#i could draw them a thousand times n never get tired of it their designs r just always so good

[k4pp4-8]

[hardcasey]

Soft Hands, Soft Hearts

Won't Fade into the Background - Part 1

Pairing: Wooley x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Wooley have been pining for each other for a while, but after a few drinks at 79′s, you gain the courage to make the first move. 

Word Count: 3.3k 

Rating/Warnings: G, this is just pure fluff 🥺

A/N: Okay, so I had the idea to make a series devoted to giving the background clones the love they deserve. I have ideas for a bunch of different clones, but if their are any specific boys you are interested in, please let me know! I started with Wooley because I was feeling soft and he is baby (sorry, I don’t make the rules)  😤 This installment is fluffy af, but I have some ideas for a smutty follow-up if there is any interest. 

Also, a HUGE thank you to @delusionsxfgrandeur for both proofreading this and giving me the confidence to post it in the first place 💕

It had been months, but the 212th had finally returned to Coruscant after a particularly grueling campaign. The men, having received a week of well-earned shore leave, had barely gotten their feet on the ground before making a beeline to 79’s. Which is where you now sat, drunk off your ass amidst a sea of white and orange. 

You were an information officer attached to the 212th and had quickly befriended many of its members, a feat you accomplished just by treating them with the most basic level of respect and consideration. All it took was you remembering their names and sneaking them in a few treats before they were all following you around like a pack of lost puppies. It made you very protective over them, they all were such good, soft boys who deserved the world. Especially Wooley, the clone currently sitting next to you in the booth you had all squeezed into. 

He was younger then some of the other troopers like Waxer and Boil, still too shiny to have earned his colors yet. He was soft-spoken and somewhat shy, which only endeared him to you more. And he also had the softest, fluffiest looking hair you had ever seen, which he wore in an undercut that just accentuated the look for maximum poof. 

The only thought in your head right now was how much you wanted to run your hair through it. I bet it feels like a cloud, you thought drunkenly as you stared at him unabashedly, no doubt grinning like an idiot. You had your chin resting in your hand and started to loll your head back and forth, basking in the pleasant buzz of the alcohol coursing through your system. Evidently, it had started to affect your fine motor skills since your chin slipped from your palm and you bumped your nose hard against the rim of your glass. 

“Ow,” you winced as you rubbed your face, shooting a dirty look at Waxer as he snickered at you from across the table, drawing the attention of others. 

“Had enough?” Cody asked, cocking up his eyebrow at you with a smile, an expression he had no doubt picked up from General Kenobi. 

“Mmmh, I think this’ll be my last drink,” you replied, motioning to the half finished drink in front of you. You had reached the perfect level of drunkenness, just enough to leave you feeling carefree and happy without becoming too messy. The last thing you wanted was for one of the boys to have to drag your drunk ass back to your room, especially on their first night of leave. 

Wooley caught your eyes as you settled back down, and you shot him a broad smile that made his heart beat faster. He could feel his cheeks heat up slightly and he smiled timidly back at you before you turned back to Cody, the two of you falling into a playful back and forth. 

Wooley’s eyes fell to his hands, looking sheepish, and Boil chose that moment to kick him under the table. Wooley made an indignant noise at his vod’s antics, and was about to protest when Boil started darting his eyes at you repeatedly and mouthed ‘Talk to her’. 

His brothers could read the hesitation on his face because Waxer swooped in and said lowly, “She’s been staring at you all night, vod. She likes you!”

Both Waxer and Boil knew of his giant crush on you, and had launched a campaign to get the two of you together, much to Wooley’s embarrassment. The two of them were not subtle and the last thing he wanted was the two of them making a scene in front of you. He took a long drink of whatever alcohol was in front of him, hoping to quell his nervousness. 

With Wooley’s attention momentarily elsewhere, he missed the moment when Boil caught Cody’s eye and gave him a small nod. The Commander was also privy to their plans and masterfully steered the two of you’s conversation to Wooley’s recent accomplishments on the battlefield. 

“You should have seen it, he jumped right on top of the spider spider droid and took it out faster than I could blink, isn’t that right Wooley?” 

Wooley froze as you turned to look at him expectantly, barely managing not to choke on his drink. “Uhh, yeah,” was all he managed to come up with in response and he wanted to smack himself. Kriff, why was he so bad at this? 

You rattled off a couple more questions at him, which he answered in similar fashion, though if you were bothered by it you didn’t show it. He nervously ran a hand through his hair as he desperately wracked his brain for something, anything to say. 

Luckily, he was saved when you blurted out, “Can I touch your hair?” Apparently being drunk made you just say anything, huh, you chided yourself, hoping the booth would swallow you up whole. 

You were completely surprised when he stuttered out, “S-sure,” and scooted closer to give you better access. Reaching up and running your fingers through his thick curls, you found that it was in fact softer than a cloud, a thought which made you start to giggle uncontrollably. Your laughter was infectious because soon enough, Wooley was laughing too. 

You kept slowly playing with his hair, your hand sometimes wandering to the sides to feel the short hairs there. A shiver ran through his body at the sensation “That tickles,” he told you, eyes half lidded and words slightly slurred, though you couldn’t be sure if it was from the alcohol or something else.  

Your fingers paused. “Oh, sorry. I can stop if you want.”

You started to pull your hand away but he caught you around the wrist gently. “No!” he said, maybe a little too loudly. He winced slightly and then much more softly he said “I like it,” before placing your hand back on his head. 

You smiled and told him, “C’mere,” pulling him closer so that he could rest his head on your shoulder. “My arm was getting tired. This is much more comfy.” 

“Mmm,” he agreed as he shifted to settle against you. His  cheeks were still pink but he seemed much more relaxed now.

“So it sounds like you’ll be getting to paint your armor orange soon, huh?” 

His eyes brightened at that and your heart clenched at the proud look that washed over his face. “Yeah! I have a few ideas of how I’m gonna paint it, but I haven’t decided on a final design yet.” 

“What are some of them? I’ll help you make up your mind.” 

~~~

By the time you all left the bar it was early in the morning, but the streets of Coruscant were still packed with people, all hoping to enjoy the first day of the weekend. You and the rest of your group weaved through the throngs of people as you made your way back to the barracks. Being short, you had a harder time pushing your way through the people and almost got separated from the group before someone grabbed your wrist and tugged you back into the group. 

You stumbled towards whoever had rescued you, looking up to see it was Wooley. “Don’t wanna lose you,” he said gently and you felt your heart do a backflip. He had no business being this cute! None at all!

He hadn’t released your wrist yet, and maybe it was the alcohol making you braver than normal, but you decided to slip your hand into his. When he realized what you had done, he looked down at your joined hands and smiled up at you before the two of you raced to catch up with the rest of your group. 

When you finally arrived at the barracks, you were about to reluctantly pull your hand away when Cody said, “Wooley, why don’t you walk her back to her room, just to make sure she gets back safely. We don’t want to lose our favorite information officer.” 

“Uh, yes sir!” Wooley said with a salute, though he misjudged the force of his hand somewhat and thwacked himself in the eye instead. He was just thankful he had the alcohol as an excuse for his mistake, instead of the real reason, which was the look in Cody’s eyes that said ‘If you don’t ask her out tonight, you’ll be on latrine duty for a week.’ 

Without further ado, you bid the rest of the boys goodnight and started off towards your room, still hand in hand. Even though it was calloused, his hand was still so warm and nice against yours, and you never ever wanted this to end. You squeezed his hand lightly and your heart soared when you felt him squeeze back. 

The walk to your room was about a thousand hours too short and you quickly found yourself standing in front of the door. 

There was a beat of silence where the two of you just started at each other, both unsure of what to say. Wooley was racking his mind for a way to ask you out on a date, desperately hoping you couldn’t feel how sweaty his palm was. 

You beat him to it, though, and asked, “Do you have any plans for this week?” If you don’t I was thinking we could, um, do something together tomorrow.” Your bravery faltered somewhat halfway through, but it didn’t matter because his eyes lit up and he nodded back vigorously. 

“That sounds great!” 

“Okay! I’ll think of some places we can go and text you in the morning so we can decide.” 

“Great!” 

There was another beat while you had an internal debate with yourself. Did you kiss him? Should you ask or just do it? Should you wait to see if he kissed you?! Little did you know that Wooley was having the exact same debate in his head, only about 100 times more panicked. 

You decided that you had no more bravery left tonight and settled on running your hand up his arm and giving his bicep a little squeeze. “Goodnight! I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you,” was all he could come up with as his brain short circuited. He watched with an awestruck expression as you went into your room, staring at the metal door in a daze for much longer than he’d like to admit. He realized he would look like a creep if he just hovered outside your room all night and quickly made his way back to the barracks with the biggest smile on his face. 

The door to the barracks slid open and he paused as he came face to face with all of his vode, who all turned to look at him as he walked through the door. Even Cody had yet to retire to his personal quarters. 

“Well, how’d it go?” Boil was the first one to break the silence and ask what everyone wanted to know. 

“She asked me out!” Wooley told them, still smiling broadly. 

The room was filled with cheers as all his brothers crowded around to congratulate him, patting him on the back and ruffling his hair affectionately. Despite all the attention, Wooley couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed. 

~~~

“Try the other jacket,” Boil said from his perch on the top bunk. 

Wooley shucked off the jacket he was wearing and quickly slipped his arms through the jacket Cody held out to him. “How do I look?” 

“Hmm, let me see the first one again.” Boil’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he contemplated Wooley’s current outfit. They had been at this for the last twenty minutes, trying to figure out the best outfit for his date, which was happening in less than an hour. 

“There are only two jacket options! And you’ve worn both of them multiple times, Boil!” Wooley moaned. The clones didn’t have much access to civilian clothes and the few they had managed to commandeer - mostly from the Lost and Found in the Coruscant Guards’ office - were shared between the lot of them. There was even a clothes economy of sorts that had developed between the various squads. In fact, the jacket he was currently wearing had been Cody’s prize for beating Rex at a game of Sabacc a few cycles past. 

Wooley sighed before shooting Boil an apologetic look. He didn’t mean to sound unappreciative, after all his brothers had awoken early just to help him prepare, despite the hangovers they were undoubtedly nursing. He was just starting to feel nervousTM again. 

Cody put his hand on Wooley’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re overthinking it, vod. Remember, she asked you out. She wants to spend time with you.” 

“Who asked who out, now?” came a voice from behind them. They spun around to find General Kenobi leaning against the doorway, a steaming cup of caf in one hand.

“Wooley has a date today!” Waxer blurted out, smiling smugly as his younger brother shot him a look before turning back to address the general. 

“They are, uh,  trying to help me pick out an outfit to wear.” 

“We can’t decide on a jacket, though,” Cody chimed in, holding the other option up for Obi-Wan to see. “What do you think, sir?” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered back and forth, rubbing at his beard absentmindedly as he considered. “Actually, I have something in my quarters that’ll go well with the whole look. You can borrow it if you want, Wooley.” 

“Oh no, sir, I couldn’t poss-” Wooley started, but the general ignored his protests, already starting to drag him towards his room. 

Wooley stood ramrod straight in the middle of General Kenobi’s bedroom as the jedi rummaged around in his closet to search for the jacket in question. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act in this scenario, they had never covered it in training. Though he had learned that there were many things involving General Kenobi that he had been totally unprepared for. 

“I know it’s in here somewhere.” Obi-Wan’s voice was muffled from behind the wall of clothing. “Ah, here it is!” He exclaimed before making his way back to Wooley. He blinked owlishly at the poor trooper in front of him, who looked so stressed out he was beginning to wonder if he’d need to call a medic. 

“Is this your first time going on a date?” He asked gently as he helped Wooley into the jacket, spinning him around to fuss with the collar a bit. 

“Is it that obvious?” Wooley asked with a shy smile. 

“Everyone is nervous on their first date, don’t worry. I remember the first time I went out with someone. My hands were shaking so much I ended up accidentally spilling water all over them. Trust me, it gets easier,” he finished with a warm laugh. 

Wooley was included to believe him. General Kenobi seemed to have a lot of experience in the romance department. Or at least it seemed that way, what with all the people who fawned over him. Maybe he would have some good advice for the question that had been plaguing his every thought since last night. 

“Um, general, if I could ask… how do you go about, uh, kissing someone for the first time. I asked some of the others for tips and they all had different ideas, which just made everything more confusing.” 

“Honestly, my best advice is to just ask them if you can kiss them. Many people find that really romantic. Wait for a moment that feels right, like a lull in the conversation when you two are close together. But most importantly, don’t stress yourself out about it. If it happens it happens, and if not just wait for another chance,” Obi-Wan patted Wooley on the head affectionately. “Now you should probably get going, you’re meeting them in twenty minutes.” 

“How do you know-” He didn’t even get the question out.

“Cody.” Obi-Wan’s commander had come to him this morning seeking advice to give his little brother. 

“Cody,” Wooley smiled fondly. He’d have to thank his commander later. 

~~~

You were waiting on the sidewalk in front of the barracks, shuffling your feet awkwardly as your planned meetup time drew nearer. The two of you had decided earlier to spend time walking around one of the huge seasonal markets that was in town for a few days. You hadn’t gone on many dates before now and this morning had been a whole debacle, your roommate helping you pick out the perfect outfit for the occasion. You had eventually settled on something casual but still cute, and sighed with relief when you saw that Wooley had a similar idea. You were starting to worry that maybe you had gone too casual. 

All of your nerves melted away once you saw him, looking like an absolute snack in that leather jacket. You decided to tell him as much as you offered him your hand. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you out of your armor. You look handsome. Love the jacket.” 

Thank the Maker for Obi-Wan, Wooley thought as he took your hand and squeezed it fondly. “You look really great too!” He told you as the two of you made your way to the taxi stand, both pointedly ignoring the eyes of Wooley’s brothers trying and failing to be discrete as they started at you through one of the windows. 

You two made your way downtown to the market, which was a place where people from every corner of the galaxy would come to sell their wares. It seemed to span multiple city blocks and was absolutely packed with people. The two of you flitted from one booth to the next, marvelling at the exotic wares in each one. As you shopped, you both ended up finding little trinkets and buying them for each other as a way to remember the day. 

Before you knew it it was lunchtime and stopped to grab some food from one of the many vendors. The two of you found a place to eat nearby a troupe of street performers, snuggling up to each other as you ate and watched the show. When you got up, Wooley kept his arm around your waist and you were so happy that you were pretty sure you could leap twenty feet in the air like you had seen some of the Jedi do. 

You passed by a stand selling cotton candy and could’t pass up the opportunity to see Wooley’s face when he tried it for the first time. You ripped off a big piece and held it out for him to try. 

“It dissolved!” He said excitedly and you were pretty sure there were actual stars in his eyes. 

As you and Wooley split the cotton candy, he thought back to what Obi-Wan told him and wondered if this was one of the moments he was talking about. You two were so close to each other and your lips were glistening pink with sugar and, Maker, he wanted to kiss you so badly right now. 

He had just opened his mouth to ask you when a nearby animal bleated loudly. Your head whipped in the direction of the noise and from between people’s legs you spotted a small white animal that looked so incredibly fluffy. 

“Oh stars,” you whispered, “It’s so cute. C’mon Wooley let’s get a better look!” 

Without waiting for an answer, you started to tug him in the direction of the ball of fluff masquerading as an animal. He was briefly disappointed at the missed opportunity but was quickly distracted by the adorable animal in front of him. It was some sort of sheep-looking thing, only neither of you had seen one so fluffy. It’s fur was so thick that you could barely make out its face, making it look like a cotton ball with four nubby legs sticking out of the bottom. 

Your head darted around looking for the owner because you had to pet it NOW. Your eyes landed on an elderly Ugnaught woman settled in a rocking chair. She was working on a knitting project, her knitting needles moving a mile a minute, and the displays around her were filled with bundles of plush looking yarn. 

You waved your hand to get her attention. “Hi! Is this your sheep? Can we pet it?” 

The old woman pushed the pair of thick, round glasses she wore higher up her nose as she spoke. “Of course, dearie. I have some food here if you’d like to feed her. Just cup your hands out like this and she’ll come right over.”

The woman poured some pellets into your outstretched hands and you quickly knelt down to offer it to the sheep. It let out another little bleat as it approached before promptly gobbling up everything with fervor. You giggled at her antics, her soft little tongue tickling your palms. 

“Baaaaaa,” she whined up at you once she had finished, and the old lady scolded the little animal for acting like she was starving when she had just eaten an hour ago. 

You turned to Wooley, who had been watching your interaction from off to the side. “Do you want to try feeding her too?” 

“I-I’ve never fed an animal before…” He said hesitantly. 

“Don’t worry, it’s easy. I can help you if you want.” When he nodded you told him to cup his hands and the woman poured some more food for him to give the sheep. You had him kneel down next to you and helped him hold his palm out, cupping your hand under his. When you felt him trembling slightly, you ran your thumb soothingly across his wrist. He turned to look at you and, oh maker he was so close, you could just lean in an inch and kiss him. But no, you couldn’t get distracted right now, you had a hungry little sheep to feed. 

You both turned back to the matter at hand and Wooley made a little noise in the back of his throat when the sheep came up to him, but he kept his hand out and the little animal started inhaling the food. “Ahh, it tickles!” Wooley gasped, a huge smile on his face. 

Once you were done giving her treats, the three of you settled down on the floor of the little tent, the sheep moving between your laps as you took turns cuddling it. You both ended up taking pictures of each other with the sheep and the old woman even offered to take a picture of both of you with the sheep. You sat there for a while, chatting with the old lady, who had lived quite the life and had many interesting stories as a result. The conversation trailed off and you sat with your head on Wooley’s shoulder, the only sounds around you were the din of the market and the clacking of the woman’s knitting needles. 

You peaked up at Wooley only to find him staring down at you. There was a beat before he suddenly asked, “Can I kiss you?” 

He was about to start berating himself internally for asking so awkwardly, but all his thoughts stopped when you breathed out a soft, “Please.” And then you were cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against his, and nothing mattered anymore. You let out a contented sigh against his mouth and he moved his hand to rest on your hip. 

You were both reluctant to separate, but a tug at your hair made you gasp and pull away, only to find the sheep chewing on a lock of your hair. Behind you, you heard a chuckle and you both turned to see the old woman looking at you both with a knowing twinkle in her eye. Both of your faces heated up as you realized you had just started kissing right in the middle of her store. The two of you started to apologize but she brushed it off with another laugh. 

“You know, there is a tree in a park a few blocks from here. They call it the Lover’s Tree. My husband and I used to sneak off there for a bit of privacy,” she told you with a wink. 

You thanked the woman profusely and even ended up buying some yarn as a thank you. Before you left, you both gave the sheep one more pat on the head before taking off and running towards the tree hand in hand.

[vivvyinvienna]

the night we met (draco malfoy)

A/N: heyo! this is my first fic so pls be nice :) i hope you guys enjoy it! xoxo 

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Draco is haunted by the memories of his dead lover. Post-Battle of Hogwarts. Inspired by the Lord Huron song “The Night We Met.”

Warnings: alcohol, cursing, depression, angst, violence, blood, major character death

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

  Draco languidly twirled the glass of firewhiskey in his hand. He watched as the amber liquid clung desperately to the sides before unfailingly slipping back. His drunken mind and hazy thoughts found amusement in it. They found amusement in a lot of things now. Like how he sat in front of the fireplace in a grand leather chair downing firewhiskey by the bottle every night; being every bit of the rich, spoiled Malfoy heir he was. Y/N would have told him that he was trying too hard to mourn in an aesthetic. And she would have been right. 

The thought of her lifted him from his reverie. The glass of liquor stopped turning in his hand, instead it was brought to his lips, quickly downed in hopes of expelling her from his mind. In hopes of keeping out all the feelings that came alongside memories of her. It was why he drank in the first place, why he sat drunk and unrefined with his hair messed, shirt untucked, and suit rumpled.

But it didn’t work. It never really worked. Not even the strongest liquor from his father’s collection could rid his mind of her. Her lips, her touch, her soft breath on his shoulder from their last embrace was all tattooed on his soul. He didn’t really mind those. But it was the memories of her death, watching her body crumble and blood pour from her wounds, that made him want to obliviate himself. They stained his mind, weakened his body and ate at his soul. 

After losing her at the Battle of Hogwarts, he constantly felt like he was a wandering traveler who’s path had run out. He was riddled with these feelings of guilt, sorrow, longing, and depression. There was always this painful feeling in his chest, like someone had a vice grip around his lungs and heart. While he was with Y/N there was always a nagging feeling that he was in debt to her. She had taught him the invaluable, that he could love and be loved. She had saved him in every manner a person could be saved. The feelings, thoughts, and pain he now faced was unrelenting, incessant, and unforgiving. He supposed it was a method of repaying his debt. 

Looking towards the fireplace that was softly raging, he put down his glass. Chasing away the memories never worked, he didn’t know why he bothered trying every night. And with that, he resigned to his thoughts of her.

 I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

  Draco was laying on her bed in her Hufflepuff dorm. The windows facing the rolling hills were drawn up, letting in the warm glow of sunset. It bathed the room in this honey tint that made him feel warm and blissful. Laying on his side, he stared at the Y/H/C haired girl at the desk who was intensely focused on her books and notes. 

“Angel?”

Your quill paused and you turned to let your Y/E/C eyes meet his. He thought your eyes were the most beautiful thing, they held the beauty and intensity of a thousand stars in his mind. He found everything beautiful about you really. The way your hair framed your face. Your delicate fingers whenever they entangled with his. The way your rosy lips tilted into a smile when you looked up at him. 

“Yes, Draco?”

You had a slight smile and an extra twinkle in your eye as you answered him because you knew exactly what he was going to ask next. 

As predicted, the blonde boy strewn across your bed softly, adoringly, and a tinge whiningly said, “Come lay with me for a bit.”

Looking back and forth between him and the DADA homework on your desk, you pouted while responding “I still have so much of Umbridge’s work to do though.”

Draco let out a dramatic groan and flipped onto his back before answering, “ You’re killing me, Y/N. What do I need to do to convince you?” 

The truth was Draco didn’t need to do anything to persuade you, you were sick of Umbridge’s busy work. And after feeling his gaze caress you all afternoon, you craved his touch. But you decided to have a bit of fun.

“It’s killed meh. It’s killed meh.” You mocked.

You never let him live down that accident from third year. He covered his eyes and laughed in embarrassment before retaliating, “At least I didn’t get sent to the hospital wing because of a plant. You’re supposed to be good at herbology, badger.”

You feigned offense, “That’s not the point. The point is, I didn’t put on an entire theatrical performance like you felt the need to.” And with that, you started to walk towards the Slytherin boy on your bed. He pulled the covers back for you to join him when he noticed your approach. 

“Ok, ok, fine. Just get in already, I’m getting cold.” 

Once you settled into his arms, he watched as you snuggled deeper into his chest. With your guys legs intertwined and his arms encasing you, his heart felt content and at peace. He had everything he needed and wanted right in his arms. 

You tilted your face up, and while looking adoringly at Draco you whispered,  “I love you, you know?” 

He gave you a soft smile that made the cold ice of his eyes melt. Putting his forehead against yours, he gently nudged your nose with his. 

“I know. And I love you...” he paused, refocusing his gaze into your eyes, “more than anything.”

You smiled as he captured your lips in a kiss.

 I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

 Back in his leather chair in the cold drawing room of the Manor, he barely noticed the silent tears that escaped from his eyes. Tears seemed to be a constant now. The beautiful memories of her angelic voice and soft kisses and honey tints were once things that bewitched him. Now, they only served as an agonizing reminder of what he had lost. He craved, he so utterly craved for her tender caress. He could feel his own desperation causing aches from his chest all the way to his finger tips. What he would give to feel her presence wrapped around him one more time. 

With his head hung forward and his hands tugging at his hair, convulsive yet inaudible sobs wracked his beaten frame. He wanted her back. He wanted to hold her hand as they walked in the garden. He wanted to pepper her face with kisses until she playfully pushed him away. He wanted to hear her gleeful shouts as they rode his broom together. He wanted to meet her again for the first time and relive their time together. Merlin he just wanted her back. 

All he could do now was reminisce of his memories of them together. He was faced with a constant inner battle. Reliving their memories eased the hurt for a little while. But when he came back to his senses and his reality, it brought a raging pain of its own. 

Some nights he couldn’t help himself. He drank until his vision blurred and then walked around the Manor looking for signs of her, to spark memories that he watched like movies. Tonight would be one of those nights he realized after stumbling onto a very specific patio. It was the patio where they met. 

 When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Your family had been invited to the Malfoy Summer Solstice Ball, as were all the other notable pureblood wizarding families. You had your mother’s penchant for fashion, choosing to wear a champagne colored satin gown from one of your favorite designers. You quite enjoyed the dressing up and the excessive extravagance, but it was the company that was pitiful. The lavishly decorated ball room was filled with witches and wizards either trying to produce marriage arrangements or devise business contracts. Despite being freshly 14 and only going into your fourth year at Hogwarts, you were approached with multiple horrendous proposals. 

Sometime during the night after Rowle Sr. suggested your hand for his 22 year old son, you slipped out of the ballroom in search of some quiet. What you found however, was Draco Malfoy on a patio. As awful as his reputation, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. It almost felt sacrilegious being so encaptured by the chisel of his cheekbones and the subtle arch of his brows. But he had the type of beauty that got into your bones and the moonlight only made him more enthralling.

Draco’s gaze settled on you a couple seconds after you had walked in. He recognized you, you were in the same herbology class. He’d never admit it but he always found the way your eyes flicked up from your paper to the person you were talking to, to be so subtly alluring. 

Skipping over a normal greeting, his first word to you was merely, “Hufflepuff.” He had meant for it to be a question, but it came out a bit rougher than he anticipated. At least he hadn’t sneered. 

True to your house’s values, you responded good naturedly, “Yes...and you’re in Slytherin.”

 He nodded, pausing for a second as if contemplating whether to continue the conversation before asking, “Why are you out here?”

“Got tired of talking to old British men.” You answered honestly. “What about you? Why’d you come out here?”

He walked closer to where you were standing. 

“Trying to get away from the witches,” he said as he leaned against the terrace railing. 

You laughed lightly before jokingly asking, “The mothers? Or the girls?” 

“Both,” he fiddled with his cufflinks. “Were the old British men trying to get you to marry their sons?”

“They were. None of them were very convincing though.” 

“I hope my father didn’t try.”

“Would it be so terrible to be married to me?” 

You could see a quick eyebrow raise from him, pleasantly surprised. 

“I’m just concerned that our home decorating styles won’t match.” His voice lacked his usual bite and his face was without his habitual sneer. 

“You know most people don’t choose their life partners based on interior design styles.” 

Your comment elicited an amused huff from the blonde boy. “I wish my mother did, then I wouldn’t have to live in this ghastly manor.”

He was right, filled with antiques and dark artifacts, the manor was downright depressing. “It’s...” you struggled to find a non offensive description. “It has its own charm. You just have to romanticize it a bit.” You were unconvincing.

“This is why the sorting hat put you in Hufflepuff.”

“Better than Slytherin,” you retorted. 

He wanted to laugh, even the idea of you in Slytherin was amusing. “You’d get eaten alive by our first-years.” 

He was right, but that didn’t mean you let up, “Funny. Have you made anyone cry yet today?”

“No, but luckily it’s only 9 o’clock.” 

The two of you talked long into the night. As he listened to your stories, random literary interpretations, and takes on the world he found himself more and more enamored. He was enamored with the little shrug you seemed to always end your rants in. Enamored with your laughs that always came at the right time when he talked. Enamored with the strange feeling in his gut he didn’t quite know how to identify when your hand briefly grazed his thigh. 

Draco found your company to be tantalizingly novel. Sitting on adirondack chairs, sharing nothing but stories with you felt weirdly intimate. It felt like friendship, a word woefully foreign on his tongue. Perhaps it was because he met you in a setting outside of Hogwarts, a place where he didn’t have to puff his chest and wear his Slytherin crown. But for the first time in maybe his entire life, it felt like he made a friend. And it wouldn’t be until later when he realized that Y/N was also the love of his life. 

 I had all and then most of you 

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

Draco sat in the same adirondack chair he had the night he met you, looking at the empty chair to his right. A sullen expression was permanently etched on his face as he ran through the same thought over and over and over. I wish she was here. I wish she was here. I wish she was here. Lost in a trance, he didn’t notice his mother enter the patio until her shoes were in his line of sight. 

Narcissa’s heart ached to see her son this way. So lost and so resigned. Every ounce of spirit and hope seemed to have vanquished as he processed Y/N’s death. She remembered the struggle of tearing him away from her dead body and bringing him back to the manor. 

As the battle was in its final moments, Narcissa knew that her family needed to leave to avoid Azkaban. But Draco hadn’t wanted to leave her yet, he wasn’t ready to let go. Her and Lucius were forced to physically rip them a part. With Lucius holding him down and Narcissa prying her from his grasp. He pleaded and begged and cried and screamed. The raw pain and desperation in his screams as Y/N finally slipped from his grasp was something Narcissa would never forget. Once the three of them were apparated into the manor’s drawing room, Draco had collapsed in her arms choking on sobs and violent words cursing them. He was inconsolable, Narcissa tried. She held him, comforted him, but she knew it wasn’t her arms he needed. There was only one person who could rid his pain, but no amount of money in their Gringotts vault could bring back the dead. 

Back on the patio, she quietly approached him. 

“Draco?” 

He looked up. Behind the sorrow in his eyes there was the slightest bit of resentment. He still hadn’t found it in himself to fully forgive her. It was even worse with his father. He couldn’t look at Lucius without turning breathless with anger. 

“Draco,” she placed a hand gently on his shoulder, “it’s late. We should get you to bed.”

He merely blinked away, looking back at the empty chair instead. Narcissa noticed that he did that often, looking at the empty spaces next to him. Spaces that she was supposed to be in. He did it at the dining table on the rare occasions he’d join her for meals. He did it in the library, riveted by the black couch they frequented. And he did it while laying in his bed, always slightly off center, as if leaving room for someone. 

It took a bit more coaxing from Narcissa to get Draco to his room. After he was settled in his bed, he closed his eyes succumbing to the nightmares that would undoubtedly come. 

 I had all and then most of you 

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

  “Dra...Dray. Dray, ho..hold me. Please.”

He knew the end was nearing, white hot panic flooded him. Blood surrounded you, coating the dirty cement floor and his hands. He lifted you gingerly into his arms, scared to hurt you even more. 

“Ok. Ok. Of course, Angel. I’m right here. I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay, it’s gonna be ok.” He was rambling now.

His hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on him. Rocking back and forth, he looked into your eyes and studied your face. 

“Angel, don’t do this to me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You brought your hand up, grabbing onto his wrist. You were too weak to respond at that point, you were too far gone. You both knew. But a small smile ghosted your features as you looked at your love. Your love, your love, your love. You kept looking at him as you felt yourself slip farther and farther away. It was just like sleeping.

Draco’s silver hair fell into his face as looked down at the girl in his arms with an ocean between his lashes. He watched as she gave him that last little smile, with his hand still cupping her cheek. First, her hand’s grip loosened on his wrist. Then, her face went expressionless. And too sudden and far too soon, the light in her eyes were gone. 

Y/N Y/L/N was dead. 

A guttural, visceral sob erupted from the silver haired boy. He cried out, cursing the gods above and cursing fate for taking her from him so soon. His screams were strained with an indescribable and insurmountable amount of pain. He clawed at his chest, hoping he could somehow rip out the searing feeling that riddled his shattered heart.  

He pressed his face in to the crook of her neck, sobbing thickly, muttering desperate pleas of help. But it was pitiful and it was nonsense, for death was unforgiving and death was final. Her arms, which once were used to caress and comfort him, now hung limp at her sides. There was a fiery anguish in his chest that was so colossal he could feel it radiate all through his body. Draco clung onto her dead body with as much strength as he could muster, as if sheer willpower could revive her somehow. The blood from her fatal wound covered Draco’s hands and clothes. It was a gruesomely harrowing scene: a forever broken boy clinging to a dead girl. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, kneeling on his knees while clutching his dead lover. The battle raged on around him as he remained in his penitent posture, praying to every deity, God, and powerful being he could think of to bring her back. When he finally found the strength to lift his head from the crook of her neck, the sight of her clouded eyes and paling skin sent another volley of shards into his chest. With an unsteady hand, he shut her eyes.

Draco gently pulled her into his lap, moving with the same amount of attentiveness as if she was still alive. His hands, still trembling, carefully smoothed her hair. He drank her face in more fervently than ever before, for this would be the last time he saw her. This would be the last time he could hold her. His angel, his beautiful angel was dead and soon he would be forced to let her go. He pressed his lips on hers as he’s done a thousand times before, but when her lips remained unmoving and were cold against his, a new set of sobs wracked his body. 

The grieving boy sat in the midst of a battlefield, uncaring that he was defenseless. Draco sat there, silently hoping that someone would take mercy on him. Silently praying that someone would see him wandless and alone, and slay him. He knew this pain was carved into his heart and engraved in his soul. He knew that he would only be relieved of it when death came for him too. 

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

Dear Y/N,

You’re dead, you won’t ever read this. I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s a plea of help, maybe it’s how I’ll heal. Either way, it makes me feel like I’m talking to you, like I haven’t lost everything. But I’m just deluding myself. 

It hurts to live without you. Time keeps ticking forward, the world moving with it, but all I can think about is when I was last with you. Every night I slip into dreams of you. Sometimes, rarely, they’re good ones. But I wake up and you’re not there. Most nights, I’m watching you bleed and die in my arms. That dream never fails in hurting me. But what really breaks me, is after I drag myself awake, I realize I’m already living my worst fear. You’re already dead. It’s not a nightmare, it’s a memory. 

Everything died with you, Y/N. I thought that once the war was over, my life could truly start. I’d finally be free from that world. I didn’t realize that the end of the war meant the end of us too. Every single plan we made for the future is gone. All my someday’s and one day’s died with you. I no longer have anyone to marry, to have children with, to grow old with. I feel robbed. I was supposed to have a whole life with you, not just a few measly school years. Even a lifetime wouldn’t have been enough for me. I want every lifetime with you, on this earth or the next. 

I’m still holding you tight in my mind, it’s strange you’re not here with me. My heaven was here on earth with you. But ever since you’ve gone, the days have been getting darker and darker. I love you, I miss you. 

Yours Forever,

Draco

[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (8/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: This will hurt. I am sorry.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3) Warnings: This chapter contains character death, some depictions of violence, depictions of poor and unhealthy coping mechanisms, as well as a toxic relationship. Any intercourse and physical touch in general is fully consensual, but emotionally the relationship may appear upsetting to some. Also there are some elements that may resemble emotional self-harm.

Word count for this chapter: 4k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 8: Killian Jones, October 19th 2011 – October 24th 2015

The kiss is deeper than he expected. Killian pushes the woman back, but gently. He was the one who gave her permission to kiss him, after all.

"I thought it would be a quick kiss. I have a girlfriend."

Her brows are going wild. "Shit. Sorry."

He's so stupid. What would Milah think? "'Salright. Go pee."

"Yes. That,” she slurs. “Thank you again."

Just as the woman closes the bathroom door behind her, Milah appears above him.

“You okay?” she says.

He looks at her confused, before he realizes it's not that normal to sit on the floor while at a club. “Yeah,” he says. “Just very, very drunk.”

She gives him her hand, he takes it, then she starts pulling at him. “Let's go outside for some air. There's too much smoke in here.”

“I wanna pee!”

She drags him up. “You can pee outside! Let's go!”

It feels better outside. The cool, clean air wakes him up a bit.

Milah throws her arms around Killian's neck and pulls him to lean his forehead on hers. He smells the martini in her breath, landing hot against his lips.

He closes his eyes. He could stay like this forever, and how he wishes this moment lasted that long...

“How sweet,” a sharp voice says from the side.

They turn together to see Gold staring at them, his hands crossed on the handle of his cane. There's two big guys flanking him, and Killian pulls Milah aside, stepping in front of her.

“What do you want?” Killian says.

“I did wait,” Gold says. “I held back, let you take my wife away from me.”

“Shut up,” Milah says, moving to Killian's side. “Our marriage was over long before I met Killian.”

Gold looks at her, hand grabbing the cane hard.

“You... you followed us here?” Milah says, suddenly realizing. “What the hell? Where's Jack?”

“You have no right to ask about him,” Gold says and takes a brisk step forward. “You went against my conditions for meeting him. You brought that bastard with you!”

Milah flinches, and Killian's left hand grabs onto hers.

“And you?” Gold looks at him. “Going behind my back to take my son on your side? Trying to buy his love?” His face seems to barely contain his rage as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun.

Killian's hand squeezes Milah's as his other one raises up in defense. “Whoa, Gold, wait-”

Gold shoots.

Though Killian’s ears are ringing from the exploding sound, he hears Milah's trembling sigh. It feels like it's hours later that he turns to look at her, eyes going straight for the growing red spot on her chest.

And then she's falling.

“No,” he whispers and holds her, gently breaking her fall.

Her eyes are moving wildly, then she coughs and a thin trail of blood runs from the corner of her lips.

“No, no. Milah...”

She focuses on him. “I love you,” she whispers. She gasps one last time, then she's limp in his arms.

It's like even more hours pass. He feels her hot blood staining his hands.

Her eyes are closed. She's not breathing. Only her blood moves, dripping out of her body even though her heart has stopped beating.

“No,” he says.

He hears the tapping sound of a cane, and he looks up to see Gold standing above him, gun aimed at him. His henchmen also aim their handguns at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Killian says. “Finish it.”

What else can he say? It's not as if he'd leave him to tell the tale.

“Oh, no. You won't be so lucky,” Gold says, but he doesn't move.

Killian manages to hold himself back only long enough to set Milah down gently, then he lunges at Gold, grabbing the gun.

It all happens in half a second.

Gold shoots, Killian's ears are ringing again, and he sees two fingers fly off in a sudden fountain of blood.

He drops down to his knees. His left hand hangs limp in a way no hand should. The thumb and index finger are missing, and there's a gaping crescent hole, starting under his middle finger and reaching to the middle of his wrist.

The pain hits him suddenly and a scream erupts from his throat.

His vision comes and goes; one moment Gold is standing above him, the next Killian is leaning over Milah, the blood spilling from his hand onto her unmoving body.

There's more people screaming; people shouting; sirens, blue and red lights...

Then white. So much white.

Killian is just three days younger of twenty-eight when he once again thinks how he's cursed.

Milah is dead, there is no doubt about that. His hand was amputated, and he has to spend a whole week in the hospital before the doctors clear him for a transatlantic flight.

In the meantime he learns that Milah's body was sent back to England, per Gold's request.

At first, he finds it impossible; but the cops who'd questioned him about the assault soon inform him that Gold has solid alibi in London at the time of the murder.

Killian almost shuts down in the week he has to spend in there; Gold must have stolen Killian's phone before fleeing the scene of the crime, and Killian has no way of contacting Nemo, and he didn't let him know the specifics of his trip in the first place, like when exactly his return trip would’ve been.

If Nemo had known, he would have worried after not getting any news from Killian the day he was supposed to return. He would have contacted hospitals, would have found out about the assault. Probably would even honor Killian's request to attend Milah's funeral in his place, if Killian had the guts to actually ask him for that.

And to top it all, Nemo's phone at home is out of order. Why didn't he ever bother memorizing his cell phone? Now all Killian can do is lie in his hospital bed and do his damnedest to avoid looking at where his left hand is no more.

The blasted week goes by; Killian spends the rest of his savings into a new return trip, the only one he can afford has two stops in between.

He's dead tired, hungry, with fresh dog crap under his sole, and somehow he's not surprised to see his apartment has flooded.

It's three in the morning and he contemplates walking through the ankle-deep water anyway and collapsing in his bed.

He stands so long in front of the open door of his apartment that eventually the downstairs neighbor comes to complain about water dripping into his place.

One call to the fire department later, Killian picks up his two bags – he didn't have the heart to throw Milah's stuff away – and takes a taxi to Nemo's place.

Nemo obviously got out of bed to let Killian in, and of course, he asks Killian what happened.

It's like he's seventeen again, unable to react to one of the most life-changing news he ever received, only the opposite, in the most grim way that he never dared imagine.

He's hiding his handless arm inside his jacket pocket and silently walks the stairs up to his old bedroom. He doesn't answer Nemo's questions next morning, he doesn't even sit down to get breakfast. He goes straight to the lawyer Milah had during her divorce.

Gold is paying people to give false testimony, and Killian is gonna take him down.

Too consumed in his own hatred for the man, the whole week he spent planning his comeback he didn't think of the problems the lawyer is listing now; Killian was drunk – as evidenced by hospital records – enough for his testimony to be considered debatable; he also has motive to want to get back at Gold, stronger than Gold's motive to kill his unfaithful wife three whole years post their divorce which concluded in his favour; and of course, one has to prove first that Gold's witnesses are lying before questioning Gold's alibi of more than five thousand kilometers away from the scene of the crime.

Killian doesn't return to Nemo's place. His own apartment stinks, damp and moldy, half of his furniture and appliances were ruined, but at least his bed is functioning, and he can't deal with Nemo's sympathy right now.

He needs to take Gold down. He can't have any more distractions.

It takes him a month to remember his therapist. He checks his emails for the first time since the assault, and he feels he loses another part of him at the news of his therapist moving towns to study for a doctorate; she's suggested other therapists at him, followed by two more emails of asking if everything is okay, then nothing.

Killian looks at the names and phones of the suggested therapists as if they're threats to his consciousness. He actually laughs. Dr. Eriksen had him since before he was even an adult and she knew everything about his fucked-up adolescence. Where would he even begin with someone new?

He deletes the email.

For two years, his whole life centers around finding weak spots in Gold's armour. He quits from Shakespeare's boat rental and works at stock in the harbor. It's a tough, time-consuming job, but it keeps him in view of the sea and gets his mind off his pain. Alcohol takes over that job in his time off.

He stops drawing; Milah used to draw with him and it nearly breaks him to pick up a pencil to sketch. The last thing he sketches is the design for the tattoo with her name on it that is soon permanently inked on his arm.

Two years of trying, as much as his exhausted psyche and a mind always leaning towards booze can handle, and the best he manages is to break into Gold's house, hack through his computer and locate some suspicious activity between Gold's bank account and the one of one of his witnesses.

Thirteen years of no spots in his criminal record mean nothing to the law when there are spots in it in the first place, and he's arrested for breaking and entering.

Nemo responds to Killian's call to bail him out, even though Killian has barely spoken to him in two years. However, the disappointment is, for the first time since Killian met him, visible on his face.

“It's your decision,” Nemo tells him after Killian is out. “Your path to choose, and your life to ruin.”

If it were anyone else, Killian would be flipping him off. But Nemo is the one who took Killian in as an assortment of broken pieces and put him back together, loving and patient all throughout. The one who has always been too good to be called a mere father.

“It's not just wanting to get back at that bastard,” Killian says, nearly shouting. At Nemo's small flinch, Killian breathes in and out. Among all his losses, it's the first one that has filled him with such rage. “That monster killed her in cold blood. And he's out there now, not paying for his crime-”

His voice is too unsteady now to accommodate shouting.

“It's not just personal. He killed her-” A soft sob breaks his sentence in half. “-and he's walking free.”

“The world is not fair,” Nemo says in a very soft voice, hand resting on Killian's shoulder. “Come home, son. This isn't what you need right now.”

“No. I need to see him behind bars.”

“You need to grieve.”

Killian scoffs, laughing mirthlessly. “It's been two years.”

“Exactly.”

He drops his gaze. If he looks at Nemo's face right now, he may crumble, and his efforts of two years – albeit not very successful – will be rendered pointless. The time he lost, the damage he's done to himself, to his relationships with everyone, Nemo, Shakespeare, Will and Tink, it will all be for nothing.

And worst of all, he'll be yet another one who will do Milah wrong. If he gives up, he'll be doing to her nothing better than what Gold did, and the very thought sickens him.

There's only one thing he changes. His drinking has reached new levels, and he needs, if nothing else, to survive in order to bring Gold down. So for now, AA meetings are something.

At first, he only talks about how he manages to stay clean, how he slips and how he tries to not beat himself up over it. His fifth meeting is on a particularly bad day; the story of watching the love of his life die slips from him, and across the circle he gets looks of pity that he hates.

If only he told everyone about the furious thoughts for revenge on Milah's murderer that have been plaguing his every waking thought for the past two years.

He slumps in his seat and stays silent for the rest of the meeting. He shouldn't have come today, he should have known he would be too emotional to think rationally before speaking.

The meeting ends and he's already made up his mind to look into other AA groups before he even exits the building.

“Excuse me,” a voice calls at him.

He turns. It's Eloise Gardener, one of the attendees.

“On the last meeting you mentioned that mental activities keep your thoughts away,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“I'm hosting gardening classes, two evenings a week at the Bare Feet Greenhouse. I thought I could invite you to join, they're already quite cheap and I'll give you a discount.”

“Your name is Gardener, innit?”

She smiles. “And I am a gardener. Shocking, I know. But I've found it's a good distraction, especially knowing you're taking care of a life. You get the satisfaction without committing to... raising a child, let's say.”

Killian decides it's worth a try; unlike the AA meetings, raising a plant actually has visible proof of progress.

He stops coming to the meetings, but Eloise doesn't ask him why. She teaches him and guides him through providing a good environment for his plants.

One night after class, she helps him move the pots with his grown plants to his apartment. He doesn't truly invite her in, and when she initiates a kiss with him, he takes a few seconds of thinking before he realizes he doesn't mind that much.

It's just fuck, and Eloise doesn't seem to be thinking it's anything deeper than he does.

If he thinks it's any deeper, he'll just be haunted again by that miserable thought, that the last person he kissed before Milah died was not Milah herself, but a random stranger whose face he wasn't even sober enough to remember.

Eloise leaves and within minutes, he's left as well to search for any open store that sells booze. Rain is pouring down, cars splash him until he's soaking wet, but he finally gives up when he trips and falls, his leg hurting too much to take him too much further.

Even the couple of hours he stays in the hospital while they put a walking cast on him feel unbearable. Two years have gone by and the memories of hospital misery are still too raw.

Eloise doesn't comment on the cast nor his continued absence from the AA meetings. She invites him to her place and after they have sex he asks if he can stay the night. That way it's much easier to avoid looking for a drink to deal with how disgusted he feels.

Even the other people attending the gardening lessons wouldn't imagine Eloise and Killian are sleeping together – and Killian is attending two different classes side by side. Not that there's anything to show for it. They just fuck, sleep in the same bed, and that's all. She keeps him from running out for a drink in the middle of the night, better than any AA meeting managed, he gives her a person to have control over the way she wants, and they scratch each other's itches.

Nemo keeps trying to stay in touch with him, and Killian nearly blocks his number out of pure shame. Perhaps if Nemo realizes he's been blocked he'll stop bothering.

Killian has practically moved in with Eloise now, or she with him; in any case, they'll sleep in the same bed every night, whether it's the one in Killian's apartment or the one in Eloise's house.

He cannot connect who he was before with who he is with Eloise now. Before Nemo even adopted him officially, Killian had allowed him to pick up his pieces and make him a functional human. With Milah, it was Killian who was the whole, the rock she could lean on.

With Eloise, he can once again be broken, but without any expectation to get fixed back up – and he's too tired for unrealistic expectations. He can stay the mess that he is, sharing his body and his space with her so that he can feel something, even when the feeling isn't the best. Eloise is controlling and demanding, and Killian's feelings for her range from fear to disgust, but he prefers those over pain, grief, rage, and a continuously burning thirst.

It's easier to hate his... “partner” than to hate everything else in his life, including himself.

He's actually shocked to realize two years have passed since his first time with Eloise, and nothing at all has changed. Their feelings didn't change towards one way or another; they just kept fucking, sleeping next to each other, and going by their day without thinking about each other.

He almost hates it when she asks him to ride with her to a concert in Maidstone. Not only because she's making ensuring no-one assaults her sound like a chore, but also because he's still not ready to enjoy music he used to love. Especially not in her presence. Being in her company is not a circumstance that fits happy thoughts.

There's a lot of things he's been denying himself since Milah died. Everything that used to make him happy, even the company of his family, feels sullied now.

He doesn't expect to enjoy the concert. But Eloise buys his ticket and drives the car, so he decides that he can tolerate one night of being a boy toy to discourage sleazebags.

It doesn't even feel that special that his birthday is tomorrow; he lost Liam a few days after his fifteenth birthday, and Milah a few days before his twenty-eighth. Maybe it's just not in the cards for him to celebrate it again.

For three whole hours, he forgets everything. There's just the music, and the lights, and his throat getting sore from singing without a care.

There is, of course, the occasional groping, people stepping on his feet, even getting an elbow to the ribs, but for him it's all par of the course now. Including checking his pockets afterwards and realizing that twenty pounds are missing. And Eloise being... well, Eloise.

“You were supposed to stand by my side,” she starts complaining after the concert is over and people start dispersing.

“I can assure you I was touched against my consent far more than you were.”

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”

Ugh, her arrogant, calm face she makes when she tells him off. He hates it.

“If you wanted an actual bodyguard, you should have hired one. I only have one hand,” he bites back at her.

“Really? I get you a birthday gift and you consider this an appropriate response.” There’s no question mark in her tone.

“Oh, piss off. As if you've given a fuck about my birthday all these years.”

Her lips purse together, but her voice keeps that cool tenor that irritates him to no end. “I wanted to make it a good one for you. Just because you don't care about it doesn't mean no-one else does.”

He sighs. He actually had a good time and he doesn't want it ruined by her gaslighting. He's experienced people actually caring for his birthday, and he knows Eloise's words are just words. Next, she'll say that she contacted Scorpions themselves and asked them to have a concert the day before his birthday.

She shakes her head and goes for the portable toilets. At last, he can have some time on his own. He turns his head away and back to the scene, now completely empty.

No One Like You wasn't exactly the song he liked the most tonight, but it's the one he can't stop humming. He's humming!

Maybe he does owe Eloise a bit. Just a bit.

"Catchy tune, huh?" he hears from the side.

He turns, seeing a woman with a wide smile on her face.

"Oh, which one isn't?" he says, smiling back. "What a night."

The woman nods. "Did you have fun?"

The words pour out of him like vomit. "A lot of people stepped on me, I got groped, pick-pocketed, and I got in a fight with my...” – How should he call her? – “friend, but you know what?" He shrugs. "Bloody worth it."

"Oh.” Her face softens. “Sorry that you were mugged."

"Ah, it was like, twenty quid. I've known better than to carry credit cards where hands can easily reach." A very dedicated hand, maybe. There's only so many hiding spots he has.

"Do you have a ride back home?" the woman says.

He stares at her, and he feels his jaw drop when he realizes. "Bollocks. I overshared, didn't I?"

She just smiles. "I mean, I have a car, and space for two... how many of you are there?"

He scratches behind his ear. "Don't worry. We've got a car. And we going right back to Brighton, anyway."

"Oh.” She seems to think for a moment. “I don't even know where that is."

He holds back a laugh. "Figured so. From your accent."

Her smile widens. "I'm Emma," she says, extending her hand.

"Killian," he gives his hand back, careful to keep his left arm inside his jacket pocket. She's still looking at his face when he drops his hand to his side. "So... you know that they're actually having a few concerts in the States for this tour, right? How come you decided to fly all over to here?"

"Well, today... or more like, yesterday," she pauses as she checks her watch, "was my birthday. This was more like a birthday gift to me, and of course I'm going to see them in-” She pauses suddenly. “What?"

She's obviously cut off by the expression on his face. "You're not kidding? Tomorrow- or, today, is my birthday."

"Wow. Happy birthday, then."

"Happy birthday to you too. Seems it was a great one."

Emma seems happy as she looks back at the now empty stage. "I'd say one of the best ones. Does your birthday seem promising?"

His chest feels twice its normal size when she turns to look at him. Somehow, with their birthdays being so close, it feels as if her having had a great birthday is feeding his own satisfaction for that day, for the first time in four- no, five years.

Some of her slightly messy hair is sticking to her face – she probably went all out dancing tonight – and her eyes seem to droop in drowsiness, but she's absolutely glowing.

Glowing and looking at him.

When she takes a step towards him, it feels like it's gravity that's pulling his own body to her.

"It seems that way, aye," he replies.

Her eyes close when she's a few inches away from him, but he waits for the moment his lips touch hers to close his eyes.

~

(A/N: I want to remind the readers that this chapter is told from Killian's point of view, distorted as it is from grief, rage and isolation from the people he loves. Emotional progress is almost never visible in the short term, especially regarding addictions. Killian might have thought the AA meetings didn't help him, but it doesn't mean that giving up and depending on a controlling person to keep him clean was the healthy thing to do.

I know it's a work of fiction but some lines are easily confused, so the message I want to pass is that if you or a loved one is trying to let go of an addiction, keeping up the effort when progress isn't directly visible may be hard, but it's worth it and will eventually help.)

[thirium-fiction]

Be Back Soon (Markus x Reader)

Word Count: 3k+

Request:  Maybe a Markus fic where reader works at CyberLife but secretly helps repair deviants?

A/N: AhHhh this request was so interesting! I chose to use the violent revolution route for Markus because it worked better. I had some fun with this one and I’m pretty proud of it despite getting a little carried away with the background. I’m sorry I just love giving huge amounts of content for a story!

Warnings: Slight swearing and angst

-

You had worked for CyberLife for awhile now, having been close friends with Elijah Kamski when he was younger and was just getting started with studying androids and his business. The two of you first met in college and you heard all about the 12-year-old who got into the University of Colbridge. It was practically unbelievable when you first heard about it. You worked your ass off to get to where you were at 18 and when you found out a pre-teen did the same? It’d be a lie to say that it didn’t cause a little bit of jealousy. But, he turned out to be a pretty kind kid. Sure, he had a bit of an ego to him considering he was among some of the top students in the United States and they were all older than him. Yet he still knew when to draw the line if he wanted to make connections for his future company.

And that’s how Elijah began to connect with you.

Both of you were studying AI when he noticed your inability of accepting the possibility that any form of artificial intelligence could be nothing more than what their creators designed them to be. It was an extremely dangerous mindset that you had considering how advanced technology was becoming. The idea that androids were just machines was safe. Didn’t you want to be safe? Considering how many verbal debates you’ve gotten into over the subject, apparently not. 

As a matter of fact, your stubbornness on the subject granted you the ability to help with Elijah’s Turing test for Chloe. You did it once through a computer, asking a series of questions for both Chloe, who was pretending to be human, and the actual human who had to convince you they were the actual person and not an android. Chloe passed with flying colors and you were shocked to realize that you assumed the human was an android.

You did another form of the same test but in person this time to see how she’d look in public situations around others. You had never met Chloe so you had no idea what she looked like. Another female was in the room and had to convince you once again that she was the human while Chloe did the same. Chloe’s expressions and responses were just - so -  natural. It really solidified your idea that machines can be so much more. But, people can just refute you by saying that Elijah designed her to make you believe that.

Nevertheless, she fooled you again and was the first android to pass the Turing test in 2022.

CyberLife began pumping out androids to the public like never before. People were willing to spend thousands of dollars just so they didn’t have to do “extras” like chores, caring for family, transportation, and other forms of work. And once humans got their hands on them, they practically became children and destroyed what was meant for them to enjoy. It was sickening what you’ve seen them do and how openly they’d talk about such abuse. You tried going to Elijah multiple times about the problem you’ve seen.

“There’s nothing I can do.” He would say to you like always. “I can’t control what people decide to do with their product.”

“They’re not products!” You’d shout at him, infuriated by how he was handling the situation yet again. 

Then he’d leave the room without saying anything else. 

Elijah became increasingly more distant once he heard about Amanda’s death during February of 2027. You knew they had been extremely close with her being his mentor along with being his professor as well. She was your professor too but they had a bond that you were never able to form with her. And, not more than a year later, the CEO of CyberLife resigned from his position and left out of the blue. He never told you of his plans or where he was going. He left a simple sticky note on his desk addressed to you that read:

I’ll be back soon.

It’s been ten years and there was still no word from him.

So, you continued life how you usually would. You went to work for CyberLife as a normal manufacturing employee under a new boss (who was a complete jackass). But, as time went by, more and more “deviants” started to make the news. They were always badly damaged after escaping the their owners after injuring/and or killing them so they would stand out from a crowd. You knew the media was purposefully blocking out the part where they were doing it out of self-defense. Humans couldn’t possibly be held accountable at all.

You had enough of the bullshit.

Every once in awhile, these deviants would find their way back to the CyberLife warehouses. You occasionally had some manufacturing work to be done there so you spent some of your shifts around those branches. Those androids who were luckily enough to make it that far were usually in dire need of biocomponents to keep themselves going. You’d catch them trying to steal whatever they could get their hands on but instead of reporting them like you should, you decided you could help them instead. They were always frightened at first, afraid you’d turn on them or take them apart right then and there. You always made sure to make them feel at ease through the process of repairment. If there wounds were too great, you offered them the option to continue or to stop. Some would carry on despite knowing they had little time left while others gave up on the table right in front of you. 

It wasn’t long until more and more heard of your name and looked for you as a source of safety. Eventually, it reached a point where hiding them became increasingly difficult. It was hard to take care of multiple beaten up androids in one night while also having to get your work done. There have been a couple close calls where you had to convince your coworkers you were just fixing up regular androids for clients. You could only use the same excuse for so long if the only robots you were repairing were horribly beaten. 

It was saddening how many came your way looking for some type of assistance. If they were comfortable enough, they’d tell you why they ran away in the first place. After that, some would let you know that their plan was to find Jericho and meet Markus himself. 

Ah, Markus. 

You had heard of the android hero before. He was practically a wanted criminal across the United States because of his revolution. His face was all over the news after his speech and fires and violent riots followed not long after. He was an intimidating and scary figure to most humans but you couldn’t help but understand where he was coming from. For years, androids have been beaten down and oppressed by society because they were seen as less than to humans. It wasn’t surprising that he was angered by it. 

You never would’ve guessed you’d come face-to-face with such a legend, however. 

You were walking around the warehouse lot, enjoying a bit of fresh air after having been inside forever from loads of paperwork. It was dark out and luckily the area had some pretty substantial lighting or else you would’ve been left completely blind to your environment. Yet, it wasn’t enough for you to notice the figures running towards you in the distance. You didn’t even realize you weren’t alone until you heard footsteps closer behind you. Expecting some of your regular coworkers, you put a tired smile on your face and turned around but immediately froze once you saw a familiar pair of determined blue and green eyes. 

“It’s you.” You whispered in awe, your heart racing in both excitement and slight fear. “Both the hero and the terrorist.”

Markus just barely tensed at your words, not ever having planned to be labeled as a terrorist by anyone. He’s heard it through the media numerous times but someone doesn’t ever really get used to that sort of thing.

The redheaded woman next to him (who you knew was also an android from your experience with them) walked up to him and gently grabbed his arm. “I don’t trust this. They’re human, Markus. They can easily report us to the authorities. We should find help somewhere else.” She muttered, turning her head away so you couldn’t really tell what she was saying.

The RK200 pulled his arm away from her grasp before returning his attention back to you. “You’re (Y/N), correct?”

You nodded, still shocked to be in the presence of such a figure among the potential future of artificial intelligence. “In the actual flesh.” You laughed, trying to ease your own nervousness more than anything. When no laughs were thrown back at your sad excuse of a joke, you cleared your throat and stood tall. “U-Uh, yes. I’m (Y/N).”

Markus glanced between his group of friends and the woman gave him a look of disapproval. He gave her an apologetic look back before hesitantly stepping out of the way to reveal an injured PL600 being carried by a PJ500 model. “We need your help.” He said quickly, looking around to make sure there was no one nearby. When he noticed your lack of response, he gave you a pleading look. “Please.”

You blinked a few times and rubbed your face before slightly shaking your head. “If you were caught here, I couldn’t possibly fathom what would -” Your eyes fell on the blonde android in front of you, blue thirium slowly oozing out between his fingers as he held his wound. You could tell this wasn’t his first rodeo with injuries. Actually, all of them seemed experienced with this type of situation. Taking a deep breath, you finally nodded and ushered them to follow you. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But, I can’t guarantee anything.”

You saw Markus’ shoulders relax and he gave you a kind smile with a nod as a thanks. Your heart skipped a beat at such a sight. He was actually quite handsome and whoever had him before he became deviant must’ve been very lucky. 

You led them into a discreet room towards the back of the warehouse with a table in the middle of it. Everyone knew that’s where you worked for the most part so not many ever came by to interrupt you. It was surrounded with different materials for your operations with an apron in the corner, perfectly clean as if it wasn’t covered in blue blood many times before. 

Thank God for thirium evaporation. You would’ve been given away a long time ago if it wasn’t for that. 

“Set him down there, please.” You ordered, pointing to the table as you turned your back to them and put the apron on. Once you tied the knot behind you, you swiveled around and froze at the amount of androids in the room. Four. You rarely ever got to experience more than one at a time when deviants would come to see you. Sighing, you shuffled over to the door and leaned outside, taking one last survey of the area to see if anyone was around before closing it and locking it. 

You noticed the PJ500 model and the woman stand by each other in the corner away from you as Markus stood over the injured android. You put on a pair of surgeon gloves and walked over to the table that was already starting to be stained blue. “Can I ask what the rest of your names are?” You ask, breaking the heavy silence in the room.

“Simon…” The PL600 grunted as you slowly removed his hand away from his covered wound to inspect what happened.

The other man in the corner in the room was next to reply. “Josh.”

The girl was last and the most cautious. It was obvious she still didn’t trust you despite having heard a lot about you from the others back at Jericho. You were human after all.

“And that’s North.” Markus said on her behalf, his gaze lingering on her a bit as sort of a ‘knock it off’ before he looks at Simon once more. “We’re not used to this kind of...treatment from a human. We’ve all had out fair share of unpleasant encounters with them. So, going to one for help is certainly new for us.” 

You chuckle a bit before grabbing a pair of tweezers nearby and gently moving the skin and parts around inside the wound, trying to find what you were looking for. “It’s alright.” You shrugged, feeling your tool knock into something small and hard. “You guys aren’t the first to be suspicious of my intentions.”

“Hey, Markus.” Josh piped up from his corner. “North and I are gonna stand outside on watch. That alright?”

The leader gave them a small nod. “Just be careful.”

You waited until they left to continue speaking. “I’m surprised careful is still in your vocabulary considering how much trouble you’ve gotten yourselves into.”

A snort came from Simon at your remark which was a little jarring to you. You had to remind yourself they couldn’t feel physical pain like humans can. Once you pulled out the object from his wound, it healed like usual (must’ve been clogging his system) and you handed him a cup of blue liquid for him to drink to replenish what he lost. He took it and thanked you softly before downing it in a blink of an eye. When he was finished, he stood up and swiftly placed the cup back in your hands.

“You truly are a miracle worker like they say.” Simon states, a gracious expression on his face as he give you a little bow. “Thank you.”

You watched as he left the room to meet with the others with only a slight limp. It was obvious he was much more gentler than the people he was around. Almost like a lost child.

“I’d like to thank you once again as well.” Markus said, his tall stature causing him to hover over you. “We would’ve lost many of ours if it wasn’t for you.”

“How could I deny a legend?” You smirk, beginning to put away your tools so it can at least look a little tidier for the next deviant that comes along.

He raised his eyebrows briefly, breaking eyes contact with a smile of his own before he paused, suddenly overwhelmed with confusion. “All humans hate us.” His statement made you stop in the middle of putting an item away and face him. “What’s stopping you from doing the same?”

You pursed your lips in thought, having never considered the possibility of you hating androids like others have. “Have all humans been terrible in your experience?”

The question made Markus’ stare fall to the floor in sadness once he remembered his time with Carl. “No, actually. Quite the opposite.”

“The same goes for humans with androids. People are scared of what they don’t know.”

“We’re scared of what we do know, (Y/N). You’re one of the few who actually sees us for what we are. The rest will never understand.”

“They won’t understand if you don’t give them a chance to.” You whipped out your phone and pulled up an image from online and showed it to him. “They will never give you a chance if they see this.”

Fire. Chaos. Screaming. Crying. Deviants. Humans.

That’s what was on the screen. 

You were showing him a result of one of his many riots from a different perspective.

“They will only see you as an enemy, if they haven’t already, if you continue things this way.”

Markus gently pushed the screen away from him and stepped away from you. “I came here for help and I received it. I don’t need a lecture along with it.” He shook his head, hatred making its way across his features. “You spend years researching what I live everyday. Even you will never truly see what it’s like for us. Do not tell me what is right from wrong.”

He began walking towards the door before you stopped him with a hold on his wrist. “What was your life like before all this?”

His back was to you, not even bothering to turn around. “I was Carl Manfred’s android.”

You let out a little gasp and quickly dropped your grasp on him. You’d seen the articles about the famous artist losing his life to a heart attack. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Markus moved his head to the side to look at you, still not turning fully. “He’d still be alive if humans hadn’t gotten in the way.” His shoulders fell, his determined leader facade beginning to crack. “If only I hadn’t listened. If I had pushed back and not endured. He’d still be here.” 

That’s when he decided to face you fully, revealing the worn down look on his face. The weight of a whole revolution showing itself in one single expression. 

“Now, I’m fixing that mistake.” He hissed, a fiery look in eyes. “I’m pushing back.”

Despite the fact you barely knew him, you wanted to reach out and hold him, letting it know it was gonna be alright. And somehow you suspected that he knew that’s what you were thinking, and he backed away from you once more.  

“I don’t need your pity.”

The android made his way to the door, his long coat flowing behind him triumphantly despite him being so tired (or, at least, what tired would be for an android). You resisted the urge to call out to him and ask him to stay. There was so much more about him that you wanted to know. But, you knew deep down that he’d might not ever feel comfortable enough to share what he’s truly been through with someone like you. A human. 

He gave you one last purposeful look before leaving you with the last words that Elijah gave you before his disappearance.

“I’ll be back soon.”

-

[masterlist]

TAGS:

@stars-with-citrus​ @aproxied​ @polimollykari​ @timedthyme

Please join my new narrative taglist [here] to keep yourself updated along with other stories!

[jawritter]

You and Me..

Chapter 1

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go. 

***Chapter Warnings*** Descriptions of depression and grief, language, sad!Jensen. Lose of marriage, divorce. That’s about it. This chapter is pretty light. 

Word Count: 1942

Pairing: Jensen Ackles X Danneel Ackles, Jensen Ackles X Jared Padalecki

A/N: Okay guys here we go! Here’s the first chapter! I’ll be putting up and posting a link to the series masterlist here in just a little bit. I’ll add the link here when I do. This is going to start out pretty light, all the chapter warnings will be in place when this thing really gets rolling. As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you guys enjoy it! If you want to be added to my tag list or the series tag list let me know!!!

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

Grief comes in many shapes, forms, and fashions. Even though it may come in different ways it still all ends up in the same pattern.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

Losing a person doesn't always mean the death of said person. Sometimes, that person can be laying in the bed right next to you. Still, the separation and emotional detachment can be more permanent than death. one that then causes the downward, uncontrollable spiral that is grief. This is what happens when you find yourself in a dying marriage.

You grieve it.

You grieve it just like you'd buried the person you once loved with everything in you.

This is where Jensen has now found himself.

But you know what, maybe I should start at the beginning?

Supernatural had wrapped filming for the final time. That was hard, harder than Jensen had expected to ever be. It brought on a whole wave of emotions that he hadn't seen coming.

Then there were all the goodbyes that followed, the wrap party for the cast and crew, the ending of an error. Jared had Gen, she’d flown up to be with him, along with all of his children. Danneel? Well, she didn’t come. She didn’t really give a reason other than she was, “busy.”

Then there was the packing up and leaving the apartment he’d used while filming for years now. That was hard too, harder than he expected it to be.

Jensen picked up the phone and tried to call Danneel as the movers carried out the last of the boxes in his now empty Vancouver apartment. He would be leaving here and heading home to Austin for the last time. It was a much harder pill to swallow than he’d expected it to be. Why did this all hurt so much? He thought he was ready?

The phone rang and rang. This had become her M.O. lately. She didn't answer his calls right away. Instead, he would have to leave a voicemail and hope that she would find time to call him back. He really needed to talk to someone right now. He didn't like the things he was feeling as he walked through his empty apartment, checking everything one last time before he turned his keys over to his landlord.

The lump in his throat grew to the point he was having to swallow hard to get it down. He stood in the doorway of what was his home away from home for so many years, looking back one last time with a giant hole aching in his chest. Danneel still hadn’t called him back, of course, she was probably busy. The business she had started had taken off, and he was happy for her, but he needed his wife right now.

Turning off the lights, Jensen locked the door for the final time, turning over this chapter that had been such a big part of his life over alone. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

That was about five months ago. 

When he returned home after the conventions and everything had ended it wasn't so bad. The first week went like the start of any other hiatus.

Then things started to get a little strange.

Danneel would leave him alone with all three kids all day long so that she could go and work on her new jewelry line.

This didn't bother him at all...at first.

Then week four rolled around and Danneel still was making excuses not to stay home. Most nights she wouldn’t even come in until Jensen and the children had gone to bed.

Jensen would try and wait up for her, but always ended up falling asleep on the couch watching his late-night football games. By the time he’d wake up in the morning she’d already be gone, and he’d have to get up to start the day with himself and the kids alone.

"She's just busy," he'd reason with himself. "She's growing a business, that's not easy, it takes a lot of time." 

Jensen would then kick himself for not being more proud of his wife, and then start to feel guilty that he wasn't being more supportive of her. So he decided that night to stay up after the kids went to bed and drawing a bath for her. He put out rose petals throughout the bedroom and master bathroom. He bought her favorite bottle of wine. He decorated the room with little tea light candles to cast a soft, romantic light. He’d really put his all into making it perfect for her.

He heard the front door close and he knew she was home. Smiling with anticipation, Jensen waited anxiously in the bedroom, excited to see the look on his wife’s face when she saw all the effort he’d put into making this perfect for her. They hadn't been ‘together’ since before he came home for the conventions. It had been a while, he wanted to spend some 'time' with his wife tonight. He wanted to show her how much he appreciated her.

When Danneel walked into the room and looked around she didn’t have the excited look on her face that Jensen was expecting. In fact, she looked almost annoyed.

"Jensen?" she asked the man standing in the middle of the room, looking around at what he'd been up to. "What's all this for?" she asked, setting her purse down on the floor next to the door, and not bothered at all by her husband’s crestfallen face.

"I thought we could spend some time together tonight," Jensen said, crossing the floor to where his wife was standing, reaching out to put his arms around her.

"It's been a while," he said, but when he leaned down to kiss her she turned away from him.

That stung.

He stood there shocked to his core. She'd never done that before.

"Jay, this is pretty, and I appreciate the effort, but I'm tired, babe. I just want to go to sleep." 

Ducking under his arm she headed toward the bathroom, leaving Jensen standing alone in the middle of their once shared bedroom with his heart in a thousand pieces on the floor.

That was it, the beginning of the end.

At first, the denial started.

He tried, at first, to justify her actions towards him. Why she didn't kiss him goodbye in the morning at breakfast before she left anymore?

"She was running late, or she was in a hurry."

Why she didn't want to make love to him anymore? "She's tired. Starting up a business is draining."

Why she didn't want to cuddle with him at night anymore? "She's tired and needs her rest. I should be more supportive."

She didn't answer the phone again. "She's in a meeting with a designer or something important. She'll call back." 

She never did.

After about a month of this, the anger started.

"It's not fair. I've given up a lot of roles so I can stay home with you and the kids. I love my kids Danneel, but I need time with my wife too! You won't even look at me in the eye anymore!" 

Danneel said nothing, just got her cup of coffee, and walked out to the sun porch, not even really looking at him.

"Go back to work then. I'll hire a nanny to help me with the kids," was all she said before closing the door; never bothering to look up from her cell phone.

That made him even angrier. The way she had just blatantly ignored his feelings turned that low burning anger into a roaring fire inside of him. It ate away at him, consuming him. It was all he could do not to throw his coffee cup across the room. At that moment the anger rooted himself deep inside of him, and he couldn't let it go.

He started sleeping on the couch most of the time, and around the third month, he started sleeping in the guestroom. Even though he was still angry, he didn’t want to lose his marriage. They’d been married for a decade. He just couldn’t let it go at that, and he knew if he didn't come up with something his marriage didn’t stand a chance. So Jensen came up with an idea late one night about how to save their marriage before it was too late.

"Maybe we should see a marriage counselor," he'd suggested that night at the dinner table.

Danneel threw a glass of wine in his face and stormed out of the room, not saying a word. That's when he knew It was too late, his marriage was dead, it was over.

That's when the depression sat in.

He called Gen and Jared and asked them to let JJ say over with them. He didn't have to tell Jared what was going on, Jared had been in the background for months watching his friends' marriage spiral. They gladly let JJ come spend time with them and the kids.

The twins he brought to her mom's house. He knew Danneel wouldn't care. Hell, she barely even noticed they were there anymore. She didn't want to be bothered with them apparently. She wanted her career more than she wanted her family, and he just couldn’t deal with it all anymore.

He came home that night, got in the bed, and stayed there for three days, not getting up accept to go to the bathroom or get another bottle of whiskey.

It had been three days and Danneel still hadn’t come home. Jensen knew she had collected the kids, her family, and Jarred had called him. Apparently, it wasn’t her family she didn’t want, it was just him. She didn’t want to be with him anymore. Tears ran silently down his face. His heart felt like it wanted to stop beating.

Still, he waited for her, praying he'd wake up from this nightmare, praying his wife would come through the door and lay next to him again, that everything would just go back to the way it was.

That day never came.

The divorce papers lay on the foot of the bed three weeks later. Jensen had barely eaten anything in days. He refused to get up and shower. He refused to do anything other than lay there and wallow in his misery. Jared was sitting on the chair in front of the window, staring at his friend with worried eyes. 

"Jay, come on man. You're gonna grieve yourself to death. Danneel made her choice. The two of you grew apart. You weren't happy either and you know it. Pick yourself up. Your kids are gonna need you. You can’t just give up like this.”

Jensen knew his friend was right. He needed to accept that this was over. He needed to stop wallowing in his own self-pity and move on.  

Taking a deep breath, Jensen rolled himself out of the bed, stretching as his muscle groaned in protest of the moment. He’d laid there for so long that his body was stiff and sore.

He grabbed a pen off the nightstand and signed the papers that were waiting for him at the foot of the bed, then threw it all down back on the bed and looked up at Jared. His friend was already at his side, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, where he stood weeping in his brother’s hold until his legs started to give out, and Jared had to help him sit in the chair he’d just been occupying. 

Jensen was determined that today would be the day he would bury this hurt for good. It was over. That was all.

As much as it still hurt, and as much as he wished things would have gone differently he knew he couldn’t will the situation to be any different than what it was. So he would bury this hurt, much like you bury a loved one, and leave it there to rot because that’s all he could do.

Life goes one, whether we want it to or not… Even though we feel like our world came to an end, we accept it in order to keep moving forward no matter what the consequences. So that’s what he’d do. Keep moving.

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Tag List: 

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​ @magssteenkamp​

You and Me Tag List:

@idksupernatural​

[joopiterjoon]

Piece of Peace- MiniMoni

Pairing: Namjoon x Jimin

Genre: +18, Strangers/enemies-kind-of to lovers?

Warnings/Tags: Kittygang!Jimin, Professor!Namjoon, swearing, mentions of gangs and gang violence, stealing motorcycles, anal sex, sex on a motorcycle, exhibitionism (of course), FYI I don’t know much (anything) about motorcycles

Wordcount: 1k

a/n: this is technically part 3 of Boys Meets Evil and Burning Up, but you can read it by itself! Also this was FOREVER ago but thank you @honeymoonjin​ and @ddaenggtan​ for reviewing this and telling me if it’s kitty gang worthy!

Part of ficswithluv’s #FWLBingo!

Everything about the Harley dealership is new. The pristine floors, the smell, the design. Even the echoes of engines, obviously a repeated sound bouncing around the fancy space, sound unique each time. Everything the place contains within is shiny and desirable.

It’s exactly where Namjoon wants to be. Surrounded by newness, he’ll craft a new him. One that isn’t clumsy, isn’t known for being nerdy.

One that befits his new boyfriend, Jimin Park.

But with a shake of his glasses, Namjoon thinks he may need a new bank account.

“What do you think?” the ever eager salesman asks. Namjoon stands, straightening his secondhand, jean jacket as he eyes the (probably new) suit of the man.

“Ah, it’s… it’s nice,” Namjoon smiles shyly. He’s not sure what words he should be using. He googled motorcycle terminology, but all that escapes him now.

“Would you like to take it for a spin?” the salesman presses with a little shake of his hips. His balanced persona of friendly and pushy is a bit terrifying. Namjoon laughs nervously. He doesn’t know if he should get on something he can’t afford, it might just hurt more when he has to say no.

A hand slides around his waist under his jacket. Naturally, Namjoon eases into the touch despite the public display. He jostles into his boyfriend’s side. “What do you think, babe? Gonna hop on?”

“Ah,” Namjoon clears his throat. He looks down at Jimin whose head rests on his shoulder. He immediately regrets it. Behind the shades, Namjoon can see the lazy look in his eye. Namjoon tries to distract himself by looking lower, only to see Jimin’s tongue wet his plush lips, only to then glance even lower and see how far Jimin’s thin, white shirt is dipping down his chest. Jimin’s undeterred by the price tags that surround him. Hell, Jimin looks more expensive than the thousands of dollars of metal littered around the stage room.

Namjoon decides to focus on the salesman instead. “It’s a bit out of my price range.”

Jimin’s tinkling laugh sends a chill up Namjoon’s spine. He bites down his smile. He still can’t believe he can make such a man laugh. That from the shadows he managed to capture the attention of a man who constantly danced in the spotlight.

Jimin always laughed when Namjoon marveled at him. He apparently felt the same way. As a reckless boy from the streets, he doesn’t understand how someone with a masters would be captivated by him.

They fit each other, filled in the cracks of where they were lacking, the yin to yang, in more ways than one.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Jimin tells the salesclerk, pinching Namjoon’s cheek.

“Yes, Mr. Park,” the salesclerk chimes, tucking his hands behind his back with a small bow.

Namjoon’s jaw drops. He shoots Jimin a questioning gaze, but Jimin just shrugs.

“Are you serious?” He hisses, straightening his glasses. “What did you do?”

“What?” Jimin asks, lowering his glasses so Namjoon can see the faux-innocence in his eyes. It’s one of those looks that reminds him when to keep his mouth closed. “I’m just cashing in a favor… literally.”

Jimin gives his side a squeeze before walking over to the bike, his boots clacking on the floor. The salesman’s shoulders tense a bit as Jimin runs a finger along the back of the bike.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Park.”

That. That’s why Namjoon wants a bike. Wants anything, anything that can put him on par with his boyfriend. No matter what Jimin says, Namjoon is still just a bookworm when it boils down to it. He knows Jimin’s much softer than he appears, too, but he wants that. Jimin’s ease, his natural ability to control a room and all that’s in it.

“I want to see what you look like on top,” Jimin winks. He leans over the back, head cocked, lightly shifting his hips towards the bike.

Namjoon’s brain short circuits at the insinuation. Unable to resist, he draws closer to the bike. His nervous hands tentatively stroke the handle, feeling the ridges of the rubber under his fingers.

“Please,” Namjoon folds his lips in, terrified he’d said that out loud. But he realizes it was the salesman, bowed with the key extended.

Jimin could make anyone beg.

When Namjoon takes the key, the salesman starts to wheel the bike towards the entrance. Jimin winds his arm back around Namjoon’s waist as they walk, rubbing circles into his back.

“You’re gonna look so hot, babe,” Jimin muses. He still watches Namjoon. Only him, nothing else in the store. None of the pretty toys, the other men, the passing cars. Whenever he’s with Namjoon, Jimin’s eyes are always on him. Namjoon shrinks under the attention, but he loves it.

Outside, Namjoon straddles the bike. He gives it a once over, trying to remember everything Jimin taught him. It’s different than his bike, but he can figure it out.

“Hot damn,” Jimin sighs. “You look like an 80’s heartthrob.”

Namjoon giggles. He appreciates that Jimin noticed he dressed for the part.Taking his glasses off and safely tucking them into his pocket, he pats it twice to make sure they won’t shake out.

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, tripping over to the bike. “Don’t. That was so cute.”

He comes round to the front of the bike. He puts his hands over Namjoon’s, straddling the front tire. Namjoon tries to sit straight under his boyfriend’s wandering gaze.

Jimin licks his lips again, fingers tightening over Joon’s as his other hand runs through his hot pink hair. His rings hurt a bit, but Namjoon would never tell Jimin to let go.

“This is a wet dream. I’m living a wet dream right now.”

Namjoon chokes. He should be saying the same thing. Jimin is about to buy him a motorcycle. Jimin is straddling said motorcycle, tight pants and loose shirt leaving little his imagination. Jimin is… Jimin.

“Wanna ride me?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin’s eyes darken, his lips parting a bit.

“W-WITH” Namjoon stutters. “Ride with? I meant do you want to-”

Jimin’s lips silence him. Soft, molding to his own. He brushes the stray strands of hair out of Namjoon’s face. He pulls back only to put the helmet on Namjoon’s head. Namjoon watches while Jimin pouts a bit, trying to find the strap under his chin.

Namjoon may be getting hard. Jimin pats the side of the helmet and all the thoughts in Namjoon’s head jumble.

“Let’s do both,” Jimin smiles. A large, boyish grin that lets Namjoon know he’s a goner.

“Wha-really?” Namjoon asks, trying to spin around as Jimin slings himself over the back of the bike. Namjoon yelps when Jimin’s hands accidentally dip a bit too low, grabbing at his crotch before drifting up to his waist.

“I’ll tell you where to go,” Jimin shouts. “Throttle it, baby.”

Namjoon nods, looking at the controls before him. He goes through the motions, missing how Jimin’s hands usually guide him. His favorite part about being with Jimin is he’s never in charge. Jimin watches over him, tells him what to do, what not to do, that he’s doing great. It’s such a contrast to Namjoon’s daily life where he’s constantly critiquing others and making decisions for his department. He craves Jimin even more after a long day.

And boy was today a long day. And he definitely, really craves Jimin when he nuzzles the plastic helmet into his back, all muscle pressed flush against him.

Namjoon never thought he’d like motorcycles. Until he met Jimin, he thought they were just accidents waiting to happen. But now, he sees the joy. Of course, it’s still incredibly dangerous, which is why Jimin directs him to the back roads. But the wind whipping by him feels like he’s flying. The loud roar of the motor cancels out all other thoughts. The metal horse beneath him answers to each of his movements.

And of course, he knows he looks fucking cool. Jimin’s friend Jungkook showed him photos of their nights together. Jimin was right, Namjoon looks hot on a bike.

Eventually, Namjoon figures out where they’re going. His heart rate picks up. There’s something different about driving Jimin to their spot, instead of him clinging to Jimin’s back as he guides them to the secluded spot.

He rounds the last corner up the hill, pausing before the road turns to dirt.

Jimin’s helmet knocks into his. Namjoon laughs. Jimin tried to tuck his chin over his shoulder as always, but the bulky helmets block him.

“Keep going!” Jimin shouts.

Namjoon rubs the handles nervously. “The bike will get dirty.”

He imagines Jimin’s eye roll, that accompanies his sassy, “Always such a good boy. Drive.”

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice. By now, he understands Jimin’s commands will always be obeyed, by will or force.

And he’s long from cursing how that makes his stomach stir with excitement.

The bike is harder to control offroad. Namjoon focuses hard. Each bump and shuffle reminds him how skilled Jimin and his friends are when they whip through the city streets, over curbs, and across sidewalks.

Jimin’s helmet is off before Namjoon’s brought the bike to a standstill at the top of the hill. The city lights are flickering on below them, but up here there’s nothing but trees. It reminds Namjoon of them. How Jimin sparkles and shines below, and Namjoon watches on from up here as a simple tree in a vast forest. It’s only a certain amount of time before Jimin consumes him, just like the city will someday reach this secluded space.

Jimin surprised him by not appreciating the implication that he would destroy the environment in some way. He’d wrestled Namjoon to the ground that day, demanding he creates a cuter metaphor before he declared it “their spot.”

But today, Jimin just jumps off the bike and jumps forward to twirl about a few times as he takes in the fresh air.

Namjoon stares on once his helmet’s off. The setting sun paints the sky a soft pink, the same as Jimin’s hair. His boyfriend looks so free out here, leather jacket filled with the breeze and his smile overtaking all his features. 

Namjoon swings his leg over the bike and leans against it for support. He feels a bit like jelly, hands and legs still vibrating from the ride. Jimin continues to prance around, shouting and giggling and jumping. He is free, Namjoon reminds himself. And not even Namjoon can tame him. Everything about him oozes courage and unbridled happiness. Namjoon wants to be like that. He wants to set his own standard for happiness, just like he chooses to forge head off road.

“Joonie,” Jimin sings, running full-force at Namjoon. Namjoon braces against the attack, but Jimin just skids to a stop in front of him. He smiles up at him, a giggle shaking his shoulders.

“Mini,” Namjoon murmurs low. Jimin somehow smiles wider. Namjoon loves it. They don’t get it. The world. The way confessions and blockades all fade away for Jimin. For anyone with Jimin.

As though Jimin knows he’s considering fading, he grips the edges of Namjoon’s jean jacket and yanks him forward. Namjoon gasps, hands bracing on Jimin’s chest. He closes in, simultaneously trying to take in as much of Namjoon as he can. He noses at Namjoon’s jawline. He waits for a shudder to rock through Namjoon before he nips at his ear, giggling in response to Namjoon’s whine.

“So…” Jimin trails off. He pulls back so Namjoon can see the devilish mischief in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Namjoon breathes. He leans forward, focused on Jimin’s smirking lips, but Jimin tucks his chin. Namjoon whines in protest, which only makes Jimin throw his head back in laughter.

“I rode here with you,” Jimin teases. He presses a chaste kiss to Namjoon’s cheek.

“Did I do good?” Namjoon asks.

“Yes,” Jimin laughs again. Namjoon runs his palms over Jimin’s shoulders, under the jacket. To his surprise, Jimin drops his grip on the jacket, shrugging his own off his shoulders. Instead, he shoves his hips into Namjoon’s, the bike shaking a bit as Namjoon falls back into it. He reaches out to support himself in case the thing falls. Jimin’s hands fall over his own, caging him into the bike. He could care less if the bike falls over.

“What was your other question earlier?” Jimin teases. His eyes have that same lazy look like in the dealership. Namjoon’s cheeks warm.

“Did I do good?” Namjoon repeats. He gulps when Jimin leans a little closer, lips hovering before his own. He looks like an angel, soft features and pink hair framed by the twilight.

“To ride you,” Jimin corrects with a roll of his hips. He finally closes the space, only to kiss at the sensitive spot below his ear.

Okay, well, Namjoon did say looks like an angel. He’s well aware he’s far from it.

“Ah, that would be,” Namjoon clears his throat, sinking on to the seat to help his shaking legs. He reaches to adjust his glasses but forgets he isn’t wearing them. No mind, Jimin grabs his hand, kissing over his palm and wrist, watching him with syrupy sweet eyes. “That would be cool.”

“Cool,” Jimin giggles into his palm. He scrapes his teeth over his wrist. Namjoon whimpers. “You’re so cool these days, Joonie.”

“Stop teasing,” Namjoon whines.

Jimin’s eyes darken. He grabs Namjoon’s wrist and twists. With a yelp, Namjoon’s body involuntarily twists to avoid the impending pain. Jimin grabs his waist to have him turned flush against his hips as he kicks at Namjoon’s foot to have him straddled lower. His hand wanders to the button of Namjoon’s pants, easily undoing them. His tongue travels, slow, up the length of Namjoon’s neck.

“Okay,” Jimin murmurs into the shell of Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon tries to lace his fingers with Jimin’s over his zipper, but Jimin grabs his wrist. He guides Namjoon’s hands to rest on the handlebar and the back seat. “10 and 2, babe. I know how you like your rules.”

Namjoon nods. The bike is sturdy beneath his hands, unlike his mind that whirls in a hazy fog of Jimin. When he looks up, he’s reminded that they’re in the open, in their spot, the city down below just as capable of looking up.

Jimin’s undeterred, of course. After fixing the zipper, Jimin slips both his hands into Namjoon’s jeans, letting the push help Namjoon’s pants down his thighs as he smooths over the skin, rounding out to squeeze Namjoon’s ass.

“God, Joonie,” Jimin groans. “Fuck, there’s so much of you. Love it.”

Namjoon hums in response, eyes falling closed as Jimin’s hands wander over his skin. He can’t be nervous with Jimin here. Jimin’s invincible. He doesn’t care. And when Namjoon’s with him, he starts to feel the same, too.

“Should I-” Namjoon starts to take the jacket off, but Jimin wraps himself around him.

“Fuck no,” Jimin answers. When he’s sure Namjoon won’t move again, he gets back to work, kneading Namjoon’s ass cheeks, thumbs sneaking closer and closer. As his pinkies sweep lower, Namjoon jumps, then almost falls over the front of the bike. Jimin’s arm wraps around his waist to keep Namjoon from falling headfirst over the other side.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Jimin tuts.

Namjoon’s heart drops. 

“What? No, please, please don’t, please fuck me, ride me, please,” he babbles. He turns quickly, a little panicked. He can’t bear when Jimin starts and leaves him hanging.

But when his gaze finally meets Jimin’s the man looks amused. He’s trying to bite back his smile. “Joonie, I meant the position.”

Namjoon’s blush deepens. Here he is, bent over (maybe?) his new bike begging his boyfriend to fuck him.

“Get on the bike backwards,” Jimin orders with a flip of his hand. He walks to the back of the bike, then straddles it til he’s in the seat like he’s about to go for a ride. He pats the rounded metal between the handlebars.“Come be my motorcycle, babe.”

Shit, how many times had Namjoon wished he was underneath Jimin, dreamed about being fucked on his bike? He almost trips trying to get out of his pants. Jimin offers his hand like a gentleman, helping Namjoon sit in front of him.

It’s not until he’s there, hands braced behind him on the extended handles, that he realizes how exposed he is. His pants are on the ground, his legs are tucked by his ass, hard cock dripping and on display.

And he can tell Jimin loves it. He runs his hands over Namjoon’s inner thighs before he takes his cock, stroking slowly. Namjoon shyly stares at Jimin’s own crotch, still clothed.

“Think you can handle this?” Jimin asks, reaching into his jacket pocket. Namjoon’s not even surprised when he pulls out a bottle of lube.

“Of course,” Namjoon mumbles.

“I mean the position, babe,” Jimin titters. Namjoon leans back onto his hands a bit more. He’s strong, despite his soft exterior. He nods.

“Good boy,” Jimin hums. He takes one of Namjoon’s feet, gently guiding it off the bike and into the air. Namjoon bites his lip, the cold breeze heightening his vulnerability.

Jimin kisses at Namjoon’s shin, undoing his own pants. Namjoon zeros in on the senses. Wet lips and gentle fingers, the sound of his zipper and the shuffle of fabric as he pulls out his cock, the scent of poplar and oak.

“You good?” Jimin asks. His voice is close. Namjoon didn’t realize he’s closed his eyes. Jimin’s eyes bore into his own, concern filtering through his pupils. Namjoon melts. It’s a look he’s only ever seen for him, and no one else.

He nods. “Please.”

Begging. He always gets here. Always more desperate for it. Always begging for Jimin’s cock. And Jimin always sits there like he does now, lathering lube over his cock, teasing fingers doing the same to Joon’s rim. No rush.

“I’m going to take your other leg now,” Jimin says. Namjoon opens his eyes again. Jimin has both his legs in either hand. He’s dressed beside his fat cock protruding from his leather pants. He’s a sinful mess, coming closer and stretching Joon’s legs higher until the head of his cock meets his rim. 

“You ready?” Jimin asks.

“Mini,” Namjoon groans. Such a fucking tease.

It stings. The push, Jimin entering him slowly without any stretching. Namjoon loves it. Loves how his body accepts Jimin so easily, how Jimin could just take him, take and take like he does in the streets, but always treats Namjoon with such tenderness. At least, in the beginning.

As he bottoms out, the stretch in his thighs has Namjoon’s eyes stinging. Jimin’s head tucks into his collarbone, trying to hide his haggard breathing.

“Fuck, it’s so hot how you just fucking take it,” Jimin rasps, rolling his hips. Namjoon can’t talk, just digs his fingers into the rubber handles. “Fucking ruin me.”

Namjoon sighs. He loves the power. Jimin takes care of him constantly, but in these moments, Namjoon relishes the power he has over him. Jimin starts to pump and pick up pace and has Namjoon whimpering as the bike shifts beneath him. Once they start, Namjoon’s in control. He has the power to ruin Jimin. Every moan has Jimin answering back, each squeeze of his muscles makes Jimin’s hips stutter. When Namjoon begs for his mouth, Jimin’s kisses are sloppy and needy.

“God, love your skin,” Jimin croons, sucking at Namjoon’s neck. He tosses Namjoon’s legs onto his shoulders so his hands can wander over his tan skin, taking fistfuls of his ass and tweaking his nipples. Namjoon’s hard cock bounces between their bodies. Jimin takes notice, giving his hands a better task. His lube soaked fingers tug at Namjoon’s length, fisting him in time with his thrusts.

“Mini,” Namjoon whimpers, no other words coming to mind. Nothing’s in his mind besides his boyfriend completely consuming him. The metal of the bike bites into his ass as Jimin sinks his teeth into his neck. His arms stretch from the angle on the bike while his thighs flex on Jimin’s shoulders. It’s so much, so good, accompanied by the breeze and the setting sun, and Namjoon can’t handle it. The beauty of it, the perfectness, the contrast.

When Jimin finds his mouth again, soft lips and wet tongue meeting Namjoon’s, he cums. Jimin’s hips stutter, hand momentarily pausing before he makes sure he works Namjoon through it. He takes care of him every time, before he breaks free, breathing heavy before he leans back and pumps hard. His eyebrows furrow, mouth forming a perfect oh as the softest grunts catch in his throat. His nails dig into Namjoon’s thighs, but the pain means nothing as Namjoon watches Jimin’s euphoria chisel into his features.

As he comes down, he collapses forward onto Namjoon. Namjoon’s legs drop to the seat behind him. It’s uncomfortable, the headlight of the bike digging between his shoulders, but he won’t move. Jimin’s tousle of pink hair fans over his chest as his boyfriend catches his breath. Namjoon takes his chance to finally touch Jimin. He runs his hands through the damp hair, over his shoulders, under his chin.

“That was such a quad workout,” Jimin chuckles.

Namjoon chuckles back, both of them rumbling with it.

Jimin perks up, tucking his chin on Namjoon’s chest. “I didn’t know you were an exhibitionist.”

Namjoon strokes his cheek, a blushing pink. Namjoon still can’t believe he’s his. “I’d be anything for you.”

Jimin’s smile falters for a second. The sly look in his eyes flickers with something warmer, something vulnerable.

But then as always, he’s giggling. He shakes his head, sitting up to get off the bike so Joon can sit up, too. “You’re such a romantic.”

Namjoon wants to press it. Press the fact that Jimin slips up sometimes. Namjoon can see it. His calm and cool exterior breaks every now and then around Namjoon. But he doesn’t. He takes his glasses out of his pockets and puts them on. He picks up his pants and pulls them back up, yelping when Jimin gives him one last swat to the ass.

“Why the glasses?” Jimin teases booping Namjoon’s nose.

“There’s no way I’m driving back after that,” Namjoon mumbles, scuffing the dirt.

Jimin laughs, falling into Namjoon’s arms. “Okay, okay.”

To Namjoon’s horror (but no longer surprised), Jimin heads straight home, not even passing the dealership. What Jimin wants, Jimin takes. And Namjoon’s so glad Jimin chose to take him.

Imma craft this into a nice big oneshot soon, so look forward to it!

[silverarmedassassin]

Come Back to Me // Part Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2084

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, traumatic brain injury, and memory loss. this is going to be pretty angst heavy throughout.

A/N: Feeling a little meh about this part. It’s too early in this process to be hitting writer’s block, lol. I’ll blame the current state of life and my decreasing motivation to do anything. 

Thanks for reading! Feedback is welcome :)

Come Back to Me Masterlist // Masterlist

Slowly but surely, the wires and tubes start disappearing. By your fifth day awake in the Compound, all but the heart monitor and a few electrodes are carted away from your room. Dr. Banner reassures you daily that you’re making “great progress,” and that, hopefully, your memory will return to normal soon. You’re still not sure what that means.

You sigh as you look towards the holoscreen Dr. Banner had installed in your room to occupy your time. You had access to thousands of T.V. channels from across the world and a seemingly endless supply of movies to watch, but you never took advantage. Instead, you kept a live feed of the Compound grounds on. Tony Stark had had a few of the security cameras’ feeds rerouted so you could have some kind of window to the outside world.

Between your bouts of unconsciousness and mindlessly watching the outside, members of the Avengers would trickle in from time-to-time. You’d met almost everyone on the team, even members you’d never knew existed. But, while you enjoyed getting to meet and know each of them, you’d found comfort in just a few.

Steve, of course, was at the top of your list. The super-solider had made a habit of visiting you daily, usually multiple times a day. He’d bring a meal and a deck of cards and spend hours telling you stories. He talked about everything - life growing up, his experience in the war. He talked about it all, but he would always tread lightly when the Soldier, Bucky you would remind yourself, was brought up.

You hadn’t seen Bucky since that first day, at least not fully. When Steve would stop by, you’d often catch a glimpse of the man just outside your door. You’d sometimes hear him talking with Banner after the doctor came to check on you, but Bucky never made it in the room. And for that, you were grateful.

The others didn’t mention him much, only Sam on occasion. But it was usually in an off-hand, humorous kind of way. That made you like Sam. Unlike Steve, he didn’t talk about Bucky like he placed the sun in the sky. You understood Steve’s fondness, remembered that they were childhood friends despite it all, but it still left a bad taste in your mouth. With Sam, though, it was jokes and conversations about learning to cope with this new, unfamiliar life you’d woken up in.

“Knock knock,” a voice sing songs from the doorway, drawing you from your thoughts. You look over to find Wanda with a large container of take-out in her hands. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

Wanda had quickly become another comfort during your time. She was caring, witty, and overall a great person to talk with. Aside from Steve, she spent the most time down with you. When it was announced you were awake and able to see visitors, she promptly brought you down a pair of pajamas and a decent stack of clothing so you wouldn’t have to lie around in the uncomfortable hospital gown.

“I figured you might be hungry, so I brought you a little something,” Wanda says as she moves to sit in the chair next to your bed. “How are you feeling today?”

You smile weakly. “Tired. My head kind of hurts, but I’m okay.” You shrug and take the container from Wanda’s outstretched hands. “You haven’t seen Steve, have you? He usually stops in by now.”

“The team got called out this morning. A few others and I stayed behind to man the Compound and take care of you,” Wanda smiles and winks. She knew how much you hated being doted on.

You and Wanda sit and eat lunch together. She’s in the middle of a story about her brother when there’s a soft knock on the door. When you turn, you find Dr. Banner’s smiling face peeking in through the crack.

“You’re awake,” he exclaims as he shuffles in, holopad in hand. “I’m glad. I have some news for you.”

Bruce brings over the roller chair, the only normal, doctor-like piece of furniture to be found in the high-tech room, and sits. “I’m pleased with the amount of progress you’ve been making. Brain activity is back in the normal range, your ribs are healing nicely, and your vitals have been steady. To the point where I feel comfortable releasing you from the medical wing.”

You perk up then, looking from Bruce to Wanda with a wide smile on your face. “I can go home?”

It’s not that you didn’t enjoy being at the Compound. The food was great, the company was even better, and, despite it all, you felt more relaxed than you had in years. But you were starting to get stir-crazy. You missed the routine of day-to-day life.

“Well, not exactly,” Bruce takes his glasses off and slips them on top of his head. “While I’m comfortable with you not being monitored twenty-four-seven, I would like to keep an eye on you, just until your memories return.”

“If they return,” you grumble.

“But,” Bruce ignores your offhand comment, “I’ve already talked with Tony about you staying, and he set up a room for you. It’s far more comfortable than this sterile place, and you’ll have an actual window to look out instead of a screen.”

“It’s right by mine and Steve’s,” Wanda says reassuringly as a grimace settles on your face.

“That’s nice and all,” you say, “but what about my life? Rent? My classes? I can’t just abandon everything.”

The duo shares a look before Bruce speaks. “You’re...you graduated two years ago. You don’t remember that?”

“Of course I don’t remember!” you shout. “I don’t remember anything. And it turns out I don’t even remember myself.”

You bury your face in your hands before they can see the tears in your eyes. It wasn’t right to shout, but you’re so frustrated and upset about the situation that it just happened. All you wanted was to go back to the city, see your friends, and return to normal life - whatever that looked like for you now.

Graduated? Two years ago? Exactly how much were you missing?

>>>

Dr. Banner was right, the room they set up for you was much nicer than where you were staying prior.

After your mini-meltdown, Bruce and Wanda explained that your expenses would be taken care of back home and that they’ve already been in touch with your boss. Apparently, he’d been very understanding of the situation. Wanda then wheeled you through the seemingly endless halls of the Compound pointing out various offices, rooms, and common areas before getting to your room.

It was definitely better than the medical ward room, twice the size even. Despite the ultra-modern design, it felt homey. Wanda informed you Steve and Sam had gone to your apartment in the city to grab some of your personal belongings so you didn’t feel so out-of-place.

It was nice seeing your favorite blanket draped across the bed and a stack of books on the nightstand. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve already read them or not. Wanda doesn’t leave you much time to think about that, though, as she is intent on showing you around your spacious living space.

The bathroom looked like it belonged in a space station and, if it weren’t for Wanda showing you, you probably would never have figured out the shower. She even showed you the closet, which was stocked, allegedly, with your own items.

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” you ask as you try and make yourself comfortable on the edge of the bed. “You don’t even know me.”

Wanda smiled sadly before coming over to sit next to you. “Oh, Y/N.” She wraps you up in a hug and doesn’t offer a proper explanation. “Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll talk more later?”

As she makes her way from the room, you realize how tired you’re actually feeling. Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt.

>>>

It’s not until several hours later that you wake up. By how dark it is in your room, you can tell it’s well into the night. Your mouth is bone dry, and you contemplate if it’s worth getting up to get something to drink when your stomach growls. That settles it.

As you carefully slide out of bed, you check the illuminated alarm clock that’s set on the bedside table. 2:15 a.m. When Wanda showed you around earlier, you didn’t see any of the other Avengers, so you assumed it was only Wanda, Bruce, and you at the Compound. Hopefully, you think, neither is still awake.

You decide to forego the wheelchair that Bruce had insisted you use when you came up to the room. The kitchen wasn’t too far, after all. You make your way down the dimly lit hall as quietly as you can. You don’t hear anyone else or see any lights on, so you figure you’re the only one awake.

Your stomach rumbles again as you get to the kitchen. Wanda hadn’t actually shown you where anything was, so you rummage through the cabinets before finding a few cans of soup. You grab a few to get a better look at your options.

“You’re up late,” a deep voice says from behind you.

You jump and drop one of the cans of soup onto the floor, startled from the unexpected guest. You turn to find Bucky standing on the other side of the kitchen island, watching you intently. He only breaks eye contact when he bends to pick up the can of soup that rolled across the kitchen.

“Wa-Wanda said I could help myself,” you say as he makes a face at the soup. “If it’s yours I’ll replace it, I promise.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky laughs, setting the can on the island. “But this stuff is awful. Wanda made spaghetti for dinner, have some of that.” Your eyes never leave him as he walks over to the fridge and pulls out a large bowl before also setting it on the counter and sliding it over to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as you peel back the cling wrap and place it in the microwave behind you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath to try and calm yourself. You felt uneasy having your back to Bucky, but it felt safer than having a staring match with the assassin. Ex-assassin, you remind yourself.

“Wanda wanted to wake you up for dinner, but I told her not to. Figured you needed the rest,” Bucky says. You turn slightly to look at him and offer a small, forced smile. You just wanted him to go away. When he starts rummaging around for a bowl and cereal, you realize he’s probably not going anywhere anytime soon.

“When did you guys get back?” you ask quietly as you turn back to the microwave.

“What? Oh, no I sat this one out. But the team isn’t back yet, part of the reason I’m up.”

To distract from the looming figure across the room and the knot in your stomach, you start going through the many draws looking for a fork. Bucky must catch on because, a few moments later, a fork is being slid across the sleek counter in the same manner as the bowl of spaghetti had been.

“Top drawer next to the fridge,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

The fact Bucky was being so nice, so generous was confusing to you. When you looked at or thought of him, all you could see was the silver-armed assassin who literally destroyed an entire block of D.C. and nearly killed his best friend. Making sure you were rested and fed was the last thing you’d ever imagined from him.

With the microwave beeping, you quickly grab the fork and bowl without letting it cool. You’d had no intention of eating in your room but staying out in the kitchen with Bucky was too uncomfortable. You thank him again and quickly shuffle back towards the hall your room is in.

“Hey Y/N?” Bucky calls from where he’s seated at the island. You stop and wait for him to continue. “I’m glad you’re okay. Really.”

You don’t turn, only nod and continue down the hall. You try to ignore the churning in your stomach as you do so.

>>>

Tags: @tricksterwinchester​ @themarveledwriter​ @numwoon44​ @wonderlandmind4​ @basicjetsetter​ @igothroughphasesalot​

[strawberrypancakesalltheway]

A Reverie Part II

its the continuation of my story called A Reverie. You guys can read it here!!

Slightly angst with happy ending~

A/N: this one is requested by @mai-the-queen (idk why I cant tag you) for the happy ending version. 

Warnings: none

Word count: 1596

Pairing: Nobunaga x MC (Mai)

“I love him. So much. To the point where you won’t understand. You don’t get it. It’s there. It exists. It flows. It moves like rapids through my vein. Comes with bursts and occasionally fades with the day, but it’s always there. And when you find love like that, you don’t want to give it up. But sometimes you have to and sometimes you have to give it to someone else. That’s the hard part”

Dominic Riccitello

 You thought that he will chase you, begging you to not end things.  But he didn’t. Now here you are, at your room, too tired to cry. Well, you get what you want, he leaves you alone, what else more did you want? You should be happy or relief. But you didn’t, you feel awful, cold and empty. You just sat there wondering where things went wrong? Whose fault is this? Is it yours? Sure, your past lover has said things or reasons why they broke up with you. Some said that you are too demanding, too ambitious, you work too much yada yada. But Nobunaga is different, he sees you way past that, he’s never nitpicking on why you love to sew or taking commission for kimonos, he’s never complain when you voice out whatever inside your mind. He loves you for who you are. Before you know it, the sun starts to rise, and you need to prepare for the work today at the castle.

There is not much differences of your activity in the castle. Helping the maid, sewing your commission, delivering letters to some of the warlord. He didn’t call you to the Tensu like usual morning, and no words from him after last night fight. Maybe, just maybe he also needs some space and time to think about both of you, your relationship.

Without you knowing, the evening came. The peaceful atmosphere surrounding the castle replaced by darkness that slowly creeping it. It rattles you, and somehow your guts telling you that something wrong or bad will be happened. You know that the castle is well guarded, and probably the safest place in the entire region, but still it didn’t sit well with you. So, you try to reach your room as soon as possible to calm yourself down.

You tried to calm yourself down by drawing a new design for the next kimono commission for a certain daimyo daughter, and it help you a little bit to settling down the bad feeling. Suddenly, there is a loud screaming and wood knocking echoing throughout the castle. There must be intruder inside, so you blow off the candle and listen to some guards running down the hall. You get out from your room and start to run along with several maid and guards towards the hall.

“Where are the warlords? Where is Lord Nobunaga?”

“Princess, they are currently fighting the intruder on east and west side of the castle. Lord Nobunaga currently fighting near the courtyard. Some of the intruder managed to get inside the castle. Princess, please you need to get out from here!”

You ignore the guard and run past them. This is it. This is probably what caused the bad feeling and dread you’ve felt today. Your stomach drops, the possibility of losing Nobunaga and the fact of those awful words you’ve said to him yesterday. You need to get to him, to make sure that he’s safe.

You ran past the hallway, cursing why it’s so vast. You noticed a group of maid and castle helper hurdled in a corner, some of them are crying.

“what are you guys doing here? Go to the safe room!! Quick!!”

You order some guards to court them to the safe room in the castle. You noticed an abandoned sword near you and you take it. By all means you didn’t have any martial or swords skill, but you’ve watched quite a lot of period dramas during your free time, so there is that.

“Okay, stab first, ask questions later. Here goes nothing!”

You continue to your way to the court area and it seems that the fighting has lessen. You thank whatever God that listening, the fact that you didn’t meet any of the intruder and you didn’t have to stab someone using your sword.

And there he is, standing in the middle of the court, surrounded by several dead bodies you assumed as the intruders. His sword drawn, blood trickling to the soil down below. He looked okay, you heard him giving orders to the castle guards to clear the castle from the intruders.

“Nobunaga!!”

You ran to him; the fight last night didn’t matter to you. What’s matter is that he is safe and alive. He looked surprised; a glint of relief also plastered on his face.

“Fireball, what are you doing here? It’s not safe here!”

“I’m okay. I... I just need to know that you are okay. I have this…. this bad feeling and I just want to make sure that nothing bad happened to you”.

You hug him, relieved that he’s okay. That your Nobunaga still breathing and alive. You realized that you still love him, and the thought of losing him nearly ripped you apart. He returned your hug, and for a second, nothing else matter to you.

You both let go of each other and you look at him. His eyes full of adoration and love for you. Those same eyes that held your entire world, a home to you. You both maybe not perfect and occasionally fighting with each other, but you love him and you can’t imagine a world without him.

“Nobunaga, I…” Suddenly a sharp pain spread at your chest. You didn’t understand what’s happening until you look down to your chest and saw the arrow protruding. And for a while, the world seems to stop.

“Mai!” Nobunaga starts to barks some order to catch the enemy archer. He cradles you to his arms, your blood starts to creeps to the surface of your kimono. Some of the warlords arrived at the courtyard, Masamune and Mitsuhide start to chase the archer who dares to shot you, while Ieyasu told Hideyoshi to prepare a room so that he could treat your wounds.

The pain in your chest start to spread to your whole body, and you’ve never felt something hurts to that extent. You look at Nobunaga’s face, your hands caressing his cheek in attempt to comfort him.

“I still love you, you know……...I’m..I’m sorry for last night” You try to smile, but you no longer able to hold your tears. You love this man so much that you are grateful the archer didn’t shoot at him. You tried to take a deep breath but the pain keeps increasing and your vision starts to blurred. And the last thing that crossed your mind before everything went black is that you’re grateful to meet such an amazing man and lover, and you hope that perhaps some God would take pity on you and let you spend the rest of your life with him.

*******************************************************************************************

The smell of cherry blossom flower rings up the air at the castle, along with some flower petal that dance along with the gentle wind. The sound of the castle bustling to its routine, birds chirping greeting the castle residents. Spring time is always beautiful, the nature reawakens from its sort sleep during the winter, along with people who have been patiently waits for the warm sunlight to shine all over them once more. You’ve always loved the spring, not too hot, not too cold.

You’re sitting bellow a cherry blossom tree near the courtyard, its one of your favorite places to just sit down and enjoying the day. It’s been a month since you’ve been shot by an arrow, without the existence of modern medical technology, the recovery rate is slower. However, with Ieyasu ability and knowledge, you are sure that you would recover and returns to the state you were before in no time. Since you are still recovering, you aren’t allowed to resume your activity as the chatelaine. All of the warlords doting upon you, makes sure that you process of recovery will be the main priority for them. Since you aren’t allowed to do things that you were supposed to do, you decided to take a rest and sit under this cherry blossom tree.

“Here you are, fireball. I’ve been looking for you” Nobunaga approach her and sit beside her.

“I’m kinda bored stuck at my room so I decided to spend my afternoon here. It’s so pretty”

You smiled at him and continue to look at the fallen petal. You start to reminisce the time you’ve spent here in sengoku era.

“It’s been a while, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Do you ever have any regret not returning back to the future?”

“Not at all, Nobunaga. This is my home now, with you”

“Good, because I don’t intend to let you go, fireball”

He kissed you, softly. His hand cradling your face, and his lips is so soft. Everything feels right to you. His kisses full of adoration and reassurance, trying to convinced you that he loves you more than anything. He makes you happy, sometimes frustrated. You both maybe fight sometimes but it didn’t mean that the love is gone. It’s definitely there, in the way he looked at you, the way he kissed you, in every single thing he does. And you fell in love with him again, for a thousand time, over and over again.

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part One

(Should probably think of a better title at some point but for now I’ve got nothing)

@rock-n-roll-fantasy It’s about time I finally stopped teasing and started posting something, isn’t it? 😅 I should be able to post Part Two tonight as well and technically Part Three was the initial teaser (which due to being written beforehand doesn’t line up as perfectly as I’d like, but I’m too lazy to change it right now) so I’ll link those as soon as I can. Hopefully the rest won’t take too long! I’m now at the stage of having spent so much time thinking about this behemoth that I’m a little sick of it, but I hope you enjoy it!  🥰

Part Two, Part Three

Mark thinks he could live a thousand lifetimes and still never get tired of this view.

Not so much the hotel itself, though he supposes that makes for an impressive enough sight. With its sleek curves carved into smooth cream-coloured stone - designed to resemble a natural rocky outcrop rather than a man-made construction - it’s little surprise that guests willingly travel through the inky blackness of space to rest here for a while. Beneath his perch on the hotel’s impressive outdoor balcony, a turquoise pool stares invitingly back, the shimmering waters undisturbed by so much as a breeze. In the distance, resting in a cove upon the roof, he can hear the distant chatter of guests enjoying a luncheon at the newly opened taqueria. The restaurant itself is concealed from view by an overhanging blood-red canopy, but he can visualise the diners clearly, paying a fortune for the best food the moon has to offer while gazing out towards nearby gentrified apartments and undulating valleys.

The taqueria represents the newest addition to the premises. The hotel already plays host to a pair of Italian and Japanese restaurants, alongside an all-you-can-eat buffet for those who prefer to stuff their faces without judgement, but all three have been outshone of late by the new arrival. Mark had pursued the outlandish idea following a drunken remark from one guest who decried the absence of good Mexican food on the moon. If he’d realised that said taqueria would go on to become the prime topic of several mind-numbing meetings then perhaps he’d have let the joke die without further comment, but he himself had been too drunk at the time to possess that level of foresight.  

By this point he’s so sick of hearing about it that he had to be physically forced to read the glowing reviews upon the restaurant’s grand opening. He would have been much happier simply relegating them to the nearest bin, though admittedly the less favourable articles had given him a good chuckle. Buried among the countless four-star reviews had been a particularly unimpressed critic who managed to fashion a terrible pun out of ‘taco’, ‘taqueria’ and ‘tacky’ for his headline, before awarding Mark’s efforts with a pitiful two stars. Mark had been so tickled by it that he’d immediately ordered the article to be framed and hung on his office wall.

Pulling his gaze away from the hotel itself, he draws his attention to the nearby town which has cropped up in recent years, predating the hotel by only a matter of months. The surrounding area once served as a camping ground for scientific projects, populated by scattered white tents and forklift trucks, but little trace remains of those good intentions now. Mark’s surprised he’s even allowed to lay eyes upon the town, so reserved is it for the richest of the rich. Gaudy apartments have sprung up around a narrow, elevated highway like overgrown weeds, with more and more buildings creeping outwards as the years go by. No doubt it won’t be long before his view is completely obscured by giant lumps of steel and tall windows. The topmost floors carry a price-tag of millions, or so he’s been told; their suites offering splendid views of the deep canyons on the lunar surface and the towering space station on the outskirts. Those properties must be a haven for nosy old dears enjoying their unearned retirement, content to sit by the windows as they watch the rockets come and go. In quieter moments, Mark likes to imagine the casual conversations that must take place on those uppermost floors as he ponders how the other half live: “Look love, there’s another one coming in now!”, “Russian or American?”, “Think it might be English, actually...”, “Oh, not those bastards!”  

Mark had been offered a first-floor apartment prior to his arrival, though he suspects the proposal had been made in jest. The eye-watering price-tag for rent alone had been enough to persuade him that his humble suite on the hotel’s fifth floor would be perfectly adequate. He can’t say he’s ever regretted that decision; the holier-than-thou attitude of the locals is insufferable enough without him being forced to live among them. Besides, this way he’s guaranteed a better view.

A droning hum draws his eyes skyward and a tight smile tugs at his lips. Just on time. The new arrival cruises lazily across the thin atmosphere, the rocket’s hull a deep fire-engine red as thrusters spill black smoke and bursts of flame from the rear. A private vessel, most likely. Company starships don’t tend to be so kitsch for fear of throwing off rich clients with elegant sensibilities. No doubt this particular ship is some playboy’s new toy – the space-age equivalent of a 70s Lamborghini – but so long as it comes bearing plenty of paying guests, Mark certainly isn’t in a position to complain.

He watches as the ship prepares for its final descent, drifting towards the spindly tower situated five miles away, notable for the endlessly flashing lights adorning its clinically white exterior. A lighthouse for the modern age. The thrill of watching spaceships come and go has started to waver in recent years. Knowing that what he’s seeing has less to do with the wonder of space travel and more to do with commercial ventures has sucked the childish wonder from his heart, but there’s still enjoyment to be found in watching the crafts make their landing. Once upon a time, railway-watchers must have gleaned similar amusement from witnessing steam-trains pass by, while they munched on their picnic sandwiches and squinted through binoculars with bleary eyes.  

For all that he’s allowed himself to become jaded by certain aspects of his new home, he finds comfort in knowing that one sight will always ignite wonder in his heart.  

In the far distance, resting peacefully against a vast starry sky, Earth stares back at him in all her glory. No photograph has ever successfully captured the brutal beauty of that hulking mass of deep greens meshed with delicate blues, overlain by thick swirling clouds and snow-capped mountains. His eyes trace the subtle variety of colours, from deep forest-greens to the industrial greys of vast cityscapes, to the golden hues of sun-battered deserts. The view is ever-changing - ever-turning - and he smiles as his eyes latch onto the more populated areas, bathed in pinpricks of golden light like decorations on a Christmas tree.  

It’s impossible to spot England from this distance, tiny as she is and persistently buried beneath swirling clouds. The hulking mass of Africa stretching from equator to pole is visible enough however, and if he squints, he can just about spot the sharp stiletto-heel of Southern Italy. If darkness hasn’t yet fallen back home then it surely will in a matter of hours. He smiles as he imagines amateur astronomers wrapping up warmly in their oversized parkas, dragging themselves and their gear to the peak of the closest hill with the intention of gazing up at the tiny civilization planted on the moon. No doubt he’d have done the same when he was a boy. There’s no specific memory to latch onto, but a vague recollection of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling above his bed is assurance enough that he must have made the trek with a cheap telescope of his own once or twice.  

Only, back then there’d been no burgeoning society to gaze upon. The only sight that would have greeted his tiny eyes would have been deep untouched valleys carved into endless grey rock.

It’s unclear how long he spends losing himself to the whims of malformed childhood memories, but when the moment is finally broken by a playful finger poking none-too-gently at his temple, Mark leaps out of his skin with a startled curse. The new arrival can’t help but laugh, seemingly glad to have broken the spell that was threatening to consume his friend. While Mark waits for his heart to stop beating a samba in his chest and grips the smooth railing of the balcony with bone-white knuckles, he somehow manages to resist the urge to fire a sharp “Fuck off Jamie!” in the direction of the man who currently has mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Hey,” Jamie says with a gentle smile once his mirth has settled, raising another finger to Mark’s temple and pressing more softly this time. “You gettin' lost in there again?”

He must be, Mark thinks with a sigh as he clenches his eyes shut and tries to anchor himself in the present. Jamie is often a quiet, comforting presence but he’s never that quiet. The fact that Mark had been too lost in his thoughts to notice his approach is likely a sign that he’s long overdue a nap.

Not wanting to concern his friend more than he already has, Mark offers a sincere smile before responding to his question with an evasive, “Hey yourself.”

If Mark is currently coiled like a tight spring, Jamie exudes a level of carefree bliss which is mercifully contagious. In contrast to Mark’s sharp suit – a reliable mask for the guests’ benefit – Jamie has chosen a pair of battered old jeans and a faded white t-shirt. With his long hair tucked lazily behind one ear, he could almost be mistaken for a glorified sixties hippy, albeit Mark doubts he’d appreciate the comparison. He doesn’t need to act like a professional until the hypothetical curtain rises on their evening set, and it appears that the nervous thrill of performing to a new pack of guests couldn’t be further from Jamie’s mind.  

The reminder that Mark himself is due to sing with the lads tonight sends a flurry of excitement through his veins. Closing his eyes and letting the music flow through his soul while he sings into the mic has always granted him more contentment than the mundane inner-workings of the hotel ever could.

Taking Mark’s ongoing silence as an invitation, Jamie turns to face the hotel complex, resting his back against the metal railing seemingly without a care for the steep drop on the other side. He doesn’t remain quiet for long, and Mark inwardly braces himself for his friend’s teasing when he spots the formation of a shit-eating grin stretching across his handsome features.

“Amazing what you’ve done with the place, it truly is,” Jamie declares, adopting a ridiculous impersonation of the Transatlantic accent that characterises the vast majority of their clientele. A trained ear can easily spot the Yorkshire twang lurking beneath the pompous act, but he almost sells it. Enough to have Mark straining to hold back a grin at any rate. “I’d wager this is a three-star establishment, easily. Might even push it to four if I’m feeling generous!”

“Oh, stop it!” Mark scoffs, stifling his laughter and bowing his head to conceal the sudden heat flaring in his cheeks. Kudos to Jamie, however, for his antics have the no-doubt desired effect of releasing some tension from his tightly-wound frame, and he glances towards his friend only to spot a victorious grin. This isn’t the first time a similar joke has been made at Mark’s expense. The need for him to sell the hotel to prospective guests has resulted in him having to adopt the role of sleazy businessman on multiple occasions. Doing so has always made him feel gross and he doesn’t particularly like himself when he’s caught up in his act, but his friends seem to find amusement in his alter-ego at least.

It is somewhat reassuring that they’re able to recognise that, despite the vast quantity of masks he regularly adorns, he’s still the shy kid they grew up with underneath it all.

“I don’t like playing salesman,” he admits, not for the first time. “It’s just part of me job description.”

“I know that,” Jamie says without missing a beat, squeezing Mark’s shoulder gently and banishing any remaining tension in the process. “I were only messin’.”

Mark smiles and leans into Jamie’s comforting touch. He knows. Of course he does. It can just be difficult to unwind sometimes; the weight of responsibility seems to crush his spine more often than not, leaving little room for levity. The lads help when they can, but for the most part it feels unfair to drag them into hotel business and burden them with his problems. They agreed to hop onto an entirely new celestial body with him for the opportunity to continue playing as a band, not to get caught up in the internal politics of a company they barely understand.

A low grumble disturbs the air, causing the ground beneath their feet to quiver. Two pairs of eyes are drawn to the illuminated space station as the playboy rocket finally makes its descent, the thrusters sputtering like a broken match as they release one final gasp. A mechanical whine resonates in the distance as intricate machinery clamps onto the ship’s hull, keeping her secure while her passengers – ten in total according to the updated guest list – gather their belongings and prepare to disembark.  

This is the moment Mark has been waiting for all morning, whether out of excitement or dread he cannot tell. His time for dawdling has been cut short. In a matter of minutes, he will be forced to make preparations to travel to the space station and greet his new guests upon their arrival. It’s one of many added perks advertised on the hotel’s website; further proof of Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino’s first-class service. Albeit this particular gimmick tends to be reserved only for the richest of guests; those prone to frequenting the suites on the uppermost floors, with transparent ceilings offering an unfiltered view of the stars. Mark can’t remember whose idea it was to have the manager await the guests on disembarkation – certainly not his – but as with a great many details concerning the running of the hotel, he is powerless to refuse his services.

The quickest route to the station is the highway; an elevated road built on steel platforms and sheltered by a curved tunnel, offering a direct means of travel from the station to the hotel while branching side-roads spill onto the town’s quiet streets. No doubt Mark will return that way in a rented limousine rather than his beloved Bentley, but for the outgoing trip he’ll likely elect to walk.  

Pre-dating the highway by several years, an underground tunnel lurks in the underbelly of the town, offering direct passage to the Arrivals Lounge of the station. In the fledgling days of the hotel, Mark had found the tunnel unbearably claustrophobic and suffocating, but as more and more people have elected to drive over time, he has learned to enjoy the solitude that comes with wandering through its depths. The sleek, curved interior with tangerine tiles and dark alleys branching in all directions reminds him of the stylish Kubrick movies which headline the hotel’s vintage cinema, and the perpetual brightness offers a closer approximation of daylight than the spotlights surrounding the hotel ever could. The walk will take much longer than a simple car ride would, but he’s well-practiced at this. What with all the fuss regarding interstellar passports and customs, he could twiddle his thumbs for the next half hour and still have time to greet his guests with feigned politeness at the exact moment they rock up to the station’s exit.

His approaching duties don’t seem to be lost on Jamie either as he gestures to the rocket dismissively before remarking, “Guess that’s a couple more audience members for tonight, then?”

A weak smile tugs at Mark’s lips, and one glance at Jamie’s face implies that he’s not particularly keen on the idea of Mark having to dash off so soon either.

“You could come with me, you know,” he offers, though a sinking feeling in his chest is enough to inform him what the response will be long before he hears it. His friends have never much cared for the managerial responsibilities of the hotel, nor have they ever accompanied him to the station. Why on Earth would Jamie agree to come with him now? “I bet you’d butter ‘em all up with your charm.”

Sure enough, Jamie’s handsome face morphs into an expression of scandalised disgust, not unlike the time Mark and Nick dared him to swallow a platter of oysters without gagging.

“Absolutely not!” he insists, as though Mark has just proposed that he leap naked into the pool and subject himself to the delighted ogling of lunching diners and afternoon gamblers alike. “They can be charmed by me guitar-playin' all they like, but that’s all they’re gettin'. I don’t do meet and greets.”

“Cool and mysterious type, eh?” Mark teases with a wink, a warm sense of pride flooding through him as Jamie scoffs at the accusation. “That’s why you’re their favourite you know.”

“Nah, that’s bollocks. They’re just grateful for the distraction from your ugly mug,” Jamie shoots back with a wicked grin, reaching an arm around Mark and pulling him in close like an overbearing older brother.  

Rather pathetically, Mark finds himself being so grateful for the human contact that the thought of reprimanding Jamie for his remark doesn’t even cross his mind. Besides, while confidence is hardly his strong suit, he’s had enough proposals from female – and occasionally male – guests to pay a visit to their suites after-hours to know that his ‘mug’ is far from undesirable.

It strikes him as odd that he’s never been inclined to take any of those prospective partners up on their offer. As the only unattached member of his friend group, he technically has free rein to spend his nights with whomever he pleases, and yet he’s consistently elected to sleep in his own bed, alone. Perhaps it’s the impermanence of it all that stops him from indulging in drunken mistakes. One-night stands have rarely appealed to him, and there’s little hope of developing a genuine connection with someone who’ll be returning to a different planet within the week.  

That’s not entirely the reason, however. On the rare occasions where he’s been drunk enough to consider an invite fully, his initial emotional reaction has always been one of guilt. The mere thought of inviting a stranger into his bed feels like an unforgivable betrayal. God knows why – he’s sure he would have remembered if he had a sweetheart waiting for him back home – but no degree of logic has ever succeeded in banishing those feelings from his heart. Perhaps he’s simply married to his work, as Matt has often joked, but he’s not sure that explains why he’s prone to feeling so fucking lonely.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he finds himself asking before he can stop the words from spilling forth, though he doesn’t have the energy to berate himself. He leans further into Jamie’s warm embrace, wondering if the strong arm draped over his shoulder is the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. Without further prompting, Jamie squeezes him a little tighter and Mark’s eyes close in momentary relief.

When he opens them again, he finds that all humour has drained from his friend’s face, only to be replaced with a genuine concern that has guilt gnawing at his bones. There’s no need for him to worry his friends about problems that don’t exist. He’s fine, honestly. It just feels like he isn’t sometimes, and he’s yet to figure out why.

“Sorry mate,” Jamie says finally, sounding like he genuinely means it. An apologetic smile tugs at his lips and Mark returns the gesture with a weak smile of his own which is easier to summon than he expects. “Promised the missus I’d treat her to lunch, and she’ll give me a right bollockin’ if I back out now.”

A spontaneous laugh breaks free from Mark’s chest as he takes a moment to enjoy the mental image of his bandmate being royally admonished by his tiny, yet undeniably formidable wife. If Jamie minds him laughing at his expense, he doesn’t show it, seemingly content to watch as the remaining pressure is lifted off Mark’s shoulders. No doubt it’ll return with a vengeance later, but for now he opts to enjoy this rare moment of lightness; it’s amazing how easily his friends can make him feel human again.  

Much as he wishes they could linger here for the rest of time, teasing each other until one of them finally cracks, the minutes tick by relentlessly to the point where neither of them can justify further procrastination. Jamie has his date with his wife to attend to – having finally arranged to judge if the ‘Information Action-Ratio' is truly deserving of four whole stars – and Mark has his appointment with the new arrivals who will no doubt be hoping to collapse onto their beds for an afternoon of beauty-sleep before enjoying the evening’s festivities. Neither party are likely to be happy if kept waiting without good reason.  

Jamie draws him into a tight hug before Mark can pull away, and he sinks into it with a sigh. The embrace is broken far too soon, forcing Mark to school his expression into one which does not betray his disappointment when Jamie begins the trek back to the hotel’s interior, seeing him off with a wave and a hurried, “See you at rehearsals, yeah?”

Mark waves back and utters an affirmative which he doubts Jamie hears, before watching him vanish behind a set of automatic doors. And then he’s alone again, with only the overhanging Earth for company. Not for long though; his round trip to the station and back should only take three hours at most, and then he’ll be free to spend time with the lads and rehearse the set for the evening. In a matter of hours he’ll be standing onstage – the only place that truly feels like home – flanked by his closest friends as he sings his heart out to a drunken crowd. Whether the guests approve or not is of no concern to him. So long as he gets the opportunity to lose himself in the music, that’s all that truly matters.

For now, he has other responsibilities however. The present moment is not calling upon him to be the frontman of the hotel’s house-band, but rather the renowned owner and manager of the establishment. It may not be a role he particularly enjoys, but it’s one he’s good at and it would serve him well not to neglect his duties. Formal complaints from guests are thankfully a rarity, but he can’t say he appreciates the bollocking he gets whenever one manages to slip through the cracks. The degree of paperwork alone is horrendous.

Fuelled by a newfound conviction, Mark casts one final glace over the impressive view with a resigned sigh, before tearing himself away from his quiet haven to face the music.  

[just-another-romantic]

How to Date a Broken God - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Honest Apologies and a Sparring Match

Series Summary: After too many years of pain, a mortal teaches a god how to feel again. Maybe she can learn from him.

Warnings: ngl (Y/n)’s just rude in this one, language, sad Loki, fighting

That night, Loki threw up. After (Y/n)’s confession, the god quickly excused himself from the room, and barely made it to his bathroom before puking up everything he had within the past century. He hadn’t been ill since he was a child, and here he was: knelt over on the cold tile, head in the toilet bowl and clammy hands holding on for dear life.

Last time he had been ill like this, his mother had scooped him up in her arms - despite his protests - and tucked him into her bed, pulling the silk blanket up to his chin. He tried to recall how her hands stroked his hair in comfort as he pushed a stray lock from his face.

He was sick at himself. The once vain god now looked in the mirror and hated the face that stared back at him. He hated his heritage, Odin’s lies and abuse that lasted centuries, and he hated the spiral the truth threw him into once it was unveiled. He hated Thanos with his mind control, that he was weak enough to fall into it - costing thousands of innocent lives, including that poor girl’s parents.

Loki let out an audible groan of anguish, his head dropping lay on his land clutched to the toilet bowl. He hated her...well, not exactly. He hated how his heart twisted at the mere mention of her name. How his heart burst at the melody of her voice or, Odin forbid, her laugh. How she was not a normal mortal, that she stood her ground and held a knife to his neck the second he dared test her. He hated that in every aspect, (Y/n) was what Loki wanted in a lover.

She could never love you, he remembered. You’re a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. A monster, like the world...like your own father and brother think of you. Who would ever want to hold your crimson-stained hands?

Shakily, the unbreakable god stood up from the bathroom floor, quick to splash water in his face in attempt to refresh himself. He looked into the mirror and a monster looked back at him. If asked, he would deny it, but that night Loki fell asleep with tears running down his cheeks.

The morning wasn’t any better. An awkward heavy air still lingered above the Avenger’s heads, leftover from last night. Loki entered the kitchen nook of the floor around seven, grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and maroon t-shirt contrasting against his pale complexion. The golden rays of the still-rising sun fled into the room, enveloping the god in what one could only describe as a halo. Of course, Loki was tired and disoriented from sleep; the only thing he felt like was disheveled. No one noticed the beauty of the waking deity, no one except (Y/n), who promptly choked on her hot coffee.

Bucky was laid out on the sofa, the morning news drowning out his soft snores. James Rhodes sat at the dining table, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Sat on the ground by the television, Peter started on a new Lego set of the Avengers Tower, mumbling about the minor mistakes there were in the tiny architecture. Loki was worried he’d convince Pepper to sue the company.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam called from the barstool, cup of coffee in hand. His eyes traveled from Loki, to Wanda and the pans of scrambled and fried eggs and the pot of boiled eggs, then the pile of bacon next to her. “I hope you like eggs. Don’t really know what you guys eat on different planets.”

Loki stifled a yawn. “I’ll get myself a bagel. But, Birdbrain, yes, we have eggs on Asgard. I just don't eat them.”

“Oh my god is he vegan?” came Peter’s small voice.

Loki chose not to respond to that question and only walked into the kitchen in search of the toasters. He found them pretty quickly, (Y/n)’s small form serving as a landmark. She looked snug and smug, giving Loki the once over as she sipped her coffee, her feet dangling from where she sat on the counter. She looked innocent enough, cozy and clad in sweatpants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, and though she was barefooted, Loki had no doubt she was hiding another dagger somewhere.

“Good morning,” she chirped sweetly. “Don’t worry, I don’t have another dagger on me.”

Well, there’s one question answered. He gave her a smile in greeting. There was a bit of a pause before she raised her eyebrows as in ‘Aren’t you getting something?’ to which Loki quickly grabbed the bagels from the breadbasket.

After putting the two slices into the rack, he found himself suddenly interested in his cuticles, while it had been a bad habit he picked up when he was only a child- that constantly got him ratted out by his mother for it. The once suave god that had women falling at his feet lost his tongue in the presence of a mortal girl. “(Y/n)-”he began, before getting cut off.

“Don’t. I know what you’re gonna say.” He gave her an inquisitive look, to which she only rolled her eyes. “The air’s still heavy from last night.”

Loki felt his cheeks heat up. “(Y/n)...I give you my sincerest apology. And I’m well aware that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t even close enough to covering it.”

She shrugged. “I loved them. Still do, with every ounce of myself. My parent’s were my best friends. But you know what they always taught me?” Her burning stare locked with his. “That there’s two sides to every story, and even the monster thinks he’s the hero.”

Her voiced echoed monster in his ears and left an impact in his gut. “I’m sorry darling but I’m not seeing your stance on this...are you offering forgiveness?” His mouth dried up and he found himself unable to speak more than one sentence. He couldn’t even think.

(Y/n) scoffed, swinging down from her perch on the marble. “Oh no. Not even close.” She stepped uncomfortably close and Loki was intimidated, though she barely came up to his nose. “No. I hate you,” she seethed.

His stomach rolled in his belly at the venom in her voice, the words she spewed stinging like hellfire. 

“But I will never wish you bad intentions. Like they always say, ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’.” She flashed him an innocent smile, the façade immediately building back up. “We’re teammates, we have to at least tolerate each other.” Tolerate. Enemy. “And for the record, don’t call me ‘darling’, darling.”

Loki gulped, feeling as though his throat had filled with cement, stepped down from his stance with her, and quickly grabbed his food before retreating to his room without another word.

Throughout the entirety of (Y/n)’s accusations, the newest Agent's voice had grown tremendously in volume, drawing the attention of the rest of the room’s occupants. There was a sweet moment of silence and (Y/n) turned to enjoy her coffee in peace, but Sam was too blunt for a Saturday morning.

“Don’t you think that was a bit...I dunno...harsh?”

“If it was, I don’t care.”

“You should,” said Bucky from the coach, his face stony and serious. “It’s how the whole Civil War ordeal started.”

“That’s completely different,” she snapped. “They had their reasons, Stark was being ignorant to the truth, as always it seems-”

Coronel Rhodes’ voice boomed through the kitchen, “Hey!”

(Y/n)’s head turned as the silence fell over the room. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed in on her. “I suggest you watch yourself, little lady,” he said. “You are the new comer, you have absolutely no right to waltz in and talk bad about the man who saved the universe, saving your ass as well.”

“Loki killed my mother in cold blood! My brother! My sisters and my father! And I had to watch!”

“Stark’s weapons killed my family, sweets,” spoke Wanda, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Her slender fingers interwove with the agent’s own, soothing and warm. “And I forgave him. In a matter of weeks.”

“He had no control of who used his weapons, Wandie.”

“I killed his parents,” mentioned Bucky. “He forgave me.”

“You were brainwashed!”

Rhodey leaned against the counter, arms crossing and face stern. “Loki was too.”

Agent (Y/L/n) felt her heart drop at a sickening speed. “He was...what?”

“It was all a part of Thano’s mastermind plan or some bullshit,” explained the Falcon. “He sent people to collect all of the infinity stones, but that ended up going south and he took it into his own hands. One of them being Loki.” Sam’s brown eyes fell to the ground in a silence, and the extremity of the situation hit the girl like a truck. “He found him, floating out there in the depths of the universe, took him, and convinced him to go on a killing spree. Basically.”

(Y/n)’s mind was going a million miles an hour and everyone in the room could practically see the wheels turning in her head. All the blame, all of the hurt, she had cast onto the wrong man. Her voice was shaky and breaking, “So...my parent’s death was - was that raisin’s doing?”

“Thanos killed millions before the Blip,” said Bucky gently.

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Jesus, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”

Rhodey laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “You have a few things to learn before we put you on the field, that’s for sure. Gotta control those anger issues, but I think we can whip you into shape pretty quick.

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

And boy, did they whip her alright.

Hesitantly, (Y/n) agreed to beginning her training early on Sunday, instead of waiting for the work week to start. First, it was a three-mile run with Sam and Bucky around the compound at the crack of dawn, nothing she hadn’t done before or couldn’t handle. After breakfast, there was weights with Rhodey, then yoga with Wanda. Thankfully, she caught a break with Banner in the lab in between sessions, talking about the design of her new suit and how the tech that she didn’t understand would work. Now, she laid flat on her back, thrown for the fifth time in a round of sparring with Bucky.

“C’mon doll,” he taunted in his Brooklyn drawl, “get your butt up. Or do you need help? Do I need to phone 911?”

“For an old man, you sure do know how to talk shit, Granny.”

His black brow quirked in amusement. “That was the best you could come up with?”

Shakily, the agent denied the hand he offered and pushed herself up again, resuming the fighting stance. “I’ll work on it.”

The brunette supersoldier smiled at her, wiping the minimal sweat off himself with a towel. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m giving ya someone that’s more so your size this round.” He called off behind his shoulder and low and behold, Loki took his place on the mat, looking unpleased.

The first thing he said was the simple, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I doubt you would,” she replied, masking her nerves with a stern voice. She shot a glare at Bucky, who sat off to the side with a grin that could beat the Chesire Cat’s. “’I’m pairing you with someone more your size,’ he said! ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said! Bullshit, Buchanan!”

“He’s your size!”

“He’s a god!” (Y/n) looked the mischief maker up and down. He was scrawnier than his blond brother, but his stance and build clearly stated he’d be a difficult opponent. He stood a good half-a-foot above her head, and she doubted her own strength could outmatch his.

“If you haven’t noticed,” Barnes began matter-of-factly, “Loki isn’t built the same as Thor. He’s less jacked and smaller.” Loki’s muttering was heard but disregarded. “However, he’s still one of the strongest of the universe.”

“Then why the hell are you putting me with him if he could squash me between his fingers? I’m human.”

“Yesterday morning, you seemed to be out for his blood, I’m giving you what you wanted.”

Heated shame crept up (Y/n)’s chest and face and Loki’s smirk rendered her speechless.

Bucky ignored her redness, continuing, “He uses his brain, his cunning, his agility, and his speed. Along with his magic, he become’s a dealy combination. You could learn a lot from him, which is exactly why I’m pairing you with him. But for a fair fight, no magic.”

“You’re no fun, Sargent,” the god complained.

“Unless (Y/n) has a trick up her sleeve, no magic.”

Loki looked at her with hopeful eyes, to which she only shrugged. “I only know party tricks. Sorry.”

The mix-matched pair stepped onto the mat, both hesitant. The moment Bucky’s voice rang “Start!” throughout the room, (Y/n) swung a punch, that was quickly deflected and brought behind her back. His body pressed against hers, heat and electricity in-between the two bodies. The agent writhed, brining her elbow hard into this side, then looping her legs around his own.

“That’s it, (Y/n)!” Bucky praised, and (Y/n)’s face flushed under the compliment and the god’s mighty stare. The applause fueling her, she had Loki down a moment later, sitting on his upper thighs, her own straddling his waist. His arms were pinned helplessly against the floor; she smirked.

Loki’s eyes were blown wide, breath heavy, but he smiled back. “You okay there, Silvertongue?” (Y/n) cooed sweetly. She had won.

“Loki,” Bucky called from behind the ropes, “quit holding back!” and the agent’s blood ran cold.

Instantly, her back slapped against the mat, the positions now reversed. Pinned, despite how hard she struggled and fought against his strength. Loki’s eyes locked with hers and her breath caught in the base of her throat, mouth running dry. 

“Never better, petal,” the god answered, whisper of breath crossing her face. The heat left her body as he got up, grabbed his duffle bag, and exited the gym.

(Y/n) sat on the floor, heaving and images of the bluest eyes flashing through her mind. 

AUTHORS NOTE

Holy shit. The first month of 2020 has been kicking my ass. Lord help us all. I’m so sorry for the wait, guys. I hope I can make it up to yall.

TAGLIST

@cosmic-souls-and-stardust @rinthehufflepuff @electroma89 @madshelily @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @acf2510 @daddylouislittle @fanartdom @iam-a-painted-whore 

[trojansblr]

#FightOn! (02) | ot7

Summary: The University of Southern California is a prestigious school - only the best or the richest can attend. That means there will be a lot of spoiled brats. Two groups start colliding and the entire college shift alongside them. What will happen when sparks starts to flow between them? Drama will certainly be there.

Pairing: BTS with -eventually- female characters

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (in the future), CollegeAU!

A/N: Don’t forget that if you want to be part of this fic, you can! Just send us an ask with a couple of infos about yourself like your name, age, your major, some personality and physical traits and we’ll find you a spot in USC! 

The Characters • Day 1 •  Day 2  • Day 3 

After getting out of Jimin's room, Deo walked in a fast pace back to her dorm. Hyori had been texting her non-stop and she was sure she wasn't sleeping yet. It wasn't like her at all. She would want to know every last bit of detail of what had happened in that room and Deo would innocently tell her only to regret it the second right after when she saw Hyori's smirk. The smaller girl already knew what was going through her roommate's mind and she wasn't in the mood for sharing. Not that Hyori minded. She had a whole elaborated plan on her mind already, focused on making her friend see the supposed love she had for the art boy. It was obvious to Hyori so it should be like that to everyone else. 

The next morning, when Deo woke up Hyori was already long gone. She was used to that by now. Every morning the girl would wake up a couple of hours earlier to do some jogging. That and to watch the sunrise as she took some sips from her first coffee of the day. Nearby, a cafeteria started beeping signaling coffee was ready to be served and Jin finished taking the last slices of bacon off the pan onto his plate when a sleepy Carolina swooped it right from his hand with a lazy smile spread across her face.

"Hey!!!" Jin screamed at her. "That's my breakfast!" He said making Carolina let out a chuckle. 

"Why do you need two plates then?" She asked already sitting down, fork in hand ready to dig in. 

"Sure thing captain hook." Jin laughed as he noticed she had her right eye closed, sleepiness and the brightness that came from the window being too much to handle at the moment. 

"Arrrgggh!" She pulled up her sleeve long enough to cover up one of her hands and she let out the pirate scream. 

The two were a handful to deal with. Especially in the morning. And their friends were well aware of it. Considering everything, it would be very hard for any of the two to find such a good housemate as they were to each other. Jin was a quirky guy to say the least and Carolina was even worse so joining the two together you would get the most random interactions ever. Including Jin's curiousness for bras and their engineering, to Carolina's habit of enjoying to walk around naked and meditating at 3 am with her head hanging from the couch and her legs pointed up to the ceiling. Nonetheless, they were great friends. 

Another person that was always fun to be around was Hoseok. He was the life of the party. No, saying that is insulting his whole persona. He was the life of everything. Everywhere he went, people knew and appreciated him and he was always happy. When he wasn’t, chaos was about to happen. But today, he woke up feeling more excited than usual. He was going to skip his first period to have breakfast with his sister. 

They had this tradition for a long time. As a kid, Hoseok considered his sister his best friend, she was a bit older than he was yes, but he knew there was no one else in the world that would get him like she does. When she flew to America to study fashion design he was the one who took it the hardest. So after the first year of college she flew back to Korea and convinced the entire family to move back with her when she returned for her second year. Ever since then, on the second Wednesday of the month, Hoseok and his sister would always have breakfast on a cafe nearby. The distance was exactly the same from the house to it and from the University.

"Jaz~~" Hoseok called out as soon as he laid eyes on his sister that was sitting in one of the corner booths. He was always divided between the sunny window and the comfort of the wall sofa. "No sun today huh?" He asked, after giving her a kiss on the forehead as a hello. 

"Honestly, since we moved here I can't even remember how pale I used to be." She joked. She loved heat and the beaches. 

As soon as the waitress spotted Hoseok sitting at the booth, she started walking in their direction, although she could already guess what they would order. "Good morning Peg, how are you?" Hobi greeted her with a huge smile. 

"Hey Hun." She smiled to the boy. "Is it the usual or you're up for a change?" 

"The same, as always." Jazmine, that used to be Jiwoo decided to change her name as she opened her first store 'Jazzy'. She conquered many achievements but now she had a new challenge and she wanted her brother to help. 

"These here," she said, pulling up a big pile of papers off of her bag and onto the table "I need you to spread them around campus." She bat her eyelashes unnecessarily, Hoseok was already picking up one of the papers and examining it. 'Model needed for fashion show' 

"Can I model?" He asked excited. He was proud of his sister's clothesline. 

"Of course you can. I already did one just for you, but I need more. Boys and girls and since you're so..." she searched for the right word "popular around campus, I'm sure you'll find the right people." 

"I'll do my best!" He placed his arm up to his head, saluting as if she was his captain. The food came right after and they started digging into their plates, not having space for conversation. The only sounds pronounced were "hums" and "woow" from how good the food tasted. 

Carolina was tired of hearing her tummy growl despite the hotel breakfast like she had just a couple hours ago so it was time to take a little pause from her soundtrack class. The teacher wasn't teaching anything new to her so an hour or so away wouldn't hurt much. She could already take this path with her eyes closed. Turning left, go down two flights and then left again and she was at the bar. She ordered her usual chocolate cupcake and climbed up the stairs again to her usual broom closet. 

"What? Do you need a broom?" The guy asked as soon as she opened the door, arching his brow as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. 

"Yes, it's witching hours already" Carolina said with a smirk on her face. 

"That's not the usual look for a witch. I guess times were good to your kind." 

"Should I presume you're the artist behind all those drawings?" Carolina asked pointing to her drawings and its correspondence. 

"Yeah I am. I was just finishing up answering you." He says with a smirk more guessing than saying but by the intrigued look on Carolina's face he was more than certain that he was right. 

"I think this is the part where I ask your name then." She said in a cool tone but too intrigued on the inside. 

"I'm Ben. Ben Hayes. And you?" He put out his hand for her to shake. 

"Carolina," She crossed her arms, eyeing him up. "Jones" 

"And what are you doing here Carolina Jones? Shouldn't you be in class?" He said in a mocking tone.

"Shouldn't you?" She raised her eyebrow. 

The truth was that Ben indeed had somewhere to be. He had been hired for a couple of weeks now to be the substitute for Miss Finning, the professor of Arts and History. He already knew he was not going to be hired. He had been jumping schools ever since he finished his degree but he never got to maintain his position. He started off in Liverpool, his hometown, then moved to London, travelled to the USA and taught in Michigan, Chicago, Houston and now LA. So he was more than certain he wasn't to stay here either. 

"I don't think that's any of your business is it?" 

"Then I could say the same, Ben Hayes." She winked at him but she was still standing still. 

"But are you going to stand there or sit down? I won't bite unless you ask me to." He winked back with his blue-ish/grey-ish eyes, tapping on one of the boxes next to him. 

"You shouldn't go around saying such things you know..." She sat down. "Someone might ask you to... someday" she says more in a whisper. 

"And I'll be more than ready to attend to their needs, trust me." His british accent rang through her ears, making her almost have goosebumps. "But do you want to stay here or do you wanna go somewhere else? I have a break between classes and I could use your company." 

"I don't know... How am I gonna be sure that your 'more than ready' is indeed reliable? Cause you know, I can't just skip being here in peace for something that isn't true..." Carolina teased. 

"Do you need a test drive then?"

"I don't ever say no to free testing." Ben's arm that was already wrapped around her, pulled her closer and Carolina took no time to react and grab him by the collarbone of his shirt, kissing him hard. The kiss was sloppy and full of tension and their hands were touching everywhere they could to ease their hunger. 

"Shall we?" He asked with a smirk on his face, parting from the kiss and nodding towards the door. 

Noon came pretty soon and the sun was hitting hard, summer was starting to creep in through spring and everyone was starting to gather they lunches, including Hyori. She only had time to have a sandwich with Hoseok before grabbing her book and finding a good spot in the lounge area. She sat down in a table of four, the only one that was available and took her books out. She was too nervous for her own liking, she tried to take down some notes from the class she just had but it was in vain, her mind was rushing through a million of things, making thousands of scenarios in her head. 

"Hey Hyori, have you been here long?" Jeonghan sits down besides Hyori, with a smile on his face, scaring her a little. She was too busy in her thoughts to even notice him coming. 

"Hi Jeonghan! No, I just got here!" She smiles to him, trying not to show how nervous she really is. 

"Should we start studying our biology? I-I mean just biology! Not ours, everyone's." Jeonghan says and then laughs embarrassed. She laughs alongside him, noticing his cute smile. He was also very nervous. 

"Sure, let's do it! Do you usually study just by reading or do you like to talk about it?" 

"Talking. It gets stuck in my mind longer!"

"Same for me" Hyori giggles. "Before we start though I have a question…" This had been bugging her ever since the first text they exchanged. 

"What is it?" He tilts his head to the side, curious, as he stares at her. 

"You're pretty smart yourself… so why would you want to study with me?" She pauses for a moment and then continues, trying to explain herself better. "Don't take me wrong! I'm glad we're studying together!!" She adds, with a blush creeping up on her cheeks.

"I think it's pretty obvious... You are top of the class and I mean... you're very pretty so I just needed an excuse to talk to you." Just like her, he was super embarrassed but he wanted her to know what he really felt, even thought that meant he had to be a little awkward and upfront.

"You're shyer than I thought you would be" She laughs, trying to ease up the mood. "And thank you, if it means something I think very high of yourself too." A proud smile showed up in his face and his whole body warmed up.

"So if we're in a time of being honest... I think I should tell you I came here to do more than studying." He turns his body in his seat so that he is completely facing her. He was holding up his breath and he didn't even realized but he was a man on a mission now. He continued to lean in into her and he could already feel her breath when...

"Oh! There you are guys!" Asa, a cute pale boy with the brightest blue eyes is rushing up to then, holding his backpack just by one strap on his left shoulder. "I thought you did study sessions in the library!" He smiles, totally clueless of the situation that was going on. 

"Oh- Hi! Hm- Who…?" Hyori asked, breathless, while nervously looking between both boys.

"This is Asa. He's my roommate." Jeonghan says, with a big frown on his face. 

"Hi! I heard a lot from you Hyori!" Asa says as he sits down across the table from them and can't help but wink at the girl. 

"So are we studying or not?" Jeonghan asked, clearly upset that Hyori's attention was now divided. 

"Yes! Of course!" She opened her manual on the marked page. "Are you… from our class? I never saw you there." She eyed Asa.

"Oh no!" He said chuckling. "I heard from Jeong here you were giving lessons and I always wanted to know more about biology!" He said as honest as he could be, making Hyori open up a big smile. 

"Well you're always free to contact me, I love biology and I love teaching so…"

"I'll make sure to hold you to that! You will want to get rid of me in no time." He joked, making her laugh but before she could reassure him, Jeonghan spoke again. 

"Can we study? Some of us have exams to prepare for!" 

"I highly doubt it! And yes sorry-" She couldn't help but tease Asa one last time before turning to Jeonghan and squeezing his arm. "Ok, everyone on page 70?"

"Oh I don't have a book, can we share one?" Asa said sheepishly.

"Have mine, I can see from yours?" Jeonghan said to Hyori almost immediately throwing him his book. 

"Yes sure!" Hyori let a shy smile as she felt Jeonghan pull his chair closer to hers.

As it was usual on Wednesdays, Jimin and Taehyung would always eat together. This Wednesday it ended up being McDonald’s. They decided to do this every week ever since they moved into their dorms and realized neither one of them really knew how to cook. They would always order individual menus, but ended up having bites out of each other’s food; because Jimin’s wrap looked too good and fresh and because Tae’s bacon was just asking Jimin to take a huge bite.  

Right now, it was almost 4 in the afternoon and Jimin was going to have football practice. They were walking together in silence, they knew each other for too long to have to always keep a conversation; in some, they enjoyed the silence time they’d have from time to time. But Jimin kept sighing and Taehyung knew something was wrong, he was just making his friend hurt a little before giving him love.  

“I have a problem and I need to talk to you about it. Ask me what’s going on.” Jimin mostly cried, putting his full weight on Tae’s shoulder like he had just fainted.  

“Ahhh” Taehyung said in an annoyed tone, followed by a chuckled, before pushing his friend back to his place. “Just start talking! Why are you always like this?!”  

“Are you going to be a good friend or just complain?” He faked a pout before laughing right after, seeing Tae’s side look. “I’m nervous about the game this week. We have to win or we’ll drop down to 3rd place and that’s not nothing something we can afford right now... plus I have an exam of history of contemporary dance on Monday and I don’t think I’ll have time to study.”  

“Look... I don’t think you need to worry.” Taehyung started off confident but genuine. “You are a pretty good quarterback, that’s why they chose you to be it. You'll do just fine, don’t overthink about that. Your body will remember everything once you’re on the field you know?” He squeezed Jimin’s shoulder and then proceeded. “About the exam... I can help? I know a few things so maybe we can just revise it before you go to sleep? I can stay up and read it to you?” Taehyung would do anything to help Jimin, especially if it was about something he cared about. Even when he was little, he used to stood up to boys who tried to be mean to Jimin even if he was scared to death of them.  

“But what about the party?!”  

“What party?” Taehyung asked. Was there a party he wasn’t invited for?

“The volley’s team is playing home. I'm sure there’ll be a party even if they lose, which I doubt. It’s an easy game.” Jimin said, thinking of what Jungkook had said at lunch the day before. He was confident they would win the game by far. “If we go to the party we can’t study.”  

“Oh... It’ll be a pity if we lose the party, right?” Taehyung let an ‘huh?’ “Maybe... we can just not sleep and try to get all that history in your head?” He suggested but the look on his face wasn’t too confident. It wasn’t a party if they didn’t get completely hammered.  

“I’m screwed.” Jimin said after a few minutes of ponderation, letting out again another sigh. “Might as well go out with a bang, right?” He shrugged and they walked a bit more. But then the thought of his parents came to his mind and all the effort they had done for him, he couldn’t let them down and lose his scholarship. “Maybe I should find a job? To help my parents?”  

“You know you wouldn’t even be able to tend to your basic needs if you did that... you’re already all packed!” Taehyung said worried.  

Jimin’s family wasn’t loaded, but they’d always lived well. His dad worked as an accountant for many years now and he reached a point where he was making a lot of money, so much so that his mom even quitted her job. They even found a house in one of the nicest neighborhoods, that’s how him and Taehyung were friends, they were front neighbors and they would play every day. Them and Carolina, but she wasn’t very fond of Jimin and he never quite understood why. But a couple of years back, the company for whom Jimin’s dad worked had a crisis and they had to let go more than half of their employees. Luckily, Jimin’s dad wasn’t one of them but it was getting hard for him to sustain an entire family on his back. That was one of the reasons he had to stay on campus. That and because both him and Taehyung wanted to have the “full college experience”.  

“Did they tell you something? Maybe I could like find a job and help you out?”  

“Not really. I talked to my mom yesterday and she said my dad had been working late. They're threating to fire a couple of people so he’s been doing some extra hours to not be part of the ones who will be fired.” Jimin said in a sad tone that Taehyung picked up right away.  

“I’m sure your dad will be fine! He’s a good worker! And like I said, if you need me to help, I can help you. I'll look for some part times next to our dorm.” And he already knew Jimin wouldn’t be capable of ever asking him to but he would still look, just in case his friend needed help.  

“It’s ok Tae, but thank you.” Jimin squeezed his shoulder and that meant he was grateful for everything his friend would do for him. Taehyung gave him a sweet smile.  

They kept on walking, talking about some random things that would pop into their minds. That was until Jimin stopped on his track, furrowing his eyes as if he was trying to see someone and Taehyung did the same, trying to look in the same direction he was.  

“I know that girl…” Jimin trailed off. “Oh, that’s Jean from my class. Hey Jean!” He walked up to her, followed right after by Taehyung. She was leaning against a tree, a book in hand.  

“Oh hum… hey… Jimin.” She started off shy. She wasn’t even aware he knew of her existence.  

“Are you alone?” He asked and she simply nodded.  

“Oh is that Free?” Taehyung sneaked out of Jimin’s back, seeing the manga the girl was reading.  

“Yeah, I just started reading it.”  

“Woah!” He said excited. “I didn’t know there is a manga for it, I only know the anime.” Taehyung said while peaking over to see the pages.

“You should try it then, it’s even better than the anime for now.” She smiled politely to him.  

“I will!”  

“We’re headed to the field, wanna come?” Jimin said as he pulled his bag up his shoulder.  

“Oh no… thank you anyway!”  

“Well, I’ll see you in class then!” Jimin waved off, starting to walk back to the field.  

“Bye Jean!”  

“What are you going to do now?” Jimin asked, noticing they were just a couple of feet away from the field.  

“I’m going to lie down there.” Taehyung pointed towards the bleachers where a couple of cheerleaders were already sitting down. “Imma watch you play and I'll take some photos to remind you how great you look.”  

“Ah~~!” Jimin let out an overexaggerated sigh, his hands over his heart. “You are my best friend, you know that!”  

“I know, I'm the best.”  

The boys parted ways. Jimin went into the locker room to change into his uniform and Taehyung took out his camera, ready to take some shots. The cheerleaders were all gathered, sitting in a circle going over the routine for this game and he noticed Deo, from the night before. Their eyes met for a couple of seconds before she looked away, turning her attention to what some other girl was saying. Soon the boys got out of the facilities, helmets under their arms and walked straight to the coach. It didn’t take long for Taehyung to fall asleep. His tummy was still kinda full from lunch and the sun was just making everything better. He was warm and the hard wood from the bleachers didn’t seem so bad so he just laid down, taking up 5 spaces. He woke up a couple of hours later, with Jimin shaking him up, laughing hard. ‘Oh man, your forehead, no bandanas for you for a couple of days.’ And as soon as he touched his forehead, he hissed. Did he really had to keep his arm all over his face BUT miss his forehead, no luck.  

On the other side of the campus, the study session got a little bit calmer after Hyori started explaining everything the best way she could and Asa was trying his best to pay attention but it was hard. Even harder for Hyori, who kept on laughing at his jokes and interventions. Jeonghan was regretting ever telling his roommate about his plans for the afternoon but he couldn't just kick him out, at least not in front of Hyori. After a while, Hyori's phone kept on beeping and she just had to excuse herself from what she was teaching Jeonghan to take a look at it. 

"Guys, the study session is great and I wish I could stay more but it's getting late and I promised my friends I would have dinner with them…" She pouted a little. "You guys mind if I go?"

"Of course!" They both said at the same time.

"Kiri I'll be waiting for our next study session!" Asa says getting up, mimicking Hyori's movements. 

"Stop being annoying!" Jeonghan whispered to him, widening his eyes to Asa. 

"Please do!" She laughed to Asa, not even noticing Jeonghan's face. "It was really nice to meet you Asa. Thank you, you two for today, I had a good time" She smiled kindly to the both of them, giving a kiss in the cheek to each one of them. "Bye guys~ See you around!"

“Dude what the hell!” Jeonghan slapped his roommate’s head, annoyed that he ruined his little date.  

“What did I do?!” Asa scratched the place where he was hit, still looking at Hyori fade in the distance.  

Hyori was hugging her books so tight; she kept her eyes on the floor, overly excited by her study session and was trying her best to steady her breathing. She already knew she was going to get teased for being late, something she never did and always complained when Jungkook was. Her pace her face and she as a hole bumped into a tall boy that quickly apologize. She did the same.  

Namjoon kept on looking at her as she walked a little too fast. His heart tightened a bit, did he hurt her when they bumped into each other? He was so focused on going over his speech for debate club on his head that he didn’t even noticed where he was going. That and the fact that tonight’s debate was against Najma Aweys. She was this pretty girl who was majoring in English Lit and she caught his eyes ever since his first debate against another college. That was the moment he first noticed her.  

His dad was nagging his head for over a month now because the semester was almost over and he still didn’t have any extracurricular activities to add to his resume alongside his perfect record of attendance and grades. So tired of hearing him, he joined the debate club and the president was so impressed by his arguments that he was invited to join the regional contest.  

He remembers that day perfectly. He was so nervous he was afraid the sweat was going to be noticeable on his armpits since the air-conditioner wasn’t working and it was almost 38°C. Najma was wearing a soft blue flowy dress that fitted her curves perfectly and made her look almost like a princess but once she started talking and disarming her opponent, that was when it really hit him. He was crushing on her.  

“Hey Najma!” He waved at her as he saw her talking outside the debate club with her girlfriends. “Nice suit.” He winked as she smiled politely to him.  

“Hey Nam!” It was her nickname for him.  

He was too awkward to have a full conversation with her, the only thing he always managed to do was these small interactions. And to him, it was better than nothing. Jin would always tease him about having to make a move 'Dude if she has a nickname for you that means something. Who knows more about girls than me?’ and that would always make Carolina laugh and tease him about how even the clueless Tae was smoother than himself, the old timer.  

Hyori was now jogging. The café that was only a couple of minutes away from campus seemed like it was miles away and she was getting frustrated for being late. Even Jungkook was already there. She stopped when she saw the sign right around the corner and she turned it, all her friends were sitting outside, in a table that clearly wasn’t made for 5 people but they were all squeezing in to be together. Once they noticed her, everyone stopped talking just to pick it up right back, but now directed to her.  

“Oh look who finally decided to show up!”  

“There she is!”  

“Can we eat now? I’m starving!!”  

“Sorry I’m late!” Hyori said trying to catch her breath from all the jogging but still making her best to look normal.  

“And where have you been to be this late?” Jungkook put up his wrist tapping on it like he had a watch there and his left eyebrow was arched. This was the perfect moment for him to excuse himself from all the times he was late and nag Hyori.  

“None of your business.” The girl said taking a seat on the end of the table, right between Deo and Jimin.  

“Is everything ok?” Hoseok asked, honestly concerned.  

“What do you mean none of my business?” Jungkook stepped all over Hobi’s question. “I always have to tell you where I was!”  

“And that’s because you’re a child.” Deo teased, sticking her tongue out making Jungkook scoff and make some comment about not knowing why they were even friends. The only thing he wasn’t doing yet was pouting.  

“Jungkookie, we’re your best friends, stop being grumpy.” Jimin said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder.

“Everything is fine Hobi, just took me a while to get here.” Hyori smiled to the boy that was on the other end of the table, completely ignoring Jungkook.  

“Where were you then missy?” Deo asked again, since Hyori had managed to escape the question.  

“I was on the library studying! I lost track of time! Oh~” she looked around to the plates of some boys that were already ready to be ate. “What are you guys eating?  

“I ordered some fries! With cheese on top.” Hobi said proudly, looking at his dish.

“Pizza, but don’t- I need to know!” Deo whined.  

“Of course she wasn’t in the library” Jungkook rolled his eyes, joining Deo and folding his arms to give his sentence more impact. “No one loses track of time in a library.”  

Hyori gave Deo a knowing look that she understood right after. It meant ‘please shut up I’ll tell you everything at the dorms’. “Well that’s because you have no braincells.” she finally answered Jungkook. 

“And it depends on what you’re doing there.” Jimin teased.  

“Are you serious?” Jungkook pretended a hurt look. “Woah… I should find new friends.”  

“Oh stop you two! Let’s just eat!” Hobi said, tired of waiting to eat his chips that were getting cold.  

“She started it!” Jungkook whined, making everyone laugh.  

“It’s ok, I’ll ask for a round for us Gguk!” Jimin whispered to the boy.  

“Shut up virgin boy.” Hyori furrowed her eyebrows making Deo automatically spit her drink, not being able to control her laughter.  

“You’re going way too far, Lee!”  

“Guys!” Hobi and Jimin both said at the same time, tired of hearing them.  

“Ok kids, that’s enough.” Deo said standing up and pulling Hyori right behind her. “We’re going to order her food.”  

“Bring beer!”  

“Don’t forget my sprite!”  

“On it!” Hyori said winking to Hobi. Once they stepped inside the door Deo started asking a million questions.  

“So~~ you’ll tell me now or you’re going to make me suffer and wait until we get to the dorms?”  

“Please don't do a scandal, and I'll tell you better once we are at the dorms but basically I was with Jeonghan but a friend of his arrived and sat there with us and he was like the cutest” she emphasized a lot in the last word “I must have blushed like tons"

"You're still blushing, it looks like you ran a marathon" She chuckled, excited with her friend’s life. "But ok, serious face on but once we get to the dorms, you'll have to tell me everything!"

“I literally ran a marathon to get here!” They both laugh and the waiter finally comes.  

Hyori orders a plain burger with fries, she’s not very hungry. And after all she ran if she ate a lot she’d probably throw up. They pay the drinks and the food and the waiter informs them the food will only take a couple of minutes and he’ll bring it to the table. Once they step outside, Jimin shushes the other boys.  

"Oh yes, such nice weather here!" He says a little too loud, pretending nothing happened, but the girls were too smart not to notice their whispers.  

"What do you think of the weather Jungkook?" Deo asks Jungkook, arching her eyebrow to him. Next to him, Hobi was looking up to the clouds, almost whistling, making his best to avoid eye contact.  

“The weather?” His voice got up an octave. “Yup, super nice! We should go to the pool and uh… have a party?” His tone was nothing but confident and Deo couldn’t help but laugh at his silliness.  

“Oh~~ we should really go to the pool!” Jimin said now excited with the thought of a swim. “Let’s go after we eat!”  

“Ok cut the crap. The weather? Really?” Hyori said still standing up next to the table, one hand on her hip showing even more authority.  

“It is a nice weather.” Deo joked.  

Hyori arched her eyebrow and looked at Hoseok that immediately look everywhere but to her. “Hobi look at me.”  

“Hey don’t force eye contact like that! You weirdo!” Jungkook said but she ignored him.  

“Hum…” Hoseok trailed off, exchanging looks with the boys. “Sorry bro… basically there’s this new girl-”

He’s interrupted. “Dude what the fuck!” Jimin and Jungkook said at the same time and if it weren’t a desperate time, they would’ve high fived.  

“Jimin likes her, she’s one year older than him and her name is Sarah. That’s all I know.” He lowered his head in defeat and then turned to Jimin. “Sorry!”  

“DUDE BRO CODE!” Jimin said, frustrated.  

“Wow, we can’t even talk in peace now.” Jungkook shrugged.  

“Huh…” Deo started, “and you weren’t going to tell us!”  

“Sorry! I’m an honest guy!” Hobi said, putting a chip right in front of Jimin’s mouth that he just couldn’t refuse.  

“Oh please tell me all about her!” Hyori now sat down, waiting expectantly.  

“See! They can help!” Hoseok added.  

After that, Jimin was forced to spill all the details he had on the Sarah girl. He didn’t really know much but Hyori and Deo already were with their phones on their hands searching on social media for the girl. If she was majoring in Investigative Journalism, she had to have any form of social media, and if she did, they would find her. Jimin wouldn’t be able to hide the girl from them for a very long time and in a way he was glad Hobi spilled everything because although Jungkook loved a good gossip, he was terrible at getting information. By the end of the dinner, the girls already found out that Sarah was friends with one of the boys Hyori tutored and now it was only a matter of days until they started planning a super scheme to make her and Jimin talk. They were good friends like that.  

Jungkook was the first to abandon the hangout because he had practice and he, obviously, didn’t have his bag done to shower. Once he got to his floor, the smell of barbeque filled his nostrils and he wasn’t walking anymore, he was more like floating, following the amazing smell. He ended up in front of his own door. Once he opened it, he saw Yoongi and Namjoon eating.  

“Hey man.” Yoongi said once he noticed him.  

“You want some?” Namjoon asked, turning around in his chair to see Jungkook.

“The smell in the hall… amazing guys.” He chuckled. “Thanks, but I have to say no, I have practice in a few.”  

“This late?” Namjoon said already feeling sorry for the boy.  

“Are you sure you can handle going to practice on an empty stomach?” Yoongi asked. He didn’t hang much with Jungkook but he liked to have him as a roommate. He was quiet, clean and he liked the same type of food as him.  

“Yeah, we have a game Saturday and coach is going crazy with our practices. We’re even playing with the girls now.” He laughs lightly. “I ate like an hour ago. I’ll probably end up bringing something home.” He says turning to Yoongi that only nods.  

“With girls? Like… girls in mini shorts?” Namjoon says already excited, the thought of joining the team, running through his mind.  

“Wish it was that good bro.” Jungkook laughs dryly, tapping on his shoulder. “Most of them look like Hulk, they enter full beast mode.”  

“Oh… that must be- uh… Nevermind.” He turns back to his food.  

Yoongi couldn’t keep a straight face to Namjoon’s comment and laughed lightly. He heard rumors about a party and Jungkook confirmed it right away, inviting them to join after the game. They talked a little bit more about their crazy front door neighbor. It was an old lady, maybe in her 60’s and she acted like she was 20. Hell, she even lived near campus. Besides her, everyone in the building was a student. The new good story was that she was developing a crush on Namjoon. Every time she heard him leave the house, she would peek her head out of the door, with rolls on her hair and say ‘have a good day handsome’.

Jungkook excuses himself and goes inside his room, picking up his gym bag from the floor. He quickly shuffles through his clothes and picks up a random shirt and a pair of shorts, a towel and his flipflops. He crossed the living room, saying goodbye to the older boys that were finishing eating and left, towards the elevator.  

“Oh hey Jin.” Jungkook said once the elevator’s door opened, revealing his neighbor from the top floor.  

“Hey man, how are you?”  

“It’s been a while since I last saw you. Since the photoshoot...” He recalled the moment they were together for the last time. It was a photography class and Carolina had brought Jin and Taehyung to model. Jungkook ended up befriending both boys and took photos of them as well.  

“Ah~~” Jin lets out a satisfied sound, remembering that day as well. “It was fun and the shoots you took of me looked great.”  

“If you ever need new ones hit me up.” They reach the ground floor and both exit the elevator, walking side by side until they leave the building completely.  

“You have practice?” Jin asked, only now noticing Jungkook’s bag.  

“Yeah, it’s in a few.”  

“I can take you. I’m going out with a friend but it’s still early, I can drop you there.”  

“I won’t say no to that. If I had to walk all the way back to campus I doubt I'd be able to score.” He chuckles. They got inside the car and it took Jin a while to start it. “Is everything alright?”  

“Oh yeah, I'm just waiting for Carolina, she should be coming down any second. She has practice too.”  

‘Oh boy’ Jungkook thought to himself. Carolina only frowned when she saw him but before she could say anything Jin told her to get in or else they would be late. She had to get into the backseat, very reluctantly and once they got to campus, she quicken up her pace to not even have to talk with the so called virgin boy. He honestly didn’t mind, after the last time they were together, things went south really fast.  

The vibe was bugging Jin and he made a self-note to ask Carolina what had happened between the two but probably not today. He was going out with his friend Harry, a boy from his major that finished off last year but they maintained contact. If he didn’t get home very drunk, it wasn’t his friend Harry. But once he woke up, he would remember to ask.  

> Day 3 <

[ariphyll]

and your eyes, they hide a thousand words

– Chapter 4: One, Two, Three... — Prev. Chapter (in the reblogs cause Tumblr is broken)

Ao3. Ver. in the reblogs

Xander/Takumi - Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 2323

Summary: Takumi was starting to feel the toll that adapting to both castle life and wedding prep was leaving in it's wake. It would have to stop at some point.

A/N: Will I ever update in a regular time frame? The world may never know. Not super satisfied with this chapter but it's gonna do better being out in the open than sitting in my wips for any longer. Who knows, maybe I'll come back around and edit it in the future? That's for future me to decide.

Even back in Hoshido Takumi found council meetings to be… lackluster. As much as politics was something he was groomed to understand from childhood, he could only stand it for so long. Listening to people drone on and on about taxes and construction was exhausting for anyone after enough time. If he was honest, sometimes he wanted to hide away like a child and just ask for the meeting notes later.

Still, there was one perk that back home held, Takumi was realizing. There, at least, nobody side eyed him with barely disguised distaste.

It’s not that Takumi blamed the other Nohrian members - well, okay, not completely. He could only imagine the response Hoshido’s own council would give in this situation. Yet repeating that rationale in his head over and over succeeded in very little beyond it just becoming white noise. After being introduced to everyone before the meeting, all awkward smiles and stiff greetings with eyes that spoke unpleasantries, well... he was already tired.

Takumi gritted his teeth as he listened to another Nohrian whose name he couldn’t remember butcher some landmark's pronunciation as they discussed fresh trade routes. This whole meeting was edging from annoying into frustrating.

Takumi watched the Nohrian man continue talking but his gaze was unfocused. What was his name anyway? Takumi drummed his fingers against the table as he thought. There had been introductions but the second he heard someone’s name it dissipated to nothingness in his mind.

Takumi ran over the Nohrian names he knew in his head as the meeting carried on without him. It wasn't like he could ask for his name now, and Takumi wasn’t sure how Xander would take to his immediate mental dismissal of his council’s members. He was going to be involved with this council after all, marriage or not. So perhaps at least showing an attempt was necessary, even if the middle-aged man speaking was drawing a complete blank.

Takumi glanced at the man’s oily mustache and receding hairline. His face was distinct enough at least, his name couldn’t be that far off. V-something, maybe? Yeah, he looked like he had a V in his name...

“Mm, is something keeping our new prince distracted? Or is it that he doesn’t even know the trading routes of his own kingdom?”

Takumi was pulled out of his thoughts by the barbed comment, aware all at once that the whole council was staring at him. Ah, pleasant. The man who made the comment was sitting to the right of oily-mustache, wearing what seemed like a perpetual frown and with eyebrows too bushy to fit his face.

Takumi brought a polite smile to his face that didn’t even begin to feel real, trying hard to feign playing nice. “My- apologies. What is the place in question?”

Bushy-eyebrows attempted to hide his scoff but it was half-hearted at best. “Lord Nichol was asking if the path that goes through the mountains near Igashato would be able to go farther into northern Nohrian territory.”

Condescension dripped from the man’s tone and Takumi felt his patience wearing thin. He wasn’t going to be treated like a child by a man who couldn’t even pronounce Igasato right. Takumi doubted half of these people could even find it on a damn map. He opened his mouth but whatever sharp retort he had on his tongue died as he felt a kick from under the table.

He shot a glare towards Leo who was busy writing something down in his notes. Convenient.

Bushy-eyebrows cleared his throat, catching Takumi’s attention again as he raised one furry monstrosity up. Takumi bit back a huff and schooled his voice into fake sweetness.

“An Iga-sa-to route is possible - of course if you don’t mind your merchants being mobbed by kitsune now and again.”

A woman with more of a beak than a nose spoke up. “They can simply move their territory then. Is Hoshido not capable of adjusting its borders or… protecting them?”

Takumi felt his false smile weaken at the insinuation. His hand twitched on the table.

"I wasn't aware the situation was so dire we needed to attack them," he said. His throat felt a bit tight in his effort to keep his voice calm.

Beak-woman shot him a bored look. "We won't have to if they know their place, now will we?"

"We never did have an issue with working with the wolfskins," Bushy-brows pitched in, slime dripping from his tone.

Takumi felt acid in the back of his throat. He could think of a lot of ways Nohr used to 'work' with the wolfskins under Garon's rule. However before he, or anyone else could further chime in Xander spoke up from the head of the table.

“There will be no need for any of that. We are not going to force the kistune to adjust by any means.” Takumi almost thought he heard a bit of chill to his tone. “There is another route a little farther south, isn’t there Prince Takumi?”

Takumi drew his eyes away from beak-woman’s dark ones as he thought. “There should be, can’t imagine it would add more than a day or two to the travel time.”

Xander nodded. “Then adjust your maps to that, Lord Nichol, and check your other suggestions for flaws. Any others will have to be drawn up anew.”

Takumi watched beak-woman frown from the corner of his eye. A small spark of something akin to victory flared in his chest. Even if the council was bitter at his presence at least he had strength if the king was on his side. It was a small comfort, but the only one he would get today it seemed.

Xander let out a short sigh - nigh inaudible but Takumi was seated close enough to catch it. “We’ll reconvene in a few days to go over the new tax plans. For now, let’s draw this meeting to a close.”

Takumi let his body go slack as everyone started to disperse, trying to shoo away the lingering bad taste in his mouth. Leo gave him a pointed look from across the table. “Someone seems eager to start fights.”

“I almost miss the old war councils,” Takumi mumbled, toying with the ends of his ponytail. Sure, it was war but at least there everyone was mostly on the same page and didn’t drive him up the wall… by the end of it, at least.

“At least attempt to play civil here,” Leo said.

“And should I be modeling myself after you?” Takumi asked, standing and starting to organize his notes. They were detailed up until the point he had turned off from the conversation. “I’ll play nice when you show me you know how to first.”

Leo rolled his eyes at him. “I think it’s about time you let go of those petty squabbles we had.”

“And I think you have no place to talk.” Takumi shot him a small grin before turning and leaving. All things considered, he was eager to escape that room.

As he walked down the hall, he gave an idle tug at the collar of his shirt. Oboro had seemed enthusiastic when she woke him up early that morning with new outfits, but Takumi could only give half effort. Honestly, who designed such tight fabric around your neck of all places?

Perhaps he could sneak away back to his room… Takumi was pretty sure he could find his way back from here. He could strip, grab one of the books Leo had recommended from the library, avoid any and all wedding prep for a while...

“Prince Takumi!”

Or not. Some dreams were too sweet, it seemed.

Turning, Takumi saw Laslow jogging up to him, a breathless smile on his face. “Ah, I’m glad I found you milord. You disappeared so fast after the council meeting...”

“Mm. Do you need something from me?” Takumi asked.

Laslow smiled wider, not put off by his blunt tone. “Simply your company for an hour or two. I’ve been entrusted to be your dance instructor.”

Takumi paused at that. “I’m sorry - my what?”

“Come on now, we shouldn’t waste any time. I myself know personally how tricky some Nohrian dances can be - especially more traditional ones,” Laslow said, gesturing for him to follow down the hall.

Of course. Dancing. For the wedding.

Takumi must’ve been pulling a face subconsciously as Laslow let out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, milord. It should only take a few lessons for you to get the hang of it.”

“Right,” Takumi muttered. “Uh- lead the way then, I guess.”

He supposed out of all possible outcomes, Laslow wasn’t the worst option to teach him. Takumi had never actually managed to see him dance before but he had heard rumors about his skill. Plus, it helped that he wasn’t a complete nightmare to stick around with. Still…

“Why are you teaching me, anyway?” Takumi asked. “Wouldn’t a formal instructor be more suited to this sort of thing?”

Laslow paused in front of a door, glancing inside before pushing it open. “Typically, yes, but King Xander asked me to take on the task instead.”

Takumi frowned as he followed him inside the cleared out room. “He asked you to…?”

“Yes, he said it might help with a familiar face teaching you.” Laslow turned to face him. “Now, let’s get started, shall we?” Before Takumi could even reply Laslow was already analyzing him for critiques. “Hmm, keep your posture more straight. Feet farther apart.”

In the back of his mind Takumi was starting to wonder if he actually would prefer a different instructor.

Laslow grabbed a hold of his hands once he was satisfied with his posture. “The waltz isn’t the most difficult Nohrian dance, but I don’t expect you to grasp the basics that fast.”

“Uh- uh huh,” Takumi mumbled, trying not to shift out of place.

“Now mirror after me - left foot first, then right, and now together-” Laslow said, moving in a slow, measured pace.

All things considered, it could be worse. Takumi knew more complicated dances from home but his feet felt awkward as he followed Laslow through the steps. His whole body felt stiff and too close, and more than once their shoes scuffed against each other. Yet even with Laslow’s stream of corrections and critiques as they moved, Takumi was positive it could’ve been much, much worse.

It was a small mercy being granted upon him.

“You’re starting to get the flow of it now, aren’t you? Tomorrow I’ll have you start working in your heels while you finish growing used to the rhythm,” Laslow said, adjusting Takumi’s grip on his hand.

“Heels…?” Takumi echoed, voice hesitant as he tried to both dance and talk. He wanted to glance down but he knew Laslow's keen eyes would notice immediately.

Laslow nodded. “Yes, they won’t be terribly high but, well - a waltz is a bit easier when the height difference is a bit closer together. More comfortable for both parties.”

Ah, right. Laslow wasn’t much taller than Takumi was; he had almost forgotten the near almost foot of height difference between Xander and him. Takumi was pretty sure he had at least worn Nohrian heels before during a reluctant game of dress-up with Elise. He remembered them being vaguely uncomfortable to stand in but overall not the end of the world. Fixing his weight while he walked was the biggest issue. Dancing in a pair however…

“Exactly - how high are we talking?” Laslow chuckled. “You’ll get used to them. I’m more used to flats myself, but heels are nothing once you learn how to walk in them.” “So I’ve heard…” Takumi mumbled. How Camilla managed to wear them even into battle was beyond him.

Laslow fixed him with a bright smile. “I would never let you go out there milord if I wasn’t absolutely positive you were ready. It would reflect poorly on me after all; I could never live it down.”

You’re hardly the only one. Takumi wasn’t sure if he would be able to stomach even the idea of doing something as horrendous as falling during his own wedding. Anxiety started to build up in the back of his throat. Falling was only one of many errors he could make. Heels may help close the height gap between Xander and him, but he still had to actually stay on beat with him.

Now that he thought about it, Takumi wasn't sure he had ever been this close to Xander before. There was only a loose gap between Laslow and him - they were close enough that Takumi could see the color of his eyes without issue. It was almost a little too close. It was certainly much closer than he had ever been with Xander.

The anxiety in the back of his throat continued to build up into his mouth. Gods, he was stuck getting married to someone he only knew in small pieces.

Laslow corrected Takumi’s stride length with a gentle nudge, firm and sure in his movements. “You’re overthinking it. Simply focus on the flow of the gait...”

Takumi let out a quiet breath. The mounting pressure started to cool as he focused on Laslow's instructions. One, two, three. Keep your feet in line, and then together. Heel to toe. Keep your posture right.

The bubbling anxiety started to melt as Takumi focused on moving. He felt grounded again instead of teetering on a thin spiral. There wasn't anything he could do right now except practice what Laslow taught him.

One, two, three.

Maybe he could get some archery practice in for some stress relief...

"Now you're getting the hang of it, milord," Laslow said. "Gracefully following your partner’s movement is a big key in staying on beat."

Takumi gave an idle nod, trying to sneak a glance down at their feet position. "Uh-huh, I'll keep that advice in mind."

“Ah, ah-! Eyes up, milord!”

A/N:The only thing that matters is me finding a legit reason to shove Takumi in heels like the tiny bastard he is thank you good night.

Check reblogs for my twitter!

[xxsanshinexx]

Like Cashmere and Velvet

Characters: Jeonghan x Female Reader

Genre/Warnings: Non Idol AU, Gambling, Cursing, I don’t think there is anything triggering

Words: 2,004

Summary: Jeonghan enjoyed the finer things in life. What Jeonghan could buy, Jeonghan would get. When you walk in he wonders if money can’t buy every fine thing in life. 

Fine things. He got everything fine his eyes laid on. He dressed in the finest silks and bathed in rose water. The shops he went to were only high end designer brands and he ate at only five star restaurants. There wasn’t a luxury Jeonghan had not explored. He was the epitome of what many human beings craved to be.

Jeonghan had draped himself over a velvet chase in the back corner of the elite gambling club. He sipped his wine and watched the men argue back and forth. It would be only a matter of minutes before he stepped in and claimed his prize. The pot was in the high hundred thousands at the moment but that wasn’t enough for him. He needed something a little higher to meet his standards.

He had made almost all of his money this way. The men in the casinos and bars never looked twice when Jeonghan took their money. They all believed he was just an excellent card player. If only they knew how good a con artist he was. Casinos were where he made a majority of his money but he sometimes made it with more questionable methods. He was not opposed to being an escort or a fake date, as long as it made him enough money.

“You’re telling me you’re not cheating!” Seungcheol, a main member of the secluded club, cried. He was always one for accusations but never once had he accused Jeonghan. Jeonghan assumed it was because he too had fallen for his charms and sultry looks.

“Get your head out of your ass Cheol,” Minghao, a gambler who’s skills Jeonghan admired, grumbled. Out of all the gamblers who were regulars at the club, Jeonghan was the most weary of Minghao. Minghao was always weary of everyone in the club and had once came close to exposing Jeonghan.

Junhui laughed at the pair arguing and checked, “You both act like such toddlers.”

“You’re one to talk Jun. You cry everytime you lose!” Mingyu yelled.

“He’s basically saying you cry every time we meet,” Minghao stated and looked at his cards.

Jeonghan listened to clinking of the chips against the table and decided the pot had been filled enough for him.

Letting out a yawn, Jeonghan spoke up, “You all are a bunch of bitches.”

“Ah Jeonghan!” Joshua laughed from behind the bar, “I forgot you were even here!”

“I was tired of listening to them whine,” Jeonghan remarked and ruffled his hair with one hand.

Minghao rolled his eyes and tossed several chips into the growing pile, “Your whining is right up their with Junhui’s”

“Or Seungkwan when he plays.” Junhui nodded in agreement and checked against the table again.

Jeonghan laughed and stood up from where he was laid, “I don’t believe anyone could beat Seungkwan’s complaining.”

“Last week you were very close to beating him for most annoying member,” Seungcheol remarked.

Jeonghan shook his head with a laugh and swaggered up to the table. It was so easy to gain their trust and to blend in. This place was his favorite because it meant he could make easy money. A high sum of easy money.

“Deal me in Hao,” Jeonghan stated as he plopped down in his usual chair. He was surprised no one ever bothered to switch spots. It was because of this that he could so easily win. The groups stupidity and blind trust in him was what kept his secret safe.

“Ah the God has awoken from his cat nap to come and kick our asses,” Minghao laughed and dealed him his cards. The boys were in good spirits and it made Jeonghan smile though the sum of money in the pot made his smile a little wider. They were very into gambling tonight.

Mingyu laughed and laid down a full house, “He’s going to have to try a little harder tonight.”

“And why is that?” Jeonghan questioned and watched as Mingyu collected the pot.

“There’s a newcomer tonight,” Seungcheol said and waited for the card to be laid down for the next round. “It’s rumor she’s never lost a match.”

“I’ve also heard a rumor that she is hot,” Junhui laughed and sipped on his burbon.

Jeonghan shook his head and watched as joker was laid down on the table. “Of course that is what you focus on Junhui.”

“Are you calling me shallow?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what he’s calling you.” Minghao said and folded, sliding his dead cards towards the dealer.

Junhui cackled and checked, “Well you boys aren’t wrong.”

Jeonghan smiled and downed the rest of his wine, “And when is the mystery woman showing up?”

As if on cue, the doors to the closed off room were thrown open. All eyes turned to watch as a woman walked through the mahogany doors like she owned the place. Jeonghan would be lying if he didn’t think you were exquisite. Adorned in a velvet dress and the shiniest silver jewelry, he knew he wanted you along with the prize money.

“Hello boys,” you greeted in a sultry manner and Jeonghan smirked. His evening of conning had taken a delightful turn.

“I’m glad you could make it Y/N!” Joshua, the ever cheery bartender greeted and Y/N smiled back at him.

“You’ve told me such stories about this club.” you said and ran your eyes along the men at the table. When you met Jeonghan’s eyes they lingered for a second. “I had to see about it for myself.”

Jeonghan sent you a little smile that made people fall in love with him. Y/N flashed the exact same smile his way and made his heart stop. Even the most stoic of people would get flustered when he smiled at them like that.

“You talk a big game Y/N,” Junhui remarked and threw down a four of a kind, beating everyone out for the pot.

Y/N smirked and took the seat directly across from Jeonghan, a move no one else ever made. “I should. I’ve never lost a game and I don’t plan too.”

“Well neither have I.” Jeonghan said and watched for a reaction. The only thing he could notice was the way your eyes lit up with excitement.

“Then this should certainly be promising.” You said and grabbed the cards the dealer had handed you. Jeonghan watched as not a flicker of emotion washed over your features. Just from the way you held yourself he could tell you were someone of experience. Poker was a game skill but it was also a game of luck and Jeonghan knew exactly how to manipulate luck.

Minghao chuckled and folded, “You all are so cocky. It’s amusing.”

“What would you rather have?” You purred in his direction causing the usual stoic man to become shocked, “Do you want me to be shy? I could do shy.”

“I-er… no you’re fine.” Minghao muttered and Jeonghan laughed and laid down a straight flush.

“I like you Y/N. No one gets Hao this flustered,” He said and watched as you laid down your cards. A royal house, the only hand that could have beaten his own.

“I think you’ll be rather flustered at the end of this too,” You smiled sweetly and collected the earnings of the pot. The men around the table laughed and Jeonghan gave you an amused look in which you replied with a small smile. He knew exactly why you hadn’t lost.

The rounds went on and on. It was mainly back and forth between Jeonghan and you. Junhui was out within several rounds from playing too eagerly. Seungcheol was the next out as he had to leave and decided it would be best to go all in rather than let Junhui continue on for him. Mingyu was out soon after that. He stated it was no fun having only Jeonghan and you win all the pots. It was not like Mingyu was in the line to win either. Minghao had held out the longest but even he had run dry.

“This is it,” Minghao sighed and laid down a straight to which Y/N promptly laid down a flush.

“And the pot is mine,” Jeonghan chuckled and set a straight flush on the table. Minghao huffed and slid the rather large pot towards Jeonghan. Between you and him, there was a large sum of money. It just mattered who was more daring to fully secure it.

“How about this Jeonghan,” He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue, “How about an all in?”

Jeonghan smirked and took a sip of his wine, wondering what you were up too. “And why would I do that?”

“It’s late and I want to go home with my prize,” You said but there was a slight hint that you didn’t mean the money. Jeonghan took one look in your eyes and it had his mind spinning.

“Fine, all in.” He nodded and pushed his chips towards the center of the table. You smiled in a childish way and pushed all your chips to be in the center as well. The dealer at the head of the table handed out the cards and a smile appeared on both Jeonghan and yours face. The men around the table leaned forward, wondering what could get both of you so excited. Cards were laid out on the table one by one and Jeonghan watched delight trace over you features as you laid down your final hand.

“Well,” Jeonghan laughed and threw his cards onto the tabletop, “I’ll be damned.”

Your royal flush beat his straight flush and anything he had up his sleeve. It was obviously something you had been saving not just luck of the draw. No game ever ended like that.

“Good game Jeonghan. I’ve never met another player quite like you,” You smiled and gratefully accepted the cash the dealer was handing you. That much money could have paid for the new car Jeonghan wanted, but he believed there was a much better prize than a car. Jeonghan stood and gave you a little nod of appreciation.

“Neither have I,” He smirked and headed for the door. He snuck a glance back at you with a promise in his eyes that he knew you noticed. The casino was in full blast as he walked threw leisurely. The familiar smoke in the air filled his lungs as well as the tang of alcohol. His steps lead him to another secluded part of the casino, right besides the empty poker tables.

“You’re a rather good con man.” Your sultry voice poked through the loud atmosphere of the casino. He felt your hand sneak up the length of his arm and come to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re a rather great con woman.” He smirked and watched as you came into his view. A smile was on your face and he thought it was fantastic.

“I’ve only been at it for several years. I should be great at this point.” You remarked and he fully smiled slowly snaking an arm around your waist. He loved how alive you made him feel. It had only been a few hours but he had never felt this much energy, especially not with other lovers.

“I thought I was pretty great,” He said and leaned in so his forehead lightly touched yours.

Your eyes stared into his with a wild look, “But then I came a long.”

“But then you came along,” He repeated and looked down at your lips. He made sure it was obvious enough for you to notice. It was and you gave a little nod before he crashed his lips onto yours. The new passion you both had was evident throughout the kiss and it made him smile. Your kiss was just as he imagined it to be. In all his life Jeonghan had never felt something like this. He almost believed you were conning his heart. Jeonghan believed he could never find a finer thing than you.

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, main character death.

Length: 8.5k

A/N: “Eventual smut” warning has changed to smut in this chapter, as a heads up to readers. Thanks for keeping with me, everyone, and I hope you enjoy! (Honestly, I did writing it.) Oh! And just a reminder that this is fiction and as such should not be used as a reference for safe sex.

Cold water splashes over his hands, and Hoseok sings to himself as he washes the dishes from their dinner. Yoongi told him to leave them while he took a phone call from someone wanting to set up an appointment, but Hoseok likes keeping busy and he likes cleaning up. He hasn’t showered since they got home from the camping trip, only an hour or so ago, too busy with making something to eat, but washing the dishes is a pleasant relief from the dirt and smoke that feels embedded in every fiber of his being.

Besides, he’s in a good mood. Their conversation is nestled at the back of his mind, cautiously optimistic, cautiously enthused, and he can’t help but ransack Yoongi’s words into a scattered mess in his brain. It makes him stir in places he shouldn’t be stirring – another benefit to the cold water – but jumping the gun aside, Yoongi’s seemed so tired recently, Hoseok can’t help but be simply relieved that the artist can even joke about it. Not for himself, but he’s glad for any indication that his boyfriend is feeling good. Sometimes… sometimes he’s not so sure.

Hoseok is worried about that, very much so, and he’s caught in a frustrating tug-of-war match with himself about it. On the one hand, Yoongi’s dropping weight and there’s something… something wrong about him, sometimes, something that Hoseok can’t quite put a finger on. It’s like a shadow crosses his being, tired, dark lines swathing his normal intensity, but it doesn’t stay for very long. Hoseok would worry more, but Yoongi just seems so… content.

Well – not seems. He is happy, Hoseok feels that with a deep certainty that rings true with every laugh, with every goofy, wild joke that the other man makes. The camping trip had been one of the happiest times he can ever remember having, and he’s pretty sure Yoongi feels the same. He doesn’t know how to reconcile the shadow with the light, or which one to believe in more, and he’s not sure if it’s weakness or his nature that makes him want to believe Yoongi will be fine. For now, Hoseok contents himself with nagging and either bringing around Seokjin’s cooking or making something himself whenever possible. And doing whatever chores he can get away with, to help Yoongi out with his schedule. And thinking about the bed upstairs, which is not exactly productive or helpful.

His singing is a little off–key, though that hardly deters Hoseok; it’s a nice distraction from his conflicted thoughts. He’s just missing a high note by a particularly admirable amount when hands tuck around his middle, neatly tugging the last bowl from his grasp and setting it in the sink. Yoongi’s chest is warm against his back when he says, “I told you to leave them.”

Turning within the cage of those arms, Hoseok grins at his companion. “Yeah, but I never agreed.”

“My house, my rules,” Yoongi drawls, his nose scrunching, the lazy syllables dropping without anger from his lips as he pulls Hoseok closer. “Besides, you’re my boyfriend. I don’t remember hiring you as my maid, too.”

“I hired myself. You’re paying me by the dish.” He loves the way Yoongi’s smile overwhelms the little frown lines embedded around his mouth, loves the way Yoongi’s low chuckle comes without any hesitation. Months aren’t enough to scour away scars – if they can ever be gotten rid of entirely – but the artist’s have certainly softened.

Like the quirk of his lips, no longer as ironic or mocking. “By the dish? Shit, how much do I owe you?”

“At least a million dollars,” Hoseok says firmly. “That, or a kiss. I’m sure I’m worth at least one of those.” His heart leaps at the stupid audacity of those words, no doubt brought from the gutter his mind can’t seem to hop out of.

And immediately Yoongi is stretching up, their lips meeting in an easy, luxurious press that still makes his breath catch. A moment later the tattooist draws away, gaunt cheeks faintly flushed. “You’re selling yourself short, Hobi,” he murmurs. “You’re worth thousands more of those.” His arms rise, rest on Hoseok’s shoulders, and he pushes him back a short step until Hoseok’s pressed into the kitchen counter. Yoongi had a shower before they ate, and the fresh tang of citrus envelops them. The next time Yoongi kisses him, it’s not on the mouth but on the neck, hard and dragging, the hot pressure eventually drawing a shaky exhale from Hoseok. That does nothing to deter the other man; he sucks hard enough that it’s going to leave a mark, pleasant pain dwelling in the shape of his lips and the scrape of his teeth.

They haven’t had much alone time in the last few weeks, and Hoseok is happy to take advantage of Yoongi’s touchy mood. The conversation from the tent lingers in the back of his mind, itchy and breathless and apprehensive in the best way possible, but he doesn’t think much about the looming hours ahead. His boyfriend was probably joking. He didn’t mean it was going to happen tonight. Yoongi’s body demands to be touched, though, and Hoseok skims his fingers along his spine, frustrated by the flimsy fabric between them. For his part, the artist presses against him, making the edge of the counter dig into his back, and strikes a match with his lips alone.

When Yoongi breaks off, it’s only to press light kisses into a path up his throat, making his way to Hoseok’s jaw, the fluttering contact leaving dissatisfaction writhing in Hoseok’s stomach after the harsh pleasure of before. The film major wants to hurry it along, even if it is just a make out session, but Yoongi senses his intentions and traps his head in gentle hands, keeping him from moving. He kisses the side of Hoseok’s mouth repeatedly, teasing, a slip of tongue and teeth, and Hoseok makes a sound equal parts pleasure and complaint.

Yoongi pulls back, cocking an eyebrow. “What?” he asks. “You didn’t say I had to pay you back quickly, Hobi-yah.”

“It’s never quick,” Hoseok retorts, though that’s not entirely true. Their make out stints are as varied as the tattoos in Yoongi’s portfolio, and he distinctly recalls a particularly hot one taking place for the span of three minutes behind one of the bookshelves in Namjoon’s store before the owner had come looking for them. Sill, there’s almost always something playful about Yoongi, something drawn out and just a little bit provoking, like he’s decided to teach Hoseok the painfully sharp meaning of patience before getting down to business.

It’s not that Hoseok doesn’t enjoy it, but there’s something torturous about always being left wanting more.

“Mmm, poor baby.” Grinning crookedly at Hoseok’s offended huff, Yoongi suddenly drops his arms. Before Hoseok can be caught by disappointment, the other man is taking his hand and pulling him out of the kitchen and into the living room. The film student goes willingly, his mouth tender with the memory of rough pressure, expecting to be towed to the couch, but Yoongi pulls him to the black stairs leading to the loft bedroom. When he hesitates, his boyfriend looks back. “Come on,” Yoongi says. “You think I already forgot what you said last night? About physical stuff?” He tugs on Hoseok more firmly and then they’re climbing up and entering Yoongi’s private space.

For all the changes they’ve made together, this is not, typically speaking, a place Hoseok feels comfortable in, and the few times he’s been up, Yoongi has been equally uneasy. He can’t honestly say it’s not a little hurtful, having an area Yoongi finds so difficult to share with him, but he’s resigned himself to it; some people just need their sanctuary, even if he can’t relate. This unprecedented invitation catches him off guard, makes him antsy as the blonde man pulls him to the bed. Hoseok doesn’t sit down, shifting on his feet as he looks around.

The dark blue and black loft bedroom is small and personal, a stark contrast to the wide-open living room down below. It too has a window, albeit smaller, set high on the far wall, and the light it lets in is the languid orange of a sun that’s getting ready to give way to night. There’s a small desk that Hoseok suspects Yoongi doesn’t use; there’re a lot of photos and little knickknacks scattered on the surface, too much so for it to be anything more than a display stand. Only one plant has been placed up here, on the desk, a sharp-leafed green succulent that’s growing slanted towards the window.

Off to the side, a laundry basket is settled next to a dresser, and Yoongi throws his shirt into it before turning to Hoseok, seemingly unembarrassed by his bared skin. “Well?” he asks, his hands encompassing the space like he’s introducing it, but Hoseok knows he’s not really asking about that.

He’s seen the artist without his shirt on before, but it’s always a hasty flash of canvas and colour, designs half-glimpsed before he’s pulling on a clean sweater or top. The times when he’s shoved Yoongi’s shirt up while they’re making out don’t count (he’d been distracted with other things). His first feeling is a blush of heat – embarrassment, desire – blooming out from his core and scalding across his skin. For all that Yoongi is slender – too slender, probably – the tattoos across his body give him a solidity, a strength that overwhelms his slight frame. Outlined in the soft light from outside, he doesn’t look frail; he looks like a golden promise that can’t be broken.

His eyes wander across the jagged lines of ink on Yoongi’s arms – easily recognizable – to more unfamiliar territory. At the edge of his ragged, lowriding jeans, a hint of red peeks up at his hip, the shape indistinguishable, but it makes heavy anticipation dance in Hoseok’s fingers, imagining running over the jut of smooth skin. Yoongi’s chest is partially covered by shaded storm clouds with pale lightning bolts licking at their edges. The art takes up the left side of his body, spilling onto the front of his shoulder, and Hoseok is initially enthralled by the thunderous grey and black, the colours summoning electricity in his own chest. When he looks closer, though, three letters – DNR – are shrouded in the clouds, which makes Hoseok’s mouth thin, and the static warmth dissipates like sunlight through gentle rain. Yoongi sees where his eyes are and smiles.

“Don’t sweat it, Hobi. Even tattoo meanings can change. Now it could stand for…” A pause as he gropes for an alternate meaning, but not a long one; Yoongi’s good at making stuff up on the spot. “Now it could mean Damn Near Respectable. That’s legit, right?”

“Only if it’s for real.” The sight of the letters pulls back on the heat shading his vision, making it harder to concentrate on his tight appreciation of Yoongi’s body. Even if it’s just a ghost of Yoongi’s mindset, it still hurts to consider the tattooist deciding to put that on his body, especially with how much weight he gives to tattoos. Hoseok swallows. “You don’t mean it anymore?”

Coming nearer, his boyfriend’s smile has faded into something more serious. “I don’t. If you see me taking a kick at the bucket, resuscitate my sorry ass, okay?”

“Nothing could stop me,” Hoseok mutters, his heart steely with that conviction, and when Yoongi laughs, he sounds surprised.

“You know what? I could almost believe that.” Before Hoseok can reply, the small man’s hands slip under his shirt, his palms leaving tingling impressions as they skim upwards, shoving up the shirt as they go. Without complaint, Hoseok helps Yoongi take off the stifling fabric, though the taut strain the tattoo summoned is still trembling through his nerves. God, he just hates the thought of his life being empty of this man who’s started taking up so much space.

Yoongi must know he’s upset; he tosses Hoseok’s top to the side with rough carelessness, but when he kisses him, it’s soft. An apology. “Relax,” the artist murmurs. “I still need to pay you back, remember?” Unconsciously the words begin to work on his tension, heating it up, and Yoongi’s lips, pressing against his mouth, his throat, his collarbone (though meticulously avoiding the tattoo, like always), speed up the melting process. Under his boyfriend’s maddeningly deliberate mouth, he has to let go of his anxiety; he’s trying too hard to hold on to his sanity to clutch at anything else. The warm pressure, sometimes gentle – sometimes not so much – dots his body in tingling pleasure, and when Yoongi dips lowers still, tongue hot and wet against his chest, Hoseok’s hands curl in his hair, stopping his progress.

His heart is thundering like a furnace, and the sight of Yoongi’s swollen lips and dark eyes does nothing to soothe the sweltering heat passing through his body. He wets his mouth against the cotton-dryness of his throat. “Are we – are you really sure you want to…” He’d hoped this was going to happen – had, in point of fact, longed for it with a violence that was just short of sinful – but it’s happening so suddenly, so out of the blue, that he can’t help but feel like he must be doing something wrong. There must be something he should do more of, or less of, or –

“Relax.” The husky demand crackles like lightning against his muscles, doing absolutely nothing to soothe them, but the resulting tautness is a different kind of strain. In the low light, he can see that Yoongi’s mouth is creased into a private smirk. “I’m sure, Hobi. I’m sure I want to be with you, and I’m sure I want to kiss you, and –” His hands drop, snuggly fitting around Hoseok’s waist, and with a dextrous movement that belies his small size, Yoongi shoves Hoseok backwards onto the bed.

The smirk becomes provokingly wicked, and the artist moves between Hoseok’s legs, hanging over the side of the mattress. “And I’m sure I want to fuck you, too.”

He can’t reply over the maelstrom of desire that rips up like it’s attached to Yoongi’s rough voice, like the words are a guillotine cutting straight through his doubt, and Yoongi chuckles, low and velvety. He rests his hands on Hoseok’s thighs, and his light fingers are all at once too much and too little and somehow just right. “Mmm, Hobi,” the artist says, leaning over him, his touch gliding upwards to tease Hoseok’s throbbing groin. “I think you want me to fuck you, too.”

“Yoongi…” He’s not sure if it’s a curse or a plea dwelling in his dry throat, but when the other abruptly straightens, removing his hands, the impulse veers towards swearing. It’s unbearable to be separate, to release the friction without any sparks, and he has to strangle the impulse to call the smaller man back.

Smiling like he knows exactly what he’s doing, Yoongi wordlessly heads over to his desk, rummages around in one of the drawers. A few seconds later he returns, throwing the lube and condoms in his hand onto the pillow. Hoseok is too far gone to be embarrassed, and he shifts restlessly, drawing himself up more fully onto the bed, propped on his elbows. The aching hollowness in his chest demands to be filled, and his boyfriend is obliging, if far, far too slowly. Stradling his hips, Yoongi’s deft fingers find his stiffening nipples, playfully pulling at the sensitive skin even as his lips return to Hoseok’s mouth. When he moves, he grinds against Hoseok’s groin, and the pressure makes Hoseok groan and buck upwards, straining for more contact.

Yoongi breaks away, hands hot imprints against Hoseok’s chest. “So impatient,” he observes, still slowly shifting, and Hoseok grunts and pulls him down to crush their lips together.

“Feels like I’ve been waiting forever,” he pants against Yoongi’s mouth, only the truth, and the responding laugh is uneven enough to make him groan again.

“I’m gonna make it worth the wait,” the artist promises hoarsely, and then he’s dipping down, his wet lips marking up Hoseok’s chest, one hand holding himself up while the other trails to fit under the band of Hoseok’s jeans. His tongue swirls around Hoseok’s nipple, his hand dipping lower, and the resulting throb makes the film major’s back arch violently, his fingers curling into the other man’s hair.

“Let me –” he huffs, but Yoongi cuts him off.

“No,” his boyfriend rasps, lifting his eyes for a brief moment. “I told you to relax. You can get me off later, if you’re that desperate.” There’s something ruthless in Yoongi’s smile, a challenge and a vow all at once, and he corrects himself in a voice that’s a knife wrapped in velvet. “I mean, if you’re still up for it when I’m done.”

He moves to kiss Hoseok’s ear, bites at it playfully, his breath hot against Hoseok’s skin. “I’m guessing you won’t be,” Yoongi whispers, and shifts against Hoseok’s crotch, harder than before.

Gasping as pleasure wracks his burning nerves, the student can’t find any words, and there’s so much certainty in the other man that he’s not entirely sure if Yoongi is boasting or not. Anticipation pools like hot lead in his stomach, and it feels so right to have the other man on top of him that he’s swept up in a heady, sweltering relief. His heart is beating hard enough to break the cage of his ribs, but his boyfriend’s presence keeps everything contained, controlled, and there’s something deliriously gratifying about giving that control to Yoongi. Hoseok’s leagues beyond ready, and already hard enough that tremors slide over his limbs every time his boyfriend touches him.

And Yoongi touches him again and again and again.

Under the artist’s graceful hands, Hoseok feels like a piano being played, each muffled moan eased from his lips with seamless perfection. His pleasure hums in his bones until Hoseok is struggling to breathe through the vibrations, and every time the rolling waves makes his eyes flutter, he forces them back open, grudging every second he misses his boyfriend’s expression. He’s unwilling to miss the way sweat glistens across Yoongi's forehead, to miss the tight anticipation gracing every hard line of his face. It occurs to Hoseok – a distant camera flash and nothing more – that the artist looks like this when he’s working on a tattoo, too, all intense focus and unfailing certainty. It makes it harder to look away, though the throbbing ache in his core sets his whole body to tensing in an infinity of want, and his eyes are heavy with the need to close.

After awhile Yoongi unbuckles Hoseok’s pants, and as the student writhes out of them, he helps, yanking them off and throwing them to the side. His warm fingers run against Hoseok’s thighs – a breath of touch – before they find Hoseok’s cock, his smile fading at the groan that Hoseok makes.

“Fuck,” Hoseok spits, and then again when Yoongi’s hand wraps around. “Fuck!” His lover strokes him, again too lightly, again too slowly, stretching him out until he wants to scream, fingers clawing into the sheets and sweat dampening the mess of hair in his face. His lungs scrabble at his ribs, too shallow, too pitifully incompetent to draw in the air he needs, and it doesn’t end; Yoongi is utterly merciless to the breathy pleas escaping his mouth in whining bursts. The artist’s face is a study in concentration, his mouth slightly open, lips shining with spit as his tongue constantly slides over them.

When Yoongi removes his hand, it’s like he’s carved out a bit of Hoseok himself, and if anything, the pressure builds, the need to have Yoongi closer to him rising on a wave of agonizing want. “Yoongi,” Hoseok pants, “Yoongi, come on. Come on, I need you –”

His head tilts, considering, and then the artist smiles, lazy with satisfaction. “I know,” he says. “But I owe you a fucking lot more than that.” Before Hoseok can question what he means, the man ducks his head, shimmies down the bed until he’s kneeling at Hoseok’s feet, and his hands are soft against the jut of Hoseok’s hips. He pauses, lingers in that position until Hoseok is squirming with desperate impatience, and it’s only when he whines that Yoongi relents from his teasing.

He bends over, barely taking Hoseok in his mouth, licking up the precum that’s already leaking out. The warm pressure is enough to force Hoseok’s eyes to close this time. He’s so hard Yoongi has no problem keeping up, and he seems to have no problem taking Hoseok’s length, either. There’s something obscene about the throaty sounds the man is making around his cock, the noise sliding slick and wet over his ears, as slick as Yoongi’s mouth. Hoseok finds his hands tangling in Yoongi’s hair, not quite hard enough to control his motions but needing to feel his hands on something before he loses it altogether. He’s almost afraid he’s going to come now, too soon, his hips jerking up against his control, and Yoongi takes every errant thrust with a hum and a tightening of his fingers against Hoseok’s flesh.

Breath hurtling from his lungs in ragged pants, instead of losing himself in the pleasure Hoseok loses himself in his boyfriend, in the slender hands digging into his hips, in the wet feel of his tongue and the unbearable press of his lips, instead of losing himself in the pleasure. Somehow Yoongi knows exactly what Hoseok wants, and his tongue and mouth become fervent disciples to those needs, to drawing out every last straining drop of pleasure. Each wracking wave sends simultaneous tension through the both of them, their muscles stiffening, and Hoseok knows he’s not imagining just how much his boyfriend is enjoying himself.

Even in this though, Yoongi takes his time. He draws up and down Hoseok’s length, right to the tip, his tongue lathing around Hoseok’s cock before he pushes himself deeper. It turns Hoseok’s nerves into electric currents and nothing else, constantly short-circuiting and making him twitch. It just feels so good, so much, like each indecent choking sound that Yoongi makes is putting more and more of something into Hoseok’s body. It’s not anything as liquid as water, but something heavier, hotter, weighing Hoseok down with shackles of desire his straining muscles can’t break. He keeps himself on those short chains, glad to stop himself from coming, reveling in the feel of Yoongi’s mouth.

He might even have managed to hold on for longer, too, if his boyfriend hadn’t moved his hand from Hoseok’s hip and started roughly running his fingers over Hoseok’s ass, over the curve of flesh and then lower. If Yoongi hadn’t added his touch on top of everything else, he might have ridden out the crippling heat soaking every single atom of his body. But Yoongi is an expert in saturation, and he douses Hoseok with so much pleasure that everything becomes a sharply jagged blur of colour.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok groans, his hands tightening, holding the smaller man in place. “Shit, I –” With a last pull of lips and swipe of tongue, Yoongi gets him off, and Hoseok comes in a burst of heat so intense it feels like its cracking all the bones in his body, right down to his curling toes. Yoongi takes it all, makes no attempt to get off of Hoseok’s cock, and with a wild, desperate abandon Hoseok fucks his face until the other man is choking, choking but still swallowing everything that Hoseok gives him, letting him ride off the high.

The pleasure fades like a starburst behind his closed lids, leaving a wrecked, weak sensitivity that howls with every little bit of pressure from Yoongi’s mouth, and eventually, his frantic movements slowing, he opens his eyes. When Yoongi pulls off of him with a wet pop, drool and cum stretching out in a long rope from his swollen lips, tears staining the corners of his eyes, Hoseok almost chokes on how sinful he looks, his throat suddenly sore. Sagging back, hands going limp as they fall from Yoongi’s hair, Hoseok can’t imagine being more complete than this. He thinks he’d die if there was something more added, his heart already sagging in his chest (but it might just be worth it to feel his boyfriend shift against him again).

There’s some part of him that wants to return the favour, but his boyfriend’s prediction is proving to be true; he’s so drained by the intensity of the last few minutes that he can barely lift his head, let alone start doing something productive with his hands. Hopefully the other man won’t mind too much, just this time.

Next he’s aware, after their ragged breathing has subsided, Yoongi’s straddling his hips, lightly this time, without the playful riding, though even that gentle weight sends near-painful skitters through his groin. Bending down, his boyfriend kisses him. The salty taste of his own cum has Hoseok stiffening instinctively, and Yoongi immediately pulls away, grinning. He’s never looked like the Cheshire Cat so much as he does now, his face flushed and splotchy, lips flecked with white until his tongue darts out to clear it away.

“Feel good?” the tattooist rasps, and this is the kind of sardonic that Hoseok can definitely get behind, sultry and dirty and so raw it’s almost red.

“Like I should be paying for it,” Hoseok replies, and that’s sharp enough to startle a laugh from Yoongi.

Wiping a hand across his mouth and chin, the slick motion making Hoseok swallow, the artist says, “I’m taking that as a compliment.” Which is exactly how it was meant to be taken, though to be fair, he’s pretty surprised at just how good Yoongi is at blowing. Maybe he shouldn’t be. Yoongi’s never been shy about his previous partners, and though extended relationships are few and far between in his history, the one-shot stories of bathroom stalls and strangers’ homes are a lot more prevalent. It’s never really bothered Hoseok before, but the thought makes him feel strange now.

Not angry, or insecure. He has no room for that in the tingling fullness that’s still contracting his lungs and shortening each breath. Angry at Yoongi for his past? Hoseok doesn’t have the heart for that. But the thought of Yoongi on his knees in front of someone else, erasing his life in the feel of someone else’s skin, it makes an uneasy, churning guilt fill his stomach, a strange conviction that he should have been there. He should have been the one to shelter this hard, broken man with his body, or been the one to make the storm so safe neither of them needed to hide from it. He should have...

Yoongi kisses him out of the memory of a mistake he never made. Hoseok is happy to leave, and kisses the other man right back, running his tongue over yielding lips that are perfect pictures of the present. “How many do you still owe me?” he asks suddenly, and the man settled against him tilts his head, clicking his tongue reprovingly.

“You’ve got a shitty business sense, you know that? Not keeping track? What if I told you that was the last kiss?”

Hoseok lets his expression slump into one of abject dejection. Softly, so softly that Yoongi has to lean closer to hear, he murmurs with extremely deliberate dramatics, “Then I wish you would have told me before. I would have treasured it more.”

He has the unusual pleasure of seeing his boyfriend go scarlet so fast it could almost have been a magic trick. His neck awash in red, cheeks stained but mouth stretched in a gummy, shy grin that refuses to morph into a scowl, Yoongi looks away, his hand trailing hesitantly over the flushed patch of skin just below his ear. Honestly, he looks so adorably uncertain that it hurts Hoseok’s chest, just a little, prickly shards of fondness burrowing under his ribs until they find his heart and stay there. It’d be a mood killer, except all it does is make him want to grab the other man and share all of his pleasure, just so that neither of them ever feels uncertain again.

Of course, Yoongi eventually manages to rein in his expression; he always does. But the sharp lines of his mouth have softened when he mumbles, head still turned away, “Shitty at business and dirty talk. Damn. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

It’d be easy to give the artist a hard time over it, except Yoongi’s shifting, restless with embarrassment, and it’s a somewhat pointed reminder that Hoseok is not currently wearing pants, that he has a very attractive man sitting in his lap,. and that he’s been – literally – down for the count for a good ten or so minutes now. Yoongi notices and latches on to that so quickly an ungenerous person might have said he was looking for an excuse to move on. He certainly does move on – Hoseok’s dick, specifically – with an abrupt, familiar smirk.

“Shit, you don’t take much time between shots, do you? Is that your experience, or have you got a special lens?”

Hoseok rises to the occasion – literally – with a careless smile, his hips beginning to roll against Yoongi’s ass. “Both. It helps when the person I’m shooting can keep up, though.”

Yoongi laughs roughly, making small, rocking motions that do nothing more than brush Hoseok’s thighs, the scrape of his jeans against Hoseok’s groin sending little jolts of lightning arching through him. “I can keep up,” the tattooist promises, and honestly Hoseok kind of wants to test that; it seems a little unfair his boyfriend hasn’t had a chance to take any shots, yet.

“How about you take off your pants, and we’ll see?”

“Mmm, you asking or telling?” There’s friction in those words, and the laughter dies in Hoseok’s throat when he meets Yoongi’s eyes.

He has to swallow against the suddenly renewed tension, but eventually he says, “Telling.” It even sounds convincing, his voice dropping an octave through the tautness in his chest.

Yoongi rolls his shoulders, inhaling deeply, insolence dripping from the motion… but a moment later he strips off his jeans and they join the growing graveyard of discarded clothes on the floor. The red at his hip turns out to be a blue moon with the crimson word “lunatic” slashing through it, and Hoseok’s fingers curl, again imagining tracing those lines. He’s more than happy to watch Yoongi take off his lowriding underwear, stepping out of them with thoughtless ease, and finally – finally – he gets to see the full picture of his boyfriend, stripped of everything else.

The sight swamps him with a sudden surge of déjà vu, hot and restless, like cinders under his skin. It’s like – it’s as if he’s seen Yoongi before, like this, a hundred times, a thousand times, a hundred thousand times. Like he’s been seeing him, stripped of everything, exactly as he is, for all his life. It’s not an overwhelming realization, not some awareness that drowns the fire radiating through every fiber of his being. If anything, it stokes the flames with relief, with desire, with certainty, stokes them until they roar across his skin in a searing rush that sets his blood boiling. If he was turned on before – and he was, God, he was – he’s amped to the breaking point now, the filaments of his body shuddering like they’re about to shatter. He just wants Yoongi’s breath, his heart, his – God, his touch. He leans closer to the other man.

And, just out of reach, seated near the edge of the bed – he suddenly realizes something else about Yoongi. There’s a swath of darkness just below his tattoos, a dimness barely seen, blending with the overwhelming fire.

Hoseok can feel it like an abrupt draft of cool air against his enflamed skin, can read the shadow like a neon sign set against the night. It’s not a sexual reluctance – he’s well aware of the state of Yoongi’s dick, as if he needed more encouragement – but something else, something deeper, something that lurks tantalizingly close to the surface of sight, of feeling. In the ever-growing sensation of connection, shot through with lust and heat, he can’t – quite – understand what it is, what the darkness he sees in his boyfriend means. It feels like a hallucination, or a delusion, or a – a lie, a lie set in the dilated pupils of Yoongi’s dark eyes, set so deep it almost disappears.

He falters. “Yoongi…” Hoseok whispers, and his boyfriend blinks, his expression abruptly rigid, and Hoseok wants to ask, the words are teetering on the tip of his tongue, ready to collapse, and –

Suddenly Yoongi wipes away the space between them, is clinging to him, frantic, desperate, like he’s trying to delete the question he’d glimpsed, and his scent overwhelms Hoseok in a heady wave of sweat and citrus. When Yoongi kisses him, his presence is like heated tar, suffocating the sudden misgivings in a layer of thick sensation, and the presence just gets heavier and heavier. Their skin brushes together, searing them both with a sharpness that’s panting breaths away from pain, but neither of them cares. Hoseok feels like he’s being consumed, but he doesn’t mind because he’s devouring Yoongi’s existence, too, and what they pull from each other might just be enough to make something whole.

He can’t hold on to his thoughts, let alone his questions. They melt away into a void, and all that’s left is Yoongi.

Yoongi, with his matches for fingers and kerosene lips and sparking eyes. Yoongi, with his catching fire that’s setting every single piece of Hoseok alight and only searing away what doesn’t matter. Yoongi, who touches Hoseok like he’s stroking a god, divine worship in his face and his touch and his every hitching breath. Their pleasure grows, mingling together until the one is the other, and it gets hotter still, sweat soaking their skin and doing nothing to quench the boiling temperatures.

They prepare themselves with feverish urgency, and Yoongi’s fingers, coated in lube, make a moan rip from Hoseok’s lips, even as he helps Yoongi with his condom. When they tumble together, a strain of strength and sinew, Hoseok finds himself on his back, his legs hitched over Yoongi’s hips, blotting out the moon, the other man leaning over him. There’s no placid teasing in his boyfriend now, no inclination to go slow; his fingers spread Hoseok open with rapid strokes, only easing when a strong flicker of pain crosses their connection. Both of them are shaking, wracked by the tension of keeping themselves together, and trembling anticipation curls ever more violently in the pit of Hoseok’s stomach.

One hand scrabbles across Yoongi’s back, desperately searching for an anchor in the midst of the flaring drive, and Hoseok’s other hand wraps around the artist’s dick, inspiring a hymn of curses and grunts. It’s the least Hoseok can do – and the most, actually, given his muscles are melted, every movement clumsy with heat – but it barely repays the way Yoongi is working him over. Every few seconds new waves of pleasure ripple through his body, growing higher and higher, pressed into being by the other man’s slick, relentless fingers. Both men gasp and moan around each other, fragmented words dropping onto their skin like incomplete tattoos, and the words go deeper, too, wrapping bones and veins in burning, dirty sentiments that can only bind them closer together.

Eventually Yoongi’s fingers aren’t enough, leaving a yawning ache that the stretch can’t fill, but Hoseok isn’t left writhing for long; almost as soon as the ghost of dissatisfaction begins, his boyfriend changes tack. The fervent touch withdraws, making him whimper, but the tattooist isn’t gone, isn’t a hairsbreadth away, and his hands palm Hoseok’s ass, spreading him wider. The lube is more than enough to smooth the way. His boyfriend pushes into him with a guttural grunt that sweeps ash and embers across Hoseok’s vision, and he cries out, almost crashing over the edge with that one motion. Yoongi stills, letting the black and charcoal-red recede from Hoseok’s eyes, and then he begins to move again, rocking into Hoseok with strong, deep certainty.

The slap of their skin, Hoseok’s breathy gasps, Yoongi’s hoarse groans, they blend together and blanket the sound of his heartbeat, pounding against his eardrums, his blood thrumming like it’s alive. It’s too dark in the room to see much of anything at all by now, but somehow his boyfriend doesn’t really leave his sight, like he’s been burned into Hoseok’s mind and no darkness can possibly erase him. He takes up so much space, and Hoseok revels in that fact, in the air that Yoongi’s weight is pushing from his lungs, in the hand stroking his cock and splintering his bones with too-sharp pleasure.

Yoongi somehow manages to control himself, not throwing on the breaks but making every move so deliberate that he strings Hoseok out into a mess of motion and near-madness. Everything outside of the two of them doesn’t just fade; it stops existing altogether. Each thrust fills him to the brim, and it’s only a matter of time until Hoseok overflows, a matter of time and heat and pressure that builds and builds until his fingers are digging into Yoongi’s back, nails biting into his skin, anything, anything to release the steam roiling under his flesh.

It takes longer to get there than before, but when he comes for a second time, the ecstasy tears through Hoseok like a hurricane, ripping up his remaining coherency and leaving it in shreds. He comes in Yoongi’s hand, and the feeling tips beyond delirium, beyond anything he’s ever experienced before – and it doesn’t stop. Yoongi’s steady momentum arches his back, rocks his body with every jerk of his hips, sending tingling drops cascading down to the tips of his fingers. His pleasure strains, wild, a peak of heightened everything and nothing all at once – and it doesn’t stop.

Hoseok is in no condition to question it; he’s barely conscious, his orgasm stretching out in a cloud of combustion through his nerves. Yoongi’s thrusts get faster, harder, until Hoseok’s whimpering and twisting through the buzz of over-stimulation. Somehow, faintly, he’s aware of – two colours, two temperatures, two drives that are separate but still together. One is – a little outside of himself, still burning, still building in a crescendo of ever-tightening tension, and the other is – himself, his orgasm, fading but not really because arousal still dances through his groin as if he hasn’t just come as hard as he ever has in his entire life.

Yoongi’s close; his hand falls away from Hoseok’s raw cock, fisting tight around the sheets, and through his delirious haze Hoseok rolls his hips, doing his best to keep up with the other man’s jarring pace. A gut-wrenching thrill surges through his stomach, a thrill that’s bewilderingly present and removed, all at once, like he’s sharing it with someone else, and Yoongi makes a choked noise that sends a completely familiar skitter across his skin. His body seizes in a paroxysm of pleasure, just as Yoongi’s does, and for one long, breathless moment they’re frozen in a picture-frame of incandescent, overwhelming indulgence, hitting each other note for blinding note.

As he stares up at Yoongi’s face, barely discernable in the dim light, caught in the fervent web of scorching sensation, a dizzying vertigo strikes Hoseok so hard that his eyes flutter, muscles once again seizing, almost to the point of pain. His bewilderment goes hand in hand with his release, and he has a momentary, sickening impression of looming over himself – of sweat trickling down his face, dripping onto the person under him – of red, thoughtless pleasure pulsing through his dick, still buried in Hoseok’s ass – of the sound Hoseok is making, strangled gasps every time Yoongi trembles inside of him – of – of –

Of Yoongi collapsing on top of him, energy abruptly spent, a sudden warm, lethargic surge loosening the visceral claws buried in their quivering bodies. The heat slumps across them like a tattered blanket, and for a long moment, Yoongi lies on him, struggling to catch his breath – and Hoseok is struggling, too, sinking back into himself amidst churning confusion and stinging satisfaction. Each time either of them moves, it provokes a groan, rising from their jumbled lungs, and the smaller man is very slow to pull out. He hefts himself up, and a soft, drawn-out fuck falls from his lips, no edges in any of the syllables. His movements languid, Yoongi pulls off his condom, disappears for a few seconds to throw it away.

They’re both soaked in sweat, sticky with it and Hoseok’s cum, but neither of them can summon up the energy to get up and do anything particularly productive about it. They use a sheet, pulled from the bed, to wipe themselves off, and then banish it to the floor. Yoongi subsides against Hoseok, partially resting on him, and they don’t say anything to each other. What could they say? He can’t get a grip on his emotions, can’t understand what happened, restive uncertainty fighting with a powerful, relaxed haze that he doesn’t want to battle his way through.        

He leans back against the headboard, each movement sending strains of delayed gratification singing through his body, a balm to his suddenly disturbed calm. Hoseok impulsively reaches out to trace his fingers across Yoongi’s collarbone, like he needs to prove the other man’s still there. He’s gratified to find that Yoongi isn’t impervious to his touch; he can feel the other man’s heart beating hard under his hands, and the artist leans into the contact. Contentment stretches between them, sluggish with sexual satisfaction, and on a sudden whim, Hoseok pulls his boyfriend down to cradle against his chest. The weight is too much against his strung-out nerves, making them whisper in protest, but he embraces the feeling even as he embraces Yoongi.

Their breathing is in-sync, he notices after awhile. It’s actually harder to draw in a breath offbeat to Yoongi’s inhalations than it is to breathe at the same time. The smaller man seems content to nuzzle into his neck, only occasionally brushing his lips against Hoseok’s tingling skin, and Hoseok finds his arms tightening around the warm body settled against him. Protective fondness laps like waves at the edges of his mind, a gentle murmur, and he slowly draws his fingers over the little stories embedded in Yoongi’s flesh, some of which he knows by memory and others lost to the shadowed room.

Eventually his searching fingers find themselves resting in the crook of Yoongi’s arm, just above the circle of intensely brilliant colour that he can’t see in the dark. That’s not unusual. He often finds himself drawn to the sun, more so than the other tattoos, and his boyfriend is affectionately tolerant of his tendency to stroke it whenever they’re settled together.

“Yoongi…” His whisper settles into the silence more than brushes it aside, and the tattooist’s response is a worn, inquiring murmur. “Why’d you get this?” He’s never asked before, shying from the subject, but it leaps from his mouth now. It feels like an important question, somehow, connected with the connection that’s fading just as sluggishly from his memory as the pleasure is draining from his limbs.  

He thinks the man won’t reply; for a long time, there’s nothing but empty quiet in the full space taken up beside him. He’s just beginning to wonder if Yoongi fell asleep – the atmosphere is thick and drowsy enough for it – but no, once again the silence is joined by a hesitant voice. “You remember when you first saw it?” Hoseok hums his assent. “I… it was after our fight. It’s something that can – fuck, I don’t know. Make me remember, or…” He pauses, fights with the stillness pressing on them. “You’re – you know how much you mean, right? How much you’re… what you are, to people?” Yoongi’s voice drops, losing ground to the quiet. “What you are… to me?”

The tightness in his chest is a strange hybrid of trepidation and warmth. All the words bunched on his tongue are inadequate, and he doesn’t really know what to say. There’s a suggestion there, a hint that he doesn’t know how to embrace. He’d known Yoongi had gotten the tattoo during that dead-grey week of separation, but he’d just assumed that was a coincidence; he hadn’t thought it had anything to do with him. How could it? Why would it? Why would anyone spend money on anything even remotely related to him?

He ends up laughing lightly, because it seems like it’d be a good thing to do, for Yoongi and for him, too. His shoulders lift, a brisk shrug, but the other man refuses to be put on a different track. “I’m serious, Hobi,” Yoongi says flatly. “It’s… look, this is some stupid shit but if you laugh, I’ll kill you. We stopped talking and I realized that – that I had lost something. I’ve lost a lot of shit in my life, but…” Another pause, deeper and longer than the last, before Yoongi finishes, so rushed it’s hard to catch everything he’s saying. “I dunno. I’d never had a sun to lose before, but I didn’t want to start, y’know? That’s why the tattoo’s there.”

There’s utter, dumbfounded silence, at least on Hoseok’s part, and he’s faintly certain that Yoongi’s stopped breathing. Then, so fast he can’t keep it contained, a rusty sort of screech hurtles from his chest, from his heart, his limbs abruptly flailing in a wild release of the jaw-aching tension. If he’d been on his feet he would have started jumping up and down; as it is, he wriggles in one spot, immersed in a totally different kind of heat so painful his cheeks might as well be on fire. Yoongi’s fist clouts his shoulder reproachfully, but that does nothing to dim the urge to dance in place. He doesn’t know what to do with the teeth-rotting glee, excitement and embarrassment.

It overflows until he abruptly can’t keep it to himself anymore. Disregarding Yoongi’s extremely half-hearted protest, Hoseok wraps his arms around the other man, little shrieks still escaping him, shakes both of them around until Yoongi’s objections dissolve into helpless laughter.

“You’ve lost it,” Yoongi manages to choke out somewhere in between, and he has, he definitely has, but Hoseok’s pretty sure whatever it is, it isn’t worth keeping.

They laugh until they’re on the verge of tears and Hoseok’s stomach hurts and his body just wants to flop over and turn off. Their mirth subsides in fragments, excited giggles continuously climbing from one or the other and pulling them both back down into hilarity. The explosion of amusement eventually simmers down, not gone but contained, and, his laughter still thrumming in his voice, Yoongi says, “You’re too fucking cute, you know that, right?”

Hoseok snorts, trying to dampen the leaping of his heart. “Seriously? I don’t think you get to be the one to say that.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s like – what is it? The pot calling the kettle black. Except cute instead.” He laughs and tacks on teasingly, “So cute!”

Yoongi groans, buries his face in the crook of Hoseok’s neck. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbles, and Hoseok’s got to disagree with that.

“I’m glad you did,” he says, and strives to get it out seriously, without giggling, because he means it. He’s only partially successful, but the student figures Yoongi appreciates the effort; the other man snuggles closer, and if he’s embarrassed, Hoseok can still feel the way his lips are quirked into a smile, branding it on Hoseok’s skin. “It was... nice. To hear,” he continues, softer now. Did that completely capture the extent of his uncertain delight in hearing Yoongi compare him to the sun? No. Not at all. But it’s all he’s got.

“I meant it, too,” Yoongi says, almost belligerently. “Even if it sounded stupid.”

“It didn’t,” the film major assures. “And – that week seriously sucked, for me, too. I didn’t – I can’t say it like you did, but I’m glad we figured it out.” And they did, mostly, although there’s still a bit of a learning curve. Clearly, they’re on the same page when it comes to sex – and most other things, too – but there’s still that feeling that hasn’t quite escaped his chest, that he can’t quite put to rest as it paces the misty confines of the back of his mind.

Hoseok’s tired, though. He’s not in the mood for calculations today. Truth be told, he rarely is when it comes to Yoongi. They seem to fit together even when they shouldn’t, to equal something whole even when they’re both just broken fractions. That’s a truth he knows, and the other questions, the – the thing that feels like a lie, sometimes, when Yoongi speaks… They just don’t seem to be important enough to risk the sleepy, unabridged comfort that the man in his arms brings.

“I’m glad, too.” Yoongi’s voice is hoarse with fatigue, low and getting lower as it slips away. He shifts drowsily, until his head is resting on Hoseok’s chest, one arm laying across Hoseok’s stomach, the other tucked under his cheek as he curls up in that adorably compact way he always has.

They let their conversation die, breathing still in sync, and the night presses hard against their eyes but can’t expunge the comfortable warmth of their bodies pressed together. Yoongi is the first to go, his small frame slowly going limp as sleep climbs over him. For his part, Hoseok runs his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, an idle stroking that soothes away the raspy murmurs coming from the unconscious man, a gentle touch that stills a brief period of agitated shuddering. Before too long, he too feels the heavy weight draping over his limbs, and there’s no point in resisting. His eyes are already closed, so he just slides down the headboard, careful not to jostle the person on his chest, and pulls Yoongi closer to him.

He holds on to the other man, and with that solid, reassuring presence in his arms, his grip on his doubt collapses. When Hoseok finally nods off, he’s still holding on to Yoongi, but everything else has fallen away.

---

Yoongi rarely dreams, and tonight isn’t an exception. He doesn’t need to, though; wrapped around Hoseok, he sleeps for an unheard of eight hours. It’s a sleep that’s painless and quiet except for the soft, steady sound of Hoseok’s heartbeat, present even in Yoongi’s unconsciousness, and it’s all the dream he needs.

[hulksmashin-bannerpackin]

Hearts Mend

Pairing:
 Bruce Banner X Reader

Summary: Sequel to Heartbreak! You do have to have read the first one to understand it so here it is:

Heartbreak

It had been a year and a half since Y/N L/N had disappeared, a year and a half since she had left a hole in the heart of the Avengers and a year and a half since Bruce refused to stop looking. Whenever he had free time he was finding new ways to track her down. He scanned the news for any sign of a glimpse of her, he built machines specifically designed to track her energy signature he even resorted to weaving codes into the internet he knew she undoubtongly would see asking her to come back.

Bruce sighed for the umpteenth time as yet again he came up with nothing again. His heart sank as he he heard the alarm signalling there was a mission, that meant he’d more then likely have to end his search for today. He thought about all the times Y/N never gave up on him, all the times she helped calm the other guy and all the times she noticed when he was having a bad day and did whatever she could to make him happy. He couldn’t give up on her, not after all the times she never gave up on him.

He stood and felt the bones pop in his crack as he stretched to his full height. He hoped there wouldn’t be a code green today.

————-

Bruce sat huddled in the corner of the jet listening to his headphones, he tried to calm down but all he could think about was how he and Y/N had sat down together and designed the playlist after Tony had bought Bruce a brand new iPod and pair of headphones. The other guy was getting harder and harder to come back from and Bruce knew that it was directly his fault, he almost wanted to stay and smash, vent out all his frustrations and stress at the lack of success in finding Y/N.

He clicked his iPod off and pulled off his headphones, there wasn’t much of a point it wasn’t working so he tuned into the conversation.

“You need to treat this more seriously Tony!”

“I am taking it seriously.” Tony said choosing to ignore Steve’s glare. “And I seriously think it doesn’t matter. Their weapons are always flawed in some way or another, we can still take them out.”

“Steve is right Tony. The fact is AIM’s tech has gotten significantly better in the last year and it’ll only mean problems if it keeps improving.” Natasha pointed out as Tony simply rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know Nat, I’m with Tony on this one.” Clint spoke up as he was fiddling with one of his specialty arrow heads. “They send em in and we knock em right out.” He simulated shooting a bow and arrow while making a little whoosh noise.

“I too agree! They haven’t made anything we haven’t been able to take out yet.” Thor smiled triumphantly in agreement.

Natasha rolled her eyes.

Men.

She turned her gaze to Bruce, noticing he was watching their conversation.

“What do you think?” She turned around fully to face the scientist, her eyes slightly softened.

Bruce gave a small shrug, averting his eyes and pretending to be disinterested. He ignored the rest of the conversation.

—————-

One day Tony ended up finding Bruce sitting pathetically on the floor of his lab surrounded by broken equipment. It had all just gotten too much for Bruce, he let go, he hulked out and ended up destroying all the work he put into finding Y/N.

Tony stepped out of his Iron Man armour and grabbed a lab coat draping it over his friend with a sad gaze. “Bruce, I think it’s time to stop looking for Y/N…” Tony said quietly and reluctantly. Bruce didn’t move or speak, opting to continue to stare at the floor for a while before he exhaled and nodded. He supposed the time finally came to give up.

I’m sorry Y/N, I failed you…

—————

Bruce tried to move on and for the most part it worked. He continued to work and fight and build. He helped Clint design arrows, he had movie nights with Tony and he spent evenings with Natasha. Everything was relatively normal again. Except the dull ache in his heart always remained. The tinge of anger that still flared when he saw internet articles with wild theories about what happened to Y/N, most of which did not put her in a good light.

He just felt incomplete again. He use to feel like this when he was on the run and he had honestly thought the feeling went away because he joined the Avengers, lived comfortably again and had friends now and to be fair most of it was but he lost the feeling of completion when he lost Y/N. It reminded him of the pain he felt whenever he thought about Betty.

How could he be so stupid as to loose two women who had loved him? How could he be so stupid as too continue his relationship with Natasha when he didn’t put his whole heart into it? He had always been close friends with Natasha, they understood each other on a deeper level so they had a stronger connection and he supposed it was because he was so selfish that he didn’t want to loose another important person in his life. It was times like this Bruce remembered what a terrible person he truly was.

————————-

“I don’t think this working out anymore.”

Natasha announced, startling Bruce and causing him to look up from his Starkpad.

“Wha?”

“Us.” She interrupted. “We should break up.”

“Natasha I-”

Once again Bruce was interrupted albeit in a gentle manner as Natasha sat down beside Bruce and held his hand. “I don’t want to loose the close friendship that we have, other then Clint you’re the only person here who understands me.”

She placed a USB in the hand she was holding. “I found her.” Bruce’s eyes widened as he looked almost dumbly at the USB in his hand.

“How?” His voice was quiet as he closed his fingers around the small device.

“There are some things that a computer can’t do that the Black Widow can.” Natasha said proudly.

Bruce pulled Natasha into a tight hug. “Thank you Natasha, you mean so much to me.”

She accepted the hug and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. “And you know I adore you.”

————–

And so Bruce Banner once again took the roads and traveled alone. The difference was he wasn’t running, he wasn’t heading anywhere without a direction or purpose. Now he had a goal and he was going to bring Y/N back.

It took Bruce awhile to find the little down in Alaska she was hiding herself away in. She was definitely off the grid, it was a wonder how Natasha had found her. He got off the bus he had taken and looked around breathing deeply. The air was so fresh. He smiled as he thought for a moment that maybe if he found her they could stay here together, so he could selfishly keep her to himself but he shook the thought from his head. Their place was home with the Avengers.

————

Y/N was sitting at her work bench drawing up designs when she heard her door knock. She narrowed her eyes and cautiously made her way to the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone so she she focused her energy ready to blast whomever the intruder was if they were dangerous. She opened the door and gasped when her eyes met the beautiful brown ones she knew so well. She quickly attempted to slam the door closed but Bruce quickly stuck his foot out, grunting slightly as it stopped the door, he channeled some of Hulk’s strength to force open the door.

Y/N squeaked as she stumbled backwards. She got her footing back and still backed away from Bruce. “How did you find me?” She refused to show how happy she was at seeing him. She scanned him quickly, he looked scruffier then usual, unshaven and he somehow looked more tired then usual and that was saying something as Bruce more often then not looked tired.

Bruce was doing the same as Y/N, eyes taking in her appearance, his hands twitched at his side at how much he wanted to pull her into a hug and never let go. There was so much he wanted to say to her. A thousand possible things words his lips wanted to spill but he could only manage out one small sentence.

“Come home.”

Y/N blinked in surprise before frowning and looking away from the man she longed to see again for over a year. “Bruce, I can’t. You shouldn’t of come.” She said quietly.

“No. You’re lying Y/N. I know you are. You have to come home. The team isn’t the same without you.” Bruce stated stepping closer to her, closing the door behind him.

“I can’t come back Bruce.” Y/N started to tear up and Bruce couldn’t take it anymore. He crossed the small distance between them and pulled her into his arms. Even if Y/N wanted to pull away and fight she couldn’t. Her body moved on its own as her arms wrapped tightly around Bruce’s waist. She inhaled sharply as her head dipped against his neck and she started crying.

“It’s okay.” Bruce placed a hand against her head, holding her in place against him, where she belonged. “I’ve got you now. It’s okay.” Bruce let her cry and held her, trying to remember everything about this moment, take in all the details. He felt the hole in his heart finally start to mend and he knew that she was the reason. “Please come home.”

Y/N finally pulled away, breaking from his grip and wiped her eyes with her palm. “I can’t Bruce. I’m sorry I can’t. Please, leave.” She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t be reunited with Bruce and have that taken away from her by knowing she could never have him. “I can’t go back…” She walked to her work bench, indicating Bruce to follow her as she placed her hand on the large sheet of paper spread across the bench.

“They’d never, accept me back…”

Bruce’s eyes followed her hand. “Y/N…” He knew what the drawings were as soon as he laid eyes on them. “Why?”

“They helped me fix my suit… I was out of control then. I could of killed myself but more importantly I could of killed other people.” She looked at her drawings of weapon designs, when she started running AIM approached her and she had reluctantly agreed to help them build weapons in exchange for a new suit that could channel her energy powers safely. “I always built in defects though, they never noticed. I always made sure they weren’t strong enough to stop you all.” She smiled sadly. “The Avengers would never take me back. You shouldn’t either Bruce. Forget me, go back with Nat and be happy.”

Bruce slowly approached her and once more pulled her into an embrace. “We broke up, we figured we worked better as friends. Besides I got a letter and I found out the one I loved more then anything had actually reciprocated my feelings.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she craned her head to look up at Bruce only to feel his lips pressed against her own. She was frozen. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening. So she shut off her brain and let her heart take charge for once and kissed him back, allowing all the hurt and all the passion to pass through her.

“Come home, if you don’t I’m staying here with you but… Everyone wants you home Y/N.” Bruce said after he pulled away from her lips, keeping his tight hold on her. Y/N smiled shyly as she allowed herself to enjoy the hug, for the first time in years she finally felt… Complete…

“Okay.“

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