#one of these days i will man up n learn how to read thai (i say having known thai ppl growing up

[cheswirls]

reading sa fic in vietnamese like. why have i never thought of this before. ik 2 viets that were active sa creators a few yrs back.

anyway it's a goldmine as always to discover a new fic database in a foreign language. this rly will end up being the year where i comb the entire internet for sa fic.

[tobesolonely]

aura

A/n: Hi everyone! this is a tad bit different from the things i usually write (I think) as i wanted to switch things up a little bit. I’m kinda nervous to post it so pleaseee please let me know your thoughts! As always please enjoy!! thank you to everyone who beta read for me btw :)

summary: witch!y/n can see auras and harry is blue

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N has always been able to easily empathize with others. She could see others' emotional energy— their aura— and this made it easy to know exactly what they were feeling. Not only could she see auras, but she could take away anyone’s emotional turmoil just by touching them.

One of Y/N’s most vivid memories from her childhood was when her best friend came to school one morning in tears over the death of her pet fish. When Y/N leaned in to give her a hug, she felt an overwhelming heaviness overtake her body as soon as they made contact. Upon pulling away from the hug, her friend’s demeanor was completely changed. Instead of being sad over the death of her fish, she was able to instead reflect on all the good times she had with him. Her friend was fine for the rest of the day, but Y/N was left grieving over a fish she never even owned.

Y/N went home that day, confused. How was it that her friend was so easily cheered up just from a hug? Was that all it took for Y/N to make others feel better? If that was the case, she decided she wanted to be a ‘Professional Hugger’ when she grew up. As time went on, Y/N learned that she didn’t even have to hug others to rid them of their mental pain. The slightest touch from her instantly made anyone she came into contact with feel better.

It took a few months for Y/N to realize it was her touch that healed others. Sure, that mental anguish then became hers to carry, but how many people could say they could heal someone just by touching them? If that was the price she had to pay, then so be it. From that point on Y/N made it a point to help anyone she could. 

As Y/N got older and her skill with this power grew, she learned to redirect the painful energy elsewhere so she didn’t always have to sit with it. It worked some of the time, but it was something she was still learning to master. Y/N wasn’t always successful in doing this, though. While whoever Y/N touched went about their day feeling great, she would experience their emotions so intensely that she felt as if she were coming down with a cold. Y/N dealt with it in silence because the way she saw it if she was blessed with this gift, she had to be selfless and put it to good use. Y/N was a firm believer that all the good she put out would come back to her in another life at least ten times over.

It was difficult for Y/N not to touch everyone she saw whose aura reflected sadness, anxiety, or worry. She tried to stick to only doing this to people she knew, but there were some instances where Y/N encountered someone who was just so clearly unhappy that she could not help herself. 

For example, right now. 

Y/N immediately sensed this stranger’s emotional turmoil as soon as they entered the space. It was late afternoon on a Wednesday. Y/N had the longest, most physically demanding day at work and the last thing she wanted to do was go home and cook. Even though she had just gone grocery shopping two days prior, she stopped by her favorite Thai place on the way home. Y/N was in the middle of ordering when their presence quite literally took her breath away, causing her to stumble over her words. 

She turned to look over her shoulder at the person who was so greatly distracting her and locked eyes with the most pitiful looking stranger she’d seen all day. The first thing Y/N noticed about him was his hair. It was unruly, like he had just gotten out of bed. She also noticed how tall he was–– if he had just a couple more inches on him, he would’ve had to crane his neck to enter the establishment. Upon making eye contact with Y/N the man quickly looked down at his shoes, twiddling his thumbs. His aura was a mixture of indigo and dark red when Y/N looked at him. Anger and sensitivity.

“Do you still need a moment?”

The voice of the cashier breaks Y/N out of her analytical thoughts of the stranger standing a few feet behind her. She nods, re-situating her purse on her left shoulder. 

“Uh, please. He can go ahead if he’s ready.” Y/N gestures behind her and the cashier nods, asking the man behind her if he was ready to order yet. He steps up to the front counter, eyes trained on his feet as if he couldn’t walk without watching every step he took. 

His energy was intense and Y/N wasn’t sure how much longer she could ignore it. Something about him was reeling her in— his aura wasn’t looking too bright at the moment, but she could just tell it usually was. She felt compelled to take away his pain, and she hadn’t spoken a single word to him yet. While he was placing his order, Y/N internally debated on whether or not she should “accidentally” graze his arm when they walked past each other. Would that be weird? What if she wasn’t able to redirect his negative energy elsewhere? While she did love to help whenever she could, some people’s emotional baggage was just a little too heavy. She didn’t know him. For all she knew, he could be a killer!

He turns back around once he’s finished ordering and stands by the entrance, out of Y/N’s way. The pair lock eyes again as Y/N makes her way back to the counter to order. Once again, he quickly looked away from her. Y/N’s trying to ignore the annoying nagging feeling she gets when she wants to help someone, but it’s unrelenting. She makes up her mind that once she’s done, she will approach this stranger to get a better read on his emotions. 

“Nice weather we’re having today, isn’t it?” She cringes at her choice of a conversation starter and hopes he doesn’t notice. Y/N folds her hands across her chest, forcing herself not to reach out to him. He nods.

“Lovely.”

The tone of his voice causes Y/N to wince. It was sharp and short. He was clearly not in the mood to converse. Although Y/N knows this, she continues on.

“I love this place. I think I come here at least twice a month–– what’s your go-to order?”

The man turns to fully face Y/N this time, his aura now more red than blue. He was beginning to grow annoyed with her small talk. 

“Green curry and stir-fried vegetables.” He doesn’t ask Y/N for her order, so she takes this as her signal to stop speaking to him. The bell above the door jingles, signaling another persons’ entry. Their aura is shining gold–– Y/N would not have to interfere. 

Y/N moves away from this man, deciding not to speak to him anymore. She was getting better at accepting the fact that no matter how much she wanted to, it was impossible to help everyone. As he collected his food from the front and turned to leave, not sparing Y/N another glance, she silently hoped that whatever was wrong with this man would not last.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry was in a funk. There was no denying it, and he was over feeling so terribly. He hadn’t been feeling like himself for far too long. It seemed like everyone wanted something from him when he had nothing left to give. Jeff had set unrealistic deadlines, his mother was upset with him for not calling enough, and he was exhausted from constantly traveling and waking up in a new time zone. Harry needed a break.

Harry’s mind wandered to the pretty girl in the Thai place. She seemed inquisitive. She was very curious about his go-to order, and she was standing a little too close for his comfort. Harry was surprised when she didn’t ask him for a picture. He wasn’t trying to be cocky, but nearly everyone he met asked him for a picture–– he was Harry Styles. However, it was almost like this girl didn’t know who he was. She didn’t seem starstruck in the slightest.

While Harry was waiting for the light to change, it dawned on him that he may have been a tad bit rude to her. He noticed her happy expression drop when he shut her down, but he didn’t feel like talking. He liked to move from place to place as quickly as he could in the off chance he got recognized and it started circulating on Twitter. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little bad. She was sweet like honey–– or so it seemed. In their brief interaction, she bought him comfort.

Harry wanted to turn back around and go back to the restaurant to check if she was still there. What would be the point, though? She would most likely be long gone by the time he made it back over there, as she did order immediately after him. Harry’s torn out of his thoughts when the cars behind him start honking, and he realizes the light must’ve turned green. He decides not to think about the confrontation anymore. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

The world works in mysterious ways. 

Y/N was sure she’d never encounter the grumpy man from her favorite Thai restaurant again but yet here she was in another situation that involved take-out and him. His aura was dark indigo this time. Stress? Isolation? Y/N didn’t know, but she wanted to help him. In her eyes, there was no reason for anyone to be down this badly. She just wanted everyone to be as happy as she (almost) always was! She takes a deep breath before approaching him.

“Hi. How are you?”

Harry was absorbed in a text conversation involving his manager and stylist when a sweet, familiar voice interrupts him. 

“I’m okay, thank you. Yourself? Also, we’ve spoken before, I believe.”

She nods, a troubled look on her face. “We have. At the Thai place. How are you, though? Really.”

Harry was beginning to find her a bit strange (but still incredibly gorgeous, even more than he did before now that he got a good look at her face). Why was she so concerned with how he was feeling? Was she going to ask him for a picture or not? As Harry opened his mouth to again tell her he was fine, the desire to tell her how he was really feeling came over him. So he did.

“Honestly? ‘M exhausted. I’ve been doing a lot of traveling and my manager wants a lot from me. I think I jus’ need a break.” 

He radiated red. Anxiety? Anger?

“What do you do for work?” Now it was Harry’s turn to wear the troubled look.

“I don’t mean this to be rude, but you’re serious?”

Y/N nods, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder. Just as quickly as she touches him she removes her hand, and she’s almost certain he didn’t even feel her touch. She notices him let out a visible sigh of relief, his aura changing from a red to a pale yellow. Optimism. Positivity. This causes her to let out her own sigh of relief. 

“You’re feeling better! That’s great.” Y/N was not able to redirect his negative energy as the restaurant was too crowded and she didn’t want to risk putting it on anyone else, and she was feeling him. He was stressed, overworked, and anxious. Y/N just wanted to go home and nap, no longer in the mood for the food she just ordered.

Harry decided she was definitely odd but in the most endearing way possible. “How do you know I’m feeling better? Wait, am I feeling better?” Y/N watches as he works through his emotions, his aura ranging in color before settling back on pale yellow. 

“Are you?” Y/N knows the answer to this of course, but she wants to hear him say it.

“I think I am. I’ve been feelin’ horrible all week but saying how I felt out loud to you automatically made me feel better. Kind of weird, but I won’t question it. Thank you for asking…,” Harry scrunches his nose, a distasteful expression on his face. “I don’t think ‘ve gotten your name yet.”

Y/N gives him a small, forced smile. “I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’ll be seeing you around, I think.” Before Harry can tell her his name she’s gone.

And she didn’t even grab her food.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N felt like she had been hit by a ton of bricks. How one person could carry around all this emotional baggage was beyond her, but she wanted it gone. Immediately.

There was a spell Y/N kept on hand for times like these. Times when she couldn’t redirect the negative energy before it got to her. Times when it was just too much to carry. Y/N had regretfully done this spell more times than she could count and was an expert at reciting it from memory. The vile was open and ready to capture the negative energy that would shortly be leaving her.

Y/N works quickly to complete the process, unsure of what time her roommate would come barreling through the door. She had caught her doing things she deemed strange one too many times (she thought her roommate almost figured out who she really was when she caught her having a full-on conversation with her cat, Sapphire, once). She was beginning to run out of excuses for her “unusual” behavior. Y/N mutters under her breath, willing the energy to exit her.

She notices right away when it leaves her. She feels lighter— like her usual self again. She guides the energy into the vile and immediately seals it, hurrying into her room to lock it away. Y/N kept a box in her closet that she only opened if she had to. It was her Pandora’s Box, in a way. Nothing bad would be released into the world if she opened the box, but if the viles’ were opened then the bad energy she trapped would be re-released into the world, finding its way back to their original owners.

Y/N feels like she can breathe again once she bolts the box. She hoped that whatever he was doing, wherever this man was, he was still feeling okay. 

Also, for his sake and everyone’s around him, she hoped he got a break.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N was on Harry’s mind. 

Something about her was magnetic. He wished he’d gotten more information about her than only her name, but she left him in such a hurry he could hardly process their conversation. Harry felt like a madman! He searched ‘Y/F/N Y/L/N’ on all social media platforms, but he couldn’t find her anywhere. It was dumb luck that he had ran into her twice in such a short time span, and he hoped good things happened in threes and he would see her again.

He was almost certain that Jeff thought he was losing his mind.

Harry tried explaining his interaction with Y/N first at the Thai food spot and again when he was getting Greek food, but Jeff thought Harry was so sleep deprived he was imagining things. 

“How did you see a beautiful, young woman who didn’t freak out or ask for a picture? Doesn’t make sense. You’re Harry Styles.”

“That’s what I thought!” Harry exclaimed wildly. He holds his phone up. “I’m thinkin’ she really doesn’t know who I am, though. I couldn’t find her on any social media platform. It’s like she’s off the grid or somethin’.”

“No social media at all? A little weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s fitting for her. If you met her then you would understand what I meant,” Harry felt the need to defend this alluring stranger who took away his pain just by listening to him speak. “Look at me, Jeff. Don’t I seem so much better than I was jus’ a few days ago?”

His manager couldn’t deny that Harry’s mood (and attitude) had done a 360. He didn’t complain about being woken up early and he happily consented to do not one, but two interviews.

“I mean, yeah? I guess––”

“Thanks to her!” Harry cuts him off. “I’m telling you. I need to see her again and thank her for whatever she did.”

“How are you going to do that?” 

Harry leaned back against the counter in Jeff’s kitchen, mulling the question over. It was a valid one. How was he going to do that? He already tried to no avail to find her on social media. He hardly knew anything about her. All he knew was her name, that they seemed to have a similar taste in food, and that she went to the Thai spot at least two times a month. 

That was it.

In one last effort to contact Y/N again, Harry planned to go to the Thai food place, pray the cashier who was working when he went in earlier this week was there, and leave his number with her. It was a risky move, probably not the smartest thing he could do, and Jeff would for sure drop him as a client if he knew Harry was doing things like this. Harry didn’t care. Phone numbers could always be changed, and he was desperate. 

If Harry couldn’t contact Y/N, he would wait for her to contact him.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N was confused.

She stopped at her favorite Thai food spot (sooner in the month than anticipated, but she had another long day), ordered her usual, and was about to leave when the sweet cashier who was always there insisted she takes the piece of paper with ‘HARRY’ followed by a phone number scrawled on it.

“For me?” Y/N was confused. Something like this had never happened to her before. I mean, does it happen to anyone?

“He insisted,” the cashier warmly responds. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back–– knew you would soon enough.” Y/N’s face flushes at this and she makes a mental note to start cooking more.

“Well…,” Y/N trails off, not sure what to say. “Thank you? I guess I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ve done well.” The cashier’s aura shines pink. Affection. Love.

“You should. Take care!”

Y/N leaves the restaurant with the crumpled piece of paper in her sweaty hands, eager to get home as soon as possible. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something told her not to disregard him. His reaching out was a sign–– and Y/N did not ignore signs.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“She hasn’t called me yet.”

“It’s been five days, Harry. She probably doesn’t eat Thai food every day. I can’t believe you did something so fuckin’ stupid…”

Jeff’s reprimanding fades into the background as Harry drifts off into daydreaming about what it would be like if– when- Y/N finally called him. Would she find him obsessed? What if she thought he was stalking her? Harry decided that when she called, he would immediately clear things up. He’d thank her for her kindness (his trademark) and see how she was doing. She left the Greek food place so abruptly when he last saw her that he was under the impression something was bothering her. Harry wasn’t sure what he could do to help if something was troubling her, but he could at least extend a listening ear to her as she did to him.

“Harry, are you listening?”

“What was that?”

Jeff shakes his head at Harry, an amused expression on his face. “Man, I hope she calls you soon.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

The phone rang three times. After the third ring, his gruff voice came through the other end of the phone.

“Hello?”

Y/N sharply inhales, suddenly growing nervous. “Is this Harry?” Silence. Y/N was preparing to repeat herself when he spoke again.

“Is this Y/N?”

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to be silent. Harry says nothing, awaiting her response. “Well, it is. You sound familiar–– how do we know each other?”

“Now that ’m actually able to talk to you, it sounds a bit silly…” He seems unsure of himself. “Promise y’won’t laugh at me?”

“I promise.”

Y/N says it with such conviction that Harry believes her, and it gives him the confidence he needs to proceed. “I was havin’ a hard time a couple of weeks ago. I was in line to get some falafel and you asked me what was wrong. What was really wrong.” Y/N says nothing, so Harry continues.

“I told you I was exhausted from work ‘nd wanted a break. That’s it, y’know? But I immediately felt better afterward. I’ve actually been feelin’ great ever since. I jus’ wanted to thank you, is all. I know it sounds weird and it’s probably all in m’head but I feel like talkin’ with you was just what I needed.” Harry’s rambling, nerves finally catching up to him. She was gorgeous and he was afraid she would think he was insane. 

“I’m glad to hear you’re still feeling better, Harry. That’s great.” Y/N’s voice is gentle and soft and to Harry, hearing her speak was just as comforting as getting a hug from his mum.

“I’m also really sorry that I was such a dick when you tried talkin’ to me the first time at the Thai spot,'' Harry feels embarrassed, stumbling over his words. “Not sure if you remember but I was just havin’ a shit day. I thought you were gonna ask for a picture and I just wasn’t in the mood.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything and Harry winces, certain he’s offended her when she starts talking again. 

“That’s okay. I know you were having a bad day.” 

“How did you know I was having a bad day?” Again, Y/N pauses before answering. 

“Well, I didn’t do anything to you for you to be so rude to me. I knew it had to be a problem involving yourself.” Harry notices that Y/N speaks very slowly. It’s as if she considers every word before she speaks. He’s intrigued by her. 

“That is very true.” Y/N doesn’t say anything so Harry takes it as his cue to keep talking. “I’m sorry if me leaving my number at the restaurant creeped you out. I hope you didn’t feel obligated to call me.”

“Not at all. I’ve actually been wondering how you were doing since we had our encounter at the Greek place–– that doesn’t creep you out either, right?”

Y/N was hypnotizing. Harry was infatuated. 

“Not at all.”

“Can I ask you something, Harry?”

“Course.”

“Why would I want a picture with you?”

Harry had to get to know her.

“Do y’wanna grab coffee sometime?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Something was definitely different about Y/N–– Harry just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. To begin, she truly had absolutely no idea who Harry was. At first, he thought she was just messing with him, but he quickly realized she was being serious. Y/N said she had “heard of” One Direction, but she never listened to the band’s music. Harry supposed that could account for her being unaware as to who he was. Maybe he wasn’t a “household name” like Jeff always said he was. 

Harry was also right about her not having social media. When he asked Y/N why she didn’t use it, she said she preferred to occupy her time with more substantial things. She didn’t elaborate, and Harry didn’t ask. She was however very interested to learn what a big social media following Harry had. He tweeted the word “Do” and they watched as the internet went wild trying to decipher what he meant. He even started trending worldwide for it. It made sense to Y/N after that why Harry was so intent on not taking off his sunglasses and beanie.

Y/N was having a great time analyzing his aura. 

She noticed that whenever someone glanced in their direction, his aura briefly turned red. Anxiety. When Y/N attempted to make a joke, it turned pink (she chose not to analyze that too much). Mainly though, his aura shone that beautiful, pale yellow that Y/N loved to see the most. Harry was doing well. He was happy. Y/N would not have to intervene today.

She couldn’t explain why, but she felt obligated to help him. Even though his energy made her feel so terribly last time, she would’ve still taken away his pain if he was blue without even thinking twice about it. Why was she so drawn to him? Y/N wasn’t sure what it was about Harry that drew her in, but she knew she would do anything to help him. Anything to see him happy.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Harry felt the same way.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N missed Harry terribly.

She wanted to call him–– just a brief conversation to see if he was doing okay. He mentioned when they last saw each other nearly two weeks prior that he was going to be very busy in the coming days, and she wondered if he still was. Harry told Y/N that he loved his job (of course he did!), but being so busy sometimes really hurt him. Not just mentally, but physically as well. 

She longed for him.

Y/N searched through her call list for Harry’s number and immediately tapped it, listening closely as it rang. She was about to end the call in defeat when Harry answered at the last moment.

“Hello?” He sounded tired, under the weather.

“Harry,” Y/N begins. “I haven’t heard from you in a bit and I just wanted to see if all was well. How do you feel?”

“Hi Y/N,” Harry perks up slightly, but he still sounds a bit congested. “‘M not sure if you can tell from m’voice, but I’ve got a cold.”

Although Y/N wishes with every fiber of her being that she could rid Harry of his cold, she cannot. However, she can make sure all is well with his mind. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she pauses for a moment as she usually does, hoping Harry can tell how sincere she’s being on the other end. “How do you feel though? Are you still feeling happy?”

“Jus’ feelin’ not the greatest again. I’ve been stuck in my house with this fuckin’ cold and haven’t seen anyone in days.”

“I can come over.” Y/N doesn’t think twice before offering. If he had to suffer physically, she at least wanted him to feel okay mentally.

“I don’t want to get you sick. It’s okay–”

“I don’t mind, really. I’ll keep you company.”

Harry doesn’t say anything and Y/N’s sure she must’ve creeped him out. They don’t even know each other well and here she was offering to come over to his home and keep him company while he was sick. She’s about to rescind her offer when he lets out a loud sigh.

“My manager might kill me if he finds out I did this… but sure, let me give you my address.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

As soon as Harry got off the phone, he sprung into action. His home was a mess. There were crumpled up tissues all over the floor beside his bed, a sink full of dishes, and he’s pretty sure every bathroom in his house was a mess. He opted to not have anyone over to clean up after him as he didn’t want to risk getting anyone sick and man did it show.

He quickly gathered up all the tissues and threw them into the bin in the corner of his bedroom, surveying the rest of the mess before deciding he and Y/N wouldn’t be spending time in there, anyway. He was going to focus on the mess downstairs, instead. He loaded his dishwasher and record time and used disinfectant wipes on every surface he could in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. He then surveyed the bathrooms and cleaned the one with the least amount of mess, closing the doors to the other ones. He would worry about those some other time. 

Harry was nervous to have Y/N over. He was just nervous to be around her in general. He missed her over the past couple of weeks but he opted out of contacting her, terrified that he was a bother. After Harry finished cleaning in record time, it dawned on him that he didn’t really have any food prepared to offer Y/N. If she was coming over to his house just to cheer him up, the least he could do was offer her something to eat. Harry hated doing things like this, but he was desperate. He texted his assistant and asked if they could drop off some food from the Greek place he and Y/N liked, making a mental note to find out what other places she enjoyed eating at for next time.

Y/N gets to his house much sooner than he was anticipating.

He rushes to his front door, looking through the peephole before opening the door. Y/N has a big smile on her face and looks absolutely gorgeous, as she usually does. She has a huge water bottle in one hand and a tote bag with the phases of the moon slung over her shoulder. He’s never seen it before and thinks it’s lovely.

“Hi,” Harry says breathlessly. “Thanks for coming. Uh, come in please.”

Y/N smiles and takes a small step forward, crossing the threshold of Harry’s home. She thought it was incredible–– and rather clean. “What can I do to help?” 

Harry was getting used to Y/N’s straightforward approach to things, so he’s not phased by her question. “Jus’ you bein’ here is great, honestly.”

Y/N can see that Harry’s aura is that deep indigo that she’s not fond of, but she wonders if he can work through it himself before she steps in. “So it’s just your cold that’s got you feeling down? Can we sit down and talk about it?”

“Sure. Also, not sure if you’ve eaten yet or not but I’m gettin’ some food dropped off for us.”

“That sounds great, I haven’t had dinner yet so thank you. Can we sit?” Y/N doesn’t wait for Harry to answer. She makes her way to his plush couch in the adjoining room, walking through the place like she’s been there before. Harry loves it.

“I think I told you the gist of it on the phone earlier,” Harry says, settling onto the couch beside her. He leaves some space in between them since he doesn’t want to risk getting her sick, but he wishes he was closer to her. “I’ve been feelin’ down ‘cause I’ve been stuck in the house with this cold. S’not fun.” Y/N hums in understanding. Harry notices that she reaches out her hand to him slightly and then quickly retracts it, but he doesn’t mention it. Y/N says nothing, just continues looking inquisitively at him. Harry doesn’t feel uncomfortable under her gaze–– he stares back. 

“Something’s making you feel nervous. What is it?”

Harry isn’t surprised that she was able to figure out there was more to what he was feeling than just loneliness. How was he supposed to tell Y/N that she was the reason for his nervousness, though?

“It’s nothing. I promise.”

“I don’t think so.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck nervously. “How are you so good at reading me? S’like you’re inside my brain, Y/N.” He lets out a little chuckle after saying this but quickly stops when he realizes Y/N isn’t laughing along with him.

“You’re just easy to read,” she cooly responds after a second. “Why are you so nervous? Do you have something coming up for work?”

“Not really…” 

“Then what is it? Something going on with someone in your family?” 

Harry was quickly realizing Y/N wouldn’t drop this unless Harry gave her an answer. He silently hopes for the best before answering her. 

“It’s you,” he mumbles, shifting around uncomfortably on his couch. “You make me nervous.” Y/N watches as his aura changes from red and blue to pink, and his cheeks flush slightly. 

“Why do I make you nervous?”

“You just do.”

“Why? Have I done something to hurt you?”

Y/N was so painfully oblivious that it was cute. Harry was quickly realizing that his heart doubled in size every time he talked to her.

“No. Quite the opposite, actually,” Harry reaches in the pocket of his sweatpants for a tissue, facing away from her while he pauses to blow his nose. “You’re so… you’re jus’ very interesting. Mesmerizing, really.”

Y/N feels her skin heat up at Harry’s compliment. His aura is still shining pink, the brightest pink she’s ever seen since meeting him. She was sad to see there was still quite a bit of indigo and red, though. “Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”

Before Y/N can stop herself, she reaches out to grab Harry’s hand. Immediately she feels his energy transfer to her and without thinking, Y/N flicks her finger out of force of habit. The beautifully potted Pothos that Harry has sitting on his television stand instantly droops, leaves turning brown and wilted. 

Harry’s completely perplexed.

The first thing he notices is that he’s feeling better. Great, even. He feels as good as he felt after the interaction he had with Y/N in the Greek food place all those weeks ago. The next thing he notices is that his gorgeous Pothos, a plant that is nearly impossible to kill, is dead.

And it was all Y/N’s doing.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

please let me know what you thought!

[ragingbookdragon]

He Said, "Times Like These I Don't Want To Be A Superstar"

Booster Gold x Batbro One-Shot

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Slight Angst

Author's Note: BOOSTER GOLD. BOOSTER GOLD. BOOSTER GOLD IS A HERO AND YOU WILL RESPECT HIM, EVEN IF HE'S A MORON. -Thorne

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

He’d noticed that the eldest Wayne son liked to watch the people he was around—much like his father did—listening, learning, piecing together what made people tick, what made them do the things they did. Booster was sure the man could pull a Sherlock and tell someone every piece of their life history just by a single glance. They’d gone on two dates—if you could count one Justice League mission where they worked together and then a training session afterwards, dates. And yet, he’d still not asked Booster about his past. He had no doubt that Batman had given his son free reign of the Batcomputer files; he’d read up on Booster…why hadn’t he asked?

***

They slid into the diner booth, both rather beat after the long training session. Booster was beginning to feel pain in places he wasn’t sure he was supposed to, but (Y/N)’d assured him it was all normal during the process of learning Muay Thai. Booster had watched Batman and (Y/N) go out it for about ten minutes with the martial arts form, and even Clark was wincing with each kick, knee, and elbow the two exchanged. And then (Y/N) got Booster in the ring and started training him; he was grateful—his hand-to-hand was basic at best.

Still though, he wasn’t sure how to act around (Y/N). He’d heard stories of the black op squad leaders exploits, the great SPECTRES running around the world, saving it and the places where the Justice League overlooked; Batman wasn’t too fond of the killing, but he beamed with pride when he talked about (Y/N)’s squad taking down terrorist groups and human trafficking rings. Booster wasn’t jealous, but he wanted to learn from the man. Wanted to know how he was so well liked within the superhero community, and just by normal people.

“You’re doing it again,” (Y/N) suddenly said and Booster shook himself out of his stupor, blinking as he gazed at the man, watching as he merely took a glance around the room.

“Doing what?” Booster asked.

He chuckled. “That thing where you think so hard everyone can smell the smoke billowing out of your ears.”

Booster flushed. “Sorry. Just thinking…about stuff.”

(Y/N) met his eyes. “Anything you feel like sharing with the class?”

Booster grinned, though the smile dropped into a frown as he took a moment to find the correct way to communicate his worries. “How much do you know…about me? Like really know about me?”

“How much do you want me to tell you I really know?” he retorted with a sly smile, eyes twinkling with mirth and something deeper—intrigue, or maybe it was expectation.

“Have you read my file?”

“What makes you think you have a file to read up on?”

Booster shot (Y/N) a rather unimpressed look as he deadpanned, “Your dad is Ba—ruce Wayne,” he corrected with a cough. “There’s a file on everyone.”

“Fair,” he agreed, opening up the menu; (Y/N) scanned it, refusing to look at Booster, which only made the man shift nervously in his seat. “Got curious when you entered the scene. Asked dad to send me the file on you. Skimmed it, put it back, let it be your business.” He gazed at Booster. “Why?”

“I’m…not a good man to be around, (Y/N). I—”

“Because of the gambling in college? Or the stealing?”

“…Both…” he murmured, looking at his hands, then a self-loathing smile came over his lips. “What’d your dad’s file say? That I’m an ego-maniac who puts on airs because he’s a second-rate hero that’ll never amount to anything?” (Y/N) merely gazed at him, watching, waiting. “I wanted fame, (Y/N). Glory. That’s why I came back here. It’s why I do what I do.”

Booster looked at him. “The only people who ever want to be around me are Ted and Skeets. Why do you hang around?” he shrugged. “Why do like me?”

(Y/N) thanked the waitress for handing them their drinks and set his cup to the side. “You bet on your games to save your mom’s life. Without the money, she wouldn’t’ve gotten the treatments and most likely would’ve died. If she hadn’t, your family would’ve drowned in medical debt.”

He tore the paper to his straw. “Your theft was a problem, but you recognized the error of your ways and made up for it with the jail time.” Slowly, he pulled the plastic tube out of the white paper. “Your ego is as big as your head, but when proven wrong, you admit it, sulkily, but you do.” (Y/N) crumpled the wrapper. “You have no skill other than the technological advances of your suit and Skeets’ help.”

Placing the straw in his drink, he added, “You suck at hand-to-hand combat, but you learn quickly when there’s a threat to your pretty face, so that’s a plus. You’re loud and obnoxious, but you’re clever enough to keep low so that you don’t alter the future by being a globally renowned hero.”

(Y/N) met his eyes. “Ted’s your best friend and Skeets is stuck with you. I’m here because I see what’s underneath.” He searched Booster’s gaze. “You’re a good man, Michael. Can you be an idiot? Absolutely. Can you be annoying as hell? Yeah. Can you leap without looking where you’re going? All the time. But at the end of the day, your friends know that if they needed help, they could count on you to back them up, even if you knew you might not know what you were doing.”

He pointed at Booster. “And that’s what makes you a hero.” (Y/N) smiled, gesturing to himself. “Michael, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. Been a lot of things I’m not proud of. But the difference between being a hero and parading as one, is what you do when you keep getting knocked down. Real heroes get back up. Frauds cower and hide.”

Tipping his head to the side, he offered Booster a look of chance. “So? Are you the hero? Or the fraud? All evidence points to the former.”

Booster was stunned silent. He had no words, no clever quips, no heart-throbbing lines to throw back. He was completely speechless. His mouth was moving, forming words his vocal cords wouldn’t produce as wet warmth flooded his bright blue eyes, and all he could do was lower his head, putting his hands over his face to hide the tears.

(Y/N) knocked his foot against Booster’s calf. “I’m gonna tell Ted I made you cry on our third date.”

A laugh bubbled from Booster’s chest as he quickly wiped his eyes, chuckles escaping his lips every couple seconds; he looked at him, murmuring, “Thanks (Y/N).”

He shrugged. “I’m just telling you the truth, Michael.”

“Yeah…but it means a lot to me.”

(Y/N) set his hand on Booster’s, the man turned his hand palm up in response, thumb running over the smooth skin of his palm as he replied, “You mean a lot to me.”

“I do?” he questioned in disbelief. “Really? You like me?”

“I only taught you how to break someone’s skin open with your elbow and how to break ribs and legs with a solid kick,” (Y/N) snorted. “So, yeah, I like you.”

“You’ve got an awfully weird way of showing you’ve got the hots for me,” Booster grinned, and he rolled his eyes.

“Better than your lame pickup lines and offers to go out on missions with you.”

“Hey! You agreed!”

“Because it was pitiful how love-struck you were with me.”

“I am not love-struck!”

“Really? ‘Cause a little gold robot told me you’ve been recording dirty diary entries about me.”

“What?! Skeets told you!”

“Well, he didn’t, but you just confirmed the suspicion. Nice going, Sherlock.”

“OH MY GOD!”

[silverrstarrr]

Headcanons of Eren with a Black s/o!🍡

(Happy black history month babes! Remember blm isn't just in this month but all year long :p)

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

• You guys most likely met in your high school years.

• I feel as if Eren would stare a lot at you during freshman year. Not in a bad way but in a Curious/adoring way. I mean all his friends are white lmao💀

• He probably approached you during a class period you guys have together.

• I don't think he would be ignorant? But he'll most likely ask to touch your hair.

• Maybe you have braids, locs, or passion twist or your natural curls out/4c Afro—doesn't matter, he'll ask to touch your hair.

• Of course you can decline and tell him no, he won't really fuss over it. He'll even apologize.

• But trust me, he's going to keep staring 😭 he thinks you're really pretty, don't worry ;)

• He won't care about your Skintone/shade, lightskin, brownskin, dark-skinned. He likes them all, I don't see Eren ever have a preference in girls in general.

• Whoever he likes, he likes.

• You guys hit it off in your freshman year.

• He'll ask a lot of questions about you and your culture and your hair

"Hey, why do you wear braids??"

"Is your hair really this long? Wow 😁"

• PLEASE LMAO, I TAKE THESE AS AN INSULT BUT I KNOW HE'S JUST HE CURIOUS 😭

• You'll have to explain to him about your hair.

• You guys most likely snapped and he sent a streak of him getting out the shower and his hair is wet.

• You'll go on about how you can't wash your hair everyday, that you have a certain wash day and his reaction is like "😲"

• Poor baby is like "woooow" and ever since then, he's been hook up to learn about your lifestyle, your family, cookouts, etc. He just wants to know you.

• He calls you pretty a lot.

• Not in a flirtatious way just because he thinks YOURE really pretttyyyy. He's just stating the obvious queen🙄❗

• He offered to go to the Beauty supply store once or twice to buy your weave/pick out the next color. Or he'll just accompany you.

• Also would pick out your next nail color, maybe hairstyle.

• He doesn't care if you wear lakefront, wigs, braids, or natural. He believes they're all beautiful. Plus he understands that our hair need protective hairstyles and can't really, yjehehejehwhww iykyk.

• During BHM, he would do the mossstt.😭

• He'll buy you food and buy you hairproducts.

• He'll constantly post about African American stories on his social media.

• Talked Armin into making a poem about discrimination and racism then made him read out loud to you in the hallway😭

• Would buy a BLM shirts for him Mikasa and Armin.

"Look y/n! We're supporting your people. Remember we're on your side. BLM!!"

• IM CRACKLING TOO MUCH LMAOOOO.

• Don't worry, he's has the right attitude but mann💀

• Depends on the type of person you are: you probably confronted them and told them to relax. Or, you dealt with it and the embarrassment 😭

• You most likely ask him for Reparations 🙄❗🤞

• He deadass would give you them.

• He'll be confused at first and probably wouldn't  even understand the word 💀

• But he'll give you money though LMAO.

This was 15 year old Eren, moving on to when he's older.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

• You guys are older. You've been introduced to the rest of his friend squad. Jean, Connie, Marco, sasha etc.

• Jean most definitely thinks you're pretty and fell for you at first sight. Eren didn't like this at all.

• Eren never really understood why he didn't like it when Jean played in your braids. Eren then started to purposely make you lay between his legs so he play with your braids before Jean could.

• They probably reacted the same as Eren about regarding your hair.

• Eren would take it upon himself to explain and even tell them about Lace fronts, sew ins, braids, etc

• He'll probably show off about  how much he knows about your hair.

• Eren would ask to help you with your hair.

• He most likely looked up YouTube videos about how to plate hair or how to deal with your hair type in general.

• You could probably teach him. He wouldn't understand the first time but with practice, he's pretty good. Not better than you though 🙄🤞❗

• Carries Hair ties, brushes and combs on him just for you.

• You also carry hair ties for him because of his long hair.

• You're the person who even puts his hair into that sexy ahh man bun🤨❗

• Most likely help you on wash day. Massages oil into your scalp.

• Supplies you with hairproducts.

• Likes it when you play in his hair. During PE, you guys would sit on the bench. Him between your thighs relaxing as you caress his hair.

• You guys look so cute and perfect while doing this. Connie and Sasha would always tease you about being Eren's gf.

• Loves your food! Like literally, he's in love with it.

• During the summertime, you invited him to a cookout. A lot of your family members stared at him but you know, they're accepting and gave him some food, chatted him with etc.

• Ever since then, he would always ask your mom to come over for dinner or save him a Plate lmao😭

• Sometimes if you were to cook, he'll be in the kitchen watching you

"Why are you watching me?"

"I wanna watch you so I can learn to cook your food and surprise you one day with it."

"Suurree but you can't out-cook me."

• He'll then smirk and accept that challenge.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

Sorry I just realized I've only been talking about yall friendly part, lemme get into more intimacy 🥲

• He always have his hands on your hips, waist or ass.

• Maybe you're cuddling in the library or something, his hands are on your ass.

• Black women naturally have curvy bodies In my opinion. And curvy can mean thick, skinny or in the middle. They're still curves.

• He loves kissing your lips. Either that or your neck.

• When you're walking together he always have his hand around your waist.

• Eren seems like the type to hug you from behind and kiss the top of your head.

• I dont think he's big on PDA but that doesn't mean he won't do it.

• You're talking to Jean? Wraps his arms around your waist from behind and places his head on your shoulder- kissing your neck.

• If you so happen to have thay dump trunk in the back, he'll always caress it, give it a pat or smack it. But in the most sly way ever.

You're in the hallway, chatting up with Jean. You guys are discussing the topics of what was recently covered in class. Jean cracks a joke about how the teacher was talking and their looks. You laugh at the small insults he was throwing at your professor. Eren recently just left his class a few doors down from where you and Jean was. He notices your long box braids from down the hall and sees a tall male walking alongside with you. Eren quickly caught up with you guys. As he walked passed you, his hands slides over and grabs a good squeeze from your ass. Naturally you wouldn't mind but for some reason you got embarrassed and flustered. Most likely it was because Jean was there. Before you could respond  and complain to him, he leans over and places his lips against yours. Obviously, you kiss him back as his free hand grabs your chin, deepening the kiss. It was passionate. The kiss was probably to make up for his sudden actions but it was also because he missed your presence and touch. The way your lips felt against his own, his hands grasping and holding your hips rolled, everything. Jean rolled his eyes,

"Okay lovebirds, I get it." You break away from Eren with a small smile. You turn towards  Jean with an apologetic look, since he did just kiss you in the middle of a conversation.

Jean nodded and said his goodbyes, he'll catch up with you another. Watching as his figured faded within the crowd, you turn towards Eren and smack his arm. He let out an "ow" in response.

"Eren, what was that for? I usually don't mind it but we were chatting."

He lets out a soft groan and buries his head into your neck. He released the grip on your rear and just lays it there as his other hand slips down and does the same. You tap his back and he raises his head from it's previous position. You give him a few quick pecks, wrapping your arms around his neck, he quickly to returns the small kissed back. You both smile at one another, letting out a small giggle.

"Its okay baby, I miss you too." You peck his cheek for the last time.

"We can walk home together after school, meet me at my last period class." 

Eren face brightens up when you say those words. Mann, this boy was in love. The bell rang and you notice all the kids scrambling to get to class. He releases his arms from you and grabs your hand as you both scurry along to your next period class.

He drops you off and waves at Armin and Marco that happens to be in your last period.

"Remember your promise y/n!!" He said as he walked off to the direction of his class.

You rolled your eyes jokingly and settled in to class.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

Okay bonus:

I feel as if Eren would talk you into making those tik toks that beautiful darkskin/brownskin woman do with makeup and their cute ass hair. Of course you'll end up doing it because he kept hyping yo ass up and wouldn't let it down.

The video actually goes viral and gets a decent 345k likes with 1.1m views. Some of the kids in school  came across the video and started chatting up with you. Even some guys you never knew before started to hit you up but Eren gets so Jealous and has you hold his hands always in the halls 😭

Okay thank you loves! Please request/suggest things for him. I don't mind doing one of these for Jean, Connie, etc. Next up are my jjk men 🤨❗

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x reader)

Summary: Reader tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the past two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week.

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up.

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Y/N’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner.

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Y/N never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Y/N was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now.

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again.

No new messages.

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something.

…

Y/N dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him.

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag.

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left.

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling.

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper.

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath.

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Y/N breathed.

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.”

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed wetly. “Oh my god , mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted.

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Y/N ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Y/N admitted, tears spilling over her lash line.

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost 40 years.”

Y/N heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.”

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Y/N hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf.

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?”

Y/N dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled.

Y/N closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Y/N swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Y/N could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Y/N.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered.

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Y/N heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.”

Y/N listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.”

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Y/N the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes.

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his.

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on.

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.”

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.”

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done.

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.”

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way.

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long?

“And then I met you, and you…” Y/N let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough?

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted.

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too.

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself.

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.”

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

“Y/N, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.”

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered.

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Y/N nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath.

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.”

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again.

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Y/N. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes. “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head.

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.”

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes tracked the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman— and smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple.”

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Y/N.

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.”

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane that I stayed with him for five years, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was... that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on— when someone tells you you’re nothing… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now.

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I’ve had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I’ve been able to recognize the moments when I’m falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there , and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no .” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and over his heart. “And then he just— left . And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but then you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Y/N dissolved back into the couch, an unwelcome indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.”

She gave him a weary nod, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.”

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check and find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.”

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with her.

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.”

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.”

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you... I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered.

“Agree to disagree.”

———

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[barzyyy]

I’m hella in my feels. Break my heart.

one too many.

a/n: prepare yourselves for this one. TW: includes mention of death, alcohol/heavy drinking and self-depricating thoughts. it is heavy. please read at your own discretion. my dm’s are open if anyone needs to talk!

italics = flashback.

read this first, if you haven’t already.

————————————

mat could feel the alcohol meeting his stomach. when did he become this way? he knew that he was not in a condition to be drinking as much as he was. he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. somehow the simplest tasks have become the most difficult.

it didn’t help that it was the offseason. all of his teammates were off on vacation. the jealousy quickly turned into resentment. he deleted all of his social media apps because he couldn’t bear to see anyone else happy. he locked himself inside your once shared house, alone. what used to feel like home now felt unsafe. with every corner he turned, there was something that reminded him of you. lipstick on the counter, your shoes kicked off next to the couch, he left them all in the same spot, praying that this was all a dream and that you would come walking through the door again.

he couldn’t get himself to come to terms with reality.

he drunkely stumbled to the couch, mindlessly turning on the tv and surfing through the channels. he landed on a random channel because his thoughts were overtaking him once again.

mat dreamed of being a dad. you both used to talk about starting a family of your own. would your kids have mat’s hair and your eyes? which one of your personalities would they adopt? he wanted so badly to look through the glass at a game and see you standing on the other side with your baby. he wanted to raise a son and teach him all he knew about how to play. he wanted a little girl to put makeup on him and make him sing the songs of all of her favorite disney princesses.

now, he didn’t want a family at all. you were going perfect mother. no one could ever compete with you. and now that you’re gone, he promised himself that no one would ever take your place. sure, he could have kids with someone else, but they would never be the kids he would have had with you. he didn’t want it.

it was easier to put up a wall and block out the feelings. his grief of losing you was too much for him to handle. he would rather just push everything out, experiencing nothing rather than experiencing everything all at once. every time he thought of you, another part of him was taken away. he was a shell of who he once was.

things would have been different if he had went home to you. had he not gone out to the bar with his teammates after the game, you would have never been in the accident. there would have been no reason for you to go over to your friend’s house. now, instead of remembering the celebratory reason why he went out, his memory was plagued by the phone call he received as he got the worst news of his life.

mat could feel the alcohol meeting his stomach. who was he to turn down free alcohol? getting the game winning goal in game 7 made him feel like he was on top of the world. fans in the bar were covering mat’s tab, and he was partying with all of his teammates. out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up with your caller i.d. and his favorite picture of the two of you. he picked it up and started walking through the mass of people to find a quieter place as he answered the call.

“babe, you won’t believe how many people are here! everyone is buying me drinks and-“

“hello?”

the manly voice was unrecognizable. mat stopped in his tracks.

“who is this?” he questioned.

“this is tom haltford, i’m a paramedic with the long island fire department. do you have a relationship with (y/n) barzal?” he asked.

he immediately sobered up. “she’s my wife, what is going on?” his heart was beating out of his chest.

“sir, i regret to inform you that your wife was in an accident. she was in a head-on collision with an impaired driver. she is currently being transported to nassau university medical center. do you have a safe way of getting there? i can send a police officer to pick you up.”

mat could only muster one sentence.

“is she alive?”

silence.

“i am sending an officer to your location. i am so sorry.”

what brought him out of his trance was the feeling of tears hitting his hand. he had not realized that he was crying, but did nothing to stop the onset of emotions that were to come. he buried his head in his hands, taking in the weight of the fact that you would have still been here had he not decided to go out. his shoulders heaved, but he stayed silent. he sobbed for a half an hour straight.

silence was something mat was becoming all too familiar with. he could no longer listen to the radio because every song he heard remided him of you. he didn’t dare go outside, because he couldn’t stop the jealousy that arose when he saw a couple out together. the best he could do was stay at home. his interaction was limited. when he did eat, all he did was get it delivered. even then, his options were scarce because he didn’t want to eat anything that felt significant to your relationship. he no longer ordered take out from your shared favorite thai restaurant down the street. he avoided anything that remided himself of you.

he would have teammates, family and friends text him every now and again to check in. he made it a point at your funeral to promise that he would reach out if he needed help. deep down, he knew from the beginning that those promises were as hollow as the newly-formed void in his heart.

maybe the irony of it all was that what killed you was the same thing he was using to self medicate. over time, one beer turned into to three, then six. he felt as if it was his only escape - alcohol only solidifed the numbness that he had been feeling. but tonight, he knew that he had gone overboard. there were freshly-chugged beer bottles on the table, and the only thing stopping him from taking some of your sleeping pills was his hope that you would come back for them. in addition to the beer, he was down a glass and a half of wine when his body finally began to reject the liquid. he tried to run to the bathroom, but the closest place he could make it was the kitchen sink. his stomach uncontrollably emptied itself, and he was left gasping in between his heaves. when he was done, he ran his hands under the sink and put water on his face. pulling the kitchen towel from the oven to wipe off his face, he looked up and his eyes were met with the picture on your counter from the wedding.

he was in immediate tears as he saw you walking down the aisle. your dress perfectly hugged your curves and your smile had been the biggest he’d ever seen. he felt a soft nudge from behind him.

”stay strong man, stay strong.” beau whispered, trying to help mat preserve any ounce that was left of his ego.

“bro, i can’t.” he whispered back, tears running down his face. at that point, you began to cry, and then the whole room was crying.

you both struggled through the tears to read eachother your vows. you were so impressed with how heartfelt his were.

“you helped me learn who i was outside of hockey, and i still fall in love with you every single day. ...and you’re a smokin’ 10, too. so that’s a plus.”

the after party was absolutely insane. you danced and drank the night away with your closest family and friends. you were talking to your best friend when mat came stumbling over to you, hugged you and said “can you believe we’re fucking MARRIED BABE?”

that was it. he couldn’t give up on life anymore. who he was becoming was scaring him. he knew that this is not what you would want. with a shaking hand and a breaking heart, he haphazardly picked up his phone and dialed the first number he could think of. there was an answer halfway through the first ring.

“hey man, you all good?”

inbetween sobs, his words slurred together. “beau, i need you.”

——————————————————

[lord-explosion-baku]

Keep Away

Yandere!Bakugou x reader

It’s a special occasion, so Bakugou decides to wine and dine you. It’s too bad for him that you’re intent on ignoring him.

Warnings: yandere, dark themes, lime, forced orgasm, minor food kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, light violence

A/N: I woke up at like three in the morning and decided to finish this. I saw a bad ending to a certain cyberpunk bl dating sim, and thought “would be kinda cool to be force fed cake,” but then it didn’t really turn into all that much cake feeding which is probably for the best. Who’s to say. It’s just kinda fun to say “it came to me during a cyberpunk bl dating sim bad end,” rather than, “it came to me in a dream.” Also, I’m so sorry if you read this and go “ew strawberry cake isn’t my jam. Belgium chocolate 5evah!!!!1!!” but if you do happen to like strawberry cake, I got you fam. 

“So you’re not talkin’ to me now, is that it?”

You keep your gaze low, careful not to even lock eyes with your captor—because no, you’re not talking to him, you’re not looking at him, you’re not even going to acknowledge his existence. It’s your verbal keep away. You’ve decided that it’s the worst possible punishment for Bakugou—ignoring him. You’ve tried just about everything: screaming at him, hitting him, crying to him, begging for your release, and it’s all given you nothing. You figure, why be anymore of a source for his entertainment?

“You should at least thank me for cookin’ you a proper meal.”

From across the candlelit table, Bakugou uncrosses his arms, glaring from the admittedly very well-made plate, to you. He clicks his tongue when you don’t respond, then moans around a mouthful of pad-see-ew, just like he knows you can’t stand.

“It’s so good, baby. Practically melts on my tongue…”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at that. It would be different if it wasn’t his food he complimented, but that’s Bakugou for you. Insolent, prideful, and terrible.

Bakugou stabs his chopsticks into his plate. “You’re not wearing the dress I bought. Not good enough for you?”

You didn’t even try it on. You want to tell him, but that would only spur him on. Bakugou likes it when you challenge him. He always gets that stupid smirk on his face, that daring look in his eye—always like he’s ready to bend you over and fuck you into submission. More often than not, that’s what ends up happening.

“Your ass would look great in it,” he says before taking another mouthful. You can feel his crimson glower scorching your skin, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You can wear whatever you want, though. I want your ass even in those sweats.”

You exhale and lean back back in your chair. He really has to be so vulgar, doesn’t he? Well, that’s not gonna make you crack.

“Yeah, I won’t force you in it. Not yet, at least.” Bakugou grins at the thought, chewing loudly. “I wouldn’t mind playing a little dress up with my doll.”

Your lip twitches, and you hope he doesn’t see. You have to squeeze your thighs together and ignore impending thoughts of Bakugou’s hands on you—first tearing your clothes off, then slowly, sensually zipping that tight, black dress up. You can’t keep from imagining his lips grazing your back, hands running through your hair, him pressing into your backside…

“Need some water, babe? You’re looking a little flushed.”

Your eyes snap to Bakugou’s and your cheeks warm even more when you realize he’s just caught you fantasizing. At least he doesn’t know what you were thinking about. Christ, you could only imagine the field day he’d have with you if he found out you ever thought about him like that.

After you’ve spent plenty of time hating yourself for having these thoughts, you’ve come to the conclusion that it has to be natural. In a psyche class you’ve taken, you learned a bit about Stockholm syndrome, and though you’re sure you’re definitely not falling in love with your captor, it’s perfectly fine that you occasionally think about him in the lusty kinda way. Admittedly, he’s earned it with the amount of orgasms he’s given you since you’ve been taken. But he hasn’t earned your love. Definitely not.

Bakugou stands, folding his napkin onto the table, and walks over to the ice chest he has on standby. He’s wearing his red dress shirt, paired with that white floral vest and nice slacks. You want to know what the occasion is for, but you won’t ask. You’re definitely underdressed, and a part of you wishes you had put on that dress he picked out for you.

You close your eyes and empty your mind of such stupid thoughts.

“How about some champagne?” Bakugou flips a knife out and cuts the cork off with a pop!, making you jump a little bit. He glides over to you, puts his hand on your shoulder, leans in, and fills the crystalline flute sitting on the table. He smells like spice and that natural burnt toffee aroma he has. It’s so nice that you can’t help but lean into him just a teeny bit. And he notices.

“You’re gonna eat somethin’ for me, yeah?” he whispers lowly into your hair before kissing your temple. You freeze while he moves down your neck, brushing a finger along the opposing side of your face, coaxing your head to turn. “Or are you not in the mood for Thai? We can always skip straight to dessert.”  

Bakugou dips down to kiss you, but you turn so he misses and kisses your ear. He growls out a sigh and you clench your hands into fists. You’re waiting for it—for him to lose his cool. You don’t know why he’s trying to act kindly to you, but that’s sure to end at any moment, and when it does, he’s going to feel guilty. You’re planning on exposing him as the monster you’re always accusing him of being.

“I’m serious, I made cake,” he says, a slight edge in his voice. He twirls a finger around a strand of your hair, tugging it so you face him. “Your favorite. Strawberry cream frosting, and it tastes fucking fantastic.”

Bakugou’s gaze drops down to your lips before finding your eyes. “I could feed it to you—have you lick that sweet cream right off the tips of my fingers.”

Your scowl tightens on him. He smirks.

“Your lips always look the prettiest when they’re wrapped around something. I’m startin’ to really like that idea.”

“Why?” you bite out, because you can’t take it anymore. You’re either going to die from curiosity or die from embarrassment when he inevitably undresses you and finds out just how much his teasing gets to you, and you won’t let him have that.

Even still, Bakugou looks as triumphant as ever because you gave him what he wants: your attention.

“Why what, huh?”

“Why the dress!” You bark, resolve out the damn window. “The meal, the champagne, the cake?! Why are you trying to be so nice to me all of a sudden?”

“I’m not trying to be nice. I am nice.” Bakugou rolls his eyes as if he’s explaining something simple to a child.

“No, you’re not!” You insist. “You’re...you’re…” Shock sets in and your shoulders grow rigid. He couldn’t possibly be...but if he is...he’d be absolutely daft to think you’ll say yes. “You’re not proposing to me, are you?”

“Hah?” Bakugou’s eyes widen. You definitely caught him off guard, and you could melt from the steaming blaze in your cheeks. “You want me to put a rock on those pretty fingers of yours? Make an honest man out of me?”

“No! No!” You exclaim on a head shake. “I just thought...with the whole atmosphere-“

“Princess,” he interrupts, taking your hand into his. He brings the back of your wrist to his lips, and for a moment, you think you could be right about him proposing after all. At least, until he speaks again. “We ain’t gonna get hitched ‘til you’re good and knocked up—at least four months in, too. That way, there won’t be a chance in hell you can skip out on me.”

There won’t be a chance in hell he will knock you up with your IUD in, so good luck to him on that endeavor. It’s not like he doesn’t know about it, either. There’s a reason why he’s never been hesitant to enter you unwrapped. Although, considering what he just said, you don’t believe he’d be any different if the circumstances were different.

Your lips curl into a snarl. “Then what’s going on?!”

“You seriously don’t know?” He scoffs, then leads your hand to your champagne flute. Once you take it, Bakugou tells you he’ll be right back, and you down the drink. You let the bubbles wash down your throat and quickly take a bite of noodles before he sees. You sigh. They really do melt on your tongue. Bastard.

Before you know it, the faint smell of burning wics envelope your space, and all the lights in the room besides the candles on the table dim. Then, there’s a cake placed in front of you—pink, with intricate, white designs lining its frosted edges. You count the candles and there are exactly the same amount of years you’ve been on this earth, plus one—no, not plus one.

You look up to Bakugou for an explanation. He’s simply grinning down at you, looking proud.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Bakugou kisses the top of your head. “Make a wish.”

Absently, you blow the candles out, but you don’t make a wish, because your brain is too busy doing mental math. On your last birthday, you’d gone on a date with Hitoshi Shinsou. He took you to a cute, little café, bought you a coffee and a tiny cake. He’d ended the night with one of the shyest, sweetest kisses you’ve ever received. Not even four days later, Bakugou took you. You never got to thank Shinsou for that perfect day.

The hair on the back of your neck rises with the sudden realization that you’ve been with Bakugou for nearly an entire year. That’s one year of your life ripped away from you. One year where you haven’t made any progress achieving your dreams. One year that you’ll never get back.

“What’d ya wish for?” Bakugou asks, but you hardly hear him due to the scathing fury that rings in your ears and burns your back. You’re unsure of what you should say or how you should react; you already pulled the silent treatment and you think you’re far too livid to go zipping your lips again.

There’s only one thing you can do: go absolutely batshit crazy.

“I hate you!”

With a quick shuffle, the cake is splattered on the table, your plate flies across the room, and chopsticks are in your hand, aiming for Bakugou’s eyes. It’s too bad for you that Bakugou either expects it, or his reflexes are just so good that he catches you by the wrist before you can stab him. You’re immediately twisted around, chest on the table, arm pinned to your back, and his erection pressing into your ass.

“Yeah? You hate me?” Bakugou’s voice is erratic, husky, dripping with lust. He climbs on top of you, grinds into your behind, and hisses, “wanna say that again?”

“Let me go, asshole!” You below and try to buck him off of you, which only encourages him to pull your arm tighter, forcing you into paralysis. You grit your teeth while tears sting your lower lashes. The only weapon you have is your voice, and that’s always proven ineffective against him in the past. Still, you can’t stop yourself from yelling. “It’s been a goddamn year! I’m sick of being your prisoner!”

“Is that right?” Bakugou shifts, and you hear the sounds of metal clanking. You know instantly that he’s taking off his belt. You writhe as much as you possibly can, fearing a lashing. He hasn’t ever really hit you before, and though getting him to the point had been your end goal, taking the belt is a whole other level of pain you’re not willing to endure.

“Katsuki,” you pant, desperate. “Please, no. Please don’t. It’s...it’s my birthday!”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Bakugou releases your wrist, and goes for your hair instead. He yanks you back so that his chest presses against your back. His lips are against the junction of your shoulder and neck as he growls, “after everything I’ve fuckin’ done for you? Ungrateful little slut.”

He pulls your sweats down, cupping your ass roughly with his large, calloused hands. They feel good—his rough touch against your soft cheeks—and despite feeling fearful for the state of your ass, you can feel yourself getting aroused. “I really gotta put you in your place today of all days?” He squeezes your ass tight and possessive, like he owns it, and in the moment, you can’t really say that he doesn’t.

“No,” you cry and god you’re pathetic. You had this entire plan set up and now it’s barreling out of your control. As his lips graze your shoulder, you let out a sigh and say, “the cake was really, really pretty, Katsuki. I’m sure I would’ve loved it. I’m sorry I did that. I just…”

“Just what?” He rasps against your neck before his hot tongue draws a long line across your skin, making you shiver in response.

“I was just...overwhelmed,” you admit. “Our anniversary-“ you choke out, the words sour on your tongue, but you manage to make it sound sweet-“is just around the corner. I wasn’t prepared...I don’t have a whole lot of resources to do something special for you…”

Katsuki Bakugou sure is a lot of things, but he’s not a moron. You’re positive he can read your facade like a book and he’s certainly not one to play along. .

“Oh yeah? You wanna do something for me?” He sucks in your earlobe between his teeth, nibbling playfully. You mewl as Bakugou reaches around your body, large fingers moving down the front of you and sliding down your pubic bone. He dips two fingers between your lips, swiping smugly at the traitorous puddling at your core. “Is this really what gets you off, sweetheart? Lying to me just so I get a little rough with you?”

“N-no.” You try to sound stern, sure of yourself, but Bakugou is light to the touch, fingers barely teasing your sensitivity. You catch yourself grinding into them, directly resulting in your ass moving against his erection. You can feel him pulse against you, and it only makes your pussy throb in direct result, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Just admit you want me,” he seethes, pressing more firmly against you while his middle finger teases your entrance. “You like me like this. You don’t want sweet—you want me to be a hard ass, don't you? Why else would you act like such a slutty little brat? Good girls don’t get wet after shit like this, baby. Good girls don’t like to be thrown around.”

“Katsuki,” you say on a sigh while bringing a hand to his arm, hoping to direct him to break through your surface.

“Put your hands on the table,” he growls.

“Please.” You ignore him, pulling his arm more insistently, needing him to deepen his touch.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you; put your hands on the table, or I won’t hesitate to use this belt against your bare fuckin’ ass. I’ll lick you so good, you’ll have bruises for months. You’ll need to sit on a fuckin’ ice pack the next time I’m courteous enough to have you dine with me at my table.”

Shuddering, you obey him, planting your palms against the flat of the table, away from the splattered cake. Bakugou lets out a contemptuous scoff, brings your wrists together, and easily wraps his belt around them, tight and with no leeway.

He then pushes your shirt up so that it’s around your wrist with the belt, and pulls your sweats down all the way off of your legs. You’re virtually naked in front of him, with the exception of your bra and panties, helpless to do anything about it. Just like he likes it. He always wants you to bite back until he gets you to submit. He was probably enjoying your little silent treatment show, too; it was just another kind of rebellion, another barbel that he’s fought and won.

A tingle runs down your spine as he traces it with calloused fingers. You feel your stomach tighten from anticipation when he reaches your tailbone and his touch leaves your body. You hear him chuckle as he pulls at a strap of your thong, snapping it back into place. “At least I know you like the panties I got you.”

Pain bursts on your right cheek as the sound of his sharp slap ricochets around the dining room. You have to bite your lip to keep from crying out—even still, you’re trembling when he rubs the sore spot.

“Awww,” he coos, snickering. “You gonna try and act tough?”

You exhale, trying and failing to keep a steady breath, but it’s all wrong and you’re already panting.

“Show me how much you hate me, baby, I wanna hear you sing it.”

The next lick comes without any precursor, no warning, no time for you to brace yourself, so when he slaps your ass, you can’t help but cry out—ecstatic or indignant—it’s not your place to decide.

“Katsuki!” You fall forward, forehead on the table, inches away from the ruined cake.

He chuckles at your position, petting the back of your hair. “If you want me to stop, you’re gonna have to lick it up, Princess.”

Your eyes narrow and you shoot a sideways glare back at him. “I’m not a dog.”

His lips tilt sideways, cocky and annoyingly hot, cheeks red, brow raised provocatively. “You sure look like a bitch to me.”

He spanks you a third and fourth time, and your mouth hangs open with unspoken yelps, a familiar, shameful feeling traveling down your stomach to your throbbing heat.

Taking a second, Bakugou dips his fingers into the pink frosted mess in front of your eyes, and brings it to your mouth. “Taste it for me. I worked hard to get the flavor right,” he commands, smearing the cream over your bottom lip. You’re helpless to oblige. Only, when you stick your tongue out, he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

“Bite me, and I’ll have you tied up for the entire night. I’ll make you scream until you’re on the edge of passing out, then I’ll fuck you awake. I’ll use you—fill every hole you’ve got ‘til you’re nothing but a leaky drainpipe full of my cum. Do I make myself clear?”

“Mhmm…” Not wanting to test to see if he was just making empty promises, because he never makes empty promises, you glide your tongue around his fingers, aiming to please. You let out a soft, appreciative hum when you taste the sweet, strawberry flavored frosting, and suck his fingers clean.

“Good girl,” he says, his fingers leaving your mouth, only to dip back into the cake. He brings them back to your lips and you take him in willingly. “Now, I don’t want to hear another word out of that pretty little mouth, until I tell you to speak. Understand?”

You look at him with affirmation. He spanks you again.

Your body jolts, spit and cream drooling out of your mouth as you moan, trying not to utter a comprehensive word. The vibrations from the impact sends waves of pleasure dancing across your clenching heat. He hasn’t even really touched your sex, and yet, you feel the coils of an approaching orgasm winding up in the pit of your stomach.

The sixth and seventh spank has tears falling down your cheeks. The heat is too much to bear and you can feel sweat sliding down your back. You want to warn him—to request that he takes a break, because the oncoming shame that’s making your toes tingle and your heart race might be a little more humiliating than having him torture you for the entire night. But you say nothing, your curiosity besting your dignity. The next spank does you in. Your body shakes as you wail, your coils breaking while you pool out, thighs sheened with your arousal. There’s absolutely no hiding yourself, and Bakugou is going to be all too smug about this. You simply cannot believe yourself.

“No way,” Bakugou husks, fingers leaving your mouth. You’re panting again when he brings his fingers to your fluttering pussy. He pushes them in and all you can offer is a sigh when he’s up to his digits in you.

“Aww...oh no.” You can’t tell if his concern is genuine or not, but it doesn’t matter to you. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, and defeated. He’s never going to let you live this down. You can already hear his future taunts buzzing around in your head. ‘You can’t pretend like you don’t like me when I’ve made you cum just by spanking your perfect little ass.’

God-fucking-damn it.

He has all the merit to tease you for it now, and you’re expecting him to—hell, you’re practically bracing yourself for it, but instead, he pulls his fingers back and pushes your bottom over, so you face him.

“Ah~Ow!” You wince when your butt hits the table.

“Ah. C’mere.”  He frowns and pulls you up by the belt at your wrist. You don’t stop yourself from falling into his embrace. He might be the source of all of your dread, but he’s also your only means of comfort. You let your tears roll onto his chest, muffling your sobs into his shirt. He hushes you, nails tickling your back as he kisses your hair. “S’okay, princess. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you cry, and though your wrists are still bound, you manage to clutch onto his shirt. You pull him into you, shamelessly reveling in the familiarity of his scent.

“Hmm?” He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What for?”

Your lips tremble and you shake your head, unable to voice exactly what you’re sorry for. Climaxing? Telling him that you hate him? Treating him so poorly when all he does is take care of you? You shake your head again when the actualization of your situation sets into the forefront of your mind. There’s practically a river of tears streaming down your face now and you wish for nothing more than to do disappear, because you’re a stupid girl, there’s cake in your hair, and Stockholm syndrome is bullshit!

“What is it?” He insists, he is tone low, caring.

Dumb. You’re so dumb. Your brain is screaming at you to not say anything, but your skin still buzzes from the thrill of your orgasm. Despite loathing yourself more than ever, you’re practically high, both from catharsis and euphoria.

“I don’t...hate you.” It’s small but it’s there—your voice. There’s a lot to decode from your confession, and by the way Bakugou’s eyes soften just the tiniest bit, you know that he knows what you will not say..

His thumb brushes across the corner of your mouth, wiping away at some residual frosting, then brings it up to where your lips part.

“I know,” he says as you take him in again, swirling your tongue around his thumb, now enjoying the taste of the cake. “Of course I know.”

Your heart swells when he doesn’t laugh at you. He doesn’t even look all that proud of himself. He simply gazes at you with adoration and amazement—and, of course, lust because you have your lips wrapped around something. Prick.  

“That was very hot, babe,” he says before kissing your forehead. “I really didn’t think that you could be so responsive to me.” He chuckles darkly, but it lacks his familiar malicious undertone. “Don’t really feel like I earned it, either.”

His thumb leaves your mouth, slides against your bottom lip, and is abruptly replaced with a kiss. Bakugou’s tongue teases your mouth open, then caresses yours with his. “Mmm,” he hums, the reverberations of his voice sending sensational buzzes down your neck. He nips at your bottom lip, then smirks against you. “Tastes good.”

He kisses you again, molding his lips perfectly to yours, and you feel his arousal poke at your bound hands. Not quite lucid enough to think it through, but feeling a bit mischievous yourself, you cup his girth through his trousers, rubbing his hard length up and down. You run your tongue against his, wanting to taste the power he has over you.

“You want me, baby?” Bakugou asks, pressing himself more firmly into your hands. “You wanna feel me slide inside that wet pussy of yours?”

Still not willing to give him a verbal confirmation, you squeeze his cock, legs wrapping around his torso to pull him closer to you. He growls when you have him grinding against your heat, a dark stain appearing on the prominent bulge he rubs against you. When he pulls away, you see that his pupils are blown, barely a sliver of his crimson iris to be seen. He looks moonstruck, predatory, and beautiful.

“Naughty girl,” he scolds, a tick in his jaw. He pushes you lightly, easing so that your back is on the table, your legs spread out for him. He groans when he runs a finger up your damp, clothed slit.

“I asked you a question,” he continues, playing with your core. He gets a dreamy look in his eye when he pulls your panties to the side, and feels exactly how wet you are for him. Then, he shoots a scathing glower your way. “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Fuck. You?”

“Yes,” you say with a nod. “I want you to fuck me, Katsuki.”

“That’s really too bad.” He snickers arrogantly and your heart falls into your stomach. Didn’t you just have a soft moment?! “Only good girls get fucked, pretty baby. You can’t confess your undying love for me and expect that gets you out of your punishment.”

“I did not!” You argue which earns you a dangerous look.

“You and I both know what the hell you meant,” he says with a threateningly sexy lilt. “You can’t take something like that back at the drop of a hat.”

”I think you’ve punished me enough already,” you bite out defensively, quick to change the subject, because you‘re bitterly aware that he’s right.

“And who are you to decide that?” He smirks, brushing a thumb across your pubic bone. “Thought you were my prisoner.”

“I didn’t mean that!”

“No?” Bakugou gets down to his knees, leveling his face with your center. “Actions speak louder than words, angelface.” He kisses your clit, making the same noise he does when he’s trying to bother you while eating, only when he does it on your cunt, all of your nerve endings catch flame and you’re spiraling back to needy senselessness. “Prove to me that you’ve earned my cock by riding my tongue.”

He’s nothing if not altruistic when he’s between your legs. He’s always been generous and dedicated to getting you off, but there’s something different about how he’s moving now. He uses the flat of his tongue and draws languid strokes up your entrance, taking his time while he swirls around your clit. He groans into you, and if the vibrations of his voice weren’t enough to finish you off then and there, his fingers sure as hell do it for you. He pushes them into you, reveling in the feel of your spongy walls hugging him tightly. He traces intricate patterns across your skin, mapping out the places that make you moan the loudest, just to be keen on teasing you for harrowing minutes. He’s going about this agonizing slow, but there’s something about him taking his time, rather than completely ravaging you to prove just how good he is at eating you out, that already has your walls clamping down around his fingers, your back arching, whimpers and pleas tumbling out of your mouth.

It hits you like a brisk wave crashing against the oceanic shoreline. First it was one liquescent sensation, then a pandemonium of your nerves roaring to life. Your thighs close against his head, locking him into place while your fingers twine with his hair. He moans into you, multiplying the excruciating thrill tenfold. You rock against his tongue, savoring this magnificently prolonged ecstatic escapade.

When your nerves cool down and you’re no longer twitching too much, Bakugou offers you a wry grin before licking his lips.

“Look at what a mess you’ve become,” he coos , kissing your shaking thighs, eyes locked on yours. “Was that all because of me, princess.”

“I...don’t think I’ve come so hard in my life.” You breathe, disoriented by the fact. “Oh my god.”

“That so?” He asks as his tongue travels up your thigh.

Bakugou fervently laps up your post-orgasmic juices all the way back up to your drenched cunt. He groans dramatically while his tongue dives back into you. You’re far too sensitive now, and he doesn’t stop—he likes having you squirm around, bucking your hips this was and that, all attempts at finding an escape for his erotic torture futile. Soon he has you spasming out of control for the third time this night, and he rides the waves of your grudging pleasure with delight.

“K-katsukiiii, pleeease!” You’re breathless, hot, and irrational. He has a large hand gripped tightly on your side while three fingers continue to curl inside of you. “I can’t t-take it anymore! It’s t-too much!”

“What? You don’t think you’ve got another one in you?” He keeps your eyes locked on his as his hands push your thighs farther apart, his tongue slowly gliding across your throbbing clit.

You shake your head, practically sputtering your pleas. “I will do whatever you want, so please-“

‘’S that right?” Bakugou grins up at you, smug and triumphant. He pushes you farther up on the table and climbs over you, one hand at the side of your head, holding him up—the other reaching out to grab a coin-sized piece of cake. He presses it against your mouth as he prompts you with an, “ahh.”

“Ah,” you mimic and he pushes the cake into your mouth. The moment you swallow is the moment his lips latch onto yours. You taste your headiness mixing in with the creamy texture of the cake and you can’t help but moan openly into his mouth.

Bakugou ends the kiss too soon, catching you out of breath and wanting more.

“You can be a good girl, can’t you?” His voice is raspy, thick with need, and you know he’s close to falling apart. You want him to. You need him to. He’s broken you, so it’s only just that he breaks sometimes too.

You nod, cautious to see what he’ll be doing next. He’s certainly not taking off his pants, which was the only thing he should be doing.

He moves your arms over his shoulders and leans down low, breath hot on your ear. “You’ll do anything for my cock?”

“Yes,” you sigh and wish more than anything for your hands to be free so tear his shirt off.

“Because you don’t hate me at all. In fact, you fuckin’ love me. You love everything I do to you, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. That right?”

You scowl ahead, teeth clenched. “Yes.”

He draws a line with his tongue against the most sensitive part of your neck, making you shudder, and asks, “yes, what, princess?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, I am stubborn.”

With a “teh!” Bakugou kisses your cheek and leads you up so that you’re sitting straight, and guides you both carefully off the table, sweeping you up to carry you so that you don’t step in any of the food you’ve tossed around. He cradles you in his arms, you half-naked, him fully dressed, and smiles sardonically.

“I’m not gonna make you say it, because it is your birthday, but I will have you know that your punishment is not over.”

“You’re kidding me!” You bark back, leaning away to look him in the eyes to see if he’s serious.

“Sorry, baby.” He laughs. “But I had a romantic evening planned out for the two of us and you just had to throw your little bratty tantrums.”

“What do I have to do—?”

“—to get me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“You’re going to take a shower, put on that fuckin’ dress, then we’re gonna do this whole dinner thing over again. If you can behave, then maybe—maybe you’ll get my cock. If not—well princess, history tends to repeat itself, but I was hoping we could act like a normal couple just for one night. Thought maybe you’d be into it too, but that’s not what you want at all, is it?”

“I...want to be a normal couple,” you say unenthusiastically. You’re not sure if you meant you wanted to be a normal couple with Bakugou or if you wanted to be free and normal with somebody else entirely.

Bakugou snickers, as if you said something childish. “No you don’t.”

“Because you think I don’t want to be with you.”

“Nah...I know you want to be with me. But you don’t want to be a normal couple. You want this, babe. You want what we have. You want the chaos. You revel in it.”

“Well, I—“ you begin, desperate to find an argument point that doesn’t make you sound dumb. Is he right? Do you enjoy this? Everyday is like a game with him, and it drives you up the fucking wall, but what would you be without it?

“I hope you can keep your self-control,” you retort flippantly, abandoning the argument. “Hope your dick didn’t burst your buttons, Katsuki.” Your gaze drops down to the tent in his pants, then snaps pointedly back at his face.

He’s absolutely unfazed. In fact, he’s more chipper than you’ve ever seen him—like he’s the cat who caught the mouse. “Just for that, I’m gonna join you in the shower. Keep my belt around those wrists and have you watch me wash myself—see all that you’re missing out on.”

You groan, head falling into his chest as he begins walking towards the stairs. “I really do fucking hate you.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” he says back, a smile in his voice. “Just as long as you know that you’re not the only person here that knows how to play keep away.”

[worminstuff]

tbott headcanons by me

the author

no one in particular asked for this, but

headcanons for tbott sleepy bois

tbott techno

4 words

Nerd with pink hair.

Techno is quite the bookworm, thanks to y/n constantly buying/finding him new books and feeding his minor addiction over the years. He was a  fiend for knowledge.

And he so happens to have pink hair.

Techno is about 6’2 ish maybe a bit less, which is tall for his age. He’s about 16 ish.

Something that hasn’t been vital but I think about a lot while writing, he has a nose ring. A septum to be precise, a little gold ring. He got it for his 14th birthday, and y/n even went with him for it. He often fiddles with it when he’s nervous.

He often wears jeans and t shirts, if it’s colder he’ll grab a hoodie. He likes button ups, and he really likes cardigans and so does Wilbur! His glasses are simple black rectangle fames, and they’re only for reading because he normally wears contacts. Even tho he hates them.

Techno would never admit it vocally, but he’s a huge cuddle bug. Especially when he hasn’t seen y/n for a while, or he happens to catch her in a low time. Middle of the night, a sleep over in the tree house, he would 100% “unintentionally” try to pull y/n close.

He also tries to catch tommy at a time when he’s sleepy, so he can try to hug his little brother. He often finds tommy incredibly annoying, since he’s a tad to chaotic for techno, but when tommys cuddly techno is all for it.

Techno does this sorta stalker ish thing when y/n or mentions something they really like, he researches them. He gets as knowledgeable on those topics as he can. He wants to always be able to have a conversation with y/n about something she likes, it makes pulling smiles out of her even easier.

tbott wilbur

He may seem like a sad boy a whole lot rn, (I’m so sorry) but he’s a happy boy usually! He’s a constant smile that roams the house.

Wilbur is about 6’4 ish, and he’s 18. He owns about 10 pairs of black skinny jeans and he owns copious amounts of sweaters. He’s very style oriented most of the time, but it’s not out of ordinary to catch him in some basketball shorts or pj pants and a t shirt.

Wilbur was a protective brother, growing up he payed close attention to how people treated techno, since he was a bit..antisocial. But wilbur was sure he wouldn’t have that problem with Tommy. For obvious reasons.

Wilbur and tommys relationship (is my favorite asdfghj) is pretty awesome. Tommy in his most chaotic forms, matches the levels of wilburs energy. Mans likes his coffee. They’re a scary duo. But an entertaining one.

Wilburs love language is very vocal, tho he’ll always go for a hug, he very much thinks words mean more than actions themselves. Hence putting his feelings into lyrics often.

He’s written many songs about y/n. She’s never heard any of them. Wilbur used to walk with techno and y/n each morning, and he loved to hear her babble on and on about whatever thing she found exciting thay particular day.

Wilbur had a bad habit of convincing himself out of talking to her, which was why they never had much of a friendship growing up. He was really glad when they started to talk though, he looked forward to it often. He always had a soft spot for the way she always listens so intently, making sure she won’t forget anything he tells her. Especially if they’re talking interests.

Tbott tommy

I’m gonna paint you a picture for this one, a small picture.

It was a hot day in august and the crew had just gotten back from a beach day, and tommy was irritated. They had learned, very fast, tommy did not like the beach.

As soon as they were in through the door, and Phil let Tommy on his own feet. Tommy was reaching for his bag that Phil was holding. Confused, Phil handed him the bag. Immediately, tommy unzipped the bag and grabbed the bottom of it flipping it upside down.

A wave of sand hit the wood floors.

Phil, techno, and Wilbur stood dumbstruck.

When had he managed to get his bag full of sand? Why had he put sand in his bag? Where were the things that were supposed to be in his bag?

The answers to these questions, as tommy said,: when he did. Cause he wanted to. Sand.

“D-do ya not like the sand tommy?” Techno asked. Still throughly confused. Tommy looked up at his older brother and pointed to the car.

Phil’s eyes widened. Wilbur was the first out to the car, opening the door to the back seat tommys car seat was placed, and low and behold, there was a crab sitting on his car seat.

He got the sand, for his crab.

Tommy also only listens to y/n while mid temper tantrum’s, which was something Phil wished they hadn’t learned only months prior.

Tbott Phil

He’s a soft dad, he’s very caring and not harsh.

He cares less about discipline and more about the lessons he wants to teach his kids that they can learn from, rather than punishing.

The only kid he’s grounded was wilbur, which seems like it would be obvious because Tommy is like 4 and techno is..techno.

Phil learned early on that y/ns parents were rather unpresent. He started keeping extra things around the house like a toothbrush, a hair brush, girl shampoo. Because he wanted her to have everything she needed when she needed to be there, or chose to be.

He even tried to buy her clothes for the house, they didn’t fit but she appreciated it so much.

Phil enjoys days where the boys go off to school and it’s just him and tommy. Though he loves his older boys, watching tommy grow up is incredibly entertaining. His mind works so strangely and Phil finds it so amazing.

Phil was one of y/ns emergency contacts per her parents request. So when y/n got in trouble, he was often the one to find out first. Or when she got hurt or sick. She was like a daughter to him. He even often joked she was his favorite child.

Tommy didn’t like this joke.

When Phil first became a dad, he wasn’t a good cook. But over the years he’s mastered his craft and was quite the chef.

I hope this is something you guys enjoy! It’s just a little more insight to how I see the sleepy bois in this au in particular! And hopefully this may help with blurb requests!

[annab-nana]

🦾 the winter soldier 🦾

okay so for this blurb can it be like y/n is the avengers youngest avenger, so everyone has a protective soft spot for her. One day she's singing to Olivia Rodrigo's songs and the avengers listen to the lyrics and are like is she ok? like who do we have to beat up? or something cute and protective like that? with Steve, Tony, Nat, and the others as well? Love you babe!

omg this sounds so cute! we love a protective little family

also this went a little longer than expected haha so i put a keep reading on it

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The first one to overhear you listening to your newest obsession was Nat. You were getting ready to head down to the gym for some training with her and she was going to come up and get you so you both could walk down together like she always did. But when she heard the song you were listening to, she stopped and listened in for a spell.

"Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy, not me, if you ever cared to ask. Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby. God, I wish that I could do that," you shouted the lyrics along with the singer as you danced around, pumping yourself up for training. To Natasha, the song sounded like a great one to get you motivated and energized, but as she listened to the lyrics and how it sounded like you were really connecting with them, she couldn't help but feel a little worried for you. So she kept a close eye on you during your session together and you seemed fine, happy even, so she let it go.

The next to hear you singing along to Olivia Rodrigo was Tony Stark. It was in the afternoon and you were working in your lab. He had just stopped by Peter's lab where he didn't find Peter nor you—which was weird because the two of you always worked together in his lab in a comfortable silence or with some music playing as well. Next, he tried your lab. There you were, sitting as you toyed with some tech and sang softly along to the song, having not noticed Tony's presence.

"'Cause it's always one step forward and three steps back. I'm the love of your life until I make you mad. It's always one step forward and three steps back. Do you love me, want me, hate me, boy? I don't understand. No, I don't understand," you almost whispered the lyrics to yourself. Tony stayed there silently for a moment, trying to decide if he should interrupt or come back later. After seeing that you seemed to be a little upset based on your song choice, he chose to leave you alone and talk to you later about what he originally needed.

Then it was Steve. You had been trying to pick up the guitar and learn to play like your dad did when you were younger. So you had been trying to play one of the songs you had been listening to lately and you had unknowingly left your door slightly open for anyone who was walking by to hear you. So when Steve heard you strumming and singing so beautifully, he stopped to listen, a proud smile coating his features until he heard the words you were singing.

"And I watched as you fled the scene, doe-eyed as you buried me, one heart broke, four hands bloody. Those things I did just so I could call you mine, the things you did, well, I hope I was your favorite crime," you sang to your heart's content. You sounded amazing for sure, but your heart sounded like it needed help from the words leaving your lips. Steve left your doorway to find someone who might be able to help.

"Have you guys seen Queens or Wanda? I think something's wrong with y/n," Steve asked Nat, Bucky, and Tony who were all congregated in the common area doing different things.

"I thought the same thing the other day because of her song choice before training but then she seemed fine," Nat spoke, recalling the memory from a few days prior.

"Yeah, yesterday I walked into her lab and she was by herself singing a sad song. I figured she was upset so I left her alone to have her space," Tony informed them from the kitchen he was cleaning up.

"What happened? Was it that Charlie guy because I'll kick his ass," Bucky piped up but before he could do anything, your laugh sounded from the hallway as you and Peter headed towards the elevator to leave.

"Y/n!" Tony called for you as yours and Peter's heads snapped in his direction. You both shared a skeptical look before approaching the man who treated you both as his own.

"We aren't doing anything wrong," you clarified as his tone of voice kind of scared you. "May invited me to dinner the other day and if it goes anything like it normally does, we will probably end up ordering pizza or going to that Thai place, but you have my location. Also, we can very much protect ourselves so don't worry." You chuckled nervously under the gazes of everyone in the room. Looking to Peter, he just shrugged, knowing about as much as you did. "Okay, what's up? Did someone get hurt? Was it Wanda? Oh my God, where is she?" you stated frantically, looking around for the one closest to your heart.

"No, y/n, calm down," Nat spoke soothingly as she walked closer to you, reaching for your hand and holding it in her own. "We're just worried about you." Relief flooded your body but it was soon replaced with confusion.

"Wait, worried about me? Why? What's wrong?" you inquired, your eyes jumping from hers to Tony's to Bucky's then Steve's.

"We've been hearing the songs you've been listening to lately and got a little worried," Steve started for everyone. You looked to Peter before you both busted out laughing.

"You've been listening to Olivia Rodrigo, haven't you?" Peter asked through his giggles and you just nodded, unable to form words. You pulled Nat into you by her hand on yours and wrapped your arms tightly around her body.

"I love you. All of you are too sweet," you muttered into her red hair before meeting Tony's eyes behind her, leaving her embrace to hug him too.

"So you're okay?" he wondered aloud what they were all thinking as you squeezed him tightly and left to hug Steve next.

"She's fine," Peter spoke for you while you went to embrace Bucky finally. "She just likes the singer."

"I was about to kick that Charlie guy's ass," Bucky told you as you laughed into his chest.

"Good thing you didn't because his name was Chandler so you would’ve annihilated some random guy named Charlie and Pete already told him to back off so we don't have to worry about him anymore," you filled them in before Peter looked down at his phone.

"We have to head off," he reminded you and you nodded before keeping an arm around Bucky.

"One more hug, okay? Everyone get in," you said while they all got in and shared the hug.

"A group hug and you didn't invite me? Hey everybody, group hug in the common room. Hurry up!" Sam shouted from the doorway as he attacked his way in. You all laughed before Peter rolled his eyes and grumbled.

"We're never getting out of this."

Come celebrate with me <3

[morceid]

Peppermint Plucks

SPENCER REID X MALE READER

read on ao3

Summary: When Spencer Reid starts to feel more lonely than usual, Penelope suggests he picks up guitar. Unexpectedly, he finds himself with a crush on his teacher.

Category: fluff

Warnings: implied sexual content

Word Count:1720

A/N: requested by @riley-killjoy​ ! thanks for the request :)

Garcia noticed first. Spencer had been more absent minded at work recently. He barely finished half of his case files before lunch anymore. Giving his troubling past, it was cause for worry. So she was going to do something about it. After most everyone left the office for lunch she walked into the bullpen and sat on his desk.

“Hey, boy genius, what’s got you slacking recently?”

“What are you, Hotch?” He retorted.

“Come on, I’m being serious! It’s lunch and you’ve only finished a third of your paperwork. What’s going on in there?” She ruffled his curls and pushed them out of his eyes.

“I don’t really know. I’ve just been feeling kind of lonely recently.” Spencer shrugged.

“What are you talking about? Emily brings you coffee once a week, Derek gets you food from that Thai place you love when you're working late, and we invite you out for drinks every Friday. You’ve got people that care about you, babes.” Penelope rubbed his knee as she spoke.

“I know. I guess I just want something more? I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish there was someone with me all the time. Someone to wake up to. Someone to go to sleep with. Just.. something.” Spencer fidgeted with the pen in his hands and looked at his feet.

“Aw, Spencer, you don’t need someone.”

“But I want someone.” He looked Penelope in the eyes almost urgently.

“Hey, since you spend so much time alone, why don’t you use your time to learn something?”

“Not sure how that would help seeing as I think I’ve learned just about everything, but go on.”

“You remember my ex Sam?” Spencer nodded. “Well, we got together because I started taking uke lessons after I got dumped. He was my uke teacher. He doesn’t teach anymore, but when I took lessons from him I used all of the time I could’ve for crying and I used it to play. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Fine. I’m not playing ukulele though. Totally not my style.” 

“Totally not your style. Got it. Your first lesson on whatever string instrument you please is on Friday.” She got up from the desk and walked towards the elevators.

“Hey, Pen?”

“Yes, sugar cakes?”

“What’s the name of your current teacher?”

“Y/N!” She called as the doors of the elevator closed.

“Y/N..” Spencer repeated to himself.

On Friday Spencer showed up to Penelope’s apartment at 5:30, 30 minutes before Y/N would get there. As Penelope tuned her ukulele Spencer rambled about the history of string instruments and their improvement through the years. He jumped when there was a knock at the door.

Penelope opened the door and Spencer thought he was dreaming. Y/N seemed to be glowing before him. His smile was soft and kind. 

“Penelope! Good to see you again. I see you have a friend today.” Y/N said as he hugged Garcia.

“Yes! Y/N, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is Y/N.”

Y/N reached his hand out.

“Oh, he doesn’t-”

“Hi! It’s good to meet you.” Spencer took Y/N’s hand in both of his and shook gently, surprising Penelope.

“You too. Penny told me you’re looking for something other than a uke, so I got some other instruments in my car, but here’s a guitar for now. Pen, why don’t you start showing him some chords as I get the other instruments?” He slipped the guitar case off of his back and gave it to Penelope.

They sat on the couch together and Penelope showed Spencer the chords and how to play them.

“So, what do you think?” Penelope asked.

“About what?” Spencer wondered if Penelope could sense his nervousness that easily. He didn’t normally believe in true love at first sight, but holy hell did Y/N make him. When he shook his hand warmth spread through Spencer’s body and he swore that you could see his eyes turn to hearts. God, he hoped it wasn’t just him being lonely that caused him to think like this.

“About the guitar, silly. What else would I be asking?” Penelope chuckled.

“Yeah, of course, uh, the chords are really easy. Did playing come to you this fast too?” Spencer quickly changed between hand positions and mouthed the letter of each note.

“Definitely not! It took weeks to teach Penelope just two chords.” Y/N laughed as he brought in a violin and cello, each held in cases on his shoulders. The sound of his voice caught Spencer’s attention. He loved how he articulated his words. “Why don’t you try strumming on that?” He threw Spencer a pick.

Spencer gave an experimental flick on the first string before going across all of them. The sound came out strong. Penelope looked shocked as a perfect E flat tone rang through her apartment.

“Whoa! You’re really good. You sure you’ve never played a guitar?” Y/N asked.

“Well, my roommate in college played pretty often but I never learned from him. Always stayed up late because of his playing though.” Spencer said.

“Makes sense.” Y/N sat on the couch next to Spencer. “He ever let you try?”

“Nope. I guess I just memorized what chords he played for fun.” Spencer nervously smiled.

“So, you gonna go with the guitar?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah. It’s familiar. Easy to learn.” Spencer strummed again.

“Okay, well I’ll go practice in my room so I’m not disturbing you.” She got up and ran to her bedroom.

Y/N went over the correct way to strum in order to produce the correct sounds and Spencer got a hold of it fairly quickly. Over the next few weeks Spencer would go to Penelope’s apartment at 5:30 every Friday. Soon enough he began to learn his own song. Lessons would be an hour with Spencer and then an hour with Penelope.

One Friday Y/N stood behind Spencer and guided his hands to the strings. Spencer lightly gasped and tried to seem at ease as Y/N’s fingers touched his own. He smelled like peppermint and sweet candies to him.

“I think we’re alone now.” He whispered.

“What?” Spencer turned his head to look at Y/N in confusion.

“Uh, the name of the song. It’s uh- It’s by Tiffany Darwish.” He took his hands off of Spencer’s and leaned down to shuffle through his sheet music.

“Oh. Okay.”

The next Friday Y/N suggested they go on a little field trip to a guitar shop. It was time that Spencer got his own guitar instead of always using Y/N’s. They found one that fit comfortable in his arms and with the permission of the owner had his lesson in the store. Seeing as they all went in the same car, Y/N would drop off Spencer and then he would go to Penelope’s and they would have a lesson.

Y/N walked into Spencer’s apartment with him. Penelope stayed behind in the car.

“So, this is your apartment? Why haven’t we had a lesson here?” He asked.

“Guess I just never thought to ask.” Spencer laughed.

Y/N moved behind Spencer and brought his hand onto his hip. Spencer turned around swiftly. Now Y/N was holding the small of his back.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Spencer breathed out.

“I’ve liked you for a while now, Spencer,” he took the pale man's face in his hands. “Can I kiss you?”

Spencer nodded and pressed his entire body up to Y/N’s. The kiss started slow and innocent, but Spencer loved the taste of Y/N’s peppermint chapstick and they slipped their tongues in eachothers mouths. The intrusion made them moan and Y/N pushed them against a wall.

“What will we tell Penelope?” Spencer said as Y/N moved his kisses to his chin.

“Why do we have to tell her anything?” He sucked hard onto Spencer’s neck, where any marks would be hidden just under the collar of a work shirt.

“Oh…”

Monday was the worst day for the weather to be hot. Y/N’s hickeys still hadn’t faded from Spencer’s neck and if he changed into a regular t-shirt from his go bag they would definitely be visible. Against his better judgement, Spencer changed in the bathroom. He’d rather die of embarrassment than heat.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What you got goin over there, pretty boy?” Derek laughed as Spencer sat back down in his seat.

“Leave me alone, Morgan.” He scoffed.

“Nuh-uh. No way. If you got a girl I wanna be the first to know.”

“Not a girl.” Spencer mumbled.

“What was that?”

“He’s not a girl.” Spencer said clearly.

“Hey gu- Whoa! Spencer what is that?” Emily walked in with her coffee.

“Pretty boy has a boyfriend.” Derek stated.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me? Aw man now I feel bad about setting you up on that date last week.”

“THAT was a DATE?” Spencer nearly screamed.

“Yep. And she’s still wondering why you haven’t called her back. So, what’s his name?” Emily laughed.

“I can’t say it. Also, he’s not a boyfriend. At least not yet.”

“Why not? Too embarrassed?” Now JJ had joined in the conversation.

“No! It’s just-”

“What is it, Spence?”

“He’s Garcia’s ukulele teacher..” He sighed.

“Wow, pretty boy. Wow.”

The next lesson progressed the same as it had two lessons before. Penelope was practicing in her room.They sat on the couch, Y/N’s hands guided Spencer’s on the guitar, and they pressed their bodies together. He showed how Spencer’s hand should pluck at the strings and once he got the hang of it they began singing the lyrics to “I Think We're Alone Now” together.

“I think we’re alone now..”

“There doesn’t seem to be,” Spencer spoke the next lines into Y/N’s lips, “anyone around.”

They began kissing, slow and deep. They pressed together and as Spencer turned more towards Y/N he dropped the guitar on the ground. The sound alerted Penelope and she rushed to the living room only to find Spencer pushing Y/N into a lying position on her couch with his lips. The second they heard her gasp they pulled away from each other.

“Sorry, Pen. He’s just too damn cute.” Y/N laughed.

[pregnant-piggy]

I’m having your baby - part IV

Sirius Black x reader

series masterlist,  part one, part two, part three

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, food and pregnancy

Words: 2.7k

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

Hours pass, but Sirius doesn’t come home. Lily is gone by now and you are sitting in the living room, reading your book. Peter is watching something on TV and James is running in the park. You are deep in your book when Remus sits down next to you and pulls it away.

‘Hey!’ you cry, but Remus places his finger over his mouth and gestures at Peter. He has fallen asleep with his mouth open. ‘What is it?’ you ask, on a more serious note.

‘Do you know where Sirius is?’ You sigh and avert your eyes.

‘No, isn’t he just in his room?’

‘Yes, he is in his room, that is why I am asking you,’ Remus snorts.

‘Oh, right.’

‘It doesn’t matter now. Have you spoken to him yet?’ Your face speaks for itself. ‘That is fine, but you do have to do it soon. I mean in a few days your period will be over, but you will feel just as miserable.’

‘Wow, thanks for the stimulant words!’ you say and push Remus away with your hand. Remus pushes you back and you fall off the sofa. You grab Remus’ arm in the panic and he falls on top of you. You start to laugh and Remus joins you.

Then you hear a shuffle across the room. From the corner of your eye you can see a flash of black hair and two seconds later the door slams shut. ‘Found him,’ you mutter as you try to get up as quick as possible. You run to the door and taking your coat you yell at Remus that you will get food on your way back.

Outside the wind blows in your face. You have to blink against the cold and you try to find Sirius. But there is no one left in the street. All you can see are the trees and a car every once in a while. You start to walk. You don’t know where to, but you just want to be away from your apartment. Away from all the problems. You take deep breath and walk to the park. James must have returned by now, you figure.

The brown leafs crunch under your shoes. There are very few people in the park. You see an old man walking his dog, a woman riding a bike, two adult men in long, black coats and a runner. You sit down on a bench and close your eyes for a second.

‘(Y/N)?’ You open your eyes and see James standing in front of you. He is panting. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, I was running after Sirius but he disappeared and I didn’t want to go back home yet,’ you say like it is the most normal thing in the world. James sits down next to you. He looks funny with his sweaty head and his hair like he just walked through a storm.

‘(Y/N), are you really alright? I mean, for the past days you have been looking sad and you say you are just on your period, but I think you are really sick.’ You may smile at James, but your inside is breaking. A tear rolls down your cheek and you shake your head. James pulls you in a hug and gently strokes your back. ‘It’s fine. Everything will be alright. I am sure Sirius will get over whatever is going on in his head and you will-’

‘I’m pregnant.’

James immediately stops talking and freezes. He lets you go and stares at you with disbelieve on his face. He opens his mouth to say something but the words stay in his throat. ‘Please, don’t tell anyone, alright? I haven’t told…’ You keep silent. You don’t know if you want to tell James it is Sirius’ baby. But you don’t have to.

‘It is Sirius’, isn’t it?’ James guesses and you nod. ‘Yeah, I have seen you looking at him. And now the sickness makes a lot more sense.’ You giggle sadly. James gets up and offers you his hand. You gladly take it and let you being pulled up from the bench. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he says and puts his arm around you.

The wind has increased and little raindrops are falling down. Leafs are being blown off its twigs and fall on the ground. You and James are the only ones in the park now. It looks dark now it is abandoned and empty.

‘I have to get dinner,’ you say to James. You suddenly remembered you promised Remus you would take care of dinner. James says he will come with you. ‘Are you crazy? You will get sick if you stay out any longer in your shorts! And you stink!’ That is enough for James to leave you alone. He goes left to the apartment and you walk on, heading towards the shops. On your way there you see if Sirius is somewhere here, but you see no one.

- -- -

The door slams behind you. A head pops up from the kitchen. A body follows. Remus takes the bag with food from you so you can take off your coat.

‘Is he back?’ you ask, referring to Sirius. Remus shakes his head. ‘Fuck,’ you mumble.

While Remus sets the table with Peter and James is still in the shower, you try to call Sirius. He doesn’t answer. You place the bag, that Remus had left in the kitchen, on the table.

‘We think he turned off his phone,’ Peter says when you sit down. ‘We tried to call him too, but it went straight to voicemail.’ James enters the room with a smile, but his expression changes when he sees the worried faces at the table.

‘He still doesn’t answer?’ You shake your head. James takes place at the table and drops his head. ‘Maybe his phone is just dead,’ he mumbles. You feel terrible when you look at James. He looks defeated. You had hoped that maybe James knew where his best friend is. But no one heard from Sirius.

‘What are we having?’ Peter asks. You avert your eyes from James and look at the bag.

‘Thai food.’

- -- -

After dinner, James disappears into his room. Peter is taking out the trash and you are left with Remus in the kitchen, doing the dishes.

‘I told James,’ you say. Remus looks up from the mug he is holding. A reassuring smile appears on his face.

‘What did he say?’

‘Well, he knew immediately it was Sirius’ and he said that I’ll be fine.’ Remus turns back to his mug.

‘Sounds like approval to me,’ he mutters.

‘I feel sorry for him. Sirius being gone is killing him. He doesn’t deserve this,’ you say and stack the plates. A loud bang comes from the other room. ‘I’ll check on him,’ you say and rapidly walk to James’ room.

You knock on the door. ‘James? Can I come in?’ you ask. You get no answer and start to worry. You open the door and encounter James lying on his bed. His whole body is shocking from crying. On the floor you see a book and you figure that that is what you had heard. You walk over to James and sit down next to him. He looks up when he feels your hand on his back and you can see that his face is wet from the tears. James drags his body up and collapses against your chest.

‘Oh, Jamie,’ you say and stroke his back. His weight gets too much for you and you fall down on the bed. James’ head is just above your stomach and he puts his hand on it. You feel the warmth on your stomach and you smile softly.

‘I can’t believe there is growing a little person inside of you,’ James whispers with a watery voice. You sigh and close your eyes.

‘Me neither,’ you admit. James pokes your stomach.

‘A little person surrounded by Thai food.’ You laugh and James’ head bounces up and down. ‘Hello, little fella. How are you? Enjoying that Thai food? In eight months you will come out of your mommy and then she will rarely see you again, because she has to share you with Peter, Remus, your daddy and me. But she won’t mind, because she knows that we will take care of you.’ James stays silent for a minute and the tears are already running down your face; you should really find a way to stop crying. ‘You are going to be the prettiest and smartest baby ever. I know that, because you will have your daddy’s looks and your mommy’s cleverness and looks. Yeah, you heard it right; your mommy is pretty damn perfect. But she has a terrible taste in films though.’ You laugh and wipe the tears from your face.

James rolls over to his stomach and puts his head on his hands. He glances at you and smiles. With his finger he is drawing circles on your belly. ‘But that doesn’t matter, your daddy will show you the good films. If he ever returns.’ James’ face turns dark for a second. ‘Your uncle Peter will teach you how to cook and uncle Remus will learn you all about his books. And I will make you the best football player! But all the other things you will learn from your mommy and your daddy. Maybe for love-advice you shouldn’t go to them, they are terrible at that!’

‘Hey!’ you exclaim and you hit James. He laughs and turns back to you stomach.

‘I know that right now you are really tiny, but I will talk to you every day until you are out in this world! That way you can recognize my voice! I will talk to you about everything, you are yet too young to understand what I am talking about anyway. And sometimes I will sing! I will sing you a lullaby! I am not that grea-’

The door of James’ room opens and Peter is standing in the doorway. He is looking confused with open mouth at you, James and James’ hand on your stomach. Remus is standing behind him, looking guilty. He mouths he is sorry and you smile at him. You push yourself up and pat with your hand on an empty space of the bed.

‘Peter, I have to tell you something and I think it is better when you sit down,’ you say and Peter follows your instructions hesitantly. ‘Since everyone in this room now knows, I think you should too. But please don’t share it with anyone!’ Peter nods and you take a deep breath. ‘Okay here it goes: I am pregnant. With Sirius’ baby.’ Peter stares at the wall. You look at Remus and he gives you a reassuring smile. Slowly Peter moves again. He turns to you and is lost for words.

‘I am… Are you… That… Congratulations!’ he says. You smile and hug Peter. James puts his arms around you too and forces Remus to join too. After minutes Remus lets go again and the others follow. ‘So are you and Sirius, you know, together…?’ You shake your head.

‘No… Sirius doesn’t even know yet…’ you say and an awkward silence follows. You stare at your knees and think about everything. You feel so loved by your friends, just thinking about how they will help you with everything makes you melt inside.

The phone rings. James falls off the bed and Peter jumps up. Remus swiftly walks to the phone and answers it. You cannot hear him; he is too far away. Your hand slides into James’ and you stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. You try to smile at Peter, who is pacing around in the room, but you can’t. You feel nauseous, like the Thai food is about to come up any minute now. All you hear is James’ unsteady breathing and Peter’s feet on the wooden floor.

After five minutes Remus’ footsteps approach. The grip on your hand tightens. Peter has stopped walking and is now staring at the door. But when Remus is standing in the doorway, he shakes his head. James’ hand holds your hand even tighter, but then he lets it go. He falls back on his bed. Remus leaves the room and you gesture Peter to follow. You bend over to James and stroke his hair.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ you whisper. James just shakes his head. ‘Well, if you want anything you know you can always come to me, Rem or Pete. I’ll leave you now.’ You get up and close the door behind you. In the living room Remus and Peter send you a questioning face. You shrug and drop down on the couch.

- -- -                                                                                                                        The rain on your window keeps you awake. No matter how you twist and turn, you can’t fall asleep. You have tried everything; you have used the meditating techniques Remus has taught you, tried to count sheep, sat in front of your window for an hour, just looking at the moon above you and the few cars underneath you. But every time you drift away, you hear a sound and you are awake again. You know James is awake too. He is walking around in the living room; you hear his footsteps. You have thought about going to him, but you think he just wants to be alone.

A door shuts. You sit up straight in bed and try to make no noise at all. Your breathing almost stops and you can hear everything in the apartment. The footsteps that come closer and closer to the living room. The ticking of James’ fingers on the dining table. The uneven breath of the person approaching the living room.

‘Where have you been?’ James asks after a minute of silence. A throat clears before the answer comes.

‘Just out.’

‘Out? You have been gone for the whole day! You didn’t let us know where you were. You didn’t react to our phone calls! We were worried sick about you!’

‘I just needed some time alone,’ Sirius says and you notice he is drunk. His voice is not the usual smooth voice, but a raspy, deep voice. Sirius always talks different when he is drunk. His behaviour changes too. He gets more larrikin, flirts with everyone around him and is loud. But when he is really drunk, he is silent. He doesn’t talk at all and he looks sad. You have only seen him like that once. It was the day he got a letter from his parents saying that he wasn’t considered family anymore and that he was cut off. No matter what you and your friends tried Sirius kept drinking and drinking. At first he was the jovial, usual, drunk Sirius, but later he just sat in the corner of the room, staring at his hands.

‘Why didn’t you tell us? You know we would have left you alone!’ James says angrily. You figure Sirius has shrugged because James snorts. ‘I’m done with you. I was so worried about you and you show up and all your excuse is you wanted some time alone? You should go to bed.’

‘I need to talk to (Y/N),’ Sirius grumbles and your heart beats in your throat. Your hands are clasped around your sheets and your whole body is tensed up.

‘You stay away from her. You hear me? You don’t make another step in her direction, alright?’ James says louder now. You drop your head to your chest and smile sadly. You can always count on James.

For a while you hear nothing and then footsteps, but they are in opposite direction of your bedroom. You lie back down and breathe out. You look at the time; it is four in the morning.

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

One more part to go!! Thank you so much for 100 followers! I really love all your sweet messages! I wish I could hug each one of you XXX

MASTERLIST

[ivy-kissobryos]

Thai Folk Magic

Below are some analysis of folk spells from Thailand, along with the theories of how magic works. All quotes are from "Monks and Magic: Revisiting a Classic Study of Religious Ceremonies in Thailand" by Barend Jan Terwiel. First, we will discuss love spells. Totally recommend the book to anyone interested. Everything that I read so far seem very accurate to what I experienced growing up.

Love Magic

One man reputedly won his wife by drawing a simple magical diagram, one of the category of the yan napaṭhamaṃ, while thinking intensively of the woman he wished to marry and saying the appropriate khatha. He waited seven days for the magic to take effect and, when approaching her, he noticed that she was more favourably inclined towards him. Yan napaṭhamaṃ means literally: ‘The first, or foremost letter N diagram’. The letter N occurs frequently in Thai mystical drawings, probably because it may be regarded as an extreme abbreviation of the expression namo buddhāya, hail to the Buddha.

The idea of drawing holy symbols in order to bring about an outcome is something common among many cultures, both eastern and western (like in Catholic folk magic where the cross is drawn for protection and to invoke the higher powers). I just find this intriguing because I keep seeing the symbol of the yan napaṭhamaṃ pretty much everywhere in Thailand, both painted on the ceiling of a taxi, on top of doorways or in front of windows. Good to finally find out what it means.

Another method to ensure the love of a woman, also reported by Textor, is to sit close by her while smoking a cigarette. The man should draw smoke deep into his lungs and, whilst softly saying the right spell, blow out the smoke so that it envelops her. A much stronger method consists of scooping up some earth with the big toe of the right foot, taking the earth in the right hand and rubbing it on the top of the head, whilst invoking the goddess of the earth, Mother Thorani (ธรณี), to assist in the acquisition of a bride.

The last two examples reveal that, as the magical practices become more strong and persuasive, less attractive material is used. It is not pleasant to be enveloped in smoke, and rubbing earth over one’s head is an action no Thai will perform lightly. The earth is often associated with pollution because it can be the recipient of human waste and animal droppings. Moreover, scooping up a bit of earth with the foot must be regarded as an abnormal, ‘inverted’ activity. The feet are the parts of the body that are held in lowest regard, and reaching for something with the foot is regarded in Thailand as the epitome of bad manners.

It is said among men that prostitutes use a similar magic. Reputedly a prostitute sprinkles some water that contains vaginal excretion at the doorposts and above the door of the house where she lives. A man walking near the door may suddenly be irresistibly drawn over the threshold. If he is wearing his string of amulets he should quickly take it off and give it to a friend in safe keeping before entering the house.

The quotes above is interesting in that the concept of holiness and unholiness (or pollution) is used to compel someone, with love/compulsion being viewed as a dirty thing.

When a woman is convinced that her husband gives cause for jealousy she may make a potion or a powder that contains some of her vaginal excretion. If a man consumes some food that contains this potion or powder, he reputedly loses interest in all other women and devotes his complete attention to the woman from whose secretions the mixture was made. A woman who resorts to these means should take care to practise this kind of magic in secret; if the man finds out that his food has been treated in such a manner, he would be very angry indeed, for her vaginal excretion will surely have destroyed the power of many of his tattoos and amulets and rendered him vulnerable.

Here, bodily fluids are used. This is like in various folk magic where menstrual blood is dropped into the food of someone in order to compel them to be attracted to you. What is more intriguing is the notion that something unclean like vaginal excretion could be used to render magical tattoos and amulets useless. Extrapolating from that, I believe that if one wishes to desecrate something, one could sprinkle water mixed with vaginal excretions onto it.

He reports that, if a woman fears that her husband has been treated with the vaginal excretion of another woman, she should obtain water from the bottom of three or seven taxi boats, and some moss from around the sanctuary of a monastery, or from the boundary stones of a bot. If her husband eats food containing a mixture of these materials, his previously alienated affection is restored. The substances chosen to counter the effects of aggressive love magic of another woman are obviously considered magically powerful in their own right [...] Water from the bottom of taxi boats must be seen as polluted and aggressive: it is where the wood starts rotting, the stagnant water has often an unpleasant smell, and it may contain particles of dirt from the feet of countless passengers. Moss that grows on the sanctuary of a monastery appears more ambiguously charged. On the one hand, it can usually be found on ground level, and may have been dirtied by the many dogs that roam the premises. On the other hand, a small amount of the beneficial power that is continually generated in the building itself may have permeated as far as the mossy outside. It seems, however, that the aggressive aspects prevail for the moss is reported to be one of the ingredients of a magically highly potent substance used to kill enemies.

For clarifications, a "bot" as referred to in the quote above translates roughly to temple. Again, the concept of sympathetic magic is used, dirtiness contrasted with holiness. Now let's discuss where magic comes from within this belief system.

Origins of Magic

In order to make a pressed or printed image, commonly known as phra phim (พระ พิมพ์), a monk needs, apart from the mould, a recipe, the proper ingredients, and considerable knowledge of spells, the sacred script and magical drawings. Historians will be sad to hear that one of the common ingredients of phra phim is the ash obtained from burning the oldest handwritten sacred books of the monastery [...] The amulets derive their protective power partly from the association with powerful things. The phra phim are made from sacred ingredients.

Phra phim is a type of flat, printed amulet. Amulets are sacred because something within them is sacred. The idea of burning holy texts to add power to a spell or enchantment is also similar to other forms of folk magic, such as in Catholic folk magic where psalms may be written and burnt and their ashes be used for protection or other purposes. However, as will be explained below, consecration is needed to make the amulets functioning.

In general, the inherent quality of the amulets is considered insufficient to ensure protection to the person who wears them. Apart from being made from auspicious material and depicting powerful symbols, the amulets usually ought to be sacralized. This sacralization can take many forms. The most elementary sacralization ritual, called pluksek (ปลุกเสก), can be observed, for example, when a monk gives a small Buddha image to a layman. Taking the image in both hands, the monk brings it close to his mouth and murmurs a short Pali formula. While uttering the final syllable of the spell, the monk may blow sharply upon this Buddha image. Some monks prefer to draw a simple yan over the amulet with the index finger of the right hand or with a pencil while saying the Pali words.

I used to translate "pluksek” as consecration, but here I can see why sacralization also makes sense. The way breath is used to imbue powers in an object is also a universal thing that is present in many forms of magic.

Another thing that is of note is that magic isn't simply sympathetic, but also based upon the concept of proximity and contagion.

The closer to the seat of magical power, the stronger is the influence of that force. Any object of the appropriate shape that is exposed to a strong dose of magical power will become a secondary seat of the force. This has been amply demonstrated in the rituals surrounding amulets [...] This is why the bundles of such objects are placed near a monk who is preaching, why the begging bowl of an ordinand contains them, and why bowls of water stand near the monks who complete their pavāraṇā ceremony. The principle is apparent in the rituals designed to sacralize amulets as well as those where a bowl of water is charged.

Placing water near a monk speaking holy words makes the water somewhat more holy than it was before. But, magic isn't just man-made. It's all around us, a part of the natural world.

It has been shown that, in addition to the protective power that emanates from people who utter sacred words or who meditate, there are ambiguous forces in the animated world, forces that may protect, but that could also be harmful. Examples of the ambiguous powers are the gods, the spirits of the ancestors, the anthropomorphic and theriomorphic powers that live in nature and are the legendary original owners of the environment, and guardian spirits.

There is no sharp division between physical powers of nature and magical power. The earth, which possesses the capacity to make plants grow and thrive, is sometimes seen in the shape of a beautiful female, Mae Thorani. Under the earth is the domain of the chief of the Nak, a serpent-like shape with the face of a dragon. The wind, the river, a tree, a house, and the monastery, each of these is connected with one or more unseen powers, conceived of in anthropomorphic form, and each of these unseen powers has its specific likes and dislikes. A farmer learns to attract their attention with candles, incense, and flowers, and develops skills in addressing and pleasing them. Nature has provided men with unexpected seats of power. For example, a termite hill may acquire a reputation for bringing luck; or when lightning strikes a building, the scorched plaster is regarded as magically powerful. A lump of resin that shows the shape of a Buddha is sacred, and a big stone that is dragged up from the river brings prosperity when laid in the rice-storage hut.

Death and the Afterlife

Now, I wish to discuss something less about magic and more about religion.

In the mouth a coin is placed, which the soul of the dead person needs in order to pay the fare to cross the underworld river, guarded by Phra Ketkaew Culamani, (เก็จแก้วจุฬมณี) or ‘Lord Bright Gem Jewel’. Probably this is Yama, the Hindu god who presides over the dead and who is described as ‘with a glittering form, a crown on his head’. This is followed by the ritual of tra sang (ตราสัง), ‘binding the corpse’. The undertaker uses a piece of white unspun cotton thread to bind the neck, feet and hands whilst saying the Pali formula: ‘Putto gīve, dhano pade, bhariya hatthe’. This is interpreted as a spell with which to free a person from the three strongest ties in this world: from the tie of children (whilst putting a loop with the cord around the neck), from wealth (when binding the feet), and from the tie of the spouse (while the hands are tied).

Two things are interesting here. First, being that payment is needed to cross an underworld river. This is very reminiscent of the myth of Charon and the crossing of river styx. The second interesting point is the use of binding magic. I have witness the ritual performed but at the time, I didn't understand what it meant. The irony of binding someone in order to free them is also very striking.

Other Tai peoples, especially the White and Black Tais of northern Vietnam, who do not seem to be influenced by Buddhism, have quite different views. In their eyes, a person has many khwan that, upon death, divide themselves in groups; some khwan go to the spirit world above, some are conducted to the house and can be worshipped on the ancestral shrine, while the remainder stay in the grave.

The quote above explores the question many people may ask: where do souls go after we die? I have pondered this question many times- if I give all that I am to the Witchfather, would my soul continue to serve Him even after death? If I devote myself to the Theoi, do I get to gain entry to the Hellenic afterlife? Would that mean that upon death, I could never interact with the spirits of my ancestors again as we are of different religious beliefs? The concept of khwan solves this line of thinking, in my opinion. There are many independent khwan in your body, just like your body is made up of millions of miniscule cells. Perhaps, a part of me would fall into milk and join the Theoi upon death, perhaps another will stay here to guide whoever comes after me. We are multitudes, both in life and in death.

[rustytrident]

my favourite bnha students as demigods (pt.1)

this is totally not self indulgent what are you talking about-

ch: ashido mina, sero hanta, bakugou katsuki, kirishima eijirou

(shinsou hitoshi, kyoka jirou and kaminari denki will be in the next part!) (pt. 2)

cw: none, my percy jackson middle school phase

ashido mina

daughter of aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty

i mean, yeah. mina's gorgeous. that's it, send tweet

but fr she would be the one person who always knows who likes who, she creates daring pools and bets on who will end up with who and when

very experimental with the way she expresses herself and presents her beauty. she generally goes with what she feels like which usually ends up making her a trendsetter around camp

not afraid to put somebody in their place when they call her and her siblings superficial

she does have the ability to charmspeak but uses it in either really dangerous situations or when she's too lazy to get up and needs others (read: denki) to bring her like water or something

other than that, she usually fights with a dagger or uses martial arts techniques like jiu-jitsu

sero hanta

son of hermes, god of fertility, music, art, mischief and deception; the messenger god

he gossips with mina every. single. day. somehow he knows everybody's business and is not afraid to share it

he would also pull pranks on everybody, no matter who they were. he gets a kick out of it, so why stop?

other than that, he's all about taking life a step at a time and not worrying too much about what tomorrow brings

he has borrowed his father's winged sandals and pretended to be spiderman jumping from cabin to cabin (the sandals were confiscated immediately after cause hermes wanted to try that too)

he likes long range battles but i can't really see him fighting with blades of any kind. i think he mostly uses his environment to his advantage to lure and trap his opponent

but if he had to choose a weapon, he'd grab a gun and go-

bakugou katsuki

son of athena, goddess of intelligence, wisdom and battle strategy

you would think he is an ares kid but NO. mr man is an athena kid that will beat you at anything you challenge him to

very intelligent and observant. he knows so much about everything it makes your brain hurt

the fastest learner of the bunch. he tries to evolve as much as possible so he drinks up every last piece of information he can get and forces himself to be good at any skill immediately

he has challenged pretty much most gods to a battle before. just straight up yelling at the sky for zeus to "stop being a whimp and face him head on"

that was mainly because he hates zeus tho

as i mentioned he is an extremely skilled individual, so he could fight with pretty much any weapon he gets ahold of at the moment

his favourites are distraction sparklers and low impact bombs kirishima makes him

kirishima eijirou

son of hephaestus, god of fire, metalworking and crafts

this is very explicitly inspired by leo valdez and festus because i know for a fact kirishima would make himself a metal dragon for funzies

he loves being helpful. adores everything about it: the smile on people's faces, the praise, feeling needed and indispensable

there's opportunities everywhere and kirishima uses them to make things that make people happy

was one of the oldest people to join the camp (he joined at 15) and his attitude did a full 180

he just found his people, ya know?

doesn't really fight, he mainly supports the people who do by making them weapons either on the spot or before a battle

in the rare occasions he has to fight, he chooses something like kick boxing or muay thai

he just has the muscles to support that

(also he is useless with all weapons, he literally calls bakugou to test them cause "why would i learn how to stab somebody when i could be working on a metal dragon my other projects")

a/n: i love this idea so much. like, very very much. let me know if you would like to see this with any characters from haikyuu as well! take care <33

[cosmiclatte28]

Butterflies and Brushes (YuTae)

a/n : this is a promise I made for the wonderful IG account yutae.0126

warning : Slight suggestive content, but nothing explicit (or yeah?) Romance, bxb proceeed to masterlist if you’re not comfortable and pic something else. Romance, fluff, flirty!yuta and cold prince! Taeyong

ARTSCHOOL AU! nude panting (nothing explicit though, safe to read for anyone mature enough)

My first Yuta x Taeyong or Taeyong x Yuta fic and I am excited to see how this goes!!

Here we goo!!! 

Oh yeah I attach a picture for the poses below because I am afraid the explanation is not enough and sorry for my failed attempt to draw. (I blotted it okay and failed still )

Every campus has that one hot guy everyone is afraid to approach and another guy with the total opposite appeal.

Well the same thing happens in this top college of visual arts, not only do they have talented artist in process of making visual arts, the students themselves have top visual points.

Meet Lee Taeyong, the campus' Aphrodite with a stoic face and a piercing gaze. Rumor has it, his beauty comes from the way he keeps his face poker whenever he walks around the campus. Though he rarely smiles, everyone believes he has his own reasons for being that. Afterall, no one dares messes up with Taeyong, not after the famous incident where he punched a bully so hard in the face after dissing a freshman's work of art. That freshman is famous here, he's called Ten. A sweet guy from Thai who draws amazing realistic drawings.

Moving on from the coldest guy, we have the warmest guy who always smiles. He wins the “healing smile fairy" nickname thanks to his gummy smile.

If Taeyong is the Aphrodite here, Yuta is Apollo. His smile is enough to defrost a thousand years of snow and with one wink, you're 90% guaranteed to have a good day.

The Japanese guy with long blonde hair -sharing similar traits as to that famous Howl character- is the one who always smiles no matter what!

Every girl has fallen for his smile, every guy envies his attractiveness. He is playful, cheerful, and flirty! No one walks away from Yuta without a smile or a blush, no one but Lee Taeyong.

Yuta has never personally encounter Lee Taeyong. He just knows the famous cold-hearted prince who shares the same painting class with him. Despite sharing the same class this term, Yuta has never seated next to him nor has he the chance to talk with him. Taeyong always comes into the class near the starting time and leaves first.

T'was until one eventful moment that the two opposite individuals are put together for their final Junior year project. The teacher insists for their final project to draw a realistic nude painting of their assigned partner. Nude painting is not something new to the students here, besides the teacher paired the students and asked their conscience about it. Yuta won’t turn the chance down, but when the teacher asked Taeyong if he is okay with his partner, Yuta can’t look into his direction. All the Japanese guy can do is fiddle with his hands while waiting for the teacher to call out his name and pair him with another student.

“Sure, I mean I don’t have any reasons to object.” Taeyong's deep voice resonates through the studio and believe it or not the whole class was holding their breaths. Yuta almost squeals when Taeyong accepts the partnering scheme. When the teacher asks him, Yuta immediately nods and gosh his silly smile over there was caught in Taeyong's peripheral view. Believe it or not, for the first time in forever, Lee Taeyong smirked in public.

Ten who sits close to Yuta secretly gives a sly smile to the Japanese man. Yuta tosses a questioning look and Ten mouths “Everyone is confused if they want to be in your shoes or Taeyong's"

Yuta blushes at his words, Ten sure knows how to tease him. Well, Ten is one of Yuta's best friends and he is the only one who knows about the secret mission Yuta has in his heart. Yes, Yuta aims to be able to make Taeyong falls for him like any other people. It is not an easy task, Yuta is aware of that, but because of that he is more than challenged to succeed.

“So, I guess I'll miss you,” Ten suddenly says this when they're packing up their books.

Yuta glances to the room and sees Taeyong is still there, unlike usual!

“What do you mean?” Yuta asks back

Ten winks, “He is coming here, maybe asking your number. I won’t bother, see you!” he taps Yuta's shoulder and flies all the way down the room leaving Yuta alone with Taeyong on his side.

“So… you are my partner for our final project, right?” Taeyong's secret voice greets Yuta's ear. He almost falls on the ground for realizing how good his voice sounds.

Yuta quickly nods his head and waits for the other to continue.

“I don’t want to flunk this class, so when should we start?” Taeyong goes straight into business.

Yuta feels a bit sad that the man in front of him is strictly stuck to business, but he is the best in masking emotions, Taeyong wouldn’t be able to guess.

“Yes sure, I also want to start early. Umm when do you have free time?”

Taeyong picks his phone out and goes to his planner, he scrolls and sees how busy he is. He sighs, not wanting to disturb the warm guy in front of him longer…

“Put in your number and I'll text you my free time. Also, sorry for bothering you.” He sheepishly gives a tiny smile! Microscopic but not to Yuta!

Yuta wants to jump right now, Taeyong is asking his number! How silly was he, thinking about so many ways to ask the latter's number without sounding too flirty or rude. He didn’t have to worry, Taeyong did it well.

Yuta quickly types in his number and saves the contact. He presses the call button and when his phone rings, he shuts it off.

“Cool. I got your number.” Yuta, who is usually verbose, only slips in efficient reply but his warm smile is always there.

Taeyong seems a bit taken aback by the smile; Yuta didn’t notice this. If he noticed, Yuta won’t let that go.

“Okay, see you then.” Taeyong shuffles in his place and finally leaves Yuta alone. The class is empty already and Yuta sits back on his chair.

He controls his heartbeat that is beating faster than a runner, and he hides his face in his hands as he feels his cheeks getting hotter.

“I MUST BE DRUNK HAPPY!” he muffles his scream to himself and Yuta elicits the brightest smile ever that day.

He walks through the corridors, tossing smiles and greetings to everyone he sees and that radiant look really energized everyone else.

“I wonder what's wrong with Yuta hyung, he looks really bright!” Renjun, a freshman from China, asks Ten.

Ten just smirks, “He won the lottery maybe. Come on! I want to learn how to do water color with you!” he pulls the younger away.

--

That afternoon, Yuta is seated on the edge of his bed with Ten sleeping on the soft mattress.

“Ten why isn’t he texting me? Should I send him my schedule first?” Yuta sounds like a nervous teenager who is confessing to their  crus.

Ten laughs out loud at his worries, “Yow! Yuta! You're the flirtiest guy here and you're nervous and confused about talking to Taeyong?! You know your rules.. because this is Taeyong you wait! You don’t want to look easy on him right?”

Yuta frowns “Well yes, but Ten I am so excited! Like I am afraid I cannot draw him nicely and I’ll hurt his feelings! Gosh Why does it have to be nude realistic painting?! If it's comic I'm sure he will fall for my drawings!”

Ten scoffs, “Silly because the class we're taking is realistic painting??? Come on you're good with your hands. He will like it.”

Yuta feels nervous, he is not the best in realistic drawing but he is not that bad.

Yuta suddenly turns his head to face Ten, “Hey!” he grips Ten's wrist.

“TEACH ME HOW TO DO BETTER REALISTIC DRAWING!!” he sounds so excited and nervous at the same time.

Ten grins “What will I get in return?”

Yuta rolls his eyes, there is always a catch with Ten.

“I don’t know?? I'll treat you pizza?”

“Nah, not interested. What about that model friend of yours,’ number??”

Yuta frowns for a while, trying to remember who is Ten talking about

“Johnny?” Yuta raises his brow

Ten bites his lips and nods, Yuta reaches out his hand and the other one seals the deal.

“Okay, you follow me to the studio tomorrow after 2? Bring a sketch book I'll help with the sketching first and then we'll go to the painting part which I know you do okay.” Ten jumps in surprise when he catches the light of notification in Yuta's phone.

They both crowd the screen as Taeyong's name appear in Yuta's message box.

“Best day ever…” Yuta shyly opens the message and replies back with his own schedule.

They talk for awhile and come to an agreement that they'll start doing it next week.

“TEN! WE NEED TO DO THE CRASH COURSE ASAP. I am not going to disappoint him.” Yuta looks so ambitious and Ten is just happy he's getting Johnny's number.

--

Crash course was not that easy. Ten is a strict teacher and he keeps on nagging Yuta to fix his way of sketching. Well Yuta's inattentive to small details, but Ten insists it is the most important thing.

“You're doing nude painting, every stroke matters! What if he ends up not having edges? You'll hate yourself.” Ten reminds Yuta his goal.

“Don’t you want to impress him? Plus I’m sure you'll get good finals if you follow my tips.”

Yuta ends up doing three more drawings, all from seeing Ten posing in front of him.

“Ten, you're just playing around with me right? You just want me to draw you?” Yuta slams his pencil down after the third time of renewing Ten's picture

Ten throws an apple he found at the table to Yuta “You think I'd ask you to draw me?! I'd rather ask Taeyong!”

Yuta shoots his eyes while rubbing his head “Hey! We agreed he is mine. Don’t you dare!”

Ten analyzes the sketch Yuta did and smiles “Now this, will make Taeyong interested in you.” He examines his friend’s work and compares the first two.

He just stays quiet and tosses three of the papers side by side to Yuta “See that? If I'm not your friend… I'd charge you a thousand dollars already for this class.”

Ten is not lying when he said that, within three sketches (and two hours of painful comments) Yuta's drawing significantly improves. He barely knows he can draw like that third drawing he made.

“Yoksi… Ten you're so talented! My best friend!” he hugs Ten and Ten just slightly coughs “Don’t forget the deal.”

Yuta just smiles and fishes his phone, he quickly sends a contact name to Ten and when Ten receives the number, Yuta takes his chance to leave the room.

He's now more confident in seeing Taeyong. He didn’t know what will happen on the day they'll meet but he sure wants to make a good impression.

 --

“Hey so, you'll directly follow me home? Or do you have to do something first?” Taeyong starts the conversation that afternoon after their painting class.

Yuta has not talked with Taeyong after they exchange schedules. They haven’t talked and discussed about their themes, but Yuta guesses they'll figure it out on their way home.

Yuta shifts his head from cleaning up his mess and looks at Taeyong, the stoic man has a tint of blush in his cheek upon seeing Yuta's radiant smile but he quickly hides it away.

“Pull yourself together Taeyong, why are you like this?” Taeyong speaks to himself in his heart.

“Yes Taeyong, I have nothing to do and i'm ready to go." The blonde man smiles to the red haired man and both of them are trying their best to keep their emotions low.

Taeyong slings his bag and nods his head “Hope you don’t mind walking, my apartment is only a 15 minutes walk.” He leads them out of the class and Yuta copies his long steps.

No Yuta doesn’t mind walking an hour if that is with Taeyong. Under the sun, the two angelic man of the school walk side by side… inviting by passer to stop and sneak a picture of them or just stand there frozen upon what they see.

Taeyong keeps his stoic face until they reach the outer gate, meanwhile Yuta is busy waving his hand to anyone he knows and just smiling to random students.

Taeyong snickers when they reach the outer gate “You really are kind to anyone eh? The rumor is true.”

Yuta widens his eyes “Rumor?”

Taeyong smirks and looks into the younger's hazel eyes “Well yes the rumor that you are the school's Apollo? Because they say your smile heals everything?”

Yuta doesn’t know how to react, well he knows that but what should he do? Saying “oh yes and you're the aphrodite that everyone fears….”no that is not good.

Taeyong suddenly shakes his shoulder and loosen down his tie. Well their school gives them uniform with ties, and Taeyong loosening it doesn’t help Yuta's red face. Gosh he looks so hot.

“Hufth glad we're far enough from school and cameras.” He gives a small smile. Yuta is confused, okay so Taeyong did realize the students love to take pictures of him… he also knows how to smile?

Yuta’s confusion makes him ask the red haired man “So you do know?”

Taeyong raises his brow, “Know what? Knows that my picture is secretly famous in the dark web? Being used for sketching references? Comics?”

Yuta gulps well yeah he did see some comic works having illustrations very similar to taeyong and him,… “You know how to smile.” Was the thing Yuta's unfiltered mouth let go.

The blonde Japanese man covers his mouth in fluster, he quickly bows while muttering “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to say that.”

Taeyong freezes in place when he heard that remark, he turns his heels around and faces Yuta who is now looking on the grounds.

Taeyong smirks, interesting, no one dares talk to Taeyong that way and Yuta just did.

“Say that again?” he smirks looking ten times hotter and dominant.

Yuta grins and scratches his head, “I didn’t say anything. Pretend you hear nothing.” He tries to hide his face away but Taeyong bravely brings his chin to face him.

“Well as a matter of fact, yes Yuta, I can smile.” He puts back his cold face and his eyes pierces through Yuta's weak soul. He turns his body away and continues walking… he smiles when he realizes how cute a flustered Yuta is. What he doesn’t know is that behind his back, Yuta has already level up his game.

If that is how Taeyong is going to play the game, he chooses the king of flirt. Yuta will not lose to Taeyong.

The younger shakes his thoughts away and pick up his steps. Once he is next to Taeyong again, Taeyong quickly puts back his stoic face.

“So, what is your theme Taeyong?” Yuta opens the conversation.

Taeyong has been sleepless for the week, trying to find a pose where he can capture Yuta's ethereal beauty in his oil painting. He went through a lot of illustrations references and even imagined Yuta posing for him. He cannot lie, that man really has his own attractiveness and Taeyong cannot pinpoint where.

“Well, as a matter of fact I've prepared several poses for you. Wait before that who is going to draw first today?” Taeyong asks the most important question. He is not spoiling the theme to Yuta right now, at least not in front of a kindergarten school they just passed by.

Yuta shrugs his shoulder “If you're ready to pose, I'll draw  firs… You're a better painter. I'd rather paint you first rather than seeing how great your work is and lose confidence doing mine.” He laughs and Taeyong giggles.

“No way, your drawing is good Yuta! I love your anime illustrations.” Taeyong slides a sincere praise here.

Yuta feels happy that Taeyong knows about his works, “But your abstract painting is wonderful! You're going to be a great artist one day!”

Taeyong feels flowers bloom in his heart, but his face isn’t showing anything.

“Okay then, if you want that… I can pose for you today.” Taeyong hates to admit he actually feels like losing a bet but there is no bet.

Yuta secretly smiles, so Taeyong is the first one giving up for Yuta eh?

Yuta claps his hands “Great! I have some ideas you can choose okay! Pick the one you're most comfortable with.”

“Okay… oh do you mind we walk a bit further and then go back?” taeyong pauses in his track.

Yuta doesn’t understand “Huh?”

Taeyong sighs and shakes his head, not believing himself for saying this outloud to anyone, “I need to feed some kittens there…”

Yuta softens his face “Sure! I love cats and dogs! Didn’t know a cold guy like you cares so much about animals.”

Taeyong can relax now, he feels better knowing that Yuta didn’t laugh at him “Thanks, they're too young to survive.” Taeyong walks into a corner and purrs. Slowly three cats emerge from the dark and meows softly while taking defensive stances when they sense a new presence of Yuta.

Taeyong giggles as he extends his arm to pour the cat foods he had prepared to the ground “Don't be afraid, he is my friend… he won’t hurt you guys.” Taeyong uses a nasal voice to baby talk the kittens and calls Yuta friend?! Oh gosh Yuta is ready to die, Taeyong is a totally different person out here! And he is more than eager to portray that emotion into his painting.

Yuta ends up squatting down beside Taeyong and plays with the kittens for a while. Both men giggling at the smallest action the clumsy cats made.

“Okay, we have to go, or we will end up not working.” Taeyong stands up and brushes his dust off, waiting for Yuta to follow him back to his house.

Yuta bids the kitten farewell as he catches back Taeyong’s long strides and they finally make it into their place for the afternoon.

“Make yourself at home, or at least like this is your studio.” He is glad he cleaned up his room last night.

Yuta nods his head, he sets his canvas up, prepares his pencils, and anything else he needs for the project.

Taeyong has to admit he is nervous, now that he realizes he should be the first one stripping.

The older excuses himself to bath first, earning a small giggle from Yuta, but since Yuta wants Taeyong to be comfortable he lets him go.

As the older finishes his shower, Yuta has pulled out his phone and opens up his choices of poses. Unlike Taeyong who cannot choose a pose, Yuta already has one in mind since the first day Taeyong came to him.

He wants the older to sit on one of the armchair he surprisingly has in his apartment. He’ll have Taeyong sit cross legged, posing as elegant as he can while staying in that position for hours. Yuta esitimates he’ll need six hours to draw, yes draw.

Then maybe they’ll continue the next day for the layers and coloring. He wishes they can finish before time runs out.

“Okay, so how do you want me to pose?” Taeyong comes out of the shower fresh with only a towel covering his lower privacy. Yuta almost chokes upon seeing his appearance, but he is professional enough to hold it back.

Yuta chooses to just show him what he wants and Taeyong easily agrees, “You want me to sit? That’s kind of you. Someone else asked me to stand and damn I got tired, but t’was okay since they paint me nicely.” Taeyong says as he takes his seat and sets his body to look like how Yuta wants.

In front of Yuta, sits Taeyong in his heavenly state. His armchair despite being super simple, looks like it is a throne thanks to Taeyong’s indescribable aura. The man in red hair is sitting cross legged on the armchair, leaning his head to the side supported by his left arm. His face shows the same expression that of a model. His eyes? They were soft minutes ago, but now they’re piercing through the air. Yuta can fall to his knees right now and follow every command this king beholds.

“Please tell me if you need any breaks,” Yuta says breathily.

Taeyong nods, “Oh before that, I haven’t asked you… Do you want any drink or special condition for drawing?”

Yuta thinks for a while, “Well, I can’t work in too much silence, so please talk with me while I start sketching you.”

Taeyong takes a good note on that and as the younger man ties his hair to a man bun and pulls his sleeves up, Taeyong is more than excited to be paired with him. He wants to know how great Yuta can draw him.

They talk about random things like where they studied before entering this school, hobbies, favorite foods, even ended up talking about cats and dogs.

“I’m considering buying myself some fish and put them in the aquarium. What do you think?” Taeyong asks while leaning his head more to his resting hand. Yuta lets one of his hand rests on the arm rest and his head is leaning to that hand. (Super ugly sketch I tried blotting is attached below)

Yuta still focuses on his drawing, “Fish? Their water maintenance can be expensive.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “That’s the least I can own in this apartment, they do not allow dogs or cats.”

Yuta just hums, “Okay then go with fish. I don’t see why you’re hesitating.”

“Because if they die, I’ll be super sad.” Taeyong answers in a heartbeat.

Yuta almost drops his pencil upon seeing this side of Taeyong, the soft hearted cute guy is hiding behind a cold mask.

“Sorry if I sound rude, but you’re totally different in and out of school! What makes you act like that in school?” Yuta is glad about his sketch right now, at least his crash course with Ten is saving his face.

Taeyong smirks, “You want to know, or you want to know?” he teases the blonde man a bit, starting to feel super comfortable. Hey nothing beats being comfortable faster than being naked in front of them right?

“Just tell me. Everyone’s talking about you being a heartless cold man, but in real life you’re totally soft and I hate that people are talking about the wrong you.” Yuta blurts his heart out and gasps when he realized what he just said.

Taeyong seizes the opportunity, “Oh, you care about me that much? Well I did that because I’m tired of being the center of attention.”

Yuta clicks his tongue, “And you being like a cold bitch is just making you more into the spotlight.”

Taeyong giggles, now he is using bitch in his sentence? “Well thank me, I give you the spotlight of the good guy!”

Yuta wants to slap him hard if he is his long best friend, but not yet.

“You’re interesting Yuta, you really look astonishing when you’re focused. I wonder if you got a female partner, how distracted will both of you be.”

Yuta hums, “Well that didn’t happen, now I am here drawing you like one of my French guy.” His humorous side comes out.

Taeyong laughs heartily at that, “Okay sorry, I have to keep my expression.”

Yuta nods, “Thanks for realizing, I almost ruin the drawing with your big smile.”

Taeyong grins, “You better draw my cold face there, no one should see this side of me yet.”

“As you please, Your Majesty. Now you may rest, I’ve finished roughly and let me order us something to eat.”

Taeyong is thankful when Yuta tosses him back his towel and the red hair quickly runs to his room to fetch some clothes. Once Taeyong is inside his room, he runs to the mirror and checks how red his ears are actually. Gosh, did Yuta realize?

While Taeyong is changing clothes, Yuta orders them a meal and he keeps his canvas in a safe place.

They have a good time talking again through dinner and like a long best friend who met, the two click like puzzles made for each other.

“Thank you for the meal,” Taeyong says before Yuta leaves his house.

“Thank you for being a nice model. Don’t see my canvas yet okay. I’m not confident with what I have right now.” Yuta wears his jacket as he steps outside the door.

Taeyong nods, he knows that same feeling and he will respect Yuta for it.

“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Yuta smiles, “Yes! Let me know if I need to prepare anything.”

He leaves, walking down the road another five minutes to arrive in his small apartment.

They decided that they will take turn, tomorrow Yuta will be in Taeyong’s shoes.

--

“I hope you don’t mind lying in my bed,” Taeyong says as he explains the concept pose he has been thinking again last night.

Yuta shakes his head, “I’m down for anything! You’re one of the best painter in the class, It’s an honour to be your muse. I’ll do anything for a good result.”

Taeyong slyly smirks, “Anything?”

Yuta winks (hell he is not losing okay), “You heard me loud and clear.”

“Okay then, you… wow, that’s a nice tattoo! We should get that in the frame.” Taeyong runs his eyes over the toned abs and the pretty butterfly tattoo on his lower abdomen.

Yuta smiles, “Yeah I got a story behind it, I’ll tell you later.” Yuta makes himself comfortable between the white sheets Taeyong has prepared and covers his lower abs below with the thin linen. His butterfly tattoo is half peeking but that is exactly what Taeyong needs.

“I hope you’re not allergic to flowers,” Taeyong suddenly appears with a bag of flower petals. Yuta blushes, this man really prepares a lot.

“Absolutely not, just do what you need to do.” Yuta stutters a bit. Where is his confident flirty personality at time like this?! Taeyong calmly places the petals in different places, once he is satisfied with what he has the Aphrodite walks to his fridge and takes out one cold can of beer.

“I need some cans to draw,” Taeyong explains himself, though Yuta didn’t ask anything.

The drawing session begins, and they casually talk again, Yuta is facing the opposite side of Taeyong and from a lower view, he can clearly see how Taeyong frowns and how he bites his lips while concentrating on his canvas. Yuta can see each detail in Taeyong’s face from a new angle!

He loves the shade of red his lips have and his hair! His hair is envious. Yuta sees Taeyong pauses to sip his drink some time and when he feels like closing his eyes on the sheet, he doesn’t hear any warning from Taeyong and so the blonde angel falls asleep after watching the man he secretly likes.

Taeyong finishes not long after it and when he realizes the younger is no longer talking, he peeks over his canvas and smiles upon seeing Yuta’s calm sleeping face. Even in his sleep, he looks super kind and angelic!

“You really are son of Apollo or maybe Apollo himself,” Taeyong brings a strand of hair away from Yuta’s eyes. Gently, he pulls a thicker blanket over the younger’s bare skin and lets him rest for some more.

Taeyong leaves the room and controls his quickening heartbeat. When pulling the blanket over Yuta, he is close to his face and inches away from those plush lips. Taeyong feels his heartbeat increasing and he has to quickly walk away before doing things that he didn’t want.

Yuta wakes up feeling sorry for falling asleep, but Taeyong just shakes it off. Saying he totally understands, and he doesn’t mind. With that being said, they eat dinner together again before finally parting goodbye. To make things faster, Yuta brings home his canvas so he can start layering and do the basic stuff he can do without the model. Same thing for Taeyong.

That night, both men busy themselves in their own studios. Accompanied by one light, cups of coffees, soft music, and each other’s sketches on their canvas witnessing just how love struck both parties are. Yet both souls are too stubborn to fall on one knee and confess this big crush they have to the other.

Another week comes and this time they need to meet again. Yuta and Taeyong have already been comfortable with one another, to the point where Yuta can talk in the hallway with Taeyong. Something super rare to be seen! Not Yuta’s part but seeing Taeyong walks and talks with someone at school is the hottest news of the week.

--

Through hours and hours of staying together in the same place, stroking paint brushes, learning each and every flaws and beauty their muse have, it’s not surprising how comfortable and close they are right now.

Yuta knows just every detail of Taeyong’s face. He notices the rose print scar next to his right eye, the small mole on his lips, the way Taeyong’s eyes twinkle with stars, how his hair stays in place despite the hours of posing.

Taeyong is able to draw Yuta base on memory too now. He finds the perfect hue of his skin, the right yellow shade for his smooth hair, the way his eyes relax and the story about how Yuta’s butterfly ended up being printed in his torso.

Taeyong cannot deny the bubbly feeling in his chest. Is he feeling that dangerous chemical reactions in his body? Is he in love?

It’s already the last week from the deadline and the two choose to finish everything tonight. So, that afternoon Yuta comes into Taeyong’s house with a sleepover supply and they start their last journey of painting.

There’s a tugging feeling in Yuta’s heart as he finalizes his painting. A satisfied smile comes to his face when he sees his final painting of Taeyong. His eyes run from the breathing perfection sitting like a throne king waiting for his interesting part in life to start, and to the canvas he’s been working on for hours! A satisfied smile comes to his face when he feels his hours of blood, sweat, and tears of working being paid off with the portray lying before him.  He is proud with how he manages to capture the soft side of Taeyong hidden under his cold guy shell.

Yuta waits for the paint to dry, and while doing that he is now again, lying on the bedsheets of Taeyong’s room. The fresh linen once smelled like fresh laundry, the day when Yuta fell asleep. Today, it smells different. A slight hint of musk and mint, is this how Taeyong smells like? Did the painter across him sleeps on the same bed he is lying bare right now? If that’s true, this is hot.

Unlike Taeyong who shows his soft side to Yuta, through this painting course Taeyong realizes just how charismatic Yuta is behind his warm healing smile. The same guy who tosses hearty smile in public can hold an intense fiery gaze on sheets. Taeyong bites his lips as he runs his eyes one more time over his perfectly pliant muse. Yuta feels relaxed on that bed, and that makes Taeyong feels less guilty for asking Yuta to stay a bit more since he needs to finalize the tattoo and the details.

“Mind if I see that butterfly a bit closer again?” Taeyong excuses himself and bends to scrutinize over the complex lines.

Yuta holds his breath and hides his read ears, he can feel his face burning from embarrassment but Taeyong doesn’t seem to care. He even traces the lines to get the shape and returns behind his canvas.

What feels like eternity finally comes to an end and both heart secretly wish they have more time to enjoy the presence of the other, looking each other without being judged creepy, but everything has an end.

“And I’m done!” Taeyong sets aside his canvas to dry next to Yuta’s. They plan to add their names and signature later on tomorrow maybe to not ruin the colors.

“Do you want some drink?” Taeyong asks as he tosses Yuta a big teeshirt and his pants.

Yuta nods, “Let’s order some good food and have a bit fun tonight. This project is tiring, but I’m glad with my result.”

Taeyong scrolls his phone to order some foods and beers, he agrees with Yuta. This ending needs a celebration! As the two men sit on the dining table, chopsticks reaching over for foods and glasses being refiled with golden liquids, their heads slowly turn drowsy.

“I hate that this thing end actually…” Taeyong, who is a lighter head than Yuta has fallen to his drunk state, comments.

Yuta swears if he is sober right now, he will blush, but no. Now he is similarly under alcoholic control and he can’t seem to control his flirty side.

“Oh yeah? You like seeing me that much? My presence is enough to make you happy?” Yuta leans in closer and rests his chin elegantly on his right palm.

Taeyong furiously runs his hands over his face, “Gosh yes Yuta! You make me crazy! Being super hot on my bed with just one linen over you, not to mention I really want to bite that tattoo mark!”

Yuta giggles, drunk Taeyong is fun to play with. He bravely stands up and walks over to sit beside Taeyong. Daringly runs a hand over the tensed shoulder, “Guess you’re super tired already. You’re starting to speak nonsense.”

Although Yuta wants to hear more about Taeyong’s true feelings to him, he knows it is not polite of him to listen to Taeyong’s drunk rambles. What if Taeyong didn’t remember anything and it will make things awkward.

Taeyong pulls Yuta who is trying to walk away, and makes the blonde man falls into his lap.

“We’re both stubborn and our egos are too high. Fuck it, I’m gonna say this now.” Taeyong’s grip on Yuta’s slender waist tightens.

“I love you, I love you so much Yuta! It pains me every night to finish this painting without you in my room. I can finish it because I memorize your features, but it doesn’t feel the same when you’re here posing and breathing the same air with me.” Taeyong’s lower voice growls inside Yuta’s ear.

Yuta cannot think of anything else, rather than focusing on the glistening lips Taeyong has and it takes every ounce and angel in Yuta’s body to hold himself back from attacking that lips.

But the devil won tonight, and the blonde man sticks his lips into the red hair’s. Taeyong presses his neck deeper and lets Yuta takes control of the intense lips battle. No one is backing down, the two gods of the school have met and the opposite attractions have connected.

Just like North going South, butterflies looking for their flowers, and soulmates finding one another…

Taeyong finds Yuta and Yuta finds Taeyong.

Both separate souls finally become one, after years and years of waiting. Seasons of love months, and hours of portrait painting.

“I love you too, Lee Taeyong. And you drive me crazy.” Yuta breaks the kiss to whisper this right next to his lips and seals their bond back with a deeper meaningful kiss.

On the edge of the room, their painted portraits of each other glow under the moonlight.

 --

Epilogue

 “This is very nice! I mean Taeyong!!! I’ll definitely buy this at any price!” Yuta gasps and shakes his head when he sees the result Taeyong shows.

Taeyong shyly looks into his feet, after what they did last night somehow, he feels like he cannot see Yuta’s eyes this morning.

Yes both young men have woken up under the same blanket, bodies sticking to each other as the cold morning air tries to creep up their soft skins. Taeyong wakes up being under Yuta’s possessive strong arms and he knows he wants more of this in the future!

“I am not selling it.” Taeyong smirks.

Yuta’s face fell, “Not even to me?

He shakes his head, “No. I like that masterpiece I made.”

Yuta frowns and pouts, “Okay then… I am also not selling mine to you.”

Taeyong runs his eyes over the painting. He needs to admit, he didn’t expect Yuta to paint him that nice… but everything in that picture speaks a thousand words about Taeyong. Taeyong is dying to have that paint in his room too! But if this is how they’re going to do it…. Okay then no one will have their own portrait.

“Fine.”

“Okay, then when are you free?” Yuta suddenly asks

Taeyong sounds flustered, “Eh? Are you asking me out on a date?”

Yuta rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, “I am booking you for a painting session. I need you to make my portrait but this time I will keep it in my room.”

Taeyong steals a kiss on his lips, “Wow, okay then the price is a portrait from you too.”

“Seriously guys? Infront of my salad?” a voice suddenly interrupts the two madly in love couple.

“Oh, sorry Ten, we forgot you’re there…” Yuta picks his tablet up and shows his face and Taeyong’s back on his screen.

This morning Ten video calls them wanting to see how their painting look like.

“Those are perfect. Why don’t you two live together and put them up in the same place. That way both of you can see it every day without actually selling it.” Ten rolls his eyes and grins.

The couple look into each other’s eyes and grin “That’s not a bad idea…”

“Okay I regret saying that, now go… Ew stop displaying affection in front of me.” Ten shakes his head and closes the call when the screen once again shows both of them sucking their faces off.

 end

    How is it?? cringe enough???

please give comments and inputs :”)) I really am looking forward for your opinion about the story 

Thank you for reading, sorry for the long post 

Have a nice day/ sweet dreams :*

xoxo

Cosmic

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x OC)

Summary: Maggie tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 5.8k

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the last two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week. 

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up. 

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Maggie’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner. 

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Maggie never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Maggie was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.  

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now. 

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again. 

No new messages. 

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something. 

…

Maggie dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles. 

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him. 

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag. 

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left. 

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling. 

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper. 

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath. 

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Maggie breathed. 

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.” 

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Maggie laughed wetly. “Oh my god, mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted. 

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Maggie ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Maggie admitted, tears spilling over her lash line. 

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost forty years.”

Maggie heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.” 

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Maggie hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf. 

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?” 

Maggie dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled. 

Maggie closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.” 

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Maggie swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Maggie could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Maggie’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Maggie Mae.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered. 

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Maggie heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.” 

Maggie listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope. 

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.” 

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Maggie the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes. 

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response. 

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his. 

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on. 

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.” 

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.” 

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done. 

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.” 

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way. 

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long? 

“And then I met you, and you…” Maggie let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough? 

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted. 

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too. 

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself. 

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self-fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.” 

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air. 

“Maggie, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair. 

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.” 

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered. 

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Maggie nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath. 

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.” 

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again. 

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Maggie. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.” 

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes.  “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.” 

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head. 

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.” 

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.” 

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.” 

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself. 

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice. 

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered. 

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation. 

Maggie took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes watched the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman, and he was smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple. 

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Maggie. 

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.” 

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane to think that I stayed with him for so long, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was— that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now. 

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I was been able to recognize the moments when I was falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there, and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no.” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and crushed his heart. “And then he just— left. And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Maggie dissolved back into the couch, an indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving personal trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.” 

She nodded, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, talented, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.” 

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check, find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated, and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.” 

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with Maggie. 

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.” 

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.” 

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you…  I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.” 

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered. 

“Agree to disagree.”

———

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[puckinghell]

Almost | Nathan MacKinnon

Summary: Every time Nate doesn’t tell you he loves you, he almost does. Until the clock suddenly starts ticking, and almost might not be enough. Words: 5.3k Note: I wrote this all at once and I couldn’t be bothered to read it after to make sure it made sense so excuse me if it doesn’t. We’re in the midst of a global crisis, I couldn’t buy potatoes in the supermarket cause it’s empty, and I don’t have my emotional support dumbass hockey boys, so you can imagine the emotional distress I’m under.

---

Nate isn’t very good at flirting.

He knows that, and he’s known that for a long time. Not only because he’s got pretty good self-insight, but also because his teammates have been telling him for years. 

In fact, the first time he went out with Tyson, back when he just came onto the Avs and going out was a big deal to him, Tys shook his head and said: “If you don’t learn how to flirt you’re gonna end up dying alone. With a Cup and enough gold to drown in, but alone.” 

Nate loves Tys to death, but he still thinks about that night sometimes and wants to kick Tys in the shin.

Because as much as he’s bad at flirting, he never really thought it was a problem. Surely one day a girl would come into his life and she’d like him so much she would do the heavy lifting, and he could just kinda cruise along. Or maybe one day, when the right girl would come into his life, it would all be easy, suddenly. 

Except.

He’s pretty sure that you are the right girl. He has been sure about that for the past two years, ever since you became friends. And yet, you’re still friends. Just friends.

Nate thinks he kinda accidentally put himself in the friend zone. At first he thought it was fine if you were just friends, because it would grow into something more naturally. 

But one day Gabe turned to him solemnly and said: “Once she’s put you in the ‘Don’t go there’ part of her brain, you’re not coming out of there, bro.” 

He’d waved Gabe off, but now he’s starting to think Gabe was right. 

Because in the beginning, sometimes, you’d look at him a certain way, or you’d say something, and Nate was certain you meant it in a flirty way. Was sure he saw his own feelings reflected in your eyes. But those times became less and less frequent and now, he can’t remember the last time you looked at him like that. He only knows that you talk to him about dates you go on, like it doesn’t break his heart to think about you with someone else. And you wrap your arms around him so easy and comfortably, like the butterflies in his stomach when you touch him have no right o be there. And you ask to sleep in his bed with him after late movie nights like the thought of it ever being anything more than sleeping has never entered your mind. Nate thinks maybe he’s missed his window, but he also can’t imagine not ending up with you. So he starts his quest of getting you to notice him in a different way.

--

It’s shortly after he made that decision that he’s finding himself in Gabe’s backyard, a bottle of beer in his hand as he stands next to EJ who is grilling steaks on the barbecue. Gabe’s summer barbecue is somewhat of a staple, for the Avs, and if he thought that having a baby would mean Gabe’s parties would come to an end, Nate was wrong. Gabe flutters through the backyard with Linnea on his arm like he’s never done anything else. He switches his own beer bottle with Linnea’s bottle of milk – or whatever she’s drinking – between people he chats to, and before too long he shows up next to Nate and EJ. “Looking good,” Gabe whistles, looking at the grill. “Nate, are you staring at Y/N again?” Nate swirls around to face his captain; he hadn’t even noticed he was staring at you, but perhaps he was, because he knows you’ve been talking to Josty for the past 15 minutes and he’s not entirely happy about the way Josty leaned into you while he laughed at something you said. “It’s too late, bud,” EJ says, his signature toothless grin appearing. “You’ve waited too long and now she’s going to think you mean everything in a friendly way.” “That’s not true!” Nate starts protesting, even though he knows EJ is just trying to rile him up; but he can’t really make his point because you choose that moment to come over to them. “Are you still not done?” you tease EJ, playfully bumping against his shoulder. “I’m hungry, EJ, can you not grill a little faster?” “Grilling is like art,” EJ grumbles, “you can’t rush it.” “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said,” you answer, your voice filled with fondness. “Ah, there’s Linnea! Can I hold her?” You make grabby hands at the baby and Gabe easily passes her to you, which, honestly, rude. “You never let me hold her!” Nate sputters, and Gabe shrugs. “That’s because Y/N is responsible and you killed the only succulent you had in your house.” “A succulent is not the same as a baby. I could take care of her.” Nate feels extremely offended, even more so when you giggle. “No offense, but if I had to pick someone to take care of Linnea, it would be Y/N, then Colin, then literally anyone else, before it would be you,” says Gabe. “Even Josty?” Nate whines, and at that moment, Mel steps in next to Gabe, putting her hand on his back. “Are we letting Tyson take care of Linnea?” she asks. “Absolutely no way,” Gabe is quick to answer, and you suppose it’s a good thing Josty isn’t here to hear that. “I was just saying I would let Y/N take care of our little girl.” “Oh, would you?” Mel excitedly grasps your shoulder. “Gabe and I haven’t had a date night in like, months! “Sure, I’d love to,” you answer truthfully. You slide your finger into Linnea’s hand, the baby making excited gurgling noises as she clasps down on it. She’s stronger than she looks. “Can I come?” Nate says suddenly. His cheeks are a little tinted, even though it’s not that warm outside anymore. “It could be like, a babysitting date.” “Oh, of course!” you answer. “That’s a perfect idea, Nate! Mel, we should set up a play date for Linnea with my sister’s baby!” You ignore EJ’s cackling laugh and what sounds like a low groan coming from Nate, instead follow Mel to the porch with Linnea in your hands to plan the play date. EJ slings his arm around Nate, grinning a little wickedly as he says: “So close, Nathan. Almost got her.”

Nate elbows him in the stomach loud enough to earn a disapproving tut from Gabe.

--

Nate tells Sid about his plan during their monthly FaceTime session. “Good luck with that, dude,” Sid says, and it doesn’t even sound that condescending, coming from him. “What do you think I should do?” Nate knows asking Sid for advice on flirting is like asking a blind man for advice on how to see, but he’s getting desperate and he really, really doesn’t want to have to ask Tys. He’d never live that one down. “Uh,” Sid answers, and that’s about as much as Nate was expecting from him, anyway. “Maybe ask her out to dinner, or something?” Actually, that’s more than Nate was expecting from Sid, because that’s actually not the worst idea. Sure, you’ve gone out to dinner together many times, but it was always very clearly not a date setting; either the other guys were there, or it was at a MacDonalds – Nate doesn’t like to go to junkfood places, but he supposes if Tys was gonna leave any imprint on him, it would be his love for McFlurry’s – or it was just dinner at his apartment, wearing sweatpants and ordering Chinese while watching some dumb Netflix show. His chance to ask you comes quicker than he thought, because he’s still talking to Sid – about hockey, this time, something Sid does actually have great advice on – when you come barreling into his apartment. Your hair is wet from the rain and you shrug off your rain coat with a wave in his direction. “It’s pouring,” you tell him, “and I walked to work, so.” To anyone else, it would be a bad explanation, but it’s not the first time you’ve showed up at Nate’s apartment like this. You like to walk to work when it’s not too cold but sometimes the weather surprises you and you don’t want to walk back in the rain or the wind. Nate’s apartment is a lot closer to your work than your apartment, so it’s become a habit of yours to go to Nate’s on days like that and just hang out in his apartment until you either fall asleep there or Nate offers to drive you home.    “Is that Y/N?” Sid asks. “Hey, Y/N!” “Hi Sid!” you call back. “Nate, I’m gonna shower.” “Ask her,” Sid says, which is very pushy for Sid, who usually never tells Nate to do anything, instead just says “If I were you, I would consider” and let Nate figure out the underlying message. “Ask me what?” you ask Nate curiously, eyeing him up and down. He’s glaring at Sid as if Sid said something wrong, and when he looks at you, he doesn’t quite catch your eye. “I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me?” Nate asks. It’s a bit of a formal question for something you do at least once a week, but you shrug it off; Nate is a bit weird, sometimes, and you’re used to that. “Sure,” you say. “Let’s order Thai. Get my usual while I’m showering? I’m hungry.” Then you yell: “Bye Sid!” before making your way to the bathroom. Nate lets out a frustrated sigh and Sid sounds sympathetic when he says: “Almost there, dude. Just, next time, if I were you, I’d consider…” Nate is already not listening anymore.

--

Today is the day, Nate has decided. He bought roses, which EJ told him is lame and Gabe told him is great idea, and he cooked pasta, for which he used Sammy’s recipe. He’s not a good cook, but Sammy promised it’s impossible to mess up, and he thinks he did alright. He texted you this morning to ask you to come to his place for dinner. You replied with a sure :) and Nate takes that to be a good sign. He has a plan. When you walk in, he’ll take your coat, instantly changing the routine between you, because he normally stays on the couch when you open the door with your key. He won’t be wearing sweatpants, either, not even if he expects you might be; he’s wearing black jeans and a nice button up, and he’s even done his hair. Well, made an attempt to; it didn’t really work out and now it looks kinda the same as always, but hey, he’s really trying, here. Next, he’ll lead you to the table, which he’ll actually have set up, and at that point, surely you understand something different is happening, because a set up table is so different from his normal paper plates and Netflix. Then he’ll give you the roses and confess his feelings. He’s not really thought that part through too much, because every time he thinks about it he almost throws up. So. He’ll have to wing that. The problem, Nate finds out, with planning everything to perfection, is that when one thing goes wrong, the entire plan has to go out the window. Because half an hour after you were supposed to arrive, he gets a text saying sorry I’m late! Be there in 10 and he knows he’s gonna have to reheat the pasta, which Sammy said was not the point of pasta. But he’s not gonna kick off and cause a scene when you arrive, because he reasons it doesn’t really matter, in the grand scale of things. So he sits on the couch and waits. Finally, the door swings open and Nate jumps to his feet, ready to take your coat from you. Except, you’re not wearing a coat; you’re wearing his old hoodie and for some reason his breath hitches in his throat and suddenly he feels like his feet are nailed to the floor, unable to move. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” you call, basically running further into the apartment. “I came from the gym and let me tell you, I have got great news!” “News?” Nate echoes. You stop right in front of him, your eyes shining and a bright smile on your face. Suddenly, you lift an eyebrow, eyes catching on something. “Nathan MacKinnon, did you do something to your hair?” Before Nate can answer, you shrug and continue. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Guess what happened at the gym!” “What?” Nate seems to only be able to repeat what you say, so he decides to stick with that. “I got asked on a date!” Nate thinks if he had one wish, he would wish for the floor to open up beneath his feet and for him to sink through the building, all 7 floors below his apartment, and then down into the ground, until he could bury himself in the dirt. “A date?” You’re so hyped you don’t even notice your best friend is simply repeating your words, barely reacting in any other way. “He’s so hot, this guy, Nate! He comes to the gym every Thursday, just like I do, and we never talk but sometimes I catch him looking, and like, I look back, you know? And today he came over and he asked if I wanted to get a drink, but obviously I had plans with you and I would never blow you off, so I said we could do it tomorrow. I have a date tomorrow, Nate!” In your excitement, you reach forward and wrap your arms around Nate, pressing your face into his chest. His heart is beating fast, and you notice that he kinda just remains frozen into place, so you look up at him with a frown. “Nate? You okay?” That seems to shake Nate from his trance, as he literally shakes himself out of it and slowly puts his arms around you. With a happy sigh, you allow yourself to sink into the embrace. “What are we eating, anyway? I’m hungry.” Nate praises any and every God there could possibly be that he decided to leave the door to the dining room closed. “Whatever you want, we can order,” he answers. “I’m just gonna, uh, get changed.” “I thought you looked fancy,” you grin, letting go of him and dropping onto the couch. “What about Italian?” Hours later, Nate throws away the empty pizza boxes and puts the roses in the bin with them, and then he goes to his bedroom to scream into a pillow. He wants to call you, wants to ask you to not go on a date with that guy. But then he thinks about how excited you looked and he doesn’t call. He doesn’t call, but he almost does, and he thinks that’s a pretty good way to describe how his life is going.

--

Nate has truly hit rock bottom, which is why he’s scrolling through his phone until he finds the familiar name. “Dogggg!” Tys yells into the phone, because he can never answer the phone like a normal person. “I’m baking chocolate chip cookies!” And Nate is suddenly a little overwhelmed with how much he misses his best friend. “Baking?” he teases. “What kinda mental breakdown are you going through this time?” “Hey, fuck you,” Tys says, but he sounds mellow and not bothered at all. “What’s up?” And Nate has been planning to ease into this conversation, have a little small talk, maybe talk about Toronto and how the coaching change has been working out for Tys, but Tys is his best friend – apart from you – and suddenly he can’t keep it to himself anymore. “I’m in love with Y/N,” he blurts out, and he hears a clank on the other side of the line that sounds suspiciously like Tyson dropping a spoon. “Well, yeah,” Tys comes back, a little too calmly for Nate’s liking. “But I meant like, what’s up with you that’s new, Dogg.” “I need to do something about it,” Nate says, and that seems to get Tyson’s attention, cause he suddenly sounds a lot more interested when he says: “Oh?”    “Cause like,” Nate starts, and he knows he’s about to start rambling. “Cause I’m so into her, you know, and I have been for so long, but I don’t think she sees me that way? And maybe if I would’ve done something sooner, she would’ve thought of me as an option, and she wouldn’t be going out with that guy right now..” “Wow hold up,” Tyson interrupts. “Wait, she’s got a boyfriend?” “No!” The force with which that word erupts from Nate’s mouth is maybe a little too telling, cause Tyson immediately goes into ‘calm down Nate’ mode. “Hey, hey, it’s just a date or two, right?” he soothes. “It’s totally not serious yet. And you and her, you’ve got history, dude. She loves you! There’s still time!” “What if she doesn’t love me in that way, though?” Nate asks, and he hates how tiny his voice sounds. “Then she’s got no taste, Nate,” Tyson says, awfully genuine. “You’d be an awesome boyfriend. Hell, you’ve basically been her boyfriend, you two act like a couple all the time.” Nate hadn’t thought of it like that. “Cause like, you’re always hanging out together, right?” Tys continues. “And you bring her to all your events as your plus one. She cooks you dinner at least once a week. You pick her up and drop her off when it’s raining and she doesn’t wanna walk. You always get her a Christmas present. She even bakes your favorite cookies when you’ve had a tough game.” He sounds slightly jealous when he says: “Cookies, bro! That’s true love.” And, well, Nate had always thought that was just a friend thing, but when he thinks about it, he doesn’t really treat any of his other friends that way. Has never picked up his phone at 4 am because Sid was calling, never ran a bath for Tys after a long day. Maybe, in a way, he has been acting like your boyfriend. Except. “We don’t kiss and stuff, though.” Tyson laughs. “And stuff. I bet you want the stuff, huh, bro?” “Shut up,” Nate grumbles, but he’s too thankful for Tyson’s input to put much heat behind it. “Brutes, what do I do?” “You need to complete the package, Dogg,” Tys says, sounding confident. “You’re almost her boyfriend. Now go get that kiss and be it for real.”

--

Nate is not usually a big drinker, but this, he needs to be super, super drunk for. “Careful,” Burky says, as he watches Nate slam back another shot. “That’s a lot of alcohol, Nate.” “You gonna call Gabe on me?” Nate says, defiant, and Burky shrugs. “No, but if you need to be carried home, I’ll get Z to do it.” That’s enough for Nate to not order another shot right away. “He’s upset because Y/N is here with a guy.” It’s Comphy who speaks, in a dull tone like he’s talking about the weather. Josty, who is with them too, sits up a little straighter. “She came with a guy?” “Shut up,” Nate all but growls. “I didn’t know when I invited her the invitation would be extended.” He really hadn’t; he’d asked you to come out with the boys after the game because he found out you were bringing the guy – Nate purposely forgets his name every time – and he figured he was running out of time. At least if he kept you out all night you couldn’t go home with the guy, and he might find the courage to tell you how he feels. Except then you’d shown up with the guy in tow, and now he’s wondering if it’s possible to drown himself in tequila. He must’ve looked properly miserable for the guys to crowd around him like they are; Gabe went home because he’s a dad now, but Comph and Josty and Burky are all sitting with him, refusing to have fun now that their assistant captain looks ready to commit a crime, and Z and EJ both keep shooting worried glances his way. Nate really doesn’t care. What he cares about is that you’re with with a guy that’s not him, and you’ve barely paid attention to him. He’s just about drunk enough that that annoyance is starting to become unbearable, and just drunk enough that it seems like a good idea to do something about it. “Nate, no…” Burky starts, when Nate stands up, and Comphy reaches for him, but even drunk Nate is quicker than them and he starts pushing his way through the crowd, to where you’re standing with the guy and laughing at something he’s saying. You feel two strong arms wrap around your waist, the grip almost too tight as you’re pushed flat against a muscular chest. For a second, you freeze, ready to fight, but then you smell familiar cologne and you recognize the arms that are wrapped around you in iron grip. “Nate?” you say. “Everything okay?” Nate hums in your ear but it’s not really words; just a low hum that makes something tingle in the pit of your stomach. If only Tom knew the effect Nate has on you, he probably wouldn’t be here. As it is, Tom’s eyes are wide as he stares at Nate. You did tell him you knew people on the team and that’s why you could get tickets to the Avs game so last minute, but you’d forgone the mention that your “contact” is Nathan MacKinnon; for some reason, you didn’t really want those worlds to mix just yet. Maybe that’s why you’d been keeping your distance from Nate, tonight. Normally, Nate isn’t the kinda guy to come chasing you down, but you can smell the alcohol on his breathe and his words slur a little when he says: “Where have you been?” Your heart starts beating a little faster. “Here,” you say, trying to ignore the dark tone to Nate’s voice. To say you’re confused in an understatement: Nate sounds almost angry, but he’s clinging to you like he’s not ever letting you go, so surely he can’t be angry at you. You wish Tom wasn’t here. If you’d been alone, you would’ve dragged Nate outside and talked to your best friend, figured out what’s bothering him, because it’s clear there’s something and you don’t like knowing that he’s carrying it alone. Nate has a tendency to carry the entire world on his shoulders, on his own, even when there’s so many people who would share the burden with him. “Dude,” Tom says, “you’re Nathan MacKinnon!” You feel Nate tense behind you. You know he doesn’t like to be recognized in public spaces but honestly, Tom didn’t speak loudly, and he’s not making a scene, so you wiggle out of Nate’s hold and put your hand on his arm.

Usually, that calms him down. “Yeah, Tom, this is my friend Nate. Nate, this is Tom.” Nate’s face is schooled into perfect indifference as he shakes the hand Tom holds out to him; the only thing betraying that he’s annoyed is the fact that his other, free, hand is balled into a fist and his knuckles are white. “Good to meet you, man,” Tom says. “That was such a nice goal there in the 2nd, holy shit dude! I’m like, such a big fan of you!” You cringe a little as Nate narrows his eyes. “Thanks,” he says, and he could not sound more bored if he tried. Even Tom shifts on his feet and nervously looks towards the floor. Then Nate’s hand finds its way to your lower back, his thumb dipping under your shirt. You feel like all the blood is rushing through your cheeks, and when Tom frowns, you feel like you could pass out. “Nice to meet you,” Nate says, in a tone that makes it clear he’d rather undergo a colonoscopy than ever speak to Tom again. “But can I borrow my girl for a second?” My girl? “Nate, what the…” you sputter, but you’re already being pushed through the crowd towards the exit, and before you know it you’re standing in a dark alley with your back to the brick wall of the club. Nate is standing close, so close you can feel his breath against your cheek when he exhales. His eyes are big and a bit wild, and you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat as clearly as you can. “Nate…” You mean to ask him what’s going on, but for some reason his name comes out of your mouth in a quiet rush of air, and it seems to do something to Nate, who inhales sharply and drops his head a little, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I hate it,” he mutters, the words soft enough that you can only make them out because it’s just the two of you in the silent outside air. “Hate what?” “Seeing you with him.” Those words hit you like a freight train, and all you manage to bring out is a soft “uhm”. “I can’t watch you with him,” Nate whispers. His hands are against the wall but his chest is pressed up against yours, and slowly but surely, he’s leaning in. And that’s when you realize, oh. Nate is going to kiss you. To your own surprise, that doesn’t shock you. It’s not some big thing that throws the world of its axis, that shakes the ground beneath your feet. It’s just a realization and then a soft, warm feeling of comfort spreading through your body. You want him to kiss you so badly, but it’s not like something is exploding, knowing that he wants it too. Instead, it’s like something finally falls into place.

“Y/N?” a voice goes, and you almost whine out loud. Nate jumps back like he’s been stung. He stares at you with wide eyes, the color drained from his face, and then he turns around and all but runs away. Tom watches him leave, then faces you, and in that moment you know four things absolutely certain. Nate was jealous. You’re never going to go on another date with Tom. Nate almost kissed you. And almost wasn’t enough.

--

Nate wakes up with a banging headache, the taste of dirt in his mouth and 20 missed text messages. Most of the messages are from Tyson, and there’s one from EJ, who is apparently the one that told Tyson about last night in the first place, because his text simply reads: Had to tell Brutes. You need help. Which is probably fair enough. There’s a text from Josty offering support, one from Burky asking if he got home safe, one from Gabe that Nate doesn’t read because he doesn’t want to see Gabe’s disappointed face every time he closes his eyes for the next few days, and then there’s a text from you. We have to talk. Well, fuck. Nate doesn’t have a lot of experience with relationships, but he knows that’s never a good sign. Nate knows that you know him well enough to have figured out that he was drunk last night, so you probably don’t expect him to be up yet. He takes advantage of that time by taking a shower and brushing his teeth at least four times until he can no longer taste the tequila in the back of his throat, making a cup of coffee and having a freak out at his kitchen counter because surely you’re going to tell him to never talk to you again. Not only did he not have the balls to tell you how he feels about you, he also acted like an asshole to a guy you apparently like – although Nate has no clue why, because he seemed boring as hell – and then he nearly kissed you but instead ran away. Not a great track record. It’s nearly noon when he finally gathers up the courage to call you. After all, you’ve given him two years of friendship, so that’s the least he can do. “Hey,” he says softly into the phone when the connection clicks through. “It’s Nate.” “I know,” you answer, and he’s surprised by how light your tone is. “I have caller ID, Nate. Have had it for years.” It throws him off, how normal you sound. There’s nothing in your voice to betray that you’re mad at him, or that you hate him. He almost forgets what he was going to say. Almost, but not quite. “I’m really sorry about last night,” he blurts out. “Do you mind if I come over so we can talk about it?” “Uhm,” you hesitate, and Nate’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach.    “Actually, I’m almost at your apartment.” “Oh.” Nate had not expected that. “Uhm, okay. I’ll be here, then.” You laugh. “Yeah, I hoped you would be. See you in a bit, Nate.”    It takes you another 6 minutes to arrive; Nate knows it’s exactly 6 because he stares at the hands of the clock while he waits, while simultaneously thinking of all the possible scenarios in which you could break his heart. When you walk into the kitchen, he feels like he’s about to throw up. “You don’t look great,” is the first thing you say to him. “Have you had breakfast? You know hangovers get worse when you don’t eat.” And that’s... Not quite what Nate was expecting. “Yoohoo, Nate?” You wave your hand in front of his pale face, as Nate stares at you and doesn’t speak. “Are you okay?” “You hate me,” Nate blurts out then, and instantly his eyes fix on the floor in shame. “Or, you should.” You frown. “Why? Because you were a jealous dick last night?” Nate’s face turns from white to a bright shade of pink. You smile, walk to Nate who’s sitting on a barstool at the counter, and carefully push open his knees, so you can slide in between his legs. If Nate’s eyes go any wider, you worry they might fall out.   “Last night,” you repeat, “you were jealous. Of Tom.” It’s not a question, but Nate still nods, avoiding your eyes as he does. “And then you were going to kiss me.” Not a question either, and this time Nate doesn’t respond. “Nate,” you say softly, and the warmth in your tone must be what finally gets Nate to look up at you, his eyes locking with yours. “Do you still want to kiss me?” “I do,” Nate says. His voice is a little shaky but he needs to get this out, because he needs you to know this. “I always want to kiss you.” “Why haven’t you?” you ask. The answer is not really an answer, but it means everything anyway. “I almost did,” Nate says. “So many times, Y/N. So many times I almost did.” “Almost, almost,” you repeat, rolling your eyes, and then you slide your hands behind Nate’s neck and kiss him. He almost stumbles, his hands gripping your waist as if he’s afraid he’ll fall right onto the floor if he doesn’t have something to hold onto. But he’s kissing you back right away, his mouth soft yet forceful at the same time. Like he’s never going to stop kissing you. You don’t think you ever want him to.

--

It’s late at night and the streets of Denver are quiet beneath Nate’s apartment.    He’s laying on his back and you’re draped across his chest, naked bodies tangled together under the sheets. He’s not sure if you’re asleep; your breathing is shallow and even, but every now and then your fingers tighten around where they’re wrapped around his arm, and he wonders if you’re dreaming, or simply checking if he’s still there. As if he would ever leave. Nate can’t help himself; he lightly presses his lips against your hair, the ghost of a kiss against your skin. You hum softly. “Nate?” “Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s me.” A lazy giggle escapes your lips. “Thank God it’s not someone else.” The silence returns, but this time it’s heavy with something Nate knows you’re not saying. “What are you thinking about?” he mumbles, tracing circles on the naked skin of your back. Your answer shakes something inside of him. “That I almost didn’t get to have this.” He thinks of all the times he almost said something to you but didn’t, and curses himself for all the time lost. “Almost didn’t, but we did, and that’s what matters, right?” he speaks into the darkness.

You smile.

You know you’re not dreaming, but you almost can’t believe you aren’t.

Almost.