#god I did SUCH a shitty job taping that box. it was open at the top so I just. covered the open strip in a metric fucktonne of tape

[karmaphone]

oops I stayed up all night again

#particularly bad idea to do after sleeping ~3 hours the previous night as well as having a flight today #god I did SUCH a shitty job taping that box. it was open at the top so I just. covered the open strip in a metric fucktonne of tape #and a gay little pagan prayer #I stuck a bunch of labels on it that say fragile do not crush and this is the right/wrong side up so hopefully they get the fucking message #let's just hope this scale and my eyes are accurate bc my mom would probably not forgive me if she had to pay overweight fees on top of #paying for both my checked luggage(s? is luggages a word?) #I'm tired. I hope my stuff doesn't break. I hope it's in the weight limit. I hope I can pass out for an hour while the rest of my laundry #dries. hopefully the extra tshirt three socks and the clothes I'm wearing now don't push the actual suitcase overweight #im most worried about the suitcase tbh. it's got my wooden & glass jewelry box in it and a bunch of other breakable stuff that doesn't #really mean much to anyone but me #hopefully I packed clothes tight enough around it if it gets crushed it won't break :') I don't have good luck with that stuff tho so I'm #fully expecting to arrive with everything im taking having broken

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

joy in my heart - chapter 1

Or; What if Johnny had been forced to step up? [On AO3.]

 February 5th, 2002

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Johnny glances away from the awkwardly shifting nurse, over to the empty hospital bed. The sheets are rumpled, one of the tabloids Shannon loves to hate lying open on the pillow. Her favorite mug, the tag of the tea she’s started drinking against the morning sickness hanging over the rim, is sitting on the bedside table. “To the bathroom? The cafeteria?”

“Mr Lawrence,” Shannon’s doctor speaks up, and the pity in his voice that he doesn’t quite manage to hide makes something heavy settle in Johnny’s stomach, “your girlfriend left the hospital earlier this morning—”

Johnny’s shaking his head. “No, she—she gave birth a day ago? She—”

“Ms Keene discharged herself, against medical advice, about an hour ago.”

Before Johnny can even begin to wrap his head around any of that, there’s a soft knock on the door. The nurse goes to open it, gesturing for the woman on the other side to come in. She’s got a clipboard under her arm, and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

“Ah, right on time,” the doctor greets somberly. Then, addressing Johnny again, he says, “Mr Lawrence, allow me to introduce you to Mrs Porter.”

“Mr Lawrence,” Mrs Porter says, with a curt nod. “Francis Porter, Child Protective Services. Why don’t we take a seat?”

In his crib, Robby starts crying.

(Watch out for the break!)

 February 14th, 2002

They won’t let him take Robby home.

Johnny’s sitting on the old, dirty carpet floor in their—his, now, he supposes, with Shannon fucked off to who knows where—shitty little one-bedroom apartment, his back against the couch, and a mostly empty bottle of the cheapest whisky the gas station had to offer on the coffee table in front of him.

The foster family they’ve lined up has experience with babies like Robby, they’d said.

It’s too early to tell if there is going to be lasting damage, they’d said.

We can refer you to people who know how to help, they’d said.

No one is trying to take your son away from you, they keep saying.

Yeah, right.

Johnny reaches for the bottle again.

“Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, Shan.”

 April 21st, 2002

Robby is asleep. He’s asleep in some strange woman’s arms, tiny chest rising and falling steadily, looking so damn peaceful—

Johnny turns around and walks away, ignoring Mrs Porter calling after him.

 June 13th, 2002

“Please, Mr Lawrence,” the guy who stole Robby, who’’s telling him he can’t see his own fucking kid says, blocking Johnny’s view into the house, “you can’t be here, not unsupervised. You know you can’t.”

Johnny takes a step forward, swaying on unsteady feet. “I just—I just wan’ to—only for a minute. One minute, okay? ‘S all I’m askin’, okay?”

In the distance, Johnny can hear sirens.

He blacks out before the cops arrive.

 July 8th, 2002

 “Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders (FASDs) are a group of conditions that can occur in a person whose mother drank alcohol during pregnancy. Symptoms can include an abnormal appearance, short height, low body weight, small head size, poor coordination, behavioural problems, learning difficulties and problems with hearing or sight. Those affected are more likely to have trouble in school, legal problems, participate in high-risk activities and have problems with alcohol or other drugs. The most severe form of the condition—”

Johnny doesn’t bother putting  the book back before he stalks out of the library.

 July 9th, 2002

“My name’s Johnny. I’m—I’m an alcoholic? That’s what you’re supposed to start with, right? My kid, uh, Robby? He’s the reason I’m here, I guess? He’s not staying with me right now. For obvious reasons. His mom’s not in the picture. I—look, I don’t really know what the hell you want me to say? I just—I just want to see my kid, man.”

 August 4th, 2002

Robby is six months old. He looks at Johnny with big, curious, familiar blue eyes, thumb jammed into his mouth. He’s drooling all over his sleeve, wispy blond hair sticking up wildly from the nap he’s just woken up from. He’s still got pillow creases on his chubby little cheek.

“He’s been doing really well lately,” Helen tells Johnny, with a soft little smile. She bounces Robby, smoothing back his hair. “Isn’t that right, honey? Are you ready to say hi to your daddy?”

Johnny’s heart is in his throat.

His hands fumble, for a moment, when Helen passes Robby over, before he manages to settle on under Robby’s butt, and the other on his back. Slowly, carefully, Johnny lifts him out of Helen’s hold, pulling him close against his chest.

Robby makes a cooing baby noise, still staring at Johnny, and curls his free hand into the collar of Johnny’s shirt.

Johnny is holding his son.

For the very first time.

He is never letting go again.

Ever.

 October 25th, 2002

“—crying for, like, forty minutes now? That can’t be normal? Right? I’m—what the hell am I doing wrong, he won’t stop—”

“Johnny.” Helen, in Johnny’s less than expert opinion, sounds way too calm, considering the situation at hand. “We knew this was going to be an adjustment for him. First overnight visit with you, in an unfamiliar apartment, a complete deviation from his usual routine. He’s probably just a little confused.”

Confused because he’s staying with his deadbeat, piece of shit father.

Right.

“He’ll be fine, Johnny. You’re doing great,” Helen reassures him, as if reading his mind. Johnny squints suspiciously. “You’ve bathed him, fed him, changed him—”

Whatever she says after that, Johnny doesn’t hear, since Robby decides to add flailing to his sobbing, and yanks the phone right out of Johnny’s grasp.

“—some calming music,” Frank is suggesting, when Johnny manages to jam the receiver back between his ear and shoulder. “Helen is partial to ‘Stuck On You’, but anything slow will do, in a pinch. Put on some music, walk him around, bounce him. You’ll be fine.”

Music. Yes. Okay.

That’s definitely doable.

Only.

“Wait, Lionel Richie? What the hell have you been teaching my kid, oh my god, and they let you be foster parents? Unbelievable—”

“Johnny.” Helen’s clearly trying to hold back laughter, and not doing a very good job of it. And that, somehow, is enough to finally make Johnny listen. Really listen. She wouldn’t laugh at him if Robby was in actual danger. “You will be fine. Both of you. All right?”

Johnny doesn’t own anything Richie, obviously, but one of the boxes he hasn’t unpacked yet is stuffed full of all his mom’s old tapes. He rummages through it one-handed, while Robby attempts to make him go bald prematurely, until his fingers land on an old, well-loved copy of ‘Rumours’.

“Definitely beats Richie,” Johnny murmurs, and pops the tape into his cassette player.

Robby is probably just startled, when it starts in the middle of a not exactly slow song, but he does finally, blessedly, stop crying. He still looks like he’s thinking about it, though, so Johnny hugs him a little tighter, and starts singing along.

All I want is to see you smile. If it takes just a little while. I know you don't believe that it's true. I never meant any harm to you.

 February 4th, 2003

They’re celebrating Robby’s first birthday at Helen and Frank’s house.

There isn’t a huge crowd present, but Johnny had still been surprised at how many familiar faces were there to greet him.

“Like we’d miss this,” Tommy had scoffed, elbowing him in the ribs, while Jimmy’d nodded along. “Nowhere else we’d rather be, man.”

Bobby had just pulled him into an almost bone-crushing hug, and whispered quietly, “I am so proud of you, John.”

Because making someone cry at their kid’s birthday party was, apparently, a thing priests did.

Johnny is sipping his apple juice, squished onto the couch between Bobby and Tommy, when there’s a dull thud from the other side of the room. Helen is standing right by Robby, who’s looking mostly confused as to why he’s on the floor instead of toddling towards the gift table, frowning down at the carpet as if it’s personally offended him.

Then, his lower lip begins to wobble.

Helen is right there. Frank not five feet away.

Robby looks up at her, at Frank, then over at Johnny. Lifting up his arms, eyes wide and wet, he demands, “Dada?”

Johnny’s never moved faster in his life. “I’m right here, buddy. I’ve got you.”

#cobra kai #johnny lawrence #robby keene #fatherhood #lawrusso #eventually #father son relationship #father son #parenthood #myfics

[helaintoloki]

Could you do a Five Hargreeves x reader fanfic where the reader and Five are mean to each other because they like each other. The night that Hazel and Cha Cha invade the Hargreeves mansion,the reader distracts Hazel from kidnapping Klaus and ends up getting kidnapped. Then Five saves the reader and they kiss. Thx

a/n: kinda changed it up a bit here for plot convenience but nonetheless I hope you enjoy!

warnings: language, five being a little sh*t as usual, brief mention of claustrophobia

Well, this certainly wasn’t how you expected your night to end, but you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised considering the complete chaos you’d managed to throw yourself into. Want a little word of advice? Stay far away from the Hargreeves siblings, you’re better off.

“Where’s Number Five?” Your female captor interrogates. They’ve had you as their hostage for about an hour but still hadn’t managed to extract any information from you. It was frustrating, being bested by a stubborn little girl, but Hazel and Cha Cha weren’t about to give up just yet.

“Kiss my ass lady, I’m not telling you shit,” you retort, and for good measure you make sure to spit in her face. It isn’t very ladylike of you but it riles her up and gets the job done.

“Oh, you little-“ she begins to say only to be held back by her counterpart.

“I don’t know about this, partner,” he confesses uneasily. “She’s a kid.”

“And so is Number Five. Are you forgetting we have a job to do?!”

“Look, maybe we should take a breather. Get some donuts, have some coffee, figure out the next move before we do anything irrational. There are gonna be people hot on our trail if we kill a kid.”

Cha Cha stares at Hazel for a long while before finally letting out a sigh, the tension releasing from her shoulders as she looks to you. You’re tied up and helpless with no one coming to save you; those freaks at the academy are probably too mixed up to even notice you’re gone. It’ll be fine.

“Alright,” she resigns, but not before harshly grabbing the back of your chair and nearly throwing you into the closet. “If you try to pull anything funny I’ll kill you.”

“I look forward to it,” you reply sarcastically, a small grunt of annoyance leaving you as she slaps a strip of duct tape over your mouth to keep you quiet. Your words are muffled, but you still make sure to call her every name under the sun as she locks you away in the dark and leaves the motel room with her partner.

A small huff of air leaves your nose as you shut your eyes and try to remain calm despite how extremely claustrophobic you feel trapped in that tiny closet. Perhaps you should have listened the first time Diego tried to shoo you away from him, then you wouldn’t be in this mess.

You’d met the Kraken about a year ago at the boxing ring he’d been working at when he’d caught you trying to steal from the locker rooms. Normally he would have turned you over to the cops and made you their problem, but after seeing how dirty and hungry you were he took you down to his room in the basement where he promptly fed you and forced you to tell him your business. You were an orphan who’d ran off from a shitty foster family, and with no money or family you’d resorted to pickpocketing to sustain yourself. You were granted one night of refuge under his roof and one night only, but then one night turned into one week which then became one month, and now a year later you still found yourself following him around wherever he went. No matter how much he tried to shoo you off or insist you return to the orphanage you stayed, and soon Diego found himself stuck with a new though unwanted companion.

You stayed out of each other’s way for the most part, and sometimes when he was in a good mood he’d help you train in case there was ever a time he wouldn’t be there to protect you and you’d have to fend for yourself. You kinda grew on him after a while, and though he could be a hard ass sometimes he really cared about you. Unlike his relationship with his other siblings, the bond you two had created was relatively healthy and stable. But then the looming threat of an apocalypse came along and suddenly the somewhat quiet life you’d been living for the past year or so had been turned upside down as you became acquainted with his younger— or is it older? You’re still not quite sure— brother.

Five didn’t like you, that much was clear from the get go. He thought you were a nuisance and a distraction and your involvement would only hinder his family’s efforts to save the world. You, on the other hand, found him to be obnoxiously snobby and unbearable to be around, and the fact that he was a trained assassin didn’t impress you in the slightest. You could never be in the same room for more than five minutes without arguing or insulting each other, and now you couldn’t help but feel infuriated with the fact that it was his fault you were in this mess. They were looking for him, after all, and they came to the academy to find him, and instead they’d managed to nab you to get information on his whereabouts— Klaus owed you big time for that one, by the way.

It feels like you’ve been stuck in that closet for hours when the door slams open, though it isn’t Hazel and Cha Cha that greet you on the other side. Five stands before you, annoyed and impatient as he drags you out of the closet and yanks the piece of duct tape off your mouth in one fluid motion.

“Ow!” You cry out in pain, your skin stinging from the sensation as you glare up at Five. “A little warning would have been nice.”

“No time,” he offers before getting to work on untying you. “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to get caught. Once again you’ve proven my theory that you’re just a hinderance to my plans.”

“You know, I think you should see a doctor about the stick you have up your ass. Could be serious,” you quip back sarcastically. You let out a breath of relief when the ropes fall from your limbs and onto the floor allowing you the chance to stand up and stretch after the uncomfortable position you’ve been sat in all night.

“Just stay out of my way,” Five says firmly.

“God, what is it with you?! You’ve been nothing but an asshole ever since you got here! I’m only mean to you because you’re mean to me, you know,” you retort agitatedly. “I don’t understand you or why you’re so cold but would it kill you to be nice for once in your life?”

“You don’t know anything about me, about the things I’ve seen,” he seethes, getting up and close and personal as you stare each other down face to face. “You wouldn’t even be able to comprehend it!”

“Maybe I could if you’d let me try instead of shutting me out all the time! I’m not the enemy here, Five. I want to help-“

“The last time you helped it got you killed!” He finally blurts, shoulders heaving from the ragged breaths he has to take in order to soothe himself. Your brows furrow softly in response to his sudden outburst, and you find yourself taking a step back from the boy.

“What are you talking about?”

“When I landed in the future it wasn’t just my dead siblings I saw lying there, but you, too... You tried to help them and it got you killed, and I’m trying to stop you from making the same mistake but you’re too god damn stubborn to realize it.”

“Well why the hell didn’t you just lead with that!” You exclaim exasperatedly. “I die?!”

“I bet you’re starting to regret ever meeting my idiot brother, aren’t you?”

“I started regretting things the moment I met you,” you reply with wry smile, one that Five can’t help but return. You’re pretty alright, he decides. But that doesn’t mean he likes you, so don’t get any ideas. You’re not enemies but you’re not friends, at least not yet.

“Come on, we’ve got to go before Hazel and Cha Cha realize you’re missing.”

“Yeah, she did mention something about killing me if I tried to pull anything,” you note with a shrug.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Five replies gently, and his eyes are the most sincere you’ve ever seen them since meeting him.

“Hey, Five, I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you...” you say meekly, your face heating up slightly with embarrassment. You’re not really used to apologizing.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies with a barely visible smile. “I’m sorry, too.”

He takes your hand in his own before jumping you both back to the academy, and though there’s an impending apocalypse Five feels hopeful for the first time since his return. You’re going to be alright, he knows it, and things are going to work out just fine.

#this is so messy i’m sorry #eek #five hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five x reader #number five imagine #five x reader #five imagine #diego hargreeves #hazel and cha cha #the umbrella academy #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine #request

[nukapind]

Hey, could I request an angsty one shot of Dabi where his civilian s/o had recently passed away but nobody knows about it because he kept the relationship secret. And he tries to act as if nothing happened but in reality every little thing reminds him of his s/o and at some point when he is alone he just cant take it anymore and breaks down. Thankss

One Last Time (Dabi x Reader)

It’s a little short but I hope you enjoy! It was fun to kinda try to put myself in his shoes! Feel free to send in more requests, and like always, this was crossposted to my AO3

Trigger warning for: angst, blood, and death.

___

He did his best to make sure nobody was in the apartment when he visited— boxes were already packed and sealed off with tape, your family’s doing no doubt.

The rage he’d felt when he first found out of your death had been insurmountable to anything he’d felt before, worse than anything he’d felt before he left home. Fury nestled its way in his bones, searing through his body as he watched the news broadcast. The last earthquake hadn’t been the worst Japan had faced, but the building you’d been in hadn’t been up to code. Collapsing upon itself, you’d probably been there; waiting for a hero to come save you. They didn’t.

Out of all the people in that building, there was only one fucking  casualty. A smiling picture of you on the screen stared him in the eyes. He’d cursed every god he could think of that night. The heroes he’d always hated had failed again, stealing one of the only things that made the world feel right. They’d suffer the exact same pain that you’d felt in your last moments.

That’d have to wait though, just for tonight at least.

Your apartment was already being packed up by your family, every little memory you had was being shoved into boxes that’d never be opened again. He’d never cared for the knickknacks you had laying around, but you’d always loved them. The apartment felt empty without them.

Mud trailed in from his boots as he wandered through the house, it’d be cleaned up anyways by whoever came in here tomorrow— it didn’t matter too much now that you wouldn’t scold him for the mess he brought in with him. He fucking missed that scolding, how you’d get frustrated whenever he’d come home after having been missing for weeks. Missed the delighted look on your face when he brought takeout after a shitty day. Missed how he’d wake up and see you curled next to him before he had to go out on a job.

He missed it all and it hurt.

He found himself in front of the mirror, staring at himself— the counter was too empty, too clean. All your stupid little soaps and towels were missing, and even though they always ended up knocked over after he visited, it was wrong that they were gone.

Wrong.

This was all so fucking wrong.

Why the hell was he gone when you needed him most?

He worked so damn hard to keep you away from everything, from his work. His absences had been for a reason, always to protect you. If he’d known that would have been your downfall, he would have stayed. The world could rot with those pretenders in charge, if it meant you were alive.

Dabi’s jaw clenched at the sight of his reflection, you needed him and he let you suffer. Were you pleading for him in your last moments? Begging for him to come and save you? How long had you prayed for him to swoop in and help you? Blue eyes stared right at the mirror, a copy of the same eyes that had tormented him as a child. The same eyes that had promised him that heroes were scum.

His fist shot out, colliding with the mirror— glass embedding itself into his knuckles, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. Chest heaved and those blue eyes burned, but he couldn’t fucking cry, another thing he could thank heroes for.

You were dead and he couldn’t even shed a tear.

Nausea built up inside him, bubbling deep in his stomach. Ignoring the pain in his hand, if it got infected then so be it— he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it right now. Stumbling through the house, he found himself in the bedroom, the one you two had shared just two weeks ago. Bloodied and feeling a pit deep in his chest, he collapsed on the plastic-covered bed. He’d get his payback from those false heroes: the ones who couldn’t even save you. It was their fault.

Before he did, he just needed to stay here just one last time.

Masterlist

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamy #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha angst #mha angst #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi x reader #mha dabi x reader #bnha dabi x reader #dabi angst #bnha drabble #mha drabble #my work #request

[roses-ruby]

{Bunny Cam}

Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre: Stalker AU, Angst, Smut, Mature

Warnings: Masturbation, Oral (Male receiving), Sex but not really, Obsessive/Possessive behavior, Toxic relationships, Yandere, Cursing, Spanking, Homophobia, Mentions of a slur, Mentions of gore, Murder, People being shitty

Word Count: 14,242

Summary: He watches when you sleep, he knows if you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be bad only if you dare.

A/N: Lmao, the summary fucking sucks akfbkfbouhfo (so does the story). I planned this for kookie’s birthday but I wasn’t finished so fuck me. This is pretty dark so please be careful and make sure you read the warning! Edited but I’m always a dumbass so let me know if you find any mistakes. Also let me know what ya’ll think🥺 As always, enjoy!

He’d been at this for a while.

Well, a while could mean a considerable number of things. Let’s say he’s been at this for a long time; more accurately 3 years. He had your schedule memorized to a fault. The way you liked your eggs in the morning to the number of panties you owned, he could answer it in his sleep. He probably does, he thinks. Mumble about you in his sleep. You occupied his mind 24 hours in a day, and that’s why he felt he should be watching you all the time – like right now, as he sits uncomfortably on top of the willow tree next to your window. Perched in a posture that embarrasses him, with a branch digging into his inner thigh.

It’s all worth it when you finally come out from your steaming bathroom, a towel hanging dangerously low on your chest, showing the beginnings of your soft mounds. He almost moans at the sight, both from frustration at your tardiness and the sudden tightening of his crotch. Positioning his camera in front of his face, he eyes your figure through the lens. Careless yet graceful, you dance around your room from one end to another picking up your laundry and placing it in a basket. His camera softly shutters each time he decides to save a pose from you, which happens a lot. He wonders if he’ll get lucky once you head to your dresser and pick out a light orange sundress. A smile graces his features at your choice. It was one of his favorite dresses on you. But sadly, luck was not on his side as you come up to the window and shut the eggshell curtains on him.

Huffing, he sits up a tad to find the ledge he uses to exit the tree with his leg.

He learned the hard way that once you closed your curtains, you usually don’t open them for the rest of the day; so now he has to head home. He was disappointed of course, he wanted to continue watching you – especially in that dress. But its fine, better things await him at his house. Shoving his camera inside his satchel, he jumps off your back porch and runs to the alleyway a few meters from your place. There in the dark lane lays his locked bike, which he unlocks and hops on – beginning his ride home. He lived a few blocks away from you, not having the money to live in your side of town; but once he did, he planned on becoming your neighbor. It didn’t matter if you already had one, he knew he could take care of them easily.

After peddling for around a mile, he parks his bike near the run-down, motel-like apartment complex he lived in. Binding it to the rusted and useless ‘Cheap rooms available!’ board pole, he runs up the stairs to the second floor. The whole place was dirty, rat and roaches scurrying the floors ever so often, and there was a strong musty smell that enclosed the compound. The paint from the walls was chipping – tainted by unrecognizable stains and the wooden foundation grew mold. He hated this place, even if the rent made up for the appearance. Often, he would get into a quarrel with the land-owner, despising the man’s careless attitude towards the residence as well as toward his own rotten teeth and hairy chest. One day, he’d love to grab a blade and slice it right through the old man’s heart, but he promised you he’d only kill for you. Stomping his way past the ancient doors, he makes it to his own and slams it shut once inside.

His sanctuary.

Switching on the light of his small studio, he walks to the computer, settling his bag down by the twin bed. He scratches under his ribs over his hoodie as he settles into his chair. The tree by your house was filled with blood sucking bugs and he should probably do something about it, but he’s always so distracted by you he barely remembers to get other shit done. There was evidence of that scattered all over his cramped space, especially the floor. The 4 walls surrounding him are filled with photos of you on various days and angles. Polaroids of you hang in a line from a string on the ceiling, stretching out from one end of the room to the other. In front of him are multiple monitors, which he opens to reveal a video of you on your bed in your room. He lets out a content sigh at the sight of your calm form laying on your bed with a book. Your beauty shone even through the grainy pixels of the tiny spycam he hid in your room.

Moving the live feed to the smaller monitor on the right, he pulls up the spycam taping your bathroom, or more so your shower. He shuffles around his desk, picking up an open beer can from underneath his table. Relaxing back in his chair, he rewinds the broadcast to around 40 minutes ago, taking a sip of his drink. There you were, climbing into your shower, closing the glass door behind you. His eyes greedily graze your naked form, your radiant skin, the curve of your slender back, the way your nipples perked forward at the cold air. He was so glad he spent the extra money on this spycam with higher definition than the others hidden around your house, even if it left him broke for a month. His breath hitches when you slightly bend down to turn on the faucet, messing with the knob to get the perfect temperature for your shower with your ass on display. What he wouldn’t give to spread your cheeks apart, run his tongue along your folds and anus, drive his thick fingers deep into your cunt and have you dripping down his arm.

He didn’t notice how hard he was clenching the aluminum can until it exploded all over him, soaking through his jeans and hoodie. Groaning he picks up the tissue box next to his bed and begins wiping himself off. It was good that he became distracted before he could get too worked up, it was still light out and he didn’t want to be spent before midnight again. Throwing the tissues next to the other used tissues on the floor he gets back to doing his favorite thing. Pausing the window of your shower he brings back the live feed of you in your room to the main monitor. He smiles at you still lounging on your bed, the book placed over your chest as you scrolled away on your phone. You could be so lazy on the weekends, he cooed at your leg haphazardly dangling off the side of the bed. He loved it when you stayed indoors by yourself like a good little girl, it meant he could have you all to himself for the periods he spent watching you. It was just him and you, no one who could disturb his time between you both.

It isn’t clear to him when exactly you stopped connecting with the outer world. Perhaps it was when your lovers mysteriously vanished 3 years ago, or when men stopped trying to flirt with you all together. He recalls how scared you had been when officers came to interrogate you, and as bad as he felt – as much as he wanted to blow the heads off their burly bodies – he knew you deserved it for thinking you could make room in your life for anyone that wasn’t him. Or maybe it was because your best friend refused to talk to you ever again; a small rumor making its way to her ear about how you slept with her dad. Which was easy to believe seeing how he’d been fucking girls younger than his daughter for years. Most likely it’s when your parents cut off contact with you, the reigning black sheep of the family, when they received the sex tape you shot with your ex marked from you. An ex he ended up smashing each finger off of. Whatever it was, it was definitely because the gods had blessed him. You were meant for him and only him, and the circumstances that had all seemed to work in his favor only solidified that fact.

It was when he was off reminiscing about the most important years of his life that he bumped his leg into a hard brick-like object under his desk.

“Fuck,” He curses as his legs feels a light ting. Rolling back in his chair, he stares at the culprit that was the large stack of white paper. The manager had handed it all to him yesterday after he finished his second week of overtime; ‘to be stapled and collated’ he said. That motherfucker. Because of him – not only did Jungkook not have time to get home earlier to you, but he had to haul the hefty pile of papers uphill on his bike.

Whatever he thought about that guy doesn’t matter – he should get started on this task soon. Since this job is the one job he can’t afford to lose. So, with a heavy heart the young man clears his desk of the old ramen containers and sperm tissues and empty weed bags with one swift arm movement, cringing when he hears them hit the floor. Bending down, he easily heaves the stack up onto his now empty desk and begins to shuffle through them. Then he looks back up at you who’s back to reading her novel. If there was one thing he’d never do, it was show you how much of a slob he actually was. He couldn’t bear the thought of you finding him disgusting, so when he finally got you, he knew he’d do all the cleaning and housework. And that was fine with him, as long as he got to enjoy being a bit filthy while he was alone in this dreaded place. You would never find out, of course.

He starts to read the first document he grabs, something useless about company liability. Then he moves on to the next one, and the next. Until his mind is full of words and a yawn is crawling up his throat. Jungkook eyes you every few minutes or so, making sure you were still be his good girl. And that’s how he ends up spending his energy that day.

_

He wakes up with a large intake, forcing himself to sit up with his nose feeling strangely stuffed and his spine aching. As he adjusts his groggy vision, he notices the documents in a neater stack on the edge of his desk. That’s when he recalls the night before – how he was double tasking while trying to keep an eye on you lounging about. How you both took a break for dinner and watch some stupid melodrama with that tall actor you liked. And how he finally fell asleep on his desk at 2 in the morning while stapling said documents after you turned your lights off.

Jungkook didn’t have money for night vision cameras yet, but he was working on it! It sucks that everything was so expensive these days, especially love.

Yawning, he stretches his arms and back as he opens his sleeping screens hoping to see your face to cheer up his otherwise crappy consciousness. His face quickly falls however, when he notices you’re not in your bedroom or bathroom or living room or even your driveway.

Shit.

He freaks out and jumps out of his chair in sore legs, reaching for his bag on the bed.

9:12 his phone displays – making his round face turn pale. Running around in his room, he rushes to get ready. His bladder was especially full of the beers from last night. Other than that, there wasn’t much he had worry about since everything could be easily completed by multitasking. Such as brushing your teeth while pulling up your socks or combing your hair and looping your belt. After chaotically tying his white striped tie around his collared neck, he spritzes on the expensive cologne you once mentioned you like on a man, spraying on a bit more than usual since he hadn’t had time to shower. With that, he stuffs the skillfully collated and stapled documents into his black leather satchel and sprints out the door.

20 minutes later he was in front of the 25-story glass building. His nerves were eating at him as he hastily locked in his bike and entered the automatic doors. In front of him stood a black suited man in shades with his arms crossed.

As Jungkook jogged up a couple steps, the man raised his huge hand to stop him.

“I.D. please,” He spoke in a gruff voice

“Right,” Jungkook zipped open the front pocket of his satchel and brought out an employee I.D., swinging it around his neck. The man stepped aside, and he let Jungkook scan his I.D. in the machine next to him, that let out a green light afterward – letting him inside the small screen doors. He exhaled a breath, continuing his run to the elevators and punching in his floor. His insides felt like they were plummeting the whole ride up.

He really just wanted to quietly go to his desk, without making any ruckus or causing a scene but luck wasn’t on his side this time as the first person he sees when the doors slide open is his aging supervisor and his scowl. Once the man thoroughly eyes him in minor surprise of running into him, he frowns.

“You’re late,” The man grit through his yellow teeth

“I’m s-sorry, sir. I was up all night an-”

“I didn’t ask for excuses Jeon,” He sneers, “This is the second time this month, once more and I’ll have you kicked out of here- ass first, understand?”

“Yes sir,” Jungkook bows and steps aside to let the man use the elevator.

Before the doors slide close, his supervisor gives him another threatening glare. “Did you finish what I ordered? I’ll be back soon, and I better not find one mistake on those documents, you hear me Jeon?

“Yes sir” Like hell you’ll be back soon, you aging bastard.

Once he’s out of sight, Jungkook let’s out a sigh. He thought he was gonna lose his job today for sure. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Mr. Jang to act this way towards him and most of the team. The only people – correction women he’s nice to are the ones he finds fuckable. Still, he’s glad this didn’t happen in front of you.

He opens the doors to the office space, breathing in the cold air conditioning and watching everyone scurry about as usual. Some girls glance at him as he indifferently passes them on his way to his corner. His desk was luckily located with yours directly in front. Even though yours was closer to the Manager’s office and his was further back near the conference room. When he sits down in his chair, he notices you’re not at your desk. For a few minutes, he just eyes your empty area with confusion. The worry he felt this morning crawling back into his system.

But it quickly dissipates once you make your way out of the manager’s office, a few files in tucked under your right arm. Jungkook’s mood easily shifts at the sight of you and his heart starts to beat faster. He couldn’t go too long without seeing you, your graceful figure in that tight pencil skirt flawlessly hugging your hips. You sat at the front with rest of Team A who you supervised. Your side of the lineup were considered company gems; the pay was better, working conditions were more lenient and you all even had a dental plan. Sadly, thanks to him not knowing what to do and ultimately dropping out of college, he was grouped into Team B – the dispensable ones. His group was overworked and underpaid – even though the company made it seem like they treated all their employees equally. That was total bullshit.

And they had the worst fucking supervisor. An ancient stickler tyrant who acted like he was stepping out for business when Jungkook knew he was out fucking some blonde prostitute he was obsessed with in some cheap motel behind his sick wife’s back. Nothing in this company benefitted him. Not the pay, not the hours, and definitely not the bitchass supervisor. Nevertheless, he slaved all his days in this building for you. Looking up in your direction again, he smiles. He got to see you every day and that was enough for him. As long as you remained here, he would never quit. Just then a scowl made its way onto his soft features. What were you doing in the manager’s office half the time? Jungkook knew it wasn’t anything like that – that you were just doing your job, but doesn’t he call you in way too many times a day? His fingers clenched the strap of his bag as Jungkook thought about that man making a move on you.

You’re not good enough.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the clacking of heels and a pleasant scent light up his area.

“Jungkook?”

He jumps when he hears your voice, rolling back slightly. There – in front of him you stood with a large halo surrounding your figure. His throat feels caught as you meet his eyes and raise an eyebrow. You were the most beautiful being in the universe, he bet even angels compared themselves to you. But they wouldn’t hold a candle. Jungkook felt over the moon at your proximity, cameras couldn’t capture the absolute divinity you embodied so casually. The tip of your nose, the smoothness of your glowing skin, the light makeup over your eyelids. Even the posture you stood in was lethal. Everything was luring him in until he was completely lost and at your mercy, and he’s certain that showed on his face. He sucks in a breath as he hears you speak again, some uneasiness in your melodious tone.

“Umm…you’re Jungkook, correct?”

As he processes your expression at his odd behavior, he forces himself out of his reverie. Can’t have you thinking he’s a weirdo.

“Y-Y…Yes,” He manages

“Oh, good. I was just wondering if you have those documents Mr. Jang asked for? He called to tell me he would be a bit late and if I could retrieve them and give them to Mr. Kim”

Jungkook had always wanted to skin the face off his supervisor, but in this moment, he’s never adored a man more in his life. You actually came all the way over here and talked to Jungkook because of that old man’s incompetence. He hopes Mr. Jang receives the blowjob of his life today.

You eye the boy staring at you with wide bunny eyes. He was always so strange, you wondered why your female colleagues gushed over him so much. You were about to speak again when he stands up straight – making your startled feet shift backwards slightly.

“Umm…Yes!! I have them,” Jungkook states with his voice higher than usual. He opens his satchel and digs out all the documents, presenting them to you with one hand.

“Oh, thank you,” As soon as you reach out for them and bumped your hand into his accidently, he let’s all the documents go. They fall to the floor with a loud ‘thunk’ making a few heads in the neighboring desks turn your way. “Oops.”

You bend to the ground, gathering up all the paper once again. Most of them were in stapled piles, so thankfully they didn’t scatter around too much. When you assembled the bunch, you look back up at him from your position on the floor. His eyes seemed like they would pop out of his skull and you thought you heard him gulp as he continued to observe your position on the ground. Slowly you stand up straight, feeling unnerved.

“Thank you,” You say once again holding the documents on your chest. When you fail to obtain a response, you just awkwardly turn around, sensing his eyes following you all the way back to your desk.

What a weird guy.

_

Jungkook’s legs feel like a frail horse once he makes it back home. Trudging up the stairs and into his room with a slumped back, he jumps right into bed and kicks off his office shoes. He covers his eyes with his arms.

Then he smiles, stretching his pink lips and displaying his bunny teeth. He smiles so big and wide.

Wow. Wow. Wow. WOW.

You graced his presence. You talked to him. You even touched him.

Holding his face in his hands, he rolls around the compact bed like a teenage girl. Holy shit. This was real.

It’s not that you hadn’t spoken to him before – I mean you both did work in the same company for years and he’s wrote down previous dates of conversations in his both his calendar and journal. But you’ve never made this much eye contact, he’s never got to study your face this close for so long, and you definitely had never touched him. He almost exploded right then.

And then, the part that virtually killed him. You were on your knees…right below him. Innocently staring back up at him. FUCK!

Jungkook groans as recalling that image has him hard instantly. His mind was racing, and he felt he was going crazy with his body temperature continuing to climb. The sun was just beginning to set which let orange streaks of light into his room through the blinds. He huffs as his hand caresses down his torso to grab his bulge, hissing when his fingers make contact. Swiftly, he unbuckles his slacks, pulling them off his butt to rest on his knees. He continues to fondle his hard on through his briefs, moaning when imagining your soft hand instead of his much larger one.

His imagination takes him back a few hours ago, with you on your knees in front of him. But this time there’s no documents on the floor to pick up. This time, no one else is around the chattery office space – unworthy peasants breathing the same air as you. This time, your eyes have a dark undertone in them as you sit there without any clothes on. Your skin was as smooth as porcelain, color reflecting the ceiling lights of the office. He holds his breath when you take your right breast in your hand, pinching your perky nipple with your thumb and index finger. No distractions. No distance. It’s just you and him, and this heavy atmosphere.

“Jungkook,” You say in a sultry tone, crawling closer to him on all fours.

“Fuck,” He curses as you hook your fingers into the waist band of his underwear, slowly pulling the cloth down with a smirk. Jungkook catches a tiny gasp from you as his erection springs up to his stomach in front of your face. You lightly grab the underside of his shaft as his breathing becomes heavy. Poking your tongue out – you lick a stripe up his dick, and he tenses, shoulders rolling back with a shiver. With a mischievous glint, you bring your tongue around the top, swirling his precum over his head while tracing a vein up his shaft with a manicured finger. Your hand bobs up and down his dick as you continue to skillfully twirl your tongue around the tip. His hand clenches tightly as you wrap your pretty lips around the head and hallow out your cheeks to suck.

“Ahhnn,” He hopes you don’t mind his loud, sort of feminine moans. But he still bites his lip to suppress them.

You remove yourself with a pop. Your hand was still gripping around his dick, steadily moving along his rod. Stretching your lips, you wink up at him and he has to do everything in his power not to fall to the ground. He was light headed with lust clouding his vision. The room had gotten dimmer sometime ago, he could only make you out as he did this morning. Your strawberry scent invading his rationality as you sat in front of him. Your honey tone as you repeated his name. The way your red lips curved with every syllable you spoke. Lips you were once again opening as he took your luscious locks in his fingers and directed his dick along your mouth. For a moment he just traced around your lips, glossing them with precum. These lips were his possession along with the rest of you, only he gets to claim them. Then he brought his head back inside your mouth, watching you take all of him in with hooded eyes. Inching his way inside, he saw your jaw go slack and lids flutter the more he forced himself in. You looked so beautiful with tears surrounding your sockets as you struggled to breath when he hit the back of your throat.

“You’re so perfect baby,” Your warm cavern was made for this – for him. Once he feels your throat muscles relax against him, he takes himself out ever so slow, obsessed with how wet his dick became with your saliva. Just to push himself inside again, holding your head down as you struggled. He threw his head back, failing to keep his moans quiet as you gagged around him with your nails pushing at his thighs. Tightening his fingers amongst your hair, he pulled your head back with force before he stuffed you full of himself once again.

He keeps that pace swift and harsh, frustrated at how you were always a few feet from him yet still so far away. This is what he needs, what he craves. His heart beats harder every time he shoves into your wet entrance, watching the way hot tears roll down your cheek but you don’t try to fight off his brutal thrusts. Saliva was sticking at the edge of your lips; your jaw was practically unhinged at his girth and lipstick was smeared all over his dick. You let him use your face like a fuck doll, rolling your eyes into the back of your head as he speeds up with his orgasm approaching.

“You – you’re so beautiful,” He grunts with every thrust “My angel, my doll, my fuck toy. M-Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Words slurred against his mouth as you laid your tongue flat against his shaft, slick dripping of your chin. As his arms fell to his sides, you once again took control of bobbing your mouth and hand against his length. It was really just himself and his own fingers but God he could imagine it so well. He could retrace every part of your body – practically ingrained in his mind from how much time he spent stalking observing you. Hours would go by of him watching you masturbate. Memorizing each facial expression of yours. Thirsting for your heat – this thirst, this is exactly how’d you feel. Jungkook could practically taste it.

He cums with one last push inside your warm mouth and a loud cry of your name.

Opening his eyes, he takes in large breaths gaping at the ceiling of his apartment. Holy fuck, it’d been a while since he came so hard. Chest moving up and down – it takes a moment for him to calm himself. Still high off your pretty face stuffed with his dick. He lays limp in his bed, bringing his hand up to see the insane amount of cum covering his palm. This part always brought him an odd grief. Having to ‘wake up.’ Be alone in his dirty room with your divine company no longer in sight. There was an empty feeling, not just in his balls but in his heart. It was all your fault. Coming near him with those big doe eyes, practically begging him to fuck you on your knees. Yet you wouldn’t let him…not right now. Fuck. Fuck you.

Jungkook knew it wasn’t the right time, that you didn’t know him well enough for him to make a move, but his patience was wearing thin. He had to act fast since he desperately wanted this dream to become a reality.

_

You were typing away at your keyboard screen, finishing whatever goddamn report of the month. At this point, you were moving in autopilot not even registering any words that were making their way onto the screen. Your back aches as you sigh, you really hated this job. If the pay wasn’t so good, you would’ve quit so long ago. The only good thing about this company was the dental plan really, and the big house you got to afford due to your wages. Co-workers of yours were snarky pieces of shit who excluded you in any activities due to you being the boss’ favorite. Communicating with them was always troublesome, which is why you were here working overtime alone on this 4-person job. At least your co-supervisor was a nice old guy who acted like a gentleman. Really trashy towards his own team though and you were pretty sure he was cheating on his sick wife. When you were almost done with the last paragraph, your phone next to your coffee mug decided to buzz and interrupt the silent, dim office space.

You pick it up reluctantly, already knowing who’d be behind the bright screen. As usual, your misery proves you correct as the name of your arrogant dick for a boss flashes on your phone screen. He was one of those types; the men that feel like they’ve led a hard-working life because they went to a prestigious college without a sport’s scholarship even if they enrolled with their rich parent’s money. Any sort of self-reflection towards their privilege fails to register within them. This man called you for fifty things a day even though he had his own slutty secretary on her knees every time he asked. Maybe you’d feel for the girl if she wasn’t scowling at you whenever you passed by her desk to reach his office. You knew she hated you because he had a thing for you. When he wasn’t calling you in just to subtly check out your ass, he was making passive sexual remarks in completely normal work-related conversations.

It’s not like you didn’t find him attractive. He was tall, dark and you knew he was eating rich with how much time you spent eyeing his muscles. But god was he dumb as fuck. And he didn’t enthuse you any bit, other than maybe imagining him pounding into you from behind with his thick fingers wrapped around your neck. Sexual attraction was normal you suppose – you were two young attractive adults after all. But other than that, you really desired nothing to do with him. Actually, you desired no relationship with anyone at all, for that matter.

Since your last boyfriend’s disappearance three years ago, you recall being too scared to date for a while. Staying at home 24/7 and opting to buy some large dildos in the place of men. But that fear had left you long ago. Slowly, you became someone who just didn’t care in searching for fairytale romance or a passionate night with the love of your life. Instead you just wanted to feel the thrill of being alive, that ecstasy of feeling afraid – waiting for the unknown. You wanted to feel like you did when you saw your dead boyfriend’s horribly mutilated corpse. But that moment had fled too fast and everything around you had become predictable in some gloomy, miserable pattern – with nothing to excite you. Your life had actually become so unbearably boring that you had all the time in the world to accept these insane thoughts into your head, with no one to stop you from so. There was no point in shame any longer, you had your fair share of that when your isolation first started turning you insane.

The more reclusive you stayed, the more apathetic you became.

Sighing, you click on his name to see what he wanted with you at this lovely time of the evening.

‘Had Lana review the documents

She said a page is missing from the last stack

Ask the intern about it’

Of course, he would think Jungkook was an intern. He surely paid him like one. You look up at his empty desk. For once in their despondent lifespan, Team B was allowed to head home on time. Great that meant you’d have to talk to that oddball again in the morning. Lost in thought at your dreadful near future, you get startled as your phone buzzes yet again.

‘More importantly, we’re still up for tmrw night, right?😉’

Staring at the screen with insignificance, you type your reply with bitter fingers.

‘Of course, sir❤’

When you’re about to type him a reply for the ‘intern’ text, a twinkle from across the room catches your eye. You glance back up to see the outline of an unfamiliar object on Jungkook’s desk. Peering into the indistinct space, you desperately tried to make out what was sticking up from his otherwise flat desktop. Oh, right! It hit you then – that was the black bag he carries around daily.

Honestly, you always thought he was weird, and you didn’t pay much attention to Jungkook. Writing him off as another tedious side character that appears in your timeline here and there. The ladies of the office surely seemed to disagree with you, obsessively gushing over his bunny-like features and sturdy physique. Little boys like him didn’t interest you. But you did find yourself studying him sometimes – you’ve always been a curious person – which is why you knew he carried that bag everywhere with him, never letting it out of his sight. Even today, he handed you the pile of papers straight from that satchel. He kept everything in there, how could he forget it here?! Although…he did look out of it the whole day today after your small interaction with him. Maybe he was unwell?

Whatever it was, the situation at hand was more important. If you told your boss Jungkook had left for home, even though he had every right to, he might get fired. That man was impulsive and became furious over the dumbest situations. He once fired an employee that gave 16 years to this company for not ‘ordering the right cupcakes for his favorite client.’ Groaning, you stand up and walk across the office to Jungkook’s desk, your heels clacking amongst the floor. As you thought, it really was his bag that was thrown on his desk.

It wasn’t right to look through his things and you didn’t want to, but you couldn’t have this young man losing his job over something as small as this. Something you can easily fix…hopefully. But why should his status at the company concern you in the least anyway? If he is or isn’t thrown out, it wouldn’t harm your life in at all. Crossing your arms in irritation at the headache starting from the battle of your moral interpretations, you reason that it wouldn’t hurt you to do one kind thing. Perhaps it might land you that promotion you were seeking tomorrow.

You felt bad. Your gut told you something was wrong. What if it’s not in there and you just invade his privacy for no good reason?

With reluctance you grabbed his bag, opening the zipper in slow motion.

Jungkook was peddling as fast as he could. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. How could he be so stupid. The whole fiasco with you talking to him today and his stupid hormones made him overlook something important. It was ridiculous how he was more concerned in getting home and jerking off to you then paying attention to any of his surroundings. Shit. If only you knew of the power you had over him. He didn’t even remember the dumb item until he was looking for his expensive camera when he recalled leaving it in that bag and leaving said bag back at his desk! Everyone had probably gone home by now, right? He knows some of the janitors steal from the pricks of Team A, but if a whole leather bag is on his desk won’t they at least take a glimpse? SHIT. Jungkook pushes his feet down on the peddles with great force, practically flying towards the workplace like a car.

There wasn’t any way he could afford for anyone to see what was on that camera.

Barging into the office on two left legs, he wheezes with his palms on his knees as he surveils the area around him. Most of the lights are off and the room is empty of life or noise. In a hurry, he had run into some of the caretakers downstairs and they told him they didn’t start on his floor yet. Out of habit, he glances at your desk, to find you staring at him with wide eyes. He straightens himself immediately, closing his mouth along with the racket of his breaths.

Why were you still here?

You had your hands hovering the keyboard and a fresh batch of coffee stood next to you. Were you supposed to be working overtime today? He thought it was tomorrow because he memorized your schedule for this month last week. Did your plans change without him knowing?

As he continues to leer at you, you clear your throat which makes him snap out of his daydream. Carefully, he turns away from you walking towards his desk. The bag is still right where he left it. He knows he can just grab it and go, but the fact that you’re here with him…alone of all things. How good could today get? Fuck, he thought he drained himself enough for today, but his mind was still racing with substantial thoughts. Would it be okay if he talks to you? Maybe he could help you out in whatever you were working on. Before he could get too far and freak you out, he grabs his bag and swings it around his shoulder. Turning around again he takes slow step, trying to seem casual. Was he walking too awkwardly? Did he look good in this hoodie?

When he’s a couple steps from the door, you call out to him.

“Jungkook?”

He faces you with giant deer eyes, “Yes?”

“I received a text from Mr. Kim stating that the last page from the documents you gave me this morning was missing. Do you think you have it in your bag?”

He takes a moment to process what you said, “Yes? Um…Oh right,” He begins digging in his satchel. And there it was, one single page – stuck to the bottom, ripped from the edge where it was originally stapled. The corner of his lip perks up when he finds his camera on top of the document. “Here you go”

Walking over to you, he hands out the paper and you notice it shaking in his fingers.

“Thank you, that’s all.” You say, gently taking the paper from his trembling grasp. Setting it down aside, you pick up your mug to take a sip of your coffee. It was still steaming so you blow on it slightly, puckering your lips. That’s when you notice the shadow in your peripheral vison. You look up to find Jungkook – still as a tree – gawking at you behind an unreadable expression.

“Yes?” You say in a confused tone

“N-no nothing” He stutters, clutching the straps of his bag tightly. “Sorry,” He states, before walking away from you. Turning his head subtly, he gives you one last glance before he heads out the door.

_

Jungkook was sure he was going to pop open his knuckles as his characters dies once again. He had been gaming for what – two hours straight? His room was lit with only his PC’s screens, and he’s sure his eyes would drop out of his sockets if he doesn’t close them soon. Also, he’d definitely lose his voice from screaming into his mic so much at the arrogant teenage brat who keeps mocking him. If only this damn kid appeared two days ago. His gameplay sucks because his focus is somewhere else – on someone else. Yesterday’s events had punctured both his mind and balls and he was completely spent. Yet you still continued to linger in his mind, like you had your hand wrapped around his brain.

It was destiny, Jungkook believes. It was a sign; the stars are telling him to make his move. Finally, after three years all he needed was some form of answer to his craving for you and he knows he’s received it as of yesterday. He was planning on talking to you by the end of the week, maybe asking you out to coffee like normal people do. There was always that fear of you saying no, but not after last night. Jungkook acknowledges he’s handsome, knows how people view him both in the office and out on the streets. Unlike some of the virgins on his server, he’s had his fair share of pussy before.

There were tons of different types he encountered. A few girls that were looking for a handsome fling. Others wanting arm candy. The most annoying girls repeatedly tried to find a way to get beneath the sexual layer – thinking themselves to be saviors or that he’s some poor lost ‘badboy’ who needs saving – clinging onto him with their delusional fantasies. They were always the hardest to shake off. His favorite type were the girls who understood that they have no meaning to him, they just wanted to get spit on and choked during intercourse. This was all way before he met you, of course. Before he pledged his faithfulness to his and your relationship. Nevertheless, he does know how to get into a woman’s pants.

He wants more with you, however. He wants to hold your hand whenever he feels like it and laugh with you at the cheesy dramas you watch and come home to you when the dark thoughts in his head overwhelm him and his loneliness eats away his soul. Jungkook’s never understood what love is or why people put themselves through pain for something as silly as that, at least not until he met you. What he feels for you, its love isn’t it? It consumes him entirely and he numbs the ache of not having you by watching over you compulsively. By memorizing your habits, by making you as alone as he is. Funny…he thinks he’s become like those girls he hated. A more excessive version, perhaps.

Jungkook growls as he dies yet again and closes off his sever. Today was just not his day. He discards his headset and grabs his unfinished ramen cup, practically shoving the last of its contents into his mouth in one large take. Throwing it to the side, he grabs his energy drink and downs it in one go while he’s still chewing to help swallow without difficulty. Stretching his shoulders, he huffs, looking at the time on his screen. You were probably making dinner right now. Maybe watching a horror movie or finishing your novel. What if you were in that mood tonight, the one that made you rip off all your clothes and seize whatever sex toy you touched first in your drawer. He loved your dildos the most, he was always amazed at how they stretched out your cunt so nice and tight. Exactly like he wants to. Sometimes he’d break into your house just to lick them clean.

Shuddering from his thoughts, he opens his folder where he stores the camera records. His favorite part of watching you was the anticipation. He clicks the kitchen cam to find it empty. Okay, so you weren’t cooking. He goes on to click the living room cam. Also empty. In excitement, he clicks the bedroom cam…to find it blank? The screen was black, and it darkened his entire room. There was no sound or even static from the tape. Great…it’s probably broken.

He sighs, staring at the monitor in scrutiny. There were other times when his spycam’s malfunctioned or broke down over the past three years and it was always such a hassle. Barely managing to excuse himself from work to sneak into your house when you’re not around, finding the spycam (and maybe taking a trinket of yours), getting back home to diagnose it. And either spending hours fixing it or spending money replacing it. Then sneaking back in and placing it back up. Always took a lot of work and interesting fact he discovered – acting like a thief was sort of dangerous! Who would’ve thought? His ‘all black ensemble all the time’ hadn’t helped either. Your neighbor almost caught him last time.

Today was really not his day, but the important thing was to see what you were doing. He glances at his camera on the side of the desk. Would you have your window open tonight? Well…there was only one way to know for sure. He gets up from his chair, pausing a bit as his vision blacks out for a moment. When it returns, he grabs his camera and stuffs it in his satchel. Then he slips out of his sweats to pull up his jeans and has to sit on the bed to wear his heavy easy climb shoes. Once he picks up his keys, he’s out the door into the cool summer night.

The bike to your place was easy, the wind blew through his hair like a lullaby. His hair was getting quite long, most of it reaching halfway to his ears. He was going to cut it, but he saw you eyeing him last week. There was no way he was letting scissors come near him now, not with the way your gaze glossed over his strands.

He finally reaches the usual alleyway and locks his bike by a drain pipe, making sure to secure it tightly. The reason why he parked it here was so no one takes note of the large blue P5X in the middle of the backroad behind your house as it was too heavy to carry over your fence. Besides, he’d trust the abandoned alleyway any day over the quite suburban neighborhoods. If movies have taught him anything, it’s that the nice-looking places are always the deadliest. That’s another reason he’s installed cameras around your house; for your own safety.

Jungkook spots your place after a short walk, turning his slow steps into a quick jog. As he comes near, he notices the light of your bedroom window beaming into the road, and he quietly cheers. Your window was open – he finally gets to see your pretty face. When he was in front of your house, he hops the familiar fence into your slightly unkept backyard. Once he moves in with you, the first thing he’s going to do is mow the fucking lawn. He walks up to the willow tree standing sturdy by your window, waiting on him to climb on. He loved this fucking tree, it was truly a pure and majestic plant.

As usual, he grabs onto a firm piece of bark and he uses his shoe to push himself up. He repeats this process until he’s safely tucked into the branches of the large tree. As usual, the leaves were blocking his way, and also protecting him from getting caught. Using the leaves as a cover, he gets himself ready by pulling out his camera and perching himself on his stomach. And as usual he moved towards the light behind the leaves.

As usual. Everything was supposed to be as fucking usual. But today was not his fucking day, was it?

When he finally gets a view behind the leaves using the lens of his camera, he almost drops out the tree all together. He let’s out a loud involuntary gasp. His throat constricts and his eyes widen at the sight he’s met with.

He first saw your eyes, your beautiful shapely eyes clenched together in ecstasy. Then he saw your arms. Your healthy, silky arms grasping onto someone’s broad back. And then your legs. Your sexy, glowing skin folded on someone’s hips. Hips that should’ve been his. He moves his camera out of his sight, taking your position in with his own two eyes. There you were, with your jaw hanging open and your body blocked out by someone else’s, a body you were urgently clinging onto. From then on started the moans. He hadn’t registered them before until just now, his brain connecting the movement of your mouth to the soft moans just now reaching his ears. A shaky breath leaves him.

“Uhh – ahh-” You were getting fucked, up against your wall.

“There,” You were mewling for the man pounding your smaller frame

“Faster!” A sob leaves his throat, his pants tightening at the scene. No, he didn’t want to get hard at this, not when his heart was shattering into a million pieces. But his body refused to listen to him as his dick started leaking precum

There was slight sweat on your forehead, your eyebrows were furrowed, and your now open eyes were glazed with desire. The muscles of the stranger tense as he holds you, hard ridges producing beads of perspiration – both yours and his – leaving no distance between your entangled limbs. He doesn’t know what to feel, just that his body hurts a lot all of a sudden. He accidently presses the camera shutter, not noticing it taking one pick after the other of the dreadful scene in front of him. Suddenly you make eye contact with him and his whole figure freezes.

You were looking. Fuck. You were staring straight at him, he knows you could tell he was here. He should get the fuck out of here – leave this place immediately but he’s frozen. The pounding of his heart intensifies when you smile.

You were…smiling? You were staring straight at him and…smiling? What the fuck was going on? A chill ran down his spine.

While making direct eye contact with him, you smirk, bringing your hand up to grab your boss’ locks. “Right there, baby,” You groan, throwing your head back but still staring out that window. “Ahh-You do it so well, better than mm- anyone.”

Jungkook was crying. He felt the tears leaves his sockets one by one. It was those days again – the ones three years ago. When you would break his heart daily by casually dating or flirting. When he had to put together that revolting tape of you and your now ex. Nausea crept his insides, his arms felt limp. Only the shadows know how he survived that time period. And it was supposed to be gone, that retched habit of yours. You were only his now. Yet here you were, with that evil glint in your menacing stare, mocking him with every breath that left your lungs.

When the bastard moves his head to the side to nose your neck, is when Jungkook catches a glimpse of the man who tore you away from him. It was him…your boss. Jungkook’s breathing becomes heavy.

You were doing this on purpose. You were torturing Jungkook on purpose. But WHY?! Why would you do that to him? Are you punishing him? It’s not something he knows for certain, but he does know this man had corrupted you. He took you away from Jungkook. He made you become this cruel. And Jungkook doesn’t share what’s his, ever.

It was that sudden thought just then, that blackened his pupils and clenched his teeth. The tears became hot, leaving a fire in their trail and burning the skin of his cheek. He no longer cried out of utter devastation, but a new emotion fueled him – bought back the energy that drives him to pursue you. Anger. Red, hot, scorching anger.

“I’m gonna cum”

He can no longer digest the scene. His stomach churned at the sight and he forced himself away, jumping out of the tree and falling feet-first into the lawn. As he straightened up, the ache got worse, his head felt like it would explode any second. So, he leaned on the bark, trying to keep cool. It didn’t work though as his mouth dropped open and he threw up all over the roots of the plant. His throat constricted and he struggled to breathe, eyes wide at the misery at hand. When he was done vomiting his guts, he took a step back and observed the sight in coughs he tried to keep silent. Pieces of food had mushed together and dyed into a green unidentifiable gunk by his energy drink, drenching the roots and grass surronding of the tree. He felt so sick, eyes hazy and the gross stench filling his nostrils. As soon as his conscious cleared a bit, he ran away from the scene of the crime.

Jungkook ran from the tree. From your yard. From the long backroad. All the way back to that silent alley way, not once looking back.

He was out of breath once he found his bike. Too exhausted to drive for now, he rested his arms on the wall. That’s when he noticed some of the contents from his earlier actions got on his pants and he wiped away at them furiously, grunting loudly. His grunts soon became whimpers and his eyes blurred once again as he let out a loud wail. Why would you do this to him? Why? He did everything for you, just to be with you…so WHY?

His body is shaking as he hangs onto the wall, trying to wipe tonight from his mind. The longer he thinks about, the crazier he becomes. Images continue to plague his mind and he shouts curses into the wall as his crotch continues to ache.

Why was he hard at a time like this? What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

No longer having the energy to care, with one last curse he unbuckles his jeans and pulls out his raging dick. Immediately he starts stroking his shaft strong and fast, and he uses the last of his adrenaline to fuel his pace.

He can see it still, your naked form. The gorgeous expanse of your skin and your legs spread apart. Except this time, you’re bent over your bed with your ass on display for him. Only for him. Your hands are tied behind your back but you’re not struggling. Yet.

Grunting, he jerks himself off as he imagines raising his hand up – then landing it straight on your soft ass cheek. You cry out as you shift away from him only to have him hold you down with his other arm. The skin around your butt becomes a rosy color, his hand print appearing in the aftermath. Immediately his pupils blow out, breath coming in hefty takes as he one again raises his hand towards your other cheek.

“How *smack* dare *smack * you *smack*” He grits out the last word so hard that he accidently bites his tongue. The taste of iron swirled in his mouth. Your cries were muffled against the bed your face was stuffed in and it makes his heart ache. This isn’t what he wanted, he only wanted to make sweet love to you. Give you everything you asked for. But he was weak and inept…underprivileged and a good-for-nothing. His insecurities held him back for three fucking years, but he was trying. Groveling away in the only company that would hire him. Letting himself be belittled, ridiculed, endlessly worked…all for you. He was trying really hard. Hiccupping as tears fall down his face, he rubs against your bottom to sooth you, not taking his eyes off of your cunt.

In exchange, that man embodied everything he wasn’t. Money. Status. Power. He could provide for you – he could give you anything you wanted and maybe that’s why he got to touch you. Jungkook recoils, recollecting what a dumbass horndog he became just because his fingers brushed yours. How sad was it that after all his efforts, Jungkook was stuck behind his dirty 4 walls masturbating to thoughts of you every night while this man got to live his dream without even half the work? What had he done to deserve you?

Not good enough. Not good enough. You’re not good enough.

“W-Why…did you do that t-to *hiccup* me”

“Why, when I love you so much?” When he recalls what you did, all the anger comes back. Red paints his vision as he once again spanks you like crazy, not caring about your screams this time. With how you angled your ass, you were practically urging him to continue. Heat radiates from you and his palm, his mind traveling a mile a minute. He brings his thigh up to your core, enjoying the way you instantly soak through his jeans while whining at the stimulation. Not just your suffering but even your face wasn’t correctly recreating in his perception, because to him this wasn’t about you. It was about your lack of fucking respect for him. Right now, only his pleasure mattered to his brain.

Pausing his merciless attack, he enjoys the view of your dripping cunt. Once again mindlessly rubbing at your bottom. Grabbing your sore ass cheek with one hand, he positions his dick at your entrance with his other. He groans as he sinks into you, stretching your insides apart. Fuck, if it felt this good in his own mind then he can’t even fathom how it would feel in reality. As he settles all the way inside, he doesn’t wait for you to relax around him. No, he wouldn’t wait for you.

Instead he pulls out and slams against you balls deep with one swift thrust. His moans sound out in sync with your cries – pleading for his forgiveness.

Before he could help it, he cums right then – abruptly, unfinished and the fury still alive in his bones. Inhumane growls come from him as he’s faced with the red brick wall that he coats with hot white strings of his semen. Bumping his forehead onto that wall, he slows his breathing, watching as the white streaks drip down the uneven ridges of the bricks. Reality kicks in. This is how it would be every time, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t get to be inside you, he wouldn’t get to taste you, and he would spend away his days ejaculating prematurely like a fucking child.

Unless he did something about this.

Something he hasn’t done in a while.

As the young man continues to stand alone in that alleyway, an idea forms in his head. Since you were staring at him in such a sinister way – no surprise or fright in your face – you know exactly what he was doing and probably who he was. For the first moment that night, he flashes his pearly whites. Looks like it was finally time for you both to officially meet.

_

The man paced as fast as his heavy legs could take him, trying his best to seem confident and not an object of suspicion. Sweat was building in his temple and he could feel it. In that moment, all of his senses were at their peak and he’d probably be able to feel the flutter of a fly’s wings or a mole beneath his feet. As he wasn’t the most athletic, he was already out of breath from the steps he had taken, but he clamped his mouth shut. His eyes wandered around everywhere, staying no place more than a few seconds.

When he opens the doors of the building, he’s greeted with another presence.

“Good evening Mr. Jang.” A young janitor, probably his son’s age tells him. It has an unsettling effect on him – one where his eyes widen, and eyebrows raise. He responds with a forced smile, teeth clamoring faintly, as he continues to walk on by.

“Yes, good evening.” The worker’s pupils follow the blue suited man all the way to the elevator, where they are involuntary required to make eye contact again as he waits for his lift to arrive. Another forced smile from his side.

The elevator doors open quickly to Jang’s relief, and he gets inside. He hits the top floor immediately and looks towards his shoes. For a few seconds he just blinks, trying to see if this was some hellish nightmare he was stuck inside. If he could somehow wake up to a better reality. With her lying next to him.

The lift reaches the top floor and lets him out, he quietly walks into the windy night enclosed by the vacant terrace. There he pauses, running a palm on his bare head a few times to ease his discomfort. She did that for him too, it always calmed him down.

His phone rings. Again.

“Y…Hello…yes I’m at the rooftop. Yes, I’m alone.”

The aging man shifts on his legs as the distorted voice replies to him. It was that contrast of the unusually deep baritone in one ear and noiseless summer night in his other that ran a chill up his spine.

“I’ll do it…but please can I ask wh- no! NO! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again. I’ll do what you asked!”

“Just please,” He begs, bringing his hands up in the darkness to his head, “Don’t send those photographs to my wife…”

He sniffles bitter and exhausted, as the call ends and he’s once again completely alone. Eyeing his phone, he stands there for a bit just exhaling through his nose. The calm before the storm let’s say. Never in his life has he considered himself a kind man, he always took what he wanted from who he wanted as much as life allowed him to. His wife was just some rich whore he managed to impregnate in the 80’s, he didn’t mean to make a life with her. He also didn’t mean to just watch as life left her. But he can’t change what happened; he can’t change that they have a son who rarely speaks to them, he can’t change that he found another woman – much younger, much tighter. And he can’t change taking a generous life insurance policy out on her ill body. Divorce isn’t something he could afford, not when he’s this close.

Instead was he a murderer? No, he couldn’t cause someone’s death even if he was hoping for another’s. So that has to account for something, right? It was the least he earned to be able to love himself…didn’t he? With a deep sigh and a muffled sob, he clicks on his boss’s name and waits as his phone starts ringing, holding it next to his ear.

“Hello?”

He did it…he called him. Now he should start talking but no – the words won’t come out. Should he tell him the truth? Should he stick to the script? All he could do was stand there with his mouth catching flies as the other line repeats his greetings.

“Hello? Jang, what the fuck? I know it’s you. What the fuck do you want at this time of night?”

Compared to the other call, this man’s voice was louder, and he hated it twice as much. Perhaps this was destiny, a twisted fate of all the choices he’s made in the past couple of years. Kim had always been a brat, the reason Jang dreaded going into the office he should’ve originally been in charge of. The brat didn’t have half the qualifications he did, nor did he have half the rights to speak to him in such a belittling manner. Nonetheless, luck only delivers to the wealthy or sons of the arrogantly blessed. Seniority holds no place in competition to those privileged enough to win. Perhaps this was karma, another card of destiny – taking back what was unfairly given.

He failed to register the threat looming right behind him, caught up in his pleasing daydream of a payback. His own karma watching him with hawk eyes.

If this is destiny…then he doesn’t have to feel bad about this, does he? It was always meant to happen, and he was just doing what the cards told him. He was just a messenger delivering a message.

And so, with a large gulp, deliver he did.

_

Kim parked his Benz at the back. He parked near the trees, their cover setting an ease inside his otherwise chaotic mind. The last thing he expected tonight was a call from that musty old man. Fucking Jang, he wonders why he hasn’t fired him yet. It was you who did most of his work anyway, while he was out fucking some chick from their red-light district bar. If only that bastard wasn’t also involved in his side business.

Getting out of his car, he takes fast strides to the structure in front of him. All of this was getting out of hand.

“There’s a mole…We should meet”

Kim wasn’t gonna lie, he was shitting himself the whole ride to the warehouse. Contrary to what people think, Kim considered himself a sharp man. He knew that none of his crap was really his, that his alcoholic father could take everything away in a matter of moments if he pissed him off enough. That man spent his youthful years beating the ‘sissy’ out of him and now uses his older age to sass the failing status of his business. It was such a curse representing that man’s last name. Such a tragedy that he was born into the mud pile he called a family. Maybe that’s why he took refuge behind illegal activities, turned his once average company to an underground drug laundering agency. That way he could earn his own money, untainted by his elegant family’s legacy. He craved that independence.

Everything was better than it seemed anyway. They weren’t distributors nor were they providers, they were just middle men. People who safely hid the drugs given to them by providers and taken away from them by distributors. Meaning he’d get the same amount of punishment despite having the least amount of profits. Apparently, young rich boys mean nothing to mafia heads or underground gangsters. Nothing more than disposable aid like he considered others. Tsk. Fuck all this shit.

What he needed to do was find this ‘mole’ Jang mentioned and eliminate him fast. There wasn’t any blood on his hands minus multiple teenaged addict’s untimely death, but he didn’t consider that his fault. However, this time he’d make sure to kill this son of a bitch – whoever he was – himself. The thought of finally having power over some plebian pleading soul right before he rips the life from their eyes gave him an adrenaline rush. Finally, he wouldn’t just be a monster because of who his father was, but because he could get shit done.

He grunts when he makes it to the warehouse doors, opening them with more force than he meant to. Once he steps inside, he notices that It’s too dark to see.

“Jang? Where the fuck are you?” Kim shouts into the shadows

…

Nothing but silence in return. He feels uneasy…like there was something terribly wrong with this place.

“Fuck,” He mutters, pulling out his phone to call the old man. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes roamed about. The alcohol in his system heightened his nervousness, made everything sort of unfocused even in the dark. With one call, he charged into battle without thinking, eager to blow someone’s head off tonight”

Ring Ring

Everything went in slow motion as he spotted a light coming from a few feet away. It looked like a phone. Kim gulped before he walked towards it. Praying that it wasn’t what he was thinking.

As he came by it, he began to tremble. His name was displayed on the small screen. It was cracked from an end and…there was something red on the front edge. What the fuck.

Snap

In an instant he turns around, the ringing still haunting his ear. He definitely heard something…or someone?

“W-who’s there?!” He tries to shout but his voice fails him as he squeaks. The realization that he’s not alone frightens him. All the vigor from before leaves his build and he becomes a small boy once again. The shadows symbolizing his father, the small noises sounding like the leather belt that bruised him continuously.

“W-what do you want?”

“Weak,” he hears his father’s voice sneering, “You gonna grovel like a f*g? You sissy.”

Anger swells inside his chest, his teeth clenching in pure hate. “I won’t grovel you motherfucker, come out this instant!” He roars before taking out his gun and shooting a few rounds at random. Still, no reply. Kim heaves in the darkness for a few seconds, placing his gun in multiple directions, trying to make out the cunt playing with him.

That when he notices Jang’s phone. It’s gone. Did someone take it? When? As he’s busy staring at the ground where it once laid, he doesn’t hear the steps of the shoes behind him.

*Crack*

He falls to the floor with a thud as something heavy hits the back of his head. The gun slips away from reach, further into the darkness. Screaming he clutches the gushing wound on his head, blood immediately making its way from the blow in his cranium. He tries to push himself up with one arm, falling back down miserably. That attempt lands him a hit on the back of his thigh as he wails. His vision blurs and he wheezes in pain, completely immobile in a growing pool of his own blood.

His father laughs at him, the leather belt in his hand crackling with pride. Turning himself around, he brings a weak arm up, pleading with the silhouette of what he thinks is a man. “P-please, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The man scoffs, reaching behind him to pull out a tiny object. He flicks it a few times to reveal a lighter. As the fire brightens everything around him, he notices a bat in the man’s other arm. A very bloody bat. Slowly, he brings the lighter up to his face and Kim’s eyes go wide with the last bit of his strength.

“Y-you’re that i-intern-

“Name’s Jungkook.”  The man interjected before bringing the bat up and smashing it into his face.

In a moment, the last thing Kim saw were spotted stars in his eyes before he felt the awful pop of his nose breaking and eventually lost conscious.

_

You were painting your nails. Scratch that, you were attempting to paint your nails. Bending your body in half and sticking out your tongue in concentration, you groan when that bombs, and you make yet another mistake. This shit was impossible.

After a long week of complete exhaustion, you were happy to be home on your couch with a pizza box on your left and a glass of wine on your right. Sitting there and swirling the brush inside your nail polish container you hummed along to the tune of the newest pop song stuck in your head. It was a nice night, compared to the heat wave your city had been experiencing for the past month. So, you decided to leave the windows open and let some breeze in. Soon you were thinking about watching a thriller on Netflix.

You sighed, this is always how your days passed no matter what type of weather was out there. Alone – in your way too large to live alone in house. Since your bitch of a best friend left you, she decided to take all your other friends with her. Online harassment from her minions got so bad you had to delete all your social medias. Family was no good either. Your parents were the most annoying creatures on the planet, refusing to let you in that one time you flew home to see them for the holidays. Whatever, it didn’t matter – you fucking hated everyone anyway. Fuck Melissa, fuck Dad, fuck David, fuck Uncle Ben.

There were sometimes though, where you would make a stupid penis joke towards an actor on screen and wished Melissa was around to laugh in that obnoxious way she often would. Or that your Dad would still call you for his check ins with one of his million pet names. You wished David was still around to see if your company really made you supervisor, he owed you like $40 bucks from the bed. And other times you wished Uncle Ben still brought you those expensive gifts from his crazy trips.

But whatever…like you said. Fuck everyone.

You’re startled when the doorbell chimes, almost bumping your acetone all over the place. In confusion you look over to your clock hanging above the dining room wall. It was almost midnight. Who could it be at this hour?

You jump again when the doorbell rings for a second time. Whoever it was sure was impatient. Moving your pedicure items to the side, you stand up in annoyance, making your way over to the door. Quietly you peek into the peephole, hoping to see a familiar face. Oddly, no one seems to be outside. Yet the bell chimes again.

With great hesitance you pull the door open, only slightly.

The sight you’re met with leaves your jaw hanging open. On the other side of the door – right in front of you, stood Jeon Jungkook. Not a trace of emotion on his face as he glared at you and pushed the door open the rest of the way. You back up slightly. He was holding a bat covered in blood and dirt, red and black stains surrounded the smooth skin of his face. The stench of iron and gasoline makes you scrunch your nose, and you put a palm over it in disgust.

Jungkook stands there, staring at you. You wore a white silk kimono, one side of it delicately hanging on your arm and exposing your bare shoulder. Smitten by just the sight of you, he breaths in your strawberry musk – mixed with acetone for some reason. When he steps inside you let out a tiny gasp. Raising an eyebrow, he continues to watch you. He prepared a whole speech about how you’re his and he was here to punish you accordingly tonight but as soon as your glassy orbs met his, he lost all train of thought. Funny, he was tearing limbs and breaking bones a couple of minutes ago and now he feels like he can’t even advance his hand to touch you.

When you continue to look at him with such distaste, he expected you to scream, to cry, to run. He was expecting you to act like his prey usually does.

He was not expecting you to smile.

“What did you do?” You ask him in the biggest smile he’s ever seen you in.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. You step closer to him, tilting your head to hear his answer but he’s struggling to form words. Fluttering your lashes, you patiently wait for him to talk.

“I…I-I killed him.”

“Killed who?” You ask without missing a beat. It seems like you’ve realized though as your mouth forms an O and you let out a laugh, “Wait, Mr. Kim? You really killed Kim?”

Jungkook nods as his heart starts beating faster. He’s not used to you being so close and acknowledging him. “And Jang”

“Whoooaaa, and Jang?” You jump up in enthusiasm, surprising poor Jungkook.

“Y-you don’t care?” He asks in a tiny voice

You give him a weird face, “Care? Why would I?”

When he gives you the most clueless face in return, you sigh – crossing your arms. He sure was naïve.

“I found your camera,” You begin, looking up to witness his shocked reaction. He looks like he wanted to say something, but you hold up a finger to stop him, “Well, actually I found all your cameras. The first one being the one with all those creepy pictures of me.”

“At first, I was shocked, and a little upset. Then I became scared. And then I realized…that I was actually scared” You stare at him with wide, insane eyes and he wonders why he’s never witnessed this side of you. It was kinda turning him on. “I was scared…holy shit I was scared of you and it was the best thing ever. Then I wondered if you had any other cameras…and I was right.”

Lifting your head to the left corner of the living room, you point at the spot. “I found the first one there, and the second one in the kitchen and then in the bathroom and so on.” Suddenly your face becomes solemn and you give him a scowl that makes him deflate like a small animal.

“Then I thought…Wow! so much interesting shit is happening in my life – in my own home and I had no fucking idea? Why? Because my stalker happened to be a bitchass coward who couldn’t make a move?”

He winces when you berate him, his head dropping and tears forming in his eyes. There was so much he wanted to tell you, but a headache was forming in his brain from all the gasoline he had inhaled. You place your hand under his jaw, gently bringing his face up to yours again, “That’s why I decided to lure you out myself. I took off the spycam in my room and decided to fuck my boss, hoping you’d come see and do something. Knew you would perch on my willow tree seeing how the photos in your camera were angled…Which by the way is a fucking mess! Clean up the nasty chaos you made on my precious tree tonight!”

Jungkook nods firmly, still processing what you said.

“S-so wait…wait then Kim was jus-”

“Yeah, Kim was just a pawn. He’s practically been begging to fuck me for years anyway, and I was gonna do it for that promotion he offered me. But this is better. Also, Jang touched my ass way too much on ‘accident.’ I didn’t want them to die, but I don’t exactly care either.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. The fact that used Kim to get to him. You didn’t care about Kim’s money or his power. He got insecure for no reason. And you had just asked him to stay by telling him to clean up his mess! If he’s right in guessing your intentions, then he feels that he’s going to burst out crying. Although he’ll still punish you for fucking him. That agony he felt was still deep inside his gut and he hadn’t been able to cum for two days, plotting this elaborate scheme of murder. With everything you were telling him, he didn’t think you’d mind much.

You’ve accepted him, after all. He’s enough for you.

You’re enough.

“Tell me what you did to them.”

“I beat them to a bloody pulp.” Jungkook says monotonously. It’s the first sentence he states without stuttering. “Attacked them both from behind with a single blow and cracked their skulls. Continued to beat the shit out of them then dropped Jang’s body to an alleyway. Broke both of his arms. Dragged him to an empty warehouse known for drug transactions where I fucked up Kim. Smashed his face in, his eyeball was hanging out by the end of it…it wasn’t very attractive. Then I threw gasoline all over the place and burned it to a crisp. Firefighters and Media’s probably there by now”

“Holy shit…that’s…fucking crazy,” You eye the bat. “What if you get caught”

“I won’t…they’ll say it was a rival drug gang. Left a few traces of underground trash” He answers as you lift your brows. There was a lot you didn’t know about him, especially the three years prior to him getting that job in your office. You wouldn’t know of the life he had before he laid his eyes on you, the co-worker with the beautiful smile showing him around his new workplace. He wasn’t interested in returning to a time before you became his purpose for existing, but he was smarter than he looks.

There was a lot he understood.

Jungkook frowns at the floor before making eye contact with you, “Do you…hate me?”

“…Your weird ass excites me Jungkook. I think I fucking love you.” Meh, honestly you weren’t really in love with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to say it cause you knew as long as Jungkook stayed this psychotic, he’s the only man you would come close to loving. You hadn’t ever been in love before, but you were willing to ty it out.

At your confession Jungkook shows you his bunny teeth and his eyes crinkle. It meant so much to him, you wouldn’t even be able to comprehend. These three years have gone very differently for both of you, after all. While you were out there losing people from your life and wasting your existence away, Jungkook was falling in love with you deeper and deeper each moment he spent watching you. To the point of complete, irreversible fixation. A loud bell rings inside his head and he chokes up.

“I love you, too.”

You grab his cheeks, lurching forward to kiss him and it only takes a second for him to reciprocate.

It was a sloppy, hungry kiss. Your tongues swirls around his and your teeth bump into each other. You lick the sides of his mouth, tasting someone else’s blood and the residue of fire. It makes you moan into him. With that the beast awakens, dropping the damn bat out of his hands and grabbing your ass instead, pulling you close to him. His wet muscle dominates yours easily, your legs giving out slightly and he rushes to hold you up by your thighs. Ever slip of his tongue has you clenching your core in excitement. Lewd noises fill your doorway as you hang onto his sturdy frame and he pushes harder and harder against you. He bites your lip and you whine, feeling him smile into your mouth. When you felt like you could no longer breathe, you pull back to stare at his blown-out pupils with lust fogging your mind.

Out of breath, he whimpers as you rub against his hard on. He was sexy as fuck with his lips swollen and glossy with your spit, pupils dilated, his jaw ajar and lurid sighs leaving him. Jungkook held onto you for dear life while waiting for your next move, you felt his thick fingers digging into your thighs. You smile at him with heavy lids, running a hand through his wild strands. Cautiously, he places his face into your exposed shoulder and inhales your scent. Shivering at the sensation, you groan as he starts biting at your neck aggressively, as if trying to make a statement. You coo at him, trying to calm him down by patting his head, and you wonder if it worked once he slows down and you feel tears amongst your bitten hickeys.

That’s what excited you the most about Jungkook. There was no certainty about him, you couldn’t predict him at all. Some part of you thought he would come to kill you instead of Kim or Jang and the rush you felt seeing him in your entrance drenched in blood almost gave you a standing orgasm. Right now, you have no fucking idea why he’s sobbing into your shoulder while dry humping you with such eagerness…was he happy? Was he mad? Was he sad? You couldn’t tell that Jungkook was absolutely enthralled to finally have you in his arms – touch you all he wanted – and he did have a very rough and bloody week. He was emotionally drained. What you did know, however, was that you haven’t felt this much thrill for a long, long time. And the root cause of it was this man baby in your arms, covering you with gore and ash.

What a weird guy.

You weren’t sure where this was headed, all you knew was that Jungkook would be pounding inside of you on your bed in a couple of moments. Without changing of course because the guts spilled across his shirt was making you drip down your thighs. Wrapping your arms against the crying bunny rabbit, you speculated if there was another extravagant plot you could cook up to get him to kill someone – this time right in front of you. After all, it was as if you were Frankenstein and he was your monster with rabbit features and brawny arms. The thought makes you chuckle before you notice how he’s began hiccuping and repeating his love for you on your skin. Sighing, you whisper in his ear to simmer down. It was getting difficult to breath with how he was smothering you. Oh well.

Looks like your night just got interesting.

#Jeon Jungkook #Bts #Jungkook smut #Jungkook angst #Yandere Jungkook #Bts smut #Bts angst #Yandere bts #R:BC

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 8: The Little Prince and His Flower

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which Harry must return to Holmes Chapel, Y/N is upset he went without her, and family drama is not family-only.

Word count: 10k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

What to expect in this chapter: Gemma/Isaac, Niall/?, Ruby(???), and a graveyard ‘date’

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Isaac closed his umbrella, almost too caught up in what had happened to realise it'd stopped raining since Gemma had left. His mouth opened to answer Emilia’s question, but his brain was stuttering, unable to keep up.

He'd kissed Gemma.

No, she had kissed him. He didn’t know why she’d done it, but did it matter? He'd kissed her back and he'd liked it. He'd kissed his best friend’s sister, who had a boyfriend, a shitty one, still, it didn’t justify what he’d done.

If Harry knew about this—

His stomach twisted into knots as his palms started to sweat. Harry couldn’t know about this. They were finally on good terms again. Isaac couldn’t fuck this up. Had Emilia seen the kiss? Would she tell Harry if she had?

Isaac took a deep breath to ease his mind. To Emilia, he said, “I came to see you. You didn’t show up for the shoot, Emi.”

“I lost my phone and I thought the shoot was next week.” She gave an apologetic grin. “I’m very sorry.”

Her apology didn’t sound sincere, but now he had bigger problems to worry about. With an impersonal tone, he said, “If you’re not interested anymore, you should’ve let me know so I could find someone else.”

“No, no, I still want to model for you!” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist before he even thought about ending the conversation. His alarmed expression got her blushing as she hid her hands behind her back, staring at her feet. “I’d been...um...I’d been busy preparing for my audition this morning. That was why I took two days off in a row, and then my boss called me here today because the shop got overcrowded.”

“An audition? For a movie?”

He hoped his startlement didn’t offend her. There was nothing wrong with her auditioning for a movie; she used to go to film school after all. But not so long ago she’d told him she’d already given up on her dream of becoming an actress, so he was curious to know how that passion had sparked again.

“Yes, a real movie!” she exclaimed, her green eyes twinkling like Harry’s whenever he talked about his job, or Y/N.

As if Emilia could read Isaac’s mind, she added, “Harry encouraged me to attend casting calls. I’ve done some commercials and modelling before, so a movie would be a nice challenge. He also gave me the contacts of some directors—” His dubious look stopped her midsentence, and her voice went flat, “I didn’t get them from his assistant. He actually gave them to me.”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. Please don’t explain.” With a frustrated exhalation, she peered around him. “Was that Gemma who just left?”

The hair stood up at the nape of his nape when he met her questioning gaze. Convinced that she’d seen the kiss, he had to admit, “Yeah, it was Gemma.”

Her eyes went round as she considered him in a sceptical manner. “Are you two dating?”

“No. She has a boyfriend.”

Gemma was so private that not many people knew she had a boyfriend. For all he knew, he could’ve lied to Emilia and gotten away with it even if she’d witnessed the kiss. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. He had a strict rule against lying. No matter how trivial you thought your lie was, you’d have to cover it up with more lies, and before you knew it, the lie had become too big, like a snowball rolling down a hill. The damage it would cause was inevitable.

Nodding slowly, Emilia ahhhhed in silence and concluded with, “Too bad. I’d love to talk to her.”

He waited for her to continue, but then she told him she had to get back to work and would text him with her new number. Just like that, she disappeared into the shop, leaving him in bafflement.

Emilia was the most curious person he’d ever met, so if knowing Gemma’s relationship status was a good enough answer for her, then she must’ve seen the kiss. What he couldn’t explain was how cool she’d been about it, as if him — her half-brother’s best friend — kissing her half-sister, who had a boyfriend, was the most normal thing in the world.

Either she hadn’t seen anything, or she was a much better actress than he thought.

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Y/N had been a fool to think she would worry less about writing now that she’d found the perfect literary agent. For the last few months, she’d been stressed out about pitching her manuscript, but ever since she’d had Laura, her biggest concern had circled back to the manuscript itself.

Laura was a perfectionist, which was good, because she never made mistakes. But she expected the same thing from all of her clients, and Y/N would do anything to please that woman. Even if it meant pulling an all-nighter and living off on tea and protein bars just to finish another scene to move on to the next.

After their first meeting, Laura had emailed Y/N a very long list of what she ‘didn’t like’ about the story. Some scenes were redundant; the drama should be more intense; the plot twists weren’t shocking enough; more sex, more sex, more sex.

Y/N had vowed to herself that she would never, ever, write a generic story just to match a publisher’s bulleted list. Yet here she was, shamefully ticking boxes and changing the entire story as she went. If her characters could step out of the page, they would strangle her in her sleep for how she’d fucked up their lives. But if she was going to have an agent, she had to believe in her agent.

Laura knew what kind of book sold and what didn’t, and at this point, Y/N just wanted her novel to be published. She didn’t care if it wasn’t the best story in her opinion. As long as Laura guaranteed that Y/N’s babies would end up on the shelves in the biggest bookstores in London, Y/N would do anything – and she meant anything – Laura told her to.

“Y/N!”

The voice interrupted her train of thoughts, and she glanced up from her laptop screen to meet Alice’s amused gaze. “You haven’t touched your tea,” Alice said, her grin widened. Only then did Y/N realise her tea had been served a long while ago and already gotten cold. “And maybe stand up and walk around for a bit. How could you sit in one place for three fucking hours? Can you still feel your ass?”

Y/N snorted at the remark and wiggled against her chair. “This ass still feels pretty fine to me.”

“Weirdo,” Alice said, shaking her head.

But Alice did have a point. Y/N had been staring at the screen for so long that the words had begun to look all the same; a short break would do her some good.

Her shoulders sagged as she took off her AirPods, rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms and glanced around the shop. It’d been so crowded when they had arrived this morning. Now, most of the customers had left, and there were only them, a couple at the table by the street-facing window, and three girls in the corner booth, who were laughing and taking selfies.

Alice shot them a disapproving glare before switching her attention back to the novella in her hands — The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Y/N’s mother had read it to her when she was little, and she still remembered the story as if she’d learned it by heart. You knew when a book was good when even Alice, who absolutely hated reading, could not put it down.

Not wanting to disrupt her friend, Y/N quietly pushed away from the table when Alice snapped her head up, her eyebrows scrunched. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta pee.”

Alice gave a dismissive wave, and her eyes were fixed on the book again.

In the bathroom, Y/N took the far back stall, telling herself to finish quickly so she could get back to work. But while cleaning herself, she heard echoes of high heels accompanied by the laughter of the previous group of girls. The door next to hers opened and shut, and the water ran as one girl washed her hands.

“Did she leave already?” asked the one in the stall.

“I think so,” said her friend outside.

“Shame. I thought Harry was gonna show up,” the third girl sighed in disappointment as the water stopped. The toilet flushed, heels clacked against the marble, and the water ran again.

“I saw him in the car park once,” continued the third voice. “He came to pick her up. You should’ve seen her bitchy face. No wonder she’s got no friend but the psycho Alice Young.”

Y/N scowled when the first girl chimed in, “Remember Mandy Torres from English Lit?”

The Mandy who’d pretended to be friends with Y/N and then shit-talked about her behind her back? Yes, she remembered.

“So Mandy invited them to her party because she’s a sweetheart. Then that bitch got insecure, thinking Mandy might steal her man, so she blew up at Many in the library, calling her names and stuff. Two people saw it!”

Y/N could bet these girls knew it was a lie, and still, they chose to believe it so they could have a reason to hate her.

Three of them laughed at the same time, and then the second one said, “Can’t believe she still showed her face after that clip.”

“What clip?” her friend asked, sounding just as confused as Y/N.

Her heart was pounding, and her fingers were clawing at her knees. She didn’t know what clip they were referring to. And why shouldn’t she show her face?

Yes, she and Harry had filmed a sex tape before, but they’d been careful and deleted it right after they’d watched it together. It was impossible that the clip still existed and had gotten leaked.

“Oh, you haven’t seen it? This morning, someone uploaded a clip of Harry Styles and Ruby Ellis dancing together at a party in LA. They were all over each other.”

“Oh my God, they’re definitely fucking again!”

“Can you blame him? Would you pick that whore over Ruby Ellis?”

Their laughter faded into white noise, and soon their footsteps had become mute.

Y/N sat there for a long moment, fists balling against her skirt until she was sure she was alone again. That was when she got on her feet, flushed the toilet and clawed the door open.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her by surprise. She almost didn’t recognise herself from how angry she looked. Taking a deep breath, she stomped to the sink to wash her hands and then dried them with a paper towel before going back to her table like nothing was wrong.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see those girls watching her. They whispered something to each other, probably shocked and embarrassed that she’d heard them say all those terrible things behind her back.

The old Y/N would have stepped out of the stall and put them in their place. But the new Y/N — Harry’s Y/N — wouldn’t put on a show in public and take down her boyfriend’s career and her dignity.

“You okay?” Alice asked when Y/N plopped down in the chair across from her.

Y/N flatly said, “yes,” and put on her AirPods to get back to work. No more distraction. Fuck those girls. Fuck the internet. She didn’t need to see that clip to–

Her phone buzzed once, and she flinched. Cece had sent her a post on Instagram.

Now what? Was she going to check it? Her mind went numb for a second as her fingers froze on the keyboards. She kept staring at the blinking cursor until her anxiety became too much, and she surrendered. She grabbed her phone, swiped right on the notification and placed her thumb on the home button to unlock the screen.

Have you seen this?

No, she hadn’t. And she hadn’t intended to until now.

The thumbnail of the video was too dark for her to make out what it was, but the caption said: WHAT HAPPENED TO Y/N??? With shocked emojis. Three shocked emojis. His fans were freaking out for her, so this might not be good.

Biting a nail, she muted the volume and tapped on the clip to be directed to the post. It was dark at first, but when the pink light started flashing, she could make out Harry’s figure. She knew his drunk dance moves; he was definitely three sheets to the wind here. Then, she caught a glimpse of the dress Niall had criticised the other night. Ruby looked just as drunk as she danced next to Harry, shouting the lyrics of whatever song the DJ was playing.

It was hard to know for sure what was happening here as it was too dark, but a part of Y/N felt relieved because she had expected worse. They were just dancing together, their bodies barely touching, and there were so many people around.

“Shit.”

She jerked her head to the side, and Alice’s face almost gave her a heart attack. Alice was standing beside her, one hand on the back of Y/N’s chair, the other lay flat on the table.

“I don’t care what everyone’s saying. It doesn’t look like he’s cheating on you.”

Y/N’s heart beat faster even though she knew Harry would never cheat. Not on her, nor anyone else. She’d seen how he’d beat himself up for sleeping with Ruby despite her having a boyfriend. He’d made mistakes in the past, but he would never hurt a woman by cheating on her.

Maybe the issue didn’t lie in the fact that everyone was saying he had or was going to cheat on Y/N. Maybe seeing him dance with Ruby – at the big fancy party Y/N had refused to attend – made her feel like he would be happier at places like that, with people like that, people like Ruby and his famous friends.

Her chest sank as she finished the thought, but she still managed to set it aside as she closed her laptop and rose from her seat. “Ready to go, Al?”

“Sure, but can I pee first? I need to pee.”

Alice’s grimace made her giggle as she watched her friend rush to the bathroom.

She began to gather her notebooks and chargers when her phone buzzed repeatedly, and when she saw it was Harry, she picked it up. Something told her he’d just woken up, seen the clip and freaked out. He should freak out. Because she’d almost had a heart attack.

She shoved the rest of her things into her bag and hit the talk button.

“I’ve seen the video, so we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Shit,” he grunted. “Are you mad at me? I swear I was drunk and didn’t know who I was dancing with, but Jeff called me a taxi afterwards and–”

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you.”

When he let out a sigh, she could almost see him close his eyes and put a hand against his chest. “Where are you?”

“At a coffee shop on campus.” She leaned her hip against the table as she turned and made eye contact with one of the girls in the corner booth. The girl turned back to her friends like nothing was wrong, but Y/N knew the bitch was scared to death. To Harry, she said, “I’m heading home though. I’ll see you at the airport tonight, kay?”

“That...won’t be necessary.”

“What do you mean?” She straightened when realisation hit her. “Harry, where are you?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

She knew it.

“I knew it! I knew you’d go without me.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t want to involve you in my family drama. I’m going to talk to my mum alone, and then–”

She didn’t want to let him finish. “I’m already involved, though. I could help. You might get anxious and say the wrong things. Look how it went with Gemma.”

When he paused, she knew he knew she was right. Still, his stubborn ass would never admit it. “I’m sorry, babe. At least you can focus on your book while I’m not there. Miss you. See you soon.”

The line disconnected. She stared at the screen in disbelief, and text messages from him popped up.

Forgot to say I love you.

I love you.

With a sigh, she stuffed her phone into the front pocket of her backpack and pinched her temples. She hated that she couldn’t stay mad at him, but she wished he hadn’t blindsided her like that.

Whatever. She’d deal with him when he got back tomorrow.

She shrugged on the backpack just in time Alice returned from the bathroom. Alice clumsily threw her things into her nude tote bag and hurried to the door as Y/N preceded. The moment they stepped out into the street, Alice asked, “Did those Kardashian wannabes bother you when I was in the bathroom?”

She was referring to the girls in the corner booth.

“Why’d you think so?” Y/N responded as she kept on walking.

“I saw them glaring at you when we left, and I almost stopped to throw a fist.” Alice swung her fist and frantically apologized to an annoyed pedestrian for almost hitting him.

“Well, they talked shit about me in the bathroom and didn’t know I was there.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve poured drinks on them like I did with Mandy.”

Y/N froze in her tracks, her eyes widened. “You did what with Mandy?”

“I heard her talk shit about you at her party so I poured vodka on her head.” Alice clasped both hands together in front of her chest. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Y/N stared at her friend unblinkingly for a moment, and then crushed her in a fierce embrace. “You’re a good friend, Al. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Laughing, Alice clasped Y/N’s shoulders and pushed away from her. “You’re not going to cry, aren’t you?”

“No, you dick.” She brushed Alice’s hands off. “Lunch?”

“Sure. I’m starving.” With an arm around each other’s waist, they strolled down the busy pavement together.

After lunch in the Vietnamese restaurant right across from Y/N’s block, they ran into Blake outside. He was about to get into his car when he spotted Y/N and waved at her.

This was actually the first time she’d seen him in casual clothes. He always wore suits when he went to work, and workout clothes when he was at home. Today, he wore a black t-shirt with dark blue jeans, his hair uncombed, his smile wide. He looked almost five years younger. Almost like the ‘high school bad boy’ Blake that she remembered.

“Jesus, is that your ex-boyfriend slash neighbour?” Alice dropped her jaw as she fanned herself, and Y/N quickly swatted her on the arm.

Blake rested an arm on the roof of his car as a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Working on a Saturday, Miss Writer?”

“Working everyday, Mr Lawyer.”

Alice elbowed her gently while looking Blake up and down, so she had to add, “This is my friend Alice.”

“Nice to meet you, Alice. I’m Blake.”

Alice caught his hand with both of hers and shook it firmly. “Y/N has said a lot about you.”

“Has she?” Blake arched an eyebrow at Y/N, who scoffed and waved Alice’s comment away.

“Don’t believe her. She’s nuts.”

“Hey!”

Y/N ignored her friend and switched her attention to Blake’s car. He hated driving as much as she did, only because he preferred his motorcycle – which she assumed he’d left in the US – otherwise he would rather walk. And since he didn’t have to work on Saturdays, she took a guess that he was going out of town.

“Where are you going?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

His answer made her flinch. From what she’d heard, his parents didn’t live there anymore. So why would he go there?

“I’m visiting my grandma,” he said before she could ask. “You’ve met her a few times, remember?”

She nodded. His grandma used to love her. After they’d broken up, Y/N had even considered going to his grandma’s house every day so that Grandma Roman would grow attached to her and convince Blake to get back with her. Now she was glad teenage Y/N hadn’t had the nerves to do something so humiliating.

“Y/N, you’re going to Holmes Chapel tomorrow, right?”

Y/N shot Alice a disapproving glare before telling Blake, “Harry and I were gonna go together, but something came up and he had to go without me.”

Had to. Inner Y/N rolled her eyes at the words.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Blake said, but she waved it off.

“Don’t be. Tell your grandma I said hi, okay?”

“Okay. Good luck with your writing.”

Her response was simply a dissatisfied hum. Just thinking about spending another night alone in her flat with her laptop could almost make her go insane. She could go out tonight, but she’d feel guilty because she didn’t have a reason to not write another chapter. If she was surrounded by family and friends, however...

“Blake,” she said before he could get into his car. “Can I go with you?”

When Alice dropped her jaw and Blake’s eyes went wide, she continued, “I can sit in the back. I won’t bother you.”

She'd already braced herself for rejection, knowing how much Blake hated being in a car with other people during long drives, even when he was the passenger. He relished the feeling of an adrenaline rush while riding his motorcycle, and had often joked that he’d felt most alive when he might die. Being in a car confined him. So did the company of someone else. It’d been different when they’d been a couple but they weren’t anymore. Now she was just ‘someone else’ to him.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” He flashed a grin that deepened his dimple and caught her by surprise.

“You don’t have to. I don’t want to make you feel uncomf–”

“I don’t mind driving you, Y/N. Get in.” He patted the roof of his car, and Alice aimed a pointed glare at him as if she hadn’t sighed like a schoolgirl when they shook hands.

Although Y/N understood Alice’s concern and was well aware that she would be spending three hours in the car with her ex, going with him sounded like a better idea than taking a taxi.

She hadn’t sat behind the wheel since the accident and had only let Harry drive her around. But somehow she trusted Blake. She’d trusted him with most of her first times, and being in a relationship with him for two years had convinced her that he was a careful driver.

“Y/N!”

The solitary voice caught her by surprise. She whipped around to see Niall crossing the street and stalking toward her with a bubbly grin on his face.

“Is that Niall Horan?” Alice unconsciously dug her nail into Y/N's arm, and Y/N winced as she pulled away.

“What are you doing here, Niall?”

“I had a photoshoot in this area and I thought we should hang out. You know, since we’re officially friends now.” He raked his fingers through his hair and arched his mouth when he noticed Blake. “Hey, man.”

Blake only raised his palm, saying nothing.

“This is Alice,” Y/N said as she gripped Alice’s hard shoulders. “She’s a big fan of yours, so please be nice to her.”

"Nice to meet you," Niall said. "Alice is a pretty name."

When he took Alice's hand and pressed a kiss to it, Y/N thought her friend would just pass out right in front of them. Alice might be bold with Blake, Isaac, and even Harry, but facing Niall, she suddenly forgot how to speak. Which might be a good thing because she said crazy things when she was nervous, and Y/N couldn’t handle more crazy right now.

“I’m sorry, Niall. I’m actually leaving.”

“Oh, where are you going?”

“We’re going to Holmes Chapel,” Blake answered on her behalf, still leaning against his car. He didn’t seem frustrated that she and her friends were wasting his time, and she truly wondered why.

Niall turned back to her with an eyebrow raised. “Weren’t you going with Harry tomorrow?”

“Apparently not,” she huffed. “But don’t worry. I’ll text him to let him know.”

“I can give you a ride.”

Niall pointed to the black Audi parked on the other side of the street. A man in a black suit, buzzed head, twice her size, gave them a cold stare as Niall waved and smiled at him.

“That’s Barry. He’s cool.”

She took a surprised breath, considering Barry for a quick second. “I think I’ll be fine with Blake.”

She would have agreed to go with Niall in a heartbeat, if there was just Niall, and he was driving a less luxurious vehicle. She could already imagine how badly her body would ache when they arrived, as she wouldn’t dare to move a single muscle in his new car, especially when Barry was the one who drove it.

“Okay.” Niall gave a nonchalant shrug as he fished out his phone and made a quick call. “Hey, man.��� He gave the scary man across the street a peace sign. “I’ll stay with my friend. You may leave now. Thanks, Barry.”

Y/N watched Niall’s bodyguard/chauffeur get into the shiny Audi, not knowing what to expect when Niall put his phone away and switched his attention back to her.

“Let’s go.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going with you,” he said with a smirk, “and Blake.”

“Can I come, too, please?” Alice interjected as she tugged Y/N’s arm. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse, you won’t even know I’m there.”

“I’m not the one who gets to decide here, Al,” Y/N grumbled.

“Alice and Niall can join us,” Blake interfered, at last. “The more the merrier.”

When Alice started bouncing like a kid in a sweet shop, he mouthed it’s okay to Y/N, and she responded with an apologetic twitch of her lips that was meant to be a smile. If he was only acting to be polite to her friends, she’d feel so shitty.

Blake opened the door on the passenger side for her, but Niall quickly got in and buckled his seatbelt. With a sigh, she joined Alice in the backseat. Something told her that this was going to be the longest three hours she had ever experienced.

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Gemma tightened her fingers around her phone. With one hand in her hair, she kept pacing back and forth in her hotel room, the beating of her heart accelerating with each ring. She hated phone calls. There was something so nerve-wracking about talking to someone and not knowing what their true reaction was. However, she knew Asher wouldn’t hold anything back.

When you’d been with someone for two years, you’d figure out their patterns. You could predict what they were going to say or do in a certain situation. And she wished it hadn’t been the case this time as what she was expecting was pretty awful.

She’d always considered Asher’s bad temper a minor flaw, but it hadn’t been easy lately. His business was going down. His dad had decided to stop pouring money into his failed ventures, which was why he’d been spending so much time with his family. He wanted to be on his father’s good side while sweet-talking his mother into helping him.

He was a mama’s boy, like Harry. The only difference was that Harry genuinely loved his family and would never blame Gemma for his own mistakes. Asher, on the other hand, took his exasperation out on her, making her feel like she’d been the cause of all of the bad things that’d happened to him in the last couple of months. She’d been walking on eggshells around him, well aware of how toxic that was, but the idea of ending a two-year relationship was too intimidating.

The ringing abruptly stopped. And so did she.

“Yes?” Asher spoke. He hadn’t heard from her in two days, and that was all she got from him. Yes?

“I have to tell you something,” she said anyway, trying to sound more composed than she looked. Perhaps a phone call was a good idea after all.

“I also have something to tell you. Can I go first?”

“Sure.” As much as she wanted to get this off her chest, the more she delayed, the more time there was to prepare herself for his reaction. She’d never seen anyone confess to their partner that they’d cheated and receive instant forgiveness, not even in movies. It definitely wouldn’t be the case for her and Asher.

“I think we should take a break.”

Her brain slowed down, unable to process that information. Her mouth opened and shut a few times like a goldfish until she could speak. “What do you mean?”

She knew exactly what a break meant. She just couldn’t bring herself to believe he’d actually proposed it, at least not before she told him about the kiss.

“I want us to stop seeing each other for a while.”

“We haven’t seen each other in weeks, Ash.”

“Come on, Gem, you know this is inevitable. We’ve been fighting constantly.” Yes. Because of him. “And I can’t remember the last time we had sex.”

“So you’re suggesting that we take a break so you could fuck other people?”

A long stretch of silence followed her question. Waves of anger splashed over her as she gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. She couldn’t believe she’d been so scared to tell him the truth, and then he’d proposed something like this without any sign of guilt.

“We both need this, Gem.”

“You’re right. We do,” she said despite the lump in her throat. “Goodbye, Ash.”

She ended the call before he could say another word and rushed to open the window. She needed some fresh air, otherwise, she might throw up.

Gripping the sides of the window frame, she took in a sharp breath. When she opened her eyes again, she saw a familiar Prius parked in front of the building. It looked like the one in Harry’s car collection, but wasn’t he in Holmes Chapel right now?

She’d gotten her answer as soon as the door was opened, and Isaac stepped out, phone in his hand. When he brought it up to his ear, her phone started buzzing, and she instantly grabbed it and tapped answer.

“Hello?”

“I’m here. Let’s go,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m driving you, remember?”

“Driving me where?”

“To Holmes Chapel.” His soft laugh melted the coldness remaining in her heart from the phone call with Asher. After an awkward pause, he said, “Oh shit, didn’t Harry tell you? He asked me to pick you up.”

She shook her head even though he couldn’t see. “I said I’d take the train.”

“You don’t have to. Your mum asked me to come for dinner and I just needed a reason to get out of town.”

Something told her Harry hadn’t asked him to pick her up, and she hated how good that made her feel.

When the thought of Asher crossed her mind, she snapped out of her fantasy. This wasn’t right. She was a hypocrite for being angry at Asher and then having butterflies thinking about her brother’s best friend. Clearly she wasn’t going to sit in a car with Isaac for three hours after what she’d done.

“Come on, Gem. We don’t have to talk about it.”

It.

He couldn’t even say the word. Her kiss must have disgusted him. She’d forced herself on him, and he was still nice enough to offer to drive her. He was only doing this because he was nice, because he was Isaac, not because he had feelings for her. Why would she want him to have feelings for her, anyway? She was still with Asher. Kind of. And she would eventually have to tell him that she’d cheated on him and then beg for his forgiveness.

Now that she thought about it, she believed she deserved this. She needed to start acting like a grown woman and dared to face what she’d done.

“Okay, give me a minute,” she told Isaac.

“All right.” A grin could be heard in his voice before the call disconnected. She sighed roughly, tucked her phone into the pocket of her jeans as she gathered essential things and quickly headed out.

When Isaac saw her walk toward him from the building, his first instinct was to shove his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, giving her a smile so courteous that it made her skin crawl. He loved giving and receiving hugs, but he didn’t do it with her anymore because she’d crossed the line.

He opened the door on the passenger side for her, and she got into his car, buckled her seatbelt as he got behind the wheel. The door was closed, muffling the traffic noise, and she could hear the pulse in her throat loud and clear.

She had to say something.

“What happened to the Range Rover?”

“Oh, this one’s Harry’s,” he said, his voice casual as he started the engine and drove back onto the street. “He lent it to Emilia so she could go to a movie audition. She asked me to return it.”

The nervousness was washed away by irritation as her face screwed up. “He lends her his cars now? Harry is anal about letting people drive his babies.”

“He did lend it to her. I asked him,” Isaac said with a shrug. “He said she’s basically family now.”

“I need to slap him when I see his stupid face.”

“And I need to watch that. Maybe film it, too,” he chuckled, eyes on the road.

She allowed a goofy smile to play on her lips, which vanished as she started to analyse what he’d said. “Did you meet Emilia today?”

“We did a photoshoot. She’s my new model.”

“Oh,” she said, unsure how she wanted that one word to sound.

Before she could dwell on the idea of him and Emilia, he broke the silence. “Harry said you’d asked him to go alone, but then you changed your mind. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” She tucked a strand behind her ear, fighting the urge to look at the side of his face as they talked. “I wanted him to fix the mess that he’d started, but then I realised he was an idiot and would most likely mess things up even more.”

That wasn’t the reason. Harry was no longer the careless kid who randomly brought up Winton and made their mum cry without knowing it. He was an adult and would figure out a sensible way to talk to their mum about Winton and Emilia. So why did Gemma insist on going home?

It took a moment’s thought for her to realise she’d done this out of guilt, and maybe desperation, too. She felt bad about forcing her brother to do the hard work, and at the same time, needed the safety of her family to escape from the stress her relationship had put upon her. She wished she could tell Isaac everything, but she didn’t want to make this trip about her.

“Are you mad at me?” His question brought her back to reality. Only then did she realise they had left the city and were heading onto a country road between large green fields. “Gem, are you mad at me?”

Her heart skipped a beat as she began to fidget with her handbag on her lap. He’d promised that they wouldn’t talk about the kiss. Did he lie to get her into this car?

“No, I’m not.” She winced at how forceful that sounded.

“Are you sure?”

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it,” she snapped and stiffened in her seat when he darted a quick glance her way before focusing on the road again.

He swallowed once. “I just don’t want us to be awkward with each other, Gem.”

“You’re right.” She lowered her face and scratched the tip of her nose. “I’m sorry for what I did. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know why you did it.”

He did?

“You had a fight with your boyfriend and you were confused, right?”

“No, I–” She paused, feeling overwrought. “Why aren’t you upset? You should be angry at me.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you should!” She almost turned and sat upright if it wasn’t for the seatbelt holding her back. “I kissed you when you didn’t want to be kissed. You should be angry.”

“Gemma,” the sound of her name vibrated with his warm laughter, and she felt her body melting into the leather seat. “I kissed you back, so I’m equally guilty here.”

Had he kissed her back? She couldn’t recall. The comforting scent of his cologne accompanied by the shock and guilt must have dulled her senses. But if he had kissed her back, did it mean he’d wanted her, too?

“Don’t worry,” he said after stealing another glance at her. “I know you’re in a long-term relationship. And I don’t want to mess it up, so let’s pretend it never happened. I think you weren’t aware that you were kissing me. I mean, someone like you would never kiss me.”

“Someone like me?” Her gaze jumped to the side of his face. “What does that mean?”

Thinking she was offended, he awkwardly explained, “That...that was meant to be a compliment. You’re a strong and independent woman. You’re smart, beautiful, funny–”

“Pull over,” she said, her heart pounding in her ears.

A glimpse of horror crossed his face as he faltered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Pull over, Isaac.” Her voice was strained, her eyes intense. The car reached a standstill on the side of the road, and her mind was spiralling out of control as she unbuckled her seatbelt and launched herself across the gearshift. She was on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck.

His body was stiff as a board when he dropped his gaze to her mouth, making her wonder if he’d been thinking about her since they’d kissed. She knew she had. The memory made her lips tingle as if he’d kissed them again. She wanted him to kiss them again.

They brought their mouths together at the same time. His hands claimed her face to deepen the kiss, and euphoria shocked through her system as she kissed him harder. She fisted the fabric at his chest, pulling him closer while his hands swept down her back, squeezing her hips. In that moment, when they were alone on the empty road surrounded by windy green fields, something that was meant to be wrong, felt like the rightest thing she had ever done.

.

.

.

Harry had been waiting on the porch since he’d gotten the text message from Y/N. His mum had told him to wait inside, but watching the street somehow made time fly faster. Or so he hoped.

He rested his elbows on his knees, face between his palms, unconsciously tapping his right foot. He did deserve this. He’d blindsided her and now she was making him pay by going home with her ex. Fuck that lawyer kid. Who did he think he was? If there hadn’t been Niall and Alice, Harry would have driven all the way back to London to pick her up.

Twenty minutes felt like two hours as he waited, and when he spotted a car from a distance, he immediately bounced onto his feet. But it was Isaac and Gemma in his black Prius, not his Bambi.

“Wow, aren’t you excited to see me?” Gemma sneered as she stepped out of the vehicle and walked towards him.

Isaac greeted Harry with a hug, and Harry pulled away and nodded his head toward Gemma. “You didn’t have to drive her, you know. I could’ve picked her up at the station.”

Silent, Gemma thinned her lips as Isaac rubbed the back of his head. Why were they acting so awkward? Had Harry said something wrong?

“I know what’s going on here.” Harry put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at both of them. “You’re mad at me for lending Emi my car.”

Gemma’s shoulders dipped as she let out a sigh. “Even that name irritates me.”

“Oh, come on, Gem.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, but she pushed him away. “That one is my least favourite,” he said, pointing to the Prius.

A corner of her lips quirked up as she brushed past him. “And you’re my least favourite person.”

Isaac tossed him the key and followed her, but before they made it to the porch, another car entered their street. Harry’s Bambi was here.

“My Bambi’s here!” he squealed like a little kid, making Gemma snort.

“Wait, Smiley’s here?”

“It’s weird that you still call her that, but yeah, Niall’s here, too,” he told Isaac and stalked toward the car which had pulled over in front of his house.

Niall got out first, stretching his limbs before pulling Harry in for an embrace. “You owed me, Harold.”

“I know. Thanks, mate.” Harry let go of Niall to hug Alice. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t either, but here I am. Lovely neighbourhood!” Alice lifted her shoulders as she adjusted the strap of her bag and then lowered her voice to almost a whisper, “Niall’s single, right?”

“Al! What are you whispering about?”

Harry’s gaze jumped to Y/N, who had finished saying goodbye to Blake. When Blake saw him, the kid raised a palm and a smile which looked fake as hell, but Harry managed to keep his calm and returned one just as plastic.

Y/N walked around the car and threw herself into Harry’s arms, holding his face and kissing his lips. He held her flat against him as he kissed her harder. He could hear Niall making a gagging noise, but he didn’t care as long as he got to rub this in Blake’s face. Because he was as mature as a nine-year-old, and he was fine with it.

“Stop eating her face, pervert.”

Gemma’s comment broke him and Y/N apart. He flipped his sister off and, with a smug look on his face, watched Blake’s car drive ahead and disappear at the end of the road. A swat on the chest made his eyes jump back to Y/N.

“You’re in so much trouble, Harry.” Her nose wrinkled, and he wondered if she knew how cute she looked when she made that face. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead when Gemma took their friends into the house.

“I’m sorry, babe. Why didn’t you text me sooner?” he said with a pout. “You waited until you were almost here to tell me you were coming.” With fucking Blake.

“Well, I knew you were going to wait on the porch. Couldn’t make you wait for three hours.”

His heart fluttered as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You know me so well, kid.”

“I’m still pretty mad at you,” she said. “But I do have a lot to tell you about.”

“About your book?”

She smiled and nodded. He released a relieved sigh as he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I was afraid that you’d be mad at me. The clip and everything.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Would you prefer that I’m mad at you?”

“No.” He shook his head and pecked her lips then either corner of it. “I’m a bad boyfriend. I should’ve driven you, not your stupid ex. Thank God for Niall and Alice.”

“Niall was even worse than you,” she giggled.

He nuzzled her neck, tilting her head up to press a series of kisses to her jaw. When his hands swept from her back to her spine, she snatched his wrists and pinned them to his chest. The way she arched an eyebrow and clicked her tongue made his cock swell against the fly of his pants. When her pupils dilated, he knew she felt it, but she didn’t acknowledge it and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips before pulling away.

“I have to say hi to Marcy and Dad. I’ll come over later, kay?”

“Tell them to join us for dinner.” He tugged her arm, not letting her go just yet. “Bradford and I can bond over our hatred for Blake. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m sure he’d love to come, consider how much he loves Isaac.”

“Damn it,” he cursed when she burst out laughing and cupped his face to kiss him twice on the cheeks. With a lovesick smile, he watched her pad across her front yard and waited until she’d gone into her house to finally return to his.

His mother was so happy to have so many guests that night. She’d cooked a big meal for everyone. Even Bradford and Marcy came to join them. Just like Harry’s promise, he and Bradford had bonded over their same intense dislike for Blake Roman. Y/N had to stuff their mouths with spaghetti so they would stop talking. Alice had won Niall over with her review about the first book she’d read in her life, and now Niall was reading the first book in his life. Weird, but cute.

What was even weirder, however, was to see his sister being so close with Isaac. They’d been whispering back and forth the whole night, and not once did Gemma mention Asher. Harry didn’t like Asher that much so he didn’t mind, and it was good to see Gemma happy again. He hadn’t seen her smile that big before. His mum, too.

His heart sank to the bottom of his chest as he remembered the reason they were all here. He had to tell his mum about Winton.

She would be so disappointed. She might even cry. And this dinner, all of these jokes, all this laughter would mean nothing when she heard about Winton and Emilia. Harry hated to be the reason the women he loved cry. But if he didn’t tell his mum, and she found out herself, he’d be the shittiest son in the world. This would hurt either way, one less than the other.

Dinner was over soon. While everyone gathered in the living room for a game, Harry and Gemma volunteered to clean up. Just like when they were kids, they did something wrong and volunteered to do the housework so the chance of them being forgiven would be higher. Harry knew what he’d done wrong. He didn’t know why Gemma was here.

“They’re playing Scrabble.”

The voice made him flinch before two arms wrapped around his waist, pulling her body toward his. Y/N tiptoed to kiss his neck, and he giggled like a little boy. Gemma gave them a funny look but didn’t say a word because she, and everyone else, was already used to their public affection.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow morning,” she told Harry, and his face screwed up.

“And ruin Mum’s entire Sunday?”

“Well, would you prefer that she stay up all night?”

“I agree with Gemma, baby.” Y/N tightened her grip around his waist, resting her cheek against his back. She felt so small pressed against him like this, and since he’d gone two days without fucking, the thought of holding her up against the wall and spreading her open with his arms beneath her knees was enough to turn his balls blue. He would make that fantasy a reality if Gemma weren’t here, and they weren’t one door away from the only group of people whose opinions about them mattered.

“Okay, tomorrow then,” he said and turned on the tap to wash his hands.

“Alice will sleep with me tonight,” Y/N said. “Niall or Isaac can use our guest room.”

“I’ll sacrifice Niall. Your guest room is shit, and I love Isaac a bit more than Niall.”

She pinched his side and he jumped, but her arms forced his body still.

“I’ll let Gemma pick then,” he said.

“What?” Gemma asked, distracted.

“Isaac and Niall,” he raised a smirk. “One will have to sleep in Y/N’s shitty guest room. One stays here with us.”

“It’s not shitty,” Y/N said in a protesting tone.

“Babe, I saw a rat the last time we had se—”

She smacked a hand over his mouth before he could finish the sentence. As Gemma rolled her eyes at them, he plucked Y/N’s fingers off his face and told his sister, “Go ahead. You pick.”

She opened her mouth. For a second, he thought she was going to answer, but then she released a huff and said, “I’m not doing this with you children.”

“Children?!” He dropped his jaw as she stalked out of the kitchen. Y/N dissolved into laughter as he spun around, took each of her arms and draped it over his shoulder.

A smile played on her lips, and she asked, “Do you wanna join them or go on a date with me?”

“Oooh, where is this date?”

“The cemetery.”

His face went blank for a second as she stifled a laugh. “Just kidding.” She pinched his cheeks. “I’m going to see my mum. You coming?”

“Why does it have to be now?”

“Are you coming or not?”

He was so whipped he would have gone without knowing it was the cemetery. “Fine. But if we see a ghost, I’m leaving you behind.”

She laughed and shoved him away, and they raced each other to the living room. They told everyone that they’d go out for a walk. And as he escorted her to the door, Niall and Alice started clapping and cheering, and Gemma tossed a pillow at Niall to get him to shut up.

There wasn’t a particular reason that Y/N had chosen to plan a cemetery visit at this hour. She simply enjoyed strolling around town in the night as much as Harry did. When he was a teenager, he used to bring one of his dates to the field behind his house, and they had taken long walks under the night sky and made out in his car afterward.

He’d thought it’d been the most romantic experience in his life, until two years ago, when they’d visited her mother’s grave together. That was when he’d realised the cemetery could be romantic. Everything turned romantic when he was with her.

So if she wanted to walk around a graveyard at one in the morning, he would blindly follow, no questions asked.

After finding a safe parking spot, they walked to the tall iron gate that looked like the set of a Hitchcock movie. No one had bothered to polish it since the last time they’d been here, and he guessed no one intended to anyway.

Just like the last time, she snuck through an opening in the fence to get into the cemetery, and he tagged after, his heart thumping loudly. They’d better get to share a cell if they got arrested for trespassing.

It was a little foggy at 1 AM. The air was cold and the grass was damp. They padded across a desolate lot and were careful not to get their shoes dipped into the mud. As they followed the brick pathway, he negotiated his way around the gravestones, trying to keep up because she was walking too fast, like a ghost. The thought made him shiver. Probably not the best comparison to make when they were literally in a cemetery.

After a five minute walk, they finally arrived. Her mother’s headstone stood erect, bathed in light spilt from the ashen moon. Seeing the fresh flowers on the grave, Harry assumed Bradford had just visited his wife today. Y/N had told Harry that her dad came here every week to trim the grass and clean the stone. It was nice how much things had changed since their last visit.

As she squatted down to rearrange the flowers, Harry spotted a newly dug grave nearby and pointed to it, grinning. “Your mum’s getting a new neighbour.”

Y/N put a finger to her lips and shushed him. “Don’t disrespect the dead! They’ll come for you tonight!”

He scoffed at the threat, but as a cold breeze whisked right through his clothes, he immediately cowered to her side, and she doubled over, almost choking on her own laughter.

After giving her mother updates on her book and his Oscar nomination, Y/N kissed her fingers, pressed them against the moonwashed stone and bid her mother goodbye. They followed the same path weaved around tombstones to go back to the opening between the fence. With a feeling of being watched, Harry kept looking behind him as he clung onto Y/N like she was his weapon.

“Don’t look back,” she said. “My mum is following us.”

The shadow of a smile on her lips almost got him running for his life. He swore he’d never do this with her again, knowing for a fact that he would, if she only asked.

Once they returned to their parking spot, they retrieved two cans of Coca-Cola from Y/N’s bag and lay on their backs on the bonnet of his car to watch the stars. His adrenaline from their stroll across the cemetery was finally washed away as he listened to her ranting about her new book.

He wasn’t a writer so he wasn’t qualified to give her any advice. He mostly just listened, and because he knew Y/N didn’t want people’s advice. She vent her frustrations to feel better for a while, and most likely would end up doing whatever felt right to her.

Soon the topic of work bored her out. She extended a hand toward the sky and closed her fingers around nothing as if she was grasping the stars.

“Have you read The Little Prince?”

The random question put a smile to his lips. “The book Alice and Niall couldn’t shut up about during dinner?”

“Yeah.”

He took her hand that was in the air and brought it to his mouth so he could kiss her knuckles. “I have. Why?”

“My mum read it to me when I was little,” she said. “I used to wish I’d lived on the little prince’s tiny planet. All you needed to do was move your chair a few steps and you could see the night sky whenever you liked. We could live in this same moment, over and over again.”

“And never grow older,” his voice softened, and she replied with a quiet hum.

“Wouldn’t that be great?”

He cocked his head to the side and met her softened gaze. But then a hint of worry washed out that dreamy haze, and a line appeared between her brows.

“Do you sometimes wish I was cooler?”

That was a big shift from the story of the little prince. Surprised, he squeezed her fingers gently. “What do you mean? You’re always cool.”

“I mean, cool like...like your friends cool.” She huffed in frustration as she didn’t know how to properly get her point across, but he’d already figured it out.

“You should’ve told me the clip still bothers you,” he said with a frown, and the way she pursed her lips confirmed his speculations. “Bambi…”

“We used to have a lot in common when we were kids.” Her bottom lips trembled as her breaths quickened. “Now our lives are so different. And I’m fine with it, and I know you are too because we love each other. But sometimes it feels like…” She stalled, and with no intention of finishing that sentence, dropped her gaze to her hand in his. “I wish I fit better in your life, so when people see us together they’d just accept it without questioning why.”

“Why do you care what they think, Bambi?”

She bit her bottom lip, thinking for a second. “I’m trying not to. It’s hard.”

A smile stretched his lips as he leaned in, stroked his thumb across her cheek and kissed her mouth lightly. Her lashes fluttered when he pulled away.

“The little prince has a flower, right?” he asked.

“Yes, he has a rose,” she said with a pensive expression. “The only one on his planet.”

He nodded once. “If I remember correctly, she’s a very beautiful flower. She shows off her thorns and puts on a superior attitude, but is actually a sensitive little thing and doesn’t like to expose her vulnerability.”

“Oh no, I’m the flower,” she gasped, making him chuckle.

He brushed her hair out of her face and went on, “When the prince comes to the earth, he finds himself in a garden with hundreds of roses, all as gorgeous as the one he loves.”

She continued for him, “But he still thinks his rose is unique and more important than all of the other roses together.”

“Yes.” He propped himself up on an elbow to lie on his side. “And why is that?”

“Because he loves her, and he knows she loves him, too,” she said while caressing his face with the back of her hand.

“That’s right.” He nodded again. “Most people think the prince is stupid for travelling from planet to planet for a rose, but he doesn’t care what they think. No matter where he is, he always thinks about his little flower. He fell in love with her when he was little and has spent his whole life watering and caring for her. Love comes from investing in other people, isn’t it?”

Her smile widened as she combed her fingers through his hair, and her cheeks bloomed with colours when she drew him in and kissed him deeply. He melted from the intensity of her lips as his hands smoothed down her arm, squeezed her behind, and pulled her as close as he could. The hardness of his body against her softness. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. The butterflies in his stomach. He was spiralling out of control.

“I’m crazy about you,” he muttered against her lips and threaded his fingers in her locks. “I don’t care how different we are. When I first said I love you, I promised I’d stay. So I’m yours as long as you still want me, Bambi.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek. “I want you forever. Can you handle that?”

He drew her closer, and their bodies came flush together. “Forever and ever, baby,” he said before kissing her again.

#my girl series

[fleckcmscott]

Another Year

Summary: Arthur’s birthday is coming up. Y/N wants nothing more than to make it great.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 3,892

A/N: This request came from the one-of-a-kind, fabulous @sweet-nothings04​! Thank you for asking for this. I enjoyed writing it a lot! 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! Keep them coming!

Y/N hadn't realized how much she'd missed putting together birthday celebrations. Not until the unexpected serendipity of falling in love again. Her ex-husband had preferred not to make a big deal of them, had stated he hated getting older. (Considering he'd been in his twenties, she'd found that assertion silly.) As her father had slipped away, special events and gifts had gone by the wayside to focus on routines that wouldn't throw him off kilter. She'd been invited to her sister's and brother-in-law's parties but had only stayed for the hour or two she'd hired a sitter. And while she wasn't the most attentive aunt, she always ensured her nephews and nieces at least got a card and money for a treat.

From what she'd gathered, birthdays had never been an important facet of Arthur's life. That had become obvious upon learning his was 11/21/1946 by reading documents instead of from him. When she'd discovered he'd turned thirty-five and hadn't even told her. But unlike her ex, it wasn't because he didn't want them to be. It was due to neglect, isolation, and the inability to connect. As much sympathy as she had for Penny, for her own illnesses and suffering, for what had been done to her, the wounds she'd inflicted on her son hurt Y/N’s heart. There were so many lost years. She was determined to make-up for them by spoiling him.

The diner where Patricia and she often met for lunch was halfway between their two offices. A five- or six-minute walk for them both. Y/N arrived first. She sat at the white and gold Formica counter and perused the menu. (Though she'd already decided to get her usual pastrami on wheat, garlic pickle, and coleslaw.) Patricia strolled in as the waitress jotted down Y/N's order, and told the young lady she'd have whatever Y/N was having.

They caught up quickly. The Wayne Foundation case was going to have a preliminary hearing in three weeks. Y/N couldn't have rolled her eyes harder. ("Thank god I won't be there. They'd have to drag me off the stand.") Patricia listened with interest while Y/N went on about a dispute involving break violations at Ace Chemicals. And Patricia invited her to stop by the office soon, claiming Matt had realized he'd been stupid to let her quit. ("I'm sure he misses me being a pain in his ass.")

Y/N was picking at the crust of her sandwich when she changed the subject. “I need a favor.”

Patricia arched a brow at her. “Is this going to involve me lugging boxes of files to your apartment?”

“Only if you want the workout.” Chuckling, Y/N shook her head. “Arthur’s birthday is next Saturday. You bake the best cakes. If I’m left to my own devices, he’s going to get something out of a Universal Foods’ box.”

“Mine are out of a box. I just modify the directions and make my own frosting.” Patricia used the rest of her bread to sop up her coleslaw’s dressing. “How old did you say he’s going to be? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six.”

Swallowing her last bite, Patricia quirked up the corner of her lips. “I still owe you for running those supplies to the office when my foot was broken. What kind does he like?”

Y/N hugged her tight across the shoulders. After a short discussion, they decided on chocolate with vanilla cream frosting - a safe choice. It would be small, since it was only for the two of them. Arthur had a job the day before. That would allow her to take it home without him seeing. She’d just have to keep him away from the fridge the rest of the evening.

They talked about the other things Y/N had in-store for him, the reservation, the gifts. She giggled, pleased at having successfully hidden it all from him so far. “You’re putting a lot of work into this,” Patricia said. “What did you do last year?”

“I didn’t know about it last year. He didn’t mention it.” Though Patricia was already aware of some of Arthur’s past, Y/N had kept the details to a minimum. She tried to think of an elaboration, one that respected his privacy but was honest. She started in on her pickle. “With Penny being sick - with everything he was going through...”

Sipping her coffee, Patricia spun her stool to face Y/N fully. “You don’t need to say anymore. I remember. It was hard for you both.”

The empathy in Patricia’s gaze prompted a smile. And reminded Y/N how grateful she was for a friend who was frank but unjudgmental. “Back then, he thought needing or wanting anything from me was a bother. But he’s getting better at letting me love him.” Y/N put a hand on her chest. “And now he’ll never need to mention it. It’s locked in here for good.”

~~~~~

Yesterday had left Arthur in a funk. One that showed signs of adhering to his brain the way flies had stuck to the tape he’d had to hang from the ceiling of his old apartment every spring. He’d spent close to twelve hours dancing and waving a “Store Closing! Everything 50-70% off!” placard in front of Dave’s Pleasure Emporium in Gotham Square. (The city must really be fucked if its denizens’ finances were shitty enough that adult shops were shutting down.) It had been his least favorite gig in months. But the slow season was coming on, and the pay had been decent.

The dull ache in his lower spine, radiating to his hip, had made it harder than usual to sleep. And soreness was seeping from familiar spots to sinews he’d forgotten were there. Even the tips of his toes hurt. Two more ibuprofen tablets and acetaminophen went down easily. Carefully, not wanting to rouse her, he removed Y/N’s hand from his stomach, wincing as he shifted onto his left side to alleviate the pressure on his right.

Thirty-five was too old for this. While he loved performing for children, he should have made it as a comic by now. And he should have finished school. He’d be able to do more than be on his feet all day, then. Have more options. Opportunities...

Or maybe he simply shouldn’t have taken that particular job.

The ability to stop catastrophizing, adjust his way of thinking, was new. And rare. He made a mental note to write today’s accomplishment in his journal and share it at his next appointment. The therapist would be impressed with him. Dozing, he thought his funk might abate after all.

It could have been five or fifty minutes later when he felt the comforter being dragged down. Heard the zip of the shades being rolled up. But he was in that snug state between wakefulness and slumber and refused to react. Then there was a pinch on his chin, a light weight on his scalp. “What are you doing?” he mumbled gravelly.

“It’s someone’s special day today,” Y/N said.

Oh. That’s right. He was thirty-six now.

Squinting in the bright sunlight filtering through their sheer curtains, he propped himself on his forearm. She was half-reclined next to him, draped in a short, black nightdress. The one she found a tad tawdry but he liked. He rubbed his eyes, his forehead. Thin cardboard stopped him when he reached his hair. His fingers followed it, found it tapered into a point.

A party hat. She’d gotten him a party hat. He couldn’t hold back his snort.

In his line of work, birthdays were for kids. He’d stopped caring about his own as a teenager. Penny had seemingly been glad he was around. But she never remembered. Hell, he’d had to remind her of her own. But the last acknowledgment of it, the last one before meeting Y/N, had been by a teacher. He’d gotten an extra five minutes of recess and escaped punishment for inappropriate laughter for the day.

This was his first birthday with a person who saw and loved him. Understood who he was. Knew he was more than some image projected onto him. A person who appeared thrilled he existed and to be in his life. As a husband. Every sit-com and film he’d watched had clued him in: wives deemed them important. They hid gifts, cooked special meals, sneaked around arranging parties. There hadn’t been any sneaking on Y/N’s part, none that he could detect. He wondered what she could have planned.

The kneading of her thumb in the hollow of his hip, briefs slung too low as usual, gave him a good idea of her plan for this morning. The entangling of their legs confirmed it. “I got donuts. Coffee’s ready.”

“You, um-“ He cleared his throat, closed his eyes at the brush of her thigh against his length. Which was getting harder with each touch of her lips to the crook of his neck. “You didn’t make breakfast?”

“No.” Her chuckle was throaty, full of desire. “I wasn’t going to torture you with burnt eggs.” She was pulling at his biceps, trying to get him to settle over her. “Let’s work up your appetite, Mr. Fleck.”

But he flinched and halted her movements. The painkillers hadn't kicked in yet. His muscles burned. "We'll get to it later," he promised between languid, lingering kisses. The kind that made him feel safe. Loved. Famished for her. She guided him onto his stomach, stroked him affectionately. Breaths mingling, they chatted lazily until they both cooled off.

Once his stomach started rumbling, Y/N insisted they get up, despite his protestations that he wasn't hungry. That staying under the covers with her for hours would be fun. That they could eat in bed, crumbs be damned. His back would get worse if he continued laying like that, she told him. He needed to stretch and move. Although he grumbled, his experiences with injuries, whether from overwork, assholes, or sleeping on a couch most of his life, had taught him she was right.

Following a cigarette on the fire escape, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and did a double-take at the round table in the dining nook. He approached it in disbelief. He tensed as he ran his hand along the rectangular gifts and their shiny red paper. Squeezed the puffy, tan winter coat. Fingered the silver ribbon tied to the chair, dangling from an aluminum helium balloon. The lump in his throat forced a short laugh. But he didn't cover his mouth, not having to hide from her. He shook his head, wiping at the sudden wetness in his eyes. "All this is for me?" He did his best to sound normal.

"No. They're for my other husband, Carnival." She came behind him, hugged him around his torso and splayed her fingers on his chest. "You may have met him. Has a penchant for making balloon animals? Wears pants with the cutest patch on his bottom?" He grasped her forearm, held her tight to him as his shoulders shook with mirth.

It wasn't yet eight o'clock. And the day was already shaping up to be one of his favorites.

~~~~~

At the vanity on Arthur's side of the bed, Y/N was attempting to create the perfect oval eye with brown liner. The wide smile creeping onto her face wasn't making it easy. But it couldn't be helped. Everything had gone wonderfully so far. Had more than met her expectations. She hoped his had been met, too.

She'd been badgering him to get a winter coat since last Christmas. (His teeth had chattered almost the entire time they'd stood outside to watch Gotham's Christmas parade. The hot chocolate from a vendor hadn't done much good. A long bath had been necessary to finally warm him up.) The one she'd picked out fit him well, and he'd seemed to like it, hanging it by the door next to his tan jacket. And she'd known he was attached to his trusty, foil razor. But it was over fifteen years old, taped together, and on its way out. The new one had a rechargeable battery. He wouldn't be tethered to the outlet over the sink if he wanted to move around a bit.

The twitch of his nostrils, his hitched breath as he'd whispered, "Thank you," had compelled her to kneel next to his chair. The poignancy of his reaction had affected her keenly. Hollowed out her core and filled it with compassion and love. He'd frowned and wiped his nose with the back of his knuckles. "Sorry," he'd scoffed, glistening eyes darting to hers. "I don't mean to be weird."

"You're not, Arthur." She'd gently removed his black and red polka-dotted party hat, set it on the table. "You're being you."

After a quick lunch, they'd leisurely strolled arm-in-arm through the neighborhood, including a visit to the nearby park. Arthur had wanted to stop into the used record shop three or four blocks away. She'd caressed up and down his back, observing his content visage as he flipped through the LPs. It was lovely to see him treat himself to a couple without hesitating to worry about the cost for too long. At home, he'd settled on the floor by the record player and put them on. He must have been feeling better, because he'd kept his earlier promise: they'd made love on the carpet. Unhurried, sweet, and giggling like idiots.

The opening of the bathroom door broke her out of her reverie. She started blotting her darker-than-usual red lipstick with a tissue. "It was nice of Patricia to get me aftershave," he said.

She smoothed the lines of her champagne color, mid-length dress, adjusted its petal sleeves, then twisted around just as he entered the bedroom. Her movements halted. Would his handsomeness, his beauty, ever fail to stun her? Gaze roaming his slender form, she stared at him. He'd only worn his black and brown oxfords seldomly, saving them for special occasions. The wrinkled white socks didn't match his black pants, but they paired well with him.

It was the teal button-up, patterned with white circles of various opacities and sizes, that caused her to need a few seconds to process his remark. It'd hung in the corner of his old living room; she'd eyed it in their closet since he'd moved in. It was such a contrast to his usual conservative clothing. Quite unlike him, she'd assumed. But seeing him standing there in it, the way it complimented his lithe figure and brought out the light green of his irises, made him look a little less withdrawn, she realized she'd been mistaken.

"She thought it'd suit your new shaver." He gave a gentle hum in response, bashful smile appearing. Such gestures were unfamiliar to him. Eventually, they'd become such an integral part of his life he'd grow tired of them. Y/N would make sure of that. The idea prompted a grin and she stepped around the bed to approach him. "You look great. Are you ready?"

“Yeah.” The crook of his mouth, the furrow of his forehead alerted her to his nervousness. He rubbed the back of his neck, flitted his look to hers. “It sounds fancy.”

She kissed him soundly and he eased into her embrace. “You don’t have to impress me,” she said. “You already did that. Use whichever fork you want.”

The restaurant was in Gotham’s Little Italy district, only a block or two from Chinatown. Y/N had never been to Bamonte’s but her colleagues had given it good reviews. (One had said he and his wife went there every anniversary.) Arthur gaped when they went inside. She watched him survey the lavish, red curtains decorating the walls; the dim lanterns suspended from the ceiling; the faux-marble floor. Huffing, he turned to her, concern clear on his face. She grasped his elbow. “It’s all right. You belong here as much as anyone else.”

The maitre’d led them to a secluded table, behind its own drawn back drapes in the rear corner of the smoking section. Arthur traced the edges of the three lit, tulip-shaped votive holders. Caressed the cream color tablecloth as he sat in the fabric covered chair. An anxious chuckle left him and he smoothed his palm over his thigh. “I hope I don’t spill anything.”

Y/N assisted Arthur with the menu, explaining some of the more exotic-to-him dishes. He was interested in the antipasto, which wasn’t unexpected, since he always kept a jar of olives in the fridge. The gnocchi with tomatoes, spinach, fresh basil, and mozzarella was what he thought sounded best. She chose an old favorite, chicken in a mushroom and white wine sauce and a Caesar salad on the side. Arthur picked the least expensive Moscato on the wine list. When the bottle was opened and left on the table, he blinked at it, then shrugged and filled their glasses.

After a couple of sips, he crossed his legs and puffed on his cigarette. “I wrote a new joke. Well, I really just changed an old one.” He reached across the table to graze across the back of her hand. “Why didn’t the old man like having insomnia?”

Her eyelids fluttered, his gossamer touch setting her aflame. She ran her toes along his calf, his resulting twitch causing her to giggle in delight. “He wanted to sleep with his wife?”

Dark brows shot up in surprise, his eyes lighting up. Their fingers laced together. “How did you know?”

Leaning forward, she traced his crow's feet, prominent due to his beaming smile. Then her touch drifted to his jawline. “It was the first joke you ever told me," she murmured. "How could I forget?” Clutching her hand, he pressed a kiss to her wrist. He held her to his lips, hard enough to feel his teeth. And he grew quiet. “What is it?” she asked after a minute.

His eyelids shut. She could feel his pulse quicken together with hers. “I- I wanna sleep with you forever,” he breathed.

Out of anyone else’s mouth, she would have taken that to mean sex. From him, however, she knew it meant mountains more. Adoration welling in her chest, her fingertips weaved into his loose, chestnut curls. “You will.”

~~~~~

Once, in high school, Arthur had gotten a hold of some grass. It was supposed to induce giddiness and euphoria, make a person relax. God knows he could have used it back then; Penny had started declining and he’d had to learn to run a household. Plus, he’d thought at the time, it’d make him one of the guys. All the cool kids were doing it. Maybe he’d be able to connect with one and learn how to be popular. But all it had done was make him nauseous and paranoid. There hadn’t been one iota of the “high” he’d imagined. He’d thrown it out and never tried it again.

Now he wondered: was it possible to be high on a person? To be drunk on their presence? To feel their essence down to the cell? Necking on the sofa with Y/N, their coffee forgotten on the coffee table, he figured it must be. Enraptured, he wanted to capture her ragged breaths, take her into his lungs, make her a perpetual part of his being. Perhaps he’d stay happy naturally, then, like everyone else. Even if that didn’t work, she’d always be close.

Giggling, she pushed him off her and headed towards the kitchen. “Wait here. No peeking.”

Laughing softly, Arthur pushed his hair out of his face. She’d already gotten him gifts. Let him make love to her. Taken him to an eatery where he was totally out of place and managed to make it comfortable. What else could she possibly do? Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. He eagerly followed at the call of his name.

The loveliest cake he’d ever seen was on the counter. Dark chocolate shavings embellished its round border. And it was the perfect size for the two of them. Y/N was rushing to light a mass of candles on it. “Quick, make a wish before wax drips onto the frosting.”

He mused for a moment. He no longer needed to pine for daydreams and delusions of companionship - he had Y/N. In spite of the icons his mother had had in every room of their apartment, he’d long ago stopped praying to what he suspected was nothing for his conditions and illnesses to go away. Then it occurred to him. Bending to blow out the candles, he wished for his innate comedic gifts to be recognized. To be validated as the stand-up he knew he was. And to provide for Y/N. To be what she needed. To make her happy.

Although he was grateful for Patricia’s thoughtfulness, and he knew Y/N’s baking wasn’t better than his own, part of him had wanted her to be the one who made the cake. But he tried to push that aside and appreciate it regardless. The slice she gave him was far too generous. He ate it all, anyway, because it was delicious. The sponge was fluffy. And the chocolate could actually be detected, instead of a vague, sugary flavor. The frosting tasted finer than that on the grocery store bakery cupcakes he’d sampled in the past.

As he was rinsing off the cutlery, Y/N saddled up beside him and held out a bright purple envelope, inscribed with “Happy Birthday!” in her pretty longhand. He leaned his hip against the counter as he grasped it, intentionally brushing his hand against hers. Gingerly, he lifted the flap and pulled out the card.

The cardstock was a vibrant gold and white. Two mugs, one green and labeled, “Yours,” one pink and labeled, “Mine” sat on sketched coasters. The shiny purple letters underneath proclaimed, “You get me. I get you.” Pressing his thin lips together, he opened it. And sighed when he read the rest: “Hope you know how happy that makes me.”

One of his wishes had already come true.

The elation coursing through his veins made him shudder. He nearly missed the stiff papers that fell from the envelope. Y/N retrieved them and gently placed them in his palm. A wide smile spread across his cheeks as he read aloud. “‘Gotham Pops presents A Night with Gershwin?’” He double-checked the date. “These are for New Year’s Eve.”

She nodded. “I snagged them as soon as they went on sale. They’re orchestra seats.” Then she squeezed him flush to her side, bumped her nose to his. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you sing to yourself in the tub.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, eyes tracing the diamond pattern of the grey, linoleum floor. “I thought I was quieter.”

“I’m glad you weren’t.” Enthusiastically, her lips pulled at his before she grinned up at him. “Did you have a happy birthday? Was it worth getting older?”

Arthur’s answer came without delay. “Yes.” There wasn’t a way to explain what it meant to him, to explain that she helped him feel good to be alive. How full his heart was. That she patched cracks in his soul he hadn’t known existed. He longed to do the same for her. He cupped her jaw on either side, guiding her to his mouth and rasping, “I don’t mind getting older with you.”

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​ @jokerownsmysoul​

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[whockeywhore]

Between Two 18

I sat up at the sound of glass breaking and reached out for Jamie. His side of the bed was cool and empty and I called out for him. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, a dark patch of sweat blooming under the collar of his shirt. 

“Baby, that vase with the naked ladies, were you gonna bring that back to the Burgh or donate it?” 

“Donate.” 

“Sweet.” He turned to leave and I heard him yell down the hall. “It’s all good guys, she didn’t want to keep it.” 

I slipped out of bed and pulled a pair of leggings on, tiptoeing into the hall. 

“Well look who’s finally up!” 

“And right after all the heavy lifting is done. Typical Grace.” 

Braden and Alex shared a laugh between themselves before heading down the stairs, each carrying the end of a coffee table. I watched them go and turned into the kitchen to find Jake and Michael wrapping plates in old newspaper. Nicke was sitting at the head of the table with his nose buried in one. 

“When was the last time the Kings won the cup?” 

“2014.” 

“You need to throw stuff away more Grace. Are you familiar with the teachings of Marie Kondo?” 

“Cal never liked to toss anything. I’m pretty sure he still has my prom dress somewhere in here.” 

“Yeah, Jake tried it on. Very provocative for a high school prom.” 

I leaned back against the counter and watched the scene unfold, pouring myself a cup of coffee and taking a big sip before I spoke. 

“What are you guys doing here?” 

Jake held up a covered plate before tossing it into an open box. “Helping you pack.” 

“But-” 

“Tom called us. He said you were packing up your dad’s place and needed some help.” 

Nicke dropped his paper and nodded. “He promised dinner. And beer.” 

I nodded and left the room, bounding downstairs to find Jamie. He was kneeling next to a giant oak desk in the den and had a strip of measuring tape lining the edge, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“How the hell did Cal get this in here?” 

“He built it when we moved in.” He let out a long groan and stood, rubbing his lower back gingerly. “You guys have gotten a lot of work done. When did they get here?” 

“Around seven.” My watch read eleven-thirty and a bit of guilt crept over me. “You were sacked out.” 

"You should have woken me up. I feel bad, I haven’t done anything.” 

“But you’re so cute when you’re sleeping- aside from the snoring. If you wanna help, you can start by taking this apart.” He tapped the desktop with a screwdriver and I nodded. 

“Aye-aye captain. And I don’t snore.” 

“Liar!” 

I swatted at him as he leaned down to kiss me, pressing his lips to my forehead for a few seconds. He caught my hand and shook his head before leaving me to my job. The desk was impossibly heavy and I ran my fingers over the divots in it, noting the notches Cal had carved into the edge during phone calls. It was a bad habit developed after I’d gotten him a pocket knife for Christmas one year. I’d caught him whittling away during one of his conference calls a few days later. 

“You know you look just like your mother when you do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Cross your arms and tap your toe like that. You have her eyes.” He motioned for me to come stand next to him and I did, studying the paperwork on his desk. He’d doodled a crude horse on the side and I couldn’t help but laugh. “What? What’s so funny?” 

“You can’t draw, daddy.” 

“Now you sound just like her!” 

“You alright?” Tom was leaning against the door frame watching me and I nodded, dropping my head to wipe my eyes. 

“Yeah, just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“My dad.” Tom pulled an armchair across the room and dropped into it, leaning forward on his elbows. “You know he built this desk.” 

“Really?” 

“Mhmm. A few weeks after my mom passed, I came home to a huge pile of wood on the front porch. Had to climb through a window just to get in. Worked on it nonstop for a month, round the clock. Our neighbors called the cops twice because he was using a table saw at midnight.”

“Sounds like Cal.” 

“He was so proud of it,” I reached out and pushed it a bit, nodding to the short leg on my side, “Never would admit it wobbled.” 

“He was a good guy, Grace. A great guy.” 

“He carved their initials into it.” I tugged the center drawer out and felt blindly for the heart he’d drawn, closing my eyes as I found the CD+MJ. Calvin Dillard and Marie Johannsen.

“Grace-” He came around the desk and knelt down, pulling me into a tight hug as my emotions got the best of me. The weight of the weekend, going through my father’s whole life and deciding what was worth keeping from the house I’d grown up in, sat heavy on my shoulders and I collapsed against him with a sob. 

Tom stroked my back gently and I curled into his lap. “I don’t wanna leave, Tom. I don’t want to move to Pittsburgh.” 

“You do, Gracie. I know you do.” 

“I don’t. I want to stay here and I want everything to go back to the way it was a-and I... I want my dad back. I miss him so much.” 

“I miss him too. But look, look at me for a minute.” He lifted my chin until I met his eyes. “You can’t bring him back Gracie. Staying here won’t bring him back. You have a life waiting for you in Pittsburgh.”

I sniffed and he reached for a tissue from the desk, letting me wipe my nose before he pressed on. 

“You’ve got your wedding and your new job. You’ve got Jamie. Everything is waiting up there for you and keeping this house, staying in Washington, isn’t going to change that.” 

He let me fall apart for a few minutes and I balled my hands into fists in his t-shirt, angry and sad and drowning in nostalgia. I pulled myself back together and sat up, retying my ponytail and wiping my face.  

“I got mascara on your shirt.”

“Don’t worry about it. I borrowed it from Braden this morning after he picked me up last night. I spent your cab money on beer.” 

“That’s my boy.” 

He wrapped an arm around me and I fell against him, taking a minute to savor the feeling of being wrapped in his arms again. My eyes burned with more tears and I realized what made all of this sting so badly. In the past few years, through all the trips I’d taken and games I’d gone to, he’d become home to me. Tom was the constant I had clung to after my dad’s diagnosis. He’d come to appointments and gone to visit Cal with me, even on his own sometimes. 

Every time things had gotten bad, every shitty prognosis or rough night, Tom had been there. For me.

“I’m gonna miss you. So much.” 

His voice was heavy with emotion as he agreed. “We’ll see each other. At games, on holidays. We’ll spend by-week together come January.” 

I bit back the urge to argue that it wouldn’t be the same and opted for taking his hand in mine and squeezing it. He returned the gesture before clearing his throat and standing up. He held out a hand to help me to my feet and I took it, falling into him again as soon as we were upright. 

“Hey guys, we were thinking about heading out for some lunch. Are you-” Braden stopped as he saw us and I turned my head to look as he stepped into the den. “What’s going on?” 

“Just hashing some shit out.” 

“So we’re... all good?” We both nodded and he came closer, wrapping his arms around the two of us with a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I hate it when you two fight.” 

I weaseled my way out of his grasp when I began sweating and he laughed. 

“What were you saying about lunch?” 

“We were going to order some pizza. Just about done upstairs.” 

“Why don’t we go out? There’s nothing in the fridge and no place to sit anyway. There’s a great parlor a few blocks away.” 

He nodded and mumbled about going to tell everyone else, leaving Tom and I alone once again. 

“So you and I are good?” 

“You tell me.” I wiped at the mascara stains on his shirt and frowned. “You should soak this before it sets.” 

“Gracie Lou, if you want to see me shirtless, all you have to do is ask.” He pulled the t-shirt off and tossed it in my direction. “You know I’ve got love for you.” 

He ran his fingers over his abs and gave me a wink. “You like what you see?” 

"Shut up, Tom.” I started towards the laundry room with a smile on my face. “I can’t believe I missed you.” 

#between two fic #tom wilson fic #tom wilson imagine #jamie oleksiak fic #jamie oleksiak imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic

[hazzasgayvodka]

8 * ROCK THE CASBAH * 8

Impact: Chapter 8

Chapter title song: Rock the Casbah - The Clash 

JESS

I wake up incredibly late due to it being Wednesday, my day off from classes. I roll over expecting to see Harry beside me, but his side of the bed is already empty. I look down to see a burgundy blanket draped across me that I definitely didn't place there myself. I shove off the comforter and drag myself out of bed, stopping at his mirror only to grab a small yellow sticky note that wasn't there when I went to bed.

Morning dollface,

I'm working at the shop today, try not to die of boredom without me

I shake my head and stick it back to the mirror, trudging out of his room and into the living room where both Niall and Louis are stood on chairs, hanging up blue and red ribbons.

"What's going on out here?" I ask as I pour myself yet another bowl of cocoa pebbles.

"It's Ryland's birthday and we're throwing him a surprise party." Louis explains, ripping a piece of tape with his teeth.

I look over at Niall to see him looking equally as excited. When I open the fridge to grab the milk I see that it's stocked full of real food rather than the countless boxes of takeout and the occasional apple.

"Actual groceries too?" I tease, "It's a miracle."

"Yeah, Harry went this morning before work." Niall nods, struggling to adequately secure the disco ball to the ceiling fan.

I shake my head just as Sam appears around the corner, already fully dressed with her hair tied up in a bandana.

"Morning sleepyhead," She laughs, "I've never seen you sleep that long in your life."

I shrug, glancing at the clock to see it already reading one o'clock. I finish my bowl of cocoa pebbles and briefly listen to Niall and Louis's recounting of the day's plans before Ryland's birthday party. Apparently, they've put a lot of thought into it.

"Oh, Harry also wanted me to tell you good luck on your job interview." Niall smiles, reading over the list of alcohol they need to buy one last time.

As soon as the words come out of his mouth I can't breathe, that's what today is, that's why I didn't make any plans for my day off, I have an interview with one of the biggest publishing corporations in the country.

"Oh my god! My interview! I totally forgot!" I screech, tossing my bowl into the sink and running back to Harry's room.

I shut the door behind me and start tearing through my suitcase to find my good bra to go under one of the many dresses hanging in Harry's closet. The door opens and I brace myself for one of the boys, holding a shirt over my undressed self.

"It's just me." Sam laughs, shutting the door behind her and collapsing onto Harry's unmade bed.

I huff out a sigh in exasperation as I shuffle through my suitcase, grabbing my black heels and my makeup bag and tossing them onto his bed. I wobbly stand up and shuffle to the closet, flipping through the three dresses I brought, each of them stupidly similar to each other.

"Fuck, I should have brought the red one, it's okay I'll just swing by the dorm and-"

"Jess, calm down," Sam sighs, cutting me off and standing from the bed to grab me by the shoulders, "it doesn't matter what you dress you wear, you're totally going to smash this interview out of the park."

"But what if I don't? What if I just keep working at that shitty flower shop for the rest of my life where Harry has free reign to come in and be his fucking annoying self every goddamn day."

She pulls away from me with wide eyes and a smirk on her lips. I want to shout at her and ask her what the hell is so funny right now when I'm running so late for this interview.

"So, this is about him." She sighs and I finally allow myself to sit back on his bed, "Well it sure seems his potty mouth might be rubbing off on you a bit, Jessy," She laughs, desperately trying to lighten the mood but I stay somber, letting myself fall back into the mattress and rub my eyes with the backs of my hands.

She collapses next to me with a purple flouncy blouse and the black pencil skirt in hand, looking them over before proudly laying them out for me to wear. She turns to me and I just barely peak at her through my hands covering my eyes.

"Oh, come on Jess, who is this girl bumming around because of a stupid boy? He's an idiot sweetheart, I promise, don't waste your time letting him get under your skin, babe." She says profoundly, shaking my shoulders to really get the message across.

I finally pull myself into a sitting position, my head still hung low but feeling better nonetheless. She slings her arm around my shoulder, gesturing to the amazing outfit she's put together and I can't help but finally break into a smile.

"There she is!" She laughs, "You're Jess fucking Lawson! A total fucking babe! Who cares about crazy stupid boys? You have an interview for an internship with one of the biggest names in publishing! You've got it in the bag girl!" She shouts, jostling me about until I'm laughing with her and finally standing from my bed with my head on straight.

"Thanks, Sam." I smile, taking the adorable outfit from her and moving towards the bathroom.

I wish I could just take her with me as I get ready for what could be the first step at any chance of me ever having an amazing job in publishing. I could take on this entire world with Sam beside me being the personal cheerleader she always has been. But sadly, I don't get that luxury, instead I get to take on this world by myself and this interview is the first step.

HARRY

I pull up in front of the big glass building with the overwhelming want to be anywhere else but walking up those stupid steps. As soon as I throw open the door and walk inside, every muscle in my body gets tighter. Just being here puts me on edge. I pass the front desk to clock in and of course the wandering eyes of resident secretary, Tabitha, follow me wherever I go.

"Afternoon, Mr. Styles." She smiles, leaning on her elbow against her desk.

I give her a swift nod, shoving my card back into my slot before walking towards the elevators and hoping there's one there waiting so I don't have to endure small talk with her. Instead of an elevator dinging right away and rescuing me, the voice of none other than Lex echoes across the lobby.

"Harry? Is that you?" He asks, jogging up next to me.

I turn to look at him with rolling eyes as I pull my suit jacket up on my shoulders. He eyes me with surprise, surely shocked that I've come in more than twice this week already.

"You're coming in again?" He asks shockingly.

"You did ask me to make an appearance at least twice a week, so yeah, I'm here." I huff just as the elevator dings and I slip inside quickly hoping he doesn't follow me.

"I know I asked I just didn't think you'd actually...do it." He wonders aloud, of course following me into the empty elevator and causing me to outwardly sigh.

"Well I did, let's not ruin it, alright, Lex?" I say curtly, pressing the button for the tenth floor and hoping this elevator ride moves quickly.

"Lex? No, Uncle Lex, anymore? You too old for that now?" He chuckles, leaning against the wall of the elevator behind him.

"I'm twenty four years old, and we're business partners, do you really want me walking around the office calling you Uncle Lex?" I quip, resisting every urge to roll my eyes.

"Well, no, I guess not." He shrugs, his damn near perfect, fake smile never faltering.

Finally, the elevator comes to a stop and the doors peel open, releasing me from this personal hell where I can lock myself in my office and edit for the next two hours. Lex calls my name once again, something about new employee interviews and how he needs help with them, but I just keep walking. Soon enough I'm standing in my office, looking at my lovely view of the roof of the building next door, cracking a window and lighting a cigarette.

I take a seat in my chair, resting my cigarette in my ash tray and propping my feet up on the desk. The stack of manuscripts staring at me from my file cabinet has me swallowing hard knowing that it's far too many to get through only coming in twice a week. I would just take it home but there's nowhere in my house that she's not. The desk in my room is covered with bottles of makeup and lip gloss; the living room coffee table littered with textbooks and pages upon pages of notes.

By the time I finish my first full manuscript of the day I've smoked through three cigarettes and chewed the ends of two pens to bits. My shoes and suit jacket are strewn to the floor, the top four buttons of my shirt now unbuttoned too. I see the reflection of my face in my computer screen, a disheveled mess of hair and lines between my eyebrows from straining my eyes to read the tiny print due to refusing to ever wear my glasses.

I stand from my desk, shoving my feet back into my shoes and rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands. Looking out the window I realize how dark it's gotten in just the time I've been here. I reach for the lamp on my desk and flip it on, illuminating my now cave-like office. I need to get out of here for a bit.

I shove open my door and escape my prison, heading towards the break room hoping that no one else is there and I can simply grab a bottle of water in peace. Before I can get there, Lex's voice comes booming from the elevators followed by his famous hyena laugh. But it's not until I hear the voice of the person he's speaking to that I become interested.

As soon as I round the corner I see her, a ruffled blouse and tight black skirt adorning her body. Her hair is pulled up into a bun and there's shiny black heels on her feet. She's standing up impossibly straight as Lex tells her one of his hilarious stories I'm sure and she laughs perfectly on cue every time. I realize I don't want her to see me here and suddenly reality is crashing on me and I'm jumping back around the corner and only peaking around the side to catch a glimpse of her ass in that skirt.

"Who are we spying on?" Audrie's voice behind me asks, causing me to jump about two feet in the air.

I turn around with a murderous glare but she only laughs, leaning around the corner herself to get a glance at whatever I was looking at. She shoves me out of the way, straining to listen to the conversation just as I was.

"Oh, it's a girl, shocker," She says uninterestingly, "can't believe I thought a Styles man would be looking at anything else."

She rolls her eyes easily as she walks away, seemingly disinterested with the exchange now that she's seen just what I was spying on. I grab her arm as she turns away and tug her back to me.

"What is she doing here? What do you know?" I ask in a hushed voice hoping her and Lex can't hear me.

"What? She applied for an entry level position," She shrugs, "why do you care?"

"I um," I start, turning back to glance at her still talking to Lex, "I don't."

"Maybe she'll take over my old job." Audrie laughs.

"What? No, definitely not, not her, I don't even need a fucking assistant." I huff, shoving Audrie out of the way of my viewing area.

"Oh whatever, what would you do without me? I'm the only person that keeps you sane in this office, Harry," She quips, smacking me in the arm, "despite you only being here like maybe once a week."

I shush her immediately, shoving her away and hoping to god, Lex doesn't hear us. She can't work here, I already have a hard enough time keeping my secret job from Louis and Ryland, if she finds out, everything will fall to shit. Before I can lean over to catch another glimpse of her, Audrie is shoving me out into the middle of the hallway, in clear view. I glare at her, pushing her out of my way so I can go back to my office and pretend none of this happened.

"Oh my gosh, hey, Harry, what are you doing here?" She shouts obnoxiously, immediately grabbing Jess and Lex's attention.

As soon as her eyes land on me, she goes stone cold. I can tell that she's already in denial in her head, already unable to believe, like me, that our wires have been crossed again.

"Oh, Harry!" Lex smiles brightly, gesturing for me to walk over and introduce myself, "This is Jess, our new intern. Jess, this is Harry."  

She looks at me with daggers for eyes as she takes my hand in hers and gives it a shake. She's trying to read the situation, asking me a million questions with her eyes. I'm sure she's wondering how I could possibly work here since I'm such a horrible and volatile person.  

"I'm glad you two have met already because I was thinking that Jess could fill Audrie's position as she's moving up to marketing." Lex says, turning my greatest nightmare into a reality.

"Audrie's position?" She asks, still optimistic as she turns to Lex asking what that means.

"Harry's assistant," He explains, "he's the chief editor here and therefore needs just a little bit of help when he's not totally cooped up in his office all day."

Lex cracks up at his previous comment but Jess is stone cold, her perfectly timed laughs now forgotten as she realizes what she actually just signed up for. She turns to me with narrowed eyes and I can already hear her annoyed voice, 'Chief editor? How? I bet you don't know the first thing about editing, Harry.' When I realize that she's just as discouraged as I am by the arrangement, I finally grasp the fact that I have the upper hand.

Jess Lawson as my assistant; having to do whatever I ask no matter how annoying or ludicrous, the constant ability to piss her off and make her snap in all the right ways. Every day a perfect view of her in a tight skirt and heels. Suddenly the idea sounds miraculous.

"Wonderful, I can't wait." I smile, sending her a wink to which she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

"I'm glad to hear it!" Lex smiles, clearly not recognizing the tension ever-present in the air, "I have a meeting to attend but I will see you tomorrow, Jess. Have a good night."

With that he waves goodbye and turns towards the conference rooms with his manila folder under his arm. Jess leans forward and presses the button for the elevator without daring to look up at me or say a word.

"Jess," I say, grabbing her arm but she rips it from my grasp, "come on, we need to talk."

"I'm sure we can do that later since every aspect of my life seems to revolve around you lately!" She huffs, running a hand through the few small pieces of hair that have fallen from her bun.

I grab her arm and tug her towards me to which she rolls her eyes and mumbles about me not touching her ever again. I drag her to my office and close the door behind us, turning to face her angry eyes.

"You can't tell anyone about this." I say carefully, releasing her from my grip.

She turns her face up at me, folding her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes as she tries to understand.

"I um, no one knows that I work here." I say gingerly, not meeting her eyes.

"Why?" She asks simply but it comes out sounding interrogative.

"Well, I'm not sure how they'd take it, it's not really who I am." I shrug.

"Oh yes, how could I forget? You couldn't possibly ruin your reputation as a tattooed asshole who thinks he's a badass." She huffs, shoving past me to get to the door.

I grab her at the last second and stand between her and the door. She groans, shoving at me and reaching for the door knob but I put my hand over hers to stop her.

"I'm serious Jess, please, this has to stay between us."

Her face relaxes, and her eyes finally meet mine, warm and brown despite her cold demeanor towards me. Her hand releases the door knob and I let out a breath of relief.

"Fine," She breathes, "but if I'm agreeing to this, you're agreeing to some things too."

I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets and awaiting the onslaught of demands sure to come out of her mouth any second.

"You need to be nice," She starts, and I laugh at her stupid introductory, "I'm serious, Harry! To Jace and Miles, you're so rude to both of them."

I nod my head, sealing my fate to be nice to both of those sons of bitches. Jace is just a tank with a temper, I can keep myself in check, but Miles has a lot more riding on his ass. I have hundreds of reasons to kick that kid's ass.

"And I think both of us just need to set aside our differences and chill out. We said we were going to be friends but here we are yelling at each other again." She sighs, her head falling on her shoulders.

"You're right." I breathe, collapsing into my desk chair.

She looks up from the ground to meet my eyes as I prop my feet back up on my desk as I always do. She rolls her eyes and sits in the chair on the other side, doing the same.

"You've really taken to decorating in here." She laughs sarcastically, eyeing the barren walls all around us.

"Yeah, I mean, I only come in a few times a week and all I do is sit here and read books." I shrug, gesturing to my messy desk and open manuscript.

"Well, I guess I should let you get back to it." She shrugs, standing from her chair all too soon.

She waves as she walks back out the door, her hips still looking great as ever in that skirt. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and turn back to my desk, regretfully opening the next manuscript and getting to reading.

JESS

I walk back in the door of Harry's apartment with Sam by my side, both of us shivering as we collapse on the couch and turn on the TV.

"Thanks for picking me up," I smile, "and dropping me off for that matter."

"It's what friends are for." She grins, hugging me for warmth as she grabs blankets for both of us from the recliner.

"Did I hear some girls come in?" Louis asks, flopping on top of both of us.

We both squeal and attempt to shove him off of us, to which we succeed, making him land flat on the carpet and groaning. Sam falls on top of him on the floor, still giggling as she kisses his cheeks and finally locks her lips to his.

"Hey! PDA!" Niall shouts as he appears around the corner from his bedroom.

He collapses on the couch next to me too and tugs some of the blanket away from me, which I protest against. He sighs heavily, looking around at all the decorations littering the walls as well as the balloons floating around the room.

"We did good, buddy." He smiles, turning to Louis who's now sat with his arm around Sam.

"Hell yeah we did!" Louis shouts, "This party is gonna rock!"

"What time did you tell everyone to get here?" Niall asks, turning to Louis who's already back to making out with Sam.

"Around seven." He mumbles, barely pulling away from Sam.

Niall shakes his head, eyeing the clock on the wall behind us to see what time it is. When he looks to see it's only two hours till seven he jumps up from the couch excitedly.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower because we have to leave at six to go get Ryland!" He grins, running to his bathroom at the back of the apartment.

I shake my head and get up from the couch, making my way to Harry's room and just wishing I had somewhere to go that was actually mine. God, I miss my dorm.

"Where are you going, Jess?" Sam asks, turning to look at me over the back of the couch, "Are you getting ready too?"

"I don't think I'll be attending tonight, I'll just go to the library or something." I shrug.

"What? No!" She shouts, stumbling up from the couch to meet me in the hall, "You have to be here! It's going to be great! They bought decorations and everything, Jess."

I look over to see Louis also sitting up on the couch awaiting my reply. I hate when Sam guilt trips me like this but funnily enough it always works.

"It is going to be fun," Louis shrugs, "why don't you just go with us to get Ryland and hang out for the first hour, if you're not having fun then leave and you won't hurt our feelings, promise."

I laugh at his compromise and nod my head, reluctantly agreeing. Sam squeals, jostling me about as she shoves me into Harry's room to get dressed in time to go get Ryland.

After loading a blind folded Ryland into the car was a much harder task than anticipated, I'm glad when I can see the apartment come into view. Cars are parked all down the side of the street and laser lights pour out of the windows along with the faded pumping of music inside the walls thanks to Niall staying behind to finish setting up.

"Where are we? What is that noise?" Ryland asks, nearly smacking his head into the roof of the car as he stands up outside.

"Just wait, you're gonna love it bro." Louis assures him, grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him up the driveway.

As we reach the door, I can see Niall inside getting everyone ready to yell surprise as soon as Sam rips off the blindfold. Despite most of the partygoers being extremely intoxicated, a good bit of them comply and shout an eardrum shattering "surprise!" as Sam removes the blindfold.

"Oh my god! Yes! Thank you guys!" Ryland shouts, instantly grabbing Louis for a hug and being offered a large shot from one of his other friends.

I find myself alone all too fast. I look around but spot no familiar faces other than my obvious friends who happen to be working hard and fast at getting Ryland absolutely smashed drunk in the next hour.

"Jess! Come on! Your turn!" Niall shouts from the kitchen, gesturing for me to come and take a shot.

"No way, Niall!" I laugh, "I didn't agree to come to get falling down drunk."

He rolls his eyes, taking the vodka bottle from Louis's hands and taking a huge gulp, gritting his jaw as he swallows it down. A loud bit of shouting comes from all around the house egging him on and he goes for another one as soon as he's downed the first.

I end up taking a seat on the striped couch and I try not to think of how many barely-clothed bodies have inhabited this sofa tonight. Once I've been sitting on the couch unmoving and only observing for about half an hour I realize I've made quite the mistake agreeing to this.

"Jess? What are you doing? Come on! You're supposed to be having fun with us!" Sam shouts, grabbing at my hands to drag me off the couch.

"I don't know, Sam, I might just walk to the library or something-"

"What? No! No you will not!" She shrieks, slinging her arm around my shoulders and walking me to the kitchen, "Niall! Get this girl a shot of tequila, stat!"

He's laughing as he grabs a plastic shot glass and pours a nearly overflowing shot of tequila and slides it towards me on the counter. He pours another for himself and holds it up offering for us to cheers before we take our shots.

"Hey now, there better not be any shot taking without the birthday boy!" Ryland's voice calls as he runs into the kitchen, grabbing the shot glass from Niall's hand, "I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight, babe."

I realize he's talking to me when his eyes meet mine from over the rim of his shot glass as he readies himself to take it.

"I wasn't expecting to be here I promise you." I laugh, reaching my pathetic plastic shot glass to his and bumping them together.

We meet eyes again before throwing our heads back and letting the liquid burn down our throats. I squint my eyes as I put the shot glass back on the counter, momentarily forgetting how horrible bottom shelf tequila tastes.

He smiles as he meets my eyes again and leans against the counter behind him. His eyes are wildly light, a mix of blue and green that's so pale I don't know how he goes in the sun without burning them. They're striking in contrast to his jet black, shaggy hair.

"Are you feeling like staying a little longer?" He smirks.

"Pour me another shot and I'll let you know."

HARRY

As soon as I pull up in front of the apartment I'm rolling my eyes when I can barely park in my own garage thanks to the influx of cars parked in every fucking direction on the grass. What the fuck is going on and why did nobody ask me? I enter the house through the garage to a blast of screaming loud music and the unmistakable scent of marijuana.

Just as I'm entering the living room with careful steps, my eyes meet Louis's across the room. In seconds he's beside me, slinging his arm around my shoulders and leading me to the kitchen with a beer in his free hand.

"I can't believe you're just getting here! You have so much catching up to do come on!" He slurs, dragging me along with him.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I shout, shoving his hand off me and standing apart from him.

His eyes are a bit wider as he stands back, trying to comprehend what's wrong with me but he's too wasted to be able to tell.

"What? It's Ryland's birthday, we told you we were doing this." He says confusedly.

"No, you definitely did not because I would have told you no!" I huff, running my hands through my hair.

I look around at the countless girls throughout the room and suddenly I remember her, she's here, where is she? Hopefully she's in my room staying away from Ryland and all of his deadbeat friends blazing up my whole fucking house like one goddamn hotbox.

As I glance towards the kitchen my eyes land on her. I'm beside her in seconds, butting my way into a conversation I was anything but invited to. Her eyes are beyond bloodshot, her pupils swimming as she turns her head to look at me, her expression instantly becoming sour. Ryland is laughing, sat at my kitchen table and shoving drinks at her.

"What the hell are you doing? Can't you see she's already wasted?" I shout, shoving him in his seat and pushing the bottle of tequila away from her.

He stands from his seat right away, his lifeless eyes meeting mine as he challenges me to fuck up his night he was planning. I already know he was betting on getting Jess drunk and trying to take her to bed.

"We're just having some fun, Harry, she said she wanted another." He slurs, pointing a crooked finger in my direction.

"Yeah, another," I huff, "singular, Ryland, not another ten."

He rolls his eyes, telling me I'm too wound up about this and if I would just mellow out he would even share her with me. The words make me sick to my stomach. Any other night of the week I'd have no problem helping him. Why the hell do I even care? Something about the way she's swaying just standing there makes me nauseous. How could he think this was okay?

"Hey, Jess, come on, let's get you some water." I say, wrapping my arm around her and grabbing her a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"I'm-I said I'm fine, Harry." She slurs, her voice slowly coming back to itself.

"You are most definitely not fine, dollface," I laugh, letting her lean herself against the counter as I pass her the water, "now drink up."

She continues complaining but complies with my request and chugs down half the bottle of water in a few gulps. I'm surprised when she looks back up to meet my eyes to see hers significantly less glassed over and more alert.

"You feel okay?" I ask her cautiously.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I hold my liquor, Styles," She smirks, taking another sip of the water and I decide she must be doing pretty good to already be back to snapping at me, "I didn't even want to come to this stupid party."

"Then why did you? You could have gone somewhere." I say, leaning on the counter next to her.

"Peer pressure, Styles. College is a bitch." She says, her voice still slurring.

I laugh, gesturing for her to drink more of the water in the bottle and she sighs as she takes another sip, eyeing me the whole time.

"You want to get out of here?" I ask suddenly, the words coming out of my mouth before I can process them.

She looks at me in surprise, lowering the water bottle from her lips and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Yeah, I mean, where do you want to-"

"Finish that water and then fill it up again, I'll be back in like two minutes," I say quickly, gesturing to the fridge tap, "I'm serious, Jess."

She nods her head despite rolling her eyes as she finishes the last few sips of water in the bottle before moving over to the tap and filling it back up, flicking me off with her free hand.

I shake my head at her, laughing as I walk to my bedroom to grab her a jacket. I throw it over my shoulder along with a pair of boots from her suitcase and walk back out into the party. As soon as I turn around from closing my door behind me, Ashlyn is in front of my face with heavily hooded eyes already grabbing at my tshirt.

"Ashlyn, fuck off would you? I'm not in the fucking mood," I groan, shoving her off me and continuing in my path back to the kitchen, "I've got to drive Jess somewhere."

"Are you joking? You're blowing me off for that little bitch?" She asks, her voice malicious as she grabs me again and pulls me back to her.

"Don't talk about her like that, she's drunk and she's not staying around here any longer," I huff, removing her hands from my shoulders and gesturing for her to get out of my way, "I'll be back later."

She speaks up to protest once again but when I hear her voice sounding from the kitchen I'm pushing Ashlyn out of my way completely and bounding around the counter to find her.

"I said get off of me you fucking creep!" She shrieks.

It takes me a second to believe the sight I'm seeing. Ryland has Jess' wrist in one hand, his other arm wrapped around her waist as he leans over to talk in her ear. She's shoving at him and stomping at his foot to get him off, but he doesn't let up. As soon as the scene plays out in front of me I'm shoving Ryland up against the wall by the collar of his tshirt. He's choking instantly, the fabric brandished too tight against his throat to breathe. My vision is red as I picture him grabbing her wrist in one hand and her ass in the other, cornering her against a counter.

"Harry-" He gasps, "What the fuck man? Let me go!"

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Ryland? She said to get off!" I shout in his face, my jaw pulled tight as I spit the words in his face and send my fist at his nose.

Niall's behind me in seconds, grabbing me by the shoulders and yanking me off of Ryland who's now gushing blood down his face. He asks me if I'm okay about a hundred times, but I don't hear him, I don't take my eyes off Ryland as he reaches his tshirt to his nose, holding it to stop the blood and sends me a glare.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Come on, let's get you some air-"

"Shut up, Niall." I sigh, shoving past him so I can get to her.  

She looks at me with terrified eyes, her entire demeanor completely sober as she stares at me in shock of the events that just took place. I hold my hand out to her and she takes it carefully, her worried eyes never leaving mine as I lead her to the front door, so we can get the fuck out of here.

I slam the door behind me and she's shivering as soon as we're outside in the cold, autumn air. I can tell she's afraid to speak after what's happened. I never meant to let it get out of hand like that. As soon as I saw him with his hands on her I wanted to shove him through the window.

"Are you okay?" I speak up eventually.

"Yeah," She sighs, her breath coming out like she was holding it in, "yeah, I'm okay, thank you for um, that back there."

She averts her eyes from me as we stand in silence, both of us pretending we're looking at the streetlights when we just want to look at each other.

"Dammit, I forgot your shoes and your jacket, I dropped them in the kitchen." I sigh, walking back to the door but she grabs my arm, stopping me.

"It's fine Harry, it's not even that cold." She assures me despite her wobbling legs.

I laugh and shrug my jacket off my shoulders, handing it to her instead. She doesn't even protest this time, shoving her arms through the sleeves and tugging it close around her. I barely trust myself to speak as I swallow thickly, I've never had the air knocked out of me over a girl before but damn, Jess standing here in my jacket is the closest I've come.

"Hey, can you grab my cigarettes out of the pocket." I nod, gesturing to the jean jacket around her shoulders.

Instantly she's digging around in the pockets, determinedly looking for the paper carton. She produces the pack and takes one out, offering it to me and I lean down, taking it from her with my teeth. She laughs as I lean forward awaiting her to light it.

As soon as I inhale I feel calmer, the buzzing nerves and cells of my body full of adrenaline from shoving Ryland against the wall finally slowing down to a dull roar. I look back to see her eyes still trained on me, blatantly staring as I remove the cigarette from the corner of my mouth and exhale the smoke into the night air.

"Alright, Lawson, come on." I say, turning around and walking back towards the open garage where my car sits parked.

"What? What are you-"

"Just get in the car, Jess, I'm trying to be a gentleman here."

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfic #one direction smut

[kymanss2018]

Gift for Kirbypegasister

Kyle, Stan, and Kenny sat on the ground near the Christmas tree in Stan’s living room, idly exchanging conversation as they waited on Cartman to show. They’d been doing Secret Santa amongst the four of them for quite a few years, ever since an Elementary school Secret Santa class project that ended with the four of them all getting another member of their friend group. It had just become something of an unspoken thing they did for so long they forgot why, like swapping names when there was a substitute teacher or drawing dicks on the back of bus seats. The initial plan was that they’d trade off hosts every year, but in the end, it really just boiled down to Stan and Kyle doing rock paper scissors for it since any time they left it up to Cartman or Kenny, Kenny would forget about it completely and Cartman would give everyone his name…including himself. This year, Stan was the host, meaning they’d spend the night before Christmas sitting around his house basically doing nothing until someone’s Mom called and they had to call it a night. It was all pretty casual…but casual worked for them. Their friendship was mostly based around sitting around and doing nothing together when it wasn’t based around someone fucking up and everyone else having to rush to their aide afterwards, sitting around doing nothing just worked.

Kyle sighed, resting his chin against his fist as he glanced to the window for the umpteenth time. “Every year. Every fucking year we’re waiting on Cartman because he doesn’t give enough of a shit about any of us to actually get a gift before the actual day of the trade.” He huffed, speech slightly slurred as he spoke.

“Dude, are you gonna be in those…like…forever?” Kenny gave a lazy chuckle, leaning close to Kyle and poking him in the cheek. “Because you sound like you’ve got a dick in your mouth and you’re cheeks all swelled up like the dude kicked your ass for biting it with your weird, gross, mangled braceface.” He snorted.

“Dude…stop…” Kyle whined, batting Kenny’s hand away. “They told me it was only gonna be 18 months…so…by this time next year, I’ll only have five months, one week, and three days left.” He forced himself to perk up a little at that thought. “My Mom said it’s important for me to get them now so I don’t have to deal with this shit later.” He shrugged, wrinkling his nose. “It only hurts now because they’re new…and it’ll only hurt every four weeks when I get them adjusted. It’s not that bad.”

“Cosmetic braces, dude.” Stan piped in, raising his beer can in emphasis. “Your Mom talked you into getting cosmetic braces as a fucking 17 year old. That’s kinda fucked up. I mean that’s like…if my Mom told me I needed a nosejob. Don’t you see how fucked up this whole 18 month commitment of yours is? Can’t you like…back down or something? Get them taken out? Your teeth aren’t even that fucked up, this is fucking ridiculous dude.” He chuckled, taking another sip.

“Alright, I know, it’s kinda fucked up, but would you shut up about it? I really don’t want Cartman ripping into me about the fact that my overbearing Jewish Mom talked me into getting braces so that her handsome little man would always have a beautiful, perfect smile. That’s all Cartman’s gonna hear.” Kyle rolled his eyes, glancing between the two of them. “Which one of you even has Cartman anyway?”

“Yo.” Kenny rattled the hastily taped together cardboard box that had been sitting in his lap. “I thought it’d be funny to get him a rock and try to convince him that’s all I could afford, but like…it’s getting less funny the longer we wait, honestly. Kinda feels stupid without actually being able to see the genuine rage on his fat, stupid face.” He chuckled, glancing over to Stan. “How many drinks in are you, man? Kinda weak of you to get plastered before Cartman even shows up.”

“Hey man, it’s my house, it’s basically weak of you not to get plastered with me.” Stan shrugged, raising his can emphatically once more. “It’s only one drink. I’m just drinking it really, really fast so I don’t have to let Cartman know there’s any in the house.” He smirked, tapping his temple. “Get on my level, dude.”

“Ticking timebomb, Stan. Ticking timebomb.” Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes. Even if hosting Secret Santa at his house meant his Mom interjecting every five seconds to see what everyone was doing, he knew good enough not to let alcohol near Stan. Stan was self aware enough to pace himself, at least in good company, but Kyle was generally put off by it regardless. If not for the fact that Kyle couldn’t shake his concern, then by the fact that a drunk Stan meant a Stan he couldn’t spend the evening trading glances with and snickering at anything the other two said. He grumbled, resting his chin on his fist once more and glancing to the window once more. “It usually doesn’t take him this long to either drop in or cancel and ask one of us to drop off his gift at his house. If he bailed on us with no notice he better be in a coma.”

“Dude…chill, that is like, 90% braces talking.” Kenny chuckled, scooting closer to Kyle in order to press his cool drink to Kyle’s cheek. “There, better?”

“…Thanks, Kenny.” Kyle muttered, deeply unamused. Something about the fact that neither Stan nor Kenny were being particularly kind to him about his braces made him dread Cartman’s appearance even more. The concept of Cartman just not showing at all was mildly comforting, but it still meant waiting around for an hour or so doing nothing so Cartman wouldn’t end up complaining they didn’t wait long enough. Just as Kyle was starting to get comfortable with the idea of Cartman not showing, Stan’s front door finally opened to the sound of Cartman hustling inside, acting as though he was in a hurry to get there, with a plastic bag in his hands.

“Jeez, I am soooooo seriously sorry guys, the strangest thing happened. I had my gift sitting on my desk last night, but this morning when I woke up, it was gone…and in its place was a letter saying “I stole your super awesome and really cool gift, from Token.”” He plopped down on the floor, bag in his lap, quite blatantly pulling the recipt from it and stuffing it in his pocket.

“God dammit, Token can’t steal your gift EVERY year Cartman!” Kyle piped up.

“I know, that’s what I’m saying! He CAN’T keep stealing my gift every year!” Cartman scoffed in response, pulling an energy drink from the bag and cracking it open. “Did I miss anything?” “Just all the shitty things we have to say about you that are too shitty to say to your face.” Kenny chucked his gift in Cartman’s direction, landing it in his lap. “Merry Christmas, fucknuts.”

“Yeah, I had you, Kenny.” Stan added, handing the envelope sitting beside him to Kenny. “I didn’t really know what to get so I just went for one of those prepaid giftcard things you can use on anything. Sorry if it’s not thoughtful or whatever.” “That’s hella thoughtful man, I can use it to buy freaky shit online without leaving a trail.” Kenny gave a sarcastic wink Stan’s way with a smirk. “Well…I had Stan…” Kyle passed his gift over to Stan, before slowly side-eying Cartman. Cartman returned the side-eye, unceremoniously plopping the bag in Kyle’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, braceface. I put all of my festive energy into the 5 minutes I spent at CVS throwing this shit together. You better appreciate that shit.” Cartman grinned, before tearing into his own gift without any hesitation or pause to wait for a signal to begin.

Kyle rolled his eyes, before digging into the bag and pulling out its contents. Inside was a cutesy mini-icepack shaped like a cartoon frogs face  and a $5 gift card to Dairy Queen. Kyle squinted at the two items, then glanced back at Cartman, who was staring disappointedly at the rock he’d been gifted. “The fuck is this?” He gestured to the bag. “A gift, dumbass, you’re supposed to be grateful.” Cartman scoffed in return. “It’s for your whole braces shit. The icepack is for your fucked up face and the ice cream is for your fucked up mouth.” He shrugged. “Duh.”

The gears in Kyle’s head finally started ticking as to the meaning of Cartman’s gift. He was initially about to rip into Cartman for getting him some random shit from the drugstore, but it was actually pretty hard to find something bad to say about it. Coming from Cartman, someone who had a tendency to rip into him more than anyone else, this was actually kind of meaningful. Kyle blinked a few times, idly looking over the giftcard, before glancing back to Cartman. “Thanks, I guess.” He shrugged, placing the items back in the bag. “Thanks?” Cartman peered back over at Kyle, looking mildly confused. “Fuck, Kyle, you stopped bitching fast.” He chuckled, nudging Kyle with his elbow. “Guess I did a good job this year, huh?” “It’s polite to thank people, Cartman, I’m just being polite!” Kyle huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let that shit get to your head. This is still a total cop-out. You still totally forgot about us like you do every year, and-” “Awwww, are you gonna use it every day and think of me, Kaaaahl? Are we gonna go on a gay Dairy Queen date because of how thankful you are?” Cartman grinned even wider when he caught on to why Kyle was reacting the way he was. “Awww, sick guys, Kyle probably wants to blow me because of how much he loves my gift.” Cartman hooked an arm around Kyle for an obnoxious side-hug. “Gay.”

“Oh my god, would you shut up? All I said was thanks for the gift! I would’ve said the same thing if Stan or Kenny-” Kyle scoffed in response, attempting to writhe away, only to be cut off once more.

“Exactly, Kyle. You would’ve said the exact same thing if Stan or Kenny gave you something nice. Because they’re your friends, right?”

“Exactly, because-”

“Because you LOOOOOOVE them.”

“Cartman would you-”

“I’m just sayin’, Kyle. For someone who claims to hate me, you’re lookin pretty fuckin’ gay for me right now.” Cartman gave him a little squeeze, before letting go of him and picking up Kenny’s gift to him. “See, Kenny gave me a shitty gift, but am I gonna thank him? No. I’m gonna chuck it at his head because I hate him.”

“Hey…come on, dude…no chucking shit at Kenny in the house, what did we learn last year?” Stan piped in with a long sigh, sitting up a little more.

When the conversation turned away from him, Kyle started to blank most of it out. Instead, he picked up the cute little ice pack, giving the frog’s face a little squish. He gave the tiniest hint of a smile, before stuffing it away once more. It was weird…it was just as easy for him to humanize Cartman as it was to dehumanize him. The concept of Cartman doing something even remotely right actually stuck with him for a long time. It was almost kind of heartwarming to know that Cartman remembered half a thing about him in his rush to get him something for the secret santa. Usually when he pulled this with Stan and Kenny he just gave them the first thing he grabbed…this had some thought to it. Maybe it was low standards…but Kyle was genuinely thankful and saw himself getting some actual use out of this gift.

But, of course, Cartman already knew that…and Kyle absolutely hated that about Cartman.

#kymanss2018 #kyman #eric cartman #kyle broflovski #submission

[raitrolling]

The Best Gift Ever

Your wriggling day has never been something you’ve celebrated. You don’t really see why it’s so important to make a big deal out of being another sweep closer to conscription, and you really don’t care to throw a party over something so unnecessary. While you felt obliged to tell your neighbours when your wriggling day was back when you considered them your friends (and you definitely don’t wish to spend any time ‘reminiscing’ on those days), when it comes to the people you met later in life you never mentioned it.

Meaning that the box wrapped in childish gift wrap with a hideously oversized blue bow that was left outside your door could have only come from one person. And that person is casually leaning against the door to his apartment, not even bothering to hide the stupid smirk plastered on his face.

“Wow, looks like you got a secret admirer, huh? I’m jealous,” Aiolos quips, folding his arms and letting out a small chuckle. You roll your eyes.

“What bullshit prank is this? I know it’s you who left it here,” You retort.

“Me? Psh, no way. Why’d I ever leave you a gift? I just deliver the gifts. Like, I know you try your best to give as little of a shit about your neighbours as possible, but I know you know I have a delivery job. Besides, check the tag. It says it’s from ‘Your Secret Admirer’,” he grins. “So, spill the beans. Who’s the probably-not-very-lucky guy? How’d you get someone to tolerate your sourpuss attitude? I bet he’s a real lemon-sucker-”

“What the fuck does that mean.” You kneel down to examine the tag left on the gift, and sure enough, it says ‘from Your Secret Admirer’, or at least that’s what you can interpret from the sad attempt at handwriting. Clearly whoever wrote it isn’t someone who cares to take their time when it comes to shitty pranks they most likely thought of at the last minute. You glare up at him. The air slowly starts to chill as you clench your fist.

The other blueblood pays it no mind. Or he’s pretending he doesn’t notice. You suppose he’s used to your anger issues by now, given both how long he’s known you and how often he goes out of his way just to piss you off.

“A lemon-sucker, you know? Someone who sucks lemons. Or, since you want some boring ‘simple’ and ‘literal’ definition-” Stated with air quotes, “- It’s someone who enjoys being around people with shitty personalities because, I dunno, they’re some sort of freak I guess.” He shrugs. “Anyways, just open the gift already. I wanna see it.”

You’re pretty sure he just made that word up. And you’re pretty sure you’re going to do the exact opposite of what he tells you to do.

“No. Why the fuck would I open a gift someone’s left at my front door when I don’t know what it is? And I know you left it here so I know whatever it is, it’s going to be fucking stupid. It’s a collection of the godawful excuses for music you listen to, isn’t it? A bag of ice? Some other braindead ‘joke’-” You copy his air quotes, “- that took you an entire two minutes to come up with because your brain cannot handle thoughts more complex than “haha, let’s make yet another ice joke about the troll with ice psiionics”, since all that hideous pop garbage you play melted any grey matter you might’ve had left?” Your tone lowers to a growl, much like how the air temperature lowers to an uncomfortable chill. Enough to make the other blueblood shiver.

“Man, that was a good one for someone who hates funny comparisons and all that jazz. Did someone give you the gift of a decent sense of humour earlier? Damn, I was hoping my gift was gonna be the first.” He sees no point to hiding that he was the culprit, prompting you to roll your eyes once again. He snorts. “Jeez, calm down. Fine. I left the gift. You got me good, Sherlock Holmes. But trust me, your ideas pale in comparison to what I really got you. So are you gonna open it or what? You know I’m just gonna stand here and keep asking until you give in. I’ve got all night.”

And you know that he can and will stand there all night until you open this stupid gift. You know him way more than you’d ever want to know anyone.

“Fine,” you grumble.

You look back at the present. God, the wrapping paper makes you want to throw this stupid thing down the fire exit. The cheesy, smiling snowmen taunt you. Haha, get it? Snowmen. They’re cold and made of ice. Just like you. Isn’t that hilarious? And they’re playing random instruments too. What the fuck kind of stupid ensemble requires a recorder, a marching bass drum, and a trombone? Who designed this? You’re going to tear this stupid paper to shreds.

You grab one of the shoddily-taped down folds and yank it, making sure some of the snowmen are decapitated in the process. Perhaps it’s as childish as the wrapping paper itself, but it’s the only satisfaction this stupid gift will bring you.

“Jeez Mikiel, calm down.” Snrk. “I know no one gives a shit about saving the paper unless you’re a cheapskate like Velour, but I did put in the effort to find something you’d like. Like damn, I actually thought about your interests and everything! I spent entire minutes on putting this thing together, which I bet is way more than what anyone else has.” He puts on a mock-offended tone, which you see through immediately.

You don’t give him any attention, instead focusing on the gift in front of you. The wrapping paper concealed a gift box, the pattern only slightly less infuriating than the last. It’s pink and covered in cupcakes, presumably the only thing close to a food pattern he could find at the dollar store. You still hate it. Thankfully, it’s the last layer of bullshit made to stall you from getting this stupid scene over and done with. You pull the present out of the box as you stand back up.

It’s a toy for wrigglers. It’s a blue ball of fuzz, it’s face contorted in a disgruntled scowl that matches your own (Aiolos is already laughing at the similarities). A single tooth sticks out of its mouth in a way that reminds you of a stereotypical pitbull, or of a troll you’re on much better terms with than the blueblood in front of you. You’re fairly certain he was going to the former idea, rather than the latter. The packaging refers to the creature as a ‘Grumblies’, and that it is a toy recommended from trolls two sweeps and older. The words ‘DON’T MAKE THEM MELT DOWN’ are plastered on the packaging as a warning, with the word ‘DON’T’ having been crossed out. Other warnings include ‘Do not shake, do not poke, do not flip’ and ‘push them too far and they rumble and jump around!’, but these warnings are immediately counteracted by the big ‘TRY ME!’ sign next to them. What’s even worse is that the toy has been tampered with in the form of adding a pair of glasses to it, handcrafted using bright red pipe cleaners. The craftsmanship on such a simple addition is insultingly good, meaning that he must’ve gotten someone else in on the joke to do it for him.

You cannot possibly be any more unimpressed by this ‘gift’. Aiolos, however, is grinning even more like than idiot than he usually is. You’d compare him to a madman if you were the type to use similes.

“So? What do you think? I think he’s great. Honestly you should sue whatever toy company made this, cuz they clearly ripped off you. I mean, come on, he’s got glasses and everything. Picking this was almost too easy. You just gotta shake him a bit and he starts going full feral. Try it!”

…

… You’ll admit, as stupid as the present was, the satisfying thunk it made when it collided with Aiolos’ skull is the best gift you’ve ever been given.

#drabble #mikiel giacho #aiolos hummel #cool runnings #in which i use my knowledge obtained from working in the toy dept for Good #and in which i write yet another random slice-of-life scene cuz thats my niche i guess lMAO

[80srichie]

secret santa

hey!! i got involved in a secret santa thing and i got you!! @turtleneckrichie

merry christmas/happy holidays!

i hope this is okay, i was on a crunch for time. i hope you like it!

Eddie didn’t know the last time he had seen Richie, more or less even talked to him. Eddie was beyond pissed at the situation, not knowing what was going on. He wasn’t at the Loser’s typical Friday movie night, he wasn’t at the Aladdin when Bill had told everyone he indeed had invited Richie, twice, and he didn’t meet Eddie in their secret spot by the quarry like they had every night since they were 13. It was infuriating to say the least. Whenever Eddie would ask anyone else he’d get a response like “I saw him yesterday” or “we hung out a couple hours ago” and even “he’s your boyfriend, shouldn’t you know?” from Stanley Uris, of course.

It was Christmas Eve and he had to work. Eddie had gotten a job at the local arcade (not at all because of the Trashmouth), and he was scheduled to work the 24th. He had no idea why an arcade would have to be open on the day before Christmas, but he didn’t ask his boss anyway. He had his usual uniform on: gray sweater with the arcade logo on it with a pair of khakis that were too long for him, so he’d cuff the ends of the pants.

Eddie worked the 8 hour shift easily. Most families were together and didn’t want to take their children to the arcade, so it was a slow day. He arrived home around 3pm, shrugging his jacket off and laying it on the chair next to the front door. He was surprised to find his house dark. His mother must’ve left, odd.

He climbed up the creaky wooden stairs and into his room, frowning upon finding a note on his door. It was taped haphazardly and the writing looked like chicken scratch. Richie.

“Walk to my house at 3:30, wear something comfy. Maybe even those sweatpants your ass looks good in.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, angrily muttering about how he didn’t see him for this long and all he gets is a shitty note. He changed into the sweatpants Richie was talking about and a pale blue hoodie. He was cozy.

Around 3:27, he decided to head out and walk the 5 minutes it took to get to the Tozier’s house. It wasn’t as cold as he expected, probably because There was a note on Richie’s front door, same writing as before. “Don’t knock, come in.”

Eddie pushed open the door, frowning when he saw it was dark in his house as well. “Richie, I swear to God if you jump out, I will never forgive you.” He muttered, scanning the dark room with squinted eyes, seeing if that would help him see. It didn’t.

Eddie took one step forward, only to kick something a couple inches away. It was a box, but he couldn’t tell what it was or said in the dark. He leaned down and picked it up, opening it slowly. It was a box full of snacks. Weird.

The note on top of a bag of Lays read “go upstairs”, so he did. He slowly made his way up the familiar staircase, still not trusting that the other boy would jump out and scare him. The only light upstairs was coming from Richie’s bedroom, seeping through the cracks under the door. A note on the door read “open me”.

When Eddie pushed open the door, he felt a gasp escape his lips. In Richie’s room were blankets and pillows scattered everywhere, christmas lights hung on the walls, and even a tiny 4 foot tree sat in the corner. Richie laid on his bed, grinning upon seeing Eddie.

“Eds, baby! Nice of you to show up.” Richie joked, getting up and taking the box of snacks from Eddie’s hands.

“What is this…?” Eddie asked quietly, his eyes still wide and full of wonder.

Richie still had the shit-eating grin on his face. “Well, I thought since you are the greatest gift of all-” He paused to watch Eddie roll his eyes. “I would give you your own Christmas.”

Eddie was baffled. “How did-”

“Ah, ah, ah! No questions. I got your favorite snacks, hot chocolate… Oh! Even Elf so we can watch it together.”

“Richie, this is… too much. How did you even-”

“All that time I spent away from you I was working, dear Eds. Shoveling snow, I helped Old Lady B put up her lights, and such. I mean, I may have stolen these lights from Mrs. B, but I’ll give them back in due time. Until then, enjoy the Christmas Eve you’ve always wanted.”

“Richie, I told you that a year ago.” Eddie said, wondering how in the world he had remembered.

“I asked so I’d know. I planned this months ago, Eddie Spaghetti. Now sit down so I can make your kettle corn.” Richie waved his arms towards the mountain of blankets, trying to gesture for him to sit.

Eddie laid down on the blankets, smiling a little when he felt Richie place a chaste kiss on his forehead before leaving the room. He couldn’t believe Richie would do all of this for him, this stupid twinge of a dream he had when younger.

The rest of the night, Eddie and Richie laid together, bundled under blankets. Christmas movies played on repeat in the background while they spoke back and forth softly. It was all Eddie would have hoped for.

#this is so bad im so sorry #reddie #it 2017

[rosyredlipstick]

going soft and selling out (1/1)

a/n: god i love steven universe. 

Vidalia is in the guest bathroom at the Fish Stew Pizzeria when she finds out she is pregnant. It’s a Thursday. She’s nineteen, wearing her favorite shirt, and ignoring her mother’s calls.

She is only nineteen.

Vidalia is in the guest bathroom at the Fish Stew Pizzeria when she finds out she is pregnant. It’s a Thursday. She’s nineteen, wearing her favorite shirt, and ignoring her mother’s calls.

She is only nineteen.

When she was in elementary school, their shitty school library received a donation of used books from the local bookstore going out of business.

In it, was a book of names. Her classmates and she had poured over the book for hours, each looking up their own names, their parents names, their siblings names, and every name they could think of.

Vidalia’s name was Latin, apparently, and it was deprived from the word for life.

Her mother frowned when she had told her, instead questioning why Vidalia hadn’t been studying during library time, but her father had only laughed, throwing his head back, and told her that that made sense. You see, he explained in that secret way he did, where he lowered his voice, bended his back, and acted like he was telling her the most important thing in the world. You see, when your mom was pregnant with you, you never stopped moving. Always jumping and kicking and running. He smiled at her, ruffling her hair, you’ve always had a lot of life in you, doll.

That was before Joe Miller had one too many midnight beers and took his rusted Chevy out for a too fast joy ride. Before the funeral, and the move from the only place she’d ever called home.

Before she was left alone with her mother.

It was names that was running through her head, as she stared down at the double lines on the white stick. She was folded down on the dirty tile of the bathroom, but she couldn’t find it herself to mind. She just been staring at the white stick, already knowing, for the past two minutes. She hadn’t even wash her hands yet.

She gives herself ten minutes. Ten minutes to stare at the wall, not cry into her hands, to sit on that dirty ass floor. And then she stands.

She stands, washes her hands, wraps the test in toilet paper and throws it away, and returns to her table at the Pizzeria. Her paper drug store bag is still there, with the receipt a wrinkled mess half hanging out.

She takes a breath, pulls the free ice water closer to herself, and tries to find the cheapest thing on the menu to calm her turning stomach.

Breadsticks, without sauce, it turns out. And when she glances up, Nanefua is standing there, quietly looking down at her. Vidalia has no idea how long she’s been standing her.

Nanefua continued to stand at her table, a slice of pizza on the tray balanced in her capable hands. She observed Vidalia for a long moment.

“I didn’t order…” Vidalia trailed off. She cleared her throat, “I didn’t order anything.”

Nanefua placed the paper plate in front of her, giving her a considering look. Vidalia had to swallow against the bile in her throat. Pizza - good pepperoni pizza, her favorite food pizza - had never disgusted her more. She swallowed her gag.

“Your mother know?”

Vidalia froze, her hands clenching at the plastic covered table. The other woman was considering, neutral, her head only slightly cocked.

Vidalia didn’t try to play dumb. She began ripping up the paper napkins into a confetti mess, her hands needing something to do. “Not yet.”

Nanefua nodded like she was expecting this answer. “Tell her. A mother will always figure it out.”

Vidalia bit her tongue. It wouldn’t do good for her sarcasm to make another enemy of her in this town, especially not of the Pizza family. She said nothing and, after a long moment, Nanefua dipped back behind the counter.

Nanefua shuffled around the back area for another few moments before emerging yet again, holding out a fat, large pink bottle.

“Afia is having twins,” she explained, like she and the entirety of Beach City hadn’t already heard when Kofi broke out into tears, celebrating with a two-for-one pizza slice special. Afia, Vidalia had noticed, had just been entirely too still and quiet that night, as half the town crowded into the restaurant for cheap food and loud toasts. Nanefua shook the bottle impatiently, bringing her back to attention.

Vidalia blinked down at the brightly colored bottle, “Won’t she…” Vidalia trailed off, her eyes looking up to the other woman. “Won’t she need them?”

Nanefua only shrugged. “I am getting older. I misplace things. Kofi can pick up more.” She pushed the bottle into Vidalia’s hands, standing to her full height, which wasn’t much. “You come by, you hear? Always pizza for you.” She gave Vidalia a stern look, even as her hands went white knuckled around the bottle.

Vidalia could only nod in face of that look, the prenatal vitamins - the nice ones, the ones they kept lined up behind a locked glass case in the drug store on the bad part of town - were now pressing marks into her soft palms.

Two weeks later, after rushing out of dinner when her mother’s sauerkraut made her gag into her bowl, she finally tells her mother. She tells her about Marty, his job, those hours spent with him two and a half months ago. She cries, and sobs, and eventually does throw up into the kitchen sink.

Her mom kicks her out with a dag of a cigarette and twenty minutes to pack her things.

She leaves her paint supplies. It all wouldn’t fit in her only backpack leftover from her ten minutes at the local high school, and it seems she won’t have much time for art come a few months.

But she packs some clothes, her favorite wrinkled blanket, a hairbrush and whatever else will fit in the side pockets. She steals her mother’s rolled up bundle of dollar bills, the one she’s always kept in the bottle right drawer of her jewelry box, and high tails out of there before she realizes.

She walks for nearly twenty minutes until she realizes she has absolutely no where to go.

No family. Not much money. No friends.

She cut herself off short as she came into the beach parking lot, not even realizing that’s where she was heading. Music, loud but good music, was drifting out. Greg Universe’s van was parked there, not even attempting to stay within the yellow lines.

She swallowed and clenched at her bag.

Universe himself was half out of the open back doors of his van, his legs draped out as he leaned back and sang along to some stupid song.

He was cute, in a sweet way. Not her type at all. She took a few steps forward.

“Vidalia!” Universe was always a bit too perky for her tastes. Not Rock Star style at all. “It’s good to see you! What can I do for ya?”

“‘Sup Universe,” She stared at the expand of sand just beyond his shoulder, her voice bored. “Mind if I crash here for a bit?”

“In the van?” He jumped up, boyishly excited. “Sure, Vid! Oh, you gotta see my sweet setup, I’ve figured out how to hook up a TV and VHS player in here.” He puffed out his chest in pride, “And I’ve got the latest season of Baby Butler.”

She tried not to visibly wrinkle in relief. But she lingered by the open back door for another moment, shifting her weight. “Will your space goddess care?”

She didn’t really care in regards to their relationship, mostly just to know if she had to keep on an eye on her own back. A warning was rare, but nice.

“Rose?” He seemed to beam and laugh with just the pronunciation of her name, “Oh, definitely not. She’s not like that.”

That was probably a lie. Or maybe that’s what he actually thought. But Vidalia had never met someone who wasn’t just a little bit ‘like that’. Not even his dream girl from the cosmos could be above jealousy.

But she only nodded, a single crisp dipping of her chin, before throwing her bag down. It was kind of a sweet set up for a van. “You still got that Quentin Tarantino box set?”

He wrinkled his nose, but reached for his stack of tapes, “God, do you have to like violence so much?”

She crawled in the back, settling on the small twin, and kept her gaze forwards, towards the small television, as he set it up.

She had gotten pregnant in this backseat. Marty hadn’t wanted to spare the bills for a hour rent at the nearby motel, and she had been too horny and dumb to really care. Universe had been crowing away at his microphone while they’d done it, singing to no one on the beach.

She was dumb for believing he’d ‘handle it’ like he promised as he slid his hand down her pants, too stupid to listen out for the tear of foil and the handling of rubber.

He finally got the movie going, already going on about hidden easter eggs, and she let her mind drift into his mindless rambling like being wrapped up in a soft blanket.

Greg had never turned her away from that shitty van, not once. He’d let her sleep on the single thin mattress and patted her back when she threw up on the curb, went and got her french fries when her feet were too swollen to stuff into her sneakers. He’d always grin just slightly, wave her off, and say always for you, Vid.

Months later, when the things to her name aren’t just a backpack and empty bank account, when it’s better and she has a heater she can turn on whenever she wants, and food in her fridge, she very quietly asks Greg if he wants a place to crash.

And, in typical Greg fashion, he only responds in a slightly confused voice, “I’ve already got a place, Vid.”

He never saw it - what he did for her - as a big deal, not really, but Vidalia could never see it as anything but. That’s why when he knocks on her door, that sheepish smile in place, she never turn him away, even if he teases on her going soft. She bitches about him eating her favorite cereal, or leaving the toilet up, or putting the milk back empty, but she always lets him in. She washes his shirt, lets him take too much time in the shower while using up the good soap, and buys those gross chips of his at the gas station.

She doesn’t know how to say thank you, not really, but maybe she could do this.

Marty was right; Greg wasn’t cut out to be a super star. He was too kind for that.

He was the third person she told, and also the only one to grin when she did so.

“I’m pregnant,” she mostly explained as she gagged around the greasy burgers he had brought back from the boardwalk. He was still riding on Marty’s last your check and had insisted. “Four months.”

“Oh,” he blinked once, twice, before grinning widely. “Wow, Vid! A baby! Congrats!”

He was also the only person to congratulate her.

“It’s Marty’s,” she’d tell him a bit blankly later that night, a bottle of orange juice split between them. Greg was taking his with a shot, giggling happily under his breath, and Vidalia was more amused by it then she would have thought.

There was a beat of silence after that and, for once, Greg didn’t automatically grin or laugh or beam with positivity. “Oh,” he grimaced, “that’s...too bad.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a nonchalant shrug. She had a reputation to uphold, after all. “Too bad.”

There was a long stretch of silence, Greg taking another shot, and Vidalia kept her gaze trained out the rolled down window, the waves splashing against the sand.

“I can…” Greg trailed off, sitting up a bit to ruffle through his things. After a moment of plastic CD cases clashing together, paper trash thrown around, he turned back to her. “I have his business card with, um, his number. If you want.”

Vidalia stared down at the small white rectangle. It was plain, just a star logo and information neatly printed across. She swallowed, her voice going soft. “Yeah, okay.”

She’d already called three times, using all the quarters piled up in Greg’s cup holder, and he hadn’t answered once.

The line was still in use, the first time she’d called the voicemail box was full and the next, it was ready for her message. Someone was checking it, clearing out the messages, ignoring or missing her.

She left a simple, short message that could honestly only mean one thing when a quick hookup from months ago calls. It’s Vidalia from Beach City. It’s important.

She was leaving the third call - straight to voicemail this time, not even ringing for a second - when she paused. Listened. Went home.

Afia Pizza gave birth to twin girls last month, or so the old gossiping women on the boardwalk had said. And last week, she’d gotten on the lone bus to Empire City with only a backpack and purse and no one had see. The babies were wrinkled, red, screaming their little heads off, and attached to the hip from day one. Afia, it seemed, shared no such attachment.

Vidalia was five months into her pregnancy and spent most of her time in Greg’s van working her way through his VHS tape collection, but that didn’t stop her from donning her sandals, her flip-flops being the only shoes that would fit her balloon feet nowadays, and making her away across town after only a few hours of contemplation.

The Pizzeria was dark, and the front door locked, but that had never been much of a problem with Vidalia and her bobby pins. The Pizza family lived above the shop after all, everyone knew that.

It only took barely a minute bend over the small lock - honestly, they should probably invest in better security - before the metal was popping open, the bell above the door ringing. She glanced around - still empty, dark, and deserted. She had gotten a bit more familiar with the place since that Thursday all those months ago. Nanefua was always glad to serve her a slice, pushing more of those vitamins into her hands as Videlia swelled up. The staircase to the apartment above was just beyond the backroom, near the guest bathroom.

There was sound coming from the staircase, a voice, and she headed up that way, only cursing stairs a bit along the way. She had never been up here before.

A small living room, with a hallway that broke off to the side. An even smaller kitchen, and a room that was either a closet or the most pathetic attempt at another bedroom.

Kofi was there, babies held to his chest, looking at her. There was no question or confusion, no anger or concern in his gaze. A blank gaze, as he stared at her.  

“Where’s Nanefua?” She hadn’t been expecting him to be alone. She had honestly been expecting to show up, and almost immediately start being ordered around by the older woman.

Kofi only stared at her blankly for a long moment before swallowing. “She went to the store. During the pregnancy, Afia said she didn’t want to use formula so we didn’t stock up on any, but now…” His stare was still unnervingly blank, “We don’t have anything to give to the girls.”

His eyes were red, his cheeks the same. When he spoke, it was with a scratchy voice. He blinked at her a few times, as if acknowledging, remembering, she was there. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “The shop is not open today.”

“Clearly,” she could barely resist the urge to roll her eyes, only holding out her hands. Nanefua wasn’t here, so it looked like she had to go off book for this. “Hand ‘em over, Pizza.”

He stared empty at her, only coming back to Earth when the baby in his right arm begin fussing. He turned to her, bouncing his arm, and making soft, pleading noises.

He had baby vomit down the back of his shirt, along with probably a thousand different stains. He had, obviously, been crying. He and the babies had been sharing in activities, then.

She threw her shoulders back, ignoring the tightening of fabric as she did so - it wasn’t like she could afford any good clothes from the maternity shop the next town over, alright? - and stepped forward, taking the babies without much hesitation.

They cooed and fussed for a quick moment after being jostled, making her hold her breath in anticipated. But, after shifting closer to her warmth and softness, they quieted down, their soft flower petal eyes staying close.

Kofi was staring at her a bit more clearly now, like he was waking up. She gave him an unimpressed look.

“Go,” she tilted her chin towards the stairs. “Catch some Zs. Your mom’s been slipping me more than enough free pizza to hold you over for like, two months worth of babysitting.”

It should be noted how out of it Kofi must have been to only numbly accept the help, completely ignoring everything else as he stumbled up the stairs, not even bothering to strip his baby vomit shirt.

She wasn’t much help on her feet these days, but she could do this - rock a baby or two, try not to wince at their screams, avoid imaging herself in Kofi’s exact position four months from now.

Kiki and Jenny, with their matching yellow rabbit onesies, stared up at her with wide baby brown eyes. Kiki had a dark birthmark across her shoulder and, with them so young, this is the only way to set them apart. That was kind of cute. She vaguely wondered if they’d always stay so the same.

The shop would open back up three days later, exactly a week after Afia had packed up her toothbrush and a change of clothes and used the tip money jar to buy herself a single bus ticket.

Vidalia, true to her word, would spent most of the months leading up to her sixteen hour labor in the Pizzeria backroom, two drooling girls on her lap, or in the occasional waitress apron when Nanefua was looking a bit too worn.

The Pizzeria. The beach. That fucking van.

Vidalia still gets free pizza from the shop, and hangs out in the back while she does so, even if it makes that vein in Kofi’s forehead poke out when she puts her boots on the counter. Years later, he tells her that she’s where Jenny inherited too much of her personality from, and the Vidalia doesn’t even attempt to not look pleased by that.

After a month and a half calling that number, and just as Greg was beginning to complain about the lack of change in his cup holder that prevented him from mastering the drop claw at Fun Land, Marty finally answered.

He actually let her explain it all without interrupting, which honestly surprised her the most about the whole ordeal. After their brief few day fling all those months ago, the only thing she could probably say certain about the other man was that he loved to listen to himself talk. Even during the sex, he was blabbering away about himself and her and their bodies together.

But he listened, he waited, and then he hung up without another word.

She walked back to Greg’s van, grateful he was off with his magic girlfriend so she could get a few pregnancy tears in peace without him fretting around in concern.

But it was only a week later, she and Greg still curled up in sleep despite the noon hour, when there was a quick, crisp knock on the van door, and they were sleepingly blinking at each other in question.

She doesn’t know how the guy found her, if he had to ask around or if he was just planning on dropping the manilla envelope off with Greg - Marty’s only contact within the city - and hoping for the best. But he only handed off the bundle, not bothering to answer any of their questions, before speeding back away on his motorcycle.

Greg peered over her shoulder for a quick moment before deciding they needed some breakfast, probably just to give her some alone time to look through it all, and hopped out the van, shirtless from sleep and only in a pair of ratty gym shorts. He was good like that.

It was a check. A large check, with a pretty colored note explaining that this was a one time thing, no repeats so don’t try, all you have to do is sign this paperwork and you can have it.

Paperwork that directly released him from any further parental duties.

But, the note promised her, if she didn’t, if Vidalia went after him or his money or his fame, she’d be in court for the rest of her pregnancy, and weren’t those legal fees just the worse? So expensive, especially if the other party decided to drag it out.

She is six months pregnant and given a choice.

A choice that she doesn’t have to think much of.

She would take the check. It wasn’t enough for forever, not from a guy like Marty, but it was enough for her to grab her shit and put down a first payment for a tiny two bedroom on an okay street, with a bit of yard and neighbors who didn’t automatically wrinkle their noses at her.

Vidalia was smart with money. From a town like hers, you had to be. She bought generic, stayed home most nights, and saved everything she could. It wasn’t enough for forever, but it was enough for now. It was enough to get a roof over her head, to grab a fuck ton of diapers, to load up her cart with those tiny glass jars of the good stuff - the stuff that made babies brains grow or whatever - and it was just enough for more of those pink bottled vitamins. She would have to get a job soon after the kid was born, but not right after. She could save enough for those few months at the beginning for when a babysitter from across the street would couldn’t cut it, and she could do it. Taking the money, the leave-me-alone-forever check, wasn’t much of a thought. Her pride was worth nothing in the long run. Her pride couldn’t feed her kid or mortgage a house or pay bills. This, the line of numbers that read back to her from her bank statement, this could. She could do this for her kid. Her son, because she knew it was a boy, she knew it in her stone cold heart that was just beginning to flare up every now and again when he kicked.

Marty would be back to chasing shorter skirts in no time, if he ever really stopped. He’d be hopping towns like they hopped themselves up on those good drugs he bought from the city. Maybe he’d get rich. Maybe he would actually discover the next big star like he told her, maybe this and that and whatever next girl he was swinging his arm around and smearing her lipstick.

And he could have all that.

Vidalia, as she smoothed her hands over her barely round stomach, only wanted this. Him. The best she could give him.  

“I’m just saying Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks have like, the best onscreen chemistry in all of showbusiness right now.”

Vidalia only rolled her eyes, “You’re just saying that because you’re a sucker for rom-coms, Universe. If we’re talking about actual talent, sure, Tom Hanks could make the list - I mean, did you see Saving Private Ryan? Shit, - but your romance for Meg Ryan doesn’t automatically put her -” She paused, shifting in place.

Greg gave her a concerned look, “You good?”

She took a breath, nodding. “Yeah, it’s just still weird as fuck when he kicks.”

Greg grinned at that, like he did at every mention of the baby. “Can I -?”

She was already nodding. At least he asked - she nearly right hooked a random tourist when they began fawning over her, their hands automatically going to touch her.  

“He’s a chill little fella,” Greg was smiling, his hand over her swollen stomach. “Hardly kicks at all.”

“My dad said I was crazy, in the womb.” Vidalia didn’t know why she was telling him this. “Never stopped moving.”

“Well, yeah.” Greg only gave her a fond look, leaning back to reach for his guitar. He absentmindedly begin strumming at it, a mostly unannoying habit of his.

Vidalia crossed her arms. Her back was against the other side of the van, leaving them across from each other. This was one of her last nights here, before she could move into that normal house on Seashell Dr. She was feeling more nostalgic then she could ever let on - Greg would never let her live it down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” Greg gestured uselessly, “You’re Vidalia. You’re not just gonna sit still, or take anything without a fight. You’ve got more life in you then anyone. And I’ve met aliens.”

That was probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said about her.

She sniffed, her hands a wrinkled mess in her lap at she clenched at herself. Fuck pregnancy hormones.

“Aliens, huh?” She took a sip of her drink. “You’ll have to bring me around some time, let me get a good look.”

Greg only brightened at that, perking up in his slouch. “That’s a great idea! Oh, you’re gonna love Amethyst, seriously -”

She leaned away on to the door, her back aching. Maybe he was right - maybe she would like these friends of his. If they were anything like Greg himself - practically a golden retriever in kindness and positivity - they couldn’t be too bad.

It was be cool to see where all his crazy song ideas came from, anyways. Maybe she’ll stop by.

It’s in the middle of babysitting on a Monday when Kiki first rolls from her stomach to her back.

Vidalia immediately jumps up - well, as immediate as an eight months pregnant woman can do, and starts calling for Kofi and Nanefua, not caring the lunch rush was just beginning to start up.

They both burst through the door, wide eyes like expecting a catastrophe, and only blink a few times in relief as she explains.

They then they start nearly screaming in excitement.

They laugh and beam and hold Kiki up as they gush over her little fat baby body. Jenny gets passed around and teased and kissed on both cheeks, and both babies are smiling and giggling despite having no idea about anything but the love in which they’ve being smashed with.

Kofi, always a bit sad at milestones like these, manages a few laugh and grins and pokes at his own baby girls before the customers are yelling up the staircase and he’s rolling his eyes.

Nanefua leaves them all with lipstick kisses on their cheeks, Vidalia being the only one who cares enough to wipe off the color with a teasing look as she leaves.

Alone with the babies again, Vidalia only turns on them with a wide smile, and realizes that this - the swollen feet, the stretch marks across her hips and stomach, the aches and sickness and everything worse - it was kind of worth it.

She goes into labor on a Thursday, and in this way it feels almost as a full circle. But it also feels like the worst 16 hours of her life as she’s split apart and alone and crying and screaming with stranger’s hands on her. Her mother does not show up, even as she asks the nurses to call just one more time.

She’s alone for most of it, for more than half of it, but not all of it. Nanefua must have figured it out when she didn’t show up for babysitting, or maybe Greg when she didn’t answer his persistent knocking, but halfway through in the middle of a particularly horrible splitting of her body, she looks up and finds Nanefua pushing her way into the delivery room, strength ablazen in her eyes that Vidalia wasn’t even aware that she needed to borrow.

Nanefua lets Vidalia clench her hand in a bone crushing grip for nearly six hours, calm faced and composed as Vidalia screams and cries and sweats her way through three hospital gowns.

He is born on a Friday.

Friday, her favorite day of the week, because of what is yet to come.

He is born on a Friday.

Greg is in the waiting room, she later learns, where he paced and stood and brought tea to Kofi and the twins when they visited. He is the third person she chooses to let hold him - her kid, who’s quiet and sleepy and who’s feet the doctor’s have to slap to get him to cry out. It was her, then Nanefua, and then Greg, with his wild hair and beaming, watery eyes.

“He’s beautiful, Vid.” Greg told her, Nanefua going to relieve Kofi from twin duty. They were alone in the room. The nurses kept calling Greg the father when they came in, and despite Vidalia rolling her eyes and correcting them, Greg didn’t bother to once.

The weekend is ahead, and she’s already heard from Nanefua that Kofi is arranging a small surprise welcome home party in her two bedroom. He bought the twins new dresses for the occasion, and Greg is scheduled to play a few songs. Nanefua is making her signature accra banana peanut cake, and has already scheduled herself for two weeks of babysitting duty.

Her mother doesn’t show up, and her father is dead. She has no siblings or close cousins. But still, in this tiny beach town on the edge of sand and water, she finds herself a family.

Notes:

give me a slightly interesting minor female character and ill obsess over them and write an angsty found family backstory in a single night. god, i fucking love steven universe. it's finals week but tbh i needed this. Sorry if it's a bit choppy but if I don't post it now as is i'm going to keep working on it AND I HAVE TO STUDY OR I MIGHT DIE 8 AM ON TUESDAY. thanks for reading!

#steven universe #fic #vidalia #greg universe #nanefua #kofi pizza #jenny kofi #kiki pizza #my fic #rosy writes #teenage pregnancy #supportive relationships #found family #references to drugs #references to sex #teen and up #unaccepting parent #shifting time line #god i love steven universe

[hoperosehalpin]

August 11, 2015

The funeral was a week before her seventeenth birthday, which was the cherry on top of all the other fucked up shit he’d bequeathed her, including a dormant case of PTSD that would flare up in the years to come. But for now, there was sweltering Alabama heat, bikers, and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Hope’s closet had been more or less devoid of black up until now. But a funeral was the kind of place where you had to wear black. It was how an itchy, sheer black dress patterned with flowers bought at the Tuscaloosa Target found its way onto her body, an old pair of black kitten heels borrowed from Esther, and her nails manicured black to match. Her hair she had pulled up into the tightest bun possible, not only out of consideration for the day, but the sweltering heat she knew they were going to roast in for the next 2-3 hours.

The family stood in a small bundle, Hope, Esther and their mother, Uncle Phil, his wife and their two young daughters. After them, it was a mishmash of Greensboro folk looking like a suspects’ parade — a couple of respectable men in suits who were the Birmingham division of door-to-door salesmen who’d worked with John, every manner of town drunkard or lout, and of course, the bikers. He’d rode with the bikers for a time before marrying Tallulah, and the brotherhood had stayed steadfast, it seemed. Or at least the half dozen men clad in leather all stood, hands clasped in front of them as if in solemn prayer, one of them chewing tobacco, another swatting a fly that kept landing on his face. They were a Looney Tunes cartoon, an amusing diversion Hope and Esther would occasionally landed their gaze on. 

Becca, of course, was absent.

The priest, dressed in all black and equally sweating buckets, stood at the head, and said his bit. “We are here today to pay our tribute and our respect to a man of God, our brother, John Wayne Halpin. To know John was to love him.” Bet, thought Hope. 

“We are also here today to show our love and support for John’s very precious family. Not only have we sensed our own personal feelings of loss over John’s passing, but our hearts have been drawn toward them, and will continue to be with them. ”

Hope looked up, giving the priest her best what-the-fuck stare, even though the man did not look at her but down at his speech. He droned on for some time, with no one else willing to give a eulogy, or at least nothing they wished to divulge publicly. At any rate, the sweltering heat in the cemetery pressed down on young and old alike to such a degree that most were probably thinking how to shuffle off the mortal coil themselves. Even composed Esther was breaking out in a sweat, condensation beads rolling down her temples, Hope noted every time she glanced sideways at her sister. 

The voice of the priest came in and out of her line of hearing, like a radio being tuned up and down. “...Let me say again that the measure of a life is not in its duration but in its donation!”

Well, he sure gave a lot, pop did. A shudder ran down her spine, as soon as the speech was over and she was watching her father’s coffin be lowered. Hope wondered if it was relief she was feeling right now. Maybe it was. The nightmare was over. It had been over for Esther long before this, since she’d left home as soon as she turned 18, leaving 14 year old Hope (excuse the shitty pun) hopelessly alone. But Hope had been happy to see her go, happy to be the lone slab of meat left to the wolves. Her sisters deserved lives free of John Wayne Halpin, at least in physical presence. His spectre would remain no matter what they did, rearing itself in their nightmares and even waking thoughts.

After a bout of silence, Uncle Phil came to the head, where flowers and a portrait of John lay beside his freshly engraved tombstone. 

“There’s a song he wanted me to play for you all on this occasion. He wasn’t a man of big speeches, despite half his life bein’ spent makin’ them. But when it came to talking about himself, he wasn’t much for it.”

It was clear this speech had not been written down nor prepared, and Phil looked out uneasily at the small gathered crowd. He was a younger, less rotund and bespectacled version of his deceased brother, with eyes that were kindly and did not belie a raging alcoholic. Sometimes, Hope envied her cousins and the life she imagined they must live.

Phil looked down, stayed concentrated that way for some time until it was apparent to the rest of the congregation that he was crying. He sniffled, pushing back in with the snot the rest of his feelings he was keeping at bay, and looked up again. 

“Well, rest in peace, big brother.” It was then that Hope noticed, almost for the first time, a stereo system on wheels, hooked up to an old school boom box.  Was that a tape he was putting in? In the year 2015? But Hope was beyond questioning things, today. It was a weird farewell, one most fitting for her father.

[x]

The song started with a crackle, a familiar one. He hadn’t played it much lately,   but Hope knew it, with every bone deep down in her childhood. By the point the chorus unleashed itself, the bikers stood erect, in solemn reverence to the rock ’n’ roll standard, one of them pulling his hat down and pressing it to his chest. It was weird as all hell, Hope had never met or so much as spoken to any of them. Or at least didn’t remember doing so; she was sure there was some photo in one of their home albums where she was two or three and sitting atop one of their Harleys. Be a simple kind of man…

Memories came shuffling back, the good, the bad, but mostly the unendurable… she didn’t want them. She wished she could trade all of them in for a blank space. Be one of those people that had grown up without a father. Her mother was a terror, that much was true, but deep down she loved Hope and Esther and even Becca in her broken, half-measured way. Like that one time she promised to bake for a school sale Hope was co-chairing, then ended up carting in 200 store-bought cupcakes that had all been on clearance due to being expired. Occasionally, she tried. Had her father ever tried? It was hard to tell. His love had come in measures and conditionals, domineering itself over three helpless girls. But maybe that was to do with all the control he had lost in his life — losing his job, his identity, his manhood, being reduced to something that was nothing. That would make anyone go crazy for control.

She remembered once when Esther had talked back. His new hobby had been making belts. For some reason, he’d roped Esther into helping him. She was thirteen and Hope nine. He had been showing her how to cut leather the right way, but something must’ve happened, and she had slipped and cut it the wrong way. Hope wasn’t sure. She had been outside, not in the shed, tossing a hula hoop about. But she heard the escalating voices, and knew what was going to come. I did it the way you asked, dad, I swear! His argument back she couldn’t hear, it was a slurred mumble. The quieter he got, the worse a storm was brewing, Hope knew. She distinctly remembered the moment she could no longer hear his answer, her mouth going dry for fear of what was to happen.

She knew never to look, Becca had told her not to. Turn away, she would say. Usually she would push or shut Hope out of the room before the worst of it. But she could still hear. And Becca was gone now. She heard each sickening slap and thud, as if they were landing on her own body. And despite herself, her feet took her to the open door of the shed, peeking in to see images that would burn themselves into her memory. Her dad whopping Esther with the belt full force, Esther with her arms around her head, trying to protect herself. She wanted to yell. Wanted to tell him to stop it. Wanted to run in and hit him with that stupid damn belt herself, for being such a fool. But she was afraid, her mouth was sand, and in all her futility the girl knew that if she intervened, she could be next. It didn’t matter that he’d never laid a hand on her, personally. She could always be next. So she let him do it... and that was on her.

Hope snapped out before the memory turned into a guilt-and-shame spiral — back to the sweltering heat, back to the green grass, back to the funeral. The song was winding down, and was she seeing things, or was someone coming over the hill to the mostly empty cemetery?

Not a mirage, there was someone. As the heat waves distorted and the crickets were loud enough to protest, she made out who it was. Lloyd Carver. He was coming this way, flowers in his good hand. The dark-haired man who worked at the auto shop was someone she’d had her eye on ever since she could remember feeling any kind of way about the opposite sex. Thirty-two, handsome of face but slightly too long of nose, he walked with a kind of intensity set on purpose. He’d known Hope’s father, but she had never assumed the two were close. Well, here he approached, his eye catching Hope’s for a brief second, coming up to offer his silent condolences to her mother with a nod. The flowers were added to the growing pile, and he stood alone, in the gap between the businessmen and the bikers, until the song echoed its last sentiments. Then the crowd started to break up.

It really was weird that he was here. She would have communicated as much to Esther, but her sister seemed lost in reveries of her own. Maybe she was making peace, saying her own goodbyes. Hope let her. Once people started dispersing, spontaneous plans were made. Phil and his wife were going to go for drinks at Crosby’s with some of the men in suits, and so was their mother. Esther would drive Phil’s kids home. Hope extricated herself from all of it by saying she had plans and would find her own way back. Amazingly enough, no one pressed, each lost in a post-funeral fog of their own.

She didn’t know what she was doing, but she approached his ’69 bright orange Camaro anyway. It was a beauty of a muscle car that caught her eye as much as its owner. Luckily, he was just getting into it, so she only had to speed up her steps for the last couple of feet in case he drove off and missed her.

“Where ya goin’?” Hope asked him, leaning her elbows into the passenger window. He looked askance at her, and was slow to reply.

“Back into town.”

“Seriously? That’s borin’. You don’t wanna do that.” She had no idea what compelled her to say this, but here she was, saying it.

“I’m goin’ back to the shop,” Lloyd drawled. Oh, what a handsome, beautiful fool he was, even with the scar on his face, his funky limp, and his bad arm.  She was amazed he didn’t have a girlfriend.

“How ‘bout a ride? And takin’ me with?”

It took him some time to debate this idea. Maybe it was because it was her dad’s funeral, or because he felt she would not back down, but Lloyd gave in with a sigh. “Alright. Get in.”

She hopped in and they went for a ride.

**

[x]

They drove straight through town and headed south on the 69. Hope switched on the radio. She wanted to laugh at what greeted her: more Lynyrd Skynyrd. If she’d believed in God, she would think that was her dad right now, keeping his hawk-like watch on Hope in a car with a boy.

“Y’know... my dad would say he used to hang out with Ronnie Van Zant. Drink with him in Birmingham.” 

“Oh yeah?” Lloyd asked. He didn’t take his eyes off of the road.

“Yeah. But I kind of think he was full of shit.” 

“How come?” 

“Well, I did the math one day. He would’ve been ten or so when Ronnie died. So I think it was all shit. Made up. Unless he was ten years old and drinking beer with one of the most famous bands in America...” 

Lloyd, characteristically quiet and stoic, did not seem to change, her attempt at humor not landing. But then his chronically contemplative face turned out a smile, and Hope grinned. 

“That is kinda dumb,” he agreed, and it felt like a personal victory. Melting the ice man’s heart.

They passed a few cars here and there, but mostly the road was empty, and they rode on, each lost in their own thoughts, set to the music.

 “Go faster,” Hope egged on eventually. Lloyd obliged her request.

“Faster.” 

He went past sixty, and was hitting seventy now, looking over at the girl in his passenger every now and then, as if wondering when she would call his bluff and call chicken. But Hope didn’t. She revelled in the speed the car went, just as that solo was ramping up in the song, her favorite song. The guitars strained and yowled to match the diabolic speed of the car and everything was on fire all at once, it was amazing. 

Nearly up to eighty now as the Camaro flew down the highway, Hope tugged her hair out of its bun and her blonde locks whipped through the wind, the girl wondering what would happen if another car were to come speeding down the wrong way in this very moment. They would surely die, but wouldn’t this be a wonderful way to die? Absolutely. She would love nothing better. 

Hope cackled. Uncontrollable laughter rose low in her stomach, the feeling of freedom hitting her full force along with the wind. Lloyd kept the car streaking down the highway between 70 and 80, and her laughter carried itself out on the winds, out onto the Alabama wilds, out with her all along the way. They passed fields upon fields of nothing, farmhouses and cows, desolateness and non-desolateness. Hope felt small yet infinitely stretched out across her home state all at once. She hated it here on most days, but today, she appreciated it like nothing else. 

Free, she was free. 

**

They stopped at an auto parts store in Uniontown, Lloyd picking something up for his shop, a short cigarette break, and a far more mellow return drive home. Hope kept some sliver of hope that he’d invite her to his house, maybe they’d even fuck, deep down having hoped for that outcome since she got in his car, what she yearned for with all her being. But nothing of the sort happened. He dropped her off home and rode off without so much as a goodbye. Maybe he’d felt sorry for her. Maybe he genuinely liked her, but wasn’t one for sentiments. Whatever his reasons for offering her a joyride, she appreciated it.

#self para #death tw #funeral tw #abuse tw #domestic violence tw #a cookie for anyone who correctly guesses who i had in mind for Lloyd's fc

[rhosinthorn]

icarus

an original work inspired by the solar eclipse

I once had a friend.

 One of those friends that when you said I’ve got your back you actually meant it, and no matter what time the phone call came, or what problem the call was about, you dropped everything to get there so you could fix it.

 He was always keeping his window open, just a crack, just enough for me to push it the rest of the way up on nights when I didn’t want to be home. Never told his parents why, just took the shouting about wasted energy and kept leaving that window open. In return, I went to every stupid coffee house, listened to all the shitty poets, the wannabe fringe crowd, drinking coffee that varied all the way from river sludge to divine nectar, depending on the place. I lied to his parents when they asked why he had been up so late. He was helping me with homework, was the common excuse, and when they asked which library we were at, I told them it was the college library, which was open all night.

 Sometimes it was the truth. Sam helped me bullshit the boring essays that they shoved down our throats, and I did his math homework, since even the shit I could come up with was usually better than his. We got through high school by the skin of our noses, and that last day, he slams a flier on my desk and tells me to pack my shit; he’s picking me up the day after graduation.

It was a rental flier, stolen from some beat up bulletin board in some equally shitty coffee house. Turns out, it’s an even shittier apartment, where the hot water heater runs out in the time it takes you to wash your hair, and all the floorboards creak, and there’s crotchety old people and cranky single moms with cranky babies all around, but it was his, it was mine, it was ours, and we couldn’t give a shit.

 Sam got a job shelving books at the library and I got a job as a janitor at the shitty high school we all thought we’d be rid of once we had that stupid piece of paper in our hands. I still got dragged to stupid coffee houses, resented spending the money I was earning on shitty coffee and prayed that wherever we were going was one of the ones with good coffee, but now it was different.

 Ever since I knew him, he was always scribbling. Always had a piece of paper close to hand and a pencil stuck behind his ear. When they made us clean out his locker, he carefully preserved each and every scrap of whatever it was like it was priceless jewelry.

 And the first time he got up on that crappy stage and opened his mouth, I realized it was.

 There was something about the way he could string words together that made them so much more than a bunch of letters in a row. When the teachers made us read boring old poetry, it was never like hearing what he could come up with in front of that microphone, and I know for a fact that none of the kids in those classrooms paid half as much attention to dusty old poets as every single person in those coffee shops did when Sam opened his mouth.

 Slowly our world changed, like a fresh coat of paint on the walls of our apartment, but it wasn’t just covering up the cracks and scuff marks, it was new. It was late night parties in places that were probably illegal, lights and sounds and adrenaline. Some of the people around us were experimenting with things I’d never heard of, even from the pointless shit the teachers peddled about drug education where we sat through slideshow after slideshow of how whatever the evil of the week was would kill you in horrible, painful ways.

 The school tested randomly, so I stayed clean, stayed away. It was enough just to be there, to be immersed in the atmosphere even without imbibing in whatever they were promising would rock my world. So did Sam, even though the library couldn’t really give a damn, so long as the books were sorted and shelved. There was enough magic in the moment, he said, sounding way to serious for it to be shitty cliché. Enough just to be there, to be a part of everything around us.

 But we spent just as much time in the middle of nowhere, weekends when Sam packed us into the beat up car that was running by the grace of whatever god was supposed to be looking out for it and we drove to somewhere. Sometimes it was woods, where the trees reached up as tall as the buildings we had always known, sometimes it was moving water, a river, a canal, something long left untouched. Once it was an open field, completely overgrown.

 We met all sorts of people at the coffee shops, at the clubs, at the probably illegal parties. I met girls, Sam met girls, boys, all sorts. All half drunk on his words and wanting to know him. Sometimes just get under his skin and figure him out, sometimes in the biblical sense of knowing.

 Most of them were just passing fancies. Sam called them dandelions, on account of how they bloomed brightly only to wither and blow away not long after.

 But there was one.

 We saw him first at the coffee shop, slouched in the dark corner that we used to frequent because it apparently had the best view of the stage.

 He came up to us after the mic was shut down for the night, waiting for the nightly throng of people who had clustered around like flowers gravitating towards the sun. The way he strolled up caught my eye; there were people who had their lives together, and there were people like the rest of us trying to just push through as best as we could, and he was one of the former. I almost envied him, but it was almost impossible to. This guy had a way of pulling you into his orbit and making you forget that you wanted to be anywhere else. He said his name was Apollo, and we all kind of laughed at how stupid his parents had to have been, giving a guy a name like that to suffer under.

 It seemed as if we kept running into Apollo after that, as if he knew where we were going to land each night, and something…changed. The walls of our apartment were never clean, even when we had just painted them, but now the walls in the other bedroom were covered in words, spiraling out from random points. Where his words had touched you before, now they made you feel, immersing you in them until you knew you were drowning but you didn’t mind. Sam and Apollo started spending hours each day just talking, building these castles of words that almost seemed real.

 And it just kept building and building, like the heavy beat of a song ramping up into the final stretch, and the two of them became lovers for however long they could hold each other’s attention, and then I come home one night and Sam’s lying on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling. The cracked, grimy, boring ceiling.

 Only he’s not actually staring, because he’s blind.

 The doctors that I dragged him to couldn’t figure it out. They poked and prodded, and I spent every dime I had and got two other jobs to keep going while they fussed over him, but all he said was that he had seen the sun.

 Eventually he told them to stop.

 Sam came home and bumped into things for a few weeks until he had it all sorted. There was one day, I come home for an hour between shifts and he’s tracing the words he had scribbled all over his walls as if he can see them.

 Apollo is gone. Has been gone.

 I asked Sam, that first night, if he was blind because of Apollo.

 No, is his first answer, loud and strong and furious, as if angry at me for even suggesting it. Yes follows just as quickly, just as adamant, and then he settles, turns his face towards me and says maybe?

 I looked at the sun, he kept saying, every time someone asked. The doctors mumbled something about it being plausible, based on what they were seeing, but at the same time improbable, given that the only thing that could do that amount of damage was an eclipse, and it had been decades since the last.

 Strangely enough, his words started meaning more. Even though he couldn’t see, his words painted pictures for all of us sitting in those dim coffee houses. Pictures of places and people and experiences that Sam had never, would never, could never see. And it wasn’t like he was listening to those books on tape, or any of the other ways they tried to teach him to adapt his life.

 Someone talked about a guide dog, but Sam said no. I could barely convince him to use one of those canes, no matter how many times he tripped or fell or bumped into someone on the street. He hated it, hated feeling what he had once seen. It was better to stumble, to almost get hit by cars and bikes and other pedestrians.

 I feel, he tells me in the middle of another shouting match, a fresh bruise on his cheek where he caught the edge of a door. I feel.

 Because there’s no use arguing, I stop. It’s easier to keep the box under the sink where all of our medical shit ends up stocked than to keep having the same argument over and over.

One night, as I’m patching him up, he starts telling me about me, about some stupid kid from a shitty family who has a best friend who’s worth more than most brothers. He’s not using our names, but I can see us in his words. But he goes on and tells about a girl, about a home, about someone to say welcome home, and I brush him off. Guys like me don’t get that. It goes right up there with the pipe dreams about picket fences and 2.5 kids. Probably took a knock on his head today that he’s not going to admit to.

 I forget about it for months, and then I meet this girl.

 Her name is Hestia, and she’s everything he said and more.

 She doesn’t give a shit about our crappy apartment, and whenever she’s there it seems less crappy. I met her at a diner I keep ending up at because it’s in between the two jobs I’ve kept now that he can’t work, and everyone there seems to love her.

 And somehow she picked me.

 We’re talking one night when I happen to look at her, and I see her eyes. They’re old, old eyes, and I had never understood what that actually meant until I saw them. But now I do, and I remember something.

 Apollo had those same eyes.

 I was a pretty shitty student, but something about those Greek myths stuck in my head. Maybe because most of them were about screw ups like me, and maybe because Sam practically lived and breathed them whenever they came up in class. The teachers never could figure him out, because he would fixate on these ancient poems and then turn around and bitch about Shakespeare.

 Something about those names is familiar, and I find myself in the library, a book of myths in my hand, and in them I find Apollo, and further in I find Hestia.

 I looked at the sun.

 When I got home, Sam was there, just him, icing a bumped elbow. He seems to know, even though he can’t see my face.

 Does it matter? he asks, leaning against the doorway as I stare at him.

 Yes I want to say, I want to shout. Yes it matters. What business do they have with people like us, with shitty apartments and shitty coffee, and too many jobs and not enough time?

 Sam just turns away and shuts himself in his room.

 I stop seeing Hestia.

 Sam disappears.

 Somehow, everything seems…less now. Smaller.

AN: Don’t know where this came from, but it was tricky. The entire viewpoint is something I don’t usually do. Hope you enjoyed.

#original fiction #my writing #icarus #solar eclipse 2017

[wintermell]

Jonsa in the library. I get Time Traveler's Wife feels from them. He's a librarian. But ya know, you don't have to get into the time travel bit. Just library jonsa is hot. So..

Hey there! I’ve never seen the Time Traveler’s Wife, so I just kinda rolled with the librarian thing. It’s almost 2, so please excuse the questionable quality, sorry! Please enjoy, everyone!

Send more prompts here.

Emily and Will (a jonsa oneshot)

It’s unusual for a public library to run 24/7, but since the university is only ten minutes away, Jon finds himself sitting at the checkout desk pulling the night shift for the third time that week. He’s not complaining for any reason. The only people who come in are stressed out, caffeine-filled college students who are desperately searching for extra copies of classic novels or a computer to print out their long-as-fuck reports.

Sure, it’s a little weird for a good-looking twenty-year-old kid to have a job at a place where most of the employees are fifty year old women (probably named Pam or Ruth). But he gets free hot drinks, wi-fi all night, and access to the woman he loves most in the world.

“Hey, Em,” he says as he opens up the aged copy of Poems by Emily Dickinson. Strange as it may seem, Emily has been Jon’s go-to author for the past ten years. He attributes it to his own mother’s love for the poet. When he was little, she would read Emily’s poems to him before bed.

Just as he’s starting to read, the door bursts open. Jon is certain he’s fallen asleep and started dreaming. The new arrival is a gorgeous redhead, wearing high heels and a short black party dress. She marches up to the front desk and starts rummaging around in her silver clutch purse. Triumphantly, she pulls out a yellow sticky note.

“Listen, I know how this looks,” she begins, “but I’m sort of a mess right now and I need a couple books.”

“We… um… yeah, we have those.” Oh, nice fucking job, Snow. Of course you have books, it’s a fucking library.

“Good, because I know it’s probably hell with finals coming up. I nearly forgot to stop by, but somehow sober me was smart enough to put a note in my purse so slightly-drunk me could remember.” She shakes her head and blinks. Jon can smell cigarettes and vodka on top of her lemony perfume. Alarms are ringing in his head.

“Are you okay? I can call the police if you need me to,” he offers. Unfortunately, he’s had to do it several times for other girls who needed to escape their crazy boyfriends. Suddenly he’s wondering if Beautiful Redhead has a boyfriend. Shit. He really hopes she doesn’t.

“What? No, I’m fine. Only had three drinks. I’m an English major and- well, you get the idea. Anyways, here’s the list.” She presses the sticky note in his hand. The writing is flowery and neat. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Poetry of Robert Frost.

“Easy enough. I’ll go find them,” he says, ducking into the storage room. He could easily just pick out the old, torn-up copies that are out on the shelves, but for some reason he firmly believes that Beautiful Redhead deserves clean white pages instead of ugly, yellow, bent ones.

There’s a box labelled NEW ARRIVALS: CLASSICS & POETRY sitting on the floor. He opens it up and goes digging through. At the very top is a collection of Emily Dickinson poetry. Jon really does try to ignore it. After a moment of hesitation, he sets it aside. The books on Beautiful Redhead’s list are easy enough to find, and he brings them out with a flourish.

“Right, if you need to sign up for a card-”

“Already have one,” she says, handing him the little plastic slip. He takes it and examines the name. Sansa. The last name has been smudged and faded, but Sansa is all he needs. It seems poetic and sweet, the way it rolls through his head. Sansa.

“Yeah?”

God fucking dammit, Snow, you’re not supposed to say what you’re thinking.

“Nice name,” he says, setting to work on checking out the books to her. “You like Russian lit?”

“Nope, but for some reason one of my literature teachers is obsessed with it. Trust me, I had to fight tooth and nail through War and Peace,” says Sansa. She leans against the desk, and Jon tries very hard not to look at her cleavage, which is very obvious in her strapless dress.

“I read Crime and Punishment in my junior year. It was both a crime and a punishment,” he jokes. Sansa giggles, and he’s already mentally high fiving himself for making her laugh. Her cheeks stand out more when she smiles, while her blue eyes sparkle like sapphires.

“Oh! Emily Dickinson!” she notices his book, still open next to a cup of tea that’s probably turned cold.

“Yeah, I really love Emily,” he says.

“I can see. You’re on a first name basis with her,” Sansa teases. “What other poets do you like?”

Ah, son of a bitch. Soon she’ll realize he’s as boring as a wall. “Just her.”

“Seriously? Nobody else? What about Shakespeare, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Alfred, Lord Tennyson… any of them?” Jon feels like an idiot. He’s nearing his mid-twenties and of course he’s only ever loved Emily (and now Sansa- god, he’s a loser).

“I should totally read more. I’ve never been big on variety, which totally sucks, but-”

“Hey, don’t freak out. I’ve always liked Whitman and Frost best, but Emily is my number one bitch,” she says, then hiccups. “Maybe I had four drinks. I should leave before I totally embarrass myself in front of someone as cute as you.”

They stare at each other. She realizes what she’s said.

“Oh my god. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… just forget I said that, okay?” With a dutiful nod, Jon slips the spare Emily book to the side and puts the others in a plastic grocery bag.

“It was raining earlier, and I wouldn’t want the ink to run. Are you sure I can’t call a cab for you?” he offers. She’s already tapping out the number of someone on her phone called ‘the older brother’. Still not a boyfriend. Two mental thumbs up.

“I’ll be okay. Hey, what’s your name? Do you work here every day at one in the morning?”

“I’m Jon,” he says, “and yeah, I do.” Sansa reaches out and awkwardly shakes his hand. It sends shivers down his spine and an electric current to his brain.

“See you later, Jon.”

She disappears out of the door, wobbling a bit on her heels.

“Bye, Sansa,” he whispers. The Emily book is lying open, as if to yell at him to get his head out of his ass already.

“Sorry.”

And of course there’s no reply.

one week later

“Are you some sort of vampire, Jon?” Sansa asks with a laugh. She’s dressed in a white turtleneck and jeans with her auburn hair braided to the side. Jon sets aside his book and tea, offering the dorkiest smile ever.

“Either that or I’m the only one who’s willing to take a night shift.” The last group of late night studiers left half an hour ago. He’s spent the past seven days wondering if that beautiful redhead might show up again. Lo and behold, it’s her, in all of her “Emily is my main bitch” splendor.

“I hate to bother you, but I need a copy of the university’s level three French class textbook. You have that, right?” Jon nods and looks up the title before going to fetch it from the reference section. Sansa is interesting to learn about from her library checkouts. He knows that she loves classical literature - except Russian - and poetry, and speaks French well enough to be using an advanced textbook. When he sets it on the desk, her card is already in her hand.

“Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” she says with a perfect accent.

“I took German in high school,” he says with an apologetic shrug.

“C’est bon, je vous pardonne.” He grins and slides her the book.

“Due on the fifteenth.”

“I have some books to check in, too,” she says, and hands him Anna Karenina, Leaves of Grass, and another book with a title that’s covered by an old dust jacket. Jon checks in the first two, but can’t find a barcode on the third.

“Did the plastic jacket fall off or something?” he asks, reaching for a roll of masking tape. Sansa yelps and grabs his wrist.

Shit fuck shit fuck. Red fucking alert. Any physical contact might drive him crazy.

“No, it’s my copy! Please don’t tape it! I got it at an old antiques place, and I wanted to lend it to you so you’d have something other than Emily Dickinson,” she explains quickly. Jon stares at her, mouth hanging open like a goddamn idiot.

“You… for me?”

She releases her grip on his arm, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. They stand in a thick silence. Jon looks down and reads the title, which is printed in shiny gold letters. Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

“Sansa, thank you so much,” he says, “and I’m really sorry I nearly destroyed your book with masking tape.”

Sansa smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Enjoy the poems. See you sometime, I guess?” She grabs her textbook and starts to head away, but Jon is quicker. He wraps his hand around the textbook, and she stops to frown at him.

“If you leave your book with me, we both know that you’re going to come back in a week to get it back. And when you do, you’re going to find a really shitty, awkward note in it that says something along the lines of ‘do you want to grab coffee and talk about poetry’, except thirty percent more awkward. What I’m saying is… can I save us both some trouble and just ask you now?”

He’s almost sure he’s blown it. Her face is unreadable as they gaze at each other. She bites her lip (even though he’d totally offer to do that for her), probably thinking of a good way to let him down.

“Go ahead,” she says. “Ask me.”

Showtime, Snow. He inhales deeply and holds out her copy of the sonnets.

“Sansa, the most beautiful redhead, would you do me the great honor of getting coffee and talking about poetry sometime?” Jon feels like a dumb, five-dollar Mr. Darcy rip off, and then Sansa smiles.

“It would be an honor,” she says, taking the book and tucking it into her bag. They grin at each other, which turns into fits of giggles. Jon’s eyes are completely bloodshot and his feet ache, but he’s never felt better.

“I’m definitely never going to forget this,” she says. Her fingers brush against his, and the next thing he knows, he’s kissing her softly in the middle of an empty library at two in the morning. She tastes like chapstick and lemon, and fuck, he wants to drown in her. The desk that separates them digs into his legs as he leans further into the kiss.

As he’s driving home that night, he can still feel it. With a dumb grin on his face, he unlocks the front door of his apartment. Both of his roommates are in the living room.

“Hey, Snow! Any news about that mystery lover of yours?” asks Robb. He and Theon are watching Lord of the Rings for the sixth time in a week. Since Jon didn’t give many details about his first encounter with Sansa, he feels the need to catch them up.

“Her name is Sansa, she smells like lemons, we made out at the library and it was the best day of my life,” Jon says. He’s still in a state of childlike amazement, and doesn’t notice the murderous glare that has appeared in Robb’s eyes.

“What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Just. Say?”

Theon glances back and forth between them. “Oh shit, Snow! Did you seriously feel up Robb’s little sister at a public library?”

“No way! I said Sansa, not Arya,” says Jon.

“He has two sisters, dumbass! Sansa’s the hot one with red hair!”

Robb is glowering at both Jon and Theon. Fuck it.

“Theon, the answer is yes. And it was worth it.”

The black eye was worth it too, he would later decide.

#jonsa #jonsa fic #request #prompts #jon x sansa