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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years

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It's Valentine's day, sam has gone out with eileen, dean and cas are stuck in the bunker without dates or anything to do ...... The air conditioning stops working, it gets real hot and sweaty and they both decide they are wearing too many layers .... and whatever ensues I'll leave it up to you.

here you go, anon: (I had to retype this, and reedit this, with the help of the amazing @3dg310rdsupreme so like. just remember to curse tumblr before you start reading, cause that’s why it took ridiculously long:)

***

“So?” Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas, starting to walk down the stairs with an angel by his side. They’ve just finished waving Sam and Eileen off to their date - which is exactly what it sounds like; he stood in the doorway, and Cas smiled from the doorway, until Sam’s car disappeared down the road. “Dinner?”

“Of course.” Cas nods.

He’s not going to eat, but there’s a little something called company. Dean doesn’t want to eat alone. And what’s more, Dean’s even going to set up a plate for him. He started doing so a while back, cause otherwise it’s just like Cas is there to watch him.

And be it eating or sleeping - that’s always weird.

Walking all the way to the kitchen feels like trekking towards the centre of the Earth. Dean scrubs his face in annoyance, exhaling impatiently. He’s supposed to get used to it.

It’s really hot. And they’re underground, in a windowless bunker. A bunker with a broken air-conditioner - it’s ancient; so that’s justifiable, was the general consensus, but Dean’s willing to bet it all boils down to their exceptional Chuck-induced bad luck, and Fortuna just wasn’t a good enough godly mechanic.

Or maybe she never anticipated that heroes could get hot, too. Sweating is for the weak and the transient - or some shit. Dean can practically picture her sneer.

Jesus, he hates her.

“Do you need help?” Cas says, once they’re in the kitchen. Dean turns around to blink at him, while he returns to the present. Cas manages to make it sound like were Dean to say yes, Cas would actually help him prepare food.

Now, Cas is good for a lot of stuff. Strong, strategic, trustable instincts. Brave. But he isn’t worth shit in the kitchen. Dean isn’t really sure if Cas knows that but he hopes, for his sake, that he does.

Yet, it’s an earnest question, ridiculous or not, so Dean earnestly shakes his head in response. “I made dinner while the rest of you were busy helping Sam choose a corset.”

It’s the kind of hot where Dean’s automatically surly. Sure, he generally is too - but right now, he doesn’t even have to try.

“It was his shirt.” Cas corrects, simply, and Dean rolls his eyes at the walls as he turns around to get plates. “My advice was to go with the pecan.”

“Was he wearing a pie?” Dean throws back, dryly. He’s got the plates. Now he puts them on the table, and turns to fetch spoons. Cas is still standing, because of course he is. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Pecan’s a shade of brown.” Cas states for the record, and Dean’s getting tired of Cas not going along with his lines.

And he’s really getting tired of the goddamn heat.

“Too bad. Now I want dessert. Way to ruin burgers, Cas.” Dean snaps, and Cas looks a little startled - and would you look at that. Even Cas is sweating. There’s beads of sweat on his forehead, and his coat seems even more uncomfortable than usual.

Suck it, Fortuna. Real heroes sweat.

“You know what?” Dean mutters, mostly to himself. He really is trying to be less of a jerk - but he can’t seem to help it. It’s Valentine’s day, and it’s hot. So he decides to stop talking, and takes off his jacket, a deep blue leather utility, and shucks it away on a counter.

Cas seems to find this interesting, his eyes following Dean around the room; so then Dean does the first thing that comes to mind.

He walks over to Cas, and holds his hand out.

Cas stares at it, like he’s trying to figure out the purpose of its existence. Dean helps him, because he’s awesome like that.

“Your coat.”

Because why the fuck not?

“Oh.” Cas unstiffs - Dean isn’t kidding, that’s an actual thing he can do, okay - and almost rewards Dean with a smile. Just like that, he’s wriggling out of his trenchcoat, the sleeves not clinging to his jacket because apparently that only happens to him. Or probably because the coat classifies as oversized, even after all these years.

Once he’s removed it, Cas folds it from the middle like he’s never folded a coat before, and hands it to Dean.

“Great. Let’s sit down.” Dean tells him, putting his coat away on the same slab where he’s deposited his own. When he turns around, Cas is sitting, and has folded his arms on the table. The bunker lights, like his eyes, linger on Cas’s jacket.

To be fair, he doesn’t usually get to do this - because Cas doesn’t usually take off his trench. Guy’s emotionally attached to it or something.

But he looks - well, so much better without it. Obviously, Dean’s not referring to the way the black makes him look broader, or the buttons draw attention to the suit’s tapered waist. He just looks a lot more comfortable, compared to before.

Speaking of.

It’s still so fucking hot.

“Dean,” Cas begins randomly, once they’re both sitting. Dean’s about to start eating but he stops at Cas’s voice, soft and unsure. “I need to ask you something.”

For some reason, Dean swallows. “Yeah?”

“It is Valentine’s day, after all.” Cas justifies preemptively, and Dean looks up at him.

“So?”

“Is this a date?” Cas finally asks, blue eyes boring into Dean’s, something profound in his words.

Dean pretty much stops thinking, as if on cue. “What? No.” He gets up. He shouldn’t have gotten up. He’s already up. “Is this about dinner? Jesus, Cas,” He hopes he sounds exasperated, he’s trying to. “Hell, is this about me taking your coat before you sit? It’s burning up, man, what do you expect me to do?”

Cas stands up too, wordlessly.

He looks like he’d still like an answer. He looks like he might even repeat the question.

Before something else - something worse can happen, Dean’s picked up his plate. “I’m going to have dinner in my room. Feel free to…do whatever you want. Apparently, It’s Valentine’s day.” He adds, halfways to a scoff, as he marches out of the room.

(Remember how Dean’s stopped thinking? Yeah.)

Cas picks up both of their coats before walking away, a few minutes later. There’s something heavy in the air, left behind.

Dean’s done eating.

And because this is his life - his sad, pathetic life- his entire room has somehow grown even more annoyingly hot.

Burdened with misery all the way down to his sweaty socks, he wonders what Cas is up to.

Dude could be in the library, or his bedroom, or hell, even in the kitchen. He could be reading. Or training. (Or, Dean’s mind drifted, waiting.) What could Cas be doing, aside from stewing in this heat, which seems to be all Dean’s doing at the moment?

Except of course, thinking about Cas. But he doesn’t really count that as a separate activity, anymore. In more ways than one, it’s perpetual.

Well, he convinces himself, as he picks up his plate and walks out of his bedroom, arguably hoping to find Cas - he’s got to put the plates in the sink, at some point.

Dean finds Cas in the hallway, walking towards him - or like, in his general direction, and the first thing Dean notices is that he’s not wearing a fucking jacket anymore.

“Hey.” He stops, shuffling his weight on his feet. He takes up a second to imagine what it would be like if Cas didn’t stop, but then he does - so at least Dean’s got that going on for him.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Cas remarks, matter-of-factly.

His expression’s perfectly serious, but Dean can swear there’s something else there. He can’t put his finger on it- but there’s something off. It’s the way Cas emphasizes the question tag. Or in the way he says the entire damn sentence.

Or maybe, Dean’s just overthinking words to avoid letting himself think about Cas in his white shirt.

His tie’s still in place, but the suit jacket’s gone, and its left the sleeves all crumpled. That’s a possible reason for Cas to have folded the sleeves up to his elbow, putting on display his forearms. And wrists.

When Dean forces himself to look up from Cas’s hands, he decides that the shirt fits the best of anything else yet, stretched wide over his shoulders and essentially hugging his chest snugly, on the way down.

And it’s so white, that paired with Cas’s tan and the striped blue of his tie, it looks-

“So hot, yeah.” Dean answers, right before the pause that’d begun after Cas spoke, crossed the line to weird. Dean looks at the plate in his hands. “I’m going to put these away.”

“Good idea.” Is all Cas says, coolly - and on a different note, starts to tug at the knot of his tie this way and that, to loosen it. He’s successful almost immediately too, the collar beginning to widen, and -

Dean really doesn’t need to be here for that, so he hurries along his way, walking with his eyes glued to the floor as if that somehow detaches him from existence.

This, a hundred percent, has nothing to do with Cas.

It’s hot, is all it is.

Dean peels off his overshirt, leaving just a black t-shirt on - which is not even one of his best ones; it’s probably the one which got exchanged with Sam back in 2014, judging from the way it goes down past his waistline. Dean doesn’t bother folding it as he drops it on the bed. He’s got more important things on his mind.

Such as scoping out a valid reason to go out of his room again.

Almost an hour later, Dean feels like it’d be okay to venture out. Before leaving, for good measure, Dean removes his belt, too. Unbuckling it instantly eases some of the pressure on his stomach, which has kept on building, ever since this evening started.

Ever since Sam and Eileen left for their date, leaving him and Cas alone in the bunker with a broken AC.

On Valentine’s day.

Which, Dean frowns to himself, is a rather inconsequential piece of information to add to that pile.

He warns himself against thinking on those lines again, and strides out of his room. He can sense there’s someone in the War room, so in order to sound like he really needs the thing, he starts speaking from the hallway. “Heya, Cas, have you see the -”

There’s no good explanation for why he stops talking.

Except, maybe there is.

Maybe there’s the best explanation ever, right in front of him, perched on the corner of a table. Maybe it’s got an unbuttoned shirt, and majorly fucked-up hair. Maybe it’s got abs, and chest hair, and hipbones; and maybe it’s all the reason that Dean Winchester’s ever required, for anything in his life.

He’d lay down his life for it. Hell, he could probably live for that very reason.

“Have I seen the…?” Cas repeats, his left eyebrow hooked. Has that ever happened before? Just that one, arched perfectly, as if demanding all the finished sentences in the entire world.

Dean clears his throat.

He isn’t sure what he’s thinking about, but he can still tell it’s a mistake.

“Nevermind.” He lets out, in a voice which sounds wrong, even to him.

“Alright.” Cas nods in acknowledgement, and with that, turns back to his book. It’s a giant, musty book- but then, all their books are giant and musty, and Dean cannot decipher what’s written on it, because he’d really rather stare at Cas’s hands holding it.

“Don’t you think,” Dean licks his lips. Even his throat is dry. “Wouldn’t you say it’s getting a little too hot in here?”

“I’m doing what I can.” Cas replies, managing to stuff in a little bit of distressed in there, with the general flatness. “Clearly, so are you.”

In a couple of beats, Dean realizes he’s run out of words to say, and Cas doesn’t look too eager to supply his own to keep this conversation alive, so then Dean chuckles - to say the least, awkwardly, and retires to his room again.

He’s going to show Cas how much better he can do.

“It’s, so, hot.” Dean grits his teeth, pulling the shirt over his head. Now he’s naked from up the waist, and it feels a lot better.

This isn’t a typically humid area, so it’s not like being shirtless is gonna get him sticky. Or any more sweaty, than he already is. In fact, it feels so much better, that Dean almost manages to convince himself that that’s why he’s doing it.

Almost.

There’s no ignoring anymore, that it’s Valentine’s day. And he and Cas are alone in the bunker, and it’s really hot, but that’s not just it.

It kind of never was.

Dean falls back on the bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. An image of Cas floats through his head, and though he really shouldn’t be thinking about Cas right now - half-naked, and on a bed - he doesn’t want to stop.

It’s evident Cas knows what’s going on here.

(It’s evident Cas knows what he’s doing to Dean.)

And Dean feels a pang of something, when he realizes he’s losing this - whatever this is. He may have started it off by being a dick, but he’s lagging behind now.

It’s really more about how much Cas gets to Dean, than about the number of layers he took off. And who’s Dean kidding? He isn’t getting to Cas at all.

(At least, it hasn’t ever felt like it.)

Dean sighs.

He’s too far gone.

And Cas is leaning on a table and holding a book, with an unbuttoned shirt and his fucking smolder, waiting to tell Dean it’s really hot.

He unbuttons his jeans.

Screw this, it’s over a hundred degrees.

Still thinking about Cas, he undoes his zipper, and pushes them down his legs. It’s only when they’re pooled around his ankles, that it strikes him how fucking gone he is, on Cas.

The realization doesn’t help at all.

He steps out of his jeans, and clenches his jaw.

This isn’t the time to think about feelings, and it’s not the time to ponder his relationship with Cas. It’s time to get out there.

So he does.

He walks fast enough, that it’s ironically not hot anymore. Exposure to air makes his legs feel a lot cooler, and though his boxer briefs cling to his thighs, it all feels somewhat freeing.

When he reaches the War Room, Cas isn’t there.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swears under his breath, starting to walk down the hallway, but there’s no sign of Cas there either, and not even in the kitchen, and then -

“Dean?”

Dean jerks his neck around to face Cas. For the first time, Cas’s eyes seem to have deviated from their lifelong mission to stare Dean down - instead they’re focussed, oddly, on the only part of Dean which is still covered; and his lips are parted a little bit, but -

But he’s also completely fucking naked.

“Cas.” Dean growls, not wasting more than a second to take in all of Cas - eyes glancing over the parts he’d already gotten acquainted to, and hurrying to ogle his thighs, his ass, his fucking dick - and then, letting out a breath he had no idea he was holding, he’s pushing Cas against a wall, and crashing his lips on his.

He’s kissing Cas.

Cas gives back as he gets, grabbing hold of Dean, and pulling him closer with hands around his neck, as his tongue shoves into Dean’s mouth. Dean groans, but it gets lost in Cas’s mouth - eyes rolling back in his head, as his hip thrusts wilder, shoving Cas against the wall harder and pinning him there.

“Fuck, Cas, I - hnghhh -” He pants, in a raised voice, wanting to explain, apologize, proposition - everything at fucking once, but he breaks off with a whimper when he feels Cas’s dick against the fabric of his boxers, exciting his own dick even more.

Cas seems to be more interested in kissing him than his dick lets off - moving in perfect tandem with Dean, eyes completely shut and eyebrows furrowed like he’s concentrating on this; and he really is. He’s kissing Dean like nothing else matters - he’s kissing Dean like this is it, and he’s right, he’s so fucking right.

This is it.

Sparks fly when they kiss, and there’s current in his veins when Cas holds him. It thunders in his ears when Cas pulls Dean close, and all his walls collapse when he cries out Dean’s name.

This, right here, pushing and tugging, and desperate and breathless - this is them. This is everything their lives have been leading up to. This is truly and utterly it.

When Cas’s arms go around his waist, bringing him in tighter, Dean just has to pull away for breath.

Pupils blown, he grunts, accusing because he doesn’t know what he’d be, if not mad. “You ruined the game - or fucking whatever that was, Cas, you fucking ruined it -”

“I think I won the game, Dean.” Cas declares, jaw squared, and lips returning to that thin frown - but Dean does not want to be subjected to it anymore, so he dives in to tug it straight, but Cas cups his face, and kisses him instead, all the way there but just so soft - and Dean’s never been kissed like this before. He’s never known anything like it.

“Yeah, okay, fuck.” Dean gasps, when Cas’s hand slides under the elastic of his boxers, and takes his dick in hand. “Yeah, you win.” He adds, and they’re the last coherent words he gets out in a long while, as his head falls on Cas’s shoulder, hand on the wall propping him up, and he loses what little had remained of his senses.

Their chests still heave and Dean’s still lying half on Cas’s arm, absolutely boneless in the way sex makes people.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, and there’s something twinkling - so beautiful, in his eyes. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just asking to confirm, but was this because of the heat too?” This time, he sounds playful. He’s just egging Dean on.

So of course, Dean refuses to accept anything out loud.

He just turns to his side, and burrows himself around Cas. He knows it’s probably too hot to cuddle, but when he gently puts his head on Cas’s shoulder, Cas just hooks his chin on it like they’re in a frigging chick-flick. And that’s okay, just because.

“Fine. Happy Valentine’s day to you, okay?”

Cas doesn’t say anything to that, but when his arm comes around Dean, there’s something smug about it.

And Dean loves it.

#destiel #supernatural s15 #dean winchester/castiel #dean winchester #castiel #domestic destiel #valentine's day #saileen #destiel fluff #destiel first kiss #destiel crack #but like...taken seriously #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction fluff destiel #spnpetra #sheya shall deliver #ooh finally

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managedmischiefs · 4 years

Text

north//chapter two

ta da! chapter two for you! I am so incredibly close to finishing writing this fic (I’m halfway through the second to last chapter) and once that’s done, I have a shit ton of editing to do. I’m sure that will take a while but it will just be jazzing up the writing style and cementing the plot holes. once I’m done then I’ll have a set posting schedule and I’ll let u know what it is.

again, if you want to be added to the tag list then comment under this post or send me a message! thank you for reading and enjoy. please leave feedback, it makes me vv happy!!

genre: fluff

pairing: season nine spencer reid x female oc

warnings: none! fluff!

word count: 4.7k

SPENCER

"Reid."

I struggle to hold in a groan as I hear Hotch calling my name from his office when I try to leave the bullpen after returning from our most recent case. Alex gives me an understanding smile, one that says sorry you can’t get out of here as quickly as the rest of us, collecting her go-bag and heading into the elevator. Rossi pats my shoulder as I head up the small staircase to Hotch's office, closing the door behind me as I enter. I don't say anything as I enter, for fear of incriminating myself for whatever it is I’ve probably done wrong. After all, I’ve never been called in here to be given a pat on the back and thanked for my hard work. It’s always been to be scolded for whatever reason. So I figure for now I’ll just stay quiet until I’ve been told what the issue is.

Hotch just barely glances up from the paperwork he's doing as I stand in front of him, my bag in my hand, lingering by the closed door so I can make a quick getaway when this ends. "Is everything okay with you?"

"Yes," I say, probably a bit too quickly for him to actually believe it’s true. "Everything is fine,"

Hotch sets down his pen and stares up at me with the same intimidating, stoic expression he always has. "Reid, you were very distracted throughout this last case. You clearly weren't focused. It didn’t impact your work very much but it nearly did. One slip up means catastrophe and we can’t afford that. We can’t afford our personal lives mixing with our work lives. You know that,"

"It won't happen again,"

It's true. It won’t happen again. I’ll text Amelia and two things could happen. She could either ignore me and therefore, my infatuation with her will dissipate because I'll have no fuel to my emotional fire. Sure, that situation will hurt incredibly bad but at least I’ll have some level of closure and I’ll be able to block her out from my mind. On the other hand, she could answer my text and I'll get to see her again, and my thirst to see her again will be quenched and I won't be so plagued with a single image of her. I won’t be left to daydream of her blonde hair and her blue sweater and white nail polish. I’ll be able to see her again and hear her voice and learn more about her. But that’s contingent on if she actually answers my text. That is if I can actually get myself to reach out to her and not get swallowed up in self-doubt and anxiety.

"Good," Hotch picks up his pen again and gets back to work, ducking his head almost completely out of my view. And just when I think this conversation is over and I can get home at a reasonable time, he speaks again. "So who is she?"

My eyes widen slightly, but I manage to compose myself before my face gives away too much. My hands tighten around the leather strap of my messenger bag and I clear my throat. "Excuse me?"

Hotch gives me the tiniest of smiles, not even lifting his head or stopping his work. "I can tell. Who is she?"

I run my fingers through my hair and let out an exasperated sigh, and I know that no lie I could try and come up with would get past him. So I guess I’ll just tell him the truth and hope that he won’t ask too many questions now or in the future, if anything even transpires in the future. "Just some girl I met when I was getting coffee,"

"Must be some girl if she's been on your mind for four days," Hotch remarks. "Well, you better text her now that we're back. Head home and get sleep. That's an order,"

///

It takes me hours to actually grow the courage to text Amelia. I get back to my apartment after leaving work and I shower, do laundry, eat dinner, and read a few books before I even think about reaching for my phone. But even after I reach for it, I pick it up and put it down a few times before I force myself to sit down on the couch and open up my contacts to search for Amelia’s name.

I type and retype my message to Amelia what feels like a million times, but it actually turns out to be seven times. I wind up sending her a simple text, and even after seven attempts at a perfect message, it still feels completely wrong.

Hey, it's Spencer. We finished the case and I'm back home.

I should have said more or maybe less. Well, she told me not to text her until I got back home so isn’t it implied by the existence of the text that I’m home? Did I need to reiterate that I’m home by putting it into words for her? And she has my number so she knows it’s me texting her. I didn’t really need to tell her my name again.

I stand from the sticky leather couch and cross my apartment, standing in front of one of my many bookshelves, searching for a book to read. I might as well read to distract myself from the text that surely just ruined any chance I had with the most beautiful, interesting, and intriguing girl I’ve ever met. But before I can even find a book that is compelling enough to distract me, my phone dings. I audibly gasp, and I almost hit myself for acting like this. I've never been like this. It's dumb, really, to be acting like this. But no matter how dumb I try to convince myself I’m being, I can’t help the excitement that bubbles up in me as I rush back to my couch to grab my phone. Is this what it's like to be a teenager and have your first crush? Is this what it's like to stay up late and talk to your crush on the phone, having to whisper to not wake your parents? Is that what this is like?

how did the case go?

It's an interesting question and I'm surprised she even asked. I'm not sure what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn't that. Maybe I'd expected a text about the four day gap in communication, but nothing. Just a simple question about the case. It still takes me too long to answer as I grapple, yet again, to come up with a proper text.

It went pretty well considering the circumstances. It was an abduction case of a few women and we managed to save all the women in the end.

She responds almost immediately this time. Was she sitting and watching her phone and waiting for me to respond? Is that something people do in this situation? Is that what I’m supposed to be doing? Should I call Penelope and ask for advice on this? No. Absolutely not. The entire team would know in minutes and that’s the last thing I want.

that's great! good job. it's always nice to hear of good outcomes. I hear about way too many cases with horrible outcomes.

I'm about to type a response, but she sends another text before I can.

will you be getting coffee tomorrow?

Most likely. Why?

do you want to get coffee with me? we could talk a bit more before you have to go to work

I can't help the smile that comes to my face. She actually wants to see me again. Even after I didn't text her for four days, she still wants to see me. She asked me out. That has never been my luck.

There's a small tinge of doubt that starts to grow within me. The Pessimist in me starts to scream, telling me to run in the other direction. It’s telling me to delete her number and curl up in bed and never go to that cafe ever again, just so I know I’ll never see her again. The Pessimist is telling me to stop talking to this angel and not get her tangled up in this horrible job that I'm enveloped in. Too many people have been hurt because of me and I don't want to ruin another innocent life. But I can't help the way I get excited when I see her name pop up on my phone, and I can't stop my shaky hands whenever her face renters my brain. It's wrong, I know it is, but I can't help myself. So against my better judgment, I respond.

I'd love to get coffee with you. I'll meet you there at 8?

sounds perfect! see you then

I barely sleep at all that night. I doze off a few times on the couch with a book my book falling onto my stomach, but that's all. I'm far too excited to see Amelia again to actually spend more than an hour asleep at a time.

It takes me almost an hour to get dressed. I just can't decide what to wear. It takes me an hour to decide on an outfit, and I wind up wearing clothes that I would wear to work on any normal day, not on a day where I’m meeting a pretty girl for coffee (and tea). A button-up, a tie, a sweater vest, a peacoat jacket, jeans, and my beat up black converse. Yet again, it feels like it's not enough but god only knows what today could have in store for me. Plus, it's cold and I don't feel like freezing to death on my walk to the cafe.

I grab everything I could need for my walk and sling my messenger bag over my shoulder before locking up my apartment. I almost stumble down the stairs in my daydreaming daze but manage to keep my feet steady, letting out a breath and calming myself down as much as I can. I’ll need to be as calm as I can when I arrive because I know I won’t have much opportunity to when I get there.

I arrive at 7:45 and stand on line, waiting patiently to get to the barista. I order my coffee and then relay Amelia's tea order as well, the one I had noticed in her hand five days ago. Once I pay for the drinks, I sit down in the same booth we had been in previously and hope that Amelia will have the same thought process as me and will find me here.

I'm determined to make myself seem more comfortable than I was last time, so I put my messenger bag aside and straighten my tie around my neck. I make sure it's even with the hem of my sweater vest and smoothen down my pants, then run my fingers through my hair to make sure it's not too unruly. I've gotten a new haircut recently and I'm not too fond of it. The sides are too short and the top is too long but I haven't gotten a chance to go back to the barber to get it fixed. I'm not sure how to style it yet but I guess I have to figure it out eventually. But once I’ve dealt with my appearance, I roll my shoulders to loosen them up and take a few sips of my coffee, hoping that the caffeine will course through my veins at rapid speed.

"Hi, Spencer," Amelia pops up beside me with her stunning smile, pouring out her energy onto the table and setting the tone for the morning. Maybe I won’t even need my coffee if she’s with me.

I take a refreshing breath as soon as I see her, smiling back. I push myself out of the booth in an attempt to greet her properly, as best as I can. "Hi, Amelia,"

Despite it being five incredibly long days after our first meeting, Amelia is just as stunning to me now as she was before. Her skin is glowing and her eyes are still harnessing the beauty of the ocean. Her hair is up in a bun today, just a little bit messy but just perfect enough to be put together. She's wearing a black turtleneck with a red plaid skirt, black stockings, and the same black heeled boots as before. There's no camera around her neck today, but I see the straps of her leather backpack around her shoulders and I assume it's tucked away in there. Her nails are yellow now and her fingers are still full of rings, and now that her hair is up, I notice a handful of piercings in each of her ears. She looks different, sure, but I still have to keep myself from swooning at the mere sight of her.

"Okay," Amelia holds her hands out in front of me, as if halting me from coming any closer, "so I was thinking about you when you were off at work-"

That's nowhere near the end of her sentence, but it catches my attention the most. I couldn't stop thinking about her, but she was actually thinking about me. Maybe she was thinking about my coffee order and my tie and my messenger bag like I was thinking about her heels and her blonde hair and her choice of tea. It's not one-sided. I've never been successful with girls but I somehow did something to this girl to make her think about me and to wait for my text and actually want to respond. What could I have possibly done?

"Or more specifically," she corrects herself, "about how you don't like shaking hands and I totally agree with you. I looked up more statistics on handshaking and it's so disgusting and so germy and I totally get why you hate it and, honestly, I don’t blame you one bit. So," she annunciates the word with a huge smile, and she bounces just a little bit on her toes out of excitement. That sight is truly the most adorable sight I think I’ve ever seen. "I came up with alternatives,"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Alternatives?"

"Yeah! For handshaking," Amelia tells me, her excitement never faltering. "I thought maybe we could high five, but that wasn't my favorite option because it’s kinda lame, and it’s still touching hands, just for a really short time. We could fist bump, or we could elbow bump, or we could do like," she holds up her hand with her pinky out, "almost like a pinky promise but then I thought that, again, it's still technically touching hands, but we're not covering as much surface area as a whole handshake would. And, of course, I'd assume that hugs are off the table, which is fine. As much as I love hugging, I get that hugging strangers is super weird so it’s not that big of a deal to me." Amelia lets out a loud breath as she finishes her speech, a speech similar to the ones I deliver daily to my coworkers, and as she speaks, my smile grows and grows and I can’t seem to stop it. "That was a lot all at once. Sorry about that,”

"No, it's okay," I tuck my hands in my pockets and bow my head, trying to wipe the stupid grin off my face. "It's actually really, um, it's really sweet that you put so much thought into how to greet me. Most people think I’m weird because I don’t like shaking hands,”

Amelia presses her lips together in a shy smile and she just bounces on her toes once more before her eyes dart towards the growing line of people towards the front of the cafe. "I should go get on line before it gets too long. I'll-"

"Actually, I-"

"Spencer!"

My cheeks turn pink as the barista shouts out my name with impeccable timing, cutting off Amelia’s sentence. "I noticed your order when we met and I ordered your tea when I ordered my coffee, if you don’t mind. I hope it’s okay,”

"That's really sweet of you, Spencer, thank you," I find some sort of odd comfort in the way that Amelia seems to get shy at my tiny gentlemanly gesture. Maybe the comfort comes in knowing that I’m not the only one who’s getting bashful.

"Sit, I'll go grab them," I gesture back to the table before rushing off to grab both of our piping hot drinks, hurrying through the growing line of customers before they can cool off too much. I sit back down and slide the cup over to Amelia, which she grabs with a grateful smile. "So how are you?"

Amelia takes the first sip of her tea as I pull off the top of mine and blow gently. "I'm pretty great, actually. The weather isn't so nice out today so I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get that many good pictures. What about you?"

"I'm," I weigh my options of what I could say for a moment, "happy to be here,"

Amelia's eyes widen slightly and her cheeks get pink as she hides in a long drink of her tea, but I can't tell if her blush that's because of her scolding drink or because of my implication that I’m happy to be with her. "So, Mr. FBI, tell me more about you. I know we don't have too much time but I wanna know more about you," she goes quiet then, giving me her full attention. Her eyes are locked with mine and she's facing me straight on, giving me her full and undivided attention. I don’t give myself enough time to get anxious over this attention and I just focus on trying to tell her the basic details about myself that seem to be most prominent in my life.

"Well, I'm a behavioral profiler for the FBI, but you already know that," I almost roll my eyes at how dumb it was for me to say that first, because Amelia already knew that, but I move on just as quick as I did when I sent her that stupid text with my name in it yesterday. "I have an IQ of 187,"

Amelia's eyes go wide and she quickly sets her cup down, nearly slamming her hands down on the table as her jaw falls open in disbelief. "You're serious?"

I laugh at her reaction, even if her reaction is much more dramatic than the ones I’m used to seeing from police officers and other FBI agents. But at least her first reaction isn’t to call me weird or freaky for being so abnormally smart. "Yes, actually. And I can read 20,000 words per minute. I've got three Ph.D.’s and three BA's,"

"Oh my god," she puts her elbows on the table and presses her fingers into her temples, "I'm in the presence of a literal genius! I don't even deserve to be sitting at this table," her words contradict her body language though because despite what she's saying, she seems to become more comfortable and sinks impossibly further into the leather booth. "So," she takes a breath and drops her hands from her head, collecting herself just a little bit, "you're a doctor?"

"Yes," I say, taking the first sip of my coffee, now cooled off enough for me to actually drink it, "but not a medical doctor,"

"So you're Doctor Spencer-" her voice trails off and her eyebrows raise as she expects me to fill in the blank.

"Reid,"

"Doctor Spencer Reid," she says it as if she's testing out the way it rolls off her tongue. And if I thought if my first name coming out of her mouth sounded magnificent before, my full name escaping her lips so effortlessly sounds breathtaking and glorious. I almost miss it when she speaks again because I’m so caught up in trying to recreate the sound of her voice in my head. "Wow. You work for the FBI, you're a genius, you're a doctor with three Ph.D.’s, is there anything you can't do?"

I choose not to answer that because I could give a laundry list of things I can't do. But this is not the time to be self-deprecating. I want Amelia to actually like me, not be scared away by my incompetence. But thankfully, before I can try to think of anything to say to pivot the conversation to a new topic, Amelia does it for me.

"And what else? That's just work stuff. Tell me about you as a person. Your hobbies, that kinda stuff,"

"Well, I read a lot," I tell her. "I always have books with me. I like classical music," I take another second to think, my eyes wandering around the relatively empty cafe as I struggle to think of more things about myself that would seem intriguing and wouldn’t make me seem completely lame. But I’m starting to get the impression that Amelia doesn’t think that way. She hasn’t given me any reason to believe that she thinks I’m weird, even as I reveal more and more details about myself. "I like magic,"

"Magic?" Amelia smirks, the topic clearly piquing her interest. "I didn't peg you as a magician, Dr. Reid,"

"Well, I'm from Las Vegas so it's kind of imperative that I know some magic tricks,"

"Then you'll just have to show me some tricks next time, won't you?"

Next time.

"Y-Yeah," I stutter out, trying not to sound too taken aback by the revelation that she is willing to see me again, "I'll come prepared next time." Amelia beams at my response and now that she’s distracted, I figure now is the perfect time to divert the conversation away from me. "Okay, now you go. Tell me about you and your hobbies,"

"Oh, okay," she wiggles in her seat from excitement, brushing her fallen pieces of hair behind her ear when they stick to her long lashes and obstruct her sight, "art is what I find myself doing the most. It’s my job but it’s also my main hobby, considering I’ve already told you I walk around with my camera a lot. But apart from art, I really love thrift shopping. I don’t know if that qualifies as a hobby but I really love seeing what I can find. I have this system that I follow and it’s top secret but it ensures you find something really good every time. Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day. Other than that, I’m a Taurus. I moved here right after college with my best friends but I live alone now. What else? This is lame but my favorite color is-”

"Yellow," I cut her off but I barely even mean to.

Amelia's smile falters for a moment, but then it grows even bigger than before. "Y-Yeah, it is. How'd you know? Well, you're a profiler and you’re supposed to notice behavior but how do you know what my favorite color is based off of my behavior?"

"The scarf on your head five days ago had a pattern on it but was mostly yellow. The rings you were wearing also had yellow in them, as do the ones on your fingers now," she glances down at them as I talk. "Your nails are also painted yellow now, but they were white before and they weren't chipped. That means that you took the white polish off and changed it to yellow even though the white polish was perfectly fine. So that means your favorite color is yellow,"

"You-" she lets out a breath, absolutely baffled, "you remember the scarf I was wearing and that my nail polish wasn't chipped?"

"Yeah," I bob my head up and down in a nod, clutching my coffee cup tighter in my hands, "ironically enough, I forgot to mention that I have an eidetic memory,"

Amelia tilts her head to the side. "What's that?"

"It's also widely known as a photographic memory. I can see or read something once and then I'll remember it. I don’t necessarily remember every word of a conversation but I remember books I read and I’ll remember our texts and I remember what we were both wearing-"

"It's why you remembered my order," she has a moment of realization, her fingers curling around her almost empty cup of tea. "You just keep getting more and more impressive, Dr. Reid. But unfortunately," I see her eyes wander over to the watch on my wrist, "you're not the only one who remembers things. This is about the time you left last time,"

"You'd be correct," I sigh begrudgingly, my hand slowly reaching for my bag, dreading the fact that I have to go to work yet again and leave her warm presence. I know I can’t possibly leave her without expressing my need to see her again. So once I’ve managed to get my bag over my head and inhale deeply, I quickly blurt out the first sentence that pops into my head that articulates my thoughts. "I'd love to do this again,"

"You better! You need to wow me with your magic skills!" Amelia exclaims with a casual tone to her voice that makes me wonder if I even needed to tell her that I wanted to see her again. Maybe she just expected that we would see each other again. "Tomorrow, same time? Of course, that’s contingent on your job. If you have to work then it’s fine. We can rain check,"

"That sounds like a plan to me,” The giddiness and the excitement build up in me as I stand and wait for her to button up her jacket. She flashes me her millionth smile of the morning as we head towards the door, and I make sure to hold the door open for her to make sure she gets out first. "So I'll text you or call you later and let you know if I get a case,"

"I'll be waiting,"

We pause in front of the window of the cafe, just waiting for one of us to initiate a proper goodbye. But nothing seems to feel right after the perfect morning we had. No smile, or wave, or verbal greeting can wrap up an encounter so absurdly perfect. But then as I see Amelia glance down at her shoes and as she lets her anxieties shine through for one of the first times since I met her, I remember what she had told me when she first arrived at the cafe this morning. I hold up my hand with my pinky sticking out, and I'd do anything to immortalize the smile that comes to Amelia's face in that exact moment.

"I knew you'd like this one," she murmurs to herself happily, even though I can obviously hear her, wrapping her warm pinky around mine. "I'll talk to you soon, Dr. Reid,"

"You know, you can call me Spencer," I respond, reluctantly letting go of her hand as she takes a step in the direction opposite to where I need to go.

"I'll think about it," she smirks and turns on her heels, bouncing on her toes again before rushing down the sidewalk. I watch her go, too entranced by her to even move or think about attempting to catch my train. Every tiny detail about her draws me into her world and just watching her walk away makes me want to run up and sweep her off her feet, literally and metaphorically. Leaving her is the most disappointing thing I can think of, and all I want is to drag her back into the cafe and back to the booth and sit down and talk for hours upon hours. But I shake my head at my intrusive thoughts and force myself to turn around and get to the metro before I miss my train. I can't afford to be late. I can't afford anyone asking questions.

///

We got a case today. I'll be headed to LA for a couple of days. Raincheck on coffee and tea?

coffee and tea and magic tricks! don't you dare forget magic tricks!

if you’ve read this far then please let me know your favorite color. i really wanna know. thank u sm. also let me know what you thought of the chapter. love u all <3333

TAGLIST

@etheralgubler @babybobbybones @whollytaciturn @reidswords @thegingerfairchild @matthewreid @shrimpyblog @garcias-batcave @anamelessfacelessnerd

#nikos north fic #nikos writing #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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toplinetommy · 4 years

Text

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Two) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 4.8k

Part One

September 2017 - Denver, CO

NHLers + 1 Tucker: heard you got a job in Denver Tucker: you know who else got a job there Y/N: what are you going on about Brock: tyson jost plays for the avs Brock: you should catch a game when the szn starts Y/N: he barely knows who i am Tucker: he thinks youre cute *Brock emphasized the message* Y/N: that was months ago Brock: whats the worst that can happen Y/N: hes literally a pro athlete Tucker: im a pro athlete and I still talk to you

You set your phone back onto the patio table, changing it out for your margarita. You were sitting on your new best friend and coworker, Caitlyn’s, back deck enjoying margaritas in the early Denver fall when she said a name you hadn’t heard in months.

“So, when were you going to tell me you know Tyson Jost?”

You nearly spit out the alcoholic beverage, choking as it goes down the wrong pipe. “Uh, because I don’t? He played hockey where I got my undergrad, not a big deal.”

“Then how come I’m scrolling on Instagram, and Tyson Jost shared to his IG story a picture that you, my friend, are in?” She pushes her phone across the table to you and you look at the picture. Sure enough, it’s a picture Brock had shared to his story, that Tyson had reshared, from the 2017 senior banquet. You’re standing between Brock and Tucker in the back of the photo, barely seen as you were tucked in a large group of hockey players. You weren’t even tagged and yet, somehow Caitlyn had been able to pinpoint you, with none other than Tyson Jost standing right in front of you.

“I’ve had maybe three conversations with him? He only played the one year there and I wasn’t tutoring him.” You shrug, not getting what the huge deal was.

“You were a tutor?”

“Yeah, for athletes, but towards the end I was mainly tutoring the hockey team. That’s why I’m in that picture, I was pretty close to a few of the guys. That was their senior banquet my senior year and I went as one guy’s date, and no, it wasn’t with Tyson or Brock. It was with a guy named Tucker, he plays for the Jets actually.”

Caitlyn asks a few more questions about your college life before the sun starts to set, and the hockey conversation gets dropped.

“Trust me, I’m not ‘immersed’ into the NHL community or whatever. I just have a few friends in the league that I don’t even talk to that much besides sending memes in a group chat.” You say closing out the topic, choosing to move onto something else.

“Anyways, tell me more about Jack! How come I haven’t met your soulmate yet, huh?” You ask giddly. Soulmates were one of your favorite things to talk about, mainly because you were a hopeless romantic at heart; always fantasizing about the day you’d meet yours and listening to other people share their stories about it.

“Well we met in March when we were at a tech conference while he was still going to school, but I had already graduated and moved here. He still has another year before he graduates and he plans on coming out once he does, depending on if he can get a job in the area.”

“Do you think he’ll move to Denver?”

“I think so, he loved it here when he came and visited over the summer. He loved this house, and he loves the outdoors. I don’t really want to leave, either. I mean, Denver’s my home.” She says, smiling at the thought of her current surroundings.

Hearing others talk about their soulmates kind of made you envious, but you were happy for your friend. Watching her face light up as she talked about Jack was something you only wished for and couldn’t wait to experience for yourself.

Two days later, you’re back over at her place for your weekly Taco Tuesday’s - a tradition the two of you had started not too long after you met at your job a few months back. You hop out of your SUV, noticing the moving truck next to your friend’s house, and definitely not missing the large group of burly men unpacking it.

Walking into the house you shout, making your appearance known. Entering the kitchen you set the grocery bag on the counter. “Did you see that people are moving in across the street? Looks like it’s a group of guys.”

Caitlyn shrugs before continuing, “Took ‘em long enough to sell the house. That house was up for sale when I moved here in June.” She starts walking around the island, back towards the front of the house to further inspect the new neighbors, you close behind. A few of them have their shirts off, even in the brisk fall Denver air, and even with the distance, the both of you can tell there’s some serious man-candy going on across the street.

The both of you retreat back to the kitchen, getting ready to make your weekly tacos, catching up on work, friends, drama, and what had happened on this week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy. As Caitlyn was finishing up the taco meat, you went to get beers from the fridge in the garage when you heard a voice other than your friends’ in the kitchen on your way back.

Walking into the room you’re shell shocked at the group of men in front of you. No, scratch that. Shocked at one particular man in front of you. Your jaw drops as none other than Tyson Jost looks right back at you.

He marveled at the sight of you, “y/n y/l/n?”

“In the flesh” You laugh lighty.

“You live here?” He inquired, with a hint of shyness in his voice.

“No, Caitlyn lives here, but I live in the area” you respond pointing over to the blonde standing in between the two of you. You look around at the rest of the guys, remembering that it’s not just the two of you standing in your friends kitchen, having what seems like a reunion of sorts.

A deep cough comes from next to you, pulling you out of your confused, yet awe-struck state. “Hey, uh, I’m JT,” comes from the burly redhead standing a few feet away from you, “This is Alexander, Nate, and then Tyson, who I guess you already know?” He points to everyone as he says their names, a hint of question in his tone when he goes over Tyson’s name.

At this, Tyson jumps in, “She went to North Dakota, too. She knew the hockey team.”

“Oh?” JT asks, eyebrows raising towards his hairline in question.

“Uh, yeah, I was one of the tutors.” You explain briefly.

“You still talk to any of them?” Tyson asks, centering the conversation around you rather than the relationship between the two of you.

“I talk to Brock every now and then, and I’m still pretty close with Tucker.” You answer, not wanting to give too many details about your friendships with other NHLers. Tyson nods his head at you, before JT speaks up once again, steering back to the original reason of the conversation.

The boys had stopped by because they saw the open garage and needed a pair of scissors. Something you assumed a group of guys would have when moving into a new house. As the conversation came to a halt, and the boys started to leave, wanting to let you guys get back to your dinner, Tyson stops on the front porch to continue talking to you.

“So, you ended up in Denver, eh?” He asks, shoving his hands into his short pockets.

“I did, and I like it a lot so far. I got offered a job as a project manager for a company that has their corporate offices here. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to move to a new city.” As you finish talking, you realize you had started rambling a little bit, a slight blush rising to your cheeks.

Tyson smiles widely, noticing the joy and passion in your voice. A voice in the distance calling out for Tyson breaks the moment you two are having. “I should probably get back, but, uhm, if you ever want to catch up or anything don’t hesitate to text me or something.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. I’ll let you get back to moving.” You exclaim with a hint of nervousness. You weren’t sure if you should hug him goodbye, but you were a big hugger, so you awkwardly go in for a hug, to which Tyson happily consumes. The two of you go your separate ways as Tyson jogs across the street back to his house.

Walking back into Caitlyn’s kitchen, you’re snapped back to reality by the look on your friends face. Dropping your shoulders, you groan, “What?”

“I don’t know Tyson Jost, she says. We just went to college together, she says,” she mocks in a high-pitched tone. “That interaction had way too much something in it for you two to have just been acquaintances or whatever you were.”

“I promise you I barely know him. I just always thought he was cute like everyone else did and the guys loved to make fun of me for it. He’s also four years younger than me.” You reveal embarrassingly, a small smile coming to your face thinking back on some of the memories you had. “Like, my senior year, they made me show up to a jersey party at the hockey house wearing his jersey. I think I was the only one at the whole party even wearing something NoDak related, too. It was just dumb, little stuff.”

“Aw, that’s kind of cute.” Caitlyn gushes, taking a sip from her beer. The two of you start to make your tacos, and sit in a comfortable silence while eating.

It’s halfway through dinner you realize you don’t even have Tyson’s phone number, contemplating on whether or not you want to text him. “Should I text him?” You ask. “I barely know him and now he’s an up-and-coming professional athlete.”

“You’re both new to the city, so I don’t see the harm in it?” Your friend reasons.

You nod in agreement, trying to figure out how you’re even going to get his phone number. Picking up your phone, you go to text Tucker.

Y/N: would you happen to have tyson josts number :-) Tucker: thought you didnt want it Y/N: yeah funny story actually Y/N: i guess he lives across the street from my coworker now Tucker: ur kidding Y/N: i wish i was Tucker: i knew you two would somehow find each other Y/N: whatever

Tucker ends up texting you Tyson’s phone number a little bit later, and after a lot of typing and retyping you finally settle on a simple “hey” with a simple smiley face, letting him know it’s you.

Once you had sent the first initial text to Tyson a few days ago, it seemed like the two of you had been friends all along. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, only texting one another when you really had the time to.

Part of you was nervous that the two of you had really never hung out, apart from those few occasions back at school, but even then it was never just the two of you. You had contemplated asking Caitlyn to come over in case it got awkward. In the end, you didn’t let your nerves get the best of you and you went through with going over to his house to meet up with him.

Knocking on the front door, you twist your hands together in anticipation.

The large wooden door swings open to reveal a very smiling Tyson, “Hey!” He moves to the side to let you in but as you pass him he opens his arm signaling for a hug.

You wrap one arm around him, half leaning into his side for a side hug as you greet him in return. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great, development camp just ended. I got the letter saying I made the opening day roster, so still trying to get used to that.” He answers with a small laugh. His hands are resting in his front hoodie pocket, and you notice how nice his posture is. You look over him, also noting that his legs look much thicker than you remember and his chest is much broader, even under the expanse of his hoodie.

“That’s great” You compliment, feet planted to the ground once you slip your shoes off. The two of you are still standing in the foyer of his home. The air around the two of you almost makes it feel like one of those ‘we met online and we’re now meeting each other for the first time’ moments.

Tyson starts walking, leading the two of you to his kitchen before asking if you want anything to drink.

“Water would be awesome.” You answer, moving to take a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

Tyson closes the fridge, handing you a water bottle. “So how long have you been in Denver?”

“Since June, so three months?” You say, counting on your fingers. “I got the job not too long after I graduated but I went on vacation with some friends before moving. What about you?”

“I actually came down in April after the UND season ended, but only for a few games. I just got back, like, two weeks ago.” He starts, leaning his elbows down against the counter in front of you. “I was in a hotel until you saw us moving in the other day, actually.”

“Why’s that?” You ask, knitting your eyebrows in confusion.

“So like, the way it works is that you have to make the team during development camp and if you don’t you’ll go back to wherever you were playing before. I already lost my NCAA eligibility when I left, so if I didn’t make the team I would’ve gone down to San Antonio where our AHL team is.” Tyson explains, hands moving around in the air as he speaks.

You nod your head as he speaks, starting to understand the process of how one makes the NHL. “Well, I think you’ll love it here. I’ve only been here for a few months and I can’t stop thinking about how perfect this place is.” You gush.

“Yeah, I’m really excited for the season. The guys are all really nice and welcoming already.” He muses. His eyes crinkle a little bit, a sure sign of happiness as he smiles.

You smile in response, “From what I remember back at school, you were pretty good, too.”

A small blush rises on his tan cheeks and the tips of his ears. He pushes a hand through the curls on the top of his head with a shrug. “You majored in marketing?” Tyson asks, changing the subject. He was never one to talk about himself too much, even with all of his accomplishments.

“I did!” you exclaim, surprised he even remembered that about you. “I’m a project manager, so I basically manage a few different projects at a time at a marketing firm. I like it a lot so far. That’s how I know Caitlyn, the girl across the street.” You point in her general direction, gesturing to the house across the street.

“What part of the city do you live in?” He asks curiously. He stands up straight again, leaving his hands resting on the counter.

“Over in Westwood, in a townhouse.” You answer, once again stunned at his ability to remember small details from previous conversations. “It’s just southwest of downtown and like, 20 minutes from here.”

“I haven't really gotten the chance to really explore the area too much, so I have no idea where that is.” He laughs.

You laugh along with him, “We can always figure it out together if you want, because I haven’t done too much either.” You freeze up slightly at your request, not really knowing where your bravery came from.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” He agrees. “Being around a bunch of hockey players all the time can be a little much. Besides, it’s nice to have familiar faces around, eh?” He quirks his eyebrow at you.

“For sure.” You agree, taking another sip from your water. “You have any other plans for the day?”

“Other than this, no.”

“I was thinking,” you start, “we could order food or something? I can start showing you the best food places around.”

“Yeah, I’m actually getting kinda hungry. What’re you thinking?” He asks, making a show to rub at his belly.

“I found a really good ramen place a few weeks ago that I really liked if you’re down to try that?” You suggest, pulling your phone out planning to pull up the menu for the two of you.

“Sure, I’m down to try anything.”

You stand up from where you were sitting to move over to him, placing your phone on the counter so both you and Tyson can look at the screen. He moves closer to you, shoulders now touching as you both look down at the phone in front of you quietly. He’s comfortable enough to scroll on the website on his own, even with the newness of your friendship.

As you move to fully stand straight up next to him, the brush of the side of your upper arm against his sends a sort of static through your body. You shrug your arm, moving a few inches away from the man next to you.

“Do you know what you want? I can call and place the order.” You suggest, gesturing towards your phone. He pushes the phone over to you, telling you what he wants before saying he’ll venmo you for his part.

A little while later, once you’ve driven to downtown Denver and back, you have ramen in front of you as the two of you sit out on the back deck trying to enjoy the last of the warm weather.

The two of you sit across from one another eating in the quiet when JT walks out. “You guys got food and didn’t ask me if I wanted any? I’m hurt.”

Your eyes gaze between him and to Tyson, before Tyson speaks up, “Not my problem you weren’t around when we ordered it.”

You chuckle lightly at the interaction in front of you as JT rolls his eyes looking for a response. Instead of verbally responding, he walks over to take a seat next to his roommate, giving him a shove as he passes by him.

“So, y/n, have you found your soulmate yet?”

“Bro, what is with you and your need to ask every single person you know that?” Tyson groans, dropping his fork into his bowl.

“What, it’s fascinating!” He exclaims, leaning back into his seat.

“Yeah, because you basically already know who yours is.”

“You already have a soulmate?” You ask, swallowing the bit of noodles in your mouth.

“Technically, no,” He starts, dragging out the ‘no’. “But I’m convinced I know who it actually is.”

“He met this girl over the summer and felt some ‘connection’ to her or whatever.” Tyson says, doing finger quotations around connection.

“Shut up,” JT groans. “I swear the world stopped when we made eye contact and then we talked and I was just blown away.”

You look at him as he talks, but you notice Tyson next to him, mouthing the words JT is speaking. You giggle a little, causing Tyson to smile.

“I think that’s great, you’ll have to keep me updated on it all.” You say with a smile on your face. Tyson and JT continue to bicker like the best friends you're starting to see they are, as you sit and continue eating your ramen. The way Tyson easily chirps him and laughs makes your stomach do tiny little flips.

January 2018 - Pepsi Center, Denver, CO

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best friend ever?” Caitlyn exclaims with glee.

You laugh loudly, holding open the door to the Pepsi Center for your friend to walk through. “You mean have you ever told me that you love that I’m friends with NHL players so I can get good tickets? Once or twice.”

The Winnipeg Jets were in town, meaning Tucker would be playing Tyson for the first time at the NHL level. Tucker had let you know a few weeks ago that he would be in town briefly to play the Avs, and what he didn’t know was that Tyson had also told you the other day about the game. Tucker offered to get you and a friend tickets to the game, which you happily took.

Now, the both of you are walking around on the concourse level, looking for a good place to stop and get drinks before puck drop.

Caitlyn turns to you after you both get your drinks, “Does Tucker know that you’re talking to Tyson?”

“No, I’d thought I’d let him figure it out on his own. I mean, he was one of the guys that always pushed us two to get to know each other so I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing yet.” You shrug.

“Didn’t you say we’re all getting brunch tomorrow though? Won’t he know then?”

“He knows, yeah, but he doesn’t know that I know Tyson will be there. Just a little payback for all the pranks he pulled back in college.”

You guys finally locate your seats in the lower bowl, drifting your conversation to the game itself. You knew Caitlyn was a big hockey fan, her being from Michigan and all, so you were happy you finally got to see her in her element.

The Avs scoot by with an overtime win, not seeing too much action from either Tyson or Tucker on the official score sheet. As you guys exit the arena, you shoot a text to both Tyson and Tucker individually, letting them know they played good games.

The next morning both you and Caitlyn are running a little behind getting to brunch, catching an odd amount of Denver traffic on the way to the chosen restaurant.

Walking through the glass doors of the restaurant, you wipe your snow covered feet off on the mat before looking up trying to either spot the mop of curls atop Tyson’s head or Tucker’s broad shoulders.

You catch Tyson’s eyes before Tucker spots you, giving him a small wave and smile before you and Caitlyn make your way over to their table. Tyson stands to give you a hug before Tucker can and when you pull away, you see a look of confusion on Tucker’s face. You move to give him a tight hug, letting him know how much you’ve missed having him around.

Once Caitlyn introduces herself to Tucker, the two of you take your seats across from them in the booth.

“I feel like the two of you are all grown up! My two not-so-little NHLers,” You squeal jokingly. Tyson laughs with a slight blush at this, while Tucker, who’s across from you, rolls his eyes.

“No no no, we’re not doing that.” Tucker laughs. “You can see how we’re doing with one google search. How’re you? How’s work?”

“Very good!” You exclaim, “Caitlyn and I have this really innovative project coming up that we’re super excited for.”

“The one with Finish Line?” Tyson jumps in, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah that one!” Caitlyn answers. You can tell she’s about to explain it further with the way she leans forward over the table.

Tucker cuts her off before she can continue to explain it, “What the fuck? How did you know that?”

“She was telling me the other day about it when I was at her place.” Tyson answers quickly.

“You were at her place?” Tucker asks, growing even more confused.

“Yeah, he was helping me with my new desk. Caitlyn was out of town so she couldn’t help.” You answer without hesitation.

“Oh! You got it set up?” Caitlyn asks the two of you. “You’ll have to send me a picture when you get home.” The way Caitlyn jumps into the conversation doesn’t help Tucker’s confusion one bit as he stares at the three of you blankly,

“So you’re telling me the two of you, like, hang out?” Tucker asks, pointing between the two of you.

“Mhhm,” you hum with a tight-lipped smile. “Not too often, though.” Before Tucker can muster up a response the waitress appears to take your breakfast orders.

“We’ve only really hung out a few times since we reconnected a few months ago,” You continue once the waitress walks away. “Like, maybe two or three times?” You look at Tyson for confirmation to which he nods his head with a quick ‘yep’.

“So, you actually ended up texting him?” Tucker asks you.

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I have?”

“You literally avoided him all of spring semester.” Tucker states. Realization of what he’s talking about hits you and you sink back into the cushioned booth, your stomach tightening up with nerves.

Tyson, who looked like he was just checking something on his phone, whips his head up to look at his old teammate next to him.

“I did not,” You stutter, eyes shooting daggers at the Jets player across from you. “He drove me home from the bar once and then I didn’t see him again until a few months ago.”

“And you guys hooked up and then we never saw you in the same room again.” He says casually, reaching for his glass of water and bringing it to his lips. You choke on your coffee at his remark, going into a fit of coughing once you set your mug back down in front of you.

“Dude,” Tyson warns roughly and slaps at Tucker’s chest.

“What? No one knew where the two of you went and you wouldn’t really say anything about it when we all asked!”

“You told everyone we hooked up?” You ask, staring blankly at Tyson in disbelief.

“I literally told the whole team that some asshole spilled his drink on her and drove her home and then ended up going home right after instead of back to the bar.” Tyson says through gritted teeth. His stern gaze turns from Tucker towards your face, eyes turning soft when he sees your mouth slightly agape.

“I swear I never said anything happened between the two of us.” He promises to you, eyes locked on yours. Your eyes stay focused on him for a while longer. The breath you didn’t mean to hold in is let out a huff of air once you see the sincerity behind his eyes.

“Tucker, that was literally just a coincidence that we never saw each other, and besides, Tyson told me he left school to come down to Denver right after the banquet.” You say, turning your attention back to him.

“Okay, sorry about the assumption.” Tucker apologizes, moreso to you than to Tyson. A smirk plays at his lips and you know exactly where he’s taking this conversation. Before you’re able to derail him and switch the topic to anything else he opens his mouth once again. “Everyone knew you guys were attracted to one another so it wasn’t a stretch to think.”

Your previous embarrassment comes back full force with your cheeks heating up. You pick up your coffee mug once again taking a sip, this time to hopefully hide the pink tint on the apples of your cheeks. You take notice at how Tyson doesn’t move to discount Tucker’s comment this time and especially notice the tips of his ears turning pink.

It’s almost like you’re saved by the bell as the waitress walks up the table, arms full of your food. The rest of your brunch is spent catching up and telling Caitlyn all about what it was like at UND, while she shared stories about herself as well as her soulmate.

All throughout brunch, you couldn’t shake the feeling of the pull you felt towards the man that was sitting kitty-corner to you. Even as you and Caitlyn parted ways from the guys once you left, you swore you felt a part of yourself walk away with them. It may have been a feeling you couldn’t shake, but you still chose to ignore it as the two of you walked back to the parking garage Caitlyn’s car was located.

tag list: @REAVENEDGES-LIES (if you want to be added just let me know)

#tyson jost imagine #tyson jost #nhl imagine #alex writes #ybtmastm fic

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~6000

chapter 1.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Sure, you'd signed the waiver, your favourite pen leaving a messy blue scrawl across the crisp weight. You'd acknowledged all of the terms and dated the bottom left-hand corner, humming quietly to yourself as you'd done so. You'd read the document once, then twice for good measure, politely asking for a copy of it when the petite assistant had come to take the pages off your hands.

But you still weren't sure what had brought you here, to this exact place at this exact time.

Standing in the spacious studio with a dozen hangers hung over your arms, ready to air your life for millions to see. Were you really ready for this - whatever it was?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous. Your fingers are experiencing a strange tingling sensation you only recognize from times of stress - waiting for your results after an exam, the minutes after a first date, any time your umma calls without messaging first. It's descending down the tips of your fingers, shooting like electricity through the live wire of your bones. Suddenly, every minute movement of your neck feels like it takes all the strength in the world and your chest feels like it might explode from the labour of your breaths.

"Ready?" It's the assistant again, bouncing toward you in her Fila Disrupters. Very stylish. She's staring up at you expectantly, though that shifts quickly to concern when you don't immediately respond. "... Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'm fine." To her relief, you answer her follow-up almost immediately, a chipper smile plastered across your face. It's a touch forced, the edges pressing your cheeks a little too far into your eyes, the tension in your jaw almost making it look like you're grimacing. Almost.

"Great! Come with me."

Your fingers fumble with the button of your jeans, missing the hole twice before a groan of frustration fills the enclosed space. You're so anxious you can feel the nervous energy filling you up like a balloon, dragging your poor body from the familiar weight of your bones. Your hands won't stop shaking and they're so cold. You can feel the chill through the denim of your pants when you rub your palms over your thighs in an effort to bring blood rushing back to them.

"Please come out when you're ready." The voice speaks over the public address system wired into the ceiling.

You glance up from your little dressing room, noting the soft yellow that now illuminates your space. It floods the walls you can barely make out over the top of your dressing stall. You notice, with some amusement, that it matches the yellow of your socks that rise above your ankles and disappear into the hem of pants.

"Relax. It'll be fun," you tell yourself before counting to three and trying your button again.

It slots into its rightful home on your first go. That must be a sign, right?

You exhale deeply, pushing all the air from your lungs as you face the mirror on the back of the door. You blink at your reflection, smoothing your fringe until it falls just right over the rim of your glasses, barely grazing your line of vision. You watch the way you chew your own lip, grateful you've got nothing but bubble-gum flavoured lip balm on, and nod. It's reminiscent of a child on their first day of school.

Then you force yourself out of the stall before you can talk yourself out of it, peeking around the corner of the door.

You're not sure what you'd been expecting but it definitely isn't this.

Because he's tall and broad, with shoulders that fall like a mountain range and a mop of dark hair. It curls over his ears and looks unkept but purposefully so, pushed behind his ears. The coat he wears fits across his back, hugging his silhouette as it falls to his knees. Plaid trousers hold his legs, cut directly above his bare ankle. He looks like a goddamn fashion model and you haven't even seen his face.

"Oh, hi." His voice is warm and heavy, like a weighted blanket or hot cocoa on Christmas Day.

It envelopes you in bass and makes your stomach flip in anticipation.

He's right across from you now, sliding into the high director's chair that sits directly opposite from where you are, half-pulled into your seat. He's as handsome as you would've imagined, the slope of his jaw and curve of his cheekbone seemingly carved by Michelangelo himself. Thin gold frames - eerily similar to yours - sit on the high bridge of his nose and behind them, eyes crinkle from the force of his big, boxy smile.

You find yourself at a loss for words for the second time in not very long, only managing a soft, "hello."

He seems to find that endearing, a soft laugh - one that very clearly echoes ha ha ha in the quiet room - drifting from where he sits. You feel your face flush, shifting through the colour wheel before landing on an embarrassingly vivid shade of magenta. You can see if in your reflection from behind his shoulder when you finally make yourself comfortable, only then meeting his open, curious stare.

"I like your pants." He gestures toward you as if he could be talking to anyone else, the diffused golden glow catching against the thin rings he wears.

"Thank you." You try not to mumble, offering a sweet albeit small smile in return. You're pleased with your choice and in turn, his compliment. You loved these jeans, had worn them for years since you'd bought them one summer in Tokyo. They hug you just right, sitting close to your waist and through your hips before relaxing into a chic 70's inspired straight flare. It doesn't matter that there's paint on the left knee - from that time you'd hosted a wine and paint night at your apartment - or that the frays on the hem are in dire need of trimming.

"Should we get started?" There he is, leading the conversation again. You feel a little bad, though that flies out the proverbial window when he's leveling you with another one of his smiles. It's hard to feel anything but child-like happiness when he looks like sunshine and middle school crushes.

You nod, turning your attention to your phone.

The screen reads START: PERCENT OF INTEREST FROM FIRST IMPRESSION. You immediately want to enter 100, your fingers moving to tap the requisite numbers before you're hesitating, hovering over the "1" as it taunts you. Was that too high? What if they showed him? Would he be turned off by how eager you were?

You're dragging your bottom lip through your teeth over and over again, stuck on a decision. Was he experiencing the same turmoil?

You steal a peek at him, hoping to be as covert as possible. He's staring straight at you, amusement written into the way his mouth twists, fighting back the laughter that sounds like music to your ears. His phone rests loosely in his right hand. Clearly, he's made his choice already.

You huff and enter 85, still not entirely happy with your decision by the time the next question pops up.

BASED ON OUTFIT 1 (SCHOOL), YOUR NAME IS _____, YOU ARE _____ YEARS OLD, AND YOU LIVE IN _____.

You had to guess his name? That was going to be impossible.

Or not, you think as his fingers glide across his screen, seemingly unfazed by the challenges currently presented. Maybe that was for the better, though. Maybe it would help you gain some sort of idea into who this stranger was, with his soft white tee shirt and expensive Hermès belt.

Even as you're filling out the answers, you can feel his eyes boring into your head like two little laser beams. You're sure that's why your cheeks are burning up and your have to retype your last answer three times, messing up the characters like you haven't spent your entire life writing them. How could he be so comfortable? His fingers aren't even twitching, instead leisurely curled between his legs as he studies you. He looks like he has nothing to hide, blinking innocently at you when you drag your gaze from his hands, his brown leather watch strap.

"Your name is Kim Nari." He's speaking seconds after you've pressed enter, alerted of the fact by the small chime of his phone. If he notices the way your brow furrows, he doesn't react, reading his answers with easy reassurance. "You're twenty-threeyears old and you live in Itaewon."

It brings you some sort of joy as you shake your head, hand raised with your thumb and forefinger curled in. "Three strikes and you're out." You laugh and then he's joining you, the sounds slotting easily together like a harmony. "My name is Cho Jiyeon." His words are forming the syllables silently, as if testing out the way it feels. You can't help but smile at that, nose scrunching as he does it again, repeating it like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. " I'm twenty-two and I live in Hongdae." You don't acknowledge the fact that he's technically right - your actual birthday is in a few days.

"I see." Your corrections are accepted as easily as he breathes. "Nice to meet you, Cho Jiyeon."

"Really, Nari?" You can't help but tease, manicured brow quirking curiously.

"You're pretty, so I thought you'd have a pretty name," he says plainly. You can't help but snort, hiding the sound behind your palms as laughter shakes your shoulders. Had he managed to compliment and insult you all at once? "You still have a pretty name."

Now it's his turn to laugh, your reaction of wild head shaking and face covering causing him to stifle his own into the back of his hand.

"It's your turn."

So it is. "Your name is Yun Taewoo and you're twenty-five?" The first two come as questions more than answers but you're almost certain of your last one. "You live in Cheongdam."

By his smirk, you're either terribly right or miserably wrong.

When his head tilts, you're reminded of a golden retriever or a teddy bear, his dark eyes twinkling at you from behind his spectacles. "My name is Kim Taehyung." You're not sure how you ever thought it would've been anything else by how well it fits him. "You're right, I'm twenty-five." Here comes the winner, you think. "And I also live in Hongdae."

Dammit dammit dammit.

Taehyung can see the disappointment in your eyes and his own are waning into crescent moons, dragged into the shape by his all-encompassing grin. "My parents live in Cheongdam, if that helps." It doesn't really, but you appreciate the effort, visibly relaxing at his concession. You've known each other for all of fifteen minutes and he's already worming his way into your silly little schoolgirl heart.

"It does. Thanks." You're giggling around your gratitude, allowing your eyes to trail pointedly at the timepiece on his wrist. It cost more than one of your semesters. "The Cartier was kind of a giveaway."

"But you recognized it," he teases back warmly.

"Touché."

"My turn again." A soft cough to clear his throat before he repeats the next question.

YOUR MAJOR IS _____, YOUR GPA IS _____, AND AT SCHOOL YOU ARE _____.

"Your major is art, your GPA is 3.1, and at school, you're an outsider."

You're not sure whether to be offended that you're seemingly so easy to read, a hand flying to your throat. "Are you following me?" You're asking before you can help it, earning a hearty laugh from Taehyung. He's shaking his head, awfully proud that he's just struck the nail on the head. "I'm actually doing a double major, so I'll give you that. My GPA is actually 3.9, though." You can't help your own pride from sneaking in, colouring your words in shades of gold as you beam. It only falters when you consider his last guess. "What makes you think I'm an outsider?"

Not that he was wrong, per se, but you're a little surprised. You'd never been unpopular but you just kept to yourself, drifting from different friend groups as you saw fit.

"You don't want to forced into a box, so you're an outsider. You choose to be."

You have no answer for that so you instead engage in a peculiar staring match until your eyes burn and you're blinking rapidly.

"Your major was business, your GPA was 3.5, and you were a total insider." Maybe it's the fact that he figured you out so easily that you feel uncertain about your own answers.

He shakes his head, ever the gentleman. "No, sorry. I was a fashion major and my GPA was 3.0." He pauses thoughtfully, considering the implications of being an inssa. He supposes you're right, though he'd never really thought of himself as one. Just someone that was well-liked and never turned away. "Good try, though." Again, encouragement. It makes you like him for more than his charming smile and fashion-sense.

"I'll get you next time."

"I'm sure you will," he returns without even a hint of sarcasm. "Next outfit?"

You nod, slipping from your seat and all but skipping into your dressing stall. As you disappear back inside, you catch his smile in the reflection of your door and bite back your own.

The nerves that had melted over the course of your conversation seem to have come back in full force, spreading warmth over your cheeks as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You've smoothed your hands over the soft corduroy of your skirt at least ten times now, straightening the hem this way and that in the pursuit of getting it to sit just right over your thighs.

"Just go back outside. He's nice. Stop freaking out." The reprimands are filling the small space and you feel almost overwhelmed. Outfit number two was supposed to be a date outfit and just the word had your hands clamming out, heat licking up the back of your neck.

It's not that you weren't used to dating - he was just really cute.

Adjusting the collar of your turtleneck - soft, black, draped in all the right places and tucked neatly into the waist of your skirt - you nod again. It's your little way of building yourself up before you're stepping back outside, arms sliding into the sleeves of your grey tartan blazer. You look good. Taehyung had even said so. You could do this.

No, no, no. You can't do this. Not when he looks like that.

He's beat you to his seat, an Adonis in black. Gone is the loose white shirt from earlier, replaced now by an inky top that sinks against his skin. The collar is open, the top two buttons undone to reveal the honeyed expanse of his chest. You're not sure whether you want to bury your face into it or his silky shirt and it takes you a moment to remind yourself that's terribly inappropriate.

"I like this look," you offer, hardly able to tear your eyes away from him as you settle back into your chair. You can't help but notice how he smiles, gloating like he's all too aware of his effect on you. He even readjusts, opening his arms to you as if to urge you on, when you continue to inspect his clothes.

The pants he wears are different now, an expensive textured fabric that hugs his thighs and drapes across his shins, falling just above his ankle like before. There's no visible sock line and his shoes - black calfskin loafers with little tassels across the tops - scream expensive. You'd hazard a guess they're Saint Laurent or Prada. The only thing carried over from his last outfit is his watch, now stacked with delicate silver chains and a single red yarn bracelet you'd noticed earlier. Even his hair is different, effortlessly styled and sweeping across his brow in soft, easy waves that beg to be touched.

"I like yours, too," he coos, that smug expression never faltering. You try not to blush beneath his stare, trapping your hands beneath your legs as you allow him the same courtesy.

Your thigh high socks sit just beneath where your palms rest, black a stark contrast to your skin and the brown of your skirt. Your toes wiggle experimentally in the boots you're wearing, the ever popular sock-style blending seamlessly with the material of your stockings. You can feel the lines of your rings where your skin is exposed, the same silver resting at the small of your throat in layered necklaces and at your ears in intricate loops.

He can't help but linger when the light catches the metal of your jewelry or when you shift nervously, thighs pressing together. More than a small part of him enjoys you squirming under his gaze. It's coquettish, even if it isn't meant to be.

"Do you want to go first?" The words break whatever spell you'd been under and you re-focus on the device in your lap. You nod before you've read the question thoroughly, flushing once you've had a chance to do so.

BASED ON OUTFIT 2 (DATE), YOU'VE RECEIVED _____ ROMANTIC CONFESSIONS AND HAVE BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP _____ TIMES.

They really didn't beat around the bush, did they?

You're tapping out your response, pushing forward when you stop to think. It was just two numbers.

When the familiar ding of your phones breaks the relative silence, you look back up. Of course, he's already watching you, ever the active participant. "You, Kim Taehyung, have received more than twenty romantic confessions and you've been in a relationship more than ten times."

Something like surprises steals across his face, contorting his expression into one you hadn't seen yet.

"Wrong." There's no further elaboration and for a moment, you have the urge to apologize. Had you offended him? "I've received more than twenty romantic confessions but I've only been in a relationship twice."

Now it's your turn to be surprised, your eyebrows disappearing into your hairline. How did someone look like that and not date? It seemed like such a waste.

"Shocking, right?" Taehyung takes the words right out of your mouth but they feel wrong when uttered back at you. "Both relationships were long-term. Five and four years, respectively, so I never really had time to date anyone else." A hand adorned in Gucci rings cards through his silky mop of hair, smoothing it away from his forehead before it falls back into place perfectly. "Don't worry - I'm not offended you think I'm such a Casanova."

You can't help but scowl at his words. He's right and you're being called out so hard.

"You've probably had more than ten confessions and..." You're not sure whether he's really trying to remember what he'd written or if he's just drawing it out, teasing you mercilessly like its his newly discovered favourite pastime. "Five boyfriends?"

"Ah - you got those right!" You're not bothered by his accurate guesses this time. In fact, you clap as if his success somehow belongs to both of you. He finds that endearing. He likes the idea of the two of you as a team.

"Next one? Go ahead."

You double check your next answer, trying not to laugh when you remember what you'd entered.

YOU FEEL ATTRACTED TO SOMEONE WHO IS _____. YOU ARE ACTIVE/PASSIVE DURING THE DAY AND ACTIVE/PASSIVE AT NIGHT.

"Kim Taehyung," you meet his eyes when you say his name and for a second, you lose your train of thought. His lashes are so thick and dark and without his glasses on, you swear you can see the constellations in his irises. "Um." He snickers and you roll your eyes, rereading the small font on your device screen. "You are attracted to someone who shares your confidence and who will rise to challenges with you. You're active during the day and..." You don't dare look up. "You're also active during the night."

To your benefit, you both collapse into laughter, doubled over in your chairs as the double entendre sits salaciously between you.

"You're not wrong," he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at you. If you were closer, you think you'd swat his arm or nudge his foot - anything to demonstrate that you think he's an absolute dork. "I want someone who can be my partner in crime and I'm active all the time." He leans heavily into the implication, dragging the "ah" in all out like he's trying to break it over his tongue.

"Okay, Casanova. Your turn."

He hums, not even bothering to look at his screen as he studies you, eyes ticking from the way your long, dark hair cascades over your shoulder to the wine-stain you'd pressed into your full lips. "You're attracted to someone who excites you and makes you feel wanted." By the way he's drinking you in, you think he could be talking about himself. "You're active in the day and passive at night."

When he says passive, it almost feels wrong. Dirty. Like it should be whispered into the shell of your ear and not spoken so casually from three feet away.

You have to remind yourself you're sitting in a studio, surrounded by production staff.

"I do like to sleep a lot." You manage once the flutter in your chest has subsided, allowing you to find your breath again. It still feels a little airy, a little like the wings of butterflies are tugging the words out of your chest. "But I think everyone wants to be desired, don't you? I don't think that's specific to me."

"Then why don't you tell me what kind of person you're attracted to?" He doesn't say it but you hear it in his voice - the unspoken question. Is it me?

You're not ready for that conversation, nor do you think this is the place to have it. "I think we should change."

The third time you exit your dressing stall, you're out before Taehyung is, giving you a moment's reprieve as you climb into your chair.

You're more comfortable than you have been, both mentally and physically, but it's nice to have these few extra moments of peace. He was just so much - it was hard to focus when he caught your stare or he did that thing with his tongue, pink gliding across his bottom lip. You were ready to take back some control. Hopefully his daily outfit was as casual as yours. You didn't think you could handle another peek of that chiseled frame.

God, when had you become so easy to please?

"That was quick." He's popping his head out of his room and gliding into his seat in what feels like one fluid motion. Well, he certainly seems spirited.

"What can I say? I'm fast." It's enough to make him chuckle because very clearly, you were not fast, but he wasn't about to call you on that. Not when you two were getting along so swimmingly. "Shall we get started?"

You don't even wait for his response before you're studying your phone again, considering the two latest questions.

BASED ON OUTFIT 3 (DAILY), WHAT YOU HEAR OFTEN FROM YOUR FRIENDS IS _____ AND WHAT YOU HEAR FROM YOUR PARENTS IS _____?

That was easy enough, you think, free hand fiddling with the pocket on your thigh. The cargo pants you wear sit easily on your hips, the beige material matching the seat. You're back in sneakers - all-white Converse with a small platform - and your glasses are perched on the bridge of your nose. You're aware of a draft on your shoulder, the soft wool of your camel and blush cardigan having drifted low across your shoulder.

You fill out your answer with ease, sparing Taehyung a glance when you're finished and realizing, much to your surprise, he's still typing.

"You can go first, when you're done."

The only indication he's heard you is the bob of his head so you take his preoccupation as time to admire his latest fashion choices.

Wide-legged trousers that look extremely comfortable, falling easily over backless Gucci loafers. His shirt is French-tucked, the drape of his taupe top relaxed. The watch remains where it has been, though the other jewelry that had previously accompanied it is gone. He's got a chic black beret pulled over his ears, causing strands at the nape of his neck to curl adorably. He looks every inch an off-duty model and you have to remind yourself to stop gawking when he begins speaking.

"What you hear most from your friends is 'don't forget' and what you hear most from your parents is 'did you eat?'"

You think his streak must be running out and he sees that reflected in your goofy smile, one of his own framing his face. "Nope. My friends say 'get some sleep' and my parents ask 'how is school?' Good try."

He shrugs, mouthing something like 'you win some, you lose some' before sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Go ahead."

"What Kim Taehyung hears the most from his friends is 'I can't believe it' and what he hears most from his parents is 'visit more often.'" You'd been reading your screen, lifting the words verbatim, so when you look up and catch his expression, you're startled. For the first time, Taehyung looks unsure, though it lasts only a fraction of a second before he's nodding, his sweet laughter sinking into your molars like honeycomb and cavities.

"Close enough. My friends usually say something like 'you're kidding me' but you're right about my parents."

Maybe that's why he looked so sad, you realize with a little twinge of guilt. You consider asking a follow-up but by the way he pulls his phone out, you know it's a conversation better left for another time. Like perhaps a second date.

YOUR ALCOHOL LIMIT IS _____ AND YOU SMOKE _____ A DAY.

He's already reading his answer to the second question by the time you tune in fully.

"Cho Jiyeon, your alcohol limit is two bottes of soju and you don't smoke." You wouldn't say he's exactly right but you relent, nodding in agreement.

"Between two and four, depending on the day." There's a story there and it intrigues him but he says nothing, instead waiting for your appraisal of his tolerance. He's ready to completely blow your mind. "Your limit is... four bottles? You definitely don't smoke."

It's with pride that Taehyung shakes his head, chest puffed out and lips pursed. "My tolerance is one - one shot." He can't help but laugh when you level him with disbelief. "I don't like the taste," he continues, completely unashamed. He's dealt with enough teasing from his closest friends so he's used to the incredulous stare you're currently giving him, unfazed as he beams at you.

"I never would've guessed," you quip, thoughtful.

"I'm full of surprises."

You think it's a promise, like the guarantee of buried treasure or calm in the eye of the storm. "I'm sure you are."

Your final change makes you feel like you're at home, despite the fact that you're nowhere close to it. It's nice to be in your pyjamas in the middle of the day, even if you didn't normally wear the set that currently sits on your body.

"Last one," you say to yourself, peering closely at your hair, your lips, the way your shorts feel a little shorter than usual.

Then you pull yourself out for the last time and plop yourself into your chair, smiling brightly at Taehyung when he exits in the same instant as you.

He's in silk pyjama bottoms, the navy a stark contrast against his feet - which are slotted into soft shearling slippers. The top looks oddly familiar, the white stirring a memory that you're not sure how to place. "Hey - I recognize this," you state uncertainly, gesticulating at his broad chest. He looks down and a smile so shy your heart could cry spreads across his face. Maybe you're wrong but it looks like the tips of his ears are suddenly red beneath his crown of softly mused strands.

"I don't normally sleep with a shirt on," he confesses, delicate fingers brushing the shoulder of his top. He's not quite meeting your eyes, that seem dusting of rouge seeping over his hollowed cheeks and across his temples.

"Oh," is all you can say, just as bashful.

As if to ease the unusual weight that's settled over the two of you, he speaks again, earnest. "I like your sweater."

You pick at the item in question, thumbing over the worn hem. It's incredibly soft from years of wear, a gift from your father when he'd visited for business years ago. The formerly vivid stitching on the first letter is starting to come undone, the remaining letters of HARVARD all in equal states of distress. Still, it's comforting and oversized, drowning you in its shape and making you look more diminutive than your lissome stature already does.

A leg draws up, about to pull to your chest, but then you think better of it. You're in shorts - worn jersey ones taken from a matching pyjama set you'd once gotten as a birthday gift - and you're reminded of how little they'd covered when standing, so you settle for crossing your ankles. The bears printed on your socks - three stacked at various levels across the top of your foot, your ankle, your calf - cross as well.

"Thanks."

"Do you want to go first this time?"

It's nice that he's so considerate. You nod, turning your attention to the last few questions. You realize, with the smallest hint of disappointment, that there are only two left.

BASED ON OUTFIT 4 (PYJAMAS), YOU WANT TO LIVE UNTIL _____ YEARS OLD. THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN YOUR LIFE IS _____.

You're not sure whether it's the fact that your time with him is coming to an end or the questions themselves but you feel odd, a lump forming in your stomach. Whatever it is, you try to push it from your thoughts, ignoring the weight it carries in favour of giving further consideration to your answers.

"I think you want to live until ninety years old." That made sense, right? Most people wanted to live out there lives as long as they could, watching the generations span after them and basking in the pride of a life-well lived. "The most important thing in your life is growth." Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a stretch. Could you really know someone that well after only such a short period with them?

You think so, because after everything so far, you felt like you did.

"Ninety would be nice," he agrees after a moment, biting his bottom lip as he weighs his next words. "The most important thing in my life is being true to myself." So you were wrong - but that was also a really deep question. You feel like it's not fair and he can clearly see that when he grins, gracious and giving. "I think growth means staying honest to myself, though."

You think you could kiss him and absorb some of that sunny goodness.

"You want to live until you're ninety, too." A small part of you doubts he'd use the same age, that suspicion deepening when he doesn't even bother looking at his written answers. "The most important thing in Cho Jiyeon's life is love. Am I right?"

The reason you'd even agreed to appear on this silly video segment.

"What about age?" He prompts, not skipping a beat.

"I don't know," you answer honestly. "I don't think I'd mind when I died if I found love before that."

You're not sure whether the look Taehyung gives you is affectionate or pitying because you're not really looking at him, instead focused pointedly on the paint that coats your nails and the way your knuckles flex beneath your ministrations.

"Last one," he chirps, snapping you from your careful consideration of your own humanity.

You don't answer, instead rereading the last answer you'd filled out.

IF WE WERE LOVERS WHO BROKE UP, WE WOULD HAVE DATED BECAUSE OF _____ AND BROKEN UP BECAUSE OF _____.

It felt a little too close to home and yet, you were in the home stretch. You'd be held here in this little piece of forever until you answered.

He begins before you get a chance to, impossibly softer than he'd been previously. "If we were lovers who broke up, we would have dated because you felt like my other half." You have to remind yourself that it's all hypothetical but his voice is so alluring, like a lullaby you'd like to slip into dreamland listening to. Even the way he details your imaginary breakup is beguiling, low timbre hitting some chord in your heart you weren't aware existed. "We would have broken up because you'd always be chasing a vision of me - and not the real me."

Emotion wells in your chest and in your throat and behind your eyes and you have to swallow thickly, forcing the onslaught down before you're crying in front of the cameras and making a fool of yourself.

You'd written something silly but as you prepare to answer the same question, it feels far too inconsequential, like a child playing dress-up.

"If we were lovers, we would have dated because I was your muse." His mouth quirks at that, though you can't see from the way you're staring at your hands still and it's short-lived. "We would have broken up because I couldn't keep up with you." It's not what you'd originally opted for but it feels better. Right. Like it could be true, in some fantasy world where people like him ended up with people like you.

Silence drags on once you've finished speaking. You could hear a pin drop - and think you do. It might just be someone's pen slipping from their hand.

Your eyes meet, like kismet, after what feels like forever. He smiles and you can imagine that same, sad thing mirrored in your own expression.

"Please give us your percent of interest based on your final impression." The public address system again, tearing your little illusion to shreds. He's a stranger again, someone you've only met for the purpose of this YouTube video.

You glance down at your phone and without thinking, press that frightful "1" followed by two 0's. You see him enter his score.

And then the lights are fading from a rosy glow, replaced by the standard professional lighting. The curtains have closed and the production assistants are milling over, thanking you for your time and advising of when you might expect to see the video up. You're barely listening.

Because Taehyung's already gone.

notes. i've never written this much in one sitting. i hope you enjoy it! as always, feedback appreciated.

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chilling-seavey · 4 years

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There Goes My Life - Chapter Nine

A/N @jocelyntheduckie peer pressured me to upload and tbh I was too excited to wait any longer as well so here we go 😂

Monday, November 22, 2038

Clementine told herself to let it go, trying to agree with her sister that she was making up something out of nothing, and that sort of worked for just over a week. But it was all Clementine was thinking about. She was sat at her desk on a Monday evening, trying to start studying for exams after a semester of paying off her assignments to classmates, feeling really…off. Clementine was always a hardworking student throughout her whole life and since college had started, that all sort of slipped away. It didn’t hit her often but when it did, the guilt was sickening. That, paired with the anxiety about who this Matt guy was in relation to her mother, Clementine could not stay focussed on her textbook.

Her phone sat face up in the middle of the page, Matt’s Instagram profile staring up at her from the screen. She had been sitting like that for nearly twenty minutes, her finger hovering over the ‘message’ button before dropping nervously back to her lap. Back and forth.

“Are you studying?” Penelope asked from behind her on her bed.

Clementine startled, forgetting her sister was even there, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m studying.”

“Clem.”

“What?”

“Stop stewing.”

“I’m gonna message him.”

“Clementine. Don’t.”

“I need answers. Mind your own business, Nell.” Clementine said. Her retort wasn’t rude…simply soft and exhausted, desperate for but also fearing the possible response.

She picked up her phone from her textbook and hit the ‘message’ button, composing a quick casual paragraph and hit send before she could second guess. She tossed her phone back on the desk.

“Can I ask what you said?” Penelope mumbled.

Clementine cleared her throat as she leaned over her message, “’Hey, I don’t know if you know me but I think you knew my mom in high school and I had a few questions for you-’ Oh my God, he opened it.”

Clementine bit nervously at her fingernail as she saw the little typing bubble appearing in the bottom corner. Penelope stayed quiet, watching her sister hunched over her desk with her forehead in her hand and her elbow on the desk, forcing herself to look back to her laptop and ignore the growing pit in her stomach.

The simple sentence came back in response, ‘Does your mom know you’re talking to me?’

Clementine answered with a ‘Yes’ before she could think.

Then ask away

Clementine bit hard on her bottom lip as she typed out her single question, the question that could change her whole life.

Are you my father?

She reread the message at least ten times before hitting send. It was opened right away and she stared impatiently and anxiously at the typing bubble again. She was hoping for a no. She was praying for a no. It would just been so much easier to reply with a ‘Ok, sorry for bothering you, thank you’ and get back to her usual life after a no.

Matt was typing and retyping for a while and Clementine was chewing hard on her bottom lip, hunched over her desk in the near dark, textbook long forgotten. The texting bubble disappeared again for a second and then the message popped up. A single word.

Yeah.

Clementine’s shaky inhale had Penelope looking over to her, staring at her back from across the room. Neither sister spoke. Penelope didn’t know what had happened, only watching her sister hold her face in her hands and let out a small sob.

“Clemmy.” Penelope breathed, quickly shuffling off the bed and rushing over to set a hand on her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the dm thread, the ‘Yeah’ feeling like a punch to the gut for herself; she couldn’t imagine how her sister was feeling. “We don’t believe anything until our parents tell us.”

“Your parents.” Clementine corrected coldly.

“Clementine Ophelia.” Penelope smacked her arm. “Stop that.”

They were interrupted by Clementine’s phone ringing, none other than Daniel’s number flashing across the screen with the picture of him holding her in the hospital the day she was born in the background. Her distasteful tisk was punctuated by her declining the call.

“You have to talk to them.” Penelope whispered.

“I don’t want to talk to them.” Clementine mumbled. “They’ve been lying to me my whole life.”

“They probably had a reason to…if this is the truth.”

“They cut me off from a life with my father, Penelope.”

“Daniel is your father. Just like me and just like Lucy.” Penelope said strongly.

“No, he’s not!” Clementine shouted, spinning around in her chair to face her sister. “Why are you pushing this away? This makes sense! The dates make sense! You can’t hide from that, Penelope! Mum and Daniel didn’t know each other when she was first pregnant.”

“Dad.” Penelope corrected. “Mum and dad.”

“He’s not my dad.” Clementine said coldly.

Penelope’s phone rang from where she left it on the bed and she went over to pick it up, Daniel’s name appearing on her screen now and she sat down to answer it, “Hey, Daddy.”

“Hey, bug. I tried calling your sister, is she around?” Daniel asked sweetly.

“Yeah, she’s around. She’s studying.” Penelope said.

“Oh, okay. I won’t bother her then. I just feel like I haven’t talked to her in a while. I miss her! You too of course.”

“I miss you too.” Penelope breathed.

“Is everything okay over there?”

Penelope stared at her older sister’s back for a beat, watching her cry silently at her desk as she typed a response to some stranger on the internet. The tears that fell down her face were paired with a furrowed expression as if she was more angry than sad and Penelope took a deep breath to hold in her own emotions.

“Yeah, everything is fine.”

Tag List: @hopeinglimelight ~ @kizakat26 ~ @badbunnypr ~ @calumhoodiskindahot ~ @sothisisathingforsomereason ~ @jocelyntheduckie

#daniel seavey fanfic #why dont we fanfic #writing #🍊

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richiestudy · 4 years

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Mind Blind is my favourite WIP right now. It’s just... incredible. I’ve played it like 15 times. @mindblindbard deserves inordinate amounts of cash and joy thrown at them for their sheer talent, awesome writing and loveable ROs.

Anyways! I got bored, so I made my Mind Blind Buttons in Artbreeder! It was really fun, even though I know nobody cares.

God, they’re all such hot messes (minus you, Pippa, the only functional one). I love them so much. Except Mitzi, who is a garbage fire of a person.

Edit: I now realise that I posted this to the wrong blog but I’m too lazy to retype the tags, so... I guess it’s staying here!

Interactive Fiction is the only thing giving me serotonin in college anyways so just vibe with me, okay? Okay.

---

Pippa Wiseman - Super confident and self-assured. Bubbly by nature. High interpersonal skills. Often underestimated or thought of as an airhead; prone to fits of fun-loving mischief. Not sure whether she wants to kiss or kill Rosy. (Spoiler alert - these two things are not mutually exclusive! It’s both!)

Mitzi Wiseman - Mean as all fuck. A real hostile Button indeed. Subsists on resentment and pure hatred. Nick chewed her out real good for wishing he was dead in that hospital room and she deserved it. No RO but the only person on the planet she didn’t alienate was Glitch. I don’t know what that says about her.

Alexander Wiseman - *slaps roof* This bad boy can fit so much self-loathing in it! Morbid kiddo. Irritable and bitter, but not cruel. Terrified of hurting his loved ones again, so he shuts them out. Tall - looking for a ceiling high enough to... you get it. This is one Button that needs an intervention, alright. Talents include cowering away from Rosy and majorly pining over his crush, Sally.

Genevieve Wiseman - My fave girl; funny and super loving. Really into cute pastel retro skirts. Humour and repression as a coping mechanism, babey! The sweetest Button I have. Her relationship with Nick is the best out of this Button bunch. Highkey cried over Kent at first; still set on that Bali honeymoon though.

#Mind Blind #MindBlind #mindblindbard #mind blind mc #mind blind cog #button #button wiseman #wiseman #oc: pippa wiseman #oc: mitzi wiseman #oc: alexander wiseman #oc: genevieve wiseman

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bcdwhcre · 5 years

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“Faded”

Ship: Calum Hood x Reader

Summary: Calum has always faked a smile, until he met you.

Warnings: not much but cursing and hints of depression.

•••••

Once the interview cameras cut off, his smile faded. Disappeared into thin air like it was nothing. He was emotionless and he didn’t hesitate to get up and leave the guys behind to chatter about. He kept the leather jacket tightly on him, the only sense of comfort he’ll feel until he gets to the hotel and lays in his bed.

He felt completely empty. He did appreciate the band, the perks that came with it and his heart always went to his fans but lately it’s just been too much for him to handle, the quick walkbys without saying a thing- faking a smile for the pictures when they ask for them. He couldn’t help it, he put on a front- a show every single day for 24 hours. He felt useless even though the guys have reassured him and tried to make him feel otherwise. It didn’t work though.

He stumbled along the street, deciding to walk back to the hotel instead of catching a ride with everyone else- he needed time to himself. He always needed that. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, a habit he got into a little while back to relieve his stress but it only worked until the stick ran out. He put it between his lips, lighting up the end of it and inhaled the addicting cancer stick.

As he stood by a coffee shop, back leaned against the wall and his face zoned out like he was overthinking his entire life until he heard a small voice beside him.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that to your body.” A young woman mumbled, her bright eyes that were so full of life staring back at his dull ones. It was like a shining stroke of light shined down on her from the sun, dramatic but beautiful in a way.

“I honestly don’t care what happens to my body but thanks anyways.” He shrugged, raising up the cigarette like it was a wine glass cheering it before taking another hit to blow out the smoke above his head.

“Bad day?” She still sat there and in the back of his head he wanted to tell her to simply fuck off but for one, he wasn’t that cruel and two, this was the only girl that wasn’t throwing herself at him begging for pictures and autographs.

“More like a bad year.” A small chuckle left his lips, flicking the stick onto the floor and steps on it with his black boots.

“How bout I buy you a coffee and you can tell me about it.” She stared up at his tall frame, her eyes full of hope and he was close to shutting her down and going back to the hotel but something inside of him dragged him towards her that he just simply nodded his head and walked beside her towards the coffee shop.

Calum opened the door for her, letting her step inside and go off to order the coffee while he took a seat at the small booth in the back of the shop, secluded just like how he was- closed off and alone.

When she slid in the booth across from him, sliding the cup of coffee towards him and cleared her throat as she seated in the seat while sipping on the steaming hot drink.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” She chuckles, reaching her small hand over the table towards him to shake his hand. She noticed how closed off he was, distanced and unsure about a lot.

“I’m Calum.” He simply said, staring at her hand for a moment and gently shakes it before pulling back to sip onto the coffee, not caring whether it was steaming hot or not.

He never really did this, talk to strangers outside of the band. But here she was, sitting across from him, curious and full of life yet Calum was the opposite. Not that she wanted to help him, she did find him attractive and he seemed lonely, like he needed someone and was screaming for help without doing a thing.

“What do you do, Calum?” The question made him think twice about telling her about being in band or should he casually say he works a normal job so he can seem normal?

“Uh, I’m sort of- in a band.”

“You look like the type to be in a band. Like guitarist.” She laughed softly, her laugh gently yet quiet and nervous, like she was on a first date.

“More like bass.” A small chuckle left his lips and for the first time, it wasn’t a fake one. He was taken back, his brown eyes moving up to connect with hers and he shakes his head, it was silly.

“What’s running through your head?”

“Everything.” Calum shrugged his shoulders and stared at her for a moment before looking away, he didn’t want to open about the terrible few months he’s had especially to a stranger who might think he’s crazy.

“Alright come on, let’s go somewhere to ease your mind.” She gave him a bright smile, scooting out of the booth and stood up as she gestures him to follow her out of the coffee shop.

He didn’t want to at first, he felt awkward but he also felt somewhat at ease talking to someone who didn’t even know who he was; Calum Hood, the bass player, the singer, 5 seconds of summer.

He didn’t realize his feet was taking him outside and following right beside her, staying quiet as she talked a little bit- only short answers leaving his lips until they got to where she wanted to take him. A viewpoint, a somewhat ledge that looked over the water with the sun setting.

He was quiet, caught off guard with the view and how beautiful it actually was. It was calm, the water crushing into the rocks, no people, isolated where you can watch the water, the sunset or just look out and relax.

“Why did you bring me here?” He asked quietly, watching her sit down on a large rock and patting the spot beside her for him to sit down.

“I don’t know, just by looking at you- you put on this mask where you don’t wanna be recognized or be who you are anymore. You act alone when you’re far from alone, you seemed tensed up and always looking over your shoulder like someone is going to come in and drag you out.” She read him like her favorite book, she could easily see through him and the costume he’s trying to put on to cover himself.

Calum starts to laugh a bit, a real laugh but somewhat awkward with how spot on she was. Did she actually know who he was and she’s just lying to get to him? Or was she just that good at calling people out on their shit? He didn’t know and he couldn’t tell but he felt a sense of ease when he was around her even if it’s been a few hours or barely getting to know her, it felt weird but it felt real.

“Thanks for exposing me I guess.” He shook his head, the smile on his face remaining there until it eventually disappeared.

“I’m sorry, you just need this- being relaxed and not feeling so pressured all the time.” She turned her attention to the water, staying quiet and enjoying the soft sounds of the ocean and sighed under her breath.

Calum looked down at his phone, the first time he’s done it since before the interview with the guys earlier. He saw a bunch of text messages and missed calls from them, including their manager. He rolled his eyes, stuffing the phone back into his pocket and glances over at her, almost admiring her in a way. He knew that this might be the last time he’ll see her, this wasnt his home town and he only came to perform but in the back of his head he didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to see her only once. The laugh and the smiles he’s cracked today- were definitely genuine, because of her.

“I have to get back to my friends, you can tag along for the rest of the night- if you want to I mean. I think it’s just dinner and us having a few drinks.” Calum rambled on a little bit and she laughed at how nervous he was acting now.

“Yeah, I’ll love to go.”

•••••••••

I randomly came up with this at like midnight then tumblr erased half so I had to retype and here we are.

••MASTERLIST••

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagines #5sos imagines #5sos imagine #5sos blurbs #5sos blurb #5sos preferences #Ashton irwin #Calum hood #Michael clifford #Luke hemmings #Ashton Irwin imagine #Ashton Irwin imagines #calum hood imagines #calum hood imagine #Michael Clifford imagines #Michael Clifford imagine

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emjenenla · 5 years

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Important Announcement

So I did something I’ve been contemplating for a while and started a dedicated writing blog.

The username is @emjenwrites and all the requests and fanfic stuff I previously posted here under the #Emjen writes tag (which never really worked right because Tumblr is Tumblr) are going to be over there now.

I’ve been contemplating doing this for a while because I thought this blog was getting sorta confusing and because I like the idea of having all the fanfic in one place where it’s easy to access. I haven’t decided what’s going to happen to the headcanons yet; I guess we’ll see.

So if you want to keep up with my fanfiction, please go follow @emjenwrites.

So what’s going on in bullet points (because why not):

1. I created a new blog for just writing. The username is @emjenwrites.

2. I’m still taking requests in a plethora of fandoms (literally, I made a list and posted it on the new blog). Just use the ask box over there.

3. @just-another-nerdy-girl I’m going to post your request on the new blog when I finish it. I’ll tag you so you know it’s up.

4. Now that I think of it, if anyone wants to be tagged when I post things just let me know.

5. I will be putting a link to the new blog in the description of this blog, but while setting it up I found a glitch with links that I really hope is just the fact that my laptop refuses to run a browser that’s not Edge. Basically I had to manually type out the html necessary to create the links which is really frustrating once you start linking Tumblr posts. I don’t have the patience to retype all the links in my description here tonight.

So that’s what’s going on, we’ll see how this goes!

(I will be reblogging this multiple times so everyone sees it)

#emjenwrites #Emjen writes #emjen rambles

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hoedameron · 3 years

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hiiii, it’s been awhile since i’ve talked about my gifsets...GIVEN i haven’t really been making them let’s be honest with ourselves. however, i did post three gifsets in the past two weeks so let’s dig into those. BUT FIRST, let’s talk about the gifs i put together here. these gifs didn’t get to make it to their respective gifset :( the bucky one is at a six speed and i was debating if that was any better than the normal 5 speed (six speed is what i used to do). the supernatural ones are from my birthday gifset. it was HARD to choose which gifs went into the set and i sadly had to turn these down. also i did laugh at dean’s phone like his contacts are so formal screammm i would be using silly nicknames for all my contacts, even for my parents. also the crowley one....and he got SAM!! love that for him :) and the classic loki is actually from my loki variants gifset from earlier this year...just thought i would add him in there to balance this out. nothing wrong with that gif, i just wanted him to showcase his powers a bit more so i went with the other gif i made. OKAY!! onto the actual gifsets.

supernatural 11.04 gifset: i made those gifs after i was watching 11.04 and just completely lost it after that scene like it was so fucking funny that i exited off netflix and never watched the rest of the episode. made the gifs, then just let them sit on the backburner. i was trying to wait for the right time but i just kept putting it off. six months later and i was like...i guess it’s going to be november 4th so...why not drop it now?? sucks that it didn’t show up in the tags and it wasn’t until i found out a day later that they never did. had to retype the tags and then THAT worked. anyways, the coloring wasn’t too bad considering it is a dark scene. the trouble i ran into was when to cut the gif off to allow the next gif to have enough frames so it isn’t that short. i like it very much!!

bucky gifset: now this was in my photoshop folder since APRIL and the reason why i didn’t post it was because i felt it had already been done before. i didn’t want to look like an gifset repeater so i held onto it. then i was like, y’know what?? i’m proud of this coloring and i want to post it...so i posted it. i did have this kinda...spiral where i wasn’t sure if the gifs were on the same speed. i did make one gif six speed (as above) and another at a different width than the others (might’ve been used as a header but i don’t remember using it). so, i actually crunched some numbers and did some math to make sure that yes, they are all at 5 speed SCREAMM. that’s dedication to your paranoia :) very surprised by the amount of notes it got! it’s a sweet little gifset <3

supernatural 11.10 gifset: remember when i said i never finished 11x04 because i laughed too much?? yeah, i watched this episode and i understood NOTHING. given, i didn’t actually want to watch this episode because i would “spoil” myself so you know what my dumbass did -_- listened to music while reading the captions...idiota. ANYWAYS, the episode didn’t make any sense and i actually saved like...17 video clips?? i see aesthetics when nobody else did...so trying to cut down and find which scenes would work and what wouldn’t was tough because i liked them all </3 i always saw the potential. anyways, the coloring wasn’t too bad compared to earlier seasons that are just...not friendly for gifmakers. if you can’t tell already, i’m a vibrant gifmaker meaning i like using vibrant colors. it can be difficult to do that because i will admit, i do tend to oversaturate. i just want things to pop :(( but i really tried to find the best balance and i think i did a pretty good job <33

thanks for reading if you did!! i really like talking about my work because i guess it just..makes me feel a bit validated i guess?? wrong word, but it makes me feel like hiii, i make gifs!! i’m at a loss for words sorry i’m thinking about the cake in the fridge. anyways, i will try to make more stuff in the upcoming months so look out for that xx

#photoshop adventures #there is a yellow trash bin outside our house...which white person wants to go dumpster diving in there be my guest

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words-are-like-colors · 7 years

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Title: “Reward?”

Rating: Teen Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Fandom: Diamond No Ace Relationships: Miyuki Kazuya / Sawamura Eijun Characters: Miyuki, Sawamura Additional Tags: Summary: Ah, so, I created this mini fic for FYDNA exchange and I hope you all enjoy. One night, Eijun was feeling a little lonely and peeved at how much time the dating Haruichi and Furuya are getting so he decides to visit Miyuki’s room for the night. Don’t worry, this is all innocent. Notes: This work was written for Rabbitposteriors and I hope you will be pleased. Thank you and please comment!!!!!!!

Word Count: 1758

Eijun couldn’t sleep. This isn’t a shock, he usually only falls asleep just before it was time to get up— only to walk onto the field for early morning practice completely exhausted. Between nightmares and excited thoughts, it’s hard for him to even get the smallest blink of sleep.

The snoring from Mochi seemed louder for some reason and Eijun felt prickly all over, making him toss and turn. His mind felt clogged, suffocated almost. After mutedly fighting with the blankets, he laid there staring at the underside of the bunk trying to work through his thoughts and find out just what was blocking them. Nothing much had happened that day: usual school, usual practice, usual annoying Miyuki, usual… oh.

Eijun smacked his forehead when the event hit him. Haruichi and Furuya were lightly making out behind the dugout after practice. This really shouldn’t be a surprise, they have been going out for a couple months now, but being that the shyest couple in the field was going at it was a bit peeving… especially when neither him nor Miyuki have been able to have a moment alone together, let alone have a makeout session.

Knowing Miyuki, he would probably still be up rewatching game recordings till the AM but at the risk of waking Mochi when he sneaks out of the room? That would deliver a punishment only suited for the strongest alive. Eijun grounded his palms into his eyes before rolling over onto his stomach and grabbing his phone.

After taking a moment to find his boyfriend’s contact, he quickly typed:

/Me: are you still awake?/

The phone made a small noise as it fell onto the mattress, Eijun dropping it since he doesn’t expect an answer at all. He began to wonder if Haruichi was awake and able to talk when the screen lit up.

/Shitty-Senpai: what do you think?/

/Me: okay okay, no need to be so snarky. ((；ﾟДﾟ) I was wondering something…./

/Shitty-Senpai: What./

Eijun typed and retyped his text, careful to say something that wouldn’t make Miyuki say no, before sending as he bit his lip:

/Me: can I come over to your room? I can’t sleep (:3ぅ　) and just want to see you. I won’t be too long./

There was a long pause, seemingly like Miyuki was thinking of what to say and how to get out of this situation when there was a practical sigh and response.

/Shitty-Senpai: fine. But if Kuramochi catches you, I’m not saving you./

The giggle of glee that threatened to spill out was covered by a hurried hand while the other sent a thank you text full of excited emoticons. Blankets were kicked back then balled up along with his pillow as he got up from the bed. He shot a daring, cautious look up at Mochi’s bunk before stalking to the door. The door creaked but was overall quite as Eijun opened it and shut it before he took off down the walk way.

He slowed once he reached the bottom of the staircase. It wasn’t too bad out, the fall chill was cold, yes, but Eijun’s excitement was keeping him warm— he had left the room in only a tang top and boxers, not bothering to change into anything since that might’ve woken the beast. Winter was approaching and with that, winter camp and the joining of new first years (Eijun is very exciting for the moment he could be called “senpai” and rub it in Miyuki’s face) all of which were something he was looking forward to but the only downside is that he will have less time with Miyuki and the idea that Miyuki might have a roommate…. less time for them to be alone together. Eijun loves baseball, don’t get him wrong, but at times, he just wants to forget it and drag Miyuki down to drown him in kisses, no matter what kind of annoyance he is.

When he stopped in front of the room, it suddenly felt very daunting. What if Miyuki asks why he came over? What would he say? There’s no way he is allowed to admit that he just really wants to makeout with him and be around him without getting some critical feedback that would either a) make Eijun so upset that he would just leave, b) regret wholeheartedly coming over, or c) they fight… which is a option that wasn’t too far away for them, especially being that Miyuki is rude and annoying and needs to—

Eijun clenched his fists to make him stop overthinking of ridiculous things as he rapped on the door. The response was almost instant as the door was pulled open to reveal a tired looking Miyuki. “What.” He said in a dull tone, probably the same tone that he was using while texting. But Eijun ignored this as he pushed himself inside the room and tossed his bedding down.

The door clicked as it was shut and Miyuki turned around with his hands on his hips. He was still wearing jeans and the shirt from earlier that afternoon and from the look of books thrown across his desk, Eijun assumed that he was still up doing homework, which was confirmed when Miyuki grumbled, “I have English homework to do, so, I need some quiet.” He went to go sit back down when he saw the look on Eijun’s face. “… Is there something you need?”

“I want to do things.” He blurted out, already walking towards him. “I want to kiss you and stuff.”

“Okay…”

“Like, I haven’t been able to touch you or anything for days and it’s tiring.”

Miyuki sat down in the chair and relaxed into it. He patted his lap. “Why don’t you sit here then?”

Although this kind of request is probably going to end in teasing or something evil, Eijun didn’t care as he plopped down with his back flush to Miyuki’s chest. He was warm and Eijun instantly felt comfortable, feeling more at ease with every passing second, not even minding that Miyuki whispered in his ear stating he was being overly eager. An arm was snaked around his waist to hold him close as he scooted up to the desk. “Sawamura~”

“Yes?” His insides began to twist at low sound of Miyuki talking into his ear.

“How long have you been wanting to ‘do things’ with me? What do you mean by that?”

Now that, that sounded like a genuine question. “A while I guess. I mean—“ Eijun’s cheeks suddenly flared red. “I DIDN’T MEAN IT THAT WAY.”

“Shhh.”

“Oh, well…” He shifted in his lap more, hands going down to hold onto the arm. “N-not that stuff but innocent stuff. More like, just kissing.”

“That’s not so innocent, Sawamura.”

He huffed, “I don’t mean naughty things. I just want to kiss you and hug you and…” he trailed off, not really wanting to say it out loud and be laughed at.

“And what?”

“You’ll just laugh…”

There was a sigh, “I won’t, promise. Want do you want to do with me?”

The redness in Eijun’s cheeks that had started to ebb away suddenly sprang back up. “I… I want to cuddle you… badly.”

Eijun nearly jumped when he felt Miyuki’s head drop down onto his shoulder. “Is that all, Sawamura? You just want to cuddle with me?” For once, he wished he had eyes on the back of his head to see if Miyuki was smiling or not.

“Yeah. I really want that right now.” An relaxed smiled fluttered up to his lips, happy that Miyuki wasn’t getting upset and that he was getting the affection he had been so desperately wanting.

There was a low hum and a small drag of his lips by his ear. “Alright. Why don’t you stay on my lap and I can reward you later.”

“Reward?”

“Yeah, you don’t know what a reward is, Sawamura?” He asked slickly, which prompted Eijun to unconsciously grip the arm tighter. “I’ll give you a treat if you sit here and be patient~”

Knowing of his teases, he probably meant a tiny candy he had stuck in the bottom of his bag instead of something more satisfying, but Eijun couldn’t help but get excited. “Can you tell me what it is?”

“Nope!” He popped the ‘p’ but went ahead on his work before Eijun could protest.

***

Waiting for Miyuki to be done with his work was antagonizing, especially with his patience was being tested with the thought of a treat. Whenever Miyuki was hesitant on a problem, Eijun was able to figure it out, or at least point into the right direction, which was quickly followed by soft kisses on his neck and shoulders in thanks which is what Eijun would like to think of as praise.

After the final problem was finished and set away with Miyuki grumbling about how his legs had fallen asleep, Eijun started to bounce slightly on his lap. “Miyuki! I’ve been patient, can I have my reward now?”

“That doesn’t sound like a patient person would say.” Miyuki lightly teased but patted Eijun’s side anyways. “Up, I need to change quickly before getting in bed.”

Although reluctantly, Eijun scrambled up off of his lap and onto the bed, obediently facing the wall before Miyuki could even prompt him to. They had both clarified that nothing naughty was going to be done and anyways, it’s not like they could.

But to say the truth, Eijun truly wanted to turn around and to ogle at his boyfriend. The teasings wouldn’t matter.

Just as he was in the middle of internally debating if he really should or not, he felt a hand drop on his shoulder. “Sawamura, is that wall very interesting? Is it your new boyfriend?”

Eijun squawked and pushed his hand off before indignantly looking up at him. “You are so weird Miyuki! Why would even suggest that?”

“Well, you are just staring at it so hard but whatever, I wouldn’t be jealous.” The bed dipped as Miyuki laid down next to Eijun, a proud smirk on his now-glassesless face.

“I bet you would be.” Eijun grumbled, scooting over so he could lay against his side. His arms instantly wrapped around his waist and his face buried into his shoulder.

There was just a tired sigh and implied roll of the eyes. “Yeah… I guess I would be.”

(The cuddling was the treat but Miyuki never stated that and just flicked Eijun‘s forehead when he asked.)

#Fydaiyasecretsanta #diamond no ace #Miyusawa #fanfic: mine #Secret Santa

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