#70 follower ask event

[scuderiahoney]

Pick You Up

Max Verstappen x reader

Masterlist

Summary: when Max has one too many gin & tonics, you’re the one who picks (him) up, every time he calls. Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol, intoxication, maybe an unhealthy relationship with alcohol??, mentions of Max’s shitty childhood, incorrect taylor swift lyrics

It’s 1am, and your phone is buzzing on the nightstand. You groan and shove your face into the pillow. You were having such a nice dream. Something about an island and a very attractive man. You let the phone ring until it stops, and then you hold your breath. Maybe it was a butt dial. Maybe it’s not what you think.

The buzzing starts again, and you blindly slam your hand onto the nightstand, grabbing for it. You swipe to answer without even looking at the contact. You already know who it is. Or at the very least, who they’re calling you about. It’s never anyone else.

“Max needs a ride,” a friend of his says.

You’re already rolling out of bed. “Yeah. Where?”

You could complain, you suppose, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket. You could ask them to find literally anyone else, or beg them to have a designated driver for once, but instead you just slip your shoes on. You rub the sleep from your eyes and grab a Red Bull on the way out the door. Someone sends you an address from a number you don’t even have saved in your phone. Worry claws at your chest.

The truth is, you’ll never complain about Max calling you in the middle of the night, because if he stopped calling you’d worry about who he was relying on. Max is… popular. He’s got a lot of people trying to ride his coattails. He gets invited to events and people buy him drinks and offer him things and then it’s 1am and he’s too drunk to get home on his own. And then he calls you. Or, more often, someone calls you for him.

You pull up in front of the club, and Max is already outside, stumbling on clumsy feet. He lurches towards your car when he sees it, which is a relief, because you hadn’t exactly wanted to get out of the car. You find yourself resenting whoever he was out with for leaving him all alone, but he opens the door and climbs in and you plaster a smile onto your face.

“Hi, schatje,” he slurs, and you muffle a laugh into your shoulder.

“Hi, Maxie,” you say.

This is the only time he calls you things like that. It’s also the only time you can call him Maxie without earning yourself a warning glare, or worse, an elbow to the rib cage. You’ve known him for years, and yet it’s only when he’s wasted that he doesn’t mind the nickname.

“Seatbelt,” you remind him.

He nods and tugs at the belt. You end up having to help him buckle- that happens about 70% of the time. His fingers fumble with the latch as you do so, and he lets out a little huff when you brush his hand away. Once he’s all set, you pat his shoulder lightly and lean back into your seat.

“I’m drunk,” he warns you.

“I know,” you answer.

“So no crazy driving. I don’t want to be sick in your very nice car.”

You laugh and cock your head at him. “This morning you called this car a shitbox.”

He nods. “It is. But it is your shitbox.”

You laugh again, putting the car into drive. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

He rambles the whole drive to his apartment, about all the people he was out with tonight and what they did and who they did. Drunk Max is a bit of a gossip, and his gossiping to you won’t get him in trouble, so he takes full advantage of it. You listen eagerly the entire time, though you keep your eyes focused on the road. He’s not the most drunk you’ve ever seen him, still too drunk to be in a cab or an Uber by himself but coherent enough that the journey up to his apartment shouldn’t be too difficult. You park your car in his parking lot and climb out.

Max is halfway out of his seat when you come around to meet him. You take his hand and help him the rest of the way up. He stumbles a bit, laughing as you catch him. Then he throws his arm around your shoulder and follows you to the elevator.

His head bumps into yours in the process. You lean into the weight of him, the two of you standing like a badly built lean to. If one of you topples, the other will too. You try not to think about that too much.

You stay the night, the way you always do when this happens. Because the only thing a hungover Max hates more than the sunlight is waking up to an empty apartment. You’ll be there in the morning to take care of him. He’ll promise he won’t do it again.

By this time next week, he’ll be out at a club, and you’ll have the volume on your phone turned up.

…..

The next time someone calls you on Max’s behalf, it’s someone you actually know. It’s 2am this time, and your eyes are closed. You’re drifting in that space between consciousness and dreams. Your ringtone almost becomes a part of a half dream before you realize what it is. You turn the phone over. NoRizzz, it reads. You think Max added the contact for you.

You answer. “Hi, Lando. S’it Max?” You ask.

“I swear to god I lost track of him for one second-“ Lando rushes out.

You pause halfway out of bed, feeling a jolt of worry at the frantic tone in his voice. “Lando?”

“He’s gone, he-“ He sounds panicked. “I turned around and he’s-“

“Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him-“ Lando scoffs. “Look, I wouldn’t be so worried if I hadn’t already been thinking about having you pick him up-“

“Hey, hey, slow down,” you say, though your heart is racing as you head for the door. “Where are you? How long has it been since you lost him?”

“We’re at Jimmyz, it’s been a half hour,” Lando admits. “I didn’t want to bother you, but-“

A half hour is a long time for Max. He could be anywhere in the city right now. He could’ve walked, or taken a cab, or… anything. Sober Max is great at self preservation. Drunk Max is easily persuaded. You’ve used it to your advantage more than you’d like to admit. Not in any bad way, just- Max, sing karaoke with me! Max, come dance with me! Max, we should order pizza!

You head for the front door. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll come meet you, and then-“

You swing the door open and nearly scream when something heavy tumbles into your apartment. Someone, actually, upon further inspection. It’s Max, lit only by the dim hallway light and a beam from the kitchen light that you always leave on. He’s blinking up at you from the floor, a soft smile on his face. He has his arms wrapped around himself, like he’s cold. His skin is damp with sweat.

“Never mind, I found him,” you say into the phone.

“What? How?” Lando asks, bewildered.

“He was sitting in front of my door,” you answer as you crouch down. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, and Max smiles. “Must’ve taken a cab or something.”

“I walked,” Max admits.

That explains the sweat. That also tells you that Lando has lied to you- Max has been gone much longer than a half hour if he’s made his way here on foot. You choose not to call the other driver out on it, though. You want them to call you about things like this. If you chew him out, Lando will be less likely to do so.

“So he’s okay?” Lando asks.

“He’s fine,” you assure him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up and then start working on getting Max all the way into the apartment. He’s not much help. You manage to get his legs inside and then you close the door behind him. You’ll work on getting him out of the hallway next. For now, you sit down on the floor next to him.

“You walked here?” You ask.

He nods. “Missed you.”

You snort out a laugh. “You could’ve called me, I would’ve picked you up.”

He shrugs and shuts his eyes. “Didn’t want to bug you.”

“So you camped out in front of my door,” you say.

“Yes. But then you didn’t have to come pick me up.”

“I’ll always pick you up,” you say, brushing your thumb against his temple. “That’s what friends do.”

When he opens his eyes, they’re glassy. Your breath hitches. Max doesn’t get teary often, doesn’t get emotional often. Something aches in your chest. You rub your thumb over his cheekbone. He blinks once, twice, lashes tangled together.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He sounds so small when he says it. “Just. Thanks.”

There are these small moments, when Max shows a vulnerable side. These are the moments you think of when people spread vitriol towards him on the internet and ask how you could possibly be friends with him. They make you love him even more, and they make you resent the adults who were around him when he was growing up.

You’ve seen pictures of little Max, shown to you with funny anecdotes and teasing smiles. But when you look at them, and when you see him like this, you can’t find any of it funny. All you can think of is the other stories you’ve heard about his childhood. All you can wonder is how someone could’ve done those things to him. And then you wonder how despite it all, he ended up with such a kind soul.

Max is the one who brings you soup when you’re sick. He brings you trinkets from every country he goes to- the magnets fill the door of your fridge. Max sends you pictures of dogs he meets on the street even though he’s a cat person. He flies you out to races when you’ve had a bad week and buys you good pasta and better tequila. Max has a heart the size of a whole continent. People keep trying to chip away at it. You hate them for it.

So you take a moment to brush the tears from his cheeks. You don’t ask him why he’s crying, or tell him it’ll be okay. You just sit there on the floor with him in your hallway and wait for him to be ready.

Eventually, you get him up off the floor and drag him into your bedroom. It’ll be better for everyone involved if he gets a good night’s sleep in a real bed. You try to leave the room, but he grabs onto your wrist.

“Stay?” He asks, eyelids barely open.

You hum and brush the hair from his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“M’sure,” he says. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

You nod in understanding. You don’t even bother pointing out that he’s on your side of the bed. He’s too far gone to get him to roll over. You just climb over him and pull the blankets back and then tuck yourself in. You keep a respectable distance from him.

You know in the morning you’ll wake up to his arm around your middle and his face buried in your neck. You know because it happens every time you share a bed. Max will act like there’s nothing weird about it, will thank you for taking care of him, and be on his way before lunchtime.

You’ll crawl back into bed and curl up on your side, unsure of if you love or hate the fact that the sheets still smell like him.

…..

Charles calls you from Qatar.

You answer. “Charles, I cannot pick him up. I’m in another country.”

“Yes, I’ve told him that about a billion times,” Charles says. “He is very stubborn, you know.”

Something dawns on you as you sit up against your headboard. For some reason, you’ve always assumed that other people are the ones choosing to call you. That even when it’s someone who doesn’t know you, they’re getting your information from the emergency contact info in his phone. But this… Charles seems to be suggesting that Max has asked him to call you.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Charles laughs. “He’s fine. He is a world champion, again. You know.”

You do know. You called and congratulated him right after the race. You can still hear the shake in his voice, the yelling of his team behind him. It’d made your heart ache, made you sad you weren’t there with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “You both still have to drive tomorrow, you know.”

“I do know, which is why I’m hoping you can help me,” Charles says. “We’re in his hotel room. His phone is dead, I guess? He came to use mine, so I brought him back here. He’s lost his charger.”

“There’s a spare one in his backpack,” you tell Charles. “In the small pocket.”

You hear the zipper and Charles’ amused laugh. “Did you pack his bag for him?”

“I helped,” you admit. “Let me talk to him and I’ll see if I can talk him down?”

Charles makes a noise of agreement. There’s rustling, then a thud. More rustling. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Then, Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Max,” you answer. “I thought you were going to take it easy tonight.”

“I am a world champion,” he says, so matter of fact.

In the background, you hear Charles groan.

“Yes, a world champion who still has to do a race tomorrow,” you remind him.

“I know. Can’t believe I got it in the sprint. A sprint I didn’t even win,” he says, laughing lightly. “Let the rookie win the race tomorrow. I’m the champion.”

“I’m going to throttle him,” Charles says, loud enough or close enough for you to hear. “I think in turn one I will run him into the wall.”

“Tell Charles if he hurts one hair on your head I’ll fly to Qatar and throttle him myself,” you tell Max.

Max relays the message. Charles is quiet after that.

“Doesn’t matter how you won it, yeah?” You remind Max. “You still worked just as hard to get there.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say with a laugh. “Charles has plugged your phone in. Make sure you turn it on and then go to sleep.”

You call his hotel and have electrolyte drinks and breakfast sent up the next morning, along with a bottle of painkillers. He texts you a photo of all of it along with a thank you message. When he wins the race, even hungover, you’re not the least bit surprised.

…..

When Max calls you at 11:00 pm, your first thought is huh. That’s early. You answer on the third ring, already looking for your keys. You wonder who it’ll be this time. A friend you know, or an unknown voice of someone he’s only met tonight.

“Schatje?” Max asks through the speaker.

You nearly drop the phone. “Max?”

“What, you don’t have my number saved?” He asks.

“No, of course I do, s’just- not usually you who ends up calling me, even from your phone.”

You think you hear him sniffle. Something twists in your chest. Before you can scramble to apologize, he’s speaking.

“Yeah. Um.” He sighs. “Huh.”

You can hear it in his voice, in the way the words seem to stick in his throat. Something’s wrong. You climb off the couch, headed for the door. “Tell me where you are, Max.”

He sniffs. “No, it’s uh- I don’t know why I called-“

“Max,” you repeat as you shut the front door behind you. “Where are you?”

He gives in and tells you he’s at some hotel bar. You recognize it and head down the stairs. You keep him on the line even as you start the car, as you pull out onto the road. He’s mumbling something about how he’ll be fine, about how you don’t have to come get him. Both of you know you’re already on the way.

You have to go in this time. For a moment you think about asking who else he’s with, and hanging up and calling them. But you don’t want to lose contact, so you park the car and head inside. You’re in a hoodie and sweatpants, a pair of slippers on your feet. Nobody bats an eye.

You find him in a back hallway, squeezed into a corner. Your heart crumples at the sight of him. You’re sure your face does too. He’s teary and curled in on himself. He looks so small. You love him, you worry for him, you hate this version of him. Not that you could ever really hate him. It’s just that he looks so vulnerable, so unlike himself.

As much as you want to get him out of there, as much as it would probably be the right move, you sit down next to him instead. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him into your side until his head is against yours. You don’t ask him what’s wrong. He’ll tell you eventually. It might take a while- sometimes a few days. You always give him time. For now, you just sit in the hallway with him. You meet him where he’s at.

He tells you later that he suddenly found himself alone in the bar. After days straight of only being alone when he went to sleep, person after person wanting to celebrate his championship, he’d been alone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d felt like he was suffocating until that moment.

“I was one of the people celebrating,” you remind him as he clings to you.

“But you aren’t suffocating me,” he says. “You’re like… clean air.”

He sleeps in your bed that night. You sleep next to him, not even bothering to argue about it. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breaths and the weight of his hand on your back.

When you wake up in the morning, he pretends he’s fine. You let him.

…..

Drunk Max is an overly honest Max. He’ll tell you anything and everything. So when you’re walking him home one night, his arm over your shoulder, gin on his breath, you’re expecting to learn some things. What you weren’t expecting, however, is for him to lean close, his lips against your ear, and tell you he loves you.

The odd thing is the way he says it. He leans close and tells you he loves you like he’s talking to someone else. He says “hey, you know-“ then he says your name- and then he says, “you know I love her?”

You shove at his side. “Yeah, I love you too, you dummy.”

He shakes his head, bumping his forehead against your temple. “No, I love her.”

Your heart stops at the way he says it. At the meaning he’s insinuating. Your feet fumble under you, but you manage to keep both of you upright.

“Max,” you say in a warning tone. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Drunk in love. Love drunk? Like that song she likes- got love drunk-“

He doesn’t realize he’s talking to you. He likely won’t remember this. You cut him off before he breaks into slightly incorrect Taylor Swift lyrics on the sidewalk. “That’s nice, Max. Why don’t you tell her?”

He shrugs. “Can’t.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you miss your chance to prod him about it when he trips over a bump in the sidewalk and nearly sends you both flying. After that, you keep your focus on getting him up to his apartment safely. You shove him into the bathroom in his apartment and tell him to brush his teeth. Then you stand in the hallway and press your hands over your face.

Can’t. Why not? Does he mean it? Did he say the wrong name? He won’t remember it tomorrow, you know that. Do you bring it up? Maybe you should just forget about it. He obviously doesn’t want you to know. And even if it is true, and he does have feelings for you, it would never work.

He stumbles out of the bathroom and presses a messy, toothpaste-y kiss to your forehead. That leaves your brain spinning even worse than it was before. You follow him to the bedroom and tuck him in. The cats glare at you as you disturb the blankets.

“You’ll stay, right?” He asks, tugging on your arm. He seems to know who you are now. “Please?”

You sigh and agree, climbing into bed next to him. He sighs happily and rolls towards you. He slings an arm around your waist, and you hold your breath when he presses his cheek to your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he says, already half asleep.

“Goodnight,” you echo.

You lay awake and stare at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying not to listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Trying not to think about him admitting that he loves you. Trying not to think about him calling himself love drunk. Trying not to think about him at all, which is difficult with him right there.

You wonder if he really meant it. You want him to mean it, you realize. You tilt your head to look at him- you can only see the top of his head and the slow rise and fall of his chest. God, you want him to mean it. There’s no way he does, but you want it so badly your whole body aches with it.

Sassy walks up to the head of the bed and curls up right next to you. You run your fingers over her fur. Finally, then, you’re able to fall asleep.

…..

It’s not often that Max is the one to pick you up from a bar. It’s every once in a blue moon. You’re much more responsible, you plan ahead. You have a ride home, or you don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk, or you plan to stay with a friend who lives closer to wherever you’re going.

It’s not often, but it does happen. Which is how you find yourself in the bar bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, praying he picks up. There’s a good chance he won’t. He’s definitely not sitting around, waiting for you to call like you always are when he goes out. If he doesn’t pick up you’ll have to call someone else, but you won’t even know where to begin.

It’s only when you hear his voice that you realize you’re not sure he’s even in Monaco.

“Hello?” He says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just- what country are you in?”

“What?” He asks. You can hear rustling in the background. “Is this some sort of code? Is someone-“

“No, Maxie, I’m fine,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Monaco,” he answers, still sounding unsure. “At home. Where are you?”

“Monaco. A bar bathroom,” you answer. “Any chance you’d come pick me up? My designated driver met a guy.”

“Not a very good designated driver,” he says with a scoff.

“Says the guy who never has one,” you retort.

Max laughs and doesn’t argue. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

Max gets there far too quickly to have been driving at a reasonable speed. He insists that you wait inside rather than meeting him out on the sidewalk, and says he’ll call you when he gets there. The phone rings, so you step outside. You’re thankful once again for his collection of cars and his tinted windows- nobody seems to have realized it’s him. He leans over and opens the door for you, and you climb inside. He already has the heated seat on for you, and he hands you a bottle of water after you sit down.

“Drink,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.

You roll your eyes but do as he says anyways. The city is a blur of lights outside your window, though you know Max isn’t speeding. He always drives carefully with you in the car, no matter how many times you beg him to go fast. You sink lower in the leather seat.

His eyes flicker over to you. “Did you have a good time?”

You shrug. “Yeah, till all my friends ditched me,” you say. “They found guys to hook up with.”

You see Max frown out of the corner of your eye. “And you didn’t? The men in this club must be blind.”

You pick at the hem of your dress. “Maybe I didn’t want to hook up with anyone. Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” He asks.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road. You turn your head to look at him. You’re at a stoplight, and it paints his face red. You study the slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw. You, you want to say. I’m looking for you. You think of him the last time you picked him up, how he said he loved you. Called himself love drunk. And then you think of when you asked him why he hadn’t told you. Can’t.

So instead, you shrug. Max turns and looks at you, then shrugs in response. You pout, knowing he’s mocking you. His eyes trace over your face, then over the rest of you. You wonder if he’s relying on how drunk you are to make you forget this- hoping you won’t realize or remember him checking you out. He reaches into the backseat and comes back with a large dark hoodie.

“Here,” he says. “You must be cold.”

The light turns green when the sweatshirt is half over your head- you only know because you feel the vehicle lurch into motion. You squeak, and Max laughs and lays a hand on your leg to steady you. His palm is warm against your bare skin.

When you pop your head back out and shove your arms through the sleeves, you expect him to let go. He doesn’t. His hand stays there, a steady presence, the whole ride to his place.

He hasn’t even asked if you want to stay at his apartment- he doesn’t need to, he already knows what your answer would be. Plus, you’re a bit too drunk to really be left on your own. He leads you up to his door, keeping his hand on your lower back to steady your wobbling steps. You’d tried to kick your heels off in the lobby, but Max had insisted you keep them on. You take them off as soon as you walk in his front door, though, sighing in relief. You stumble over to the couch as he sheds his shoes and jacket. By the time he walks into the living room, you’re curled up in the corner, already under a blanket, face pressed against one of his throw pillows. Max clicks his tongue.

“Come on. Up,” he says, tugging at your shoulder. “You should change your clothes and eat something.”

You groan and reach out to wrap your arm around his neck. “I’m comfy. Come cuddle. Comfy.”

He sighs. “We can cuddle. If you change your clothes and eat something.”

The offer leaves you a bit dumbfounded, because Max isn’t much of a cuddler. It’s pretty likely that he’s lying just to appease you, to get you to follow his instructions. So you continue to lay there, trying to pull him in. When you don’t budge, Max huffs, plants his hands on the couch behind you, and straightens up. He does it before you can loosen your grip, so you go with him almost accidentally. He pulls you off the couch and grabs your hips, helping you to stand up.

“There,” he says, as you sigh and lean heavily on him. “Step one. Clothes.”

He leads you to his room, where you eagerly take the opportunity to sit down on his bed. He turns and begins digging through his drawers. You flop back onto the bed. One of the cats paws at your ankles- you don’t bother looking to see which one. Max throws clothing onto your stomach.

“I’ll go make you food,” he says.

It takes you far too long to find the motivation to shed the hoodie and dress and trade them out for whatever clothes Max has left for you. Eventually, though, you do it. He’s given you one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that are definitely yours, likely left behind whenever you stayed over last. You pull the hoodie back over your head and leave the dress on the floor. It’s only when you remember that Max is awful at cooking that you scramble towards the kitchen.

He’s putting perfectly cooked ramen into bowls. Frankly, it’s hard to mess up ramen, but you’re relieved either way. He smiles at the sight of you, and you think about telling him all over again. The last time you were drunk, you said you loved me. I love you too. We should talk about that. Can’t. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting down at the counter.

You never do get the cuddle he promised. You fall asleep there, forehead pressed to the granite, and Max carries you to the guest room and tucks you in. You swear you feel his lips against your forehead as you fall asleep. But that’s probably just a dream.

…..

By the time you’re in Vegas for the Grand Prix, you haven’t been drunk with Max in months. It’s been one or the other, not both. But since you’re there, Max drags you along to every event he gets invited to. You’re two drinks deep by the time Max makes it to the afterparty. He catches up quickly.

You sneak a sip of his gin and tonic and recoil at the taste. He gives you a blank stare in return.

“You’ve never liked it,” he says. “I don’t know why you keep trying.”

You shrug. “Exposure therapy. And my drink’s empty.”

He gives you a look that’s a mixture of what you think is exasperation and fondness. It’s his signature look when he’s dealing with you on nights out.

“We can fix that,” he says, as he reaches for your hand.

He leads you up to the bar, fingers knit with yours. He doesn’t let go like he normally would. It’s not uncommon for him to hold onto you in a crowd, especially when you’re drunk, but this is different. He leans over the bar and gives your order to the bartender, who nods and moves to make the drink. Max keeps his hand in yours. He finally lets go when you get your drinks, and you take a sip while you look up at him.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, blue eyes wide, and you’re trying desperately to read his mind. You want him to let you in so badly.

You end up at a table with him and his driver friends, squished in the booth between Max and Charles. You sip your drink and listen to them talk about race strategy and tires and Vegas in general. Max downs his drink, and someone brings him another. You do the same, and he gets them to bring you one too. And the cycle continues.

This means that by the time he turns to you and says, “we should leave now,” you’re pleasantly drunk, and you’d probably do anything he asked, really.

He slips out of the booth and pulls you along with him, ignoring the people who call his name. He has both of your jackets in his arm as he weaves through the crowds, holding onto your hand. It’s nice, to be here with him, to be a part of it instead of sitting and waiting for a phone call to come pick him up.

As the two of you stumble out onto the sidewalk, you tug on the back of his shirt. “Hey. Who are we going to call to come take care of us? We’re both drunk.”

Max turns and laughs, and then he’s quick to steady you when you stumble on the pavement. “We will take care of each other.”

You nod clumsily, leaning into the feeling of his hands on your hips. “Okay. Yeah. Nice.”

Max tugs you close, tucking you under his arm as he starts to walk down the street. “Lovely.”

“Simply lovely,” you say teasingly. “Where are we going?”

“The hotel,” he says. “I am sick of people.”

You deflate a bit at that. You’re not ready to say goodnight, to say goodbye, to be alone. You want to spend more time with him- it’s why you’re here in Vegas. Max seems to sense your change in mood and squeezes your shoulder, craning his head to look down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “Do you want to stay out? We can find another club, I just thought maybe we could order room service, or pizza, and play a game or…”

He trails off as your eyes go wide, the hurt in your chest melting away. He cocks his head.

“I thought you were sick of me, too,” you say, and you bite your lower lip.

Max frowns deeply. The lights behind his head are blurry in your vision. You wonder if you’re just drunk, or if you’re tearing up. The way he swipes his thumb under your eye tells you it’s the latter.

“No,” he says, gently. “Never.”

Your lip wobbles. You shrug. Max seems to understand, and he just squeezes your shoulder again and keeps walking. You try to get your emotions in check. You have to, really, need to be normal about this. He’s just your friend. That’s all he wants to be.

“We could go do karaoke,” he suggests, pointing at a sign down the road.

He’s trying to distract you. It’s working.

You laugh and elbow him. “You’re an awful singer,” you tease.

“Am not!” He says, his tone full of mock offense. “Here, I’ll-“

You’re expecting him to break out into Viva Las Vegas, like he had at the end of the race over the radio. You’re bracing yourself for it, ready to grimace and cover your ears even though he isn’t really that bad of a singer. What he starts singing surprises you, makes you stumble a bit over your own feet.

“Welcome to New York!” He sings, and you stare at him, wide eyed. “They’ve been waiting for me- welcome-“

“Stop, stop,” you laugh, elbowing him as he attracts stares from people passing by. “We’re in Vegas, not New York! And you always get the lyrics wrong-“

“I am very good with lyrics,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not, you sang the other one wrong, too,” you tease. “You said got love drunk, it’s supposed to be got love struck. Remember, in Monaco?”

He stops in his tracks, his arm still around you, and stares. You stare right back. You frown and tilt your head at him, mirroring his earlier reaction.

“You remember that?” He asks, quietly.

“I was sober, Max,” you answer. “You remember that?”

He nods, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are wide, cheeks pink. “I wasn’t sure if it was real, or if I dreamed it. And you never said anything about what I told you, so…”

That’s when you remember the other part of that conversation, all those nights ago. I love her. Why don’t you tell her? Can’t. You swallow tightly, hands hanging at your sides.

“You didn’t seem to know you were talking to me,” you explain. “So I figured it wasn’t something you really wanted me to know.”

Max blinks, then nods. “I didn’t. Because you don’t feel the same.”

Your stomach twists violently, and your chest follows suit. “I never said that.”

His stare is so intense you feel like you’re seconds away from bursting into flame. “But if you did, you would’ve said something after that night.”

You shake your head. “I asked why you didn’t just tell me and you just said, can’t. You wouldn’t explain any further. I don’t know, Max, I just. I figured you had a reason. Like, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He asks, still staring at you.

“I’m just me, Max,” you say, pressing your hands over your face. “I’m just your friend. People get crushes all the time but it doesn’t mean you want to be with me, you’re a fucking world champion and I-“

He reaches up with both hands and grabs your wrists gently. He pulls your hands from your face. There’s a smile on his lips that leaves you teetering between relief and apprehension.

“But I didn’t say I had a crush on you,” he says, brows raised. “I said I love you.”

You sigh heavily and try to pull your hands back to your face. He doesn’t let you. You’re looking anywhere other than his eyes. Anywhere other than him, really. He lets go of your wrists and then cups your face in his hands before you can move.

“Hey,” he says. “I said can’t because I thought there was no way you’d feel the same.”

You stare at him, wide eyed, as his thumbs sweep soft circles over your cheeks. Suddenly, everything comes into focus, bright and blinding and stark. The Las Vegas strip is glowing all around you, but none of the lights are as bright as him.

“I do,” you murmur, and he lights up even brighter, somehow, when he smiles. “Fuck, Max-“

He kisses you right there, where anyone could see, in the middle of one of the busiest sidewalks you’ve ever been on. Nobody seems to notice or care, nobody seems to understand that your whole world is shifting. His lips are warm against yours, he tastes like gin, and he holds onto you like he’s trying to be so, so careful. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and thread fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He only pulls away when someone whistles at the two of you. He’s grinning wide, hands still cradling your face, and you have to fight not to pull his lips back to yours.

“Come on,” he says, slightly out of breath.

You don’t ask where you’re going. You just let him lead you away. You’re so in love with him, you think you’d probably follow him anywhere. It’s terrifying and relieving all at the same time.

…..

A week later, in Abu Dhabi, you ask him if he wants to go out after the race. There’s a billion parties he could choose from.

“No,” he says, wrinkling his nose up at the idea. “I’m good.”

You elbow him lightly, raising your brows. “All those parties you called me to pick you up from, and now I’m here and you don’t even want to go out? You don’t want to celebrate your season?”

He smirks as he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you along with him through the paddock. “I want to celebrate, but we don’t need to go out to do that. I have better ideas.”

His hand slips lower from your hip and squeezes at your ass. You yelp and look around frantically, hoping nobody noticed. He’s grinning with pride.

“Party animal Max Verstappen wants to stay in,” you tease. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, leans his head close to yours, and then admits, finally, “it was never about the parties. It was more about who was picking me up from them.”

You smile against his shoulder and try not to let it go to your head. He smiles against your forehead and tells you that he loves you for what must be the millionth time in the past week. You say it right back, drunk on the feeling of it.

a/n: thank you for readinnnnngggg!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully

[poge-life]

heyyy. can u do a drew starkey imagine where both him and the reader are members of the obx cast and they are at the pougelandia event and they are in a secret relationship but they are constantly doing cute stuff throughout the event but the reader gets a bit tipsy a bit tipsy and outs their secret by accidentally kissing him on stage and the whole crowd reacts and screams. also sorry if this really long.

Ugh, I absolutely loved this one!

This was probably the best event you had ever been to. Jonas had decided to do a big ‘Poguelandia’ event to kick off season 3 and there were hundreds of people here. You absolutely loved how much support the show got and how happy this event made people. Maddy and you had pregamed before you left, as always.

You guys had been dating for a year and it was the best year of your life. You guys had immediately kicked it off when you met and then one thing led to another and you started dating. You both decided to keep it a secret from the public, just knowing how cruel the media could be and would try and twist you guys apart. Obviously, your friends knew; considering it would be hard to hide it from the people you were always with.

You guys had shown up separately; you arriving with the girls and Drew arriving with the guys. And boy, were you having a hard time keeping your hands to yourself. His hair had grown out again and he opted out of styling it, leaving it messy. He was wearing his green jacket with a white Tee underneath, pairing it with black jeans and his black converse. Going for a more casual look, you had a black cropped button up tucked into a black skirt with white flowers on it and slit up the side. You paired it with platform docs and gold jewelry.

Everyone had been split into different groups for all the stuff going on; you were with Carlacia and Maddy while Drew was with Austin. Carlacia had mistakenly left you and Maddy unsupervised at the bar and to no one’s surprise, you both got tipsy. It was no ones fault but her own. She had been told when she joined the cast to never let you and Maddy be alone at any kind of bar or else you’ll drink them out under the table.

Once the performance’s started, you guys all made your way up to the platform, to get away from the crowd and have some time with your friends. You stood in front of Drew with Chase on one side you and JD on the other. You all were just having a good time with each other and you couldn’t have thought of a better group of people to be friends with.

You leaned back against Drew, looking up at him as he looked down at you. He chuckled at your appearance; cheeks all red and rosy but he couldn’t tell if it was from being in the sun all day. Or, it might be the fact that you’re wearing all black in 70 degree weather.

“Having fun?” He asked, letting out a laugh as you had a dopey grin on your face as you nodded, “The best fun. I haven’t been this relaxed in a long time.”

“Good,” He smiled, placing a hand on your waist, thumb brushing the skin exposed between your skirt and shirt. Goosebumps showed up at the feeling of his cold ring against your skin that had been warm all day but it was comforting and very much needed. It probably wasn’t the best idea to be drinking in the heat but you didn’t care. This day was about you and your friends and you were going to enjoy it.

“What?” Drew asked, once he realized you were still staring at him. You shrugged, turning around to lean on the bar, “Can’t I just appreciate how good looking my boyfriend is?”

“Uck. You guys are gross.” Chase mumbled, brushing past you two as JD followed after him.

A/N

Please feel free to let me know if you guys want me to continue this fic!!

[drabbles-mc]

Out of Practice

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

For the Alternate June-iverse prompt: milf/dilf

Warnings: 18+, language, alcohol, steamy things, reader is a mom, bucky hasn't dated in like 70 years

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: I had no idea what I was going to do for this prompt for the longest time but then tonight this all fell outta me in one sitting lmao. enjoy some cameos from Sam and Tony! And thanks again to @buckybarnesevents and @rookthorne for putting this event together 💖

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Bucky was standing at the bottom of the walkway that led to the main doors of the school. Despite the warmth that came from the late spring weather, he still had on his leather jacket and gloves. He was far from the only person standing out and waiting for the final bell to ring, but he still felt like he stood out. No matter how much time went by that was a feeling he had yet to shake.

He pried his eyes off the cracked concrete beneath his boots when the bell rang, shortly followed by the front doors of the school being pushed open by dozens upon dozens of kids desperate to get out and head home. Many of them were sprinting off towards the buses, but some were making a direct line right where Bucky was standing with the rest of the parents and other family members. He kept his eyes peeled, but he still didn’t see who he was looking for.

A couple minutes ticked by and for a moment he wondered if he had shown up at the wrong place, or on the wrong day. He was about to take his phone out of his pocket when the front door opened up again. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw Morgan walking out, jacket tied around her waist and backpack settled on her shoulders. She was looking up at the woman next to her, the two of them talking as the woman balanced a child who looked like she was just barely old enough to be in kindergarten on her hip.

When Morgan looked away, she immediately saw Bucky. A smile broke out across her face as she threw a hand up to wave, an expression and gesture that he returned. He took a few steps so that he met her right where the walkways met. She walked right up to him, holding both hands out in closed fists. Bucky’s grin widened slightly as he held his fists out as well, tapping their knuckles together before the both pulled their hands back, making an exploding sound and gesture as they did.

Once they completed their ritual, Bucky turned his attention to you. You were smiling at the sight of the two of them, but he could see the questioning look still lingering in your eyes. “You must be Uncle Bucky, then?” you asked, although the answer seemed fairly obvious.

He chuckled, looking briefly at Morgan before he returned his attention back to you. “Yeah, but just Bucky is fine.”

He held out his hand for you to shake, and you did so carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping child on your hip as you gave him your name in return. “Hope you don’t mind me bringing her out.” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “Just like to make sure that everything’s alright when someone new is picking up one of my students.”

“I tried to tell her you weren’t new,” Morgan interjected, her sarcasm making her sound so much like her father despite only being nine years old.

You shook your head with a knowing smile. “New to me, then,” you corrected.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said with a small shake of his head. “I get it.”

“I appreciate that.” You looked back and forth between the two of them, an odd but fitting pair. “I’ll let you two go. It was nice to meet you, Bucky.” You shifted your gaze to the young girl standing beside him. “And I will see you on Monday, Miss Morgan.”

Morgan was already saying goodbye and turning to head off towards Bucky’s care by the time the words left your mouth. Bucky, however, was still staring at you, looking at the way you were balancing the little girl on one hip while you had her backpack on the opposite shoulder, your own bag hanging in the crook of your arm. He knew that this was probably far from the first time you left the school building with your hands full but he still felt like it was wrong to not at least offer to help.

“Do you need help with—”

“I’ve got it,” you reassured him with a smile, taking a step towards the parking lot, “but thank you.”

He didn’t try to offer again, taking your word for what it was worth. Turning, he easily collapsed the distance between himself and Morgan in one stride, and the two of them started walking off towards his car. You heard the two of them talking as they walked away. Or, rather, you heard Morgan talking about her day and Bucky chiming in with a word of acknowledgment. You cast a couple brief looks at them as you walked over to your car, smiling at the sight of them.

You returned your focus to the task at hand as you tried to get your daughter into her booster seat in the back of your car. You weren’t too worried, since she had luckily been a heavy sleeper ever since she was born, but you still tried to be extra careful. You were clicking her seatbelt into place when you heard Bucky’s car engine rumbling to life.

You caught a glimpse through your own car’s windshield as they drove by, Morgan sitting behind the empty passenger seat of Bucky’s car. They were out of you line of sight as quickly as they’d entered it. When they were gone again you set both your bag and your daughter’s on the floor by her feet.

~*~

“Ew, no,” Morgan said as she shook her head, her and Bucky looking at each other through the rearview mirror, “he’s gross. All the boys in my grade are.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Your dad will be happy to hear that.”

“I don’t even want a boyfriend.”

Bucky fought to the urge to give his knee-jerk response which would’ve been, “Well, yeah, you’re fucking nine.” Instead, he asked, “You tell him that?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “He went and asked Chrissy instead.”

“Worked out for you,” Bucky said, throwing his directional on before turning onto the main road away from the school. “You don’t need a boyfriend—you’re fine.”

“Dad says that you need a girlfriend.”

Bucky nearly choking on the breath he was pulling in. His eyes drifted from the road and back to the mirror to look at her. “What?”

“What?” she parroted back to him, blissfully unaware of why he reacted that way. “That’s what he said.”

Bucky was shaking his head, gaze fixed back on the road once more. “Yeah? Well your dad’s a—”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” she asked.

Bucky chuckled, a genuine sound. “Ever? Yeah.”

“This century?”

His eyebrows raised, surprised but also not. “You gotta stop listening to your dad all the time.”

A wide grin blossomed across her face. “But have you?”

He shook his head. “I thought we were cool,” he said sarcastically.

Morgan laughed hard enough at that to usher them into another topic of conversation with the rest of the drive home. Bucky went the long way, swinging through McDonald’s on the way since he was told that was fine this time around. It killed a little more time anyway, which was really what he needed. The only reason that he has the one enlisted to go and pick Morgan up in the first place was because Tony and Pepper were both running late with work. Not terribly so, but late enough that they didn’t want to ask her teacher to stay and wait.

Even with the extra stop planned in, and the most scenic route as possible taken, it still didn’t take them very long to get home. Before either of them could think much of it Bucky was rolling into Tony and Pepper’s driveway.

Bucky had just put the car in park when Morgan jumped out of the car, backpack strap in one hand and happy meal in the other. Bucky shook his head at her, laughing as he got out of the car much slower than she had. He finally felt comfortable enough to take off his gloves, tucking them into the back pocket of his jeans as he walked towards Tony’s porch.

Morgan had left the door opened behind her, so Bucky walked through and closed it as he did. When he looked around the room he saw that Morgan had already made her way over to her father and gotten swept off the ground in a hug.

As Tony was setting her back down on the floor, he asked, “You got some extra fries for me, right?”

Morgan laughed. “No way.”

Tony faked deep offense at her response. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

Bucky piped in. “I didn’t get you any either, for the record.”

Tony smirked. “That much I expected.”

Morgan looked around the room a little more, and when she didn’t see Pepper, she asked, “Where’s Mom?”

Tony gestured deeper into the house. “She’s out back.”

Morgan tossed both her backpack and her McDonald’s box of food onto the counter. “I’m gonna go say hi!” She pointed at Tony. “Don’t eat my fries.” She turned and pointed at Bucky. “Don’t let him eat my fries.”

Bucky gave a small salute. “Yes ma’am.”

When Morgan had scampered out of the room, Tony’s full attention shifted to Bucky. “Thanks for picking her up—I know it was short-notice.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Went okay?”

He nodded. “Teacher came out to make sure I wasn’t some kidnapper, but yeah, it went okay.”

Tony chuckled as he opened the fridge. “Figured she would.” He grabbed a beer for himself and offered one to Bucky, when he declined he shrugged with a suit yourself expression and let the door fall shut.

“Why’s your nine-year-old telling me I need to get a girlfriend?” Bucky asked as he watched Tony pop the cap off the bottle.

Tony didn’t miss a beat. “My guess is because you need to get a girlfriend.”

“Tony—”

“You met her teacher then, right?” Tony shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “She’s single. And cu—”

Bucky’s tone shifted drastically as he repeated himself. “Tony.”

The hand that wasn’t holding the beer bottle was held up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying.”

“That why you sent me to pick her up? Is Happy even busy?”

Tony laughed. “Like Happy would ever be too busy to get Morgan from school.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh my fuc—”

“Watch it.” Tony lifted the hand he was holding the bottle with, pointing accusingly at him. “There are little ears in the house.”

Bucky sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t need you playing matchmaker.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the smooth dark stone-top of the island. “And I definitely don’t need you roping in your nine-year-old to help.”

“I actually didn’t tell her to say anything to you.”

“I don’t need you talking to her about my love life at all.”

“I was talking to Pepper about it. But hey,” he took another sip, “little ears hear everything.”

He watched as Bucky chuckled in disbelief. Tony knew that it wasn’t his place to say or do anything, that out of everyone he was probably close to the bottom of the list when it came to people who had the right to give dating advice. Even with that being the case, though, Tony had been watching Bucky muddle through and get along without ever really learning to get close to anyone since everything happened with Steve. He was gone now, and while Bucky might’ve accepted that, he still hadn’t really made any moves to let new people in. A girlfriend wouldn’t solve all of those issues, as Pepper had swiftly told him. But it probably also wouldn’t hurt, as Tony had told her in response.

“Gonna make me go to parent-teacher night next?” Bucky asked, his tone light enough to let Tony know that it wasn’t going to turn into an argument for the time being.

“Don’t be ridiculous—you’re not ready for anything more than an open house.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Thanks.”

They both had plenty more comments to make about the topic but they let it drop as Morgan re-entered the room, Pepper in tow right behind her. Bucky and Tony exchanged a knowing look, one that confirmed that their conversation as on hold for now. Pepper caught it, but knew enough to know not to ask. Instead, she started a new conversation by thanking Bucky for picking Morgan up. He stayed long enough to make a little small talk before excusing himself, making sure to give Morgan another double fist-bump before heading for the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” Tony said, leaving his half-empty beer bottle on the counter.

Bucky knew exactly what Tony was doing, but didn’t say anything. The two of them slipped out the door, and Tony followed him down off the porch and all the way to his car.

When he realized that Bucky wasn’t going to say anything about any of it, he spoke up himself. “I could probably get her number for you.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not? You don’t think she’s—”

“That has nothing to do with it and you know it,” Bucky cut him off. “Just leave it alone, Tony.”

“Mmm.” He shook his head. “Don’t think I can do that. Matter of national security at this point—you’re left unattended an awful lot.”

“And you think I need an elementary teacher to keep me company?”

“She knows how to wrangle kids and keep ‘em in line—sounds perfect for you.”

“Don’t say anything to her.”

Tony stared at Bucky for a long, hard minute. “Fine.”

Bucky didn’t believe it for a second but be also knew that continuing to argue about it wasn’t going to fix anything either. “Thanks.”

They exchanged a quick handshake and a brief goodbye, and soon enough, Bucky was on his way. The drive back to his apartment felt longer than usual, his thoughts wandering in the silence of the car since he didn’t make any move to turn the radio on. He thought about you, not that he would ever give Tony the satisfaction of knowing that, the way you smiled as you balanced your daughter on your hip. He thought about the apparent ease there was between you and Morgan. He thought about your dress and the way it fell just above your knees, the way the bright colors looked so nice and seemed so fitting.

Then he shook his head to dispel the thoughts. Tony was just in his head now, having him overthink about a woman he’d met for all of two minutes. The likelihood of him seeing you again wasn’t very high, not unless Tony started asking him to play chauffer for Morgan a lot more often, and somehow he didn’t really see that happening.

When he walked into his apartment, Bucky was immediately greeted by Alpine running up and rubbing against his legs. He chuckled, crouching down so that he could give him a light scratch behind his ears. Part of it was because Alpine was happy to have his owner home, Bucky was sure. But the other part was about the fact that it was definitely past Alpine’s usual dinnertime. Bucky understood all of that.

“I know,” his metal fingers can down Alpine’s spine, causing him to arch and purr, “I’m late.”

The next few minutes was just Bucky hanging up his jacket, giving Alpine his dinner, and then pulling something out of the freezer to cook for his own dinner as well. While he was waiting for the oven to finish pre-heating, the only sound that could be heard was Alpine crunching on his kibble as he stood above his bowl. Bucky watched him for a moment, a small smile on his face at the simplicity of the life he had now. Something that for a long time he didn’t think he would ever have.

It was a good life. It was quieter now than it had been for a long time—he was almost used to it. But maybe Tony was right, not that Bucky would ever tell him as much in so many words, but there might’ve been something to what Tony had been trying to tell him. A truth that was simpler to ignore because continuing on as he had been required far less work than trying to get to know someone, trying to let someone get to know him.

He pulled his phone out, tempted to search your name just to see what would pop up, what he would be able to learn about you. Then he stopped himself, shaking his head to try and dispel the thoughts. What good would it do? Why was he thinking like you were someone he knew already? Or like you were someone that already knew him? For all he knew, you’d forgotten him already. Hell, for all he knew you had no desire to get to know anyone, let alone someone like him. The beeping of his oven saved him from going down that spiral any further.

~*~

Sam was sitting on the stool to Bucky’s left. The music in the bar was loud, but not so much so that they had to shout to talk to each other. But once Bucky processed the sentence that Sam had just spoken to him, he instantly wished that the music was loud enough so that he couldn’t hear the other man at all.

Bucky pulled a long drink from the beer bottle in his hand, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of it. “Can’t believe he got you in on this shit too.”

Sam shrugged, unfazed by Bucky’s blatant annoyance. “I’m just sayin’, I think the guy might have a point.”

“Since when do you agree with Stark?”

Sam laughed. “I’ll agree with anybody if I think they’re right!” He paused, studied the look on Bucky’s face and then added on with a laugh, “Well, yeah, not you. But other people.”

Bucky tried to keep his annoyed expression but then chuckled. “Fuck you.”

Sam wasn’t going to let the conversation get derailed. “Alright, so you don’t like the girl he was telling you about, so why don’t you—”

“I didn’t say—”

“They got apps for that now. Oh, sorry,” Sam held up his hand in a pausing motion, “Apps are things that you can put on your pho—”

Bucky’s brows knit together. “I know what apps are.”

Sam allowed himself a minute to laugh at his own joke before saying, “So it’s not the girl. Then, what? Afraid you left all your game back in the forties?”

He shook his head, eyes suddenly glued down to his beer bottle. “Sure, yeah. Something like that.”

“Want my advice?”

“No.”

Sam gave it anyway. “Get over it.” He ignored the increasingly annoyed look on Bucky’s face. “Go buy a girl a drink. Ask her for her number. Use whatever corny line you used back in the nineteen hundreds the last time you had to pretend to have some game.”

Bucky didn’t want to laugh but he couldn’t stop himself. Sam might’ve been oversimplifying but Bucky was also vaguely aware of the fact that he was overcomplicating things for himself. “I’ll think about it. But,” he paused to point at Sam accusingly while he grabbed a sip of his beer, “I didn’t have to pretend to have game. I had it—have. I have it.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Riiiight.”

The topic dropped, and they moved onto talking about other things. There were frequent pauses in the conversation, both of them turning to look at people coming into the bar. Neither of them ever thought they would fully break that habit, no matter how often they went out into the world as civilians.

The door let out a quiet chime, and Bucky’s head instinctively snapped in the direction to see who was coming in. His eyes widened and he stopped himself in the middle of the sentence that he was saying to Sam. There was no brain to mouth filter as he let out a quiet, “Shit.”

Sam’s face contorted in confusion as he turned to see what it was that had Bucky reacting that way. He looked over, his confusion immediately shifting into a smug grin when he saw you standing in the doorway. Bucky hadn’t even given Sam a description of what you looked like, but he could tell from Bucky’s reaction that there was no way that you could possibly be anyone else.

“Talk about good timing,” Sam joked.

Bucky was still staring at you, not that you’d noticed, as he spoke to Sam. “Shut up.”

“Now’s the time.”

He fought the urge to shove him off the stool. “I said shut up.”

You were only a couple steps inside the bar, you phone clutched tightly in one hand as you looked around the semi-tight space. The focused furrow of your brow said that you were looking for someone. The tight black jeans and lacy grey top you were wearing said that you were probably looking for your date. There were five million reasons Bucky felt his mouth go dry and none of them were doing him any good.

He saw the rise and fall of your shoulders as you let out a sigh. You typed on your phone for a moment before making your way over to the bar, carefully weaving your way through the clusters of other patrons. The closer you got, the more Bucky hoped that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. You were so focused on getting to the bar and snagging a rare empty seat, that you didn’t even notice that the seat was next to him until after you’d ordered your drink. You wouldn’t have looked in his direction at all if you hadn’t heard someone laughing.

When you turned, the first thing you saw was Bucky, the familiar face and leather jacket. The next thing you noticed was the man on the other side of him, the source of said laughter. You tilted your head as your eyes made their way back to Bucky. You allowed yourself a laugh of your own. “Bucky?”

He nodded, clearing his throat. “H-hey. Yeah, hi.”

“So funny seeing you here!” You paused, looking back and forth between him and the man next to him. “How are you?”

He nodded again, pulling the words up one by one. “Good. I’m good. You?”

“I’m, um,” you chuckled awkwardly, “I’m alright, I think? Supposed to be meeting someone here but,” you glanced around, “I don’t see them yet.”

The man on the other side of Bucky leaned across him and held his hand out. “I’m Sam, by the way.” He flashed you a charming grin. “Not the person you were looking for, but figured I’d introduce myself anyway since this guy wasn’t going to.”

You laughed as you told him your name. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

The three of you chit-chatted, and you tried not to think too much about the way that Bucky was looking at you. You were putting too much thought into it, you were certain. Maybe you were just projecting, taking all the growing disappointment you were feeling about your supposed “date” still not being there and channeling it into the way that Bucky seemed to be so attentively listening to you.

Taking another sip from the straw in your drink, you checked the time on your phone one more time. Letting out a deep sigh, you looked over at Bucky, and Sam too. “I’m glad I ran into you two tonight, because from the looks of it the person that I came out to see is not showing up.” You shoved your phone back into the pocket of your jeans with a shake of your head.

“He’s an idiot,” Sam chimed in without hesitation.

You laughed and nodded. “I appreciate the sentiment.” You finished off your drink and you didn’t try to dissuade the bartender who was grabbing your glass and heading off to make you another. Looking back at the two of them, you said, “My friends were the ones who convinced me to get on those stupid dating apps anyway.” You shook your head. “Lotta good it did, huh?”

Bucky nodded, shooting a pointed look at Sam as he said, “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

Sam was laughing, but Bucky noticed the way that he was moving to throw some cash down on the bar. He gathered up his jacket as he got off the stool. “Well, not to be the bearer of more bad news, but I gotta take off.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulders as he walked by. “But you two crazy kids stay out and have some fun. It was very nice to meet you.” He flashed the two of you another grin. “Call if you need bail money. Not me, but, you know, call somebody.”

You laughed as you and Bucky each said goodbye to him. The two of you watched him as he practically skipped out of the bar and out onto the street. Bucky was caught between wishing he could chase Sam down and tackle him, and wishing he could skip right out the door alongside him. There was no buffer between the two of you anymore, and Bucky felt so strangely exposed.

“Sorry about your date,” Bucky finally offered up.

You smiled good-naturedly. “I’m not that heartbroken over it,” you said honestly as the bartender set your fresh drink down in front of you. “My expectations were pretty low, but, you know,” you took a sip, “not so low that I assumed he wasn’t gonna be here.”

Bucky chuckled. “That’s fair.”

“Honestly, I’m just more pissed off that I wasted one of my few free weekend evenings on some guy who didn’t even bother texting me to cancel.”

“Few?”

You smiled as you said, “My daughter. Every other week she’s with her dad. I miss her when she’s gone, so I try to stay busy. Usually with friends, but every now and then it’s some pipe-dream of a date.” You took another sip. “They usually do show up, though, at the risk of making myself sound horrible desperate,” you joked.

Bucky laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Your smile softened a touch, but it was still there. “Well, thank you for that at least.”

You had every intention of finishing off your drink, paying your tab, and heading right home. You weren’t typically one for staying out all hours in a bar or a club somewhere, even when you were out with your friends. And, as nice as it was that you had a chance run-in with Bucky when everything else seemed to be going wrong, you were still ready to turn it in and go home. Back to your pajamas and fuzzy blankets.

That’s not what happened, however, despite your best intentions. Somewhere along the way you switched from cocktails to soda just for the sake of being able to stay longer without getting too much of a buzz as you talked to Bucky. He wasn’t exactly a chatterbox, per se, and you hadn’t really expected him to be. The two of you managed to keep up a good pace of back and forth regardless of that. He did a little more listening than he did talking but it didn’t seem to bother him. It also made you realize that even though you had your friends, and your fellow teachers at school, there weren’t a whole lot of times when you went out to socialize with other adults. It also didn’t hurt that Bucky was so nice to look at, that he seemed to be just as interested in looking right back at you.

You’d both lost track of time as you sat there, and when you were both finally making your way towards the door of the bar, it was much later than either of you had bargained for. The two of you walked, and Bucky pulled the door open for you. The two of you were mid-conversation when you landed back out on the sidewalk. It was only then that you realized you probably weren’t going to be heading in the same direction.

Bucky watched as you motioned back over your shoulder, the opposite direction from the way he was heading. “I’m parked this way, but, it was really good seeing you. What are the chances, right?” You laughed lightly.

He smiled, nodded. “Yeah. It was, um,” he could feel the words that he wanted to say resting on the tip of his tongue and he was conflicted about whether or not he wanted to actually say them, “it was good to see you again.” He paused, hating every bit of hesitation that he was feeling. “Do you, um, I was wondering,” he was reaching for the pocket of his jacket for his phone as he fumbled his way through the question, “I mean on your next free weekend…”

You felt your face warm as he continued on. You knew where the line of questioning was going, and part of you knew that maybe you should put him out of his misery. But it was sweet, and you were enjoying that. Finally, you nodded. “That’d be nice.”

He let out a sigh of relief as he took his phone out. “Great. Okay, yeah. I’ll…I’ll call you. You know,” he managed a smile with a little more ease, “save you from all the apps.”

You laughed as you typed your name and number in. “You’re a lifesaver.”

In the back of his mind he knew that he should be making some sort of move now. Walk you to your car, give you a hug, something. But if asking for your number was as difficult as it had proven itself to be, he didn’t know what it was going to be like trying to manage anything else. So he took the win, and bid you goodnight.

Over the course of the next couple days, he was caught between wanting to tell both Tony and Sam separately that he’d gotten your number. He thought maybe it would help get them off his back. What he didn’t want, though, was for them to just get on his case about a whole new slew of things. He also didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they’d been right.

So, instead of reaching out to either of them, he texted you instead. It was casual at first, just brief messages here and there. Texting wasn’t his favorite way to stay in touch with people, but he at least recognized that it was what people did now.

He called you once, when he wanted to actually try and make plans to see you. That conversation wasn’t one that he wanted to have over text, and he told you as much. You also found that to be sweet as well. It wasn’t a long conversation, one taking place while you made dinner and your daughter was busy with her toys in the living room. But the two of you settled on a date, a time, and that he would come by your place to pick you up. You couldn’t remember the last time you smiled so much while making pasta.

~*~

“Tony is never gonna let you hear the end of this when he finds out,” Sam said as he sat down at Bucky’s kitchen counter.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky grabbed drinks out of his fridge. “That’s why I haven’t said anything to him about it.”

“Nothing?!”

“No!” Bucky said, breaking down into laughter after a moment. “You gonna tell him?”

“What, you think that we’re texting about you all the time?” Sam shook his head. “Get over yourself.”

Bucky was about to come back with something snarky as per usual when his phone chimed on the counter. Sam looked, too nosey to stop himself. The grin that spread across his face when he saw your name on the screen. At the look on Sam’s face, Bucky’s instinct was to reach and flip the phone over, but he stopped himself. Instead, he grabbed his phone and messaged you back before setting it down.

“You wanna call me while you’re getting ready?” Sam joked. “I’ll help you pick out an outfit. Tell you how to do your hair.”

Bucky chuckled. “Fuck you.”

~*~

He didn’t call Sam before the date. He also hadn’t heard anything from Tony which led him to believe that Sam had been kind enough to keep his mouth shut. That was all well and good, but he wished that it did anything to soothe the nerves that he was feeling as he stood outside your door.

He felt like an awkward sixteen-year-old again as he stood on your front step. He rang the doorbell, flowers clutched tightly in his hand as he waited. He’d spoken to you earlier, and you had seemed excited about it all still. That gave him hope. But again, it still wasn’t enough to eradicate the lingering feelings of anxiety he had.

Another few seconds passed by and then you pulled open the door. You were smiling at him as you were trying to do the latch on your necklace. “Hey! Sorry, I still have to get my shoes on and stuff. Please,” you stepped back and nodded for him to step inside, “come in. I’ll be ready in like, two minutes.”

He smiled as he somewhat nervously followed your instructions, stepping just past the threshold of your house. “Take your time,” he said calmly as he shut the door behind him.

He looked around while you finished putting on your jewelry and went to grab your shoes. He wasn’t sure what he had been picturing your house looking like, but what he saw felt fitting. It was tidy considering how young your daughter was. There were some toys scattered about in patches, framed photos on the walls and drawings tacked onto the fridge by magnets. It was a home in a way that none of Bucky’s places since he came back had ever been.

“Okay,” you said as you reappeared, smoothing out your blouse, “I’m ready. Sor—” you stopped short when you finally noticed the bouquet of flowers in his hand. The smile on your face was wide enough to make your cheeks hurt. “Those are beautiful.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment, like he’d forgotten that he had them. He held them out to you. “Just figured, you know…”

You smiled as you took them, flitting off to the kitchen so that you could put them in a vase with water. “Thank you.”

As the two of you drove, you could feel him slowly starting to relax. The two of you talked, and you could see the way that his grip on the steering wheel started to become less vice-like. There was something refreshing in the way that he opened the car door for you, and the door to the diner that the two of you had agreed on. He sat down across from you in the booth and you noticed the way that he still had his gloves on as he looked through the menu. You wanted to ask but you didn’t—if he wanted to say something about it you had a feeling that he would.

The conversation felt easy, the same way it had been that night at the bar. The only difference now was the feeling in the air. There was a different kind of tension now that hadn’t been there before. Sure, you’d been attracted to him even then, but that hadn’t been a date. Not like this.

Every now and then if one of you shifted in your seat and your feet or legs would brush. Neither of you said anything about it, but you could feel the upward curl of your own lips as it happened, the occasional pink flush of Bucky’s cheeks. Sometimes it’d make him stumble in his sentence and you’d do him the courtesy of not commenting on it.

The two of you were splitting a piece of pie for dessert, something you insisted on because you knew the woman who baked them for the diner. It wasn’t as though Bucky put up any great fight about it. The closer the two of you got to finishing it, the more you engaged in low-stakes warfare, dueling with your forks over the pieces with the best crust-to-filling ratio.

“You can have the last bite,” you conceded with a laugh, leaning back in the booth.

“Oh, come on,” he joked, “it doesn’t feel good to win by forfeit.”

You laughed, warmth blossoming up your neck and across your face. “It’s not forfeit. Think of it as, I don’t know,” you drummed your fingers against the tabletop, “me being nice since it was your first time here.” You paused, studying the amused look on his face. “That better?”

He shrugged, a smirk on his face. “Little bit.”

The two of you walked back out to his car, and you found yourself walking much closer to his side than you had been on the way in. Your arm brushed against his as the two of you walked, and you found yourself about half a step away from leaning into his side.

He reached to open the car door for you, but before he could you leaned back against it so that you were facing him. You let one arm hang by your side, with the other you brought your palm so that it rested against his chest, pads of your fingertips pressing lightly against the leather.

Bucky almost pulled away out of reflex, but he didn’t. “Yes?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “Nothing, nothing.” You let your hand drop, the pads of your fingers dragging for a moment before your arm was back at your side once more. You moved just enough so that he could open the door again for you. “Thank you.”

Bucky walked you up to the door of your house, and he felt like his heart was beating clean up into the back of his throat. He didn’t remember dating being this nerve-wracking before. You seemed perfectly unfazed, though as you sauntered up and slipped your key into the lock.

“You wanna come in?” you offered as you opened the door. “Have a drink?”

It took more effort to swallow than it should have. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

You chuckled. “If you don’t want to—”

“I do,” he reassured, his voice earnest.

Your smiled grew. “Okay.” You stepped and waved him in with you. “C’mon.” You noticed the way that he still had his jacket and gloves on when you came back out of the kitchen with a bottle in each hand. You handed one over to him. “Nothing fancy, but it’s also usually just me drinking them, so…”

He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s fine.”

There were a few beats of silence, each of you sipping out of your bottles before you said, “You don’t do this a lot, do you?”

His eyes widened for a moment, slight panic. “What?”

Your smile was warm as you gestured with your hand that held the bottle. “This. Dates. Not…not your thing, is it?”

He held the bottle between both his hands. “I’m…out of practice, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “That noticeable?”

You shook your head. “Not really. You just seemed, I don’t know, a little nervous. And I don’t know why a guy who looks like you would have any reason to be nervous on a date other than…”

“Other than I don’t go on them,” he finished with a soft laugh.

Your face heated up as you smiled. “Kinda.”

“How’d I do?” he asked, mostly joking.

You stepped in closer to him, noticing a different kind of tension in his body. “You’re doing great.”

He huffed out a laugh but it was much softer than he intended, betraying more of his real feelings than he bargained for. “This part?” He made a small gesture between you. “This part I’m really,” he forced out a puff of air through his teeth, “yeah.”

There was a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Want some help?”

He laughed but he didn’t say no, didn’t move away. He swallowed hard as you took the bottle from his hand and set them both on the coffee table in your living room. He was fighting hard to say something—ideally something smooth but at this point he would’ve settled for just about anything. Within seconds you were standing close to him again, bodies a breath away from being pressed flush against each other. Your hands rested on his chest for a moment, and you waited to see if he would change his mind and pull away—you were giving him the chance. But then you felt his hands tentatively land on your hips and you smiled, your body easing against his. You brought one hand up to the side of his face, thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“Not so bad,” you asked softly, “right?”

He shook his head, finally forcing out a quiet, “No, it’s not.”

You smiled and leaned in, lightly pressing your lips to his. It was delicate, fleeting—you were pulling away as quickly as you’d leaned in. The sliver of space left between your lips and his was the silent ask for him to let you know if this was the end of the night or not. He could pull away from you, no harm no foul, or he could lean in and kiss you again and figure it out from there.

It felt like you were both holding your breath for a moment, faces just too close to be able to get a good look in each other’s eyes. You were about to pull back to really look at him when he leaned in and kissed you, more conviction than the quick gesture from before. You readily gave into him, hand sliding from his cheek to the back of his head to keep him pulled to you. As his lips moved against yours, one of his hands slid so that it was resting at the center of the small of your back.

The two of you stayed like that in the middle of your living room, all locking lips and wandering hands. You would’ve let the entire night fall away spent just like that and been more than fine with it. When the two of you finally came back up for air, when Bucky pulled away from you enough to really look into your eyes, you saw that more than anything he was surprised. Maybe it was at you, maybe it was at himself, but regardless it was there. Underneath that, though, you could see that there was something more. His hand that wasn’t on the small of your back came up to cup your chin, the leather of his gloves smooth to the touch against your skin. He tilted your chin just slightly and then your lips were back on his again.

Out of instinct you tugged down the zipper of his jacket. Your hands came up to his shoulders, getting ready to push his jacket down off of them. It was only then that he pulled away from you again, breathless as he desperately searched your face.

“What?” you asked gently, pausing your movements.

“Nothing, nothing. I,” he pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment. “I wasn’t expecting…I just…”

“If it’s too much,” you said, taking a small step back, “we can—”

“No,” he stopped you short, shaking his head. “It’s not that. I just…” He took a breath. “Do you know? Who I am?”

You chuckled. “You’re friends with Iron Man and Falcon. I,” you shrugged, “I connected some dots along the way.”

He laughed, a sound of relief. “A lot of people don’t…you know…”

“A lot of people don’t have people from The Avengers dropping off school snacks once a week.” You paused and let both of you laugh. Allowing your tone to get a little more serious, you said, “I know, Bucky,” you moved once more to push his jacket down off his shoulders, “and it’s okay.”

He allowed you to do it, allowed his jacket to drop to the floor. Even with the long-sleeve shirt that he had on underneath, you could see the difference between his arms. You brought your hands to his, helping him pull the gloves off next. He was holding his breath—you could tell. When his gloves were off you ran your fingers along each of his palms, skin and metal, with equal delicate care.

When you looked into his eyes again you saw the way he was looking at you—bewildered, eager. You brought one hand back to his face again, urging him back towards you. It was a cue that he gladly took, kissing you with fervor. His hands were on your sides, and when he felt the way your other hand was running up his arm, he couldn’t stop himself, from letting his hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt.

It’d been so long, he realized as his hands roamed your sides and back, since he’d last felt someone like this. When your fingers slid underneath the collar of his shirt, splaying across what they could reach where the nape of his neck turned stretched into his shoulders, he also realized that it’d been a long time since he’d let someone feel him like this too.

All the nerves, the tension of the night, it all started to melt away as he felt you reaching for the bottom hem of his shirt to pull off over his head. He didn’t want to stop you, and he knew that that meant something. Maybe they’d all been right—maybe there was something to letting someone else in again. As he felt the warmth of your palms against his skin, he could only hope that the rest of it felt this good too.

[ju-ji]

I started playing disco elysium and within 5 minutes of meeting kim kitsuragi I was ready to lay down my life for that man

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, 70's au, little to no angst

warnings: none, maybe a few swear words here and there

summary: Jeonghan might be a cocky bastard but when it comes to you he will turn the world upside down, or so he claims.

words: 2k

a/n: I request each and every one of you to comment on this fic don't be a silent reader it helps me as an author to understand my readers and i would love to communicate with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcomed by me so do talk about this fic or send me an ask. Plus if you loved it enough don't forget to reblog, it will help me reach a larger audience.

a/n 2: i heard a podcast and it made me want to write this fic because the love story of the two hosts was sooo damn cutee.

You knew Jeonghan from when you were literally a kid.

His father had moved to your city after a presentation from little Jeonghan on how to make a pocketknife using ice cream sticks that he learnt from his local friends, his mother mortified that her little sweet child would grow up to become a goon forced his father to change cities to go as far away from the place they physically could.

It was during his fathers pursuit for a stable Korean community in Canada’s ever-growing cities did he come across the name of your grandfather’s in the phonebook that sounded very much similar to his. Your grandfather being the trusting and kind man he was invited his father for a dinner in his house the following day and this event kickstarted a relationship between the two families wherein, his father bought a house six minutes away from yours in the small part of your city inhabited by mostly Asians.

You both had met when he was seven and you were only three, he still remembers babysitting you when you were in middle school as your parents trusted no one more than him. So, when he broke the beautiful glass table in your living room, he had skillfully blamed you resulting in a three-hour long lecture from your parents about taking care of ones possessions.

You hated Jeonghan then, you really did, so you refused to talk to him for the next almost five years.

Until you both found yourselves in a duet dance opposite to each other because it was the neighborhood talent show and it was mandatory for the kids to participate. Typical Asian parents.

To no ones surprise your dance number got a tad bit too much hype from the watchers and it kickstarted another full year of you both not talking to each other at all because of the teasing glances and suggestive remarks from adults and children alike.

The time you both talked to each other again was when it was you senior year prom at high school and your father being the overprotective man he was, did not allow you to go because according to him ‘prom is how American kids end up getting pregnant.’

He was wrong of course; kids get pregnant due to having sex but you being the soft-spoken kid you were did not have the gal to inform him that. You would rather spend the night being sad and watching Simpsons and crying about how unfair it is for your parents to not let you go and experience the night considered to rank number one in peak American high school experience.

This was the first time you saw Jeonghan as your lord and savior, which you obviously will never tell him because it will do nothing but fuel his over-the-top ego. But that day he had stepped in and talked to you father.

“It’s an experience and everyone should be able to experience it, I think you are wrong sir to take away this from your daughter,” he had oh so righteously said.

“Son, I would let her only if you take her, as I don’t trust anyone but you with my daughter.”

“So, I shall then.”

Now did this conversation shock you? Yes, it did especially your father’s response to Jeonghan, but you were not going to stir up any feminist conversation with your father right now, not when you just got the pass to go to prom.

That night was something you barely remember; it has been twenty years since then and you barely care about the overly hyped kids and the future alcoholics that you encountered that night. Now that you are wise and older, you understand your parents concern. Suzy from you class had become a mother at the prime age of eighteen, nine months later. You are thankful that your father made the wise choice for you that day.

That night from what you remember was just plain boring, you had come back at 11 to a quite house, had talked to the boy for the entirety of the night, watched the sunrise with him and at the end had hugged him thanking him for taking you to prom.

After that incident, you both had again gone onto your own ways and had not talked to each other for another year till the next family function, where you both were the only kids of the same age present as all your other friends were out of the country for college.

That weekend had sparked a friendship between you both, as you always stuck to each other’s side seeking comfort from one another as talking to anyone else somehow always circled back to your marriage and their extreme concern for your depleting eggs.

The friendship you both wove lasted a long while, throughout your college. Till one day you come back from a trip to Daegu, and he was there standing at the airport ready to rush you away from your family to the nearest Starbucks because he had some news for you.

Once in the café he informed you that he had landed the job he had been trying for right after finishing college. You were elated for him, so happy that you almost forgot to tell him about the potential marriage partner your parents had whipped up during your two-week-long stay there.

Jeonghan being the man he was asked you up front to marry him, confessing his hidden feeling for you and how the weight of them might have just decreased his height. Dramatic bitch.

You being brough back to reality told him no and stated the reason to be man you could have potentially married. He obviously told you to say no to this unknown ‘son of a bitch’ and accept his proposal.

So being the bigger person, because Jeonghan obviously refused to, you reminded him that you had never dated anyone let alone him and you will not marry a man you have not dated.

This conversation then ignited your relationship the first step of which was turning down the said ‘son of a bitch’ while telling your father you wanted to focus on your career more, which you really did. Fast forward six months and while keeping up the long-distance relation with frequent phone calls late at night because your parents might pick up the landline and eavesdrop if its during the day, while at the same time trying to search for a job near Boston went on.

On one late Sunday afternoon as you were sitting on the kitchen island sipping on coffee you got an email from on of the companies, you had given an interview to, informing you had gotten an onsite job that would require you to move to Cambridge, and you were over the moon.

So, the preparations began for your send off and again Jeonghan stepped in like the messiah he is. He is absolutely not one, you refuse to accept. The man went ahead and told your conservative father he will give up his life to take care of you, till this date you claim it will be the opposite if a situation like that befalls you both. After packing your bags, you were on your merry way to live with the man.

It took you both some time to adjust to the new settings he would be over at your place during the weekends and sometimes you would be at his. This continued for another year or so before one night as you both were laying on the bed together when Jeonghan suddenly piped up.

“I think you should see other people.”

Not understanding what he meant you turned towards the guy and asked, “what do you mean?”

“I know we will end up marrying each other, so I want you to experience dating other men too, so you don’t get to ever claim I was the only guy in your life,” he explained to you.

You had yet to get a taste of exactly how much of a cocky motherfucker you are dating, said innocently.

“But Jeonghan you are the only guy I ever dated.”

That was the end of that conversation that night before you both went to sleep, but his urging never stopped. It went on for a few days till one day your exhausted and a tad bit insecure self, lashed out at him claiming he wanted to cheat on you, and he wanted a break. So, you gave one to him.

That entire year you had a flower bouquet delivered early morning to your house with an apology letter, although the apologies lasted only for a month before you forgave the terrified man, who apologized profusely after you accepted to talk to him. Even though you did feel a bit bad after seeing him, the guy looked like he was living during the great depression.

After that all was smooth sailing and he never ever tried to upset you at all, but his playful nature persisted anyways, not like you minded that.

Five years later during your sister’s wedding in Singapore was when his proposal was finally accepted. You had just arrived at the airport and yet again the man had swooped in and taken you away from your family under the guise of some kind of sound check that was needed to be done in the wedding venue.

Your clueless self agreed to go with him and without a second thought he took you to the cables to take you to an island that was nowhere close to the wedding venue. As you were getting increasingly confused, you kept asking him where exactly you both were going. He kept deflecting the topic, so you ultimately gave up and, as another family came up on the cable car, you started talking about your flight that you took with your family. The poor man did not hear one word, he was sweating bullocks and was essentially confused why another family was in the cable car that he had fully booked for you both.

As the family got down at the end, he stopped you from doing so too claiming it is not the stop, even though it was the last one. It was then the nervous wreck of a man got down on one knee in front of asking for your hand in marriage once again, and you being so in love with him accepted to spend the rest of your life with the man.

The rest of it was history, you both had to tell your parents none of whom were shocked at all, rather relieved that you both had at last agreed to get married and be together forever.

Now ten years later and with your two children, you are perfectly content with your life. Waking up with Jeonghan beside you everyday sounds like a dream and you are happy it came true for you.

As you tossed around the bed you saw Jeonghan eyeing you in his half-awake state.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Us,” you answer snuggling closer to him.

“What about us, huh?”

“The way you forced me to date some other guy because you wanted me to have more experience in dating,” you laughed at the memory.

“Don’t tell me about that it still haunts me till this day” he retorts with a shudder.

“Why did you do it anyways?” you ask.

“I knew I was going to marry you so I wanted you to have some more experience with dating others so whenever you have an argument I could say ‘hey remember that looser you dated!’”, he answers with laugh.

With a laugh you slapped his shoulder exclaiming, “I sometimes forget how cocky you can get!”

"How else do you think I got the permission to propose you in someone else's marriage!" he states sassily.

With that Jeonghan snuggles closer to you some more, its Sundays anyways the kids are with their grandparents and you both have all the time in the world to just bask in each other’s presence and not do anything at all.

[writinground2]

List 2: 70 and 73 with McCabe❤️

70 - I like that about you

73 - you do have a stupid face

Stupid Face - Katie McCabe

“I’ll trade you my orange slices for your cookie,” Y/N held her plate out with the orange slices to the group of young kids around her, “come on, they’re super strict during season, I gotta sneak all the extra snacks I can.”

The girls all giggled, but adamantly shook their heads about making a trade. Y/N sighed and made a show of begrudgingly eating her orange slices. She bit into one, leaving the peel to cover her teeth and made funny faces to the group, “you guys missed out.” 

Katie watched across the lunchroom while Y/N kept her group entertained. She wasn’t having any of the same luck, all the girls in her group didn’t seem to like her, they swarmed to Caitlin. 

The Arsenal team was having an event with one of the underprivileged after school programs in the area. They were hosting girls and gender diverse people of all ages for the day. The players paired up and were in groups with the kids, leading them through drills on the pitch. They had already done a morning session and were currently having lunch, before getting to go back out for a scrimmage with the players for the afternoon. 

Katie thought she was good with kids, but apparently not so much. She sighed as she looked around the room, noticing all the other players seemed to be getting on great in their groups. Y/Ns all seemed to be hanging off her every word and action. As soon as she stood up to put her tray away, everyone at her table scrambled to put theirs away too. 

Y/N called attention to the rest of the room, informing everyone they would be starting back on the pitch in fifteen minutes, asking everyone to clean up behind them before making their way outside. 

The youth all followed her direction, putting their garbage where it belonged and tucked their chairs in before leaving the cafeteria. 

Everyone was directed around the pitch for a warmup before they would start a few mini scrimmage games against all the players. 

Y/N wandered around with an armful of different colour pinnies, distributing them at random to everyone on the pitch. 

The field was split into four sections, each section would have a scrimmage on it, winning team would stay, while the losing team would move to another pitch. Y/N sent an Arsenal player with each colour pinnie to separate pitch to help sort the teams. 

Calling everyone to the centre, Y/N explained what the rotation would be and that everyone would need to stay with their team colour for the afternoon, “now, the first team to have their whole team together, gets to start the first game with three goals! Go!” 

All the youth took off in search of their respective colour, the Arsenal players each calling for their team to find them. It was chaos while all the kids frantically searched for the right colour pinnies. 

Thankfully Katie wouldn’t oversee a team, she would be helping with a few other players to ref the games and help rotate everyone around the pitch. 

As the last few youths found their team, they all started yelling that they won, a few cheering victoriously before Y/N had a chance to announce who had actually won. 

Y/N pretended to look like she was thinking about it for a minute, looking at each team. “I don’t know, that was pretty close. Katie, who do you think won?” 

Katie blushed at being the centre of attention, she normally didn’t mind it, but after having such a rotten morning with the kids, she didn’t want to make it worse by choosing the wrong team. 

“You’re having a really good hair day Y/N!” Caitlin called, trying to encourage her team being chosen. 

“Y/N I think every day is a good hair day for you,” Leah called from the pitch over, sticking her tongue out at the Aussie in rebuttal. 

Y/N laughed and listened while the Arsenal players all called out compliments to her, some of the youth joining in as well. 

“You have a great face!” was called from one of the youngest kids. 

“I do have a great face! Thank you!” Y/N called back, “red team with the win!” 

The team with red pinnies jumped up and down, celebrating the small win. 

The Arsenal players that were acting as refs for the games called their pitches together to get the games started. 

Y/N wandered over to where Katie was talking to one of the youths and both seemed to be upset. 

“I don’t like you and your stupid face!” the girl shouted at the brunette before turning to storm towards Y/N. 

Y/N intercepted her to see what happened. The girl explained Katie had sent her to sit on the sideline for being too rough with another younger player. Y/N school her features to not laugh at the irony of Katie telling someone they were too rough. 

“We’re all here to have fun today kiddo. Katie wasn’t saying you’re done for the day just that sometimes players need a minute to cool off, so they play better,” Y/N knelt to be the same height, waiting for the girl to nod, “alright, why don’t you go sit with your team for a bit and when you’re ready you can play again.”

The girl gave Y/N a small nod. Y/N smiled and walked her over to where the rest of her team was, “how about after the games are done, we go give Katie an apology for yelling at her?”

She seemed to think about it for a second but gave Y/N a small nod. 

“Good choice,” Y/N gave her a high five and the left the team to it. 

“She’s right you know,” Katie gave her a strange look as they cleaned up the pitch at the end of the day, “you do have a stupid face.”

Katie rolled her eyes. She knocked the cones out of Y/N’s hands and went to pounce on her, but Y/N took off before she could. 

“You didn’t let me finish!” she called over her shoulder. 

Katie caught up to her and scooping her up and jokingly throwing her to the ground. Y/n wriggled around until she was on top. 

“I was going to say you do have a stupid face,” she pinched both of Katies cheeks, “but I like that about you.”  

[hyperlexichypatia]

One time I asked my mom (in her 70s) whether she, personally, knew any people in so-called "traditional marriages." I defined a "traditional marriage" as follows:

A man and a woman, married to each other

They are both each other's first and only spouse, neither has been married before

Neither of them has any children with any other partner

Any children they have were born after the couple was married.

After thinking about it, my mom was able to come up with a few examples of such couples. But only a few. And she had to think about it.

Yet we still live in a society where this type of family is considered "the norm" and the much more common types (blended families, single parents, divorced people) are considered "exceptions."

And this is not the only thing like this! There are many experiences/lifestyles/family types that are treated as The Default or The Norm that, in fact, may not apply to a majority at all!

Even in discussions like "We should remember that not everyone has [normative experience]," it's still framed as though the normative experience is, of course, still the statistical norm. It might not be at all! Or maybe it is the statistical norm worldwide, or nationwide, but not in your particular community, or your social circle.

Sometimes it's necessary to look at global or national statistics to correct your bias of extrapolating from your social circle. Social bubbles are a real problem. But. But. Other times. It's useful to just look at your social circle and ask yourself "Do these population-wide statistics really apply here? Should I be looking at them to determine what's 'normal' instead of just looking around me?"

So here are some things that are culturally assumed in the U.S. to be "the norm", that you might want to ask yourself: How many people do I know personally that this is actually true of? (Other countries have their own maybe-not-that-normal norms that I'm not as familiar with, but feel free to weigh in on).

How many people do you know personally who:

Have a "traditional marriage" as described above?

Have a work schedule of Monday through Friday, ending at 5:00 p.m.? i.e. for whom Saturdays, Sundays, and evenings after 5:00 are "not at work" time?

Attended residential college from ages 18 to 22, and graduated with a bachelor's degree by age 23?

Had most or all of their college tuition and living expenses paid for by their parents?

Have, as an adult, the same surname as both of their parents, who were and still are, married to each other? Which was their father's surname which their mother took at marriage? i.e. whose parents could accurately be referred to as "Mr. and Mrs. [that persons' same surname]"?

Don't take any regular daily medicine?

Depending on your social circle, you might know very few people in these categories! But you probably still hear people say unquestioned, taken-for-granted things like "We should have the meeting at 6:00, so people can come after work," or "Of course parents of college students should have a say, since they're paying for it."

In many demographics, these things aren't just "not always true"; they're hardly if ever true. I wrote here about the false assumption that college students are uniformly single, childless young adults. Are you scheduling your events on the assumption that evenings and weekends are free time? For that matter, how many child care providers serve families during the hours that most parents actually work? Are we ready to admit that these things aren't the norm yet?

[iovesia]

✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍' 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄.

slasher!john wick⠀x⠀fem!reader.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. when you and your friends get stuck in the middle of rural texas, you decide to knock on death's door for help.

—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀70s & slasher au. horror themes. naive!reader. use of marijuana. size kink. john has a southern accent. age gap (20s/40s). murder. gore. no happy ending. manhandling. 2.5k words.

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ i wanted to save this for my upcoming event for october (a themed kinktober el oh el!), but here's just a small au that's been conjuring up in my head for the last few days — hope you enjoy ♡ !!

#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.

"SHIT!" Your boyfriend, Matt yelps, nearly dropping the blunt from his lips as the sound of metal crashing fills your ears. A thick smoke began rising from the hood of the car, and soon enough the rest of you joined in on Matt’s irate attitude. 

“Babe, pull over!”

Matt lets out a few curse words under his breath, as he follows your instruction and pulls the Chevy van to the side of the road. The five of you scurry out the vehicle, exposing yourselves to the Texan sun and heatwave. 

Matt runs a hand through his feathered black hair while walking over to the front of the old, blue van. Popping the hood, he’s met with another batch of hot smoke, making him exclaim in disgust. 

“Matt, you jerk! You just totaled my car,” Trin scoffs, fanning herself with her hand in a desperate attempt to cool down. The rest of the group, consisting of you, Matt, and your two other friends, stand on the rocky terrain on the side of the road, letting out exasperated groans. 

“Relax, Trin,” Matt sneers defensively, taking another puff of his blunt. He examines the inside of the hood, his eyes squinting as he rubs the back of his neck. “Shit.. I think we popped.. or lost a valve or something.”

“We?” Trin raises her brow. The pair began bickering amongst each other, pointing fingers and only testing your patience. With their yelling and the sun beaming down on your skin, you prayed your migraine would kill you.

“Would you two just stop?” You sigh, pulling your shades over your head. “The car’s busted, doesn’t matter why. What do we do now?”

“Wait for help, I guess,” your friend, Shane shrugs, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend, Mary-Ann. Silence was casted among the group as you and your friends tried to think of a plan. Granted, the group was more Matt’s friends than yours— but what was his was yours, as Matt liked to pretend.

Your eyes trailed the scenery around you. The dead trees bordering the road, only a few desolate run down buildings nearby. The gas station, standing a few hundred feet, was falling apart at the seams. The shattered windows and creaking of the hanging “WE’RE CLOSED” sign was enough to crush your little hope. After a few agonising minutes, your eyes settle on a small house in the distance. You smile as you rise up, pointing to it and alerting the group.

“Guys!” You call out hopefully. “Let’s go ask them, maybe they can call us a toll or something.”

Shane furrows his brows, grimacing as he snicker. “You’re gonna go all the way to that shack? No, let’s wait here. Someone’s gonna come by soon.”

“Oh, c’mon,” your arms flap to your side, your head turns to glance at both ends of the road. “There’s not gonna be anyone driving here for who knows how long— it’s not gonna hurt to ask.” 

“I dunno, girlie,” Mary-Ann purses her glossy lips, her voice monotone with a twinge of her Californian accent laced in. She scratches her bell bottom jean covered leg with her other foot as she turns her head to the house. “Maybe Shane’s right, I’m getting super bad vibes from that house.”

“Everything gives you bad vibes, you hippie,” Trin mocks, wiping the sweat from her forehead, shooting daggers with her eyes at the blonde. The two girls start trading insults, and the familiar ache in your head starts crawling back.

“Ok, well.. you losers can stay here,” Matt finally interjects with useful commentary, handing his half smoked blunt to Trin. “My girl and I will go and actually be useful,” Matt walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the pair of you walk through the field. 

AS THE TWO OF YOU APPROACHED THE HOUSE, Mary-Ann’s words rang in your ears. The cream coloured paint on the walls was faded or peeling off like a tangerine, the porch was dusty and cluttered with random items. The patio swing squeaked as the wind forced its swing, the copper shade of the metal would make you think this house was abandoned. 

“Maybe blondie back there was right,” Matt jokes, nudging your shoulder playfully, only affirming your thoughts. 

The closer you got, the colder the chills down your spine got. You pause in front of the stairs, leading up to a mesh screen door, barely exposing the inside of the seedy home. Your boyfriend’s hand leaves your arm as he takes initiative, walking up the creaky, old stairs. You cross your arms over your chest, watching as he knocks a couple times.

No answer.

He knocks again.

No answer.

“What now?” You ask with a scrunched face, softly slapping at the mosquito on your arm. Matt glances over to the swinging seats, and notices the half built fence that led somewhere behind the home. “Let’s just go back to the road—”

“Let’s check the backyard,” Matt ignores your comment, jumping down from the porch, the heels of his boots squishing into the damp grass as he heads for the back. You call his name repeatedly and he only waves his hand as his figure disappears behind the fence. 

“Are you kidding me?” You mutter to yourself, as you sit down on the porch stairs, resting your chin on your knees. Minutes that feel like hours go by as you wait for your boyfriend to come back, and he’s still gone. The sun was going to set soon, and you’d rather get back to your friends before it got dark. Worry boils in your chest, and you chew on your nails anxiously waiting.

Suddenly, the mesh door bursts open, slamming against the nearby wall and making you yelp. You jump up, head whipping in the direction of the door and your eyes widen at the sight. An older, brawny man stands in the door frame.

His jeans were splattered with dust and a dark fluid, and his white wife-beater shirt was almost see through from the sweat trailing down his muscles. His coal, black eyes piercing into your doe eyes as he scans your figure, his eyes focused on your exposed legs. You swallow awkwardly, pulling the hem of your red, booty shorts down in an effort to cover more of your skin. You felt naked under his intense stare. 

“Hi!” Your voice cracks as you smile, trying to appear friendly. The man’s face is unreadable as he leans against the door frame, eyeing you carefully. “Um.. sorry to bother you, sir. But, uh, my friends and I need some help. Our car broke down, and I was wondering if I could borrow your landline?” 

The black haired man just stares at you, his stare occasionally darting down to your smooth legs before back to your face. He breathes deeply and tilts his head to the side, gesturing to his home.

“Yeah.. I got a phone you can use,” he spoke curtly with a slight southern drawl, before disappearing inside. You quickly follow the older man, skipping up the stairs as you gently pull the door open. 

Instantly, you’re met with a putrid smell of meat. The humid stench feels worse than the outside, but you try to keep your grimace to yourself as you glance around the room. The entrance was cluttered with old frames, the walls had holes and scratches as if someone had clawed their nails off them. 

“In here,” his baritone voice calls out to you and you follow it, leading yourself into the living room. Equally cluttered, if not more. The shabby, grey walls sucked any life out of the room and you tread cautiously to the older man who was sitting at a large dining room table. 

His calloused hand brushed against yours when he handed you the landline. You smile politely before turning around as you dial the number for an automobile service. You hummed quietly to yourself while the landline rang next to your ear, not even noticing the older man standing right behind you, looking right down on you. 

“Damn,” you hissed before putting the landline back. You turn around and jump again, your face immediately bumping against the man’s torso. “S-Sorry.. Didn’t know you were standing.. so close,” you mumble, your face flushing.

“Jumpy little thing, aren’t you?” The raven haired man wets his lips, picking up a dish towel from the table. “What’s your name, darlin’?” 

You say your name softly, as heat blooms in your face. You can’t help but focus on his figure, the glistening of his biceps and the movement of his large hands as he wipes them with a towel makes your throat go dry. 

“I’m John. You said your friend's car’s stuck somewhere, or what?” His baritone voice snaps you out of your ogling and you nod distractedly.

“Yeah.. yeah— it’s the chevy van out there. Dunno if you can see it,” you turn your head and point through the half broken window to the small car in the distance. John hums.

“Popped a tire?”

“No, it’s the hood. I think we, like.. lost a valve or something,” you say with air quotes, still focused on trying to see your friends.

“Pretty girl like you don’t have a boyfriend that could find it for you?” John teases, raising a brow as he catches a glimpse of the van. Your eyes widen at the compliment, and you clear your throat, a small smile etching onto your face.

“No.. I.. I don’t.”

“Don’t have a boyfriend, or don’t have one that could find it for you?” 

Your eyes meet again and you let out a soft chuckle when John’s brow quirks up, a matching smile on his lips. You scratch the back of your neck and take a breath.

“N-No, I mean I have a boyfriend,” you correct yourself awkwardly, “he just.. can’t find it.” 

“Bet there’s a lotta things that he can’t find,” John snorts under his breath and the innuendo goes straight over your head. 

There’s a painful silence casted upon the room, and you shift your weight to your other leg as you stand there, gazing out the window. You furrow your brows in confusion when you realise you can’t see your friends by the van anymore. 

The older man sighs and glances around the room. “I could take a look at it if you want. Just gotta go get my things,” he gestures behind him with his thumb and quickly turns to walk away. He’s gone before you could say anything, and you’re left alone in the room.

The sun shone through the crack glass of the windows, illuminating the dust particles floating through the air. Inspecting the antique living room, you analyse the framed pictures closer, even daring to pick up one of them. The cobwebs on the glass frame made you cringe as you gently brushed it away.

It was a picture of a family, all men standing in a line, all looked astonishingly similar to John. John stood in the middle, with two younger men on each side. He was holding a large butcher knife, and the entire family wore white aprons, stained with blood. The hanging pig in the background made you queasy. Perhaps it’s his brothers.. or his sons? You thought, slightly intrigued, and disturbed.

A muted cry, abruptly muffled by a low droning noise, broke your thoughts, immediately calling your attention outside the living room. Curious and naive as you were, you set the frame down. Your sandals slap against the wooden floor as you crept out the living room, and towards the door where the sound came from.

The door was unlike the others— covered in a strange fur, and chains on the handle, and slowly squeaked open, almost urging you to investigate further. The droning noise gets louder, and sounds of shackles and screaming fill your ears and strike fear in your heart.

“(Y/N), help!”

Colour drains from your face, and against your better judgement, you slam the mysterious door open at your boyfriend’s desperate call of your name. The door revealed a staircase, with sunlight barely shining on the first step as it leads to darkness.

You tiptoe cautiously down the stairs, the sounds of horror growing louder and louder as it echoes through the dim, damp basement. Water leaks from the pipes above, small sounds of the water pattering only makes the hair on your neck stand up as you edge closer to the sounds. Stopping right in front of another door, a dark liquid begins to pour out from the bottom, and your jaw drops.

“M-Matt?” You call out, lower lip wobbling.

The lively roaring of the chainsaw abruptly stops.

Thud.

A blood curdling scream escapes your lips when the door is slammed open and your boyfriends body slumps to the floor. His feathered black hair, now matteted with his own blood as his baby brown eyes rolled to the back of his head. Matt’s denim jacket was torn to shreds, along with his matching denim jeans— the blood poured endlessly out of his massacred body, washing over the entire floor and staining the bottom of your shoes.

“Oh.. Oh my god!” You shrill, a trembling hand hovering over your mouth and your eyes fill with tears. Horror and nausea wash over you in waves, as bile boils in your throat. You cower backwards, practically tripping over yourself as you hurry to get away from the source of this terror. 

The chainsaw wielding maniac turns to face you, and reveals himself to be one of the boys in the picture. The same sick smile on his face as he pulls the chain of the weapon, the thunderous howl of the chainsaw coming back to life. 

Suddenly a pair of muscular arms wrap around your waist, lifting your frail frame off the ground and you let out a terrified shriek. Kicking and screaming, your feet meet the ground and your back is pressed tightly against a toned chest. Lips brush against your ear, and the eerie words invited goosebumps on your skin.

“It’s awfully rude to snoop, darlin’”

You let out another painful scream as you realise it’s John— John and his deranged family responsible for this massacre of Matt. His calloused hands roam your torso, groping at your skin and holding you firmly against his sweaty chest. 

“Theodore…” John’s voice is low as he scolds his apprentice, who stands in front of you two, his cherub face doused in the blood and tears of your boyfriend, a twisted grin etched on his lips. “You’re scarin’ our guest.”

The younger man just laughs maniacally, dropping his weapon to the ground, and the loud thud of the chainsaw makes you whimper. You squirm helplessly in John’s grip, but your attempts to escape were fruitless. “Let me go! Let me go, you psychos!” Your voice is hoarse and your face flooded with tears.

“Aw, I don’t think so, darlin’,” John’s beard scratches against your cheek, his constricting grip on you nearly crushes your lungs. 

“I think we’re gonna keep you a little longer— show you that real southern hospitality.”

Your screams and cries for help are drowned out by the two madmen’s deranged laughter and taunts.

໒꒰ྀིྀི ੭ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ꒱ྀི੭ — taglist : @desoolate @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom. @hqmmett @ilovedilfs4ever

let me know if you wish to be added/removed♡

[crepesuzette2023]

I know this is a broad question, but if you had to pick, what is the most angsty Mclennon fic you’ve read so far ? You have some amazing recommendations and I’m looking to hurt my own feelings lol

Hi st-john!

Thank you for the ask! This made me think about some of my angsty forever-faves in general, sorted from subtle to savage. (Under the cut.)

If you want to skip straight (do we use this word around here?!) to the fics I personally find the most angsty: they're at the bottom of this post. I also included some dark/angsty stories here, but I didn't want to repeat any recommendations.

Your ask helped me understand what it is I find the most angst-filled in mclennon, so thank you for that. I was surprised to see so many canon-adjacent stories on my list, and I think it shows that, to me, the most potent angst doesn't come from outside threat but from their minds, as evidenced by events that actually happened. The two of them being scared of (and turned on by) the big fat x they mark on their shared psychosexual map is one of the most attractive aspects of mclennon for me—followed by the two of them taking x for granted, and being permanently damaged once they realize they lost it forever. I also like stories that show their mutual resentment, even as they're into each other (sometimes literally). Anyway, under the cut are some of my favorite angsty fics in three handy categories:

1.) Carry That Weight/Love is Strange: Their relationship is deep and doomed and addictive. These stories are all set during the Beatle-years. I'M GONNA HAUNT YOU (sexysadie): 1968. John and Paul talk about women, but really, they talk about each other. A brief story about longing in the absence of hope. WALKING CLOSE AT HAND (harmonising): John and Paul as pair of broken mirrors, haunted by death in all things. Their love as beautiful magic-turned-curse. LET ME ROLL IT (@downtothe-lastdrop): The 1968 NYC Apple Launch Divorcemoon from Paul's POV. Lively and detailed, and drenched in what it must feel like to drown in unspoken words. I THINK OF THINGS WE DID (J_deandra_j): 1965. John and Paul fuck in Austria during the filming of Help! There is something intangibly upsetting about this story: anger and frustration; lust and sex with little room for softness—but it's so good and real and raw while it lasts. This one is impossible to forget! John POV. HOW YOU WERE DIVERTED (candle_beck): Paul handles John. This is about sex as one of the things that is "just them"—an urgent and rough emergency intervention. 2.) Tributes to the Canonical Breakup. To me, the break-up is an angst-filled nightmare. Not to mention the looming day of John's murder. I love stories that explore the break-up and its aftermath with compassion. And, as painful as it is, I especially love stories that make me feel that the love was there, always (even though it wasn't enough). THROW THE WINE (@savageandwise). This one is such a classic I imagine everyone must have read it, but I can't not mention it. It was one of the first fics I read—arrow through me, and such. The more painful it gets, the more it slows down. That takes courage. YOU'RE A DREAM LOVER (@dailyhowl). John and Paul share dreams and love each other in their dreams—gloriously so—but in the end, the dream is over. The most brutal aspect of this one is seeing Paul in the end, alone. I STILL MISS SOMEONE & CLOSE THE DOOR LIGHTLY WHEN YOU GO (RosalindBeatrice). Paul and John become lovers in the 70's, but their encounters are few and far between—and in the end, darkness falls. But there's also the mercy of honesty, tears, and, yes: sex. Beautifully melancholy story about the vast distance between bright stars. ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK (@backbenttulips). Apologies to the writer in case my "angsty" reading of this one misses the mark! Above all, this is a hot hot hot story about John and Paul hooking up in Bangkok and fucking every which way, remembering the past and seizing the present. But it's also a story about a relationship that no longer exists: their musical partnership. They destroyed the one place where their love had a home. Now, faraway hotel rooms will have to do—and there are no goodbyes or plans for a next time. (I must repeat how hot this is though.)

3.) "A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day."—Except it's exactly this day. Deep pain and sadness: the break-up is final; no one was saved. [Writers mentioned here: this is meant as a compliment. All of these stories are so good. It's not for nothing that I was never able to forget some lines from these stories, even though I read them very early on.]

HEAR ME, MY LOVER by @savageandwise. (Unfinished, but feels finished.) At the time the Beatles break up, Paul attempts to kill himself. He lives, but much else is destroyed. No one is wrong or right—their love and fracturing cut all possible ways. I read this as a literal translation of what the loss of the band (and John) meant for Paul, for a while.

FOUR LAST SONGS by @celebratorypenguin. This AU (four parts) explores what would have happened to the Beatles if John hadn't been the one to die first. Sentences from this one still live in my brain. The story is both sweeping and deep, and covers the POV of all four Beatles. Its truly an alternate history of the band, and it's very sad. But so, so beautiful, too.

Bonus Materials: John and Paul never became John&Paul. Everyone comes at this differently, but to me, the idea of them meeting, and falling in love, and turning away from it, is as angst-filled as the worst of the the break-up. That's why I think these two are among the best, most courageous, but also most angst-filled, of all mclennon fics: ALL THE BOYS ARE SINGING LOVE SONGS. (@dailyhowl): Paul settles down with Dot and they start a family. He and John meet again, and the spark is still there, but after a night together, the fear of starting over is greater. This magnificently written story fucked me up, and I've yet to pick up the courage to read it a second time. To quote the writer: this is a story about "the angst of living in the prison of society-approved masculinity." Yes. "Happy ending seekers need not apply." That is fair. As a happy ending seeker, I comfort my tender shipper's heart with the exhilarating fact that the real John and Paul did, in fact, become lovers become famous with the Beatles and formed a close musical partnership. THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas). This is a story I mentioned in my overall favorites post, and it's not, strictly speaking, all angst (to quote the writer: "this is about being sad and middle-aged, but it's also about being so happy and middle-aged!") It's not even J/P: it's mostly Paul/George, and their relationship is beautiful and real. Still, as a reader I was aching for the other life that could have been, and that is woven through the events of this story with incredible artistry: the Beatles, which everyone misses without knowing why. The great love between John and Paul that ended when John chose someone else. This is the magic of RPF: reality is the shadow event included for free. (Unfinished, with have all four n on-Beatles POV's. So far: George and Ringo.)

[marnerparty]

go blue

Luke Hughes x McCarthy!reader

*for those who do not know, JJ McCarthy is the quarterback for Michigan’s football team, so yn will be his sister!

ynssecretaccount

Liked by yourbestfriend, rutgermcgroarty and 63 others

ynssecretaccount party animal

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jjmccarthy who tf is that

ynssecretaccount 😳

jjmccarthy yn …

ynssecretaccount don’t make me block you from this account Jonathan

mackie.samo lol how’s Lukey?

ynssecretaccount do not let him see this

jjmccarthy Lukey??????

ynssecretaccount thanks for name dropping Mackie

jjmccarthy LUKE HUGHES!?

ynssecretaccount SAY IT LOUDER!

yourbestfriend how many people are on this account?

ynssecretaccount like 70 maybe

yourbestfriend and how many are Luke’s teammates that could potentially show this to him?

ynssecretaccount they’re my friends too!

edwards.73 it’s true we have her back

jackhughes has requested to follow you

ynmccarthy

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ynmccarthy first umich hockey game in the books!

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user1 living the life

rutgermcgroarty we all know why you went

nolan_moyle do we?

rutgermcgroarty jesus moyle 🤦🏼‍♀️

edwards.73 where ya been bud

jjmccarthy football > hockey 🥱

ynmccarthy hot take

jjmccarthy before last weeks party would you be saying the same thing?

rutgermcgroarty got her

ynmccarthy get tf out both of you

yourbestfriend going to his sporting events now???

ynmccarthy yes, all of my FRIENDS’ hockey game!

luca.fantilli be honest

markestapa let’s all gang up on her

dylanduke25 you know who was asking about you? his brother Jack

ynmccarthy he requested to follow my private account

markestapa that’s a sign! accept!

ynmccarthy I’m afraid

user2 brother Jack… could this mean they’re all talking about Luke Hughes!?

umichhockey we’re so glad you could make it!

Liked by ynmccarthy

mackie.samo the secret account posts are better. more unhinged

ynmccarthy oh just wait, you’ll like the next one

user2 I can’t imagine having such a well known brother

ynmccarthy you get used to it realllll quick

adamfantilli honestly embarrassing this is your first one

ynmccarthy I’ve been a busy student ok

mackie.samo “busy student”

ynmccarthy watch it

thombordeleau_ oh so we go to the same game and you don’t seek me out??

ynmccarthy sorry! I still love you Thomas 🫶🏻

jjmccarthy why tf are you just friends with all Michigan hockey players

rutgermcgroarty does he not know the story …?

ynmccarthy nah

jjmccarthy story??

thombordeleau_ let’s just say yn has some hidden talents

ynmccarthy oh no 🤦🏼‍♀️

adamfantilli she kicked Luca’s ass in a one v one

jjmccarthy in hockey!?

luca.fantilli not my best moment ok

mackie.samo from then on she was one of the guys

ynssecretaccount

Liked by mackie.samo, jjmccarthy and 71 others

ynssecretaccount the main got a good post about the game! this gets the “when your siblings favorite player is the stranger you kissed last week at a party & he didn’t remember you” post😳

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mackie.samo oh yeah, this is good

jjmccarthy that’s awkward

ynssecretaccount tell me about it

jjmccarthy wish I could relate, but that doesn’t happen to college qbs 🥱

ynssecretaccount you’re a dick

rutgermcgroarty well he is a college qb 🤷🏼‍♀️

ynssecretaccount this is why you’re my favorite

jjmccarthy fuck you both

jackhughes Luke literally wouldn’t stop talking about you, idk why he was acting like that

ynssecretaccount i have a feeling we’re going to be great friends

jackhughes why do you think I requested to follow your account?

luca.fantilli it’d be a shame if someone wasn’t being careful and Luke saw them scroll by this post…

ynssecretaccount WHO

luca.fantilli Now I’m not gonna say it was Rutger …

rutgermcgroarty DUDE WTF!

ynssecretaccount RUTGER

rutgermcgroarty it was an honest mistake yn

lhughes_06 has requested to follow you

lhughes_06

Liked by nicohischier, jackhughes and 51,781 others

lhughes_06 starting summer off right 🤙🏻

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mackie.samo 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

lhughes_06 ?

mackie.samo don’t question mark me who’s the girl?

lhughes_06 girl? what girl?

user1 lost another Hughes 😔

jackhughes when did you hang out with a girl??

lhughes_06 what’re you talking about?

trevorzegras the little man’s all grown up 🥲

lhughes_06 trying to be like you 🫶🏻

edwards.73 what a hottie ❤️‍🔥

lhughes_06 all you 😉

edwards.73 I was talking abt yn

lhughes_06 DUDE

jackhughes THAT’S YN!?

_quinnhughes YOU DIDN’T TELL US!?

ynmccarthy surprise?

edwards.73 my bad

rutgermcgroarty hey it wasn’t me who ruined something this time!

nicohischeir kidddd

lhughes_06 cap 🫡

ynmccarthy cutie in the red 😍

lhughes_06 ;)

jjmccarthy BARF

lhughes_06 I can make it worse

elblue6 it was so amazing to meet yn!

ynmccarthy love you Ellen! thanks so much for having me 🥰

markestapa it’s okay I’ll just get the invite next time

lhughes_06 it’s the first week of summer mark

markestapa and?

dylanduke25 miss you roomie 🫶🏻

lhughes_06 miss you duker 🥹

_quinnhughes yn needs to look out for Dylan

ynmccarthy we hung out one time guys

lhughes_06 one?

ynmccarthy one, three, seven idk

lhughes_06 uh huh

ynmccarthy

Liked by jjmccarthy, _quinnhughes and 28,550 others

ynmccarthy my boy 🩵

tagged lhughes_06

Comments have been disabled

lhughes_06

Liked by ynmccarthy, mackie.samo and 43,591 others

lhughes_06 boys night 🤘🏻

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jackhughes Luke, you need to stop. if you’re a fun dad we can’t be fun uncles

jackhughes funcles if you will

_quinnhughes I wanna be a druncle (drunk uncle)

ynmccarthy guys these would be Luke’s siblings🤦🏼‍♀️

jackhughes Oh hell nah he’s definitely not getting fun brother

user1 when he’s good with kids 🥹

Liked by ynmccarthy

ynmccarthy I think this could’ve been a boys + yn night

lhughes_06 no girls allowed. period.

_quinnhughes then why were you there?

lhughes_06 fuck off quinn

_quinnhughes yn are you gonna let him talk to me like that!?

ynmccarthy absolutely not quinny. he is now blocked & will be reprimanded at home

jjmccarthy no, please leave out the og McCarthy

lhughes_06 to be fair, you’re in Mexico

ynmccarthy he just can’t take not being the favorite older sibling

jjmccarthy well when you bang their favorite player you’re gonna be the favorite

lhughes_06 hey now

ynmccarthy what’s that supposed to mean asshole?

rutgermcgroarty guys let’s please not start a sibling war

colecaufield you’re whipped for this girl

ynmccarthy tell me about it. it’s tiring being his world 🥱

jackhughes I love yn so much, she’s so cocky

lhughes_06 just like you

mackie.samo Michigan really brings people together

lhughes_06 it’s the best state by far

ynmccarthy try again

lhughes_06 yn, babe, you’re from illinois. you get no input

jjmccarthy what’s wrong with Illinois!?

luca.fantilli oh so much

user2 yn and Luke better be endgame

nolan_moyle wtf game is that

lhughes_06 idk but they killed me at it

ynmccarthy you lost to a 3rd & 4th grader? embarrassing.

lhughes_06 and you would’ve done better?

jjmccarthy she’s literally a gamer

ynmccarthy jj wtf

lhughes_06 is this true

jjmccarthy ask her about mlb the show

ynmccarthy JJ

lhughes_06 we need to talk

adamfantilli took my yn away 🙄

ynmccarthy still yours Tilly

lhughes_06 uh, no? you’re not? you’re mine?

trevorzegras do I get to meet this yn?

ynmccarthy I’d also like to know when I meet the extended fam

ynssecretaccount

Liked by nicohischier, dylanduke25 and 113 others

ynssecretaccount *sappy post incoming* *the main doesn’t get these* I remember when there were 70 people on this account, and now there are over 100 because of everyone I’ve met through this guy. Luke Warren Hughes, I love you so much. You truly make me the happiest girl ever. If I had never met you at that party Sophomore year, none of this would’ve ever happened. Thank you for every little thing you do for me🫶🏻 happy one year lover

tagged lhughes_06

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jackhughes THE PICTURE

trevorzegras MY EYES

luca.fantilli WHOSE LIPS ARE WHOSE!?

mackie.samo this is why it’s on the private 😭

lhughes_06 dang we’re hot

ynssecretaccount facts

lhughes_06 & I love you more :)

ynssecretaccount not possible 🤞🏻

rutgermcgroarty it’s kinda cute tho …

ynssecretaccount Rutger on top yet again

lhughes_06 usually you’re on top

_quinnhughes WOAH

jackhughes Lukey boy!!!!

ynssecretaccount Lucas what the fuck

jackhughes uh oh she used the fake full name

nicohischier I hope there aren’t children here

ynssecretaccount now if Nico’s saying that I’m embarrassed

trevorzegras as long as Jamie isn’t on this account we’re safe

jamie.drysdale im here, and I’ve seen it, and I want to be gone

trevorzegras I should’ve warned you Jim 🤦🏼‍♀️

ynmccarthy there’s a reason this is private

_quinnhughes not you commenting on your private with your main account

ynssecretaccount what about it Quinn

elblue6 has requested to follow you

[wh0re43van]

Yes, sir (Professor!Evan Peters x Reader)

Summary: You’re three credits away from earning your bachelors degree. This is your second attempt at the same math course and you’re once again struggling. Thankfully, you have a very helpful professor.

Warnings: smut, teacher X adult student, not proofread

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: Another long one, but I prefer to develop a plot rather than just writing smut. I am working on some requests atm, this semester is almost over so I’ll soon have some free time to get caught up! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

I trudge my winter boots into class and take my regular seat next to the window. Snow is dusting the brown grass and white sidewalks of the courtyard. I shift my gaze to the board to see whatever stupid formulas we’ll be learning in this chapter. I groan to myself before taking a sip from my coffee, wishing I had spiked it before I left. This is the last chapter we’re learning before end of semester exams and I’m teetering right on the passing line with a 70%. I swear if I have to repeat this class again, I’m dropping out.

“Alright,” Mr. Peters stern but kind voice bounces off the concrete walls and into my ears as he enters the room. The dapper man takes off his scarf and sets his leather satchel onto his wooden desk. He sheds himself of his long coat and shakes the melting snowflakes out of his brown curls. He catches me admiring him. I look away quickly, but not before I see the wink he sends my way, making my heart skip a beat.

“You all should look more excited,” he grins, scanning the unenthused faces of his students. “You only have a few more classes with me,” Mr. Peters takes a seat in the worn leather chair. “At least most of you. Some of you may see me yet again next semester if you don’t buckle down these last few weeks,” he sends another look in my direction, this one more stern than flirty. Again, I look away from his gaze.

•

•

Class went by painstakingly slow as usual. I did my best to pay attention but ultimately resorted to making mental notes of what I need to pick up from the store and inevitably admiring how good my professor looks in his suit.

With Mr. Peters dismissal, I pack my belongings into my bag and make my way to the door.

“Miss y/l/n, would you come speak with me please,” Mr. Peters voice stops me in my tracks. I sigh and turn around, attempting to ignore the butterflies in my stomach that erupted when he spoke my name.

“Yes, sir?” I ask as I stop in front of his desk.

“I’m concerned with your grade in my course, y/n. You seem to be struggling this semester as well,” he expresses his concern folding his hands on top of the cool wood. “I notice that you seem to be a bit distracted in my class. May I ask why that may be,” he grins a bit with the statement. His voice low and serious, but laced with a playful knowing.

“I… well,” I blush at the eye contact that he refuses to break with me. I’m not ashamed to admit that I find my professor extremely attractive, and if I’m not mistaken, he hasn’t been too admit on hiding his amorous advances towards me. I often catch his eyes lingering on me and finding any excuse to come to my seat or speak with me privately. Of course, we’ve never discussed these events or feelings, but I do believe that there is a mutual understanding that makes me nervous, in turn amusing Mr. Peters.

“I think I need some help prepping for the exam. A private lesson would probably do me a lot of good. Do you think it’s too late to apply for a tutor?” I ask before bringing my finger up to my mouth to chew on my nails nervously.

“Oh y/n, I’d be more than happy to tutor you.” Mr. peters smiles, showing his darling dimples. “Could you stick around after our next class?” he asks, finally breaking eye contact with me to pack up his belongings. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Uhm yes, sir, but I don’t want to trouble you. I’m sure you’re a busy man,”

“Oh, I am,” he grins standing up and walking towards the door. I follow behind him. He places a now gloved hand on the handle then leans in closer to me, as if he’s telling a secret. “But I always have time for my favorite student,” he opens the door for me and I scurry out into the empty hall.

“Th-thank you professor.” is all I can stutter, staring at my boots in an effort to hide my pink cheeks, before I run off to my car.

•

•

It’s been two days since my last class with Mr. Peters. Our conversation hasn’t left my mind once. In fact, it’s led to some rather inappropriate thoughts. I think of him constantly. When making dinner I’m thinking of his low voice whispering in my ear, sending chills down my spine. While driving to work the thought of his bare skin against mine leaves my knees weak. Walking my dog, I can’t help but wonder how exactly he would have his way with me. What would he have me do if I told him I was his for the taking? And most shameful of all; I wonder if he’s having similar thoughts about me.

Pathetic, I know, but I just can’t help it.

Now, I find myself standing in front of my mirror, the entire contents of my closet scattered across my floor as I attempt to pick an outfit. I’ve settled on a dark ankle length wool skirt and knit stockings that come up to my mid-thigh to keep me warm. I’ve tucked a low cut burnt orange sweater into my skirt and behind a thick leather belt. I smile at my reflection. Mr. Peters is a man of class and poise; I believe he’ll find my outfit choice rather charming. I throw on my coat and gloves after lacing my boots and head off to class.

•

•

I anxiously find my seat in the chilly classroom as I dust the snowflakes out of my hair. Before sitting, I hang my damp coat on the back of the cold chair after tucking my gloves into the coat pocket.

“Good afternoon class,” Mr. Peters voice silences the few mumbles scattered around the room. I hear his footsteps making their way to his desk. I don’t dare turn my head to look at him. “I hope everyone is doing well.” The professor sets his bags down and organizes his plans for the day, taking a sip of coffee from his ceramic travel mug as he sits down in the leather chair. “We’re going to be continuing with our review of chapter 12 today,” his eyes scour the room, finally landing on me, scanning my body up and down before a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. I can’t help but grin back before he turns his body to begin writing notes on the board, starting the lesson. I bounce my leg with anticipation just waiting for my private session with Mr. peters. I long for his proximity, the feeling of his breath on my skin, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. I’m determined to have my way with him after class, if he’ll have me of course. God the next three hours of this class is going to be torture.

•

•

At last, I’m the only student left in the class. The silence is unbearably loud as Mr. Peters walks to the back of the room to latch the heavy wooden door. My heart pounds with each footstep as he approaches my seat, resting a warm hand on my shoulder.

“Why don’t you pull a chair up to my desk Miss y/l/n.” he suggests. I simply nod standing to pick up the chair. Mr. Peters tisks. “What am I thinking? Allow me y/n,” he steps in front of me to pick up the seat. “You’re wearing such a lovely outfit, I wouldn’t want you to risk ripping that beautiful skirt,” he carries the chair to his desk as I follow behind him. He bends over to set it down. “What’s the occasion?” he asks with a smirk as he straightens back up to meet my eyes. With a surge of confidence,

“I believe you know just the occasion, Mr. Peters.” I smirk back, not allowing myself to break away from his gaze.

“Hm,” he glances over my outfit once more, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth briefly. “So I do, Miss y/l/n.” with that he makes his way to his own seat.

“So, y/n,” Mr. Peters begins before sliding me a packet of papers. “I’ve ran off a more in-depth study guide for you. I suppose the best use of our time, given that the final exam is in just a few weeks, will be to make sure that you understand the core concepts that you will be tested on,” he speaks softly leaning on his elbows rested on the dark wood of the tabletop. I mimic his stance, positioning my elbows on the table, being sure to lean over enough so that some cleavage is exposed. Mr. Peters immediately picks up on my game, glancing down to look at my chest.

“I’ll agree to anything at this point sir. I trust you know best after all, professor,” I coo, looking at the handsome man through my lashes.

“Now, you don’t mean anything Miss y/l/n. I’m sure there’s a lot of things off the table for a lovely young lady such as yourself,” Mr. Peters says lowly. His dark eyes gaze into mine, just mere inches in between us. The proximity of his body to mine and the gruffness of his voice sends a surge of warmth between my legs. I cross and squeeze them in an attempt to get some friction on my core.

“Mr. Peters,” I lean further over the table, my face now so close to his that I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks. “There’s nothing ladylike about the things I would do for you,” I whisper looking into his lust filled eyes. Instantly, Mr. Peters leans forward, closing the space between us. His soft lips move in rhythm with mine. The kiss is polite and gentle. I pull back to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry y/n,” he looks almost guilty as he stands from his seat then walks over to face me on the other side of his desk.

“Why are you apologizing?” I ask, curious about his suddenly bashful demeaner.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I didn’t even ask permission,” he runs his hand through his hair, seeming almost stressed.

“Mr. peters,” I look up at him from my seat as he towers above me. “You have my permission to do whatever you like,” I smile innocently, gazing into his dark eyes as my hands slip into his waist band, pulling him closer to me. He bends down to envelop me in another kiss. This one is much more ruff; I can feel his desperation as he wraps his hands around my waist and hoists me up into his arms. Without taking his lips off mine, he sets me on the edge of his desk. I giggle as he slides a hand under my wool skirt, running his hand up to find my bare skin where my stocking stop. He smiles into the kiss as I reach for his dark leather belt to pop the buckle undone. He pulls his head away.

“Are you sure you want to do this y/n,” Mr. peters asks, breathless.

“More than anything, Professor,” I answer honestly, my legs still wrapped around his waist.

“I just feel I should take you on a proper date first,” he smiles, brushing some loose hair out of my face.

“Damnit Mr. Peters. If I let you buy me a coffee after this, will you please just fuck me,” I tease, but growing impatient.

“I suppose I can settle for that, since you asked so nicely.” He laughs, shrugging off his blazer and loosening his burgundy tie. He rests his hand on the back of my head, dipping down to meet his lips against mine. His kisses a trail up my jawline and to my ear as I palm him though his slacks. He monas quietly, sending shivers down my spine. My body is burning with lust, I’ve waited so long for this moment. He’s barely touched me and I’m already putty in his strong, warm hands. I slowly move my legs from his waist and stand, spinning us around so that his back is against the desk before dropping to my knees.

“Y/n, you don’t have to do this,” he looks down at me as my fingers work to unbutton his freshly pressed pants.

“Oh, please professor, I’d love to if you’d let me.” My fingers pause as I look up at him, waiting for permission. He just licks and bites his lips, then nods his head. I smile, biting my lip back at him, happily unzipping his pants and sliding them down along with his boxers. With no hesitation, I take his hardened length into my hand rubbing the precum around his tip with my thumb, earning a low groan from him.

“You look so handsome like this, Mr. Peters.” I praise, collecting spit in my mouth then licking from base to tip to before taking him as far in my mouth as I can.

“Holy- fuck,” he gasps. Wide eyes staring down at me, watching as I bob my head up and down on his cock. He moans as his strong hand pulls my hair into a ponytail, using it guide me. The way he’s looking into my eyes as I gag on him makes my core ache. His dark eyes focused on mine with his pink lips pulled into a tight line, his neck strained in pleasure. A single brown curl falls from his slicked back hairdo, flopping against his sweaty forehead with every thrust he makes into my mouth. My moment of admiration is cut short when he pulls away from me, allowing me to gasp for breath.

“Get on the desk,” he commands, pushing some papers onto the floor. I smile and quickly hop onto the now empty table.

“How do you want me?” I ask, still catching breath as I wipe the slobber off the side of my mouth.

“First, lets get you out of this,” he undoes my waist belt, then pulls my orange sweater over my head, tossing it onto his chair. I shiver, but not from the cold air hitting my skin. “Much better,” he smiles as he lays a gentle kiss on my lips. “Now lay down and put your legs up,” he orders as he slips off my snow boots.

“Yes sir,” I oblige laying on the cool wood, bending my knees and resting my feet on the edge of the desk, allowing my long skirt to fall and gather around my waist, exposing my stockings and my bare thighs.

“Miss y/l/n, you are truly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he swoons, laying wet kisses on my thighs. Each peck feels as though it’s charged, sending electric course through my veins. “May I?” he asks permission as his fingers loop into the waist band of my cotton underwear.

“I insist,” I smile. He gets to his knees before pulling the thin fabric off, then grabs my hips, pulling me swiftly to the edge of the table. I gasp the sudden movement as he positions my legs on his shoulders. I hear my professor chuckle lowly.

“Look at you,” he takes his thumb and spreads my slick up to my clit, earning a small moan from me. “So ready for me already?”

“Mr. Peters, I’ve been ready for you since our first class togeth-“ I interrupt myself with a gasp, shooting my hand down to grip his hair as he licks my clit and a single digit slips past my entrance.

“Mm,” he hums, moving his head to look up at me but still pumping into me with his finger, making my toes curl. “I guess the feeling is mutual then. I can’t say I was anything but thrilled to see your name on my roster again this year,” he finishes then goes back to working his expert tongue on my bundle of nerves sending pleasure to every part of my body. My stocking clad thighs tighten around his head and my back arches off the table. No one I’ve ever been with has made me feel this good. His finger hits the perfect spot with every pump, his tongue moves in every way I need it to. My body feels like its on fire in the best way possible.

“I’m so close Mr. Peters,” I encourage him with a moan, feeling the familiar tightness in my stomach as my legs begin to tremble around his head. He responds by slipping another finger inside, curling them into the most sensitive part of my body while he laps at my clit. I feel my walls pulse around his fingers as I come undone, moaning a mix of profanities and his name. Pure bliss surges through my body as he slows down his fingers, allowing me to ride out my orgasm.

“Fuck,” I pant as he stands up, licking my juices off his fingers before grabbing my back, helping me sit up to face him. Mr. peters opens his mouth to say something, but before he can speak I grab his tie, pulling him in to crash his lips into mine, wrapping my legs around him causing his length to rub against my soaked core, earning a groan against my lips. My shaky hands reaches down to his hard cock to pump him.

“You’re sure this is what you want y/n?” he pants against my lips.

“Of course,” I whisper. Mr. Peters reaches down to line himself up with me, slowly sliding in with ease from how slick he’s made me. I wrap my hands around his neck, throwing my head back as a sigh of pleasure escapes my lips.

“Is this okay?” Mr. Peters groans. I nod my head

“Faster,” I pant. His hands snake around my back grabbing my ass through my skirt as he begins to pound into me. I scream in pleasure. Mr. Peters hand clasps over my mouth.

“Not so loud sweetie,” he chuckles, reminding me that there are classes in session down the hall. He uses his hand on my back to pull me impossibly closer, mercilessly thrusting deeper inside me than anything’s ever been before. My eyes roll back as I grab onto the arm muffling my screams. I dig my nails into the sleeve of the white button up as pure euphoria and sweat drips out of my every pore.

“Fuck, you feel so good, y/n.” My professor grunts, watching my breasts bounce with every thrust of his hips. I can do nothing but mumble into his hand, because if he removes it, the whole campus will hear what we’re doing. I feel my second orgasm building as my hole body begins to tremble. I look into Mr. Peters lust filled eyes, as he bites his lip in concentration and pleasure. Now, a few loose curls are stuck to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The sleeves of his once neatly pressed buttonup is pulled tight against his toned arm as he flexes his bicep in order to keep the death grip on my on my mouth that’s keeping me quiet. I feel my core pulse as I tip over the edge of my second orgasm. Mr. Peters groans loudly, pulling my lips to his in a sloppy kiss to muffle both our screams of pleasure. I release around him, digging my nails into his neck. He reaches down to rub circles on my bundle of nerves, encouraging my orgasm. I bury my head in the the crook of his neck, biting the soft skin as overstimulation soon overtakes the pleasure. Mr. Peters pulls out, pumping himself to his own orgasm as he spills his seed all over my thighs and the knit fabric of my socks, biting his lip and letting out strangled moans.

He lays his foread against mine, placing a kiss to my nose.

“You’re so beautiful.” He pants out in a whisper, then reaches down to tuck himself back into his pants.

“Thank you.” I blush, feeling a bit exposed now. Sitting on his desk topless, pantiless, and covered in my professors semen.

“Allow me to clean you up miss y/l/n,” he walks over to grab some tissues out of his drawer, wiping up the mess he made as best he could.

He grabs my hand and helps me to my trembling feet. I grab my sweater off his chair and slip it onto my sweaty skin.

“uhm,” I look around. “Mr. Peters what have you done with my underwear?” I ask with a giggle.

“Hm,” he pauses his hands that were fixing his tie, looking around as well. “oh, here they are,” he chuckles, grabbing them off the a students chair a few feet away. I take the fabric out of his hand slide them on under my warm skirt. “Allow me to help you with your boots, Miss y/l/n.” he grabs the heavy shoes and sets me down in his desk chair, slipping them on.

“How kind,” I giggle, reaching to bush his loose curls back to where theyre supposed to be. He smiles, laying a kiss on my hand before standing to grab his blazer.

“Now, I believe I owe you a coffee.” He takes my arm in his, leading me to my seat so I can bundle up and collect my belongings.

“Mr. Peters, I was only kidding.” I smile, putting my gloves on before following him to the door.

“Well I most certainly wasn’t, y/n.” He grins, showing his precious dimples. I cant stop smiling no matter how hard I try as he opens the door for me.

I think I’m finally going to pass this class.

[atarathegreat]

Orange Cat Behavior Headcanons

ft: Kirishima, Sero, Todoroki, Hawks, Mirio, Shinso

The floor is lava with Kirishima was eventful, at least. The both of you bouncing around the sitting quarters in the dorm as the other students walked around as if it wasn't happening, and Aizawa tried not to worry about it. If you fell and busted your face open then he would be responsible. You and Kirishima were careful enough that you kept each other from dive bombing the floor.

"Kiri! How long can we touch the floor?" You dove from the tv table to the coffee table. You wanted to move around more than the couches and two tables, and the kitchen wasn't that far. "Like, six seconds." Kirishima stared at you, then glanced at the dining table where you were looking. "Don't tell me..."

"I am." You stood on the back of the couch, "You count down the seconds for me, if I don't make it... we had a good run."

You made it halfway across the floor when he reached 1. You had burned up in the lava. "No!" You fell to your knees, then your back, pretending to be dead. Kirishima sacrificed himself, holding your limp body as he dramatically cried out.

The last thing Sero expected was to find you on the roof of the dorm with what appeared to be around 70 feet of rope.

"What are you doing?" He stared from you to the edge of the roof, "And what's that?" You looked down, "Oh, this is my new shirt. Like it?"

"I meant the rope."

"Oh."

You grabbed the rope and tied it to the nearest, what was definitely not sturdy enough, anchor, "I'm going to see how long it takes me to scale the building with this rope. And you better not tell Aizawa what I'm doing. He already stopped me last week."

"Ten four."

It wasn't his fault, but Todoroki had a bad habit of reminding you of a really, really dumb cat. He always looked confused or shocked or...well there surely wasn't thoughts behind his eyes. Today was no different. He just stared at everything, hardly said two words to anyone.

So, you hid in his dark room to scare him when he got back to the dorms. It wasn't the best idea, considering he could've turned you into a real nice fish fillet. But instead, it worked in your favor. You crawled out from under his bed like some bullshit from the Grudge and he ran screaming.

And it's only funny if you followed him down the dark halls and into the darker big open rooms. Which you did.

With it being his day off, and you hadn't yet gotten up to make breakfast, Keigo was busy kissing your face. Slow, almost bored kisses.

"Can I go make breakfast yet?" You muttered, your stomach grumbling. You had woken up hours ago and was kept in the bed by soft feathers and promises of "Soon enough, dove."

But that's not who Keigo was. No, he wanted your attention and was going to keep you in the bed. Another slow and firm kiss was pressed to your nose before he even tried to speak. "In a moment, dove, let me have my time here."

It was absolutely insane how fast Mirio was. Running around the dorm for his exercise since it was raining. You had tried to get him to go outside with a raincoat, but once you opened the door, he would step away and change his mind.

"I'm just fine in here, thanks, though." And he went back to zooming around the common room and knocking things over for his gains.

Taking Shinso to a cat cafe was a nice choice for his birthday, except that he spent all his time on the floor with the cats. He wasn't worried about the coffee or tea or food, he was having fun with the cats. And you watched as he just laid on his back or his tummy, petting and cooing to the cats around him.

"Can we go again tomorrow?" Shinso asked as you both left, "Please, please, please? Did you see how cute they all were?"

"We can go tomorrow." You chuckled.

Shinso jumped around the empty sidewalk, grabbing your hands and just shaking with energy with how excited he was.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Requests in my inbox. Part 2

Time to update my list. Few things to be noted:

1. I might mixed up anon and non-anon requests. So, don't worry, if you were sure, that you have send your request as (non) anon, but in the list it in opposite group.

2. There are few more asks in my inbox, but, they are lean closer to asking a simple question and don't require to write a fic (or bullet fic). So, I didn't include them.

3. Thank you all for all interesting ideas and requests.

Anon

1. Ayatsuji Yukito, Akutagawa Ryunosuke and Selectively Mute Reader

2. Reader commited S* because of bullying

3. Something with Self-Aware! Chuuya

4. Teen! Autistic! Reader

5. Reader are extremely beautiful and feminine

6. Reader are also a character in anime and still aren't Self-Aware

7. Child! Reader are independent, because they came from abusive family (Dazai, Poe, Fukuzawa)

8. Reader main Ayato (Fitzgerald)

9. Teen! Reader who are a straight A student

10. Ranpo is Reader's favorite character

11. BEAST AU and Guiding Light

12. Reader are like Kanade Yoisaki

13. Teen! Reader were turned into a baby (Hunting Dogs)

14. Reader have an ability, that works in a dark (Sun/Moon inspired)

15. Reader casually mention 2016 clown craze

16. Guiding Light have a cheating partner (Hunting Dogs)

17. Reader are similar to Ariana Grande (short, can ran a marathon while wearing heels, will fall after taking a step, wearing slippers)

18. Something with Self-Aware! Francis

19. Characters reaction on Reader kinning them

20. Characters reaction on hearing a rap about them

21. Characters learn about Final Destination movies

22. Reader play BSD together with their best friend

23. Reader are a stage actor in BSD on Stage and play Dazai

24. Traveler-like! Reader

25. Another anime became Self-Aware (JJK)

26. Reader are underweight

27. Reader are a dub actor for someone from BSD

28. Reader are a smart 5-6 years old (Tetchou and Chuuya)

29. Furina! Reader

30. Reader gain an ability

31. Aroace! Reader

32. How BSD Characters will feel about Idol/Cosplayer Reader

33. Reader got home injured

34. Reader turned into a cat

35. Really Tall! Teenage! Reader

36. Teen! Reader who like to press buttons

37. Only BEAST AU became Self-Aware

38. Child! Reader didn't understand implications about Mori

39. Reader are like Izana Kurokawa

40. Genderfluid! GrayAce! Reader with PTSD from abusive friendship

41. Reader roast people's cooking on TikTok

42. Reader randomly mention funny events

43. Teen! Reader who came from Troubled Teen Industry

44. BSD being overprotective over Teen! Reader

45. Reader turned into a cat (2nd request)

46. Jingliu! Reader

47. Child! Reader with fear of abandonment

49. Reader have a dark past (Dazai, Atsushi and Chuuya)

50. Child Prodigy Reader

51. Male! Reader has Cyno's sence of humor

52. Reader have a mental disorder

53. Semi-romantic Chuuya x Adult! Reader

54. Focalor! Reader

55. Reader become angry because of an Imposter

56. Teen! Reader are a raging metalhead

57. Reader are a White Hat Hacker

58. SAGAU Cult AU

59. Self-Aware! Genshin and Self-Aware! BSD interactions

60. Reader died in Teyvat and returned to the real world

61. Reader have some ideas, how to help BSD Cast (Imposter au)

62. Reader are good at fitting things in places

63. Reader were SA by their Step-Father

64. Reader want to be an artist

65. Reaction to Bungou to alchemist

66. Feral! Teen! Reader

67. Child! Reader have a lung disease

68. Teen! Reader have troubles with following schedules

69. Reader are Aventurine

70. Imposter AU. Reader were SA

71. Child! Reader screaming while singing to a metal

72. Reader randomly cuddle with BSD Characters

73. Teen! Reader copy Mori's, Dazai's and Ango's behavior

74. Mori is Reader's favorite character

75. Reader has Karma's (assasination classroom) personality

Non-anon

1. Flirty! Ace! Reader

2. Reader are busy and didn't play BSD that much

3. Jouno and Tetchou with Reader, who play viola

4. Reader have an OC they ship with BSD Character

5. Platonic Yanderes Atsushi and Kyuoka with Teen! Reader

6. DOA make Mitsuri! Reader a new uniform

7. Yandere! Chuuya with Requester's OC-based! Reader

8. FNAF Crossover (Reader survived The Missing Kids Incident)

9. Reader is similar to Kagura Mikazuchi

10. Reader's favorite character is PM Dazai and Reader are ashamed because of it

11. Reader have magic

12. Reader is a very good cosplayer

13. Classroom of the elite crossover (Reader escaped the White Room)

14. Hilichurls protect Reader (Imposter AU)

15. BSD Characters react to some theories (Atsushi, Chuuya, Rimbaud, Verlaine)

16. BSD Cast arrive on Reader's birthday

17. Reader are chill person with morbid sence of humor

18. Reader is a magical girl (Logicalist)

19. Diluc and Akutagawa (Imposter AU)

20. Reader have a character-based account

21. Reader is a dancer

22. Reader is an artist with uncurable disease

23. Reader have DID

24. Reader are happy to go to the beach in Genshin world

25. Ballerina! Reader

26. Male! Teen! Reader who is neglected by his parents, but have two big sisters

27. Reader are a mafioso's child

28. Nikolai vs Lyney

29. Atsushi vs Tighnari

30. Reader have smarts of Kevin from Home Alone

31. Guiding Light has powers

32. Reader in Liyue (Imposter AU)

33. Reader were executed, but returned back to life (imposter au)

34. Ranpo x Fem! Reader

35. Teen! Reader failed a test

36. Scarecrow! Reader (imposter au, lots of fandoms)

37. Reader are a BSD Character and were killed

38. Male! Reader are a voice actor

39. BSD Cast react to same voice actors

40. Child! Reader from this fic end up in Teyvat

41. Filipino! Teen! Reader singing Orange and Lemons and Eraserheads songs

42. Emo! Fem! Reader

43. SCP-999! Fem! Reader

44. BEAST! BSD and Protective! OG! BSD

Event

4. Verlaine

5. Soukoku

6. Karma

7. Fyodor, Dazai

8. Oda, Dazai

9. Mori, Natsume, Fukuzawa

10. Chuuya and Dazai

11. Flags

12. Akutagawa, Atsushi, Dazai

13. Fukuzawa, Mori, Natsume

14. OG! Soukoku and BEAST! Soukoku

15. BEAST! Dazai

16. BEAST! Shin Soukoku

17. BEAST! Soukoku

18. Nikolai

19. Port Mafia

20. Dazai, Fyodor

21. Goncharov, Shibusawa, Gogol (fem! Reader, Tsaritsa-focused)

22. Koyou

24. DOA

25. Frankenstein, Chuuya, Verlaine

26. Q

27. Verlaine

28. Dazai and BEAST! Dazai

29. Soukoku (Teen! Reader)

30. Verlaine, Rimbaud, Chuuya

31. Buraiha trio

32. Fyodor and Nikolai

33. BEAST Dazai, Yumeno, BEAST Akutagawa

34. Ayatsuji, Tsujimura, Ango

[artiststarme]

Highway to Hell

Just another fun little story based on a random sentence song title that came to mind. I hope you guys like it and please leave a comment below!

~*~*~*~

Steve was a really bad driver. He knew it, his high school friends knew it, and the police knew it. He didn’t mean it in a technical way, he was perfectly capable of driving a car and not crashing it. Admittedly, he was reckless and he found driving laws to be more of a suggestion than a rule. Steve had his reasons though. 

There was very little to do in Hawkins for any sort of entertainment. One could only go to the arcade or go swimming at the lake so many times before it became boring just like everything else in the town. When the excitement surrounding fun activities wore out, Steve turned to racing down empty country roads and skidding down the highway to feel a thrill. 

And he liked it. The feeling of the wind tearing through the open windows, the exhilaration at the threat of danger, and the delight that came with gaslighting the cops that pulled him over. There was nothing better. 

All of that changed when the kids started hanging around though. Steve couldn’t race down the 25 mph roads at 70. He had to slow down and protect his precious cargo. As such, the only people that didn’t realize he was a notoriously bad driver were the kids and Robin. They considered him the safest driver they’d ever been around. He followed the speed limit to a T, didn’t have road rage like their parents, and always stopped at stop signs. What more could they ask for?

It lasted for a while, his good driving habits, enough that Hopper, Powell, and Callahan all took a sigh of relief. Not having to worry about Steve Harrington doing his darndest to wrap himself around a tree allowed them to let their guard down. Granted, it coincided with strange happenings, disappearances, and murders, but still, it was one less thing on their plate.  

When he started hanging out with Eddie after the events of Spring Break, Steve relaxed a little bit. He didn’t have to be so stringent with his driving and could start letting loose again. So he did. Whenever he was alone or driving somewhere with Eddie, he’d speed like a bat out of hell, ignore the recommended stop signs, take turns too fast, everything he shouldn’t do. 

Hopper was the one who pulled him over first after he illegally passed the police cruiser going 60 mph in a 45. 

“Harrington, what the hell? I thought you were done with this shit,” Hopper grumbled. His face was exasperated which made sense since his pseudo-son was being a little shit again. 

Steve just sent him a chagrined smile, “I’m sorry Hop, I didn’t mean to speed. I’m rushing Eddie back to the trailer because he’s feeling sick and I don’t want him throwing up in my car. I love the guy but not enough to deal with vomit, you know?”

Hopper just shook his head at him and waved him off. “Next time I catch you speeding, you’re getting a ticket. Go the speed limit, Steve.”

“Of course you won’t catch me again, Hop! I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. Bye!” He called as Hopper walked back to the cruiser. He looked at Eddie in the passenger seat to face a deranged glare. “What’s up with you?”

“Me?!” Eddie shrieked. “You’re the one speeding like you have a death wish then blaming it on me to my future father-in-law! You’re not winning me any points here, Steve!”

“Wow hey, Hop likes you just fine. Also, future father-in-law? Let’s go back to that, as far as I know, you haven’t even proposed!”

“Gay marriage is illegal! Otherwise I would’ve-”

~*~*~*~

The next time they got pulled over, Steve blew through a stop sign. That one, admittedly, was his fault. He’d been too distracted with Eddie’s hand rubbing his thigh that he’d driven right through it. Luckily though, it was late and no one was out and about. Besides the police cruiser that was parked out of sight in the dark. 

As soon as Powell saw it was him, he told him to keep his eyes on the road and walked back to his car. He’d dealt a lot with Steve Harrington and he wasn’t willing to put up with the headache at 2 AM on a Tuesday. He’d get him next time, he was sure. 

~*~*~*~

Steve had a tactic for dealing with Callahan. His big brother could be a bit of a dumbass and as long as you muddied the situation enough, he would drop the lecture and ticket out of confused rage alone. It had worked with him every single time thus far and it wouldn’t fail him now. 

So, when he and Eddie got pulled over for speeding down an empty country road, Steve mustered up his bitchiest face. As soon as Phil walked up to the window, he started his act. 

“Phil, what the hell? Why are you pulling me over? I’m just trying to get home after a long day.”

“You were going 30 mph over the speed limit which is considered reckless driving. I should write you a ticket right now,” Callahan spoke with an air of cocky arrogance that was sure to fade. 

“Who says I was speeding? You were the one that had to speed to catch up to me. Why were you driving so quickly? Some might say that’s reckless.” The smile dropped off of Phil’s face immediately and he became defensive. 

“I’m a police officer, I’m allowed to speed.”

“Ohhh, so you think you’re above the law because you have a badge?” Steve raised an eyebrow and could only watch in delight as Phil’s face became more and more red.

“That’s not what I sai-”

“That’s awful, Phil. What would mom say right now? Or worse, what would Hopper say about his deputy mistreating the badge?”

Phil just looked at him in shock before he blinked. “How the hell do you do this every time? Do you know how many times you’ve tried to trick me when I’ve pulled you over?”

“Phil, that doesn’t sound like me at all. Why are you really pulling me over today? Are you trying to pull the annoying big brother card? Is this a prank?”

“You know it's not a prank, you were speeding!” He yelled at him.

“You were speeding!” Steve screamed back, pointing a finger at him accusingly. 

“Jesus Christ, just go home and stop fucking speeding! Fuck Steve, every time!” Phil screamed in fury before stomping back to his cruiser. 

Steve merely rolled up the window and turned his head to look at Eddie. He was once again shocked with his mouth gaping open. 

“Oh yeah, did I tell you that Phil’s my brother? Small world, huh?”

~*~*~*~

Of course no one in the Party believed Eddie when he told them that Steve drove like a maniac on crack. Every single person he told just shrugged it off and it was driving him insane. He even tried to convince Hopper to talk to the kids but he refused to get in the middle or risk fighting with his kid. 

To this day, the Party still doesn’t believe Eddie when he says that Steve is a reckless driver (and it’s infuriating because Steve smirks arrogantly anytime it comes up).

Bonus: Eddie knows Steve before the Upside Down because he almost hit him with his car when Eddie was walking home one day (Steve gave him a ride after but the damage was done)

That’s how he knew he could handle driving the RV and why he decided to throw him the reins. 

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[snickerdoodlles]

I was gonna ask you for ☕☕☕ on Kim characterisations but I know that could put you at risk of assassination 💀 so free choice! Any ☕ on anything you need to get off your chest - I love u

😂 it is a choose violence game, let's play with fire 🔥 three Kim characterizations i don't much care for:

writing Kim as really old

like. hmmmm. i feel like a lot of fic out there is just really bad at characterizing young 20 yos, there are a lot of stories that write Kim's vibes like he's 38 yo or something. it's. bizarre. 21/22 yo is still so young. there's still so much uncertainty at that age and so much self-discovery to come. i've complained about this before so i don't want to just rehash that but. yeesh. some people really kinda suck at writing "kid in college" aged characters.

not letting Kim be playful

honestly, this one kinda follows on the previous point? there's a very annoying trend of writing ~older~ characters as only ever very serious. and like, aside from the irritation at the way people are really bad at early 20s vibes, people never outgrow playfulness. in canon, i'm pointing to Porsche trapping Kinn under the sheets and farting or them huffing their morning breaths in each other's faces (i love u canon ❤). but people still do ridiculous shit at 40/50/60/70/80/ALL THE AGES too. 40yo sisters who greet each other by punching the other in the boob. the 60yo neighbor who tells me my shoelaces are untied every time he sees me in sandals. the 50yo uncle who flicks popcorn in the mouths of anyone who falls asleep during movie night. there's no age limit to this sort of thing!

but while some of the ultra seriousness seems to be a weird age thing, it's like people also missed that Kim is playful? he's very intense when he's in mafia business mode and he's a nightmare to the guards (❤), but he plays along with Khun. he teases Chay. he has a good rapport with other university students. he can be more lowkey playful than others, but Kim's not made of stone, he has his fun too.

Wik being a burden on Kim

this one starts running into differences in headcanon-- like personally, i'm looking for fics where Wik is Kim's home. i've cried about this elsewhere so i'll keep it short, but Wik is the life Kim poured blood, sweat, and tears into to build up brick by brick. Wik is the life Kim wants, it's the parts of him he thinks are the best of him. i actually make the MC of the ep4 university one of Kim's best friends (i call him Green), and one of my favorite headcanons i've come up with for them is that everyone thinks Green twists Kim's arm into doing outreach events, but actually Green is Kim's connection to university news because he loves doing them but never knows who to ask. Kim desperately wants to be a source of good inspiration to others and have purpose outside of violence, and Wik is his way of doing that. Wik is not a burden on Kim (in fact, i'd argue Kim all but said he is a burden on Wik, but i digress).

so, that's my personal preference for Kim's relationship with Wik, but obviously not everyone's going to have the same characterization and that's cool. where i start to get annoyed is when people write him as very...hmm. dismissive? of it. or otherwise seems like he doesn't like any aspect of it. i straight up back click on any fic that has Kim fuck up the name of some popular musician. this is not a specific call out, but for example-- i remember reading something where there was this offhand line of Kim being like "and there's a request for a show with some other musician, wangson jack?" and just. no. back click, goodbye, nope. shit like that really starts to bug me. some of it is personal irritation at how awful a lot of english speakers are towards asian artists (which like. random fandom people are not at fault for the crimes of USamerican music reporters. but maybe consider that until people overall are less shitty and dismissive towards them, one off lines referencing real life musicians like this are better off deleted). but over all i just...really, really dislike disrespectful attitudes like that (esp for something related to the arts) and i don't want to read them in my favorite character. Kim is pursuing a career in the music industry for himself--Kim being, u know, Kim, he's going to take it very seriously and with that, also hold a lot of respect towards his fellow musicians generally speaking. at the very least, he's going to be cordial and pleasant with them because no one likes working with an asshole and Kim is trying to keep his mafia bullshit far away from his Wik goals. not everyone's going to have the same characterization headcanons i do for how much i think Kim would pour himself into music and love it, but i really don't vibe with any take where Wik is a burden on or a drag for Kim.

and a bonus ☕ because i luv u too anon: anything where Kim doesn't love his brothers or sees them as actual competition instead of the ones he wants to protect the most. this is not a surprise to anyone here, u all know how much i love brothers, but i've noticed that fandom gets kinda caught up in the chess metaphors sometimes. and to that i say: 1. Terry Pratchett yall: sin is when you treat people like things. 2. Terry Pratchett again: chess is a stupid ass metaphor for real life. 3. kp canon agrees with that. Korn is shit at playing chess. (the fucking. ep1 game. omfg. Chan is all but eating his pieces to let Korn win. i'm still howling over the scholars mate in ep5.) Korn is noticeably shit at all his hobbies that are metaphors for controlling people. which is the point! the boys fail every time they try to play his games, because you cannot play people like you would a game. every triumph is rooted in overturning the game board completely.

[ send a ☕, get a bitchy* fic opinion ]

*personal preference related, we’re not here to be mean

[submalevolentgrace]

(yesterday i received an ask, which prompted me to write the following response. the asker has apologised for sending it and i took it down to prevent anyone from laying into them, but present is anonymously below because i like my response and want you to see it)

"Based on the fun new revelation that the world is ending before I graduate, is it even worth it to try prepping or should we all just get ready to jump into traffic come 2025?"

okay, there is, A LOT to unpack here. i'm gonna do my best to respond to this helpfully, the way i am facing it: confronting it, emotionally processing it, pragmatically preparing, and holding on to a sort of grim, dark hope.

we're talking about climate collapse and the latest IPCC report here right? first off, it's not a new revelation. maybe it is for you personally, but for humanity as a whole, we've known about the inevitable outcomes of emissions damaging the climate since like the 70's. i found out about it myself in primary school in the mid 90's, when it was still called the greenhouse effect, and i then spent 20 years on and off in various roles of support for climate activism, when i had the spoons. if you're young and just finding out about it now i know it's probably overwhelming, and especially sucks the later you've been born into this mess… but i'm pointing out that it's not new, to underline the point that it's also not sudden. yeah it's getting worse, but it's been getting worse for generations, and will keep getting worse for generations.

it's not a meteor, or a volcano. it's a creeping steady decline of habitability with sputters and bursts of natural disaster; there is no timeline or event or threshold at which the world ends here.

that 2025 "deadline" from this year's IPCC synthesis report, for instance; it's not a date that the world ends. honestly, in some ways, it's kinda meaningless. what it is, as i understand it, is that all the data says that if we want to limit global average temperature rises to 1.5C by end of century - which we do, because even 2C would be catastrophic - we need emissions to peak by 2025 and then rapidly decline. it's a vastly oversimplified agregate of incredibly complex data reduced down to the point of absurdity in a desperate attempt by scientists to get corporations to allow governments to take action to limit corporations. it's a deadline for government action to limit effects by 2100. the year will come, and pass, and the world will go on. probably with emissions still going up, probably with targets shifted again and 2C accepted as the next half hearted goal that will also be missed, but life will go on.

no end of the world. life will go on. into the 2030's, into the 2040's, into the 2100's, life will go on. it'll be hotter and colder, wetter and drier, more storms and bushfires, less food and fertile land, but life will go on. populations will starve, land will become uninhabitable, life will go on. when you hear about "the end of the world" from climate collapse, it's not a hard apocalypse that kills us all off or whatever. it's the slow creep of nature getting more harsh, and the way we do things much harder.

if you look at the serious reports from scientists and militaries, the language you see isn't "end of the world", it's "end of modern societies". that's what's really at risk: the fragile infrastructure that holds up the ruling classes of rich nations and has us all scurrying around to make it work. mass scale power grids, international supply chains and just in time logistics, silicon wafer production, year-round plastic wrapped preserved passionfruit chunks grown in thailand, packed in argentina, sold in france, profits to america, money stored on a computer in the cayman islands. i can't sugarcoat it and say that's all that's at stake; people are definitely going to starve and drown and die of exposure; but that already happens every day in most of the world, right now. there are a million rohingya at the border of bangladesh, locals fleeing khartoum as the west airlifts out is nationals, people whose civilisations were crushed under the boots of empires and land destroyed to create the farmland and factories that are killing the planet. life for them goes on.

i mean, i get it. seeing the impending collapse of your society, everything you've known for your whole life being willfully destroyed, it's fucking devastating. we want to keep sitting here on comfortable couches with our gold and cobalt plated supercomputers sharing cat gifs on the hellsite. we don't want to have our civilisation taken away from us and be forced into brutal struggle to survive. it's going to fucking suck, it will be awful, and it will be (and already is) most destructive to the people who are already the worst off, which just sucks even more… and maybe your life is already bad enough that you don't think you can handle it getting worse. i mean, i've been suicidal since i was 14 and i've been through trauma and medical torture you wouldn't believe since then. i get it. you're scared, terrified even. existentially threatened. you don't know what you can handle and maybe you donn't wanna find out.

but here's the thing: the ONLY sensible thing you can do, now and going forwards, is prepare for it.

you wanna kill yourself when it gets hard? let's say sure, i agree with that. what's the threshold then, what's the limit? when will you kill yourself? the power grid going down? sewerage backing up? supply chains failing and being unable to buy food? from the comfort of the developed world, those all feel like exit points i can imagine many people taking as their out… but how long does it have to last before you know it's carbon-monoxide-party time? a month of no power, no flush, no food? a week, a few months, or a year? because it won't start that way.

it's not a meteor or volcano, it's a slow slide. some powerlines sagged so there's rolling blackouts every now and then, a few hours or a day at a time. pipes backed up a bit so pressure is reduced for a week until repairs are done. fires and plague have closed roads so shelves are bare and stores are limiting purchases on essentials this month. there will be bumps along the road before there will be any sort of definitive cliff where you can say "this is it, now is the time to kill myself". these bumps are already happening.

i really hope you can agree, it'd be absurd to be such a fatalistic doomer that you kill yourself instantly at the first blackout, dry tap, or closed grocery store; when you can't know if it'll be back up in a few hours or tomorrow or next week. these small disruptions are already happening right now, directly as a result of climate collapse, but we're still here, still living. if we're going to talk about suicide as a pragmatic option, you need a threshold, and wherever you set it, you'll have to get through what comes before. "i'll kill myself after a month with no grid" still means you gotta be ready for a week without it. you gotta prepare, even if you plan to not survive.

and i know it's overwhelming, i know. to look around and think about what is essential to keep you going, what you can sacrifice, how you can make it through. but you're not going to be doing it alone, everyone around you is going to be doing it with you. we're all going to be struggling through it, and based on how communities have responded in the last few years to a string of once-in-a-lifetime disasters here in my home of climate-fucked australia, i am certain that when the climate collapses around a group of people, they will form a community and help each other, no matter how selfish and mean of a country bogan (translation: redneck) they are. people will help each other; people already are helping each other.

because yeah, climate collapse will probably destroy modern civilisation… but so what? it's a neoliberal capitalist hellscape quickly plunging us into technologically enforced eternal authoritarianism… and like, not to be an accelerationist or anything, but here's that dark hope i mentioned: i'm kinda relieved by the thought that the infrastructure that enables it won't last this century. that climate collapse will force us out of these horrors, and back into real, interdependent community.

so do what you can to prepare, how you can, to make the little disruptions more bearable and comfortable. there's plenty of resources still available for off grid life, camping, home agriculture, and general self sufficiency out there on the still-existant internet, and more people are getting into it all the time - not just what you imagine when you hear "prepper". any skill you can develop, anything you can do to prepare, even if it's as simple as keeping extra shelf stable food and a jug of clean water around, anything you can do will help you materially and more importantly, mentally.

having some jerry cans of water and a small solar setup has been amazing for my mental health and anxiety! and as much as i'm putting material and energy into preperations, i'm also putting them into comfort, maybe even hedonism. collecting some cool lego, got some fancy synths i didn't need, making fucked up noise music with them. enjoying the sound of the neighbours' chickens, looking forward to the day "the world ends" and i can free-range my own on the council's nature strip and share the eggs with the pottery lady down the street. once you're prepared to survive a week of grid down, maybe you'll realise a month, a year, isn't so unbearable. maybe it starts to feel nice?

because i've been there, the suicidal grief. 2018 was absolutely the worst year of my life and i was sure i'd die being tortured in hospital, and coming out of that, in 2019, both the IPCC and ADF released incredibly bleak reports on climate collapse outcomes, and it all sank in. all the spare spoons i'd sunk into helping when i could, all the decades of scientists desperately warning, it all failed. the final warnings have been coming for years, with no change in course, it's happening. and i faced the realisation that my decades were limited, my time of comfort short, and i started despairing and grieving. i turned to what support systems i had, and they failed me. when my psych asked what i was so anxious about and i started explaining the climate reports, he tensed up and started asking diagnostic questions for dilusional psychosis. i went home and cried, i was sleeping on the couch in the junk storage room of my sharehouse because i'd let my own room fill up with so much trash that there was a distinctly organic smell of growth choking the whole place out. i was fucking done, my heart and body broken, there didn't seem to be any point in anything, not without a future. it's the closest i've been to killing myself since leaving home…

so i said, fuck it. i've got a tiny pool of cash from welfare backpay, and i bought a synth i wanted. it fucking rocked, and brought me so much joy, so i bought another, and another. no future to save for, anyway. i made some cool music, i never saw that psych again, i gave up on my drive for revenge on doctors and finding answers about my fucked up nervous system, why bother when the world is ending? and i made music. i can kill myself later maybe. i started loving myself more, because what's the point starving to death hating myself? i made music and got confident and cleaned my fucking room, bought a new mattress. i met a girl and took a chance and we fucked real good and i fell in love again. i moved out somewhere new and quieter and left a home of over a decade behind me, left parts of my identity behind me, moving forward and growing for the better. i have a family now, the first family that has ever loved me without expecting anything in return, and i love them with all my heart. i listen to the chickens, and watch leaves float down the storm water drain, and make cool music. yesterday i listened to a 14 minute track i made 6 months ago and almost cried, because nobody can make music that is so perfect for my tastes except me, and i brought it into existence. on the weekend i'm gonna set up the solar panel to keep the backup battery topped up, i use it to charge my phone and laptop, which the kids would call solarpunk and i'd call cool as fuck to have a solar powered laptop.

in 2019 i stared into the void and realised there is no real future for me, for human civilisation as we know it, and i grieved and processed… i almost killed myself, but i didn't, and the years since have been the best of my life, no question.

so, no. don't kill yourself, now or in 2025 or at any point until you can't handle the torture anymore. "graduation" sounds young, real young, even if it's tertiary. i'm creeping towards 40, and the age that "graduation" conjures makes me think that you've got a hell of a lot of potential left in you, for fun and stupidity, and growing up, and finding love and heartbreak, and your version of wierd-arse synth music.

so go out there, prepare, and enjoy.

…

…..and for the love of all the false goddesses of the void, never, NEVER EVER again contact a random fucking blog on tumblr and ask if you should kill yourself. holy fuck buddy. the amount of pressure you put me under to deliver an emmaculately worded response that somehow talks you down from the ledge without lying, is way, way too much fucking pressure. i really hope you were being stupidly hyperbolic, but even then, Eris Fucking Kallisti Herself In Absurdist Pagan Blasphemy, so incredibly unacceptable to say to a stranger. i think you need a therapist, even if they do think you're catastrophising, because like. shit dude. this is abso-fucking-lutely not okay!

now go. prepare and enjoy.