#going in to probably stand around and listen to a bunch of higher ups discuss my station

[altruistic-meme]

i have absolutely no idea what to expect from work today so like. wish me luck.

[snackhobi]

pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant. 

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail. 

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him. 

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage. 

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you. 

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline. 

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then: 

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus. 

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing. 

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano. 

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck. 

It's too much. 

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you. 

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him. 

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you? 

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before. 

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach. 

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing. 

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—" 

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you. 

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot. 

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car. 

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth. 

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice. 

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of. 

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core. 

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair. 

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight. 

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

[docholligay]

Prompt day, Rei and Michiru cook off

Rei hated the way Michiru laughed.

Not all the time, mind you, because Rei was very used to her practiced society giggle, and sometimes Michiru would even laugh in a genuine way that went all the way up to her eyes, and Rei supposed that this type of laughter was genuine too. That fact only made her madder, but it remained true. It was the sort of laugh that implied utter disbelief, like what Rei was saying was an incredible joke, and it always came after Rei stated a simple fact.

“Oh Rei,” she looked away, recovering from her laughter, “You can’t possibly be serious. Come now, let’s us decide--”

“I am so!” Rei balled her fists at her sides, “I am so a better cook than you!”

“Yes, well, if yelling made one into Gordon Ramsay, than that might be true.” She took a sip of her tea, “But as it stands, though I confess I am no great talent with a pan, I have experienced food outside of a microwave once or twice.”

“I know how to cook outside of microwave! I did great in Home Ec!” She put her hands on her hips, “I’m more Gorton than you’ll ever be!”

“Gordon, not Gorton, we are speaking of the chef, not the man on your box of fish sticks.” Michiru smiled, “and you may test that assumption at your earliest convenience.”

Haruka and Mina sat next to each other on the opposite side of the room, saying nothing, afraid to break the spell that was in front of them. Mina leaned just a little toward Haruka.

“Three hundred yen and a pizza night on Hino.” She inclined the bag of chips toward Haruka, who scoffed.

“You’re on. Michiru is like, a gourmet,” she reached her hand toward the bag, “no contest.”

“Yeah, well, you love to read fashion magazines.”

“Mmhmm,” Haruka put a few chips in her mouth, “and I--hey! Also Rei is blind?”

Mins shook her head. “She’s only blind legally. Michiru’s domestically helpless on every level, including some legal ones, probably.”

“I challenge you!” Rei bellowed, “Right here and now!”

Mina sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why she has to sound like she’s playing Yu-Gi-Oh with a bunch of kids when she does this shit.”

“Very well,” Michiru folded her napkin and laid it aside. “Shall we discuss terms?”

“I’m going to beat you--”

“Not a term so much as a prophecy, but continue, Tiresias.” Michiru smiled at her own joke, which was just as well, seeing as no one else was going to.

“And you’ll have to…”

Rei was a clever sort, and even Michiru on her most withering day would not have said otherwise, but she was also, even after all these years, a terrible hothead, and did not think sometimes beyond the winning for the sake of crushing her enemies. She could have demanded nearly anything of Michiru, were it not for the fact that the thing she wanted most was for Michiru to say she had been right.

“You’ll have to clean my entire kitchen, top to bottom! Scrubbing the grout, even.”

“My love,” Mina chewed on her chips, “Could you not pick a room we use more? Or like, maybe make her walk around the Akib--”

“Oh, do be quiet in the gallery,” Michiru slowly rose to her feet. “Very well. If I lose, your kitchen gets clean--”

“By you! Don’t try to weasel word me, Kaioh, I’ve known you too long.” Rei crossed her arms, satisfied with her own cleverness. “You have to clean it. Yourself.”

“I will do it,” she said, but with a touch of annoyance in her voice, “however, when you lose, Hino Industries becomes sponsor of a VIP table at this year’s gala for the art museum.”

“Michiru that’s like two hundred thousand--”

“Ah, now we see the price of our confidence.”

“Oh fine! You just watch! I’ll make the best--whatever it is we’re making, and enjoy the barkeeper’s friend!”

“I’m not entirely certain your mixologist’s friends might have to do with anything, but please trust it won’t be necessary for me to know.”

Haruka raised an eyebrow to Mina. “So the gala’s theme is Rome this year, if you want to be the horse pulling my chariot.”

“Don’t ask me to engage in ponyplay bud, it’s weird.” Mina clapped her hands together. “Can I suggest upping the ante with maid costumes? HIgher level of difficulty?”

Rei shot her a look. “Shut up, Minako.”

Mina shrugged. “Can’t hit if you don’t swing.”

Michiru took a book off the shelf, and opened to a random page. “There we are. Beef Wellington. I’ve had it dozens of times, how difficult could it possibly be? Is this acceptable to you? I realize Banquet has not yet released a version, so it’s understandable if you’re unfamiliar with it.”

“I know what Beef Wellington is, and guess what? We’re also going to make the pastry, and I don’t care if you DO have to do it one-handed!”

“It spares me the annoyance of having to tie it behind my back, and please be assured I would.”

Mina looked over to Haruka. “Listen I know we’re supposed to go get pizza tonight for our date, but we’re staying to watch this, right?”

“Oh abso-fucking-lutely”

[charliedawn]

Imagine being the only angel that still believes in Lucifer's redemption part 2

https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/646303435890769920/imagine-being-the-only-angel-that-likes-lucifer 1st part

Lucifer doesn't know what to do..He had woken up to a bunch of children poking him with little sticks, with no sign of you or Gabriel. He had no way to communicate with you and was feeling that the gates of Hell had closed their doors..He couldn't enter. Gabriel had made sure to block all of his usual accesses and even Mazikeen couldn't enter. He sighs loudly out of frustration before joining his hands and looking up, wondering if you could still hear him.

" I don't know if it will work but..I miss you, angel..I know that you thought you were doing good in replacing me, but I..I'm afraid that your decision may have altered things too much. I do not hear the souls of all those who should be suffering in Hell, and I feel empty without you by my side..You don't belong down there. It isn't your cross to bare.."

He takes a drag of his cigaret and let's out a puff of smoke before chuckling bitterly to himself.

" You know..I've noticed something. During your last visit, you said that you loved me at least 3 times..But I never thought about saying it back..In fact, I don't remember ever saying it back..Not once in 50 times you decided to come visit me.."

He seems to freeze for a moment at the realization before hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to hide his tears from the world as the guilt takes over him.

" I'm such an idiot, angel..You must feel so lost and confused right now.."

He tries to keep his cool, but it is becoming harder and harder. His hands are shaking and he feels the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. Even his tears sting as he thinks of you, ruling Hell and scared of being caught. The thought only making him grip his hair tightly and groan in frustration. Chloe had tried to cheer him up the best she could, but..

"..She isn't you.."

He finally mumbles to himself and suddenly, his grief turns into rage as he remembers that you had defied him..HIM ! He was supposed to be the one keeping Hell, you had disobeyed his direct order, as if what he had said was of no importance..You are mad..There is no other explanation..

" I won't leave you there ! You hear me ! Can't you see the state in which I am because you're gone ?! My little angel..Your trick won't last long..And then ? What will you do ? Any demon could get their hands on you and..?!"

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply as thousands of thoughts of what those creatures would do to you..He had seen what they were capable of, and many wouldn't bat an eye before dismembering you for their own sadistic pleasure..The thought alone makes him shiver and turn his eyes red.

" If you can hear me, angel. Run. Get out of there. I don't want you to see to which extent this place is depraved, to which extent humans are. I don't want to see the faith you have for them falter..nor your love for me.."

He pauses before admitting that last part, knowing that that was his own selfish desire. He sighs loudly, he needed to get out of here and teleports himself to the nearby beach to take a big inspiration of the salty air and relaxes before continuing with a heavy heart, knowing that it would hurt you if you heard his next words.

" We should have never met, Y/N..I tend to destroy everything that I touch..You were only an innocent little angel and we both knew that, one day, this relationship would lead to something disastrous..I'm so sorry for not having reacted sooner..Dad was right..It would have been better for me to erase all of your memories, instead of keeping the first ones. They only paint a very different version of me..If you come back, I promise to give you everything back. I know that some of the memories will make you hate me, or even feel disgusted..But, that way, you will finally see the monster that you're trying to help.."

He lowers his head and nearly jumps out of his seat when he hears a voice behind him.

" Talking to someone ?"

He turns around swiftly to see you standing there with a small smile playing on your lips.

" Aren't you tired of praying someone that can't hear you ? It's been 5 years, brother..She can't hear you. She's been ignoring my calls as well.."

He only groans in annoyance when he recognizes the condescending voice of his twin and turns towards the counter as fast as he had turned around. But, unlike what he had previously thought, Michael doesn't leave and sits next to him, asking a glass of wine to Mazikeen that first glances at Lucifer for approval, which his finally gives with a slight nod of his head.

" So..What brings you to my charming little establishment, brother?"

Lucifer asks when Michael has his drink, that he gulps in one go to Lucifer's astonishment. Well..So much for the vow of sobriety..

" I know that you know where she is, Lucifer..Even though you won't admit it. An angel can't just disappear without you knowing something about it..I won't ask you where she is, I just wanna know if she's alright?"

Lucifer would have normally made a joke about him becoming attached to you, gladly invited him to leave or ignored him all together..But, surprisingly, he didn't have the will to and he sounded so genuine in his worry that Lucifer has to admit with a loud sigh.

" I don't know, Michael..As you could have guessed, every communication with her has been answered by a deafening silence..Wherever she is, she doesn't want to be found.."

Michael mimics his sigh and, for a moment, the same expression of worry and silent contemplation appear on both their faces as they stare far ahead at an invisible spot in front of them..Angels were archangels charge, not important enough to inform Father himself. But, still..Michael couldn't get you out of his head..Not that angels didn't frequently disappear, either slayed by some demon or wanted to become some guardian angel of Earth..But, this was you they were talking about. You had never left this long before and were too weak to be of any particular interest for any demon..However, that didn't mean he didn't worry about you. Where have you gone to? Knowing that he wouldn't probably find any answer with Lucifer, he decides to stand up and take his leave. However, to his surprise, Lucifer asked as he looks at him with a small mocking smile.

" You know that your an idiot, right?"

Michael frowns in incomprehension and also a bit vexed by Lucifer's insult. Lucifer that picks on his confusion as to what he was talking about, adds while pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

" You've had so many occasions to tell her how you truly felt..But each time, you were too much of a scaredy cat to do anything about it. Even when I was up there, it was so painful to watch. It's funny how we were born with the same face, at the exact same time and place..But, we are so different..I immediately knew what I felt for her the moment our eyes met, and I didn't waste my time like you did.."

Michael doesn't turn around, he only turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Lucifer's face when he replies.

" Is that so? Then, tell me, how did that work out for you, brother? She would have done anything for you, and you still find ways to hurt her..How many times must you fall before you realize that she is the only one to have ever truly and unconditionally believed in you?"

Lucifer doesn't respond and Michael doesn't wait for and answer as he walks towards the door..Fools. They were both fools in love with the same damn angel. Unaware to the both of them that someone was spying on their discussion..

" Master ?"

You had been so concentrated on listening to the discussion that you had failed to hear that the demon besides you was talking.

" Mmh?"

You mutter at the end, clearly not interested in whatever he was saying. However, the demon doesn't seem that surprised, Lucifer surely wasn't the most attentive angel after all..

" What do you think we should do with the rest of the murderers on level 4?"

Before you could truly think about the answer, you say out loud.

" Oh..Uh..Forgive them?"

The six eyes of the demon widen at the same time and he quizzically looks at you with confusion.

" My lord?"

The demon seems to not comprehend your demand and you want to face-palm yourself so hard..How did Luci ever managed to know what to do?!

" I mean torture them! Why are you coming to me for that, don't you know how to do your own job? Must I send you in the pit of eternal fire for you to finally understand not to disturb me?!"

If you were being honest? You loved pretending to be Lucifer. He was free and spent most of his time just barking orders on his throne. Since the humans were all sinners down there, nobody cared to do paperwork and everybody was obeying you..While in Heaven, you were just an angel, not a high-ranked one either..The only advantage you had was that power, the power to shapeshift. You usually used it to prank people of joke light-heartedly while mimicking archangel Gabriel when he would come and lecture you..Most of the other angels never understood you, and maybe this is why you had never assigned a higher post in the hierarchy? Not that Gabriel would ever let you become an archangel..You smile at the man that you had learned to consider as a big brother and a friend..It was thanks to him that you had met Luci. One day, as you were welcoming a new soul, a man that you recognized as archangel Michael came to supervise your work. To say that you had been stressed would be a huge understatement. Of course, he couldn't exactly fire you, but you knew that angels could be sent to Hell to take care of the bad souls..or worse. You remember Gabriel telling you that archangels, unlike common angels had the power to "kill" angels, or make them disappear anyway..This is why, you had decided to be on your best behavior that day, however you hadn't counted on Luci being there. You didn't ask when, in the middle of the meeting, Michael had excused himself and left, only to reappear a few moments later with a huge grin..

" So, how's the angel business doing?"

You forced yourself to smile and look back at him to list him a bunch of names you had processed that very day. Many angels did not see the point of your job..However, Luci was different. As soon as you looked up at him, his smile faltered and he frowned, as if he knew that you weren't genuinely smiling.

" Stop that."

He had ordered you and you had looked confused at the time.

" That. Don't smile..You look fake.."

You knew better than disobey an angel's direct command and stopped smiling.

" Does my appearance displease you, archangel Michael ?"

You asked, wondering if it was your face that was not to his taste or your whole appearance in itself ? He shook his head negatively before turning around and sighing.

" I thought you would be more interesting..A shame. From what I heard, you like to think outside of the box and make sure that everybody gets to laugh in Heaven..However, I've been following you since this morning, and you haven't succeeded in making me crack up even once..Care to explain why ?"

His accusative tone caught you by surprise, the great Michael wanted you to..make him laugh? That was unexpected..But, since he asked..A true smirk appears on your face as you think of some human joke that may earn a reaction from the archangel.

" Okay..Let's see..Do you promise not to get mad ?"

He arked an eyebrow, intrigued before smirking.

" Depends.."

Well, here was nothing..You had very few information on mankind and the future..Only Father had this sort of information. However, you all had been given the book of Truth that guided humanity..including the passage which talked about his son falling and being crucified to save humanity..You knew better than to joke about that, but what could you do to try to make the great Michael to laugh?!

" Why doesn't Jesus trust mankind ?"

The eyes of Lucifer widened, he hadn't expected that..

" Why ?"

You looked around, as if you were afraid that someone might hear you before whispering.

"He's afraid he'll get double crossed.."

At first, Luci stayed still, but soon his mouth etched into a grin and his eyes brightened with a certain amount of amusement.

" Ah ! I think that joke nailed it!"

His answer made you blank for a moment, but soon, you felt excited. When you had told your joke to Gab, he had simply sighed in utter despair, quickly reprimanding you on how this was no laughing matter..However, knowing that Michael could understand dark humour was the best surprise you'd had for centuries of existence.

" Listen, I have to go..But, keep up the good work and I'll be sure to check in once or twice.."

You smiled genuinely and nodded vividly, impatient to see him again.

" Ah! Here it is! You have a rather beautiful smile, angel..Try to use this one more often.."

You blushed at the compliment and Lucifer winked at you before walking away. Was that just your imagination or did the archangel Michael gave you a compliment ?! You squealed and let yourself do a little victory dance, interrupted by someone coughing loudly behind you. You turned around to see Michael standing there and blushed even more as he eyed you up and down with an amused smile.

" May I know what inspired that sudden little demonstration of happiness, angel Y/N ?" " You decided to ignore his question and ask teasingly instead.

" Did you perhaps come to hear one or two more of my jokes, archangel Michael ? Couldn't get enough ?"

Suddenly, archangel Michael walked straight towards you and lean in so close that you were starting to wonder if you hadn't made a mistake..He arked an eyebrow at you before replying quizzically.

" Weren't you informed that I was supposed to see you today ? The inspection ?"

Your eyes widened, stammering your answer.

" B..But you already d..did ? No?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise before sighing loudly, understanding what had happened.

" You must have met my brother..Lucifer can be a little eccentric. Do not mind him. I hope that he wasn't too much of a hassle ?"

You turned around to hide your embarrassment, as you had confused Michael with his brother ! However, Michael didn't seem to really mind and only sighs before looking at the files you had made on the advantages of laughter, which earned you a small smile from him.

" I must admit, we were impressed by your work..Especially, the "twin prank". Me and Lucifer had a lot of fun in trying it on the other archangels..and even Father who laughed when we both started dressing as each other and walking around to see who would recognize us..But, what was the funniest, I must admit, was your own reaction. You created that idea, and yet had trouble recognizing it..Wouldn't that mean that we outsmarted you?"

Michael looks up at you with a mischievous grin and you can't help but smile back. At last, you had found other players among all of the archangels..Lucifer and Michael, huh ? Well played..Well played, gentlemen..

" No..Not at all..It just means that the rematch will be sweeter for me.."

You start shifting to their appearance and take one step towards Michael with a daring smile.

" See, archangel. When you try to prank the prankster, you must always expect the game to go on. Now, good luck to differentiate me to your brother.."Am I him ?" You'll both ask yourselves and I will be enjoying immensely your confusion as you both lose your heads.."

Michael, far from feeling threatened, smiles at you..You were different from the other angels he had ever encountered, that was for sure..He suddenly tookyou by the waist and watched as you blushed intensely. He then lowers his face to whisper in your ear. " I've got other ways to find out if your my brother or not.." You both hear a chuckle behind you and and look at Lucifer, smirking widely as he looked over the both of you. This is how you three had bonded: over a prank. And since then, you had never left their sides..Or at least until Lucifer's great fall..

The scared voice of the demon besides you gets you back to reality.

" No! Of course not my lord! I'm sorry..Please, forgive me..The level 4 is overcrowded and we must find a new place to put the new arrivals. Maybe if your majesty could create more space in this area?"

One of tree things that you had not predicted however is that Lucifer was a being capable of manipulating Hell's pit, as he was the one that had created it. Whereas your power only consisted in copying the physical aspects of a being, not its powers..

" I..I.."

You try to find an excuse, but nothing comes to mind, until a hand puts itself on your shoulder.

" No problem. I'm sure the lord is just feeling a bit lost after his long stay in the pitiful human world.."

You look up to find a demon with half of his face burnt down to a crisp and who looks at you with big green eyes. Somehow, he seemed far more intimidating than the other one and also intelligent as his eyes seem to pierce right through you. You shiver at his devilish smirk and quickly stand up to face him, in order to not make yourself even more suspicious.

" And who are you to tell me if I'm lost or not?! Who even gave you the permission to touch me, hmm?"

The demon suddenly takes a step backwards in surprise and kneels on one knee in front of you, his head lowered in respect.

" My apologies, my king..I didn't think that you would find my gesture so inappropriate. I am Azrath. Your second-in-command and faithful servant.."

Perfect ! You had just gave away that you had no clue that the man in front of you was your second-in-command ! You take a profound breath before taking back your emotionless mask and smile.

" I know who you are, Azrath..Your presence is just unexpected..What are you doing here ?"

The demon stands up again and you suddenly are very aware of how tall he was compared to you..His pale face contrasting with his half eaten half worm-infested chest. You have to look away in order for him not to see your eyes prickled with tears at the stench. Not that Hell smelt good in general, but the throne was so high above everything else that it was bearable, which you couldn't say for the walking corpse next to you..

" I just wanted to see if the rumors were true..You did come back.."

He seems almost disappointed for a second, but quickly composes himself and then gives you something that make your eyes widen as big as saucers..hearts..bloody hearts !

" Also, I took the liberty to gather the fresh hearts of the new arrivals..Just as you like them. Still beating."

Lord..Help me. You could see them moving and it takes all of your self-control not to throw up your own heart at the sight..However, you can feel it beating more widely in your chest..Even though you technically didn't have one, the feeling of pure horror conjured one..You force yourself to smile up at the demon and take the bag, trying your hardest not to look back at them..

" Thank you ! This is...lovely..."

This time, both demons seem to be taken aback by your words and you frown, what have you said this time?! The less intelligent of the two, noticing your confusion, takes it upon himself to answer your silent question.

" My lord..You've never "thanked" anyone before..You even forbid anyone to say it in Hell 1000 years ago.."

You understand and sweat profusely at the realization..The other demon remains silent, but the way he was staring at you suspiciously was enough for you to have doubts as to whether he was starting to understand what was going on..You had to do something, quick. You grit your teeths and yell as loud and as scary as you could.

" I am tired of this! Now, I've been gone for a while and wish to be left alone with my thoughts! Would it be possible or is it too much to ask?!"

Both demons fly away and you let out a sigh of relief. You look around and your eyes fall on a little demon that was flying by, transporting some letters. You frown, wondering what it was doing until you notice that it is going towards the gates. It must be a messenger! You summon paper and start writing a letter to Gabriel and call the little demon.

" You ! Send this to archangel Gabriel !"

The little she-demon quivers in fear, but doesn't dare refuse and takes the letter to the only communication link between Hell and Heaven. The tall and lanky skeleton that had talked to you earlier was sure to become a problem..He was far too smart for his own good..You would have to find a way to make him believe you somehow..You sigh loudly in frustration before running you hand through your...his hair..Suddenly, you smell something rotten just behind you and don't have the time to turn around before a dark chuckle sounds nears your ear.

" Archangel Gabriel, huh ?"

Your eyes widen and when you turn around, you find yourself in front of the same clever demon from earlier. His eyes seem brighter somehow and he is covered in..You have to muffle your mouth not to let out a scream or even vomit at the guts hanging from his shoulders and limbs..Oh my Goodness..The demon seems to perceive your uneasiness and hangs his head on one side, wondering what was wrong..You close your eyes and, after a few minute, open them again to see the monster actually smirking mockingly at you.

" What is the matter, Lucifer ? Did the human world affect you so much that you can't even stomach the sight of blood anymore ?"

He laughs at your horrified expression and suddenly takes you by the arm to yank you harshly forward, making you nearly fall from the throne.

" What are you doing?! Unhand me!"

You scream, but he only does a crooked smile before asking, almost expectantly.

" Aren't you going to use your wings, "my lord"?"

The way he had mockingly pronounced the two last words make you quickly understant that he was on to your masquerade and you glare at him.

" I won't let a pitiful demon like you intimidate me..I am your king and I am to he respected as such!"

However, far from feeling threatened, the demon only gets out something that you had forgotten about..the sword of Lucifer..

" The sword of Hell..Only demons or lord Lucifer can wield it..If any other etheral being were to try to use it, they would fall to the core of Hell to burn there for the rest of eternity..And one of the only weapons capable to kill even angels..Now, tell me..Still going to pretend to be our great master?"

You know that what he is saying is true..The sword is as sharp and bloody as it was the day Lucifer got rejected from Heaven..You didn't know what to do, so you admit reluctantly.

" I am angel Y/N, caretaker of humans joy and laughter of sector 45."

You were sure that he would pierce your body with the sword as soon as he would know, but the pain never comes and you open your eyes to see that the demon was now facing you. His wide green eyes were dancing around their sockets and his smile goes from ear to ear, showing his sharp and yellow teeths. He runs his tongue over them and has something in his eyes that makes you shiver in fear..hunger. He eyes you up and down and laughs darkly as you try to get away from him. However, you slip and fall. Not having any choice, you open your wings and all of the demons turn their heads towards you, the blinding light catching their attention. As soon as they see you, they all screech or roar in your direction and fly up in the sky to attack you. You start flying towards the gates, followed closely by waves of demons and Azrath that yells at the guards to cut the entrance. The two huge demons at the doors try to catch you with their bare hands, as if you were some kind of mosquitoe and you have to do multiple spins in the air to escape them. You know that their must be an entrance somewhere since the little demon messengers were able to pass. However, you didn't plan on the said entrance to be tiny orifices, big enough for the little demons to go through, but not you. You turn around to see the wave of demons coming closer..Well, looks like Luci was right..You hadn't totally thought that through..You would probably die here. You close your eyes and smile. At least, you had bought some time for Lucifer to live as he wanted among the humans for 5 whole years..However, suddenly, you feel a hand around your wrist. You open your eyes to see Azrath, dragging you towards the gates where he gets out the sword of Lucifer and cuts you with it. The burn is insufferable and you scream in pain as Azrath forces you to put your injured hand against the door.

" What are you doing?!"

You scream incredulously at his strange behavior, but he only lets out a spine-chilling groan before answering you.

" My great escape, sweetheart ! And if you want to leave, I would advise you to do as I say and shut up!"

You open your eyes wide as he starts pushing against the door, trying to get it open. You look behind you and see the demons flying in circle in the sky, wondering what their boss was doing..

" W..Why are you doing this?!"

You finally ask and, just as the door starts bulging, he answers you with terrifying smirk.

" I'm going to get back Lucifer..I've had more than enough of this place and I'm sure that if he is so reluctant to come home..then that means the human world must be a very nice place. Now, are you going to stay here with the nice little other flying monstrosities, or are you going to follow me, angel Y/N?"

He extends his hand towards you and look back at the screaming harpies and horned devils flying above your heads. You finally sigh and take his hand. As soon as your hand in his, his grin only widens and he runs outside, followed by you. You close your eyes and try to communicate with Lucifer.

" I'm sorry, Lucifer..I've failed."

On Earth, Lucifer was sitting besides Trixie that had grown into quite the young lady, as you had predicted..He finds himself smiling as the door opens and he sees Chloe come in with a loud sigh.

" Today was absolutely crazy at work..There has been some calls all over the cities..missing cats. Can you believe it?! Cats?! What are we?! The Cat Police?!"

The girl and Lucifer look up at her from the sofa while Chloe arks an eyebrow at them.

" What?"

They both look at each other with a serious expression, both nodding understandingly at each other and smile widely before looking back at Chloe with their hands joined together in a gun shape.

" You are under catrest !"

" Paws where I can see them, detective !"

They both yell at the same time and Chloe snorts..Of course those two would do cat puns..typical. However, she acts her part and raises her hands in the air.

" Oh no! You got me!"

They all smile, all the sion having left the room..But then, a loud caught catches their attention.

" Sorry to interrupt this..whatever this is..But, I must talk to Lucifer."

Here was Gabriel, in their living room..after 5 years of absence and Lucifer's smile automatically goes downwards as his eyes take a bright red tint. Chloe, sensing the danger, urges Trixie to go in her room. As soon as the girl is upstairs, Lucifer is quick to react and jumps on Gab to choke the angel.

" You! How dare you show your face again?!"

He shouts angrily, his eyes flashing a bright red. It takes Chloe to grab him by the shirt to yank him off the angel that stands up again to answer him between each pant.

" It's..It's Y/N..I..I made a mistake.."

Lucifer growls at him and responds sarcastically.

" You think?!"

The etheral being looks up at Lucifer with, for the first time in ages, an apologetic glance.

" It wasn't meant to last that long..You were supposed to get back down there a year later..But, she closed the gates, Lucifer. I couldn't come in myself. She closed the gates to anyone but the souls and now, I'm afraid that she may be in trouble, because of me."

Lucifer, far from feeling any compassion towards the angel, is bewildered by his apology and smiles in astonishment at his brother's admittance.

" Oh well..My heart bleeds for you, Gab..It really does. Not even recognizing your own brother must be terrible.."

Lucifer doesn't wait for an answer before pushing Chloe to the side on the sofa before punching Gabriel in the nose. Gabriel stumbles back with the force of the impact and raises his hand in surrender and repeats.

"I know that you are angry, brother..But, I'm not joking, Lucifer. She's in trouble."

Lucifer, astonished by the nerve of this angel that dared come to him for help, can't help but replying ironically.

" Oh! You're not joking?! Well good..Because neither am I !"

His eyes lighten up in orange and he nearly growls at Gab that gets out the letter you had send him to extend it towards Lucifer.

" She wrote me this..One of the demons is on to her..And, as I said earlier, I can't go in there. Not only did she close the doors, but you know as well as I do that I can't go in there without Father's permission.."

Lucifer snickers at Gabriel's pathetic excuse and shakes his head.

" No. I am not going to read that. Fuck off. She chose to disobey..She chose to replace me and she told me herself! She finds my job "extremely complaisant and entertaining". Even if I were to go there, she wouldn't want my help..Plus, as you said, she closed the gates! Only the spirits are allowed in..How do you suppose I get in?!"

However, it's Chloe that reacts first and grabs the letter out of Gab's hands to give it to Lucifer with resolution.

" Open it, Lucifer. You still are the king of Hell! Act like it!"

His eyes widen at Chloe's sudden agressive reply and his voice softens as he looks down at the woman and finally opens the letter to read it.

" Gabriel, my brother and my friend..It has been 5 years now that I've sealed the gates of Hell. I know you must be pretty furious, as our deal ended 4 years ago..However, I couldn't deny Lucifer of his happiness. I know that you can't understand my decision, nor why I did it..But, it's not that bad. I succeeded in blending in among the demons. I think Lucifer would be proud. However, I wanted to know if you could please enlighten me on one of the demons that just arrived in Hell. His name is.."

Lucifer's eyes widen at the familiar name and he looks up at Gabriel with shock..The name of his second-in-command was written on there, but he had deserted eons ago..Why come back now? It didn't make any sense, unless..His jaw clench and he fixes the letter intensely..Unless he had found his sword..as he had asked of him..And if it was the case, then his little angel had some serious problems on her hands..However, before he could voice his concern, he feels a vivid pain in his chest that cuts his breath off..He can feel that you're in danger somehow..But how to find you?! He groans in agony, trying to think of how to find you..until he remembers that there had been mysterious disappearances of cats in the neighborhood. He looks up at Chloe that is by his side, supporting him as he doubles on the floor in pain.

" The..cats.."

He tries to utter, but Chloe doesn't understand and leans in to have a better hearing.

" The cats..Where were they going? Where did the largest number disappear?"

" Around the old church..Why?"

He looks at Gab that instantly understands and nods before disappearing. Asrath was also known as the master of cats, this is why it had been easier for him to search for the sword undetected..He just had to believe that Gab would arrive in time. Chloe frowns at him and asks, bewildered.

" Well?! Are you going to stay there?? Go save her !"

He looks up at her with widened eyes, astonished that she would ever suggest it.

" I can't..I can't leave you, Chloe.."

Chloe takes a big breath before looking up at Lucifer with a small sad smile and caressing his cheek tenderly.

" Go, Lucifer..She needs you. We'll be fine.."

He finally nods and smiles up at her before kissing her on the forehead.

" I love you.."

She smiles with tears in her eyes and forces herself to nod.

" I know.."

And with that confirmation, Lucifer disappears as well, appearing near the old church and the pain worsens with every step he takes. When he enters the said church, it is filled with cats and he sees Gab, fighting Azrath. He looks around to spot you huddled near the cross, your face hidden behind your Y/C hair and then..he sees the blood. You were bleeding from your upper arm and he sees red. His body feels hot and overwhelmed by a new-found energy. He looks up at Azrath that was handling HIS sword against Gabriel that was struggling with fighting back. He walks towards them and as soon as Azrath notices him, he smirks and gets rid of Gabriel by throwing him against the cross that breaks in two. Gab wants to get up, but he feels a pain to his side and sees that Azrath had succeeded in wounding him..In normal circumstances, his wound would close itself immediately. However, this mighty weapon was one conceived especially to kill archangels, and Lucifer had made it with his own hands..The wound would take longer to heal and he felt himself fall unconscious. You whimper and try to help Gab by applying pressure on the bleeding wound, but Azrath notices you and stops you. You back away in fear, your wide eyes full of terror and Lucifer then sees why he had felt your pain..Azrath had carved an upside-down cross on your forehead, sending him a direct invitation..His blood is boiling in his veins as he sees what the vile creature had done to his poor angel, while Azrath seems proud of himself as he takes you by the hair and yanks you forward so you fall to your knees at his feet. It takes you a few minutes to look up, but when you do, his heart stops. In your eyes, the innocence and joy were gone..replaced by unbidden fear. He tries to help you up, but you scurry backwards and his eyes prickle with tears, as you were now afraid of even him.

" Oh..angel.."

He utters apologetically at you before glaring up at Azrath that frowns in incomprehension.

" Why are you looking at me like that?! She's an angel!"

He stands up and Azrath takes a step back as he senses the radiating rage of Lucifer that walks calmly towards him and extends his hand towards him expectantly.

" The sword. Give me the sword."

Azrath takes back his blank expression and shakes his head negatively before looking at the bloody sword in his hands.

" I'm sorry, Master..But you know I can't do that..You need to come back with me. Your kingdom needs you and this sword is the only thing hat can force you to come back.."

Lucifer sighs, knowing that he wouldn't give him without a fight. He suddenly tries to surprise him by sending him a punch, but Azrath, having premeditated it, uses the sword as a shield. But Lucifer, far from being bothered, takes the sword with his bare hands before kicking Azrath backwards. Azrath growls at him, showing his sharp teeths and snake-like tongue. He hisses, his voice dripping with venom.

" You really are going to fight me for her?! She's only an angel! The enemy!"

Lucifer glances back at you and smiles reassuringly at you before looking back at Azrath with eyes glowing in the dark.

" No.."

Azrath seems to be relieved by his answer, but it quickly fades out when Lucifer takes his original form and shouts between gritted teeths.

"..I'm going to kill you!"

Lucifer couldn't just control Azrath, he was too powerful for that..and had always been by his side since his great fall. Azrath closes his eyes and inhales deeply before looking up at Lucifer with his bright green eyes in which his pupils turn to slits and raises his hands in the air.

" As you wish, Master..Know that I never wanted this.."

Suddenly, the cats surround him and cover him from head to toe, melting into a sort of black armor. The great armor of Azrath. Great..Lucifer cracks his head to the side and grins up at his ex second-in-command.

" Always the attention seeker, aren't you Azrath?"

Azrath would have only ignored his comment normally, but this time, his comment earns him a slight chuckle, knowing that one of them would die tonight.

" You know me, Lucifer..I guess I took some things from you.."

After this exchange of ironic comebacks, they both become serious and in a flash, they are both at each other's throats. Azrath bites his shoulder hard and Lucifer slashes his face. Both of them are panting, but in their eyes the same fire burning bright..Suddenly, someone crashes inside through the window and interposes himself between the two demons.

" What is going on here?! What are you two doing here?! Hell is chaos and I find you both here?!"

Michael booms in obvious discontent, not having noticed the sword in Azrath's hands yet..Azrath takes it as an opportunity and raises his sword to strike him down.

" This is for you, Lucifer!"

He brings it down, but you use your last strength to stand up and stand in front of Michael. The three men are shocked and Michael is the first to react, he gets out his lance and decapitates Azrath in one swift blow. As for Lucifer, he quickly kneels besides you and takes you in his arms. He looks at his hand in horror, recognizing the smell and color of blood. He shakes you, trying to wake you up while crying out loud.

" No. No! No! No! Angel! Stay with me! You hear me?! Stay with me!"

He sobs and gets the hair out of your face, cradling your face kissing your face over and over again, hoping for your (Y/C) eyes to open again..Michael, after having made sure that Gabriel was alright, turns towards you and, for the first time in forever, feels tears prickle in his eyes at the realization. He falls to his knees by your side and gently pets the top of your head. He then looks up at the sky and asks for a miracle, begging his Father to bring you back..

" Dad! Please! Do not punish her even more! Please, bring her back!"

But his prayers are unanswered and the only one who seems to be affected by his words is Gab that gasps loudly as he wakes up. He looks at his wound and smiles as he sees that there is nothing left..However, when he sees your cold body on the ground, his smile turns into a pained grimace, his whole face twisting in sadness.

" Why? She saved Michael..She saved your son!"

Lucifer shouts, his eyes pointed towards the sky, not expecting an answer.

" Because, this is Michael's punition.."

They all look towards the direction of the voice, their eyes widening as they see Gab, his kind eyes looking above all of them with a numb stare, having finally understood why Father hadn't said or done anything.

" Michael, you really thought Y/N wouldn't know how you felt ? Your jealousy of your own brother..Jealousy that only grew to win the love of one being and threatened to destroy Heaven and Hell..The very same being that only wished for you two to be happy..She tried to make things right and replace you, Lucifer..Father gave her what she wanted, and what you both feared more than anything..She knew the price, but she asked HIM for your salvation and redemption."

Lucifer and Michael both stand up at the same time and open their mouths to voice their disapproval and utter outrage when Gabriel interrupts them, wanting only one thing now.

" Let's go home.."

He takes your body and looks at both brothers with tearful eyes.

" I hope you will be able to appreciate the second chance she has just both given you..You are both free."

And with those last words, he flies up with your body in his arms. Lucifer and Michael both look at each other and, without them knowing why, they both start tearing up. However, Lucifer forces himself to talk through his sobs.

" We can't..We can't leave her..She didn't deserve this..I know what punishment looks like, and she didn't deserve this! She didn't deserve to be sacrificed for our sakes!"

Michael, for once, agrees with his brother and extends his hand towards his brother.

" I know we had our differences in the past, brother..But, we need to show Dad that we are more! That we can be more than just hateful beings, if we want her back..Are you with me?"

Lucifer nods, and for the first in the History of the World, the Good and the Bad were to become allies in order to save you..

You open your eyes wide and straighten up to look around you, frowning in confusion at your surroundings. You were in the middle of a luxuriant forest with tall trees and bright purple fruits..Where are you? And most of all, how are you alive?! You look at your stomach to see that your wound has completely disappeared.

" How are you, my darling?"

You look up with astonishment as you see a tall woman with a bright green dress making her way to you. Her smile and welcoming expression make you think that she is not a threat, but you still have to ask.

" Hum..Thank you for saving me but, who are you? And where am I?"

She only chuckles at your question, as if it was the funniest joke.

" I'm sorry, my dear..Those are very good questions but, it's been a while since I've got some company so..hearing another human voice is quite exciting.."

You don't reply, waiting for her to answer your questions, which she does and you whiten at her answers.

" My name is Lilith..And this is my prison. I would say that it is the garden..but I've been locked up in here for so long that I can't remember much."

You had heard about Lilith, the first woman, the mistake, the mother of monsters..She had died so many millenias ago. And if you were with her, then that only meant one thing..

" Welcome to the Other Place! The place where angels and demons come when they die ! Of course, as not many angels or demons truly die..They stay here until Father needs them again..Come. You're the first one to get here since a few centuries..I'm sure you've got many stories to share."

Lilith extends her hands towards you with a wide smile and you look at her hand hesitantly for a few seconds before finally taking it with a small sigh.

" Yes. I guess I do.."

[arrow-guy]

Talk to Me

Original request from @scrawlingwithstyle: Here's a request I've been sitting on for a bit. ClintxReader; Clint is deaf and most people rely on his lipreading skills, but Reader knows some ASL from when her family thought her autistic younger sibling would never speak (they became vocal close to seven years old). They have secret conversations across the room, thinking no one else on the team understands. . . . They're wrong. Adjust however you like!

A/N: Okay, it’s taken probably close to a year to actually get around to this, but i kind of breezed through writing it? And it was a whole bunch of fun to finally put down in a document. I didn’t change much about your request, but I definitely added to it, and made it a little romantic? Idk if it’ll come off as romance, it’s kind of goofy (it’s Clint, there needs to be a goof somewhere.) I really hope you like it, though!!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: ClintxReader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: None

“Are you sure about this, Bruce?” I ask. “Ross let me go as soon as you went AWOL. I haven’t worked with people like this in years.”

“Of course I’m sure! You were the best back in the day.”

“Back in the day,” I laugh. “You make it sound like we’re ancient.”

“We’re not as young as we used to be,” he says. “But that’s the point. You’ll bring some much needed experience to the table.”

“But I’m not a spy and I definitely don’t have any powers.”

“Trust me, (Y/N), superpowers are not all they’re cracked up to be, and both spies have long since ceased their spying activities.” I cock one eyebrow and he laughs. “For the most part.”

“Saying a spy stopped being a spy is like saying you misplaced the hulk.”

“Ah, very true.”

“I’ll do it, though.”

“You will?”

“Well I can’t very well leave you to fend for yourself, now can I? As it stands, I’m already a shitty friend, working together can’t hurt things.”

Bruce grins and grips my shoulder. “I’ll see you Monday, then.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t fight back my smile. “Do I need to pack a bag, or will I be allowed to go home at the end of the day?”

“Not sure yet. Might as well bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush just in case.”

“Alright, then. I’ll see you Monday.”

“I can’t believe you actually pulled it off, Banner,” Stark says. “You wrangled a counselor for the team?”

“What,” I say. “Like it was supposed to be hard?”

Bruce laughs and reaches out to place his hand on my shoulder. “I’ve known (Y/N) for just about as long as I can remember. I’m sure she’ll be a good fit.”

“As long as you can remember, huh?” I look past Captain Rogers and find a sandy haired man. He grins when I meet his eyes. “Just how long?”

I bob my head from side to side. “Somewhere between twenty years and most of our lives.”

He whistles. “Pretty long time, then.”

“Mhm.”

Bruce clears his throat. “I’m sure (Y/N) wants to see where she’ll be working, so I’ll just show her to her office.”

Everyone in the boardroom waves and Bruce leads me out of the room. As soon as we’re out in the hall I sigh and bow my head, finally able to let my shoulders relax.

“That was a lot.”

Bruce chuckles. “Trust me, it’ll either get worse or stay exactly the same as time goes on, depending on who you’re talking to.”

“The blond guy who spoke up, that’s Hawkeye, right?”

“Clint Barton, yeah.”

“Will I be seeing much of him?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t really know much about the guy. He seems pretty happy-go-lucky and stable most of the time, though.”

“Huh.” I shrug and hitch my bag a little higher on my shoulder. “You never know with some people.”

“True. I’m sure you’ll deal with him at least once more after this. He’s the curious type.”

“I guess I’ll have to look forward to that, then.”

Bruce hummed in agreement and leads me to the elevator bank and takes me down to what will eventually be my office. He gives me a basic rundown of the facilities and shows me which restroom is closest to my office. I ask for a baseline reading on everyone on the team and Bruce rattles off what he’s noticed about the main five.

“Steve will most likely drop by to make small talk, but it may take some time for him to open up in any way that counts. Tony will joke about therapy, but once he warms up to you it’ll be impossible to get him to leave.”

“Oof, that bad?”

“He’s long-winded.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to enforce appointments with him when he starts to take interest.”

“Probably wise.”

“And Natasha?”

“I doubt you’ll see much of her. She has her ways of working through her issues on her own.”

“Do they involve murder?”

“Don’t know, and I don’t care to.”

“Got it. None of our business. I’ll let her come to me if she needs anything.” I plop down behind my new desk. “What about Thor?”

“Who knows. He shows up when he wants and tends to be a pretty jovial guy.”

“Ah. Is there anyone else outside of the tower I can expect?”

“Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey will be around from time to time. If Steve has his way, Bucky will move in at some point, and Wanda is currently in the process of moving into the tower, so you may see her more after that. I’m not sure how often she’ll drop by. She’s fairly private due to her powers.”

“Energy manipulation, right?”

He nods. “That, and other mind tricks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But that just leaves Clint, and we’ve already gone over what you can expect from him.”

“It doesn’t just leave Clint, Bruce.” I fold my hands on the desktop. “I expect to see you in here at least once a week. Ideally twice.”

Bruce scowls. “(Y/N), you know how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, well, I listen to your opinions on that stuff when I’m just your friend. Now I’m your therapist, and you’re going to listen to me because I know what works for you. So I expect you to get your pasty ass in here when you’re scheduled.”

“You’re making appointments for me now?”

“Until I’m sure you’ll come to me on your own, yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Send me the schedule. I’ll see you at my appointed time.”

“Wonderful.” I relax my shoulders, letting my professional mask slip. “Thanks for this, Bruce. I mean it.”

“I know you do.” He cracks a smile. “You’re the only person I trust to get to the root of our issues.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Believe me, (Y/N), if anyone’s gonna let me down, it’ll be the team.” I laugh and he heads for the door. “I’ll see you later. Good luck with your first day.”

“Thanks, Bruce. I’ll see you later!”

“So, (Y/N),” Tony says, spreading out on the couch across from my chair. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, what makes you tick? What motivates you to try and heal the fragile minds of the Avengers?”

“I’d say a decent paycheck is a pretty good motivator, Mr. Stark.”

He seems disappointed with my answer. “Is that it?”

“Well, that, and I want to make sure Bruce is doing alright. He’s struggled with therapy in the past, and I want to make sure he’s getting the kind of help that he needs.”

“I see.” He presses his lips together and folds his arms. “You’re not even curious about the rest of the team?”

“Of course I’m curious, but nothing discussed in this tower will be shared with anyone outside. I take my patients privacy very seriously.”

“You sure you don’t just fear for your life?”

“Living in New York, I fear for my life constantly. That doesn’t mean that I’m worried about getting merced if I get a little loose lipped outside of work.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “That being said, I won’t be sharing your confidential information with anyone you haven’t specifically given authorized access to your records.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. It’s almost like I’m a professional, right?”

He smiles. “I’m really starting to like you, (Y/N).”

“Then I guess I have a lot more of this to look forward to, then, don’t I?”

I laughs and hauls himself up from the couch. “We’ll see.”

I make a note of his response in my open document. “Sounds like a tentative yes to me, Mr. Stark, and I’ll be here so long as you deem my services necessary.”

He nods and exits my office. He leaves the door open.

“How are you liking it here so far, (Y/N)?”

“It’s been quiet, Captain Rogers. It’s a bit like pulling teeth trying to get anyone to make use of their resources.”

“I guess it would be. We’re a relatively private bunch.” He pauses a moment. “And, please, call me Steve.”

“Right, Steve. Is there anything that I can do for you today?” I ask. “It’s entirely alright if you just want to make small talk.”

“Oh, well, uh…” He awkwardly clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “I guess I just wanted to get a lay of the land.”

“I understand.” I glance around my office. “I should probably bring in some art and plants. Make it a little less sterile in here.”

Steve laughs. “That might help.”

I smile. “Maybe an area rug?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you think would be best.”

“I appreciate the creative freedom.” I close my laptop, set it to the side, and settle back in my chair. “Is there something on your mind, Steve?”

“No,” he says quickly. He immediately looks conflicted. “I… well, kind of.”

“Feel free to speak. Nothing you say will leave this office.”

“You hardly know me.”

I shrug. “I know how stressful this environment can be. And, while your team is very good at what they do, they’re also the ones who are causing your stress.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.” I watch him chew the inside of his cheek. “I guess I’m just concerned that things might not get better, even when Bucky’s moved in.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I’m worried that it might not be a good fit for him, or that the team won’t accept him, or that he might not even want to be around me.”

“Those are all valid concerns. Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“God no. I don’t want to stress him out more than I already have with all of this moving business.”

“I might suggest bringing it up. He might be having similar worries himself, and, as helpful as it is to work towards what’s troubling you with me, I won’t be able to settle your nerves.”

“Maybe you’re right…”

“If nothing else, it might open up a new line of communication between the two of you, which couldn’t hurt.”

Steve stays for another hour, just talking. When he leaves, he asks if I want the door open or closed. I don’t give him a definite answer and he leaves it open, just a crack. I laugh and start on his profile.

Someone knocks on my door and I glance up from my paperwork to see Clint standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Barton,” I say. “I was wondering when I might see you.”

He shrugs. “Here I am.”

“After two weeks, I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“If I was?”

“Then it’s none of my business.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “I like that answer.”

I rise from my desk and gesture to the couch. He raises his eyebrows, but takes a seat anyway. I sit across from him and watch as he tries to decide just how he should sit. In the end, he leans heavily on his knees. Nothing about him is relaxed.

“I’m starting to think Bruce was wrong about you.”

“What’d the green bean tell you about me?”

“Nothing concrete,” I answer. “He just mentioned that you seem to have a positive outlook on things most of the time.”

He snorts. “Great.”

“Mmm, I see. It’s a facade, then?”

He frowns and presses a finger to his right ear. “Could you say that again?”

“I said, it’s a facade, then?”

“Sometimes.”

I nod. “Interesting.”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, interesting.”

I watch him look around the room, examining the art on the walls and the stacks of paper on my desk. When he turns his head to the left, I notice his purple earpiece and something suddenly clicks. He tilts his head to the side when he sees me staring.

“What?”

“Would it be easier if we signed?” I ask, signing along as I speak.

He looks surprised. “You sign?”

I laugh. “Yes. My little brother is on the Autism spectrum. When he was a kid, he was almost entirely nonverbal. Mom taught him sign, and the rest of the family learned along with him.”

“That must’ve been really nice for him.”

“It was nice to be able to communicate with him when he couldn’t vocalize what he wanted to say. He eventually started speaking when he was about seven, though.”

“And you still held onto the signing skills?”

“Of course! It’s not like he just, bam, started talking. It was a long process, and he still has nonverbal days sometimes.” Clint starts to actually smile and it warms my heart. “It’s come in handy in my particular line of work too. Deaf and hard of hearing folks need counsellors and therapists too.”

“Which brings the topic of conversation back to me.” He shakes his head and leans back against the couch and signs, “You’re a tricky one, (Y/N).”

“I’m not tricky!”

“Then what?”

“I’m accommodating.” I speak again, but continue to sign along. “You don’t have to tell me everything, or anything, really. But I’m here to help, if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Clint. Any time.”

“Seems like you and Clint are getting close,” Bruce says.

“I don’t know what you mean, man.”

“He’s in here all the time, (Y/N). There’s no way Barton needs therapy five times a week.”

“It’s not always about therapy, Bruce. I strive to make my office a safe space where everyone knows that they can speak freely. He knows that he can come here and chill out without worrying about the rest of the team.”

“Barton doesn’t really worry about anything, though.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Bruce stares at me, eyes narrowed, and snaps his fingers. "You like him."

I roll my eyes. "I do not like him, Bruce. And you're not even here to talk about Clint, you're here to work on yourself and managing your stress levels."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure there's something we could talk about aside from me."

I sigh and hold my head in my hands. "I've been here for two months. I haven't been around long enough to form anything more than tentative relationships with the rest of the team. I'm more concerned about whether or not they can open up to me than I am with my love life."

“Right,” Bruce clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He looks thoroughly ashamed and I have to laugh. “I appreciate the interest, but it’s just not something that you need to worry about.”

“No, I understand.” He smiles and shrugs. “I guess I just miss having that easy rapport with you.”

“I mean, we still have that, Bruce. It’s just not something that I want to talk about in the workplace. It’s one thing to shoot the shit over lunch on a Saturday, it’s another to discuss my patients with another patient, all of whom are my coworkers.”

“I didn’t think about it like that.”

I smile. “It’s fine. Did you want to pick up where we left off on Tuesday?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“(Y/N)?”

I’m startled by the woman in the doorway. “Ms. Romanoff?”

She shakes her head and steps into my office. “As long as you’re not a government official, it’s just Natasha.”

“Ah, right.” I sit a little straighter in my chair. “What can I do for you, Natasha?”

“Clint’s said you’ve helped him a lot.”

“I don’t know about that. We just talk. He does all the helping.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She moves quickly across the room and takes a seat on the couch. “I’d like to talk to you, if you have the time.”

“Oh.” I scramble up from my desk to sit across from her. “What about?”

“I need help working through a recent case.”

“Are you sure I’m qualified for that?”

“Well, you said Clint does all the helping. Maybe what I need is a sounding board.”

“Fair enough. Where are you caught up?”

Natasha rattles off the details of a recent mission. I do my best to follow her, but she loses me when she starts explaining the intricacies of a piece of Hydra technology they discovered. Eventually, she perks up, almost looking like she wants to jump up from her seat and run from the room.

“I think I’ve got it.”

“That’s great!”

She calmly gets to her feet and walks to the door. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

I shake my head. “It was my pleasure.”

“Even so, you helped me.” She flashes me an unexpected smile. “I appreciate that.”

“It’s not a problem, Natasha. I hope that we can speak again at some point.”

She nods and heads for the door. “I’ll see you around.”

In the hall I hear, “Oh, hey, Nat.” and Clint pokes his head in soon after.

I smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He leans in the doorway and folds his arms. “What’d Nat dump on you?”

“Doctor patient confidentiality, Barton,” I say. “I can’t tell you.”

His arms fall to his side and he dramatically slumps into the room. “I thought you trusted me!”

I laugh. “I do trust you, Clint. But it’s not my information to give.” He drapes himself across the couch and grins at the sight of me fighting back my smile. “If it were, Bruce would have full access to what we talk about in our sessions.”

“That’s private information, (Y/N)!” He laughs. “I see your point.”

“Good.”

“Did you want to grab lunch later? That weird little cafe down the street started serving some kind of coffee burger.”

“Ugh, and you want to eat that?”

“(Y/N), it’s a coffee burger.”

“With all the heinous shit you put in your body, it’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

“If you think I’m bad, you should meet my dog.”

“Is that an offer?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s been four months, Clint. If I haven’t run for the hills yet, I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna happen for a while yet.”

Something twinkles in his eyes. “That’s good to hear. I was worried I might scare you off.”

“If anyone were to scare me off, it’d be Tony.” I shake my head. “That man is a handful.”

“What happened to patient confidentiality?”

“Since when is Tony being a handful a secret?” He laughs and I relax in my seat. “But, yeah, I’ll get lunch with you.”

“Really?”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t keel over from physically eating coffee.”

“Oh come on! It’s not like they solidified the coffee and stuck it on a bun!”

“How do you know they didn’t? Maybe they turned the coffee into jello, passed it through a meat grinder, and threw it on a griddle.”

His face scrunches up in disgust. “Ugh, that’d just be burnt coffee.”

“I’ve watched you drink an entire pot of burnt coffee.”

“Desperate times, (Y/N). They call for desperate measures.”

I sigh and shake my head. ”I guess it’s fine, so long as you’re not addicted to caffeine pills.”

“Those don’t do anything for me.”

“That’s terrifying.”

He laughs, hauls himself up from the couch, and offers me a hand. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Head out for lunch.”

“Now? I thought you said later.”

“It’s been like five minutes. It’s later now.”

I laugh. “I can’t just go now. I have an appointment with Steve in twenty minutes. We can leave after that.”

He pouts. “Fine.”

“Don’t give me that look, Clint!”

He sighs and trudges towards the door. “I guess I’ll just have to make a reservation for one thirty.”

“That’d be great.”

He flashes a brilliant smile before disappearing out into the hall. I shake my head and move back to my desk.

“That man is gonna get me in trouble.”

“I thought you said you weren’t involved with Clint?”

“I’m not, Bruce.”

“Then what’s this?” He places his phone on my keyboard.

I pick up the phone and find an article titled “Hawkeye’s New Flame, or Just a Fling?” pulled up. A picture of Clint and I at lunch the other day sits just below a paragraph speculating who I could be. I snort and hand him his phone.

“Clint and I went to lunch. That’s all.” I sit back and fold my arms. “What’s the problem, Bruce?”

“I don’t want you getting dragged into some kind of media storm because you work with us.”

“It’s one article!”

“There’s at least four more like it that I’ve seen.”

“I’m not worried about it, Bruce. Clint just went out for lunch and some pap caught us talking. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it, but I can’t stop people from talking.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“No one should have to deal with anyone plastering their personal life all over the internet, but you know what? I’d rather get caught out in public with Clint than Tony.” I laugh. “Can you imagine the shitstorm that’d kick up if that happened?”

Bruce tries not to laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

“It was bound to get out that the Avengers brought in a counsellor at some point. It’s better that it’s like this instead of some media outlet picking up a rumor and deciding that you’re all unstable.”

“Well…”

“I’m not saying you’re the most sane bunch, but that’s no one’s business but yours. Regardless, don’t worry about this. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” He pockets his phone. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Of course I would, Bruce. If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

I sit on the floor of the gym and lift the collar of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face.

Clint plops down on the floor beside me and tips his head to the side.

“Definitely didn’t expect to find you in here,” he says.

“What, I can’t work out?” I groan and lay back. “Ugh.”

“You okay?”

“No. I knew I should’ve just stuck to the treadmill.”

“What’d you do to yourself?”

“Weights.”

He laughs. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. Is wanting to be able to lift a very large dog a good reason?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a bad reason.” He lays beside me and props himself up on his elbow. “I could help you, if you want.”

“I don’t know how I feel about being all sweaty gross around you.”

He pokes my stomach and I laugh and shift away. “I don’t know, (Y/N), sweaty’s the new sexy.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” I laugh and scrunch my nose. “Also kind of gross.”

“Sweet and kind of gross, I think you’ve pretty much summed me up perfectly.” I laugh so hard that I snort and he grins. “So, do you want help working out?”

I press my fist to my mouth to quiet my giggling. “If you’re willing to, I really would appreciate it.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” I thank him and his smile softens. “Sorry about those articles last week, by the way.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I should’ve warned you, at least. I’m used to it, but you didn’t sign up for pap shots and gossip columns when you took this job.”

I scowl. “Honestly, Clint. If you’re not gonna read my lips, read my hands. It’s totally fine. I don’t care. I had a nice time at lunch. A few dumb articles won’t change that.”

“You mean that?”

“Well, yeah. I like spending time with you outside of all of this,” I say, gesturing to the tower in general. “With, y’know, no expectations of maintaining all of the professional bullshit.”

“Pretty sure you’re the most professional one here.”

“Thanks, I’m glad that comes across in the day to day, but do you understand what I’m saying? Like I genuinely do not care about what a shitty news outlet says. At the end of the day, the only opinions that matter are ours.” I sigh and settle on the floor. “Sorry.”

“Sounds like we’re not the only ones who need therapy.”

I hum. “Maybe I do.”

“No shame in it.”

I smile at him. “I know.” I sit up and get to my feet. “It’s getting late, I should head out.”

“You’re in tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be around till noon. I’ve got a wedding later in the day.”

“Not yours, right?”

I laugh. “No, definitely not mine.”

“Cool,�� He smiles up at me. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Since when do we have staff meetings?” Clint asks.

“Since we brought on a counselor,” Tony says.

I frown. “I’ve been here six months and I’ve never been to any kind of meeting.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you brought that up and just keep moving with the meeting.”

I snort and shoot Clint a look. He laughs and signs for me to stop. I wave him off and turn my attention back to the head of the table.

Tony rambles on for about half an hour before Steve cuts in and the two of them start going back and forth. They bicker for twenty minutes before Thor swans in, greeting everyone with his bright, booming voice. I was stuck in my office the last time he was on Earth, so our paths never had a chance to cross. Steve takes a moment to introduce the two of us and Thor vigorously shakes my hand, unintentionally jostling me around the whole time. He takes his seat on the other side of Bruce and the conversation picks up again.

I catch Clint’s eye twitching in my peripheral when Thor speaks a little too loudly. I gesture to get his attention and he raises his eyebrows when he meets my eyes.

“You good?” I sign.

He nods. “Can’t pay attention to save my life in these meetings.”

“I’ve never known anyone to compliment your attention span.”

He mouths, “Oh, ha ha,” and I laugh.

“You’re mean, (Y/N).”

“And here I thought you liked me.”

“Never said I didn’t.” He grins. “The way things are going, I’d say you’re probably just my type.”

I shake my head and hide my smile behind my hand. “Stop.”

“Aw, you're cute when you're embarrassed." I flip him off and he laughs. “That's a compliment!"

I snort. “Pay attention, Clint.”

We manage to make it through another hour and, by that time, someone has turned off the lights and started giving a presentation. I fold my arms on the table and rest my chin on top and beg myself to stay awake through this meeting. I’m sure it’ll only be a little while longer.

Clint’s hand creeps into my line of sight and he taps the table to get my attention. I shoot him a quizzical look and he lifts his eyebrows.

“You still with us?” he signs.

“No.”

“It’s going longer than I thought it would.”

“I’m honestly about to fall asleep.”

“Aw, (Y/N), no.”

“This is how I go out. Avenge me, Clint.”

“No!”

“It’s your job. You have to.”

“But who will help me through the trauma?”

I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter. “I’d be dead, that’s none of my concern.”

He shakes his head. “And you call yourself my friend.”

Natasha clears her throat, startling me away from the conversation. I try to pay attention to the presentation, but I just can't wrap my head around what they're talking about and Clint easily distracts me again.

"Quick question."

Surprised, I sign, "Shoot."

"Would you want to go out with me?"

My brain stops working for a second. "Wait, what?"

"I said, will you go out with me?"

My heart hammers in my chest. "Like as friends, or on a date?"

He sighs. "We've been hanging out as friends for months now. I'm asking you on a date, stupid."

My face heats and I sit back in my seat. “Oh.”

He laughs. “Did I break you?”

“A little.” I frown.

“Just say yes!”

Startled, I glance up the table, only to find Natasha glaring at Clint and I. Everyone is looking at us and I suddenly want to disappear.

“What’s the problem?” Steve asks.

“I’m sick of watching the two of them flirt with each other,” Natasha says. “You’ve been mooning over each other for months. Just say yes and be done with it.”

“Nat, they haven’t said a single thing since the beginning of the meeting.”

“They’ve been signing at each other the entire meeting.” She looks directly at me and signs, “I see everything.”

“Sorry.”

“Just say yes.” She looks very pointedly between Clint and I. “You’d be good together.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like him!” Bruce says.

“That was months ago, Bruce. Things change.”

“Don’t be hard on her,” Natasha says. “Clint’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m just gonna, um…” I gesture to the door. “I’m just gonna go.”

I see Tony and Steve nod and I shove my chair back from the table and make my escape. The door shuts behind me, and I’m free. I sigh, relieved to be free of the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, only for the embarrassment of having my crush exposed to my coworkers to settle deep in my stomach.

I press my fingertips to my temples and walk down the hallway. “I knew he was gonna get me in trouble.”

I make the decision to just go back to my office. Maybe I can at least get some work done or, at the very least calm down. I turn as the elevator doors close and catch a glimpse of the conference door opening at the end of the hall. I shift slightly so that it’s not in my line of sight.

The elevator ride feels like it’s too long and I immediately flop down on my couch as soon as I’m in my office. I can't get comfortable and shift around until I'm upside down with my legs over the back of the conch, staring at the ceiling. I press the heels of my hands over my eyes and groan out of frustration.

“I left without even answering him,” I mutter.

The door suddenly opens and I freeze, pulling my hands away from my face, waiting for whoever it is to announce themselves.

"(Y/N)?"

"Clint?" I try to sit up and smack my head on the edge of the coffee table. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I rub my forehead and sit up a little more carefully. "I'll live."

He takes a seat on the coffee table and watches intently as I sit upright on the couch and face him. He reaches out and gently touches my forehead, only to jerk his hand back when I wince.

"Sorry."

"Don't, it's fine."

"Okay." He sighs softly and shuffles awkwardly on the table. He stills when I touch his knee and takes my hand in his. "I'm sorry about the meeting. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."

"Honestly, Clint, you don't need to apologize," I murmur. "I got flustered and then embarrassed when everyone else got involved."

"I know. I probably like pushing your buttons a little too much."

"That's not it."

"But I do push your buttons."

"Yeah, but only 'cause I let you." He smiles and I squeeze his hand. "But I'm a deeply private person. To have Natasha butt in like that, no matter the good she meant by it, really set me on edge."

"I had no idea."

"I don't feel like I have to keep everything close to my chest when I’m with you. You tease me, but it’s never from a place of malice and you know me well enough that you never take it too far.”

“I mean, you give as good as you get.” He doesn’t meet my eyes as he runs his thumb over my knuckles. “But still. I should’ve just asked in private, but you know me.”

“Yeah. You’re sweet, but kind of stupid sometimes. More than a little impulsive. And way too fond of coffee.”

“Aw, I thought that was endearing!” He smiles when I laugh. “The invitation still stands, but you don’t have to say yes.”

“What’re you talking about?” He meets my eyes and I shake my head. “I’m not about to turn you down. You haven’t introduced me to your dog yet.”

“Oh, I get it, you only want me for Lucky.”

“Mhm.”

He shakes his head and kneels on the floor in front of me. “Shoulda known.”

“I know, I’m pure evil.” He grins and takes my face in his hands. “I should be fired, right?”

“Without a doubt.”

I hum softly and lean forward to bump my nose against his. After a moment’s hesitation, Clint closes the distance between us and gently kisses me. I place one hand on his forearm and tilt my head to the side to kiss him back. He smiles against my lips and pulls away, his eyes flitting over my face.

“So… about that dog.”

I have no idea what would happen to them after that, but I’d like to think they’re having a great time, petting dogs and continuing to mess with each other, all whilst falling in love.

I’d love to know what you guys thought of this little one shot. Did you love it, did you hate it? Did you breathe out through your nose a little bc you kind of laughed but also didn’t? Be sure to like, reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask and tell me all about it!

If you’d like to be tagged in future fics, please let me know!

Tag list:

@ghostlyhamlet, @claws-of-vibranium, @creaturefeatures101, @buckysendoftheline, @imagine-assembling-the-avengers, @ptprocrastination, @1950schick, @amayasymone23, @arfrona-and-marvel, @ek823, @fanaticfangirl001, @furrywerewolfcollector, @kissofvenom922, @dawn-phantomhive, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @mairhof1, @starryeyesbadguys, @trap-house-homiecide, @buckywhitewolfbarnes, @kaepm981, @howdoesoneadult, @pcdmesamidala, @thefandomplace, @sian22redux, @skeletoresinthebasement, @lady-thor-foster, @jazzcutie, @gaytonystark, @geeksareunique, @nyxveracity, @breezy1415, @feelmyroarrrr, @darling-loki​, @lemonadeorange73​, @princess-unicorn124​, @hermionie-is-my-queen​, @tofeartheunknown​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @avengerscompound​

[cristalknife]

Kadam Week 2021 Day 5 ~ Been There, Done That, Lemme Be...

This is me trying to not start something on a platform only to post solely somewhere else aka AO3 and ff.net  you can find the complete list of Kadam Week 2021 prompts and you might find more stories on the Kadam Week 2021 AO3 collection

That said, today prompt is April Fools Day While I'm not 100% sure on this story hitting the mark, it has at least some of the prompt's elements, revolving around April fools and one of the two options, namely both Kurt and Adam hating pranking... so here we go, I present to you Been There, Done That, Lemme Be... (Or how a joke between Adam and Kurt became a new Nyada's yearly tradition.) (or read on ao3)

Adam didn't mind the differences between his home country and the states that much, not on most days at least.

April first though was the exception, usually Americans' tendencies to go overboard were amusing, but he could admit that in the past few years being on this side of the pond made him look back fondly and longingly to how things were back home.

For one, back in England, the tradition of pranking lasted only till noon, which made only half of a terrible terrible day, and easier to avoid.

But here in America, the whole day was game, and Adam didn't like how easily pranks escalated.

The fact he never had fond memories of the practice didn't help much either.

It was only by a lucky chance, that the previous years, April first fell on days when it was completely ok for him to call in sick or disappear without any suspicions.

While he blessed such coincidence at the time, it was something he somehow regretted now. Because he was unsure on how to broach the subject with Kurt, nor how it would be received.

Simply disappearing for twenty four hours without a warning, was not something he could do to his boyfriend, not when he knew said boyfriend was capable of worrying over the smaller things...

He wasn't that comfortable raising the issue, but it was something they needed to tackle together.

Adam didn't want April fools traditions to be something they got upset about and potentially snap at each other over mere ignorance.

It so wasn't the kind of talk he wanted to have, but clear communication was the key and so a talk they would have.

Without knowing it yet Kurt was facing a similar dilemma.

He never had the chance to walk away from April first, so the possibility had never ever even crossed his mind, especially since in his experience it had always been one more day where it was just more of the same…

Probably with a more cruel edge to the ‘pranks’ done to him, since apparently the date gave permission even to the kinder people to just disregard anything he might feel...

So all in all it was just one more day in his usual life.

The main exhibit example of the escalated condoned cruelty of April fools had been their outside furniture being nailed to the roof...

Everyone simply laughed it out, while his dad had to have the roof repaid adding more expenses to the list of bills to pay...

In a way Kurt had always tried to appear unaffected and bored by the repetitiveness of the jokes and pranks sent his personal way.

The substance in question might have changed during the years and the occasion, but the prank itself had stayed the same. The over unoriginal and completely lacking any creative inventive of trowing a balloon or a container filled with one of the many possibly disgusting choices.

So nothing new compared to the daily slushie facial he got in high school.

In the lucky years when he was younger, it was just chalk powder and or dirt, then the boys hit their fascination for the disgusting and the pee balloons, the slimes and eggs appeared.

The seemingly most innocuous one had been a natural blueberries smoothie… That managed to destroy a complete outfit with stains that never came out.

But now that he was at Nyada, despite having found out how surprisingly similar college was to high school, he had slightly higher hopes for this year.

If the others students were as busy as he was, then hopefully there wouldn't be any time for the traditional pranks.

At least not on school ground, and since some of his professors had been grumpy dragons on Valentine's day, by simply seeing the exchange of flowers and chocolates in the hallways, to the point that the message that not such foolishness and disruption would be tolerated in their classrooms, became the daily mantra. Made Kurt held a tiny candle of hope that he might get through that day unscathed this year.

The only uncertainty came from Adam and the rest of their friends...

The Apples were a playful and excitable bunch on a normal day, though he was pretty sure that any kind of mischief from them would be geared more toward being funny than malicious.

And despite not having known them that long, he was sure that if he asked them to ease up, they all would make everything stop immediately.

But the whole idea of the day was still making him a little anxious, with all his bad experiences, while he was always the one neither amused nor laughing, everyone else seemed to find his situation pretty amusing...

With Blaine he basically never had to worry, his ex was always too needy of being the centre of attention that never bothered to follow any kind of traditions if it didn't benefit him...

And Adam was nothing like Blaine... Which made Kurt all the more worried he'd end up flip out and explode at his boyfriend, over something insignificantly small and harmless.

But it was also exactly the reason why in the end, Kurt shouldn't have been as surprised as he actually was, in receiving a text from Adam on that subject, simply saying 'Can we please talk about April first’s expectations?'

Despite the calm 'Sure, I'll be there in half an hour unless there're troubles with the subway. See you soon xxx' Adam got from Kurt, his nerves were not as calm or collected.

Hopefully Kurt wouldn't be too disappointed. Adam knew there could be pranks not meant to hurt, but he had seen too many backfire to be comfortable with the whole principle.

His uneasiness got gladly interrupted by the doorbell announcing Kurt's arrival.

"Hellu darling" Adam greeted with a smile, he was happy to see his boyfriend even if he wasn't too thrilled about the topic they were about to discuss.

To Adam's surprise and joy Kurt hugged him and pressed a light kiss on his lips before saying "Hi there"

Adam smiled back and pointed to the kitchen where the kettle was on the stove “Tea before we talk?”

Kurt chuckled but nodded following Adam “Such a British offer, I’ll take a cup of what you’re having, thanks.”

Adam chuckled a little himself. It was more a personal preference than a real national trait, he knew quite a few fellow Brits who couldn’t even stand tea, but it was a gesture still common enough that the saying hadn’t died out yet.

Once they both sat at the table with their cup in front of them, Kurt was the first to start their talk "About April fools, is there any chance we might skip the practice altogether? I'm not overly fond of pranks and if we could avoid their cruelty I'd really appreciate it."

Adam sighed relieved then smiled nodding grateful "Believe me darling, if only it was feasible I would have tackled this year's April fools like usual, namely skipping the day altogether. It is the one day a year I miss not being back in England."

Kurt tilted his head curiously and asked "How so? And by that I mean why would you miss England on that specific day?"

Adam grinned at the quick correction, apparently Kurt had already figured out to ask clearly for things he wanted to know.

He knew it was maybe a slightly petty exercise to force on his boyfriend, but it did have the advantage of promoting and teaching how to communicate better, which was a good thing for the both of them.

"It's not like the pranks were better, if that's what you're wondering, but there is the tradition that pranks should happen only until noon and if someone pranks after noon then he is the April fool... A tradition that translating in having to hide only half day instead of the whole day..."

Kurt considered it for a moment then nodded "You know, I never thought of that solution, mainly because in my experience it wouldn't matter anyway, the only real difference on April fools compared to any other day was that more people laughed when something happened..."

Adam frowned and took another sip of his cooling tea, to refrain from offering once more to burn to ashes the kind of place that would allow such things to happen on daily basis...

“I wish we could just pass through a token space, get our stamp of been there, done that, lemme be and then be free for the rest of the day. That would be a relief if only possible.”

Adam’s outburst was more on a joking note, however Kurt was looking pretty lost in thoughts, humming softly before asking “But what if we had such place, let’s say like a table on the cafeteria with an April first menu, and at the end a pin and the request that anyone wearing a pin to be left alone...”

Adam listened interested and wondered reasoning aloud “You know, if we take this idea to the Deans we might actually get the faculty behind it and have at least the school day free of worries. It would be something… I know I’d appreciate that...”

Kurt looked up, panic evident in both his voice and eyes “Wait, you mean it isn’t safe? I thought that with the majority of the faculty acting like grumpy dragons with a toothache no one would dare... Or that at least we’d all be too busy for that?”

Adam snorted and shook his head “Oh Darling, there’re times I forget you’re still a sweet innocent wide eyed freshie... On the contrary, the odds are beyond scary... But if we get the faculty behind that then we might make it happen… And believe me, most professors would love to wear such a pin for the day and delight in enforcing the safe space.”

Kurt pouted a little at Adam’s description, but in a way he knew he was, eyes were still full of wonder for the school, despite the nasty discovery about it being so similar to high school.

But he had to defend himself so he quipped playfully “So, oh wise and jaded senior, what is your take on the idea, think we can pull that off instead and get the whole school an almost prank free zone?”

Adam pondered the question a little and asked back instead “But what could we put on the menu? I can only think of a couple of tea brews that taste like something else, one like chocolate and another like coffee”

Kurt grinned getting excited “What about variations of the theme of the meatloaf cupcakes different combination of meat patty with coloured mashed potato piped on it to seem like frosting with cherry tomatoes or parmesan on top of them as decorations.”

Adam hummed interested, “Talking of cheese it could be fun to have as opposed to those the sweet grilled cheese sandwiches, where you use pound cake instead of bread”

Kurt chuckled looking mischievously “Do you think we can manage to ask the cooks to also add apples’ fries?”

Adam snorted and playfully pointed a finger at Kurt in a mocking scolding before tutting “Cheeky aren’t we? You really want everyone to know who did it with such a signature?”

Kurt laughed carefree, almost to the point of tears “As if the gossips in our school wouldn’t have passed that information through the whole theatre social circles grapevine way before lessons start on April first...”

What had started as a half joke, in front of two cups of tea, shared by a couple who didn’t care for malicious and cruel pranks, was found by the faculty as an intriguing alternative, to a day of growling and shouting at college students acting like kindergartens.

On April first the students found at the front door the announcement that complementary ‘Been There, Done That, Lemme Be, NYADA 12-13’ pins were distributed in the cafeteria for everyone wanting a pranks free day on school grounds. Any student reported or found by the faculty, pranking someone wearing the pin would be reported to their Major’s Dean for appropriate support (read additional remedial homework) for having been unable to read and understand one of the many big announcement’s signs present on the front door and in the main halls all around their school...

In the cafeteria there were multiple choices on how to earn one’s pin. Including, but not limited to, try out one of the alumni kindly sponsored ‘surprise’ food, which for safety reasons were all properly showing the list of contained ingredients.

Officially speaking the Nyada’s faculty took the credit for the event and for the prank free April fools during the AY 2012-13.

The grocery bag containing apples, a pack of sugar, ground cinnamon and an unsigned card with just the words ‘Thank You’, found in the Auditorium 2 the next day, told Kurt and Adam that someone knew exactly who was behind it.

And from the confused faces of their Apples it was not someone from their group. ~The End~

[twiceblackvelvet]

Username: xNotYourJoyx

A/N; hi. i have no clue where this idea came from. i don’t know why my brain always tells me to start more red velvet series’ randomly. but here is the latest spawn from it. this will have more parts to it because i’m interested in expanding on the dynamics of this trio plus i signed up for things that have since blown up my emails for this because i’m dedicated like that. anyway! enjoy. or don’t. idk anymore. 

It was only a suggestion.  A quick mention, really. “There’s this site, Seungwan,” is how it started. Except for that brief conversation spiraled rapidly into a whirlwind of curiosity and excitement. Perhaps, discussing the lack of sex life and the frustration that comes with that whilst you’re supposed to be busy working on the latest financial development wasn’t the smartest move, and yet, the conversation ended in a better resolution than she imagined when Joohyun had managed to pry the information out of her about why she’s been so on edge lately. 

On edge being both literal and metaphorical. Getting to the high is easy, however, toppling over into the rush of being able to feel the full experience of pleasure has been evading her for the last few weeks now. Nothing seems to do the trick and though you may think it’d be fun to simply keep trying, it’s starting to become an issue with the more extreme methods she attempts. So, it desperately needs to be fixed, just not in front of all of her colleagues who are idly typing away the dull workday. 

The rest of the day drags along. Nothing particularly interesting happens which Seungwan is grateful for, she could do without the extra stress. Though, she’s sure the new sponsorship to promote a dead-end product that everyone had warned their boss about will cause a headache in the future, she ignores the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Joohyun was kind enough to buy dinner for the both of them which her stomach is currently grateful for as she’s certain her fridge at home is empty. But, watching her friend and colleague suckle on the ice cream bar she purchased for herself should not have resulted in her needing to press her legs together on instinct. 

Joohyun didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t say anything and continued to lap her tongue across the cold strawberry flavored ice cream. Probably for the best. Nothing good ever comes from getting too involved with people you have to work alongside every day, even if that person does look like Aphrodite herself. The awkward looks between you both, everyone else knowing that the two of you have slept together but are now deciding on which color scheme to use for an advertisement, it just isn’t something that Seungwan wants to deal with. So, she and Joohyun will have to remain platonic. Unfortunately.

It’s late by the time she gets home. The hallway lights leading up to the apartment door flicker every few seconds and the apartment across the hall has the television turned up loud enough that Seungwan is sure they’re trying to let those in hell hear the latest episode of whichever show they’re currently watching. The keys in her hand rattle as she unlocks the stiff door that barely wants to open anymore. The loudness doesn’t disappear once she closes it behind her but it’s home and somewhere she can erase the feeling of being stuck, in more ways than one. 

The latest routine of ordering in unhealthy food that is slowly destroying her insides, a cold shower to wash away some of the exhaustion, and then listening to the same songs for about an hour feels almost robotic but it’s what she’s grown used to now. Once the darkness begins to creep in across the apartment, cold air making the hairs on her arm stand to attention and the neighbors suddenly growing quiet, it’s the small bed in the corner of the room that calls out and the only thing echoing inside her head. 

Well, it would be, had she not suddenly recalled Joohyun’s description of a site where many people frolic and entertain those who perhaps need a little extra help with their more sinful needs. She moves on auto-pilot toward the jacket hanging on the coat rack and reaches into the left side pocket for the small piece of paper where only the web address is scrawled upon it in Joohyun’s perfect handwriting. The laptop she bought years before and barely runs anymore rests on the dining table she never sits at, closed, and with a line of dust taking up home upon it. Grabbing it, she plops herself down onto the bed after removing her dressing gown and the towel around her hair which has long since dried and throwing it into a corner of the room to be cleaned up tomorrow. 

Her fingers trace the keyboard idly, never pressing in a single key, simply going back and forth over the letters whilst her brain tries to decipher if this is something she wants to try out. 

“Fuck it.” She thinks. Soon enough, the site is loading, slowly, and asking for her to confirm she is of legal age to enter it. 

The screen finally loads and brings up a bunch of profiles under the “popular” banner. To say that the sight of all the various people before her is overwhelming would be an understatement. A sidebar reveals that she can choose a category as well as filter out specific things that are not of her interest. Some of the categories are the standard you would expect, for example, she immediately filters to only see profiles of women. However, others are a little more out there and specific toward what Seungwan assumes are people’s fetishes. A lot of them are things that she would never consider a person could find interesting sexually, and yet, the option is right before her. She ignores the curious voice inside of her head telling her to click on some of them. 

A screen full of women now presents itself in front of her. All of them are beautiful and there’s a whole variety to choose from. The profile pictures range from selfies where they’re simply smiling to some of them being without clothing whatsoever. She scrolls for quite some time simply admiring all of the choices before her until one, in particular, captures her attention. 

Wide dark eyes with hair of the same shade of brown, plump lips that are sporting a small smirk that’s both enticing and teasing. Part of the girl’s neck is on display for Seungwan to imagine herself kissing and biting softly. Without hesitation, she hovers over the username and clicks onto the profile. 

“xNotYourJoyx” she repeats mentally a few times. 

The next page reveals a sign-up box that doesn’t allow Seungwan to venture any further. She’s quick to type in her email address, a username not as clever as she would like and the same password she uses for everything else. The next step is to add her bank details in order to be able to subscribe to various pages. She hesitates at this portion realizing that it’s probably very easy for people to fall too far down this rabbit hole. Thus she promises herself not to subscribe to anything until she’s 100% sure. 

After completing her profile, she’s brought back to the girl she assumes is named Joy or at least uses that name here. Her subscription rate is the first thing to appear. Her price is low Seungwan thinks, around $10 when she was expecting something far higher based on the type of content Joohyun had told her the people on the site create. The next part is an Amazon wishlist with various items in it ranging from hair extensions, expensive perfume, and medical equipment? She must be a nurse, Seungwan thinks. 

Further down the page reveals a VIP service which is more expensive than the standard subscription but allows for you to request specific pictures or videos. There are rules that come along with it which Seungwan reads multiple times over. 

Don’t ask me to say or tell you anything personal about me, we are not friends. You don’t know me like that. 

No, you can’t have my Instagram or any other social media so don’t ask. 

Don’t be a dick. 

My amazon wishlist is not for me. I am not a doctor. But I’m down to dress as one for you if you’re into that. 

“Well, that clears that up I guess.” She thinks. 

For the next ten minutes, Seungwan simply scrolls through the free content on offer from Joy. A few shots of her without clothes but covering her body up with her hands or a sheet, all of which look professionally done which is surprising.  She’s captivated and drawn in by this girl a lot quicker than she thought she would be, she can see why Joohyun would recommend such a thing to her now. The possibilities are endless and there are no strings attached. It’s an ideal situation for both parties. 

Despite making the promise to herself, she’s quick to subscribe to Joy’s feed but ignores the large “upgrade to VIP” logo that’s glistening in gold below the payment button. It would seem strange or suspicious surely to her if someone new to her profile was suddenly paying for the premium option Seungwan tries to logic with herself. 

A few seconds pass as the page reloads itself before finally Joy’s profile is unlocked for Seungwan’s eyes to devour. The same type of photos as previously, however, without anything covering herself up. The same natural reaction to jam her thighs together that she felt earlier with Joohyun ends up happening again except this time she positions her hand under the waistband of her bed shorts. 

The further she explores everything Joy has posted the more the need to be touched becomes overwhelming Before she knows it her fingers are gently caressing her soft skin slowly yet with desperation. Many of the images have comments from other people praising the effortless beauty that Joy manages to convey with ease. Seungwan thinks that Joy must be someone with great confidence to display herself so openly like this. She wishes she too were able to picture herself in the way that Joy likely does. 

Her body aches for some release but once more she’s not able to reach the peak as the page of images suddenly comes to an end. Once more, the gold button for premium appears and tells Seungwan she’s reached the limit of what she can see. A blurring effect does a good job of hiding what follows next, however,  what it doesn’t do is stop her from being enticed further when she spots that Joy has also uploaded videos of herself, they are simply hidden from those on the basic subscription as her. 

Almost sub-consciously she finds herself going against every warning sign inside of her mind telling her that paying to watch Joy rather than just look at her is a bad decision, one she will definitely come to regret or become too attached to doing, and yet, it’s too late once she’s confirmed the upgrade and clicked onto the first video that appears. 

White background, likely a wall in her home, Seungwan thinks, until finally the girl steps into the frame with yet another smirk on her lips.  

“Hello, welcome to premium. Thank you for subscribing. I hope you enjoy all of the videos and pictures that only a select few of you will ever get to see. If you’re feeling even more generous please be sure to check out my wishlist. Now, let’s have fun together.” 

Her voice is silky smooth, Seungwan thinks. She replays the simple video a few times just to hear her make this decision sound like she’s part of an exclusive club where only she is invited, though, she’s aware that isn’t true at all. Joy likely has a ton of people paying to see the most intimate parts of her. The comments on this simple welcoming video are at 59 which means at least that many people have also fallen into the trap, though if Joy is the prize, Seungwan wonders if be tricked into paying extra like this is worth it in the end. 

She decides to read through some of them just to get a sense of how people communicate with her here. 

ksgeees says: can’t wait for you to send me my video Joy😏

canudoit2609 says: so hot🔥

r4bb1tfr13nd says: damn i should have subbed earlier🥵🥵🥵

speedzoom0408 says: YOU CAN HAVE ALL MY MONEY

HYUNSKY says: most beautiful girl ever 

Strangely, the latter comment is the only one Joy has bothered to give a reply to. 

xNotYourJoyx says: @HYUNSKY wow, thank you😳

The compliment is definitely correct and deserving of a reply, yet, Seungwan wishes she were the one to tell Joy such things and have her respond solely to her. Jealousy is a green-eyed monster and though she probably shouldn’t be feeling it toward a complete stranger, she does. The sound of the keys as she types out her own comment with her free hand that hasn’t been teasing herself is the only thing she can hear now. Not even the wind outside is able to pierce her eardrums and break her from this spell that Joy has put her under. 

Wannie2102 says: you are so perfect, Joy.

It’s simple and Seungwan hates it, but she simply must tell this girl something, anything, in hopes that she sees it and feels happy to be complimented. 

Silence now, nothing but the screen before her for light inside the cold bedroom. The list of videos, 71 in total, tempting Seungwan, taunting almost. Her left hand numb now from just resting against her own body whilst her right-hand clicks onto the next one in the list after the welcoming video. 

The same white background, however, Joy is positioned in the video as soon as it starts this time. Laying down on a black crushed velvet sofa in only her underwear. Her right hand gently caressing her breasts as she grunts out a few low moans. Her left hand in a similar position to where Seungwan is resting her own. The tired and slow circles in which she moves her hand causes her eyes to roll into the back of her head as Seungwan changes her own pace to match that of Joy’s on the screen. 

Her bed creaks with every movement of Joy’s that she mimics, the headboard bashing against the wall behind her whenever Joy quickens her pace and then sounds like a light drumming whenever she slows. The neighbor next door has definitely been awakened by the rhythmic sound of Seungwan rocking her body against her fingers. 

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” The words surprise Seungwan out of her reverie as it’s as if Joy is present and asking her specifically and knowing that she too is pleasuring herself as she is doing. Without even thinking she manages to gasp out a yes in reply that only she can hear, yet gains a response from Joy almost like she can magically hear her. “I wish I could watch you touch yourself to me.” she pauses to lowly moan. “For me.” 

The pressure rises between her thighs once more except this time her body allows her to release every bit of tension she’s had to keep trying to get rid of for weeks. Her entire body collapses against itself as she indulges herself in what she’s convinced is the longest orgasm to ever exist. Her legs shaking wildly as her arm tenses up and flex to make sure she feels every bit of her undoing. The sound of Joy finishing up her own continues to play in the background for further motivation but the deed has already been done. 

She rests momentarily, staring up at the ceiling as gentle pants fill the room both from herself and the laptop. Nothing else in the world matters at this very moment. However, once more Joy manages to surprise Seungwan with her telepathic way of just knowing somehow when to speak to her viewer. 

“Thank you for that, I hope you come back soon for more.” and then the video ends. 

A dark screen replacing the beautiful image of Joy just as spent as Seungwan feels. But, now she’s left to think about everything that has just transpired between herself, the screen and a girl she doesn’t even know. Guilt wells up in her chest and she slams the screen shut almost shattering the glass. “Why did you do this?” is the only thing that repeats inside of her mind. No longer focused on the pulsating feeling against her hand as she pulls it out of her shorts too fast and whips herself with the waistband which will no doubt sting in the morning.

Her legs shakily drag her body to the bathroom almost tripping over various clothes that have sat there waiting to be cleaned for way too long now. She turns on the shower for the second time tonight and steps into it, almost falling immediately. The cold water shocks her body into feeling something other than the after-effects of pleasuring herself. Scrubbing every inch of her body intensely and repeating inside of her mind that she’ll cancel the subscription tomorrow and never do anything like this ever again. She can’t. Joy is a stranger and she shouldn’t be doing these things.

By the time she’s finished almost burning her skin with the washcloth to make sure she’s rid herself of her sins and changing her fair skin to a reddish shade, the clock on the bedside table shows that there are only three hours before she’s due to wake up for work. The bed seems tainted now, so she grabs the blanket and sleeps on the sofa that is far less comfortable. 

Joohyun is definitely going to ask her about whether or not she used the site, definitely going to notice the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep and will definitely draw up her own conclusion anyway no matter what her answer is. She tries her best not to think about any of this but there’s just a constant loop of the images of Joy, the sound of her voice, and the way she encouraged Seungwan to feel again. 

She dreams of dark hair and brown eyes that night and moans that could be the most heavenly sound in the world or a new addiction that Seungwan isn’t ready for but may not have a choice but to indulge in it. 

pt. ii

[slashingdisneypasta]

Well, since weasels are on the table, could I get some affection with S/O headcannons for them? (Wether it's all of them in general, one or some of them, or heck, even poly weasels! I'm ok with any of those, so whichever you want to do) if it's ok? Thank you anyways!

I haven’t really written for them yet so let’s do them separately for this moment so I can get my head around their personality styles in my writing ^^

Stupid’s is pretty short, but he’s a simple fellow! Haha, there isn’t much to say XD 

I need to go to animation website and get some proper pictures of the weasels, but I hope this works for now! ^^ 

Greasy: 

·         Greasy likes to stick purely to wrapping his arm around your waist in public. Mostly, he’s all talk then. Just likes to show you off.

·         Not that that the talk isn’t completely reddening and inappropriate, but still. It’s just talk.

·         When you’re in private is when things become more, err, his style.

·         I mean, he’s the perverted weasel! He loves your body, so much.

·         … half, because you actually let him touch it. The other half, because he genuinely thinks you’re beautiful.

·         I’m not going to get into any nsfw details here, although with Greasy you can’t really escape it, here’s the fluffy part:

·         Oh, my god, he’s so clingy. Always touching you, always on you. So, if you like that, great. If you don’t, I think you’re dating the wrong weasel.

·         Just, always snuggled up beside you on the couch when you watch tv or read, and always spooning you when you’re in bed.

·         *Cough* And, of course, he’s trying to cop a feel.

·         The kissing… the kissing is always a gateway to more NSFW stuff.

·         ALWAYS.

·         Also, of course, SO many compliments. All the time. Every second of every day. He can never stop saying how beautiful and amazing you are.

Psycho: 

·         Hehehe, he’s like a cuter version of Chop Top really.

·         Generally, he doesn’t hang off you or really show much PDA or affection, but that isn’t because he doesn’t like it. Its because he’s easily distracted and always has something else on his mind.

·         He doesn’t dislike, or particularly like PDA. The question isn’t ‘Do I want these people to see me touching my S/O?’, it is ‘Do I want to touch my S/O’. It has nothing to do with the people around you.

·         Times when he’ll nuzzle up to you and just want to cuddle you: When you’re upset, when something has scared him, when he suddenly gets *feelings~ (You know what I mean. Greasy feelings) because he doesn’t get them gradually or anything, he gets them suddenly, and nothing will stop him from acting on the *feelings~. Also when he comes up with something weirdly, surprisingly romantic to say to you.

·         He’ll just *Pop!* Think of the words to say to you, scurry over to you, stare right into your pupils and say these weirdly romantic things while staring you deadass without any emotion on his face. It is equally uncomfortable, and sweet.

·         Slightly creepy, but you know he means all the good.

·         Holds your hand (Of course, you will never touch his hand because of the straight jacket, but the sleeve is tugging you along) when he goes somewhere like he’s afraid he’ll lose you on the way if he doesn’t. XD

·         Also surprise kisses abound.

Smart Ass: 

·         Not into PDA. He’s a serious bloke! And when he’s out and about, be that with his gang or just out getting groceries or whatever, he’s gotta be focused. Stern. No laughing!!

·         He probably wont even hold your hand in public.

·         But, behind the closed doors he’s much gentler with you. Smart Ass is very much a gangster, and he’s violent a lot of the time. But only with anyone but you. You are his girl, his doll. You are the most precious thing in whole world to him and deserve everything and anything and he will never let you get hurt on his watch (If he can help it. I mean, he isn’t entirely competent, being a toon. No offence to Bugs Bunny).

·         In private, while you guys are just talking, he likes to hold your hand. Very delicately and, just… surprisingly adorable. Just enjoying the weight and the feel of your hand in his, listening to you talk and discussing with you.

·         Likes to sleep with you guys facing each other. You don’t have to be touching, although the closer you two get in the relationship the more he’ll want to hold your hand in bed or just have his hand on your waist to know you’re there, but he just likes you to be the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep. You sleeping, and peaceful. Because he will go to sleep after you, even if he’s super sleepy. He wants to make sure you are there, and safe, when he falls asleep.

Stupid: 

·         Stupid is so excited to experience all good things with you! His favourite TV show, any jokes his buddies make, eating food that he likes, random scenes in public that he thinks are funny. So, whenever any of that happens, he will bring you over by the hand and laugh with you, or just grin at you.

·         Couldn’t. Care. Less about PDA Vs Private Affection. Whatever you like, is what he’ll like!

·         Just likes to be with you, as you are his favourite person ever, and that’s the tea.

·         When he’s scared or sad he’ll either hide behind you or just look at you, asking if he can get a hug, and then if you say yes (Oh my god, SAY YES) then he will burrow his face into your chest on your arm.

Wheezy: 

·         Oh boy, before you get into this relationship, make sure you enjoy the smell of cigarette smoke. Because after the first hug, you will smell faintly of tobacco for the rest of your life.

·         That is how bad he is with his problem.

·         Apart from this, Wheezy is probably the most chill (After Stupid) about PDA vs Private Affection. Doesn’t care if people see but, you know, sometimes when he’s in a mood… the fact that people can see, is a plus.

·         Likes to stand real close to you, so you two can have private conversations without the rest of his teammates weighing in.

·         Likes to play with your hair if you’re sitting down. Just, will sit down on a step a bit higher then you or in the seat behind you when you’re out somewhere, and start putting all the strands on the correct side of your head and eventually plaiting it(If its long enough for that. If not, then he ruffles it up or bunches it all up on top of your head just to drop it all again. Its entertaining for him).

·         Just imagine him doing this, playing with your hair. He’s doing this behind you, the end of a cigarette between his teeth as he concentrates on your hair, and you’re sitting there enjoying the feeling of your hair being played with while messing around on your phone or watching the others be morons. Wonderful afternoon. 

[burnedbyshoto]

Can you do Hc's or scenario when shouto's in love for the first time but he's kinda awkward and since Midoriya is knowledge in "everything" he asks for advice from him and fuyumi

todoroki shouto x reader

warning(s): fluff

word count: 1,296

A/N: awwww this is cute!!!!!!!!!! sorry it took like,,, two days for this??? i think it was two days, but no worries its out now and it made me hecka soft and happy. enjoy, anon and readers! my requests are still open!

shouto was just sort of observing you one day as you danced in the lounge room with a few other classmates as you screamed sang along with the music videos that were being streamed

it just sorta hit shouto as he watched you pretending to do the catwalk with kaminari that he was in love with you

shouto just sort of sits up from his relaxed position as he stiffens as his thoughts are running too fast for his rationale to keep up

holy shit, he was in fucking love?!

shouto needed to talk about this with someone, his sister instantly coming to mind, but she was teaching at the moment, so who was the most knowledgable person in the class?

iida? one of the higher knowledgable people in the class, but even shouto could tell he wasn’t going to help him much

momo? no, she would probably get overwhelmed with happiness and would make shouto nervous

bakugou? shouto chuckles at the thought of bakugou giving out relationship advice

sero? no, he’d just describe something from the romance mangas he enjoyed reading

midoriya? well he always was pretty knowledgable in just about everything and had a way with people

so, shouto stands up ready to hunt down midoriya who was more likely than not up with uraraka and iida in one of their rooms

as he walks to the elevator, shouto is stopped by you, who mid-performance attempts to get shouto to sing and dance with you, but with racing thoughts of how he figured out he’s in love with you, he doesn’t play along

he leaves you there with a small frown, but when Kirishima comes up next to you striking a vogue pose, you’re instantly thrown back into the chaos

shouto knocks on midoriya’s door, and he’s a bit embarrassed as he sees the trio four steps into a ten-step Korean beauty face routine

“can I talk to you, midoriya, if you’re not busy?” shouto asks as midoriya laughs insisting he can talk despite the drying face mask on

“I’m in love with y/n, and I don’t know who to do.” shouto comes straight out, and uraraka and iida freeze, immediately leaving while they whisper

“you’re in love with, y/l/n-chan?” midoriya repeats, his eyes wide and a smile on his face. “that’s great congratulations! uh, how did you know?”

shouto calmly presents a wiki-ask page on 11 signs of knowing you’re in love with the person

“I match ten out of the eleven.”

“Which one??”

“the getting high one, I’ve never taken drugs, so I don’t know the feeling.”

“Oh… okay!”

“can we talk about people feeling high when they’re in love, because from what I know, it makes people hungry, blotchy, and they act stupid.”

so basically, midoriya tells shouto to present the fact that he’s in love with you through a romantic date

the two of you always go on dates on Sundays given it’s the only day you have off, so he suggests that this Sunday he brings it up

shouto nods his head slowly

“But how do you even bring it up in an actual conversation, do people really just say I love you out of nowhere?”

“…oh todoroki-kun.”

todoroki is pacing in his room as he calls fuyumi, he wasn’t going to go home to talk in person on the account that it was too late

“hi shouto, I was getting worried you weren’t going to call today!”

shouto loves his big sister and calls her every day, try to change my mind

“I need to tell you something important, and I need your guidance.” shouto says after having a casual conversation with his sister about her day at work

“if it’s about how to make those cold soba noodles from last Sunday, you’re out of luck! My student threw up on the recipe, it’s gone until I can track down–”

“no, fuyumi, it’s about y/n.”

“oh no, shouto, did something bad happen? did y/n get submitted into the hospital again? oh my god did you break up?!” fuyumi rambles trying to guess what her baby brother is undergoing with his cute little s/o

“I’m in love with y/n.” shouto simply states, a smile overcoming his features as he is now able to say those words and it just feels so right

“…can you give me a second?” fuyumi just about gasps and shouto listens as his sister squeals in victory before returning quickly, “I’m so happy for you shouto! what did y/n say back, ‘i love you’ i hope, or else I will drive down there!”

“no, no. I haven’t said anything to y/n yet… I talked to midoriya about it earlier, and he had an idea, but I’m just too fucking awkward to confess like he said I should.”

fuyumi listens more than she talks as shouto continues to tell her about the wiki-ask article, the second he realized outside of the article, and the elaborate plan midoriya had said would be perfect to try out

“it’s just not me.”

“of course it isn’t you,” fuyumi laughs, “you’re todoroki shouto who is more serious than our own father, you’re straightforward and honest even when it’s not in your favor. just tell y/n about your feelings, I’m sure that even if y/n isn’t in love with you already, it will be soon!”

those words comfort shouto more than anything else and he relaxes, “thank you, fuyumi, I’ll tell y/n soon.”

“you’re welcome!”

“say hi to fuyumi-chan for me.” your sing-song voice calls from the doorway, and shouto turns around to see your face flushed probably from the fake concert you were performing

shouto puts the phone out and puts on speaker and you grin. “hi fuyumi-chan!”

“Hi, y/n-chan! sorry, I can’t talk much, but I have to go now! call me later shouto, and let me know when you do what we discussed!”

you stare at shouto as he pockets the phone and stares at you with tight lips as his anxiety steeps in again

“tell me what? is fuyumi finally dating that one teacher she found attractive?!” you gasp as your hands cover your mouth, “wait don’t tell me, okay wait… yes, do tell me!”

you calm down a bit as shouto takes your hand and pulls you into his room, the door closing behind you.

shouto presses a kiss on your knuckles as he inhales deeply

“I love you..” he whispers and your heart just about stops beating.

shouto can barely take the impact of you throwing yourself on him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you close

“I love you too, shouto,” you whisper in his ear as you pull away

you’re beaming

shouto is smiling

and you met his lips in the middle as the world around you two disappears

we love soft “has no idea how to confess his feelings” shouto uwu. anyways, hope you enjoyed this was done in record time because i wrote it during crackhead hours after watching a romcom!!!

bonus!

“why’d you come up to my room?” shouto asked as you two stood in the kitchen making yourselves some instant ramen

“well, I was concerned when you brushed me off, but I gave you some time alone. then uraraka-chan and iida-kun came down and could not stop giggling like a bunch of primary school girls, and then when midoriya-kun came down, he would not look at me and I tried everything! So, I figured it had to do with me.”

“Those three are the worst at being subtle.”

“oh, it’s okay,” you smile as you present the ramen, “it helped me to get up to confront you! Also, you have got to sing and dance against mina and Sato, they’re on a whole other level. Kirishima and I could not keep up! I was ready to live the rest of my life on that couch!”

shouto laughs softly as you exaggerated as always

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[stydiaeverafter]

Ch.2: Fire in My Veins

Day 2: In the heat of the moment | Interrupted 

For the @buddiefirstkissweek event 

Read on ao3

**The story has changed to an “M” rating.

Summary: The journey continues from friends to lovers, as Buck and Eddie get consumed in the heat of the moment as they discuss what happened between them at Pride.

***

Eddie. Freaking. Diaz.

Buck couldn’t get the guy off of his damn mind.

It had been a few days since the Pride Festival, and they went on as usual. Sure, the lingering stares were there, but then again, when had they not been?

Buck had no previous notion that Eddie remotely had feelings for him in the way he had. But that all changed when they had danced and kissed at Pride.

The way Eddie’s lips had slowly caressed his, well, it had been a dream come true.

After he had his closure with Abby, he realized he had always had these feelings for Eddie. It had just taken closing the door to the past to realize what had been there all along.

With this new knowledge though, he didn’t want their friendship to change. It was why he had never acted out his innermost desires with the guy, even though he had wanted him basically 24/7.

“Hey.”

Buck looked up at the sound of Eddie’s voice. It was as if he had willed the beautiful firefighter into the same room as him. He had been sitting in the locker area, arms on his knees thinking about their embrace, and here Eddie now was in the flesh. Looking hot as hell. Any attraction he had previously had for the guy, had only grown into something he could barely contain.

“Uh, hi,” Buck replied back, clearing his throat. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Eddie said, shuffling in the doorframe.

Shit. This was awkward. Buck didn’t want it to be awkward now between them. They didn’t have a chance to talk after what had happened, he had just assumed they were both on the same page, ready to start a new chapter in their story together.

Buck couldn’t handle it anymore, “Do you regret what happened between us? Because listen, man, if you want, we can just forget it happened and go back to… well, just being friends. Whatever you want to do, I’ll do.”

Eddie’s eyes widened in response, “Wait, what?”

“It’s just, we haven’t really talked about...everything, and it’s been a little off between us, so if you were regretting what happened, I would understand.”

“I don’t regret what happened between us, Buck.” “You don’t?” Buck asked, now his eyes widening. “I just assumed….”

“Well, your assumption is way off,” Eddie replied with a sheepish grin, as he pushed his hair back. “I thought maybe… you regretted it actually. It seemed like you had been avoiding me.”

Buck immediately shook his head, “No… not at all! I don’t regret it at all. If anything, I can’t get what happened off my mind.”

“I know the feeling.”

Standing up, Buck moved closer to the guy slowly, “I’m sorry you thought I was avoiding you though, I promise I wasn’t. I could never avoid you.”

“Nah, it’s cool, I guess that’s what we both get for not actually, ya know, talkin’ about things.”

Buck laughed from the miscommunication between the two of them, “We’re a bunch of idiots.”

“I’ll say,” Eddie smiled, looking so beautiful it took Buck’s breath away. “I’m really glad it happened, Buck. Truly. It’s something I had wanted for a long time.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

Buck nodded, “Oh yeah. Probably from the moment I saw you when you were changing your shirt. I froze. At first, I thought… who the hell is this new dude? Me being a ‘tough guy’ and all. But that quickly shifted to who in the hell is this beautiful creature?”

They both laughed, Eddie shook his head, “And here I thought you hated me.”

“Hate is a strong word, Diaz,” Buck smiled with a smirk, “I could never hate you. You and Christopher have changed my life for the better.”

Eddie’s amused expression shifted into something else entirely. “We both feel the same about you, I mean it.”

Buck’s heart started pounding, “So...where do we go from here?”

Shrugging, Eddie said, “Wherever we want to I suppose. This is so new, I think we should probably take it slow, right?”

“Yes,” Buck replied with a nod. “Slow is good.” Too bad he wanted nothing more than to cover Eddie’s naked body with his own though. That was taking it slow, right...?

“Even though I want to….”

“Want to what?” Buck inquired, sitting up straighter and wondering if Eddie was thinking the same smutty thoughts as he was.

“Kiss you again.”

Buck bit his lip as Eddie helplessly looked to where he was biting. There was so much sexual tension in the room, you could slice it with a knife and serve it for dinner.

He slowly made his way to Eddie, as he saw the guy clutch his bag tightly. The effect they had on one another was a fire in the veins.

“So why don’t you just kiss me then?” Buck teased yet being 100% serious. He liked tempting the guy and wanted a reaction from him.

Eddie licked his lips, and the vision of this went straight to Buck’s groin. Fuck, he was sexy.

The guy looked around and motioned for them to move behind the wall. Good thought. Buck wasn’t sure he wanted to be one display at the center of the 118, those days were long over, even though it was the late-night shift and hardly anyone was around.

They both stood by the white wall for a moment, out of view, before they closed the space between them. Eddie grabbed Buck’s shirt and pulled him towards him. Buck pinned him up against the wall, as he placed his two hands on both sides of Eddie’s head.

When their lips finally touched, the fire roared within Buck’s body and he melted from the motion. It was like being able to breathe again.

Eddie’s mouth challenged him as the kiss deepened from a soft embrace to a devouring desire. His mouth opened, and Eddie’s tongue licked his way into his mouth, finding his own. Their tongues swirled together and Buck moaned, loudly.

Eddie’s hands gripped onto Buck’s waist, just like they had at Pride, and Buck moved in even closer. The bodies rubbed together once again, and he felt that Eddie was just as hard as he was.

He had never wanted anything more in his life.

“God, I want you,” Buck moaned against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie’s response was moving his hands down on Buck’s ass, to rub him up closer. The friction was delicious and now it was Eddie’s turn to moan.

Buck’s hands moved and gripped into Eddie’s hair and they spun up against the wall like a tornado out of control. Buck’s back was now against the wall and he spread his legs wide apart. It took only a matter of seconds before Eddie was between his legs, rubbing up against him once more.

Buck couldn’t think. He could barely breathe. He wanted Eddie naked. Now. He wanted them taking turns riding each other all night long, all over the house. On the bed, on the floor, in the shower, on the table. Buck knew he’d never get his fill of Eddie Diaz.

That’s what happened when you were not only sexually attracted to someone, but were in love with them, too.

And he was very much in love with the guy he was kissing.

This was all of his late-night dreams coming to life, and he didn’t even know how to react to it. His body moved on its own as if Eddie had the remote control.

He pressed Eddie’s lower back against the stiff-as-a-bat-bulge in his pants, and Eddie broke the kiss to move to Buck’s neck, where he sucked and licked all the way up to his throat.

“Shit….Diaz, you’re killing me.”

Eddie pulled away to look at him, lust clouding his hazel eyes, “Likewise, Evan.”

Hearing his name come off of Eddie’s lips, only cranked him higher. He moved a leg in between Eddie’s and pulled the guy up on his thick thigh.

Eddie sat slightly and his eyes rolled back from pleasure.

Buck couldn’t believe this was happening at the Fire House; they could get caught at any second. But that knowledge just turned him on even more. It was a thrill he wanted to drown in.

Moving his hips, as Buck grabbed and pulled his best friend’s tight ass down, Eddie started to thrust deeply onto his thigh, moaning from the movement. “Fuck going slow.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Buck smiled against Eddie’s lips. He desperately wanted to reach down Eddie’s pants to feel him, but just as he was about to undo the guy’s zipper, the alarm went off.

They both groaned remembering they had a job to do, and that job wasn’t getting each other off at that moment. Their foreheads came together as they slowly caught their breath, a thin layer of sweat glistening on their faces and necks.

It was almost comical that they were now to go off and save a life or two, putting out any fires, yet the fire within their bodies was ablaze, not easily extinguished.

Breathing out a heavy breath, Eddie shook his head and moved off of Buck’s leg slowly. Buck couldn’t help but grin like the Cheshire Cat as he saw how hard Eddie still was. It was hard not to drop down on his knees in front of the guy.

Eddie returned the smile as he saw where Buck was obviously staring as he said huskily, “Raincheck?”

“Oh yeah,” Buck nodded quickly and licked his lips. “Later.” Eddie nodded in agreement as the thirsty pack was made between them. They smoothed out their clothes the best they could, and Buck tried to take his mind out of the gutter.

And away they went, going into professional duty mode, yet not helping but to curse the alarm, aka, the interruption of their desire as they passed by it.

[wincore]

easy to love | na jaemin

pairing: jaemin x reader

words: 3.1k

prompt: animejaem sent: jaemin + organizing a valentine’s party together when reader has the BIGGEST crush on him 🥰

genre: college!au, friends-to-lovers!au, a whole lotta fluff

warnings: uhhh does pining count?

a/n: i’ll be posting the requests in between my larger projects !!

You think Valentine’s Day isn’t worth the hype. Simple things like chocolates and flowers are way more expensive than on literally any other day, the only movies on TV are the ones that make you gag, you can’t go out without feeling awkward and the holiday is just generally pointless. If you’re in love, why do you need a specific day to show your love, and why does it last for only a day? How do you even convert an act of love into material commodity? It doesn’t seem to have any personal meaning, neither does it seem to make a relationship any better. To conclude you are not terribly fond of Valentine’s Day, and your plans only ever consist of binge watching and consuming a higher amount of unhealthy snacks.

But sometimes you have an exception to not going out on this day, and that exception is Na Jaemin.

You wake up groggy to a text from Jaemin asking you to help him organize the Valentine’s Day gathering you have among friends (and ‘friends’ also include friends of your friends who will inevitably barge in and ultimately, the entire student body will be there) followed by a series of smile emojis and pleading eyes emojis. You’d make up an excuse to refuse, but it’s Jaemin—Jaemin, whose smile alone makes your cheeks red, who you can’t help but stare at during classes, whose voice, even if it’s over the phone, is enough to make your heart warm and jittery.

I’ll be there in an hour, you text him as your feet touch the cold ground beside your bed. You sigh deeply, placing your face in your hands and curse yourself. If it weren’t for your overwhelming affections, you could be enjoying a few more hours of sleep. Everything still feels hazy as you rub the sleep from your eyes and weigh the pros and cons of your decision. It’s far too early to walk to Jaemin’s place but clearly he doesn’t have any sense of time. And neither do you, apparently, as you walk sluggishly towards your washroom to get ready.

The cold breeze brushes your cheeks as you make your way towards Jaemin’s place, fortunately only a few minutes’ walk away. The clouds, painted with the colour of the night, follow your steps and you know that they’ll be a watery red soon, when the sun decides to peek its face into your corner of the world. The only times you notice these things are when you’re alone, or when Jaemin points them out to you. He’s more observant than people give him credit for and while you’re glad you’re the one who mostly gets to see that, you wish he’d share more with the world. In a city where summer is yet to come, you can only hope for the best as the usual thoughts plague your mind. Should you try spilling your feelings to Jaemin this Valentine’s? Maybe with some chocolates to further sweeten the bittersweet aftertaste they leave in your mouth?

Don’t ring the doorbell, Jaemin texts you when you’re standing outside his door.

You don’t have to wait long before the door swings open with more force than Jaemin probably anticipated as he cringes at the sudden ‘bang!’ and pulls you in wordlessly. He places a finger over his lips, lets out a soft ‘shh!’ and walks up the stairs, with you trailing behind him.

“I would’ve come over, but your roommates would freak out,” Jaemin whispers when you’re inside his room.

“Anyone would freak out if they spot someone knocking on their window in the middle of the night!”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Jaemin grins, rubbing the back of his head.

The room is barely lit, but you can see his messy hair, the tip of his nose and the curved corner of his lips illuminated by the table lamp. He looks at you expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of response but you don’t know what he’s expecting. You don’t know the number of times you’ve found yourself in Jaemin’s presence when the stars are still shining bright in the night sky, but one of these nights made you realize where your emotions lie. The tempo of your heartbeat goes overboard if you look at him long enough, if you think about him long enough. That’s why you mostly resort yourself to acting as if nothing’s wrong, ignoring the unnecessary flow of thoughts and being a friend that didn’t make things awkward.

“Classes start in three hours,” you tell Jaemin, “Why couldn’t we discuss then?”

“Because there’s too many people then,” he complains, “And we barely have that many classes together.”

“So?”

Jaemin pouts. “So you don’t wanna help me?”

“Why should I, Na Jaemin?” your eyes crinkle as you lean back on his bed.

Jaemin hums, pretending to think. “Because of all the times I helped you skip class? Or because I give you my notes every time you ask?”

You sit back up, scrunching your eyebrows. Jaemin places a finger on his chin and continues his exaggerated acting.

“Also I helped you hide when you accidentally broke the window to the Dean’s office. Oh! Remember that time in high school when we first—”

“Okay, okay! I wasn’t actually asking for a descriptive essay,” you cut in.

Jaemin grins. You knew you’d listen to him from the moment you read his text, his winning smile means nothing to you.

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, tilting your head to one side.

“This year’s theme is,” Jaemin pauses to think. “Love yourself!”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Love yourself?”

“Yeah. It’s better for the kids who don’t feel loved or popular, you know?” he says. “Besides, I’m tired of couples making out wherever.”

“Okay, Mr. Class Rep. It’s all up to you,” you say, “But why do we have to plan at this ungodly hour and a day early?”

“They didn’t inform me earlier,” he frowns.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“And I had too much coffee so I couldn’t sleep, yeah.”

You smack your forehead.

“Jaemin, I warned you about your obsession so many times.”

Jaemin huffs. “We’re getting off course!”

“Jaemin—"

“There’s no time!” he presses.

“Fine. What do you want to do?”

Jaemin beams at you and you feel a soft drumming inside your chest. He starts to elaborate on his quick yet decent enough ideas for hosting the annual party ( “It can’t be worse than last year, Jaemin.” “Last year was Donghyuck’s fault. And Renjun’s.”) and while you’re planning a party which revolves around affections and love, you can’t get yours out in the open. It would be disastrous, no doubt.

You sleeping through your classes is entirely Jaemin’s fault. He promised he’ll make it up to you somehow, and you know he will because of the way he is. He’ll probably buy you ice-cream or take you to a café and while all that’s in good spirits, it makes you more frustrated, more annoyed at all the looks you get, all the assumptions that you wish were true.

“Why isn’t it in the dorms?” you ask Jaemin, following him into the student hall.

“Do you know how many people end up coming? It’ll be suffocating,” Jaemin says, his back turned to you.

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” you say, “But this hall looks creepy.”

“That’s why we have decorations!” Jaemin says, shoving a bunch of pink, golden and red streamers at you.

“Where- when did you even get these?” you ask, looking at the lively colours sprawled across your arms.

“Jeno bought them. Oh, and Renjun’s probably coming to help.”

“Okay.”

The occasion needs minimalistic decorations according to Jaemin (“Because love should be the main event!” “I’m not even going to tell you how dumb that sounds.”) and on the bright side, it reduces your physical workload. Jaemin rushes from corner to corner, your head following his movement as he gestures for you to give him the ribbons and garlands. The hall already looks a little brighter by the time you’re finished, all the little touches added by Jaemin standing out to you.

“I need those heart-shaped post-it notes,” Jaemin says, knitting his brows. His mouth is slightly parted and his eyes stare off into the distance as he looks like he’s processing all that he has to say. The sunlight that has snuck in plays on his cheeks and eyes and sometimes you wish you’d stop viewing him like that, like he’s a work of art. Sometimes you wish your miserable state of mind didn’t get any worse with each look, each word, each smile Jaemin gave you.

You end up telling Jaemin to make a shopping list and while he insists on going to the store himself, you tell him to sit there and wait for Jeno and Renjun.

You do the shopping, wanting to get out of the slow, smothering atmosphere, engulfed by your own leaking affections. You return not too long after, to see Jaemin leaning back on one of the chairs, his phone pressed to his cheek.

“What do you mean you’re not coming now?” his voice comes out in a low tone. “That’s not helping!”

Jaemin’s cheeks gradually turn pink at whatever the voice through the phone says. “No, you don’t understand. That won’t help!”

“Yes…I still get butterflies, Renjun- why are you laughing? It’s true- it’s not that cheesy!”

You think hard about Jaemin’s declaration, so much that you forget you’re holding a bag of stuff and almost trip into to the hall. Jaemin perks up at your sudden entrance and while you rub the back of your head sheepishly, Jaemin rushes to you and holds the bag.

“Turns out Renjun isn’t coming, after all,” he informs you.

“Oh, that’s okay.”

Jaemin adorns a broad smile as you try finishing up the extra details with him, and you don’t notice the soft looks he gives you every time you’re so focused, your tongue pokes out or when you try your hardest to scrutinise every corner of the hall.

“What’s this for?” you point at the stack of Valentine’s Day themed post-its in Jaemin’s hand.

“It’s for people to write what they love most about themselves. Or what they think is the best thing about them.”

“That’s nice,” you smile.

Jaemin takes out a pen to scribble something and sticks it on the wall beside you. You squint to read it (“My handwriting isn’t even that bad!”) but you only find your name written with a heart drawn beside it.

“Because you’re the best thing to ever happen to me,” Jaemin winks.

You hit your forehead against the back of your hand, and despite the cheesiness, your cheeks heat up at the look of glee Jaemin gives you.

Jaemin walks you home with the setting sun tracing your footsteps. You don’t speak all that much, like you do when you’re comfortable, but at moments like these, you wish you could hold his hand or do all the things you aren’t allowed. The shape of his lips change with each expression he makes, still rosy and looking soft despite how chapped they are, and his cheeks glow with a residual pink from running out of the hall and the honey in his eyes you get to see when faces you leave a sweet taste in your mouth. It’s difficult to not stare at Na Jaemin. Sometimes, you wonder how all his features came together to create something so incredibly lovely, something so Jaemin. When you reach, he thanks you, tells you to wear something pink, and runs back towards his own place after waving a quick goodbye.

You enter the party to find some additions by Jeno and Renjun like the fairy lights and a huge banner saying ‘Welcome!’ with a lot of unnecessary hearts. There’s also doodles which suspiciously resemble you and Jaemin which you wouldn’t have noticed unless Renjun specifically pointed them out to you. Oh, how you wish you could deck someone in the face in public.

It’s actually enjoyable being there, though. People did write the notes, you notice when you see the wall almost filled with fluttery pink notes, Jaemin’s one lost in the bunch. Most of the guests are engaged in their own little world or shoving snacks into their mouths—an accurate representation of what Valentine’s Day is like around the world. The place isn’t overwhelmingly pink, there are mostly different shades of it, sure, but they remind you of Jaemin and the effort he put in.

People have unanimously decided the dress code is pink and while you couldn’t find anything suitable in your wardrobe, you ended up with the pink beret Jaemin gave you for your birthday last year. Speaking of whom, you don’t see him anywhere for a good ten minutes after arriving, mostly following Renjun and Jeno around to help them set the chocolates at the snacks table, or eating said chocolates at the snacks table. Donghyuck makes a face at the old love songs playing as soon as he enters the hall and brings his phone to undoubtedly change it to some other weird playlist.

You find Jaemin in a pink corduroy jacket, surrounded by a bunch of people from uni, looking a little more than flustered. His hair looks soft albeit a little messy although he must have styled it before coming, and overall, his presence seems to be the core of the celebrations. He looks like an angel when he meets eyes with you, and the hearts your brain makes you see floating around him don’t help.

Jaemin excuses himself with a polite smile and jogs over to you, wreathed in smiles. You smile back and there’s an unexpected silence before either of you speak.

“You look cute,” Jaemin points to the pink beret.

“Th-thanks,” you manage to say through the sudden awkwardness.

Before Jaemin can say anything else, he’s pulled by the arm by some guy who points to a girl looking shy in the corner. You can already tell she’s going to confess her undying love for Jaemin and while you know he’s going to reject her with the sweetest no, you wish you had that kind of confidence too. If you tell him, would he laugh at you? Would he even grace you with his sweet ‘no’?

The ‘what if’s swirl around your head and you take a seat at the corner of the hall. Suddenly, all you see are people in love—people tucking flowers in their partners hair, or talking while holding each other’s hands, or showing affection in simple acts of kisses or hugs or feeding each other. They all have someone to belong to, someone to protect, to cherish, to experience things with.

“Hey.”

You look to your side to see Jaemin already sitting beside you, a curious look on his face. You push your feelings aside to shoot him a playful smile.

“Broke another heart, Jaemin?”

Jaemin’s cheeks turn as pink as the streamers and you almost instantly regret saying that.

“I felt bad,” he starts but trails off.

“I know,” you reassure him. Jaemin isn’t paying a whole lot of attention, though, and you think maybe you should tell him too. You should tell him that you’ve liked him since high school, when he found you hiding from your friends on your birthday to prevent getting caked in the face, you liked him when he offered to walk you home the first time, you liked him when he told you he’s relieved that you’re both going to the same college. You like him when he’s thinking quietly, you like him when he says something stupid to annoy you, and you feel like you’ll like him endlessly with every passing second you spend with him—every passing second that pronounces the voice of his existence.

“Jaemin.”

“Yes?”

“We’re friends, right? How would you feel about being more than friends?” you rush through your words, getting redder by the second. You’re not one subject to impulsive actions, but maybe, maybe Na Jaemin is an exception to this too. His lips are pressed into a thin line, pink with the chapstick you had bought him a long time ago.

“What?”

No. You’re not saying that again. If you have to, you’ll pretend this conversation never happened.

“You like me?” Jaemin freezes, his eyes scanning your face for a response.

“I- uh- yeah. Wow. That wasn’t how I was planning to tell you. I mean, there were chocolates in the initial plan.”

“Are you kidding me?” You flinch at the sudden rise of his tone. “We could have been going out all this time?!”

“Huh?”

“I wouldn’t have had to do all this.”

“What?”

“In my defence, this wasn’t my idea,” Jaemin makes a sour expression.

You didn’t expect planning for a party to be your friends’ grand idea to get you and Jaemin together, and you don’t know how that works either. While that was a total failure, the dawning realization that maybe you’re not spending this Valentine’s alone makes your heartbeat quicken and your face warm.

“Will you go to the café with me this Saturday?” Jaemin smiles the brightest of smiles at you.

“I’m not having your poison coffee.”

“You ruined a perfectly nice moment.”

You smile and lean forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder, both of you shaking with silent laughter.

“Let’s leave before Donghyuck shoots us another look,” Jaemin tells you, taking hold of your hand and glaring at the sudden change of music.

The skies are pretty (or are you saying that because you’re happy?) and even more so when the late afternoon paints it orange and pink.

“You’re mine? You’re really mine?” Jaemin asks when you’re outside the gates.

You nod as you try to process the words yourself, a slow red rising in your cheeks.

Jaemin smiles the warmest smile before leaning in to peck your cheek. It’s a simple gesture—couples do it often, but it leaves your cheeks burning red and hot more than ever. Calling yourself a couple doesn’t make it any better, neither does the way Jaemin looks at you, or his fingers playing with yours.

Jaemin leans in again, and right when you feel his breath on your lips, he pulls back, shaking his head. When you continue looking at him with doe eyes, he laughs.

“That’s for Saturday,” he says, “If I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop.”

There’s a lot to look forward to on Saturday, you think. Besides the fact that it’s a weekend, you’re going out with Jaemin, someone who you thought you’d never be able to ask out. Someone who makes your heart explode into stardust but someone who puts it at ease.

There’s a lot to look forward to on Saturday. Cheaper chocolates, your choice of coffee, Jaemin’s lips—all of them, at the top of your list of favourite things.

[spackeets-written-madness]

Discussion over Tea

After Angus McFife XIII told Ralathor about the dragon he met that helped him find his hammer, the hermit thought to pay this dragon a visit himself.

On Ao3!

Disclaimer: This is not a full sequal to Magic Dragon of Storms. It has a similar plot and elements to it though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ralathor was bored. Bored enough to be staring at the wall contemplating the answer to life, the universe and everything. So far he got forty-two and he figured that if he stared for longer, he’d get the question.

Suddenly something exploded in one of the rooms of his cave which sent him across the hall to go check on it. When he entered his alchemy room, he was a bit surprised to find the walls, table and a small part of the floor charred, bits of glass scattered about the room from many jars that were caught in the blast radius from whatever exploded. He stepped over the larger bits of glass, his cloak brushing over the remains with an audible noise of glass moving over stone. He paid it no mind as he walked to the charred table, looking for the offender of the explosion.

He looked around on the table and found the source of the explosion. It was the golden scale of a thunder dragon. A thunder dragon that Angus had befriended when he lost his hammer a week ago and brought back a ‘small’ scale that fell off the dragon for Ralathor. The hermit picked up the scale - about the size of his hand - and ended up giving himself a bit of a shock as the scale turned out to still have a strong charge.

After the shock went down his spine with a shudder, the hermit reflexively shivered after the electricity passed. “Ah… That wasn’t pleasant,” he mused nonchalantly as he inspected the magical golden scale. How intriguing, unlike the lost scales of the native dragons here, this species’s scales keep their magical properties. He looked at the mess again, no doubt the scale had a build-up of energy from being put in the jar so discharged it.

Ralathor found a shed sky dragon scale amidst the destruction and compared it against the golden one, the differences were apparent, apparent enough that even a peasant would tell the difference between if they were laid out in front of them. The sky dragon scale was like an arrowhead, and there was an outgrowth on the scale that would stick into the skin, much like the feather of a bird. On the underside of the scale was a thin fluff that when the dragon ‘raised’ its scales, it’d cause the fluff to fill in the gaps and make the dragon warmer. The colouration of the scale was also a dull blue with a small light spot on the tip. The golden scale, on the other hand, was not only an iridescent gold that caught the light from the torches on his walls and made a bright point on the opposite wall, but it was also exactly like a fish’s scale: crescent-shaped almost and sits a bit on the form of the skin rather than in it. The entire scale also felt strangely velvety to the touch and it was definitely still seeped in magic from the dragon, unlike the sky dragon scale which lost its more obvious magical potency a long time ago.

The hermit pursed his lips under his hood with a clear idea to test something. He touched the golden scale to the sky dragon scale to see if it might ‘charge’ the dead scale.

Ralathor had to quickly dip his head down far enough so that he didn’t lose an eye from the sky dragon scale exploding upon being touched with the other scale. “This is new,” he mused to himself lowly as he looked in his left hand where the other scale was before it got vaporized. “So that didn’t have the results that I was expecting, but I got results,” he further said to himself, looking at the scale.

He set the scale down in a rubber-lined container he found after a small moment of searching, then waved a hand to clean up the mess, the minor time spell reverted the mess in the room, putting the jars and their contents back on the table and the charr from the wall and ceiling was removed. With the spell, everything was as it was before, except that the golden scale was no longer in the repaired jar were it once was. 

The hermit made a noise in the back of his throat as he walked out of the room. “And Proletius says magic isn’t useful.” He walked down the corridor silently and habitually turned left into another room.

This room - or well, another part of the caves he lives in that he converted into a room - had a bunch of shelves that were acquired from the Citadel of Dundee (they were getting thrown out anyway, he simply gave them a new home), which had a bunch of books in them and around them in stacks. 

“Hm, I really need to organise this room,” Ralathor muttered to himself as he stepped over a book. He then looked at the tomes that were stacked orderly on one of the bookshelves. “Now...where did I put that book?” The hermit reached up and grabbed a book titled Scottish Dragon Breeds and Species by Ernest Drake, took one glance at the title and put it back. He reached up a shelf higher and grabbed the next book and reading it. “Dragons & Drakes of Europe: A Dragonhunter’s guide by Beowolf, nope, that’s not it either.” He puts that one back too.

Ralathor then starts to look at the stacks of books on the floor, seeing if he had it and muttering to himself again, “I know have it, so where did I put the blasted thing? I really need to organise this room sometime.” He reads the spines of each book he came across, searching for the book he came here for. After not finding what he was looking for in that stack he looks through the next one, then the next one, then the next one.

He was on the last stack when he finally found what he was looking for and pulled it out from the stack, causing the book tower to fall. “Ha, knew I had it, Dragons of the East by an unknown author. Now, time to find out what species this mystery dragon is, and judging from Angus’s description, they are clearly a serpent, just need to find out what kind,” he continued to mutter to himself, not thinking fully on the words he was saying before he said them. Ralathor opened the book and began to leaf through the book, muttering what Angus told him as he looked for the right dragon. “Iridescent golden scales, spines, a single set of whiskers, curved deer-like horns, slender face, thick mane, three toes on each foot, the hands had a thumb. I must say I'm impressed with how preceptive the Prince is getting in taking in the looks of potential enemies, very impressed,” he continued to speak to himself in a low voice.

The hermit flicked through the pages, skimming over the description of the dragons as he did so until he landed on a promising page. “Cloudwalker...Hmm, let’s see, ‘this species of wyrm has fish-like scales, thick mane, fur on the tail which can often grow on other parts of the body, another breed of this species can grow fur all over their body that comes off the fish-like scales.’ Fascinating… And it says here that Cloudwalkers have three toes on all four feet like Ryus but the third toe on the front legs is a thumb. Seems the Prince’s new friend is a Cloudwalker,” he said, slightly louder to himself as he read the passages. 

He scanned the page further and stopped at a passage, reading it aloud to himself, “‘Clouwalkers love knowledge like most other eastern wyrms, but they particularly enjoy stories: fact or fiction, and they often don’t care if the story has a lesson or not, they just enjoy listening to stories and sharing their own.’ How fascinating, hmmm, I should have some books I’m willing to part with, ones that are still in print that is. Hm? Cloudwalkers also have a bit more obvious difference in the sexes: males have beards and straighter horns, females don’t have beards and curved horns. Well...if you know what those differences are.” He shut the book and put it on the shelf next to the other dragon books.

Ralathor then looked around the room. “Well, suppose I should clean up while looking for books I can part with before I go pay this dragon a visit myself,” he said to himself again and got to work organizing his shelves. (Which may or may not have involved doing magic to make it faster.) While he cleaned up, he found five books that he could easily source copies of (plus one he wrote himself.) After he packed them up into a bag, he teleported himself to the bottom of the same peak Angus found the golden serpent of storms.

When he appeared on the rocky path (or rather, lack there-of) he looked around until he saw a way up and began to make his way upwards. Ralathor walked and climbed up the rocks, using a few spells to stay climbing and not fall to his death. 

Angus said that he had climbed until his vision of the horizon was blocked by clouds that had suddenly rolled in. Ralathor paused and looked around, no clouds yet so he’s not far enough for the dragon to consider showing themself. He grunts and continues climbing over rocks and trying not to slip on loose pebbles.

After several minutes with no change in the cloud cover, he had gotten to the top of the peek. There was also no dragon either. Ralathor looked around but still found no trace of them. He huffed in annoyance, “No dragon, that doesn’t surprise me, cloudwalkers fly by magic rather than wings, they’re probably long gone by now.” He mused to himself. The hermit looked around one last time - even looking up this time - and after confirming that there is no giant golden serpent he faced the way he came and began to climb back down.

“You know, it’s very amusing watching a spell-caster climb up a mountain, nearly fall off thrice on the way up, get to their destination and upon realising that the creature they were looking for wasn’t there, promptly give up and go home,” an amused voice said above him suddenly, causing him to slip and fall while he was on a precarious ledge.

Once he got secured back on the ledge he was standing on, he looked at the long golden face of the dragon in annoyance. “Could have chosen a better time to reveal yourself? Like, when I was on a more secure area?” he asked calmly while he looked over their - her - face which lacked a beard and had curved horns. 

She grinned at him. “You were fine. I had watched you use some spells to prevent you from falling earlier,” she said, angling her head more forward a bit to look at him easier, centring him in between her eyes, in front of her long nose.

“Well, yes, I was. Doesn’t make it any less irritating,” he said. “Didn’t know that we had a Cloudwalker here,” he commented as he ducked under her massive head to climb back up to the peak so that he isn’t hanging on for dear life on a cat-walk.

“It only took ten centuries for you to realise that I was here and that was because Angus the thirteenth was missing his hammer and I decided to help,” she replied as she followed Ralathor and settled on the small ledge above where he sat and set up a tea tray that he teleported to the ledge from his home.

Ralathor looked at her from underneath his hood. “You’ve been here for ten centuries? Why did you come here in the first place? It’s a bit far from your home,” he commented while he poured the tea for both him and the dragon.

“My home always felt less my home, so I left it. After of course I avenged my dead mate and took my eggs back from the bastards that took them, and flew until I came across this island and settled here. After the sealing of Zargothraz mind you,” she answered, looking at the tea being poured. She set a forepaw down gently in front of the table and focused, the next thing was the dragon turning into an adult female woman of eastern origin who sat down opposite to Ralathor.

Ralathor blinked as he watched her transform into the rather perfect form of a human. “I see. And your whelps? Where are they?” he asked while he offered her the cup of tea he poured.

She took it from him. “Where I came from originally. Once a year they come to visit me,” she answered with a sip from her cup.

Ralathor sipped his tea then prepared to ask another question, “How -”

“I will ask you a question myself before you ask another of me,” she interrupted. “Who are you to come up here in search of me and ask these questions?” she asked while she held Ralathor in a steady glare.

“Ralathor, hermit of Cowdenbeath, ally and friend to Angus McFife the thirteenth. He was the one to tell Proletius and me who helped him find the hammer of Glory,” Ralathor answered.

She took a sip from her cup. “And what made you come up to me?”

“I had not realised that we had a dragon that is from a generally much friendlier species on our land until the prince ran into you,” he answered.

The dragon disguised as a human takes a pause to pour herself more tea. “So besides coming up to this peak, interrupting my sunbathing and asking me questions without even introducing yourself first, what are you doing here?” she asked, then, with an amused look commented, “I dare say that the prince had better manners.”

Ralathor ignored the comment as he took out the books he had packed. “I had read that you guys like knowledge - and even simple stories - so I scoured these books out from my personal library for you as sort of a welcome to Fife,” he said. The hermit then smiled under his hood. “Though I appear to be ten centuries late.”

She gave a laugh at the joke as she picked up one of the books and read the title, “‘Tales From the Kingdom of Fife’?” She looked up at him.

The hermit nods and opened his mouth, speaking softly, “What happened during Angus McFife the first’s reign ten centuries ago, the other books are different stories.”

The dragon looked through the offered books and set them down next to her. “Thank you. I had heard bits and pieces of the Zargothrax story, but having the full story at hand is great,” she commented.

Ralathor nodded and sipped his tea, falling into silence. The silence only passed for a minute before the hermit spoke up. “So who are you?” he asked, looking at the dragon in human form.

She leans back slightly, tilting her head up at the sky. “Hmm, I am Xiongwei Huoyan… But if that’s too hard for you to say, I currently go by as ‘Astrid’,” she said and her form shifted to that of a local and she looks at Ralathor.

Now that caught the hermit by surprise and he widened his eyes in shock, almost dropping his tea. “So that’s how you stayed hidden for ten centuries!” he exclaimed, only slightly louder than how he usually talked. “Your name is not hard for me to say, different, but not hard, Xiongwei Huoyan,” he added.

“Please, call me Xiongwei to at least make it easier on yourself if you wish to call me by name,” Xiongwei said, still remaining in the form as one of the locals of Fife.

“Impressive forms by the way, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a human,” Ralathor commented.

Xiongwei gave Ralthor what could be described as a ‘shit-eating grin’. “I’ve practised my polymorphing quite avidly over the years. I’m adept at transforming into many forms,” she answered, taking a sip of her tea.

The hermit gave a small nod. “It paid off,” he commented, finishing off his tea he got up. “Well, I should go, let the other two know you’re not a threat. I hold no responsibility if Hootsman and Ser Proletius come up to say hi,” he said calmly and quietly.

“Farewell, Ralathor, hermit of Cowdenbeath and tell Angus that I said hello,” she said, setting her own empty cup down. She grabbed the books and transformed back into her dragon form, settling back down on the rocks.

Ralathor teleported the tea set away and faced the way down, he paused, looking up at the large golden dragon, already reading one of the books. He looks back at the path down - and teleports to the bottom of the bottom. When his bearings took in the sudden change of scenery, he swore he heard laughing on the wind that floated down from the peaks. He looked up and glared, he then focused again and teleported away again.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

satellite

[peter parker x reader]

author’s note: reading you by caroline kepnes inspired me to play around w pov and try something a lil diff in style. had a lot of fun w it and i hope you enjoy! (kinda funny the last time i tinkered w pov it was also in a fic for ps4 peter ha)

word count: 2,929 

It’s Aunt May’s suggestion that it would be good to give my eyes a break from staring at screens so much and for so long that initially gives me the idea to come here, but it’s the conversation I have with a stranger on the subway this morning about the book he’s reading that actually prompts me to stop by after work. I had every intention of seeking out that novel for myself; the description on the back cover about the story already sounded interesting, and the details shared by the man in the black beanie made it even more so. But I quickly realize how easy it is to get sidetracked in a bookstore, and instead of heading straight for crime and mystery, I’m strolling past comics and scanning the titles, first for ones I recognize so I can think to myself Hey, I know that! like we tend to do when we spot something we are familiar with and that little corner of our brain lights up at spotting what is thought to be long forgotten.

The pages of these graphic novels are glossy, smooth beneath my fingers, and the colors are bright and I see myself in several of them slinging webs through a cartoon New York, and yellow boxes in the corner of each panel are denoting the time of day and the current scene’s setting, and big words like BAM! and POW! punctuate every heavy hit and at the end of every strip, all of it is just another day for Spider-Man. I have to admit, it’s sort of surreal having comics about me. Not that they are technically about me. The alter ego in these stories is Nathaniel Patterson and he’s got blonde hair and blue eyes and he’s quite the looker.

I slide the comic with its shiny cover back into its spot on the shelf and I think I turned one of the pages wrong because the pad of my index finger stings like I’ve sliced it. My brows furrow as I check to see if I’m right, if it’s begun to bleed, and the smell of fresh books is strong, but the smell of strawberries is stronger.

I pause. I glance up and look for the source, and I’ve just missed it. Just missed you. I catch a glimpse of you continuing down the aisles, and you’re blocked from view by the tall shelves and there are no gaps through which to see you because they’re packed so snug with books but even if they weren’t, these types of shelves have a wall in the middle. I contemplate leaving it well enough alone, but the scent of my favorite fruit lingers in the air and it’s strangely strong to still be so apparent, like you’d been standing near me.

So I leave the comics and go in the direction you’d gone, glancing into each section and trying not to be obvious about it, obvious about the fact I’m looking for someone. I read a few of the titles in each aisle, and I’m taking them in, I am, since maybe along the way I’ll find a book I do want, but it’s done half in earnest because it is incredibly easy to get sidetracked in a bookstore.

Then I see you, in the set of shelves across from mine, a table in the space between us with staff picks for the month. You’re in crime and mystery and your nose is buried in a novel. I wonder what you’re reading. You flip through the pages, stop to read a paragraph or three, and flip through some more. When you’ve had your fill of that, you close the book and read the information on the back. It’s been chilly in New York lately so you’re in a sweater, and the sleeves slide over your hands as you grip the novel because they’re too long. You try to pull them up so the fabric bunches in the bend of your elbows, but it doesn’t work and they just droop back down.

For all my efforts of being subtle as I walked through the shop searching for you, I forget it when it’s most crucial, and I’ve stared too long and you look up and you notice me, and my stomach jumps at being caught and I probably seem like a creep. Nice one, Peter. Getting flustered around pretty girls is right up your alley.

I swallow, and I smile slightly to ease the awkwardness and show you I’m not being creepy, I swear, and the heavens are watching out for me because you smile back, lips shining with lip balm you’ve no doubt applied to protect them from the harsh wind outside. And I am melting. I’m melting like an ice cream cone in the summer and suddenly I want to ask what your favorite ice cream flavor is.

Your eyes slide from mine off to your left (my right) just for a second, before they meet mine again, and then return to the book in your hands. I can see the slight curl of your mouth as you turn to the bookshelf in front of you and put the book back, then continue reading the spines until one stands out and you pull it out to do the process all over again. But I’m caught up on what you had looked at fifteen seconds ago, for the briefest of moments, easy to miss but being me (being Spider-Man) has forced me to be more attentive, and I glance to my right (your left) and I see the bookshelf. My eyes slide up higher to the sign. I’m in romance.

My cheeks grow warm and you probably think I’m in this bookstore looking for love like the protagonist of half the novels on this shelf. You probably find it amusing, and I think you might even laugh if it weren’t so quiet in here, and I should be embarrassed but I’m not. I like the thought of making you laugh. Besides, I’m not in this bookstore looking for love. I’m in this store to find a specific book and if anything, love is looking for me. February’s months away and Cupid should be busy sharpening his arrows. Maybe I’m his test run?

You’re still at crime and mystery, still where I need to go, so I go there. In my peripherals I notice you glance at me and your gaze lingers, curious to see what book I’m going to pick up. I read the last name of every author, until I arrive at the one I want. There’s three copies remaining of the book I’d come to this shop for, and I grab the copy in the middle. All the while I’ve been trying to figure out how to start a conversation with you. I had planned to ask what book you’re holding right now, or if you had any suggestions. I would listen and pick up a few of the titles you say because I trust you have good taste.

However, I’m not the one who starts a conversation. You beat me to it.

“A Christie fan, huh?” you begin. Your voice is low so as not to disturb the silence but I can tell even if we were outside or elsewhere, you would sound equally as quiet anyway. “She’s a classic.”

I smile and you are well-read and I’d like to get to know you more. “It’s my first Christie novel actually,” I respond.

Your eyes are bright when you hear that, and I wonder what you know that I don’t, wonder what’s so captivating about Agatha Christie’s books that has your gaze twinkling with excitement for me and what I’m about to experience. You are so sweet. “You picked a good first novel then. Sometimes I wish I could read that for the first time all over again.”

“You a mystery fan?” I inquire, and I’m cringing on the inside because I’ve just asked you this while we’re standing in front of crime and mystery and you are clearly well acquainted with Agatha Christie. But it seems you think my pointing out the obvious is cute and you nod.

“I read stuff from other genres sometimes but I always end up back here. Guess I love the thrill of a good whodunit a little too much.”

You chuckle, and oh God maybe I am like those protagonists in the romance novels across the aisle since I swear my chest tightens a little, enough to be uncomfortable, a twisting and then an unraveling like my heart is sighing. And I don’t think there’s such a thing as loving a little too much because love is love and I’m loving talking to you right now. I don’t want our conversation to end and I wonder if I asked if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime if you would agree. Or maybe we could go out for pizza (there’s a great place in Brooklyn that has $1 slices of pizza the size of your head).

It’s a bit difficult to get any words out; your smile is disarming and there’s a softness in your eyes and you could be your own superhero because to be the recipient of just one or the other is enough to get someone to slow down, but to witness both is enough for someone to stop entirely and cause them to forget what they were doing, what they were about to say. Or maybe that’s just me. But gradually my thoughts come back to me, the fog clearing (though it had been nice while it lasted and are you sure you don’t have any powers?). You’re watching me, expecting me to talk, and I’ve been oddly silent and it only make me more nervous. You probably think I’m weird.

“No such thing as too much,” I finally force out, referring to your earlier comment with the same playful tone.

You smile. Maybe you like weird.

A burst of confidence surges through me and I introduce myself, holding out my free hand. “I’m Peter.”

You shake it and tell me your name, and a brief quiet settles between us again. And I don’t think you want our talk to end either. My hand slides back down to my side and it misses yours already. It’s just you and me and Agatha Christie and if this were a game, this would be the crossroads. Press A to carry on our conversation or Press X to say goodbye or press nothing and leave it to the roll of a dice, the flip of a coin. But I’m not imagining that hopefulness on your face that this—us?—could turn into more, and I don’t want to leave something this important to chance and I sure as hell don’t want to press X.

“Well, [Name],” I continue, and I like saying your name, “would you wanna get coffee sometime? It’d be nice to have someone to discuss this with.” I hold up the Christie book.

“I’d like that,” you reply, and I like you saying my name.

It’s a date and three days later we meet up after work. We go to the pizza joint in Brooklyn because I’d suggested it as an alternative to coffee, if you were up to it, and you wholeheartedly agreed because you wanted to see those pizza slices for yourself. We sit down at the table in the corner, the red and white checked vinyl tablecloth reflecting the glare of the fluorescent lights and Wow, you remark, you weren’t kidding about the size of these slices!

You’re a waitress at a small diner where it’s calm most days. There aren’t any rushes, and the primary customer base is regulars whose orders you have memorized and when you see them, you’re able to carry on your conversation from the last time they came in. An elderly couple eats there every Friday. You had a chat with them today.

“They’re like grandparents to me,” you muse, smiling to yourself as you soak up the extra oil on your pizza with a napkin. “All my relatives are out of state, so it’s nice to have a sense of family like that.”

My eyes are glued to your grin and I think I love you. You thrive on human connection, and you don’t have to seek it out since it comes to you at your job. You didn’t have to seek it out when you met me either, because I was the one to approach. I wonder if you knew that’s what would happen, how the entire situation would play out. Maybe you were confident or maybe you were unsure and were prepared to approach me, and we would have our first conversation in front of romance instead and we would talk a little about romance novels until in a roundabout way we start talking about crime and mystery because like you said, you always have a propensity to end up back there eventually. And even if connections like this didn’t come to you, you’d go out to find them. You’re proactive like that.

The tables turn as you ask what I do, and I explain what Doctor Octavius and I have been working on. I keep it simple so you can follow along, and you’re genuinely interested, and my stomach is doing flips because I am the center of your attention and honestly, it feels nice. Would you please look at me that way forever?

We get so caught up on other topics that it isn’t until I’m walking you home that we finally start discussing the Christie novel I bought. I’d been running around in our few days apart, splitting my time between work at the lab and patrolling the city, but you can bet I spent every spare second I had reading that book. Part of it was in anticipation of seeing you again because I know you’d want to know my thoughts on it and another part of it was because I did find the plot captivating. I often ponder the clues and come up with theories, which I share with you. You listen to them all and you never reveal anything. I ask for hints but you shake your head and laugh.

“You have to solve it on your own!”

“Not even one hint?”

“Nu-uh. Channel your inner Poirot, mister!”

I chuckle. “My French is a little rusty, but I’ll try.”

All too soon we’ve arrived at your apartment building and we are standing in front of the stoop and you turn to face me and have I spied with my little eye reluctance to part in yours? The evening air is cold. We’re bundled in thick coats and a gust of wind ruffles your hair.

“Well…” you start.

“Well…” I mimic. We are both prolonging goodbye.

“This is me.” You motion to the dark brick building, a careless wave to your right (my left) but you’re still staring at me and you smile.

“I guess it is.” I smile too and briefly glance over at the structure before looking back at you. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.” You are positively glowing. Your smile and your eyes and your everything is bright and you are beautiful beneath the yellowish tinge of the street lamp. The time since I saw you in the bookstore had dragged on, agonizing and frustrating, all of it a buildup to tonight, a night which has gone by too fast.

You take a slow, cautious step forward and you’re in my bubble but I don’t mind. And you are close, so close, and I can’t breathe because I’m on a tight rope trying to maintain my balance and you’re on the other side, what I focus on to keep from teetering. I wait and you wait and the rest of New York is forgotten. Then you stand on the tips of your navy blue Mary Janes so you can reach up to kiss my cheek.

“I’ll see you later then, Pete.” You say see you later because goodbye sounds too definite, too sad, and you call me Pete because you’re comfortable with me and you like me and on the inside, I cheer.

“See you soon, [Name].” I watch you walk up the steps and when your hand curls around the doorknob, I call out, “I’ll have the book finished the next time we hang out.”

You look over your shoulder and smile. “I’m holding you to it!”

My own walk home is boring without you around. Our night together has reached a close but my night isn’t done yet. I’ll be suiting up once I’m back at my apartment and you’ll be in the back of my mind as I respond to dispatches I pick up on the scanner. I wonder if you’re on cloud nine like I am, if I’ve inspired you to pick out an Agatha Christie from your personal library to re-read. Maybe you choose the novel I’m currently working through so you can experience it with me.

The spot where you kissed me is still warm and you must be born of the sun. Or if not that, then surely you’re a star of your own, and you’re officially my favorite one if only because you aren’t high in the sky too far away but rather, right next to me, and I don’t know about you, [Name], but I can’t think of a more perfect place than that.

[a-little-international]

Stable (3)

Summary: Even Tom knows it’s a cliché  for the stable hand to fall in love with the star rider.

Pairing: Tom Holland/OC

Warnings: petty and hormonal teenage boys

Words: 2,791

A/N: since moving back home, i’ve started riding again and honestly there’s a distinct lack of male stable hands in my age range which is UNACCEPTABLE and is the primary reason for reviving this fic.

The Series: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Wednesday rolled around much faster than Tom ever wanted it to, dreading having to spend the hours after school running after Harrison Osterfield and trying his best to avoid the topic of Ren. Knowing Harrison, that was unlikely, but he still held out hope. The only good thing about Wednesdays was that the last two hours were a double art class with his mum, and his best friend Jacob sitting by his side.

“Do you think they made out?” Jacob asked, pushing down on his lump of clay, “Like with tongues and everything?”

Tom slammed his chunk of clay on the table, grimacing at Jacob, “Can you shut up?” he replied, his voice hushed as he glanced up to see if his mother had overheard. “And I’m sure if they did it was with tongues, we’re not twelve anymore dude.”

“Yeah and it’s Osterfield, guy’s such a slimy bugger I bet he shoved it all the way down her throat,” Jacob carried on, sticking his tongue out as far as possible to demonstrate, adding slurping and gagging sounds for effect.

“Shut up,” Tom reiterated, clenching his hands into the clay at the thought of Harrison all over Ren. He was jealous, he knew he was and he knew it was a terrible thing to do and Ren didn’t owe him a second of her time, let alone her affection, but he just wished she wasn’t into Harrison of all people. He didn’t even want to know what the implication of them being at boarding school together meant -  he’d heard plenty about the goings on between students at Saints and he tried to push Ren’s potential involvement with any of that as far out of his mind as he could possible manage.

As if Jacob could read his mind, he rambled on, “Do you think they’ve slept together?”

“Ugh, Jacob! Please!” Tom exclaimed, throwing his head back. He did not want to be thinking about this mere hours before having to look at Harrison all evening.

“You need to face the facts, Tom. They’re probably banging and she’s never going to look at you that way.”

“Ouch,” Tom pouted as he continued to squish the clay between his hands, in no way following his mother’s instructions.

“You have been pining over her for too long, my friend. This may actually be a good thing! You’ll be able to go off to University without having to dream forever more about the beautiful yet elusive Ren.”

“Not sure if I’m even going to Uni,” Tom sulked, tugging the sleeves of his uniform jumper higher up his elbows so they wouldn’t get too ruined.

“Well my point still stands, you can’t mope about for the rest of your life Thomas. Plenty of fish, and all that.”

Tom frowned at his friend, not loving where this conversation had headed when all he’d wanted was a pep talk for later. “You’re mister romantic, what happened? Since when are you so anti pursuing what could possibly be the love of your life?” he exclaimed, kneading down on his clay.

Jacob smirked as he leaned against the table, his blob of clay totally forgotten about. “Listen, I am all for pursuing the love of your life. I just want to posit that there may be more than one, and you’ve gotta let it go when you know you’ve been beaten. Plenty of fish, you hear me? You’ll find more success elsewhere, young padawan.”

“Fine, Obi,” Tom sighed, rolling his eyes, “but I don’t know that I’ve been beaten yet. We don’t know for sure that anything has ever happened between them and so I might still be in with a chance. She said I was her favourite on Saturday,” he added proudly, as if that proved anything.

Jacob snorted and returned to his clay, “Alright casanova, let me know how to that goes. But I’ll bet you five quid and the snickers at the bottom of my bag that you’ll find out plenty from Harrison this evening.”

“I’ll take you up on the fiver, but I don’t want anything to do with that rank snickers.”

“Suits me,” Jacob shrugged, shooting a grin at his best friend and Tom knew he was only trying to protect him from another round of heartache and pining. This sort of thing happened every few months, where Ren was concerned. She would say something, and Tom would completely misinterpret it and get his hopes up and nothing would happen and on the cycle would go.

“Boys, come on, less gossiping more creating!” Tom’s mother’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and he grinner up at her, desperately hoping she hadn’t overheard any part of their conversation. Knowing her, though, that seemed highly unlikely. He wondered if she would bring it up at dinner, or store it away for later referral. She winked back at him as she walked away, tapping her fingers against his desk. Tom dropped his head, groaning internally at the thought of having to discuss this with her later.

---

“Alright Tom, can you grab Skylark next please, Harrison’s just arrived and he’ll want to jump right up.” Called his dad from the barn doors, a bunch of polo mallets tucked under his arm.

“Daaaaad,” Tom groaned, throwing his head back as he pulled a face, “can’t I go get someone else? Literally anyone else, please,” he begged, approaching his dad.

Peering out at the courtyard he saw Harrison talking to his mother through the open car window as he pulled on his gloves, looking clean and tidy and expensive as ever. Tom scuffed his worn out boot tip against the flagstones.

Dominic Holland looked over his shoulder to give his son a stern look, one eyebrow raised. “Now Tom, you’ve got about three minutes to pick up that attitude and get Skylark out to the field.”

“Literally anyone else.” Tom repeated himself, his eyes practically begging his father to relent.

Mr. Holland was not to be moved or swayed. “Go, now. Please Tom.”

There was no winning, and Tom just hoped that Harrison would ignore him all evening.

Alas, he had no such luck, as the second Harrison rounded the corner to the polo field, his eyes were fixed on Tom and he could have sworn he saw the star player square his shoulders as he approached.

“Evening, Holland,” Harrison greeted curtly, swinging up onto his horse without a second’s hesitation, “good weather for a game, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Tom replied, just as stiffly as he handed the reins up to Harrison, “cracking weather.” He wondered why Harrison was talking to him about the weather at all, the fact that he had even acknowledged him without being forced to was just as unusual as it was suspicious. “Have a good rideout on Saturday?” Tom heard himself asking out loud, to his absolute horror. He tried his best not to make too much of a face as he glanced up at Harrison, who was fiddling with one of his stirrup leathers.

“Hmm?” Harrison hummed, not bothering to look at Tom, as he checked the new length of his stirrup, “Oh, with Florence?” he added, almost absentmindedly.

Tom bit down on his lip. If he had been talking to anyone else, it would have almost seemed like a normal, totally casual conversation. But it was exactly that normal, totally casual way in which Harrison spoke her name that felt like dig; like he was telling Tom how totally normal and casual it was for him to be spending time with her, when to Tom it was a treasured commodity.

All Tom could muster as a response was a nod of his head and an affirmative grunt.

If it hadn’t been for his impulsive question in the first place, he wouldn’t have to remain next to Harrison, painfully waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear. But there he was, standing next to the epitome of what he both always wanted to be and tried his best to never become, waiting for what felt like the inevitable blow that would break his heart.

“Oh it was rather good,” Harrison said, smirking at Tom as he shifted around in the saddle, his shoulders pushing back confidently. “Nice to get some one-on-one time with her, school can be pretty manic, you know how it is”.

That definitely felt like another dig, and Tom swallowed as he nodded up at Harrison unable to think of a properly. Of course he didn’t know how it was at school with them. Mayfield College was a world away from St. Augustine’s, even if it was just three miles down the road. He’d been inside the old brick walls of the boarding school a couple of times for various school events, and had visited the sprawling grounds more often than that for the occasional soccer match or to cheer on his school’s rugby team, but he couldn’t really begin to imagine what it was like going there. He’d definitely never have imagined it as manic.

“Anyway, hoping to get some proper one-on-one time with her this Saturday anyway,” Harrison continued smugly, winking at Tom suggestively, who had stuffed his balled fists so deep into the pockets of his jacket he was worried he might tear the fabric. “I’m sure you must have heard all about my party by now.”

Tom just glared up at Harrison, biting down on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like what Harrison was implying at all, and he certainly hadn’t heard of his stupid party and he was sure that Harrison knew that too. Another jab, just to be sure.

“Oh well, it really is just all Saints people anyway, so I suppose you mightn’t have heard after all,” Harrison shrugged, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth as he looked down his nose at Tom. “We’re never quite sure what trickles down to you lot at Mayfield,” he added, a smug grin spreading over his face as he urged his horse forward onto the field, without another glance back.

Tom looked over at his brother Sam, jaw dropped at Harrison’s comment. Sam was just sending another team member onto the field with a short wave when he looked over and frowned questioningly back at Tom.

“I hate him,” Tom grumbled as he stomped over to complain, hands still buried in his pockets, “so much.”

Sam rolled his eyes, looking around to see if anyone else needed any more help. “He’s really not that bad.”

“Hey, you’re meant to be on my side,” Tom replied, shooting a look at his brother before turning his attention to the riders on the field, who were all being handed their mallets by their trainer.

“It’s just an act, you know that right?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at Tom.

“Did you know about his party on Saturday?” Tom continued, choosing to completely ignore what his brother had just said, he was clearly delusional. “Ren is going to it apparently.”

“Good for her,” Sam chuckled, leaning back against the fence as the game started, horses racing past them and mallets swinging. Tom had already lost sight of the ball amongst the trampling of hooves.

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, watching as Harrison sharply turned his horse around to go barrelling down towards the other end of the field. And sure, it was good for her, he was glad she was being invited to parties and having fun and had what seemed to be a great group of friends from all accounts, he just really wished it wasn’t with Harrison. He knew he sounded like an entitled child and resented that feeling inside him, but he couldn’t help being so in love with her that every time she so much as looked his way his mouth ran dry. Being seventeen and in love was hard work.

---

Even dripping in sweat Harrison Osterfield looked good, and Tom made a mental note to add that to his list of things that bothered him about the preppy polo player.

Harrison held out his muddy mallet for Tom to take as he swung down off his horse, boots hitting the slightly soggy ground with a confident thud.

“Good game, Osterfield, good game,” Remy Hii, the team captain jeered, slapping Harrison on the shoulder with a big grin.

“All down to your stellar leadership, of course,” Harrison replied, tipping his helmet like he was some sort of nineteenth century gentleman. Tom rolled his eyes as he held up a bucket of water so Skylark could get a drink.

“See you on Saturday, yeah?” Tom heard Remy say as he walked away, his own horse in tow.

“Absolutely” Harrison replied, waving his gloved hand in salute. For a second, Tom wondered what it would be like to be in Harrison’s circle of friends, to actually be privy to invites and jockular exchanges, when he felt a firm had come down on his shoulder.

“You know, Holland, Florence was saying you’re gonna be her groom for the season,” Harrison said, his voice barely over a whisper, and a shiver of dread ran down Tom’s spine at the anticipation of an upcoming threat, “and I just to make sure that you know that if anything happens to her at all, I will be blaming you, so you better do a better job at checking the leather with her than you did with me.”

Tom frowned at him, feeling like he was missing the punchline of a joke. For one, he was entirely caught off guard by Harrison’s apparent protectiveness of Ren, and secondly he had no idea what leather he meant and what could possibly be wrong with it.

Harrison didn’t wait long to illuminate him as he lifted the upper skirt of the saddle to expose the top of the stirrup strap, where the stitching keeping it all together had almost entirely come apart and the leather had worn down so much that it almost seemed like a miracle that he hadn’t entirely lost his stirrup during the two hours of training.

Tom didn’t know what to say; with the level these people were riding at, a sudden loss of stirrup at the wrong moment could be fatal, and he had no idea how he’d missed it. He looked at Harrison, eyes wide, hoping he wouldn’t say anything to anyone about it or he’d be off the roster for the next two millennia and he could wave goodbye to ever getting to hang around Ren again.  

“Now, I’m going to let this slide on the conditions that you fix this immediately,” Harrison said, voice low and holding one finger up to Tom like a stern parent, “you make sure my tack and horse are in proper riding condition from this moment forth so I never have to deal with your utter incompetence again,” he continued, holding up a second finger, “ and, that nothing even remotely like this happens to Ren or I will make your life so much worse than it already is,” he finished, holding up a rather menacing looking third finger. “Don’t test me.”

All Tom could do was nod, still totally caught off guard to Harrison’s attitude towards Ren. He’d always seemed like a slimy git and he was at least seventy five percent sure he was some kind of psychopath, but maybe Sam was right. But then again, maybe Sam was wrong and Harrison was just playing mind games with him and knew Tom’s weakness was always and forever going to be Ren, and the momentary reprieve in animosity he had felt for Harrison dissipated pretty swiftly.

“I’ll take Skylark in for you then,” Tom finally said after enough tense seconds had passed between them, taking the reins and making a move back towards the stables.

“Absolutely not,” Harrison hissed, snatching the reins right back, “I’ll leave the saddle on the bench in the tack room for you to fix, and mark my words: I’ll be checking every last stitch before I get on next time and if even one thing is out of place I will be informing your father of your sheer incompetence.

Tom watched as Harrison led Skylark away, the half empty water bucket still dangling from his fingertips, totally ignoring the other team members that were still bustling around that might be in need of some assistance.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked, sidling up next to him with a dirty towel used for rubbing down the sweaty horses flung over his shoulder.

Tom pursed his lips and glanced over at his brother, “So, I almost killed Harrison Osterfield and then he threatened me.”

“Fair,” Harry shrugged casually, “but better luck next time.”

---

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added!)

@crownedbyluke @24kcalum @vnv21

[hazkiwislutt]

{prologue: chasing love series}

{ hi friends, it’s athena and this is the prologue to a series i’m writing. basically, it has a famous female character who is younger than Harry, but it’s set a few years in the future, like... Harry is going to be 29 and the mc is going to be 21 when they first meet (pls don’t shoot me) so that it fits in with some of the plot. i hope you like it, because if i do it right, this story is supposed to pull on all sorts of heartstrings and throw a bunch of curveballs at you! }

She was only twenty-one when they’d first met, old enough so that he didn’t feel bad taking a liking to her, but young enough that people would talk and make him feel bad about taking a liking to her. He’d met her at a party that Niall had thrown, and he hadn’t wanted to go, but he was a people-pleaser, and so that’s where he’d found himself that one Saturday night after he’d gotten off the plane from Japan. He’d arrived, and Niall had instantly whisked him away to the kitchen because he was just “dying fo’ yeh t’meet someone tha’ yeh’d like.” 

Niall had nudged the kitchen door open, and to Harry’s surprise, she was standing over the sink, back facing toward him and Niall, chugging a bottle of Belvedere as if it were ice water at three in the morning on a Wednesday night after a really intense sleep. She finished it cleanly, not stopping even once as she demolished the bottle, and Harry grimaced, wondering how long it would be until the alcohol hit her like a freight train.

She was wearing a pair of CareBear pajama pants that flopped over her bare feat and a faded university sweatshirt that had an insane amount of holes littered across its expansion.  

“I asked you to bring something stronger, not someone. I’ve gotta be absolutely blackout drunk if I’m gonna get through tonight, Niall.” She hadn’t turned around, and the sound of her voice acknowledging their presences startled Harry. 

“Yeh not actually hung up on this bloke, are yeh? Yeh don’ need him!” Niall’s eyes widened and he lunged forward to seize her shoulders, spinning her to face him, to which she reacted with a bored shrug. 

As he gazed at her side profile, Harry realized he knew this girl. She was relatively new on the music scene, but one big hit a year ago skyrocketed her to fame. Harry could admit he’d watched her in multiple interviews (and was also able to admit that she seemed intelligent, funny, and terribly captivating) and listened to a few of her songs (which were all crafted beautifully, and he even kept two of them on his shower playlist). He’d learned she was studying at a university when she’d released her song, and that her favorite juice was cranberry, and that she loved reptiles more than animals with fur, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember her name.  

“I don’t know, Ni. It’s not like I want to be hung up on him, anyway, but the heart does weird shit. Anyways, what’s a girl gotta do to get some stronger liquor from her incredibly dashing Irish friend?” She put up her hands in a duo of finger guns, shaking them at Niall and grinning madly. Her smile was pretty, Harry decided. 

“Hate t’be tha’ guy, but yeh not gettin’ anything from me. Yeh had enough to knock yeh into next week. Enough of tha’ now, this is my mate.” Niall gestured to Harry, raising his eyebrow to prompt him to introduce himself. 

“M’Harry. S’nice to meet yeh.” He stepped out and outstretched his hand to shake hers, and nearly grunted in surprise as she grasped his and shook it tighter than he’d expected. 

“Y/N.” She returned simply, but warmly with a large smile. Harry didn’t miss the way she was staring at his eyes with an intensely measured gaze. He was impressed and a bit put off by her unabashed confidence in doing so, having always been the person that did the speculating when meeting someone new, and it was both interesting and refreshing to meet someone that delivered the same energy. 

“M’gonna go check on the other guests, but yeh better swear t’me tha’ yeh not gonna leave or do anythin’ stupid,” Niall scolded her with a stern eye, “an’ I mean really, Y/N. Seriously. Wanted Harry t’meet yeh ‘cause I remember yeh said yeh like him, an’ maybe it’d do yeh good t’make new friends.” He slipped out of the kitchen once more, leaving Harry alone with this new girl and her CareBear pajamas. 

“I’d say yeh’ve got a nice grip, but s’a hell of a lot more than tha’, innit? Felt like Donald Trump himself was trying t’rip my arm off.” Harry grinned as he heard her erupt in loud giggles as she hopped up onto the counter alongside the bottle that had long been empty, swinging her feet gently against the cabinets beneath her. He decided her laugh was pretty, too, and it was one of the nicest laughs he’d ever heard in his life, and that he’d love to make her laugh all the time if that was his reward.

“That was a good one,” she hummed thoughtfully, “Sorry, though, if I actually hurt your hand. I was thinking really hard, like, should I gently shake your hand or what? ‘Cause you seem like a firm grip with a gentle twist kind of guy, and my brain couldn’t decide, so I just squeezed.” 

“S’just a handshake, not a blood oath, love.” Harry smirked and she released another round of soft giggles before she quieted down completely. Before Harry could panic about an awkward lull in conversation and scramble for a topic of discussion, she reached out for his shoulder and grasped it.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m about to be really fucking buzzed soon. I probably looked insane downing that entire bottle, so I’m apologizing now for the things I’ll inevitably do or say.” She shrugged at him sheepishly before pulling her hand away and returning her focus to her legs that were still swinging. She looked small, swaddled in her ratty sweatshirt and feet dangling so high off the ground from where she sat, and Harry was overcome and overwhelmed by a feeling of endearment as he stared at her. 

“S’alright, ‘ve been there quite a few times. F’yeh want, we could talk about it.” He genuinely meant it. There was never a time where Harry didn’t want to not help, but he especially wanted to help her get her mind off things with conversation, which seemed to be a better alternative than consuming anymore alcohol. She was young, younger than him certainly, but not childish, and he was consumed by an odd wave of protectiveness as he watched her. 

“Maybe later I’ll give you the whole run down.” She stopped, and a beat of silence passed before she continued, “I really like your music, by the way. I’ve been a fan since like... way before all this happened to me, and you helped me through a lot. I swear, I was like the biggest Directioner. I’ve still got your posters up in my room back home. Sorry if that’s weird to say, but I mean, it’s kinda cool to be sitting in front of you after staring at you on paper for so long. That sounds fuckin’ creepy, too. Christ, I’m sorry, I’m really not helping my case, am I?” 

Harry laughed as she talked, listening to her switch inflections at the beginning of nearly every sentence, as if she were talking to someone new every time. He was gratified and extremely moved by the reverential tone she used as she thanked him, never experiencing someone so in awe and grateful in his life for things he hadn’t directly done. 

“S’not creepy. I performed with Stevie Nicks, an’ I nearly pissed m’pants, so I get it. M’also a fan of yeh’re music, ‘ve even got two of yeh songs on m’shower playlist.” Harry watched as she blinked in surprise (very cutely, he might add) and bashfully smiled at her lap. 

“Thank you, really, that means a lot to me. It was all so surreal... You know, I was going to be a journalist before all of this happened. I was double-majoring, but I’d always wanted to do music. In college, I was in such a bad place, and then, I released the song, got snatched up by a producer, and now here I am, talking to Harry Styles.” She scooted higher up onto the counter and dropped her head back against the wall, closing her eyes, as if reliving everything she’d just divulged. 

“I know how tha’ feels, too. S’the craziest thing, waking up, an’ realizing yeh life will never be the same again.” Harry leaned against the side of the counter, finding himself sucked into a whirlwind of memories as he fondly remembered his rise to fame. It was silent, save for the obvious noises of the party floating through the rest of the house, but it was comfortable, as if they’d both understood they needed that moment. 

“Harry,” she’d said suddenly, sitting up quickly and fumbling to grab his shoulder, eyes a bit hazy and unfocused. He’d grasped her hand where it lay on him, and squeezed it reassuringly, giving her a small smile. 

“Want to hear about my troubles before I throw them up in this sink?” He laughed once more at her bluntness, and nodded encouragingly. 

“G’on then, love. Let’s hear it.” 

He’d barely finished his sentence before she was off and running, words slurred together and hand warm on his shoulder, telling the story of a “stupid boy with ratty hair, but damn it it was so nice to yank on”, who she’d had a fling with in her senior year of high school that moved away to “some random ass country, think it was fuckin’ Australia” and did a bunch of god-awful things that pulled her heartstrings all the wrong ways, and suddenly happened to swing back into her life, demanding that they pick up where they’d left off and talk about the semantics of their relationship, just as she’d finally “gotten my balls in order and wanted to move on, the asshole.” Tonight, he gave her the option of meeting him over dinner, or “’saying goodbye to us forever’, like, come on, who even says that?”. She’d declined, and this is where Harry had arrived to watch her resort to chugging Belvedere. 

By the time she’d finished, her voice was quiet and tinged with a bit of frustration. Harry was sure he’d felt these things before, and he dare he admit it, he probably inflicted these feelings before. 

“I’m so tired of being sad. It’s exhausting. I just want to be able to be happy, by myself again, so that maybe I can share that happiness with someone else in the future.” Her voice was low, and her eyes were drooping with the weight of her dilemma, and the burden of the alcohol that was no doubt running through her veins at this point. 

She looked exhausted, not in a bad way, but in a way that showed the internal battle she’d been fighting in her heart. Harry felt bad, even a bit sad, that someone like her should have to endure someone else’s faults. She was a beautiful girl, with wit that was more surprising than shocking, and an air around her that drew him in. 

“S’not worth it, yeh know,” Harry rushed the words out before he could stop them, “an’ he didn’t deserve to have someone like yeh care about him. Niall’s right, an’ I know I jus’ met yeh, but I think yeh’re just lovely, an’ things will work out for yeh eventually. Swear on it.”

She’d looked at him with large eyes that held a mixture of inebriation and sadness, but above all, gratitude as she soaked in his words. Harry opened his arms a bit, as if tentatively asking if she’d like to be enveloped in them, and Y/N didn’t need any other invitation. She scooted to the end of the counter and burrowed into Harry’s chest, legs on either side of his hips and arms wrapped around him tightly. Harry’s throat constricted weirdly as if her touch had awoken something within him (but for now, he'd simply say that he felt pity and understanding). 

“I’m just so tired of chasing love, you know?” Her voice was muffled from where her face was pressed against his chest. 

“Suppose tha’ this has got t’be the cheesiest thing ever, but maybe one day, it’ll be worth all of the chasing, right?” Harry fought the urge to stroke her hair down and caress the sides of her face as he breathed her in. The air suddenly felt thin and his heart began to beat wildly, the close proximity working against him, but if she’d noticed, she didn’t show it. 

“I hope you’re right.” 

[tessatechaitea]

Teen Titans Spotlight #5: Jericho

Princess of Gemworld

How will he not know when he finds his fingers have been Crazy Glued to his cock?

With Jericho's powers, I don't know why he needs Garfield's fingerprints. Why not just possess Steve Dayton himself, knock him out so he can't scream for help, and just walk in to grab the promethium? Or hire his dad to get the shit! He could probably guilt Deathstork into doing loads of illegal stuff for him.

Why would Steve Dayton allow Garfield Logan access to his promethium?! Yeah, I fucking know Logan's his son. It still doesn't fucking make sense!

Jericho takes the promethium back to Arthur Lord so he can trade it to the Quraci government and save his daughter's life. But it's only after Lord leaves Addie's place with the promethium that she says to Jericho, "I think we just got scammed!"

Jericho responds, "I think you're a loser."

Sure enough, Penny and Arthur were just using Joey and his mom to get their hands on the most destructive non-Lobo thing in the DC Universe. Penny is all, "That dupe actually thought I loved him! But we didn't even fuck! I just held a tin of microwaved potato salad between my legs and let him fuck that." That's what sex feels like, right? Fucking warm potato salad? I mean, I totally know that's what it's like. I hope! I mean, I don't hope it feels like that in that I love the feeling of fucking warm potato salad! I hope that's what it feels like so people who have fucked don't think I haven't fucked because I described it poorly. We all have different experiences anyway! You can't invalidate my description of what it felt like when I totally had sex all those times! Joseph, being the biggest dupe of them all, didn't replace the promethium tablets with Sugar Mamas like I would have expected him to do. So now he and his mother have to break into Arthur Lord's secret laboratory and resteal the promethium tablets! If only they had consulted Nightwing, they could have been done with this adventure already. He would have been all, "Man, Joey, you smell like potato salad ! Did you fall for the fake lover with the potato salad between her legs trick? You better not trust her, buddy!" Oh, I was wrong! They don't break into Lord's place at all! They think their smartest move is to break into Qurac and kidnap Curt, Penny's husband! I guess they can use him as leverage. Although couldn't Joey have lifted Penny's fingerprints off of his prostate to gain access to the secret lab? If Joey had the ability to sneak into Qurac to rescue Penny without risking the entire world by giving Qurac promethium, why the fuck wasn't that the plan from the beginning?! I'm starting to sense that maybe Marv Wolfman was on Quaaludes when he wrote this script.

That would be Joey's crotch.

There's an advert for NBC's Saturday morning line-up in this issue and it just makes me wonder: if modern conservatives are so pissed off about everything in our culture that they see as emasculating the kind of man they think every guy should be, where the fuck were they in 1986 while I was watching Kissyfur, The Gummi Bears, Smurfs, Punky Brewster, Alvin and the Chipmunks, Foofur, and Kidd Video?! The most manly cartoon in that list is Alvin and the Chipmunks and they wore dresses! Stop doing the math and trying to point out that I was fourteen or fifteen in 1986! Gummi Bears had one of the best cartoon theme songs (right after Ducktales)! I'm going to go listen to it right now! Joey and Adeline take Curt to Tokyo where they finally begin interrogating him. Even though he spent multiple days being tortured by the Quraci government, he wouldn't tell them a thing. He spends two minutes alone with Adeline and Joseph and he begins spilling the beans. The only threat they used was that Joey was going to put himself inside hi...oh. I see what he's afraid of! Dude, it's nothing to be frightened of! Just relax, man! Joseph's a sensitive poet. He'll definitely provide a reach-around. Joseph infiltrates Lord's secret base and discovers he's resurrecting H.I.V.E. (which stands for Hierarchy of International Vengeance and Extermination which is fucking stupid. Just spitballing for a few seconds and I already came up with a better one: Higher Institute of Violent Extremism!). Joseph's movements are described as catlike which is why he's noticed freaking the fuck out, bouncing off walls, and yowling at the top of his voice. Arthur Lord, leader of an organization full of soldiers who are only in the organization because they killed a bunch of other master fighters, decides to fight Joseph himself. His mighty warriors (the best of the best!) just stand around in robes watching.

What good is your invaluable edge if you're not going to use it?! Kill the little creep, you idiot!

Arthur Lord tackles Joseph straight through a wall where they both disappear from view. Then he emerges and he's all, "He's dead! And since Joseph can't control the host's talking, I must be myself and telling the truth! Ha ha ha!" But I know better! Remember how I already saw there's another issue in this stupid story arc? Joseph is totally still alive! And probably possessing Arthur! And probably able to speak because Arthur was knocked unconscious! Pshaw! Marv Wolfman, you need better twists! Arthur and H.I.V.E. take off from their secret base to go take over the world. And they won't need the base anymore for some reason, so they just blow up the island on the way out. Ugh, he's the worst kind of tenant. Teen Titans Spotlight #5: Jericho Rating: B-. So much betrayal! So many twists and turns! Not much fucking though. Which makes it a mediocre Teen Titans story. And yes, the B- factors in the fact that this whole conflict is, once again, somehow driven by family.