#but if the door across from me is creeped open for weeks and untouched then im fine even if my door was unlocked

[biteapple]

ALSO ..... BTW ... that door across from me is STILL peeped open. i may attempt to go in tomorrow if its still open

[thekeepersgrove]

Rye's Floating Bookshop - 1st of Bloom

| Information | Calendar | Next entry |

I am Rye Everbloom, a harvest mouse and the second child of Juniper and Alder Everbloom. I was born under the brisk moon, on the fourth day of Awaken (Brisk 19th), and raised in the town of Undertree nestled at the root of the tree from which the town gets its name, some weeks of travel outside the region of the River.

I was a traveller once, never settling in one place and doing odd jobs to find room and board for the time I spent at my destination. But after the passing of my brother Moss I have chosen to take over his bookshop on The River, both to honour his memory and as my old bones tell me it is time to end my travels and settle down.

It is with a heavy heart that I begin this next step of my journey. The weather—mild and sunny, hinting at the thaw that creeps ever closer—lifts some of the gloom that has settled over my day. I still mourn the loss of my brother Moss, but I find some comfort in continuing the work that he loved.

I find the shop moored in the lovely town of Hurst, which is currently preparing the celebrations of the holiday Rinse, but I have some work to do before I can join the holiday cheer of the townsfolk.

As I enter the bookshop—struggling a bit to open the door which has jammed in the cold weather—I find it just as Moss left it; papers can be found strewn across the front desk, the books from the latest restock stacked high next to them, and the bookshelves are messy and out of order. My brother was never the tidy kind. The shop shows the signs of his passing, with a layer of dust covering everything in sight, muting the colours.

Although it saddens me that my nieces did not want to take over their father's business, I can somewhat understand their decision as I stand in his bookshop and feel the ghost of his presence and the weight of his absence.

I spend a few hours cleaning up—dusting, organising papers and cleaning up the mess of books that my brother has left. It is simple but hard work, distracting my thoughts from the grief. I could not escape it entirely, however, as the sight of his blue jacket hanging by the door and his favourite mug in the kitchen—bearing the words "River's Best Dad"—halts my activity and forces me to take a few minutes to overcome my emotions.

Once my task is done, the shop clean and my few belongings in place, I look upon the shop with satisfaction. While I have left much as I found it—the jacket still hangs where he left it—I have also made it my own. There is no point in forcing myself to linger in the grief, leaving the space untouched. A shrine can now be found in my living space off the side of the bookshop, dedicated to the Smiling God and centered around the figure I brought. Behind the front desk I put my odd decoration, the skull of the three-horned beast that I once came across in the travels, and I hope that it does not scare any customers who come visit.

I take a moment for quiet contemplation, breathing through my thoughts and feeling, before turning outwards. It is the first the day of the new year and the preparations for Rinse have been ongoing in the town outside. I exit my new floating home and look upon the town with its squat buildings, which add a certain charm to the surroundings. Animalfolk of all types can be seen milling around the riverfront, gathering around lit fires to get a break from the cold, and finishing opening the hole in the ice, which will be used for the celebrations.

I join the crowds, enjoying the chatter and the laughter of young children running around. Some have already started the celebrations, as I can hear yelps from the river as some start their Rinse, their swim in the river to wash off the remnants of the year left behind and cleanse themselves for the new year. While most do no more than a quick dip in the ice-cold water, some animalfolk take their time, enjoying the cold and the contemplation. Everyone, once they've risen from the water shivering and cleansed, join the groups warming up and enjoying the warm and spiced apple cider being handed out by volunteers.

I doff my clothing and walk into the water, joining the yelps of others as the cold hits me. I do not stay in for long, as the cold awakens the ache in my damaged knee, but I do take the time to ponder what it is I want to achieve this year. When I leave the water I have made a decision; this new year I will spend not wallowing in my grief, but instead live my life as my brother would have wanted. I will work on once again finding joy in the little things, of the daily ongoings, and the small joys in life.

As I join a group gathered around one of the fires, huddling under the blanket and enjoying the heat that slowly brings the warmth back to my body, a hare approaches. He is tall and lanky, and his brown fur shows similar signs of age as mine. As he hands me a mug of the warm cider he introduces himself as Angus Thisledown.

We talk for a while; I speak of my coming to the River and the bookshop—he remembers my brother and offer his condolences—and he tells me about the town and a bit about himself. He looks over at a group of hares around an adjacant fire fondly as he talks about his daughter and three grandchildren, who are also here celebrating. As he leaves to rejoin his family, he offers his warm welcome and hands me a memento, a bottle of the spiced apple cider to bring with me home.

As I walk back to Moss' bookshop—now mine—I feel the seeds of hope within me that perhaps this year will be better, more manageable. I spend the rest of the evening getting used to my new home—the soft lull of the river around me, the quiet creaking of the wooden frame—and have a simple meal before curling up with a cup of tea in the rickety rocking chair with its maroon cushion, enjoying the silence. It feels weird to slip under the covers of what used to be my brother's bed, and I can feel the vice of grief around my heart. But this too will pass, and I hope this coming year will bring healing. This year will be better.

| Belonging received: A bottle of spiced apple cider. | | Total customers: n/a | Books sold: n/a (Inventory total: 500) | Earnings: n/a (Till total: 100) |

[rachaelswrites]

Heros Fall

Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!reader, Yelena Belova x Teen!reader

After your mom’s death, a surprise visitor comes and takes you in

Word Count: 1,356

A/N: Idk if the title fits (I might change it) but I hope you enjoy this! There are translations for the Russian at the bottom. Reader is about 15/16

Warnings: Possible Black Widow spoilers (if I forget any, please let me know)

Even over the sound of your laptop playing Moonraker, one of your mom’s favorite movies, you could hear the sound of a car pulling up outside the trailer. Since your mom died and the Avengers defeated Thanos, you couldn’t stand being in New York so you left and came here. It was where she told you could always go to feel safe, even if she wasn’t around. You hadn’t felt the same since she died so you hoped being here would do something but at times, it made you feel even emptier. 

You slid out from the kitchen seats and walked over to the window. You spotted an unfamiliar car and groaned before going back to your seat and flopping down. Over the past few weeks, you had gotten a whole bunch of calls and texts from everyone including Clint, Sam, and even Fury. No one knew where you took off except Steve, but he was gone and couldn’t tell anyone. You didn’t respond to them because you knew they would try and guilt trip you back to coming. They wouldn’t understand how you were feeling. They all had someone to go home to after the Blip but you didn’t. You were alone. 

You heard footsteps crunching on the frozen grass outside getting closer to the door so you rolled over onto your stomach and buried your face into the pillow next to you. Maybe if whoever was here saw you through the window, they’d leave you alone. The footsteps got louder and there was a sudden knock on the door. You waited until it happened again. 

“Go away!” you shouted, throwing the pillow towards the door, “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Not even me?” you heard the voice say. There was a pause before it spoke again “Are you going to open the door for me or will I have to kick it down myself?”

“I’d like to see you try,” you responded, getting up and walking over to the door. A smile started to slowly creep onto your face, something that hadn’t happened in forever. 

Before you were able to reach the door, it flew open, nearly ripping it off of it’s hinges. You looked up at the person with wide eyes, “Yelena!”

“What?” she asked, a small smirk on her face, “You said you wa-”

“I know what I said,” you replied, holding your hand up for her to stop, “I was about to get it for you.”

She stepped into the trailer and ruffled your hair before closing the door behind her. She glanced around the small trailer, spotting your bag untouched but your mom’s things scattered around the floor, “You’re hard to find маленькая обезьянка*,” she said before sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Kinda the whole point,” you said back, sitting across from her, “What are you doing here?” you asked. 

“Looking for you,” she responded, “I hadn’t heard from you. I was worried.”

“Oh,” you said. You looked up at her and tried to keep your tears from falling. She was the first person who seemed to care, “Well as you can see, I’m fine,” you threw your hands up in the air to emphasize your point, “Totally a-okay,” you smiled weakly at her. 

Yelena looked at you for a moment before scoffing, “You’re a shit liar. I thought Natasha would’ve taught you better.”

You laughed at her joke for a second before bursting into tears. It wasn’t her joke that upset you, it was the fact that it was the first time you had heard anyone say her name in weeks. Steve and Clint and everyone else was walking on eggshells around you and it would’ve been better if they hadn’t. You wished they would just talk to you about it instead of making you feel like you couldn’t. It was the first time you had cried since you initially learned the news. 

Yelena immediately went around the table and pulled you into a hug, holding you as close to her as she could, “мне жаль, мне жаль*. I didn’t mean for you to cry обезьяна*.”

You shook your head before gently pushing her off of you, “It’s not that. It’s ju-just that I-I don’t understand. Everything is s-so confusing,” you said in between sobs. Yelena watched as you sat there, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. She didn’t realize how much you had been holding in so she wanted to give you the chance to let it all out so she let you continue on, “I don’t know why they didn’t do more. They said they were family but they did nothing for her and they did nothing for me! I was all alone and no one asked me how I was.”

“Y/n,” she said, grabbing a hold of your hand, “You’re not alone anymore. You have me!” she said in a cheerful voice, trying to make you smile a bit. 

“Thanks,” you leaned forward to hug her again, “I really don’t want to be alone anymore. I can’t stop thinking about mama,” you said, looking up at your aunt, “I miss her so much.”

“I miss her too,” Yelena said, pulling away from you. She smoothed down your hair with her hands before cupping your face with her hands, “She’d be so proud of you. You know that right?”

You nodded, “She loved you too. Maybe even more than me.”

“Probably,” she replied, earning a quick slap to the shoulder from you, “What? I never talked back to her about my bedtime like you always did.”

You rolled her eyes at her. You loved (and missed) how her jokes always made you feel better about everything. Even if you were bleeding out, she’d always find some way to make you and your mom smile, “That might be true but you weren’t supposed to agree with me,” you said, “This is the time you make me feel better and say ‘no Y/n you’re wrong. Your mother loved you more than anything else in the whole entire world.’ Even if it’s true, you still lie,” you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“You’re silly обезьяна,” she said, standing up and going over to where your and your mom’s things were. 

“Will you stop calling me that nickname?” you asked as you followed behind her.

“What? You don’t like it?”

You shrugged. It wasn’t that you hated the nickname, it's just that the last time she called you that was years ago and it felt too childish for you now. But in a way, it felt to have something that felt young to you. With the way you grew up, you never felt normal or like you had chances to experience things other kids your age did so you’d take anything you could, even if it was an embarrassing nickname. 

“How long will it take for you to be ready?” she asked, eyes scanning over the bags and clothes laid out. 

“Ready to what?” you asked. 

“To leave,” she said, turning to face you, “You’re coming with me now.”

“I am? But what about everything here?”

“Take as much of her stuff as possible,” she saw the look on your face. One that seemed like it didn’t want to leave this behind, “I don’t want you being out here alone. This place isn’t going anywhere. You can come back whenever you want,” she tossed your bag at you, “Now hurry.”

“Okay okay,” you quickly shoved several of your mom’s things into the bag. You made sure to grab a few of her shirts and one of her sweatshirts. You also double checked that all the photos of the two of you were safely stowed in the smaller pocket, alongside the necklace she had given you. You haven’t had the spirit to wear it yourself so you stuffed it with the photos. Maybe someday you could wear it. You zipped up the bag and slung it over your shoulder. 

“Ready?” she asked.

You nodded so she opened the door to the trailer and let you walk out first before she followed you out.

Translations:

*little monkey

*I’m sorry, I’m sorry

*monkey

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @prentisswrites @laura-naruto-fan1998 @multifamdomfan12 @aquariuslavenderhoney @vxidsti1es @waxingmoonwrites @benbarnesbussy @hallecarey1 @freds-slut

[ifmywishescametrue]

Choosing which prompt to send you from list was an impossible task!! They’re just all that good🥺 but if u feel inspired, maybe 15 or 76 would be really cute for stevetony?

Also, hope you have the best and loveliest day, friend 💖💝

thank you for sending one!! for #76 - "thank you for making me smile" - here's 1.6k words of getting together and absolutely terrible jokes

also i hope you have the loveliest day too 🥺

"I'm never listening to your advice again," Steve says the second he walks in the door. He lets it slam shut behind him and stomps off to his bedroom with another rough bang.

Tony and Bucky exchange a look on the couch, and Tony pauses their video game.

"Me or you?"

"Probably you," Bucky says. "Your advice is usually shit."

Tony scoffs, "Please, I'm a genius for a reason. All of my advice is amazing. Or are you forgetting that I'm the reason that you have a boyfriend right now?"

"One time in the last three years and you won't let it go."

"It'd be you and your right hand for the rest of your life if it wasn't for me."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "I would have made it work with Sam on my own eventually. But that's besides the point. I haven't given Steve any advice lately, so it has to be you. And in case you forgot, I don't even live here. He didn't know I was here when he said it."

"You don't live here?" Tony says with mock surprise. "Wow, you eat an awful lot of our food then."

Bucky grins, "It's payback for all the times you did the same to me before I moved out. Now go fix Steve. We'll rematch tomorrow."

"I didn't break him," Tony argues, even as he sets his controller down and stands from the couch. "I am a beacon of wisdom."

"You started a fire in the microwave twice last week, beacon."

Tony flips him off on his way to Steve's bedroom. He knocks once and ignores it when Steve tells him to go away.

Steve is sitting at his desk with his back to the door and his sketchbook open in front of him. He has a pencil in his hand, but the page is untouched.

"So, uh, what's up with you?"

"Nothing."

Tony nods slowly, "Right, okay. Care to share what advice of mine went wrong exactly? Cause I gotta say I'm drawing a blank."

"I was talking to Buck."

"Oh," Tony says in relief, then he frowns. "How'd you even know he was here?"

"When isn't he here? Our fridge is always empty because of him."

Tony smiles and flops down on Steve's bed, propping himself up against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head. He pushes the back of Steve's chair with his foot, making it spin his way.

"So what did Bucky do?"

Steve looks like he's about to say, but then he bites his lip and shakes his head instead. "Really doesn't matter."

Tony looks at him for a long moment, taking in all those subtle tells of his. The slight downturn of the corners of his mouth and the crease between his brows, but they don't come with any tension in his jaw or shoulders, which means he's more disappointed than angry. His eyes never hide hurt, but there's none to be found in them. Whatever it was didn't crush him, and Tony knows just how to fix him when he's like this.

He pokes Steve's arm with his socked toes. "Hey, Steve, why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?"

Steve sighs, but there's already a hint of a smile. Further evidence to support Tony's hypothesis.

"Why, Tony?"

"In case he got a hole in one."

Steve presses his lips together and shakes his head. "That's not very funny."

"Why do bees have sticky hair?"

The look Steve gives him is long-suffering.

"Because they use honeycombs," Tony grins, and Steve relaxes back into his chair a little. "What kind of music do planets like?"

"Neptunes," Steve says, smirking a little, and Tony pouts dramatically.

"Nooo, how did you know that?"

"Used it on me two months ago. Remember when you broke the sink and you didn't want me to be mad at you anymore?"

"I also remember fixing the sink in the same day, but fine dwell on the fact that I broke it in the first place."

Steve laughs, and Tony feels the knot in his own chest loosen. He hates it when Steve's upset. It throws him off his own axis, because his world revolves around Steve's sun.

He gets up from the desk chair, and Tony shifts over to make room for him on the bed. They reach for each other's hands at the same time, interlocking fingers in the small space between them.

It's moments like these when the longing hits him the most. When Steve is this close, but it doesn't mean nearly as much to him as it does to Tony.

Sometimes he pictures what it would be like if he leaned over a little more. If Steve's eyes would flicker down to his lips, then away quickly like he didn't want to be caught. He wonders what Steve's cheek would feel like under his hand as he pulls his attention back, silently telling him it's okay to look.

It always stops there in his mind, right before a first kiss that he just knows would change his life. Guilt creeps in, because he should be happy with what he has. Happy with all of the pieces Steve lets him have now. It's more than most people will ever get.

"Thank you," Steve says. "You're the only one who can ever get me to smile after a day like today."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tony asks, tilting his head to the side to look at him.

Steve bites his lip again, staring up at the ceiling. It takes a long moment for him to talk.

"There's somebody that I like, but they don't like me back. Not like that, anyway."

Tony's heart sinks, but he tries not to let it show. "You told them and they rejected you?"

Steve shakes his head, "No, I don't need to tell them to know how they feel. But Bucky said that I should find someone else to get over them, so I asked out that girl in my art history class."

"The one with the nose ring?"

"That's the one, yeah. We went for coffee this morning."

"How was it?" Tony asks, and more guilt accompanies the fact that he's actively and selfishly hoping Steve is about to say that it was awful.

Steve shrugs, "It was fine, technically. But then she tried to kiss me, and I sort of freaked out and ruined it. She looked at me like I was insane, and, god, it was so embarrassing, but I just couldn't do it when I know that I don't actually want anything like that from her. I didn't want to lead her on. It's not fair to her."

"Not fair to you either," Tony says softly. "You shouldn't force yourself to like someone you don't. And whoever the other person is, the one that doesn't want you back, they're missing out on someone really amazing, and they're stupid to let you go."

Steve smiles, but it's tinged with sadness as he turns his head to look at Tony. "I don't know about that. They can do better than me."

"Hey, no, don't say that. You're incredible. You're funny and smart and gorgeous, and I've never met anyone as kind as you in my entire life. There isn't anyone better than you, okay? And if they don't see that, then fuck them. Clearly, they're dumb as hell anyway," Tony rants, getting progressively louder as he goes and his free hand gesturing wildly.

"They're kind of a genius, actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "Yeah, sure they are. Way to miss the point."

Steve's smile turns amused. "No, but they really are."

"What is this?" Tony asks with narrow eyes. "Are you trying to make me jealous by saying you know other geniuses? Cause I'm the only know-it-all in your life. I claimed the spot. It's mine."

"Definitely yours," Steve agrees, and he shifts a little to turn on his side. With his left hand, he tentatively reaches up towards Tony's face, and Tony's breath catches at the brush of fingertips against his cheek. "I think I might have been wrong, though, about how they feel about me."

It takes a few seconds for it to click in Tony's, but even when it does he doesn't believe it just yet.

"Why's that?"

"Apparently they think I'm incredible, and they get really angry when anybody else thinks otherwise."

Tony smiles softly, "Yeah, they really don't like that."

Steve's thumb strokes across his cheekbone, then his fingers drift back to run through his hair.

"They think I'm funny, too, but they've also got a terrible sense of humor, so I don't know how accurate that is."

Tony laughs, then says, "You know what I think?"

"What's that?"

"I think you should kiss them. Just go for it and see what happens."

Steve smiles, slowly leaning down, "You really think so? It could make things weird. We might not be able to be friends anymore."

Tony puts his hand on the nape of Steve's neck, drawing him further in until he's a scant inch away. "Trust me, they don't really want to be just a friend, anyway."

He finds out that Steve's skin is smooth and warm beneath his palms, and his lips are unexpectedly soft. His hands are constantly in motion, slowly mapping out Tony's hips and sides and back like he's memorizing the feeling. As if it's his one chance to learn what Tony feels like he won't let it get away from him. But it won't be the only one. There will be second, third, and hundredth kisses, because Tony knows better than to let someone like Steve slip away.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve whispers after.

"Yeah?"

"What's the best thing about Switzerland?"

Tony smiles, "What?"

"I don't know, but the flag is a big plus."

They stare at each other, and Steve is the first to crack, but his laugh makes Tony follow right behind him.

[beca-mitchell]

little taste of heaven (i'm caught up in you) (1/1)

Summary: now i see daylight AU - Beca and Chloe’s first date, finally. 

Word count: 3.9k

For @anna-kendrick​: We've worked on this universe for the past year and holy, it means the world to both of us that you guys love Beca and Chloe as much as we do. Thank you so much for the encouragement and love, always.And of course, again, thank you to Josi who is an incredibly talented artist. Look at this art.

title from "untouchable (taylor's version)" though I did heavily consider using "our song"...i just liked the energy of untouchable a bit more.

Read below or on AO3!

* * * * *

AGE: 15/16 LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: June

 * * * * *

 It is finally June. The warm air is only a hint of better things to come. Like the last day of school before total freedom.

Beca smiles at Chloe as she nears Beca’s locker. “Hey,” she greets. “Good practice?”

Around them, students mill about excitedly, cleaning out their lockers and making plans for the summer to come. Chloe shrugs, hair clearly still damp from her shower. “I don’t know why we keep running through practices when we have no more games for the season.”

“Got to keep the regional champions in top shape,” Beca teases. “Keep the other teams on their toes.”

“But I’m tired,” Chloe complains. She leans heavily on a neighboring locker. “Since it's the last day of school, will you come over tonight for dinner? My parents are whining about how they haven’t seen you in a while.”

Beca clears her throat, thinking about how the last time she had gone over to Chloe’s house had been when Chloe and Tom broke up...at the end of April. Over a month ago. She had gone because Chloe had been crying and upset. She had gone because even if her body ached with the anxiety of not knowing where she and Chloe stood, she and Chloe were always going to be friends first. Best friends.

Best friends who felt something more than friendship for each other. Confirmed, real feelings. Feelings that made them want to kiss each other.

Feelings that they hadn’t yet talked about. Or acted on despite both of them being extremely single at the moment.

Hell, Chloe's birthday came and went a couple weeks ago without much fanfare. Beca had been too shy to do anything remotely romantic and they ended up going to a movie with a few friends before going to an arcade.

“Bec?”

Beca nods stiltedly, pretending to contemplate her now-empty locker a bit more before turning to face Chloe. She steadies herself with a quick breath. “I’d love nothing more.”

 * * * * *

 Beca stares at her reflection with some trepidation.

“It’s just Chloe,” she mutters to herself, eyes tracking over every crease in the skirt she has picked out. Maybe I should go with jeans, she thinks. But it’s gross and hot out today.

She isn’t even sure why she’s nervous. It just feels like a return to normalcy of sorts, but Beca’s pretty sure that now that she knows what it feels like to kiss Chloe and what it feels like, a little bit at least, to know that Chloe feels somewhat similarly to her. It’s different. In a good way. Maybe it’s different in a scary way.

She isn’t even sure she can bring up the topic with her mother, so that’s an added layer of uncertainty: it’s additionally anxiety-inducing not knowing how her mother will react.

It’s well past the time that Beca should have already walked out the door to head next door by the time she actually forces herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, but she figures Chloe will understand. And dinner is rarely ever prepared at the exact time stated in the Beale household anyway. Beca’s not too worried. Just nervous.

She finally reaches out to press the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door almost immediately. “Thought you got lost,” she teases.

“Were you just waiting behind the door?” Beca asks quickly, allowing Chloe to grab her wrist and pull her over the threshold.

“And if I was?” Chloe shoots back, offering Beca a lazy smile, playful in nature. With an underlying hint of something else.

Beca blinks the surprise away. “I wouldn’t be complaining if you were waiting for me. Just sorry I kept you waiting,” she offers.

“Dinner’s not ready anyway,” Chloe says, as Beca expected. They breeze past the living room area, taking a mild detour past the kitchen and towards the back porch. “I might have told you a slightly earlier time because I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chloe says lightly.

“Should I say hi to your parents?” Beca asks worriedly before it registers what Chloe just said. “Wait, what? Talk to me about what?”

“Come sit with me,” Chloe says instead. Patiently. She gestures towards the tree - the tree they used to play under all the time as children - nestled in the corner of the backyard.

It’s one of Beca’s favorite spots.

She follows Chloe, wondering if it’s too late to run home and change into her jeans because she’s sure the grass and sticks will prick at her skin, but she’s surprised, as they near, that there is a small blanket laid out underneath.

Chloe had planned for this.

“Please sit,” Chloe offers. She sits comfortably, patting the spot next to her. “I had a feeling you’d dress up a little. Didn’t want you to get a dress dirty.” Her eyes drift down to Beca’s skirt briefly before she lifts her eyes, smiling at Beca. Beca doesn’t feel self-conscious, shockingly. She feels content. Safe.

Maybe a little warm if anything, but she knows that’s probably the proximity to the girl she’s been crushing on for the longest time.

“I...wanted to talk to you because we haven’t...really talked. About...y’know.” A hint of nervousness creeps into Chloe’s voice. “When we kissed and then Tom…” she hesitates. “We just didn’t get to talk about anything. And now the school year’s pretty much over, so I thought…”

“Right,” Beca agrees quickly. Her palms begin to sweat. She sure as hell hopes Chloe doesn’t expect her to lead this conversation. It was mortifying enough the first time around when she had basically laid everything on the line while Chloe was still dating somebody else. When Chloe had left her with nothing more than a heartfelt, vulnerable don’t give up on me. Then she had broken up with Tom and that was all their school could talk about for weeks.

And now this. Somehow Beca survived all of that while slowly making sure her friendship with Chloe survived as well. They both made sure of that.

“I like you,” Chloe declares. “I mean...I think I always did. Like you, I mean. As more than a friend. But the feelings were really confusing.”

“I get it,” Beca says a little too quickly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, laughing a little when Chloe smiles at her. “I feel like I haven’t stopped thinking about this for a while. But I never wanted you to feel pressured to talk about this with me even though we kissed.” She ignores the way her voice totally cracks over that last word.

“I never felt pressured,” Chloe assures her gently. “I am so...grateful that you’re in my life. I didn’t want to mess this up. But I think we should...try.”

“Try?” Beca echoes.

Chloe blushes. Like a full-on blush that spreads across her cheeks, visible to Beca even in the dying daylight. It makes her cheeks rosy and Chloe even flinches at her own reaction. “Dating,” she says simply once she seems to regain control of her emotions. “I want to go on dates with you. And hold your hand. And more kissing! If that’s what you want.”

Beca’s sure that her heart explodes somewhere in her chest because she suddenly finds it very difficult to control various parts of her body. She can’t control the smile that spreads across her face and the following, matching blush in her cheeks. It heats through her face with ease. And even worse, she can’t control the way her hand comes up to her mouth as if to instinctively cover her smile because somehow being thrilled that her crush is basically asking her out making her body react in embarrassing ways.

Chloe laughs at her, not a hint of malice in her laugh. Just joy. “I take that as a yes. Thank God, I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince my parents to move away.”

Beca rolls her eyes. Finally. Teasing. She can do that. “You wouldn’t be able to leave me. You like me too much.”

Chloe’s smile grows soft. “Well...yeah. I do. A lot.”

Beca’s breath catches. She’s sure she could kiss Chloe right now and the crazy part is, it wouldn’t even be totally weird. Or out there. Because they’re going to start dating. But maybe kissing Chloe again before their first date is frowned upon? Beca has no idea. She’s still only ever kissed one person and that person is sitting in front of her.

“Girls! Dinner!”

As if Chloe had been reading her mind and her intentions, Chloe shakes her head and stands, offering a hand to pull Beca up. When Beca stands, they’re somehow even closer - almost nose to nose - than they had been when they were sitting. “Saved by the bell,” Chloe whispers, breath close enough to be felt on Beca’s mouth.

 * * * * *

 The most interesting part is that Beca hadn’t really thought about any of this - dating Chloe - beyond just vague daydreams and fantasies about just some kind of happy utopia with Chloe by her side. It’s honestly not much different from their usual day-to-day considering how close they already are, but dating? Actual dating?

Her Google search history stares back at her accusingly.

dating tips dating best friend first date first date movies dating girl what to do

She supposes she could ask her mother, but even that brief thought makes her shrink away from her desk. Beca stands and begins pacing. She’s sure that she’s overthinking this all. That Chloe could probably care less about what they do on their first date. That Chloe’s probably just expecting them to spend time together, just the two of them. With more handholding. And maybe a kiss at the end of the night.

“Shit,” Beca mutters suddenly. She rushes back to her computer, adding another search to her list.

kiss on first date ok???

She frowns. Not quite.

kissing before first date acceptable

In the end, she is saved from her descent into a hole of online searching by a text from Chloe herself.

Chloe dinner tomorrow at south street? haven’t been downtown in a while

Beca i’m down!

The ease at which Beca replies does not at all reflect the somersaults in her stomach.

 * * * * *

 “Hey,” Chloe calls, putting her menu down. “Where’d you go just now?”

Beca blinks, realizing that she had glazed over the menu entirely, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Oh, just...contemplating…” her eyes land on the first item she sees. “Salad.” She can’t help the way her own nose wrinkles instinctively at the thought of eating salad.

Chloe is as intuitive as ever, smiling as she reaches across the table to touch Beca’s hand. “You hate salad. Especially here.”

Beca swallows, struck by both the normalcy and intimacy of Chloe’s touch. They’ve been friends for years—there is nothing extremely off-putting about them holding hands or even just randomly touching each other on the arm, shoulder, knee.

And yet—

Chloe draws her hand away, seemingly not at all aware of Beca’s inner turmoil this time. She refocuses on her menu. “Want me to order something for you?” she asks instead.

Beca nods, though she is surprised. “Sure.” Now she’s curious as to what Chloe will order for her. And if she’s being honest, it kind of makes her feel giddy, the thought of Chloe knowing her well-enough to order something. Not that Beca would even bother with telling Chloe that she’s wrong. She’d eat anything at this point, just to spend more time with Chloe.

It’s not even like they’re at a fancy restaurant. It’s a diner downtown. The bright retro designs all around plus the comfortable, plush booth seats are all appealing to Beca and she likes the general atmosphere.

But she kind of wants to just…

“Can I sit next to you?” she blurts out. Immediately, she clamps her mouth shut, resisting the urge to avoid Chloe’s curious gaze, which lifts to meet hers immediately.

Chloe grins. “I would want nothing more. Get over here.”

Beca nearly sags in relief, but focuses instead on moving around the booth so she and Chloe are sitting closer, now on side of the booth.

Beca focuses on the frequent piece of advice she had found through a few somewhat reliable Google results.

Hold her hand.

Beca does. She inches her pinky across the cool vinyl seats until she can feel Chloe’s against her finger. Then, she slips her hand over Chloe’s, gently hooking her fingers on Chloe’s palm until Chloe gets the idea.

Chloe’s hand flips slowly, their palms touching. Beca exhales, sliding her fingers between Chloe’s, already liking the easy, comfortable fit of their hands.

Chloe says nothing, content to enjoy the silence and familiarity just as Beca is content to allow her feelings to take over. For a moment, Chloe appears to be perusing the menu in silence, but there is a steadiness to the set of Chloe’s shoulders. Beca can tell, having been so attuned to Chloe’s characteristics for longer than she’d like to admit. For longer than even Chloe herself knows at this moment. She glances at her date—her date!—selfishly taking the moment to appreciate Chloe’s profile.

It’s something she has done so many times before, but this time...this time, in a diner outside of town with the soft clatter of dishes around them and Chloe’s soft, warm palm against her own, Beca knows this is different.

“You know,” Chloe starts awkwardly. “I...obviously don’t mind if you ordered on your own.”

Beca laughs. “Why’d you offer to then?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, exasperation in her voice. She groans and hangs her head slightly. “I asked Max and-”

“You asked your brother what to do on a date with me?”

“No!” Chloe explains before she snorts. “I just...told him I was worried about impressing a girl. And I don’t know why, but I somehow thought he’d have some idea.” She grins a little, glancing at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Beca says distractedly. She’s more fixated on the fact that Chloe must have been truly desperate to have turned to her older brother for help.

“Oh and he totally guessed I was going out with you, by the way.”

That’s not something that thrills Beca too much. Her imagination immediately conjures up a comically exaggerated vision of Chloe’s brother threatening her with a knife. “How?” she asks. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He just kind of guessed and then said ‘finally’ or something like that.”

“Well, thank you for offering to order for me. It was very...chivalrous of you.”

“Please stop.”

“Quite charming.”

“Beca.”

“I can’t wait to see what other moves you try on me. Are we going to share one milkshake?”

“...no?”

 * * * * *

 They end up ordering two separate milkshakes because Beca sticks to her vanilla and Chloe orders chocolate.

“Try,” Chloe commands. “You always get vanilla. Chocolate is so good.”

Beca sighs, but obediently sticks her straw into Chloe’s cup despite Chloe’s protests of “contamination” and quickly takes a sip just to shut Chloe up for the time being. It’s not horrible - Beca just isn’t the fan of how chocolate tastes in milkshake form, though she’s sure Chloe will claim there’s no difference if the milkshake were in a solid chocolate bar form instead.

However, she’s mildly distracted by the sudden proximity she and Chloe have between them. Chloe’s arm rests loosely over her shoulder, where she had put her arm when Beca leaned in to drink from Chloe’s cup. She can practically feel Chloe’s breath on her neck and her cheek.

It would be so easy to just turn and -

Beca shakes her head slightly and shifts back. Chloe takes a moment longer to slowly move her arm from around Beca’s shoulders.

“What?” Beca asks quietly, poking at her fries a little. She catches Chloe smiling at her affectionately.

“Nothing,” Chloe replies quickly. “Just...you smell nice. That’s all.”

 * * * * *

 “I guess it’s kind of convenient that we live together,” Beca remarks, trying not to think too hard about the way Chloe’s hand feels in her own. She winces. “Well. Not live together. But…you know. Live next to each other.”

Chloe tilts her head, smiling as they walk up the path towards their houses. “And why is that convenient?” she asks lightly.

Beca blushes. She hadn’t thought this far. “I’m…I don’t know. I was just…commenting. On the convenience.”

Chloe giggles, pulling Beca closer ever so slightly. Beca likes the way their arms press together. She likes holding Chloe’s hand. She likes lifting her other hand to curl against the bend of Chloe’s elbow.

She likes knowing that Chloe likes her—really likes her—and Chloe enjoyed their date and—and—

“This is you,” Chloe murmurs, stopping in front of Beca’s door.

Beca kind of doesn’t want the night to end. She wants to sit on the porch and talk to Chloe for a few more minutes. Maybe one more hour. Just to hear the sound of her voice and have her attention for a few moments longer.

“This is me,” Beca parrots, feeling a lot more nervous than she thinks she’s letting on. That was what people said in those movies adorning Chloe’s shelves, right? It was what the internet said. Normal first date cliches. She steps backwards, under the light of her front porch, still holding Chloe’s hand as she does so. Chloe hesitates for a moment like she wants to follow, but ultimately she simply squeezes Beca’s hand in understanding and drops her own hand away.

Beca is immediately disappointed. She hadn’t wanted that at all. She bites her lip, watching as Chloe awkwardly shuffles her feet before she glances back up at Beca. A soft, slow smile spreads across Chloe’s lips, gentle and affectionate all at once. It makes Beca’s heart pound ridiculously hard.

“I had fun,” Chloe whispers, like she’s afraid somebody else will hear her. But not because she's afraid of other people. Just afraid that their bubble will burst, like Beca is. Another step closer. Beca swallows. “Can we do that again?”

“You’d want to go on more dates?” Beca asks, just to clarify, even though she knows exactly what Chloe’s asking.

“I would love to go on more dates with you.”

“Me too,” Beca squeaks out. “I—um—”

Chloe’s smile stretches, somehow happier than before. “Goodnight Beca.”

Something in Beca snaps. She steps forward, just two small steps and calls out Chloe’s name. “Wait,” she adds hastily.

Chloe stops and turns, surprised.

“Can I—” Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Can I kis—”

She doesn’t get to finish her question before Chloe is covering the ground between them in two short strides, wrapping her hand around the back of Beca’s head, letting the other come up to Beca’s arm, and kissing her for all her worth.

Beca gasps in surprise into the kiss, hands coming up to Chloe’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. Gently and slowly, Chloe presses further into the kiss, her lips moving ever so lightly against Beca’s. It is so much more than their first kiss—a do-over, if anything—and Beca realizes, with a jolt, that this is something she can do now. She can kiss Chloe because Chloe likes her and Chloe went on a date with her. Chloe held her hand all night.

Chloe wants to kiss her too.

Beca hums happily at the thought, looping her hands behind Chloe’s neck. It feels instinctual even as Beca blushes at the sudden intensity of the kiss. She knows Chloe has kissed more people than she has; she knows Chloe will forever have more experience in this regard. But God, Beca thinks that she has never felt more wonderful or powerful than she does in this moment, tightening her grip on the fabric of Chloe’s light jacket.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Beca heaves a breath and rests her forehead against Chloe’s forehead. Chloe’s breathing is the tiniest bit labored as well. For a moment, neither of them dares to move, too afraid to break the spell between them.

Chloe is the first to smile—the first to press forward ever so slightly so their noses brush delicately. “What were you going to ask?” Chloe murmurs.

Beca swats her shoulder lightly. “You’re so weird,” she mumbles back, leaning in to steal just one more kiss from her beautiful, wonderful date.

 * * * * *

 When Beca reaches the solitude of her bedroom, she finally gets what all those high school romcoms were about. Showing their protagonist thrilled to finally finish a date so they can squeal and giggle and simply dream about their crush or date. It’s probably the first time that Beca has felt her energy rebound around her room with such happiness and positivity. The sensation is addicting—she honestly just wants to text Chloe all night.

Which, honestly, she could.

Chloe kissed her. Chloe kissed her because she likes her and they just went on a date. A freaking date.

A text from Chloe jolts her back to reality.

Chloe i miss you, is that weird?

Beca no because i miss you too. weirdo.

Chloe i have something else to tell you. that might be weird. Idk

Beca go for it.

Beca watches the text bubbles float in and out on her screen, like Chloe is typing a paragraph. Despite Chloe just saying that she missed her, Beca can’t help but feel nervous.

Chloe I just wanted you to know why i picked south street. it’s because. well. Remember when we first went there by ourselves without our parents. Sometime last year. With a few friends. And we all squeezed into that booth and sat there and shared fries and milkshakes and felt like we were at the top of the world because we were finally in high school or something stupid like that. I don’t even remember much about that night or who we were with but i do remember seeing the way you laughed at something and how your entire face lit up. and i remember thinking that i really liked you and how scary it was that i felt these things for you so suddenly and so much. Like a lot. but i’m so glad that we both got to this point - that we both feel the same way. I just really loved the way you looked when you laughed and i am so happy you’re in my life.

Chloe also i really like kissing you

Beca doesn’t even bother replying.

She shoves on her shoes again and rushes out the front door. She is only surprised to see Chloe sitting on her own front porch, staring worriedly at her phone.

“You really are so weird, y'know that?” She calls out, careful not to startle Chloe too much.

Chloe does jump anyway, but she sets her phone down quickly. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing this date off again that you confessed your big scary feelings. Through a text message.” Beca pretends to be annoyed as she stomps over to Chloe. “You couldn’t have said all that?”

“You make me nervous!” Chloe exclaims.

Beca shakes her head, mustering up all the courage she has in the world, pulling Chloe in for a kiss like she wanted to earlier before Chloe beat her to it.

“So much better,” Beca whispers, smiling when Chloe huffs quietly against her mouth.

It's the perfect end to the beginning Beca has been dreaming of all this time.

fin.

[toosicktoocare]

writing a 3-chapter 911 fic set after 911 S4 Ep 3 and 911 Lone Star S2 Ep 3 :) 

Also found on AO3

Buck thumbs at the screen of his cell phone, eyes blurring faintly around the edges. He taps to his messages, working around a yawn as he types out a quick text.

[To: Eddie] made it

Even through the dirt and pollen prickled across his windshield, the apartment complex before him looks nice, modern, and somehow a little out of place. His phone buzzes in his hand, and he frowns when he spots Eddie’s name flicking across his notification bar. It’s late… Well, Buck thinks, looking at the red 3:16 AM time blinking at the corner of his jeep’s radio, it’s actually really early, and Eddie should definitely be asleep right now.

[From: Eddie] Good. I was worried.

Buck doesn’t miss the faint blush that creeps up his cheeks, and yet, his eyes all but sink at Eddie’s text. The warmth flushing his cheeks is superficial; it doesn’t touch his eyes with bright colors, nor does it guide his lips into a smile. It just… hurts. His chest feels tight, and his heart feels too small against a towering, empty rib cage. Sighing, he taps back a message.

[To: Eddie] you’re such a worrywart

The sudden low rumble of thunder overhead scares Buck. He jumps, and his phone flies from his hand, hitting the passenger seat floor with a thump. “Shit,” he mutters, feeling around for it in the dark, snagging it only after it buzzes with a third message.

[From: Eddie] how am I not supposed to worry when you tell me you’re taking a solo boy’s trip right after a 24-hour?

[From: Eddie] I’m pretty sure the single gray hair I found on my head is not because of Christopher.

[From: Eddie] He’s bummed you didn’t take him, by the way.

Buck skims through the messages, shaking his head.

[To: Eddie] tell Chris he’s my wingman for my next 10 trips

[To: Eddie] also go to sleep old man

His phone lights up with a series of emojis, some of which don’t actually make sense, and Buck can’t help but laugh quietly to himself. He and Hen have been teaching Eddie to use emojis more in his texts so he doesn’t “sound like such an old geezer,” as Hen so nicely puts it, and since then, he’s been using every symbol he can get his hands on, unaware of how inappropriate many are. It’s cute, and that alone is enough to have Buck’s smile curving back downward, and the pain that was temporarily pushed back by harmless messages of angry face emojis comes back to the center of his chest, a heavy pressure he can’t shake. His eyes flick across Eddie’s final message.

[From: Eddie] I can hear you groaning from here, so I’ll stop. Seriously though, get some rest, Buck. I’m pretty sure my old man heart can’t take another 20 hours of you driving back on no sleep.

[To: Eddie] will do. night Eddie

He locks his phone, and for a moment, he just stares at the raindrops drumming lightly against his windshield. They mix in with the dust and grime of a twenty-hour road trip, streaking down in inconsistent zigzags that blur the apartment building in front of him. Even enclosed in the car, he can feel the thickness of humidity pushing against his jeep, and he can only imagine how heavy it is when paired with the rain.

This is stupid, he thinks. He shouldn’t be here. Sure, he can give spontaneity a run for its money on many an occasion, but this? Twenty hours in a car on no sleep? Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to cut it, neither does the headache pounding dully against his temples. Still, he knows that if he didn’t come, he’d be spending yet another sleepless weekend alone, with only his thoughts twisting into daggers in his mind.

He works through his nerves, breathing low and deep, focusing on how wide his lungs can expand along his rib cage and not on the fact that he’s sitting in his jeep twenty hours from home ridiculously early in the morning in a different state.

“Come on, Buck,” he tells himself, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders. “Just go.” He follows his own verbal lead, hopping out of his jeep with a low gasp. The rain is somehow suffocatingly hot against his skin yet cold enough to have him trembling. He curses under his breath, wrapping his arms around himself as he jogs up to the apartment building, whipping past rooms until he stops on the number he’s read everyday in a text for the last three weeks.

He’s tucked under an awning, staring at the door that somehow seems far too large and daunting, just like everything else in this damn state. “Knock.” He rolls his eyes at his own voice and lifts his hand, rapping his knuckles quickly against the door.

It takes a moment for a light to flick on behind the closed blinds, and then Buck can hear locks clicking. His breath goes tight in his throat, stopping just before his lungs, and his shaking slows until he’s impossibly still on this foreign apartment step. The door opens, and he frowns, eyes briefly flicking from the tall, dark, and very shirtless man and back to the number on the door that he knows he got right.

“Hey, man. Can I help you?”

“Uh,” Buck drags out around a nervous laugh. He smiles sheepishly, and on instinct, rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry. I was looking for—”

“—Buck?”

The man’s face twists, his jaw tightening into a sharp line, and Buck leans over, looking past the man’s shoulder to see TK walking into what appears to be a combo living/dining room from a dark hallway. He looks tired but openly worried, and Buck can feel what little composure he’s hanging onto by a frayed thread crumbling.

“Woah, wait. This… This is Buck? This is the guy from LA you’ve been texting for weeks?”

TK rolls his eyes, but the furrow in his brow remains, so prominent against his pale face. He pads quickly across the room, squeezing into the doorway. “Stop, Carlos,” he mutters, sharing a quiet look with Carlos before he turns back to Buck, frown deep. “Buck? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Buck can only imagine how he must look: pale, drenched, tired, broken. He can feel his eyes stinging, and he swallows thickly. “Do you remember when I asked you if you wanted to hang out sometime if you’re ever in LA, and you told me you have a boyfriend?” The words are practically spilling from his tongue. He practiced. For twenty hours, he ran through just how exactly he planned to initiate this impromptu visit, but now that he’s living the scenario, his mind’s a jumbled, shaking mess.

“Uh, sure?” TK cocks his head to the side, and for a moment, he holds an expression that shows how lost he is, but then his face softens, and Buck can already hear the apology mixing in with recognition.

“Shit, Buck. I didn’t mean to insinuate—”

“—no, it’s…” Buck struggles with his words, his voice shaking. He laughs again, but the small huff of air cracks, and even though he wishes he can blame the sudden dampness on his cheeks on the rain dripping coldly from his hair, he knows his eyes are overflowing wells he can no longer control. “I just… I guess I’m just really confused, and… I wanted… You seem so confident, and I just—”

“—Hey, it’s okay,” TK tries softly. His eyes, Buck thinks, are endless pools of understanding that tug him in.

“Why don’t you come in?” Carlos starts, stepping aside. “You’re shivering.”

Buck jerks through a nod, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes, and he follows TK and Carlos inside, arms wrapping back around his middle tightly, whether to warm himself or keep himself from breaking, he’s not too sure.

“Do you have any clothes to change into?” TK asks, frowning as he plucks at Buck’s wet, short-sleeve shirt that’s clinging to his torso.

“Ah, no,” Buck laughs weakly, eyes falling to the floor. “I didn’t really… I kind of just left?”

“Okay,” TK nods carefully, eyes holding onto Buck’s shaking frame for a moment. “Carlos, do you have something he can borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Buck watches as Carlos disappears into the dark hallway, and then, he just sort of checks out. He can feel that he’s being ushered into a bathroom, and he’s faintly aware that the bathroom is nice. It’s large, open, and for a moment, he’s mutely in awe. But then there’s dry clothes being shoved into his arms, and he stares blankly at them, frowning.

“Buck?”

Buck’s slow to pull his gaze from the clothes to TK, but when he does, TK’s still frowning, and Buck offers a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”

TK’s nod is hesitant, matching his motions. He stops to pull open the mirror and rifle through it before he slips out of the bathroom, and Buck stares, tired and numb. He’s slow and shaky when removing his wet clothes, but when he’s slipping into dry clothes that, though are a tad short, fit him fairly well, he begins to feel more present and aware.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He paces the length of the bathroom, eyes catching onto his flushed, worn reflection. “Shit,” he repeats, louder, because he’s staring in a mirror in a bathroom in an apartment in freaking Texas.

“Hey, Buck? You okay?”

Buck turns to the knock on the door. “Y-yeah. Coming!” He shakes out his arms again, briefly bends over to splash some water on his face, and then he slips out of the bathroom, feeling an odd concoction of apologetic and embarrassed.

“Better?”

TK’s eyes are mutely narrow, almost to the point that Buck thinks he’s being looked through not at.

“Yeah, thanks.” He steps after TK until he’s dropping down onto the couch after TK motions toward it. “This place is… it’s really nice.”

TK opens his mouth to speak, but Carlos cutsin, slipping from the kitchen and masterfully balancing three coffee mugs between his two hands.

“Thanks. Coffee?”

“God, yes,” Buck all but groans, and he eagerly accepts the mug, his fingers stretching and wrapping around it, leeching the warmth. Carlos drops to the couch beside him, and Buck smiles softly, turning back to see TK sitting down on the edge of the coffee table across from him, his coffee going untouched.

“Look,” Buck starts, clearing his throat. “I’m really sorry. I should have called.” He takes a moment to see that both TK and Carlos are now sporting shirts, but their hair is still rumpled, and though both are alert and focused on him, he can still catch the hint of interrupted sleep in their eyes. “And I should have not shown up stupid early in the morning.”

“Well,” Carlos drags out, leaning back against the couch and propping his feet up on the table. “You’re here, so let’s hear it.”

“What?” Buck knows what, but the question’s quick to slip from his tongue.

“What you said at the door,” TK clarifies softly, leaning forward to pat Buck’s knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Buck pulls his gaze to the mug still wrapped tightly in his hands, his eyes watching the dark liquid, the steam still billowing faintly up, breaking at the rim. “How’d you know?”

“That I’m gay?” TK supplies, and Buck nods, keeping his gaze trained downward.

Laughing, TK leans back. “It’s kind of just something I always knew. I just never thought of women the same way my friends did.”

Frowning, Buck pulls his gaze up from the cup, working TK’s words around his head, new gears slotting into a stuttering machine. “What if I like women, and I thought I only liked women, but—”

“—then you met someone, who happens to be of the same sex, that you click with so well that it’s almost scary how right it feels?” Carlos interrupts, and Buck whips a wide gaze to him, nodding quickly.

“And you think maybe you’re just really great friends with this guy, but then you start to think about how you can’t imagine what your life was really like before him, and you really don’t want to imagine what your life would be like without him.”

“Holy shit,” Buck breathes, nodding still. “Yeah, all of that. How’d you…”

“Have you considered that you may be bisexual, Buck?”

Buck turns back to TK, frowning. “No? I mean, maybe?” He groans and leans forward to set his coffee mug down before he throws himself back against the couch, running his hands down his face. “I guess I haven’t really tried to label it? It’s not something I really thought about before—”

“—Eddie?”

Buck drops his hands to his lap, sighing, his entire body deflating against it. “What gave it away?”

“Every other text you send me has something to do with him or his son,” TK supplies, and Buck nods, a weak smile trying at his lips.

“Sorry about that.”

TK shrugs. “It’s cute. You two seem really close, and it’s obvious his son thinks the world of you.”

Buck smiles again, and though small, it feels natural, real, and he stops looking at the plush carpet as if it’s the most endearing thing in the world and pulls a slow gaze back up to meet TK’s present, encouraging eyes.

“You haven’t told him.”

It’s not a question, but Buck still shakes his head anyway. There isn’t a single inch of his entire being that doesn’t want to tell Eddie, that doesn’t want to open up to Eddie, to tell him that he’s the only constant that makes complete sense in his life. It’s maddening, enough, apparently, to drive twenty hours to Texas to confide in people he’s really only just met.

“I don’t know how,” he mutters, his voice cracking. His eyes are stinging again, and he doesn’t try to blink back the tears. “I’m so… scared,” he adds, his hands smoothing down his thighs. “I almost ruined everything between us once—I can’t… I don’t want to risk that again.”

“At some point,” Carlos starts, leaning forward and clapping a hand to Buck’s shoulder, “you’ll have to tell him. Not for him, but for you. You go on like this, and you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“Plus, while I don’t know Eddie personally, from what you say about him, it sounds like he’ll be understanding regardless of how he ends up really feeling.”

Buck’s gaze, though blurry, shifts between TK and Carlos, back and forth, two warm, kind faces that encompass him. He knows, deep down, that they’re right, that Eddie will understand no matter what because that’s just the type of person Eddie is: impossibly kind and endlessly forgiving. Still, since he’s accepted that something’s wrong, that his heart’s sporting some cuts and bruises that’ve been building over the years, he’s afraid. He’s scared of what will become of his own mind if he tells Eddie how he really feels because of all things he faces on a daily basis, his thoughts are the most frightening.

“I just,” he tries, a hushed sob ripping up his throat. “Sorry. I just… I’m not usually this—”

“—emotional?” Carlos finishes at the same time TK cuts in with “feverish?”

“What?”

“I second that,” Carlos starts, frowning. “What?”

TK grabs the ear thermometer he snagged from the bathroom minutes before, waving it before Buck’s face. “Your skin’s warm to the touch, and people aren’t usually chilled after running around in humid, Texas rain.” TK leans forward, pressing the thermometer into Buck’s right ear, and Buck can only frown, pressing the back of his hand to his own cheek and sluggishly equating his headache to the heat that brushes against his knuckles.

“101.4,” TK mutters when the thermometer beeps. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Buck cocks his head to the side. “It’s Saturday morning, and I worked a 24-hour Thursday to Friday, so Wednesday?”

“Jesus, Buck!”

“You drove here after a 24?” TK spits out, slipping to his feet and crossing his arms. “With a fever?”

Wincing, Buck makes to get to his feet, slipping until he’s perched only on the edge of the couch. He’s heard this disappointment before, always after he’s done something others deem too reckless, and he’s found the best remedy is to remove himself from the situation, to reflect alone, work through his own, warring thoughts. “Sorry, I’ll go—”

“—what?” TK stammers at the same time Carlos almost growls “you most certainly will not.”

Buck blinks slowly. “Sorry, I’m confused?”

“Buck, you’re definitely not leaving this apartment to venture out into a state you’re unfamiliar in with a fever.” TK softens his tone, and his expression follows suit. “Sorry for yelling; we’re just worried.”

“Oh,” Buck mutters, his lips rounding. “I’m probably just tired.”

“I wonder why,” Carlos teases, and Buck laughs around a yawn.

“Are you guys sure, though? I can find a hotel—”

“—Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” TK cocks a brow, and Buck smiles, sheepish and small but real.

In minutes, he’s set up on the couch with blankets and medicine already pumping into his system, and in the short time it’s taken to get him settled, he must have thanked the two, at least, forty times, stopping only when Carlos slammed a pillow into his face. He assured the two, repeatedly, that he’d wake them if he feels worse, and once they were sure he wasn’t lying, they slipped off to the bedroom, leaving Buck alone.

It’s nearing four in the morning, and Buck’s already nodding off, the weight of exhaustion and the heat of the fever pulling him down, but when his phone begins buzzing, he jerks forward, squinting at the name: Eddie’s (Dumb) Landline.

Eddie doesn’t call from the landline; he specifically calls from his cell phone. Christopher however… Buck can’t press the answer button fast enough.

“Chris? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is your dad okay?”

“Hi, Buck.”

“Hey, Bud,” Buck says, voice tight, worried. “What’s going on?”

“I had another nightmare.”

Buck’s face falls, and he gnaws lightly at his lower lip. “Yeah? How come you didn’t wake your dad?”

“He’s tired. He said you’re on a trip.”

“Ah, yeah,” Buck mutters, smiling softly. “I drove to Texas to visit some friends.”

“How come you didn’t take me?”

“Because,” Buck draws out, “I had to make sure they were prepared to meet the single coolest person on the planet.” Christopher laughs on the other line, and then he tries to hush himself, mumbling how he has to be quiet, and Buck smiles wider.

“You should go back to bed, Chris. It’s really late. Remember what we talked about: you’re stronger than any nightmare.”

“I’m stronger than any nightmare,” Chris parrots back, and Buck nods, more to himself.

“Night, Buck. Love you.”

Though Buck’s heard it countless times, hearing Chris so openly express himself to Buck never ceases to catch Buck’s breath, to spread warmth across his chest, press band aids against wounds only he can see.

“Love you too, Christopher.”

[falcqns]

Mad

Pairing: post endgame!Bucky Barnes x Barton!Reader

Summary: Bucky has a hard time coming to terms with Steve’s departure. 

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, Steve Rogers slander, first kiss. 

A/N: As usual, this came from a shifting experience! Poor Bucky just needs a hug :( Hope you enjoy!

You tossed and turned in your bed. No matter what you did, you couldn't fall asleep. You never had trouble sleeping, so you didn't know why you were up. You decided to give up on sleep, and turned on your lamp on to read for a little while. You had only red two pages when you heard Bucky’s door shut and you heard his heavy footfalls make their way to the living room.

You decided to stop reading for a little bit and check up on him. He was quite distant with you, considering that he had met you a few weeks ago, but the rest of the remaining Avengers had warmed up to you already, and you were unsure why he seemed to avoid you. There was always a nagging thought at the back of your head that made you think he hated you, but you didn't want to assume anything.

Bucky, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified of you. Well, not of YOU, but of hurting you. The first time he met you, he immediately took notice of how your eyes were locked on his metal arm, and he immediately felt like he needed to remove himself from the situation before he scared you even more than he had. Over the course of you living here, he had begun to notice how much he liked you, and that thought terrified him even more. Since Steve left him to go back to Peggy, he was terrified to get close to anyone. He was a super soldier, and logically knew that he would most likely outlive those who he loved dearly, another thought that terrified him. He hated being alone, but he wanted to seclude himself to spare himself the inevitable pain. 

When he had awoken from his most recent nightmare, his first instinct was to run to Steve. Steve had nightmares as well, but not at Bucky’s level, and he had always been good at calming Bucky down. But, the realization that Steve had left him for a girl he kissed once, soon washed over with him, and he felt the feeling of abandonment creep up on him once more. As he looked around the room, all he could see was Steve. Steve had done everything in his power to make sure Bucky felt safe and at home in the compound before he left, and Bucky should have known he was compensating for something. He was never one to splurge, after growing up with almost nothing. He felt his chest tightening, and he couldn't bare to stay in that room any longer. 

He stood up, and walked out of his bedroom to head to the living room. He passed your door, and briefly considered seeing if you were awake, but decided against it. You were already scared of him as it was, and he didn't want to cause that fear to grow. He continued on to the living room, and took a seat on the sofa. He stared at the dark TV, almost willing it to turn on by itself so he didn't have to touch something Steve had. A few minutes later, he heard your bedroom door open, and was prepared to apologize for scaring you before heading back to that god forsaken room where he didn't want to spend another second, until you walked in the living room and sat next to him, shoulders almost touching.

“Are you okay?” You asked, and you noticed his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why were you talking to him? You were terrified of him, and he didn't want to force you to do something you were scared to do. But, he was intrigued. Maybe, he had read you all wrong at your first interaction. So, he shook his head. 

“No. But I will be. I’m sorry I woke you up,” He said in a timid voice, not making eye contact. 

You gave him a soft smile even though he couldn't see it. “You didn't wake me. I was having troubles sleeping. It seems you are too, so I decided to come and see if you were okay.” You said, and your smile grew when you noticed he slowly turned to face you, although his eyes remained locked on the ground.

“I-I thought you were scared of me,” He admitted, and your brows furrowed. 

“Why would I be scared of you, Bucky?” You asked, and he looked up at you, tears brimming in his steel blue eyes. You rested your hand on his thigh for comfort when he spoke again.

“T-The first time we met, I noticed you staring at my arm, and I instantly thought you were scared of me because of it, because of what it could do, and because of what it has done. Of what I’ve done. T-Thats why I avoided you, and never spoke to you. I didn't want to give you any more reasons to be scared of me.” He said, a sniffle following his little speech. 

You inched closer to him. “Before I met you, and before you were revealed to be him, I was. Dad had told me the things that HYDRA made you do, and it was scary. I think I was just scared that dad’s life would be in danger because of his affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D., but when it was announced during th Accords situation that you were The Winter Soldier, I knew it wasn't your fault. I had learned about you from going to the museum with my dad when I was little, and I was always fascinated by you. I knew HYDRA had to be brainwashing you. I brought it up to Dad and he agreed. You are NOT The Winter Soldier, Bucky. You are Bucky Barnes, the boy who risked his life for his best friend without question. You are not what they made you. I was staring at your arm because I thought it was cool, and because my best friend made it. She told me all about you whenever I called her. About how you would entertain the Wakandan children, how you raised those goats, and took care of the land you were given to protect. She told me how the first words you spoke to her was “Thank you.” You deserve to be happy, and not to live in fear.” You said. You watched as Bucky’s chin and lower lip trembled before he launched himself into your arms, hugging you tight to his chest. He hugged you to his chest like a teddy bear, and almost afraid to let go. 

You ran your hand up and down his back to soothe him, and he eventually got ahold of his emotions enough to pull away. You noticed something lingering behind his eyes, and asked him another question.

“What else is going on, Bucky? I know something else is wrong,” You said, and he sighed.

“I’m mad.” He said, and looked up at you, almost half expecting you to realize you were scared of him and take off running. But, when you didn't, instead taking his metal hand into yours for comfort and reassurance, he spoke again. “I’m so mad. At Steve, so much. I took care of him for a lot of his life. I stood by him, and I fought beside him. I lost almost 70 years of my life because I was fighting HYDRA with him, only to be caught by them, and have to be tortured for 20 fucking years and slowly lose my memories of him, and my old life. Then, I save him, escape HYDRA, he finds me, helps me, and him and I fight side by side again. Then I died. For him. Did you know he didn't even talk to me until the final fight was over? Not a single goddamned from him while I fought for him. I thought, that when Thanos was finally turned to dust, he and I would be okay. That we would have a normal life. That we could reconcile all those years we lost because of HYDRA depriving us both of that. But, he chose her.” He said, tears rolling down his face.

“He chose a woman that he kissed ONCE, over his best friend since childhood. I was the one who took care of him whenever he got sick. I was the one who stepped in whenever he got beat up. I’m the one that got captured by HYDRA because I was fighting FOR HIM. And he still chose her, the girl who helped him become Captain America. It fucking hurts. Maybe if I hadn't been snapped away, he wouldn't have gone back. Maybe-” He ranted, and you cut him off with a hug.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself. His choice was a purely selfish one, and it was the wrong one. It had nothing to do with you. You risked everything for him, more than once, and its so shitty that he wouldn't do the same for you. If he was here right now, I would kill him. For everything he put you through. He thought about himself, and this was the one time he shouldn't have. But don't blame yourself. It was ultimately his decision, not yours.” You said, and slowly, Bucky melted into your embrace.

He rubbed his stubbly cheeks against yours, and slowly pulled out of the hug. He pressed his forehead to yours, and his eyes drifted over your features. He had noticed how beautiful you were, and he knew he had a crush on you. But, he always saw you as untouchable. Your father was Clint Barton, the best archer in the world, and he really didn't want an arrow in the head. But, right now, as he rested his head against yours, watched your slow smile spreading across your lips, and smelled your scent, he couldn't think of any of the reasons why he never let himself be happy, especially with you.

Without thinking, his eyes locked on your lips, and he slowly pressed his against yours. He tensed up when you didn’t return it for a few seconds, but relaxed when he felt you kiss him back. He pulled away when the need for air became dire, and rested his flesh hand against your cheek. 

“Thank you. This is the first conversation I’ve had with you, and you've already helped me immensely. C-Can I take you out on a date?” He asked timidly.

Your face broke out into a huge smile. “Of course, Bucky.” 

Bucky felt tears springing to his eyes, and pressed his lips to yours again, tugging you into his lap in the process. And for once in the last two weeks, he wasn't mad at Steve. If it wasn't for Steve leaving, he wouldn't have you.

And you were all he needed. 

[slytherinwh0re]

For the greater good

Draco Malfoy x Female Reader AU

Warnings: none just fluff at the end (be proud of me, I didn’t cuss for once in my life lmao)

Summary: where you and Draco haven’t seen each other for a while because of a quarantine imposed due to a worldwide pandemic.

Masterlist

A/N: I work in a hospital, Covid is real. Wear your damn mask, please.

1 month, 2 weeks, and 5 days.

That’s how long it’s been since you’ve seen the platinum hair, pale skin, and blue eyes that belong to your boyfriend.

The pandemic swept across every nation, the virus infecting millions, and with it took every form of normalcy that until this point everyone had taken for granted. The ministry of magic, along with every government in the world, was forced to take extreme measure to contain the spread.

The imposed quarantine was something you had seen coming, both your parents are healers at St. Mungo’s so you understood the true severity of the situation. You knew something had to be done, even if it meant not seeing your boyfriend for a while, it’s for the greater good after all. However it was infuriating that if it weren’t for the selfishness of those who thought themselves untouchable by the virus that had already taken many, you’d have been at Hogwarts with Draco weeks ago. Many witches and wizards hadn’t taken the pandemic seriously until they realized that not even magic could help them escape it.

Now you find yourself lonely once again, the house was always empty since your parents had to work long hours, you hardly see them anymore. The only company you have are the dozens of letters, full of loving words and reassurances that Draco made sure to send you everyday.

***

2 months.

It’s gotten better, everyone’s tired of being locked inside their homes but it’s working. Cases have dropped dramatically and the minister of magic expects we only have a couple weeks of this left, it makes hope blossom in your chest.

You miss Draco. You miss everything about him, from the smell of his expensive cologne to the soft kisses he leaves on your skin. You’d sell your left leg just to hear him tell off Potter, or anyone really, because at least then you’d be with him.

His constant letters were the only thing keeping you sane. Neither of you had ever gone this long without seeing each other, even during the summer months when you were home from Hogwarts you’d hangout a few times a week.

It’ll all be over soon, at least that what you like to tell yourself as you send your owl on it’s familiar fight to Malfoy Manor.

***

2 month, 3 weeks, and 1 day.

Today is the day, after nearly 3 months of imprisonment in your own home the quarantine was lifted. The minister was on the front page of The Daily Profit stating that Great Britain had successfully eradicated the virus.

You had to read it twice, just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. Once you were positive that you had read every line correctly you let out a loud shriek while doing some weird dance moves around your living room, good thing your parents were working or they’d think you’d finally lost it, but at that moment you didn’t care how ridiculous you looked, you were finally going to see Draco; the thought alone made your heart soar with joy as you bounded up the stairs to get ready, having already decided you’d be heading over immediately.

It had taken you exactly 9 minutes to shower, change, and apply some makeup. Usually you’d take your time but you were just too excited to see him. You open your front door and immediately stumble back in surprise.

You stare at him for a few seconds, not quite believing the tall, lanky, blonde you haven’t seen in nearly 3 months is standing on your doorstep. The smile that creeps on his face is enough to snap you out of your thoughts and jump into him, your legs wrapped around his waist as you pull him as close to you as possible.

“I missed you, I missed you so much Draco.” Your face is pressed into his neck as you hug him, the familiar scent of his cologne making you feel at home.

“I’ve missed you my love.” One of his hands is on the back of your thigh, holding you up and other is running down you spine. You pull your head back so you can look at him, taking in every handsome feature of his face, and finally set your lips on his.

The kiss is gentle, neither of you are in any rush; both of you just happy to be in each other’s arms once again. You couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment with the love of your life.

Tag list: @tonksandherpinkhair @fuckingdraco @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lovecatsnotpeople @ccabian @purpleskymalfoy @tonksandhercombatboots @hellounicorn @whattheactualfuckyeet

[neo-culture-mafia]

Mafia!NCT 127 Reaction to You Coloring Their Tattoos

Hyuck + Mark in the Dream Reaction

not proofread yet

[ posted 09 / 10 / 2020 ]

Taeyong

He had no hesitation letting you color his tattoos. "Have fun, babe." He pinched your cheek and relaxed under the big tree you were both sitting under. Today was a cool and relaxing day as Taeyong had thrown all his plans away to be with you all day.

The dragon on his bicep was now stained in hues of purple and green with accents of neon yellow creeping up his shoulder. "So, besides today, how have you been lately?" His gaze swayed from you to the inside of his eyelids as he was drifting to sleep slowly. "Okay, I suppose. Work is annoying." You laughed and his heart twinged with love. "My students are definitely taking advantage of the wedding to slack off with their work." You chuckled and Taeyong took notice of the cool metal ring that laid on your left hand. It had never looked more magical than right now. The wedding was a fairytale story to think about in another time and place. It was the talk of the town. There wasn’t a reason the students shouldn’t be talking about it.

"They're kids. They're going to goof off for a while." He laughed and looked down at his arm. The color stuck inside the lines and stained your hands wildly. Your yawn brought his attentive eyes to your sleepy frame. "Tired, already?" He laughed as you could only shrug with a sheepish grin stuck on your face.

"Come here. Let's just rest for a little bit then." He pushed the markers into the grass and his arm wrapped itself around your waist as he pulled you down and into his side. You couldn't fight it as your ear was filled with the sound of his mellowing heartbeat. His fingers danced in your hair and danced along the curves of your cheekbones till he knew you were fast asleep.

He stayed awake just looking at your angelic features as the sight of his multi-colored arm shifted his focus. It was so meaningless to you but he loved it as he knew that it came from your heart and mind.

It was you-- perfect.

Taeil

"If I have to sit through one more of these stupid underboss meetings then I swear I'm going to go ballistic-" Taeil cut you off with a laugh. "I don't want caviar and fancy fish with wine! I want chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs with a coke!" You whined as he walked in the bedroom, one hand shoving the dress shirt underneath the hem of his dress pants.

"I know, cutie. Just a couple more meetings this week then I promise I'll take a week off and we can go and take a vacation." He pulled your hands and guided you to the bathroom where an elegant dress hung on the hooks of the door. Matching with Taeil was something you looked forward to with events like these. Yet, the event itself was throwing you off.

You got dressed and stared at yourself in the mirror. The thin red spaghetti straps danced on your shoulders as it contrasted with your dark black tattoos. The heels were uncomfortable as they carried you through the door and to the base meeting house.

You sat between Taeil and Johnny who decided to come alone and without his wife. 'lucky bitch' you thought. Taeil's hand protectively gripped the inside of your thigh. The stares of the foreign feeling underbosses littered across the room. Their aura made a shiver go down your spine as Taeil read out the news from Neo Culture's territory.

Your hand rested on top of his as your thoughts drowned out your husband's usually sweet voice. You traced the tattoos on his hand lightly with your finger. You grabbed an extra pen from Johnny's seat place and started to add onto Taeil's tattoos. The red and blue inks clashed with each other even though they laid right by one another.

Taeil gripped your wrist harshly to get you to stop but the spiteful feeling sparked in your head. You grabbed his hand with your other hand and forced it on your lap. You continued drawing and coloring the shapes and words with a vengeful attitude coursing through your veins.

A break was reached and all the underbosses were dismissed from the meeting room to the dining room where food was going to be served. Yet, once the room was cleared he grabbed your wrists once more. "What the hell are you doing?"

You automatically started to pout as you deemed that this wasn't fun anymore. "I was just trying to get your attention." You mumbled as you got up and walked out of the big wooden doors. Taeil sighed and took a deep breath. He looked down to see hearts of blue and red around your initials he had tattooed on his thumb. Tiny cartoon characters danced across his hand and he realized he was overreacting.

He got up to go after you and caught you walking slowly to the dining room. He came up behind you and slipped a hand on your lower hip. "I'm sorry, baby." Taeil sighed and kissed your cheek warmly.

You shook your head and leaned into him. "No, I shouldn't have kept going when you said to stop. I'm sorry." You confided as you both turned into the room where everyone was already seated. "Here, how about this," he whispered. "Eat a little bit of food then me and you can go out for burgers after everyone leaves." He said and the look on your face gave him the energy to get through the next hour and a half.

"Really?" You asked and he nodded. You grabbed his face and gently kissed his cheek. "Now you have my seal of approval." You laughed as you rubbed the faint mark of lipstick off of his face.

You sat down ready to shove down the nasty fish eggs and wine that was about to be served.

Johnny

Nobody understood how Johnny got you to be his wife. Everyone thought that the differences would've drowned out the connection. Yet, anybody who doubted was silenced when they spent an hour with you both. The strongness of Johnny seemed minimalized whenever you walked into the room. It was quite magical.

You and Johnny sat on the 127 squad jet, bound towards New York where you both would be staying for 3 months for protection. The family was threatened with the wives and partners coming under the harshest threats.

Johnny took you and didn't look back. You were working an 18-hour shift at the hospital and he came with no warning. Just grabbed you and left.

Jaehyun and his wife were on the way to Connecticut while Mark and his girlfriend were on their way to New York too. Johnny, Mark, and Jaehyun were to meet in New York in their respective spaces to set out a plan of action. After that, Mark would spend a month in New York, then go up to Toronto, spending his last months in Vancouver. Johnny is splitting the trip up into half in New York, the rest in Chicago. Jaehyun was taking his chances by staying in Connecticut. Yet, he said he wouldn't hesitate running West if needed.set out a plan of action. The sudden news threw you off guard.

You sat with Johnny in the back of the plane in dead silence. "I'm scared." You admitted. "Why?" He asked as he turned his phone off and threw it on the table in front of both of you.

You curled up on the couch next to him, latching onto his arm protectively.  "Nothing is going to happen, sweetie." He came up to twirl your hair calmly as your heart started to race more. It was too quiet.

"Here, let's find something to do." He sighed and stood up, rummaging through the closets and storage of the plane. In a moment he returned with a pack of markers. "No paper." He frowned and sat back down with a tired sigh.

You reached forward to bring the thin cardboard box into your hands. You felt his hand rest on the small of your back as you pulled the markers out and twirled them in-between your fingers.

You looked to him to see his head leaned back and eyes shut. You grabbed his suit jacket and tugged. His head snapped up and it took him a minute to understand what you were getting at. "Oh." He sighed and shook the material off of his torso.

A simple t-shirt had been hidden underneath his blazer as you laid your eyes on his tattoos. He didn't have any hesitation as he rolled up his already short sleeves and got comfortable.

He was preoccupied with his phone as you hummed to yourself. You traced the sunflower in green and made tie-dye art on his forearms. Johnny was content with the silence and the fact he knew that you were okay and occupied.

"Wanna listen to some music, babe?" He asked as he opened his music app. "Duh." He clicked the playlist you had made for him and laughed as he watched you sing terribly into the marker. He studied your figure and facial expressions as you got caught up in coloring again. "This dragon is now going to have whiskers." You nodded but stopped quickly. "Or a mustache?" You looked at Johnny and he shrugged. "He'd look cute with some whiskers." You took the idea and plopped whiskers on the face of the dragon.

An associate who tagged along for the trip came into the back room with refreshments for the two of you. You both gladly accepted and were left alone again. "Gummy bears?" These are perfect. He threw the package at you but it went untouched as you kept drawing.

He could only laugh to himself as he opened the package for you and pulled a singular bear out. Johnny held it to your lips and was happy to you take it without much thought. You finally were happy with your artistic decisions and showed Johnny the finished piece.

"It's so nice, y/n!" He smiled and it felt like your brain was mush. You sat next to him with a content smile and a small yawn.

"Tired already?" at which you could only shrug as a response. "Then let's just watch some videos and relax." He kicked his feet up and pulled you so you were on his lap.

Johnny's phone played random videos as you latched onto him and went to sleep. He took some photos to set as his wallpaper and ultimately decided to join you in a nice nap.

(rrruuudddeee)

~~~

Yuta

"Yuta!" You called as you stepped into the large house. "I believe he's in the gazebo or his office, Miss." One of the worked associates greeted you at the front door. He grabbed the bags from your arms as you bowed politely. "Thank you so much." You were off towards the back of the house to find your husband.

"Yuta-!" You called as you rounded the corner of the house and into the back yard. The gazebo that laid just beyond the wood bridge that sat above the koi fish river-- was empty. You stopped and stared for a moment. You were sure that this is where he'd be.

"Up here, my love." A voice made you jump as you looked up to see Yuta at his office balcony. "Oh. Hi!" You waved as his eyes squinted in a smile. "How was your day out?" He asked as he brought his teacup up to his lips. "It was wonderful! I have something to show you!" You called and held up a small shopping bag in your hand. "I'll be right up!" You raced back into the house and up the stairs to where he already stood waiting for you in the doorway to his office.

"What's so amazing that you found today?" His eyebrow raised and you opened the bag quickly. "But first-" He interrupted you as he grabbed your face gently and gave you a passionate kiss. "What's this for?" You asked as he continued to stare at your face lovingly. "Just happy to see you is all." He smiled as his hands found their way into his pockets.

"Now, show me." He motioned to one of your hands that was stuck in the bag you held. You were brought back to reality and pulled the plastic package out of the bag.

"...Markers?" He asked and his tone of voice made you laugh. "Not just any markers. They're tattoo markers. They're safe for the skin." You corrected him and he rolled his eyes. "You're still on this?" Yuta asked with an amused expression. "Of course I am! This was the deal." You said shoving them into his hands so he could inspect the box.

He read the back and he had to admit...you were right.

"You said I could color your tattoos IF I found tattoo markers. Safe for the skin and everything!" He knew you did it...and that he had to hold up his part of the deal. "Okay fine." He sighed as he handed the package back. "Yay! Thank you!" You jumped and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"We can do it later before dinner." He agreed and watched you skip happily down the hall.

---- "Finally! You take forever." You sighed as you moved your sunglasses up your nose. The grass tickled your bare legs as Yuta sat next to you. "I couldn't help it. Taeyong didn't want to hang up the phone." You stood on your knees and moved behind Yuta. Your hands gently rubbed his shoulders as his head fell in an exasperated manner.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Yuta. But, I called you out here for the deal. Not a massage." He whined as he flopped down on the grass, his t-shirt lifting on his back. His head rested on his folded arms as you silently cheered.

"If this stains, I will make sure to throw out all color in your life. Your life will be a dull kaleidoscope-" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, you big baby." You laughed and opened your pouch full of the tattoo markers.

You lifted the back of his shirt more till the full picture was revealed. A full mural was printed on his back with black ink that curved and straightened out into different objects. A dragon with demons following was the full picture...a dark reality...that you were going to make colorful.

You sat on his lower back and got to work filling in the different parts of the dragon. Every once in awhile he would spasm and try to make you mess-up. Yet, with a tug on his hair, he would become limp and obedient again.

"I'm almost done." Was the phrase that almost made him weep with joy. "Finally." He let it slip and he felt a tug on his hair again. "Ow." He rubbed his head. He could feel you draw and move the felt-tipped weapons on his back.

"Finished." You cheered and grabbed his phone to take a picture. You showed it to him and ombre scaled decorated the dragon with the demon's faces were colored red and blue. It looked nice. He saw a couple of smiley faces hidden in there and felt like everything looked complete.

"Okay, my turn now!" He yelled and grabbed your arm. He pulled you to the ground and grabbed the black marker that was in your hand. "Yuta, no." You tried fighting him. "This wasn't apart of the deal." You thrashed but he pinned you under his body weight. "Excuse me? Sorry, I don't speak Japanese." His Korean rambled off quickly from his tongue. You decided to just deal with it as he took his time drawing a mustache on your face along with random doodles he could think of.

He finally stopped his antics and took a picture with his phone to look at afterward. "You look so cute, look!" He pulled up the picture and shoved it in your face. "I look gross man!" You ridiculed but he wrapped you up in his arms quickly,

"My gross man."

Doyoung

"I thought they were going to be here already." You whined as your head hit the wall behind you. "Oh, can you stop whining for once?" He groaned as he took off his bulletproof vest. The air seemed to be getting thinner as the seconds ticked past. He stretched his legs out so they touched the opposite wall of the tiny bank vault. The velvet flooring seemed sticky as it felt like your chest was getting heavier.

You stood up and went to the closed door. Kicking and banging seemed like the only viable option. You pounded and kicked as hard and as much as you could with no luck. Tears stained your eyes as you turned around to look for another option out of here. "It's getting smaller." You whispered and Doyoung took the opportunity. "You're right, y/n. I can feel the walls pushing in!" He yelled and started to thrash and roll around on the ground. You could swear that the walls were shrinking and coming closer together. You dropped to the floor with your hands over your head, ready to be crushed by the vault walls.

Doyoung was pissed and vengeful in the beginning but now he just felt bad. You sat there silently crying as you rocked yourself back and forth. Doyoung sat opposite of you and just stared, waiting for you to snap out of it, yet, there was no hope as he watched you bring your legs closer to your chest.

He pushed your shoulder and you backed away from him quickly. "Calm down. You're wasting our air." He deadpanned. You could only nod and wipe the tears away from your eyes.

"Wanna play tic-tac-toe?" He asked and you looked around, surprised he was asking in a moment like this. "Um-" He didn't wait for an answer and grabbed your legs-- pulling you closer to where he sat.

Doyoung reached into your vest you were wearing and pulled an assortment of permanent markers out. You wiped the rest of your tears and grabbed the orange marker out of his hand. He lifted the sleeve of his long shirt and created the grid in black ink. "Wanna go first?" He asked and you took the opportunity to land an 'X' in the grid.

He followed soon after you and in no time-- he won.

Another game and another and another till no space was left. An hour had passed and you were still stuck in the bank vault.

"Fine. You win this tournament. But, I know I'll win next time." Doyoung said laying back and closing his eyes. The sweat from his bangs dripped down the side of his face.

The bottom of his shirt lifted and you could see the familiar black ink on his side. "Stop staring at me like that, pervert. I have rights." He pulled his shirt down and you let a laugh rip through your chest.

"Chill. I was just looking at your tattoo." You said and he shrugged. "What about 'em?" He asked as his eyes closed once more. "Nothing. Just looking," you sighed, "I wanted to be a tattoo artist before all of this." You motioned around the velvet interior. One eye peeked open and he looked suspiciously at your figure. "Are you any good?"

You stood on your knees and lifted your shirt so he could see the piece you were in the middle of finishing. Dragon and koi fish laid on your ribs in red ink.

"Woah." He lifted himself closer and gently touched the healing ink. "You did this yourself?" You nodded as he inspected it for a good minute.

"Give me one!" He said and shoved the red sharpie in your hand. He didn't give you time before laying on his side in a straight line. He lifted the side of his shirt and waited patiently.

You shrugged, finding nothing else better to do. He already had black ink staining his skin so you decided to add on. It was another simple dragon but it fit his character and personality perfectly.

Time seemed to slow as he tried to take a sneak peek of the masterpiece you were currently working on. He planned to take a picture later and get it done, yet, it would have to be in secret.

All of a sudden, the door popped open and cool air filled the small compartment. "Welcome back to Earth." Chenle greeted. You capped the marker and grabbed your vest as quickly as Doyoung.

You both high-tailed it out of the bank and into the street where the van was waiting with open doors. Doyoung and you jumped and rolled onto the back-ground of the van and the door was slammed shut by Jaehyun.

"Sorry about that. Jungwoo spilled Sprite on the control panel." Jaehyun explained and a guilty-looking Jungwoo sat in the passenger seat, not making eye contact.

"Woah. You got a new tattoo?" Jaehyun lifted Doyoung's shirt up more to see the red dragon you had drawn.

"Eventually."

(tf is this?? i’m not even correlating the gif with the story...because what in the actual fuck is THIS????)

~~~~~

Jaehyun

He was a very demanding man with particular tastes. You sat by yourself in your underground shop when a swarm of men came in all at once. They lead the way for a man in a sharp business suit.

I'm about to get shut down...aren't I?

He looked at you for a moment before looking around and coming towards you. "Are you the shop owner?" His voice was smooth with undertones of threatening. "Depends on who's asking," I answered honestly, "If it's for ink work or compliments: me. If you have any problems then I'll turn you over to my manager, Lucifer." You wiped down the glass counter in front of you. His chuckle rang sliced through the thick tension.

"Lucifer." You sang and made kissy noises. A long black haired cat hopped onto the glass counter next to you, hissing at the men and laying on its back. His back stretched as his paws grew long and pointy nails only for a moment. "Oh be nice, Luci." You called and picked the cat up in your arms.

"So how can we help you today?" You smiled and the man looked at you and sighed. "This will do." He called over his shoulder and you heard a bang of your shop door. Men walked around you to your workroom and began going through your papers. "Do you have any affiliations with any gangs in the local or surrounding areas?" The man asked as you dropped the cat onto the glass.

"No." You blurted and it was met with a smile. "Well, you have caught the interest of Neo Culture-" "Oh hell no." You shook your head and came around the counter. You pointed towards the staircase that was capped with the 'exit' door. "Leave." You demanded, yet, he stood still.

"I don't think you understand how this works." His smile made you shiver. "You were picked. You can't just...refuse." He motioned to the room. "You are on Neo Culture property and territory. You will work for us in exchange for a pretty...hefty amount of cash-" "And a bullet in my head if another gang comes by?" You questioned with your arms crossed over your chest. "Well, you don't need to worry about that till they show up...do you?" His reasoning made you angry.

"I just want a simple fill-in today. And if you do well, then you'll be taken care of." He went into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of paper. "Rent, bills, groceries, and spending money. Not to mention guaranteed protection from the most feared crime family in the Asiatic continent." He smiled as he handed over the piece of paper.

You looked at it and it was of a dragon that needed to be shaded and filled in. You knew that you needed to do this...or say bye-bye to your shop and dreams.

You sighed and looked at Lucifer who sat grooming himself.

"It's all clear, sir." One of the men popped his head out of the back curtain. The man smiled at you and stuck out his hand. "Do we have a deal?" He asked and you regretted the decision as you felt your hand reach itself out in front of you. "Deal." You sighed and you lead him back to the workroom.

He made himself comfortable as he draped his jacket across the waiting chair and unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt. He lifted his business shirt until a blank tattoo was shown on the front section of his ribs.

You got yourself ready off of what the paper described. Black and red shading with a black streak thrown across the dragon's eyes. 1-2-7 was bent across the dragon's stomach as 5 stars surrounded the head of the dragon mimicking a crown.

"Lucifer. Out." You called and the cat meow'd before walking out of the curtain. "Want to listen to music while I work?" You asked and he shook his head 'no' as he preoccupied himself on his phone.

You worked quickly and efficiently as he didn't dare look at your work.

2 hours went by and you were done. "Finished." You said standing up and disposing of the used needles. He stood up and looked into the body-length mirror on the other side of the room. "Woah." Was all you heard.

"This is good work." He said and you awkwardly smiled while coming closer to him with saniderm and healing gel. "Take off the saniderm underwater, so I suggest a shower and apply the gel gently. Change the saniderm at the same time tomorrow then after that you can wait up to 6 days after to change." You explained as you rubbed the gel on the tattoo and stuck a big square of saniderm on his torso.

"Why, thank you,-" "y/n." You cut him off and you could see him smile as you turned away.

"Nice name." He smiled, "Thanks...I guess." You shrugged. "Well, some other members will be in for some days to come. Money has already been left under your counter." He redressed as you cleaned up your station.

"I hope to see you soon, y/n." He smiled and walked off in an eerie aura. You heard your shop door open and close.

You rested your hands on your counter and let a huge sigh escape your chest. Meow.

You looked over to see Lucifer peeking his head in.

"I know. He was really weird."

(back tf up?? in the middle of a pandemic??)

~~~~~

Jungwoo

"Stop running away from me you tree!" You leaped from the couch and onto your boyfriend's back. "No! You'll never catch me!" He tried to shake you off of him, yet, you latched onto him as tight as you could.

"Damn your koala grip." He tried to swing his body around and throw you to the ground. Your hands went to cover his eyes as you began to panic. "Quit moving so fast!" You pleaded and he stopped abruptly. You scrambled off of his back and just sat with your legs outstretched on the floor.

You looked up at him with a look that could kill. "Just let me have fun." You pushed yourself off the floor and pointed a finger in his face. "You can. Just not on me." He moved your hand away from his face.

You groaned and sat on the couch in a huff. "You're no fun, Woo." You muttered and he couldn't help but smile at your pouty nature.

"Sure. Whatever you say, cutie." He said excusing himself down the hall. You heard the door to the bedroom close and you were left alone. You were going to color those damn tattoos even if it killed you. You turned on the TV and watched some shows. 40 minutes had passed and you knew that Jungwoo had to be asleep.

You snuck to the closet by the kitchen and threw the door open to find the bucket of markers. You grabbed your favorite out of the selection and were off down the hall.

The door was silent as you swung it open quickly. Jungwoo laid passed out on top of the sheets. His arms were folded underneath his head as you watched his chest rise and fall slowly...in a serene manner...but it was too calm. Chaos and fun were needed.

Tip-toeing was your best option as you swiftly made yourself over. You watched his eyes roam the inside of his eyelids as you realized he was completely knocked out.

You crawled on your space of the bed and uncapped the marker with a slight struggle. The pop made Jungwoo's eyelids squeeze and release quickly.

Your heart was filled with a mischievous attitude as you softly traced along the stars that were placed on his inner bicep. Pinks and oranges were plopped onto his skin as he laid unconscious.

A couple of cartoon characters and messages later you were bored. "Guess you are right. I really do have the mind of a goldfish." You mused quietly as you closed the marker and shoved them off the bed.

You laid across Jungwoo's torso and rolled onto him so he could wake-up. "It's like watching a toddler, I swear." He groaned as he grabbed you and didn't let go.

"I could've sworn that coloring would've kept you busy for at least an hour." He sighed and you just looked at him as if he had grown 5 heads. "I'm not stupid, y/n. Don't look at me like that." Jungwoo laughed and pinched your cheek.

He held onto your waist with one arm as he examined what you had drawn on the other. "Awe they're so cute." He mused and you looked at your work once more.

"Can I get a tattoo?" You asked and he only looked at you. "Do what you feel is right, but please...please think it through." He sighed and held onto you with both hands.

"Deal."

(ooo...fluffy looking jungwoo)

[katsukikitten]

Part 10 of Irritated. Y'all thank Jo for this being updated lol.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ This is an 18+ Pro Hero AU, mentions of violence and death. Enjoy

The pungent smell of wet Earth and nose burning chemicals did not pair well with the harsh scent of rotting fruit. Sickeningly sweet as it rouses you, mind hazed as your eyelids refuse to open or even flutter. Weighted by lead and an endless sleep that tries to pull you under again. For once you submit.

More time passes, although you aren’t even sure you understand the concept any longer as that same smell stirs you again, a bang from an adjacent room pushes your eyes to flutter. Flashes of light against the start darkness before your eyes adjust to the low light of the room that seeps in from a few small rectangular windows. The panes are caked with dust while bricks are pressed into the seedy Earth, giving the room a natural coolness, there is only one set of stairs that lead up towards a door outlined in light. The sound of running water makes your throat constrict and your mouth dry, as if you swallowed cotton whole. Making you wonder just how long you had been pulled undertow. It takes your throbbing head a moment to catch up with your senses as a chill settles over your bare skin in goose flesh.

And then it all comes flooding back, the awful taste of his salty skin in your mouth, the fear gripping at your muscles as you finally realize that you are not in the safety of your apartment but somewhere forgein. Thrashing to get to your feet only to hit hard onto the icy concrete, wrists and ankles bound by white cuffs, a small whine escapes your raw throat. Your heart hammers in your chest before you feel a sharp prick in both of your wrists. A warm substance floods your system as your eyelids become heavy, mind trudging through abduction procedures before settling on blissful numb. A blurry figure comes from the only other door in the room that isn’t atop the staircase. You don’t need to fully focus on his face to know exactly what color his eyes are as they burn into your retinas before sleep hushes your frayed nerves. You dream of all consuming green that slowly fades to black.

Bakugou finds himself standing in the kitchen of his apartment, your spare key stares up at him from your paperwork. A sweating glass with melting ice and the reminisce of an amber liquid is his only company. He leers down at the address, wondering why the hell you were on such a seedy side of town, then he thinks of you shaking on the couch back at the hotel during the convention. His stomach churns, your final words and blow cause him to suck his teeth.

“Not my fucking problem.” He huffs to himself, refilling the glass before killing the light in the kitchen to settle on the couch. His grip is too tight on the crystal glass in his explosive palm, the glass threatens to shatter while an infomercial plays in the background. His mind is anywhere but the TV while indestructible pans are advertised across the large screen. Aggressively swirling the amber liquid as his thoughts become more and more loud. He swallows the whisky whole and with it the thought of you. Letting it all burn as it runs down his throat and heats his chest, a warm feeling flooding his veins as he sinks lower into the couch. Flipping channels as he forgets you.

Your key taped to your personal records, that Bakugou stole, do not sit on his fine counter much longer, soon it is swiped and shoved into a pocket. He slams the crystal glass on the counter as he reaches for his own apartment keys and his cellphone. Bakgou slams his apartment door, locking the deadbolt before he rushes down the stairs to catch the last train to you hellish part of the city.

The hour train ride sobers Bakugou and only sets him into further agitation. Glaring at anyone who thinks to look at him more than once, even going as far as baring his teeth. Before glaring at his own reflection, who sneers right back. His black tee is tight and a bit damp despite the cool air, the brim of his backwards cap pulls the hair away from his forehead as his faded sides breathe in the chill of the train. The hat, an excuse to hold in his hair, his hero gloves heating his hands as his fingers twitch, he hopes your apartment is hardwood throughout since he didn't have plastic bags to put his feet in while he looked for something. Anything. He was doing the best with what he had.

But the more he looks at himself the more he realizes he never really was doing his best. At least not when it came to you.

The address to your apartment complex is a few blocks away from the train station, his jaw clenched as he reaches the low lit building. Screaming comes from somewhere far off, his ears perk out of habit, but he was supposed to be off duty right now. Plus that wasn’t his current focus, not to mention should he help it would be suspicious as fuck as to why he was so far way from home tonight. He bounds up the stairs in the dank stairwell two at a time, huffing through his nose as he reaches the top floor. The carpet is worn threadbare and reeks of vomit and water damage. Silence envelopes the top floor compared to the yelling and crashing items on his way up. Slowly it dawns on him that you’re most likely renting out the entire fucking floor. He sucks his teeth, leaning in close to the door of the first apartment on the floor. Nothing comes from the other side of the thin cheap door, musty air flows from between the cracks as if the room had been closed for quite some time. It confirms what he’s been thinking. He finds your apartment door with ease, several bolts and locks lined up perfectly straight. He looks down at the one key and thinks about what happened in the short few years you started at the agency that you would need five, no six additional deadbolts on your door. He half wishes you hadn't made it so obvious as to which door was yours, thoughts creep into the forefront of his mind as he imagines someone else standing in his spot now. He thinks he will need a locksmith, but that would call attention to himself, he could attempt to pick them but he never really had time to practice the shady skill. Just as he is about to turn to brute force as the answer he notices that your door doesn't seem fully shut. He thinks of all the times that you bitched while on patrol about your damn door and how you had to literally slam it shut for it to actually lock. Gritting his teeth he gently pushes the door open with his gloved hand letting it swing open with an eerie creak.

Already things are out of place. Your suitcase stands alone, untouched and obviously unpacked from the clothes peeking out from beneath the zipper, by the front door. Your lanyard for your keys is on the floor instead of the table that is in the foyer and the converse you were wearing the day that you quit are missing. Faintly something gleems in the grainy light from the hallway from beneath the table in the foyer. Bakugou reaches for it tentatively, teeth gritting as he realizes what the glass rectangle is.

Your phone.

Specifically, your dead phone.

His hand hover over the unresponsive screen before deciding to leave it, this would be evidence they would need later but for now he knew he had to do something. Kamisama takes pity on the poor bastard and throws him a bone in the shape of a scrunchie. Your black scrunchie that seems to have been ripped from your arm. As he reaches for it he notices the faint residue smeared on the hardwood. His mind dredges up weeks ago of the guy trying to hide his quirk. Of the carpet by the hotel door in the hall just a touch darker.

He should have fucking killed him, he should not have listened to you. He snatches the scrunchie, heading towards your kitchen to look for a bag, tupperware, anything to trap the smell of you and possibly your assailant. He finds a plastic sandwich bag, shoving the broken hair tie into the baggie before sealing it shut. He heads for your door thinking better of slamming it shut in case he needs to return without the calvary. Pulling his phone from his pocket he dials an old number from memory, the other line picks up.

"Oi, it's time I cashed in on that favor you owe me."

After the short conversation and the long hour and a half in the cold a four door sudan pulls up to the train station by your house. Bakugou eagerly yanks open passenger side door, slamming it shut as he cranks of the heat in the car, giving the driver no room for questions let alone a greeting.

"Oi, I need you to find the owner of this." He flashes the scrunchie as the driver gives him a look, "Inu, you're hound's son aren't you? It's not impossible."

"It might as well be dude. What is this?" Inu snatches the bag from hot fingers, "Do you even know when the last time the owner wore this. And what exactly are we doing? Is this even fucking official?"

Bakugou narrows his eyes, mouth set in a harsh snarl as he leans in close to the driver's seat while Inu leans back.

"I dunno was your shit I helped you with official? Was it ethical for us to take out a mob boss for your now ex wife?"

Inu looks away into the rear view mirror, eyes boring holes into the glass and the blankets in the back seat. Bakugou doesn't notice, he takes it as admission before leaning away into the passenger seat.

"Now get to sniffing." Inu grits his teeth at the hot head's comments before sighing out. Opening the bag just a little to take a whiff. The smell was faint, indicating a large gap from the time it was last worn to now. Not to mention there was an odd smell, so unbelievably faint in the fabric that had Inu not already known what you smelt like he would have missed it. Just barely he could make out past the notes of your shampoo a salty harsh smell, almost like a preservative. Had it been any stronger it would have burned his nostrils. Sweat and...was that formaldehyde?

His stomach churns, slowly closing the baggie before cracking his window, catching the wind just right. He follows his nose, head halfway out the window as the car carries the men late into the night, all the way to the fringes of a suburb that was partly in the country. Inu parks the car on the wide street of the little neighborhood built to mimic an American suburb in the nineties. Homes of various sizes spread out and yet not too far from one another.

"This is it." Inu announces, throwing the car in park as it sits nestled between a beat to hell pick up truck and a dented sudan.

"You're sure?" Bakugou asks as he takes in the old home, it's upkeep is minimal at best, landscaping border line over grown as he can barely make out the small rectangular windows at the base of the house beneath the old dim street lamp.

"This is where both smells get stronger."

"Both?" A tic wounds tighter in Bakugou's jaw while a tremor runs through his arms. Inu nods as Bakugou reaches for the knob.

"Woah, woah!" Inu's large hand clamps down onto a broad shoulder, "Hold up man, if she really is involved then this is nothing like the sting we did bro. We need to call someone."

"Like fucking who?"

"I dunno Director Yami?"

"Yea so he can dismiss this again? Fuck that and fuck you. I'm going." He shoves Inu away reaching for the door again before the blankets in the back seat come to life. A mop of emerald curls with concern plastered across the giant's face appears to Bakugou's horror.

"Kaachan...you can't. We need to do this right, for her." And with that Bakugou snaps, lunging for his old friend, enemy. Climbing past the center console with his hands outstretched before they wrap around a thick column squeezing with all of his might. Deku doesn't do much to stop him, somehow knowing deep down that it isn't really him that the red eyed man wants to kill. He wraps broad hands around thick forearms giving them a gentle squeeze, he could snap them with One for All if he wanted. Instead Inu barks out a breathy "What the fuck?" as he wraps his arms around Bakugou's torso pulling him back into the passenger's seat. In the tussle either Bakugou or Inu hit the horn, causing Inu to panic as a light comes to life in the once darkened house. He forcefully shoves Bakugou into the front seat as he peels into the street, thankfully without burning rubber.

"Are you trying to blow our fucking cover?!" Inu shouts, "Like fuck! And what's killing Izuku-kun going to do?"

Bakugou turns to glare at the behemoth of a man in the back seat, he rubs his throat as red eyes watch bruises form.

"I'm not sorry Deku, fuck you." But Izuku can read between the lines, Bakugou saying he is sorry but still fuck you for trying to stop me while our friend is most likely on borrowed time.

"'S kay. We can help her."

A honk, rouses you before footsteps can be heard overhead rushing through the house before blinding light floods down into the basement.

"Finally you're awake." He flicks on all the lights, scrambling to put your feet under you so you can at least sit. Eyes flickering over the room as you try to give your throbbing, unresponsive mind to collect something, anything you can store away for later to aid your escape. Meanwhile the green eyed fucker monologues.

"It took some time for me to adjust your dose, I need you to be just under enough that you won't fight back, your heart rate spikes easily you know…." His words are lost to you as you glance over your shoulder only to wish you never did as your stomach churns in horror. Lined up against the wall behind you are women, women you had posed with.

But what haunts you is how it starts with your missing friend. Her eyes hollowed out, pitch black holes stare back at you as her skin looks paper thin, like a botched mummification or that whoever was trying to preserve her got lucky. She is still in her last scene clothes that are bloodied and torn. Your eyes struggling to follow the line as they progressively become more and more preserved, until your eyes finally land on your last instagram picture, you and that young girl. With the peace signs beneath your eyes.

She looks to still be alive, until you realize she is unblinking with glass eyes and a permanent smile with the help of a stich or two.

He notices your rigidness and frowns.

"Are you not happy? It's hard to save the eyes." He forces your face to meet him with his fingers on your skin, "I made them for you. They're your friends right? I wouldn't want my doll to be lonely."

Your breath comes in ragged huffs as rage consumes you, you were going to kill him. With whatever little power you had left, you were going to end him and savor it.

All these lives, twenty, that you could see, lost, because of you and you negligence. Your eyes glow before a prick comes at your wrist, the power dying in your fingers.

"No." You rasp out as your vision begins to fade.

"Ah come on, I just want you to be a wake for just a bit doll. Just a while longer before I make you mine."

Your world plunges into the depths of darkness.

Your dream of the girls behind you, of their scream as their preserved bodies animate, their glass eyes fixated on you as they crawl across the concrete. Their mouths smelling of formatihide and rot as they lean close to you, voices beneath water or worn by gravel.

"You did this. You killed us."

[aeoncryptic]

Arthur's Day Trip

This is Fluff~ Story after the break.

I also just want to put a big thank you out there for those that looked over this, gave me advice, or just put up with me! <3

Word count: This story is 4,667 words long.

Edit: I suppose I should have added before that there is a bonus at the end for Theo torture. <3 (not actual torture just...)

(March 13th, xx; four in the morning; Arthur)

Arthur was possessed. The sun had long since set, yet he sat at his desk writing. The sound of a quill scratching away at paper were the only noises in the barely lit room. Midnight-colored bangs fell to cover his eyes as he sighed, finally setting his writing utensil down. He had fully intended to cease his habit of working through the night once he had asked his lovely girlfriend, (MC), to be his wife. Unfortunately for the exhausted writer, his mind would not grant him the solace of keeping his promise. He raked his tired hands through his hair and turned his sapphire eyes onto his beautiful fiancee. She had been so exhausted from her work in the manor that she collapsed on his bed, stretching her entire body across it. The blankets were in disarray and her red hair was splayed around her as if she had a halo. Leaving his story unfinished for the night, the tired writer climbed into what little bed space there was next to his beloved. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hoping he wouldn’t wake her. His eyes slowly drifted off to sleep.

(March 13th, xx; two hours after noon; Arthur)

The smell of coffee wafted to the author’s nose, causing him to stir. Upon opening his eyes, he was greeted with a smile that rivaled the sun. (MC) set his daily dose of “bitter energy provider”, as she called it, on his desk with a glass of rouge. “Good afternoon, Arthur. I brought your coffee and lunch. You happened to sleep through breakfast.” The red-haired woman glanced at the bookshelf next to his desk. It held resources the writer used for reference, but also held at least an entire shelf of completed manuscripts yet to be published. Arthur knew the expression on her face well. It was one of love and admiration; one he felt he didn’t deserve. Pushing away those dark emotions as they welled up, he carefully got out of bed to give her his full attention. “Arthur, it's a waste for your stories to just sit on your shelf! They’re exhilarating and should be shared!” She tried to appeal to him. “You work so hard day and night to write these, why not try to find a publisher?” With a gentle and encouraging tone, she attempted to persuade her lover.

Ah, the old song and dance. He thought as he allowed his usual playful smile dance across his lips as he stood before her, lifting his hand to gently hold the strands of her long hair and let them slip through his fingers. “Hmm~ Perhaps I’ll consider it. More importantly, won’t you join me for lunch, luv~?” His seductive expression would be enough to convince any woman. However, Arthur knew that she would turn him down as she would most likely be busy with her work. Couldn’t have hurt to ask~.

Though his words made her blush, her emerald eyes glittered playfully as she responded. “Really, Arthur? I have to get back to work.” Her soft lips brushed against his cheeks, as if trying to banish his pout, and then she was out the door. Her movements were swift enough to prevent him from convincing her to stay, which was guaranteed to succeed. The writer chuckled at how adorable his fiancee was. If he had convinced her to stay, he would have felt guilty at having taken her from her responsibilities. The writer quickly shook off those thoughts, lest he spiral back into the unending strings of guilt.

Deciding that he desired his coffee rush, Arthur quickly got dressed and sat before his desk. He picked up his pen and stared at the unfinished manuscript. If I can finish this by the end of today, why, I may just get (MC) all to myself tomorrow~ After all, it is her day off. With that thought alone, he felt a surge of energy. Today he would finish this manuscript and start tomorrow’s story so he could spend the day with his lover.

(March 13th, xx; five in the evening; MC)

Her hair swished with the wind as she finished the last of her chores for the day. Working at a mansion with eleven vampires was tough work when there was only the butler, Sebastian, and herself. Now that spring was here, they had been exceedingly busy. (MC) felt guilty that she wasn’t able to spend as much time with Arthur as she wanted. Taking care of everyone here is my job and it’s important, so I’m sure Arthur understands. Remembering that she is supposed to help the butler with prepping and cooking dinner, she glanced at her pocket watch. An expression of shock spread over her features as she realized the time. Gathering her skirts a bit, the young lady rushed inside.

Upon her entry to the kitchen, she was prepared to receive Sebastian’s signature flick to the forehead as punishment for being late. Luckily, he simply glanced in her direction and gave her a smile. “You’re late. If you finished the work in the garden, why not get started on Sir Isaac’s dinner?” He instructed her as he was finishing up Theo’s and Vincent’s “dinner”. Her nose scrunched up at the pancakes and Theo’s entire bottle of syrup that she knew he would pour on the unsuspecting victims.

“Pancakes again? Theo is going to end up sick.” She giggled, but set to work on Isaac’s sandwich. Isaac preferred sandwiches because it was easier to eat and work, Theodorus preferred pancakes, and Napoleon would sometimes cook his own food. Pleased with her efforts, she gently placed the sandwich on a plate and set different vegetables around it. With dextrous fingers, she placed the meals on the serving cart. Before leaving the kitchen, she made sure to grab not one, but two syrup bottles with the knowledge that Theo would drown his pancakes without mercy. Once everything was set up they headed to the dining room.

Sitting at the table was the usual crowd, but she was surprised to see her lover amongst the group since he was working on his manuscript. She had expected that Arthur would still be hard at work. As she placed the prepared plates on the table along with the two syrup bottles, she gave Theo a playful smile. “Here you are Theo, your syrup with a side of pancakes.”

Theo’s usual cocky smirk disappeared from his face to display a scowl. “Despite what you seem to believe, I do eat other foods besides pancakes, hondje.” Vincent and the housekeeper watched as Theo poured more than a normal amount of syrup on his cakes as usual.

Vincent, reaching for his own bottle, poured a little amount on his. “But Theo, pancakes are your favorite meal and that is your fourth bottle of syrup this week.” Sebastian, overhearing this conversation, bemoans the lack of chances to shop this week and makes note that they will need more syrup. Seeing Theo being called out by his own brother caused her to cover her mouth to hide her giggles. Theo turned to Vincent wide eyed. “Are you taking the knabbeltje’s side, Broer?” The brunette pouts at his older brother.

The older paused and seemed to think for a moment, “Sebastian has been making you pancakes for almost every meal this week. Maybe (MC) has an idea of a meal you would like.” He offered his brother his winning angelic smile. Theo merely grumbled in response and began to eat his pancakes. Seeing her chance, she decided to appeal to Vincent. He was her key to convincing Theo to at least give her idea a try. “Actually Vincent, there is a 21st century recipe for pancakes that I have been wanting Theo to try. I just know how much you love Sebastian’s pancakes, so I didn’t want to force it on you.”

She lowered her head and looked away, which sealed the deal as she heard Vincent say, “I’m sure Theo would be happy to try them, especially since you said you wanted him to try them.” Realizing his fate was sealed and the overhanging possibility of him trying a healthier option of pancake caused Theo to choke on his breakfast. Clearing his throat, he wiped his mouth and sent a strained smile to his brother. “Sure, Broer, even a hondje can’t mess up something as simple as a pancake.” She grinned at her feat, already planning the ingredients she would need. She turned her attention back to her work.

(March 13th, six in the evening; Arthur)

Her attempts to get Theo to at least attempt to eat healthier, despite the lack of need for food, had not gone unnoticed. Vincent was happy that she worried for them, but it was unnecessary. Though, her mischief towards Theo and his beloved pancakes was always a sight to behold. It always amused the writer. Arthur, having been a spectator for this specific trial, was quite pleased with his fiancee; She had managed to place Theo in a checkmate position.

Catching Sebas taking notes for groceries gave Arthur an idea that he was mulling over as his lover took her seat beside him. He gave her a smile that rang of his pride for her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he drew her slightly closer to place a kiss to her temple. “You’re a clever bird~” He whispered into her ear. She grinned at him, while Theo merely glowered.

(March 14th, six in the morning; MC)

The sunlight started to trickle past the slightly parted curtains, blessing the room with light from the sunrise. The red haired lady glanced at the empty spot next to her, saddened to find he wasn’t resting there. She turned her emerald eyes upon his desk, only to find it missing its owner as well. Concern began to creep in through her fingertips and slowly spread throughout her body, making her cold under the warm blankets. Perhaps he went to get coffee? His side of the bed looked untouched, as if the writer had never even entered the bed. She quickly sat up, the press of her feet to the cold floor sending a shiver through her. Running a hand through her hair to calm herself, she used her free one to open the dressing room.

Once she was dressed, the red-haired lady quickly stalked down the deserted hallways towards the kitchen. She was late to help with the chores, but she was more worried about her lover. Had he just gone to get coffee as she had thought earlier? Perhaps he needed fresh air and went for a walk? Her steps were light upon the floor, making barely a sound. Once she reached the kitchen door, she had managed to calm her fears. She slowly opened the door only to find the very man where she had guessed he would be. Drinking his “bitter energy provider.” Flashing a gentle smile at the sapphire eyed man, she walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, Arthur!”

He gave her a lazy grin, his eyes already looking tired, but there was something playful there in his expression. “Good morning, luv~” He sang in his usual flirtatious tone and set his coffee aside in order to give her a tight hug. “Comte dragged Sebas out early this morning and asked that you do the shopping for the day.” The author was pouting as he placed a kiss to her temple. “While I am desperate to have your attention all to myself, I was wondering if I could accompany you~?”

The look she gave him at that question was one of disbelief. “Don’t you have to finish a manuscript?” She eyed him, knowing all of his tricks. In response, he gave her the puppy dog eyes; she had to look away, or else he would win their little game too easily. With a huff, she wiggled out of his arms and picked up the note left to her by the dark haired butler.

“Dear MC,

I have been asked by le Comte to accompany him on some business outside of Paris and will be gone for the day. Along with the usual chores, I have left a list of items that need to be picked up in town.

I can come in many shades and often made from unconventional materials and I am used in strokes.

I am desirable and appealing to some, due to my false sense of calm. My life started with a spark and then goes up in cinder and smoke.

I often end up in sticky situations and don’t come from bees, but I can be found at breakfast and cannot be spread freely.

Dark as sin and a pain to wash out, I am often used to send someone’s thoughts. Without me, people cannot read.

When I am well worn, I have a crack in my spine. I often have dog ears when I am done. I can be heavy or lean, but left alone I can gather dust.

Be sure that this list is completed by the end of the afternoon. I know you need to go to town to pick up your ingredients as well for your 'pancakes'.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, wondering what could have possessed the butler to leave such a puzzle for her to solve. These riddles couldn’t be too hard, right? As she was trying to relate each sentence to an item that one of the residents could need, her lover snaked his arm around her waist and laid his head on her shoulder to look at the letter. “Ah~ A fun little game.” His free hand slid along her arm, taking the letter from her hands to read it better. Glancing up, she puffed her cheeks out at him. “Get your coat, luv. We are going to town.” Folding the letter neatly, he put it in his pocket.

His fiancee’s expression left nothing to the imagination. “Don’t you have to work?” She asked, obviously worried that she would, once again, distract him from his manuscripts. However, a selfish part of her brain told her she wanted him to go with her. And, with great effort, she crushed that part. He needs to continue his work! I can’t get in his way!

Arthur chuckled, “As it so happens, I seem to be having a bout of ‘Writer’s block’. Going for a walk may help clear my mind~” He kissed her head, spun her around, and gently pushed her towards the door. “Now, go doll yourself up. We’ll have lunch out after we do our little shopping; I’m sure you’ll be starved. Meet me in the foyer at eight~” She beamed, her cheeks turning a slight pink shade, and left the room with renewed excitement. Though, in her mind, she knew he was only pretending to have writer’s block so that he could spend time with her.

(March 14, eight in the morning; MC)

She ran the brush through her beautiful, wavy red hair one last time. Nervousness was the prevailing emotion over her excitement. Since it had been so long since she and Arthur had last been out together, she wanted to look her best. She let out a deep breath to calm her nerves and set her brush upon her vanity. Shaky hands grabbed at her skirts as she looked in the full length mirror and twirled. The skirt billowed out around her, looking for all their part petals to a beautiful flower. The dress she had chosen was a blue-grey that matched her lovers’ usual attire. She beamed at the woman in the mirror; Perfect! I hope Arthur likes it! Once she was content with her appearance, she rushed out of her room to meet her fiance.

The look of delight and the light that brightened his eyes as she descended the stairs finally waved away her nerves. His gaze took in all of her, following her from the very top of the steps to the very last. “My~! Don’t you look gorgeous, my dove~!” He held out his arm to her to escort her to the carriage. She put her hand on his arm, willing to walk anywhere this man demanded.

Now that they had reached town, Arthur pulled the letter out and unfolded it. She had a hard time keeping pace with him as he was concentrating, his long strides requiring her to almost jog beside him. “Now, where to begin.” At the very least, her lover seemed to be taking this seriously. “‘I come in many shades’ could be just about anything. What really narrows it down is that it mentions ‘strokes’ and ‘unconventional materials’. Now, my dear Watson, who in the mansion uses something that has to do with strokes?” His tone of voice told her that she should know this answer. She paused her steps for a moment, causing him to stop as well.

Memories of her talks with the residents began running through her mind. Just as she was about to give up, she remembered a conversation she’d had with Theo. They’d been looking at one of Vincent’s paintings! Theo had been describing the particular style of his brother’s art. “Vincent! His paints! Vincent mentioned needing more paints just the other day!” She exclaimed excitedly, clasping her hands together, her eyes bright.

She knew she’d said the right thing when he gave her a radiant smile. “Brilliant, luv~! You make a wonderful partner.” A gloved hand caressed her cheek in a moment of affection. Pulling a pen out of his pocket, he scribbled “Paints for Vincent” next to the first puzzle. “The hints for the second riddle is… ‘desirable and appealing’ and ‘starts with a spark and goes up in smoke’.” He glanced at her, to which she already wore a smile.

“That HAS to be cigarillos for Leonardo. They’re known to have an addictive substance and due to the tobacco, give a sense of calm, right? Also, it starts in a spark because it needs to be lit. As its ‘life ends’ it ‘goes up in smoke’.” She grinned at Arthur, knowing she was right this time as well.

He nodded his affirmation, writing down “cigarillos for Leo”. Arthur quickly wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to himself as a carriage whooshed past them both. While it would have missed her, he was glad to have had a reason to hold her close to him. “Perhaps we should take a seat to finish the rest?” To this she gave him an amused smile, shaking her head in playful exasperation. His gloved hand grasped hers and began tugging her towards a bench. His hand felt warm in hers, but oh how she wished he weren’t wearing gloves.

Once they were seated at the bench, him having her sit so close to him that she was practically in his lap, he held the letter between them. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying them much mind, her face almost a scarlet hue. He had his arm around her waist and was leaning close to her in order to allow them both to look at the letter easier. “This one is for Theo. The bees usually means honey, but since it's sticky and not from bees, it has to be because we ran out of syrup.” After she finished her explanation, Arthur turned to face her, their noses almost touching.

“Brilliant! You could be a detective yourself.” He winked at her and removed his arm, writing down “Syrup for Theo”. She felt slightly colder after he had pulled away, already missing his warmth. But she shook this feeling off. “Any ideas for this one?” His finger was indicating the fourth riddle. He recited, “‘Dark as sin and a pain to wash out’…”

“Oh! Ink! Speaking of which, Arthur, did you write this morning?” As he had pointed at the paper, the sleeve of his white shirt poked out from under his jacket. It displayed blue ink marks on the cuffs, which stood out against the bright white. She started inspecting his sleeve with a frown; ink certainly was a pain to get out and now she was going to have to spend a lot of time cleaning this shirt.

“Ah. Sorry, poppet. I attempted to write a bit this morning and forgot to roll up my sleeves.” His tone was certainly apologetic, no doubt worried about his lover having to spend her time trying to clean his many ink stained shirts. He wrote down “Ink for Arthur and Mozart”. “Last one and then we buy all the items. Then I treat you to lunch.” His eyes skimmed the very last part of the list. "'When I am well worn, I have a crack in my spine. Heavy or lean and gathers dust’.”

“A book?” She glanced at him, worried that she was wrong. The problem being that if it were a book, who would it be for? There was no title written down or any information. Just the riddle.

“I did happen to ask Sebas for a reference book the other day, perhaps that is what he meant. If not, we may have to come back into town!” They both set off together to purchase the answers and the ingredients for her special “pancakes." After they had their bags together, Arthur whisked her away to enjoy a lunch together.

As they were enjoying their food she decided to put to word what had been on her mind earlier that day. She set her fork upon her plate and turned to face Arthur. “You don’t really have writer’s block, do you?”

He froze, his spoon almost to his mouth. There was a clink as he set the spoon back in his bowl. Longer fingers tugged nervously at his collar, his expression sheepish. “Well, luv… The truth is that we have both been busy lately… With you doing all the cleaning and my writing… Then our sleeping habits. I simply wanted a bit of your attention to myself.” His pout made her laugh, her expression brightening.

Another suspicion arose in her mind. “You made these riddles, didn’t you? It seems a bit out of place for Sebastian to suddenly decide to play a game!” She laughed when he confessed to this too. The sound of her laughter was a bright sound that lightened the load on his heart. He knew he had done something right with this “date” he had planned. But surely his fiancee was too clever to have picked up on it. But he grinned, happy to be able to please his future wife. Times would be hard and there would be highs and lows. But one thing was for certain: this was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Bonus (Torturing Theo)

The next morning, MC woke up very early and began preparing everyone’s breakfast. Today was going to be a special day, a day she would never forget. The ingredients for Theo’s healthy breakfast lay before her on the counter. She tried hiding her smirk, her fiance chuckling as he sipped away at his coffee. Arthur was excitedly wanting to watch as his best friend got what he deserved. Especially after the time where Theo forced him to drink his most hated substance, tea. She knew that no matter what, Theo would have no choice but to eat what she made; Vincent was sure to have her back on this. After all, she only cares for Theo’s health.

Arthur pushed away from the counter he was leaning on, sauntered over to his lover and placed a kiss to her temple. With a hand resting on her hip, he whispered into her ear. “I’m off to the dining room~ Try not to have too much fun before the main act, luv~” Focused on her work, she barely noticed the affection he gave her. The lack of attention made him pout, but he knew she was enjoying herself. Just as his hand slid from her waist and he turned to leave the room, (MC) gave him a kiss to his cheek. A gentle smile returned to his lips as he left the room. Once he was gone, she continued her work on the “pancakes”.

Theo’s POV

Theo watched as (MC) entered the room. He knew something was going on with the way she was humming to herself. Trying to think of what would make her so happy, he tensed upon remembering that she was making his “special pancakes” today. His dirty blonde hair shadowed his face as he considered whether or not he should make a break for it.

Watching as she placed everyone’s breakfast down, his ocean blue eyes went wide as he looked at the abomination before him. Is this even a pancake!? It was fluffy, that was for sure. The “pancakes'' before him had cabbage in it. Instead of syrup, it had a dollop of something white and what smelled like garlic. “What is this, knabbletje?” He turned his icing glare on her.

She beamed at his expression. “It’s called Cabbage Fritters. It’s just like pancakes, except with cabbage!” Her eagerness only made his scowl deepen. He knew she was doing this on purpose. However, if he said anything that might make her cry, Vincent would get onto him. “I made them fluffy, just like you like your pancakes.” She was at least trying to ease his displeasure.

With hesitant movements, he grabbed his fork and knife. “Don’t I get to have syrup at least?” As she shook her head, he sighed, giving in to his torture. On one side, he could eat it quickly and hope it isn’t as bad as it looks. On the other, he could refuse to eat it. The latter would cause him to receive a stern expression from his broer and he would still have to eat the nasty food.

Theo heard a snicker in front of him and he glanced up to find Arthur trying not to laugh as the author hid his face behind his coffee mug. Cutting into the fritters, as she called them, he stabbed the piece with his fork and slowly lifted it to his mouth. The look of pure disgust on his face as it touched his tongue brought joy to Arthur and his fiancee. He began to chew, resisting the urge to spit it out. Once he swallowed, he tried to force his usual cocky expression back into place. “I-I suppose it’s okay.”

Suddenly, everything was sunshine and brightness as Vincent smiled. “If you liked it, perhaps (MC) should make it more often.” His brother tilted his head, seeming absolutely pleased. He threw a dark look in her direction; She was definitely trying not to laugh. Arthur, on the other hand, broke out into a fit of laughter. His shoulders shook and he was having troubles catching his breath.

Finally having enough, Theo slammed his hands on the table, pushing his chair back as he stood up and made his way towards the lady. With panicked laughter, she ran to her lover, who was still laughing. “Arthur, help me!” At his lover’s call, he stood up and pulled her behind him.

“Schei uit, Theo.” Vincent grabbed Theo quickly, while (MC) pushed herself as close to Arthur’s back as possible to hide behind him. Theo struggled in his brother’s hold trying to get to them. “What has gotten into you, Theo?” His brother’s concerned voice hurt his ears, but he could no longer behave.

“That is NOT a pancake. They’re doing this to me on purpose, broer!” He tried appealing to his older brother, to no avail. Vincent simply held him tighter and gave him a look of disapproval. This only added fuel to the fire. Arthur was sure to pay for this later. He’d make sure of it.

Riddles provided by @madam-mademoiselle

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations

A storm rages through the 104th's wooded training quarters, leaving a long hike for Jean and Marco to fix a water-logged issue... the time alone making for some unexpected discoveries.

(for the sake of the fic + levels of maturity I am achieving with this story, everyone will be legal adults!)

Chapter One: An Obscurity.

“I’ll kill them all! Just you wait and see!!” The dining hall had been relatively calm, the tranquil buzz of steady conversation and cutlery clinking against plates mixed to create a pleasant hum. It was one of those rare nights their usual starchy glop was exchanged for a more sustainable, hearty potato soup, paired with a cheap but effective booze. A good night to say the least. A good night until Eren (Dumbass) Jaeger opened his obnoxious mouth. The young man’s tired phrase reverberated throughout the hall, pitching obnoxiously off the high ember ceiling. God, I’m too sober for this…

Eren’s endless prattling of ‘I’ll save the world’ or ‘I have more passion than anyone here’ had gotten old fast. It bugged the ever-loving shit out of him, and with the current daggers-for-eyes and under-the-breath-scoffs Jaeger was getting, the sentiment was well shared.

“Don’t give me that Mikasa, I mean it! I’m going to kill every last one of those-'' Eren was promptly cut off by Jean’s hands smacking the table in front of him, causing a nearby fork to clink to the ground. Jean rose from his seat with an overly dramatic flare, making a show out of swooping his hair back. If the entire dining hall weren’t already watching the pair with dreadful, tired looks, they certainly were now. Some hushed whispers and exasperated groans sprinkled about the room as Jean assumed his stance towering over Eren.

“Well, all hail King Jaeger, eh? Oh don’t worry my friends, the man who can’t balance on his ODM gear will stop the incoming apocalypse!” he taunted, voice oozing with that special kind of ridicule Jean knew got Eren’s blood boiling. He was up and out of his seat before Mikasa had a chance to pull him back. Jean snorted loudly.

“Eager are we? Well then Jaeger, fight me like the man you’re always claiming to be.”

“Says the fucking horse face”

“Oh how original”

“Foal!”

“Jackass!”

The surrounding cadets watched with jaded faces, sighing at the scene unfolding for at least the third time that week. It was no longer entertaining, or really worth wasting any time or energy on, so they returned their attention to their much more exciting dinners and side banters.

The ever arrogant duo stepped to the center of the room, assuming, of course, all focus to be on them. Sharing dissent and ill-bred sneers, they theatrically assumed their fighting position. Guess I’ll just have to put him back in his pla-

“Nope. Okay-hah, we’re done here.” Marco interrupted, their foolish behavior striking his last nerve, the last nerve of the entire collective dining hall for that matter. Sighs of relief and annoyance sounded around them as Marco marched over and grabbed at Jean’s jacket, pulling him out from the table and towards the door.

“‘Ey, what’re you doin-” Marco wordlessly dragged the half pissed, half confused and positively tipsy Jean across the room, the grip on his jacket unwavering. A small chuckle escaped Jean’s mouth at Marco's unexpectedly forceful behavior. Damn, those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?

Marco sighed as he led him towards the door, a poorly concealed smile creeping its way onto his features. “Bedtime.” Marco concluded, biting back his smile in need of a more threatening look. Jean didn’t fight it. Instead, he bristled as he caught Conny’s snide face before the door to the dining hall was shut by Marco’s boot. The low lit lantern illuminated the two in a soft orange glow and the thick wooden door effectively drowned out the murmurs coming from behind it.

The change in air was drastic, shifting from a crowded and loud mess hall to the peaceful sounds of an autumn night and Marco’s freckled face incandescent under that old lantern. Marco’s hand remained firm in the layers of his jacket yet neither made motions to move. Jean was in a weird sort of trance and yeah he should move and unblock the way for Marco but for some reason he didn't. It wasn’t as if the other had really given him a chance to, what with him still holding onto the front of Jean’s coat.. A couple still moments passed and Marco had a strange, almost calculating look on his face.

Jean couldn't remember how long he had been standing there, the alcohol starting to intoxicate his body and the sheer closeness of Marco starting to intoxicate his brain. But if the loosening grip on his chest and Marco’s suddenly flushing face said anything, whatever this was had gone on a bit too long. The last thing Jean wanted was to make his good friend uncomfortable- No matter how nice just standing there in the cool breeze with Marco’s hand on his chest… Nope. Backtrack on that line of thinking. Immediately.

Things were getting awkward fast and Marco looked like he was going to say something and shit he probably shouldn’t have chugged that last bit of his drink, huh? To clear the sudden tension caused by his inability not to fucking gawk at Marco, Jean did the only thing his dumb tipsy brain could think of: make a drunken escape.

“Betcha can’t catch me.” he blurted before breaking out of Marco’s loose hold, running towards their quarters in a less than put together fashion. Was Jean literally running away from whatever moment just passed between the two? Why yes, indeed he was. But Marco’s eventual breathy laugh and quickening footsteps enclosing in on him told Jean everything was fine. Well consider that a job well done.

The two then stupidly ran around the camp, Jean hiding behind every tree and supply wagon trying to scare Marco, and Marco doing everything in his power to tackle the other. After a particularly bone crushing embrace and a loud laughing fit quickly admonished by Shadis, the inebriated pair walked the rest of the way to their dorm, the air around them now whimsy and casual.

They trudged through the wooded path, torches lighting the ground every few yards. They sprung into sporadic fits of giggles over absolutely nothing, both of the men now feeling the full effects of dinner’ mead, and Marco no longer playing the role of the responsible sober friend.

The cadets had been training in the woods for a week now, the goal being to get them used to ODM gear and combat in a dense forest. It was a welcome change of scenery from the usual parching desert and brutal heat. Being surrounded by rich greens and active rivers somehow made the strenuous drilling and long hours somewhat enjoyable.

Though navigating the dark forested path whilst drunk proved to be more than a little difficult. His attempts at walking straight in the dense woods were apparently remarkably entertaining, as when Jean confidently waltzed straight into a tree the slightly less drunk Marco lost his absolute mind, laughing himself into a puddle on the ground.

With minimal bumps and bruises, they eventually made it to their quarters. Marco plopped himself dramatically onto an old shipping barrel and started to squirm his way out of his jacket. Ok, perhaps the other was drunker than Jean thought.

Chuckling to himself, he walked over to help his struggling friend out of the confines of the fabric. Marco stopped squirming and tried to accommodate for Jeans helping hands, flushing slightly when his eyes met Jeans. He quickly averted his gaze, turning to eye the door as Jean finished struggling with the last button.

With the jacket discarded, Marco straightened his gaze to look up at Jean, who seemed to tower over him. A couple heated seconds passed in silence until Marco started… shaking? Before concern could settle in, sporadic chuckles started to escape from the man underneath him, evolving into a full on belly laugh. Jean took a small step back and looked down at him in bewilderment but Marco just shook his head, words be damned in his current state.

“Sorry, I just-” he began to topple over himself, a fit of laughter bubbling in his stomach. “I don’t know why I’m laughing honestly-” he spat out through giggles. He was fluctuating between attempting to catch his breath and then losing it all over again. It was utterly ridiculous, but Jean couldn’t hold back his own ugly laugh at the scene. Every couple of seconds Marco would try to stop and speak through the laughter but to no avail, making Jean slump to the ground in front of Marco, clutching his stomach as his body heaved with mirth.

Marco was snorting at that point and on anyone else he would’ve been annoyed at the sheer volume. Say, if Eren was sitting on that barrel losing his damn mind over nothing at all he would’ve slapped the sense back into him. But something about Marco’s water filled eyes and big loud smile just made him feel warm. Or.. perhaps that was just the alcohol.

He grinned as he looked only at the mad man sitting in front of him. From this distance he could see each little freckle adorning his nose and cheeks and the way his nose would scrunch in between sets of giggles. It was an endearing sight, cute even, though Jean would never admit that aloud.

Too caught up in their snickering, the two almost didn’t notice their comrades briskly stumbling in, Ymir being the one who pushed the two large wooden doors hurriedly. “In.” she commanded, and stepped back as everyone else dashed inside. Jean startled and Marco’s laughter alleviated as Ymir eyed them, her face contorted so it was impressively indecipherable. She had quite the poker face, though some general annoyance seemed to seep out as usual.

“What’s the damn ruckus about?” Jean demanded more than he asked, his filter coming back down hard now that more people were around. Ymir looked at Jean with a face that basically read as, ‘Shut the fuck up you’re the one making a dopey ruckus.’ Instead of voicing any of that though, she shut and locked the door as the final cadets made their way inside.

“Massive storm coming in, it’ll do some damage” she stated plainly before her eyes went back to Marco. “Maybe you two lovebirds would’ve noticed if you weren’t screaming like damn hyenas.” she joked dryly, her arms coming to a close across her chest. Marco snorted slightly at the tease but Jean stood up defensively, though perhaps a bit wobbly.

Before he could say a word, Ymir cut in with a raised brow. “Whoaaa relax there horsey, I’m kidding. Mostly. Just go lock the windows in the other rooms before they blow out in the middle of the night.” he nodded hesitantly in response and gave Marco a floppy wave of sorts. He still looked like he was glowing, as if somehow the light from the torches outside still reflected in his pale brown eyes. A sneer from Ymir brought his attention back to… what exactly? Oh right, the windows. Jean quickly left without another word, cursing the alcohol slightly under his breath. The rest of the cadets shuffled about, fulfilling whatever it was their makeshift Captain Ymir ordered.

Not without a scoff and an eye roll, she turned back to Marco. “Just us,” she demanded. “Help me with the rest of the rooms.”

__________

(MARCO POV)

After a solid half hour of flood-proofing the place to the best of their ability, as well as general clean up, Ymir poured the two of them a small whisky to top off the night. Marco relaxed into the sole couch of the common room and Ymir slumped herself into a chair by the window.

The living space was dusky and growing winds pounded the windows, putting them slightly on edge. Nevertheless, Ymir seemed to have something to say to him. She gulped down her drink and tossed the empty glass onto the ground, Marco’s eyes widening in both awe and intimidation. He steeled his nerves as he prepared for whatever it was Ymir needed out of him.

She looked at him like a scientist to a specimen, searching for something upon Marco’s features. Marco squirmed under the intense stare, and it was then that Ymir asked the burning question, cutting right to the chase.

“Do you like Jean?” she probed. Marco sucked in a quick breath at this question. The answer was yes, but why was she asking in the first place? Not knowing exactly what angle she was getting at, he tried to answer in the simplest, most non revealing way.

“Yeah I mean we’re definitely good friends.” he said apprehensively. Not wanting to look Ymir in the eyes, his gaze fell back to the rather pretty glass in his hands, thumbs tracing the engraved pattern.

Ymir smirked at this reaction and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a carefree ‘Ymir’ kinda way. “Marco. You know what I'm asking.” her voice was laced with mirth and her sneering face told him she probably already knew his answer. Damn her perceptiveness. Marco had hoped he wasn’t too obvious in his… feelings. But he supposes after tonight's less than subtle antics, e.g., grabbing a laughing Jean into an animalistic embrace and holding it for much longer than necessary, people would start suspecting something.

His eyes still didn’t meet hers as he sighed shakily, knowing there was little to no backing away from this conversation. “Please just… Don’t tell him?” he pleaded, looking back to the girl sitting across from him. Her previous visible mockery and inevitable taunt had faded, her features setting into something akin to understanding.

“Sure, you can trust me.” she said casually, taking a swig of the remaining whisky straight from the bottle. “We’re the same in that way if ya catch my drift.” Although compared to, say Christa, Ymir’s words would seem invasive and rude, they were sweet in their own way. And although Marco wouldn’t say this wasn’t invasive, he appreciated the kindness nonetheless.

Regardless, Marco definitely “caught her drift”. He looked at her with a sort of twinkle in his eyes, pleased to know there was at least one other person in the 104th that wasn’t straight. He chuckled, still embarrassed despite the genuinely accepting nature of their conversation thus far. “God, what gave it away?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she sighed dramatically, “Maybe the way he was looking at you. Maybe the way you were looking at him… Or maybe just a hunch I happened to get right.” Marco laughed at the sentiment before a frown crept onto his face. “Does anyone else…”

“Know?” she finished. Marco nodded. “No, they don’t. It seems only I had the misfortune of seeing you two ogle each other all the damn time. Awful luck on my part. But don’t ya worry, your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

He snickered as he raised his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the liquid inside. Ymir gave him a curious glance, and Marco softly set the drink down to his side, hands reaching up to grab at his warming face.

“God, what do I even do about it?” he mumbled through the palms of his hands, and Ymir could taste the desperation from where she sat.

Resting her chin between her fingers, she spoke. “Look, hear me out before you interrupt and tell me I’m wrong - but he likes you too.” Marco lifted his head to speak but Ymir cut him off with a glance. “I said, listen. I see the way he looks at you. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. He wasn’t just glancing at his friend… He was admiring you, Marco, your features. Now to me, that’s pretty telling.” Marco contemplated what she was saying, tried to really think about it before he shot it down entirely.

Is that really true? Is it even possible that the oh so straight Mr. ladies man Jean could… Feel the same way about him? It’s true they had some… moments tonight. Hell they’ve been having “moments” for as long as they've known each other. Though Jean did end up speeding away from one of those so called moments just over an hour ago… Was he being too hopeful? Oh god was he coming on too strong?

Ymir groaned at Marco's crestfallen face and stood up, closing the distance between the seats and plopping herself next to Marco. He gave her a curious glance, and in turn she gave a patient smile, well it was really closer to a grimace but still, it was the principle of it all.

He sat quietly, picking his lips with his bottom teeth. Ymir let him wallow in his worry for a whopping three seconds before kicking his ankle with her boot.

“Ow!” Marco pouted. An unspoken question of ‘The hell was that for?’ being shut down before it could be voiced.

“Oh shut it you were visibly spiraling.”

Ymir sunk into the back of the couch, pondering a moment before speaking again.

“You know, Jean isn’t going to initiate anything. Seeing as you’re more in tune with your emotions than that knucklehead is, you need to drop your damn balls and make a move.” Marco scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile at Ymir’s bluntness.

“I know, I know… You’re right.” Marco finally begrudged, causing Ymir’s ‘Of course I'm right’ smile to appear. “But we never get alone time - we’re always interrupted before he can fully open up to me…”

“Yes!” Ymir exclaimed. “You see it now. Sure it might seem tricky, but if Christa and I can find a way, you can too.” she winked and Marco damn near choked.

“You- and- I had no idea I mean-“ he stuttered before she kicked him again.

“Shut up. And don’t tell a soul.” She smiled cheekily. He nodded intently.

“Course, Ymir.” She playfully punched him, standing up from the sunken couch.

“Good luck, Marco.” she whispered.

He beamed, his chest gleaming with a soft gratitude. “Thank you.”

When Marco turned in for the night, his mind raced with endless possibilities, ranging from transcendent to nightmarish. Wishful thoughts flashed through his mind; Jean getting impossibly close, feather light touches of hands, his head resting in the crook of Jean’s neck, Marco being told he was wanted, telling Jean he wanted him. He bit his cheek, smiling stupidly at the fantasies before he felt a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jean could easily not feel the same. Jean could easily have never entertained the same idyllic fantasies as Marco was now.

Great, now it hurt.

Plagued with a new sense of guilt, he tossed and turned in the seasoned cot, praying for sleep to take him away from the build up of emotions in his chest. He pondered the possibility of similar thoughts dancing in Jean’s mind…

__________

(Jean POV)

Jean didn’t “wake up”, he just was up. That damned storm last night had kept him awake practically all night. What first was an occasional gust quickly turned into a rampaging wind-demon set out to prevent him and apparently only him from sleeping soundly. Someone had cursed him. Probably that damn Jaeger out for revenge due to Jean always winning their feuds. Typical.

The little sleep he did get consisted of repeated unsolicited scenarios about… Well that didn’t matter now.

It was the morning after a ferocious storm and he was reluctant to see the wreckage he knew he had to help out with. He groaned, rolling out of his bed in an overly dramatic pout. Sure he was acting a bit like a child but right now he just needed sleep so damn everything else, he’s going to throw his little fit. He caught Marco looking at him out of the corner of his eye, his hair ruffled and looking extra fluffy. He was giggling at Jean’s stubborn theatrics, a sweater-hooded hand loosely covering his mouth. Cute. Jean felt a bit more energized after that and he didn't bother to question why.

Once dressed, he headed out to meet the rest of the trainees outside the sleeping quarters. Holy hell, the damage was bad: shingles of the roof scattered the grass, trash was knocked down, even some large trees had fallen in the distance.

Eren rolled his eyes before their commander could even step close. “God, can’t we make someone else clea-” the brat began before getting hit softly by Armin.

“Eren! One day of cleanup doesn’t equate to the fall of humanity.” he sharply retorted. Jean chuckled at this exchange, overjoyed to see the prick put in his place by his own best friend. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to spot Marco…

“ATTENTION CADETS.” their Commander roared as he marched toward the gathered crowd.

“YES SIR!” They yelled back in unison, fists crossing chests in an assertive salute.

“Deep woods ODM training is put on hold for today due to the storm. I will be assigning you each in groups of two or three to aid in cleaning this mess.” Jean scanned the surrounding area nervously, where was Marco? “Proceed to the front to get your duty from me before you grab a cold meal.” the Commander directed. Pairs of people made their way to get their job of the day, but Jean stayed behind, unable to spot Marco. Nerves crept up his spine as the line got shorter, indicating he would have to grab a job with someone he possibly couldn’t stand - especially after such a shitty sleep.

A few moments later and the remaining crowd was scant, still no Marco to be seen. “Jean, you’re on running water. I need you to go up to the creek and find the source stopping the water from running back to us. We have enough for the day, but this cannot go on. You will need a partner…” Shadis trailed off, finding only Annie and some guy Jean barely could remember the name of. Tomas? Tobiaus? Timothious?

He sighed, knowing nothing but complaints would come from either cadets if forced to spend an entire day with him. Jean crossed his arms, awaiting a choice of partner from his boss while he dreaded the inevitably long journey stuck with either insufferable silence or annoying small talk.

“Commander sir, I can go with Jean.” A pleasant voice chirped in from behind. And with those few words: salvation. Jean subconsciously uncrossed his arms and smirked as the Commander let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Marco approach.

“Thank Heavens, the one person who can stand him.” he murmured, Marco frowning at the not so quiet comment as he walked up to Jean's side. “That is fine, pack plentiful in case you get stuck for a night, we are not sure how much wreckage is up there, nor how long the journey on foot will take. There’s a shed around there you could set up in for the night. Do not come back today if you do not have ample time before sundown. Now get moving!” he ordered, his last words reverberating in a loud squawk.

“Yes sir!” They saluted before Jean met eyes with Marco. “Where the hell were you?” he questioned. Marco playfully rolled his eyes.

“Worried, hmm?” he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I was just helping Ymir with something.” he replied brightly. Ymir? That seems random… But he decided to not question it.

The two went back to their rooms to pack for their lengthy and no doubt strenuous trip up the mountain. Jean found himself not only not dreading the excursion, but actively looking forward to it. He felt a bit like a hyperactive kid as genuine excitement coursed through his veins. Should he bring his comb? Nah he probably won't need it. But what if they do end up having to spend the night and Jean turns too much in his sleep and his hair gets all messy and floofy and Marco looks at him with damned bed head and then probably giggles to himself and makes a dumb but cute comment about it because its Marco and somehow he always manages to make what Jean is insecure about into something he can actually like about himself just like when he’d said Jean’s eyes were pretty like a brown hibiscus and he stopped hating the way his eyes looked when he saw his reflection looking back at him and- Jean grabbed the stupid hairbrush and threw it into his bag.

Once sufficiently supplied, they scarfed a crummy cold meal before heading out as quickly they could manage.

Marco seemed awfully giddy as they started down a gravely path lined with fern. Though cheerful he often was, Marco was struggling to hide a smile. It wasn’t a bad sight at all, though Jean was curious. “What’s got you so damn happy today?” he questioned. Marco shrugged.

“I think I made a new friend - always a nice feeling, yknow?” Jean would say he’s surprised, but everyone in the 104th loved Marco, even the stoic ones, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who exactly his new friend was.

“Ymir?” he asked plainly. Marco nodded, a soft smile finding its way onto his face.

“Yeah. Y’know, she may seem edgy but she can be really kind.” he expressed, eyes a bit starry and thoughtful. He clearly didn’t hear how the words sounded to Jean.

Jean bit back the bitter remark already forming as envy crept its way into his mind. Why was it bothering him? He’s still his friend. His best friend even. Gah, not a big deal, keep it together. He told himself before rephrasing whatever edgy comment he was going to sneer into a hopefully harmless question.

“You like her?” he ended up asking, false humor falling from his tongue.

Marco looked visibly confused. “What? No I’m- not my type. She just has a good head on her.” he surmised. Why won’t Marco ever admit attraction? Does he not trust Jean? Jean had no problem divulging about those he found hot, so why wouldn’t Marco do the same?

The next few hours were spent bullshitting around as they walked; sharing stupid jokes about who in their class was most likely to get kicked out, a stupid conversation about Ymir that probably shouldn’t have peeved him so much, Jean going on a long winded rant about how justified he is in smacking Eren atop the head, Marco stopping to pick up random bird feathers exclaiming each time that, “No Jean, you don’t get it, this one is rare.” and eventually, as the sun started its descent towards the horizon, their casual banter shifted into their hopes for the future.

“Eh, I don’t wanna get married. Who wants to be stuck with a chick forever?!” Jean quipped. At his words Marco chuckled nervously, his gaze diverting to the coarse dirt beneath him.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t wanna get married. I’m fine living a life alone with me and my hobbies.” he said flippantly, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. Jean found the tone of his voice had changed into something more sullen and somber, and a glance over at his friend did not yield him any better results. Jean must do something about this.

He lightly elbowed his friend. “Well, if ya change your mind, I think you’d make a great husband some day.” Jean said honestly, no lick of sarcasm to his voice. Marco’s knees wobbled for a moment before he corrected them, clearing his throat to cover his obvious nerves.

“Thanks, Jean. You too.” he replied, biting his cheek. Another glance towards his friend showed a soft smile and a flushed face. Jean succeeded. Though now he too felt a bit hot in the face. He once again decided not to unpack that.

As they hiked, they spotted a would-be stream leading down to their base. Taking note of the lack of obvious running water, they were certain something rather large had blocked it. “Guess it’ll be a chore huh.” Marco pointed out. Jean began flexing dramatically, his tight muscles showing slightly through the thin white tunic.

“Pfft, your ol’ buddy Jean here will fix it right up for us, eh?” he joked, Marco eyeing him with a raised eyebrow followed with a hearty laugh. Sure, he wasn’t helping Jean’s ego, but he didn’t care.

The more they conversed alone, the more Jean felt his social facade fade, ending up losing whatever filter he had in place for other people all together. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, only knew that it made him feel relaxed and just genuinely, all around good. Perhaps it was the lack of a crowd - or Eren Jaeger. Either way, he was loosening up and took joy in seeing Marco enjoy himself on this trip as well.

“This is nice,” Jean said, smiling at the open air and lack of obvious walls. It felt open here, almost free. Hell, for the most part, they’ve forgotten completely about life inside the walls. Marco looked over and followed his friend's gaze to the sky, basking in the comfortable feeling.

“It is…” he began, sneaking another glance at Jean. “Really nice.”.

PART 2!!! 

https://foulcrownkryptonite.tumblr.com/post/663166809268224000/tracing-constellations-pt2

[plant-flwrs]

late night rendezvous // george weasley

masterlist!

content warnings: smut!

soft and fluffy smut, i’ll put a little indicator (*) when the smut starts, so if you’re not into that you can stop reading there <3

a/n: i have absolutely no idea if this is good, i’ve been rereading it over and over again in my drafts debating if i should post it. give me feedback if u have any, i’d really appreciate it on this one! hope everyone is safe and happy and amazingly wonderful, love u guys, thank u for reading, thank u for following, thank u for just existing!! 

summary: You and George sneak off to the library for some privacy 

(6.2k)

------------

The Ravenclaw common room, while studious and peaceful, was not romantic. George had laid you down on a couch gently, hovering on top of you perched on his hands whispering sweet jokes to you. It was lovely, but a sharp and unfamiliar pain was pressing into your back. You pushed George off of you slowly, turning around to see what you were laying on. A book was there, misplaced as so many books were in the Ravenclaw common room. 

You groaned, hearing George chuckle from behind you as you got up and put the book on the shelf resting against the wall.

“Want to go somewhere else, love?” George asked you, getting off the couch and walking over to you. You couldn’t help but admire him as he walked, his hair that was sticking up in odd places from where you had run your fingers through it, his wrinkled shirt that he hadn’t bothered to straighten when he stood, his lazy grin. 

“It’s almost curfew,” you said sadly, leaning your back against the shelf.

“That’s never stopped us before,” George whispered, close to you now as he rested his hands on shelf behind your head.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, resting your forehead on his strong chest. You felt it rise and fall with calm breaths, one of his hands moving to stroke your hair. You thought back to George’s body against yours a moment ago. His slow hands on your face as he cradled your jaw and kissed you. He was so slow and gentle tonight, a nice change from his usual confident and sly demeanor. 

You and George hadn’t had much time for each other this week; George was busy with Angelina’s rigorous Quidditch trainings and you had course work piled up to the sky. It was a Friday night, George had practice off, and you had managed to get your course load down to a much smaller pile. 

You lifted your head from his chest, looking up at him, “Where did you have in mind?”

George gave you an excited grin, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to hide how pleased he really was. He took a step back, letting his hands fall from the wall to your hips. 

“The library? No one’s in there this late on a Friday,” he was already pulling you off the wall, leading you to the door.

“Alright,” you giggled, letting him drag you off. 

You walked slowly behind him, crouching slightly as he held his illuminated wand to the Marauder’s Map. Filch’s footsteps were walking down an adjacent corridor, and Mrs. Norris crept down a hallway on the floor below you. George looked around a corner, doublechecking it’s safety, and grabbed your hand to pull you along. 

You two made it to the library fairly quickly. The candles in the hallway gave a dim light that prevented you from stepping on George’s heals, but inside the library was pitch black. George held his wand up and guided the way.

You walked past the front desk, Madam Pince long gone for the night. You walked past the first row of bookshelves, past the groupings of tables used for studying, past more shelves, past some desks, and to the back of the room. The back wall was covered in various maps, ancient printings of foreign lands. George walked along the wall until he was far into the corner, hidden from the door by a bookshelf that met the wall. You followed him, walking slower as your hand traced the maps. George sank down to the floor, his long legs stretching across the carpeted floor. You stayed standing, looking at a smudged sketch of what a birds-eye view of the Forbidden Forest looks like. There was small labeling in loopy cursive of different creatures that lived in different regions, marking the unicorns to live in a flower patch and mermaids to live in a small pond with a waterfall. George watched you, your face shining in the small light cast from his wand. 

He looked at the space around you, small and uncomfortable. He lifted his wand, moving the light from your face and the wall of maps. The light ceased as he moved it, and suddenly you felt a soft and plush material at your ankles.

“George?” you called into the darkness.

The light was back again, and you saw why it had gone.

George had conjured a few blankets, some pillows, and a candle. He was already moving to lay the blanket down over the floor, covering the small space from the wall to the shelf. He propped the pillows against the wall, falling into them once he lit the candle and placed it on an empty part of the bookshelf near the ground. 

You sank to the floor next to George, a bashful smile on your face. You curled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm pulled you close to him. Your arm fell on his chest, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. His hand on your waist, holding you to him, lifted the bottom of your shirt and drew shapes on the bare skin of your hip. 

“I’ve missed you this week, Georgie,” you whispered, watching as he used his free hand to cast away the light coming from his wand.

A flickering candleflame shown upon the both of you, casting moving shadows on George’s face as he looked down at you. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he sighed, somehow pulling you closer as if he was afraid you were going to drift away, “so much.”

You felt him shift slightly, and his lips were pressing open mouth kisses to your forehead. You closed your eyes, tilting your head up to him with an easy smile. He pulled away, gazing down at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, a small grin on his lips.

“So are you,” you replied, blushing under his intense gaze.

You moved in his grip, laying more on your stomach with half your chest resting on George’s. Your left arm was propping you up on your elbow, hand wrapping around George’s strong bicep. Your right arm stayed on George’s chest, your hand moving to the side of his neck. Your leg rested between George’s, and his rested between yours.

“Will you read to me?” he asks, his voice incredibly soft and vulnerable. 

You agreed wordlessly,  leaning over George’s body and picking up his wand from the ground beside you.

“Accio ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’,” you whispered, sitting up and waiting for the book to come to you.

You heard George chuckle from behind you, also sitting up and resting the back of this head against the wall. 

The book fluttered to you, coming from a few rows over. You clutched the book in your hands, scooting back to lean against the wall with George. 

“C’mere,” you whispered, patting your thigh and motioning for George to lay down again.

He obeyed, fighting a content smile as he curled between your legs and laid his head on your abdomen. His arms wrapped around your middle, and you moved down the wall so your back was on the floor but your shoulders were against the wall. One hand held open the book while the other played in George’s hair. 

He listened silently to your quiet and calming voice as you read the children's story to him, tightening his grip around you once again. Your hand ran down his neck, your fingers creeping beneath the collar of his shirt as you felt the muscles on his back tense and relax under your light touch. He sighed, burying his head into you as his eyes fluttered closed. 

You two stayed like that for a while; your hand running from his hair to his back, him shifting his head every few minutes to let you know he was still awake. You read to him with ease, a small smile on your face. 

The peace, however, was not kept for long. A creek in the front of the library caused you to snap the book shut, your hand freezing as it crept its way down George’s neck. George lifted his head from your stomach, looking towards the front of the library. He attempted to peak through the shelves, but thought better of it and simply blew out the candle. 

In the silence, waiting for another noise, you heard the soft purring of a cat.

“It’s Mrs. Norris and Filch!” you whispered as quietly as you could to your boyfriend.

George sprang into action, picking up the blankets and handing you the pillows and candle. He grabbed his wand and you grabbed the book, moving to stand behind George as he moved a few books to try and see through the shelf. His brow furrowed in concentration, and a bit of relief flood through you as you remembered who you were with. George and his brother were experts on escaping the wrath of Filch, and you had faith in him. 

George waved you on, leading you as he did before through the shelves of the library. You had no idea what his plan was, watching nervously through cracks in spaces as Filch shone his lamp down every row in the library. 

Filch nearly passed you both, but George crouched just in time, pulling you with him. You watched as Filch shone the light down the isle you and George had been curled up in, feeling relieved to have moved in time. Suddenly, George’s hand in yours was pulling you down a narrow space between shelves, one leading to the restricted section. You widened your eyes, never having been in the restricted section and also noticing Filch heading there as you both did. You silently trusted George, letting him pull you along. 

The light from Filch’s lamp was edging closer to your feet, but George pulled a sharp turn into the wall. You turned away from where Filch was coming from, looking towards George. He pulled open a curtain, revealing a little nook in the wall that seemed untouched and abandoned. There were cobwebs in the corners and dust on ever surface, but you and George climbed in anyways. He pulled the curtain shut slowly and silently, putting his fingers to his lips as he looked at you. You nodded, biting your lip as you slowed your panicked breathing. 

The nook had a large window parallel to the curtain, lighting up the space. You could see George’s giddy smirk, knowing he enjoyed risky moments like these.  You fought the urge to laugh, rolling your eyes instead. 

You watched the ground through the sliver of space between the curtain and nook, seeing Filch’s light pass by slowly. You heard his labored breathing and Mrs. Norris’s quiet purrs, holding your breath and hoping they pass without worry. Mrs. Norris stopped for a moment, and you heard her purrs get louder as she came closer to the curtain. She was nearly ducking under the curtain when Filch called her away, grunting as he spoke aloud to the cat.

“No one in here tonight, Mrs. Norris, now let’s go finish our tea and biscuits,” the old man said excitedly to the cat, limping away.

You heard the door slam shut, and you and George let out a breath the both of you had been holding. 

“Tea and biscuits?” George said teasingly, smiling wide at you.

“A man has the right to certain pleasures,” you said, smiling back at him.

“That, he does,” George leaned into you, still smiling, and kissed you.

It was slow and gentle, like he had been all night, and you melted into him. His lips moved against yours like honey, molding together like time was in slow-motion. He pulled away slowly, keeping his eyes closed.

“Reckon we can sneak back to our common rooms?” you asked, feeling relieved that you weren’t caught yet on your little excursion.

“I actually had different plans,” George said, pulling open the curtain and stretching his legs out as he stood.

“What might those be?” you stayed sitting, watching as he gathered all the pillows and blankets.

“I thought we could stay the night here,” he said, smirking, “I mean, when do we get this kind of privacy in our dorms?”

You laughed a bit as you thought back to the last time you tried to spend the night in George’s dorm. Fred had opened George’s curtain in the middle of George taking your shirt off, ending in awkward silence for the rest of the night. 

You didn’t usually go along with the twins’ crazy and reckless plans, avoiding the late night trips to the kitchens after curfew, and the unapproved raidings of Snape’s ingredient cupboard. This time, however, you couldn’t help but want to go along with George as he looked down at you with soft and loving eyes. 

“Suddenly finding the library enjoyable, are you?” you teased him.

“Only at night, when it’s far too dark to read any of the books, and everyone’s gone away,” he joked, holding the curtain open for you as you grabbed the candle, book, and his wand.

“I see,” you sighed, turning to face George and stepping out of the nook, “alright, let’s stay.”

You watched George’s smirk turn into an excited grin as he spun away from you, going back towards your spot in the back of the library. 

You followed him, giggling at your boyfriends excitement as he jogged ahead of you. He was eager to lay the blankets down, fluff the pillows, and light the candle, eager to have a moment alone with you. 

When you turned down the isle, George had somehow already done all of that, even though he was only seconds before you. He stood on top of a blanket, the candle lit and sitting in the bookshelf it was before, pillows fluffed, and blankets spread. He had a cocky grin on his face, one of his feet propped up against the shelf behind him as his arms crossed over his chest.

“Eager?” you teased, feeling a familiar pit of nerves form in your heart. You had been with George dozens of times, but nothing could stop that pit of nerves from forming just by the look he gave you. 

“Always,” he said, his smirk turning into an authentic smile as his eyes filled with excitement. 

You walked over to him, stepping carefully on the blankets and scattered pillows. George uncrossed his arms and spread them to you, grabbing your hands as soon as you were close enough and pulling you into him. He dropped his leg, allowing for there to be as little space between you both as possible. His hands stayed clutched in yours, but he moved them to rest on your lower back, pinning your hands beneath his. He pulled you close to him, his hips and chest flush against yours. 

“You seem a bit desperate tonight, darling,” you teased, craning your neck away from him to look at his face.

“I think you’re the most amazing girl in the world,” he said sweetly, moving his face closer to yours as he spoke, “I could spend hours talking with you, but right now, I’d love it if you shut up.”

You scoffed in mock offence, a laugh bubbling in your chest that pressed into George’s. While you were still smiling, George closed the distance between your faces and pressed his lips against yours.

(*)

He waited until your smile faded, keeping his lips unmoving against yours, until he finally did move. He was slow, and you pressed your face against his in an attempt to gain some pressure. He pulled away, a loving look in his eyes as he tilted his head. He placed open-mouth kisses on your cheek, moving over your nose, forehead, chin, and jaw. You couldn’t help but contently sigh at each kiss, something that made George feel butterflies in his stomach. His hands on your back pushed against yours, uncurling the fists they were in to lay flat against your back. His large hands covered yours entirely, his palms pressing against the backs of your hands. His fingertips pressed into your back, and he slipped his hands off of yours. You forgot you could move them for a moment, but once you did they crept up his body and rested on either side of his neck. One of his hands slid up your back, bunching up your sweater as he did, and landed on the nape of your neck. The soft material of your sweater fell once he released it, and it tickled your sensitive skin. His other hand moved back and forth from your lower back to your hip, and it seemed like he couldn’t decide where to keep it.

His mouth was attached to your neck, and he couldn’t focus on anything else. He didn’t care about the growing bulge in his pants, all he wanted was his lips on the soft skin beneath your ear. 

His mouth opened wider, exposing his teeth, and he scraped them against the delicate skin. You arched your back in reflex, pushing yourself impossibly closer to him. One of your hands drifted to his hair, pulling at random bits whenever George bit your neck again. 

The only sound in the quiet and abandoned room were you and George; you sighed and whined as George left his marks on your neck, and George groaned and moaned every time he heard you.

George lifted his head, pulling back to admire his work. In the dim light, he could see an array of purple and red marks already forming on your skin, and the sight alone made his face flush. He ducked down one last time, blowing against the newly-marked spots. You opened your mouth and let out a silent gasp, chest heaving at George’s movements. 

His hands moved to cradle your face as he turned his attention away from your neck. He looked into your eyes, seeing the lust clouding over your features for only a second before you pulled him in by the back of his neck. You controlled this kiss, still moving gently but with more force. Your nose pressed into his cheek, and his teeth accidentally grazed your lips occasionally, but you didn’t care. You were lost in George’s touch, not seeming to mind any of the awkward fumbles. 

George’s calloused hands stayed firmly on your face, his thumbs moving up to your cheekbones as he stroked them lovingly. You scratched his scalp, running your hands through his hair and down his neck. You were feeling a sense of impatience as you felt yourself become more aroused by what George was doing. Your hands crept down his back, feeling his muscles beneath the material of his old and worn pajama shirt. Your hands made it to his waistband, and you felt him take a sharp breath at the feeling. You lifted his shirt up, slowly moving up his chest as the shirt bunched. You pulled away from him, opening your eyes and looking at George’s bare chest. He lifted his arms, helping you pull off his shirt. You balled it up in your fists and tossed it behind you, hearing it hit the floor lamely on the pile of pillows. 

His chest was warm against your cold fingers, and he felt like you were shooting sparks into everywhere you touched him. He watched your hands move across his chest, biting his bottom lip as you bent your fingers to scratch down his abs. He hissed in enjoyment, swallowing as he met your eyes. 

“It’s only fair,” you whispered seductively, licking your lips as you ran your nails down his chest again.

“What?” he rasped out, hissing again and tilting his head back to lean against the shelf.

“You marked me up,” you lifted your hands from his chest, resting one on the back of his neck to pull his head down to look at you, “I mark you up.”

George swallowed, feeling himself get harder at your words. His eyes flickered to your neck, bringing his hand to lightly trace over his work. You nearly flinched, but stopped yourself. You looked down at George’s chest, already seeing five red streaks down each side of George’s toned chest. You leaned in, licking your lips and placing wet and loving kisses on the marks. George’s hands went to rest in your hair, balling it up off of your face so he could watch you. You looked up at him, and he opened his mouth in some sort of silent moan. 

You stood to your full height, wrapping your arms around George’s neck and kissing him again. Both of his hands were on your hips, his fingers creeping beneath your shirt as his thumbs pressed into your skin.

He pushed himself off the shelf, and you moved in synch; one of his legs moved forwards, slipping between your legs, and you took a step backwards. You walked a few paces, standing in the center of the isle. He was still kissing you the same way he had been all night, slow, gentle, loving. 

He pulled away, eyes fluttering open as he looked down at your swollen lips. One of his arms moved between you and he cupped your chin. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, pressing into it and watching it. He was entranced by everything about you. He pulled your lip down, opening your mouth, and released your lip, watching as it bounced back. Your mouth hung open, and you looked at him through your eyelashes. He made a humming noise, raising his eyebrows and breathing deeply. 

You began to smirk, but a surprised shriek swallowed the facial expression when George was suddenly collapsing onto the pillows and pulling you down with him. He laid on his back, and you sat on your knees between his legs. His head was propped up by a pillow, his eyes raking over you as you leaned to hover on top of him. You inched forwards, opening your legs and moving so you straddled him. You sat, hovering really, above his abdomen, hands flat against his chest. George’s hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them out from under you so you fell into him. You giggled, feeling your chest flush against his. It seemed that George was thinking the same thing as you; his hands slid down the sides of your body, slipping beneath your sweater. His hands were warm and rough, gently touching everything he could. When he was done roaming, he began to pull it off of you. You helped him, tossing it to land near his discarded shirt.

You leaned back, sitting down on his stomach as your hands slid back to rest on the tops of his thighs. You arched your back, stretching out and giving George full view of your still covered chest.

“Holy-” you heard him mumbled, feeling his hands creep onto your thighs.

He felt across your legs, sliding his hands down to your ass. His slender fingers kneaded it, and you sat straight again to look at him. His hands left your ass in a second, and he sat up on his elbows. You watched him slowly lick his lips, his eyes dancing around your chest. You reached behind you, unclasping the garment with ease. George’s eyes followed the lacey thing as it fell off your body, and you once again tossed it in the direction of your other clothes. 

George’s hands were on you with no hesitation, caressing and kneading your breasts. He sat up, sliding you down to land on his hips. He ducked his head down, connecting his lips to your chest. He felt the need to mark you, any way he could, to feel your skin on his lips and make you writhe with his mouth. 

His open mouth slid across your front, his tongue and teeth pushing into your skin with ease. George knew your body, he knew everything about you. There was nothing he loved more than feeling his skin against yours. 

His mouth worked on your chest, his hands pressing into your hips. He raked his teeth over the top of your breasts, and the sensation made your hips roll. George groaned into your chest, his body twitching at the unexpected sensation. You kept moving your hips against his, rocking back and forth in rhythm with your gasps. George was gripping onto your hips with such force that his fingers dug into your skin and he felt your bone, but he wasn’t even thinking about that. His thoughts were clouded by your breasts pressed against his face and the feeling of your crotch against his. He wanted to slow down; worship you more before he became undone.

With great struggle, he pulled himself away from your chest and stopped your hips with his grip. You whined at the lack of friction, pushing against his hands to continue the movement. You didn’t have much of a chance, though, as George was flipping you onto your back. He moved his hands from your hips up to the back of your head, cradling it in his hand and resting it delicately onto the pillow. He soothed down your hair, admiring it as it spread out across the pillow beneath you. 

You loved that about these exchanged with George. He was gentle; always treating you as if you were a delicate porcelain thing that could break with too much force. George always seemed to know what you wanted, he could read your face and movements like they were his own. He knew you wanted him, but he also knew you wanted to know exactly how much he wanted you.

His hands moved from the back of your head, pushing the hair from your face. They slid down the sides of your face, tracing your jawline and creeping down the sides of your neck. 

“You’re-” he paused, meeting your eyes and trying to think of any word worthy of describing you, “you’re ethereal.”

You swallowed hard at his words, chest heaving with a deep breath. You lifted your hands to cup his face, and he closed his eyes at the feeling of your soft hands on his cheeks. 

His hands moved still, moving from your neck to your collar bones, to your shoulders and down your arms, to your wrists and over your hands, to your breasts and down your sides, palms flat against your stomach, moving over to your hips where they grazed the sides of your ass. He moved south more, gripping the backs of your thighs as he put himself between your legs. You lifted your legs, feet flat against the floor. George’s hands ran down your ankles, slipping off your shoes. He did the same, kicking them off in a rush with his feet. He bent down, his hands firmly placed on the floor at either side of your head, and kissed you. 

He started with small and chaste kisses, lifting his head every time to look at you. Your eyes closed, face relaxed, lips still pushed out waiting for him to kiss them again. He hummed against you, the vibrations adding a different sensation against your lips. You opened your mouth, and George waisted no time slipping his tongue past your lips and into your mouth. His tongue was slipping in and out of your mouth, tracing over your lips and anywhere he could with a slow and sensual determination. 

Your hands moved from his cheeks to his hair, one staying to tug on the fiery locks while the other moved to his strong shoulder. You felt the muscles strain as he held himself up, flexing and tensing under your touch. You ran your fingertips down his back, landing on his hip and slipping your pinky finger into the elastic waistband of his plaid pajama pants. He groaned into your mouth, pressing his face further into yours. You hummed, taking this as encouragement. Your other fingers followed your pinky finger, falling under the waistband and moving to his front. You stayed above his boxers, immediately feeling the stretch of the thin material from his erection. He groaned again, thrusting his hips into your hand. 

You pulled your face away from his, watching his eyes stay closed as his brow furrowed. You slid your hand over him, moving slowly as his head ducked into your neck. You felt his nose pressing into the sensitive and marked skin, causing you to roll your head back in some sort of pained pleasure. George becoming so hard for you so soon made you become even wetter, and you clenched in an attempt to gain some sort of relief. George still had your legs spread and pinned beneath him, so you couldn’t rub your thighs together. 

You were still rubbing him, his soft groans and whines filling your ears as he moved his hips slowly against you. You pulled your hand from his pants, sliding it up his chest and over your scratch marks. His face contorted from the same pained pleasure you had been feeling, he lifted his head from your neck. You saw a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and realized how pent up this week must have made him.

“You alright, George?” you asked him, pushing his hair off his forehead and looking into his eyes.

“Yeah,” he nodded fervently, licking his lips and breathing heavily, “I just really need you.”

He paused, the both of you staring at each other before he spoke again, “Is that alright?”

“Of course it is,” you gasped with no hesitation, pulling his face to yours again and kissing him hungrily.

His words had made you writhe, your back arched as you pressed yourself against him. It was George’s turn for roaming hands, and he waisted no time. Without missing a beat in the rhythm you had created in your kiss, his hands slid down to your shorts. His thumbs hooked into the sides, sliding them, and your underwear, off with ease. You lifted your hips slightly to help him, only to press yourself against him. He groaned and thrusted into you without thinking, causing you to break from the kiss and roll your head back.

“Really? All that for one touch?” he teased, moving back to sit on his feet as he pulled your shorts completely off your legs.

“You were losing your mind over a handy just a second ago, darling,” you retorted, propping yourself up on your elbows as George moved to hover over you again. 

He breathed a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips. He dipped his head down, tracing over the marks he had already made all over your chest with light and gentle kisses. Your hands went to his hair as he kissed down your stomach, reaching his final destination eagerly. His hands gripped the back of your thighs, lifting them off the floor by an inch. He licked down your folds, blowing teasingly on your clit.

“George!” you gasped, arching your back at the intoxicating sensation.

“Does that feel good?” he asked earnestly, having never done that move before.

“Bloody hell,” you groaned, fingers curling into his hair, “yes.”

He smirked, tilting his head down and placing a kiss to your clit. He blew again, this time for a few seconds longer, and you felt like there were stars behind your eyes.

“Fuck!” you called out, voice raspy and struggling to stay quiet.

“Well,” he said, pulling away and reaching over your body to the right of you, “I hadn’t realized staying quiet would be such a struggle for us tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing slightly. You watched George lazily wave his wand in the direction of the door, casting ‘muffliato’.

“Just wait ‘till it’s your turn, Georgie,” you teased back, watching his jaw tense with lust as he crept down to his position between your legs.

He went back to work, his tongue swiping up and down your core and occasionally sucking and licking your clit. You were coming undone, shifting and twitching beneath him. He had to force your legs apart to keep you from crushing his head, his grip so tight that you hoped his fingerprints would be on your thighs by the morning. 

He pulled away, blowing on last time on your clit with a smirk as you tugged at his hair. 

“Careful, Y/n, you might rip some out,” his voice was raspy and his lips were wet with your juices. He put a hand over your hand in his hair, moving his fingertips delicately across your hand.

“You’d be so lucky,” you groaned, pulling him up to your lips by his hair, ignoring his warnings. 

He groaned at the feeling, coming in contact with your lips eagerly. You tasted yourself on him, licking at his lips as he smirked into the kiss. You pulled away, releasing your grip on his hair.

“You want a go?” you asked, moving your hand down to his erection again.

“No, I won’t last,” he groaned, catching your wrist in his hand.

You stayed in that position for a moment, feeling incredibly turned on by his firm grip on you. You blushed at the intensity, biting your swollen lip and nodding.

“Okay,” you whispered, and George released your hand.

You pressed your palm flat against his lower abdomen, and he lowered his head for a slow and gentle kiss. It was quick, and soon he was pulling away and tilting his head down to look at your bodies flushed together. 

“Ready?” he asked, looking up to meet your eyes.

You nodded instantly and moved your hand on his abdomen to pull down his pants and boxers. He helped you, doing most of the work and kicking them off in a bunch at your feet. His erection sprang free, hitting your core because of how close your hips were. 

You and George both moaned at the contact, and George’s hands were quick to work as he positioned himself between your folds. He looked you in the eyes before entering, asking silently for consent. You nodded, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him to your lips. He pushed his hips flush against yours, and you both let out guttural and lustful moans into each other’s mouths. 

His pace was slow, and you wrapped your legs around his hips so he could drive further into your core. Your ankles locked and your hips lifted off the ground. One of George’s hands supported his weight by your head and the other wrapped around your waist. 

“Oh my god, George,” you moaned, pulling away from the kiss and shoving your face into the crook of his neck.

“You’re so good,” George breathed out, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“George, George, George,” you chanted in moans, knowing he liked it when you said his name.

With each moan of his name he thrusted harder into you, filing you up and bringing tears to your eyes from the wanted pressure.

“C’mon,” he said, gently placing you down and unwrapping his arm from your waist. He brought his now free hand down to your clit, rubbing his middle finger on it, “cum for me, Y/n.”

You wrapped your legs tighter around him, barely giving him any space to pull out and thrust back into you. Your arms around his neck tightened, too, and George bit his lip as your walls clenched around him.

“You’re so close,” he moaned into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

He added his ring finger to the pressure on your clit, and you felt your orgasm wash over you. Your chest heaved, face contorting in George’s favorite way. He watched you moan and furrow your brow, loving the face you made when you came. Your legs fell from around George, your arms becoming limp as they rested across his back. George came right after you, pulling out and finishing onto your stomach. You watched him, feeling the hot liquid spread across your skin. He moaned, fighting the urge to collapse onto you. He gathered his wand, conjuring a towel to clean you up with. 

Once he was done, he tossed it aside lazily and fell onto you like he had wanted. He curled into your side, wrapping his arm around your stomach. 

“We’re really good at that, aren’t we?” he said happily, looking up at you from his place in the crook of your neck.

“I sure as hell am,” you joked, diving your hands into his hair, “you’re alright.”

“Alright?” he asked, sitting up and resting on his forearms, eyebrows raised.

“Mmm,” you pretended to think about his, pulling him back down by the back of his neck, “I suppose your really good, too.”

“I am really good,” he pretended to pout, sitting up and gathering his boxers and your underwear and handing them to you.

You watched him slip his boxers on, and you pulled your panties on. You laid back down, pulling a blanket over your body. George slid under the blanket with you, the bare skin of his chest pressing against yours.

“When do you suppose we sneak back to our common rooms?” you asked, tracing feather-light touches on his arm.

“Soon, if we have to,” he groaned, pulling you tighter to him.

“I just don’t want some first year coming back here and finding us tomorrow morning,” George chuckled at the thought, nuzzling his face into your side.

“You’re right,” he said, “I’d much rather Madam Pince find us.”

You giggled, feeling your eyes get heavy as George’s soft snores began to fill the small space.

[dirtyoatmeall]

Together, It’ll be okay (Tsukishima x Reader)

A/N: :0 I know another fic so soon!!! But I’m crying after reader ch 138 of aot sooo I needed the comfort so have OOC soft tsukki because I said so. 

Pairing: Established Tsukishima x gn!reader, Established Yachi x Yamaguchi

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Mentions of mental health issues (reader is in a depressive episode), post time-skip

__

You and Tsukishima have been dating for a year now, and while the two of you are extremely open with each other, there are still things you try to keep to yourself, mostly for his benefit. This mostly pertains to your moods, when your anxiety gets the best of you, when you’re feeling insecure, or when you feel the creeping grasp of depression starting to take hold. You usually isolate yourself when these happen, canceling dates under the guise of being ‘sick’ and rescheduling when you ‘feel better’. Thankfully it happened sparsely enough that your excuses didn’t seem suspicious, or so you thought.

The two of you did not live together, you were waiting to save a bit more so you could get an apartment closer to your work places. He lived with Yamaguchi, and you lived with Yachi, all of you had gone to high school together, and funnily enough all four of you started dating around the same time. After you and Tsukishima got together, you helped Yachi confess to your freckled friend. Yachi was one of your closest friends, and she knew about your struggles and often helped you get through them. While your medications helped, you still had bad days, and this time, it was more of a bad week.

It was the third day, which in itself isn’t unusual, but by this time you were usually making improvements, but currently you were getting worse, dangerously close to spiraling, and it worried Yachi immensely. She was more often than not able to help you through them, wrapping up easy leftovers for you to eat when you shuffled out of your room at midnight, or helping you with laundry. But she was running out of ideas. It seemed no matter what she did, it either had no effect or made it worse. You almost never came out of your room, you had a bathroom attached, so the only other place in the apartment you went was the kitchen, but she hadn’t seen you in there, and the leftovers were untouched. She had left some crackers by your bedside, hoping you’d at least eat something but it had been days, and she needed backup.

She felt guilty, dialing his number, but she knew he was what you needed, someone more than a friend. She stepped out into the hallway when he answered, not wanting you to hear the conversation. She gave an idea of what was going on, that you were in a bad place right now, and while she could usually help you out of your slumps, she was worried you were only getting worse. He was just getting out of work for the day, and thankfully the museum was nearby your apartment. They decided Yachi would go stay with Yamaguchi, letting you and Tsukishima have the apartment to yourselves.

Tsukishima gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he thought back on the other times you’ve canceled at the same time Yachi had. He had always assumed it was just sickness spreading from you to your roommate, he never entertained the possibility you were lying. He knew you struggled with your mental health, but as far as he knew, your medications were keeping everything under control. He sighed, and slumped in his seat, knuckles relaxing as he turned into your complex. It’d be fine, you’d be fine.

You weren’t fine. When Tsukishima entered the apartment, Yachi went into specifics. Apparently at the start of this week you had a confrontation at work, and then got a failing grade on an important test in one of your classes, one that you needed to pass to graduate. Those paired with how birth control was affecting your body, everything quickly snowballed. You had barely left your room, you hadn’t at all today, and did once yesterday. You were crying most of the time, silent sobs racking your frame as you clutched a pillow to your chest, the only audible noise being the gasps of breath and the sniffles. You only slept when you were too exhausted from crying to stay awake. Yachi had managed to get you to shower and change at the start of everything, you were still in your pajamas from then, your hair having fallen out of the braids, now pulled back messily. It had seemed like you ran out of tears, you were staring at the wall silently when she last checked on you, shifting further into the bed instead of answering when she had called out your name softly, worry evident in her tone. Tsukishima could tell how bad it must be based on how worried Yachi seemed, rolling his eyes when she reminded him to be gentle. He waved her off, telling her he’d take care of you, and for her to enjoy her time with Yamaguchi. Both of you had the rest of the week off, originally planning on a trip out of town.

He heard the front door close softly as he entered your room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. You didn’t have any lights on, not even your LED’s or the little night light he had gotten you as a joke that you had used every night. He turned his phone flashlight on dimly to make sure he didn’t trip over anything as he made his way to the other side of the bed. He changed into some of the pajamas he had left before climbing into bed next to you. You startled slightly when you felt the bed shift, you had thought it was Yachi coming to do more laundry. You hesitantly turned to look, inhaling sharply when you saw who it was.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” You whispered, voice hoarse from crying for days straight. You watched with furrowed eyebrows as Tsukishima finished climbing into bed next to you, setting his glasses on the side table before pulling you into his arms. You stuttered, moving to pull away but he tightened his grip, keeping you flush against him, tucking your head under his chin, rubbing soothing circles into your back. He stayed silent, and you felt a new wave of tears form against your eyelids, gripping his shirt as you started to cry.

One hand came to run through your hair soothingly as you continued to sob into his chest, wetting a good chunk of the fabric with your tears. As your cries softened into hiccups and sniffles you clutched the fabric tighter, trying to bring yourself impossibly closer to him. He squeezed your hip, the hand that was in your hair coming to the side of your face, pulling you away enough for him to look at you. His thumb ran across your wobbling lip before wiping at a few stray tears, cupping your cheek to keep your gaze on him.

You stayed silently looking at each other for a moment before he craned his neck down, kissing you softly. It tasted salty from your tears, and Tsukishima tried to pour as much love into the kiss as he could. He pulled away slightly after a moment, close enough that your noses were almost touching, breath intermixing. You broke eye contact, looking off to the side as you mumbled an apology. Tsukishima’s nose scrunched slightly in distaste.

“What’re you apologizing for?” You shrugged lightly as he pulled away fully, hand still cupping your cheek. “I don’ know, canceling our trip? Yachi calling you down here? Being a huge mess?” He rolled his eyes, kissing your forehead lightly before rolling onto his back, situating you to lay your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart and feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. His voice rumbled in his chest slightly as he spoke. “Don’t apologize for things you can’t control. Yachi called me because she was worried about you, for good reason too. You can’t always be in control of your emotions, we can always reschedule a trip, it’s not important. What’s important is you and your health. Why didn’t you just tell me what was going on instead of Making up some story about the flu in July?”

You curled in slightly, your voice small as you spoke. “I didn’t want to bother you, you have more important things to do than deal with this, with me. I jus’- I didn’t want you to have to see me like this, I was hoping to have it under control before we got an apartment together, but obviously haven’t gotten that far yet. ‘m sorry I lied to you, I wasn’t – I didn’t mean to-,'' Before you could start crying again, he squeezed your hip and you closed your mouth, eyes burning.

“Don’t get all worked up, I’m not mad.” He sighed, staying silent for a beat before continuing, “ I’m sorry you felt like you would bother me with something like this. I love you (Y/N), all of you, which means I want to be here, I knew what I was getting into when we started dating, while I didn’t know it got this bad, I knew you struggled with it. I’m not expecting you to be okay all the time, it’s just not realistic. This is a part of who you are and I plan on being here for all of it, now and in however many years from now. I need to know how to take care of you, how to help you with this, and I can’t do that when I don’t even know it happens. You’re not alone with this, I’m here for you. I hope you’re listening because I’m not saying this again. You’re the most important thing right now, so don’t feel like you’re bothering me by asking for help, that's what relationships are, leaning on each other for support when we need it.” You nodded, clearing a sob from escaping your throat.

“Didn’ know you were such a softie Kei.” He pinched your rear in retaliation and you giggled before sighing, tangling your legs together and wrapping your arm around his waist. “Thank you, I’ll try to be more open about it. I’ll admit this is the worse it’s been in a long time. I think I just need you here right now. Maybe some ramen later, but you and a nap will work for now.” You shifted up slightly so you could kiss him before turning on your other side. He pulled your back into his chest, tangling your legs together again. His arm snaked around your waist before moving up, to trace your arm until he found you hand, entangling your fingers and kissing the crown of your head, sighing into your hair, “So needy,” he mumbled, though you knew his words held no ill meaning behind them. You smiled softly before being lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of his chest against your back. As long as you had each other, everything should be okay.

[rwby-necro-au-archive]

Ozpin Week

Day Six: Day Off/In Battle

@ozpinweek

Description: It’s no surprise that running a Necromancer academy can come with issues. Necromancy is outlawed in many parts of the world after all.

One such issue is the equally unsurprising amount of Pursuers that try to sneak into beacon. Good thing that beacon is made for this, by having what is essentially a maze surrounding it’s buildings. The pursuers most times end up getting lost due to this.

Perhaps it’s also good that a certain headmaster watches his academy and students like a hawk in case of such incidents.

“How upsetting, and on such a lovely day like today.” Ozpin sighed. It would seem that he had been swamped with sorrowful reports and countless uninteresting meetings all day. What he had truly wanted was to be outside or at least to be interacting with his students. But it would all have to wait until these reports and paperwork were finished.

Even though today had started off as it normally would, Him getting up, getting ready for the day, and then heading off to the academy, it still felt like it was particularly monotonous and dull. Nothing interesting had happened, hell even the students hadn’t done any of their usual antics today.

He shook his head, it’s not like any of them could anyways, they had term ending exams to study for. Although he couldn’t help but wish someone would’ve done something.

Knock Knock Knock

A gentle but firm knock was heard at the door. He could tell it was Glynda, it was the small, seemingly insignificant details that he focused on when it came to people. Even the way someone knocked on a door could tell you who they were.

“Come in, Glynda.” Ozpin called out cheerily.

The door opened, “I will never understand how it is that you know whose outside your door even before they walk in.” She quipped.

“I always did pay attention to detail did I not?”

“That is true. Anyways, you look like you’ve had the life sucked out of you. How much paperwork?”

Ozpin leaned back in his office chair “What on remnant makes you think that I know? Absolutely nothing interesting has happened today. Such a shame, it’s such a lovely day too, and here I am stuck doing paperwork.”

Glynda gave a sympathetic sigh, “You aren’t the only one. Despite that, that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Right, To the point. Is it something I should be concerned about?”

“Yes actually.”

His face became stern in response, “What is it?”

“A pursuer has decided to go looking for students to harass on premises.” She explained

“Why haven’t you or the other staff gone to handle the situation.”

She gave an eyebrow raise “Why?”

“My apologies but if they haven’t done anything yet then what would be the point in coming to me?”

“Fair. This one has been…..persistent. He refuses to “take the hint” and stay away from the school. He essentially mocks any staff that tries to get rid of him. Figured you’d be in more luck getting him to leave the students alone.”

Ozpin pinched the bridge of his nose. How annoying. Not just a pursuer but a pursuer with the gall to mock his staff and harass innocent students, his students. It’s no wonder she came to him with the issue, she’s most likely more frustrated than he is.

“Also, I figured since you’ve been stuck in here all day that it would be good to give you something interesting to do. Not to mention get some fresh air” Glynda smiled

He smiled back “I appreciate it. Now then, where is he right now?”

“Seemingly lost in the northern wing’s maze.” She said, she handed him a photo taken from security footage.

He thanked her before leaving his office. Sure, pursuers weren’t an uncommon problem at Beacon but that didn’t make their presence any less annoying.

What was more surprising was that none of them whom he himself had dealt with, have had the audacity to actually go to their boss to tell him about his so called “friend” being a necromancer. Although, what pursuer would ever want to admit to their boss that they ran away from a necromancer?

In fact they, to Ozpin’s amusement, started heavily embellishing their stories to the other pursuers about what he was like. Some tales painted him as a terrifying monster, some painted him as a roughed up intimidating man with unspeakable power, and some painted him as a different being entirely.

It had turned into a game for the headmaster, to see what stories the pursuer he was dealing with had heard. At least it made the job of getting rid of those pests more enjoyable.

Without fail though, every pursuer who had heard about him was surprised to see him in person. The man they had heard was a terrifying monster, a roughed up untouchable man, or a different being entirely, was in reality a dapper, polite, and well kept 6’8 man with a northern Atlesian accent and a love and protectiveness for children.

He quickly walked out the main buildings doors and searched around for the northern entrance into the maze. Once found, he set off towards it. As he walked through the crowd he was greeted by students, all of whom were most likely on their way out of the school, he gave a quick hello and wished them well on their way home.

“Of course a pursuer would choose a time like this. Easy targets.” He mentally noted.

Once he entered the maze, the rest was muscle memory. He knew every corner, every corridor, every alley, every brick, stone, and piece of concrete of beacon like the back of his hand. Knowing where everything was at Beacon was as easy as walking itself for the headmaster.

As he walked he also listened. Listening was important in a situation such as this one. Eventually, what he had been listening for was heard. A yell. He picked up his pace and followed what he presumed was a female students yell.

As he listened further, it wasn’t just the one student, it was a group of them, most likely friends, who this pursuer had decided to go after.

This pursuer seemed to be a real colorful one too, throwing slurs and disgusting innuendos at the girls. There were 3 things Ozpin specifically hated, Pursuers, Those who aim to hurt children, and Creeps. Unfortunately for this pursuer, he was checking all the boxes.

He reached a corner and peered behind it. There stood 5 female students, backed into a wall by this disgusting excuse for a man.

“I bet the guards will have some real fun with you bunch once you get to atlas.” The pursuer sneered.

Ozpin appeared out from behind the corner, standing behind and over the pursuer, “Well that’s not very nice, now is it?” He spoke cooly.

The pursuer jumped and turned around. Eyes widening in realization as he looked up at who was standing in front of him.

“Y-you’re the monster all of the pursuers were talkin’ about.”

“Why yes! That is me!” He said cheerily

“I-I ain’t scared of you! You aren’t anything like they make you out to be. You’re just some guy, I can take you!” The man yelled.

“Tch tch tch, none of you ever learn from one another, do you?”

“The fuck you talkin’ about?!”

Ozpin smiled and looked towards the students, “Now students, here are 2 lessons for you all. Looks can be quite deceiving, take this man here for example. He may look threatening, but in reality, he is weak. He is weak because he is letting his anger get the best of him, which is not a wise decision if you are going to engage in combat.

When you are angry during combat, you stop thinking about how to hit your enemy, and instead just think about hitting your enemy anywhere in general. This leaves you vulnerable.”

“Fuck you!”

“Oh dear, and it seems we have quite a vulgar man as well.”

“Why are you bein’ so polite? I thought you were supposed to scary.” The pursuer snickered

Ozpin laughed, a cold, merciless, and wheezy sound, no doubt from his smoking habit. “Well, my friend, What kind of an example would I be setting if I wasn’t polite? I’m the head councilman of a country, a headmaster, and a professor! It’s my job to make sure I’m setting a good example on how to deal with pests such as yourself.”

He looked over at the pursuer, “show time.” He thought. In a simple blink his eye colored changed from a warm, caring hazelnut brown to a cold and soul destroying green.

“Besides, I am a merciful man. I wouldn’t want to make more of a fool of you when you’ve already done most of the work yourself.”

The pursuer visibly froze, he mentally laughed “Everytime, without fail. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it.”

Ozpin turned back to the students and told them to go home. He had business with this pursuer that he needed to attend to. Who was backed against the wall and helpless now?

The pursuer continued to yell slurs and insults at the headmaster. Eventually, he took out a blade an managed to slice Ozpin across the cheek, causing the headmaster to stumbled back some.

Okay, maybe not helpless. But he surely was backed against a wall in a maze with him.

Once he regained his footing, Ozpin ungloved one of his hands as he gently touched two fingers to the wound, “Well, I’m impressed, consider yourself lucky. You’re the first pursuer to ever actually land a hit on me. Even if it was a cheap shot.”

The pursuer laughed victoriously, while distracted by his small victory, Ozpin grabbed long memory. Quickly shifting it into its shotgun form.

“Although,” He spoke.

He harshly shoved the pursuer against the brick wall, leaving the man slightly dazed and confused. Ozpin aimed long memory at the wall besides the pursuers head and stared down at the man.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to bring a knife to a gun fight?”

[taexual]

BTS Mafia AU / Their S/O tries to leave them

WARNING: strong language, angst, tough!bts they just want to be loved

JIN

You thought you knew Seokjin well enough to find a way to de-escalate the situation if he learned that you’d been thinking of leaving, but the fact that he had just caught you, suitcases in hands, in the middle of the night, complicated everything.

“Uh…” he started, hesitant. You’d never seen him struggle to understand something that was so obvious before.

“I thought you were asleep,” you spoke, hoping to alleviate his confusion but making it worse as you saw him wince.

You lowered your eyes immediately as if that was going to protect you from the hurt on his face.

“And that’s why you thought now was a good time to leave me?” he asked.

You could have said you weren’t leaving him but he could obviously see the bags in your hands – undoubtedly filled with everything that you owned – so you had to go for a different excuse.

“I don’t think there is a good time to… leave,” you said, stumbling a bit as you hoped you wouldn’t have to make this personal. You didn’t want to leave him. You wanted to leave this. This life that he’d shown you. This house, full of so many weapons that had killed so many people. “I didn’t want you to catch me like this.”

“Well, then you should have remembered the security alarm,” Seokjin almost scoffed as he took several steps closer to you. You didn’t know what to expect and you didn’t dare to look up at him. “I got a notification on my phone as soon as you unlocked the door.”

You hadn’t realized he was getting notified whenever people came in and out of the house but, admittedly, you probably should have guessed this.

“I’m—”

“Don’t bother,” he snapped, cutting you off. Then, before you could recover from the coldness of his voice, he grabbed the bags from your hands and walked back inside, crossing the hallway towards the staircase and not turning to glance at you as he said, “save your words until the morning. If you’re going to be leaving me, you’ll have to look me in the eyes as you do it.”

SUGA

Yoongi had been so busy with his work – constructing an operation that was meant to take down his long-time rival, who wasn’t much of a rival in the literal sense of the word, but Yoongi didn’t want to admit that he still held a grudge for when this guy attempted to shoot him seven years ago – that it took him three full days to realize that your shared bedroom had been untouched for quite a while now.

“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he addressed one of the maids, tidying up the eternally empty and yet always so dusty guest room across the hall, “but when was the last time you’d seen my fiancée?”

The maid blushed so furiously, she nearly turned into a whole different species. “I’m afraid I don’t remember, s-sir.”

“I see,” Yoongi clenched his jaw, never one to make a scene in front of the people who worked for him. “Carry on, please.”

But his polite façade evaporated as soon as he was left alone. He couldn’t understand it – he’d been texting you. Leaving you voice messages. How could he have gone so long without realizing that you weren’t just busy – you were ignoring him. You were deliberately distancing yourself away from him.

He found himself by the door of your parents’ house before he realized that he was on his way over. Calling you had been fruitless – your phone was off. Asking your friends was fruitless, too – he didn’t know any of them. And so he was here, knocking on the door of the house that he’d never been inside of before. That he’d never even seen before.

Hell, before the door opened and he saw you, looking so different – and so distraught – even though it couldn’t have been more than a week since he’d seen you last, Yoongi wasn’t sure if this was even the right house or if his intel had been wrong.

But you were here. And you wished he wasn’t.

“Yoongi,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Well. I wasn’t expecting you to leave me,” he countered dryly, “but I guess we both love surprising each other, hmm? Do you mind if I come in?”

“I don’t, but—”

“Good. We have some things we should discuss,” he said, walking past you into the house and turning around to face you without bothering to look at the decor.

He wasn’t trying to intimidate you with his piercing gaze – probably not – but you still felt the need to defend yourself.

“Very well,” you said, closing the door and crossing your arms over your chest. “Maybe we can start with you explaining how you found out where I was.”

“Or maybe,” Yoongi opposed, closing the distance between you by taking a calculated step closer, “we can start with you explaining why I had to look for you in the first place.”

“You didn’t.”

He scoffed. “I did. You don’t get to leave me without an explanation. Not with a month left to our wedding. Not ever. So, go on, then. Tell me the reason why you felt the need to run away. And pack your bags while you do it because I’m taking you home.”

J-HOPE

“Do you have plans for tomorrow night?” Hoseok asked. His shoulder was still pressing his phone to his ear, so, for the first few seconds, you didn’t realize he was talking to you.

“Oh. No,” you answered then. “Why?”

“Hold on,” he replied and then said into the phone, “you must have been wrong. I’ll call you later.”

You frowned and, prompted by the confusion on your features, Hoseok explained, sighing in relief, “I got a call that you’d purchased plane tickets for tomorrow. To Spain. Leaving at 7 PM.”

A hot wave washed over you as you felt your eyes automatically seek out the suitcase you’d hidden behind the clothes you’d decided to leave behind in your closet.

“That’s—”

Hoseok – who interrogated sneaky, lying sons of bitches for a living – could immediately tell that something was wrong. Not from the way your eyes left his as soon as he brought the plane tickets up, but from the way your expression was quick to turn into an unreadable wall. A wall that he’d seen before whenever you didn’t want to talk to him about something. A wall that he’d thought he’d burned down a long time ago.

“You did purchase those tickets,” he said, sounding more like he was making an observation rather than expressing his disappointment in your secrecy. “Why?”

“I just—I-I need a break,” you said, finding the words with surprising ease. You thought you’d never be able to articulate your need to get away.

“From me?” Hoseok asked, still using his official voice with you but looking a lot more surprised now.

“From everything,” you explained, not particularly smoothly, “I’m really tired of always being in the middle of—always waiting for you to come home and—just… I’m tired.”

He nodded – you thought you’d imagined it – and then, allowing the first hints of disappointment to creep in, he asked, “why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed. “Because I wasn’t sure when I was going to come back.”

“When,” he asked, “or if?”

You didn’t say anything – and that answered his question.

Nodding again before he left your room, Hoseok didn’t try to stop you. Not right now.

You needed a break. He understood and respected that. He wasn’t going to stand in the way of you spending some time away from all of this. Away from him.

But, clenching his fists as he walked down the stairs and into the garage, he was going to make sure you came back. He was going to make sure you wanted to come back.

RM

Namjoon had been watching you discreetly pack all of your belongings into a duffel bag for the past fifteen minutes. He wasn’t stupid, he didn’t need to enter your shared bedroom and ask you what you were doing. He knew exactly what.

You were leaving him.

So – when you exhaled slowly, double-checked if you’d packed your wallet and keys, and exited the bedroom, not turning the light in the hallway and therefore, getting startled when you heard him clear his throat – all that Namjoon did, was ask you, “why?”

“Namjoon. H-how long have you been standing there?” you countered, not really wanting to know but needing a second to recover from the fright. You weren’t aware that he’d come home; he’d told you he would be gone the whole weekend.

“Long enough,” he replied. He chose not to turn the light on, either, so you couldn’t see him and his voice wasn’t giving much away. Namjoon had always been good at hiding all emotions from his voice. “Were you going to call me? Or leave a note?”

“I was—” you started to say but, the truth was, you weren’t. You were just going to leave. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said. The shape of his silhouette indicated that he was leaning against the wall on the far end of the hall, his face turned away from you. “I just want to know why.”

“I-I want to spend some time away from—”

“No. Not why you’re leaving,” he interrupted, “I’m sure you have more than one reason to leave me. That’s fine. I don’t need to know that. What I need to know is why you’re leaving without telling me.”

“Because I don’t—I knew you’d try to stop me,” you said. “And I would let you. I always let you.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I make you do things you don’t want?”

You shook your head but he couldn’t see it because he was still not looking at you. He couldn’t see the tears in your eyes, either.

“No,” you said, your voice about as steady as your heartbeat. “You make me forget what I want.”

“I thought you wanted me.”

“I do. I do want you,” you said. He wondered who you were trying to convince – him or yourself? “But I… I don’t want all that comes with you. I don’t want this. Any of this.”

You were brutally honest – for the first time since he’d met you – and you didn’t even specify what this was but you didn’t need to. Namjoon understood. He nodded.

And then he waited.

“Y-you’re not going to convince me to stay?” you asked, frozen in the same spot because this was so unlike him, you suddenly weren’t sure if this was really the same Namjoon who’d grabbed your hand every time you tried to walk away from him before you finished an argument.

“No,” he replied, finally pushing himself off of the wall and starting to descend down the stairs. He didn’t turn to look at you because he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep on living if the last image of you in his mind was your distorted silhouette with a bag in your hands as you got ready to walk out of his life. “If you wanted to stay, you’d stay.”

JIMIN

Under normal circumstances, Jimin respected your privacy and chose to confront you if he was confused about something. But these circumstances were decidedly not normal – you were gone. All of your things were gone with you. Your phone was off. He hadn’t heard from you in three days.

And that was why he was now sitting on his bed – your bed – with his laptop on his knees as he tracked your credit card payments and made calls. He found your presumed location before he could feel guilty about doing this.

And he got into his car, drove out of the garage, nearly ran over his gardener, and reached the highway before he could reconsider. Before he could stop and think that maybe there was a reason why you disappeared without saying anything. Without giving him a sign. A warning.

These thoughts came later, about fifteen minutes into his journey towards the motel where you’d been staying, and, by the time he was outside of your door – after bribing the manager – these thoughts were already halfway done with suffocating him.

Jimin really needed you to tell him that you were just visiting someone – a sick relative who’d decided to spend his final days in a questionable roadside motel. He really needed you to tell him that you hadn’t run away. That you hadn’t left him.

But when he knocked on the door and you didn’t open – even though he saw you peek outside through the gap in the curtains – he knew that was just wishful thinking. You had run away. You had left him.

“Listen to me,” he spoke, leaning his palms on the door as he pushed against the sturdy frame, “I could find my way inside, you know I could. But I won’t because, clearly, you don’t want me to. I’m not going to leave you here alone, however. I’m going to stay right here.”

A very soft whisper reached him from inside of the room. If he hadn’t been standing so close to the door, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“Jimin, please…” you were saying. “Go home.”

“I won’t,” he replied firmly. “I’m not going to let you stay in a place like this all by yourself. I will stay here with you until you feel ready to look at me and tell me why you’re here. Why we’re both here.”

“Jimin—” you tried again but he wasn’t listening anymore as he lowered himself against the wall of the motel and sat down on the cement floor outside of your room.

“And then I will take you home,” he decided, “I will take you wherever you think your home is. Even if it’s not with me.”

V

Taehyung finished a job a few hours later than he’d planned and had, therefore, found it necessary to stop by the florist’s – who nearly had a stroke when he saw the handle of a revolver sticking out of Taehyung’s coat pocket – to pick up a bouquet for you. You two were supposed to have dinner tonight and he was, clearly, running late; flowers were his way of making up to you.

A pleasant smell of food reached him as soon as he walked through the door of your shared house. It would have surprised him – you’d planned to have dinner at seven and it was now nearing midnight; all smell of food was supposed to have dissipated by now – but he was too relieved that you’d waited for him to think about anything else.

The dinner table looked beautiful. You had really outdone yourself with all of this cooking and Taehyung stopped to take his coat off, before calling out cheerfully, “I’m home! If I had known you were preparing a feast like this, I swear I would have dropped everything and—”

Words got caught in his throat when he noticed a folded piece of paper on the chair where you usually sat. Frowning, he put the bouquet of flowers on the table before leaning down to pick up the note.

“What’s this?” he called out again even though his heart had already started to pound in his chest, realizing what was inside of the note before he’d even opened it.

“I’m sorry,” your clumsy handwriting said, “I love you but I can’t stand another night of listening to distant gunshots and hoping it isn’t you who just died. Please take care of yourself.”

“No,” Taehyung said, crumbling up the note and almost laughing to himself, “no. You hear me?!” he was yelling but the echo of his voice was the only thing that replied to him.

Cursing loudly when he tried calling you only to hear the robotic announcement about your phone being off, Taehyung climbed the stairs, three at a time, to check the bedroom even though he already knew he’d find it empty.

“Fuck!” he groaned, throwing the door shut so hard, it rattled painfully against the hinges.

Not pausing to clear his head or think of a plan of action, he ran back down the stairs and towards his car. It was a chilly autumn evening but he couldn’t feel the wind as he entered the vehicle, only one destination in his mind – you, wherever you were.

JUNGKOOK

You spent a yet another Saturday night in the bathroom of your house, tending to the wounds on Jungkook’s face that he refused to go to the hospital for. You had no medical education and yet he wasn’t bothered by the stinging pain you sometimes brought him when you accidentally brushed your fingertips right over his bruises – in fact, he didn’t even come to you to get you to fix his face. He just came.

“I missed you,” he would say as a way of explanation but the sight of his beaten up features would drown out his words.

“Again?” you would ask, nodding at the fresh cuts and bruises. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He’d never reply. He’d obediently follow you into your bathroom, allow you to sit him down on the closed lid of your toilet, and then he’d wait until you got the first-aid kit. He’d watch you clean his wounds in a way that you’d already memorized. He’d close his eyes at the feeling your soft touch as you carefully glued bandages on his face.

And he would say, “thank you,” before leaning in to kiss you. Before standing up to leave. Before coming back here again, next Saturday, bloody and in pain and missing you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you felt yourself say, your words breathy and uncertain.

You had just used the last adhesive in the kit to take care of the cuts on his face when you spoke up, and Jungkook thought you were referring to your medical supplies.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I can buy you—”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t—I-I can’t see you like this anymore. I can’t. I don’t want to. Please, just—please.”

“W-what are you asking me?”

“I’m asking you not to put yourself through this anymore,” you said, your hands wrapped around your sides as you spoke, “not to do the things that end up hurting you like this.”

Jungkook swallowed with difficulty before saying, “I… it’s what I do, though. It’s my job. You can’t ask me that.”

“Then I’m asking you to stop coming here,” you replied, looking down at the floortiles because it felt like you were saying goodbye and you lost your ability to think – to speak – every time you looked into his alarmed eyes. “I’m asking you to forget about me.”

Jungkook stood up – so quickly that he felt dizzy for a second – and reached for you but you pulled away. “Hey, where—”

“I’m asking you to leave,” you cut him off, pleading. “Or let me leave.”