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zafirosreverie · 3 years

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Must be the eyes (Teacher!Agatha x Fem!Student!Reader) part 5

(Part 1) (Part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

a/n: I’m sorry if this is a little rushed, i did what i could with my laptop freezing at all times.

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

You jumped when your phone beeped with a message. You quickly grabbed it from the bed, where you had carelessly thrown it. It was from Nick.

"Meet me in the lobby”

You frowned slightly. What could he want at this hour? Probably tease you a little more. You rolled your eyes fondly.

During the whole tour, he hadn’t been able to tease you as usual. From the moment the two of you caught up with the group, your teacher's hand was firmly positioned on your lower back and when you entered the library, she was never too far away, so any joke Nick might have made would have reached her ears. And during dinner, the teachers' table had been right behind yours, conveniently.

"I'll be there in 5" you answered quickly, before putting the phone in the pocket of your shorts and smoothing your shirt again. You tied your hair in a messy bun and grabbed your purse. You didn't want to pay attention to the way your pulse was racing, or the voice in your head telling you that you were going on a date.

Because no, you were definitely not going on a date!

"Oh, are you ready?" asked a voice from the bathroom door.

For a moment you had forgotten about the other person in the room (well, not about her, but that she was there at the time). You turned to see your teacher leaning against the doorframe, in dark pants and a three-quarter-sleeve blouse. She looked so casual, so relaxed. It was a beautiful sight.

"Umm y-yeah" you stuttered "I'll wait for you downstairs. I'm going to the lobby with Nick" you explained

"Jadu?" Agatha frowned, quickly feeling a twinge of jealousy "Mister Jadu should already be in his room" she said.

"W-well, I'm sure he'll be soon, he just wanted to tell me something. Could be important" you said nervously.

It was strange how the woman could change her attitude so quickly. A few seconds ago she had been so relaxed, as if the two of you had been living together for a long time (you blushed at the thought. You did not live together!) And now, she was the living image of a beast about to attack.

"Fine" she said after looking at you for a few more moments "I'll catch up to you there"

You nodded quickly and left the room in a hurry. As much as you wanted to, now you couldn't turn a blind eye, you knew Nick was right. Harkness was acting weird.

____________

Agatha sighed when the door closed behind you. She mentally cursed herself for scaring you like this. She shouldn't be jealous of you, she shouldn't want to control what's going on around you, and she shouldn't want to be by your side for as long as possible.

Shouldn’t. It was a word that she had been repeating many times in the last three days.

"Maybe, I shouldn't have done all of this" she murmured.

The original plan was simple: take you to Salem, see you happy, go back, keep seeing you from afar through the hallways of the school, the end. But you had managed to complicate everything from the moment you were late, making her panic.

Then you had fallen asleep on her, making her feel nervous, you had managed to be sacrificed as an offering for her, sharing a room and making her doubt her own self-control, then you had gotten into her dreams, making her do things that she really didn't want to think about right now (there was no time for another trip to the bathroom, thank you very much) and now you were simply torturing her, rubbing in her face everything you could do with that little friend of yours that you couldn't do with her, making her feel terribly jealous of something that didn't even belong to her.

And still, she couldn't help but want to be close to you. She wasn't blind, she knew exactly how you felt about her, and even though she was still struggling with morality and shit, she also wanted to see where all of this took you both.

"Well, nowhere if I don't hurry up" she murmured, taking her purse and leaving the room.

___________

"Sooooo" Nick smiled at you, making you roll your eyes for the fifth time in the last five minutes.

"It’s not a date" you said for the third time "She will only take me to the antique store because it isn’t on the itinerary"

"How strange" he said sarcastically "I don't remember hearing her invitation ... Oh wait! She didn't invite us! She will only take her favorite student, with whom she shares a room, and from whom she hasn’t taken her eyes off, to a night walk through the city, so that you can visit a store that you wanted so much to go to. Yes, totally not a date" he rolled his eyes

"Well, I can ask her to let you come with us if you want" you said, blushing

"No, no" he laughed "I'm not going to piss off the kraken"

"Nick"

"I'm serious. I mean, I don't get along with her as well as you do, princess, but I want to think that I'm not on her list of students to murder. And something tells me that being a third wheel in her, 'not a date', would make me top that list" he laughed "so no, thanks, but no thanks princess"

"You are exaggerating, you know?" you laughed

"Yes yes, you call it exaggeration, I call it knowing how to choose my battles. And believe me, we all know that making Harkness angry is a losing battle and a suicidal desire"

"You make her sound like a serial killer" you rolled your eyes

"You never know" he shrugged "talking about the queen of Rome, here she comes" he told you in a low voice, subtly pointing to someone behind you.

You turned to see the brunette walking towards you with a smile that seemed a bit forced. You couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips.

"Well, I better go" Nick whispered "don't forget to bring me something" he winked at you.

She saw him rush past the older woman, giving her a little goodnight, which she only answered with a slight nod of the head.

You saw your best friend disappear into the elevator, before paying attention to the woman in front of you.

"Everything alright?" she asked

"Y-yes Miss Harkness" you said

"So, was it important?" she pressed

"What?" you frowned confused

"The matter why you had to meet him here" she said she "didn't you say it might be important?"

You blinked a little at that. You hadn't thought that she really cared about what you said. It was a pleasant surprise, truth be told, it made you feel special and warmed your cheeks.

"Well he just wanted to make sure i bought him something" you lied.

The woman didn’t seem convinced, but she didn't say anything more on the subject. Smiling, she offered you her arm.

"Then we better go" she said she "we must find something for Mister Jadu, right?"

You giggled at that before nodding and, against your better judgment, you entwined your arm through hers.

Agatha smiled at this, unable to help but feel butterflies in her stomach, a quite refreshing and welcome feeling after the hot wave of jealousy that had washed over her when she stepped off the elevator and saw you so close to Nicholas.

______________

You tried to ignore the blush that was spreading across your face and neck when you walked into the store. You had thought that maybe you would take a taxi or something, but the brunette had told you that the store was not far away, so there was no point in taking a taxi when you were perfectly capable of walking there.

What she hadn't told you was that she wasn't going to let go of you. Sure, you linked your arm with hers, but you thought she would let you go when you got into a taxi. You didn't expect to find yourself walking to an antique store, arms intertwined with your crush, at night.

"How romantic" you thought sarcastically. Well, you could at least tell Nick that it was definitely not a date.

Your train of thought, however, stopped the moment you took a look at the shelves. There were old books, antique dolls, lamps, clocks, paintings, chairs, statues, among other things. You felt like a little girl in a toy store.

Agatha smiled at your look of astonishment. Your lips were slightly parted, you weren’t blinking and your eyes had a special shine that the brunette had never seen. Almost like a girl looking at the presents under the tree on Christmas day.

You looked so cute that she didn't care that you let go of her arm to get deeper and deeper into the place (although she immediately missed your warmth). She followed you carefully, not wanting to miss out on any of your reactions to the artifacts in front of you.

"I had one of those when I was little" you said suddenly, pointing to a beautiful porcelain doll.

Agatha looked at it for a moment. It had white skin, with black curlers tied in a half ponytail and a large purple bow. The dress, although worn and a bit dirty, still retained a bit of its purple color and the elegance of its original design.

But it was her face that had caught your attention the most. She had flushed cheeks, red lips (albeit a bit faded), and long eyelashes. And her eyes...her eyes were two big beautiful blue orbs.

"She looks like you" you said, smiling at the woman next to you

Agatha was a bit surprised and felt a rush of nerves when you stepped closer to her so she could see the doll better. It was true, it looked a bit like her.

"I guess so" she smiled at you

"I like her" you whispered.

The woman gasped silently, looking at you intently. You weren't looking at her, but at the doll in your hands, but something inside her, maybe a selfish part of her, told her that you were talking about her. And for the sake of her heart, she would hold on to that belief, regardless of your next words:

"T-the doll" you clarified quickly, cursing you for being so clumsy "I like the doll" you said, smiling nervously at her.

"Why?" she asked "Most people find them creepy”

“I don’t know” you shrugged “Must be the eyes” you smiled.

Agatha smiled back at you, but she didn't say anything. Suddenly feeling very exposed under her gaze, you set the doll back in place, before turning awkwardly to continue staring at the other shelves.

"Aren't you going to buy her?" the brunette asked, making you look at her again

"...no" you said "She’s beautiful, but too expensive for me. I prefer to save a little for other things that we can find in the following tours. It wouldn’t be smart of me to spend all my money on the third day, right?" you joked lightly.

Agatha however, noticed the look you gave the doll before turning around. You wanted it, of that she was sure.

______________

"My grandmother had one of those" you laughed

"Well, your grandmother had good taste then" replied the brunette, holding the locket in front of you.

"I suppose there is a certain beauty in it" you admitted, taking it carefully, smiling when the woman winked at you.

"Old is beautiful, Y/N" she said

"Much" you smiled and winked at her. You both knew that you weren't exactly talking about the necklace in your hands.

In the hour and a half that you had been there, something had changed between the two of you. It had started with something subtle, probably since the moment you said you liked the doll that reminded you of your teacher, but then it was an innocent comment about how beautiful a brooch looked in her, a hand on your back encouraging you to try on a necklace, a warm breath on your neck as she approached you from behind to see books over your shoulder. And without realizing it, you had been exchanging somewhat flirtatious comments with the older woman.

Nothing serious, you told yourself, but enough to feel like your relationship had changed. As if you had become closer.

"Well, I think I have everything" you said, separating a little from her

"Are you sure?" she told you "What about the gift for Mr. Jadu?"

"Here" you smiled, showing her the quartz necklace that you had chosen for your best friend.

"Excellent" she said to you "Why don't you pay and wait for me outside?

You shrugged and watched her get lost between the shelves. You paid for your things and left the store, shaking a little. It wasn't cold, but you needed a bubbly presence by your side.

__________

The next morning, there was no sign of the older woman. You frowned at that, but you guessed that she had simply gotten up before you, she was probably already in the dining room or waking up the rest of your classmates for breakfast.

You took a moment to remember the night before and how special it had made you feel. Too bad the spell had been broken as soon as you left the store.

You had asked her what was in the box she came out with, but she hadn't answered. In fact, she hadn't spoken to you the entire way back to the hotel. It was weird, but you hadn't minded because she had re-entwined her arm with yours anyway, so you were sure she wasn't upset with you.

______________

"So how was the no date?" Nick asked, immediately after sitting down across from you

"Great, they had very interesting things" you said

"Oh come on Y/N, give me the juicy details"

"There are no 'juicy details' Nick" you rolled your eyes "as you said yourself, it was not a date. We just went to an antique store and voila"

"Liar" he said "there had to be something! She took you by the hand? She pushed you against a shelf and kissed you?"

"Nick!" you hit him on the head

"Ouch" he said "Hey, don't be so aggressive"

"Don't be such an idiot" you said "Nothing happened. Period"

"Okay" he sighed in defeat "did you at least bring me something?"

"Yes, but I don't think you deserve it" you said

"Oh, come on!" he groaned "You don't give me juicy details and you’re also going to take my gift from me? Dark magic is corrupting you, Y/L/N"

You laughed at that, almost spitting out the juice you were drinking.

"You are an idiot" you said

"But?" he smiled at you and raised an eyebrow

You rolled your eyes "But, you are MY idiot" you said. You took the quartz necklace out of your pocket and threw it at him "Here, cry baby"

"Woah" he said, catching it in midair "Awesome, a rose quartz! Thank you princess"

"Yes, yes, you're welcome" you said "now, be a good slave and bring me more fruit, will you?"

"Right away, my lady" he winked at you and stood up.

You were so busy laughing at him, you didn't notice the brunette behind you getting up and leaving the dining room quickly.

______________

Agatha felt her hands shaking as she placed the package on your bed. She wasn't sure if she should, maybe she was crossing a line, maybe she had misinterpreted the signals. But last night she had seen a side of you that she didn’t know.

In that store, you had stopped being the tender and shy student who was always nervous for the presence of her teacher, and you were transformed into a playful and flirtatious creature that had made her legs tremble.

She hadn't expected you to flirt back, but she loved it and now she wanted more.

"But this" she whispered, looking at the gift on your bed "Will it be too much?"

She was breaking the agreement that she had made with herself. It was not night, and only the nights belonged to her. Leaving you a gift in broad daylight was against the rules.

Fortunately, Agatha Harkness was a woman who made her own rules.

_________________

You opened the door to your room quickly, counting in your mind the seconds it took. You were only back for a pair of sunglasses and your wallet. You were about to leave again when you noticed the box on your bed.

"What is this?" you murmured, moving closer to it.

How did you not notice a box in the middle of your bed as soon as you entered? You didn’t know.

You took the card that was on top of the box, blushing immediately when you recognized the fine handwriting.

"You keep surprising me with your ability to love broken creatures, Miss Y/L/N, but I suppose you're right. It must be the eyes -A.H."

You opened the box and couldn't help but smile as a familiar warmth ran through you and butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

A pair of glass blue eyes stared at you as you hugged the doll and you wished you could hug the woman who looked like her too.

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Tags: @midnight-lestrange @everythingmarvelsherlockspn @amethyst-bitch @juliejules-089 @powerfulmagicalgirl @novohyde @annie-mit-ie @shinkomiii @agentbrownierso @swanqueensupercorp @usernames-are-difficult @philippaharkness @rainbow-hedgehog @parkerprolly @amelia02 @misarwen25 @booklovinbi @bloodyfool @marvelseverything @superpearlnerd @rooskaya-yelena @danvers97 @notsosecretlyalesbian @thoroughly--confused @tomy5girls

#x reader #reader insert #imagine #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x y/n #agatha harkness x you #agnes imagine #agnes x reader #must be the eyes #some tags aren't working #I'm sorry

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siempre-bucky · 3 years

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Dance Partner

Dad! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky hates the parties Zemo and Sharon throw him into. He just couldn't wait to get back home to his favorite dance partner.

WC: 1k

A/N: I'm a sucker for Dad!Bucky.

Would it be cliché to say that Bucky Barnes hated parties? Even if it was agreed upon that it was, Bucky hated parties. Now he was standing in the middle of one "Enjoy the party," Sharon said dismissively. All the super-soldier could do was roll his eyes behind her back. The lights were too bright and too boldly colored, the music hurt his old ears and the women trying to grind on him didn't tickle his fancy either.

Bucky stood stoically against the wall, his steel-blue eyes squinting from the lights. He was lasered in focused on the dealers and buyers surrounding the paintings. "Someone's not having fun," Sam cooed mockingly through the earpiece.

"I'm working," Bucky huffed in response. His gloved hands balled into fists as he heard Zemo and Sam chuckle. God, he was ready to rip the damn thing out and go home. He missed home.

While on his watch a lengthy woman with shiny olive skin approaches him, her martini sloshing back and forth "You want to dance, Sweetheart?" she asks seductively, her accent heavy.

"I don't dance," he responds loudly, wanting to make his statement clear over the dance music. The woman purses her lips and snakes her arm up his chest and around his neck only to lean in dangerously close. The smell of alcohol on her breath made him shudder. She didn't seem to take the hint.

"Are you sure, Baby? I'm a great partner... I could show you a thing or two," her eyes motioned down to her breasts. Buck kept a stone-cold face, his eyes looking past her. He brings his hand up and moves her away easily like a feather.

"No thanks, I already have a dance partner," he tells her lowly before walking off, disappearing into the crowd.

The pounding headache he formed at Sharon's party followed him all the way home to Brooklyn. At least he was standing at the front door to his apartment, knowing there wouldn't be a surprise guest with a gun on the other side. The white door is thrown open with his wife looking at him with wide eyes before pulling him into a tight embrace.

The brunette man wraps his arms around her waist with his fingers digging into the fabric of her sweater. He felt like he was home, a warm calm feeling washes over. There was no other place he would rather be. He walks them inside the apartment, his foot kicking the front door closed "I missed you, Doll," he whispers, his lips pressed against the crown of her head.

"I missed you so much," she responds on the verge of tears, taking herself out of the warm welcome hug. Her inviting face started to change, her beautiful smile faded, her eyebrows narrowed. Her balled fist comes up to punch him roughly on his flesh bicep. Bucky yelps and grabs his arm, looking at his wife in shock.

"Was that for the Zemo thing?" he questions, straining from the sting of her punch.

"No," she answers sternly, "That was for missing Sarah's ballet recital!"

"I didn't know it would take that long I'm so sorry. We're close Y/N, really close," he sighs and loops his fingers into her jeans belt loops. "I thought of her every second." As he pulls her in her face starts to soften.

Y/N looks up and smiles in reassurance "You're lucky Tony and Steve got it on video for you," she chuckles.

"I'll thank them tomorrow, I'm going to check on our ballerina." he kisses his wife on the cheek and makes his way out of the living room and down the hall. Sarah's door standing out from the rest with her colorful drawings taped all over the plain white door.

Bucky stood in the doorway for a moment just watching his daughter with pride. Her matching brown hair pulled up into a sleek bun, she wore the same light pink bodysuit and matching skirt as when he left her. Soft music came from the music box Natasha got her for her birthday. Matching the pace of the figurine she twirled with her hands over her head.

Her eyes that matched her mother's met her dad's and her little face lit up like the sun. "Daddy!" she yells with excitement, running at full speed and Bucky was there to pick her up and hold her close. "You missed my recital yesterday," she scolds him. Like mother like daughter.

"I know but I promise I will never ever, ever do that again," he tells her, kissing her cheek. "I will be front row every time."

"Did you save the world yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it. Everything will be ok." Sarah smiles and presses her cheek to his, not wanting to let him go. But Bucky does set her on the ground and kneels in front of her.

"Promise you won't miss the father-daughter dance?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest, her lips forming a small pout. Bucky puts his arms on her small shoulders and gasps, shaking her gently.

"I swear that I will be here for the dance! I can't let down my favorite dance partner."

"Can we practice Daddy! Oh can we?" She exclaims dramatically, hopping up and down hoping to earn a yes! Bucky laughs and stands up, holding his hands out for her to take. Sarah holds on tightly and places her feet on top of his. "Ready?"

Sarah nods and grins "Ready!" Bucky takes a step forward, slowly starting to spin her around the room. Her excited giggles as they 'danced' made his heart soar. "Faster Daddy!" she cries, throwing her head back to look up at him.

Bucky starts to turn faster, her little feet struggling to stay on the slick material of his shoes. As he goes to twirl faster, he scoops his little girl up and hugs her tightly. She laughs and puts her head in the crook of his neck.

"I'm glad you're home," she whispers.

"Me too, Baby, me too."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #sebastian stan x reader #tfatws #tfatws fanfiction

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rkived · 4 years

Text

year 22 (m) — jjk

‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘

Pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x f!reader

Genre/Tags: angst!!!, drama, a lil fluff, f2l, e2l-ish, pining, slow burn, smut

Rating: M +18

WC: 11.5k

Warnings: time jumps, underage drinking, jk being a douchebag for most of the fic, reader can’t catch a mf break, mention of character death ((no major one tho)). smut in the form of oral (f. receiving), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex ((wrap it b4 u tap it y’all)), my being called pretty kink making a brief appearance soz

A/N: i listened to cardigan for the first time n had it on replay the whole time i wrote this so ig u should do it too ! this is my first time posting smut on here but who would i be if i didn’t throw in some good angst ? also tysm to @periminkle for being my unofficial beta reader n checking it up for me, she knows i’m constantly looking for her validation n i def wouldn’t post this if she didn’t love it ilu vira thx for being the best ever mwah !!!

You’re five, cowering behind his mother’s legs, sniffing as tears stream down your face. In front of you both stands Jungkook, there’s remorse written all over his face as his mother stares him down with hands on her hips and a look that just screams that this is only the beginning of his punishment.

‘’Apologize to Y/N right now Jungkook, or I’ll have your father have a word with you,’’ she threatens with a stern tone, making her son quickly shake his head no. ‘‘You need to learn how to share your toys.’’

You peek behind her lanky leg and find the slightly older kid looking at you with narrowed eyes, ‘‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’’ He apologizes with a bow, but he’s obviously displeased with the whole ordeal.

His mother sighs and Jungkook pouts at the look on her face. She urges you to come out from your not-so-secret hiding spot and to go back to playing with him, even though you seriously doubt that will do any good to what just happened.

Jungkook’s bedroom door is kept open as he sits back down on his city patterned carpet, you twiddle with your thumbs and stare at the Spiderman poster on his wall. There’s an awkward silence between you two until you feel a toy bump your crisscrossed legs.

It’s the shiny red car he had refused to lend you before, provoking an argument between you two which eventually made you run out of his room in tears as you ratted him out to his mom.

‘‘Wooow,’’ you whisper in awe, taking the car in your hands with so much care, treating it like it’s one of your newest dolls.

Jungkook huffs, crossing his arms as he looks at you with distaste and he’s forced to settle with other boring toys as you giggle to yourself, making the car follow the carpet’s tracks. He learns then to never trust his mother again. If she ever says she’ll bring a new friend for him to play with again, he’ll refuse wholeheartedly.

He doesn’t like sharing his toys, and it’ll probably take him a long time to learn how to.

You’re nine as you hand Jungkook one of the multiple Valentine’s Day cards you carefully crafted the night before with your mother, adding all kinds of pretty stickers and shiny glitter to make each one of them unique. His is different from the rest, though.

You added hearts to the dots in the I’s, there’s a hint of your favorite body splash enveloping the pink construction paper and it fills Jungkook’s nostrils with so much force that he feels he could gag at the smell.

‘‘What do you think?’’ You ask the fourth-grader with a big smile on your face, cheeks tinted with a light shade of red as you see him reading the little message you wrote inside the card.

Jungkook lets out a mocking chuckle, ‘‘Are you serious? You like me?’’ He asks you, but it doesn’t look like he’s looking for answers. Your smile slowly fades away, looking at him with glossy eyes, ‘‘I don’t like you, you’re just a dumb little girl.’’

His card was the one you had invested the most time in and yet it only took him a second to crumple it with his hand, and another five for him to toss it into the trash can near you before he goes back to his group of friends in the school’s playground.

You learn how to hold your tears in then, thinking it’s a great accomplishment and that maybe now he’ll stop calling you a crybaby.

His friends receive him with high-fives and he smiles with gratefulness because they just saw how much of a badass he can be. Once recess is over and everyone’s going back to their classrooms, Jungkook nears the garbage bin where he had thrown the Valentine's card in, but finds it’s now dirty with yogurt someone tossed inside.

He grimaces at the sight and sighs, there’s no way he can save it now.

You’re twelve and you’re the only girl in the treehouse who hasn’t gone through puberty yet. It wasn’t something that bothered you until just recently, when it became pretty evident why none of the boys would even give you a onceover compared to the other girls.

“I don’t know if I want to play,” you mumble after Kim Jihyo suggests playing spin the bottle. You’re the only one who opposes the idea, though you could count Jungkook in given as he just sat there without saying a word.

Park Yerim rolls her eyes, “You’re so boring, Y/N!” The comment makes the rest giggle as you pout at being the designated party pooper.

It’s all fun and games of truth and dares to whoever the bottle lands on and you’ve been lucky enough to avoid the tip of the plastic Coca-Cola bottle to point at you, until it lands on Jungkook who has done a few funny dares so far.

“Alright, Jungkook, let’s make things even more fun!” Jihyo announces since she’s been the one who has assigned most of the embarrassing challenges and questions, “I dare you to kiss one of the girls here for ten seconds.”

The dare makes the boys cheer with excitement and the girls gasp with anticipation, hoping one of them is the lucky chosen one. Your lips part slightly as you stare at him sitting across from you, he’s clearly not comfortable with the dare, but knowing him, he won’t express his current discomfort.

His eyes land on you as you stare back at him with concern, hoping that he’ll speak up to avoid himself the embarrassment. Has he even kissed someone before? If this is his first kiss, you’ll witness it alongside everyone else and you can only imagine how terrifying that must be. Even though Jungkook’s always been a brave kid, you can always tell when he feels under pressure.

“Uhm, I’ll uh—“ Jungkook keeps staring at you and you feel your heart start to beat like you just ran the usual ten laps around the gym in P.E class. Are you about to have your first kiss? With him?

You nod your head absentmindedly, a sign to let him know it’s okay for him to pick you from all the other developed girls who probably have more experience kissing than you do, but it’s okay because you’ve always been a quick learner.

“Yeji,” Jungkook says after what feels like forever, though it’s only been a mere few seconds, “I’ll kiss Yeji.” He adds, removing his eyes from yours and settling them on the girl with the high ponytail and pink colored nails.

You bite your bottom lip hard, breaking the dry skin as you feel yourself taste blood. It doesn’t matter because no one’s paying attention to you and instead they’re focused on Jungkook’s neverending kiss with Yeji.

When you get home that night, you look at yourself in the mirror and frown at your lack of everything. Is this the reason as to why he hadn’t picked you?

You’re fourteen and Kim Taehyung just sent you a message through MSN in which he confesses to have feelings for you. Your eyes widen, rereading the message several times, rubbing at your eyes just to make sure you’re seeing things correctly.

You run off across the street to Jungkook’s house, ringing the doorbell quickly for someone to open up. You’re greeted by him looking at you with an annoyed expression, he had to pause his GTA game to come and open the door.

“What do you want?” Jungkook asks harshly, crossing his arms as he stares into somewhere that’s not your face. He’s anxiously waiting for you to spit out whatever it is you’re there to say.

You calm yourself down by breathing in deep and out, blowing the air right at him, “Does Taehyung like me?” You ask him, making Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise and his brows to raise.

His reaction tells you that you might’ve just discovered a secret you weren’t supposed to and it only makes your heart beat even faster because if it’s true, then this is a pleasant surprise. Kim Taehyung is one of the hottest boys in the tenth grade and he happens to be one of Jungkook’s closest friends. You think he must know something since you see them hanging out at lunch.

“Uh—I don’t know, Y/N.” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck, finally looking at you and he feels a gut wrenching punch in his stomach at the sight. “Taehyung isn’t a really good guy, you shouldn’t—“

“What are you saying?” You interrupt him with a question, confused as to why Jungkook was painting a negative picture of his friend. “He was really sweet with what he said, he thinks my eyes are pretty when they sparkle — I didn’t even know they did that!”

Jungkook grimaces and sighs, there’s really not much he can do here. You’ve always been so stubborn, so relentless. No matter how many times life tries to tell you something’s not meant for you, you challenge each and every one of it’s obstacles until you take what’s yours.

“Okay, then what are you gonna do? Date him? You haven’t even had your first kiss yet.” Jungkook reminds you with a mocking tone and you furrow your brows together because, how does he know that?

You stammer, “I-I have! I had it at camp last summer, actually!” That’s a lie, but he wasn’t there so he can’t prove the veracity of your statement. “And what do you care? So what if I want to date him?” You add with anger, not understanding why couldn’t he just support you in search of true love.

The thought of dating Kim Taehyung had never crossed your mind, thinking he was way too out of your league for him to ever notice you. But that confession sitting in your MSN chat now served as a nice feeling of knowing you aren’t as invisible as you think you are.

Jungkook scoffs, “Taehyung would never date you, okay? He’s older than you, he’s cool, he goes to parties and has kissed almost every girl in his grade, do you think he’d really like someone as boring as you?” He doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but you’re just so difficult and impossible to get through.

Jungkook’s used to the trembling bottom lip and the teary eyes that you give him everytime he says something that definitely strikes a nerve within you, but he’s always impressed on how you always refrain from crying in front of him. Last time you did that you were both kids and he probably took the last lollipop from your batch of collected halloween candy.

“Screw you, Jungkook,” you say through gritted teeth, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead already.

He looks at you quickly stomp your way back to your house, only heading back inside once you slam your front door shut. Jungkook enters his room to find two new messages in his MSN.

$$ kIm tAaEhyYyuNG $$: it worked!

$$ kIm tAeEhyYyunGG $$: she fell for it xDxD where did u even come up with the sparkly eyes thing?? that’s gold bro rofl

Jungkook sighs, ignoring the messages and shutting his computer down.

You’re sixteen and you’ve been invited to your first party. Granted, it was Jungkook’s, but he knew that if he didn’t ask you to come you’d probably tell on him with his mom. No matter what age he was, he’d always fear his mother’s scolding.

“Drink this!” Park Jimin says with his beautiful smile and you’re starting to realize why they gave him that very same superlative on the school’s yearbook. You take the red solo cup without any second thought, placing the rim straight to your lips and choke once you feel the liquid burn your throat.

“Ugh—What’s this?” You ask, cleaning the droplets of liquid around the corners of your mouth.

He chuckles, “Fruit punch!” The liquid is indeed red like the familiar drink you’re used to, but there’s definitely something else mixed inside. “Oh, and vodka,” he adds with wiggly eyebrows as he shows off the small flask he was hiding in his sweatshirt’s front pocket.

You gasp and hand him the cup back, “No, I don’t drink alcohol, sorry.” Jimin rolls his eyes and it reminds you of the many times you’ve received this same reaction from your classmates before. Always a party pooper. He’s about to take the plastic red cup from you until you quickly drink the spiked punch in one go.

The boy howls in excitement, “Woo, go Y/N! Another one coming right up.”

Jungkook knows he should be making sure everything’s alright downstairs. If his mother notices there’s at least one misplaced object, she’ll know right away something went down in her house while her husband and her were away for the weekend on an emergency trip to their hometown. Leaving him unsupervised only because they both believed their son was old enough to tend for himself.

But Jung Eunha had dragged him into his room with the excuse of wanting to see what it looked like, but the mini tour had turned into them kissing on his bed and Jungkook is thankful he changed his Spiderman sheets in exchange for some boring plain grey ones. Eunha smells like fresh mint and Jungkook is way into his head to focus on properly kissing her.

It’s not until his bedroom door is abruptly open, slamming against the wall that Jungkook literally jumps to his feet, making Eunha gasp as they both look at the person who has interrupted their awkward makeout session.

“Guk-ah, what are you doin’?” You curiously wonder, a hiccup following right after which makes you giggle. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with quickness as he notices you look different from the last time he saw you twenty minutes ago when you were talking to Jimin. “Guk-ah, were you—you kissin’ Eunha?” You ask once more after not receiving an answer to your previous question.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks in concern, coming closer to analyze your weird state. You stretch your arm out to avoid him from nearing you, making him falter in his place as he studies your expression.

You hum, “Guk-ah, you busy. Sorry,” you apologize in a shy tone, ready to head back down and have more of that fruity alcohol punch you now found tasty, but you stumble and only avoid yourself from falling by holding onto Jungkook's door frame, he’s already reaching out by then.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N? Get out!” Eunha complains with irritation, getting up from the bed and ready to kick you out of his room, but his free arm stops her from getting near you. “Whu—?”

“Eunha, go back down. I’ll deal with her myself.” Jungkook says as calmly as he can, thinking three’s a crowd and dealing with you wasn’t an easy thing in of itself. She’s about to argue, but he interrupts her again, “Go down, now.”

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder against yours harshly once she steps out of his room, “Whatever, that kiss was shitty anyway.”

He pretends he didn’t hear that and takes you in his arms instead, dragging you to lay on his bed as you cuddle into his favorite pillow and hug it close to your body. How much did you drink? Why did you even do it in the first place? Jungkook knows you’ve never tried alcohol before, which means he’ll be in big trouble if you show up back to your house like this.

When you open your eyes hours later, your head hurts and it feels lightweight when you move it side to side. The room you’re in is familiar, that spiderman poster is still hung on the wall, but there are no more toys laying around the floor; they’ve probably been stored somewhere in his garage or sent off to a donation center under his mother’s demand.

The pillow that you’re hugging smells just like him and any other day you’d hold on to it tighter and inhale his scent like your life depended on it, but you abruptly sit on the bed as you’re reminded of how you got here. The action is not appreciated by your dizzy head, but you look around the room to notice how dark it is and there’s no more music playing downstairs.

You quickly jump to the ground, only to hear a “Fuck, ouch!” from below, stepping on Jungkook’s leg unintentionally. It makes you gasp, looking down to notice the older friend laying on the cold floor, having gotten rid of that childhood carpet of his. His head’s laying on a makeshift pillow made out of a towel and he’s trying hard not to shiver.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!” You quickly apologize, stepping away from his figure as he soothes the shin of his leg you stepped on. “Jungkook, what happened?”

He sighs, “Someone decided to drink like five cups of spiked punch knowing damn well it was their first time drinking alcohol, stepped into my room like a crazy person, and then crashed on my bed like they—What’s with the face?”

“Bathroom.”

Jungkook grimaces while he holds your hair back, you’re throwing away all the liquid you had taken with a few additional snacks you had munched on earlier, “Are you done?” He asks in a tired mumble and you shake your head no.

He feels guilty that you’re in this position. He didn’t even want to kiss Eunha, but she was one of the most popular girls in his grade and he knew that if he turned her down she would most likely put a bad word in with the rest of the girls and the guys would make fun of him for being such a wuss.

That would’ve been better, because after laying you down on his bed he had to go down and tell everyone that the party was over, putting an excuse that the neighbors had warned him and threatened to call the cops. They all cleared pretty quickly, but he knew he was going to be the butt of the jokes come Monday. He even had to call your parents to let them know you had gone home to a friend’s house for a sleepover, which he knew wasn’t totally believable, but it had somehow gotten them convinced that their daughter was alright because they trusted Jungkook to never hurt you ever.

Once you feel like you’ve puked your stomach out, Jungkook hands you a pill accompanied with a glass of water and hands you clothes of his that might be more comfortable to sleep in.

“Good night, Jungkook,” you whisper once you’re laying back on his bed, still hugging the pillow he preferred to sleep with. He makes a sacrifice to make it up to you.

His back is going to hurt by the time the sun comes out in a few hours, but it’s okay if it means you’ll sleep comfortably after the events of tonight. “Good night, Y/N.”

He’s unable to sleep, but finds entertainment in your hanging hand beside his bed. The skin on your palm looks soft and there’s this strange urge inside of him that makes him want to grab your hand in his, but he refrains.

To calm the current chaos in his head, Jungkook finds peace in the light snores coming from his bed.

You’re just about to turn eighteen and your date to the prom is Jeong Jaehyun, who had only asked you out a day before the event because the girl he had initially wanted to take had been asked and he didn’t have a plan B.

Jaehyun is okay, at least he managed to get you a corsage that matched the color of your dress. He even smiles in the pictures your parents take of you both as you awkwardly try to look comfortable with his arms around you even though by then you had only exchanged a few sentences.

The prom’s theme is Summer Nights and you think it’s fitting considering this is the very last event before the graduation ceremony, meaning that you’d most likely never see most of these people ever again. You had purposely applied to a college that was outside of your hometown for that same reason. You’re ready to live the life you’ve always wanted to live, without anyone judging or knowing you.

Your date spends most of the night talking with his group of friends as you’re left alone on your table, looking at your well manicured nails. You knew you weren’t going to get the same prom experience the high school kids on T.V enjoyed, but you at least hoped it would’ve been a little more fun than this.

A tap on your shoulder makes you turn around to see Jungkook trying to loosen the tight tie around his neck. He looks incredibly handsome and you suppose his mother helped him pick the suit out, Jungkook rarely ever wore fitted clothing, so this is one of those once in a lifetime moments..

“Hey you,” you say and he gives you half a smile, wondering why you’re sitting by yourself at an empty table when everyone else was either mingling or dancing. “Where’s your date?” You ask with curiosity, you’re surprised that Jinsoul isn’t trailing alongside him given how she had behaved for the past week ever since he asked her to come with him.

“Retouching her face or something,” he answers casually, “what are you doing sitting here? Where’s Jaehyun?” Jungkook asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “Don’t know, probably talking with the guys of the basketball team. He’s been gone for a while.” Not like you care, anyway. If your conversation with him inside his car on the way to the venue had been any indication of what it would’ve been like for the rest of the night, you’re glad he's not here trying to make any more small talk with you.

Jungkook huffs, thinking he’ll kick his ass if he sees him. He had asked him to invite you so you wouldn’t come alone, and yet here you are, sitting all by yourself while the douchebag’s making a social life somewhere in the crowd. He calms down once he notices how unbothered you are by it, though. You’re a big girl now, you’ve been through too much to be affected by something as simple as this.

“Is there something you wan—“

“Dance!” You interrupt with excitement and Jungkook chuckles.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted something to drink, but—alright, let’s dance.” Jungkook can’t dance for shit, but you took lessons when you were younger and he can still remember how you’d always show him the routines you learned in class. He’d always boo you, but in reality you were pretty good. He wonders why you stopped, he doesn’t recall you ever telling him.

It’s just his luck that once you both step into the dancefloor, the hired DJ stops the up-tempo song playing before and switches to a much slower romantic one, “Alright everyone, I want all the couples on the dancefloor for this one.”

You step away from him with nervousness, it’s couples only after all. But Jungkook holds onto your lower back firmly, pulling you closer into his space. Your eyebrows raise as your lips part, “Uh, s-should we, uh—?”

“It’s just a song, Y/N. You wanted to dance, then we’ll dance.” He tells you with such confidence it makes you feel like this is totally normal and something all friends do. All the known High School couples are dancing together, heads tenderly placed over chests and chins resting lovingly above them. You wait for Jungkook to take the lead because you have no clue of what you should be doing, you might’ve taken dance lessons years ago but you’ve never slowed danced in your life.

Jungkook places his hand on your hip, the touch makes goosebumps crawl in your arms. He pretends he doesn’t notice it as he takes your right hand in his. You stare at the way he delicately holds it like it’s his mother’s fine china. “Place your other hand on my shoulder,” he instructs and you do as asked, your palm coming to rest on the strong muscle.

He’s only slowed danced once before at a family member’s wedding where his mother taught him how to, with her as the teacher. Back then he thought it was incredibly ridiculous, but now he’s sort of glad that happened because he’s the teacher now and you’re now looking at him with your big eyes as you sway alongside him.

You clear your throat, “This isn’t that hard.” Jungkook nods as he stares down at you, noticing how uneasy you are given that you’re looking at everything and not entirely immersed in the moment.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says out of nowhere, making you look at him like a deer stuck in headlights, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had never called you that before.

An awkward laugh escapes your lips, looking away from his intense gaze as you try not to take his words too literally, “Ha ha, that was a good one.” To you there’s no other explanation than this being one of his mean pranks on you.

But Jungkook doesn’t falter both his words and gaze, “I’m not laughing.” There’s seriousness in his voice and you have to look back at him again just to make sure he really isn’t, “You look beautiful, just take the compliment.” You nod and there’s silence between you two after that. You’re digesting the romantic lyrics that the singer is talking about and hope that the song ends soon, because you’ve never been this close to him and it’s starting to feel too crowded.

You clear your throat, “So…”

“So…,” he repeats.

“What are you doing for summer?” You ask him in an attempt to break the tension and wanting to take advantage of the little intimate moment since Jungkook rarely ever lets you pry into his private life.

“I think I’ll train before heading off,” he answers. It was more than obvious he was going to earn that sports scholarship he had been aiming for, he was one of the best athletes on the school; though you considered him to be the number one between them all. “I’m kinda scared, not gonna lie.”

You look at him with surprise, tilting your head to the side, “You’re scared?” You ask in disbelief because as long as you’ve known him, he’s never been scared of anything. This is the same kid who instilled your fear of monsters in a closet after watching Monster’s Inc. together, also the same kid who helped you get over it after he realized you had actually taken it seriously.

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, I’m just scared about starting over.” It’s interesting how his biggest fear is the one you’re looking forward to the most, but you suppose it’s fitting for someone who has never had to worry about what people think of him. In this town, Jungkook has swam freely without any concerns. Out there, he’s just another fish in the big and scary ocean. “Aren’t you?” He questions, hoping that you’re able to relate to what he’s feeling.

“Honestly, I—“

You’re interrupted by Jaehyun clearing his voice in front of you two, making you both turn your heads towards his direction. You quickly separate from Jungkook and he feels his body lose the warmness you were providing.

“If you wanted to dance, you could’ve just asked. I’m your date after all.” He says smugly and you chuckle awkwardly, nodding because he’s right.

Jungkook wants to punch his stupid face, how dare he interrupt you both when he had been ignoring you the whole night? Why does he suddenly want to dance with you when he’s probably still upset at him for asking Jinsoul to the prom before he could?

“Your date’s looking for you, buddy. She doesn’t look too happy.” Jaehyun adds with a smirk as he takes your hand in his and drags you away from Jungkook towards another place on the dancefloor.

He’s left to stare at the way he holds your hand, and he only hopes he’s doing it ever so carefully.

You’re twenty when Jungkook sees you for the first time since you both left for college two and half a years ago. He’s rendered speechless when he spots you in the crowd, there’s a manly hand around your waist as you giggle into the stranger’s mouth before placing a kiss to his lips.

There’s only so much social media can provide him, pictures and stories aren’t enough for Jungkook to keep up with you. He thinks you’ve changed, not only appearance wise but you seem way more outgoing, carefree, and happy. Did he miss the boyfriend announcement picture? He’s sure he didn’t, he checks your profile almost every day and he’s never even seen him in any of your stories.

A gasp escapes your lips once you spot him, completely forgetting about the possibility of bumping into him given that both your schools were playing against each other that night. You tell Namjoon you’ll be right back and he nods, going back to a conversation with the group of college friends you had made.

You surprise him by jumping into him, arms around his shoulders as you hug him from behind. You let out a shrill of excitement and he blushes as his friends chuckle at the unexpected approach from this unfamiliar girl.

‘‘Jungkook! You didn’t tell me you’d be here,’’ you say once he turns around to face you and he’s able to see you better upfront. You look beautiful and he thinks the Instagram pictures are not doing you enough justice. You’re glowing, and it has nothing to do with the highlighter you applied on your face and collarbone area.

The both of you aren’t able to properly talk until you suggest moving to a different area, Jungkook apologizing to his friends as he explained he needed to catch up with an old friend. They don’t complain and instead shoot him teasing looks and small pervy comments that go by unnoticed to you.

Jungkook listens with intent to your ramble about what you’ve been up to. From your courses, to your roommates, the parties you’ve attended, and even the fact that you handle your alcohol better now. He’s happy that you seem so too, but it irks him that you hadn’t been capable of telling him that you had a boyfriend now. Is there a reason as to why you omitted that important piece of information?

‘‘And what about you? How’s college?’’ You ask with curiosity.

He blinks a few times, realizing you had stopped talking about yourself and was now wondering about him instead. ‘‘It’s fine,’’ he answers with a tight lipped smile, the lack of detail compared to you was astonishing, but even though you were still hungry for more you decided not to pry any further.

There’s fear in revealing that he’s been having a hard time catching up with the rest of his peers. College was indeed fine, but it could be better. He’s settled with the idea that this is as good at it’ll get, some things just aren’t like you expect them to be. At least you’re happy, and that fact brings him comfort.

‘‘Was that your, uhm─boyfriend?’’ He finally asks after a while, both about to head back to your respective group of friends.

The question takes you by surprise, looking at him with raised eyebrows and mouth agape. ‘‘Who? Namjoon?’’ He nods, though he doesn’t know anything about the guy he had first seen you with. You let out a wholehearted laugh, ‘‘Hell no, too many commitment issues with that one,’’ you answer and Jungkook’s forehead creases with confusion.

Why were you kissing him then?

‘‘We’re friends with benefits,’’ you inform him as if you had read his mind. ‘‘He’s a nice guy, though. Also, super smart, he’s helped me with a few of my─’’

‘‘You’re not a virgin anymore?’’ He abruptly asks, disbelief in his tone as he internally screams to himself for thinking out loud. Jungkook expects you to berate him about such an imprudent question, but is surprised when he sees you giggling.

‘‘Duh, silly. I think I lost it freshman year?’’ The carelessness in your voice makes him look at you like you’ve gone crazy. Why are you so lax about this? Why are you telling him about losing your virginity without a care in the world? ‘‘Anyway, are you going to be home for the─’’

Jungkook interrupts you once again, ‘‘Was it with your boyfriend at the time?’’ He asks in genuine curiosity and you sigh, rolling your eyes slightly at him.

‘‘No, it was some random dude at this party I went to. Could you please─’’

‘‘Y/N, are you insane? Why would you give up your virginity to some fucking stranger like it’s nothing?’’ Jungkook’s voice raises as he scolds you about being so negligent about yourself, ‘‘You can’t do shit like that!’’ He fumed, making you let out a breathless chuckle.

‘‘Could you stop treating me like a fucking child for once in your life? I’m perfectly fine, Jungkook. I’ve been doing pretty well for myself without you here, actually. I don’t know why you think you have a say on what I do, is it the entitlement you have of me that you still carry around because we grew up together? Because if that’s it then you can drop it, I let go of my little girl who wanted a friend and was treated like pure shit in return complex a long time ago.’’

He knows you’re right, but he thinks he’ll always have this odd sense of protection over the five year old girl who cried to his mom about not lending her his favorite toy. He’ll always want to apologize to the eight year old girl who declared her love for him with a Valentine’s Day card while he ended up breaking her heart in exchange. He’ll always wish to look for help within the twelve year old girl who witnessed him give out his first kiss to another girl who he didn’t even like. He’ll always feel guilty towards the sixteen year old girl who had gotten tipsy on a spiked fruit punch and crashed on his bed. He’ll always hate himself for not asking the seventeen going on eighteen year old girl to prom when he knew he could’ve, but chose not to in fear of ruining your friendship.

You only wanted someone to be there for you growing up and Jungkook had never been the brave boy you thought he was, always running from his fears in hopes he’d have a wide advantage margin from them. Yet here they are, standing right in front of him in the form of a twenty year old you, and they’re there to let him know that you’ve never needed him, yet he’s always needed you.

He can’t even apologize, he only looks at you with wide eyes as he fidgets in his place. Either you’re both too old now to understand each other or you just realized that you’ve outgrown Jungkook.

Your mouth set in a hard line as you crossed your arms, the night’s breeze feeling colder than usual. ‘‘I miss you Jungkook, but I can’t keep playing this cat and mouse game with you any longer.’’

You leave him behind to go back to Namjoon’s arms, seeking refuge in his sweet embrace as you try your hardest to put on practice what you learned all those years ago when Jungkook broke your heart for the first time, you should be used to it by now.

You’re twenty-one when you’re back in your hometown to attend the funeral of the old lady down the street, the one that always scolded you and Jungkook growing up.

You had been scared of her as a child, but always following along your friend’s footsteps when he proposed playing around her garden. It tugs at your heartstrings even if you hadn’t known the woman well. Her death was imminent seeing as she’d been ill for quite some time.

A taller figure stands next to you as you both stand way in the back of the ceremony. He looks tired and you figure that it’s because of the fact he arrived late into the night, you heard his car’s engine from your bedroom window. Dressing in all black, you notice he bought a new suit. You’re sure that the one he wore for prom no longer fits considering he’s bigger now.

You haven’t talked to each other since last year when you both left off on a sour note. The hurt you felt was no longer present, though. You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought of a way you could talk to him again without making things awkward, but you let out a small gasp once he placed his arm around your shoulders, giving it a small squeeze as he sighed and kept his focus on the service.

Watching the casket be lowered into the ground felt weird. She was a human being just like you, but her existence was a reminder of your childhood. Would it be okay to say that her death meant a part of you leaving with her too?

Once it hits you, it’s Jungkook who consoles you by hugging you tight. Your eyes are too blurry with tears for you to realize this is one of those rare moments where he’s holding you close without hesitation. He lets you ruin his tuxedo’s jacket with your mascara covered tears as he brushes your hair as a sign of comfort.

You know things are back in order when he proposes the idea to go back to the old lady’s porch, for old times sake. ‘‘Will we ever let her rest?’’ You ask him with a small laugh as Jungkook sits on the doorsteps of the old lady’s empty home, opening the bag of candy worms he bought at the grocery store.

He shrugs, ‘‘She loved us, always told my mom how much she missed us running around the street.’’ The revelation makes you smile, hoping it was true. He pats the empty space next to him, indicating for you to fill it up with your presence. Once you do, you feel the familiar warmth of his proximity.

Jungkook seems different and you only hope he’s changed for the best.

‘‘When are you going back?’’ You ask him with curiosity, hoping that he’ll be in town for a few more days so you can catch up with him on a better note this time around.

He munches on one of the snacks, ‘‘Tomorrow morning, I have training camp and can’t miss it.’’ His answer makes you sigh with disappointment, but you nod nonetheless. ‘‘What about you?’’ He asks in return, and you inform him that you’ll stay for a few more days to spend time with your family. There’s silence after that and Jungkook can only offer you the gummy worms in the bag, you take one with a small thanks.

‘‘College fucking sucks,’’ he says out of nowhere and it makes you look at him in bewilderement, ‘‘I hate it there, I wanna drop out so bad. But I’m a year away from graduating so it’s too late now.’’ You see his shoulders visibly relax, like a weight had been lifted off them. ‘‘Plus my mom would kill me if I do so,’’ he adds with a chuckle.

Last time you asked everything was fine. Had things changed or had they always been this way and he was just now being honest with you?

You rest your head on his shoulder and focus all of your undivided attention on him as he keeps rambling about what his life has been ever since he left this town. He’s had bad games, bad grades, and bad girls. But he’s also had incredible games, good grades, and a couple great hookups, and yet he still feels empty, it’s not enough.

‘‘I miss you,’’ he mumbles as he faces you, ‘‘I’m sorry for being such a shitty friend, you deserved better.’’ His apology is genuine and you can feel it in the way his voice trembles, sincerity has always scared him after all.

Jungkook’s never known when the time is right, and he misjudges the look on your face. When he leans down to press his lips against yours, he’s blinded for a mere moment into believing that you wanted to kiss him just as much as he had been waiting.

You abruptly separate from him with wide eyes and parted lips, ‘‘Jungkook, I’m─I’m dating Namjoon now.’’ He can physically feel his heart shatter, the revelation coming out like an old newspaper headline he should’ve read a long time ago.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, ‘‘He got over the commitment issues?’’ The rhetorical question is bitter.

You scoff, ‘‘And what about it? I preferred to wait than to rush into getting my heart broken.’’ Plus it’s not like you were expecting Namjoon to grow feelings for you, the whole no strings attached arrangement was named that way for a reason.

Jungkook looks at you with narrowed eyes and he shakes his head sightly. Old habits never die down, still so stubborn and challenging as ever.

He’s startled as you stand abruptly, fuming as you look at him, ‘‘I don’t even know why you care! Did you forget that you threw my Valentine’s Day card into the trash? Or that you kissed Yeji in front of my face? Or that you let Taehyung date me as prank between your friends? Or that you were making out with Eunha while Jimin kept giving me alcohol? Or that you asked Jaehyun to take me to the stupid prom even though I was perfectly fine going without him or anyone for that matter?’’

‘‘We were just kids!’’ Jungkook argues back at you.

‘‘It still fucking hurt,’’ you counter, ‘‘still hurts, actually. You think that by giving me a measly apology and kissing it better I’ll suddenly forget about all of it?’’ Jungkook knows it won’t ever make up for all those years, but he had at least hoped you’d be willing to give him a chance.

He wishes he could say something else. Explain that he had just tried to protect you in his own shitty way from everyone else or himself maybe, he doesn’t know anymore. He wants to speak up again, but there’s disappointment written all over your face, you’re not angry at him...just saddened.

‘‘Hope you have fun at your training camp.’’

Jungkook watches as you leave him sitting by himself on the old lady’s doorstep. A hand runs through his hair as he feels his eyes water, and he can almost hear a whisper in the wind that asks him why he didn’t stop you when he could’ve.

Jungkook didn’t think that his family coming together with yours for Christmas dinner would’ve been a great idea. You’re cold to him at first and it’s fitting for the winter weather, but as always it only takes for him to sit next to you for things to warm up again.

It’s with the excuse that you’ll run over to your house to grab a new bottle of wine from the kitchen counter that Jungkook trails behind you, both slightly tipsy on the different alcohols your families had offered each other.

Years have passed since he last stepped foot inside your home, you used to visit him more often than he did anyway. It still smells and looks the same; the only difference is that there’s new pictures of you hung up on the walls, updated accordingly to the changes you’ve made ever since you left off for college.

You’re sporting a big smile in all of them, which in exchange makes him copy the action as well. His lack of presence in your life has done you better than compared to when he was around, and if that’s the case, then at least he did something right.

There hasn’t been much said since the beginning of the night, just a simple hey out of courtesy. There’s so much he wants to say, but with no clue where to begin. Another apology is due, though he thinks it’s a little too late for that. He also wants to ask about what you’ve been up to since he last saw you, are you still dating the Namjoon guy you had told him about after he kissed you? If he’s still there, Jungkook rather keep quiet and not wonder out loud to you, he’s sure that it’ll hurt if it’s true.

Growing up Jungkook always mistook your bravery with stubbornness and your courage with relentlessness. You’ve always been challenging, but only because you wanted him to do so too. It’s moments like this that prove him that you’ve always been the stronger between the two.

‘‘So, we’re just gonna pretend like nothing’s wrong between us?’’ You ask, speaking directly to him for the first time that night. It makes him look at you like a deer stuck in headlights, surprised by the sudden question and out of all the years of knowing each other, he feels small under your gaze for once. ‘‘How much time is it going to pass until you want to finally talk things like adults?’’

Jungkook gulps the lump in his throat, his brain quickly thinking of the right thing to say, ‘‘I just wanted to protect you from─’’

‘‘From what? From you? Everytime you’ve done that I end up getting hurt in the end. I’m left to pick the pieces up by myself,’’ you interject with anger in your voice. ‘‘It fucking pisses me off that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you kissing me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you and─’’ A sigh, you close your eyes to center yourself again as Jungkook waits for the final blow, ‘‘and you look like none of this has ever bothered you in the slightest because, you don’t really care about me do you?’’

‘‘I do care about you.’’ He’s sure about it, even though he’s been extremely bad at showing it.

Even though your eyes are threatening to spill tears, you still muster up the last bit of what’s left of your courage to step closer to him until you’re a few inches away. ‘‘Prove it, then. Show me that you care.’’

His brain is sent into quick overdrive due to your close proximity. There’s a slight hesitation because he only hopes that what he’s about to do is what you’re demanding him to prove. He doesn’t care if you’re still dating the Namjoon guy because he’s settled with the idea that it’s okay if you don’t correspond, it’s not like he did the same to you when you were both younger.

Once his lips press against yours, there’s no turning back. He’s waiting for you to push him back and let him know that your heart’s still taken, but you kiss him with such fervor that he knows in that moment that you’re right, it’s better to wait than to rush right in.

It’s no fairytale kiss, though. There’s desperation in the way you chase his lips, as if you were to slow down he’d find a way to escape from you. You grip the cotton material of his crewneck into your small fists, holding on to the fabric like your life depended on it. The small kiss you had both shared last year was nothing compared to this, and Jungkook’s taken aback by your neediness.

He doesn’t know how you manage to drag him to your childhood bedroom without missing a beat, only separating once you both realize you need to catch your breaths, and even then Jungkook can’t have a minute to take just happened in because your lips attach to his neck to get more of a taste. His fingers curled around your arm, sighing at the way your kisses felt like electricity on his skin.

‘‘Y/N,’’ he calls your name out in a breathy tone, but you’re too immersed in your little bubble to even realize it.

Jungkook groans when you bite into the skin of his neck, then blowing over the red mark as you kissed it better. It’s going to be bruise and he doesn’t like when that happens, but he’s not bothered at all if it comes from you. He forcibly grabs your chin so you can face him, looking at him with big eyes, a small pout, and with your chin messed with drool.

It’s then that Jungkook kisses you hungrily, making you feel like you’re in a dream-like state, though you could partially blame the Christmas eggnog for that. The way he bites at your lips and how your tongues clash together is an extreme juxtaposition as to how you could describe this moment. It’s as if you’re floating on air, clouds surrounding you in a heavenly embrace, angels singing in the background every time his hands touch, grab, hold and caress every part of your body. And yet, even with such a difference, it’s perfect because it’s Jungkook. You’ve been waiting for this too long, which is why your hands creep beneath his crewneck, touching his tonified abdomen tentatively and enjoying the way goosebumps arise on his skin at the sensation of your fingers trailing patterns wherever they caress.

It’s only fair that he pays attention to yours as well. Jungkook’s lips trail from your mouth onto your jawline, planting wet kisses on each space until he begins sucking on the skin of your neck, making you moan in the process. He chooses then that his new favorite sound is the way you voice out the pleasure he gives you. ‘‘Hurry up,’’ you say, ridding the bottom of the crewneck higher over his stomach, making him shiver at the sudden change of temperature.

Jungkook chuckles before completely getting rid of the material, ‘‘Calm down,’’ he sighs as he gives you a sweet smile, ‘‘You know our moms could talk forever.’’

You ogle his chest, admiring the way his training camps have obviously done wonders to his body. ‘‘It’s not them I’m talking about,’’ you correct him with a teasing smile that only makes his grin grow wider, chuckling at your impatience. Jungkook lets out a small gasp of surprise when your hands grasp at his shoulder blades, turning him around so you can back him until the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed. It’s funny how he lets himself be bossed around by someone who’s way smaller compared to his frame.

Jungkook finds leverage on his elbows splayed against the mattress, your knees resting on each side of his hips as you leaned into him and kissing him just as widely as you had done before. Jungkook could fill just how quick things were escalating, especially the way his crotch area was beginning to become a problem he couldn’t possibly control at the moment, not with your own being directly on top of it. In any other situation he would’ve apologized with an awkward laugh, but his breath hitches once your hips start grinding over him.

His hands make their way on the inside of your knitted sweater, provoking goosebumps on the exposed skin. You let out a shaky laugh, halting your movements so you can quickly get rid of the fabric as Jungkook’s eyebrows lift in surprise at your haste and then at the sight of your bra covered breasts. His hands are still steadily placed on each side of your waist, only brought up because your own had redirected them over your breasts, hoping he gets the message on what you want him to do now.

Jungkook hesitantly squeezed one of the round globes, provoking a small moan to come from out of your lips. He wishes to hold you as close as he possibly can because the idea of ever being away from you again has been his main fear as of lately. But he refrains, you look so delicate and he feels like you could easily break. He stares at your body lovingly and your cheeks heat up at the way his eyes ogle your chest like a kid in a candy story. You give his arm a light slap and he chuckles, leaning over you to place a passionate kiss on your lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he says frankly. It doesn’t help to dissipate the flush on your face, but the compliment doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Jungkook leans in to trail kisses past your collarbones and into the swell of your breasts, making you bite your lip with anticipation. He looks at you asking for permission and you nod quickly with parted lips as you start to become impatient for him to make his next move. Jungkook lowers the cups of your breasts, freeing your hardened nipples and immediately envelopes one of them with his lips. “Mph—!” A sigh escapes your lips as you try to memorize the way his tongue traces over your tit. He pays attention to your other one, fingers rolling over the bud and pinching ever so often.

You can feel your panties damp by then, trespassing into the fabric of the black leggings you’re wearing over them. Reaching behind your back, you fumble in unclasping the hooks of the now uncomfortable bra. Jungkook’s forced to stop the undivided attention he had places on your breasts to look at you like he’s lost, why are you going so fast?

Once your hands delve with the buckle of his belt, he has to hold on to your wrists with a firm grasp, ‘‘What are you doing?’’ He asks with quick breath, you blink stoically towards him.

‘‘Uh─getting you naked?’’ You answer with a nonchalant tone, but his hands don’t let go and your demeanor changes, ‘‘D-Did you not want this?’’ Your voice turns smaller, embarrassed that maybe you had pressured him into something he didn’t want to participate in.

Jungkook quickly shakes his head no, ‘‘No, I-I do want this! It’s just─you’re going so fast,’’ he tries to explain, ‘‘I’ve been waiting for this for too long, I don’t wanna rush.’’ Your eyes lit up at the revelation as he waits for you to answer back, only for his back to hit the comforter with a small thud, giggling at the way you urgently kiss him again, but this time with much more care.

‘‘Why didn’t you say so before, stupid?’’ You mumble with a sheepish look, ‘‘I thought it was just going to be─nevermind, I need you right now.’’ You have to force yourself from spitting out any details that could possibly ruin the moment between you two, deciding to wait instead for any emotional confessions you want to make.

He switches positions between the two, panting as he brings you down to the mattress and Jungkook can feel the goosebumps on your skin, whether from the coldness of the room or because of the sheer electricity of his hands caressing your body like it was molded just right for him. He dips his hand lower, cupping your clothed heat on his hand. It makes you tremble and you whine, encouraging him to keep going.

“Baby, you’re really wet,” he comments with a teasing tone and you pout at him. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings and he pulls them down as he travels with them, greeted by the sight of the damp cloth of your panties. He exhales with content, caressing your thighs in an up and down motion. You twist underneath him and he has to hold your hips down to calm you down, “Patience is a virtue.”

“I’ve been too patient, do some—Ah!” Your whining is interrupted once Jungkook moves your underwear to the side holding it with his free hand, fingers coming to trace the slick covering your pussy lips. He becomes entranced with the transparent gooey liquid, bringing them close to his face as he separates his fingers and sees a strand connecting between them. “Guk-ah, p-please…” Your needy voice brings him back to reality, delving his fingers back into your exposed heat but this time with intent.

Jungkook’s thumb lifts the hood covering your clit, mouth coming down to give it a small tentative kiss. That action alone has you writhing above him, it makes him chuckle to himself as he dives back in. The moans you let out are loud and clear inside your bedroom, thankful that it’s only you and him inside your house. Your hand pulls at his hair, making him groan against you and the vibrations are felt throughout your body, only adding to the euphoric pleasure you already possess. His fingers trace the inside of your thighs until they reach your entrance, circling the fluttering hole which makes you pull at his hair harder and with your other you hold on to the bedsheets of the comforter tightly into your fist.

Jungkook’s tongue is still working your engorged bud, but he focuses his eyes on you as he dips the first finger inside you. “Oh—fuck,” you let out in a breathy moan. He tries to maintain a rhythm between his two ministrations, but it’s hard when he wants to focus on all of them at once. “‘Nother, please,” you begged once he let your clit rest, quickly following your request by adding another into your warm heat. He lets out a breathless chuckle as he notices how easy it is to thrust both fingers inside of you, your whole crotch area is covered in slick and his wet chin is a dead giveaway to where he was seconds ago.

He watches you unravel over him with such adoration, not even his wettest dreams or dirtiest fantasies could prepare him for this. Seven minutes in heaven he plans to stay in forever. “Guk-ah, I wan’ you. I-Inside, please.” You plead with teary eyes, and he slowly stops, removing his arousal covered fingers from inside you as he makes you sigh in the process. He kisses you again and again, your hazy brain is probably hallucinating all of this right now, but damn is it good. You tug at the crewneck he’s wearing, he’s too overdressed for this occasion. He tends to your demands, quickly getting rid of all the layers of clothing that stop him from being inside of you fully.

“I don’t have a—“

“I’m on the pill.”

You both speak at the same time, making each other chuckle. Jungkook gulps at the idea of taking you raw as the first time together, and you salivate at his hardened length; the head already oozing precum out and you want nothing more than to wrap your lips around it and lick the tip up. You’re just about to when Jungkook quickly grabs your wrist to stop you from reaching him, you look up at him with the big sparkly eyes he has loved for too long.

“I just—I wanna be inside you right now,” he sheepishly admits, and you smile with a nod; sharing the sentiment. You back up until your head rests on the pillows comfortably, relaxing into the mattress as you wait for Jungkook to ready himself. He places a kiss on your lips before placing a hand next to your head, using it as leverage above you. His free hand takes his cock and rubs the tip along your folds, making you squirm with anticipation. Jungkook chuckles, “Are you ready?” He asks with a sweet smile.

“I’ve always been,” you whisper, your hand tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear.

A caress to his cheek as he nods, slowly pushing the head of his dick into you. You bite into your lip hard, it’s been a while since you had sex with someone and Jungkook’s size and girth was different from the rest. Your walls are tight around him and he has a tough time trying to reach the hilt with you squeezing him so hard, “Baby, relax for me.” He pleads and you nod apologetically, breathing in deep as you feel him reach parts inside of you, you didn’t know existed. Once he’s all the way in, he waits for you to give him the go ahead while he presses kisses into your heated cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and give him a nod, letting him know he was allowed to start thrusting.

Jungkook manages to hit all the right places, keeping a steady pace as he enters and exits you each time. You’re left to moan and writhe underneath him, letting him take you as he pleases. Your kisses become messy, teeth biting into each other’s lips, teeth grazing against each other as you both tried to fight for the dominant position. It’s that heavy makeout that incites you to push at his shoulders, making him turn in his back, exiting you in the process. Jungkook pants, chest rising and falling with quickness as you straddle his lap, arms connecting behind his neck.

“You always want to win, right?” He chuckles with half lidded eyes, enjoying the way your pussy lips grinded over his twitching length. You bat your eyelashes at him, offering him an innocent smile. The same technique that used to get you everything you wanted when you were younger. Same determination as you seek for what’s yours. He’s under you after all, still a victim to your charms.

Jungkook takes the bulbous head of his cock and teases it in your clit, if you weren’t holding on to him tight you would’ve collapsed into his chest. And by the way you moan his name out, he knows you’ll always look for him no matter the weather. “What a pretty girl,” he coos into your hair and you pinch his nipple in retaliation which only makes him groan in return. “My pretty girl.” He states before sinking himself deep into you again, sighing at the feeling of your hips circling over him. His rough hands guide them as you bounce up and down his length, moaning every time you rose and hissing when you came back down.

He makes sure to keep this image engraved on his head forever. Your breasts bouncing over his face, your thighs working extra hard to keep up with his thrusts, and the way your sounds bounced off the walls of your bedroom.

“You’re doing s-so good, baby.” Jungkook praises you, kneading your ass cheek. “Taking my cock s-so well,” he falls into a trance of admiring the way his length would appear and disappear inside of you, covered in a thick layer of your arousal. It makes him drill into you faster, sitting properly against the bed’s headboard as he takes your hips with force. He’s too turned on to keep treating you so delicately, and the way you moan and pant at the increase in speed only lets him know you enjoy him like this way more. “I-Is it good, baby? Am I-I fucking you well?” He asks in between rapid thrusts, your thighs had given out by then.

You nod and a whimper escapes your lips, “Y-yes, Guk-Ah. S-so good, feels amazing.” Your praise is honest, the fucked out tone in your voice is a clear indicator of how well of a job he was doing. A minute longer and you’ll be right on cloud nine, never wanting to come back down. “Wanna cum Guk-Ah, plea—“ There’s no need for you to even finish your sentence because his thumb rubs your clit in figure eights, making you groan with the intensified feeling of his hips circling inside you deliciously. You can almost see the blinding white light ahead as Jungkook kisses you feverishly. You feel tears escape the corners of your high, the familiar feeling tickling inside you as Jungkook’s thrusts don’t let up. ‘‘Ah! Yes, yes, fuck,’’ you cry out once your orgasm hits. Jungkook holds you close to his chest, trying to soothe your shaking body with his arms. Your walls squeeze and relax continuously around him, it serves him as the impulse he needs to chase his own high.

‘‘I love you, Jungkook,’’ you confess in between panting breaths, ‘‘so much.’’

His release shoots out and he groans, digging crescent moons into your hips. You hiss at the sensation, but giggle at how his eyes are screwed shut and brows still furrowed together, as if he was holding on to the last of his orgasm. In reality, Jungkook is just hoping that once he opens his eyes you’ll still be in his arms. Your fingers tilting his head to face you are very much real, he sees spots once he opens his eyes as they adjust to the room’s lighting.

‘‘I love you too.’’ He says with a fixed gaze and you coo at how perfect this is.

You’re twenty-two when Jungkook’s finally yours.

You’re both twenty-three and it’s another weekend spent at his apartment, he’s been playing for three hours now and you’ve given up on having him pay attention to you. Deciding to switch your plan around and join him instead, if only he would let you play.

‘‘Jungkook, you said it was going to be my turn five rounds ago!’’ You complain with a pout, crossing your arms across your chest.

His gaze is still stuck on the T.V screen, ‘‘Baby, shhh, you’re gonna make me lose.’’ He mumbles as he tries to remain concentrated on the game in hand, but he can hear your humph’s from behind him, ‘‘Patience is a─’’

‘‘Virtue, yeah, who cares.’’ You interrupt him with a roll of your eyes, familiar with the saying a little too well. ‘‘Hope you remember that for later tonight,’’ you add in a mumble, but he doesn’t hear it because of the loud sounds coming from the game on the screen.

‘‘What did you say, babe?’’ He asks with a raised brow, hitting the buttons of the controller with expert ease.

‘‘I’ll call your mom and tell her you don’t wanna share.’’ You joke with a threatening voice, but Jungkook knows better than to take your words so lightly. He pauses the game and turns to look at you with an are you serious? expression on his face, you giggle as you’ve finally got what you wanted.

He apologizes by covering your face with kisses, pleading for you not to tell on him with his mom. You promise not to do so this time, knowing that the woman was probably tired of having to scold his son at his big age.

Plus, ever since Jungkook surprised you with the almost exact replica of the Valentine’s Day card you gave him all those year back, you’ve taken advantage to tease him even more knowing he’s at your beck and call. You always remind him that he came close because the stickers he used were not like the ones you had, but he remembered to add the hearts on the I’s so that’s good enough.

‘‘Alright you can play, but━!’’ He says after he finishes his attack of kisses, ‘‘I’ll be your guide, I can’t risk you messing my record up, no offense baby.’’ None taken as you nod excitedly, you’ll always take whatever chance he gives you.

Jungkook’s finally learned how to share his toys after all.

#heartsforbts #bangtanhq #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook au #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #jungkook fic #bts smut #f: year 22

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sideblogformindtrash · 3 years

Text

SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 16 - OBSESSION

PIN!!!

@summer-of-whump

Tagging: @milk-carton-whump @unicornscotty @whumpasaurus101 @getyourwhumphere @tears-and-lilies @starnight-whump @abitefullofeverything

Cw: pet whump; needle; human embroidery; put in display; degradation; low self esteem;

Lately, Miss Hannah was paying a lot of attention to Pin. While it was normal for her to want to make changes to his embroidery, she had done it way too often this month, and changed the pattern onto more and more complicated designs, until Pin could barely stand moving his arms. All the skin seemed to have been made to shreds, punctured by hundreds of thousands of small wounds.

She had gotten him new piercings, too. Now it wasn’t just his back that was corset laced, but also his arms and legs, where there wasn’t embroidery. She had gotten new laces for them, way softer than usual, of a bright pink that was close to the color of his hair.

She had even retouched the hair dye, which she was usually neglectful of, and changed the patches of fabric sewed on his face to a softer, dolly-like blush color.

Those were exhaustive weeks. Most of the process was painful. Even the wind hitting his chest was enough to make him shiver and squirm in pain from the amount of needle wounds. But Hannah was giving him much more attention, and feeding him well during all the days, and Pin was grateful. When she was satisfied with the embroidery, she looked at Pin and said something she never had.

“...You are beautiful”

...A smile crept on his face. A small one, he couldn’t afford big ones while the stitches on his cheeks didn’t heal. But it was nice to know that finally, finally Pin was pretty. He had done something good, and Miss was happy.

“You’ll behave perfectly for me today, won’t you? You’ll be my good little pincushion”

“Yes Miss, o-of course”

...That day, Miss Hannah let Pin in the car. It was rare for her to take him anywhere, after all, Pin was an ugly Pet and she didn’t want to be seen with him. It was even rarer for him to be dressed with clothes that conceal his body. He had his usual embroidered shorts and a transparent shirt, but she had topped the outfit with overalls. He didn’t understand why she wanted to conceal all her work, but soon, he was more focused on enjoying the view than worrying about Mistress ulterior motives.

He wondered how he could live there alone.

...But he didn’t, did he? That was someone else. A different boy.

He didn’t have to wonder for long. The drive was short lived, and she parked the car in the lot of a really large building. She offered him her arm, which Pin took, hands shaking a lot.

Inside that building, there were many other people, each of them seeming to get a small display table. A lot of them had pretty stuff on display: paintings, jewelry, clothes, and even food.

And then Pin saw them, and understood why he was here.

Other pets.

Pets that are much more beautiful than Pin. Pet’s that had their skins tattooed, and modified, and their hairs dyed, and gorgeous clothes, and smiles that never seemed to fade, even when Pin could see they were in pain.

Pets that looked like perfect dolls. Pets that were there to be seen. Some of them even had their skins embroidered as well, although Pin had to say: none of the embroidery was as pretty as Miss Hannah’s was.

Miss Hannah took him to one that was empty.

“On the table, Pin” he blinked, a bit confused “...You heard me. Be good today”

...Pin obeyed, sitting on his knees with his posture straight just like she liked it. He felt her passing the laces through the piercings and tightening a lot. So much that he couldn’t move, forced into that perfect stretch as to not tip them.

Around him, she also set a lot of her other favorite pieces of sewing and embroidery, Pin being the centerpiece on her display. As much as this flattered him…

He couldn’t help but feel sick.

Especially once she removed the coat, exposing the fine art on his skin, and people started to gather around the display. They’d approach Pin, take pictures, and talk to Miss Hannah. Talk about him, making questions, saying that he must be such a good boy to sit still for all that, and for so long, and congratulating her.

They were looking at him. They found him beautiful. But no one was truly seeing him. No one… except the other Pets, who would, from time to time, turn away from their own stands to look around.

He was just an object on display, a perfect piece of art. Pretty, once in his life.

...Maybe being pretty wasn’t all that important, after all.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump16 #needle tw #pet whump #pincushion whumpee #pin babt <3 #milk spouse collab

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melyaliz · 3 years

Text

Remember Me 9

Master List

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x OC

Notes: I'm due in a little over a month... and it's the weirdest feeling.

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest / Newsletter

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Check out my published work.

--------Olive---------

“Oh my god, I can’t breath” Olive giggled, crumbling into Eliott’s lap. Her husband smiled down at her gently playing with her hair.

“This is serious Olive!” Eliott said, his smile melting away to a very strained serious one. His dark brown eyes studying her face, “it’s the greatest story ever told. Guy dates a woman, woman’s ex is a mob boss who is involved in an illegal fashion, mob boss’s daughter almost gets killed. Now the guy must use his skills from the years of being in the other four movies to get revenge on his girlfriend’s daughter’s father. Tale as old as time “

“I’m just saying they should have killed the guy and the daughter could have gone full ninja killer and taken out her father and his gang.” Olive giggled, wiping her eyes from the tears of laughter that had been rolling down her cheeks.

“That would probably have been a better movie… but would it also have bad dummy shots?” her husband asked.

“Of course” sitting up inspiration struck, “I have an idea!” Eliott watched her as she sat straight up. “You write the action and I will write the romance.”

“How much romance will there be if the daughter is 12 years old.”

“Well romance and character stuff.” she shrugged, “And you can add in all the poorly done dummy blow-ups you want.”

“I will,” Eliott said nodded, “But only if I can use sex dolls.”

“Like, Hard Ticket to Hawaii? Oh, wait! Now hear me out” Olive giggled scooting up so she was now straddling her husband taking his hands in her own. A goofy smile spread across Eliott’s face as he weaved his fingers into her own.

“Oh are we at the wait stage of drunk Olive?”

“Shhhh” she giggled leaning forward slightly brushing her nose on his, “But really, this is serious.” Cleaning her throat for dramatic effect she continued, “a Hard Ticket to Hawaii Death Wish 4 crossover.”

“Oh girl,” Eliott said, his voice hitting a higher pitch on his girl . Olive giggled pushing herself forward so she was resting on his chest.

“I love you.”

“No way really?” Eliott gave a fake gasp “That’s sooo weird because you know what? I love you too”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“ So just be ready,” Kirishima said, prepping the gang, “She’s… the same but different. ”

The group nodded in unison, game faces ready for whatever was coming. And that something was slowly walking toward when in the form of Bakugou and Olive.

Right off the bat it was obvious something was off. While they were holding hands it looked unnatural. Bakugou’s shoulders were hunched and he seemed to be looking anywhere but at Olive who was talking in the city as if she had never walked down this street before. Her large hazel eyes taking in everything, mouth slightly open.

“Olive! Bakugou!” Kirishima said, waving. At the sound of his voice, Olive looked up and waved, a smile on her face as she looked over at the group of others standing with them. Her eyes intently taking everyone in as if searching for something that wasn’t there

“ Hello! ” she said as they both stood there awkwardly. Hands had been let go and now hanging at their sides. Limp as if unsure what to do.

There were a few more awkward nodes before Kirishima led them all inside toward the balcony seating, their usual stop. “T his place is amazing! ” Olive said looking around her eyes wide as she took in the atmosphere. Everyone froze as the blissfully unaware woman turned to her husband, “ How did you find this place Katsuki? ”

“ I didn’t, you did,” he said as everyone around him winched slightly. The awkwardness was so thick you could almost taste it, and it didn't taste good.

“Oh.” her voice soft as she bit her top lip looking down at her purple painted nails. She had found her polish that morning and had decided to try out the fun colors.

There was a long pause when Mina spoke up, “How’s Clare and Lilly and the others? ”

Olive blinked looking up, “ You know the girls? ”

“ Yeah, we have wine and Rupaul's Drag race nights. I think the last one we did was about a month ago wasn’t it? ” the last statement, more of a question than a comment.

“Uhhh” Olive shrugged unsure how to respond

“ She doesn’t remember it ” Kaminari mumbled to the little pinked haired girl. And again there was a lapse of awkwardness. Turning to Momo from across the table Olive pointed to her shirt.

“ I love your shirt so cute! ” she said, stumbling slightly over her words. Momo lit up pointing to the shirt that Olive had gotten Momo for the hero’s birthday. The words “Females are strong as hell” in English was written in script across the chest. She had gotten it because she always told Momo, who was the 4th hero and number 1 female, that she was the most badass out of everyone (and that ranking didn’t mean shit). Also, they were both addicted to “Unbreakable Kimmy Shimitt”

“Thank you, I’m Momo '' the dark-haired hero said, noticing how much Olive was struggling trying to piece together who was who. Before they had come Momo and her fiancee Shoto Todoroki had decided to treat her like they had met for the first time. “ and this is Shodo, my fiancee .”

“I’m Mina! ” Mina said quickly and everyone else followed suit with a quick round of introductions.

“Yeah, I have pictures ” Olive lit up at the introduction. “The fair.”

“What picture did you have ?” Momo asked, leaning forward.

“This one of the fair? ” Olive said, holding up the phone leaning over the table to hand her the phone. Watching them Kirishima chuckled leaning toward Bakugou.

“Why are they across the table from each other?”

Bakugou shrugged, rolling his eyes, not shocked by the poor seating choices. After coordinating this whole night was he really now in charge of seating as well?

“Oh, that was so fun. ” Momo smiled looking at the photo. Memories of her trip to the US where Olive had given her the grand tour.

“ Oh is that the American Fair? What other pictures do you have? Do you have the one from when we all went to that spa? Do you have the one of us in those masks making the peace sign? What about... ” Mina was bursting with questions going way too fast for Olive to keep up. The poor girl’s smile looked slightly strained as she tried to look like she was understanding more than every other word from the excited pink haired girl.

“You’re going to fast for her! ” Bakugou barked out noticing the very overwhelmed look in his wife’s eyes, “ She's still learning .”

“Oh sorry Olive” Mina whispered looking down at her hands feeling her face flush.

“Don’t yell at her.” Olive said good naturally in English nudging Bakugou playfully with her shoulder. The blonde looked like the wind had been knocked out of him her words cutting him harder than he wanted to admit. “Which picture did you want to see Mina?”

Before the pink girl could respond the waiter came up to introduce herself and take drink orders. A look of desperation came over Olive’s face as she looked down at the menu. Anxiety quickly flooded her system. The social pressure of trying to be normal while navigating a language she was still learning was extremely stressful. And this was besides the fact she had no idea what was good here or what she would like to order. Did she had a regular drink here? If so, what was it?

Desperately she looked down at the Japanese characters as if they would suddenly jump out and give her all the answers.

A large hand slammed over the menu making Olive lookup. Bakugou’s intense red gaze met her hazel one.

“I’ll order for you,” he said softly in English, more of a statement than an offer. His red eyes studding her as if reading all her thoughts. She smiled softly at him making him flush slightly looking away from her to the waiter ordering quickly.

“Thank you” she whispered, her hand gently brushing against his arm. Her fingertips leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. It felt like her touch was fire.

Quickly he rubbed his arm as if he could put out the flames that were licking at his skin.

Fuck. He had it bad.

“Yeah well you looked so lost.” he grumbled looking away turning to Kirishima who was intently watching the conversation with the most annoying smile on his face. “ What are you looking at? ” Struggling Kirishima’s annoying smirk didn’t fade but he offered no explanation for his expression.

Typical.

Lucky for Bakugou the conversation shifted to other things. Work, life, weird food Kaminari had tried last week on his trip to Bermuda.

Olive quickly picked up her conversation with Momo about the place she was looking into for her wedding and life in general. Since they were - as Kirishima had pointed out- sitting across the table from each other, Olive had to basically lean up over the top of the table to shout of the music that was playing in the background.

Bakugou couldn’t help but frown watching as his wife literally looked like she was crawling over. Her eyes bright as the two talked. It was the most enthusiastic she had been in a long time.

“If you want to be with her so bad go sit over there, ” he said, it came out much harder than he had meant it to be. But he was annoyed and sometimes -ok most times- had a hard time masking his emotions. Olive blinked looking up at him confused for a moment before getting up from her seat moving over - much to Momo’s delight- to sit down next to her. He could see her pulling out her phone probably to show off pictures of Dolemite. Or maybe to ask more about the people who littered it. He could tell she felt awkward about asking him those questions. Knowing it hurt.

But also he wanted her next to him. To feel her next to him. To know she was still there with him.

“ OMG I love this song !” Mina squealed as a song came on.

“ Let’s dance, ” Momo said, getting up knowing Olive loved to dance. Normally she was the one dragging the girls onto the floor. At the promise of dancing Olive lit up as she stood to follow them. However before she left she glanced over at Bakugou, as if checking in with him.

“Why are you looking at me? Go!”

Olive flashed him a wide smile before following the girls into the crowd. The other two girls grabbed her laughing as they swayed with the music. Not having to talk just laughing and enjoying each other’s company. The universal girl code of good music and alcohol.

Three songs later and she was slowing down, taking a moment to breathe looking around the dance floor.

And that was when she thought she saw him.

Long blonde hair pulled up in a man bun. A basic flannel shirt, on the shorter side with broad shoulders leaning on the bar, his back to her.

Eliott

Her brain zoned in on it, for a second she forgot he was dead. Forgot he was gone.

That first month after his death she saw him everywhere. Heard his laugh. Sensed his presence. Slowly it had gotten better. His presence slowly fading from the bright sun of the day to the dark of night or in those first moments when she was waking up. And even more recently his presence had slowly faded. Her brain too busy trying to understand this whole new life she was living to focus on the loss.

But as the man turned and she saw it was clearly not him something washed over her. Hit her right in the face crushing her inside.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until Momo came up and hugged her.

“What happened?” she whispered in English as Olive raised her hands to her face trying to stop the tears. But they wouldn’t stop. Her chest so heavy it felt like her whole body was filled with sadness and the only way out was through her tears.

“I just… I thought… I saw Eliott.” she hiccuped, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Momo asked, frowning as she studied Olive. Mina, whose English was not as good, hovered around them both rubbing Olive’s shoulder trying to understand what had happened.

“I just… can't stop crying.” Olive sobbed trying to take deep breaths to gain control of herself.

“It’s been a lot for you.” Momo said, “come here” she hugged the girl for a moment before pulling away.

“ It’s ok to miss someone. ” Mina said, holding out a napkin she had grabbed from the bar.

“Yeah and for you it’s been very recent.” Monmo added nodding

“I just feel guilty… Katsuki.” Olive fumbled through the words trying to explain all the emotions that were swerling like some muddy concoction in her chest.

“ Oh Bakugou can get over it. ” Momo said, waving her hand trying to keep her words simple so both girls could understand what she was saying, “ he gets all moody but he really cares about you. ”

“ Yeah, the first time I met you he was so… relaxed. ” Mina said, trying to find the right words, “ None of us had ever seen him that way before. ”

“ He was happy. ” Momo nodded, “ He will be fine, you need to focus on yourself.”

From across the bar Bakugou had lost sight of where the girls had gone. The crowd was getting thicker and thicker as the night had dragged on. He knew Olive would be safe with Momo and Mina there but still, he wanted to make sure she was ok.

And then he caught a glimpse of them. Standing at one of the far corners of the dance floor. Momo and Mina standing over Olive, hovering around her with concern on their faces. For a moment Mina moved and he could see Olive clearly, holding a small white napkin wiping her eyes.

Shit.

“ Hey bro where are you ?”

“ Just drink your beer. ” Bakugou interrupted Kirishima as he quickly made his way to the dance floor. Momo’s eyes met his and she shook her head but he didn’t care. Olive wasn’t Momo’s wife, she was his. They were supposed to be distracting her, not reminding her about her memory loss.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out for her. Olive turned eyes wide, still slightly glassy from her tears. Her makeup smudged. “Dance with me.” pulling her away from the girls who looked like they were about to protest. But one death glare from Bakugou told them not too.

He led her across the floor, his red eyes studying her as she took a few shaky breaths. Trying to compose herself. After a few moments her body slowly relaxed letting him lead as he felt her slowly lose herself in the music again.

“You dance?” she asked looking up at him.

“Depends.” he said shrugging

“Humm” she hummed, nodding like Eliott was what she was thinking. Eliott Eliott Eliott. Even Momo got more out of her than him. He felt like she was more comfortable around everyone but him. “You know” she said leaning forward resting her head on his chest catching him off guard. “I like to be with you too.”

He froze, his stomach clutching tightly, his breath coming out in a short gasp. She looked up at him with those hazel eyes studying him. “What you said about Momo, I like being with you too.”

“I heard you the first time” he said sharply only to soften quickly.

“I… I obviously liked being with you before or I wouldn’t have married you.” she added a genuine grin spreading across her face.

“That would make sense.” He said nodding as they swayed in the music both caught up in their own thoughts. Eyes meeting, dancing in the lights overhead. For a second it felt as if time stood still and Olive was sworn she wasn’t in real life but in some weird musical romcom. As if her whole life was some televised novel filled with hi-jinks and drama.

Caught up in the moment Bakugou gently leaned forward, his nose brushing hers before pausing. Her heart leapt into her throat at the soft intimate touch. Crimson eyes searching hazel for a moment before moving closer, his warm breath caressing her ear.

“Let me kiss you?”

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Story Tag: @0hmydeku @inumorph @it-jinxed-us @myraticm

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daydream-believin · 4 years

Text

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (waffles)

summary: (part 1) or (part 5) <- reader joins douxie on his quest to protect nari. he’ll need company wont he. (part 6) do you like waffles? also appalachia and nj trollmarket fun. next-> (part 7)

warnings: swearing, fem! reader, maybe an alcohol mention, proof reading is for squares yo

word count: 3875

a/n: i’m sorry to anyone from PA but wtf. i also have no idea why this turned out the way it did. bon apetit.

no gif im trying to test something

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Y/n looked over at Douxie. The blue of his hair was starting to fade into a duller hue. While not as bright and bold as his personality, it was still very nice to look at. This muted blue was softer, almost comforting in a way. Y/n found herself running her fingers through it. It wasn’t just the color that was soft. Like feathers in her hand, she gently caressed the strands. The duller color made him look tired, older, and the permanent bags under his eyes didn’t help. She placed her hand on his face and ran her thumb over a said eye bag. He gave her a very subdued smile in return. His sunken eyes were so beautiful. Her favorite color. Or colors, one should say. They were like an earth toned opal. Y/n’s hand drifted down his face. She used her thumb to explore his cheekbones, tracing constellations in his freckles, and finally settled on his mouth, tracing his cupid’s bow. Douxie couldn’t help but break the stoic face he was trying to hold.

“As much as I hate to ask this, and I really do, but will you please cease what you’re doing, My Love. I’m trying to drive here.”

“Yes, I would also like to ask you to stop, miss L/n. Not wrecking the ship is worth you canning your pda for a while.” Archie added.

Y/n pulled her hand back and exaggeratedly pouted. She teasingly stuck her tongue out at Archie for good measure, but couldn’t help but dissolve into a snicker right after so it wasn’t very effective. But really, it wasn’t her fault that Douxie’s beautifully sculpted face was right there and demanding to be touched. She tried to distract herself by focusing on the scenery around them. North Pennsylvania was delightful, so it’d be a shame if she spent the whole time that they flew through it looking at nothing but Douxie. There was plenty of time for her to do that the rest of her life. It’s not like she didn’t have every freckle memorized already. Every single adorable little dot. Right, Pennsylvania. Appalachia. Y/n was a little disappointed they didn’t manage to go through West Virginia, being as north as they were. She really wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Country roads.

The mountains were hard to transverse through, so Douxie took the boat up high in the clouds. A little too high. The oxygen was thin. While this didn’t affect Archie the dragon or Nari the plant goddess, Douxie and Y/n were getting a bit woozy. Neither would get altitude sickness to the point of dying, thanks to that good ol’ curse of immortality, but their minds weren’t exactly operating at high speeds here. They passed through a low hanging cloud in a puff of fog.

Though they were over it, just being in the range of Appalachia felt odd. There was a presence that clung to the mountains. Even flying high up in the air, one felt as though they were being watched. Like the thousand eyes of the forest were upon them. Looking down below, hanging over the edge like Douxie hated her to do, Y/n saw a herd of deer that might as well be ants. Watching over the herd was a bigger, or maybe closer, stag on a peak of some sort. His antlers were covered in crimson. Y/n hoped he was just shedding.

There were pathways cutting through the trees below, some roads, some manmade trails, some rivers, some troll trails, and some deer trails. Some that wound around in endless curves, some that seemed to start from nowhere and stop at nothing, some that went round and round in a circle, and some that crossed over each other, effectively creating a maze of sorts. Y/n didn’t know why, but she was glad she was above the trees and not in them. Something within her gut told her that as beautiful as the scenery was, she did not wish to experience it first-hand. The deer below were beautiful, but there was something not quite right about them. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to turn down a game of ninepins either, and she could really go for a drink.

Douxie’s brain may have been foggy, but he could certainly see Y/n hanging over the edge again, tantalizing him. He couldn’t help but imagine 174 ways for it to end badly. He’d been pretty passive about this before but now that they were so high up, he had no choice but to be up front now.

“Y/n, My Love,” Y/n turned her attention to him, which also pulled her weight more towards the boat than the sky. Good. “do you mind being back near the center of the ship? I really don’t like you draping yourself over the railing like that.”

Y/n was getting sick and tired of people always trying to keep her away from edges, advising her not to climb the mountain, telling her to stay inside when there was only a light rainstorm. She could handle it. She wasn’t a fucking porcelain doll. She was not wearing a fancy gown that suffocated her, she could speak, her lips were not perfectly painted on. And she wouldn’t shatter. “Relax, Dewdrop. I’m fine. I’m not just gonna go skydiving for kicks. If anyone has had a penchant for falling through the sky recently, it’s been you, Hisirdoux. I can catch myself with anti-gravity spells, like you taught me. Besides, we walk across tall, crumbly, ancient non-osha compliant walkways all the time. You never had a problem then.”

“Well,” He huffed, “it would be one thing if I was there next to you, but I’m not, so could you please just try to stay safe when I can’t reach you?” Y/n was taken about at how quick his tone went from annoyed to desperate. She furrowed her brows. Doux sighed, “Look, it frightens me, okay. I know that nothing will happen, but what if it does? I can’t- I can’t lose you.” His tone got even feebler in his pleading. “And there’s so many ways to lose you. Especially with the Order on our tails. Please, just give me this peace of mind for at least one thing.”

Y/n stepped away from the railing, crossing over to Douxie. He opened his arm and she nestled into his side. Pressing her head against his chest, she mumbled, “Absolutely. I’ll just—I’ll just stay here then. Next to you. I’m sorry I worried you. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you, My Darling.”

~ ~ ~

The dipped down south to go through the top of Maryland and completely through Delaware to get to the south of New Jersey, in place of just going through Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love was not on the itinerary. Philly, and the top of New Jersey, were just too densely populated to take a magic boat through. The airspace was filled with airplanes and skyscrapers. It was easier to go the roundabout way.

As they passed between Philly and Lancaster, they went by fantastically named towns such as Paradise the city, where the girls are pretty, Bird In Hand, Blue Ball, and Intercourse. Stellar. Y/n was starting to really like Pennsylvania. It was cursed ground. She made sure to get photographic evidence of every road sign. Douxie was happy to pose with them.

They took a pit stop in a town called Peach Bottom before leaving Pennsylvania. Y/n wanted to go through New Texas, since she was curious how somewhere in the original colonies could be a new Texas, but Nari could sense a river nearby, and wanted to seek it out. Peach Bottom. It was a cozy little town with a power plant that was dumping it’s waste into the riverside it was built on. Toxic river. Fun. Y/n made Douxie explain to Nari why she couldn’t get near the river or touch any of the water. Y/n wouldn’t have been able to stay as calm as Douxie could. There was nothing happening in the rural Pennsylvanian town. Nothing special about it unless you counted their countless nuclear admissions. The locals didn’t care for strangers, and that was alright with them cause they didn’t want to be here for any more than necessary for a restroom break. Dinner could wait.

The top of Maryland was great. Lots of rivers to make it up to Nari. There was just, an incredibly large walmart near the line. Just absolutely humongous whopper walmart. A leach whose name doesn’t even deserve to be capitalized, thank you very much autocorrect.

It took less than half an hour to fly right through the top of Delaware. Hi Delaware, bye Delaware.

Soon they were on the coast of south New Jersey, headed for a sleepy town called Monty. Monty was a town along the Cohansey, split across it with quite an impressive bridge between the two sides. As soon as the bridge became visible on the skyline, Y/n grabbed Douxie’s sleeve and tugged excitedly. She looked up at him with a big smile. Rest. At last, they were going to get to rest. Y/n made herself busy calling Jim to let him know that they were there so he could call someone else to let them know that they were there and to wait by the entrance for them. Neither Douxie nor Y/n had a horngazzle on them at the moment. Y/n had had one in her possession back in Arcadia, being book club buddies with Blinky, but alas that was destroyed along with their bookstore.

They hid that damn magic boat in the forest. While they did plan on staying with the trolls for a few weeks, Douxie didn’t put it back in its glass bottle quite yet, cause they were in fact taking it into New York not tomorrow but the next day. He covered the ground around it with a few more wards than necessary. Y/n threw up an illusion spell around it, as she had been all the other times they’d just left it in the woods, and thought the wards were overkill but didn’t say anything. They started on the trek to the base of the bridge.

The troll at the entrance greeted them cordially. He was a dark green color, with two massive horns resembling those of a longhorn cow, chiseled stone tattoos, and no clothes other than a tiny loincloth which made everyone but Nari uncomfortable. He let them in with flourish, as if he’d always wanted to do this and practiced it.

“Welcome to NEW JERSEY TROLLMARKET.”

Y/n was surprised at how well the town had come along within the two months the trolls had occupied the cavern. It wasn’t the Trollmarket she had known, there was no Blinky and no library, but still marvelous. The new hearthstone glowed warmly, very much alive and not making zombies. While looking pretty similar to the old Trollmarket, with a multitude of shops and homes carved into the mineral covered walls and formations, there was a sort of human touch to it now. Claire definitely had a hand in the planning and maybe the decorative features too. Or perhaps Jim. Y/n wouldn’t put it past the boy to be the one who designed the very elaborate crystal art flower bed she was looking at. Or that weirdly steampunk bridge. Funny thing, a bridge under a bridge.

Dictatious met them soon after they came in to show them around and to where they would be staying. The tour he gave them basically just included him walking them through the main street, waving his arms to various places and vaguely saying that they were shops but not what they sold, pointing out the pub, and then took them straight to their accommodations. Since the home that had been occupied by Blinky, Jim, and Claire was now empty, they’d be staying there, with the place practically to themselves. Dictatious also lived in said home, but rarely stuck around it for long now that his brother was gone.

“Alright, here’s your nest.”

Since Dictatious still slept in the nest that he shared with Blinky, he had given them Jim and Claire’s. The nests were just rocky bowls carved into the floor of the room, with a few comfort items. Thankfully, Jim and Claire had left theirs full of pillows and a couple thick cushions they must have taken from a couch. Unconventional, but better than sleeping on literal solid rock. Speaking of couches, there were way too many couches spread across the apartment. This entire place only had two rooms, a large living area and a nestroom, and yet there were five couches. Not to mention the extra-large easy chair Dic was currently lounging in. Okay, so one of said couches was technically a love seat, but still. There was no kitchen, which was surprising due to this being Jim Lake Jr’s home, and no table besides the one that three of the sofas were gathered around and a paper-covered work desk against a corner. There were glowing crystal lamps all throughout, lighting the house. All in all, interesting interior design decisions. The kids had definitely been trying to make it a more homey human dwelling but had limited options.

Nari nestled into the nest, happy that there were no blankets to smother her. Not even a minute passed and she was out like a light. Douxie and Y/n sat on one of the couches in the nestroom, watching the veggie lady snooze. Archie made himself comfy in Douxie’s lap, who absent mindedly stroked his familiar’s fur. They were underground now. Surrounded by inorganic matter. Some of that inorganic matter could fight, would be willing to fight, would probably be disappointed if there wasn’t a fight. The little devil on Douxie’s shoulder wasn’t really having to work hard. His stomach growled. They had opted to just not stop for dinner in favor of plowing right through their trip route. It was late, and dark, and Douxie really just wanted them to have a roof over their head before midnight. And now they did.

He looked over at Y/n. They had been a couple for an entire day now and he had yet to take her on a proper date. What a bad boyfriend he was. It’s not like Archie would want to come with them or anything either, since he filled himself with birds that didn’t know what hit them while they traveled. The dragon had even caught a hawk at one point, which wasn’t as impressive as it sounds, since Archie was a much faster flyer. He would be happy to watch Nari for them, surely. And Dic had given them a horngazzle so they could come and go as they pleased. It was settled then.

“Arch, watch Nari for us, please, we’ll be back in a pinch,” He grabbed Y/n’s hand to pull her off the couch, “C’mon, My Love, we’re going on a date.”

~ ~ ~

Turns out the only thing open past midnight in small town New Jersey was a waffle house. The perfect date. Y/n had thought it funny to watch Douxie try and deactivate all the fresh wards he had put around the boat. He had to be careful where he put his feet, and it was like he was doing a silly little dance. Ward trap ballet of his own barely thought-out design. At one point he stepped backwards to admire his work, triggering the ward behind him, and Y/n had to free him from the net. Lucky it was just a net one.

Entering the waffle house, they slid into the nearest booth, the one near the jukebox. They ordered what else but waffles. The food of kings and hungover college kids. Not just plain waffles, though. Douxie got chocolate chip and Y/ got strawberry, and they were going to combine them to make chocolate covered strawberry waffles. Everyone knows chocolate covered strawberries were the most romantic food, why else would they push them so hard around Valentine’s.

Douxie leaned in with his head in his hand. “So, tell me about yourself.”

Y/n laughed, decided to play into this bit. “Oh, I’m just a California lass, on her way to New York. Things have been crazy lately. Went to a very convincing renaissance faire, I’m harboring a fugitive, my roommate keeps hitting on me. Very stressful. Sure am lucky I came across you, Mr. Handsome.”

“Lucky indeed.” Doux snickered.

Y/n pointed to the jukebox behind Doux, which he twisted around to see. “Have you ever heard ‘Last Night I Saw Elvis At Waffle House’?”

“No?”

“Oh, it’s a banger.” She got out of the booth and put a coin in the juke, making her selection. She slid back in with a Cheshire cat grin and Doux was kind of scared now, actually. As the current song ended and the song that they were waiting for began. Well, it was a song. About seeing Elvis in a waffle house. With a country tune he supposed someone thought was catchy in order for them to have recorded this. Douxie didn’t know what he had expected.

“Uh, wow.”

“Yeah, Ain’t it something. I loved this song when I was knee high to a grasshopper. All the waffle house jams really.”

“Your aunt let someone bring you to a waffle house? That’s not very proper.” Douxie chuckled.

“Oh, no, actually. Um, this was before my dad passed and my mother, ah, slipped.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Douxie rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

“No, no. I’m fine Dewdrop. I can talk about it, really. And, like you said the other day, I’ve been focusing on the Now Love.” The silly waffle house themed song was still playing despite the air of seriousness that had fallen over the duo. It helped keep Y/n from getting too sad and dwelling on the memories she had just brought up. It was comical, really. A waffle house song keeping her grounded. She rubbed the palm of Douxie’s hand. “I still mourn my family, but it’s been so long that the pain’s but a dull ache now. As long as I don’t think too hard about it. If anyone knows about mourning it’d be you, Doux. I can’t imagine meeting hundreds of friends over my lifetime just to watch them all grow old and die while you just have to go on living.” She paused, eyes drifting downwards, “But I suppose that’ll be my fate anyways.”

Douxie reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s actually not that bad, once you get used to it. You just have to enjoy every bit of time you get. That’s what makes other magic friends so valuable, there are some permanent players on your team.” He let his hand linger under her jaw, pulling her face closer to his, “You have me. We have each other. We’re family. We always have been.”

“So I hate to interrupt, but, waffles.” The server put the plates she had been holding down onto the table. Douxie and Y/n pulled away from each other quick as lightning, sitting up straight in their seats. “Again, sorry guys.”

“Thank you.” The two chorused to their fleeting form in embarrassment. Their faces were fire engine red. Archie was right, they did get a little carried away with the pda. It may have been 12:28am in a waffle house but they were still in public. Grabby hands needed to be kept to themselves.

After dinner, neither Doux nor Y/n could bring themselves to go home quite yet, despite the nagging feeling to return to Nari. They loitered around woods, unsure of what to do. Leaning against the parked boat, Douxie got an idea. He put on the music on his phone, turning the volume all the way up and positioning it so it’d put out a better sound the best he could. The playlist he selected was actually the one he had of songs that reminded him of his beloved. Copying what Y/n had done last night, he held out his hand.

“Come on, dance with me, My Darling.”

Douxie twirled Y/n around in the night breeze that blew through the trees. This song was much faster than the one they danced to last time, and there was more energy between them. Y/n’s laugh echoed through the forest. This was a lot of fun, she could do it all night. Honestly, she could do anything all night if it was with Douxie. He lifted her up, like she weighed nothing. Seriously, how strong was this noodle armed wizard. She threw her arms around his neck, looking down to meet his eyes, a rare thing. Y/n kissed his nose, eliciting a happy giggle from his mouth.

He should have put her back down by now. Instead, he still held her up, transfixed by her face ringed in moonlight, like a halo. She noticed the awestruck look on his face, kissing him properly, yet it did nothing to pull him out of his stupor. He had one thought running over and over in his mind. Marry me. But, he couldn’t say that. A proposal had to be special, not after a waffle house date. Their first date, mind you. He couldn’t possibly jus-

“Marry me, Dewdrop?”

Well apparently he couldn’t but she absolutely could.

It took him a moment to take in her words, shocked out of his overthinking. The biggest grin spread across his face as he giddily spun her around in his arms. He finally put her feet back on the ground, crashing his lips into hers. Y/n brought a hand up to drag through his hair and left the other to slide down his back. No battle for dominance, Douxie’s tongue was definitely the one leading here. He just couldn’t believe it. It was if she had read his mind. It was still hard for him to believe she wanted him in the first place, but this much? If this was the afterlife he must surely be in heaven. One makeout session later, Y/n rasped “So I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

“Let’s sign the papers tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

Despite the uneasy feeling they had both had about leaving Nari alone for so long, she was perfectly fine. In fact she hadn’t even moved an inch form the spot they left her in. Like they never left at all. Archie was asleep on that couch, as peaceful as ever. They’d tell him the news in the morning.

Y/n climbed into the nest and dragged Douxie down with her. After getting comfy on the array of cushions, he opened his arms and she nestled into his chest. She could feel his hands rest on her back. Perfect. It was calming, listening to his heartbeat, being lulled to sleep with the rhythm that gave proof that her beloved was alive. A steady beat that reassured her he was there, he was there. He wouldn’t leave her again.

*** check notes for chapter illustrations lmao

#douxie x reader #douxie x y/n #hisirdoux casperan x reader #hisirdoux x reader #douxie casperan x reader #douxie imagine #douxie casperan imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #hisirdoux imagine #tales of arcadia x reader #douxie #toa douxie #hisirdoux casperan #toa hisirdoux #douxie casperan #my writing

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yandere-sins · 4 years

Text

Intoxicated

Lovely commission for @lesbiansportsanime! Thank you so much for commissioning me, it was awesome working with you ♥

Characters: Yandere!Dabi x Ryusaki Yuuma (Toyhouse here, please check out this awesome OC!) Warnings: Yandere, Drugging, Kidnapping, Alcohol

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

The vibrations of the electric bass embraced him the second he stepped through the door. It was too loud to hear the metal fall back into its lock, but the moment it did, Dabi felt as if he was caught in a vacuum, the verberation of the sound running through bones and muscles, as well as the staples holding his skin together. To him, loud music always was like an annoying visit at the doctor's; a tearing and mauling at his whole being, but he appreciated the effect of drowning out his thoughts with it just like he appreciated sedation before getting operated on.

With his eyes focused forward, he navigated the dark hallway towards the center of the club where the action was happening. Dabi didn't want to get caught in people's stares, having no business with the curious onlookers. He had a mirror at home. He knew how he looked, but he wasn't there to ruin anyone's day, and it wasn't Halloween either, so he didn't bother convincing anyone that he was as bad as he seemed. Especially not with there being not one innocent soul visiting the night club, so it wasn't like he was misplaced in there. Neon lights were the only thing illuminating the place occasionally, spotlights projecting them onto the ground in circles and sways, much like the moving bodies on the dancefloor.

Green, Blue, Purple. Those colors were all he could see, aside from the occasional white shirt. All around him, people were trying to forget about the shitty week that laid behind them, but Dabi couldn't be bothered to even recognize their faces in the dark mass. Everyone here only came for a few reasons: Drink and dance their night away with what the club had to offer. Perhaps have an intimate encounter that wouldn't be as meaningful anymore in the morning as they painted it out to be with their intoxicated minds.

However, at least for Dabi, there really was an actual meaning to his visit.

He touched his coat, falling over his chest right above his heart, and felt the stiff resistance waiting for him there in the form of a box sitting in the inside pocket. Luckily, his clothes weren't a tight fit, or someone may have already noticed the small bulge and tried to ask about what he could offer. Getting high quickly and forget their worries was all those people cared about. They weren't aware that Dabi wasn't selling any kind of drugs to them that would take them up to the heavens, but rather, down below.

Unbothered by the bodies bumping into him, letting out annoying cheers and sloppy singing, he pushed through the dancers, making his way towards the polished counter of the bar. One glance at him was enough to make people back away, no matter how upset they were that Dabi interrupted their special dance moves. Thus he was quickly able to reach his goal without interruptions. Still, not without him thinking about how much nicer it was, that he didn't have to walk through so many annoyances every time he came to visit, though.

Patrons leaning against the bar moved away with disgusted looks, making space for the villain who gladly took the free room to assert himself at the counter. It wasn't like Dabi was forcing anyone away. It also wasn't his business that he was losing by scaring away the chatty drinkers, so their reactions merely put a smile on his face, making even the most stubborn stud scramble away in fear. It might have been the most terrifying expression they had ever seen, despite Dabi being in a relatively good mood.

He was quickly recognized by one of the bartenders - a newbie he assumed, with a neckline too deep for someone who served drinks out of passion - who gave him a hesitant, frightened look before approaching. Dabi merely shook his head as she asked what he wanted, and he could watch her shoulders fall in relief that she'd not have to serve him. Instead, he pointed at her co-worker, who was tending to the customers on the other end of the bar.

"Yuuma?" she asked. Her voice was meek and mellow, nothing you'd expect in such a loud environment. Perhaps it was her hook to appear cutesy and gain more tips, but it didn't impress Dabi at all. Thankfully she leaned close enough, having her bosom squeeze onto the neatly polished countertops, so even he was able to hear her. "Be a doll and call him," Dabi requested, still smiling as if he had no care in the world, adding a briefly considered, "--and a drink. Something rough."

Hesitant at first, she leaned back before raising her finger as to say, "One moment, please," and took off like a race car. Speed was apparently her skill, Dabi figured, after all that she lacked in customer service. However, what a good girl she was, running right up to her superior, pulling him away from taking an order as if lives depended on it. Dabi watched her lips move, and Yuuma's brows wrinkle as he probably tried to make out what she was saying through the noise, glancing up only as she pointed into the villain's direction. With a playful wave, Dabi made sure the young bartender's eyes would find him despite the neon lights moving left and right, and it was a delight to see Yuuma's eyes widen as he finally spotted his customer.

Ushering her to take over the orders he was doing, Yuuma marched - menacingly so, how Dabi experienced it - into his direction, not even looking as he pulled one of the bottles out of the lit open cabinets at the back of the bar, taking it with him. Snatching a glass from under the counter, it certainly wasn't careful how Yuuma placed it in front of him, but the loud bang fit in perfectly with the music. Whatever he poured for Dabi, he did so quickly, to the point it slopped out of the glass again, making Dabi grin a little more.

"You? In one piece?" was the first thing Yuuma threw at him as he leaned in for a talk.

"I always knew you liked me better when I bleed," Dabi chuckled back, taking the glass from the bartender. The pungent smell of alcohol stung in his nose, but the drink he was handed was as good as anything on his tongue. It tasted all the more delicious since Yuuma served it to him.

Yuuma scrunched up his nose at the statement, the nights spent patching up Dabi having left a sour taste on his memories. Not like it was the villain's fault per se, but Yuuma probably saw more disgusting insights on Dabi's body than Dabi was aware of. Regaining his composure, Yuuma only shook his head lightly as Dabi took another sip of his drink, their conversation fading out with the electro beats booming all around them.

Still, Dabi caught the nervous glance Yuuma threw to the sides, not bothering with counting how many patrons replied with their uncertainty in return. "It's weird you'd come at this time. You usually- well, you never come this early. There isn't a shipment today either, is there?"

The neon lights shining into Yuuma's green eyes reflected a visible discomfort, even though Dabi could barely understand why. It wasn't like he was the only bad guy in this whole club, yet, Yuuma seemed to get cautious now that he was around. However, being stared at by a lovely face like Yuuma's, Dabi wasn't even complaining over the wrinkled forehead despite knowing he was in for a scolding.

"Can't I just come to enjoy some... Well..." Dabi cheered the glass in his hand into Yuuma's direction, shoulders shrugging. Thinking of adding, "... and seeing you?" to his words, Dabi bit back the flirt, even though he couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from jerking upwards.

"No… Yes- I mean--" Watching as Yuuma fidgeted for words before sighing, pressing his fingers into his forehead as if he was counteracting a headache, Dabi couldn't help but feel the bubbling emotions in his stomach. Looking at Yuuma was to Dabi what looking at puppies was to some people. He could put on the most serious, I-am-the-doctor-and-you-are-the-patient face, and Dabi still found joy in the many emotions showing that Yuuma wasn't even aware of.

"Not sure if you used a mirror lately, but your looks are downright scary, man," he reminded the villain, and Dabi could barely keep himself from beaming a smile in his direction. Of course he knew the true intentions behind Yuuma's words. Still, Dabi neither was superficial nor very interested in other people's opinions, so he chose a reply that would be more beneficial to both of them.

"Thanks, I thought I looked really handsome today too. That makes two of us then~"

Driving his free hand through his hair and brushing it back for a better look at him, Dabi let the tease sit in with Yuuma first, the bartender's brows raising in confusion before his expression sunk in annoyance. If Dabi imagined it strongly enough, he believed he saw a slight flustered shine on Yuuma's cheeks, though it would be hard to prove with the insufficient lighting in the club. Had it been any other situation, Yuuma might have bit back with an appropriate reply, but with an arm raising nearby the two, his attention on Dabi was momentarily distracted, reminding him he couldn't stand around for too long and do nothing.

Dabi merely acknowledged the shifting focus of his favorite bartender by taking another sip from his glass, unhappy that their flirting was interrupted. Clinking the glass on the counter, it drew Yuuma's attention back, his face instantly becoming more serious while Dabi let him know quietly he wanted a refill, which Yuuma complied to reluctantly.

"You can't stay here," Yuuma finally pressed out. It was the more polite way of saying 'Get the fuck out', but Dabi appreciated the sentiment he felt as Yuuma tried to treat him nicely. After all Dabi did for him and the money the villain spent on Yuuma's little side business, he still had the manners to not anger his customers no matter how pesky Dabi was. It was almost too much for Dabi's ashen heart to see how hard it was for Yuuma to juggle being respectful, the stress of bartending all night, and the annoyance over Dabi's presence. Usually, Yuuma was such a composed, snarky little medic with no bedside manner, and Dabi adored him for it. But this certainly was refreshing, and Dabi could barely wait to experience more new sights of his darling Yuuma.

"My presence bothering you much?" he asked teasingly, grabbing his glass and taking a step back from the counter. "Can't be helped then. I don't want you to lose your job just because you can't get away from me. You don't mind if I wait in the back, right? You're going to close up soon anyway, and I got to talk to you."

"H-Hey!" Yuuma yelled after Dabi, who turned around without waiting for an answer. Passing by the patrons lined up at the counter, he saw Yuuma trying to catch his attention from the corner of his eyes and chose to ignore him rather than confront. Dabi immensely enjoyed being able to witness his usually so stoic and often tired little medic all lively, and even a bit riled up, deciding in that very moment that he made the right decision to come in when the club was still booming. It was different and not as intimate as the patch-up dates they had before, but he liked it nonetheless.

Taking a surprised, sharp breath, Dabi had to balance out the alcohol swapping from one side to the other as his shirt suddenly got grabbed, turning him around. Yuuma's expression was almost furious. Absolutely adorable even. Dabi didn't know he could slip out of the bar that quickly, but it was a pleasant surprise to come face to face with Yuuma.

"Don't do anything stupid," he hissed as he reached for Dabi's free hand, slapping the keys to the backdoors into it. "And don't touch anything."

"Gotcha," Dabi agreed, letting the keyring dangle from his finger. He had expected it to be a little bit more extravagant, but perhaps he had overestimated Yuuma's taste when it came to key accessories, only two keys and a small flask-like trinket dangling from it. "Touch everything and wreak havoc. I won't disappoint."

And with that, Dabi was gone, leaving behind a Yuuma who already regretted letting the villain enter his more or less private quarters.

The moment he stepped through the backdoor, the music volume toned down. Not enough to disappear, but at least to hear his own thoughts again. So far, so good, he told himself, marching down the small hallway. There weren't too many doors, just a walk-in fridge, the locker room for the employees, and the much-anticipated storage room Yuuma used for himself, next to the back exit at the end of the hallway. Dabi chose to wait where Yuuma would probably expect him to go anyway - his room.

Setting down his drink on top of the dresser to his right, he approached the make-shift bed first, plopping down onto the old, saggy mattress. He made it. He actually made it. Not like Dabi had an underlying suspicion that his plan would fail so early on, but gaining access to the back was still an achievement to him. Only once before had Yuuma allowed him entrance to this place, but now, Dabi had made his way back here. Laying his head to the side, he eyed the pillow, letting his fingers reach out to it. He pulled it towards him, held it in front of his chest, squishing the soft material inside.

It was tempting him. It really was.

Bringing it up to his face, Dabi muffled himself in the fabric, taking a deep breath. He imagined how Yuuma slept on this pillow every night, happy to smother his stress and worries in it for a few hours of sleep in return. Taking another deep inhale, he wanted to believe that the smell filling his nose and lungs was that of Yuuma, and not just this damp little room. At least, it was the closest he ever came to his little medic in terms of intimacy, so he wasn't very picky.

Reluctantly, he put the pillow aside again, tossing it recklessly on top of the folded blanket. Not like he wanted to upset Yuuma by throwing around his objects, but at the same time, Dabi was one step ahead. It wasn't like Yuuma would need this pillow anymore, in a long, long time. Standing up again, Dabi came to a halt in front of a rather large dresser. Of course, he'd be good. He promised that. Dabi knew how much Yuuma was attached to all the vials and medicine he had, so at least the chemistry set on top of the dresser was something Dabi would refrain from touching.

Everything else, however, was fair game.

Pulling open the first drawer, Dabi expected the clothes arranged inside. It had a subtle order, but even though Yuuma tried, it was clear that he wasn't as careful when pulling out things, causing the clothes to be wrinkled and muddled. Browsing through the few shirts and hoodies Yuuma owned, Dabi pulled out one that caught his eyes, a black tank top with the font "dumbasses don't interact" in capital letters written on the front. Peculiar, but Dabi liked that. Cramming it into his coat pocket, he decided he'd ask Yuuma to wear that at a later point in time. Under… better conditions.

Below that drawer was another one containing various things from underwear and socks to some personal items. With delighted amusement, Dabi explored this drawer, very interested to see what kind of items the rather minimalistic Yuuma would hold on to, but of course, the luring of the underwear came first. Aside from mismatched socks, Dabi let out a chuckle as he felt lace beneath his fingertips, very happy to latch onto this feeling. Forth came black briefs, partly translucent from the lace, and Dabi was smitten with his find. Who'd known that his usually so casual Yuuma would own something so daring?

That was definitely another keeper, he decided, pushing it down the other coat pocket. Dabi was about to give his attention to the items on the right side of the drawer next when his ears perked up. All of a sudden, the drumming beats inside the club shut off, and it got quiet. He couldn't have been in this room for long. Sure, he had taken his time with everything he did, but it had barely been a few minutes. Yet, without the beat of the music hammering in the back of his head, Dabi knew the club was closing down. It wouldn't be long now until Yuuma returned, especially not when he knew Dabi was here waiting for him.

Making haste, Dabi finally pulled out the small box he had hid on the inside of the coat. The silver box resembled the ones Yuuma used to sell his drugs, but the pills inside were different from those that enhanced quirks. Fishing for his glass, Dabi took a big swig, making it look like he had been drinking calmly while he waited. Still, he left enough to share it with his hardworking friend.

Giving the burning alcohol a second to stop hurting his tastebuds, Dabi had to pinch his eyes close as it took it's sweet time to disappear. For someone who liked to play with fire as much as Dabi did, it was almost funny to experience the burns on his tongue and down his throat, but he shook his head quickly, hoping it would lessen the experience after all. Fiddling with the box in one hand, he opened it, reaching for one of the pills inside. Over the glass, he twisted open the capsule, discarding it inside the box once it was empty. Even if it didn't matter, he wasn't into leaving more evidence than necessary.

Mixing the contents inside the glass with one another by swirling around the alcohol, Dabi almost had to laugh about the irony. The pill dealer getting drugged seemed ironic to the villain, despite this having been the plan from the very beginning. In some way, Yuuma had it coming for him. Even if he had rather good intentions, he just had to take the wrong path that would lead him to people like Dabi. That wasn't something he was going to get out of ever again, so now it was up to Dabi to help him out. After all, the longer he stayed in the business, the more likely it was that Yuuma would end up hurt or with someone much worse than just the fire-loving sociopath.

That was something Dabi would never be able to accept.

He had assumed that Yuuma would show up any second from now on, but it surprised Dabi nonetheless when the door suddenly got pulled open, Yuuma's grim-looking face appearing in the doorframe. He must have really hurried, a thought that made Dabi's heart skip a beat. Dabi barely had enough time to hide the silver box in his pocket again. Still, not wanting to raise Yuuma's suspicion, he quickly slipped it into his coat pocket, trying to look as innocent as possible. Finally alone with him, Dabi smiled a sincere, joyful smile, welcoming him with a merry, "Welcome home!"

"So, what's your reason for showing up?" Yuuma asked, coming right to the point. He passed by Dabi, shoving the second drawer that wasn't shut entirely after Dabi had to hurry, close. If Yuuma knew he had been going through his stuff was a puzzle to the villain, but Yuuma didn't question it, and Dabi didn't persist in knowing that yet.

"Been a long day, huh?" he avoided his question, holding out his drink to Yuuma. "Calm down, I'm not here to upset you."

It was a peace offering. As simple as that. Yuuma's eyes met Dabi's, searching for any lies and malicious intent. "I need to talk about the next shipment for the League. That's all," Dabi tried to reassure him, urging the glass towards him once more. Hearing that, Yuuma's tension finally fell off, and he sighed, expecting to hear about losses for his business if Dabi was here to change the amount he ordered. And to get through that without losing his mind over how he'll pay the bills for the club, he really could need a drink.

Taking the glass from Dabi's hand, he didn't miss a second to take a swig, remembering too late what kind of alcohol he had given to his customer. The damage being done to his throat, Yuuma could only cough, giving back the glass to Dabi, who laughed over his reaction as if he didn't have the same one before. However, against his expectations, Yuuma watched how Dabi merely put down the glass on the dresser's corner instead of drinking himself.

"Here's the deal," Dabi spoke calmly, gathering more of Yuuma's attention on him. "I think you're doing a great job supplying us with those fancy little pills of yours, and honestly, you deserve better than this." Pointing his hand across the room, Dabi tried to bring his point across.

"All this working on the club, mixing drinks, and getting leered at by those bad, bad people out there - that just doesn't suit you. There's still room for better things to come to you, isn't there?"

"The fuck are you even talking about?" Managing to get his voice back after the alcohol-fail, Yuuma stood up straight again, shaking his head. "Are you drunk or simply spouting nonsense again?"

The sudden dizziness was evident on his face as Yuuma reached up to hold his head while Dabi slowly approached. He wanted to be there for Yuuma, especially if the boy was going to fall right into his arms. "You don't even know your own worth, Yuuma. So I decided it was time for someone to appreciate you properly," Dabi explained, holding out his arms as Yuuma let out a groan, his body stumbling on the spot, ready to collapse.

"All you have to do is sleep, and I'll make sure you will wake up in a better place."

"Dabi, what the fuck--" Yuuma tried to argue, but he could barely focus on the words of the villain as his body began to fail him, his vision becoming foggy and gravity pulling him to the ground heavier than usual. Was it his luck or his doom that Dabi was right there to catch him as his knees gave out? Yuuma didn't know anymore. He didn't know anything. It was too hard, too tedious to think about what was happening when he felt just so damn tired all of a sudden. He was crushed by the exhaustion that forced him to blackout, sinking right into the open arms of someone he never considered could hold him so tenderly.

"You don't really have a say on this, but don't worry about a thing. Where we are going, your presence will be appreciated. I will make sure of it," Dabi chuckled, petting Yuuma's head as the drugged ones' conscience faded. He gave Yuuma his time to settle into the deep sleep, shaking his head as he lamented how nasty those sedatives were. Quick, effective, and if Dabi wasn't so fond of Yuuma, deadly.

Throwing the heavy body over his shoulder, Dabi gave his butt a cheeky slap, announcing, "Off we go!" as he turned to the door, ready to leave. For a moment, he considered simply burning down the club, destroy all evidence there was. But where was the fun in taking everything from Yuuma yet? It may come in handy to have something to pressure him with if Yuuma turned out not so happy with Dabi's idea of 'appreciation'.

But for now, it was hard to wipe the smile off of Dabi's face, knowing he had won the battle already, even if the war was only really beginning.

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thewritingdesk · 4 years

Text

It Had to be You ~ Part Two

Summary: Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world she walked into hers. Lin Beifong saw the world in two colors; black and white. That changes though when she meets the siren working with one of the largest gangs in Republic City.

Azami never had a choice. Didn’t have a way out. But she could destroy things from the inside. She could move information around. She could lie and smile with the best of them.

Neither needed anyone. Neither needed love. So what happens when fate ties them together? Can they save each other? Or will a smoking gun end something before it begins

A/N: A 1930s/40s LOK AU. Note that there will be themes that were present during this time including smoking, drinking, underlying homophobia, and potentially smut later on down the line. Writer’s views are not that of the characters.

Word count: 2046

In a city that shines from both street lights and stars, you’d think that all that glittered was gold. That truly, such a marvel of a city had achieved a beautiful balance in the world and everyone lived peacefully. Crime is minimal and the law has won.

But Azami knew better. The mirror’s reflection reminded her of that.

She’d experienced what it had been like to beg for her meal and hope the abandoned building had a dry place for her to sleep. And that the cops wouldn’t kick her out if they found her. Her parents had died young. Trip Threats said her father owed them money. Tossed him in the bay tied to a boulder. Her mother had been shot in the head when she’d tried to run. Azami hid in their pantry and heard it all.

She’d been fifteen when she took her first stage job. A lie and enough makeup to pass for eighteen had gotten her the gig. When they’d figured out her talents when it came that, the smaller leagues used her to move information around. Supply runs and caches for those that had needed them. Throw off the larger gangs and the police in hopes to feed those that the rest of the world turned their back on.

Brush strokes through her hair. One-two-three-four. Moving in time to the tinny sound of a trumpet and drum. Eyes that she displayed for the world that filled themselves with fires looked tired. Cheeks were gaunt.

“Nothing a little makeup can’t fix, doll.”

Takao had said to her after he’d smacked her across the face for sneaking the bus boy some food from the kitchen. Never enough to bruise. Only enough to control. Him and the four cronies that had started to show up more and more to stir things up. Setting the brush down, fingers pinned the front of her dark brown locks into a victory roll, leaving the rest of her hair to curl around her shoulders.

“Dyke freak like her would want ‘em soft.”

Feed the chief lies. Hook her with a smile. Leave her always wanting more, but remember, stay out of reach.

Nightingale, that is what they’d started calling her. Her voice was melodic and rang clear like the songbird. She fluttered around and went unnoticed, like the songbird. She was caged, like a songbird. The stage was her cage, no matter how she loved it. No matter how she had lied to herself and painted it in gold.

It was on the stage that Takao had discovered her. Had found her her family had been, and what her father had once been. It was the stage that he’d watched her eyes linger not on the men that came through the door. It was the stage that he chained her to the floor.

“Remember, little bird, the world has no sympathy for a freak with no power.”

Men like Takao had seized power after the uprisings that forced the council to step down as the head of the city. They had turned a blind eye to things such as who could love who. The president who was easily bought, easily swayed, was not so easily blinded. It was this man who had let the three major gangs begin to take over the city. Allowed for those who had already oppressed, already crippled, to only feel the hand around their throat tighten. It was his fault that she…

“Ten more minutes until curtain, Miss Nightingale.”

Jumping from her reverie, Azami turned to the young boy who had come to her door and nodded to him. Thanking him quietly, she quickly moved to dress in the crimson red dress that had been selected. The dress hugged and skimmed over her hips and showed off her thin waist. The V in the back showing off the soft skin, while thin straps sat on her shoulders.

A doll, she was a doll.

Slipping into her shoes, white gloves were slipped on before she left the room and headed for the stage.

Lin wasn’t sure how she found herself back in the smoke filled club. Or how she found herself seated at a table, whiskey in hand, rather than leaning against the bar. She’d even gone home to change out of her uniform. Black trousers that cinched high on her waist paired with the white silk blouse that tapered into her form, two buttons left open to allow her neck to be seen. She’d kept the bun, but put on some lipstick.

Maybe it had been something in those eyes that made her forget herself. She was just here to get information, she’d be able to sit without standing out dressed like this.

That’s what she told herself anyway.

So lost in her thoughts Lin had been that she hadn’t noticed Azami take the stage, hadn’t noticed the shift in the room as it stilled. Waiting for the first notes from the maestro that stood on the stage.

“Stars fading, but I linger on, dear

Still craving your kiss

I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

Just saying this”

The siren’s pull had moved from her ears and down to her belly. The smooth sounds catching her off guard as pale green eyes sought out the darker green ones. Something was off about them tonight. The fire was still there, and they still held hers captive but there was something deeper. Something Lin couldn’t put a word to.

“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me.”

The song faded as eyes locked, whiskey came to her lips and burned her throat. An anchor. Something to hold her there. She couldn’t fall under the spell completely if she was still feeling the burn of the alcohol. If she could feel the outside world still tugging at her.

Unlike the previous night, she didn’t make her way to her immediately. She waited. She listened as she sang through the upbeat tunes. Watched as she accepted a martini from a man, only to set it back on the bar when his back had turned.

Sitting back in her chair, she pulled her own cigarette from its case a bit too forcefully before lighting and releasing her own mark into the air. She knew she was there.

Azami had felt the chief’s eyes on her most of the night. Felt them as she made her rounds, made her wait. Tempted her to fetch her from the hands of others. She was almost disappointed when she didn’t. Finally making her way to the table, she offered Lin one of her signature smiles before taking her seat.

“I’m glad you could make it, chief. Did you enjoy the set?” Azami asked, a finger motioning one of the waiters over. Ordering herself another gin and tonic she sat back in her chair.

Lin brought the cigarette back to her lips and had just pulled a drag from it when fingers reached over and plucked it from her hand. She watched the other woman bring it to her lips deliberately, eyes never leaving hers and watching her expectantly.

“It was...good.” Her hand reached for the cigarette when it was handed back to her, noticing the way the two lipsticks seemed to mingle. “Now, about our deal.”

“Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it chief?” Azami asked, offering the waiter a winning smile when her drink was brought to her. “While I enjoy my drink for a moment, why don’t you tell me about your day.”

“My day? Why the fuck would you want to know--”

“Do you see that man behind me? The one in the obnoxious red suit?” Azami asked and waited until she received a nod from the chief before speaking again. “That’s Jun. Not a major player so he wouldn’t be on your radar, but he reports back to Ju-long who…”

“Who is one of the higher ups to the Agni Kai triad.” Lin finished and reached for her drink.

“Very good, chief.” Sipping her drink, Azami watched the woman. “All of these men know you. All of them are trying to discern if you’re you, or if you’re just another woman.”

“And what happens if they find out?” Lin asked, sipping her whiskey.

“They let you go the other night. Coming in more than once means one of two things; you’re willing to be bought, or you’re on to something. Guess it depends which you present to them.” Azami answered, setting her glass down.

She could feel Takao’s eyes on her and tried to ignore it. Instead she tried to focus on the pale green of Lin’s eyes, she wondered if she realized there were small auburn fleks in the green. Probably not.

“And how did a lady like you get caught up in this?”

“A lady she says, been a while since someone called me that.” Azami chuckled and folded her arms. “That’s a long, sad story. Maybe I’ll let you convince me to tell you about it, one day. Now, to our deal, there’s four people that keep coming in to speak with the owner, two men, two women. One of the men seems to be the ringleader, keeps one of the dames on his arm. Not sure what their deal is, seems to be upset about that young kid with ties that could shake up the layers of power. Don’t have any names.”

Lin leaned forward, she’d heard rumor of this group, had heard of the destruction they left behind them. “Can you come down to the station to describe them?”

“And risk my own neck, or find myself in the bottom of the bay? No thanks, chief.”

“We could protect you, Azami.” Lin pointed out, I could protect you, her mind whispered back.

“No, you couldn’t chief.” Azami answered, reaching to finish her drink. “So I guess your need for me is done.”

Let me protect you. Get out of here while you can.

“When is your next set?” Lin asked, almost shocked that the words had escaped her.

“Two nights from now.” Azami answered, watching the woman quietly. Gone were the flirtatious smiles. This woman was good, she didn’t want to drag her into this world. But too many people outside this club relied on her keeping Takao’s eyes off of them. “Should I expect you?”

Swirling the amber fluid in the glass, Lin tossed the rest back and hummed. “Will you have more information for me?”

Sing pretty bird, sing just for me. Sing the sweetest song you ever did see.

“Perhaps. Guess you’ll have to show up and see.” Azami answered and stood. She was tired. Her set was done and the next doll took the stage. She wanted out of the dress. She wanted to remove the facade. She wanted to go home.

A caged little bird, a sweet little doll. Remember child, you’re only as good as what they need you for.

Lin watched Azami walk away as she turned to reach for her grey trench coat. She moved with an effortless grace, but this time her head stayed lowered. Only the staff received any kind of smile when they came over to speak with her on her way to the back door. Had her eyes seemed despondent when she had asked if she’d have more information in two days time?

Now why would you care? Her mind whispered back.

Shaking it off, she stood and began out of the club. This nightingale, Azami, she corrected herself, had been something she’d been trying to look into since their first meeting. But every lead she found seemed to dangle in the wind. Women like that were dangerous. Women like that would get you killed.

But then, why did she feel her stomach clench when the fire in those eyes had dulled? Why had her heart tied up when that voice had hooked her in despite her best attempts to ignore it? Why was she dreaming of green eyed sirens when she closed her eyes?

She needed to get home. She needed a stronger drink. And she needed to crack this mystery so she could leave this woman behind.

#lin beifong #lin x oc #lin beifong x oc #lin beifong/oc #legend of korra #lok fanfic #fanfiction

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peterquillss · 3 years

Text

The Misadventures of Star-Lord & the Earth Girl #17

Summary: When Malia Reyes wakes in the dead of night, she finds an alien ship crashed atop her apartment building! And the “alien,’ abroad is no other then Star-Lord, retired Guardian fallen back on his more criminal lifestyle. Now with fate having thrown a man from the stars and a girl from earth together, they’ll have to survive whatever the black void of space and the marvel universe has to throw at them.

Rated: PG-13

Pairings: Peter Quill x OC

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Maybe she should've stayed on the Cruise Ship after all. Without Peter. And his damn endless supply of seventies hits. But, it was too late for that now — days having passed from the week-long event and the Milano being far off from its territory. She just had to deal with him and his rather musical mood today; regardless of their previous , "we have no money," conversation earlier on. What on earth possessed her to stay after that clear sign was beyond her. She loved him too much. Narrowing her brown eyes in his direction with resentment as the song Magic by Pilot played, Malia folded her arms over her chest and groaned loud enough to catch Peter's attention — which he ignored giving her, too immersed in his personal song and dance. Why did she fall in love with this man again?

Peter moved in sync with the music, even while limited by the confines of his seat. Malia's displeasure with his music choices wasn't something he turned out, just something that he'd grown accustomed to. She never really got too upset about it, just a weary look and a comment about his 'hippie music' here and there. Maybe it was because she knew what the music meant to him. Maybe, but Peter had other suspicions. Once in a while he'd catch her getting into a song, swaying and mouthing the words presumably so he wouldn't hear her. She'd immediately stop if she so much as suspected he was looking. He kinda wished she would just cut loose.

He'd seen her worry and get lost in thought so much in the past that seeing her just be happy in the moment and let the music be all that was on her mind made him happy for her. Not to mention it was one of those things she did that made him think he couldn't love her any more then he already did.

The song faded out, leaving Peter with a combination of satisfaction and excitement for the next track. He glanced at Malia who rolled her eyes and looked out the window at the stars. Peter chuckled, glancing at the controls. "Hey, don't worry about the money thing. We're making a stop that'll have some chances for cash. I got this." She gave him a smirk that faded after a few moments before giving a small nod.

The next track started to play and a smile crossed Peter's face. 'Stumblin' by Suzi Quatro', a favorite of his and a song he knew for a fact Malia enjoyed. He looked at Malia, putting on a look of shock. "Oh shit, Mal! It's a duet. Come on, don't leave me hanging."

"Someone has to worry," Malia huffed in response as the familiar song she would never admit she loved to him started to fill her ears. She knew that he knew some of his tracks had pierced through her modern heart, but — she pretended more often than not, like they didn't; for fun. And for the adorable face he made whenever she did. It had grown into a habit of hers. Pursing her lips into a forced line amidst the head bopping beat, she turned her face away from him before he could catch her change in expression and chewed the inside of her cheek. Maybe she did want to sing along, just a little, since it was her favorite song.

"Wherever you go, whatever you do...," As Peter directed the lyrics he sang, rather loudly, in her direction with a smile that reflected off the windshield mirror for her to see, Malia felt the corners of her mouth lift into a genuine grin of her own as he continued to belt out the rest of his part and playfully reach out for her. "You know these reckless thoughts of mine are following you."

She softly slapped his hand away, in between a giggle and allowed herself to move to the rhythm of the beat. "I've fallen for you, whatever you do," She harmonized in her part. "Cause, baby, you've shown me so many things that I never knew!"

Malia swayed to the music, extended out her hand to Peter and continued to carol her parts of the duet in glee, putting her worries behind her for the remainder of the song. She felt pleased seeing him like this with her, happy, when before it was a rare occurence to come by, knowing the undisclosed pain she knew he held. Of course, he shared sweet moments she forever would remember, the smiles and laughs he allowed himself to have. But, they were different. This was different. So, she'd cherish the moment and make it last longer.

"Our love is alive, and so we begin!" In unison, she sang along with Peter the chorus, dancing in the co-pilot seat beside him and looked in his direction to catch his loving gaze. She admired the heavenly feeling he gave her as she continued to harmonize the track, squeezing his hand. "Foolishly laying our hearts on the table, stumblin in." Malia smiled, never taking her attention from him and swayed blissfully. If singing to his music made him this happy, she'd sing with him all the time. To have her heart swell, explode in millions of butterflies that tickled her inside. What could she say? She loved him.

Peter let Malia's hand go and shook his head as the closing notes of the song began to play. It was still so weird to think that this woman who had grown to be so important to him had just wandered into his ship at random one night. He looked at her, catching the beaming smile she was giving as she watched him, unable to help smiling back. "What?"

Malia shook her head, the smile never leaving her face. "Nothing." The song ended and a few seconds later the opening notes to Queen's rendition of ' The Great Pretender' began to play. "So, where are we stopping this time?"

Peter adjusted the controls before returning his full attention to Malia. "Sakarr. Never been there myself, but it's supposed to be filled with all kinds of chances to make a little deniro."

Malia nodded, even though she had that adorable clueless look on her face. "How long?"

Peter shrugged. "Not long with these private trading routes at our disposal."

Malia shifted in her seat, pulling one of her knees up to her chest. "They are helpful. This 'Sakarr', what's it supposed to be like?"

Peter made a slight adjustment in the ship's course before answering. "Kinda tough from what I've heard, but don't worry. You've got superpowers after all."

"Yeah, I'll go in there blazing while you hide behind me and scream like a girl." Malia lifted her hands in an exaggerated gesture and laughed as the hysterical image of Peter freaking out while she kicked some random alien's butt filled her mind. It made her a bit excited over the possibility of her using her, 'gifts,' to fight and discover more about them. He being so accepting of her weird, glowy hands, had given her the confidence boost she needed over them. Her powers were no longer a pending secret she shared; it’s burden having become weightless.

Drifting her attention toward the colorful constellation in front of her, she remained silent for a few minutes, listening to Freddie Mercury’s ballad before speaking again. “If only there was a death star that needed blowing up,” She flatly chimed, remembering the fondness Peter had for the sci-fi classic. Unlike Captain America, she was certain he caught her not-so vague reference to a galaxy far, far away. After all, she was the Leia to his Han Solo. Their paired figurines on the dash of the Milano proved half of that claim, along with everything else.

“I forgot I glued those there,” Malia pointed to the small statuettes with a blissful expression painted over her face and smiled as she tried to reach out for them briefly and then relax herself back into her seat when the awkward attempt failed. Instead, she flicked her fingers, like a witch would amidst chanting a spell, and created a circular veil over the stilled dolls. “I will be Space’s Mightiest…,” She paused to think of a catchy enough alias to go with the known saying and bit her bottom lip. “Hero?” She said in the form of a question, glancing over at Peter for any suggestions.

She stared at him as another track began to play, then followed his gaze toward the shields she had placed over their figurines. “I can make them go away,” Waving her hand effortlessly in a dismissive motion, the blueish bubbles vanishing from the plastic toys. Maybe, she should’ve warned him a bit first? Malia stifled in a laugh at his lack of response, bewildered into rare silence again and leaned toward his chair. “Peter, sweetie?” She placed a hand on his arm, feeling light butterflies tickle her stomach over her first usage of a pet name and smiled playfully as she made her index and middle fingers into legs to walk along his arm. “I know where your candy is,” She whispered with an added gasp, hoping that would snap him out of his dazed state.

Peter quickly snapped his gaze from the figurines to Malia, noting the mischievous grin on her face. "Hold the phone. You mean I didn't lose it?" Malia let her hand brush his arm as she returned to her seat. "Mal? You better tell me where my candy is." Peter furrowed his brow as Malia mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key. "Oh, that's how it's gonna be then?" Malia shrugged her shoulders, a pleased smile on her face. Peter nodded, a smile of his own creeping across his face. "One of these days, when you're looking out at space, don't be surprised if you see a certain bunch of wizard related movies floating by."

That got her. Malia sat up straight, her eyes widening a bit. "You wouldn't."

Peter gave a small shrug. "A man does crazy things when he doesn't get candy, Mal. I may not be able to stop myself."

Malia sat back in her seat with a huff. "Your precious candy is under the cushion of the bench."

Peter smirked. "Alright. Crisis averted."

Malia glanced at him and smiled. "You're booze on the other hand..."

Peter threw up his brow. "Oh, that's even worse. Not sure what'll happen if I get sober all at once."

Malia slapped both of her hands over the sides of her face in a dramatized expression of shock and turned her attention toward Peter. "I don't know. Maybe, you'll clean your room?" She suggested with widened brown eyes for emphasis. Over their six month course on the Milano she'd cleaned his room about twice, opting the third time to leave his pigpen alone for him to roll over in. It wasn’t dirty in terms of trash laying around, but rather an accumulation of scattered clothes, unmentionables, and candy wrappers. She was lucky he at least showered.

“By the way, I found something the other day.” While she was on the subject of cleaning, she remembered the disc she found in one of the guest bedrooms. “I know I shouldn’t really go into those rooms…,” She admitted as she unbuckled the safety-straps from her torso and carefully walked toward the back of the flight deck. “But, I was looking for some tape and found it in one of the bins, tucked away.” Malia rummaged through the knapsack she usually left hanging near the ship’s blasters and retrieved the circular-like chip Tochi told her was actually a video.

Unhooking one of the pads from the armrest of an empty chair, she inserted the micro disk into its side and made her way back to her seat, trying to contain her excitement over the footage she had already seen of him and his team the night before. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him over it. Like where had they all gone? It was clear as day to her they were no longer together or in contact, but why? She paused in her train of thought, hoping what she was about to show him didn’t count as crossing the line with her overzealous curiosity.

“It’s some old footage,” Malia looked up at Peter once the video loaded on the pocket sized computer in her hand and smiled sheepishly as his blue eyes wandered onto the pad itself. She studied his muddled expression, her hand blocking him from seeing the screen and gave him an affectionate gaze, before hitting the play button. “It’s you and the Guardians…,” She mumbled, the sounds of the captured battle he at the time led, shouting out orders being displayed. He was nothing like the man she knew. “Look at you!” She beamed, smiling from ear to ear.

She averted her eyes from his face to look down at the moving images on the pad she held up for him, pointed at his figure on the screen and took in the footage with him. Besides the clip of The Guardians of the Galaxy, there were more mashed up tidbits recorded that she loved. “The cameraman is awful at his job,” Giggling over the shaky shots and the very angry Raccoon who scolded someone named, “Groot,” Malia returned her attention back to Peter. Her gleeful smile slowly wavered from her lips when she caught sight of his somber expression. “Peter?”

Peter had heard Malia say something, but it hadn't registered. Nothing she'd said after the footage started had his full attention on that. Everything else around him felt like it'd been drained of its warmth and color as the old footage pulled him deeper in. Thoughts and feelings he'd tried for so long to keep buried bubbled to the surface. There was a reason he'd cleared the ship of almost every trace of his old teammates, and this was it. Because thinking of them meant thinking of when they left, and thinking of that meant thinking of why.

He was far into thinking that as the footage switched to a more candid moment of the team together. Peter felt sick as he recognized the location and knew it was just hours before his greatest failure. Just hours before and he'd had everything. His team, his family. He'd finally grown into more of the leader he tried so hard to be. He'd been happy. A few hours later he'd destroyed it all. Everything he'd done and gone through that day was still so fresh in his mind that sometimes it still felt like he was living it. He was living it now as the feeling of utter devastation he'd felt ever since came to the forefront.

He furrowed his brow, anger mixing in with the sadness, all of it directed at himself. He and his team continued to laugh as they made their way around the streets, oblivious to the coming event that would tear them apart. Peter was stuck in that event as he sat frozen in place, all of it written on his face plain as day as he stared at the screen.The fear, confusion, sadness, hatred, hopelessness, all of it felt like it was pushing to burst out of him. He tried to at least hold it together on the outside, having never much cared for feeling vulnerable. It was a battle he was quickly losing.

The camera turned and Peter saw himself at the front of the group, closely followed by a kid who'd taken a liking to him and the others. Her face and voice was forever scorched into Peter's mind as they both embodied everything that's happened that day. She was the last thing he could handle seeing. Peter broke his eyes away from the screen and set them forward on the stars. "Turn it off.

“Okay.” Malia lowered the pad from his line of view and turned off the electronic device without saying another word. She deeply regretted her decision over the footage and remained silent, knowing their lighthearted mood had drastically shifted into something she wanted to avoid. Something she expected yet, wished would’ve gone a different way. The subject over his team was indeed the puzzle piece she connected to the undisclosed pain she knew he felt. It was apparent by the waves of emotions she witnessed his face have in the span of the video.

Biting her lower lip, she squeezed the sides of the tablet gently, at a loss as the crippling silence started to take hold over her. ‘Should she excuse herself and leave?’ She thought to herself, unsure of the proper action to take. She wanted him to face whatever it was he desperately was trying to run away from. “Peter?” Malia turned her attention toward him, having kept her eyes trained on the dashboard for the long minutes that passed, and exhaled a deep breath in response to his stillness. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself…,” She flatly stated. “I won’t let you.”

She carefully moved the pad off her lap to twist her body into a more comfortable position and leaned as much as her seat restraints could allow her over to him, reaching out for his arm. “I know I’ve told you plenty of times you don’t have to tell me anything, but,” She paused to flick on the autopilot option of the Milano and continued in a stern tone. “It’s okay to talk about things and let them out.” That’s all she wanted, hating seeing him like this. She unbuckled her seatbelt with a desolate smile and stood beside his chair, hoping some of her words broke through. “And please don’t tell me you're okay cause I know you're not.”

Peter took a deep breath, letting her words sink in while the contents of the footage still swirled in his mind. He wasn't surprised that Mal had taken note of all of this. She was perceptive, it was one of the things he admired in her. A part of him really did want to tell her, let it out, but a bigger part was scared of how she'd take it. His hand wandered over his pocket, the picture he'd kept with him since that day coming to mind. Telling her would mean facing all that again. "Nothing gets by you, huh?"

He let the statement lighten the mood for the brief moment it did before the heaviness returned. He wasn't sure he could talk about it, but he owed Mal something more than silence. Peter took another deep breath, trying to keep the emotions out of his voice. "My team." The words hung in the air for a few moments before he continued. "We broke up about a year before I met you." His mind again wandered to the 'why', but he tried to ignore it. "It was bad, really bad." He slid a hand into his pocket, touching the picture housed there. It hurt him just knowing it was there despite his avoidance to look at it, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. Maybe he should just tell her. It couldn't feel worse than this, right? He gingerly grasped the polaroid, keeping his eyes trained on the stars ahead. "It was my fault, all of it."

Malia let out a heavy sigh as his unexpected words sunk into her head and laid there. Particularly, the — 'all my fault,' part of his somber statement. She was unsure of how to take it. She could never imagine Peter doing anything spiteful on purpose to anyone or his team. He didn't have it in him. "I'm sure you tried your best." Gingerly touching the back of his metal chair, she leaned herself a little closer to him and hovered over his form with a soft expression. "Even if it was all your fault," She added cautiously. "Some bad things happen so we can learn from them sometimes." Malia ran her hand over his hair, before sitting herself on his lap. He had told her what he was willing to disclose, which was a lot to her, even if it was another puzzle piece to fit in.

"And, you can't learn from Peter if you're still stuck in that place." Lifting her brown eyes up to him, she gave him a heartfelt smile and grabbed the sides of his face playfully. "I told you I was going to need a reward for putting up with you," She chuckled, trying to lighten the heavy mood she felt was enough for the start of their day. There wasn't anything, but one part she hadn't already assumed over the absence of his team. The rest, the full story without any carefully placed words she would have to chisel slowly away for and wait or hope all the words she said helped him find his way. Pecking him on the lips, she wrapped one of his arms around her waist and laid her head on his shoulder. "Let's stay like this for a while, okay?" She mumbled, wanting to give him comfort.

Peter let go of the photograph in his pocket, taking the arm and wrapping it around Malia. He held her as tightly as he could without causing her discomfort. A deep sigh escaped him as the weight of the topic began to dissipate. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

He'd let the topic go as best he could for now, but it was never fully gone. There was more that he felt needed said, but he wasn't sure he was ready. He knew Mal would try and understand and help, but he wasn't sure if it was something that could be helped. If she were to know and look at him differently for it, he knew it'd kill him. But, she deserved to know, and so he'd try and tell her. He didn't know when, but he'd try. He'd just have to deal with whatever came of it.

There was one thing she'd said that he disagreed with though. He had learned from the whole mess. He'd learned that he had never been the hero he thought he was, and that he likely never would be at all.

The cargo bay door lowered and Peter was immediately hit with the stench of garbage. They'd touched down in a landing bay on the outskirts of a city once they reached Sakarr Beings dressed like vagabonds hustled about, none really noting Peter and Mal's arrival. Malia joined him at his side, having changed into the usual garb of her space suit and his jacket. She'd claimed his only spare jacket as hers after his had been shredded during a tangle with that symbiote. This left Peter with just his trench coat for trips away from the Milano.

Malia wrinkled her nose as she took in the trashy landscape. "It's no Contraxia."

Peter drew his attention up from her outfit when she spoke. "No it is not."

Malia glanced at him, no doubt noticing the very conscious effort he was making to not constantly gawk at her in her outfit. "Every time I wear it, huh?"

Peter smiled, looking back out at the planet. "I'm not apologizing." He wasn't completely sure where to start, having only heard scattered facts about the planet. There was an arena, he knew that . Maybe they could get some units and bet on some matches. Their best bet would probably be to hit a bar and ask around. Someplace not too good looking, so that it would have more locals than travellers. Peter instinctively held out his arm for Malia to take, it having become a habit. "Let's go."

“Yeah.” Malia shifted her attention from the junkyard scenery around her and looped her small arms around Peter’s forearm for their stroll along the cluttered outskirts of Sakaar. For a planet built on assorted scraps of metal, 'it sure was colorful,’ she noted as she continued to take in the new environment and keep an eye out for possible job opportunities. With their need for money, or units as space currency was called, any doable task was up for grabs in her mind. If only she knew how to read the alien calligraphy written on some signs to help narrow them down.

Peter could with the implanted translators in his neck, but she avoided asking him once a daunting thought hit her. What if they weren’t ‘help wanted,’ signs after all? Drifting her brown eyes along the plethora of merchants up ahead, Malia unhooked one of her arms to point at one masked seller and their stand. “Are those cookies?” She wondered out loud, pulling Peter toward the vendor without hesitation. There weren’t many space cuisines she enjoyed eating, let alone snacks like he had, so part of her wanted to find something she liked.

“Can we taste them? Like, have a sample.” She looked over the selection of baked goods that were wrapped in vibrant plastic bags and sheepishly smiled up at the merchant, unable to see their facial expression hidden behind the steampunk visor they wore. “Um…,” She pulled Peter softly by the sleeve of his coat, feeling a bit self conscious and took a step back away from the stand — deciding on which bag of mixed pastries she would take. In the case the merchant said no to her sampling, she’d go on a wim and pick one that looked good enough.

“That one kinda looks like it’s fudge, right?” Pointing cautiously at one of the rosy colored bags near the far end of the table, Malia lifted her gaze up to Peter who seemed to be pondering a choice of his own and snorted. “Oh no!” She playfully wagged a finger in front of his face. “You're not getting any cookies. These are for me. Not you.” She chuckled. As if his candy diet wasn’t bad enough, he now wanted to add more sweets to its mix. “Do you want your baby muscles to turn into chubby ones?” She asked with an amused grin. “We’re going to have to get you an ab-roller then.”

Peter scoffed at the comment, taking a step back from Mal. "I'll have you know that the side of me that isn't you makes sure that this," He gestured towards his torso in a sweeping motion. "isn't going anywhere." Peter gave a flirtatious smile, throwing up his brow. "Lucky you."

Malia shook her head, her eyes wandering around the market. "Oh, I'm a lucky girl. Picking up candy wrappers all over the place."

Peter reached into his pocket, feeling around for some units. They were low, but food Mal liked was a rarity. Besides, they were going to make some more soon, hopefully. He pointed out a bag of pastries and handed over the units. "Nobody asked you to clean up."

Mal watched the bag as Peter took it. "Somebody has to, Star-Lard."

Peter paused, his mouth dropping open slightly at the jab. "You know what? These were for you, and now they're not. Think about that next time you wanna be hurtful."

Malia watched as the bag disappeared into his satchel. "Oh, come on. Don't be a baby."

Peter shook his head, looking at Mal. "Nope. Not gonna..." He caught her eyes as she innocently looked at him, and immediately averted the gaze by looking just above them. "Not happening."

"Please?” Malia drew herself closer to Peter and pushed her lips forward into a persuasive pout as she placed both her hands over his chest and batted her eyelashes at him. "I'll give you one of my cookies and a kiss?" She offered, inching her face closer to his to tease the intimate action he loved to engage in with her. It was his sort of kryptonite, or maybe she was? His sort of ultimate weakness. She smiled at the comic book thought and continued her childish pleas for her kidnapped goods. “You know you want to give me my cookies back so, give em.”

Peter kept his eyes straight ahead, debating his commitment to withholding the cookies. "What kind of kiss are we talking about?"

Malia shrugged. "Why? Do you have a preference?"

Peter threw up his brow, thinking back over the few times they'd shared a kiss in the past... two days? They'd only been together two days? Still felt so weird, but completely normal too. He paused on a thought, giving Malia a small smile. "One like that time on Kalara's rig. When we were in the hall."

Malia laughed, dropping her head a bit, but keeping her eyes on his. "You liked that one, huh?"

Peter gave an enthusiastic nod. "I did."

Malia straightened up, holding out her hand to Peter. "Alright. It's a deal."

Peter nodded, shaking the outstretched hand and holding out the bag in the other. "Alright."

Malia took the bag, giving Peter a wink before walking off. "You should've specified 'when'."

Peter watched her move ahead of him, a bit dumbstruck by the con she'd just pulled. After a few seconds a chuckle escaped him. " My God, I love you."

He started after her, remembering she didn't know anymore where they were going then he did. His eyes scanned the outside of the market, looking for a bar or something like it. He finally caught sight of a dingy looking entrance way with no windows. The sign above was mostly destroyed from what looked like an explosion, judging by the scorch marks. Really the only indication that the place was a bar came from the vagabond passed out on the ground in front of it surrounded by bottles. He tapped Mal on the shoulder and gestured towards the place. "Come on. We'll see about finding a lead there."

Malia nodded her head in response and followed Peter into the unkempt tavern, opening her vibrant bag of cookies in anticipation. "Do you want one?" She asked in a hushed tone as the disreputable environment of the bar settled itself around them and caused her to rethink her premature offer. "Nevermind...," She placed the plastic bag inside his satchel, not wanting to draw any attention and pulled on the flaps of her oversized jacket. ‘What kind of lead were they looking for exactly?’ She wondered. The place seemed to be crawling with so many questionable options already. None which she was too enthusiastic to comb over.

“Why can't we get jobs like normal people?” Malia drifted her brown eyes over the bustling crowd of colorful Sakaarans, going about their business, drinking and briefly touched Peter’s arm once one of the patrons suspiciously eyed them from across the room. That was enough motivation for her to move herself along and avoid ever going in that particular direction. She didn’t want to be mysteriously taken and auctioned off somewhere. Space was a dangerous place ,she learned, the public establishments only adding to it’s laundry list of things to be mindful of. They were like minefields to her, filled with countless booby-traps.

Looking over at Peter, who had shuffled his way toward the bar counter, Malia squeezed herself beside him and the very large individual sitting beside him. “You better be asking the bartender for a lead and not a drink,” She folded her arms as best she could over her chest and glared in his direction. “I don’t care what you say about your genes keeping this,” She moved one of her hands in a circular motion over his figure. “—together. Alcohol makes your human side get fat.” She expressed, not really knowing if her statement held any merit at all. Peter was indeed half-human, right? So, that meant something, she assumed.

“We’re going to get you that ab-roller and , oh, start doing yoga! It’ll be fun.” Malia lifted both of her hands excitedly at the idea of helping him get back into shape, or rather toned up a bit and started to list off the various activities he’d have to do and foods he’d have to cut, like the alcohol and his candy, forgetting about their task at hand. “Oh my god, we’ll even wear matching workout clothes. I’m sure we can find those somewhere. Aren’t you excited?” She gave him a gentle push, accidentally bumping into the customer behind her and quickly apologized, before bringing a smile to her face. “I’ll be like Jane Fonda.”

Peter had had a comeback in mind, but Malia's last statement had sent his mind wandering to Jane Fonda's wardrobe in Barbarella. This inevitably led to him imagining Malia in a spacey bikini of her own, an image he knew wasn't going away anytime soon. Malia shoved his arm, snapping him back to the situation at hand. "Hey? I said, ``What kind of lead?"

Peter shrugged as he turned around to face the room. "You know, odd jobs. Anything that would net us some cash. We just have to ask around." He scanned the room, not knowing where to start. "Just gotta ask around."

Malia grabbed his hand and pointed across the room. "What about them?"

Peter let his eyes roam over the group Malia had pointed out, shaking his head. "Not quite shady enough. We need at least kinda shady, but not completely shady."

Malia gave him a light pat on the arm. "So, you? "

Peter considered the words for a moment before nodding. "Pretty much." His eyes continued to wander around the room, stopping when he thought he saw a familiar face. He focused on the dark corner of the bar, hoping he'd been mistaken. The woman moved slightly, enough for the light to hit her blue face and reflect off the cybernetic eye. Peter tightened his grip on Malia's hand, immediately turning towards the door. "Time to go."

"But, what about the leads?" Malia looked over her shoulder in the direction Peter had stared off to and caught sight of the scowling woman she assumed caused his sudden panic and change in tune. “Who…,” She blinked at the cybernetic individual, receiving a glared response in return as she did and turned her head away, the crowded streets of Sakaar coming back into view. "Frenemy?" She asked once the tavern was far from their line of sight, surprisingly not considering the blue colored woman an ex of his. She just didn’t look like one.

Her cybernetic death glare made her believe she was a friend or frenemy like she mentioned. There was a look of familiarity there, not filled with too much animosity she might add. “You know, a person who's sorta a friend, but also kinda an enemy too?” She felt inclined to explain, digging into the back of Peter Satchel for her cookies while they followed a sea of residents down the street. “She looked like an assassin.” Malia took a small pause after her statement to bite into the cookie she held in her hand and smiled, savoring it’s taste.

“It is chocolate!” She beamed. “Or something like it?” She added, pleased to have found a snack she could finally ask for at the market. She ran her finger across the plastic’s label, curious of its name and hummed at the alien writing, slightly annoyed she was met with the usual language barrier. “I feel like a handicap person,” She groaned, before handing the bag over to Peter. She didn’t want creepy implanted translators. “Read this, please.” She asked, catching sight of a growing line not too far from them. ‘That seemed shady enough,’ she thought to herself.

Peter glanced at the bag for a moment and sighed. "You know the translator only works with talking, right?"

Malia furrowed her brow as he handed the cookies back to her. "What?"

Peter nodded, eyeing the gathering crowd. "Yeah. I use my helmet for reading alien stuff, but the translator makes me able to understand and communicate in any language."

Malia continued to stare at him, wearing the adorably perplexed look she often had when encountering new things. "How?"

Peter shrugged, having long since accepted it as normal. "Not sure. Brainwaves and such. I might not even know English anymore, but with the implant it's what you hear from me."

Malia glanced down, absorbing all the new information. "Space is weird."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, it can be. Maybe you should get one? An implant, I mean. Just in case you run across an alien who doesn't if I'm not around."

Malia shook her head, covering her neck with her hand. "No way."

Peter looked over his shoulder, just to be sure Nebula hadn't followed him. 'Frenemy ' was what Mal had described her as, and Peter kind of agreed. Nebula always seemed to dislike him, but not outright hate him. There'd been a time or two where they'd even had a friendly enough conversation. Like that time he'd tried to get her and Gamora to make up. Peter sighed as he thought of his old teammate and looked back at Malia. "Looked like an assassin, huh?"

Malia shrugged. "She did."

Peter started towards the gathering crowd, deciding to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe there'd be a lead in there somewhere. He glanced back at Malia, feeling like he'd dropped the Nebula thing a bit too abruptly. "She's not a very good assassin if you picked her out that quickly."

Malia gave a small laugh. "All those mystery shows came in handy."

Peter held out his arm for her to take as they entered the crowd. "Seriously though. That's exactly what she is and she's grumpy, so I don't recommend saying 'hi'."

"Well, if she pops up and tries to kill you, I'll be sure to remember that." Malia let out a slight laugh with her response and wrapped her arms around his forearm again, drifting her attention toward the bustling crowd up ahead. "You know what this kinda reminds me of?" She asked as she took in the various Sakaarians in line ahead of them and smiled at the recent memory that filled her head. "When we waited for the lift in the garden," She clarified, looking up at him with a brief sentimental look of nostalgia. It was strange, how two whole days felt ancient.

Not too long ago, they were aboard a cruise ship, before then trying to figure out what their feelings meant for them going forward. And now? They just were, everything prior to that seeming like a year had gone and went, when merely days had passed. She squeezed Peter’s arm softly as she drew her thoughts back to the present and held up a finger when she recalled their deal. “I almost forgot,” She admitted, unhooking one of her arms from his to retrieve a cookie from her coat pocket. “Since you’ll be going on a diet, here you go.”

Handing him one of her baked goods, Malia playfully stuck out her tongue as he took a bite of his cookie, grumbling something incoherent she couldn’t quite make out between chews. She figured it was about her diet comment and wrinkled her nose with a funny expression, then moved along the line, before turning to Peter confused. “Why are we in line? And for what exactly? What if this is leading us to be sold for parts?” She started to think of a dozen possibilities for the growing line they were in and tried to peer over the sea of heads with the help of her own feet.

She stood on her toes, using Peter for balance and craned her neck out in hopes of spotting any clues as to what the line was actually for. “There's a ticket booth…,” She announced, seeing the customers near an entrance of sorts, stop at the worn out structure near it. A crooked sign hung up above it with a drawing of an object she couldn’t put into detail. From their distance it looked like a misshapen vehicle. “I think this line is for a race?” Moaning a bit over her sprained toes, Malia snaked her arms around Peter’s neck and giggled as she let her feet lay normally on the ground again.

‘She should make him carry her,’ She thought to herself, leaning her head on his shoulders and maneuvering her hands back around his forearm. She closed her brown eyes for a minute or two amidst the alien chatter about her and spoke once the line started to move forward again. “Before, when we were in Karla's closet, why did you ask when we were going to kiss again?” She wondered. “You do know, and I know you know, that you can just kiss me whenever, right?” She added, curious to know his answer. Sometimes she felt a little self conscious putting the moves on the Legendary Star Lord.

Peter had to think to recall his flirtatious question from that night, and then think even harder to give a suitable answer to Malia's question. That whole night was really just a jumbled mess of happy memories in his head, so focusing on one thing he barely remembered saying was a task, let alone why he'd said it. He couldn't help but chuckle at the expectant look Mal was giving him over her out of the blue inquiry. "Geez, Mal. Way to put me on the spot." Peter cocked his head, piecing his reply together. "I guess I was just still adjusting to the fact that we were a thing. I'd wanted that for so long that when it happened I could barely wrap my head around it."

Peter moved forward as the line progressed, making sure Mal stayed with him so as not to lose her in the crowd. "There was so much I felt like I needed to and wanted to say to make up for all that time I hadn't said anything. But, I couldn't get any of those thoughts straight, so I just asked you that." Peter caught her eyes and gave her a small smile. "Still feels like there's a lot I should tell you." He racked his brain, trying to grab one of those restless thoughts he'd mentioned. Of course, the first to come up was embarrassing, but he figured he'd share it anyway. "Way back when I was taking you back to earth and thought you were staying there, I used to get drunk and listen to crappy love songs while thinking about you. This one time I actually made-'' Peter cut himself off, remembering the long lost and forgotten mixtape he'd made her during one such drunken stupor. He shook his head, deciding to save that embarrassing story for another time. "Nevermind."

Malia lifted her head up to Peter and raised the corners of her mouth into a smile with a look of realization settling across her face. She remembered the said tape, tucked away in her underwear drawer. 'So, that's what it was,' She quietly confirmed to herself as the line advanced forward, causing her to take a momentary pause. He was thinking of her even way back then? Like she was. Holding her gaze forward while she savored the heartwarming thought, she continued to grin, feeling the light flutter of her stomach. "You, Peter Quill," She gushed amidst the unexpected chatter of the crowd, "are a certified dork."

Turning her attention once more toward him with an expression of glee, Malia tapped the side of his face with her lips and stared at him. She found it strange how much she wanted to say, 'I love you,' with each passing conversation and cover his face with kisses whenever she could. To make up for lost time, for the many occasions she in the past wanted to show him her genuine affection. "My Space man, or better yet, my Star-Lord?" She suggested, taking in his adorable expression of bewilderment with the smile that never left her. She liked the sound of that. Her Star-Lord. As she opened her mouth to speak, an abrupt bang shifted her attention over to the line.

"I said, fifty units, each." Marked with an irritated scowl plastered across his tainted yellow skin, sat the ticket master in his booth, awaiting his pay. He lowered the metal pipe he held from the barred window and leaned forward in his chair. "Or are you two just here to give us a show?" He grudgingly asked, maneuvering his red eyes over them to his customers behind, who seemed just as agitated when Malia glanced in their direction. ‘Since when had they gotten to the front of the line?’ She wondered in a daze as she sheepishly bowed her head toward the crowd and approached the window alongside Peter. “Sorry,” She mumbled.

“Fifty units, each, people,” The ticketer repeated, ignoring her apology. He pointed a finger at the both of them, pretending to be a clock and locked eyes with Peter as he dug around his pocket for the payment and practically slammed the coins against the booth’s small window desk once found. “Thank you! NEXT.” Dispensing two casino styled tokens from a hatch that opened beneath the barred glass, Malia quickly scooped up the metal and shuffled herself forward. “What a douche,” She blurted out, moving the ripped curtains out of the way as she walked down the entrance. And she thought New York was riddled with mannerless pricks. She hadn’t met not one nice alien yet.

Peter nodded in agreement with Malia's assessment of the alien running the ticket booth. His mind soon wandered to the miniscule amount of units he had left. What was on him was all they had. He glanced at the chip in his hand, turning it over. A race, huh? Maybe he could place a bet or two. He looked up as the crowd dispersed to makeshift stands built from what looked to be scrap metal. Ahead of them some floating wrecks of vehicles hovered above the cracked stone of the ground. "I think we found that shadiness we needed. "

Malia nodded as she leaned closer to him to allow a large alien to lumber past. "This looks like Mad Max... or that Death Race movie. You know, with..." Her voice trailed off as she continued to take in their decrepit surroundings. "You know, I kinda forget just how not normal my life is most of the time. But then at times like these it really just hits me," She looked up at Peter, an amused smile across her face. "I'm not in Kansas anymore."

Peter threw up his brow, actually recognizing one of her references for a change. "No, you're a far cry from your kind of normal. You miss it?"

Malia wrinkled her nose. "Not for a second." She once again turned her attention to the area around them. " So, what's the plan? "

Peter furrowed his brow as he scanned the crowd. "Look for leads on work, place a careful bet or two. We only need enough units to restock on food for now... unless we see something fun to buy, obviously. " He glanced at Malia, a thought crossing his mind. All the times he'd called her his partner without ever really showing her he believed in her. That'd been a shift between them he was still adjusting to, having been more or less her protector for so long. She'd asked him a few times to trust her more to help, and this seemed like a good time to show her he did. Peter reached into his pocket, pulling out half of their remaining units and holding them out to Malia. "Here. We'll find something quicker if we split up. You have a communicator, right?"

“Yes,” Malia dug inside her pocket to retrieve the earpiece Peter mentioned and gingerly placed it behind her ear with a firm nod as the crescent shaped metal beeped in confirmation. She trickled half of the units he held out for her in its place and patted the leather area to hear the coins. “Um,” She paused to look up at him in thought over what to say and pointed to her communicator when only the obvious was left. “If anything goes wrong, let me know.” She advised, remembering the time when she saved him from the Nova Cell.

“Or don’t,” She added with a playful chuckle, “So, I have enough time to run away.”

She leaned herself into him for a bit, placing her hands above his chest and kissed his cheek for personal good luck. Giving him a soft push forward afterward, Malia turned on her heels and randomly picked a direction while she stood next him. “I’m going to go that way,” She pointed to the left section of the stadium-esque arena and started to tread in the decided direction with exaggerated confidence. Midway, she glanced over her shoulder and winked at Peter, before blending in with the passing crowd, a smile forming on her lips.

‘Place a bet, make a killing, not literally — and earn some money.’ That was their goal, one she hoped was smoothly accomplished. But, judging by the brow-raising citizens of Saakar around the race track, that could prove to be a bit difficult. So, she had to…? Test the murky alien waters. Drifting her brown eyes over the various groups of sellers, gamblers and vagabonds that roamed the metal assorted stadium, Malia pulled her hair into a high ponytail, catching the unexpected attention of a man wearing a bandana.

He stared at her from the herd of individuals he was part of, a white furred woman and cybernetic looking man, with a suggestive smirk placed across his moustached lips. It alone sent a shiver down her spine as the strip of hair above his mouth reminded her of Peter’s short-lived stache-lord persona. 'What was with this Tom Selleck facial hair infatuation?’ She wondered, not fully understanding the craze. She furrowed her brows once she noticed the stranger’s continued gaze and cautiously slipped her hands inside her pockets.

As he approached her, going in the opposite direction, she gripped the handle of her engraved barbecue fork, grateful she brought it along. She never did leave the Milano without it, the gift sort of becoming an odd weapon of choice of hers. She knew a two pointed piece of cutlery couldn’t lethally harm anyone, but it'd injure them at least. Shifting herself closer to one side as his figure drew closer to pass, Malia looked directly into his eyes and pursed her lips into a tight line. She furrowed her brows downward then narrowed her own eyes.

There was just something about this guy she didn’t quite like. His whole aura gave off too many shady vibes. And not the kind her and Peter were looking for. More of the ones you stay away from. Once he came to pass, his smirk changed to a small smile at the suspicious expression she held for him to catch, turning his head forward with an amused laugh. ‘What's so funny?’ She threw him a daggered glare as he slowly blended himself within a mixed crowd, making her come to a stop. He was heading in Peter’s direction.

Touching the back of her ear to activate her communicator, Malia continued her stalled walk and puffed up her cheeks for a minute, before releasing the air in them. Whoever that stranger was irked her. It was like he knew what she was up to by the way he looked at her. “Peter?” She called out, careful not to draw too much attention to herself. “There’s a real shady guy heading your way. Has a bandana on.” She expressed, hoping he heard her amidst the roaring noise of the ongoing race and attendees around her. She at least had to warn him. Especially with the gut wrenching feeling she felt.

Peter put a finger in one ear and cupped a hand over the other. "I didn't quite catch that, babe. What did you say?" He shot an annoyed look at the noisy crowd and even noisier race before making his way to an isolated corner. "Hey, can you hear me?" Peter tapped his communicator a few times for good measure, somewhat regretting his choice to show Mal his confidence in her. His eyes scanned the crowd in the direction she'd walked off in, trying to at least catch a glimpse of her. Hopefully the communicators were in working order and it was just the noise. Maybe she'd gotten distracted? That wasn't unusual for her. Peter tried to think of something that would get her attention if that was the case. "Hey, Mal. You remember that time when you were in that vent and I touched your butt by accident? Not an accident. "

There was a few seconds of silence before Mal's voice answered. "What? I could barely hear you."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief before letting out a chuckle. "Nothing important. I'll tell you later."

Malia grunted on the other end before letting out a soft curse. "Okay, but did you catch what I said about the shady looking guy headed your way? Something didn't feel right about him, Peter."

Peter glanced around momentarily, not really sure what he was looking for. "Gonna need some more details then 'shady looking', babe. Everyone here fits that bill."

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the legendary Star-Lord?"

Peter paused as the unfamiliar voice behind him practically sang the question. He turned around to look at the man before him. The man's shoulder length black hair was tied up in a ratty looking blue bandana. He wore a red jumpsuit with various pouches and other such items strapped about here and there. On one hip he had a blaster, and in the other was, bafflingly, a cutlass. "Mal, I'll talk to you in a minute." Peter lowered his finger from his ear, keeping his eyes on the man's own and not his enviable mustache. "Depends on who's asking."

The man raised his brow, a smirk crossing his face. "I'm Corsair."

Peter threw up his brow as he recognized the name. "Corsair? The pirate?"

Corsair nodded, obviously pleased with the recognition. "The very same. What brings an outlaw such as yourself to Sakarr, Star-Lord?"

Peter didn't want to give this guy much information. He was, after all, a pirate. Peter knew better than to trust anyone that shared a line of work similar to his own. Corsair studied Peter with a close eye that made Peter uncomfortable. It felt like he was being sized up. Peter gave a nonchalant shrug. "Just a quick stop. No real reason."

Corsair nodded, looking around at the crowd. "Well, you picked a pretty dangerous place to stop considering your wanted status." The privateer locked eyes with Peter on that last word, narrowing him just a bit. "Somebody might just wanna grab that reward."

Peter's hand instinctively moved to hover above his blaster. While he was willing to do it, he didn't want to kill this guy and throw the place into chaos with Malia still in the crowd somewhere. She could handle herself, but finding her and getting away may prove difficult after. "Listen, Cap'n, I'd rather not do this."

Corsair held his arms open. "Go ahead. It'll make things more fun. But, don't forget that unlike you..." Some motion behind Peter drew his attention for just a moment. It was only long enough to note the two armed individuals that stood behind Peter on either side of him. Peter returned his attention to Corsair, his heart rate quickening in the familiar way it did before a fight. "I still have a team."

#peter quill #peter quill fanfiction #starlord #gotg #star-lord #guardians of the galaxy #marvel #misadventures #the misadventures of starlord and the earth girl

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lesbianlovelanguage · 4 years

Text

Lost Boys of Starwood Ch 1

Fandom: Stranger Things Paring: Harringrove Chapter 1/10 Rating: T Co-written by myself and the amazing @catharrington

Summary: West Hollywood California was a lighthouse on the beach for Steve Harrington moving down from nowhere Indiana. But for billy Hargrove it was a cage with golden bars kept locked by his father good and tight. They both found safety inside the darkness and splendor of Starwood, but will they be able to see the only way they can be truly found is through each other?

Read it on ao3 here or in the read below

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” Billy grunted, trying to squirm his way out from between two massive bouncers.

They ignored his shouts and threats, and continued to lead him outside. Once at the door, they threw him on to the street and slammed the door behind him.

“And fuck you too!” He gave one final middle finger at the closed door, and huffed before pulling out his almost empty pack of Lucky Strikes and lighting up a cigarette. This night was turning out to be a bust. The few drinks he was able to pilfer from the bozos around the dance floor weren’t doing much more than giving him a light buzz. When Billy tried like hell to convince an older guy to buy him a shot of Jack, the old geezer got security involved. Billy had just slid his hand up the meat of this guy's inner thigh a little, nothing big. No one is ever down for a good time any more.

Thankfully, the lights of Hollywood Blvd never turned off. He walked slowly, hands stuffed down inside the pockets of his tight denim, sweat from the club slowly drying on his naked chest. Billy left the top buttons open, even out on the street, wouldn’t want anyone to miss the show.

In his short year of exploration of the strip, Billy was proud to say he had been in each club at least once. Usually he was able to get a beer in his belly and a hand on his ass before he got caught and kicked out for being 17. He didn’t look it though, hand to god. He could pass for older, no problem, the earring and cocky smirk only aiding in the ruse. It’s just he didn’t have a fake ID, and, whilst Billy hid his age, he never hid his loose sexual orientation. Some clubs were okay with it and some were not, to say the least. The ones that didn’t care played the music that Billy craved. The angry lyrics, the loud guitar, the volume breaking the metal from the speakers as quick as they can, that’s the music Billy needed in his veins.

Taking slow drags from his cigarette, head down and debating about going home for the night, Billy started hearing some halfway decent music. He turned up his head to the sound of hard drums and a fast guitar start up, followed by an angry voice practically screaming I don’t wanna live to be thirty-four. Billy was definitely intrigued, and so he followed the music to another club. The neon sign naming the bar as “Starwood” and proclaiming the night’s guest to be a band called The Circle Jerks . Between the music and the name, Billy couldn’t find one reason to resist as he steered towards the doors. The chaos of the loud music at a shitty bar seemed exactly the kind of excitement buzz Billy was craving so deeply.

Just as he was poised to go in, Billy faltered in his step as a towering brick wall of a man covered the doorway. His one hand pushed the heavy door open, while the other was almost closed in a fist around a bloodied up man's throat. They walked out farther into the sidewalk, with the bouncer dragging the other man like a doll.

Billy knew an opportunity when he saw one, and even though there was a heavy thrill in seeing this fight and getting a look at the full sleeves of ink up and down the bouncer’s arms, Billy saw an opportunity. Billy used the distraction to dive for the quickly closing door.

Inside Starwood wasn’t much. The hallway was blacked out and the floor was scuffed from use to be just as dark. Multiple layers of faded posters glued to the walls on either side were a buffer to the noise, but not a good one.

Billy let his hands slide alongside the short hallway as his ears lead him around a corner into a thick mass of bodies.

As soon as he entered the main area of the bar, he was overwhelmed in the best way. The music was loud and fast, the bodies were sweaty and constantly in motion, and the booze was pouring freely and creating sticky puddles that merely added to the atmosphere. For the first time in a long while, Billy felt at home. It was easy to slide between the dancing bodies towards the bar in the back. He hung back, read the crowd, and easily snuck over to a particularly crowded spot at the bar.

He tucked himself just behind a thin woman who was already slurring her speech and snatched the neck of a beer bottle right under her nose. She was too busy leaning forward into the space of another girl talking with her hands to notice the thief, and once Billy took enough steps away she would have no reason to suspect a thing. Sometimes people let their guard down too easily at a bar, and while Billy knew about that, thankfully he just wanted to get drunk tonight. He cleaned off the lip of the bottle with the hem of his shirt before gulping it down for dear life.

There was a uniquely shaped stage on the other side of the large room, taking up almost the whole wall but was narrow. The band performing that night had the singer squashed between a massive drum set and a guitarist who held a wide power stance in tight leather pants that fit him like a second skin. The singer didn’t seem to have a care in the world as he bumped and even grinded against his guitarist's ass during a long and heavy solo.

This bar kept getting better and better to Billy. He wondered for a moment if he would have luck with what he attempted in his previous escapade. He had leaned up against a support beam covered in stickers and something sticky, but he didn’t care about that, nothing he hadn’t felt before in other places like this. Sea blue eyes scanned around the dark room hunting like a shark.

Then he saw someone, a lanky boy, fresh as a daisy but rushed and sweating behind the bar. He had long brown hair that just seemed to float above his head like a damn halo, and brown eyes that were just as big. From where Billy was standing all the lights of the stage reflected off those eyes, rainbows of colors, and when the boy slid a glass down the bar top and smiled, it was just as fantastic. Something that pretty shouldn’t be in a place like this, where the floor was basically one big puddle and the paint was peeling. He belonged on the cover of those magazines Susan read. Billy wanted to get his lips on that smile.

Billy chugged the last of the beer and marched over to the bar, waiting for a minute until it seemed that the bartender, with eyes like that damned cartoon deer Bambi, had a second to stop and wipe his hands down with a rag, then Billy took his shot. He caught the boy’s attention with a small gesture, and he had to yell over the noise, but he didn’t really care who heard.

“Hey, fuck me if I’m wrong, but is your name Bambi?”

He heard a couple hoots and cheers from the small gathering around the bar, but all he got from the boy was an eye roll, and he strutted to the other side of the bar to continue working. Bambi it was going to be then, his goal for the night, and oh was it going to be a fun chase.

He didn’t get to keep good on his goal however, because after staring at Bambi, or rather Bambi’s ass, for a minute and debating his next move, Billy felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and came face to face with a person who was so clearly a skinhead, and not the nice kind judging by the nazi ring and the white laces in his boots, it made Billy want to roll his eyes.

He’d dealt with assholes like this at other bars, but he really didn’t want to go home with more bruises. It couldn’t be helped though, when the bald bastard leaned in close and spit “You a fucking fairy?” in Billy’s face.

Billy’s jaw flexed. This man was bigger than him, but Billy wasn’t a push over. Hours under the sun surfing through unforgiving waves, weight lifting, and getting into more fights than he would care to remember has left him with an impressive physique of his own. Billy knew he was cut. And he knew how to win a fight. It wasn’t always about bigger or stronger but sometimes about the tricks.

“Who’s asking, big guy? Looking for a good time?” Billy flicked his eyes back across the bar just for a second to make sure that Bambi’s eyes were fixed on him. Their brown color sparkling with something intense as they connected. “Sorry but I’m taken right now-“

“Can’t fucking go anywhere these days without some faggot trying to suck dick in public. You’re disgusting!”

Billy couldn’t keep his smile under control, practically baring his teeth at this point. “You wanna watch me suck his dick, fella? Promise I’ll make it a show.” Then Billy’s tongue darted out to swipe along his bottom lip rapidity, wagging so suggestively, and it was turning the bald head on this bastard bright red. He hollered loud over all the music and noise of the bar, then lifted two hands gripped like fists in a club, fully ready to swing at Billy’s head of curls.

But then, the skinhead's shout was cut short. His anger boiled over so he was attacking all offense, leaving no room for defense. Billy easily leaned to the side and lifted his arm to push hard at the back of his sweaty, ugly head, successfully sending the thick skull of the man into the bar with a sickening crunch. That must be his nose, Billy had heard that noise many times before.

The skinhead crumbled to the ground, whimpering pathetically as he tried to stop the blood flowing from his face. Another man at the bar was lumbering over to haul the man up, maybe another security guy, maybe the same one from the door, Billy wasn’t watching. He only had eyes for Bambi, turning in place to stare at the bartender.

The sweet brunette bartender had obviously heard and seen what Billy did, and it worked like a charm. He leaned one hand on the bar and another against his hip, fingers coiled tight around the part where his shirt was tucked into tight denim jeans. “Nice show,” he had his head leaned down to look at Billy but his chin cocked up, like he was sizing him up. “Got a name?”

“Billy! The name’s Billy, pretty boy. But you can call me any time.” He had to yell over the music that hadn’t stopped.

“Order a drink, Billy. Whatever you want, it’s on the house.”

“You on the menu?” Bambi clearly hadn’t expected Billy to try and flirt so blatantly again, blinking a couple of times as if to process what he had meant.

“Sorry Billy, not tonight. How ‘bout a beer?” His voice was loud from having to holler over the sounds of the bar, but somehow soft and spoken just into Billy’s ear. It felt almost like a caress.

Billy grinned, at least this time wasn’t an out-right rejection. It could only be a matter of time before he wormed his way into Bambi’s heart, or at least his sinnfully tight jeans.

“Or, what about a Dirty Shirley?” Billy said, licking his bottom lip.

“How about a good ol’ Moscow Mule?” Steve hollered back, a light chuckle in his voice.

“I think I’d much rather a Quick Fuck.” Steve’s eyes glinted mischievously under the harsh lights of the bar.

“I know just the drink for you.” He then proceeded to mix together three different types of alcohol from the bottles lining the back wall. He poured it all into a little shot glass and placed it in front of Billy with a flourish.

“Well, pretty boy, what’s it called?” Billy asked, trying not to seem too eager, but fuck if this wasn’t the most fun he’d had in while.

Steve finally leaned over the bar towards Billy, and whispered in his ear. Soft rose petal lips tickled the blonde hairs curled under the lobe of his ear.

“It’s called Blue Balls,” Steve pulled away, looking like the cat who got the cream, not realizing that his snark had only cemented Billy’s determination to win him over.

With one quick move, Billy downed the shot easily and stood up.

“You got me, Bambi, I guess I can handle a little blue balls tonight, but next time I’m really hoping for that Quick Fuck,” and with that promise of a return, Billy strode deeper into the club, thinking

You may have won this battle, Bambi, but I’m gonna win the war.

So this started as me being thirsty for headcanons, and then catharrington was a genius and brought up the amazing idea of punk!Billy in California, and well... Lost Boys of Starwood was born! I'm so excited to start sharing this story with y'all, so please let me know what you think :)

Also, if you're into punk music, totally check out the music in this fic! It's all LA based bands from the 1980s. Or message me for a playlist I made lol. Also let me know if you’d want me to make a taglist for this series!

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington #punk!billy #bartender!steve #punk!au #lost boys of starwood

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binkysteebnpewter · 5 years

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you are an avenger and you hike off for peace and quiet in a little town far from new york since tony and steve are arguing again? maybe make it Wanda and fem reader? pining stage?

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, I tried a different style of writing💕 This is also my first time writing for Wanda, so I hope it’s not too bad 😔

Drabble Taglist: @softpeachbarnes

Dusty seats and stale air that reeked of musty cologne and sweaty bodies, the window was a little dirty as I stared out of it. The bus I sat in was silent as it approached it’s final stop for the night, headlights ahead of us cutting through the fog like sheens of ice. The darkness that pressed outside the bus settled in my mouth with an indescribable taste, my breathing deep and nose curled slightly still from the aroma of the shady bus I’d resigned to riding for the past hours that faded away from my mind. I’d long since lost count of the hours, preferring to lose myself to thoughts of the highway. The jigsaw puzzle highway we’d been riding down, stretches of land lost behind me— nocturnal animals skittering about in the shrubbery. Eyes of red and yellow, brown like bruises, and trees that whispered in the night to wandering souls hoping to draw them in and get them lost.

Hitchhikers with eyes black like onyx, soulless almost and exhausted, watched and stared as the bus pulled into the dimly lit gas station with the bus stop to its left side. Everything is quiet, an eerie kind of quiet that should’ve left me feeling like an exposed nerve blistering in the heat of summer— waiting for something bad to happen. Yet it doesn’t, I find myself just as calm and quiet as the gas station as I filed off the bus with a silent nod to the driver I’d paid upon stepping on many hours ago. Like zombies almost, everyone that got off the bus shuffled their own ways— some to get on their phones or talk together, some to start walking off into the dark of the eerie little town.

I shuffled my way into the gas station and bought myself a stale packaged sweet roll and a cold soda, paying nearly half of what I would’ve back in New York. The cashier smiles, white teeth like a knife against blotchy skin— I refuse a receipt. There was no need for it, not now.. not here. With a stale snack and cold drink in either hand, I shuffled out silently. It was my time to wander through the night of this little town. I had no idea as to where I ended up, I’d simply paid for a random bus and went for the ride. I didn’t expect to end up this far out, who knew if I was in the same state anymore— most likely not.

The town was empty as I slowly made my way through, street lights illuminating my path with a dull yellow orange color that flickered and buzzed almost. Empty playgrounds surrounded by towering trees and wispy grass, houses that leaned and seemed to frown and scowl as you passed them, stars that burned brighter in the sky here than I’d ever seen in New York— less light pollution I suppose, it’s beautiful for lack of better words and motivation to explain.

A newspaper tumbled and wrapped around my leg, so I stopped to remove it— headlines of deaths and rapes, rejection stalking, a white 1985 Honda Civic, cultists in white and red splotched masks... something settles into my chest. A feeling almost as if someone was breathing down my neck, watching me— following me. The feeling crawled into my ribs and weaves around and through them like ribbons, squeezing and constricting my lungs. I close my eyes and tell myself I am safe, I am an avenger. Trained to fight and defend, a little town such as this couldn’t harm me like so... right?

Morning comes, I spent the night wandering through the park— aimlessly for awhile and then napping in a tree when I became a little too tired. I did not rest for long, no, not when the sounds of birds flapping and crying startled me. I walk back through the town that finally showed it’s inhabitants, watching the calmness that still hung over the town.

The lady at a man’s doorstep attempting to sell him a doll she claims was her late daughters that she can’t bear to hold onto any longer, the odd symbols painted poorly in the window of a home with wilting flowers trimming around the outside, the chatter about a boy killed late in the night last night by drowning in the nearby creek, yard sales with useless and old items no one truly wanted.

I find myself eventually sitting on an old bridge just a little out of the heart of the eerie town, over looking a little body of water. A river mayber? I sat on the edge, kicking my feet and listening the to babbling water. My thoughts were silent yet deafening all at the same time as I did all I could to keep my mind off the chaos of the compound back in New York I’d run from, the arguing was never something I liked.

“You came pretty far out,” I hear, the voice quickly registering as the sokovian beauty I lived with and beside inside the compound.

“I didn’t mean to... just sort of happened.”

“It’s okay, what are you thinking about?”

Her body sat shoulder to shoulder beside me, her soft perfume filling my senses. Warm spices, not sweet but instead hot and comforting. Strands of her hair cling to my sweater as she sat so close to me, and when I looked over I couldn’t help but pause. Eyes that looked at me so openly, so softly. She wasn’t going to look in my head for answers, no— she was too much of an Angel for that. Too sweet and loving for that, she respected people’s privacy as best she could— but sometimes she couldn’t control it.

“Nothing, I guess..”

“Sometimes we don’t think of anything, and whether it’s comforting or unsettling to you in this moment... you’re not alone. I’m here, yes?”

“Thank you,”

“Always, we promised didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did. Let’s go home..”

Her gaze met mine again and she smiled, gentle. Her eyes were filled with an unplaceable emotion, but I knew it was soft. It looked happy and warm, like a hug in the winter that enveloped you. Like a mug of cinnamon hot chocolate in the fall or a bowl of soup when your sick, clearing your head and rejuvenating your senses.

“Let’s go home.”

#marvel #reader insert #drabble #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #avengers #wanda maximoff drabble #answered #anon #feedback appreciated #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader drabble #soft drabble

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docholligay · 5 years

Note

For the Valentine’s Day prompt: HARUMICHI

In recent years, I have come to love the easy way Haruka has with me, the way she asks for what she needs, and gives freely of her emotions. In no way would I replace the confident, tender, open woman Haruka has become, and it makes me happy, as simple and borderline garish as that sounds, to see her so at ease.

All that being said, I often recall the awkward and bashful energy that accompanied our first Valentine’s day together.

We were both such idiots.

I thought of myself as a woman, then, though of course that was only the utter nonsense of some young thing pretending to something greater. We were not quite living together, not yet, though I was anxious for the opportunity. It was tiresome, I thought, to have the driver go all the way over to Haruka’s dreary little apartment, only to occasionally be told they had to leave, for her mother was in some state of intoxication, or with her boyfriend, or more than likely, both. It was also ridiculous, the wisdom of my younger self imagined, that I had to play at stocking Haruka’s kitchen, or buying her new linens for her sad mat on the floor, or anything Haruka clearly needed but struggled to accept.

And so, Valentine’s Day gave me a bit of an excuse to lavish things on Haruka that otherwise she might have been forced to create an elaborate pantomime around. I strolled about the Mitsukoshi department store, picking up things here and there, having associates bring them to the front. A set of dishes, for romantic dinners, I would say. A pile of fine pajamas, for all of our sleepovers. A silk kimono–really more a gift for me, Haruka, that you might accompany me at the mundane events my brother holds. A set of luggage, which you simply must have if I am to take you to Paris.

Haruka had little, and I found it utterly exhausting, This first holiday was a chance to change that, and if we had only been together a few months, it made little difference to me, a swipe of my allowance that barely made a dent.

Haruka had already refused to let me take her out to dinner, insisting she would cook herself. After much negotiation, Haruka had at least conceded to allow this silliness to take place at my first apartment, which I had dubbed small, with mediocre appointments, compared to my parents’ penthouse, but dwarfed Haruka’s.

Oh, I know. I am well aware that I hardly come off as the heroine in this story, but if we are being quite frank, there are few stories of my youth in which I do. I was spoilt beyond belief and thought nothing of pride, for mine had never truly been at issue. I saw Haruka as a stubborn fool, albeit a stubborn fool of whom I was growing very fond, and could not imagine why anyone would be proud over the issue of a few thousand yen.

In any case, she agreed to my wishes, and I had the gifts wrapped and delivered to my home. I treated myself to demi baguette with roe butter and a glass of wine. Haruka, you see, had asked that I not return until later that evening, that she might surprise me with the things she had created. I had little doubt in my mind that I would be surprised, and, in case of a surprise to us both, picked up a fine tart from the bakery before I left for home.

When I arrived, the kitchen was a flurry of activity, Haruka in her little apron running back and forth between things. It was charming, though unnecessary, to see her work so hard. Our small table was set with a white tablecloth that had a few spots on it, unable to be resolved from whenever she had purchased it. A pair of ceramic candlesticks were in the center, candles burning down quickly inside them. There was a single rose inside a cheap porcelain bud vase.

Snottily, I though, ‘well, at the very least she’s used my china.”

You have to understand, in those days, I thought it was I who had everything to give to Haruka, and did not realize that she had plenty to give to me as well. I will not attempt to make an excuse for myself, but when one is raised as I was, one tends to get the idea that lowering yourself to the little people is only done out of a sense of noblesse oblige. It is for this reason that I was so resistant to have M.A. marry back into society, though she certainly seems to have threaded that particular needle with far more grace.

So, as I was saying, Haruka was working very hard, and I took my appointed seat as she began to serve. I remember that it was not particularly elegant, but ti was clearly made with a great deal of effort and love, and as you know Haruka is not without some talent in the kitchen. It’s silly, the way memory works. I remember so much of this night and yet I have completely forgotten what it was exactly that she served. Perhaps that is the least interesting part of the story, after all.

I do remember dessert. She presented a sweet, small cake, with a pair of uneven hearts made of chocolate in the top of it. The raspberry filling was spilling from the sides a bit, and you could see the spots where the crumb coat had not quite covered. I brought out the tart I’d purchased–you know, Dominique Ansel had a space there, at the time–a dark chocolate and matcha torte, the chocolate shell tempered to perfection, even and smooth ganaches, elegant dusting on the top.

Haruka looked at me and said, “Oh, you brought dessert.”

I am, even now, not often given to shame, I see no point in it and have no use for it, but in that moment I realized that I had somehow undermined all she had wished to in my pursuit of that which was considered the best. There was a quality in her voice that contained an edge of hurt, and her enthusiasm faded for a moment.

And then, of course, being as difficult as I was back in those times, she brushed it off, tossed her hair back and declared that this cake was fine and all but it was too much for just two people, is all she meant, a phrase which, i think you can agree, Haruka has never uttered in earnest in her life.

The moment was gone, and even if it had not been I did not have qualities in me to soothe her. We truly did grow up together, she and I, and if there were a God, I would thank him for the miracle of our staying together while we tripped over each other.

The parade of gifts came, and each one after the next I noticed Haruka’s discomfort more and more as she unwrapped them. I brushed it off as yet another of her little fits over the fact that from time to time I would like to provide for her, and rather ignored it. She was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t bothering her anyhow, telling me she didn’t need the whole store and things of that nature. I told her it pleased me to do these things, and that, at least, was true. It has always pleased me to treat her, to care for her, only then I was not so good at realizing money is not always a substitute for the softer things, which she needed much more.

At the end of it all she thanked me, although not with the enthusiasm I had hoped, but with a sort of awkward huff, as if I had somehow displeased her. She turned her face away from mine, and looked toward the clumsily-wrapped package on the windowsill.

“Well,” I said, brushing off her moodiness, “I suppose it’s now my turn to open.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “sure. I didn’t have a lot of time, so I’ll have to make it up to you, take you out somewhere nice.”

“Oh,” I unwrapped the corner, “You’re being perfectly silly just now.”

It was a picture frame with wide sides, whatever color it had been in a former life painted over with a layer of cheap acrylic, a soft turquoise color that matched the sheets of my bed. There were clumsily painted hearts on one side of it in pinks and reds, and across the top and down the other sides, old scrabble tiles spelled out ‘Michiru’ across the top, ‘Haruka’ down the side, our names intersecting at the ‘ru.’ In the center, a picture of us, at some holiday festival, smiling, colored lights gaily sparkling around us.

I have told you previously, though, you have known me for so long I feel this hardly needs telling, that I was, an to some extent, still, an inveterate snob, who tolerated only the finest things in life. And, while this is true, I must tell you that I had never allowed that someone might spend time on a gift for me. The acrylic was cheap, but obviously carefully layered, and the tiles were so straight as the must have been set with a line and level. She had gone to great effort for me. I was deeply touched, my chest aching with love for it, with love for her. She loved me as a human, you see, and not as a doll, to be dressed and posed and mollified with gifts.

I wish I could tell you this was the part of the story where I tell her how much a valued her gift, and all the reasons why. That would be a lie, I regret to say. I thanked her, and said I would put it immediately by my bedside, and she had chosen such a lovely picture. I wish I could tell you Haruka swelled with pride at the compliment, but she simply touched the edge of the pajamas I’d given her and shrugged. We polished off a bottle of wine, had sex, and went to bed.

Oh, don’t look that way, it all turns out in the end, you know that. I tell you this to inform you that even the greatest highway begins as a dirt road, and so it was with Haruka and I. You know, this last Valentine’s Day, for I still have the frame by my bedside, though I change the picture year to year, she gave me another. M.A. and Kimi, it said, in English tiles that she had Mina help her work out, for of course the intersection is impossible in Japanese, M.A.’s full name being French. I nearly cried, when she gave it to me.

I tell you this so that you will know the journey is worth making, and that things will be made softer, and better. A life can be changed, and a person can grow, however impossible it seems.

I tell you this, for I have come to love Valentine’s Day.

#Anonymous #Valentine's ficlets

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mercurialmist · 4 years

Text

Orts, Meghan Murphy, 2021

When coral and poppy lipsticks melt into waxy pools they are scraped away. Yet the empty tubes remain, rimmed with colorful remnants of time.

The residue of laughing painted lips cling to hollow silver shells. The stifled air, moist with trapped memories, turns acidic, tarnishing the silver bullets in blues and greens. The weaker metals succumb to corrosion and the smooth geometric objects of the vanity descend into the mirrored surface…an infinite reflected universe of pock-marked moons and rust-cratered pits. Glass perfume bottles, whose contents have long-since evaporated, reveal droplets of gooey condensation on the inside.

Every time I turn on a faucet the water splutters in mud brown streams before finally fading to a pale yellow trickle.

Inside this house there is no letting go.

We can’t even replace the carpets, until the carpets speak for themselves—abruptly unraveling to trip us up. Failing plumbing stains the walls in murky teardrops, rivulets cascading down, down into the earth—and the same shade of paint is used to cover up the blooming mold. The wallpaper-ed rooms are less lucky—if the wallpaper is no longer in production then it stays, doomed to gradually be absorbed by the sweating house. A bathroom with walls of vibrantly colored, life-sized birds has faded from ornate detail to abstract shapes. The yellow finch that used to watch me with a discerning eye, has been reduced to the silhouette for a toddler’s puzzle.

The house gasps, groans, wheezes and secretes …

There are birds of all materials here. Porcelain eagles, taxidermy ducks and pheasants, delicate glass swans, a bronze peacock figurine…..

On the wall of the den is the mounted head of an indeterminant creature. Its mouth is open to reveal pointed white teeth and I see my brother and I reflected in the protruding marble eyes.

“It’s a fox,” I say.

“No,” my brother responds resolutely. “It’s an opossum.”

The toy box, an excavation site where the heavy wooden blocks of my mother’s childhood lay at the bottom and my own plastic toys float towards the top, all webbed together by the roots of tangled doll hair. We prefer to play with the bronzes—a collection of dog-sized statues line a room, an infinite circular migration. We climb on to ungiving saddles, little hands grasping cold buffalo horns and clutching at the faces of stoic Mohican chiefs.

I am all too aware of the constant surveillance that follows my padded footsteps. The walls are covered in heavy oil paintings, depicting dramatic scenes of nature—a ship caught in the throes of an angry sea, horses (so many herds of horses) in various landscapes—galloping, grazing, leaping into the air with rolling white eyes—and two large portraits of them, stationed in the heart of the house.

The grand piano sits below their looming faces—a glossy sacrificial altar. The ebony surface is covered in a clutter of picture frames, the many factions of a tangled family tree. The newest faces and unions vie for the front, dangerously close to the edge, while past, ended marriages and children long grown linger in the back.…. It’s the photos that don’t make it in the frames that matter—those candid moments that break through the glossy sheen.

I enter rooms on tip-toe, and hold my breath, always waiting for…what? To see the statues scramble back into place? The portraits conversing? I can’t even find peace in the bathroom, where a framed, larger-than-life nude woman bathes in the moonlight, glancing accusatorially over her shoulder at me.

And when it all becomes unbearable, all that empty, heavy space, all the unblinking eyes, I defy the house the only way a child can. I open the home stereo system, installed under the old record player, and press play on the album ‘Now That’s What I Call Music. 9.’ There is something immensely satisfying about filling the space with the pulsating base of Missy Elliot and dancing spastically around the house. Pausing in front of china cabinets and display cases to flail my limbs wildly. I am both defying the on-looking artefacts and also moving, running, prancing, and crawling for them. I scream the obscene lyrics, and when I don’t know the words I fill the void with howls, yelps and guttural cries.

In the summer, we collect dozens of inky black tadpoles from the pond and bring them inside to observe their evolution into frogs. With transfixed satisfaction we watch the wiggling amphibians absorb their tails and gills, to sprout webbed feet, gradually preferring the floating branches to the depths of the tank.

By the time the frogs are leaping and croaking, their startling ruckus is too erratic and I can feel the house expelling their presence. When I release the frogs, I think of the mounted fox, collecting dust in his perpetual snarl, glass stags frozen in flight, the bronze boar in everlasting terror and the hounds always tensed to lunge.

We have granted these things a power and their stillness now vibrates with a tension that will surely crack if the white porcelain arms of ballerinas, extended high over heads, don’t finally rest.

Every closet and drawer is filled with them. Racks of dresses hang in a shocking burst of color that even years of mothballs can’t subdue. Stacked boxes of white leather gloves, waiting to either mold itself to my skin in a permanent grasp or disintegrate from the shock of warm, pulsating flesh. His imposing army of suits, the outgrown shells of a larger-than-life man.

Over the years, we grow bolder and shift through her dresses, fingering the stiff fabrics and choosing our favorites.

“Try them on girls,” they whisper.

We are all silent as the rigid materials swallow our pre-pubescent bodies, but there is no warm encasing or folding of fabric over our slight frames. The dresses stubbornly maintain their womanly shapes, and we are just sticks propping up the figure of her.

It’s when we start to move that the ritual commences. There is something intimate and precious, and thrilling, because we know it is wrong to be wearing her clothes. In these gowns we feel elegant and graceful and hold our heads high as we twirl and pirouette through the house like a coronation—a sense of importance and birth-right.

We baptize the stiff dresses in our sweat and the dusty-dry fabric greedily soaks in youthful beads of perspiration…a secretion of inheritance.

…10 years later

“Now that I’ve left, when I come back to the house I feel like that boy, Holden, from Catcher in the Rye,” he says with a half-smile. His posture is rigid though, and I find my brother’s resigned behavior maddening, as if we hadn’t spent our childhood living here. Hands stuffed in his coat, he winds through the room, giving the furnishings a wide berth.

“Remember,” he continues, “how Holden loved the Natural History Museum as a child and suddenly he can’t bear going back because he’s changed and everything remains the same inside the museum?”

I only vaguely remember something about a red (or was it orange?) hat and a carousal. His eyes finally land on the oversized portraits of our great-grandparents, dominating the living room, and his expression sets.

“Meg,” he is resolute but I can sense a dread in his voice that alarms me.

“I love you and I want to set you free.” He emphasizes “free” as if it means so much more than I understand.

“Sometimes the power of a place, an artefact, or a story, can help guide us into our own. But this has gotten way out of hand. We,” he gestures around the room to indicate our family, “we were once the weavers of our truth. But, suddenly our hands couldn’t keep up with the loom, or it was like the loom didn’t need us anymore…and now we’re tangled, trapped, suffocating in our own creation, while the story shuttles on. I hope that you are able to let it all go…leave this tangled mess where it lies. Perhaps pause to wonder at the knots, frayed ends, and faded dyes…at this jumbled creature that has enveloped you, and what it once was. I want you to feel the blood start to circulate back into limbs that you haven’t even realized are numb, wrapped up in this vice-like thread. When all this is over, maybe take a strand or two with you to carry around as a reminder.”

In the back of my mind I can hear my cousins’ comments about how lost my brother is. How ungrateful he is to turn his back on all that our family has worked so hard to achieve, and how our spoiled upbringing is the only explanation for his dissatisfaction.

“I don’t understand…”

He surges on:

“You know how Grandpa taught me how to fish? And how I was so excited that I nearly hooked myself in the eye?” I smile fondly as he touches his brow, where a small scar disrupts the arc of hair.

“That never happened. I got this scar from hitting my head on the coffee table. I don’t even like fishing. And I barely remember them!”

He gestures accusatorily at the serene, smiling faces on the wall.

I am horrified.

I was born shortly after my great-grandparents had died, and grew up envying and reveling in everyone else’s memories of them.

“I started to catch on that everybody in our family had these special moments with them, and that there was never any kind of timeline or specific setting. And everyone is always trying to up each other with how meaningful their memories are. Aunt Susan got herself into trouble when she went a bit too far with her sailing story, involving that storm and shipwreck, forgetting that Grandpa never learned to swim.”

He picks up a porcelain horse from the mantle-piece and snaps a leg off. For a moment I swear I hear the terribly crisp ‘crack!’ of breaking glass, resounding through the house. Instead, there is only my own sharp gasp and a dull splintering sound.

“This isn’t hand-made, limited edition porcelain from Vienna. It’s acrylic. Probably from China. Maybe there was an original figurine once-upon-a-time, and maybe Grandma really did smuggle it back from Europe in her jacket, but this particular one is the third acrylic replica—in our lifetime—to be placed here.”

He looks at me pleadingly, “surely you must have caught-on that something was up…”

I look around the room; was there an imperceptible dulling of color and light? Had there always been so much…stuff? Every surface is covered with the treasured belongings of my great-grandparents. I finger the scratchy wool of pillows she crocheted. Here was his rifle collection, above a desk littered with her stationary and a heavy glass paper weight. And suddenly I feel those binding ties that he had been talking about. Every object, painting, and photograph that has been eternalized in my memory over the years, is connected to me by hundreds of threads tied to my ribcage. As I stare at the tremoring silky strands, I wonder whether I spun this web or if the objects themselves cast the net. And now I can never unsee or un-feel myself caught, suspended, propped-up in this thing. I realize that these are ties only I can sever. But what if these little connections are what hold me upright? I picture myself a crumpled heap on the floor, with no more wonder and certainty to buoy me back up.

“Hurry!” My brother says, an edge of desperation in his voice, “before it is too late.”

I frantically begin to pull…and pull and pull and the fibrous strings just keep coming….slipping, wet and glistening, through my skin… and then with a panic I press on my stomach and, instead of my bottom ribs, all I feel is soft, vulnerable intestines. I am unraveling myself. I am this thread, and I was moments away from unmaking myself.

Suddenly, my brother’s face transforms. As I watch, it continues to mutate between gender and age, and yet there is something familiar looking back at me. In skin that is soft, taut, and lined—all at once—I glimpse iterations of the same eye-shape, and pointed chin. And I am not afraid. “You have passed the test. And so, you have earned these—The Scissors of Acceptance, and The Stone of Truth.” They pass me a pair of small silver scissors and a whetstone, that sits reassuringly in the palm of my hand.

“But ask yourself: why was it so easy for my little tale and demonstration to nearly unspool you?”

When does the silence of family secrets, glaring omissions and mysterious gaps, accumulate to become more substantial than what is known? Perhaps the unspoken and unacknowledged is the backbone of the narrative. Perhaps one doesn’t necessarily contradict, or negate, the other.

I can not pull, or exorcise this thing from my body; I must accept it for what it is and be grateful that it supported my trembling legs until I could stand on my own. I use The Scissors of Acceptance, sharpened by The Stone of Truth, to cut the strings. Each snip of the scissors is a snapped chord—a violent jerk, quivering, and finally stillness.

I leave the house. And these ‘orts’—leftover fragments of the past—trail behind me in a soft silver wake. As I continue moving, the ghostly little strings begin to tentatively seek each other, connect like grasping hands, and eventually these remaining ties are the beginning of something new, and whole. A sheening garment, light as air, covers me like a second skin—as comforting as a blanket and protective as armor.

See more of Meghan’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/meghan-murphy

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melyaliz · 3 years

Text

Remember me 9

Master List

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x OC

Notes: I have about 2 other chapters “edited” (I use that term loosely) so I’ll try to take some time to post them soon as well.

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

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Check out my published work.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0- Olive -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“Oh my god I can’t breath” Olive giggled, crumbling into Eliott’s lap. Her husband smiled down at her gently playing with her hair.

“This is serious Olive!” Eliott said, his smile melting away to a very strained serious one. His dark brown eyes studying her face, “it’s the greatest story ever told. Guy dates a woman, woman’s ex is a mob boss who is involved in illegal fashion, mob boss’s daughter almost gets killed. Now the guy must use his skills from the years of being in the other four movies to get revenge on his girlfriend’s daughter’s father. Tale as old as time “

“That would probably have been a better movie… but would it also have bad dummy shots?” her husband asked.

“Of course” sitting up inspiration struck, “I have an idea!” Eliott watched her as she sat straight up. “You write the action and I will write the romance.”

“How much romance will there be if the daughter is 12 yearsold.”

“Well romance and character stuff.” she shrugged, “And you can add in all the poorly done dummy blow ups you want.”

“I will” Eliott said nodded, “But only if I can use sex dolls.”

“Like, Hard Ticket to Hawaii ? Oh wait! Now hear me out” Olive giggled scooting up so she was now straddling her husband taking his hands in her own. A goofy smile spread across Eliott’s face as he weaved his fingers into her own.

“Oh are we at the wait stage of drunk Olive?”

“Oh girl,” Eliott said, his voice hitting a higher pitch on his girl . Olive giggled pushing herself forward so she was resting on his chest.

“I love you.”

“No way really?” Eliott gave a fake gasp “That’s sooo weird because you know what? I love you too”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“ So just be ready ” Kirishima said, prepping the gang, “She’s… the same but different. ”

The group nodded in unison, game faces ready for whatever was coming. And that something was slowly walking toward when in the form of Bakugou and Olive.

“Olive! Bakugou!” Kirishima said, waving. At the sound of his voice Olive looked up and waved, a smile on her face as she looked over at the group of others standing with them. Her eyes intently taking everyone in as if searching for something that wasn’t there

“ Hello! ” she said as they both stood there awkwardly. Hands had been let go and now hanging at their sides. Limp as if unsure what to do.

“ I didn’t, you did .” he said as everyone around him winched slightly. The awkwardness was so thick you could almost taste it, and it didn't taste good.

“Oh.” her voice soft as she bit her top lip looking down at her purple painted nails. She had found her polish that morning and had decided to try out the fun colors.

There was a long pause when Mina spoke up, “How’s Clare and Lilly and the others? ”

Olive blinked looking up, “ You know the girls? ”

“ Yeah we have wine and Rupaul's Drag race nights. I think the last one we did was about a month ago wasn’t it? ” the last statement, more of a question then a comment.

“Uhhh” Olive shrugged unsure how to respond

“ She doesn’t remember it ” Kaminari mumbled to the little pinked haired girl. And again there was a lapse of awkwardness. Turning to Momo from across the table Olive pointed to her shirt.

“ I love your shirt so cute! ” she said, stumbling slightly over her words. Momo lit up pointing to the shirt that Olive had gotten Momo for the hero’s birthday. The words “Females are strong as hell” in English was written in script across the chest. She had gotten it because she always told Momo, who was the 4th hero and number 1 female, that she was the most badass out of everyone (and that ranking didn’t mean shit). Also they were both addicted to “Unbreakable Kimmy Shimitt”

“ Thank you, I’m Momo '' the dark haired hero said, noticing how much Olive was struggling trying to piece together who was who. Before they had come Momo and her fiancee Shoto Todoroki had decided to treat her like they had met for the first time. “ and this is Shodo my fiancee .”

“ I’m Mina! ” Mina said quickly and everyone else followed suit with a quick round of introductions.

“ Yeah I have pictures ” Olive lit up at the introduction. “The fair.”

“ What picture did you have ?” Momo asked, leaning forward.

“ This one of the fair? ” Olive said, holding up the phone leaning over the table to hand her the phone. Watching them Kirishima chuckled leaning toward Bakugou.

“ Why are they across the table from each other?”

Bakugou shrugged, rolling his eyes, not shocked by the poor seating choices. After coordinating this whole night was he really now in charge of seating as well?

“ Oh that was so fun. ” Momo smiled looking at the photo. Memories of her trip to the US where Olive had given her the grand tour.