Unfortunately, for them, they were too late and the club was already at its full capacity. They, at Taemin’s suggestion, decided to drown their sorrows in pizza and beer, and by the end of the night, they were inseparable.

They still were, even now that they had left college. Sure, Kibum had returned to Daegu, Minho to Incheon, Jinki to Gwangmyeong, while Jonghyun and Taemin stayed in Seoul, but that didn’t mean they didn’t text or call each other as often as their schedules would allow.

The drudgery of everyday life had taken its toll on Kibum, though, which is why he decided to reach out, to see if any of the others wanted to escape for a little while. To remember what it was like to feel...to feel alive with the myriad of possibilities available to them.

He texted Jonghyun first, a strategic move. Jonghyun would be able to convince anyone to do anything, if he really, really wanted to. He skipped Taemin altogether since he knew that Jonghyun would take it upon himself to get Taemin to agree, and went straight to Jinki. It didn’t take much to get him on board -- the promise of all the cold beer and food he could want while laying on the beach was more than enough.

While he knew Minho would be easy to convince -- he missed everybody just as much as Kibum did -- he couldn’t help but hesitate. Kibum opened their messages, starting a text, only to backspace and try again. It took hours before he finally decided on we’re going to Jeju...wanna come? even though he wasn't quite sure why.

Well, that wasn't quite true...but, they were here now, all of them. Kibum stopped for a second in the automatic doorway, taking a deep breath of the warm, summer air. He smiled to himself, satisfied with the start of their weekend getaway.

“Kibum, come on!” Jinki called, taking Kibum out of his reverie. The door to a taxi was open, and Jonghyun was throwing his and Taemin’s luggage inside the trunk.

Minho, who had surpassed him now, looked back. His eyes were twinkling as he grinned. “Yeah, what’s taking you so long?” What a little shit. Kibum slowly returned his grin before Minho turned back around and picked up his pace, jogging to toss his backpack in the trunk before he slipped inside.

He stuffed his duffle bag beside Minho’s backpack and closed the trunk, squeezing into the backseat next to Minho. Jinki closed the door and hopped into the front. “Where are we going?” the taxi driver asked, and Kibum leaned into Minho as he reached into his back pocket for his phone, rattling off the address for the hotel.

Jonghyun stretched his legs out from where he was sitting on Taemin’s lap, resting his ankles across Kibum’s thighs. He closed his eyes and leaned back, his freshly-dyed -- as far as Kibum could tell -- platinum blond hair ruffling in the breeze of the open window. “Don’t you even think about it, Choi,” he said without looking up.

Minho’s hands froze over the rips in the knees of Jonghyun’s knees. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Mhm.”

Taemin and Kibum shared a look before Taemin reached out, slipping his hand beneath Minho’s, and tickling Jonghyun’s exposed skin. He pulled his hand back before Jonghyun sat up and Kibum pursed his lips to keep from laughing, looking out his window as Jonghyun started yelling at Minho, despite his protests.

The line of shops they were driving past came to an end, revealing the sea beyond. Blue, as far as the eye could see. The ocean melted into the distant horizon. Little puffy clouds were scattered like popcorn across the sky, casting their shadows on the calm sea and the beach and the roads. Kibum rolled down his window and leaned against the door. Behind him, Minho sighed.

“Thanks for doing this, Bummie,” he said, softly enough so only Kibum could hear him.

“Yeah, no problem.”

… … …

He was staring; he knew he was.

In his defense, it had been nearly six months since he had last seen Kibum and he was still so...so beautiful. Not that he was expecting him to change all that drastically in their time apart, but… His hair was longer now, the breeze toying with the many-colored strands. Minho worried his bottom lip as Kibum brushed it out of his eyes, his gaze not leaving the sea now that it was in view, and he looked away.

Jonghyun reached out, a smile in his eyes as he ruffled Minho’s hair. “So, when you’d do that?”

“Hm?” His eyes flicked up to Minho’s honey-blond hair and then back to meet his gaze, smiling fully now. Minho knew without having to check in the rearview mirror that his face was coloring. “A couple of weeks ago.”

“It’s a bold choice for you.” Taemin snorted, carding his fingers through his lavender hair. “What, it is!” Jonghyun said, smacking Taemin’s chest with a laugh. “I never thought he’d go this light!”

“I think it looks good,” Kibum said, still without looking away from the window.

Minho’s eyes widened, and he made the mistake of meeting Jonghyun’s knowing, slightly pitiful gaze. He lowered his eyes, smiling to himself. Of course, Jonghyun knew. “Thanks.” His hand found Minho’s thigh, and he patted it gently before he withdrew.

“I like how we all decided -- without telling each other -- that we’d dye our hair.”

“It just proves that we’re on the same wavelength, no matter how far away we are from each other,” Jinki said, turning around with a smile. “So, where do we want to eat?”

“I’ll look up some places,” Taemin said, reaching into Jonghyun’s pocket and pulling out his phone.

“What happened to yours?” he asked as Taemin typed in the pin, unlocking it.

“I forgot it at home, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Minho started when Kibum grabbed his shoulder, pulling him close. He leaned into him, closing his eyes as Kibum’s breath tickled his ear. “Could they be any more obvious?” Minho bit back a smile, shaking his head when Kibum pulled away to look him in the eye. Kibum leaned back in. “Do you think they’ve told each other yet?”

He hummed in thought, turning his head to whisper in Kibum’s ear. “I mean, they live together, so…”

Kibum snorted softly. “That doesn’t mean anything, though.”

“I guess.”

“What are you two gossiping about?” Jonghyun asked, Minho looking his way with guiltily wide eyes.

Kibum’s hand slid off of Minho’s shoulder and down his arm, slowly pulling away at his elbow. “Nothing,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “I was thinking we’d go to Hwaro Hyang, and I was just telling Minho what I read about it online.” Minho’s eyebrows shot up and he looked back at Kibum, whose eyes were twinkling as he avoided meeting his gaze.

He was always so quick on his feet -- it got them out of so much trouble during college. Kibum unlocked his phone, pulling up the restaurant website and passing it to Jonghyun. His eyes flicked to Minho’s -- he had been staring again -- and his cheeks dimpled with a small smile.

The rest of the ride to the hotel was fairly quiet. Jinki and the driver chatted about things to do while they were -- as if he’d be anywhere but their hotel or the beach -- while Taemin watched Jonghyun play a game on his phone, pointing at the screen when he thought he should make a move. Kibum went back to staring out the window, and Minho folded his hands in his lap, tapping his thumbs together as he stared blankly at the ocean.

“So, what’d you want to do today?” Kibum asked, leaning his head against the door and looking back at Minho. He blinked, refocusing, and searched Kibum’s expression. “We’ve got all day.”

“Just us two?”

Kibum shrugged, squinting when the sun shone in his eyes. “We can bring the others along if you want.”

Odds were that Jonghyun and Taemin would be lounging around today and would only want to leave the hotel once the bars were open. Jinki had been talking about napping ever since they met up at the Incheon airport this morning, so it would probably just be them this afternoon.

Not that Minho was complaining, of course.

“No, I’m good with that.” Kibum smiled, turning to look out the window again. “What’d you have in mind?”

… … …

“What floor?”

Kibum’s eyes followed Minho as he leaned across him to press the button of the elevator. Fifth floor. He tapped their room key against his palm, glancing over Minho’s shoulder at the others. “Are you sure you guys are fine with me having the single room?” Jinki asked, his hands wringing around the handle of his carry-on bag.

“You asked for it,” Kibum said, snorting.

Jinki sighed. “I know, but -- “

Jonghyun cleared his throat. “I mean, Taemin and I are roommates, so this isn’t new for us.”

“Yeah, and you know how hyper Kibum and I can get," Minho said as he slung his arm over Kibum's shoulder, pulling him snug against him. "We wouldn't want to bother an old man like you with our bullshit."

Jinki cocked his head with a glare, feigning exasperation. "Really? We're already starting with the old man jokes?"

Jonghyun covered his mouth to keep himself from laughing and turned to Taemin to hide his amusement when the elevator stopped. The door opened and a family of white tourists coming on. Americans, it sounded like, based on their accent. They huddled in the middle, and Minho moved him and Kibum to the wall, while Jonghyun, Taemin, and Jinki did the same on the opposite side. Jinki covered his mouth with his fist, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

"Should I tell them we're not laughing at them?" Kibum whispered to Minho when the mother kept giving them weird looks.

"It's up to you."

He couldn't decide by the time they reached the fifth floor, and Minho swept him away and into the hallway, the other three following them. Minho dropped his arm from Kibum’s shoulder, and Kibum let out an almost sigh, already missing the weight of his arm. “523...52 -- This way!” Jinki said, turning around and leading the four of them down the long, beige hallway.

Kibum glanced around at the prints hanging on the walls, unsurprised to find picture after picture of the ocean or waves. His gaze fell to the royal blue carpet, and he smirked, leaning toward Minho. “I wonder where they got their inspiration for the decor.”

Minho took a quick cursory glance around, his eyes lighting with amusement before he looked Kibum’s way. “It’s unclear.”

“Mm. Maybe...just maybe...it has something to do with the sea.”

He hummed thoughtfully, stopping in front of their door as Kibum fiddled with the key card. “It’s possible. Or perhaps the ocean.”

“I see where you’re coming from. But I think it’s more from the sea.”

“But this is Ocean Suites, so…” His voice trailed off with a sarcastic lilt, and Jonghyun scoffed as he unlocked his and Taemin’s door on the other side of the hallway, letting Taemin head inside first.

“Text us when you want to eat,” he said to no one in particular, the door closing behind him.

“All I’m saying is that the ocean is more likely as a source of inspiration than -- “ Jinki sighed, his door slamming shut and making them both jump. “See, I told you you wouldn’t want to share a room with us!” Minho called out, and they leaned toward the door, waiting for Jinki’s laugh. When it came, Kibum grinned and slid their card into the slot and pushed the door open.

A blast of cool air caressed him as he walked inside, Minho closing the door behind him. “Right or left?” he asked when Minho followed him into the main room.

“Bummie, they’re separate beds.”

“Yeah, but -- “ Minho tossed his backpack on the left bed, leaving the one closest to the window for Kibum. “Thanks, you’re a total sweetheart.”

Minho blinked sarcastically. “Aren’t I just?”

Kibum shoved him, and Minho went limp as he fell onto his bed. He smiled then, dazzling as ever, and Kibum’s heart fluttered like it always did. He swallowed thickly, crossing his arms over his stomach as he sat on his own bed, facing Minho’s. “So, how have you been? It’s been a while.”

He rolled over onto his side, propping his cheek up on his fist. “We talk literally every day.”

“Not in person. It’s different.”

“Yeah.” Minho watched him for a second, his stare wandering until he blinked and met Kibum’s eyes again. “I’ve been okay. You?”

“Just okay?” Minho nodded, shrugging with one shoulder. “I’ve been fine.”

“Just fine?” Minho asked, mimicking Kibum’s tone. Smiling, Kibum nodded. A silent better, now that I’m with you hung in the air, waiting to be spoken. But some things were better left unsaid.

Back in college, Minho had been his almost, and there were moments -- like this -- where Kibum thought he might be aware of that fact. He had considered it, telling Minho how he felt, but when Minho said that his dad wanted him to come back to Incheon and work under him as his assistant coach… Kibum knew better than to interfere, knew better than to try his luck on a “what if.”

“I’m here if you need to talk about it,” Minho said, bringing Kibum back to the present. He shook the cobwebs of his college memories out of his head with a small smile.

“Thanks. Maybe later.” Minho started to sit up. "Did you eat breakfast?"

He nodded. "I mean, I could eat again, if you're hungry."

“Let’s go, then!”

… … …

“So, then you two broke up?” Minho asked, passing Kibum the cup of peach ice cream they were sharing. He nodded and Minho grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Is that why you dyed this, then? Emotional distress?”

Kibum scoffed, moving away from Minho and shaking his head, trying to get his hair back to its original style. “No, I just did this because I wanted to.” When he moved back to stand beside him, Minho reached over and brushed Kibum's fringe off his forehead. He smiled to himself as he took another spoonful of ice cream then passed it back to Minho. “I knew you’d tease me about my hair.”

“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you, then.”

A sigh, and then Kibum reached for the ice cream, his fingers covering Minho’s as he took another spoonful. “But really, she and I just weren’t compatible. We were really only dating because our parents set us up.”

“Yeah, same.”

“Oh right, you broke up with Seulgi too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but that was months ago.”

Seulgi was one of the female soccer players that practiced after his dad’s team did. She had been wearing an oversized Park Jisung ManU jersey, and Minho had stopped to chat with her until both his dad and her coach were yelling at them to move on. The next time they saw each other was at a sports bar in town, and she drank him under the table. Their conversation slurred as the night went on, but when they made it back to her apartment, she had sobered up enough to push Minho out of her space, as they had been leaning on each other to be able to walk.

“Please don’t get the wrong impression,” she said as she fumbled with her keys. “I like you, but I’m not interested in you.”

Minho had been about to blurt out that he wasn’t interested in her either, when the door swung open, to reveal another woman, whose wide eyes met Minho’s when Seulgi’s inhibitions lowered enough for her to coo “Jagi-ya” at her as she stumbled in the house. Minho blinked, the term of endearment settling into his alcohol-addled. He smiled, his brow furrowing as he pressed his finger to his lips and nodded, and staggered off the porch and away.

“So, my parents want me to ‘find a nice boy and make him date me’,” Seulgi said once she pulled him aside before her practice started. A tired smile lifted her features. “Which is, you know, great for me.”

“Of course. I’m sure Joohyun is thrilled.”

Seulgi snorted. “So, listen...I was thinking…” Minho’s eyebrows raised and he glanced her way, already guessing where this was going. “Since I’ve got a girlfriend, and you’re still hung up on that Kibum guy…And since you’re the only nice guy I’ve ever met, I thought we could help each other get our parents off our backs.”

“As long as Joohyun is okay with it, sure.”

“Really?”

“We can date for as long as you need to, I don’t mind.”

She let out a sigh as she pulled him into a quick, tight hug. “You’re the best!” she called out over her shoulder, blowing him a kiss before she joined her team. Minho rolled his eyes with a smile.

Kibum snapped his fingers in front of Minho’s face, bringing him out of his memories. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

“Aww, were you worried you’d have to go on without me?” Kibum scoffed, his face coloring as he took the ice cream out of Minho’s hands. Minho grinned. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” Kibum said in a droll monotone. “Every moment that passes without you is a waste. Every second that you’re not beside me, I yearn for you.”

He grabbed Kibum’s arm, stopping him in the middle of the street, his expression one of faux agony. “I long for you with every breath that we're apart,” Minho said, finishing the lines from the play they had auditioned for, all those years ago. Kibum’s face scrunched up as he laughed and pushed Minho away, and Minho broke character, laughing with him. “God, what was that play?”

“The writers were just trying to invoke emotion.”

“At what cost?”

“Our sanity?” Kibum’s eyes met Minho’s then, and they both broke into a fit of giggles. He leaned on Minho to keep his balance. Once he had regained most of his composure, Kibum tossed the empty cup into the nearest garbage can, his spoon clattering onto the pavement. He bent over to grab it, and Minho put his own spoon into the garbage.

They started walking again, their shoulders bumping together. “I’m glad we decided to do this,” Kibum eventually said, his voice quiet. “To come here, I mean.”

Minho nodded. He had been surprised to get that text from Kibum that early in the morning. He had just been crawling into bed after playing video games until he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Truth be told, he had been relieved that Kibum finally texted him. It was strange to go almost a whole day without them really texting much, and he had been unsettled all day...until that moment. He sunk into bed, making himself comfortable before texting him back.

“Yeah, I really missed...you guys.” He gulped, glancing over to see if Kibum had caught his almost slip-up. “Honestly, we should do this more often.”

“I’m the only one who lives so far away, though. You four can still see each other more often,” Kibum said with an overly dramatic sigh. He grinned when Minho shoved him.

“Daejoon is probably the halfway point between us.” Not that he had looked that up or anything. Or checked out the restaurants there. Of course not. “We could always head there for the weekend. Or, you know, whatever works for you.”

Kibum looked at him, searching his expression with a suspicious twinkle in his eye. Oh shit, did he catch onto him? Before Minho could think of an excuse or explanation, Kibum’s phone chimed and he pulled it out. “Ah, Jjong is awake.” He texted him back, watching his screen until another message popped up. “They’re ready to eat.”

Minho glanced up, looking across the street to see Hwaro Hyang. He tapped Kibum’s arm and pointed at it, and Kibum nodded.

“Okay,” he said, Minho following him as he started to cross the street. “They’ll meet us there. We’ll get a table for us.”

When they said they needed a table for five, the hostess led them out onto the patio, bringing a chair over from one of the tables. “Your server will be right with you!”

“Thanks!”

The others arrived within a few moments of the bottles of soju and beer being brought to the table, and it wasn’t long before they ordered their fill of barbeque. As day transposed to night, and the comfortable haze of alcohol settled around them, Minho couldn’t help but stare at Kibum. He was dancing to one of f(x)’s older songs, the choreography sloppier than it should have been. He and Taemin and the group of girls who were also on the patio with them were having a great time dancing offbeat to the music blaring through the speakers.

He had asked Minho to dance with him, his fingers teasing down his arms as he reached for his hands. As much as he would have liked to, he was far more content to just sit back and enjoy Kibum’s uninhibited excitement.

He knew he was smiling like a lovestruck fool, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

… … …

“I bet he’ll confess by the end of the weekend.” Jonghyun pulled his beer away from his lips, frowning at Jinki until he nodded across the patio to where Minho was. He smirked then. “₩20,000 if he does,” Jinki said, holding out his hand for a shake of agreement.

Jonghyun took it, shaking it once. “They might not tell us, though.”

“True. But, we should be able to tell, right? They’ve never been great at hiding their feelings.”

“Yeah, to everyone except each other.”

Jinki laughed and took a swig of his soju. “I guess sometimes feelings are just more obvious to the people not wrapped up in them.”

Slowly, Jonghyun brought his beer back up to his mouth, hesitating for a second before he took a drink. His attention shifted from Minho and back to Taemin, his heart fluttering a little when he smiled his way.

… … …

Minho’s buzz had all but worn off by the time he dragged Kibum back to their room. Kibum, however, had had a few more bottles of soju before they left when the restaurant was closing. He was clinging to Minho like his life depended on it as he dug around for the key card in Kibum’s pocket, fishing it out and unlocking the door. It swung shut behind them as Minho maneuvered Kibum into the room and dropped him on his bed. He started to bend down to take off Kibum’s shoes for him when Kibum grabbed his hand, fiddling with his fingers.

“Stay with me,” he said, his slurred words ending with a giggle as Minho wiggled his fingers out of his grip.

“I am.” He pulled off one of Kibum’s shoes, tossing it toward the door. “We’re in the same room, Bummie.”

“No no no no no...no,” he stumbled over the words, shaking his head as he tried to sit up.

“Just lie down.” Minho tossed the other one aside before he stood and helped Kibum find his pillow. He pulled the covers over him, and Kibum grabbed his wrist before he could move away. He released him almost as soon as he grabbed him, but Minho didn’t pull back his hand. Not when Kibum’s fingertips grazed over his palm, a rash of goosebumps blooming across his skin. He laced their fingers together, squeezing his hand before his grip loosened.

But he didn’t let go.

“Stay with me.”

Minho opened his mouth, trying to think of a response.

His thumb brushed over the back of Minho’s hand, and he looked up, the light from the lamp gleaming in his eyes. “Please?”

Minho sighed, squeezing Kibum’s hand before he let go, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he stepped into the bathroom. Deep breath in; long exhale out. His gaze flickered up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror before he shook his head slightly and grabbed two of the cups, filling them with water. After some digging into the drawers, he found some ibuprofen for when Kibum woke up.

He brought the cups and the pills out into the main room, his shoulders relaxing when he saw that Kibum was fast asleep, his arm stretched out across him. Minho set the cups down, one on each side of the nightstand, and then the pills closer to Kibum’s side. He checked to make sure that Kibum’s blanket was covering him before he turned off the light between them and settled into his own bed.

...

Sunday

Bright sunlight pierced the room, searing Kibum’s eyes as he started to open them. Groaning, Kibum curled up, pulling the covers over his head as he sank further into bed. “I’m never drinking again,” he mumbled to himself, pulling the covers back a fraction so he could see Minho.

Still asleep. Of course.

Kibum smiled despite the pounding of his head, his pained gaze flicking to the water and bottle of pills set out on his side of the nightstand. Slowly, he sat up, his stomach churning at the slight movement. He grabbed the cup of water and took a couple of sips before he picked up the bottle of pills and slid out of bed.

He braced himself on Minho’s bed as he walked past, being careful not to jostle it too much -- even if he knew Minho could sleep through a monsoon. Minho shifted, hugging his pillow a little tighter, and Kibum swayed for a second when he stopped, staring blearily. He smacked his lips in his sleep, his soft snoring continuing as he rolled over onto his back. A light rapping on the door drew his attention away, and Kibum staggered toward it.

Jonghyun grinned at him as the door swung open. “Get any sleep?”

Kibum started to nod but thought better of it. “Yeah.”

“Tae and I are heading down to breakfast, want to join us?”

“In a minute, gotta shower first.”

He let the door close and heading inside the bathroom. After he took his pills and drank the water, he turned on the shower. As much as he wanted to take a quick shower, once he stepped into the warm stream, he wanted to live in it. He sat on the floor of the shower, hugging his knees and closing his eyes as the water massaged his aching head.

How long he sat there, Kibum wasn't sure -- he just knew it felt amazing.

Once he stood, he washed his hair and body quickly and reluctantly vacated the shower. The bathroom was filled with steam, a sort of makeshift sauna. He wiped the mirror clean where his face was and he blow-dried his hair once he was dressed.

The ibuprofen must have taken effect because he felt marginally better as he stepped outside his and Minho's hotel room and started for the breakfast downstairs. He nodded to Jonghyun and Taemin, who were sitting on the same side of one of the tables -- Jonghyun sipping his coffee while Taemin was stuffing his face with a plateful of American food.

That actually...surprisingly...sounded good. He made himself a waffle and loaded up his plate with scrambled eggs and sausage links. He drowned it in syrup before he made his way over to Jonghyun and Taemin.

"Is Minho awake yet?" Taemin asked around his mouthful of food.

Kibum scoffed, cutting off the first bite of his waffle. "I know better than to try to wake him up." He smiled as he chewed, then swallowed. "As...funny as he is when he's grumpy, I'd rather not have that directed at me."

"Right."

"Like he'd ever really be grumpy with you." Kibum frowned mid-bite and looked at Jonghyun, who just laughed. "Forget it."

Jinki stumbled into the room, waving sleepily at them as he passed. “So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked once he sat across from Kibum with his own breakfast

Everyone turned to look at Kibum expectantly. He chewed quickly, swallowing. “Why is this on me?”

“It was your idea to come here?” Taemin said.

“I don’t know. I guess we could go to the beach?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

They ate quietly, Jonghyun picking food off of Taemin’s plate while they whispered back and forth to each other. Kibum watched them for a moment, amused, before he looked up to see if Jinki was paying any attention to them. He wasn’t.

Once Kibum finished eating, he got up to make a plate to take back to the room for Minho. By the time he finished with the waffle, Minho shuffled into the lobby, carding his fingers through his honey-blond hair. He sat in Kibum’s vacated seat, glancing his way with a sleepy smile. Kibum returned the smile and finished fixing him his coffee. He sat in the empty seat, setting Minho’s food in front of him, his smile growing when Minho looked up at him with adorably wide eyes.

“Thanks, Bummie,” he mumbled, picking up his fork and starting to eat. His hair was sticking up on one side, the wrinkles from his pillowcase indented on his cheek. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Not as bad as I was expecting.” Minho nodded, cutting off another bite. “Thanks for setting out that stuff for me.”

Minho smiled, his eyes darting to meet Kibum’s for a second before they fell back to his plate. “Yeah, no problem.” He ate a couple more bites before he asked, “So, what are we doing today?”

… … …

"Ooo, watermelon." Minho glanced in the direction that Kibum was pointing. There was a small kiosk on the edge of the beach selling fresh fruit, ice cream, cold beverages. "That sounds good."

"Hm, it does," Jinki said absently, lifting his sunglasses so he could see better. "There are some empty spots in the shade over there." If Minho had been looking, he would have seen the empty lounge chairs under the umbrellas, but he was still focused on the fruit kiosk.

The others were already making their way over to the shade, quickly so no one else could snatch the vacant spots up, but Minho hung back, digging his wallet out of the pocket in his swimming trunks. Kibum called out to him when he got in line, and Minho waved him on to join the others. He was too far away, but Minho could almost hear Kibum sucking his teeth at him. Smiling, he turned back around, ordering a large platter of cut fruit and a couple of water bottles.

He carried it all carefully over to where Kibum, Jinki, and Taemin were making themselves comfortable, setting it by Jinki’s feet. “Woah, Min, what’s this for?”

Minho shrugged, opening one of the water bottles and passing it to Kibum. “I just thought it would be nice.” He avoided meeting Kibum’s eyes until he passed the water bottle back to him, his expression soft. Minho grabbed the bottle and took a sip, almost coughing it back up when Jonghyun clapped his hand on Minho’s shoulder, crouching beside him.

“Hey, wanna go play volleyball?” He turned and found the group of guys Jonghyun was gesturing at. Jonghyun hooked his arm around Minho’s neck, grinning at him. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve played, but I think we still have it in us.” He patted Minho’s chest before he stood, looking back at the other guys. “Anyone else want to come?”

Kibum scoffed, shaking his head as he snatched the water bottle from Minho’s hand. “Please, you guys were the dynamic duo.”

“Will you guys watch us?”

“From here,” Jinki said, pushing his sunglasses up his nose.

Jonghyun tugged on the back of Minho's tank top before he started running back across the sand, and Minho pulled off his sandals and sunglasses, setting them by the chair that Kibum was sitting in. “Hey,” he pulled out his wallet and handed it to Kibum who readily took it. “You mind watching this for me?”

“Not at all. Have fun,” he said, his dimples appear when he grinned. Minho started to smile, his drive to go join Jonghyun and the others dwindling. Until Jonghyun called him, that is. He let go of his wallet and jogged out onto the white sand.

… … …

It had been several years since Kibum had had the...opportunity to watch Minho play volleyball.

It was always just a recreational thing, since he played for the basketball and football teams at university. But, he liked to keep active, and it meant that Kibum always had something to do on the weekends because that’s when his games were and he always asked Kibum to come to watch him play.

Volleyball was his and Jonghyun’s game -- they dominated. Jonghyun’s slight stature always threw off new opponents, but he was a threat to be reckoned with. No one had better hustle than him on the court -- not even Minho -- and he could almost always perfectly set Minho up for the attack, no matter where he was on the court. There was a precision and fluidity to their movements that were unrivaled by anyone who dared oppose them.

Kibum’s breath hitched as Jonghyun set the ball up for Minho to attack, both of the guys on the opposite team jumping to block, and Minho tipped it across the net where it fell, untouched, in the sand.

He could hear their celebratory hollering from where he sat across the beach.

“Looks like they’re having fun,” Jinki said, grabbing another strawberry from the platter Minho had bought.

Kibum and Taemin gave unsynchronized hums in response. They had both been paying close attention to the game, but once Minho and Jonghyun's tank tops came off in the middle of the first match, they were both riveted. Not that Jinki minded, of course -- he had brought one of his books to read.

“Do you…” Taemin started to ask, his voice trailing off when Jonghyun moved to serve the ball.

“Do I what?” Kibum asked once the volley started.

“Do you think they need water?”

Oh...probably. It was a hot day and they’d been playing for a while...it’d only make sense. “We’ll be right back,” Kibum said, tapping the arm of Jinki’s chair. He picked up his and Minho’s half-drunk water bottle and Taemin did the same, and they ran out to them, standing on the sidelines. The ball was still in play, the longest volley of the match so far, both teams taking whatever attack the other could make. One, two, three, then over the net again until Jonghyun got the first touch.

For a split second, Jonghyun and Minho made eye contact -- Kibum assumed -- and Minho raced for the ball, lobbing it over on the second touch. It landed in-bounds on the backline of the opposite side, the other two guys scrambling to hit it and missing it by a hair. Taemin clapped loudly and Kibum let out an obnoxious cheer, drawing their attention.

Jonghyun jogged over first, taking the offered water bottle out of Taemin’s hands and taking a couple of quick sips before he drank almost all of it. Minho soon joined him, breathing heavily as he took the water bottle from Kibum.

“I think this is the game point,” he said between drinks. He bent over, grabbing his tank top from where he discarded it and wiped the sweat off of his brow and out of his eyes.

“Getting tired?” Kibum asked, holding out his hand for Minho’s tank top. He nodded, and Jonghyun huffed a laugh. “Are you having fun, at least?”

“Yeah,” Minho said with a small smile, and Kibum lowered his gaze, which locked onto his exposed torso.

“Well,” Taemin cleared his throat, crinkling the empty bottle that Jonghyun passed back to him. “You guys are doing great.”

“Thanks!”

Minho grabbed Kibum’s arm, pulling his attention away from Minho’s abs. “I think I have enough money, could you buy a couple more waters for us?”

“Uh, sure thing.”

Thanks, you’re the best.”

“I really am, aren’t I.”

Minho snorted and pulled Jonghyun’s attention away from Taemin with a pat to his shoulder. “Come on, we’re almost done.” He turned, and Kibum’s gaze lingered until Minho got into his ready position, glancing back over at them at the sidelines. Kibum immediately looked away, clearing his throat and discarding Minho’s tank top by his feet. When he looked back, Minho wore a cocky sort of smirk until Jonghyun served the ball.

Kibum rolled his eyes, huffing, and trudged back across the beach to where Jinki was lounging. “Did they win?”

He picked up Minho’s wallet. “Not yet,” he said, jogging as he ran over to the back of the line at the kiosk.

He opened Minho’s wallet, checking to see how much money he had before it came time to pay. Enough for three more bottles, it looked like. He was about to close it when he spotted a time-worn movie ticket stub. Curious, Kibum pulled it out.

Huh…

It was for Thor, the first one. He checked the date, his smile growing. It was the first movie they had went to together. Just them. The other three had already seen it, but Minho was busy studying when they went to the theater and he had asked Kibum to tag along with him. Afterward, they still didn’t want to head back to the dorm, so they hit the night market, eating as many samples as they came across.

Funny that he kept this…

“Sir?”

Kibum looked up to find that he was the next in line. He stuffed the ticket stub back in and pulled out the won he needed. “Hi, yeah, sorry…Three waters, please.”

… … …

"Good game!" Jonghyun called out to Sungwoo and Minhyuk, their opponents. Minho waved to them before he slipped his tank top back on and followed Jonghyun back to where the others were lounging in the shade. "Well, that was certainly fun," Jonghyun said, grinning up at Minho.

Minho slung his arm over Jonghyun's shoulders, holding him close for a second before releasing him. "I definitely missed playing with you."

"Same." He looked back to where the others were -- Kibum sliding into his seat and looking across the sand at Minho, holding up one of the bottles. Minho quickened his pace slightly, and Jonghyun hurried to keep up with him. "It was fun to show off a little, too."

He glanced down at Jonghyun before looking back at Kibum. "Yeah, it was."

Once they were back with the others, Taemin crossed his legs beneath himself and Jonghyun sat in the space he cleared for him. Kibum tossed Minho the water bottle he was holding. He sank down, sitting on the end of Kibum's lounge chair, his gaze slipping over to Kibum as he took a drink.

"Oh, you guys are back!" Jinki said, putting down his book to grab one of the wedges of watermelon. Minho grabbed the fruit platter, setting it between him and Kibum so everyone could finish it off. There were only a couple pieces left, and when Jonghyun took the last of it, he picked up the platter to return it to the kiosk.

Minho stretched his arms over his head, glancing out over the beach. Another volleyball game had already started -- two couples, it looked like. Seagulls cawed overhead as they searched for any scraps of discarded food. The breeze was warm, blowing through his still-sweaty hair. He turned his head, focusing on the cerulean waves washing ashore and the people chasing after them as they returned to the ocean.

He started to smile when he turned around, his eyes falling on Kibum who cocked his head in silent question. “Those are nice sunglasses,” he said, hoping his smile didn’t give him away.

“...Thanks? I just got them a couple of weeks ago, actually. They’re real Ray-Bans.” Taemin ooo’ed, and Kibum’s smiled at him. Minho held out his hand for them, and Kibum slowly took them off, squinting at Minho as he handed them to him.

His vision darkened when he slipped them on, the glare from the sun immediately going away. “Oh, they’re nice…” he said, flashing Kibum a smile before he jumped to his feet and started to run.

“Hey!”

There was laughter in his voice, and Minho’s smile turned into a grin as he ran through the crowded beach and to the water. The sand grew wet beneath his feet, a cool relief from the warmth of the dry sand, and water splashed around his ankles as he ran into the sea. The water was lapping around his knees before he started to turn around, only to be surprised by a splash drenching him.

"Come on, give them back!" Kibum said with a laugh, kicking more water at him as he turned fully around.

Minho took another step back, his eyebrows raising. "Come get them, then," he taunted, chuckling when huffed. He stepped back again, and again until the ocean reached his mid-thigh. Kibum followed him, raising his chin when he stood before him. For a split second, Minho was worried that Kibum was pissed at him, but it was soon eradicated by the appearance of Kibum’s dimples as he tried not to smile.

He took the sunglasses off, squinting at the sunlight shimmering on the surface of the water, and slipped them gently back onto Kibum’s face. “Better?”

“Yup.” Kibum smiled then, and if he hadn’t been wearing sunglasses now, Minho would have had a warning from the twinkle in his eye. He pushed Minho into the water, his laughter becoming distorted and warbled as Minho submerged. Minho wiped his face clean once he resurfaced and ran after Kibum before he got too far away. “No no no -- “ he chanted as he ran away, and he let out a yelp when Minho grabbed him from behind, picking him up in his arms. “What are you doing?” he yelled when Minho started to twirl him, water splashing around them.

He meant to just toss him into the water, really, he did, but Kibum didn’t stop clinging to him, and Minho tumbled into the water with him. Minho pulled them out of the water almost immediately, Kibum sputtering a laugh as he took his hands off from around Minho’s neck. Before he could think better of it, Minho reached out, adjusting Kibum’s sunglasses so they sat straight on the bridge of his nose.

Sighing, he sat back, creating a little bit more distance between them. Neither stood, the small waves rolling past their chests. Kibum stared behind him with a smirk. Minho turned to find Jinki, Jonghyun, and Taemin splashing around in the water a little ways away. “We should all go skiing,” he eventually said, and Minho looked back at him.

“Right now?”

Kibum snorted. “Sometime after Christmas. Don’t you think it’d be fun?”

“Have you ever skied?”

“Just water skiing.” Minho frowned in question, and Kibum smacked his shoulder. “Remember, I told you about that! It was a thing my parents liked to do during the summer.”

“Right...I’ve never skied.”

“You’ll probably be a natural at it, don’t worry.”

The breeze picked up, Kibum’s wet hair blowing into his face and sticking to the lens of his sunglasses. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t budge. So, Minho reached out and brushed it away, fixing his part while he was at it. He couldn’t tell if Kibum was watching him when he dropped his hand -- the lens was quite dark and he couldn’t see his eyes. Minho cleared his throat when Kibum’s lips parted and lowered his gaze to the water between them.

“We should probably head back to the room and shower before we go out tonight.”

Minho’s brow furrowed. “Go out?”

Kibum’s lips curled up in a smile, and his attention turned back to the others. “Yeah, to the bar. Jinki mentioned it when you guys were playing volleyball.”

“Yeah, okay.” Minho pushed himself up, water dripping off of his clothes as he reached out to help Kibum up. Their joined hands lingered a second longer necessary as they made their way out of the water.

… … …

Thunder rumbled overhead, the promise of rain perfuming the air as Kibum and the others hurried into the Bluebird. Minho closed the bright blue door behind them, and they ventured into the main room.

A haze enveloped the room, the scent of old cigarettes clinging to the rafters and the gaudy red chandeliers. Colored lights cut through the haze, shining on the dance floor and the karaoke stage. Tall tables and supporting poles were scattered about the room, patrons roaming between the dance floor, the karaoke stage, and the bar for more drinks. Jonghyun and Kibum both looked at the current singer, cringing at how off-key they were. Minho laughed and pulled them away and toward the bar.

They ordered their drinks, setting up at the counter when Jinki started asking the bartender questions about the whiskey he had ordered. As soon as the last note played, Jonghyun shot up from the bar, abandoning his drink, and hurried to take the mic.

Three drinks later, and Minho had grabbed Kibum's hand, leading him away from the bar. He let go of him and hooked his arm around one of the poles, twirling around a couple of times until Kibum laughed. Then he grinned, stepped away from it, and took Kibum’s hand, letting him take him to the nearest open spot on the dance floor.

Kibum tried not to read too much into it -- they were both a little tipsy and just having fun, after all. But, it was a little hard not to get his hopes up with the way Minho’s hands kept slipping around his waist and pulling him closer. He had always been a tad flirtatious, especially after a few drinks, but...Kibum lost his train of thought when he met Minho’s eyes.

The blue light they were bathed in shifted to purple as Minho’s gaze caressed him, and he opened his mouth, starting to say something, only to clear his throat and look away. A small smile toyed with the corner of his mouth and he nodded to the empty stage. “You wanna?”

Kibum followed him up on stage and scrolled through the song choices. “Oh, they have Boa!”

“Of course they do,” Minho said as he adjusted the mic stand.

“Do you know Dangerous?”

“Just the choreography.” Kibum frowned his way and Minho just laughed. “We got drunk one night and instead of studying you showed me a bunch of live stages and we learned it.” Kibum selected it with a chuckle, the loud techno music booming from the speakers as the song began.

He did his best to sing and do the choreography with Minho, who was giving it his absolute everything. But when Jonghyun ran up to the stage, holding his phone like he was recording them, he couldn’t help but break and laugh. Minho stepped in, singing along slightly off-beat until Kibum could sing again. When the last note played, Minho held up his hand for a high five.

He grinned, tapping the back of his hand against Minho’s palm before he put the mic back on the stand. Kibum braced himself on Minho’s shoulder as they took the steps back down to the dance floor, and he followed him back to the bar through the crowded bar getting separated when a group of guys stepped between them.

Kibum stumbled over someone’s discarded shoe, reaching out to a nearby table to brace himself but accidentally grabbing the arm of one of the nearby patrons. “Sorry,” he said, patting their arm before he let go and started to move away. Only, someone grabbed his arm and whipped him around.

The guy was a little taller than Kibum, and about the same size, bulk-wise. If it came to that, Kibum could probably hold his own against him, as much as he detested the thought. He shrugged the man’s hands off of his arms only for him to grab him again, squeezing a little tighter this time.

“Hey, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“Me?” The guy shook Kibum. “You touched my fucking girlfriend!”

“And I said I’m sorry?” Kibum batted his hands away again, his brow furrowing. “Obviously, I didn’t mean anything by it, so if you could just fuck off now so we can all move on with our night, that’d be great.”

He grabbed the front of Kibum’s shirt, pulling him a little closer. “No one touches my girlfriend without my say so.”

“I think you mean without her ‘say so.’ It’s her body, dude, not yours.” He tried to push him away, but his fist tightened in Kibum’s shirt.

“Junho, just leave him be,” the guy’s girlfriend said, trying to step between them. “I’m fine, nothing happened.” Junho shoved her away, and she stumbled into the table, catching herself before she fell.

Oh, fuck, the guy was belligerently drunk. Kibum wrenched himself free of his hold and backed away, standing between him and his girlfriend. A pair of hands slipped around Kibum’s waist. He didn’t even have to look up to know that it was Minho turning and guiding him back to the bar. Junho staggered forward, yelling something that Kibum didn’t quite catch.

The crack then tinkling of glass was unmistakable, however, but Kibum didn’t feel the blow. Instead, Minho slumped against his back and Kibum turned, catching him before he fell to the floor. “Min?” His eyes opened slowly, and he stared at the floor beyond Kibum. “Minho?”

The bar bustled to life around them, but Kibum didn’t pay them any mind. He cupped Minho’s face in his free hand, looking into his eyes until Minho focused on him.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

… … …

All was quiet in the bathroom of the bar, except for the dripping of one of the sinks. Minho leaned against the wall and Kibum sat crouched before him, holding the bag of ice he got from the bartender where the bump on the back of his head was. Minho kept his eyes closed, the dim light of the bathroom still too bright for him right now, and focused on the steady, soothing strokes Kibum’s other hand made against his side.

“You’ve gotta keep talking to me, Min,” he said, his voice strained.

He had already thrown up. Twice. Kibum stayed beside him both times, rubbing his back and dabbing the sweat from his brow with a wet paper towel.

“Thanks, Bummie,” he whispered.

He scoffed. “What are you thanking me for? I’m the one who got you hurt…”

“For...making sure I’m okay.” He opened his eyes then, barely, and Kibum immediately met his gaze. “And don’t blame it on yourself. It’s not your fault. Better me than you.”

“Hey, no, that’s not true. You think I like seeing you like this?” Minho sniffed, the need to cry building up and making his headache worse. He closed his eyes again and Kibum sighed, his thumb brushing away the first of Minho's fallen tears. "How are you doing?"

Before he could answer, the bathroom door creaked open and Kibum retracted his hand as quiet footsteps approached. "You doing okay, Minho?" Taemin whispered -- Kibum must have told him to stay quiet.

"Yeah."

"The bartender made you another ice pack and found some tylenol."

"What about the guy?" Kibum asked.

"He got thrown out."

"Okay, thanks, Tae." The door opened and closed once more, and Kibum carded his fingers through Minho's hair, massaging the crown of his head lightly.

"Are you mad at me?" Minho asked with a heavy sigh.

"Of course not. Here." The pills rattled together as Kibum opened the bottle and he grabbed Minho's wrist, opening his palm. "Take these." Minho slightly opened his eyes again, sipping the offered water and taking the pills in his hand.

Kibum leaned forward, pressing Minho's head until his forehead rested on his shoulder. "Just a second," he said, his breath ghosting over the shell of Minho's ear. Something wet splatted off to his right, and the new ice pack was pressed against the back of his head. "Lean back now."

His thumb caressed Minho's cheekbone, and he opened his eyes. Kibum started to pull away but Minho grabbed his hand and rested their joined hands in his lap, lacing their fingers together. "This is probably a weird time to say this but, uh, I'm really glad we got to come here. To Jeju. Together. I’ve been, well, pretty lonely since we all left college, but..." Kibum squeezed his hand, and Minho looked up at him. "This trip has been nice."

"Except for this part," Kibum said with a soft laugh.

Minho smiled then huffed when the throbbing of his head increased for a second. "This part is still nice. Being with you is...is nice."

Kibum searched his expression, his eyes brightening slightly in the dim light. Then, he smirked, looking down at Minho's chest. "I don't think you realize what you're saying."

"Because of my head?" Kibum nodded, his gaze slipping back to meet Minho's. "You're right. Maybe that's why I'm finally saying it, but -- "

"Finally?"

Minho sighed and reached back to adjust his ice pack. "I've missed you. A lot. Ever since I dropped you off at the train station so you could go back to Daegu." A small smile bloomed on Kibum's face. "That's...that's when I knew. For sure."

"Knew what?"

Minho squinted at him then smiled when he saw Kibum’s smirk. “Do I really have to say it?”

He shrugged, squeezing Minho’s hand. “Not if you don’t want to.” Minho’s gaze dropped to Kibum’s lips, just for a second, and when he looked back up he found that Kibum was doing the same. His eyebrows raised in silent question when Kibum’s eyes met his once more. In answer, Kibum’s hands gently cupped Minho’s face, holding his head steady as he leaned in.

The kiss was softer than Minho had expected their first kiss to be.

Perhaps it was because of his probable concussion, but Kibum was being extraordinarily gentle with him. He wanted nothing but to melt into Kibum’s arms, to relish in this moment that he’d wished for. That he’d dreamed of for years. When Kibum started to pull away, Minho reached out with his free hand and grabbed his shirt, pulling him back. Kibum smiled against his lips, deepening this kiss as he leaned as much into Minho as their positions would allow.

He pulled back, leaving Minho a little breathless, but didn’t lean away. Their noses brushed together as Kibum rested his forehead against Minho’s, and there was a smile in his voice when he said, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

The door opened again, and Kibum scooted away from Minho and looked toward whoever it was while Minho adjusted his ice pack again.

"You doing alright?" Jinki asked, his voice echoing slightly.

"Yeah, I think the tylenol is starting to kick in."

"Good. Just say the word and I'll get you a taxi back to the hotel."

Kibum looked back at him with a small smile. "We'll be back in a minute," Minho said and Kibum turned back to Jinki, nodding.

"Okay." Jinki slipped out of the doorway, letting the door creak shut behind him.

… … …

"Are they doing okay?" Jonghyun asked Jinki as he returned to his place beside him at the bar.

Jinki smiled, swirling his beer around in his glass. "Yeah. I think I walked in mid-confession."

"Oh?" Jonghyun sat up, his attention snapping to Jinki. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, they looked like they were about to kiss…Or just kissed..." Jinki shrugged, then, with a bright smile, held out his hand to Jonghyun. Sighing, Jonghyun dug into his pocket for his wallet, fishing out ₩20,000 and passing it over to Jinki. "It's about time, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing over to where Taemin was singing karaoke. "It is." He finished the rest of his beer, pushing away from the bar. "I'll be right back,"

If Kibum and Minho could finally admit their feelings for each other, then so could he…

Taemin smiled at him as he approached the stage, and Jonghyun returned it, stuffing his hands in his pockets while he waited for him to finish singing. When he did, Jonghyun held his hand out and Taemin readily took it, hopping off the stage.

"Hey."

"Hey...can we talk?"

… … …

“Woah…”

Kibum stopped, steading Minho when he swayed once he was standing. “You good?”

“Head rush. I’m fine.” He huffed a laugh. “God, I hate headaches.”

“We can leave as soon as you need to, okay?”

Minho started to nod, but instead said, “Okay.”

He guided him out the door and into the noisy bar, returning him to his spot on the bar. Minho’s hand settled on his thigh as Kibum ordered him a glass of water. Jinki turned to them and Kibum swiveled around on his stool, finding Jonghyun lead Taemin away from the dance floor and out the front door. “Oh, is it finally happening?”

Minho hummed in question and Jinki asked, “What?”

“Nothing.” He swiveled back to face Minho, finding him squinting in the light. “Here.” He took his sunglasses out of his pocket and gingerly put them on Minho. “Better?”

“Much.”

By the time Minho finished sipping his water, Jinki had gotten a taxi for them to head back to the hotel. Jonghyun and Taemin were waiting for them by the curb, both drenched from the drizzle. Both were grinning, though, despite their shivering. Kibum thought about asking them what happened, but the cab arrived. They filed inside and Jinki gave the driver the address and they were off.

Minho leaned his head against the window, wincing when there was a pothole. Kibum touched his arm and Minho looked over. He patted his shoulder and Minho slowly scooted over, resting his head on Kibum’s shoulder with a sigh.

Someone cleared their throat, and Kibum looked over to find Jonghyun watching them. He glanced at Minho then back to him, his eyebrows raising. Kibum nodded and Jonghyun grinned, then Kibum glanced pointedly at Taemin before looking back at Jonghyun. His grin turned to a shy smile, and Taemin leaned closer to him, distracting Jonghyun from his and Kibum’s silent conversation by whispering in his ear.

Kibum looked away, giving them a bit of privacy.

“You still doing okay?” he whispered when the lights from the hotel came into view.

“Yeah.”

“We’re almost there.”

The elevator ride seemed longer than normal, and Kibum helped Minho maintain his balance as they reached their floor. “So I texted Chinri,” Jinki said as they walked down the corridor. “And she said that it’s okay if you sleep with a concussion.”

“Okay,” Kibum answered for him. “Did she give any special instructions?”

“Maybe wake him up every few hours? Make sure he’s still doing okay.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the texts between him and his wife. “If you want to, Min, you can head home with me and she can check you out for free after her shift tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?” Jonghyun said once they stopped at their doors. Kibum nodded and unlocked the door, letting Minho go in first.

“Do you want the light on?” Kibum asked once the door closed behind him.

“Uh, I guess.” Kibum flicked it on as Minho walked into the bathroom, wetting his toothbrush.

He brushed his teeth and Kibum went to the main room to change into his sleeping clothes. He turned down Minho’s bed before he crawled into his own. As much as he would like to sleep in the same bed, he wasn’t quite sure if Mino was ready for that. All doubts, however, were eradicated when Minho came back into the main room, glanced at his bed, and walked over to Kibum’s with a question in his expression.

Kibum scooted over, trying very hard not to smile as Minho slipped beneath the covers with him. He curled into him, his arm draping over his stomach as he settled into bed. “Sleepy?”

“No.” He sighed, his breath tickling Kibum’s neck. “Okay, yeah...but I don’t want to sleep. I’d much rather talk with you.”

Kibum stroked Minho’s back, pulling him a little closer and kissing his forehead. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours, and we can talk then, okay?” His eyes fluttered closed when Minho kissed his neck. He could feel his smug smile against his skin, and he shifted away so he could look him in the eye. Kibum brushed his hair off of his forehead, his hand cupping Minho’s cheek. “As much as I want to, you need your rest, right?”

“Yeah. It’s just…” Minho sighed sadly. “We’re going home tomorrow. And who knows how long it’ll be before we see each other again.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He brushed his thumb over the scar on Minho’s cheekbone, his expression softening when Minho leaned into his touch. “We’ll figure something out, alright? Don’t worry.” Kibum closed the distance between them, guiding Minho into a tender kiss that led to another and another. They both sighed when Kibum pulled away, and he leaned over Minho to grab his phone from where it was charging on the nightstand. Quickly, he set a series of alarms and he placed his phone on his side of the bed.

He leaned back over him, flicking off the light and covering them in darkness. “Get some sleep, Min. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Minho wrapped his arm around him again and nuzzled into his neck. “I already can’t wait.”

...

Monday

7:48 // I already miss you how pathetic is that?

7:49 // I would say very but then I’d be calling myself pathetic so

7:49 // you miss yourself? Self-absorbed much? Just look in a fucking mirror and move on with your life

7:51 // ㅋㅋㅋ obviously I was talking about missing you ㅋㅋ

7:51 // oh I know...it’s just nice to hear is all :-)

7:53 // ㅋㅋ you’re cute

7:53 // I’m well aware but thank you for noticing

7:55 // hey I'm boarding now so I’ve gotta go 7:57 // are we still meeting in Daejoon on Friday?

7:57 // yup, I can’t wait

7:58 // me too <3

#SHINee #SHINee fic #SHINee fics #SHINeefic #Minkey #Kim Kibum #Kibum #Key #Choi Minho #Minho #fluff #hurt/comfort #getting together #platonic: OT5 #side: Jongtae #apparently i can't write fics anymore without side Jongtae thanks Anna lmao #(no but really i'm cool with it dw) #okay so i did a super quick edit of this #i'll probably come back to fix anything i missed lol #sorry for any and all typos

[hiyo-silver]

"What's Up You Guys It's Me, Bdenbrough!" - Revelations.

Summary: Instead of filming a video about his self discovery, Bill elects to just improve his life based on what he realizes.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 + ao3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose11 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt @aizeninlefox @sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler @yooonbum @coffeekaspbrak @sedanleystanley @hazelash

Being present online has it’s perks and downfalls. He discovers a website called Tumblr. He makes an account because he hears it’s a good place to post his art. Though he gets wrapped up into some communities unknowingly. Posts about the lgbt community come up on his dash, he can’t help but like a few about being “wlw”, a girl who likes girls, but he can’t commit himself to reblog it, the posts make him smile but he doesn’t feel completely right relating to them.

One day something comes up on his dash that would change his outlook. It’s a resource page for trans men. The word binding catches his eye, it’s like what he does with the sports bras, like how they make him more comfortable. He clicks the link and it takes him to a website, apparently one that gives away free binders to boys who can’t afford to buy them.

He clicks out of it quickly, deleting it from his search history. He feels a lot of anxiety despite how this is relieving to some small part of him. He clicks another link, this one is an article that starts with explaining something called gender dysphoria. The word and definition resonate deep within his chest, his stomach drops. This feels wrong to just be openly browsing in the living room, he should be up in his room with the door closed and locked. It almost feels as bad as the time Richie tried to get him to watch some porn without headphones on.

He takes it upstairs, closing his door behind him a little harder than he meant to. He looks at himself in the mirror, pulling off the two sports bras he’s layered atop each other. He looks at himself then, chewing his lower lip in question. Gender Dysphoria.

gen·der dys·pho·ri·a /ˈjendər disˈfôrēə/ noun MEDICINE the condition of feeling one's emotional and psychological identity as male or female to be opposite to one's biological sex.

It suddenly makes sense to him. His mind has never really been congruent with the body he’s been given. There’s nothing wrong with his body, he’s in shape, maybe even a little under what his weight should be. But this body just doesn’t feel right. Tears bubble in the corners of his eyes and he yanks the sports bras back on. He almost feels elation like he had when he cut his hair. He understands now, and he can do something about it.

He looks at his bio on tumblr, clicking the edit button on his theme without hesitation. He goes to where the pronouns lie there, “she/her”. He backspaces those, replacing them with “he/him”. He feels his heart beat fast, but it’s not bad. It feels right, refreshing.

Nothing is as amazing as the time someone makes a post about his art. Not only is he filled with joy that someone likes his creations enough, but they used the he to describe him. It feels like the opposite of the word he’d recently discovered. He feels euphoric.

He’s not ready to tell his youtube channel nor his friends or any other followers. But people on tumblr may have already noticed the change in pronouns, he may as well explain. He opens to create a post, staring at the flashing black line where his words should be, where they will be.

“Hello!

So you probably know me simply as bdenbrough. That’s my username, it’s how I go online. It’s actually based off my middle name being Billie, after my grandfather who was named William. My name I won’t say because I don’t feel very connected with it. However, if you want to call me something call me Bill, or Billy.

This isn’t meant to be an inconvenience but I want to try out he/him pronouns after some recent discoveries. Don’t worry, my posts will continue as normal, this is a personal change but nothing else really should change. Thank you for keeping up with my nonsense!”

He clicks post, watching extremely closely as it processes, the posted check mark popping up and making him let out a sigh of relief. Bill. William. It’s perfect. It’s already a part of his name, and even better it’s a tribute to his late granddad whom he’d adored.

He opens the free binders page again for the first time in days. All he has to do is give them his information. He types out his address, his full name. William Billie Denbrough. The middle name will need to change, but for now he can chuckle about it. He submits his form, smiling to himself. He know he probably won’t get one, waiting lists being longer than ever these days. But it’s a start, it’s something to look forward to.

In the future he could be comfortable, he could really be himself once he’s an adult. He can have short hair and a flat chest. He found out about something called testosterone. The word itself even makes him crave to already be 18 and on his own, and able to go on it. One day he won’t have to be this little girl that his mom has tried to cultivate. He’ll be William Denbrough, wearing men’s clothes and growing a gingery beard to balance out how he plans to shave half his head at some point. He may decide against it though, he wants to be manly, not emo.

He decides to read a bit more about binding. He has been supposedly for the past few weeks now. It’s not comfortable. It’s hard to breathe, but then his brain can breathe, it would be impossible to explain to anyone who hasn’t felt it. He learns that he’s doing it unhealthily. He’s not allowed to bind while sleeping, and shouldn’t when exercising. He doesn’t really plan to stop, though until he reads the risks.

Rib bruising, lung contraction, chest deformities. And even the chance that they cannot successfully go through top surgery. This one hits him like a brick, he needs to work harder at actually taking care of himself.

#it novel #it stephen king #it fanfic #it stephen king fanfic #it stephen king fic #my fics #it bill #bill denbrough #it bill denbrough #it movie 2017 #bdenbrough au

[trulymadlysydney]

The Boy Next Door

Of all the things she could’ve ordered, it had to be a sex toy.  And of all the people who could’ve been her neighbor, it just had to be coffee shop Harry. 

Helloooo my loves, this is part one of my college AU story!!!  I was going to hold off on posting it, but what can I say? I’m incredibly proud of it and wanted you guys to share my excitement.  This all started as a request from a lovely anon, and my brain took the request and spun it into this huge, long, college AU that I’m so excited and nervous for you guys to read.  Enjoy!!! xx

***PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION**

It isn’t that Nova Leary is shy, necessarily.  It’s just that she’s the type of girl who enjoys keeping to herself and remaining anonymous. 

The fact of the matter is that anonymity feels like a rare thing to have nowadays, living in Los Angeles.  And anonymity is the one thing that Nova seems to cling to above all else.

Having grown up in a small town in North Carolina, she’d never faced the struggles of a Californian until she’d come here for school.  She hadn’t needed spare change to park her car.  She hadn’t needed to purchase a bus pass, because ultimately her car could’ve taken her anywhere with minimal traffic.

But now-- now she struggles to balance 19 credits a semester, because, as her mother would say,  “You’ll never get a good job just by coasting along, Nova Gene. Challenge yourself.” (Her mother, bless her heart, had a PhD in astrophysics-- because of course she did-- so Nova couldn’t help but feel the pressure to measure up her entire life.

So challenging herself was the only option, really.  And it isn’t that Nova minds all that much.  Entering her third semester of grad school, she feels accomplished.  As though she’s achieved more in her 23 years of living than most people her age.  Sure, maybe Los Angeles may not have been her first choice.  But hell, it certainly wasn’t her last.  

Currently she sits at her dining table, one leg tucked up under her and the other dangling so that her toes just loosely graze the wooden floor of her apartment.   She absentmindedly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and types something into her laptop, chewing at the inside of her cheek when the results of her search appear fruitful.

“What are you looking at?”

Nova nearly jumps out of her chair when her roommate’s voice breaks through the silence.  She quickly switches tabs over to her e-mail.  Her inbox hasn’t received anything new since the last time she’d checked it, which had been four minutes ago when she thought Jessie was coming into the room.  For the sixth time. 

“Nothing,” Nova says, dismissively.  “E-mails.  Homework.”

Jessie is 29 and works for a law firm.  Which sounds much cooler than it actually is, Nova thinks.  All Jessie does is answer phones and file paperwork every now and then, and she gets to wear the heels she likes everyday so all in all, no one complains. (Except for the days when Jessie does, in fact, complain about every little thing that goes on in the firm and behind the scenes.  Nova thinks she knows a lot of these people’s stories better than she knows her own, which is saying something.)

Jessie looks at Nova incredulously, and scoffs.  “You cannot possibly have that much homework.”

“I do!” Nova says, pushing her glasses up on her nose and clicking the “compose e-mail” button.  For what reason, she doesn’t know, but it makes her look like she’s doing at least something. 

Jessie groans, clomping in her heels across the hardwood floor and over to the kitchen.  She opens the fridge and bends down, which reveals a little too much of the pink lace she’s wearing under her short dress.  When she straightens up, she’s got a beer in her hand.  “Come on, kid  You’ve gotta have some type of plans for tonight.”

“It’s Thursday.”

Jessie rolls her eyes, rummaging through the nearest drawer until she finds the bottle opener.  “Have you never heard of Thirsty Thursday?”  She takes a huge swig of her beer and hums in delight before holding it out in Nova’s direction.  “You want one?”

“No thanks.”  Nova smiles, because Jessie really is a sweet girl.  She means well.  It’s just that she and Nova are two incredibly different people.  Which works out, really, because 95% of the time, Jessie is gone and Nova gets the apartment to herself.  That isn’t to say Nova doesn’t worry about the older girl, but usually she’ll receive a call or, at the very least, a text from Jessie to let her know what her plan is for the night. 

Nova settles back in her seat.  “Where are you going tonight?”

“It’s Brad’s birthday,” Jessie says, and shoots Nova a look as if she’d rather die.  “We’re going out.” Brad is Jessie’s sort-of-boyfriend, but he’s a dick most of the time.  At least in the whole year and a half that Nova’s known Jessie, she’s hardly ever heard anything about Brad that she likes.  Even when she’d met him in passing, he’d been dismissive and a bit arrogant and altogether unpleasant.  Though, for whatever reason, Jessie’s been on and off with the guy for about four years now.  So Nova figures she has to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“That should be fun!” Nova tries to sound hopeful, and Jessie smiles. 

“I’m hoping so, but we’ll see.  If he invites Steven I swear to God I’m leaving.”

Nova giggles and spends the next few minutes chatting with Jessie about Brad and his awful friends.  Sentences like “you’re too good for him,” and “But Nova, did you see what he surprised me with last weekend?” are all that can be heard, and it’s a lovely distraction for both of them until Jessie’s phone buzzes.

She hops up from where she’s now sitting on the counter and swallows the last bit of her drink.  “That’s my ride.  You sure you don’t wanna come out with us?  We can wait!”

“I’m good,” Nova says, shaking her head.  “You’re sweet though.”

Jessie giggles, walking over to Nova and wrapping her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders.  She leans down and presses a heartfelt kiss into Nova’s hair.  “I love you, kid.  You work too hard.”

“Who, me? Nahhh.”  Nova shakes her head.

Jessie grabs her coat and begins to head for the apartment door.  “Don’t wait up for me, okay?  I’ll be at Brad’s tonight.”

It goes without saying, but it still makes Nova smile that Jessie lets her know.  “Sounds good,” she calls. “Be safe!  Wear protection!”

She hears Jessie scoff as she leaves, and it makes her laugh.  Jessie is a lot of fun to be around, when she is around.  But Nova knows that if she were to ever go out with Jessie and her friends it would be awkward for everyone involved.  Nova’s never been the going out type, and all the friends that she would go out with lived back in North Carolina.

She sighs, placing her hands on the keyboard of the laptop and typing into the blank e-mail.

Note: Make new friends.

Backspace backspace backspace.

Note: Make friends in general.

It isn’t to say that Nova is lonely, however.  In fact, she appreciates her alone time quite a lot.

This reminds her of the task at hand, and her stomach flutters.  Cautiously, as if she’s being watched, she moves the curser back up to the tab she was in prior to Jessie’s departure, and double taps, taking her back to the screen that had made her cheeks redden. 

Row upon row of sex toys fills her screen, and it’s quite overwhelming, really, because how on earth is she supposed to know which one to pick?  She doesn’t want to make the wrong choice and get one thats too big.  And what if she doesn’t like the feeling of something inside of her?  The thought makes her insides flip and her ears grow hot. She groans, clicking the arrow to take her to the next page.

She knows she definitely wants one of these, it’s just a matter of which one she wants. It’s a difficult decision to make, especially because, despite being alone nearly every day she’s never really taken the time to experiment with these types of things. 

That isn’t to say she’s never gotten herself off, of course, but she definitely hasn’t tried any other techniques other than the one she knows.  And now there are several toys in front of her, all different shapes, sizes, textures, colors, (do colors matter?), some of them vibrate, some of them don’t... there are just far too many options for Nova’s liking.

What’s worse, she doesn’t even have anyone to ask about these types of things.  She’s sure that Jessie, more likely than not, has experimented with one, but she could never just outright ask her for tips.  Plus, reading the reviews on every single one of these feels almost invasive, if Nova’s being honest.  Like she’s creeping in on these people’s intimate alone time, as if to compare notes. It’s strange. 

Its 45 minutes and a few squeals and facepalms later that Nova finally thinks she’s found the one.  5/5 stars, not too big. Vibrations are optional, but should she chose to use them, it comes with several different speeds.  Plus the reviews, as strange as it makes her feel to read them, all agreed on one thing-- maximum pleasure with minimal effort.  (Not to mention the one review from a woman in Texas, who’d said that it was her first one and it had worked like magic.)

Nova types in her billing information and the address to which she wants it shipped, praying that it comes on a day when Jessie isn’t home, and when everything is filled out correctly, she inhales as deep as her lungs can take.  She examines her purchase one more time, shocked that this is actually something that she’s doing.  God, her mother would disown her if she knew.

She lets out her breath in one quick puff and closes one eye.  She tilts her head so that she’s not looking directly at the screen, and smashes her finger down on the mouse.  When her laptop takes her to the next screen, she can’t help but shriek when she reads, in bold, bright letters:

Thank you for your purchase! 

It’s a week later and Nova finds herself at the local coffee shop like every college student from the young adult novels she (not so) guiltily reads.  It’s stereotypical, yes, but it’s her favorite place.  They constantly have weird music playing through the speakers and it intrigues her every time she’s come in.  Sometimes they sell EPs of local bands on the counter where you purchase your drink, and Nova usually can’t help herself but to buy one.  She doesn’t always love the music she buys, but she loves the aesthetic of it all, so she continues to take pleasure in feeling like a fake hipster.

Today, the shop is crowded, which makes Nova curse under her breath.  She curses a second time after she’s ordered a her coffee, when she realizes there are no available seats in here.  She frowns, glancing around the room.  When did everyone realize this place existed?  Why are they taking over her little corner of campus?

She’s about to go ask the barista to put her drink in a to-go cup, because maybe she can go sit on the grass outside or something, when they call out her order at the counter.  Fuck.  

She takes it and mutters a thank you, and inside she panics while she scans the room.  She can’t just stand there awkwardly sipping her coffee.  Especially because she has her laptop in her other hand, and she’ll just look silly standing there with it.  But she’s not about to go up to a stranger, for goodness sake.  

She scowls without realizing it, and she hears a chuckle nearby.  She’s about to just chug her coffee and go when she hears a voice.

“You can sit here if you want.”

Nova turns around to find who the voice belongs to, and she relaxes a bit when she notices a somewhat familiar face.

She’s seen this guy around campus a few times, although she doesn’t know his name.   He’s cute.  In fact, Nova would go so far as to say he’s sexy-- although he’s nothing like any of the guys she’s dated previously.  She’s only seen him in passing, but he’s had a smile for her every time. 

He’s got a mess of curly brown hair that doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, with a long, stubborn curl resting on his forehead.  He has a pair of glasses atop his head, and Nova wonders why he isn’t wearing them-- especially because he seems to be squinting at his laptop.  One hand is wrapped loosely around a coffee mug, in which she spies just plain black coffee.  How boring and yet incredibly intriguing. 

Not to mention the deliciously thick british accent that seems fitting, somewhow, and makes Nova’s insides feel warm and fluttery. 

He shoots her a friendly smile and nods his head towards the empty chair across the table from him.  Right.

She sits quickly, setting down her own laptop and coffee mug and shimmying out of her coat.  “Thank you,” she says.  “I didn’t expect this place to be so crowded today.”

“Midterms,” he mutters dismissively, and Nova nods in agreement.

“M’Harry by the way.”

He watches her with amused eyes and it makes her feel small in the best possible way.  She settles her coat on the back of her chair and grins at him.  “I’m Nova.”

His eyes widen at her words.  “No shit! Nova Leary?”

“The one and only.”  She nods, and she doesn’t know how or why this guy knows her name.  “How’d you know?”

“It’s not a very common name, for starters.  But also, Mr. Shuff won’t shut up about you and how great your grades were.”

The statement alarms Nova until she realizes who he’s referring to.  She furrows her eyebrows.  “Rick?”

Harry snorts.  “So you’re on a first name basis with the science professors then.”

Nova rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee.  “No.  Rick taught my favorite class last year.  I asked my counselor if I could take it again because I loved it so much.”

“He says you’re the only one who aced every single one of his exams,” Harry continues.  “Show off.”

Nova shrugs.  “I love science.”

“Apparently so,” Harry chuckles.  He takes a sip of his coffee and turns back to his laptop, and Nova thinks that the conversation is over, so she opens up her own laptop and starts logging in on the home screen.

“So, Nova huh?  That’s a cool name.  Very futuristic of you.”

Nova looks up then, absentmindedly tapping her nails against the keys on the laptop.  “Thanks.  Chose it myself.” 

Harry eyes her for a moment, unsure of how exactly to read her sarcasm, and she rolls her eyes.  “That was a joke.”

He smiles then, seemingly relieved, and laughs softly.  “Oh.  Cool.  So Nova’s your real name then?”

“Yup.”  She takes a sip of her coffee and considers her words carefully.  She knows it’s a unique name, one that Harry’s probably never heard before.  But she doesn’t know if he’s actually interested in hearing the origin story of her name, or if he’s just making polite conversation.

“Where’d it come from?”

“Hm?”

“Your name.  Like, what made your parents name you that?”

Nova feels her cheeks redden, because duh.  Of course that’s what he’d meant.  “You’re gonna make fun of it.”

Harry smirks that damn smirk once again and his fingers trace the rim of his mug.  “Try me.”

“The night that they think I was... conceived...” She says the last word softly, because damn, it feels weird to know the night you were conceived.  “My parents were at a music festival.  They looked up and swore that there was a supernova in the sky.”

Harry leans in, genuinely interested.  “That’s sick.”

It’s Nova’s turn to smirk.  “It was a music festival.  In the 90s.  They were on several drugs.”

“Oh.”  Harry snorts at how blunt-- for lack of a better term-- she is.  He takes another sip of his coffee and speaks into his mug.  “I mean... you never know.  There could’ve been a supernova.”

“There wasn’t.”

“And how would you know?  Were you there?”

“Technically yes.”  Harry nearly chokes on his drink and Nova beams.  “Besides.  The last supernova was in 1604.”

“Wow.”  Harry finally relaxes into his chair.  “Pretty and smart.”

“Comes with the name,” she says, matter-of-factly.  “When you’re named after a type of star, you kind of have to know your stuff.”

“I see.”  Harry smirks like he knows something that Nova doesn’t, and it intrigues her.  He tugs at his bottom lip and watches her for a moment.  She can feel the tips of her ears turning red, and she turns to her laptop.  She hears Harry let out a soft, nasally laugh before he, too, turns back to his laptop. 

She surprises herself when she speaks this time.  “I like your accent.”

Harry smirks, but he doesn’t look away from his laptop.  “Thanks.   Chose it myself.”

Nova rolls her eyes.  “What an original joke.”

Harry giggles-- actually giggles-- and it’s so endearing that Nova physically can’t stop herself from smiling.  “M’from England,” Harry says.  “But I moved here when I was 16.”

“Oh yeah?  Why’s that?”

“When my parents divorced, my mum got a job out here.  And I was... I mean, ya know, I was a kid, right?  So I just came with her.”

“I see.”  Nova picks nervously at her thumbnail.  “Sorry to hear about the divorce.”

Harry shakes his head.  “Nah.  Don’t worry about it.  Still close with both of ‘em.  M’glad, anyway.  They drove each other fuckin’ crazy.”  The way he pronounces the word “fucking” makes Nova swoon, but she refrains from telling him that. 

He turns to his laptop.  “Anyway,” he says again, typing away.  “I like it here.  A lot.”

Nova smiles, busying herself with her own work.  “That’s good!”

They’re quiet after that, and Nova is actually able to go over a few pages of the notes she’d taken a week ago.  She’d been studying for the past few weeks, of course, so she could recite this stuff in her sleep, but still.  It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

It isn’t even five minutes later, however, when he’s talking again.  He’s asking her some question about Mr. Shuff-- Rick-- and his class, and next thing she knows she’s helping him with his study guide for the midterm.  (The midterm she’d aced with flying colors, she reminds him several times.)

Harry is smart, despite science not being his thing.  A lot of the concepts that come as second nature to her don’t quite click in his brain, but the way he talks about them, the way he asks questions, the way he perceives and listens and takes in everything she’s telling him is fascinating.  (Not to mention the fact that he’s actually quite beautiful to look at.)

Nova hasn’t even noticed when an hour has passed, and she actually feels her stomach drop when Harry mutters, “Oh shit, I’ve gotta go.”

“Where?”  She feels stupid for asking, but she can’t help herself.

Harry is already up and wiggling into his jacket. “I have to go to class.  It starts at 3:30.”

Nova glances down at the clock on her laptop, which reads 3:25.  Damn.

“Thank you so much for all the help, today, really.    I feel like I kind of understand it now.”

“Anytime!” Nova says.  “And you know, I’m here a lot, so.  If you ever need help, you know where to find me.”

Harry shoots her a genuine smile, and she crosses her fingers (on both hands) under the table, praying that he’ll ask for her number.  “Thanks,” he says, nodding.  “I’ll see you around, Nova.”

And then he’s gone, and the shop already seems less bright.  (A terrible metaphor but an accurate one nonetheless.)  

Nova stares dumbly at the empty chair in front of her, and she lets out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding.   Looking back, she probably could’ve asked him for his number instead of hoping he’d ask her for hers.  But still. Ouch.

Her laptop has gone into sleep mode and she wiggles her fingers against the mousepad to “wake it back up.”  She’s hardly even glanced at her notes this entire time, and she doesn’t even care.  She’d gotten to talk about something she loved with one of the most attractive guys she’d seen in AGES... and she had gotten no way of contacting him again.

She reaches for the coffee mug, which has been untouched for the last hour, and frowns when she realizes that the decent amount of coffee she had left is now cold.  So she sighs, drinking it down anyway and then closing her laptop.  She can do the rest of her studying at home, where she can maybe distract herself a bit and not think about those enormous, beautiful green eyes...

She stands then, slipping into her jacket and dropping her used mug off at the counter.  (She knows she could just leave it on the table and someone would come clean it, but having worked as a waitress all through high school, she knows the drill too well and figures she’ll just make everyone’s lives that much easier by doing this.)

With one last nod and a mumbled, “thank you” to the barista, Nova straightens her jacket and heads out the door. 

It’s two nights later, and Nova is impatient.

It’s a Saturday night, 9 business days since she’d ordered her package.  And still, no sign of it.

Who is she supposed to call about this?  She considers looking up the number for customer service on the website she’d ordered from, but then what would she say?  “Hi this is Nova Leary calling, is this dildo support?”  

There’s a reason she’s never done anything like this before, and this is it.

She groans, flipping upside down on the couch so that her head hangs off of the edge of it.  She opens up her Instagram once more and goes to the search section.  In her recent search history are several different variations of usernames containing the name “Harry,” and each time she’d clicked on one to find it wasn’t Coffee Shop Harry, she cursed herself for not asking for his last name.

It isn’t that she’s trying to stalk him, by any means.  In fact, it’s quite the opposite.  She just wants to see how he’s doing.  See if he’s taken Rick’s test yet and how he feels about it.  But she cannot find him anywhere, and she’s beginning to think that maybe its not meant to be.

She hears a knock on the door and groans.  She expects it to be Jessie, because most of the time when Jessie leaves, she forgets her keys.  (Although Nova doesn’t know why she didn’t just put her house key on the same keyring as her car keys.  It’s such a simple solution.)

Nova rolls backwards off the couch and shuffles to the door.  She expects to see Jessie, already kicking off her heels and holding her phone in her hand, with her mouth running a mile a minute telling Nova about tonight’s plans and how Nova should totally join her “just this once girl, pleeeease?”  She expects to turn Jessie down, and she expects Jessie to ask her to curl her hair because “I can’t do it like you, kid!”  

What Nova does not expect when she opens the door is Harry-- Coffee Shop Harry- standing in the hallway and holding a white box with that god-awful smirk.

“Well well well.  If it isn’t the supernova herself.”

She rolls her eyes but she does smile.  “Hi.”  She can’t even begin to explain whats happening in her chest right now.  He looks even better than he did at the coffee shop, if that’s even possible, Good lord. 

“Where’ve you been?  Feels like I haven’t seen you since 1604.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans, then nods at the box.  “What are you doing here?  How’d you know I lived here?”

“Well, turns out this campus is a lot smaller than you’d think.  I live there,” he nods his head towards the next door over, “And this...”  He takes a deep breath and his cheeks redden the tiniest bit when he holds the box out to her.  “This was delivered to my place.”

It takes Nova a moment to register what he’s holding, and when she does, she gasps.

“Oh... oh my god...”

“Yeah... erm...” Harry shrugs awkwardly.  “I was going to just leave it there and hope you realized but I figured...” The tiniest hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth once again, but he covers it and lowers his voice.  “Figured you’d maybe want whatever’s inside of here.”

Mortified, Nova gulps and shakes her head. Promised Discreet Packaging, her ass.

Her fingers feel awkward and cold, but her face is hot and overall this feels like she’s experiencing the most intense out-of-body experience in her entire life.  She opens her mouth, then closes it.  She can hear her heart pounding in her ears, and thinks that maybe this is it-- maybe she’s dying.  What she can feel of her body feels like its vibrating at a frequency unheard of by humans and most animals.  When was the last known case of spontaneous human combustion?  Is that what she’s feeling now?  Should Harry get out of the way? 

Harry clears his throat, drawing her from her thoughts and sending another heat wave up to her ears.  “Uh...” she chokes.  “Well... I... thanks.”  She takes the box from his hands in what can only be described as slow motion, despite her best efforts to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. 

Harry hands over the box and his hands feel warm too.  Possibly a little clammy.  Or maybe those are hers. “Sure, yeah. Have a good night.”

Nova closes her eyes and wills them to never open, and Harry lets out a little “Ha-haa!” that crescendos in the most awkward and unnatural way.  “No, that wasn’t... I didn’t mean...  because of the...”  He nods his head towards the box that feels like its going to melt out of her hand’s at any moment.

“Yeah,” she nods, willing him to please, for fucks sake, shut up before he finishes that sentence.  “Uh.  You too.  Have a... good night.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them makes any type of effort to pick up their feet and move, although for what reason, Nova isn’t sure.  Especially because neither of them will look at the other. And Nova wants more than anything to just close the door and evaporate into nothingness but her feet seem to be glued to the carpet.

Of all people who could’ve been her neighbor.

Harry clears his throat once more for what feels like the 80th time that night.  “Right.”  He nods his head and shoves his hands in his pockets, turning on his heels to head back to his own apartment.

(But not before Nova notices how beyond red his ears are.)

Nova closes her mouth after realizing that a) its been open this entire time, and b) she’s been watching Harry until he disappeared into his own apartment, and she comes back to reality slowly.

Fuck.

When she’s back inside the safety of her own apartment, she sinks down against the door.  She allows the box to drop out of her hands and land with a soft thud on the carpet while she hides her face.  Why did it have to be Coffee Shop Harry? Why did it have to be a fucking vibrator?

Why did this have to happen to her?

She wants to scream, but that, of course, would do her no favors.  So she groans, long and loud until she runs out of breath.  How is she going to be able to face this?  She won’t be able to use this now, knowing that Harry knows about it.  There’s no way she’ll be able to use it.

Except, that is a complete lie.

Four hours later, after Jessie has texted her and told her she’s going to be spending the night at Brad’s, Nova eyes the box that is now sitting in the corner of the living room.  It’s remained untouched since she’d gotten it, but she’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t been thinking about it.  How deliciously teasing it must be on its lowest setting, and how torturously good it must feel on its highest one.  She’d also be lying if she said she hadn’t been practically aching to know what it would look like, covered in her wetness, when she pulled it out from between her thighs.

And, to be frank, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been imagining what Harry would look like from down there, holding the vibrator firm between her legs, and watching her come undone with lust in his eyes.

She doesn’t know why she has that thought, and it makes her cheeks turn pink and hot but she can’t even help it.  He’s been on her mind since the afternoon at the coffee shop, and now that she knows that he lives right next door, her thoughts are running even more wild than before.

And so she gives in.

Soon, Nova finds herself half sitting, half laying on her bed, knees curled up and naked from the waist down.  She eyes the contraption in her hands and lets out a shaky breath.  She doesn’t need instructions on how to use this or anything, but goodness, its so intimidating in her hands that she can’t help but feel a little lost.

But she knows what to do.  And she needs to stop putting it off. 

She clears her throat and sits up a bit more, and with her thumb she flips the switch of the vibrator to the lowest setting.  It hums to life, and her eyes widen just a fraction.

Holy shit.

Even on the lowest setting, its powerful.  Her hand thats holding the toy is buzzing, and her mouth practically waters.  She needs to get this on her right now.

She’s still nervous, and she lowers it down between her legs.  Slowly, so as to build up the anticipation.  She thinks she knows what it’s going to feel like, but she doesn’t fully know. What if she doesn’t like it?

And then she feels it.  Even on its lowest setting, it sends a tingle up her spine almost instantly.  Her jaw drops and she can’t help the gasp that escapes her lips.  Her knee-jerk reaction is to pull it away, and she sits there for a moment, taking it all in.

She definitely likes it.

She presses the tip against her clit again almost hungrily and allows her head to fall back against the wall.  Her eyes flutter closed as she sighs out a quiet “Ohhh.”  It feels so good, especially when she adds a bit of pressure.  Fuck, why did she wait so long to purchase one of these?

She uses her thumb to increase the speed and groans the minute she hears the buzzing getting louder.  She tilts the vibrator to hit her clit from an angle and lets out a half moan, half gasp noise that she knows she’s never made before. With a giggle, she thanks her lucky stars that Jessie isn’t home tonight and she can be as loud as she wants. Because, oh god, does she want to be loud.

She swirls the vibrator against her clit with a little flick of her wrist, and moans loudly just because she can.  It feels good, and its even better knowing that she doesn’t have to suppress that feeling for anyone.  Although truthfully, she’s not even sure she could suppress it if she wanted to.  Not with how good this thing feels. 

She allows herself to fall into a steady rhythm of rocking her hips against the top, and she’s nearly drooling.  Every now and then she hits a certain spot that makes her toes curl and her breath hitch and she makes a note to focus more on that spot.  She revels in how good she’s feeling, and her mind begins to drift.

It starts small.  She thinks about how she wants to do this every night.  About what a shame it is that she’s missed out on making herself feel this good for so long.  About how she doesn’t need a partner to make herself feel good, and how wonderful that is.

But then, she thinks about having a partner.  Someone to hold this against her while they kiss her neck or lick into her mouth.  Someone with long fingers that could curl up inside her while they use their other hand to continuously roll this against her clit.  Someone with a deep voice, so that the words “You like this, baby? Hm? Feel good?” sound like honey dripping off their lips.  Someone with shaggy hair, green eyes, a thick british accent...

Fuck, she’s thinking about Harry.

Her legs kick out and her back arches just a bit when she hits another particularly good spot, and without even giving it a second thought, she turns up the speed.  She lets out a long, loud moan and involuntarily bucks her hips up against the vibrator.  Her head hits the wall once more with an embarrassingly loud thud, but she doesn’t even care.  She can’t be bothered to even begin to care; not when this feels so good and her mind is completely engrossed with thoughts of Harry.

She imagines what he would look like down between her legs, eyes trained on her face and bottom lip tucked between his teeth.  Her cheeks turn red when she allows herself to whisper his name softly under her breath, but it feels so good.  She starts to do it again, but cuts herself off when she hits her clit from a different angle.

Her whispers turn into a moan that almost sounds like a shout, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in how good she’s feeling, she’d be worried about the fact that the tail end of Harry’s name was completely audible.  But how can she even think about that when she can hardly even think at all?  That familiar tingle in her belly is beginning to blossom, and all she can focus on is getting there.

And so she bucks her hips with a bit more aggression this time, and completely releases any and all inhibitions. A chorus of “fuckfuckfuck” and “shit oh my god” and “yes holy shit yes!” pours from her mouth and echos off the walls of her all too quiet apartment.  She doesn’t even have time to make the conscious decision to allow herself to cum, and its almost ridiculous how quickly she’s reached her orgasm. Especially considering how all she’s done with it is rub at her clit.  Her free hand grasps and tugs at the comforter of her bed, and her bottom lip stings because of how strongly it’s wedged between her teeth.   This is hands down the most intense orgasm she’s ever experienced, and she didn’t even have time to insert the thing inside of her or switch to the highest setting. 

She is loving every single second of it.

When the feeling passes, Nova is left completely breathless.  She flicks the vibrator off and drops it onto the bed beside her, and then she just stares. 

Fucking hell.

She gives herself time to catch her breath, and it feels almost like a struggle to keep her eyes open.  It’s the loveliest, most intense thing she’s experienced in a while, and she feels herself slowly returning back to earth, one shaky breath at a time.

When she straightens out her legs, her thighs twitch repeatedly-- almost like aftershocks.  Is that supposed to happen?  She doesn’t know, but right now, she’s too tired to be worried about it.  With a stretch, she curls and uncurls her toes, allowing them to crack and pop.  It feels surprisingly good, because she hadn’t realized how hard she’d been curling her toes the entire time.

And in the midst of it all, her thoughts drift back to Harry.  She thinks of how kind he must be during the aftershocks.  How smug he’d be that he’d made her feel so good.  And how hard his cock would be... how delicious it would taste...

Nova swallows when she realizes that she’s salivating at the thought of him, and she feels her cheeks grow hot once more.  Another twitch of her thighs snaps her back to reality.  

She can’t be fantasizing about him like this.  Absolutely not.  He’s her neighbor, and she’s only had one conversation with him.  (Two, if she considers the one she’d had with him earlier.  Which, she doesn’t.)

So why on earth is the thought of him using this vibrator on her so sexy, and why had it brought her to orgasm in under five minutes?

Suddenly, Nova feels embarrassed. Even more embarrassed than before.  Which is stupid, because she knows she’s alone in the apartment and has nothing to hide.  But still, she feels so vulnerable.  Exposed.  Naked.

Which reminds her that she is, in fact, naked from the waist down.  

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.  She rolls off of her bed and her knees wobble ever so slightly once she puts weight on them.  She tries not to think about her twitching thighs and how wet she feels.  And most importantly, she tries not to think about Harry anymore.

Although she’s almost positive that he’d take care of her in these intimate moments after the intensity passed.  He’d probably get her a clean pair of underwear and one of his hoodies, which would smell like him, and he’d probably help her clean herself off.  Not to mention, of course, how good he’d probably smell....

Shut up, Nova.

She shakes her head and retrieves a pair of pink cotton panties from her top drawer.  Nowhere near sexy, but they’re comfortable and that’s what she needs right now.

She bets Harry would love them.

With a groan she gathers up her PJs, as well as the vibrator, and heads into the bathroom.  Her face feels hot the entire time she’s washing off the tip of the toy with a damp cloth.  (Is that what you’re supposed to do?  She’d read online that she needed to keep the vibrator clean, but is this correct?  Why does this shit confuse her so much?)

Fifteen minutes later, Nova is in bed and the vibrator is stored safely and discreetly in her closet.   She still feels awkward and giddy, like a little kid almost, and her thighs continue to buzz every so often with another little aftershock.  

She’s fading fast, and its hard to even focus her mind right now.  But what she does focus on is the one person who’s been her driving force behind nearly everything for the past hour or so.

She hugs her pillow closer and allows herself to imagine its him.  Imagining the scent of his bare chest, the warmth of his skin, and the gentle thumping of his heartbeat.  She imagines his fingers in her hair, trailing lightly down her back, and his thick accent humming and muttering her praises in her ear.  “Such a good girl for me.”  “Rode that so well.”  “Look so pretty when you cum.”

Nova knows she’ll have to deal with this in the morning, of course.  Or rather, not deal with it at all.  She knows she’ll eventually see Harry again, and she  knows herself well enough to know she will probably never make eye contact with him after tonights incident.  (She has the fleeting, sleepy thought that tonight could be referred to as The Great Dildo Incident and it makes her giggle so hard that she starts coughing.)

For now, though, she’s happy.  And warm.  And sincerely exhausted after fucking herself to the thought of her cute british neighbor.

And so for now, that is enough.

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[lovemesomesurveys]

Have you ever felt like you were being crushed by an invisible weight?: I’m very familiar with that feeling. Have you ever looked back and realized that it’s been ages since you cried?: It’s been a long time since I’ve gone a long time without crying. I cry a lot. Do you ever wish you could go back to kindergarten?: Yes. Please take me back to a better, simpler time. Would you rather spend your whole life in the light, or in the dark?: Well, in the light ideally. It’s rather dark right now, though. Do you have a good luck charm?: Don't believe in luck, so nope. <<< Same.

Has anyone ever sang to you, just for you?: No. What’s the longest phone conversation you’ve ever had?: A few hours. Is there anyone that you have trouble saying goodbye to?: My mom went on a 4 day vacation a couple months ago, which is something she’s never done, and I being the big baby that I am cried when she left. :X Do you friends like the person you’re dating/crushing on?: I’m single and not crushing on anyone. Do you care if your parents approve of the people you date?: Yes. Whoever I date needs to get along with my family. If asked to pick a number between one and five, what number would you pick?: 2. Do you use Skype to talk to your friends?: Nope. In your opinion is calling easier than texting?: Never call me, just text. Name all the people you’ve hugged today: I haven’t hugged anyone today. Is there anything that you want to say right now to someone?: No. If you married the last person you texted, what would your last name be?: I would never marry my mom. About how many times a day do you use the backspace button?: Uh, I have no idea. Are you allergic to any animals?: No. Do you know anyone who smokes?: Yeah. Do you usually spend your weekends out, or at home?: I’m at home in bed majority of the time. Do you miss anyone right now?: Always. How far away is your next birthday?: It’s next month. Have you ever felt completely lost?: I do feel completely lost. What’s the stupidest question anyone could ever ask you?: People have asked me if I could get out of my chair or if I had to stay in it all the time, including sleeping.  Do you think it’s wrong for people to say 'retard/retarded’ as an insult?: Yes! What swear word do you use most often?: I don’t swear a lot, but a “shit”, “damn”, “hell”, and an occasional “fuck” might come out sometimes. Have you ever had to go to the police department?: For a field trip. Have you ever lived through a hurricane?: I’ve never experienced one. Have you ever wished you could disappear?: Yes. Can you name all the candidates in the previous presidential election?: Yeah. Do you eat organic foods?: No. Have you ever had a home grown tomato?: Yes. My grandma grew tomatoes. Have you ever held a real gun?: Yes. Would you rather wear Converse or Vans?: I like both, but I’d probably go with Converse. I like having the classic black and white pair. Is there a song that reminds you of someone?: There’s a lot of those. Have you ever been called bipolar?: Yes. Do you think Facebook can be safe if you’re smart about what you post?: Yeah. That goes for anywhere online. Have you ever made fun of a handicapped person?: No. I’m handicapped myself. Do you think it’s okay to have sex before marriage?: Do what feels comfortable for you. Have you ever liked a book that you had to read for school?:  Yeah, there were a few.

Do you have any mosquito bites?: No. Have you pulled an all-nighter in the last week?:  Not all night, but pretty damn close. I was up a bit past 5AM a few days ago. Are there posters on your walls?: Not posters, but paintings. Do you play any video games?: I haven’t in a long time.  Have you ever been called a wimp?: Yeah. I am a wimp. When was the last time you made fun of someone else?: Me and my brother playfully tease each other all the time. Have you ever been jealous?: Yes. Do you like to watch old sitcoms?: Yeah. The Golden Girls, I Love Lucy, and Roseanne are my favorites. Are there actually books on your bookshelf?: Yeah, several.  Have you ever tried any kind of diet?: I’ve attempted high protein ones. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing now. Could you go out in public wearing what you are now?: I’m fine with what I’m wearing, but my hair is a mess. If asked, could you run a mile nonstop right now?: Absolutely not. Do you follow a daily routine?: Yes. My life is very routine. Do you have to plan your days out meticulously or are you spontaneous?: I’m a planner. Are you allowed to go over to the opposite sex’s house?: Uh, yeah. I’m almost 30 years old. I can’t blame the fact I’m single on my parents, ha.  Do you think people’s idea of a 'date’ has changed over the years?: Yes. Have you ever given someone a friendship bracelet?: Yes. Do you wear those rubber wristbands?: I used to wear a lot of those. How does your behavior around adults differ from around friends?: I am an adult. D: Arguably. ha. If a necklace/ring gives you green marks, do you still wear it?: No. Do you have public display of affection issues, or do you not care?: I don’t mind some PDA. Joseph and I probably got a bit carried away at times, though. Whoops. How soon is too soon to kiss a boyfriend/girlfriend?: That is entirely up to you. Do you hate it when people try to pressure you into doing something?: Well, yeah. What instrument do you play, if any?: I used to play piano. I regret not keeping up with it. I wish I took it more seriously. Has anyone ever taken your breath away?: Yes. Do you like to walk around town, or would you rather take a car?: Car, definitely. I don’t have the energy to be walking around town. Does time usually pass by too fast for you?: Not in the moment. In the day to day time just seems to draaaaaaag. Then I look back and it’s like, ‘omg how is it June already??’ What’s the sweetest thing the gender of your choice could ever do for you?: Surprise me with a trip somewhere. Do you think it’s mean for people to use 'gay’ as an insult?: Yes. Is there anyone that you’d drop everything to go see?: I live with everyone I’d want to see. Have you comforted anyone lately?: No.

#personal #text #survey #surveys