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hoonbear · 2 years

Text

eyes for you

Despite his outwardly cold appearance, Watanabe Haruto is perhaps the sweetest boy in all of existence, and as you come to know him you realize your feelings for him may exceed friendship. What you don’t realize is just how romantically he means it when he tells you he only has eyes for you.

PAIRING : watanabe haruto x gn!reader

GENRES : fluff, crack, slight angst according to readers but i swear it’s worth it, high school au, strangers to friends to lovers au

WORD COUNT : 5,342

WARNINGS : profanity, this whole fic is kinda narrative in the beginning with only bits of dialogue until the end

PLAYLIST : be with me - treasure / ミズキリ- yuuri / darari - treasure / i love you (piano ver.) - treasure / daphné - amir / o sole mio - iz*one

TAGLIST : @soobin-chois @beomsun

A/N : hello!! this is a fic i had been writing in 2020 and decided to rewrite + add the ending LMAO but i love ruto sm and whoever’s reading this i rlly hope that this could bring a smile to your face! thank you sm to the loml jaymin simp alice (@hyuckworld @tyonfs @jayflrt @jaytendo @juunnies @jjacob @iinnie @shuaflix @chromekook @addysucks) for making my banner and for motivating + helping me in general! LMFAOO SORRY but ily liceypoo truly

WATANABE HARUTO FASCINATES YOU.

You can’t pinpoint what exactly it is about him that intrigues you so, whether it’s the way in which he shyly dips his head upon entering your Photography classroom, or the way he clasps his hands together in order to make his shaking fingers less apparent. Whatever it is, you know right at that moment that there’s something about his aura that draws you in, even as he stumbles over his words when he introduces himself as the new foreign exchange student from Japan. (You decide that maybe, just maybe, you find him a tiny bit cute.)

Your fascination with him only grows when he’s assigned to be your seat partner, Haruto greeting you with a slightly awkward but polite bow when he approaches you. When he settles in next to you, you can’t help but grin at the way he haphazardly adjusts his long legs under your shared desk, he himself letting out a small laugh at how his height plays against him in situations like these. It’s easy, genuine, and you can immediately tell he’s attempting to lighten the uncomfortable situation that comes from any two people meeting for the first time. You wholeheartedly do the same, managing brief introductions with him before the lesson starts. Still, the man is a bit of an enigma to you. His profile lingers in your mind even after you both part from the class, and your brain is left with a mess of questions, hoping to get to know him better.

Curiosity leads you to begin unconsciously observing him over the next few weeks, catching onto his small tendencies such as his way of scrunching up his lips when he’s concentrating. It’s endearing, his little pouts and the way he looks up at the ceiling when he ponders on an answer, often fiddling with his pencil as well. Although you’d never admit it out loud, you develop a particular fondness for his tendency to play with the back of his ear when he’s nervous, a characteristic of his that’s normally accompanied by flushed cheeks and a cute flash of teeth.

Alongside the little habits of his you pick up on, however, one of the main things you notice by being in his company so often is how extremely quick your classmates are to shun him simply for being so new, so different from them. It’s baffling, to say the least, how they avoid his gaze when he attempts to make eye contact, or how they pretend like they can’t hear him when he asks a question. You often find yourself carried away by the sheer frustration of it all, finding the need to defend Haruto whenever you notice your classmates purposefully ignoring him.

"He’s not invisible, you know,” you tell your classmate when she bumps into Haruto and says nothing. She nods briefly in response, throwing Haruto a mumbled “sorry” before hastily running off.

“Thanks,” Haruto whispers, shooting you a grateful look, but you can sense the lingering dejection behind his eyes—his eyes that eventually, you notice, can only stand to make contact with yours.

As furious as you are by this whole situation, there’s no denying that it also sparks a bit of pity in you, and perhaps that’s especially why you strive to strike up a conversation with him. However, the boy still intimidates you just a little bit. After all, the only comfortable conversations you’ve had with him are about your class, often involving a borrowed pencil or shared answers. You often consider how you can hold a lengthy conversation with him on a topic other than school, but you always come up blank.

When your teacher begins to introduce the first project for your Photography class, in addition to writing its due date on the board, you hear a quiet groan from beside you.

“That is not enough time for a whole portfolio,” Haruto grumbles, and you can tell in the way he leans towards you that he’s talking to you. “My ideas are definitely gonna suck ass.”

“I’m convinced she just wants us to fail at this point,” you respond, to which Haruto laughs quietly. The bell rings almost immediately after, and you impulsively catch Haruto’s arm as he begins to stand up. “Do—do you maybe wanna meet up to work on the project? We could help each other out.” You shrink up slightly at the hastiness of your question, expecting a blunt, or even cold response. What you don’t expect is the warm smile breaking out on Haruto’s face, his eyes sparkling in a way that nearly knocks you off your feet.

“For sure! Should we exchange numbers to work out the details?” You nod, matching him with a smile of your own, but you feel guilt creep into your conscience for being so quick to judge him from his tough appearance.

Your text messages with Haruto start out icebreaker-like, questions asked and answered on both ends in an effort to become more comfortable with each other. When he shows up for the project as promised, things are still slightly awkward, perhaps because you’re not online or in the school environment you both had become familiar with seeing each other in.

“So . . .” you start, trailing off as Haruto responds with a hum of acknowledgment. You can’t help but internally cringe at the pause that follows, deciding not to make eye contact with Haruto out of fear that you’ll become more nervous. Instead, you look around the park you two stand in. The embarrassment kicks in after, and you feel stupid looking around the park as if you don’t know the place like the back of your hand, as if you’re not the one who suggested meeting up here in the first place. Finally, Haruto fills the silence.

“It’s weird meeting like this, isn’t it?”

The breath you were holding comes out in a laugh, and you relax as you turn to face him. “I thought I was the only one thinking that.” Haruto grins at that, and from there you fall into your usual, easy conversation.

“The sky gets really nice around the time, so it’s great for the project. We could also take pictures of each other if it fits one of our themes,” you suggest, and Haruto’s eyes light up.

“In that case, you fit my theme perfectly.”

You allow Haruto to take pictures of you to satisfy his project, posing according to his instructions. He gives you bizarre guidelines for what expressions to make, supplying you with a variety of scenarios to imagine to “get you in the mood,” to which you ask, “Do you have these thoughts often?”

“I take pictures from my imagination,” he replies, shrugging comically, and you giggle.

The two of you are soon throwing in bits of conversation completely unrelated to your class, losing productivity the longer you talk. To say the two of you are beginning to get distracted is an understatement—by now, you’re snapping picture after picture of Haruto as he haphazardly attempts to climb one of the trees. You learn that he’s absolutely not one for balance, but he surprisingly manages to pull himself onto one of the branches after a few stumbles and much more laughter. You’re eventually taking selfies with him from the ground in which you catch him falling off the tree in what might be the most hilarious photo sequence you’ve ever taken. Haruto survives the fall, thankfully, and he can’t help but join in your chuckles.

“We should probably stop now,” you suggest in between gasps of air, Haruto himself still clutching the sides of his stomach.

“You’re right, we definitely won’t be getting anything more done,” he agrees, and you promise each other to meet up again and get more done the next time. (It isn’t until after Haruto leaves that you realize you’d spent nearly four hours with him.)

When the deadline for the portfolio passes and you receive your scores, you can’t help but feel dread settle in your stomach as you wonder whether it means the end of your growing friendship with Haruto. Now that you won’t have the constant excuse of the project, would you never meet outside of school again? However, you find yourself relieved when Haruto approaches you at your lunch table to discuss the project, which you both succeeded at with flying colors. You briefly compare your pictures, laughing as you come across the ones you’d taken of each other and recall the days you’d spent. Haruto never tells you what the theme of his project is and why he needed so many pictures of you for it, but you swear that you catch a glimpse of it scribbled on the cover of his portfolio. (Beautiful.)

You begin texting Haruto more often, and the awkward “did you understand the assignment?” texts turns into late-night musings over the most impulsive thoughts your brains would spit out. As you get to know him better, you find that Haruto’s messages in particular are often accompanied with long lines of emojis when he’s particularly passionate.

”Thoughts on sushi?” Haruto once texts you at 3:00 A.M., and you can’t help but laugh at the timing and spontaneity of it.

y/n: never had it actually

haruto: no fucking way

haruto: you have to try it i’m so serious

y/n: are u gonna make it for me 😚

haruto: think i’ll burn down the kitchen another day...but i’ll search up restaurants

haruto: i miss it so much

haruto: i miss home

Your heart clenches at the last text, and you find yourself almost immediately peeking outside the door of your room to check if anyone is awake. Of course, no one is at this hour, so you tiptoe down to the kitchen to see if you have the ingredients. When you proudly show Haruto your creation the next day at lunch, you push away the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when he lets out a delighted gasp, his eyes tearing up. When he takes a bite of the sushi, his face breaks out in the largest smile you’d seen on him. He’s glowing, and it hits you with a wave of emotions that you chalk up to relief over him liking the food, because the idea of it being anything else is too scary for you to consider. (It occurs to you later that day that for the past month, you had been spending every lunch with him.)

At one lunch break, Haruto mentions a coffee shop he had recently discovered, where he invites you to hang out. The shop soon becomes a regular meeting place, the two of you discussing a wide variety of topics from your wish to pursue photography as a career to his hidden passion for track. You pretend not to notice your heart stuttering in your chest when you see the sparkle in his eyes as he describes the team he was on in Japan, and he tries to ignore his ears turning red on the several occasions in which your fingers touch his.

You begin to rely on each other, supporting each other at various events and offering encouragement as friends do. Haruto is there at every single one of your photography contests, and likewise you accompany him at tryouts after hours of convincing him to display his talent to the school’s track team. Indeed, you’re the first person he calls when he gets in, barely able to contain the squeal in his voice when he breaks the news to you.

The two of become accustomed with calling each other by nicknames, the name Ruto usually slipping from your mouth on impulse. (Eventually, though, you find yourself intentionally using it just to watch the way in which his eyes brighten and his lips turn up.) Haruto himself becomes incredibly fond of teasing you, constantly making fun of the little things you do and possessing a knack for making you laugh at exactly the right moments. And of course, eating sushi together becomes one of your favorite shared activities.

You’re not sure when it is exactly, but your friendship soon takes a more intimate turn. You grow closer to each other in ways you might not have been before, and multiple times you find yourself wondering why it is that Haruto makes your heart flutter differently from that of other friendships.

You notice it the day he leads his team to victory in their first major relay race, when you shriek, “That’s my best friend!” in delight and run all the way down to the track straight into his embrace. “Oh my god, you did it!”

Haruto’s arms wrap around you instantly, and as he spins you in the air you can only hear the sound of his laugh and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. When he finally sets you down, you have to convince yourself that the running is the only reason your heart’s racing, and that it definitely is not because Haruto’s looking at you like you hold the entire galaxy in your eyes, like he would fly to the moon and back if you asked him to.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. “I didn’t do anything.”

Haruto shakes his head, his grip on your waist tightening in the slightest. “You did. I definitely wouldn’t have joined the team if you didn’t drag me to tryouts. So, thank you.” He gives you one of his most dazzling smiles as he leans in to hug you again. You’re left with the feeling of your stomach turning, jumbled in a way you can only compare to the lens of a camera going in and out of focus.

Over time you realize that there’s more than simply the blurry-lens confusion, that there’s also a strong gratitude you feel towards him. You feel it particularly at the times that you call him late at night, usually out of overwhelming feelings of stress or a simple need to talk. Whether he was previously asleep or not, Haruto always picks up, and somehow despite your nearly incoherent rants, he understands you perfectly—he always does. He patiently listens to all of your troubles until you’re out of breath, and by the end of it, he routinely asks you to promise him that you’ll keep calling him whenever you feel this way. He continues to surprise you with his methods of calming you down, sometimes turning on his video camera so his words can more sincerely reach you, and other times singing to you, his low, baritone voice instantly soothing you to sleep. (He tries not to let any awkward stutter show in his voice each time you praise it. Singing embarrasses Haruto, but he does it over and over for you.)

Haruto has a way of communicating his feelings more strongly through his actions than his words, and it touches your heart in a way you’d never experienced. He takes to clinging to you when the two of you walk through the school halls, often gripping your arm so that he doesn’t lose sight of you in the huge mass of students. Other times, he squeezes your hand as a silent form of encouragement, and the simple gesture means more to you than you could ever tell him. On one particular night at your house, he opens up to you regarding his homesickness and you almost immediately embrace him.

“I know it’s hard being away from home, and I’m sure they’re thinking of you a lot too,” you console him, feeling him nestle further into your shoulder in response. He sniffles, trying to make the sound subtle but your heart cracks when you realize he’s crying.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but you shake your head and tighten your hold.

“Don’t apologize, I’m glad you told me. I’m here for you, okay? I'm sorry I can’t do much, but I’ll make you sushi tomorrow.” You stroke his hair carefully as he cries into your shoulder. In between little hiccups, he recounts whatever he can about Japan to you and what he misses. You avidly listen, holding him in your arms for nearly a full hour.

When Haruto calms down enough to stop shaking, he pulls away from you, enough so he can face you but not enough for you to let go. You can’t help but marvel at how he still looks gorgeous despite the remains of tears streaking his face, and you briefly wonder how someone can be such a pretty crier. However, all thoughts fly out of your head the moment Haruto musters the courage to lock eyes with you. Your breath hitches, caught off-guard by the emotion in his expression that you can only describe as pure, unadulterated sincerity. He says nothing, only leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Haruto is truly a man of action, and the warmth of the kiss tells you more than words need to. He’s thanking you—for listening to him, for supporting him, for everything, really.

The heart-pounding exhilaration combined with the deep comfort and respect you feel for Haruto only confuses you further, and you spend many nights lying in bed contemplating what it all means. Most importantly, if it is what you think it could be, how in the world are you supposed to tell him?

You figure that it’s best to wait, that he probably can’t use another distraction in his life, especially with his increased popularity among your schoolmates for his remarkably stunning performances on the track team. A part of you feels irritated by it, at how the very same people who initially refused to even look at him grew to claim to be his number one supporter. But Haruto never fails to notice your annoyance, nor does he ever fall short on teasing you for it, poking at you and asking if it makes you jealous.

“Aw, come on, don’t be mad. You know I only have eyes for you,” he would frequently say, nudging your shoulder as he’d flash his signature mischievous grin. Of course, it never fails to make you smile, nor does it fail to spike your heart rate, although the latter is something you choose to address later at night with the rest of the confusing feelings.

Watanabe Haruto fascinates you, and despite you taking care to remember even the most trivial things about him, you somehow never realize just how genuinely he means that last sentence.

The sound of Haruto nearly stumbling on a crack in the road snaps you out of your thoughts. You whip your head towards him instantly, laughing at the sight of his one arm spread out for balance, the other linked with yours as his shoes jaggedly scrape against the pavement. You flush when you become aware of just how close you are to your destination, realizing that you’d been zoning out watching him. You’re well aware that it’s starting to become a problem—by now you’ve figured out that you very clearly harbor a crush on him, but lately you’ve been doubting yourself far too much, wondering whether it even is a good idea to confess and how you would do it if so. For now, you push these repeated questions aside to assist your friend so you don’t fall into another pensive spiral.

“Come on,” you tease, “you can do better than this, Ruto.”

“Hey! I wouldn’t be tripping over the road if you didn’t have me blindfolded in the first place,” Haruto insists with a frown.

“Just a little bit longer, I promise.”

A noise of frustration leaves Haruto’s throat, but you know he’s resigning in how he doesn’t complain any further. You squeeze his arm lightly to reassure him, knowing he’ll be patient for as long as you ask him to be but still not wanting to leave him in anticipation for too long.

“Be honest,” he calls out after a few moments of silence, “you first started talking to me because you felt bad for me, right?”

Your steps falter at the sudden question, your arms drooping in the slightest as you feel a pang in your chest from the hesitance of his tone. Still, you know that he deserves the most honest answer from you.

“I mean, part of me definitely felt that way, but I wouldn’t say it was the only reason. There was curiosity, anger, charm—I don’t know, I just don’t think there was one solid motive.”

“Anger?” Haruto questions, and you laugh a little as you feel his elbow nudge you.

“Not at you, obviously. I meant that I didn’t like everyone else ignoring you for being new when you weren’t so different from them after all. I didn’t want to treat you like that just from a first glance, so I decided to get to know you.” Haruto hums in response, and you resume walking, leading him carefully along the sidewalk.

“Wait, charm? Do you find me attractive?” He teases, lips stretched out into a playful grin. You immediately break into a series of jumbled protests, leaving your friend chuckling. You’re thankful that he can’t see your flustered features, which he normally would have incessantly teased you for.

“The point is,” you splutter, desperately trying to avoid the question, “you were never a pity friend to me.” You’re thankful Haruto doesn’t pry further, only nodding and leaning just a little bit into you. It’s then that you feel his slightly tensed shoulders, noticing the way his breath shakes when he inhales, and you realize that he’s insecure.

“Ruto?”

“Hmm?”

“You know that I never regretted it, right? Talking to you was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

“Me too,” Haruto whispers quietly. You’re taken aback by his words for a moment, as he’s normally not one to verbalize his feelings in such situations. Still, you smile.

“Good, then there’s no reason to be insecure, okay? I like spending time with you, and I like doing things together like this.” You rest your head against his shoulder as you say this, continuing to guide him through the streets. Suddenly, Haruto stops walking, reaching up to tug the blindfold off his eyes. You gasp at the ease of his motion.

“I thought I tied it better than that!”

“Fuck the blindfold. Let me guide you now,” he insists playfully as he steps behind you. “Come on, arms around my neck,” he instructs as he wraps an arm around your waist and tucks the other under your knees. Realizing what he’s about to do, you instantly shake your head, protesting as he begins lifting you up.

“You’ll drop me!” You joke, but Haruto only grins as he fully gathers you in his arms, and you throw your arms around his neck on instinct.

“Just tell me where to go, okay?”

“It’s not supposed to go this way!” You huff. “I should be the one taking you there, not vice versa.”

“Hey, it’ll still be a surprise! I don’t know this area that well anyways, I’ve only been here like twice.”

You sigh, about to protest again, but your train of thought momentarily freezes as you realize Haruto’s approaching the park you wanted to take him to. Haruto appears unaware of the location, however, and you look up at him expectantly. You realize from the shift in his eyes that he’s distracted and a little bit nervous. He stops in the middle of the grass, turning his head to look at you.

“I have to tell you something,” he blurts out, before you can even ask what he’s thinking of. He looks down at you, waiting for your acknowledgement. When you give it, he takes a deep breath. “I’m not going back to Japan this summer.”

Your eyes widen instantly. “How come? Did something go wrong?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Haruto shakes his head fervently. “I just—god, I don’t know how to say this.”

“Go on,” you prompt, finding it adorable how his ears begin to turn red as they always do when he’s nervous.

“You, this place—it’s become like my second home.” He says it with a touch of embarrassment but sincerity, gaining confidence with his next words. “I’ll still visit Japan, and I’ll probably still miss it. But whenever I did get homesick you helped me so much with it that I realized I want to stay here longer, that it’s worth it.” By now he’s leaning closer towards your face, eyes directly pinned on yours.

“I’m your second home?” You can’t stop the smile pulling at your lips, laughing with amazement. “I’ll make your stay worth it, I promise. Oh my god, you’re amazing.” Haruto blushes but doesn’t avert his eyes, and he’s close enough to you that out of a sheer burst of happiness you lean up and plant a kiss onto his cheek. His skin is surprisingly warm despite the low temperatures, and the heat spreads to your own face. Haruto is frozen when you look at him, and for a moment he simply gapes at you, his eyes slightly dazed. “Fuck,” you curse. “I shouldn’t have done that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry Ruto—.”

“Y/N,” Haruto cuts you off, instantly blocking your stream of words. “Shut up for a second.” He secures his grip on your lower back, lifting you higher in his arms so your breaths mingle. You only process what he’s about to do when he leans in enough for your noses to touch, your heart pounding with exhilaration. Your eyes fall shut, and Haruto takes it as a signal to connect his lips with yours. The kiss is soft, sweet, and you tighten your arms around his neck so you can match his lips. Haruto pulls away gently, but his lips still lightly graze your own as he whispers, “I like you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “What?” The word spills from your mouth faster than your brain can keep up, and you can feel your ears burning. “You’re kidding,” you add, although you know that Haruto isn’t one to joke in such situations. You knew there was a chance of him liking you back, but hearing the confirmation of it leaves you completely shocked.

“It’s about time I reciprocated the feeling, no?” He smiles at the way your eyes widen when you process his words. You can’t help but stare at him in stunned silence for a moment before you find your tongue.

“Reciprocated? You know?”

“That you like me? I’m not stupid, you know. It just took me a little longer to realize that I felt the same.” Haruto says the last part gently, turning away in the hopes that you’ll miss the pretty blush spreading over his cheeks, although he’s just a little too late. Haruto straightens so that he’s no longer face-to-face with you, desperately avoiding your gaze.

“No fucking way,” you breathe. WIth a burst of confidence, you use your grip around his neck to pull his face back down to yours. However, with Haruto still carrying you bridal-style, your combined weights causes him to stumble over his feet. You crash to the grass, screeching as you realize Haruto is about to land directly on top of you. Thankfully, he manages to plant his hands on either side of you, catching himself before that can happen.

“My god, you always had shit balance,” is the first thing you can think to say.

“Well maybe let me know the next time you pray on my downfall!” Haruto grumbles.

“You idiot, I was trying to kiss you!”

“Oh.”

You snicker at the innocence in the word, and Haruto laughs sheepishly. However, the expression on his face quickly switches to something more intimate, and as he lowers himself to his elbows you’re suddenly aware of the proximity of his body to yours. It’s like you’ve read each others’ minds, for the moment you hold his face in your hands he’s already diving in to kiss you again. When you separate from Haruto, met with his pure, fond gaze upon you, you feel as though the blurry-lens confusion has finally come into focus.

“You know, Ruto, I never answered your question before. I do find you attractive—I always have, and I don’t just mean your face. I love the way you get nervous, but also how expressive you are when you’re passionate. I love that you’ll always talk to me even if it’s four in the morning, I love eating sushi with you, and I love it so much when you sing. I’m not trying to steal your phrase or anything, but for this past year, I really have only had eyes for you. And it seems like I’ve already made this obvious, but I really really like you, Watanabe Haruto.”

The post-embarrassment from your words is all worth it when you see Haruto break out into a huge smile despite him being a flushed mess. There’s a glimmer in his eyes again, one so beautiful that you think even the sun couldn’t dream of rivaling it.

“I have a suggestion,” he voices, and you smile encouragingly. The affection in his face shifts to a smug grin. “When I win my next relay race, you could say something other than ‘that’s my best friend.’”

You smirk, immediately knowing what he’s getting at. “Like boyfriend?”

Despite him being the one to hint at it, Haruto nearly chokes at the directness of your words. Still, he doesn’t oppose it, a hint of longing in his eyes. “I mean yeah, only—only if it’s okay with you.”

“Hmm,” you feign a thoughtful expression, and Haruto whines at your teasing. You giggle, giving in. “That would have a nice ring to it.”

“You think?” The genuine hope in Haruto’s tone makes you melt, and you nod immediately. Haruto beams at you like you’ve just given him the world, and you quickly place your hands on his shoulders, unsure if you’ll be able to stand anymore of it.

“Come on, walk around the park with me,” you urge, gently nudging him off you. Haruto obediently stands up from the grass, pulling you up with him. Finally, he takes a moment to process his surroundings, his eyes scanning the park with apprehension. The sky has darkened, but the streetlights illuminate the area just enough for him to recognize it as his mouth parts in a little gasp.

“No way, it’s the park we did the portfolio at! How long ago was that, like a year?”

“A year,” you affirm, finding it adorable the way Haruto wistfully observes the park. “It feels like it’s been forever, right?” A mumbled agreement barely leaves Haruto’s lips before he’s grabbing your hand to drag you around the area, his excitement comparable to that of a little child.

And somehow, things feel exactly the same as they always had between the two of you. Haruto still clumsily climbs the tree and he still nearly breaks his leg falling off it. You still laugh and poke fun at him the whole time. (The only difference, really, is that he openly calls you beautiful this time.)

Eventually, the two of you slow down to more lazy steps as you continue along the path surrounding the park. Haruto’s arm is casually circled around your waist, his gaze locked on you as he listens to you ramble. He’s so focused on you that he almost trips over the sidewalk again, to which you wonder whether he’ll look away from you at all.

“The stars are really pretty,” you test, jutting your head towards the space behind Haruto.

“Yeah, they are,” comes Haruto’s response, his eyes completely fixed on yours, and you raise your eyebrows.

“There’s like, barely two stars out right now. You didn’t even look over there,” you point out, the amused smile on your lips giving away that you’re not actually offended.

“Sorry,” Haruto chuckles, his eyes glimmering and tone softening with his next words, “you know I only have eyes for you.”

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ackletze · 2 years

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[[Genorisity]] Chapter 14

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Spamton & The Addisons

Warnings: Mentions of mental illness and depression

Beta Reader: @is-cat

Ao3 Link: Here

Spamton wanted to go home. Which was weird, because he was already home.

He sat on his bed in his room in the Queen’s mansion, surrounded by all his things, and felt utterly overwhelmed by the feeling that wanted- needed- to go home. His lush bed was no longer comfortable as he sat on its edge, the spacious room suddenly felt overcrowded and claustrophobic, and he felt anything but safe as he wondered exactly how much longer his savings would pay his rent now that he wasn’t making any money.

As he waited for the phone to ring, Spamton had little choice but to try and ignore the feeling. He counted back first from 100, then 1000. He then tried 10000, but that gave him a headache, so he instead tried to imagine he was somewhere else. First, he pictured himself driving around the city. But, even in his mind, there was endless traffic and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he wasn’t driving anyplace but was instead driving away from someone or something. He tried to think of something else to imagine, but all his mind would do is bring him back to the present, where he sat pathetically staring at an unringing phone.

When did he become so uncreative, Spamton wondered. Back when Skip and he had shared a room, the two of them would spend entire nights talking about fantasy situations and arguing over the various pros, cons, and logistics of each one in-depth. Spamton could still feel the hot air of their attic room being blown around by their old box fan and hear Skip practically yelling to be heard over it. If Banner was home he’d come up to their room sometimes, too. Ostensibly, he’d be there to tell them to shut up and let him sleep, but Skip would always manage to pull him into the conversation. Usually, the conversation would just turn into Banner and Skip complaining about work and unreasonable customers or the like while Spamton listened sympathetically, but on Spamton’s favorite nights Banner would join in on the debate.

Spamton shook his head violently to try and dislodge the daydream. He didn’t need to be thinking about his loser family again, especially not on a night like this when everything was so close to being ruined. He couldn’t risk not being alert and ready to talk when the phone finally rang. Because Spamton knew, the phone would ring. It had to. Because if not-

Spamton started over counting down from 10,000. By the time he got to the 3,000’s, the phone finally rang.

“Hello?” Spamton said, almost crying from relief into the receiver. “M1ke?”

“HELLO SPAMTON,” Mike answered. “DID YOU GET THE DATA I REQUESTED THIS TIME?”

“Yes!” Spamton answered as quickly as he could without accidentally interrupting Mike. “I [[have]] them all here.”

“GOOD,” Mike answered. “READ THEM TO ME.”

“Okay!” Spamton agreed. Hesitantly, he added, “It’s just- just- just- I was won dering if maybe it’d be easier to read- for me to read them to you- if I c0uld speak clearer.”

Without the glitch, Spamton silently added, praying that Mike would finally show mercy and help him get rid of it. It’d been weeks since Mike had given it to him as ‘motivation’ to work harder and Spamton wasn’t sure how much longer he could take not being able to talk.

“SPAMTON,” Mike said. “READ ME THE DATA.”

“Okay! S- Sorry!” Spamton squeaked, hastily grabbing the printed papers from his bedside table. He proceeded to read, in his broken voice, aloud, about all types of things he didn’t understand. Spamton vaguely understood that the papers were related to what the Lightners called the internet and that that was related to Spamton and Cyber City in some way. It was all Mike really seemed to be interested in these days, and, even if he didn’t understand why, Spamton was beyond grateful for it. It gave Mike a reason to keep calling, and that’s all Spamton needed.

By the time he was finished, Spamton’s voice was hoarse and his headache had blossomed into a full-on migraine. Wordlessly, he waited for Mike’s verdict.

“VERY GOOD,” Mike said. Spamton sagged in relief.

“Th3n-” Spamton began, but Mike cut him off.

“I NEED TO GO NOW, BUT WE’LL DISCUSS THE GLITCH NEXT TIME,” he said.

Spamton smiled but nodded. “Thank [[you]].”

“GOODBYE, SPAMTON,” Mike said.

“When do you- you th1nk you’ll call back?” Spamton asked, but the line was already dead.

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

Spamton wanted to go home. Which was weird, because Spamton didn’t have a home.

The feeling welled up from his deepest core into every fiber of his being, overwhelming him with its intensity. Spamton knew that there had been things in life he’d needed more, wanted more, but at the moment he couldn’t think of a single one of them. Spamton just wanted to go home.

The problem was, even as he wallowed in the feeling, Spamton couldn’t think of where exactly he was longing for. Not any of the dumpsters he slept in or the so-called shop, and certainly not the Addison’s home. He didn’t even want to go back to his old room at the Queen’s Mansion, not really. He just wanted to go home.

Eventually, when the feeling got too much to bear and he regained his senses enough to realize he was getting soaked from the rain, Spamton got up, out of his hiding place in between trash in one of the dumps’ alleys, and made his way slowly back to the street. As he limped out of the alley, Spamton realized he wasn’t alone.

“Oh,” Frequency said. He turned around, glancing away from the broken pop-up message he had been looking at. “You’re back.”

Spamton laughed nervously. He had thought Frequency and Banner would be long gone

“[[back to back specil]]?” Spamton said, relaxing a little when Frequency made no sign of attack as revenge.

“You’ve been, um, zoned out. For a while,” Frequency said. “You were talking about Mike?”

Spamton wanted to scream. That memory hadn’t been for Frequency to hear. He hadn’t even realized he had been speaking aloud again.

“It sounded like a bad memory or dream,” Frequency said awkwardly.

Spamton shook his head. “IT W4S THE L4ST TIME SPOKE.”

“Oh,” Frequency said. He looked more uncomfortable than Spamton even felt. “That’s cool.”

“IT;S REA LLY N0T,” Spamton said, annoyed, and before he knew what was happening the rest was falling out of his mouth. “HE ABAND0NED ME, T0O!! JUST WHEN [I] NE3DED HIM!!1! BUT YOU’D NO ALL AB0UT THAT, RIGHT?? RE4LLY. IT’S A MIR ACLE I EVER HAD ANywoN TO BEG1N WITH.”

Frequency didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, nervously, he asked, “Who is he?”

“M1KE?” Spamton asked, crossing his arms. “I DON’T KN0W. WHAT DO YOU C4RE??? OR ARE YOU ST1LL [[jealous]] HE CHOSE ME AND NOT u???”

Frequency looked sick. “I think he was bad news, Spam. I think it’s good he stopped talking to you.”

Instead of arguing, Spamton turned to leave. But, with his limp, it was easy for Frequency to run in front of him.

“Spamton, just wait!” Frequency said, blocking off Spamton’s path. “Please! I just want to talk.”

“W3LL, I DON’T W4NT TWO,” Spamton said, but he didn’t try to run away again.

“I know,” Frequency said. “Listen, I’m really sorry about your phone. Can we just go home and talk about this?”

Spamton winced at the mention of his phone and shook his head. “I’M NOT GO ING [anywhere] WITH YOU AG4IN!! JUST L3AVE ME ALONE!!!”

“I-” Frequency began but sighed. “I’m not- I can’t force you to do anything, but please. I’m sorry. Banner’s sorry. If you come home with me, we can figure something out. We can get you another-”

“I DON’T need AN0THER PHONE. I N3EDED THAT [[perfect 1]],” Spamton said, resisting the urge to stamp his foot out of fear of falling over.

“I know! I just-” Again, Frequency cut himself off. Even under his rage Spamton couldn’t help but notice that something was off. His brother seemed outright disturbed by something. “Spamton, please. You’re unwell. You don’t have to stay with us forever, but come on! Just come back for the night at least and heal up a bit more.”

“N0! I JUST W4NT TO G0 H0ME!” Spamton yelled.

“What?” Frequency asked. “I don’t- What do you want, Spamton? Just tell me what I can do to make this right!”

“YOU C4N;T DO ANYTH1NG! [[Neither]] OF US C4N!” Spamton yelled. “JUST L4AVE ME ALO NE.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Frequency yelled back. “Just leave you here and- and never see you again?”

“YES! I N3VER W4NT TO [[see ya]] AG41N!” Spamton yelled. “I DON’T [WANT] TO SEE ANY OF YOU AG4IN!! YOU 4LL ABAND0N3D ME Y3ARS, THEN WH3N I FINALLY [get it while it lasts!] T0 S3E YOU AGA1N, YOU JUST TR3AT ME LIKE I’M BR0KEN CR4ZY!!1!”

Frequency looked as if he might start crying. Or maybe screaming. “Spamton, that’s not what we- We don’t mean to treat you like that. If you just come back-”

“N0!!!” Spamton yelled.

“You’re not crazy! I know that!” Frequency said. “And you’re not broken! You’re just hurt and need help. Help that we can provide!”

“NO!! JUST L3AVE ME AL0NE!” Spamton cried.

“Everyone’s out looking for you right now. Skip and Snippet and Banner! We just want to help you.”

“I D0N’T CAR E!! GO AW4Y!” Spamton yelled.

Frequency was quiet for a long time. Almost long enough to even make Spamton uncomfortable. Spamton could practically see his mind turning as he tried to think of something to say.

“Well,” he said, voice soft. “If we’re never going to see each other again, can I tell you a secret?”

Spamton laughed bitterly. “I KN0W YOU [[hate]] ME, FR3QUNCY. TH4T S NOT A S3aCRET.”

Frequency frowned. “I don’t and that’s not what I was going to say. A real secret. One you don’t even know.”

Spamton shrugged, trying to calm down from the previous yelling as he breathed rapidly. “F1NE. IT BET TER B3 [[GOOD AS GOLD]], TH0UGH.”

“You, uh, you said we think you’re crazy. Which isn’t true, but anyway. But, our family knows I am crazy, and they still put up with me.” Frequency said. When Spamton began to turn to leave, Frequency quickly continued, “No, really! I’m not mocking you. I know it’s hard to believe, but this is me medicated.” Frequency finished with an awkward, self-deprecating laugh that made Spamton pause, curious.

“I, uh, have always been me I guess. But I got worse after you left and did something dumb. Snippet and Skip convinced me to get help, but Banner knows about it, too. Like I said, they all put up with me, even with that.”

“Y0U’R SER1OUS???” He asked.

Frequency nodded.

“Y0URE SERIOUS,” Spamton laughed harshly. “WHY D0 YOU TH1NK I W0 ULD P0SSIBLY C4RE?”

Frequency frowned. “I just wanted to, I don’t know, let you know. Since the rest of the family does. And I thought it might help? I guess? To know. That you’re not alone in being thought of that way.”

“IT D0ESN.T,” Spamton said. “THOSE ARE T0O C0MPLETELY DIFERENT TH1NGS!!”

Frequency shrugged. “I know, I know. I guess I just always kind of wanted you to know, anyway.”

“WH4T? Me?” Spamton asked, laughing. Frequency really was reaching if he was lying so brazenly.

“Yeah. I used to be so happy that you were gone by then, but the more I think about it, the more I wish you had known. You, at least, would have joked about it. Treated me like normal even if that meant calling me an asshole.” Frequency said.

“I’M ALW4YS HAPPY TO Call YOU OUT,” Spamton laughed, speaking without thinking.

“I’ve missed that,” Frequency admitted. “I’ll miss that,” he corrected.

Spamton winced. “D0 YOU R3ALLY NOT [hate] ME? EVEN AFT3R EV3RY THING?”

Frequency nodded. “I’m sorry if I made you think I did. I really used to think I did, too, then you were gone for so long. Somehow, I really missed you, even while I thought I hated you,” Frequency admitted with a laugh.

Spamton was quiet again, and the two of them just sat in silence, listening to the night air.

“I N3VER H4TED U,” Spamton finally said. “I R3ALLY MIS SED YoU, [[too much]].”

Frequency smiled. “Then why not come back with me? I-”

Spamton cut him off. “B3CAUSE IT W4SN’T SUPPOsseD TO BE L1KE THIS!! IT W4SN’T SUPP OSED TO BE I WAS STILL BR0KEN.”

Frequency laughed, annoying Spamton. “You said we were the ones that thought you were broken.” Upon seeing Spamton’s expression, Frequency quickly covered his mouth and tried to stifle the laugh. “Sorry, sorry. My point is you’re not! So why worry about it?”

“I JUST W4NTED TO BE SUCC3sfull AG4IN. TO PROVE YOU 4LL WR0NG,” Spamton said.

Frequency sighed but still smiled at him. “Spamton, we were wrong. You don’t have to prove that.”

“BUT Y0U WEREN’T! IN THE 3ND, I FA1 LED, JUST LIKE YOU ALL KN3W I WOULD,” Spamton cried.

“Your business failed, sure. But you’ve done some amazing things. You’ve survived on your own for years, without even a place to stay. You survived some supernatural phone creep and came out to tell the tale. And your business was successful for a while! In ways I can’t even imagine.”

“TH4T’S NOT GO OD EN0UGH!! I N3ED TO BE SUCESSFUL N0W,” Spamton said.

“Then let us help you be successful!” Frequency offered. “Between the four of us, I’m sure we can help you do whatever you want. Want to go back to advertising? Plenty of work there. Art? Fashion? Cooking? One of us can help you with that, too. Hell, even if you’re dead set on this whole breaking into the Mansion thing, you can count on us.”

Spamton rolled his eyes at the image but shook his head. “H0W DO I NO YOU W0N’T JUST ABAND0N ME AG4IN?”

Frequency frowned. “I- I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what to say. I am so, so sorry about that. We all are. If you give us- me- another chance, then I promise you it won’t happen again.”

Spamton swallowed. He thought of his brothers, out in the middle of the night and in the pouring rain, looking for him. He thought of how much he wanted to go home, and what a home would actually look like. How he’d want it to feel. Who he’d want to be there.

Spamton thought of Mike. How many times he’d reminded Spamton how better off he was without his family. How he’d never called back, not after Spamton’s voice had gone out from the praying and begging. How he’d left Spamton completely alone in the world and how Spamton knew that Mike had never thought twice about doing it.

“OK4Y,” Spamton said. Frequency beamed, but Spamton kept talking. “OK4Y, BUT THIS T1ME I CAN L3AVE WH3N EVER I W4NT.”

Frequency looked nervous, but nodded. “Okay.”

“AND AND AND AND I D0N’T HAVE TO DO 4NY TH1NG I D0N’T WANT TO!!! AND TH1S D0ESN’T MEAN I FORGIVE YOu!! ANY OF Y0U.”

Spamton wasn’t sure if Frequency would accept the last part, or if he’d get angry and accuse Spamton of the one who needed to be forgiven. To Spamton’s surprise, Frequency just looked relieved.

“Okay! Anything else?” Frequency asked.

Spamton thought about it, then shook his head.

“Let’s get out of this rain then,” he said with a tired smile. It wasn’t until then that Spamton realized just how soaked both he and Frequency were.

Spamton nodded, and the two made their way home.

#[[Genorisity]]#deltarune #fanfic #frequency (oc)#depression //#suicide //#spamton utdr #utdr #my writing

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jkstompers · 4 years

Text

don’t go | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader

summary: you and jungkook were simply roommates, nothing more than that. no matter how much you wanted to get to know him, jungkook always left before you were able to get any deeper than two weeks into his past.

word count: 3.3K

genre: roommates, established friendship, hidden feelings, angst, slight fluff

warnings: none! :) (except maybe some typos...ignore that...haha...)

author’s note: yes hi hello! i’m so sorry i haven’t posted in so long AND I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS FIC THE DAY AFTER VALENTINES UGH!! I’M SLACKING, I’M SORRY!! i’ve been writing but i don’t have the motivation to finish and ugh it’s a mess in my brain right now. this fic i was able to finish though! hopefully u enjoy it ♡(ŐωŐ人) please let me know what u think! sorry again for being so inactive T口T.

side note: this is how i imagined jungkook in this fic! his pink sweater and long hair (╯°▽°)╯ ┻━┻ .crying.

also banner picture cred: here <3

“welcome home roomie! how was your month long vacation from me this time?” you greet jungkook when he walks into the kitchen for breakfast. he just came back last night from one of his month long rendezvous that occur way too often in your opinion. jungkook would disappear and reappear every other week or so. he never told you where he went and you never really found yourself dedicated enough to find out.

“fun,” he answers flatly, “and to be specific, it was only two weeks.” he clarifies the time he spent away, sitting down at the island and surveying the food you laid out. you outdid yourself this morning, an array of different breakfast foods. “you made all of this?”

you nod, “they were about to go bad, so you better finish all of it.”

he sends you a half smile, teetering on a smirk as he takes the plate you hand him. “you doing anything today?” he asks. his fork stabs through two pancakes and moves them to his plate, shoveling bacon and eggs onto there as well.

“on this fine sunday? sadly, no, just some homework i need to finish.” you sigh, taking a sip from your glass of water. your seat is to the right of jungkook, at the head of the island. it’s now that you really take your time to look at him. his morning look in all it’s glory. a face swollen and hair messy in the cutest way. it wasn’t fair that he was attractive during times when you’re supposed to look unattractive. his hair has grown a little longer since you last saw him, the ends of his hair touching the apples of his cheeks now. speaking of his cheeks, he stuffs them full of food and chews, his eyes wandering around the apartment until he makes contact with yours. catching you staring.

he swallows, bringing his glass of water to his lips before speaking again, “my face that interesting to you?” the question comes with a piece of pancake on his fork, offering it to you.

like a reflex, you open your mouth to accept the pancake. but you scrunch your nose at the remark he made, “you look different.”

the statement is meant to be innocent, speaking of the way his hair is a little longer and how you notice a new tattoo gracing his arm. but jungkook seems to take it a little deeper, your words ringing in his head. different? does that mean you look at him different? is he prettier now? uglier? what do you mean by that?

“do you want to go grocery shopping later?” he asks. hoping you didn’t notice the long pause he took to overthink.

“sure,” you shrugged. a small bubble of excitement forming in your stomach. “we’re out of ice cream anyway.” you try to carry a nonchalant reaction when nods.

when the two of you finished filling your bellies, jungkook helped you wash the dishes and clean everything up. the feeling of having him around makes you feel at ease. you wish it was like this more often. for the past two years jungkook had been your roommate, he paid his dues, cleaned his messes, and kept you company from time to time. when he wasn’t there (which was ⅔ of the time) it didn’t feel right. it would feel colder in the apartment, even if the heater was turned up. just...empty. sometimes you wished his socks or hoodies were left lying around the apartment for you to pick up and bicker with him about. rather, he cleaned every spot, no laundry to pick up, no spills to wipe, nothing. leaving no signs that he lived here at all.

“nap for a little bit and then we’ll go?” jungkook asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. you nod, telling him to wake you up when it was time to go.

you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. your eyes open to see jungkook in front of you, pink sweater and black hair, contrasting perfectly in the sun that’s shining through your window. “let’s go now,” he says.

you nod, getting up from your bed and stretching as you walk over to your closet, grabbing a sweater to wear. jungkook offers to drive, you sit in the passenger seat, mind focused on what you had to buy for the house. you make it to the store and grab a cart, jungkook following behind you, “do you need anything?” you ask.

“some shampoo and conditioner,” he answers. you nod, moving to the bath section and waiting as jungkook chooses his items. the rest of the trip consists of you and jungkook asking each other if you needed said thing for the apartment. “we have to get more blankets,” he declares as you pass the home goods section, grabbing a fluffy blanket.

you scold him, “we have too many blankets, put it back.” he presses his lips into a tight line, showing his dissatisfaction. you both continue to walk around a little longer, moving to the food section. “see, this is what we need!” you pull out the cookie dough tub.

“dough?” he snorts, taking a look at the bucket as you hold it.

“it’s ready to eat cookie dough! no salmonella for us!” you smile, dropping it into your cart. jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, you knew he wanted the cookie dough too, you were just taking one for the team.

walking a little further into the food section, jungkook taps your shoulder, pointing to the other side of the freezers. “ice cream?”

“oh, yeah,” you nod, pushing the cart that way. you pull the vanilla ice cream out and place it in the cart, jungkook furrows his eyebrows.

“vanilla? out of all the flavors here? really?” he stares at you, a serious look on his face. you can’t help but start laughing, his face breaks, a small smile appearing on his face but he tries to get back to a serious expression.

“it’s good! and you can eat it with the cookie dough,” you reason. jungkook rolls his eyes, you always seem to find a way to stump him, he can never argue with you for too long, you’re just too good of a talker. he takes out a mint chocolate tub from the freezer. you don’t say anything but your face scrunches, visibly disapproving.

“don’t start, i will argue for mint chocolate until the store closes.” he warns. you decide to stay quiet, a smile cemented on your face as you make it to check out. the rest of the trip goes smoothly from there, picking up some food on the way home and then making it back to the apartment.

the two of you decide to do some things on your own when you got home. jungkook had to clean his room and do some laundry while you had to finish your homework. a period of comfortable silence fills the apartment, unlike the cold silence that you were terribly used to. you couldn’t have felt any more content than how you feel now.

a few hours pass before jungkook finishes his chores, you were finished with your work and were now scheduling your next week. he peeks his head into your room, coughing to get your attention. your head turns at the sound, “movie?” he suggests.

you smile, standing from your desk. the two of you travel to the couch and plop down on the seats, your hand reaching out to the coffee table for the remote. “which one?” you ask, turning the tv on and clicking random buttons that bring you to netflix.

“that blue one, with the blonde.” he points as you scroll through the selections.

“mamma mia?” you snort.

“looks interesting,” he shrugs. unfolding the blanket and splaying it over the both of you. the first fifteen minutes of the movie plays before both you and jungkook start getting hungry. a rock, paper, scissors game ensues to figure out who’s gonna get up to get the snacks. you lose, 2 to 1.

you grumble, pulling the warm blanket off of you and moving to the kitchen. taking a bag of chips out, some candy that you had in the pantry, and then the tub of ready to eat cookie dough out of the fridge. the weight of it proving you to be one of the weakest human beings. the tub practically slams onto the counter. the lid once again proving that your strength was not that of thor’s. “jungkook!” you shout from the kitchen.

“what?” he yells back.

you try once more to pry the lid open, but to no avail. so you shout once again, “help me open the cookie dough!”

you hear jungkook groan, but nevertheless he comes into the kitchen, his face silently asking what you need him to do. you show him that the lid is basically stuck and he takes it from you, trying to take the top off but he seems to struggle as well. “here, you hold and i pull,” he suggests, holding onto the lid as you hold onto the bucket part. something told you this wasn’t going to work, maybe you should have left it out to thaw first before you tried to open it.

if someone were to walk in, the two of you would look ridiculous, but the cookie dough gives after a minute or so of pulling. the effort makes both you and jungkook stumble onto the kitchen floor. both of your laughs overlapping each other. you hold the cookie dough, “let’s stay here first, i’m tired.” your breathing is exaggerated to add effect.

he grins, moving to grab two spoons before sitting down next to you, against the cabinets on the floor. he sticks the two spoons into the cookie dough, the two of you start digging in. “you know what would be perfect with this right now?” jungkook sits up, standing again and moving to the freezer. you raise an eyebrow, wondering what he’s got in mind. “your vanilla ice cream,” he pulls the tub out.

“and to think you were making fun of me in the store for it,” you narrow your eyes, taking the ice cream from him. jungkook stands above you, smiling at the way you remain on the ground instead of going back to the couch in the living room. nevertheless, he joins you with his spoon in hand.

he watches as you scoop from the container, over exaggerating a shiver when you put it in your mouth. “cold?” he asks, but you shake your head. he looks over to your arm, your goosebumps raising. “liar,” he snorts, taking off his hoodie and handing it to you.

you give him a puzzled look, “i can just get my own—”

“just take it,” he cuts you off, throwing the jacket into your arms. secretly, you smile to yourself, throwing the hoodie over your head and sliding it on. it smells just like him, an overbearing scent that you’ve found comforting these days. a sudden warmth rushes over you.

the sound of the tv is in the background of your conversation, but you only pay attention to jungkook, the man who’s digging into your vanilla ice cream and feeding it to you. “you like feeding your roommates or something?” you mumble as you eat the cold cream.

he shakes his head, a smile on his face. “you’re the first roommate i’ve had.”

you raise your eyebrows, “like ever?” he nods. “makes sense, you don’t know proper roommate etiquette, because you’re never here,” you snort. it was a joke, but it was true. you were projecting your upset through the statement. he is never here, and you just wanted to know why. did he not like being around you? is he just using this place to shower and store his things? was that it?

jungkook doesn’t reply to your remark. completely disregarding it when he speaks again, “yeah, i’ve lived on my own before i moved in here, i moved around a lot.”

“why?” you ask. jungkook never answered ‘why’ questions. always said that it was never your business, that you were always so nosy.

but this time he sighs, “not really sure.” his spoon stabbing into the cookie dough, scraping the sides for the softer dough. “never really had a reason to stay.”

that was the most you’ve ever heard from him. no matter how much you wanted to ask why he stayed here, why he stayed with you. you knew that maybe it was pushing a little too far. one question at a time, baby steps, you tell yourself.

but you couldn’t help but think— wish that you could be a reason to make him stay.

“must be tiring,” you comment, taking a scoop of dough for yourself. he doesn’t reply after that, instead just smearing some of the dough on your cheek and nose. a gasp leaves your throat, wiping the stickiness from your face and transferring it to his. “you’re gonna give me acne,” you groan.

“oh relax, i’ll help you wash it off.” he smiles as he stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. he sets the ice cream on the counter, you copy with the cookie dough. both of you travelling to the sink to wash your hands and your faces. jungkook dries his face off and stands by, watching as you splash water on your face. you miss a spot on your cheek, which he helps you wipe off. his thumb coming up and swiping against the dough. his hand is warm, if it were there any longer, you would have leaned into his touch.

after you both dried your faces off, you both agreed that you’ve consumed enough cookie dough and ice cream for the night. after returning them to the fridge, you make your way back to the couch. the movie almost over, nearing the ending scenes when you sit down. jungkook chooses another movie, legally blonde. “lots of blonde today, thinking of bleaching your hair?” you joke, throwing a blanket on the both of you.

“you read my mind.” he gasps sarcastically.

another comfortable silence falls in between you both, the sound of elle woods speaking replaces your conversation with each other. you turn and watch as jungkook’s focus remains solely on the tv. you lean back into the couch, smiling to yourself. there was a bittersweet feeling to this moment. you were happy that jungkook was here, but something felt off. you felt yourself getting lonely. you feel this way every time jungkook is about to leave, it’s like you have a warning signal. like that one time last year where jungkook left for two months, december and january, the two most festive months of the year. you were out buying christmas decorations when you felt something inside of you grow cold. it’s when you got in your car that you saw his text.

[7:58 pm] jungkook: *jeon jungkook has sent you $1,000*

[7:58 pm] jungkook: ^^ for rent

[8:21 pm] you: leaving again?

[8:23 pm] jungkook: yeah

[8:24 pm] you: when r u coming back

[8:24 pm] you: i just bought christmas decor :(

[8:25 pm] jungkook: :( sorry

[8:26 pm] jungkook: also not sure

[8:26 pm] jungkook: i’ll be back to see them though! promise. i’ll help you take them down too

with that, you went home and decorated the apartment with a christmas tree, a snowman, and stockings with yours and jungkook’s initials hanging below the tv on the wall. waiting patiently all december and the first two weeks of january to see if jungkook would ever come back to see how cute you made the apartment.

he never did.

rather, he came back the end of january, when all the festivities were done and the decorations were down.

“where are the decorations?” he asks, shrugging off his jacket and walking into the kitchen.

you rolled your eyes, picking up your mug of hot tea. “took them down myself, didn’t think you were coming back.” after that you moved into your room, watching tv and sulking to yourself. sure, you were upset but you shouldn’t have expected anything more from him. it’s become one of the only personality traits that you see in him: ghosting you and coming back like nothing happened. plus, it’s not like he owed you an explanation. you and jungkook were simply roommates, nothing more than that. no matter how much you wanted to get to know him, jungkook always left before you were able to get any deeper than two weeks into his past.

you close your eyes and shake off the memory. breaking the silence when you speak, “you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

his gaze moves away from the tv. his eyes meeting yours, “why do you say that?”

you break eye contact before you shrug, “i can always feel it.”

he doesn’t say anything after, letting you wallow in the feeling washing over you once again. jungkook was leaving again and he knew you knew. there was nothing he could say, because what did you want to hear? that he’ll stay? maybe it was because it’s only been a day, and he’s already leaving. the whole thing makes your head ache. the both of you continue to watch the movie until the end, the clock striking four in the morning. jungkook turns the tv off when you yawn.

“tired?” he asks. you nod, standing from the couch and turning off the lights. he follows suit, stretching and trailing you down the hall. you walk into your room and lay on your bed, jungkook stays at your door, turning your light off before softly saying, “goodnight.” and then closing your door.

sometime in the morning, around seven or eight, you feel your bed dip beside you. it’s jungkook, you can tell by the smell of his body wash. a strong fruit smell that always feels like it burns your nose. you’re barely awake, your head still lightly aching. your droopy eyelids beckon you to sleep. jungkook doesn’t say anything, instead just sitting there.

in his head he’s saying something, apologizing to you for all the times he left you alone in this big apartment. you must have felt so alone, probably scared too. he’s too much of a coward to say it out loud. so for now, in his head, he repeats the apologies over and over again.

“sweet dreams,” jungkook says. rising from your bed. you can feel it, the comforting weight next to you as you fall back asleep disappears.

you blame your drowsiness for the way you reach out for his arm, gently holding his hand. he stutters in his step, looking back to you and your connected hands. “don’t go,” you mumble, eyes still closed.

and for once. jungkook hesitates. for a split second, he wonders how it’ll feel to stay with you.

but he doesn’t know. and he’ll never know. because in the next minute, he’s slipping his hand away from yours and grabbing his bag. walking out the door. again.

in the morning you wake to an empty apartment. jungkook’s door is closed and it’s just you again. your feet pad against the cold floor into the kitchen, a paper on the island catching your attention.

jungkook’s handwriting is specific, you could tell the marks apart from someone else’s. a smile spreads across your face when you read the note. terribly, your heart pounds and your cheeks flush.

be back in two weeks.

was supposed to be gone the entire month, but i wanted to stop by and see you.

sorry i only stayed for a day.

didn’t say it yesterday, but happy valentine’s day. there’s something in the fridge for you.

take care.

Xx, J.

395 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), big dick namjoon serving us tripod realness, dom!joon, and when i say dom i mean both dominant AND domestic : ), impregnation kink, daddy kink, praise, dom!jimin, sub!reader in both of these scenes, lingerie kink (m wearing), copious teasing, very light spanking, french kissing, lapdance, the jimin scene is filthier than the tags give it credit for ngl, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing/eating, aftercare (as always)

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you everyone in the sfhs server, you bring me so much joy, motivation and good ideas | AND finally thank you to the anon that suggested [redacted] jimin i legit replanned everything just to make that his prompt

DAY TWELVE

The mattresses in the room of bunk beds are surprisingly comfortable. The metal springs squeak a little if you move too much, but you wake up feeling well-rested.

“Not too bad, right?” Hoseok chirps, swinging out on the ladder and jumping down onto the floor with a thud. Using his laundry from the day before, he unceremoniously swaps his sleep shirt and boxers for some deep green skinny jeans and an orange sweater. Namjoon, more modest and distinctly more sleepy, grabs his clothes and stumbles back to his own room.

“The beds? Better than I was expecting for sure.”

Hoseok smiles warmly as you hop down the ladder and arrive on steady ground again, toes curling into the carpet. He fiddles quickly with a chunky watch, doing up the links. “Breakfast is downstairs if you want it.”

You throw him a teasing grin. “Not if you’re making it, thanks.”

He has the good graces to pretend to be offended, before tugging you into a playful side-hug, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “No, you cheeky fucker, Jungkook bought pancake mix. He texted me saying there’s plenty for everyone.”

“Jungkook making breakfast?” you ask dubiously, but the warm image of pancakes for breakfast makes your stomach growl. “Let me get dressed real quick and I’ll come down.”

Jungkook, it seems, is starting out the day cheerful as ever. He gives you a big grin when you, Namjoon and Hoseok come down for breakfast, and he makes sure to dish up the biggest pancakes for you, before taking the second biggest for himself.

Jin raises a teasing brow when you come down accompanied by the two men, Namjoon still with his hair ruffled up awkwardly from his slumber. “Long night?” he questions with a cheesy wink.

Hoseok catches on to the teasing nature, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Sadly, Namjoon wanted a rest day, so we didn’t enjoy any funny business.”

Jungkook watches the three of you closely, lips tightening just a little bit before he breaks out into a cheeky smile. “I think Y/n would have been too tired out to do anything more anyway.”

You choke on air, a forkful of pancakes blessedly not in your mouth yet. Beside you, Hoseok chuckles awkwardly. “Goodness, JK, we heard enough yesterday. The gym walls are not as thick as they should be.”

Instead of blushing like you are, Jungkook puffs his chest up. “I’ve never heard Y/n scream like that with any of you guys. Then again; I bet you haven’t made her squirt like I did.”

This time you aren’t so fortunate, coughing on a mouthful that you’d anxiously stuffed in to keep yourself occupied. You send Yoongi a grateful look as he slides you a glass of water.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” Jin grimaces, “we’re trying to eat breakfast.”

You keep your eyes down, confused by Jungkook’s behaviour and more than a little embarrassed.

When you hear Namjoon speak up, his voice is strangely tensed. “That’s really not appropriate.”

A heated pause. “This is literally a porn show,” Jungkook states defensively, “sex is the whole reason we’re here. I think everyone’s forgetting this is a competition about being the best in bed, I’m just- You know what, never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“You just what?” Namjoon questions. It’s unlike him to be argumentative, and you shift in your seat, taking another sip of the ice-cold water. “Did you really make us all pancakes just so you could gloat? Y/n is a person, not a video game, Jungkook. Have a little respect.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, but when you glance up, the frustrated rolling of his eyes and furious stabbing of his fork in a pancake speaks volumes.

Yoongi pinches his brow. “Jin-hyung, can you pass the syrup? Thanks.”

Namjoon stares expectantly at the youngest Gentleman for a few moments, before letting out a light huff and returning to his food.

Silence continues for a moment or two before Taehyung pipes up, voice tiny in the oppressive tension. “How many people still have to do their prompts this week? I haven’t done mine yet.”

Yoongi sends him a lightly exasperated look. “Really?”

Taehyung gives a small shrug, glancing to the camboy sitting beside him. “I mean… I don’t think we need to be explicit but this show is about sex. I feel like it’s equally bad if we don’t talk about it at all, you know?”

“The kid’s right,” Jin allows with a wry grin. “I’ve done mine. Tuesday; though I suppose some of you saw.”

Jimin cocks his head, lost. “Saw? Uh, yes, I haven’t done my prompt yet. Actually, uh, if you guys wanna take part, stay in the lounge tonight. I need an audience.”

You send him an inquiring look. “What about me?”

Jimin lets out a short laugh. “Your participation is kind of mandatory. Please stay in the lounge too.”

You appreciate the slow brushes of conversation that ease the tension away. “Am I an audience member or a volunteer?” You grimace suddenly. “Wait, fuck, it isn’t like a circus act or something, right? You aren’t a magician?”

“Don’t worry, the show won’t be that kind of magic,” he promises.

You go to reply, but your attention is caught by the way Jungkook is openly glaring at Namjoon like he’s waiting for something. “Kook?” you question.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. “Why aren’t you saying anything now, Namjoon? So they get to talk about sex but I can’t?”

Jin sucks in harshly through his teeth, sending a look of alarm to the youngest. “Okay, break it up, that’s enough. Jungkook, any more smart comments and you can leave. We’ll talk privately if you need it.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter scoff, but Namjoon is already rising hastily, banging the edge of the table in his haste to get up. “I’ll go,” he urges, “you all can enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

Nobody seems to even breathe as the sounds of Namjoon’s footsteps fade away, a door upstairs shutting harshly.

Yoongi has his face bent, thumb and forefinger pressing to his forehead, like a headache is coming on. “What the fuck was that?” he muses tiredly.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames.

You bite your tongue harshly, unsettled by how tempers flared so quickly. Unsure of what to do, you stare at Jungkook for a moment. You don’t want it to seem like you’re picking a side, but he has five others around him, and Namjoon is upstairs alone. You slide your chair out, quieter than last time. “I’m just going to check on him. Jungkook; you’re fine, I’m not angry.”

He breaks out of his death stare at his breakfast to send you a look of bewilderment, but Yoongi is already clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I am,” the second eldest declares, and you rush upstairs before the scolding begins.

Namjoon answers, albeit reluctantly, when you knock on the door and call out to him. He’s well and truly awake and alert now, hair combed down sullenly, the purple looking more faded than ever against the rich blue of his long-sleeved t-shirt. “Are you okay?” he asks with a tired frown.

Your brows lift automatically. “That is the exact question I came up here to ask. Can I come in?”

His bedroom is even more tidy than usual, now that he hasn’t been sleeping there. You sit down on the edge of his bed, feeling an unsettling swirl of dread.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook,” is the first thing out of his mouth as he sits down beside you, shoulders hunched like he’s making himself as small as possible.

You shake your head slowly. “You shouldn’t apologise on other people’s behalf. He’ll say sorry if he wants to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “Then I’m sorry about contributing to the uncomfortable atmosphere.”

Despite the situation, your mouth quirks into a grin and your eyes soften. “Forgiven. I’m more worried than angry, you know? About the both of you.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh, eyes dancing aimlessly around the room, no doubt pondering complex concepts at the speed of light like he usually was. “This is probably to be expected, right? Tension. I didn’t think I’d be the one involved, though.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t be a reality show without some drama,” you allow, scooting back on the bed so you can tuck your feet up, crossing your legs. “We’ve just gotta move past it, I guess.”

“Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?” Namjoon blurts suddenly, cringing at the volume of his voice. “Him talking about you so publicly like that?”

You run your tongue along the inside of your cheek. “It took me off guard for sure. I don’t know; I guess sex is kind of our currency in here, you know? Him being so, uh, bold about it out of nowhere is pretty weird, though.” You shrug it off. “Maybe he slept bad last night.”

Namjoon searches your face. “I’m too much of a prude, aren’t I? Things like that bother me, so why did I sign up for a porn show?”

You turn to face him, brows knitted in sympathy. “Just because others are more open doesn’t mean being modest is a bad thing. Don’t let Jungkook’s bad mood make you believe that you don’t belong on the show or that you need to change. Okay?”

The two of you share a tender moment of eye contact, before Namjoon laughs shyly and turns his head away. You grin at him. “What?”

“It’s stupid,” Namjoon deflects, “it’s not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” you press. “Tell me; I’m curious now.”

Namjoon’s eyes dart up, pausing briefly at your lips. “I just… I really wanted to kiss you.”

Your heart swells, but you keep your face open, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Then you should kiss me.”

All the breath leaves his lungs in a rush, but before he can inhale again, he’s propelling himself forward, wide hands cradling your jaw steady so your lips can join, a little uncoordinated but perfect nonetheless.

The small whimper of surprise is muffled by his lips, but you quickly melt into him, hands clutching at the front of his shirt for stability.

You can taste the remnants of breakfast, the sweet stickiness of maple syrup on his lips. You deepen the kiss to seek out more of the flavour, breaths escaping your nose as you don’t dare part for a second. Namjoon seems equally enraptured, shy flicks of his tongue making your head spin.

You lean in until your wrists are pinned between his chest and yours, and then lean in more, wanting to be close. Like oxygen to fire, the more contact you get the more desperate you become, and when his hands lower to lift you easily onto his lap, grinding you unconsciously against his erection, you feel ablaze.

“I need to-nm-do my prompt,” Namjoon murmurs out, teeth catching on your tongue with how deeply you kiss.

You swallow, leaning back slightly to take a breath in. “We don’t have to now,” you assure, moving your hands up to stabilise yourself on his shoulders so that he cranes his neck up to chase your lips. “Or have you graduated from Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess already.”

You smile down at the way his eyes flutter shut with a crooked grin, delicate crescent moon lash line a deep brown against his tanned skin. His lips are flushed and swollen, and he swallows like a man parched before he speaks, blinking blearily up at you. “I prefer to learn on the job,” he quips hoarsely.

You grin, leaning down to nudge him slightly to the side with your nose, giving you a better angle to leave a trail of light kisses from the corner of his mouth to the top of his jaw, tugging on his earlobe just enough that you feel his dick twitch against you. “What’s it gonna be, then? Am I a naughty student? Slacking receptionist? Do I need to sign for a package, delivery boy?”

The chuckle Namjoon lets out is pained and reluctant. “Was that what you were hoping for? It’s a bit more romantic than that.”

��Romantic is good,” you assure, letting his arms on your hips hold you steady as you lean back and search his face. “Do I get any more clues? Tell me something.”

When he blinks up at you, there’s something open and earnest in his gaze, like he’s left behind that shy boy that blushes at any mention of sex. “Let me show you, love.”

He cradles your back and lays you down on his bed so delicately it takes your breath away. Without speaking, he presses his lips to yours again, and once again you feel unanchored in an ocean, kept floating by the pressure of his proximity. Slower than usual, you move against each other; his hands bracing him up by the pillow, your leg hitched up over his waist to keep him close. Between the soft cushioning of his bed and the solid heat of his body, you feel secure and safe, eyes closed so that he fills your other senses entirely.

The sweetness of the maple syrup on his tongue and lips has long since melted away, but it leaves behind his natural flavour, one you think you prefer more. Aftershave still clings to his cheeks, tingling your nostrils, but past it is the bright candylike scent of his orange blossom shampoo, and they mix dizzily as the ends of his hair brush your skin.

Need begins to pool between your legs, but it doesn’t drive you, instead staying muted in the background like the pleasant heat of a bubbling jacuzzi, hips rocking lazily without any true purpose as you focus on the shocks of pleasure when your tongues connect.

It’s impossible to tell how long the two of you stay like that, no urgency or haste, just enjoying the intimacy and closeness of shared breaths and swollen lips. When he trails a hand down to slip under your shirt, even his slightly calloused fingertips running up your side is enough to make you whimper, sensitised to every touch.

Namjoon groans when his palm covers your breast, gripping it and swiping a thumb over your stiffened peak, arousing even through the fabric of your bra, his mouth only leaving yours for the second it takes to push your shirt over and off, connecting again with a small grunt of need.

Though Namjoon’s body is hot like a furnace against you, the open air still causes you to shiver, arching your back so Namjoon can blindly locate the hooks on your bra, able to slip it off you in no time at all.

This time, when his teeth tug at your lip and you feel the uninhibited contact of his fingertip tracing a circle around your nipple, it’s like a spike of electricity straight to your core, igniting that spark of full-blown arousal. Namjoon’s lips quirk against yours when you let a moan catch in your throat.

When he shifts down, you’re expecting his mouth on your breast, or perhaps him to sit up to take his own clothes off, but he doesn’t go nearly that far. Instead he presses your jaw up, exposing your neck but laying kisses on the underside of your chin first.

Perhaps it’s that you weren’t expecting that touch, or perhaps such a unique place isn’t used to that type of attention, but his swollen lips caressing just below your jaw feels magical, eyelids fluttering as he sucks so, so gently.

His hand never leaves your breast, massaging the flesh, tracing where your regular skin pebbles into the dusky areola, nail dragging teasingly over the bud, and your mind is working itself into knots trying to process all the sensations he’s stirring in you.

If his first time was thrilling, this was nothing short of electric, neon bursts of colour behind your eyelids the only thing you can see. As his kisses slowly venture lower, dipping to the base of your neck, pulse throbbing against him, you picture your nerve endings like purple strands of electricity in a plasma ball, lighting up with every touch of his fingers, lips and tongue to your skin.

“Na-Namjoon,” you gasp out, swallowing to ease the dryness in your throat, “don’t tease, I need you.”

Namjoon shifts lower, but not low enough, chin resting on your chest as he looks up at you with a pleased smile, clearly satisfied with his improvement from last time. “But love, there’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives, remember? To have and to hold,” he rumbles lowly, pressing two light kisses to the top of your heaving breasts, “til death do us part.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

Namjoon’s lip twitches. “Oh,” he repeats playfully. Goosebumps break out on the tops of your arms at this sudden brazenness. He’d clearly been doing plenty of talking with Hoseok, and to see his hard work pay off in your pleasured reactions probably gave him a burst of confidence. “Are you going to be patient for me now, love? Let me savour you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, so you just nod shakily.

Satisfied with your response, Namjoon quirks a lip before using the very tip of his tongue to trail a circle around your nipple, just wide enough that the bud strains for his attention. Your fingers clutch his sides, annoyingly still clothed, as he moves to the other one, still giving your nipple a wide berth. “C-come on, Joonie,” you complain hoarsely, “I need more.”

When he looks up at you from below his lashes and sucks one nipple slowly into his mouth, tongue pressing it against his upper teeth, you hiss sharply, releasing the air in a breathy moan. Namjoon suckles at you gently, still languid but no longer avoiding your most sensitive areas, and the hand not propping him up begins rolling the other one between his fingers, making you shudder.

You’re so wet between your legs it’s growing uncomfortable, and so you cant your hips up towards him, hoping he gets the message. He tuts at you, but pulls off your nipple with a wet pop and sits up to undress further.

Namjoon shucks his own shirt without ceremony before his fingers find your waistband, and you let him slide off your pants and underwear as you lie back and enjoy the sight of his thick chest and smooth stomach, a trail of dark baby hairs disappearing past his jeans that you didn’t remember noticing the first time you slept with him.

He takes off those jeans, his boxers too, and joins you on the bed again, running a warm palm up your side. “I want to taste you,” he announces simply, carding a hand through his hair to keep it out of your face.

“Fuck, please.” You watch with wide eyes as he lies on his stomach, hands dipping under your thighs to lift and part them. The exposed air has you clenching instinctively, and you swear you can see his eyes dilate at the sight. “Namjoon,” you whine, back arching in impatience.

“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” he assures, peppering kisses from just below your knees, down your thighs until you can feel his breath on your core. “So beautiful.”

You can barely breathe, head propped up on the pillow to stare down the plains of your chest and stomach to the insanely attractive man between your legs. Though you’d grown fond of the kinkier, wild scenes - in fact, your dreams at night had taken a turn since joining the show - something about seeing Namjoon so at his element in this domestic atmosphere has you dripping.

Like he has all the time in the world, he locks eyes with you and blows a wave of slightly cool air over your folds. You breathe out a groan, sending him what you hope is a convincing-enough pleading gaze. He smiles placidly, licks his lips, ducks his head even further, and-

And blows another stream, this time narrowed and colder, directly over your clit. You shudder and buck instinctively in his grip, his hands on your thighs keeping you spread.

“Come on,” you gasp out, “Hoseok’s made you into a fucking demon!”

“Oh, trust me,” Namjoon murmurs, “Hoseok’s version was way kinkier than this. I’m trying to be romantic and sensual.”

You shift again, fruitlessly trying to wiggle your hips closer. “It would be really fucking romantic if you would actually put your mouth on my-ah!”

Just like you know Hoseok would (you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for this), Namjoon strikes when you least expect it, and when you most need it.

Though his mouth is small, his tongue is no less nimble, darting deeply through your folds to collect your juices and using them to slurp harshly at your clit. You jerk, hand shooting down to latch in his hair, but he continues that constant, unyielding vacuum until you’re squirming hopelessly beneath him, finally pulling off with the slightest graze of teeth.

“Happy now?” he retorts, swollen lips glossy with your slick. His hands tighten on your thighs. “Hold them.”

Invigorated by his command, you rush to grasp the backs of your knees, keeping your legs up and spread for him. “Fuck, so good, Joonie, w-want more.”

Now with two hands freed, it’s no surprise when two fingers find their way into your wet heat, twisting inside you with every smooth thrust. His chin is smeared with your wetness when he lowers it to continue laving his tongue over your sensitive clit, but he groans sinfully into you, like he’s getting just as much pleasure from it as you are.

Once he really gets going, he’s merciless, his fingers so thick that you don’t even need a third one to really feel him filling you, hooking up to rub at your g-spot every now and again to hear the involuntary whimpers you give out.

You hold onto your own knees for dear life, writhing under him as a hot coil tightens inside you. “Fu-fuck, Joonie, I’m getting close.”

His mouth detaches from your clit for a bare moment, enough for him to pant out a groan and stare lustily up at you. “Don’t cum yet,” he instructs lowly, “you’re going to cum on my cock this time, love.”

You whine, biting your lip harshly to try and distract from the building pleasure. “Then you have to- have to stop, Joonie,” you shudder out reluctantly.

To your surprise, Namjoon is even more begrudging than you are, tugging out his fingers to chase a last few indulgent licks up your seam before he finally sits up to kneel, panting. “Are you ready for me?”

You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter at the sight of him grasping his length, slipping it through your folds to slick it up. “Yes, god yes, I need it, need your cock,” you garble.

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, before he presses his head to your entrance, sinking in barely an inch to test your reaction. “Can’t wait to fill you up, love,” he admits, abs clenching with the effort it takes to sink in slowly. “Fuck a baby into you, my perfect girl.”

Your heart races at his words, clenching around. “God, yes, Joonie, please.” Though all the Gentlemen were well aware you were on birth control, there was something wildly erotic about the thought of it. “Fill me up, wanna be good for you.”

Finally he bottoms out, and your thighs shake at the stretch. With your hips tilted up, it almost feels like he’s fucking right into your stomach, so deep your mind struggles to process the sensations. He heaves a few breaths, giving you a chance to squeeze around him experimentally and grow accustomed to him filling you so completely.

You mumble out your permission for him to move breathily, the air punched out of your lungs when he pulls out only to drive deep inside of you in one slick thrust. Your mouth drops open once he begins to thrust, holding onto your knees for dear life as they tremble uncontrollably.

“God, look at you,” Namjoon pants out, chest heaving with excitement or exertion, perhaps a mix of both. One of his palms presses against the top of your stomach, increasing the pressure of his cock inside you. “‘Be so beautiful with my baby inside you, love, tummy swollen. I’ll take good care of you, would you like that?”

You have to squeeze your eyes shut to put all your focus into speaking. “Ye-yeah, I want that, Joonie,” you manage to articulate, his length keeping your mouth watering whenever he’s inside you. “Gonna be such a good daddy, Joon.”

Like a switch being flicked, Namjoon suddenly jerks, going rigid. Your eyes open blearily when he stills inside you, and you moan openly at the fucked-out look on his face, his eyes lidded and hair wild.

“S-say that again,” he commands, and your mouth drops open at the desperate grate to his voice.

So Namjoon liked to be called… “Daddy,” you whine experimentally, grinning when his cock twitches, hips juddering. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy, please move.”

“God, love, so fucking perfect for me,” he makes out before he starts off again with a renewed vigor, hands kneading at your breasts, at the flesh of your hips, at your ass as he lifts you up to meet his every thrust.

The feeling of him fucking into you so intensely has you feeling delirious, unsure if the ringing in your ears is actually the sounds of your own cries, torn from your throat with every slap of his balls against your ass, the weight of his hips jerking you into the pillow more and more every time.

You feel the pressure of his body hovering just above you, the angle of his thrusts changing, then suddenly his mouth is on your breast again, sucking harshly at the nipple. With the way your body moves beneath him, he can’t help but scrape his teeth against you a couple times, but it just makes the pleasure soar higher, neon starbusts of colour behind your eyelids when you squeeze them closed.

“Close again,” you warn desperately, losing the grip on one of your knees due to the sweat gathering there. With one up and one down, the angle changes again, and you reach out blindly to latch onto his upper arm, screaming at the heights of pleasure. “Can I cum this time, Daddy, please let me cum!”

“Fuck, give it to me, cum for me,” he growls out around your breast, and you see stars.

The orgasm that rips through you is powerful enough that all your senses fade suddenly away, unable to feel anything expect a rush of pleasure all the way down to your toes, boneless yet convulsing as he pistons his hips into you once, twice, three more times until he’s taken by the way you clench tightly around him.

He laps clumsily, wetly at your nipple as he spills inside you, before the two of you are completely drained of energy. Panting, heaving, you don’t even manage to catch your breath before you’re falling into slumber, Namjoon still inside you.

“He told us to wait here, right?” you ask anxiously.

There are six of you gathered on the couches in the lounge. Television off, the silence is weirdly uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s just because you know that everyone is waiting here not only to see Jimin, but to see what Jimin is going to do to you.

Hoseok, tucked into the smallest corner of the couch on the right, huffs lightly at your question. “He’s Jimin, Y/n. Either he’s up there primping or he’s just making you wait to be obnoxious.”

Perched beside him with a glass of whisky, two fingers full, Yoongi sends a droll glare to Hoseok. “Bold words for a man who’s choosing to watch the show.”

“I’m curious, sue me.”

“I think we all are,” Namjoon adds, curled up beside you in the central position of the three couches. “I think the only one that knows his prompt is Tae.”

Taehyung turns to answer, propped up against Jin’s side on the left, but the eldest interrupts, a crease of worry between his brows. “Not all of us, it seems,” he points out. “Don’t you find it strange that Jungkook isn’t here?”

“Does he know?” Taehyung wonders, fingers dipping into his pocket to reach for his phone.

Yoongi frowns. “He knows. He asked me not to make him anything for dinner tonight. Said he wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t seem like he was sick, just… distressed. I think you should talk with him, Jin.”

Jin sucks in a breath, pauses, and exhales again, jaw flexing. “Sure.”

The six of you lapse into a slightly strained silence again, before Namjoon gets restless, shifting beside you until he finally clears his throat and looks up at Yoongi. “What is for dinner, hyung?”

“We didn’t really have much for lunch, so I’m thinking steak and pasta,” the doctor offers up. “There’s some carbonara sauce in the pantry that looks good.”

Taehyung coughs nervously. “Do we have steak? I didn’t think there were-”

“We had plenty this morning when I checked,” Yoongi cuts in evenly. “Should I be aware of any recent developments?”

The masseuse pouts, leaning further into Jin’s side like he’ll protect him. “Well… It’s just that I feel so bad for Mango! The kennel I bought online isn’t as insulated as I hoped it would be and I know she gets lonely.”

Yoongi groans, going lax on the leather of the couch. “So you figured she’d what? Cuddle with the steaks?”

“I just figured maybe if I gave her nice food she’d cheer up,” Taehyung adds, “and it was just two! Are you mad at me?”

“No, I guess I’m not. Jungkook isn’t eating anyway, and…” Yoongi grins. “As penance, you can have plain pasta and watch the rest of us enjoy our perfectly cooked steaks.”

Taehyung throws himself against Jin dramatically, but even as he moans in misery, a relieved smile crooks at his lips. “I suppose,” he drawls begrudgingly, and once again a light atmosphere fills the room, like everyone’s just sighed out a breath of relief.

You lean onto the arm of the couch, facing Taehyung. “Tae, Jimin’s prompt isn’t too, like, intense, right?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean? For him or for you?”

“Uh…” Your mind whirls blankly, cheeks heating up as you draw the attention of the other guys. “For- for me. So far some of the scenes have been pretty taxing, and I guess I just didn’t expect such a jump up from Week One.”

Instead of laughing or teasing, the others go a little solemn, perhaps even bashful. “Jimin’s isn’t super crazy, Y/n, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures quickly.

Yoongi bites down hard on his tongue, jaw popping. “We didn’t go too hard on you, did we?”

You suck in a breath. “I mean- No, not individually. It builds up though, you know?” Something niggles in the back of your mind, something you’ve wondered for a while. “Do you guys talk about it?”

Hoseok hesitates. “About fucking you?”

Your cheeks are on fire as you curl up small in the corner. “Not- Not that specifically, but just… Do you guys discuss who goes when and who has what? I kinda wondered why you spread yourselves out, if it’s just a coincidence or if you- Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“We kinda do,” Hoseok admits freely. “Like, obviously we don’t all sit down in a room brainstorming or something-” You don’t miss the way Taehyung and Namjoon instinctively lock gazes, though you can’t quite read their expressions. Hoseok continues, “but we do chat with each other and try and give each other space.”

Jin shrugs easily. “Yeah, like, I’ll just say in the groupchat, ‘I’m planning on doing my scene outside, look outside at your own risk’ or whatever.” The eldest stiffens as he’s fixed with several glares of alarm, including your own. “What? Were we not meant to tell her about the groupchat?”

Your mouth drops open. “You guys have a groupchat without me? I wanna see!”

“That defeats the purpose of you not being in the group chat,” Yoongi points out, though his grin is more sheepish than mischievous.

You make a noise of exasperation, ready to protest further, but before you can open your mouth the doorbell rings.

Everyone freezes.

After a moment, the doorbell rings again.

“You should go get it,” Taehyung supplies helpfully, eyes on you. “Might be interesting.”

Your heart picks up with the cool thread of adrenaline. It’s time. All eyes are on you as you sit up and make your way out to the foyer, the tile cool under your bare feet.

Though the door is a rich mahogany, clouded glass panels on either side betray a dark figure, perfectly still. Even though you can barely see the outline, there’s no deny the expectant tilt of their head belongs to none other than Jimin.

By the time you pad up to the door and turn the knob, his hand is outstretched to ring the bell a third time, and his mouth parts in surprise before giving you a pleasant beam.

You’d been wondering if he was meant to be a delivery guy, a mechanic, something along those lines, but your first glance over him proves you wrong.

His blue hair is glossy enough to reflect the light of the lamp above the doorway, curled in graceful swoops on his forehead and temples. Though he always wore makeup, it was clear he’s set to impress, with a bold russet red lip, powerful black eyeliner and a spot of gold under each eye.

He’s taller than usual, and you glance down automatically, to be greeted with the most gorgeous black heels, stiletto points giving him an extra few inches of height. The shoes make his legs look a mile long, and you suck in a breath as you follow them up, realising they’re completely bare, the only adornment a sinfully tight pair of black fishnets that dig in to his thighs and calves.

In fact, all he seems to be wearing otherwise is a black trenchcoat, falling to mid-thigh and with the sash tied so tightly it accentuates his narrow waist.

All put together, he looks like sin personified, the kind sailors drown for. You can’t help but want to dive in yourself. Trying to go along with the roleplay, you play dumb. “Do I, uh, do I know you?”

Jimin’s smile broadens as his arm falls, hand resting snugly on his hip. “You will soon, sweetness.” Usually one for pinks, nudes and clear glosses, seeing him suddenly in a deep red makes you realise just how full his lips are. You miss the feeling of them on you. “Did Taehyung not tell you I was coming?”

“Did Tae-?” You clear your throat, unsure how to proceed. This Jimin was Amazonian; bruisingly pretty and intimidating in his grace. “I guess not? Was he supposed to?”

His eyes crinkle empathetically, darting past you into the foyer. “Let’s talk inside, shall we? I’m not exactly dressed for the outdoors.”

“Oh, fuck!” you blurt instinctively, and you swear his lip twitches before you’re backing away hastily, ushering him inside. “I’m so sorry, please come in! Do you want me to take your coat? I don’t- I don’t know what you need.”

Jimin steps inside and closes the door behind him in one smooth motion, punctuated only by the click of his heels on the tile. He reaches out to pat your cheek, only somewhat condescendingly. “No wonder, sweetness, you didn’t even know I was coming.” That isn’t quite true, but in the scheme of things, you may as well not have known he was doing his scene tonight at all for all it’s helping you. “Why don’t you lead me to Taehyung? I assume he’s here.”

“Of course he’s- I mean, yes, he’s here. Right this way.”

The two of you only have a short trip to the lounge, where no doubt the other five have been straining their ears to eavesdrop, but every strike of his heels against the floor behind you has the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end.

In the lounge, the guys are all turned around in their seats to shamelessly ogle Jimin, Taehyung the only one without the gobsmacked look on his face - though even he takes in an unsteady breath at how gorgeous the man looks.

You make your way to him, standing awkwardly in front of the couch that him and Jin share. Turning back to face Jimin, you can’t help but match Taehyung’s reaction. Jimin looks even more radiant in the decent lighting of the room. You can see now his trenchcoat is a lush fabric, slightly thicker than silk, and deeply matte. Around the inside of the collar is a faint embossed silver logo, promoting Chanel as the designer of that piece.

Ignoring the stunned silence of the room, Jimin slinks immediately to Taehyung, tipping his chin up with his knuckles. “Did you not tell Y/n about me, hm?” he questions with a faux pout. “Kept it a secret, our naughty Taehyungie.”

The masseuse wilts pleadingly under Jimin’s gaze, and the responding wicked grin makes you think that Jimin probably told him to keep quiet, only to tell him off for it now. “Sorry, Minnie,” Taehyung mutters nonetheless. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did you now?” Jimin lets go of him, stepping back. “I suppose we should get down to business, then. Are you all leaving, or do I have an audience tonight?” Glancing around imperiously, you watch as his eyes dart back and forth, smile faltering. His breath catches, eyes dull with disappointment that he quickly masks under a broad smile. “It’s just the six of you, then?”

Your heart aches as you think of the missing person still upstairs in his room. “Yeah, it’s just us.”

Always the professional, Jimin moves on without comment. “Well, then, sweetness; take a seat and get comfortable. You’re a lucky girl tonight.”

Your mouth feels dry even as it waters. Taking your seat beside Namjoon again, you watch in rapt anticipation as Jimin slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, fiddling with something on it as he strolls slowly into the center of the room, just in front of the television.

“We have a few rules,” Jimin announces. “No heckling, no getting drunk while I’m here, and no touching unless I give you permission. They’re simple, so I expect you to follow them. Got it?”

With his back to the group as he sets up his phone, you’re unsure who exactly he’s addressing, but some of you make general hums of confirmation, all the attention on Jimin.

When the music starts - a deep, thrumming beat with a sensual pace - you can see the change in him immediately, even from the back. His shoulders adjust, head tips back slightly like he’s letting it run through him, and his fingers find the knot of his sash.

You can barely comprehend the fact that Jimin is about to dance for you, breath caught in your throat when his hips begin to sway and the fabric of his trenchcoat loosens, slipping down just enough to reveal the tops of his shoulders, bare except two skinny black straps.

Following the groove of the music, he rocks his head back, hips shifting side to side, and lets the coat fall an inch at a time. A tight black bodice is revealed, structured leather with a soft velvet trim that covers most of his back. Sleeves dangling right at the ends of his fingertips, the coat dips just below the swells of his ass, which are clad in a racy g-string, a thicker band of lace low across his hips and a narrow one running down the middle of his cheeks. Letting the coat go completely, the last of his back silhouette is exposed, the leather garter straps that hold those fishnet stockings up.

“Shit!” Yoongi hisses under his breath, hands glinting in the light and whiskey glass significantly emptier than before. A dark patch spreads across one leg of his pants, evidence of him spilling his drink.

Though he was quiet, Jimin picks up on it, and turns smoothly, lightly surprised and heavily amused, watching Yoongi squirm in embarrassment as he approaches.

If the view from the back is breathtaking, seeing Jimin full-frontal is another level. The bodice has clearly been tailored for someone with a flat chest, but the shape no less speaks to the feminine style of a bra, roughly triangular leather covering the upper half of his chest to meet the smooth velvet straps. The whole piece is just short enough that it leaves a stripe of skin between fabrics, his hipbones jutting out gracefully and guiding your gaze lower, where the front of his lace panties strain with the size of his length, the tip threatening to peek out the top.

He’s hard, you notice with a start, and from the hazy look on everyone’s faces, they’ve noticed it too. Jimin likes this.

When he’s standing in front of Yoongi, towering over the other in his heels, he reaches out a hand silently, eyes darting to the glass in Yoongi’s hand.

The elder gulps, holding it up, blushing as Jimin wraps one hand around Yoongi’s wrist, and takes the glass from him with the other. In a graceful swill, he downs the last of Yoongi’s whiskey, not even wincing. Teasingly, he bends down to place the empty glass directly over Yoongi’s crotch, making him hiss.

Like he has all the time in the world, Jimin straightens up again and tugs the wrist in his grasp higher. Locking eyes, Jimin parts his lips and wraps them around the base of Yoongi’s thumb, sucking off the spilt liquor.

Yoongi groans lowly, cheeks stained red as his eyes flutter shut in a mix of pleasure and humiliation. As Jimin makes his way through all of Yoongi’s fingers, bobbing his head obscenely and swirling his tongue, you think you see the empty glass wobble on Yoongi’s lap, like his cock is twitching in his pants. Fuck. It’s not even you getting the full weight of Jimin’s attention and you already feel dizzy with need.

Once he’s done, Jimin lets go and Yoongi’s hand falls limply to his side. Satisfied, he moves to the center of the room again, hips fluid with the flow of the music.

A cursory glance around the room shows that you’re not the only one heavily affected. Beside you Namjoon is restless, shifting back and forth from spreading his legs to ease the pressure, and clenching them together to try and hide the bulge in his pants. Hoseok looks pale, eyes wide and locked onto Jimin’s ass as he walks away from their couch.

On the other side, Taehyung and Jin are significantly more shameless; Jin rests a hand on the back of Tae’s neck and tugs at the curls of hair there as the younger boy ruts against his thigh, curled into his side even as the two of them focus on the attraction in the centre of the room.

You can only imagine how fucked out you must look too, wriggling against the couch cushion seeking friction with your heart thudding in your chest. The effect is only heightened when Jimin locks his eyes to you and begins to dance.

One day, a few of you were gathered in this very lounge, having enough drinks to get a bit silly and uncoordinated. Jimin had told you all a little bit about his dancing career. From what he’d said, you formed this mental image of him in soft makeup and satin shoes, dainty but powerful in front of an adoring crowd. The way he spoke about music - too much of a heavyweight to be as incoherent as the rest of you - made it seem like it was his greatest love, a match made in heaven.

Though now pirouettes and grand jetés had been replaced by spread legs and lidded eyes, you could still see that passion he spoke of. It enchanted you like a snake charmer or a siren, and arousal entwines endlessly with awe in your stomach.

After what feels like the shortest eternity, the music of the first song fades out, and Jimin straightens up, exhaling a breath like he’s releasing its hold from his body to make room for the next.

The tune that fills the room next has a decently higher tempo than the first one, each beat punctuated by a clap, and he grins when he hears it, stalking forwards.

Between Jimin and the rest of you is a coffee table, and he makes his way around to Taehyung and Jin, eyes sparkling at how Taehyung straddles Jin’s thigh, blinking up at the dancer owlishly.

“Oh, baby,” Jimin coos, “enjoying the show?”

Taehyung nods, not shy but too wound up to speak.

At the lack of verbal response, Jimin grins, perching himself on Jin’s other thigh, making the eldest hiss. “Taehyungie,” Jimin calls in a sing-song voice, fingers winding into his hair, just above Jin’s, “you still haven’t paid me for my services, you know?”

“H-huh?” Poor Taehyung looks barely coherent, interrupted from his grind and staring weakly at Jimin’s glossy lips. You can’t imagine you’d be faring any better in his situation. “What- How do I pay you?”

Jimin faux pouts. “Normally I’m very expensive,” he admits lowly, but the room is silent apart from the music, and since it’s just playing from his phone, it doesn’t impede the rest of you listening in. “But I like you. I’ll take my payment tomorrow. You know what I mean, right?”

Taehyung nods dumbly, obediently, making the dancer grin wickedly.

Fixing his attention on Jin, Jimin trails his fingertips up his thigh and traces the outline of Jin’s cock in his makes, making him groan. “Take good care of my baby tonight, won’t you?”

Jin sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting to Taehyung, but the curly-haired boy just whines and buries his face in the crook of Jin’s neck, a wordless display. “You got it, Min.”

From the other side of the room, a click of the tongue catches your attention. Hoseok is straight-faced, extricating himself from the corner of the couch to stand up and make his way out.

Jimin swiftly stands in front of him to impede his way. “Where are you going?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I came, I saw, I sated my curiosity. I’m not interested in waiting in line to be fondled, thank you very much.”

Jimin seems to have forgotten the music, eyes gleaming as he faces off the dom. “Poor baby too impatient to wait, hm? I’ll let you jump the queue,” he finishes in a husky voice, grinning.

Hoseok eyes the doorway behind Jimin, huffing impatiently. “Nice try. I’m not interested.”

Tipping his head to the side, Jimin’s brows lift in a mix of surprise and bemusement. “I’m inclined to disagree,” he says, taking a step closer so that only a sliver of air parts them. Hoseok stiffens, stubbornly avoiding looking at the dancer. “I’d venture a guess that you’re leaving so suddenly because you’re a little too interested.” Slow enough that Hoseok has plenty of time to refuse, Jimin runs his knuckles all the way down Hoseok’s front, brushing over his crotch. His grin widens, flashing white teeth. “Hmm.”

Hoseok scoffs and pulls himself away, neck and forehead slightly red. “Don’t get too cocky. It was from Taehyung, not from you, peaches.”

Even from the other side of the room, Jimin’s instinctual reaction is clear as day. His shoulders drop and his lips part, lashes fluttering before he can control the response.

If you didn’t miss it, Hoseok certainly didn’t either. He barks out a laugh, back in power again, and steps to Jimin’s side to pass him. “Knew it. Don’t miss me too much, then, peaches.”

Even as Jimin is shuddering at the petname again, Hoseok rears his hand back to smack Jimin’s ass with a sharp noise of impact, Jimin jumping forward with a startled squeak. “No touching!” the dancer hisses, one ass cheek already flooding with a sweet candy pink.

“Apologies,” Hoseok says with a teasing grin, already at the doorway, “I’ll see myself out.”

Jimin makes an indignant cry, but the older man is already bouncing up the stairs cheerfully. Determined to get the sexy atmosphere back, Jimin takes a deep breath and turns back to you all with a rueful smile, but it falters when the music fades out, the second song ending. “Ah,” he murmurs, “show’s over, kids.”

Namjoon, the only guy that hadn’t received any personal attention, sits up with a frown. “Wait, already?”

Jimin shrugs, smiling at him sweetly. “Sorry, Joon. Last song’s a private dance. Maybe another time.”

A private dance. Your breath quickens as Jimin turns off the next song that randomly came up on shuffle, collects his phone, and hitches his coat off the floor with the point of a stiletto, gathering it under his arm.

The others quietly start to stretch, sit up, Yoongi going to fill up his glass again. By the time Jimin makes his way to you, Jin has already lifted Tae up with a single arm under him, carrying the younger upstairs as Taehyung sucks shamelessly at his neck. Namjoon is slower to move, probably still a little worked up and edged from the show, but he joins Yoongi in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Once Jimin is directly in front of you, your breath stops. He’s gathered the lightest sheen of sweat from dancing, or perhaps that’s just the highlighter on his cheeks, and his eyes are hazed from the excitement of performing. He silently reaches a hand out to you with an enticing smirk.

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Not here?”

“I did say private. Unless you want me to fuck you where everyone can see?”

You gulp at the thinly veiled threat. “We can go.” You take his hand and let him lift you up with effortless strength, pausing when he looks at you expectantly. “Did I do something…?”

Jimin beams like you’re a cute but stupid pet. “I haven’t been here before, remember? Show me to your room, sweetness.”

“Oh!” You rush past him, hands catching to guide him out and upstairs. The thrill of excitement speeds your steps, and in no time at all he’s placing his coat and phone on your desk, guiding you to sit on the end of the bed.

The third song starts with the familiar smoothness of Beyonce’s voice, an older pop song that holds up still, and Jimin slips off the black straps of the bodice, another set directly below them. Arms tucking behind him, he begins to undo the clasps one by one.

“You were being very well behaved, you know, sitting there and waiting for your turn,” he muses, fiddling with the fabric behind him. “Now you get a reward.”

You don’t know what to say in response, just nodding wordlessly, but it seems he is content with that. After a moment, you notice the top half of the bodice pull away from his chest lightly, revealing not plain skin but more lace, matching the panties that struggle to cover his cock. He approaches you as he undoes the last few at the base, and slips smoothly between your legs, letting it fall to the side.

In front of you in all his glory, Jimin looks gorgeous, the inky swoops of his tattoo peeking out from under a sweet black lace bralette, the skinniest straps holding up the delicate cups. In the center is a tiny black satin bow, and you think you feel your heart give out a little at the sight of it.

Even in his pretty lingerie, he’s no less intimidating, and you shudder at the feeling of his eyes locked onto you, feeding on your reactions and pinning you to the bed.

“You like it?” the dancer asks, voice rough with arousal. You nod quickly, still too stunned for words. Jimin hums, winding a hand around the back of your neck. “Show me how much you like it.”

Before you can suck in a breath, his mouth descends on yours, and a shot of electricity runs through you as he spares no time for pecks and caresses. This kiss is nothing short of filthy, his tongue runs over your teeth, he bites your lips, he sucks on your tongue. You do your best to reciprocate enthusiastically, but there’s no question who’s in charge.

With how deep and primal it is, there’s no surprise when you feel your shared spit begin to collect in the corners of your lips and run down your chin. Jimin doesn’t stop, but lowers his mouth to lap it up, pushing it back in and continuing to fuck his tongue into your mouth.

You moan hopelessly into the kiss, hips rocking on the edge of the mattress fruitlessly and fingers holding on to his neck and shoulder for dear life. His teeth are sharp, nipping mercilessly at your bottom lip until your eyes sting, but it only serves to drive more need.

The music in the background livens up as it reaches the chorus, and suddenly the thought of the song finishing and him leaving you high and dry comes to mind. You tug yourself away from him, sucking the spit off your swollen lip. “Jimin,” you gasp out, “I want you.”

Jimin grins. Though his gloss is all but gone, the colour on his lips remains intact. “You aren’t gonna let me finish my dance, sweetness?”

“Wi-Will you still fuck me after the song ends?” you ask, feeling stupid for needing confirmation.

Jimin lets out a soft but condescending coo, hands squeezing your cheeks together so that your lips pout. “Poor baby just wants to get fucked, does she? Baby just wants a cock in her.”

Even as he mocks you, you can’t even defend yourself. “Please, Jiminie.”

He places a single light peck over your protruding and obscenely swollen lips. “Let’s make a deal; I’ll dance for the rest of the song, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll let you cum when I fuck you. Sound fair?”

At this point, you’d agree to anything, and both of you know it. “I can do it,” you insist even as your voice wobbles.

Instead of answering, Jimin begins to move, following the momentum of the music. Your hands lie at their sides, the duvet cool against your heated flesh.

He starts out easy, stepping back to give himself more space and slowly lowering into a crouch, the heels making his calves pop. Running his hands down his chest, fingers slipping under the lace, he sighs out like his own touch gives him unspeakable pleasure.

You grit your teeth. Watching him touch himself just makes you want to touch him more. He widens his legs, showing the place where the lacy band narrows down below his balls into a thin string. Whether it’s the angle or just the amount of moving he’s done, the tip of his cock has nestled up higher, poking out just to the side of his hip. Shamelessly, he runs a single fingertip over it, tapping so you can see the clear strands of precum that cling.

You let out an unsteady breath, relaxing slightly as the song begins to build to the final chorus. Not long.

Unfortunately for you, Jimin recognises the changing keys as well as you do, and he stands up smoothly, slinking towards you.

Instead of settling between your knees this time, he turns his back to you and bends down, folding himself in half to fully bare his ass. Hoseok’s handprint still pinkens the skin of one, and the sudden desire to reach out and see if it’s as warm to the touch as it looks overcomes you. You hiss and fist your hands in the fabric of the duvet cover, making Jimin stretch up with a laugh.

Merciless, Jimin widens his stance, choosing to sit on top of your lap, ass grinding on you. You can imagine this movement would be much more unbearable for a guy, but you still feel your resolve unravelling, taken by the fluidity of his hips, the lace accuentuating his slender waist, the pressure of his head as he tips it back onto your shoulder.

“This is so unfair,” you complain shakily, and are rewarded with the musical giggle Jimin lets out, bubbling from his arched throat right into your ear.

Luckily, the chorus ends, and the final notes settle down. Jimin’s hips still and he turns his head, lips just about brushing your cheek. “Good job, sweetness,” he praises warmly, “can I have another kiss?”

Your jaw jerks automatically before you catch yourself. Though it’s fading out, the song technically hasn’t ended yet. “Not yet.”

Shameless even as his ruse is exposed, Jimin just beams and twist around so that he’s straddling you face-on. He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nibbling at the skin there as the beat fades and the overlaying instruments peter out. Though it must only be ten or fifteen seconds, it feels like forever as he rocks himself against you just like Taehyung had done to Jin - albeit less desperate and more strategic - and licks at the bite marks on your neck.

Finally, it goes silent, and you exhale deeply, hands automatically coming up to rest on his hips as he laughs lightly at your successful efforts. “I’m impressed,” he admits, “guess you get your reward after all, sweetness.”

So relieved that the heat between your legs will get some attention, you barely take notice of him standing up off you, at least not until he slips his cock fully out of the panties.

His cock, straining with being left unattended so long, is a far deeper pink than the mark on his ass, particularly around the head. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he strokes himself, before blinking down at you.

“Clothes off if you want me, sweetness.”

You could guarantee you’ve never undressed so quickly before, frantically enough that your hips are hot from the friction of tugging down your pants. You take no note, however, just spreading your legs wantonly as you eye up his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jimin curses, bracing a hand on your hip as he lines himself up. “Don’t even need stretching, do you? Looks like Joonie opened you up for me already.”

Your cheeks burn, but there’s not enough time to dwell on the embarrassment, as Jimin holds you down with his grasp on your hip and bottoms out in a single thrust.

Even though he’s right, the sudden fullness has you gasping a moan, almost falling onto your back. You prop yourself up and widen your legs further, eyes locked on the sight of his cock, nestled underneath by the lushest black lace, buried deep inside you. “Fuck, please move.”

“My pleasure,” he coos with a sweet smile, before the smile drops to a slack pout of lust, snapping his hips with a deftness that you now know is due to his background as a dancer.

You fight to keep yourself sitting up, one hand around the back of his neck as he fills you with every stroke, but the angle isn’t quite right, and you find your pelvis shifting to find it.

Jimin notices your frustration, and wordlessly pauses, grips your thighs and tugs you forward so that you’re flat on your back, ass over the edge and held up by his upper body strength. Without you even processing the change, he’s returning to his ruthless place, and you sob from relief at the way your insides come alive with pleasure, so much stronger than before.

“Fuck, right there! Right- ungh, yes, Ji-Jimin,” you pant out, feeling unbearably hot all at once with the intensity of it.

Though part of you is still sore from the scene you had with Namjoon earlier, your swollen walls only increase the drag of him against your sensitive tissue, and you quickly turn incoherent, tongue so thick in your mouth that you open it, panting as your fingers clutch the duvet to anchor you.

“That good, huh?” Jimin notes with a laugh stuttered by grunts of exertion. Normally, you’d protest or retort, but with your ankles wrapped around him and back arching off the bed, there’s nothing on your mind but the enveloping urge to cum.

Rather than reply, you just let yourself drown in the sensations, vision going black as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your orgasm comes so fast that you don’t even notice it approaching, can’t even warn him. It’s like a clap of thunder, making you go stiff with a scream before turning completely boneless, legs slipping down off him weakly.

Jimin curses as you squeeze around him, but fucks you through it thoroughly, only slowing down once you begin to fuss, shivering and wriggling away.

Dazed from the sudden onslaught of pleasure, it takes you a few moments for the fog in your brain to clear. Once you do, you glance down and realise Jimin is still achingly hard, dripping with your slick and the remnants of Namjoon’s cum, but none of his own. He strokes it lazily, gaze searching your face.

So exhausted from two intense scenes in one day, you don’t think you could manage to jerk him off or give him a decent blowjob, but to leave him hanging would be cruel. Instead, you fumble to slide yourself off the bed, landing a little too hard on your knees.

“What are you- oh, Y/n, fuck,” Jimin exclaims lowly as you blink up at him and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He gets the message easily, speeding up his strokes as his tip bounces on your tongue, brief sparks of the salty tang of your shared arousal.

He must have been close before, because it doesn’t take him more than a minute to fall over the edge, cumming into your mouth with thick spurts. A shame it couldn’t have been inside you a different way, but you nonetheless chase his cock, blade of your tongue dipping into his slit to make sure you’d gotten every last drop.

Jimin swears lowly, stroking your hair back fondly as you swallow, and helps you stand up on wobbly legs.

Leading you to the bathroom, Jimin sits you on the closed toilet seat as he runs a bath. Having slipped off his heels somewhere back in the room, he unhooks his garters as he waits for the tub to fill. With one leg resting on the high edge of the tub, rolling down the fishnets one at a time, you once again are silenced in awe of his beauty.

It feels unspeakably intimate to watch him unclasp the bralette, slip off the panties, and slowly take his makeup off, easily locating the makeup remover he’d borrowed from you that very first night.

Your eyes sting a little as you’re reminded of that time. It feels like an eternity ago, even though it’s just under a fortnight. You’d thought he was so intimidating back then. Though he still had the power to command attention, you’d seen enough of the kindhearted, thoughtful and sensitive man beneath that the Jimin two weeks ago felt like a very different man.

“Water’s ready.”

You blink yourself out of that train of thought, letting Jimin help you carefully into the tub, joining you on the other side, legs tangled. “Thank you,” you manage to say, still feeling a little out of it after a tiring day and a good orgasm.

Jimin beams, glancing away to obscure some of his face. It’s clear to you that the lack of makeup has him feeling a bit vulnerable. His skin is flushed red - either naturally or from exertion you couldn’t tell - and his brows were softer, eyes looking smaller without the shadow that emphasised them. He wasn’t any less beautiful like this, just more human. Comforting, in a way, as he passes you a washcloth and begins to lather himself up in strawberry-scented bodywash.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jimin starts, but his voice sounds weirdly stilted and unlike him.

“Mm?”

“My, um, my…” He lets out a light cough, avoiding your gaze with an air of forced aloofness. “Granny keeps asking about you. She’s convinced we’re dating, but that’s, uh, I’ve assured her we aren’t. She really liked you, and whenever we chat she asks to speak to you, and, um…”

You feel more coherent than you have in a good couple hours, sitting upright. “She does?”

Jimin laughs ruefully. “I never really knew how to ask you if you wanted to speak to her, or if I should even ask you at all-”

“So you thought now, while we’re both naked in a tub after you fucking my brains out is the right time?”

Jimin’s cheeks colour more as he splutters. “You can say no, I just didn’t want you to… I don’t know. You can say no.”

You beam at him. “I have one rule.”

“What?”

“I’ll hang out with Mrs. Park on one condition.”

The blue-haired boy stares at you warily. “Which is?”

You lean forward with a deadpan expression on your face, making him grimace in worry. “You let me sleep in your bed tonight,” you explain gravely, “I’m running out of options for this Bangasm Bomb thingy, and it’s only fair after you just took me out of commission like that.”

Jimin laughs in relief, throwing his head back with a joyous grin. “Deal! Don’t scare me like that.”

You return his smile, heart swelling from the fondness you hold for him. “Of course I’ll chat with your grandma, Jimin. I love her. She reminds me of you a lot.”

You may have said too much, but Jimin goes lax against the opposite end of the tub, smile never leaving his lips, and you don’t regret it for a second.

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nordic-language-love · 2 years

Photo

Language Learning Log 2022 Week Twelve (21.03 - 27.03)

Banner photo: One of my favourite pictures from my walk with my boyfriend on Wednesday morning. The weather’s been so lovely this week!

Bergenstest all parts

Bergenstest part 2

Bergenstest part 4

3x Italki lessons

100 happys days posts

Anki

??? I’m honestly so bad at remembering to write things down and the moment, and then I just. can’t remember what I did lmao

Seems I can consistently write a comprehensive short essay for the Bergenstest in about 70 minutes (out of 120). That bodes well for the real exam (which is on FRIDAY AAAAH). I also actually took a past paper rather than an example paper from the website I've been using and omg everything was so much easier. The questions were straightforward and I understood what they were asking of me and the answers for the listening comprehension were short enough for me to read through before the person started speaking. So I'm feeling a LOT more confident. I really feel like I can pass (and maybe even get C1, even though I definitely don't feel like I'm C1 and I feel like the test is too easy to be an accurate measure of C1 level, but hey).

I definitely feel like I could've prepared more and prepared better. I think because I started quite early I pretty much gave myself a pat on the back for how well I was doing, then slacked off for months thinking "ohh it's really far away I have plenty of time to prepare and I’m already pretty close to getting C1". And now it's suddenly time for the test, and I’m still on the brink of B2/C1. Had I prepared better, C1 would be a walk in the park. Alas, I’m going to have to rely on luck. I might make a post of the things I'd do differently so that next time I have an exam I can refer back to it.

One thing I've really had to come to terms with this past month is that my listening comprehension isn't as good as I thought it was, and that's probably something I need to work on. My speaking is still by far my worst skill, but my listening is my second weakest skill for sure. Once I’m back from Norway I want to focus on Japanese for 2-3 months, but after that I really want to work on my listening comprehension (and speaking of course!)

Speaking of Japanese... next week I’ll be starting Japanese lessons on italki! I’m really excited. Right now, I feel like there’s just so much I don’t know how to even start saying, and I think having a tutor will be super helpful. I’m sure I could eventually learn Japanese on my own without a tutor (especially with the amazingly helpful langblr community!) but it’ll definitely go a lot faster with a little help 😅 I’m actually so excited I’m fighting to stay focused fully on Norwegian; I have such a strong urge to make Japanese anki decks and get out my textbook and practise writing kanji! Just gotta hold out for one more week (watch my motivation to study Japanese then drop and be replaced by a burning need to reach C2 in Norwegian 😂)

#progress report #language learning log #langblr #language blog #learning languages

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 3 years

Text

Chemical Reaction Chapter 1

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: No set parings in this one yet

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Mentions of violence but that's canon.

Author’s Note: DO YOU KNOW HOW NERVOUS I AM FOR THIS?!? Even setting this up, I have anxiety building up. I'm ready for my debut into the Marvel fics. I do hope that if you guys enjoy this that you will leave some feedback. Anything helps! I absolutely love Tony and I hope this does him justice.

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

Y/N L/N knew that when she was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. that there would be moments where things would become chaotic. She knew that there would be moments where she would have to drop whatever it was she was working on to work on something that was being deemed top priority. Her multiple degrees from MIT had proved her to be an asset. Especially when they came across foreign objects that needed to be identified.

Over the last several years while Earth found out just how big the universe was, Y/N was behind the scenes hoping to help by making weapons to help protect the earth with what she was creating. Her projects were always kept under lock and key with the help of Director Nick Fury. He made sure her work was never interrupted and made sure she had everything she needed to create what he asked.

The sound of the lab door sliding open had caught her attention. Her eyes lifted only for a second to see Fury walking in before she looked back down at the computer screen in front of her. The program on the screen helping her to put the missing pieces she needed together.

“I’m expecting a box of my favorite cookies if you’re coming in here while I’m working.” She said, not taking her eyes off the coding. Every few moments she’d adjust the coding to adjust a few things or add coding where needed.

“Already delivered to your house.” Fury said as he walked further into the lab. “Even I know your bite is worse than your bark.”

That caused her to chuckle as her eyes flickering back and forth between him and the screen. Between Y/N and Fury, they had a softer relationship than most agents did with him. Maybe it was that her parents were friends with his family. But Y/N knew that when things meant business, the playful demeanor they had towards each other stopped.

“I’ve got an assignment for you.” He said as he came to a stop just in front of her desk.

“You mean besides this one?” She asked with a raised brow as her fingers typed along a keyboard. The new information she input caused the program to create a visual prototype of the weapon Fury had asked her for.

“For now this one is being put on hold.” Fury’s hands rested on the desk as he watched as Y/N looked up and at him. There was a slight frown on her face that caused Fury to chuckle. “Priorities change, Y/N/N. Including this one. What I need you to work on has been bumped up in priority.”

“This has to do with the mission the Avengers are on, isn’t it?” Y/N knew if she was right, that meant the Avengers had found an unknown source that needed to be identified. Usually, it was Y/N that got called in for those kinds of tasks.

“A Hydra base had a weapon on display, much like the scepter Loki had. But instead of an infinity stone at its center, it is something else. I need you and Stark to identify it.”

Y/N stilled at the name before she rolled her eyes. “We both know Stark and I don’t get along.”

“You two are the only ones that I want working on this.” He said as he stood up straight. “Between his brain and yours, it would save us a lot of time and expedite us destroying it.”

“You mean to study it before figuring out a way to utilize it?” Y/N knew better. She knew how Fury worked. His secret projects Y/N had been a part of from time to time. It was her design that was used for the prototype gun that had been created from pieces of the Destroyer when it came to Earth.

A knowing look formed on Fury’s face and it caused a smirk to pull at Y/N’s lips. He shook his head slightly. “It depends on if it can or cannot be utilized. I want to know why Hydra had it in the first place.”

“And that requires Stark’s help?” She asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I get it.” He said as he tilted his head slightly. “You two have history. But I need the best minds I’ve got working on this.”

“What about Banner?” She asked, trying to get out of it one last time. “I don’t butt heads with Banner.” She was going to take whatever chances to avoid Tony Stark.

Fury eyed her before he turned to walk away from her. Y/N huffed out air as he had begun to do so. That was his answer to her question. He wasn’t going to let her out of this. Y/N should have known. For as many times as she tried to get out of work, Fury always got what he wanted.

“I want another batch!” She called out as she watched him leave. “Preferably the ones your mom makes.”

“Wheels up in an hour L/N.” Fury said as the sliding doors open. “I expect you to be on it.”

_____

“Alright, let's get this down to the lab.” Tony Stark said as he watched as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents began to pull the weapon off of the quinjet as he walked right behind them.

His hands slid against each other as he walked down the ramp, his eyes lingering on the case. The weapon was securely locked within a case to ensure that nothing would happen to it on its journey. He was eager to get started on figuring out what element was powering it. He had seen first hand the energy that came off of it in action.

“Perfect,” Natasha said as she exited out of the quinjet. “Fury just informed me that your new lab partner is already there and waiting for it's arrival."

Tony stopped in his tracks and turned towards Natasha. “Excuse me? There’s a what in my lab?”

“Fury sent someone over.” Natasha said as she came and stood in front of Tony. “Didn't give me a name though. He believes between the two of you, you’ll be able to identify the element faster and get it ready for transport."

Tony’s eyebrow raised. There was only one time he had opened his lab open to someone. And that had been to Bruce Banner. Why Fury decided it was a good time to send someone new in, Tony would never understand.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. who is currently in the lab?” He asked as he looked nowhere in particular. He wanted to know what he was about to walk into.

Miss Y/N L/N is, sir. The A.I said from overhead. She arrived minutes before you did.

“Shit,” Tony muttered under his breath as he looked back over at Natasha. The woman currently had a smirk pulling at her lips. “This is a joke right?”

Natasha laughed as she shrugged. "I'm only passing along the message."

Natasha knew enough about the relationship between Tony and Y/N. They butted heads when it came to almost anything and everything. She enjoyed watching the way Y/N had gotten under his skin any time they were in a room together. If there was one person that could put Tony in his place, it was Y/N.

Tony mumbled under his breath as he began making his way towards the elevator. He could probably avoid her for a few more hours. But knowing Y/N, she'd have things rearranged by the time he made it down there. It was better to face her now than later. It would definitely be worse later.

"Let Y/N know I'll call for backup when she needs it!" Natasha called out just as the elevator doors were closing.

_____

A frustrated sigh passed Y/N’s lips as she looked around the lab. With as many times as Y/N had been there, it had never ceased to amaze her that Tony would have things completely out of place. That included the perfectly neat station that she had left behind since she was becoming a frequent guest.

Pieces of junk had been carelessly tossed on the workstation, causing the items she had left on there to be scattered about. Stains from god knows what had been smeared on a majority of the files she left behind. No doubt things that Tony only looked at before tossing them aside.

They may have gotten on each other’s nerves, But Y/N had tried helping with some of the tech he was working on. While mostly suggestions, she knew that some of them would have upgraded things in a way that would help Tony. But with his stubbornness and ego, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t take any of it into account.

“J.A.R.V.I.S?” She called out as she walked around the workstation. “Does Tony actually need any of this or am I free to dispose of it?”

“Don’t answer that.” Tony said as he walked into the lab. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents close behind him, bringing in the encased weapon. The moment it was placed on a workstation, they left just as quickly as they came. “It is after all my lab and I can place things where I want, and when I want.” He had come to stand a few feet away from Y/N.

Y/N’s eyebrow raised as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes stayed on his before a small smirk slowly pulled at her lips. “J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

Mr. Stark is not intending to use the items he disposed of on your desk. I believe the term he used was ‘a junk table’.

Y/N watched as Tony’s mouth dropped at the A.I.’s words. He had never once had it work against him and yet, Y/N had managed to do so. “You turned him against me.”

“Not against,” She defended. “I just added a few things to ensure that I’d get the right information instead of you sabotaging me.”

“For the millionth time, that was not sabotage. I ensured everything was fair and square.” Tony rolled his eyes. “When did you even have time to hack into things?”

Y/N bit down on her tongue to keep her from speaking her mind. She should have known better. She should have known that he would simply deny it, just as he had plenty of times before. Instead, she let out a deep breath. “The last time I was here.” She said as she uncrossed her arms and began moving towards the case. “If I’m not mistaken, you were otherwise preoccupied with an overly bubbly blonde. Plus it wasn’t like I corrupted the system in any way. I just need someone on my side from time to time.”

Just as she reached the case and went to open it, Tony’s hand reached hers and stopped her from opening it. She turned to face him, her hand still on the latch. There was a slight glare on Tony’s face. Whether it was from her words or the fact she was attempting to open the case, she’d never know.

“You have no idea what this thing is and you want to just open it, like it’s nothing.” He said never taking his eyes off her.

“That’s what the point of this is.” She shook her head. “All the necessary protocols already came into play the moment the agents left.”

“I highly doubt that.” He said, taking a step back.

“Want to ask? Or should I?” Her fingers tapped on the latch as she watched him. It was a challenge.

The simple words enough to show how much they really trusted the other. While Tony had no idea about the rewrite that Y/N had included in his system, they hadn’t always agreed on things. If anything, they always disagreed with each other ninety-nine percent of the time. That one percent was a mix of giving in to what the other wanted or, Y/N getting her way.

It was as Tony let out a sigh that another smirk began to grow on Y/N’s lips. “J.A.R.V.I.S. are-”

Yeah, it was going to be a long week for the both of them.

All WorksTag (The tag to be notified for everything I write): @xoxo-nikki-xoxo @mrs-jackson-kenner @mizzzpink @amariaamaris

Excelsior Tag(All MCU fics): @hey-there-angels @hellotvshowtrash @dpaccione@taylordrunkonwhiskey @old-enough-to-know-better73

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Iron Man Tag (For any and all things Tony): @imgoingtofreakoutnow

If you would like to be added to, or taken off, the taglist, please do so here!

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penguintransporter · 4 years

Text

A Sunflower (Leon Goretzka imagine)

a/n: This is a quite short imagine (well, short for my style of writing) and it was requested by this lovely anon who sent me an ask a while ago, and I deleted it before being able to answer it. But, as wished, a cute Leon Goretzka imagine for you that includes a sunflower, plus I made this banner because I was feeling inspired. Hope you like it ❤

He knows straight away who is at the door as soon as he hears the doorbell of his apartment ring – at first shyly, as if the person behind the doors barely touched it, and then the second time a tiny bit longer, and dare he say, more confident and impatient.

Still, he doesn’t move even if he wants to.

He sits in the middle of his sofa, glancing at the large flower pot next to him before he moves his eyes back to the enormous screen where he was in the middle of a very difficult battle in this new multiplayer game – letting Benjamin Pavard join the server and making him shoot on target proving to be a more difficult task than him and Joshua thought it would be. The Frenchman was hopeless.

The bell rings out once again, and he curses a little as he tries to hide from the shooter.

“Aren’t you going to get that, bro?” Joshua asks, half-shouting, as Leon moves and dodges slightly, as if that’s going to help him avoid the enemy’s bullet.

Press of a button – target shot.

Then another, and another.

“No, she can wait until we finish the battle,” he responds hurriedly as he presses the button on his controller fiercely.

“She?” Benjamin asks – French accent obvious like the storm that was raging outside.

“Neighbour,” Leon replies absent-mindedly before dropping his controller in his lap, leaning back. “Fuck! You were supposed to cover for me, Kimmich!”

When he finally opens the doors, barefoot and in sports socks, wearing a fresh t-shirt, she’s standing there – eyebrows slightly narrowed.

“Hi,” he starts, running a hand through his curls, trying to pretend that he was curious about why she was there. “May I help you?”

Holding back the triumphant smirk, he looks down at her.

As if he didn’t know who she was. As if he didn’t know her name, last name, age, and the time when she usually arrives home from her work every single day. As if he wasn’t thinking about her lately, more than he dared to admit. As if it wasn’t him who stopped the delivery guy when he walked back with her order of a huge flowerpot with sunflowers after not finding her home.

But, he just couldn’t help it.

She looks so cute – too cute for his own good – all flustered in her sailor-striped long-sleeved shirt and a pair of high-waisted jeans as she looks up at him with doe eyes.

So tiny and delicate, compared to him.

“Hello,” she mumbles and he can swear that her cheeks turned rosy for a moment and he likes it. “I believe you’ve got my order?” she asks with hesitation, lifting up a yellow post-it that had a note scribbled in his messy handwriting. He nods, leaning against the door-frame – arms folded on his chest. “Sorry about that. I should have remembered that it was due to be delivered today.”

“That’s fine,” he smiles comfortingly at her, trying to ease her nervousness. “Want to come in?” he asks suddenly before he could stop himself.

She widens her eyes for a second and he wants to slap himself – what are you even thinking, Goretzka?

“Uh, sure,” she quickly nods, brushing away a stray hair that fell out of her low ponytail. He nods as well, moving away to let her walk in, and she does so but he can feel her reluctance, so he quickly decides to leave the door open, thinking that she probably needed some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t a maniac of some kind.

“I watered it,” he admits as he walks past her, inviting her into his sparsely furnished living room.

Despite having money to make it less sterile, he had no motivation.

His taste was probably questionable as well.

She looks around the empty apartment walls as he lifts up the large and quite heavy container with a bunch of smaller sunflowers planted inside.

With a smile, she walks closer to where he is standing and presses a finger into the soil. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you,” she admits as he takes a whiff of her perfume. Or was it shampoo? It didn’t matter because she smelled exactly how he imagined – flowery and light.

“I can help you carry it, this is quite heavy,” he begins and she looks up at him with genuine curiosity.

He has hard time looking into her eyes and not at her lips.

His neighbour only smiles shyly, nodding again, and couldn’t help himself but do the same before they make their way through his apartment, and out into the corridor where he quickly puts on his shoes. They take the stairs, despite having an elevator on disposal, but he doesn’t mind even if the pot feels slippery in his hands – it still buys him more time with her.

“I didn’t know footballers lived in this area?” she asks apprehensively, glancing at him from under her eyelashes. “I thought you all lived in Schwabing or Grünwald.”

Leon smiles at the thought that she knew who he was, and for some reason he feels even more proud for his achievements with the club. He wonders if she liked football, and if she would look good in his jersey?

He laughs a little as they reach the landing where her doors were, “Yeah, most of my friends from the club do. I prefer this area. It reminds me of the one where I grew up in Bochum. Also, I like the all the cafe’s around the block.”

She nods, silently confirming her own liking of the very same places as she pulls a key from her jeans pocket, twisting the lock and letting Leon walk in first.

It hits him like a train.

Compared to the bare walls of his apartment and no such thing as a single plant in any of his rooms, her place looked like a mini-jungle to say at least. There were plants everywhere – on the floor, on the shelves, around the small TV, on the coffee-table, window sills and hanging from the hooks along the window.

She giggles lightly, covering her face.

“You get used to it the more you look at it. It’s always the initial shock,” she jokes, walking around him and stepping closer to the doors that led to a small balcony. “You can put it down here and I will move it outside once it stops raining.”

He nods, doing as she asked him to, and when he straightens himself he cannot help but smile, both because he was polite and because he couldn’t stop thinking how nice would it be to hold her tiny frame in his arms. He was sure that he could even fit her in his pocket if he wanted to.

“Well,” he begins, brushing his hands against his jeans, “hopefully, I will see you around.” She nods with a smile and he turns around, ready to make his way through the maze of different plants, but she stops him by calling him by his name. For a second, he is confused, but then he remembers that he is not just any random guy in Munich and that she probably knew his name even without the note he left on her door. “Yeah?” he questions, facing her again.

She kept smiling, reaching out a small pot with a green plant that she took from her window sill. “Here, as a thank you for taking care of my sunflowers. This is peperomia. Doesn’t grow as big and it’s easy to take care of it. Forgetting to water it once or twice won’t kill it.”

He doesn’t know what to do or what to say, so he grins as he takes the small pot and takes it home.

He stares at the plant that is now on top of his coffee table as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Oh what the hell,” he mutters quietly, getting up and going for his entrance doors – not bothering to put on any shoes or to lock after himself. Each step is every second stair – his training schedule and being a professional footballer giving him advantage in still having a normal breathing tempo as he reaches her doors, knocking lightly.

She opens them just a few seconds later, looking at him slightly confused. “Hi again,” she greets with a small wave, holding a watering can in her hands.

“Hi,” Leon breathes out, running a hand through his curls. “I am off tomorrow, and I wanted to ask you if you want to have breakfast with me?” he blurts out, not beating around the bush. He can feel his own cheeks flaming up ever so slightly as she looks down at his feet – clad in only white sports socks, and he gets nervous. “I mean, we can just get a coffee if you are not feeling like a breakfast. Or lunch… dinner maybe? I make a great lasagna… are you vegetarian or vegan?” he rambles, unable to stop.

She gently laughs, and he stops talking, feeling all sorts of emotions in his stomach; in his heart.

“I’d like to. We can have breakfast, or get a coffee, or lunch, or dinner maybe?” she repeats his words, tilting her head to one side.

He breathes out yet again and takes a step backwards and away from her door. “Great, I will pick you up tomorrow. Is 10 am too early, or too late?”

“It’s perfect,” she answers shyly, blushing.

“Perfect. I’ll let you tend your plants,” he stops again, grimacing at his own words, “not that I think that’s all you do. I am sure you have other wonderful hobbies that you can tell me about some other time. I mean bye, I will see you tomorrow.”

She giggles as she starts closing the doors slowly, looking at him the entire time from behind it. “You know where to find me,” she adds before she blushes deeper red and finally closes the doors completely.

Leon takes a deep breath, making his way downstairs before pumping his fist in happiness, unaware that a pair of eyes were still looking at him through the peephole of the plants-filled apartment – an equally excited grin plastered across her face.

***

a/n: I hope you like it. Tell me what you think ❤

#leon goretzka #bayern munich #football fanfiction #footballer fanfiction #footballer oneshot #leon goretzka imagine #leon goretzka fanfiction #leon goretzka oneshot

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

I am grinning like a FOOL at nmj/wwx/lwj. Aaaaaahhh just imagine the looks on everyone’s faces ESPECIALLY the jins, can you IMAGINE. Every sect except their own has entered a marriage alliance in one swoop, and that marriage alliance includes three of the most powerful cultivators alive. I’m in love with this.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, past 5 - aka Pastime (with good company)

“I can forgive you for getting married, but not for making me tell Uncle about it,” Lan Xichen said without ceremony as he swept into the room like a puff of aggravated white cloud – and yes, he was well aware that was how he was coming off, he had plenty of self-awareness. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was actually upset anymore; he hadn’t seen so many secret little smiles from Lan Wangji since their childhood. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him turn that shade of red before. I think he was even thinking of throwing something at me!”

“Did you mention the bit where it technically fulfilled his requirements regarding devoting to a single spouse?” Nie Mingjue asked from behind his teacup, eyes bright with amusement and not even a speck of shame. It was just like him, too; Nie Mingjue was not one to regret decisions he had made. “Huaisang mentioned that you’d said that: I rather liked that one.”

“I did,” Lan Xichen said, making a face at Nie Mingjue and causing him to laugh. “It didn’t help. As you probably could have guessed, you – oh! A-Yao, be careful, you’re spilling the tea.”

Jin Guangyao looked down at where he’d filled his teacup to overflowing. “Ah,” he said, and put the teapot down, reaching for a piece of cloth to clean up the mess on the table. “Forgive me, I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing…I’m sorry, er-ge, did you say that da-ge was marrying? And you – told your uncle about it, for some reason?”

“Well, there wasn’t much of a choice,” Lan Xichen sighed, sitting down and accepting the cup of tea that Nie Mingjue slid over to him instead. “Since one of his brides is going to be my brother.”

“Your brother? You mean – Wangji? And - one of his brides…?”

“He only has the one brother; who else could he mean?” Nie Mingjue pointed out, and Lan Xichen shot him a glare to remind him to behave – it wasn’t Jin Guangyao’s fault that he probably had more siblings than he could count on both hands and feet, after all.

“Yes,” he said, turning to Jin Guangyao. “Forgive me, A-Yao, I entirely forgot you weren’t at the Unclean Realm when this was all being discussed at the start. As it stands now, Da-ge will be taking two brides to share the position of first wife, one of which is my brother.”

Jin Guangyao was blinking very rapidly, clearly attempting to process the information and just as clearly having some difficulty. Possibly at the idea of Nie Mingjue getting married at all, much less in a cutsleeve marriage – in fact, Lan Xichen wasn’t sure he’d ever mentioned to him that Lan Wangji was a cutsleeve.

Did Jin Guangyao maybe have some lingering prejudices? It seemed unlikely, given what Lan Xichen knew of his personality, but such issues were more often seen among the common people…

“I see,” Jin Guangyao said. “And…who’s the other one?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Nie Mingjue said, and he looked so incredibly pleased about it that Lan Xichen reluctantly shelved the idea of scolding him further. A smile from Lan Wangji, a smile from Wei Wuxian, a smile from Nie Mingjue – anything that caused this many smiles was bound to be a good thing.

Even if poor Jin Guangyao’s smile did look a bit strained…

“He’s what?!”

Jin Guangyao held his hands apart as if to indicate he had no idea how it had happened either, and Jin Zixuan thought that for once in his life his duplicative half-brother might be completely and utterly sincere. “He confirmed it himself.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jin Guangshan growled, having apparently decided to skip over shock in favor of paranoid theorizing. “Of course – all this time, Nie Mingjue pretended to disdain the Stygian Tiger seal, looking down on it, but in reality he was seeking his own means of obtaining it –”

Jin Zixuan didn’t think that was especially likely.

He’d fought with Nie Mingjue during the war as one of his lieutenants. Even though his father had insisted that the Jin sect fight under its own banner, it’d quickly become obvious that none of the generals his father had appointed had the slightest idea of what they were doing, unlike Nie Mingjue; to keep his people from enduring another slaughter, Jin Zixuan had forced himself to swallow his pride and ask Nie Mingjue for advice.

The other man had never once lorded it over him, even though Jin Zixuan was in the weaker position – his letters had been straightforward and to the point, answering his questions without any judgment, and when they worked together in person, he was the same.

Jin Zixuan had spent entire nights worrying about his motives, and a shamefully long time to realize that the reason Nie Mingjue was acting the way he did was because he was just – like that. Honest and forthright and disinclined towards scheming, the way everyone said he was; a man who was righteous in the sense that he did what he thought was right, not in the sense of flattering himself to think he was better than others.

(Somewhere along the line, Jin Zixuan had shifted from choking down his pride to choking down guilt at thinking that Nie Mingjue was a better leader than his father – and that he’d probably have been a better father, too, no matter how Nie Huaisang had ultimately turned out. He thought, though he did not know, that if he had not adopted some of Nie Mingjue’s straightforwardness in pursuing Jiang Yanli, she might not be his bride today.)

“ – why didn’t any of us think of that?” Jin Guangshan was demanding when Jin Zixuan tuned back into the conversation, and it made him nearly choke. “A-Xuan! What sounds are you making over there?”

“Nothing, father,” Jin Zixuan said, coughing a little to clear his throat. “Merely – admiring how unorthodox Chifeng-zun’s thinking must have been.”

Jin Guangyao’s lips twitched. It was only a second, there and gone, but Jin Zixuan had still seen the little glimpse of humor. It was truly a pity, he reflected, that his brother wanted his position more than his friendship; they might have been good friends, in another world. Of course, that was the way things went in Lanling, with each person out for themselves, but ever since he’d married Jiang Yanli, he’d started to think that perhaps the greedy, grasping, conniving world his father had cultivated around him wasn’t the right way to lead a sect.

He used to think that the Jin sect was better than everyone else because of the way they thought – that only they were honest enough to acknowledge the frailties in human nature and to make use of them, rather than pretending that people could really be brave and righteous and true, that friendship was a real thing rather than another name for allies of convenience, that love was anything more than a momentary lapse, a weakness – but he didn’t any more. The other righteous sects might be naïve in their belief in righteousness, but believing in righteousness encouraged righteous behavior; even if it was done only as a façade, for most people, the façade would eventually turn into truth after it became enough of a habit.

For most people, anyway.

Jin Zixuan had done his best to like his new brother – upstanding war hero that he was – but he couldn’t quite manage it. He was too familiar with people who came to him with gentle smiles that hid daggers, and his mother, while far too vicious, was unfortunately right that those who shared his parentage all seemed to have their eyes fixed firmly on his position. Jin Guangyao might pretend that he didn’t, but some of the moves he’d made were a little too obviously meant to be consolidations of power: courting the Qin girl, being friendly with certain dissatisfied factions…

Jin Zixuan heard that Jin Guangyao had once been Nie Mingjue’s deputy, wearing a façade of righteousness, and their current enmity had been birthed once the other man had seen what he was really like.

It seemed like a bad trade to him, scrabbling for scraps in Lanling instead of being respected as a man in Qinghe, but he supposed he was in no position to judge. He’d had all the advantages in the world given to him at his birth, and he’d still taken so very long to figure out that righteousness was actually worth something by itself.

His father was still ranting about Wei Wuxian, with his half-brother indulging him with nods and questions that didn’t achieve anything other than making his father feel good about himself for having guessed right, and eventually Jin Zixuan was sick enough of it to feel the need to divert the conversation.

“Whatever his motives may be for marrying Wei Wuxian,” he said, “surely those reasons don’t apply to Hanguang-jun, who possesses no secret power to be obtained. It’s not as though the Nie sect needs a connection to the Lan sect – Chifeng-zun is already sworn brothers with Zewu-jun.”

He paused, deliberately, then added, as if in afterthought, “And A-Yao, of course.”

Jin Guangyao might have mastered the ways of the mistress, sweetness and support and indulgence to win favor, but Jin Zixuan had grown up with a mother that had never allowed an infamously straying husband to bring home a single concubine – if Jin Guangyao thought a few tricks were enough to get his position, he was only dreaming.

Jin Zixuan would help him wake up.

“Do you think it’s that he doesn’t like A-Xian enough to marry just him?” Jiang Yanli asked, biting her lip, but her husband shook his head with a laugh.

“My father couldn’t think of a reason either,” he said, looking arrogant and smug in that charming sort of way he had when he was happy. “The only thing he could come up with after hours and hours was that he might be some sort of pretty flower vase meant as a consolation for having to marry the Yiling Patriarch.”

“But you don’t think that.”

“Of course not. Chifeng-zun is a good man, and even if he wasn’t, he’s old friends with Zewu-jun, who would never allow anything like that.”

Jiang Yanli conceded the point, but that still didn’t explain why. She’d known, of course, of Jiang Cheng’s desperate gamble to protect Wei Wuxian and keep him in the Jiang sect in some manner – technically not, since he’d be under the protection of the Nie sect going forward, but this way at least made sure that he’d always have his family backing. She’d even hoped, based on some things Jiang Cheng had said to her, that Wei Wuxian was happy with the marriage, looking forward to it.

But why would Nie Mingjue take a second wife – no, another first wife – at the same time? Wasn’t that looking down at her brother?

“Personally, my theory is that he just didn’t want to get cuckolded,” Jin Zixuan said, playing with her hair. “So he took precautions against it.”

“Cuckolded?” she asked, and she could feel him turn red – her husband was sensitive about such things, a remnant of his unhappy childhood. He was terrified that she might start to suspect him of crimes he hadn’t yet committed (as if he wasn’t a terrible enough liar that she’d know at once anyway if he’d really done anything), and he usually avoided any discussion of infidelity like the plague. She wasn’t letting him off this time, though, not if Wei Wuxian’s happiness was at stake. “What do you mean? A-Xian wouldn’t betray someone he’d sworn himself to.”

Not without a good reason, anyway. The way Wei Wuxian had been behaving recently towards Jiang Cheng – towards the Jiang sect generally, especially after the business with the Wen sect remnants – could almost make her think terrible things, and only the fact she loved her brother as blindly as she did could make her unswerving in her faith that there was some purpose behind his seemingly cruel behavior.

“Probably not,” Jin Zixuan agreed. “But I mean – come on. I didn’t notice it when I was younger, because I was an idiot back then –”

He said it, not her.

“– but Wei Wuxian chased after Lan Wangji the entire time we were at the Wen indoctrination camp together. Same way I chased after you, actually.”

“With no grace or tact or knowledge of women?” she teased, and he blushed and rubbed his cheek against hers.

“Well, yes,” he said. “But I got you in the end, didn’t I?”

That was a good point.

Jiang Yanli hadn’t seen them interacting enough to really judge – convention separating men from women the way it did – but Wei Wuxian had spoken of Lan Wangji rather a lot after his time studying in the Cloud Recesses. It was certainly a plausible guess.

“So you think Sect Leader Nie married Hanguang-jun for what reason?” she asked. “To keep A-Xian from pursing him?”

“Common wisdom in Lanling says that if it’s not to create connections, then there’s only two reasons for a man to take a concubine,” Jin Zixuan said with a shrug. “One is to keep the man company – the other’s to give company to his wife.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyebrows shot up. “Company for his wife?”

“Why not? Men and women move in different circles – if a man is worried his wife might be thinking of looking for company outside, it’s better to get her someone who will be by her side all the time, isn’t it?”

Jiang Yanli covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “I suppose so,” she said. “Please don’t get me company in the future, though; I’m quite capable of making friends on my own.”

“And I,” her husband said, perking up at once, “of keeping you too busy to even think about other company –”

“You really think it’s all right?” Jiang Cheng asked Jiang Yanli. He trusted his sister’s judgment, but he was still worried. “I don’t want Wei Wuxian to think he has to suffer in silence –”

Jiang Yanli patted his shoulder. “A-Cheng, think about what you’re saying. I’m not saying A-Xian wouldn’t suffer, but – in silence?”

“If he thought it might hurt one of us he would,” Jiang Cheng said stubbornly. “This was my idea, and you know he’s worried about messing up your relationship with Jin Zixuan by starting too much trouble, especially with the Jin sect being the first one to jump down his throat about it. And anyway, he wasn’t chasing after Lan Wangji! He was – he –”

He frowned. He’d always thought that they disliked each other – certainly Lan Wangji’s constantly cold expression didn’t suggest he enjoyed Wei Wuxian’s teasing, although Wei Wuxian did spend an awful lot of time planning out pranks centered around Lan Wangji in specific. Or even, as Jiang Yanli had pointed out, just talking about him.

Which he did. A lot.

“What if Lan Wangji doesn’t like him back?” he asked, suddenly consumed with a brand new worry. “If Chifeng-zun goes to all that trouble for Wei Wuxian, and gets his hopes up, and then it turns out that Lan Wangji really doesn’t like him –”

“I’m sure Sect Leader Nie must have thought it over carefully before he took any action,” Jiang Yanli said. “A-Xuan tells me that he’s a good person, a good leader, and a good general – he must have a plan. Don’t you think?”

“Well, he is all that,” Jiang Cheng admitted. He wouldn’t have been so confident in his plan to marry Wei Wuxian into the Nie sect if Nie Mingjue hadn’t been as righteous as his reputation. But still…

“Why don’t you see what Wei Wuxian thinks about it?” she suggested, quite reasonably. “And anyway, he’ll still need a chaperone for their next visit, and the seasonal floods are over – you could go supervise.”

Jiang Cheng brightened. His older sister always had the best ideas. “What would I do without you?” he asked, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

She laughed. “Starve, probably. Would you like some more soup?”

“Of course! Remind me, why am I letting you go off to Lanling again..?”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #lan xichen #jin guangyao #jin zixuan #jiang yanli #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #pasttime in good company #Anonymous

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9worldstales · 3 years

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MCU: Loki and Midgardian clothes

So, I’ve seen some fans wondering how could Loki fix Mobius’ tie since Asgardians clearly do not wear ties…

…and it made me wonder ‘is this a mistake or Loki was actually familiar with Midgardians clothes?’

So let’s start with the sources at our disposition to answer this question.

SOURCES MENTIONED:

Movies: “Thor” (2011), “The Avengers” (2012), “Thor – Ragnark” (2017)

Series: “Loki” [More exactly a scene from: “Marvel Studios' Loki | Official Trailer | Disney+”] (2021)

Comics: None mentioned

Direct-to-video animated film: None mentioned

Motion comics: None mentioned

Books: “The Art of Thor” (2011), “The art of The Avengers” (2012), “The Art of Thor: Ragnarok” (2017), “Marvel Studios: All your questions answered” (2018)

Novels: “Thor: Ragnarok - The Junior novel” by Jim McCann (2017)

Webs: None mentioned

Others: “Thor” old movie script

Okay, now we can start.

So, as weird as it might seem at first, the second answer, which is that Loki is familiar with Midgardian modern attires, might be the intended one, right from “Thor”.

Let’s go back to that movie.

Thor is clearly unfamiliar with present day Midgard as a whole, and so are his friends.

We’ve various moments in which Thor shows he’s unaware of present day Midgardians customs, like when he can’t realize he’s in doctors’ care and thinks they’re attacking him (in a deleted bit, when they tell him they’re trying to help him, he demands they bring him healing stones, showing he has no idea how Earth’s healing system work), or when he breaks a glass asking another believing he’s showing appreciation for the drink, or when he enters in a pet shop, demands a horse and when they tell him they’ve only dogs, cats, birds, demands one of them big enough to ride.

It doesn’t mean he never went to Midgard, in the movie there’s the implication he had been on Midgard before...

Thor: We're going to Jotunheim. Fandral: What? This isn't like a journey to Earth where you summon a little lightning and thunder, and the mortals worship you as a god. This is Jotunheim.

...and there was a cut scene in which he recognized being on Midgard and even calling it ‘Earth’.

Thor: Blue sky... one sun... This is Earth, isn't it?

And there’s another cut scene that says that yes, Sif and the Warriors Three had been on Earth… but a thousand years ago.

Volstagg: Is it just me, or does Earth look a little different to you? Sif: It has been a thousand years... Volstagg: Things change so fast here. You leave for a millennium, and it's like the whole neighborhood's gone.

Now, Loki was a babe in 965 AD and “Thor” takes place in 2011. Sif likely doesn’t mean exactly 1000 years but, what’s more, we don’t know how exactly Asgardians age in the MCU.

Does their childhood last as much as ours and then their aging process slow down so as to allow them to live 5000 years? Or their aging process is proportionately all slowed down and they remains babes for years?

I tend to think their childhood is fast and then they have a slower aging process once they reach a certain age, but anyway this is irrelevant. Even if Loki visited Midgard 1000 years before and was familiar with its customs back then, well, things, as Volstagg points out, are changed a lot.

So… where do we can get an idea if Loki is familiar with Midgard or not?

When Loki goes to see Thor, he shows up dressed up in 21st century Midgardian attire.

In “The Art of Thor” is said:

Said Craig Kyle, “Loki wants to look good, he’s a man of style… Loki actually has three looks, Thor has one.” In addition to the three costumes he wears in the otherworldy realm of Asgard, Loki also makes a brief appearance in a suit and tie. Said Tom Hiddleston, “When he turns up on Earth in the movie, [he’s] very GQ.”

(For who, like me, is not familiar with the term GQ, it is used to describe a guy who is dressed nicely, very sleek, or very sexy to the ladies, The term comes from the men's fashion magazine named GQ (=Gentlemen's Quarterly).)

They don’t really explains why Loki decided to dress up like that, but the fact he chose to is meaningful.

Loki was going to see Thor, and he only let Thor see him.

He appears in the room Thor was, presumably after waiting for a while inside it but invisible since he complains about how he thought Coulson would never leave. When Coulson is back, Loki has magically disappeared again.

People doesn’t see Loki, not even when he tries to lift up Mjolnir.

Long story short, Loki’s attire is not to disguise himself as a human among humans and walk among them unnoticed, as he just doesn’t let them see him at all, and if he were, his very fashionable outfit would likely draw more gazes than anything else (compare it with Coulson’s plain suit), especially when he tries to lift Mjolnir while all around it there are scientists dresses in scientist garbs and guards dressed in guard uniforms.

So we can see Loki didn’t need to dress as a human to see Thor, he could have very well gone there in his normal Asgardians clothes, like he does when he goes to visit Laufey...

...though he could have forsaken the armour when visiting Thor, and just show up in his normal attire.

Instead Loki picked up a stylish Midgardian outfit to go meet his brother. Be it an illusion (more likely) or real clothes, Loki knew how a fashionable 21st century Midgardian would dress and decided to dress as such even though there was no need for it. This implies a familiarity with Midgard, or at least with its dressing style, which I genuinely doubt could have been a topic of study for Asgardians... even though Odin too was familiar with Midgardians attires as, when he bans Thor to Earth, he changes his clothes into modern, ordinary, definitely not fashionable Midgardian ones.

Loki knows the secret paths between words, it can be he travelled to Midgard and, once there, grew to like the elegant style we have.

But yes, this doesn’t necessarily mean he could learn how to fix a tie, as his clothes might be an illusion.

The final bit of “Thor” is a bit of a confusing thing as it shows Loki (dressed in Asgardian clothes) invisible to other people’s eyes controlling Selvig...

...which is confirmed by “Marvel Studios: All your questions answered” which describes that scene as:

Loki controls Selvig as he examines the Tesseract.

If Loki had controlled Selvig for an extensive period he might have learnt to tie ties as Selvig wears one.

However, although this scene was created and directed by Joss Whedon, this scene is kind of forgotten when “The Avengers” rolls around.

In it Selvig is free from Loki’s control until Loki uses the sceptre with the mind stone to turn him into his servant.

Now… “The Avengers”.

The story starts by night, with Loki arriving in the S.H.I.E.L.D. research center in which Selvig is studying the Tesseract.

Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner, Steve Roger and Tony Stark are all warned during night. It’s possible it’s the same night, maybe it’s the night after.

It’s full day when Steve Roger travels with Coulson. The following scene shows Loki remembering his talk with the Other and then we’ve Steve reaching the Helicarrier and meeting up with Natasha and Bruce.

Then Loki shows up at Stuttgart Museum again dressed up in 21st Century attire with his sceptre disguised as a cane. This time Loki is sort of disguising himself, as he’s actually planning to draw attention on himself but, at first, in a subtle manner so it makes sense he dressed up as a Midgardian to move among Midgardians so as not to alert common people but end up being tracked by SHIELD because they can see him on monitors and recognize him… something they wouldn’t be able to do had he been invisible.

Loki drops his disguise only later, after he has sent a holographic image of Dr. Heinrich Schafer’s eye to Barton. He confront with Steve and Tony and vanish his armour… remaining in Asgardian clothes. He’s short after taken by Thor, who then argues with Steve and Tony until Thor decides to get along with them and Loki is carried on the Helicarrier all in the same night.

Natasha takes care to inform us Loki killed 80 people in 2 days. This should mean Loki is on Midgard by two days.

Why all this is relevant?

Again Loki dressed up as a stylish Midgardian,

...his clothes similar to the ones he had in “Thor” yet vaguely different (in “Thor” the coat is green, in “The Avengers” black and the scarf motive is slightly different) and even knew that, in order to disguise the sceptre, he can’t mask it as, let’s say, a pitchfork but a cane. It’s true, since he’s been on Earth by 2 days, this time he could have gotten that knowledge by Barton or Selvig.

“The art of The Avengers” again doesn’t tell us much apart that:

“Joss and Kevin both wanted a different look for Loki in The Avengers, in part for the fans and in part to serve the story,” Visual Development Supervisor Charlie Wen said.” For Loki, his costumes evolved from the super-clean look of the Asgard from Thor to a much grittier and more lived-in look to show the changes he’s gone through since then.” “For Thor and Loki, much of our inspiration came from Jack Kirby’s original character designs,” Wen said. “Loki represent mischief. He is a cultured traveller.”

But, if we put clothes aside, Loki is also aware of how:

Loki: The humans slaughter each other in droves, while you idly threat. I mean to rule them. And why should I not?

It’s something Thor didn’t seem to know/realize.

This seems to imply Loki knows about Earth’s history or, at least, of its present situation. Yes, he might have had a crash course in history of Earth courtesy by Clint or Selvig, but he might have also learnt it by himself in trips on Earth since Odin didn’t seem interested in Earth beyond protecting it from some attacks from creatures from other realms (he helps against the Frost Giants, however he doesn’t seem aware of the Skrulls and Krees walking on its surface nor he cares to check what humans do with the Tesseract doing nothing when Red Skull uses it to produce weapons) so he might not have bothered having his son learning about Midgard’s history and situation.

The last time we see Loki dressed as a human is in “Thor: Ragnarok”.

In it his clothes are much more simple than usual as he only wears a black suit, no scarf, no coat.

In “The Art of Thor: Ragnarok” there’s actually not one but 2 arts for more elaborate suits with coat but they were clearly discharged as Loki never wears them in the movie.

“Thor: Ragnarok The Junior novel” which is based on an earlier script says:

They were dressed in regular Earth street wear – shirt and slacks – and Thor carried an umbrella. His hair was swept back into a ponytail. Loki’s magic was projecting an illusion onto the duo.

...which seems to imply the scriptwriter originally didn’t even think dressing Loki stylish… and anyway mostly focused on Thor... so it’s possible Loki’s attire in the movie is a compromise between the scriptwriter, who though to dress Loki in shirt and slacks, and "Thor: Ragnarok” Visual Development Supervisor Andy Park who wanted to put him in an elegant and stylish suit as the other Visual Development Supervisors had done.

Still, the scriptwriter too thinks Loki is aware of how, if Thor wants to keep an object in his hands, it has to look like something ordinary and how an umbrella can fit the bill. As it didn’t rain during Loki’s short permanence on Earth, the fact he knows umbrellas exist and is acceptable to carry them around seems to imply Loki has an idea of how Earth works.

So all this to say… yes, Loki might be more familiar with Earth than it looked like and he might have learnt how to make a tie or, at least, how to fix it since this is more what he seems to do in that scene in “Marvel Studios' Loki | Official Trailer | Disney+”

We can only wait and see if “Loki” will give us more explanations about this scene or it will just toss it in and not bother to explain it at all.

Meanwhile I’ll have fun thinking before things went wrong Loki used to come on Earth and look up on fashion magazines and love the idea of how good he would look in such clothes that he began to dress up according to Midgard fashion style each time he got to set a feet on it.

#loki #loki odinson #thor #thor odinson #volstagg #fandral #lady sif #mcu loki #mcu thor #mcu the avengers #mcu thor ragnarok #9 worlds study

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agent-cupcake · 4 years

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Do you have opinions about the fabled “golden route” of fe3h? Essentially a route where everyone survives is it feasible? Is it even something you would want?

I think about this a lot, actually. A big factor in considering the feasibility of a “golden route” would be pinning down Edelgard’s true opinions, how much her involvement with Slithers actually impacted her plans, and exactly how far the game would be willing to stretch to make their most interesting villain change in order to allow for everyone to live and what those changes would look like from the perspective of the writers. Since I cannot give any concrete answers to those questions and nor do I think anyone else can (and believe me, I’ve read a lot of debates on either side of the Edelgard train) I really don’t know if it could work out or if it would be interesting or worthwhile.

I know I’m a fanfic writer so it's not shocking, but here is my fanfic of something similar to what I’d have liked to have seen with the DLC.

I think would be interesting if the game used its time mechanic as anything other than a gameplay gimmick and a laughably pointless aside in that one cutscene. I also think it would be interesting if the Four Apostles and the Chalice of Beginnings actually mattered.

So here’s my idea for the ~Golden Route~: Let us just establish that at the end of every route, you obtain the Chalice of Beginnings from Rhea, either through force or gifting. A seemingly innocuous item drop that doesn’t matter considering you get it by the time the games basically over. Now, after you have completed all the game’s routes, Byleth can open up an alternate post-credits ending with Sothis where Sothis (grown now) asks if this feels oddly familiar, like they’ve been here before. Like they’ve won the war under all of the different banners and met up with those they were closest to in the Goddess Tower with each victory and fallen in love and killed those they cared for and that maybe, just maybe, along the way, they made a mistake. In this scene, they remember futures. The future they had with Claude, with Dimitri, with Edelgard, and with Rhea/the Church, they remember the Fodlan every ruler sought to create and their life with everyone who, in the timeline this scene takes place, is now dead. And they remember how in each of those other lives they lived, as the years dragged on, they began to worry that they made a mistake. That they could have done better, saved everyone. That, somehow, the world they created through their actions is incomplete. In each of their other lives, they have come back to this question and this conversation with Sothis. And they’ve always chosen to try again, using the Chalice of Beginnings. So, repeating the game and starting a new route with Sothis’ first awakening is not a player action, it was a choice that Byleth made in the future long after the events of the game ended and the happily ever after played out with each of your other playthroughs. Restart. Pick another house, try other options, over and over they do their best to mend fate not even knowing what it actually is that they’re striving towards because they can’t remember, they’re just blindly searching for satisfaction when they ultimately come to that ending.

But this time is different. They have all the information, they know all the endings and the motives of each faction and enemy. They will go back to The Beginning and lose what they have come to love in this timeline, but this time, they will retain some of this knowledge. Kind of. The return causes Sothis to revert to her incomplete child-like state. It causes Byleth to lose the aspect of divinity that allowed them to remember it all in the first place. But rather than Byleth just becoming more human through the passage of White Clouds, or Sothis just beginning to recall her origins, they remember the plan they made together to achieve this Golden Route. This time, you meet the strange Ashen Wolves, brought together under mysterious and seemingly convoluted circumstances that have to do with their Crests and the pull Sothis had on them to call to the ancestors of Apostles for aid in this mission. With their help and some sneaky hijinks, you get the Chalice of Beginnings and recover all of the memories you stashed away in it. But, oh no, you can’t stop fate. Although you have planted seeds in each house leader's mind and earned more trust of the Church and been more successful in raising suspicions of Slithers, you were not successful in completely stopping the war. The timeskip follows as normal.

Immediately post timeskip, your only allies are the Ashen Wolves and you’ve got to figure out a way to use all of your vast knowledge of every future to convince each country to band together to bring down Slithers as a united front. This means convincing Claude to give up his advantage over the Empire, helping Dimitri come to his senses, getting Edelgard to abandon her plans and reject Slithers, and finding a way to realistically dismantle the corruption of the Church. Luckily, the Wolves have a student from every country with a connection to each lord and the super-smart master manipulator Yuri to help you navigate these tense political waters. You also know what each Lord wants and needs out of their different futures and can use that to your advantage. Additionally, you can ask Sothis to reason against Rhea to force her to see how far she and the Church have fallen and that she is no longer a capable leader. Mother knows best, after all.

The question is, even if you could tell her the outcome of every future and use irrefutable facts against her to prove that her way of thinking is flawed, if Edelgard would give up her ambitions... how much of those ambitions are her own and how much are Slithers? She claims that a war is necessary, but what if that war only ever is waged against Slithers, would she accept anything other than total institutionalization of her ideals? Could she change?

Since I cannot answer that, I cannot tell you if this idea is feasible or even sensical. I would like to see it, I would like it if there was a way to dig into the lore of the world and all the things you learn about the characters and use it to play God, but this might also seem contrived and if you don’t view Edelgard as a villain, or if you don’t believe that Dimitri is redeemable, or if you think that the Church should absolutely not be allowed to exist in any capacity, this might not be satisfying. Obviously this is a pretty loose outline too and there would be considerate restructuring to make these events happen and also I can’t actually say how well this could play out considering you’re condensing quite a bit of content into one story, but that’s just my take on what a golden route might have looked like.

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #whew this has been building up in me for a while i'm actually really partial to this idea #the ashen wolves deserved better #and the time mechanic would be so fun to fuck around with in canon #Anonymous

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

The Tower: Family - 11

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1481

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of past child abuse

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 11: Sharing the News

When I went down to dinner that night, it was with a sense of dread. I could already see how this dinner was going to play out. They would all go into ‘hyper-protective’ mode. I’d find out it was either Steve or Tony or both that had been stopping my family’s messages from getting through. I’d end up crying. They’d say I shouldn’t see them if I’m reacting like this and then I’d just go back to being stressed about whatever it was that Amanda wasn’t telling me.

Bucky was already in ‘hyper-protective’ mode as we went down. He and Clint had stayed with me while I napped, though Clint left when the kids got home. Bucky, however, stuck to me like glue. Usually, he had a hand on me, and when we went downstairs for dinner, he sat beside me at the table, his leg pressed against mine. It was as if seeing how I had reacted to Amanda had triggered some kind of bodyguard mode in him and he wasn't willing to leave me until he was sure I was safe.

Natasha and Steve were the last ones to the table with the twins and they helped them into their chairs before taking a seat. “How was everyone’s days?” Steve said as he began to load up his plate.

Wanda’s eyes flicked between me and Steve and when I didn’t say anything, she sighed. “I think Elly has something to share.”

Steve looked up, furrowing his brow. “Good news or bad news?”

I shrugged and shoved some bread in my mouth. “Did you want me to say?” Bucky asked, and I nodded and bit into more bread.

“We took the dogs to get groomed today, and on the way, one of Elise’s sisters approached us,” Bucky explained.

Everyone at the table seemed to tense up at once. “What did she want?” Sam asked.

I swallowed and took a drink. “My parents sent her. They want to talk and meet the twins.”

“Well, that isn’t going to happen,” Tony said, quickly. “I hope you told her that.”

I shook my head and Tony got up out of his chair and started pacing around the table. “I’m not subjecting my kids to those monsters. I’ve done everything I can to make sure they didn’t get any of our shit childhoods. I’m not about to just open the door and let all that in?”

Pietro looked up at Tony. “You otay, daddy?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Tony replied.

“I didn’t say ‘yes’ either. I said I needed to think about it,” I said as Pietro held out his arms to Tony.

Tony leaned down and kissed the top of Piet’s head. “Thank you, sweetie. You eat your dinner.”

“What’s to think about?” Sam asked. “You cut them out.”

“Maybe they’ve changed,” I said. “Amanda seemed to think so. Besides, she looked scared. Like she was worried about going back with a no.”

Natasha scoffed. “Yeah, it sounds like they’ve changed.”

“If you want to see them again, that’s up to you, Elise,” Steve said. “But you can’t subject the kids to that.”

I huffed and poked at the vegetables I’d put on my plate with a fork. “Did one of you stop me from getting any messages from them?”

Steve looked around the table and shook his head. “If that was directed at me, I promise I didn’t do it. Family is tricky. I get that people want to mend fences.”

I looked over at Tony. “Tony?”

“No,” he said quickly.

“Tony?” I repeated.

“I didn’t. I swear to god,” Tony said, putting his hands up. “FRIDAY, do you know if Elise’s parents have been trying to get into contact with her?”

“Yes, sir,” FRIDAY answered.

I looked up at the ceiling and blinked slowly. “I'm sorry… What?”

“Doctor Cooper, you have their numbers blocked on your phones and all their profiles blocked on social media. I assumed that meant you didn’t want to speak to them,” the AI explained.

“Oh,” I said. “Right.”

Clint started laughing. “So ready to yell at Tony and Steve and it was an algorithm that got you.”

“Where did you even hear the word ‘algorithm’, dummy?” Natasha teased.

“I think they have learned not to underestimate your abilities, Elise,” Thor said. “You can handle yourself.”

Steve looked over to me. “What do you want to do, El. I don’t think any of us can tell you.”

“I guess… I guess I feel like I need to see what they want. At least to just put an end to it,” I admitted. “And who knows, maybe they have changed?”

“Don’t get your hopes too high,” Clint said.

I shook my head and let out a breath. “I won’t. I’m guessing this is about money, or they think Tony can help with their status. I don’t know.”

“Still don’t want you to take the kids,” Tony huffed.

“Okay, sit down, Tony,” Bruce said. “She gets it.” Tony sunk back into his chair and Pietro immediately climbed over Bruce’s lap to get into Tony’s. He hugged the little boy and then sat him down and they both started eating off Tony’s plate.

“I’m not going to take the kids,” I agreed. “I don’t know ... there’s a part of me that just hopes they have changed. That this is a genuine olive branch and they’ll say sorry and start making it up to me. And maybe they’ll be good grandparents. Even with ten parents, our kids don’t have any grandparents. Wouldn’t it be nice if they had some?”

Wanda rubbed my back. “It would be lovely if they did and we are proof that people can change,” she said, gently.

“But don’t count on it,” Clint added.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I get it, Clint. I don’t expect anything. Really. I remember what they did to me. I had to run away to get it to stop. I’m worried they threatened Amanda. But I’m hoping I’m wrong and maybe I can have the family I was denied.”

“El,” Bruce said, reaching over and patting my arm. “You do have a family. And we chose you.”

“I know. And I love you all so much, but …” I blinked back tears and shook my head.

“We understand, honey,” Steve said. “Call them. Set up a meeting. We support you.”

“Thank you,” I said, and Bucky put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“Did you want any of us to come with you?” Steve asked.

“We would certainly all be willing to attend such a meeting,” Thor added.

I nodded. “Not all of you. Just one or two.”

“You have a preference?” Sam asked.

I shook my head. “No. Just… if you agree to go, this is my thing. I don’t want you to be my big bad protectors. You need to be there for support and support only.”

Natasha spun her knife around in her fingers and seemed to study the blade carefully. I could tell she wanted to be the one that came, but that she wasn’t sure she could hold back her fury about how they treated me.

“Bruce and I will go,” Wanda said before Natasha had a chance to say anything. “We’re the calmest and quietest. But we’re also the ones they’re going to be judging you most about. Plus I can read their minds. We’ll get to the bottom of what their motives are.”

“Is that okay with you, B?” I asked looking over at Bruce.

“Of course, El,” Bruce said. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Alright, so that’s sorted. FRIDAY, set up a meeting. You can meet them in the boardroom downstairs,” Steve said.

“Yes, sir,” FRIDAY replied. “Any particular day?”

I shook my head. “Whenever is good for them.”

“I’ll set it up,” the AI replied.

“And FRIDAY they have to come here,” Steve clarified. “They’re paying to get here. They’re paying for their hotel. They get nothing from us and she’s not going to them.”

“Of course, Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY answered.

I let out a shuddering breath and started eating. Bucky rubbed my back in soothing circles. “You’re not alone with this,” Bucky said.

I nodded and blinked back the tears. I was glad to have them. They meant everything to me and even though I knew most of them knew exactly how I was feeling right now, and that if they were in my shoes right now they’d be feeling just the same way as I did, I still felt alone. This was my past and they weren’t a part of that. It was nice to know they had my back though and I was very glad I had misjudged their reaction. It was nice to know they trusted I could handle these things.

Steve looked around the table. “So what else is new?”

// NEXT

133 notes · View notes

arrow-guy · 4 years

Text

Talk to Me

Original request from @scrawlingwithstyle: Here's a request I've been sitting on for a bit. ClintxReader; Clint is deaf and most people rely on his lipreading skills, but Reader knows some ASL from when her family thought her autistic younger sibling would never speak (they became vocal close to seven years old). They have secret conversations across the room, thinking no one else on the team understands. . . . They're wrong. Adjust however you like!

A/N: Okay, it’s taken probably close to a year to actually get around to this, but i kind of breezed through writing it? And it was a whole bunch of fun to finally put down in a document. I didn’t change much about your request, but I definitely added to it, and made it a little romantic? Idk if it’ll come off as romance, it’s kind of goofy (it’s Clint, there needs to be a goof somewhere.) I really hope you like it, though!!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: ClintxReader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: None

“Are you sure about this, Bruce?” I ask. “Ross let me go as soon as you went AWOL. I haven’t worked with people like this in years.”

“Of course I’m sure! You were the best back in the day.”

“Back in the day,” I laugh. “You make it sound like we’re ancient.”

“We’re not as young as we used to be,” he says. “But that’s the point. You’ll bring some much needed experience to the table.”

“But I’m not a spy and I definitely don’t have any powers.”

“Trust me, (Y/N), superpowers are not all they’re cracked up to be, and both spies have long since ceased their spying activities.” I cock one eyebrow and he laughs. “For the most part.”

“Saying a spy stopped being a spy is like saying you misplaced the hulk.”

“Ah, very true.”

“I’ll do it, though.”

“You will?”

“Well I can’t very well leave you to fend for yourself, now can I? As it stands, I’m already a shitty friend, working together can’t hurt things.”

Bruce grins and grips my shoulder. “I’ll see you Monday, then.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t fight back my smile. “Do I need to pack a bag, or will I be allowed to go home at the end of the day?”

“Not sure yet. Might as well bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush just in case.”

“Alright, then. I’ll see you Monday.”

“I can’t believe you actually pulled it off, Banner,” Stark says. “You wrangled a counselor for the team?”

“What,” I say. “Like it was supposed to be hard?”

Bruce laughs and reaches out to place his hand on my shoulder. “I’ve known (Y/N) for just about as long as I can remember. I’m sure she’ll be a good fit.”

“As long as you can remember, huh?” I look past Captain Rogers and find a sandy haired man. He grins when I meet his eyes. “Just how long?”

I bob my head from side to side. “Somewhere between twenty years and most of our lives.”

He whistles. “Pretty long time, then.”

“Mhm.”

Bruce clears his throat. “I’m sure (Y/N) wants to see where she’ll be working, so I’ll just show her to her office.”

Everyone in the boardroom waves and Bruce leads me out of the room. As soon as we’re out in the hall I sigh and bow my head, finally able to let my shoulders relax.

“That was a lot.”

Bruce chuckles. “Trust me, it’ll either get worse or stay exactly the same as time goes on, depending on who you’re talking to.”

“The blond guy who spoke up, that’s Hawkeye, right?”

“Clint Barton, yeah.”

“Will I be seeing much of him?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t really know much about the guy. He seems pretty happy-go-lucky and stable most of the time, though.”

“Huh.” I shrug and hitch my bag a little higher on my shoulder. “You never know with some people.”

“True. I’m sure you’ll deal with him at least once more after this. He’s the curious type.”

“I guess I’ll have to look forward to that, then.”

Bruce hummed in agreement and leads me to the elevator bank and takes me down to what will eventually be my office. He gives me a basic rundown of the facilities and shows me which restroom is closest to my office. I ask for a baseline reading on everyone on the team and Bruce rattles off what he’s noticed about the main five.

“Steve will most likely drop by to make small talk, but it may take some time for him to open up in any way that counts. Tony will joke about therapy, but once he warms up to you it’ll be impossible to get him to leave.”

“Oof, that bad?”

“He’s long-winded.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to enforce appointments with him when he starts to take interest.”

“Probably wise.”

“And Natasha?”

“I doubt you’ll see much of her. She has her ways of working through her issues on her own.”

“Do they involve murder?”

“Don’t know, and I don’t care to.”

“Got it. None of our business. I’ll let her come to me if she needs anything.” I plop down behind my new desk. “What about Thor?”

“Who knows. He shows up when he wants and tends to be a pretty jovial guy.”

“Ah. Is there anyone else outside of the tower I can expect?”

“Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey will be around from time to time. If Steve has his way, Bucky will move in at some point, and Wanda is currently in the process of moving into the tower, so you may see her more after that. I’m not sure how often she’ll drop by. She’s fairly private due to her powers.”

“Energy manipulation, right?”

He nods. “That, and other mind tricks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But that just leaves Clint, and we’ve already gone over what you can expect from him.”

“It doesn’t just leave Clint, Bruce.” I fold my hands on the desktop. “I expect to see you in here at least once a week. Ideally twice.”

Bruce scowls. “(Y/N), you know how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, well, I listen to your opinions on that stuff when I’m just your friend. Now I’m your therapist, and you’re going to listen to me because I know what works for you. So I expect you to get your pasty ass in here when you’re scheduled.”

“You’re making appointments for me now?”

“Until I’m sure you’ll come to me on your own, yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Send me the schedule. I’ll see you at my appointed time.”

“Wonderful.” I relax my shoulders, letting my professional mask slip. “Thanks for this, Bruce. I mean it.”

“I know you do.” He cracks a smile. “You’re the only person I trust to get to the root of our issues.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Believe me, (Y/N), if anyone’s gonna let me down, it’ll be the team.” I laugh and he heads for the door. “I’ll see you later. Good luck with your first day.”

“Thanks, Bruce. I’ll see you later!”

“So, (Y/N),” Tony says, spreading out on the couch across from my chair. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, what makes you tick? What motivates you to try and heal the fragile minds of the Avengers?”

“I’d say a decent paycheck is a pretty good motivator, Mr. Stark.”

He seems disappointed with my answer. “Is that it?”

“Well, that, and I want to make sure Bruce is doing alright. He’s struggled with therapy in the past, and I want to make sure he’s getting the kind of help that he needs.”

“I see.” He presses his lips together and folds his arms. “You’re not even curious about the rest of the team?”

“Of course I’m curious, but nothing discussed in this tower will be shared with anyone outside. I take my patients privacy very seriously.”

“You sure you don’t just fear for your life?”

“Living in New York, I fear for my life constantly. That doesn’t mean that I’m worried about getting merced if I get a little loose lipped outside of work.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “That being said, I won’t be sharing your confidential information with anyone you haven’t specifically given authorized access to your records.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. It’s almost like I’m a professional, right?”

He smiles. “I’m really starting to like you, (Y/N).”

“Then I guess I have a lot more of this to look forward to, then, don’t I?”

I laughs and hauls himself up from the couch. “We’ll see.”

I make a note of his response in my open document. “Sounds like a tentative yes to me, Mr. Stark, and I’ll be here so long as you deem my services necessary.”

He nods and exits my office. He leaves the door open.

“How are you liking it here so far, (Y/N)?”

“It’s been quiet, Captain Rogers. It’s a bit like pulling teeth trying to get anyone to make use of their resources.”

“I guess it would be. We’re a relatively private bunch.” He pauses a moment. “And, please, call me Steve.”

“Right, Steve. Is there anything that I can do for you today?” I ask. “It’s entirely alright if you just want to make small talk.”

“Oh, well, uh…” He awkwardly clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “I guess I just wanted to get a lay of the land.”

“I understand.” I glance around my office. “I should probably bring in some art and plants. Make it a little less sterile in here.”

Steve laughs. “That might help.”

I smile. “Maybe an area rug?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you think would be best.”

“I appreciate the creative freedom.” I close my laptop, set it to the side, and settle back in my chair. “Is there something on your mind, Steve?”

“No,” he says quickly. He immediately looks conflicted. “I… well, kind of.”

“Feel free to speak. Nothing you say will leave this office.”

“You hardly know me.”

I shrug. “I know how stressful this environment can be. And, while your team is very good at what they do, they’re also the ones who are causing your stress.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.” I watch him chew the inside of his cheek. “I guess I’m just concerned that things might not get better, even when Bucky’s moved in.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I’m worried that it might not be a good fit for him, or that the team won’t accept him, or that he might not even want to be around me.”

“Those are all valid concerns. Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“God no. I don’t want to stress him out more than I already have with all of this moving business.”

“I might suggest bringing it up. He might be having similar worries himself, and, as helpful as it is to work towards what’s troubling you with me, I won’t be able to settle your nerves.”

“Maybe you’re right…”

“If nothing else, it might open up a new line of communication between the two of you, which couldn’t hurt.”

Steve stays for another hour, just talking. When he leaves, he asks if I want the door open or closed. I don’t give him a definite answer and he leaves it open, just a crack. I laugh and start on his profile.

Someone knocks on my door and I glance up from my paperwork to see Clint standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Barton,” I say. “I was wondering when I might see you.”

He shrugs. “Here I am.”

“After two weeks, I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“If I was?”

“Then it’s none of my business.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “I like that answer.”

I rise from my desk and gesture to the couch. He raises his eyebrows, but takes a seat anyway. I sit across from him and watch as he tries to decide just how he should sit. In the end, he leans heavily on his knees. Nothing about him is relaxed.

“I’m starting to think Bruce was wrong about you.”

“What’d the green bean tell you about me?”

“Nothing concrete,” I answer. “He just mentioned that you seem to have a positive outlook on things most of the time.”

He snorts. “Great.”

“Mmm, I see. It’s a facade, then?”

He frowns and presses a finger to his right ear. “Could you say that again?”

“I said, it’s a facade, then?”

“Sometimes.”

I nod. “Interesting.”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, interesting.”

I watch him look around the room, examining the art on the walls and the stacks of paper on my desk. When he turns his head to the left, I notice his purple earpiece and something suddenly clicks. He tilts his head to the side when he sees me staring.

“What?”

“Would it be easier if we signed?” I ask, signing along as I speak.

He looks surprised. “You sign?”

I laugh. “Yes. My little brother is on the Autism spectrum. When he was a kid, he was almost entirely nonverbal. Mom taught him sign, and the rest of the family learned along with him.”

“That must’ve been really nice for him.”

“It was nice to be able to communicate with him when he couldn’t vocalize what he wanted to say. He eventually started speaking when he was about seven, though.”

“And you still held onto the signing skills?”

“Of course! It’s not like he just, bam, started talking. It was a long process, and he still has nonverbal days sometimes.” Clint starts to actually smile and it warms my heart. “It’s come in handy in my particular line of work too. Deaf and hard of hearing folks need counsellors and therapists too.”

“Which brings the topic of conversation back to me.” He shakes his head and leans back against the couch and signs, “You’re a tricky one, (Y/N).”

“I’m not tricky!”

“Then what?”

“I’m accommodating.” I speak again, but continue to sign along. “You don’t have to tell me everything, or anything, really. But I’m here to help, if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Clint. Any time.”

“Seems like you and Clint are getting close,” Bruce says.

“I don’t know what you mean, man.”

“He’s in here all the time, (Y/N). There’s no way Barton needs therapy five times a week.”

“It’s not always about therapy, Bruce. I strive to make my office a safe space where everyone knows that they can speak freely. He knows that he can come here and chill out without worrying about the rest of the team.”

“Barton doesn’t really worry about anything, though.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Bruce stares at me, eyes narrowed, and snaps his fingers. "You like him."

I roll my eyes. "I do not like him, Bruce. And you're not even here to talk about Clint, you're here to work on yourself and managing your stress levels."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure there's something we could talk about aside from me."

I sigh and hold my head in my hands. "I've been here for two months. I haven't been around long enough to form anything more than tentative relationships with the rest of the team. I'm more concerned about whether or not they can open up to me than I am with my love life."

“Right,” Bruce clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He looks thoroughly ashamed and I have to laugh. “I appreciate the interest, but it’s just not something that you need to worry about.”

“No, I understand.” He smiles and shrugs. “I guess I just miss having that easy rapport with you.”

“I mean, we still have that, Bruce. It’s just not something that I want to talk about in the workplace. It’s one thing to shoot the shit over lunch on a Saturday, it’s another to discuss my patients with another patient, all of whom are my coworkers.”

“I didn’t think about it like that.”

I smile. “It’s fine. Did you want to pick up where we left off on Tuesday?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“(Y/N)?”

I’m startled by the woman in the doorway. “Ms. Romanoff?”

She shakes her head and steps into my office. “As long as you’re not a government official, it’s just Natasha.”

“Ah, right.” I sit a little straighter in my chair. “What can I do for you, Natasha?”

“Clint’s said you’ve helped him a lot.”

“I don’t know about that. We just talk. He does all the helping.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She moves quickly across the room and takes a seat on the couch. “I’d like to talk to you, if you have the time.”

“Oh.” I scramble up from my desk to sit across from her. “What about?”

“I need help working through a recent case.”

“Are you sure I’m qualified for that?”

“Well, you said Clint does all the helping. Maybe what I need is a sounding board.”

“Fair enough. Where are you caught up?”

Natasha rattles off the details of a recent mission. I do my best to follow her, but she loses me when she starts explaining the intricacies of a piece of Hydra technology they discovered. Eventually, she perks up, almost looking like she wants to jump up from her seat and run from the room.

“I think I’ve got it.”

“That’s great!”

She calmly gets to her feet and walks to the door. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

I shake my head. “It was my pleasure.”

“Even so, you helped me.” She flashes me an unexpected smile. “I appreciate that.”

“It’s not a problem, Natasha. I hope that we can speak again at some point.”

She nods and heads for the door. “I’ll see you around.”

In the hall I hear, “Oh, hey, Nat.” and Clint pokes his head in soon after.

I smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He leans in the doorway and folds his arms. “What’d Nat dump on you?”

“Doctor patient confidentiality, Barton,” I say. “I can’t tell you.”

His arms fall to his side and he dramatically slumps into the room. “I thought you trusted me!”

I laugh. “I do trust you, Clint. But it’s not my information to give.” He drapes himself across the couch and grins at the sight of me fighting back my smile. “If it were, Bruce would have full access to what we talk about in our sessions.”

“That’s private information, (Y/N)!” He laughs. “I see your point.”

“Good.”

“Did you want to grab lunch later? That weird little cafe down the street started serving some kind of coffee burger.”

“Ugh, and you want to eat that?”

“(Y/N), it’s a coffee burger.”

“With all the heinous shit you put in your body, it’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

“If you think I’m bad, you should meet my dog.”

“Is that an offer?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s been four months, Clint. If I haven’t run for the hills yet, I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna happen for a while yet.”

Something twinkles in his eyes. “That’s good to hear. I was worried I might scare you off.”

“If anyone were to scare me off, it’d be Tony.” I shake my head. “That man is a handful.”

“What happened to patient confidentiality?”

“Since when is Tony being a handful a secret?” He laughs and I relax in my seat. “But, yeah, I’ll get lunch with you.”

“Really?”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t keel over from physically eating coffee.”

“Oh come on! It’s not like they solidified the coffee and stuck it on a bun!”

“How do you know they didn’t? Maybe they turned the coffee into jello, passed it through a meat grinder, and threw it on a griddle.”

His face scrunches up in disgust. “Ugh, that’d just be burnt coffee.”

“I’ve watched you drink an entire pot of burnt coffee.”

“Desperate times, (Y/N). They call for desperate measures.”

I sigh and shake my head. ”I guess it’s fine, so long as you’re not addicted to caffeine pills.”

“Those don’t do anything for me.”

“That’s terrifying.”

He laughs, hauls himself up from the couch, and offers me a hand. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Head out for lunch.”

“Now? I thought you said later.”

“It’s been like five minutes. It’s later now.”

I laugh. “I can’t just go now. I have an appointment with Steve in twenty minutes. We can leave after that.”

He pouts. “Fine.”

“Don’t give me that look, Clint!”

He sighs and trudges towards the door. “I guess I’ll just have to make a reservation for one thirty.”

“That’d be great.”

He flashes a brilliant smile before disappearing out into the hall. I shake my head and move back to my desk.

“That man is gonna get me in trouble.”

“I thought you said you weren’t involved with Clint?”

“I’m not, Bruce.”

“Then what’s this?” He places his phone on my keyboard.

I pick up the phone and find an article titled “Hawkeye’s New Flame, or Just a Fling?” pulled up. A picture of Clint and I at lunch the other day sits just below a paragraph speculating who I could be. I snort and hand him his phone.

“Clint and I went to lunch. That’s all.” I sit back and fold my arms. “What’s the problem, Bruce?”

“I don’t want you getting dragged into some kind of media storm because you work with us.”

“It’s one article!”

“There’s at least four more like it that I’ve seen.”

“I’m not worried about it, Bruce. Clint just went out for lunch and some pap caught us talking. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it, but I can’t stop people from talking.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“No one should have to deal with anyone plastering their personal life all over the internet, but you know what? I’d rather get caught out in public with Clint than Tony.” I laugh. “Can you imagine the shitstorm that’d kick up if that happened?”

Bruce tries not to laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

“It was bound to get out that the Avengers brought in a counsellor at some point. It’s better that it’s like this instead of some media outlet picking up a rumor and deciding that you’re all unstable.”

“Well…”

“I’m not saying you’re the most sane bunch, but that’s no one’s business but yours. Regardless, don’t worry about this. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” He pockets his phone. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Of course I would, Bruce. If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

I sit on the floor of the gym and lift the collar of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face.

Clint plops down on the floor beside me and tips his head to the side.

“Definitely didn’t expect to find you in here,” he says.

“What, I can’t work out?” I groan and lay back. “Ugh.”

“You okay?”

“No. I knew I should’ve just stuck to the treadmill.”

“What’d you do to yourself?”

“Weights.”

He laughs. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. Is wanting to be able to lift a very large dog a good reason?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a bad reason.” He lays beside me and props himself up on his elbow. “I could help you, if you want.”

“I don’t know how I feel about being all sweaty gross around you.”

He pokes my stomach and I laugh and shift away. “I don’t know, (Y/N), sweaty’s the new sexy.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” I laugh and scrunch my nose. “Also kind of gross.”

“Sweet and kind of gross, I think you’ve pretty much summed me up perfectly.” I laugh so hard that I snort and he grins. “So, do you want help working out?”

I press my fist to my mouth to quiet my giggling. “If you’re willing to, I really would appreciate it.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” I thank him and his smile softens. “Sorry about those articles last week, by the way.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I should’ve warned you, at least. I’m used to it, but you didn’t sign up for pap shots and gossip columns when you took this job.”

I scowl. “Honestly, Clint. If you’re not gonna read my lips, read my hands. It’s totally fine. I don’t care. I had a nice time at lunch. A few dumb articles won’t change that.”

“You mean that?”

“Well, yeah. I like spending time with you outside of all of this,” I say, gesturing to the tower in general. “With, y’know, no expectations of maintaining all of the professional bullshit.”

“Pretty sure you’re the most professional one here.”

“Thanks, I’m glad that comes across in the day to day, but do you understand what I’m saying? Like I genuinely do not care about what a shitty news outlet says. At the end of the day, the only opinions that matter are ours.” I sigh and settle on the floor. “Sorry.”

“Sounds like we’re not the only ones who need therapy.”

I hum. “Maybe I do.”

“No shame in it.”

I smile at him. “I know.” I sit up and get to my feet. “It’s getting late, I should head out.”

“You’re in tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be around till noon. I’ve got a wedding later in the day.”

“Not yours, right?”

I laugh. “No, definitely not mine.”

“Cool,” He smiles up at me. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Since when do we have staff meetings?” Clint asks.

“Since we brought on a counselor,” Tony says.

I frown. “I’ve been here six months and I’ve never been to any kind of meeting.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you brought that up and just keep moving with the meeting.”

I snort and shoot Clint a look. He laughs and signs for me to stop. I wave him off and turn my attention back to the head of the table.

Tony rambles on for about half an hour before Steve cuts in and the two of them start going back and forth. They bicker for twenty minutes before Thor swans in, greeting everyone with his bright, booming voice. I was stuck in my office the last time he was on Earth, so our paths never had a chance to cross. Steve takes a moment to introduce the two of us and Thor vigorously shakes my hand, unintentionally jostling me around the whole time. He takes his seat on the other side of Bruce and the conversation picks up again.

I catch Clint’s eye twitching in my peripheral when Thor speaks a little too loudly. I gesture to get his attention and he raises his eyebrows when he meets my eyes.

“You good?” I sign.

He nods. “Can’t pay attention to save my life in these meetings.”

“I’ve never known anyone to compliment your attention span.”

He mouths, “Oh, ha ha,” and I laugh.

“You’re mean, (Y/N).”

“And here I thought you liked me.”

“Never said I didn’t.” He grins. “The way things are going, I’d say you’re probably just my type.”

I shake my head and hide my smile behind my hand. “Stop.”

“Aw, you're cute when you're embarrassed." I flip him off and he laughs. “That's a compliment!"

I snort. “Pay attention, Clint.”

We manage to make it through another hour and, by that time, someone has turned off the lights and started giving a presentation. I fold my arms on the table and rest my chin on top and beg myself to stay awake through this meeting. I’m sure it’ll only be a little while longer.

Clint’s hand creeps into my line of sight and he taps the table to get my attention. I shoot him a quizzical look and he lifts his eyebrows.

“You still with us?” he signs.

“No.”

“It’s going longer than I thought it would.”

“I’m honestly about to fall asleep.”

“Aw, (Y/N), no.”

“This is how I go out. Avenge me, Clint.”

“No!”

“It’s your job. You have to.”

“But who will help me through the trauma?”

I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter. “I’d be dead, that’s none of my concern.”

He shakes his head. “And you call yourself my friend.”

Natasha clears her throat, startling me away from the conversation. I try to pay attention to the presentation, but I just can't wrap my head around what they're talking about and Clint easily distracts me again.

"Quick question."

Surprised, I sign, "Shoot."

"Would you want to go out with me?"

My brain stops working for a second. "Wait, what?"

"I said, will you go out with me?"

My heart hammers in my chest. "Like as friends, or on a date?"

He sighs. "We've been hanging out as friends for months now. I'm asking you on a date, stupid."

My face heats and I sit back in my seat. “Oh.”

He laughs. “Did I break you?”

“A little.” I frown.

“Just say yes!”

Startled, I glance up the table, only to find Natasha glaring at Clint and I. Everyone is looking at us and I suddenly want to disappear.

“What’s the problem?” Steve asks.

“I’m sick of watching the two of them flirt with each other,” Natasha says. “You’ve been mooning over each other for months. Just say yes and be done with it.”

“Nat, they haven’t said a single thing since the beginning of the meeting.”

“They’ve been signing at each other the entire meeting.” She looks directly at me and signs, “I see everything.”

“Sorry.”

“Just say yes.” She looks very pointedly between Clint and I. “You’d be good together.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like him!” Bruce says.

“That was months ago, Bruce. Things change.”

“Don’t be hard on her,” Natasha says. “Clint’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m just gonna, um…” I gesture to the door. “I’m just gonna go.”

I see Tony and Steve nod and I shove my chair back from the table and make my escape. The door shuts behind me, and I’m free. I sigh, relieved to be free of the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, only for the embarrassment of having my crush exposed to my coworkers to settle deep in my stomach.

I press my fingertips to my temples and walk down the hallway. “I knew he was gonna get me in trouble.”

I make the decision to just go back to my office. Maybe I can at least get some work done or, at the very least calm down. I turn as the elevator doors close and catch a glimpse of the conference door opening at the end of the hall. I shift slightly so that it’s not in my line of sight.

The elevator ride feels like it’s too long and I immediately flop down on my couch as soon as I’m in my office. I can't get comfortable and shift around until I'm upside down with my legs over the back of the conch, staring at the ceiling. I press the heels of my hands over my eyes and groan out of frustration.

“I left without even answering him,” I mutter.

The door suddenly opens and I freeze, pulling my hands away from my face, waiting for whoever it is to announce themselves.

"(Y/N)?"

"Clint?" I try to sit up and smack my head on the edge of the coffee table. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I rub my forehead and sit up a little more carefully. "I'll live."

He takes a seat on the coffee table and watches intently as I sit upright on the couch and face him. He reaches out and gently touches my forehead, only to jerk his hand back when I wince.

"Sorry."

"Don't, it's fine."

"Okay." He sighs softly and shuffles awkwardly on the table. He stills when I touch his knee and takes my hand in his. "I'm sorry about the meeting. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."

"Honestly, Clint, you don't need to apologize," I murmur. "I got flustered and then embarrassed when everyone else got involved."

"I know. I probably like pushing your buttons a little too much."

"That's not it."

"But I do push your buttons."

"Yeah, but only 'cause I let you." He smiles and I squeeze his hand. "But I'm a deeply private person. To have Natasha butt in like that, no matter the good she meant by it, really set me on edge."

"I had no idea."

"I don't feel like I have to keep everything close to my chest when I’m with you. You tease me, but it’s never from a place of malice and you know me well enough that you never take it too far.”

“I mean, you give as good as you get.” He doesn’t meet my eyes as he runs his thumb over my knuckles. “But still. I should’ve just asked in private, but you know me.”

“Yeah. You’re sweet, but kind of stupid sometimes. More than a little impulsive. And way too fond of coffee.”

“Aw, I thought that was endearing!” He smiles when I laugh. “The invitation still stands, but you don’t have to say yes.”

“What’re you talking about?” He meets my eyes and I shake my head. “I’m not about to turn you down. You haven’t introduced me to your dog yet.”

“Oh, I get it, you only want me for Lucky.”

“Mhm.”

He shakes his head and kneels on the floor in front of me. “Shoulda known.”

“I know, I’m pure evil.” He grins and takes my face in his hands. “I should be fired, right?”

“Without a doubt.”

I hum softly and lean forward to bump my nose against his. After a moment’s hesitation, Clint closes the distance between us and gently kisses me. I place one hand on his forearm and tilt my head to the side to kiss him back. He smiles against my lips and pulls away, his eyes flitting over my face.

“So… about that dog.”

I have no idea what would happen to them after that, but I’d like to think they’re having a great time, petting dogs and continuing to mess with each other, all whilst falling in love.

I’d love to know what you guys thought of this little one shot. Did you love it, did you hate it? Did you breathe out through your nose a little bc you kind of laughed but also didn’t? Be sure to like, reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask and tell me all about it!

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