hopeless

@charmiism | britt

Wednesday’s always meant that the preschool kids got to do a creative project, today they were painting. Which was adorable, the preschoolers love being creative and love painting. However, they make a huge mess. Between helping them and making sure they are painting on the paper, not the tables or each other and cleaning up, Anna was pretty sure she was just as covered in paint as they were. 

After she said goodbye to all of them and finally was able to leave, she headed straight to meet up with Britt. Hurrying over to the Neverland Cafe, Anna couldn’t help but notice the amount of weird looks she was getting. “Ok,” she started as she found Britt waiting at a table for her, “do I have paint on my face or hair? I’ve been getting a lot of weird look from people on my way here. I didn’t have time to make sure I was clean before I left the school.”

Britt had finished up at the town hall early today - with the heads of town locked in a conference room just the three of them she’d nervously snuck out a good ten minutes before she was technically supposed to clock out. It wasn’t as if they would be leaving that room anytime soon. Besides, even Sadie couldn’t see what they were doing in there, so it was probably for the best that they leave; who knew what they might be accessory to, just by sitting in the same building? 

❛  hello to you, too,  ❜  jim huffs, equal parts indignant and amused. then again, with the staggering amount of times he’s had the cops called on him for being a public nuisance— he still doesn’t think it was that serious— he guesses it’s only fair that he wouldn’t receive the warmest of receptions from someone who works city hall, even if it is brittany baker. he’s pretty sure that sadie pratt must’ve called the sheriff on him one or two times herself, anyway, if only at their bosses’ request. yeah, jim’s not much for authority, but he doesn’t think he deserves any cold shoulders or anything. after all, it’s not like he dismantled any of the building generators for parts, or crashed a boat into the docks again.  ❛  were you expecting someone else? because i can move over. i mean, wouldn’t want anyone from city hall calling up the sheriff again. this next time’s probably going to land me in court, if i’m lucky.  ❜

Britt had found herself at the Siren’s once more, a perfect place to go when she’d had a long day at work. Fingers drummed on the table top as she tuned out the annoying man beside her trying to pick her up, waiting for her drink. Feeling another slide into the empty seat on the other side of Britt, the blonde turned slightly. “Oh. It’s you.”

She still loved the library as she got older - if not for anything else than the memories that it held of her mother, and the fact that it was free. But now she didn’t eagerly search the aisles for books she hoped would hold some clue to the questions she was asking. No, they were part of the conspiracy as well.

So on this clear and crispy November morning, Shiloh found herself skimming through one of the old newsreels from the 50′s that was on file, trying to see if she could find the original reports of the Flatwoods Monster. It wasn’t until the third roll that she found anything, the headline reading ‘Flatwoods Monster - or Elaborate Hallucination?’ That was when she’d begun yelling at the screen.

“How could it have been a hallucination? You had not one, not two, but seven witnesses! All of whom had similar reactions to the fucking mist that resembled fucking mustard gas!” She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated with the news report. Shiloh didn’t even notice the dirty looks she was getting from the other patrons in the library until one of the librarians came over and asked her to leave.

Notebook in her arms, Shiloh stumbled out of the library, purse slung over her shoulder, still furious about the explanation reporters had written. “I can’t fucking believe that no one actually pointed out that an owl is fucking smaller than the monster is supposed to be.”

❛  then don’t.  ❜  a hint of a smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, soft and playful on him when they peek open to catch a glimpse of him. under her hand she can feel the way his heartbeat picks up in real time, thundering against his chest as it rises and falls, and her lips twitch up again, threatening to break out into another ridiculously smitten grin.  ❛  i don’t want you to, either,  ❜  bianca adds for good measure, hand trailing down his side, finding a place on his hip underneath his shirt. it’s not meant to insinuate anything more, really— she just wants to memorize the way everything feels, the way he feels. touching his skin has never felt like this, like something new and electric because here they are, taking chances every time they kiss. it feels like that, anyway, but she thinks that’s normal after years of friendship. he’s one of so few who make her feel this brave, after all; she doesn’t want to lose him or that.

the idea is sobering enough in spite of itself, however, and she manages to find it in herself to pull farther away, fingers absently playing with his hair.  ❛  i think … i should probably get changed though,  ❜  she murmurs before either of them can act, not that she sounds entirely convinced herself. she really does wish they could kiss the day away, forget everyone and everything else, live in this moment for as long as reality will let them— but there’s something in her that won’t ever let her rest like that. the hesitation is a force of habit, though he’s made her less aware of her insecurities than she’s been in so long. it only makes it all the more tempting to stay, but instead, she slips off his lap and into the space beside him, fitting herself against his side for now. she can stand to wait just a tiny bit longer, she thinks.  ❛  just …  ❜  her head bumps up against his shoulder, resting against it momentarily, her hand finding one of his. she turns and tilts her head, pressing one last little kiss to the corner of his mouth.  ❛  there. —sorry.  ❜

Toulouse is almost certain Bianca can feel the way his heart pounds as her lips brush against his with each word, but he doesn’t care. He’s almost certain he could never get used to her lips on his, doesn’t want to get used to it. This feeling, this electricity between them, it’s something Tou wants to feel each time he holds her. The day when it dulls and fades isn’t one he can fathom. A day when he takes Bianca for granted is one that he swears to himself in this moment is the day that he tries harder - remember this moment if he has to, remember their first time kissing without worrying about who might see. He feels her hand trailing down his side, coming to rest on his hip, shirt slipping up as her fingers graze bare skin. It sends a shiver down his spine, his arms instinctively curling tighter around her. 

Suddenly she’s pulling away, her hand playing with his hair and Toulouse relaxes his hold on her. He’s completely forgotten that she’s only wearing a robe, his mind on other things entirely, but the realization doesn’t help the excitement coursing through his veins, her touch combined with all the kisses stirring something in his stomach. Perhaps it’s for the best that she climbs off his lap, the blonde already embarrassed enough that he’s hard, he doesn’t need Bianca to feel it. God, that would just make the situation worse - he doesn’t want to pressure her into anything, doesn’t want her to feel like she has to do anything she’s not ready for. There’s plenty of time for that in the future after all. Bianca curls into his side, Tou noting that she fits like a puzzle piece, slipping into the spot beside him. She sounds hesitant, pausing to take his hand in hers before pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth, his lips immediately turning up into another grin. A chuckle slips out at her apology (as if she ever needs to apologize for that) Tou squeezing her hand. “You know,” he finally says, his voice light but serious, not wanting her to mistake his words for teasing. “I’m really happy you trusted me enough to show me your other form.” He pauses, grin growing wider. “I could’ve stopped right there - I’m really happy B.”

it goes without saying that it surprises him when she leans into his space so willingly, the fabric stretched over his shoulder soaking up the tears that streak her cheeks— it’s the least he can do, after all— but what really throws him for a loop is the way she falters before altogether malfunctioning. that is what this must be— in what reality would meg floros admit she doesn’t want flynn to leave her? much less to his face? for all that he’d begun to hope they’d leave this closet on better, or at least, slightly more manageable terms, he’d been braced for rejection all the same. that’s sort of their thing, anyway, no thanks to him. he regrets that more than he can put into words— when he tries, they’re clumsy things— but just as he’s beginning to realize there are some things he might never be able to atone for, meg pulls a one-eighty on him. then again, that’s sort of her thing ( a world in which flynn ever knows what to expect from her is not one he knows ). maybe she’s tired, same as him, of coming just shy of ripping his throat out, despite the fact he’s the wolf between them. that’s ironic— because right now? flynn feels like a lost puppy, curled around meg and trying to align what she’s saying with what he knows.

she hates him— sometimes, it’s all he thinks he’s sure of. it’s almost a relief of a constant, after everything with raven and dimitri and britt, madeline and lucien. the rest of his life is a verifiable mess, yet somehow, their blowouts at the bar don’t add to that ( that much, anyway ). they’ve almost become welcome, and he relies on them for a sense of routine; that’s an irony not totally lost on him, considering it’s the kind of routine he used to scoff at, used to not want— the kind he betrayed her over because she’d kept him steady in a way he hadn’t known what to do with. she hates him— but that doesn’t mean his arm doesn’t still tighten around her shoulders, his thumb brushing her upper arm when she leans back to look at him. if he closes his eyes, it’s almost like they could be propped up against her headboard after one of her nightmares— but they’re not and she hates him and his imagination was never all that great to begin with.

❛  if i wanted to avoid you that badly, i would’ve quit by now,  ❜  flynn offers, a sad half-smile tugging at his mouth. his eyes soften where they land on the sharp line of her jaw, the hand on the arm wrapped round her shoulders curling up to nudge it with his thumb. it’s meant to be playful, to ease the tension in the small room and make her feel less like opening up to him is a mistake— he doesn’t know if he’s even capable of helping that— but instead, his thumb lingers. her hair tickles the skin of his wrist, and it just— it feels nice. he knows it shouldn’t, knows he probably shouldn’t be thinking that or enjoying this on any level considering she’s still teary— but it feels right. it feels like he shouldn’t have left, but like he’s home anyway. he wonders when he lost sight of that feeling, when he started taking it, her, for granted.  ❛  would you have?  ❜  he asks after a moment, hand sliding back down to her arm.  ❛  what i mean is— do you actually want me to stay, or just for someone finally to?  ❜

His thumb brushes her arm as she leans back and it’s entirely too familiar and not unwelcome that Meg wishes ( not for the first time ) that she and Flynn never met. Maybe then they could have a fresh start - maybe this time they’d work. There’s a lump in her throat, words she should’ve said, words that she should say, tears that still want to fall, and she swallows, knowing that she’ll choke if she let any of it out. Isn’t it embarrassing enough that she’s already said too much? She glances away, her hatred for her own behavior swallowing her up like a great chasm. Meg starts to wish she was with Hale  right now, like she’s supposed to be, if only to spare herself from the fucking disaster that she’s turned into tonight. 

His thumb nudges her jaw, her gaze redirecting back to him. God, will she ever stop feeling like a fifteen year old around him? Meg remembers the way she used to look at him like he lit up the fucking sky. She remembers the way she used to trace her fingers on his palm until he curled his fingers around them, the giddy laugh that would draw out of her, the way his eyes used to light up when she looked at him. She remembers the way he whispered that he loved her, the way she looked at him, equal parts shocked that they were capable of that and that he was so freely admitting it. She remembers the disappointment in his eyes the night she caught him, the way he wasn’t able to look at her, the silence that hung in the air as she walked out, and the way he let her go. Meg remembers the way he first looked at her after they ended, remorseful and guilty, a kicked puppy that kept coming back. But it’s the way he looks at her now that hurts the most: hopeful. 

If Meg’s being honest, she still loves him - maybe that’s the thing about first loves, you can never forget them or maybe that’s the thing about being a foster kid; the first person that shows you more than an ounce of interest is the one who owns your heart. But Meg’s not honest and she knows better. Still, his thumb lingers and it.... it feels nice. She knows it shouldn’t, knows that as soon as the closet gets unlocked tomorrow he’ll go back to his blonde barbie and the long list of girls that visit his bed and she’ll be alone again. That’s how it’s always been - that’s how it always will be. She’s tried to reconcile herself to the fact that it’s better to be alone. No one can hurt you that way. But for once, she’d like to stop pretending that she sleeps better alone, that she’s fine with the cold side of her bed being empty because it just means more room for her to stretch out. After a year having a space heater for a partner, Meg’s not used to the cold. She’s tried. She’s layered blankets, she’s gotten an actual space heater. But even then neither of those help when she wakes panting for breath in the middle of the night. 

His hand moves away from her face reluctantly, back down to her upper arm. Sometimes she wonders if he still loves her - assuming that he ever did. “I don’t know,” she answers, her fingers interlocking around her knees, hugging herself as she considers his question. “Both, I guess.” A dry laugh falls from her lips, Meg looking away from Flynn. When she was younger, she would’ve answered anyone, desperate for someone to make her feel like she was enough. A year ago she would’ve answered you, Flynn having been enough to make her feel valid. But now... now what Meg wanted was impossible. “Whoever wants to, if I’m being honest.” Not that it’d be a particularly large pool of possibilities; she’d done a bang up job of pushing everyone away.

@charmiism​   /   gets an early christmas gift!

❛  i just think it’s funny how—  ❜  flynn starts, snatching a measly strand of gold and silver tinsel from one of the porch columns before abruptly cutting himself off when he realizes meg is no longer listening to his tirade. to be fair, he’s been on it since the beginning of the week, when he lugged an entire shed’s worth of holiday decorations into the house and set up shop. before and after nearly every shift, he’s taken to doing their house up a little more each time— all in the hopes they’ll take home the prize of best decorated in the entire neighborhood. supposedly it’s a cash one, but he’ll also take the notoriety if he’s honest. in any case, at least it’d be a shot at shutting their neighbor up. flynn knows he could take their entire nuclear family with his hands tied behind his back, but the people around here don’t understand him when he speaks that language, so he has to beat them like this for it to mean anything. for him to assert his dominance.  ❛  they’re over there pointing and laughing at my lights, when they’ve got cardboard standees. i mean, where do they get off telling me we’re ambitious for moving here in the first place? like they’re better than us? who the fuck doesn’t spring for the blow-up santa? at least we know if we ever had any kids, we wouldn’t ruin christmas for them with sad shit like that, just saying.  ❜

Meg isn’t listening - hasn’t been for a few days now, having tuned Flynn out as soon as he’d started in on their neighbors across the street. She’d been more than content to let things lie where they were; so what if they didn’t get along particularly well? Just one less barbecue to worry about attending in the summer. Since that was apparently a thing people in the suburbs did, their nuclear families of blonde children looking like straight up clones of their parents standing around pushing each other into their inground pools, dads gathered around grills with beers comparing lawns while the mothers sat around gossiping over sangria. Since that was apparently something Flynn and herself would be expected to do now... She wasn’t sure how they’d ended up here, back together, owning a house together, decorating a house together for the holidays. It was nice. Fuck that, it was better than nice, it was stable, it was solid. It was a future. Sure, she’d bought the house so their dogs could have a yard - after all, their apartment was getting cramped with the three of them. But it’d been something she owned, something that belonged to her. It was the first time Meg had really been able to say that and there was some sort of pride in knowing that she had a home, one that she owned to come home to every night. She was sure the same was true for Flynn: the two kids who hadn’t belonged anywhere else had found somewhere they did. It was only an added plus that their new home was far from the real estate thumb of the Stabbington Brothers.

Meg sips her coffee, surveying the neighbor’s yard, her boyfriend’s voice mere background noise at this point, the woman only catching a word or two. Well, at least Flynn’s right about the cardboard cutouts. At the mention of kids, her mind instantly flashes to the extra three rooms in their home, currently just storage rooms for still unpacked boxes. Not that they could ever fill up this place - neither of them has much in the way of personal effects. It’s then that the word ambitious catches her attention. “Ambitious?” Her voice is higher in pitch as she sets her coffee mug on the arm of one of their lawn chairs, moving forward to grab the tinsel out of Flynn’s hand. So what if they have motorcycles in their driveway instead of an SUV? So what if they don’t work normal 9 to 5s? So what if they don’t wear khakis and cardigans and drive their kids to soccer practice every Wednesday night? “I’ll show them fucking ambitious. Grab that string of lights, we’ve got a competition to win.”

❛  baby, come on now— i thought we agreed to be honest with each other, so why’re you lying like that?  ❜  he’s beaming something brilliant at this point, not even bothered in the least by the way the manual goes flying to the other side of the room. there’s still a part of him that wants to retrieve it— god knows that’d give meg something like two dozen jokes about dogs and fetch— but he’s only a man, and teasing meg, getting her to laugh and shove at him and fight not to smile? it feels like old times, the good ones. that’s better than any test some swedish chair can put their relationship through. besides, they’ll get to it eventually and they’ll make it work— they always have, always will. now, though, he knows he’s affecting her, if the way she growls is anything to go by. yeah, that’s his girl.

❛  all you gotta do is say please, and i’m at your bark and call,  ❜  flynn teases, rising up from his knees to slide a hand around the back of her neck, cradling her head. his thumb brushes her pulse point, eyes warm and fond as he registers the ghost of a smile on her lips. she must know how determined he is to see it now— if not for the way he’s physically teasing her, then for the dog puns he makes at his own expense. it’d just be easier for her to give in, and if he were her, he would— but then again, meg floros has never exactly been known for taking the easy way out. flynn, on the other hand— she could stand to learn a thing or two from him. he thinks a lot of their problems could be solved if she just ran away with him for a while, like he wishes they would, like they were meant to all those years ago before life trapped them in this town without each other.  ❛  but for what it’s worth, a chair makes what i was about to do earlier a little easier. just saying. and besides,  ❜  he’s still grinning widely, though it dims as he tips forward, brushing their lips together briefly, just touching base again.  ❛  isn’t it something, the two of us being all domestic? better than before. feels right, you know. or gut, as the germans say.  ❜

Meg can never stay annoyed with Flynn, much less when he’s messing with her, calling her baby and grinning like that. His smile is so bright it’s almost blinding, Meg unable to look away from him. He gets to his feet once more, her back flush against the wall as he moves into her space, a hand coming to rest on the nape of her neck. It’s like there’s no one else in the world, save for them. Not that Meg is opposed to that idea - sometimes she thinks that a lot of their communication issues could be solved if there was no one else to muddle the waters. 

His thumb brushes against her pulse point and her breath catches in her throat; he has to know that he’s affecting her or else he wouldn’t be teasing her like this. Flynn’s eyes trace over her lips, warm and certain, as if waiting for her to crack and give him the smile he’s been begging for. It’s obvious, with the dog puns he makes and the way he seems to crowd her space. His lips brush against hers, the touch fleeting and soft, his stubble scratching her chin. Meg wants more, her nose nudging forward of its own accord, lips trying and failing to meet his once more. Her eyes flicker open, dark irises wide, framed by black lashes fluttering as her gaze traces from his lips back to his eyes. “It is,” she finally responds, the ghost of her smile materializing as a soft grin overtakes her lips. Who would of thought that Meg and Flynn would end back up together? That they’d be able to set aside their past and their hurt to try again - something more successful this time. Her teeth curl over the corner of her lip, gently nipping at her own skin as his words echo in the space between them. ‘Feels right, you know.’ “Does it now?” Meg’s voice is higher in pitch, thinly veiled excitement hidden behind her words. She knows it feels right, at least to her, coming home and watching TV on the couch with him, going to bed together, Meg curling into the space beside him, fingers splaying against his chest. A chuckle spills from her lips, her fingers twisting into the belt loops on his jeans, tugging him closer to her. “Much better than before,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping to his lips once more, a hand raising from his waist to brush against his cheek. Sometimes it still amazes Meg that this boy is her’s - that all those years searching for a family and a home and here he is right in front of her: everything she’s ever needed in his eyes, everything she’s ever wanted in his lips. She pauses, voice quieter now as she gives in. “Please.”

Her comment got a small laugh out of him. That would be a very Curtis move to do if he were present to witness the crumby crime himself. Pleasantly amused he gave a shrug. “Curtis means well. He just….takes his job quite seriously. And sometimes, if you could see some of the damaged books we’ve got returned before, it’s kind of good he’s that way. Or else this place would have no books for anyone to read.” Adam opened up a bit about his friend. He knew people had their own ideas about his uptight friend, but he was a good guy. “But he would do something like that. You’re not wrong. I just….” Then he stopped, looking down to the ground briefly as they walked. He noticed how they synced in step. “Prefer being alone— at times.” He empathized on the latter of his words. Most of the time was a truer answer…but despite popular belief there were times Adam liked having company to keep him away from his more harmful thoughts. 

Tiana nodded along as Adam spoke, describing the characteristics that seemed to be the whole reason why Tia and Curtis were friends themselves. They were similarly minded, sharing a mutual respect for each other - after all who said opposites attract? Adam’s eyes turned from Tia, looking down at their feet as they walked. Tiana thought that it was just his quiet demeanor overtaking him once more; something that she’d noticed about Adam was that he tended to recede into himself when he felt uncomfortable. She still remembered how Adam seemed to shrink when she’d come over to drop off dinners once. “I get that. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind having company from time to time. It’s nice break from working all day. It’s just... sometimes I like to be able to hear myself think, you know?” Tia smiled, glad that someone else understood. Between her job at Neverland Cafe and her extra night shifts at the Rabbit Hole, Tiana didn’t get a lot of time to herself. And when she did, Teeny usually took up most of it, or her mother did. Time to herself was a rare occasion, one that Tiana relished. 

❛ Mmhmm. ❜ She hummed, a tiny bit distracted by the brilliantly happy grin stretched across Tou’s face. ( Then again, she’d caught him watching her mouth just the same, so she imagined he must be a little distracted, too — hopefully enough not to notice she wasn’t paying as much attention as she ought to be. ) The sight of his smile made Bianca’s heart squeeze and swell with so much … love, so much appreciation for this one boy that she was half tempted to just smother his face in ridiculous kisses until the two of them dissolved into laughter, curled up against each another. The fact that they could was almost too much. Instead though, she maneuvered herself onto his lap carefully, suddenly acutely aware of the fact she was only wearing a bathrobe, her clothes discarded at the other end of the couch. Gingerly settling sideways, legs stretching out on the couch and an arm looping around his shoulder, Bianca brushed her lips along his jaw, the faintest smile at the corners of her mouth. Her other hand rested against his chest, finding its place over his heartbeat with fingers smoothing over the fabric there — feeling it when he started to shift, tossing the remote away with a clatter that sounded too far away for her to care much where it landed.

The quiet strumming of an acoustic guitar filled the room when Tou caught her lips in a too-quick kiss, one she chased without thinking once he pulled away — with other ideas in mind, apparently. ❛ Tou — ❜ She breathed, half laugh, half sigh, her mouth nearly drawing up into a playful pout before Bianca felt the press of his lips against her neck and jaw, the faint stubble on his face scratching lightly. Letting her eyes flutter shut and her head fall back, she leaned into him, though she could feel herself growing a little impatient, tempted once again but this time, just to tug him into another kiss — one that would last. He beat her to it, drawing her in, mouths slotting together with more urgency. It wasn’t as soft as so many of their other kisses, and not nearly as chaste — her mind flashing back to the ball, right before he’d insisted they go back inside. There was nowhere to go now though, was there? They were allowed this. Her hand fisted in his shirt, the hand behind his head carding through his hair as she nudged closer, unable to keep from smiling into the kiss.

It was a bit embarrassing, the way Tou’s heart seemed to pound out of his chest, Bianca’s hand pressed to his shirt. He was almost certain that she could feel the way his heart rate sped up - not that he’d altogether mind if she did. It was already obvious enough the way his body reacted to her, the way he reacted to her as well. What was further proof? Bianca leaned into him, his arms securely wrapped around her waist, her arm slung around his neck. Tou squeezed her side, trying to pull her closer to him (as if that was even possible). He wanted to live in this moment forever, the privacy of Bianca’s home allowing him to be as affectionate with her as Toulouse had always secretly craved to be. There was no worry of one of his siblings catching him, nor one of Bianca’s friends who might tease her about it later, not like there’d been at the ball when all of this had started, when he’d first kissed her. Bianca’s lips had dominated his dreams for weeks afterwards, Tou addicted at the first touch. 

Bianca’s fist curled in his shirt as they kissed, simultaneously pulling him closer as she nudged into his space, pressing him more firmly into the couch. He could feel her smiling into the kiss - could practically taste the smile that he knew like the back of his hand. The sounds of a guitar filled the room, far away enough that he barely registered the noise. Hesitantly pulling back, Tou’s nose bumped Bianca’s, the blonde drawing in a deep breath. God, he could never tire of this. A faint grin played around his lips, eyes still focused on Bianca’s lips, every thought but her driven from his mind. Tou had half a mind to whisper those words, let her know how much he loved her, but stopped himself, not wanting ruin the moment. “God,” he sighed, moving his head closer, lips mumbling against her’s. “I don’t want to stop.”

❝ hey now, look at that yellow sponge guy - he seemed to be enjoying life immensely and he had a pet sn-wait, i take it back. enjoying life immensely sounds rather unpleasant. ❞ her example backfiring - or maybe shedding some light to herself - vidia laughed. ❝ vloros sounds powerful, it’s got my vote. someone with that last name could take over the world just by flashing their license, it’s THAT potent a name. ❞ vidia wasn’t about to compare thee to a summer’s day but she found herself suddenly grateful for her friendship with meg - it never felt like it was something she had to work at or like she needed to be anyone other than herself or have any sort of stupid stressful worry about how to maintain a friendship with someone. maybe it was because in a lot of ways, they were one in the same and in the places they weren’t one in the same, their differences didn’t clash. it was just…nice. but again, she wasn’t about to get all sappy and tell meg she was her best friend or point out that she was probably one of the closest friends she had ever had but vidia hoped a laughing grin said what she wasn’t equipped to express herself.  ❝okay fine, since sharing is caring and all that nonsense, we’ll be the best of best friends and take turns. and once we’re married, anyone who wants to take us out has to go through a rigorous screening process from the other. it’ll save us both so much time in life, there’s nothing about this scenario that isn’t completely win-win on every front. ❞

Chuckling in amusement, Meg swept a piece of hair behind her ear. Not that she didn’t want to enjoy life, after all, there was no comfort in misery - but she knew that she would never be the type of girl to do yoga on a mountain, eating some digestive system friendly yogurt. Or whatever it was that people defined as stereotypical ‘living life to the fullest’ activities nowadays. “I was hoping you’d pick that one. The other sounded a little too much like flatulence, or some other gross body function.” Meg grinned. “Now all we need are a couple of rings. When are you gonna propose?” There was a laugh hidden behind her words, Meg’s eyebrow arching as she teased her best friend. Was best friend too strong a sentiment? After all, it wasn’t like Vidia was Meg’s only friend, Gina and Madeline also close enough to consider friends, perhaps. There was also Danny, who although might be his foster brother’s closest friend, had done Meg enough favors to keep the peace that she thought about adding him to the list. How funny, this girl who’d grown up without friends to begin with, suddenly had enough to count on a hand. No, Vidia probably was Meg’s best friend, despite her friendship with Flynn. After all, she was the one who was around the most, who didn’t try and change the girl from who she was. Sighing, Meg pretended to consider the offer, as if there was a problem with being the best of friends or some arbitrary objection to the plan. “Alright, I’ll grant you that. Except we have to be allowed to have pets - no hermit crabs, no children, no fish - but something that makes us look like the more threatening bisexual couple on the block.”

He knew it — or, well, he should have, from the second her head cuddled up to his shoulder. Then again, for all that he seemed to have some sort of sixth sense when it came to Meg, he was practically putty in her hands, all too easily distracted whenever she wanted him to be. He dared anyone not to be when lips like hers were ghosting over his neck, tantalizingly slow, teasing nearly every thought of furniture assembly out of his mind. Damn it. ❛ This is low, Floros, ❜ Flynn muttered, feigning incredulity despite the fact they both knew he’d always give in to her. The humor in his voice was clear as day, his lips twitching up into a traitorous smile. ❛ Even for you. It’s also my go-to move — seduce and destroy. You’re putting my own moves on me now? C’mon, what is that? Has IKEA really driven you to these ends? ❜ By the end he was grinning crookedly, telling of his amusement as he shifted away from the pieces of chair to his girlfriend, arms curling firmly around her waist. He’d give in, he would — but first he’d have a little fun with it. After all, that was why she stuck around, wasn’t it? Couldn’t get enough of his roguish charm — or something. Probably.

A calloused hand rose from her waist to settle against her neck, thumb stroking along her jawline. ❛ But you know … while we’re on the topic of priorities, ❜ Flynn started, nudging closer into her space, nose bumping against hers playfully. His eyes flickered shut for a moment, the familiar scent of her perfume filling his senses; it had less to do with any plan, and more to do with that sixth sense he’d never been able to shake. He always felt like he could take anything on like this, eyes closed, Meg in his arms. There was something calming and invigorating about being the only two people in the world for a moment, something he resolved not to fuck up again. ❛ We gotta do something about that mouth of yours, ❜ He continued lowly, stepping closer to her as if there was any way he could get any closer than he already was, urging her backwards so he could settle her back against the wall. He ducked his head then, his own mouth trailing soft kisses along her jawline and down the column of her neck, purposely missing her lips each time and dipping lower than she had until he was dropping to his knees…

Now this was the fun part.

Reaching behind him, he settled back onto his heels and managed to grab the previously discarded instructions, offering it up to her from down below. The grin on his face was shameless — so much so he was practically beaming — completely and utterly pleased with himself for his cleverness. ❛ How about we get it to learn German, huh? Come on, get down here, no dilly-dallying. ❜

She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her lips at his words, nor could she help the way that it made her feel: an over confidence accompanied by a flutter of nerves in her stomach - a slight giddiness. It was like he managed to make her feel desirable and in control, yet simultaneously on edge, waiting for the moment he’d wrest the control from her hands, that small second where he’d throw her for a loop. It sounded dumb, crazy even, but Meg just couldn’t get enough. That was why she’d come back yeah? Or at least part of it. Meg pressed another kiss to his neck, just below his jawline, teeth gently scraping against the skin, teasing.  “Who says you’re the only one who can use that as a move? I don’t think I saw any copyrights on it....” Meg smirked, his arms curling around her waist, feeling Flynn turn from the project at hand, now focused on her. “Besides, would you rather if I stopped?” Her eyes flickered up to meet his, the brunette pulling back, only to have his arms hold her closer. 

His hand came up to her cheek, calloused thumb smoothing over her jaw. Meg took a deep breath, Flynn’s nose bumping hers as he moved closer, eyes fluttering closed as she took in his scent - musky cologne that hadn’t been freshened in a day, faint traces of deodorant, clean and new, Irish Springs soap beneath his fingernails, the faint trace of pine. It smelled like home. This was where Meg felt the safest, his arms holding her close, his forehead against her’s, his warmth radiating into her skin. It wasn’t on her bike, or in the cocoon of her leather jacket, nor even surrounded by her three large dogs, no - it was here with Flynn where she knew nothing could reach her, not even Hale. She barely heard him, Flynn’s lips moving to her jaw and her neck, his lips warm and wet, taking advantage of her distracted mind to press her against the wall. Flynn continued his trail of kisses, dipping lower and lower, Meg’s mind unable to focus on anything but him and that slow teasing procession of kisses - there was the moment when it flipped. Shit.

At his next remark, her eyes flew open, her trance broken. He was grinning up at her, his smile wide and mischievous, knowing exactly how much of a shit he was being right now. She glared at him, her hand swiping the instruction manual from his, tossing it across the room. God, he was shameless. “I absolutely hate you,” she growled, frowning at him, only the tiniest of smiles giving her away. 

She was just shy of hiding the remote behind her back when he began to inch closer, her smile faltering, his proximity more of a distraction to her than any fast one she could have pulled on him. He had to know the effect he had. There was something to his smirk that made her wonder, not for the first time, how she’d managed to go so long without doing something about how she felt, much less realizing it. It was every bit his typical boyish charm, but then he’d shuffle closer and she’d see something more in it, something … well, distracting, to say the least. Her eyes tracked his movements almost greedily, hoping he’d duck in a little closer, that one of them would finally crack. She had a feeling it’d be her, though; the way he teased back did nothing to help her resolve, and when he eventually tugged the remote from her grasp, she almost didn’t care to protest against him turning on those god awful boring reruns. Keyword: almost.

❝ I didn’t think it was possible for the suggestions to get worse, ❞ Bianca sighed, draping her now free hands over his shoulders. She sidestepped around him, attempting to shift his back to the couch as she went in order to nudge him down onto it, fingers linking behind his neck. ❝ But I see you, too, you know. I think you just want to bore me so much that I’ll have no choice but to turn to you. ❞ The grin that was burgeoning across her lips was shyer now that they were here, said remote dangling in the balance between them. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with him — especially not now, not after everything — but she was almost wary of disappointing him. He’d reassure her there was nothing to be so worried about, if he knew, but if he did Bianca only worried even more that he’d hold back for her on all accounts. They’d only flirted like this a few times, having been together for just a short while now — not that relationships had ever been her forte, regardless of how long they lasted. Fortunately, most everything seemed to come fairly naturally with him, though the pressure still felt like it was on. Turning her mind away from the noise filling it, Bianca pressed a kiss of her own to the bottom of his chin, something quick and playful. ❝ Although … maybe we could do with a little mood music? ❞

Tou had the remote in his hand - the prize the one he wanted second most. Bianca’s arms draped over his shoulders and her fingers linked behind his neck, fingertips grazing the dip from where the back of his head met his neck where stubby baby hairs grew. It was enough to take his breath away, not for the first time that evening. She moved to the side, her step nudging the back of his knees against her couch. Toulouse was more than happy to comply, the blonde falling to the seat, hands finding her waist. Though he held onto the remote, it was the last thing on his mind, buttons pressing against her hip as he tugged her closer. She might’ve just been wearing a bathrobe, but Tou wasn’t focused on that, his eyes on her lips needing them back on his. God, he didn’t know how he’d gone this long in life without kissing them - once he started, he honestly couldn’t stop. Bianca was intoxicating, the kind of drug that seemed harmless at first until you found yourself addicted, craving her. 

Pulling her into his lap, Tou grinned, a chuckle escaping him. He’d almost forgotten about the television altogether. “Not at all. Though now that you mention it, that’s a brilliant idea. Might have to use that more often, yeah?” Toulouse’s grin grew happier as she pressed a kiss to his chin, the blonde feeling his head tilt back against the cushions to give Bianca more room to press her lips to. He’d noticed how her smile seemed to grow more timid, Tou choosing not to remark on it. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable and if she seemed to be less into it as they carried on, they would stop. Tou was content with her in his lap, arms around her waist and her lips on his. Her suggestion brought him back to reality, Toulouse remembering belatedly that it was he who had the remote. “If that’s what you’d prefer,” he murmured, flicking the television to some preset acoustic music channel. Tossing the remote in the direction of the coffee table, Toulouse leaned forward, kissing Bianca. His lips began to trail down to her neck, along her jaw line, slowly, taking the time to savor the feeling of her skin beneath his lips, taking time to savor the fact that she was his, all his in this moment, just as he was hers. It felt incredible to be able to say that, to think it even. His lips pulled from her neck, moving back to her lips for a greedier kiss, one  that wasn’t as chaste as ones they’d shared in the past. All his.

He’d been trying to stall this as long as possible, climbing into the drivers seat while Toulouse brought the last of his boxes into the van, locking the door. He’d been waiting a good fifteen minutes for his brother to notice, and once he did, Ber was trying to hold back a laugh. As funny as it would be to leave Toulouse outside of the van, he couldn’t stay there forever and definitely couldn’t do the driving. Hesitantly, he pressed the unlock button and climbed over to the passenger side “Fine. But I’m staying over tonight.”

Toulouse could tell his kid brother was stalling - hell, he was stalling too. Anyone who actually believed his excuse that he needed to individually package each of his paintbrushes was a fucking idiot. Though if Ber did know, Tou was grateful for him not calling him out on it. It was sad, leaving the home he’d grown up in. Leaving the comforts of having both his brother and his sister right down the hall from him, well within reach, well within sight. He knew it was supposed to be a happy occasion - new beginnings and all that bullshit, but it was scary. How was he supposed to leave Ber? He was only barely 18. His younger brother moved over, opening the door and Tou slid in, grinning. “Of course you are. Someone’s gonna have to break in that extra bedroom. Packed your sleeping bag and everything.”