#under anyone ever again even if it’s with a trusted friend… the money really blinded him but I get it

[tariah23]

Outside of all of… that happening to Gojo, and finishing Snowfall the other day, eek……..

[silly-l1ttle-guy]

silly little fic of my oc

tw for mentions of suicide, death, abuse, neglect, r@pe, etc (there's a lot going on)

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Ravioli sighed, rubbing her temples. Today was one of the days she hated most; a day where everyone was out except her. Sure, she could listen to music or a podcast or even an audiobook, but couldn’t be bothered to search around her room for them. 

Usually there would be at least one person other than her in the villa, usually Giorno, but he was out on a date with Fugo, his little boyfriend. Ravioli scoffed at the thought. Mista was home quite a lot too, but he had been sent out on a mission to go take care of a local drug dealer that had been found out by Giorno. Not even Bôa was home, having been sent out on a mission with Mista. 

Ravi swore under her breath, standing up and grabbing her white cane. She’d kill Bôa if he tried anything with Mista, damnit. She didn’t care how good of a friend he was; she’d still kill him for trying to get with her boyfriend. 

After a few minutes of walking and narrowly avoiding running into walls, Ravioli reached what was supposed to be Bruno’s room. She entered silently and closed the door behind her, sitting on what was supposed to be his bed. 

“Bruno?” A twelve year old Ravioli had asked, sitting in bed with a young boy, no less than a year older than her. “What do you look like?” 

Bruno smiled, despite knowing she couldn’t see it. “Well, my hair is a black bob, and I’m wearing a white suit with black dots on it. Also, I have blue eyes.” 

The girl rested her head on his shoulder. “Like sky blue?” 

Bruno chuckled, shaking his head. “I think my father told me they were a deep ocean blue, but my mother said they looked like sapphires.” 

Ravioli hummed in response, holding onto him tightly. “I wish I had blue eyes. They must be so pretty.” 

Snapping back out of her thoughts, Ravioli shook her head. She could hear the squeaks of her Stand and realised she musted summoned them when she had zoned out. No Surprises stood on the bed around her, making soft squeaking noises until she called them back. 

Lifting her hand up to rub her eyes, she felt a familiar wetness. Ah, she must’ve been crying again. Of course she was. 

If Bruno was here, he would’ve hugged her and wiped away her tears, but he had been dead for months. The first person that had ever really cared about her was gone, and she couldn’t do anything about it. 

Swallowing back a sob, Ravioli stood up and grit her teeth, grabbing her cane tightly and leaving the room. She hated being like this; forcing her sadness into anger and forcing it out on others, but she couldn’t help it. It was how she had always dealt with trauma, bottling it up and turning it into anger was just how she learnt to protect herself. 

“Papa?” The 4 year old girl’s voice called out, backing into a corner as her parents approached her with a knife and a large bottle of bleach. 

“Stay still, Rio, mama and papa need to do this so we can get money,” her mother spoke in a sickly-sweet voice, her ruby eyes set on the bright red eyes of her daughter. 

Rio backed away in fear, until she hit the wall. She whimpered as her father gripped her tightly, then held her against the floor so she’d stay still. 

Screams were heard as Rio’s mother stabbed at both her eyes, then poured bleach into them afterwards. They took shards of glass and embedded them in her skin, as well as her eyes, before beating her senseless. The took the girl to the hospital, claiming that she had been in the car with a bottle of bleach, when another car rammed into theirs. 

Rio stayed in the hospital for a few days, but had been permanently blinded from the cuts and the bleach. She was quieter since that day, and could hardly trust anyone, even those she wanted to trust. 

Ravioli snapped out of it as she heard the front door open, quickly heading to the front room to greet whoever came home. 

“Hey, Ravi!” She heard Mista’s voice call out, and she sighed. 

“Hi Mista. Hey Bôa,” She greeted, as Mista walked up to her and hugged her tightly. “Have fun?” 

“Mista got shot again!” Bôa yelled, presumably leaving to his room. Ravioli groaned, smelling the blood on her boyfriend. 

“God damnit… Again?” She sighed. 

“He had a gun! What was I supposed to do, dodge?” Mista asked, letting go of Ravi and crossing his arms dramatically. 

Ravioli just scoffed, before calling out her No Surprises. The puffball like Stands stood around Mista, bouncing and making squeaking sounds, as Mista’s wounds healed. Ravioli winced, feeling smaller versions of his wounds appear on her skin. 

“And you have a stand, and also a gun,” she counters, after healing him. “And stop touching my Stand! I can feel that too, you know!” 

Mista pouted, letting go of one of the No Surprises. “You’re no fun. Anyway, wanna go to my room and take a nap or something?” 

Sighing again, the blind girl nodded her head, letting Mista pick her up and carry her to his room. 

“Let go!” The girl screamed, trying to claw herself out of the grasp of the large man. 

“Calm down, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, locking the door to his shitty, rundown apartment as they entered. The man set her down on his couch, before sitting next to her. “You’re Rio Romeo, yes?” 

Rio nodded her head, shaking. “What do you want?” 

“My name is Risotto Nero, you can trust me,” Risotto ignored her question. “How old are you, Rio?” 

Rio hesitated, before answering. “… 11. But I’m turning 12 next week, so it doesn’t count!” 

Risotto chuckled, moving his dark purple hair out of his face to look at the girl in front of him. “I don’t suppose you can tell, but air hair is similar. My hair is purple, like yours, just darker. In fact, people could mistake us for family. We both have the same dark skin, too.” 

Rio looked up in the direction of his voice, confused and scared. “W-what?” 

“Don’t worry about it. You’re on a run from the police, aren’t you?” Risotto asked her calmly. 

Rio just nodded her head, not wanting to speak. 

“I can get them off your trail.” 

“… Ravi?? Didja fall asleep with your eyes open or something?” Mista’s voice rang out, causing Ravioli to shake her head. 

“I’ve just been out of it today, fuck off,” She scowled, to which Mista playfully threw her on his bed. 

Ravioli grunted, rolling onto her side as Mista took his shoes off, then got on the bed beside her and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend tightly. Mista mumbled a few words, before immediately falling asleep. 

Ravioli sighed and closed her eyes, despite knowing that only nightmares would await her when she fell asleep. 

Rio yelped as another one of her cousins pushed her around, causing her to fall on the floor. “Wow, Rio! You’re just as weak as last year!” 

She remembered them laughing at her, while she couldn’t do anything but try to stand. Rio had been abused and neglected her whole life, she was incredibly malnourished by this point, and weaker and smaller than an 11 year old girl should be. 

Rio managed to get on her feet, sneaking away to the kitchen. She was planning on finding a snack, but her hand landed on a kitchen knife. Rio paused, holding the knife for a few moments, feeling an immense rage light in her. 

She was sick of this shit. 

“Oh Rio~! We weren’t done with you-“ The moment her cousin touched her shoulder, she turned and stabbed the knife through his chest, before slashing his neck. Screams rang out through the house, though they weren’t hers this time. 

“R-Rio?!” Rio heard her aunt’s voice call out, likely in shock at the 4 dead children laying in front of her. It didn’t take her long to realise that the small, weak, and blind Rio had killed her cousins. 

Rio lunged in the direction of her aunt’s voice, remembering the times her aunt had stripped Rio of her clothes, then touched her wherever she could reach. Rio never like or wanted that, and it happened anyway. She stabbed her aunt in the neck, listening to the loud thud as she fell to floor. 

Rio silently stalked to where she knew her parents were. She was dirty and covered in blood, though none of it was her own. 

They didn’t know what was coming until Rio heard a high-pitched scream as she stabbed someone in the neck. That was her mother’s scream, meaning she had just killed her father. Rio didn’t waste any time in killing her mother, too. 

And for the first time in years, the house was silent. Rio grabbed knife and cleaned herself off with water from the kitchen sink, then ran like her life depended on it. 

And it did. 

“What do mean you can help me?” Rio asked timidly, listening to Risotto speak. 

“You killed 7 people at a Christmas party, that’s impressive. You could be valuable,” Risotto continued, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I want you to join Passione, or otherwise known as simply ‘the mafia.’ You’d have to change your name first, of course. My name isn’t actually Risotto Nero, I had to change it to get the cops off my trail, too.” 

Rio blinked, frozen in her seat. “Huh?” 

“Do you want to join Passione?” Hesitantly, Rio nodded her head. “Good, now choose a new name. It can be anything you want.” 

Rio though for a moment, before speaking quietly. “… Ravioli Salsa. If you chose a food, I want to be named after a food, too.” 

Risotto chuckled, patting her head. “Alright then, Ravioli. I’ll take you to Polpo to start the test.” 

Ravioli’s eyes shot open, only be greeted with a dark blur. She didn't move. Ravi could feel Mista’s arms around her waist, and at some point, during their nap, he had tangled his legs with hers. She felt the vibrations of his snores on her back, which were already audible enough. 

Ravi sighed, pulling herself out of his grasp. She could hear talking from a few rooms across, which meant Giorno and Fugo must’ve come back from their date. 

Ravioli remembered the first time she met Fugo, back when she was 17. Bruno had brought him home, and at first, she despised him. He took Bruno’s attention away from her, which she hated.  

“… How old are you even?” She scoffed, sitting next to Fugo. 

“I’m 14,” He answered plainly, eying Ravioli curiously. 

She felt a bit of sympathy, considering that he was just a kid, but soon got up and left. 

Later that night, she awoke as she heard someone enter her room. 

“… Fugo?” She yawned, noting that the footsteps were too light to be Bruno’s. 

She could hear Fugo’s breath hitch in his throat, as if he wasn’t expecting her to wake up. Ravioli sat up, sighing. “What do you want? It’s late.” 

Fugo gulped, taking a few steps closer to her bed. “C- can I sleep in your bed..?” 

His voice was shaking, as if he was holding back tears. He sounded scared, meaning he probably had a nightmare of some sort. 

Ravioli, after a moment of silence, nodded her head and moved over to make room. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

Fugo stared in shock that she was actually letting him in her bed, and he quickly climbed in next to Ravioli, though he made sure to keep his distance. Fugo mumbled a weak “yeah” to Ravioli’s question, as he made himself comfortable. 

Ravioli laid back down, not knowing what to say. She had never had to comfort someone like this before, this was new. “… do you want to talk about it?” 

Fugo was silent for a moment, before he spoke. “It was more of a… of a memory than a dream.” 

Ravioli felt a pang of sympathy. She knew that feeling all too well. 

“When… when I was 13 my professor… he…” Fugo choked out, clearly trying not to cry. 

“Raped you?” Ravioli finished, feeling as though she knew where this was going. She heard the sound of Fugo nodding his head against the fabric of the pillow. 

“Yeah… that. The second time he tried to do it… I beat him to death with an encyclopaedia,” Fugo managed to say, his voice cracking as he let out a sob. 

Ravioli sighed, shifting slightly. “My aunt did the same thing to me.” 

She could hear the boy pause, croaking out a quiet “you too?” 

Ravi nodded, humming. “I was 10 the first time.” 

“… did you learn to overcome it?” Fugo asked, his voice slightly raspy. Ravioli hesitated. 

“No. I just try not to think about it,” she confessed to him. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” 

“Will you ever find a way to forget it?” Fugo asked. Ravioli chuckled quietly. 

“No, that sort of thing is hard to forget. I doubt either of us will learn to forget something like that,” she shook her head. 

The room was silent for a moment, the only sound being the subtle snoring coming from Bruno’s room. Fugo rolled onto his side, and Ravioli felt him gently grab her arm. She remained silent, letting the kid hold on to her for comfort. She couldn’t judge him, not after all those nights she had spent clinging to Bruno for comfort. 

A knock on the bedroom door caused Ravioli to stand up, grabbing her cane. Judging by how the knock was gentle, she assumed it was Giorno. 

“Rav?” She was right, Giorno’s voice called out as she walked to the door and opened it. 

“I’m here, Giogio,” Ravioli yawned. She was close to Giorno, almost viewing him as a younger brother. “Did you have fun?” 

“I did, thank you,” Giorno confirmed. “How was your day?” 

Ravioli shrugged, putting her hand in her pocket. “It was fine. I just woke up.” 

She heard Giorno hum, then pushed past him to go back to her own room. As Ravioli walked, she fidgeted with what was apparently an iron replica of Risotto’s Stand, Metallica. She remembered when he gave it to her. 

“What’s your real name?” Ravioli asked, sitting next to Risotto on his couch. She and Bruno had gotten into an argument over something stupid, so she had headed to Risotto in an attempt to calm down. 

“I can’t tell you that,” Risotto replied, observing one of the Metallica beans on his finger. Ravioli groaned, flopping down on him. 

“Fine... What does your Stand look like?” She asked, as Risotto playfully ruffled her hair. 

Risotto hummed, before grabbing a small iron cube he had made. Using Metallica, he shaped it into a replica of his Stand, then handed it to Ravioli. “Like this.” 

The girl hummed, feeling it for a few moments. “Can I keep it?” 

He was dead now too. Of course the closest person she had to a father figure was dead, why wouldn’t he be? 

Ravioli walked past her room, head for one of the balconies. She didn’t know how high up she was, all she knew was that it was high enough to kill someone. 

Standing alone, Ravioli leaned against the railing, thinking to herself. It would be so easy to just jump off, to get it all over with. Usually whenever she attempted this sort of thing, Bruno was there to stop her. But Bruno wasn’t here anymore, was he? Would anyone try to stop her? 

Her thoughts were cut off by a voice coming from beside her. “You weren’t there when I woke up. What gives?” 

Mista. That was Mista’s voice. “How high up are we?” Ravioli asked aloud. Fuck, why did she ask that? 

Immediately, Ravioli felt Mista grab her by the arm and pull her towards him, away from the railing. “Do not.” 

His voice was serious and firm, not all relaxed and cheerful like how it is usually around Ravi. The girl scowled, but made no attempts to move away. “I wasn’t going to, asshole.” 

She could hear Mista sigh, then he wrapped his arms around her waist. “I just want to make sure you’re safe, Rav. I love you.” 

“... I love you too, Guido,” although Mista told Ravioli he loved her almost every day, it was rare for her to say it back. 

She could almost hear Mista grin as he guided her back inside, into her room. She wanted to tell him why she was like this, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

Maybe one day she could tell him. Just not today. 

Breathing heavily, Ravioli scrambled away from the thing that had pierced her. She was certain it was an arrow of some kind.

"So you have accepted the arrow and become one of the chosen few?" A voice called out. She couldn't tell where it came from, all she knew is that she relit the lighter, and got stabbed by something. "Show me your stand."

Ravioli panicked, not knowing what to do. She heard squeaking sounds surrounding her, and felt an immense energy.

"I shall name them for you," the voice boomed once again. "No Surprises. That shall be the name of your stand."

She had passed the test.

------

[stonefreeak]

My goodness people, I’m so sorry for the delay! I’ve been working on the structuring of my files to get a better overview of what remains of the project, to hopefully be able to speed writing up (even as work really means that my free-time is much more limited than it was once upon a time, lmao. Sometimes I miss December of 2016 when this whole thing started, 33k in a month of updates, amirite?)

it’s taken me so long I’m wondering if anyone even remember this plot point at this point, lmao

Also: belated happy midsummers to all my fellow Swedes!

Bail taps his finger against this desk and stairs unseeingly at the datapad in front of him.

He hadn't been sure if the information Aleena Yashi gave him, though she's worked as an assistant to multiple senators over the years, was true. But everything checks out. He briefly wondered why she would come to him about it, rather than Senator Lobos who she's currently working for... But perhaps it's because he's known to have a favourable view of the Jedi that she's done so. Perhaps it's because all of this information mostly pertains to the Jedi and the laws surrounding them, and she wanted a prominent Senator who she could trust not to hide the information away because they don't care for the Jedi.

Bail, a Core World Senator well known for his good relationship with the Jedi and friendship with the current Supreme Chancellor, must have seemed like the best option for her. He wonders who else would have been on her list, before she settled on him, but he chose not to ask when she visited him. Perhaps it's better if he doesn't know; it hardly matters now anyway.

He looks down at the datapad again and considers his options.

He should probably discuss her findings with her, and see what exactly her goal is. If he's to do something about this, then he wants her involved even as he gathers support from other senators.

He has no doubt that Padmé will agree to add her support to Bail to help sort this mess out, but considering that they've both been involved with the investigation they're conducting into Jedi missions being altered... Well, Bail wants more Senators involved this time. Just to ensure that it cannot be taken as some form of conspiracy in favour of the Jedi. As ridiculous as that notion seems, Bail is not blind to the way many Senators look at the Jedi, nor to the fact that many of them don't seem to believe that they're really capable of what they say they are.

Few people besides the Jedi truly believe in the Force, after all.

Few people could believe in something they cannot know for themselves when others supposedly have a direct connection to it. Bail is one of the few who does believe them, he's seen what the Jedi can do first-hand. There's nothing else that can account for that kind of power besides this Force they talk of. They and other groups out there, it’s not only the Jedi, after all.

Besides, he knows many of them personally, and while Bail may not understand or follow all of their beliefs or traditions, he also knows that they're not a bunch of charlatans faking it for power of money—though he knows some of his fellow senators believe that to be the case. Even senators on Coruscant, who've seen Jedi in real life, seem to believe them little more than myth.

Bail has been kept up to date on the investigation into the Jedi missions, though he’s not taking an active role in it right now, and he’s certain that he has been kept in the loop to give legitimacy to the investigation. Give it a proper paper trail, even if it’s done with the Senate’s highest level of security. A strictly need-to-know basis, and until it’s finished, no one else needs to know.

Of course, Bail asked Obi-Wan in private if he would be allowed to tell Breha. As his Queen and the leader of Bail’s planet, he found it important to clue her in on it. Besides, it’s another step of legitimacy. After all, if Breha takes an active stance on it, then so does Alderaan.

If anyone wants to accuse the investigation at a later date for being a sham… Well, they will need to accuse Alderaan of engaging in it in the first place. Bail isn’t stupid enough to think that it’s not one of the primary reasons Obi-Wan agreed with Bail’s request.

They’re friends, and Obi-Wan likes Breha, but this is not about being friends. This is about political allyship and keeping sensitive information on as tight a lock-down as they can until the time  to reveal it comes.

Besides, as worried as Bail has become with Miss Yashi’s information, it’s even worse when considered together with the altered Jedi missions and not in the least… Well, the war time propaganda. There's no point in shying away from what it is, and the ramifications it has.

Considering how most of the war time propaganda—Bail can acknowledge it for what it is, there truly is no point in trying to deny the facts—focuses almost exclusively on the clones and their efforts in the war, it's hardly strange that the general population neither know nor understand them.

Further considering the information that Bail has now confirmed to be real and accurate... He understands that the omission of the Jedi is entirely deliberate. If you want to discredit and undermine the Jedi, why would you ever speak of their accomplishments and sacrifices? You wouldn't, as that would bring public support to them.

Bail sighs and rolls his shoulders.

He needs to build a following, he cannot properly push this alone. But he also understands why Miss Yashi brought it to him alone, first. A Core World Senator is far harder to make "disappear" than a Twi'lek Senatorial aide, no matter how awful that is to say. Bail can't go missing, and any attempt on his life would have a bit more trouble hitting its mark.

That's not to say that it would be impossible for someone to assassinate him, which is of course why he'll make sure that Breha is entirely up to speed on everything.

All of it together... There is some form of conspiracy to discredit or perhaps even get rid of the Jedi; Bail is sure of it. But he cannot see to what end. What are they trying to achieve?

For what reason would anyone work to discredit the Jedi? What is the end goal to strive for? There’s no way for the politicians to dissolve the Jedi Order, they are not in that way under Senate control. They could, of course, remove all of their backing, forcing the Jedi to become free agents, certainly…

But for what purpose? It would leave the Republic without the Jedi as peacekeepers, for the Jedi would hardly remain to do diplomacy work for the Senate without its backing. After all, what would the point be? Without the Senate’s backing, the Jedi would have far less ability to do anything.

How could they negotiate treaties if the Senate won’t honour them?

They could, perhaps, be a neutral third party within discussions. But there’s no reason for anyone to listen to their input in such a case. It’s hard enough to get disagreeing parties to listen to external input when you come with powerful backing that could make you listen even if you refuse.

How could they function with no funding? They would need to work on commission, at which point only those who can afford their help can get it. That would be the opposite of an improvement.

To not even begin to talk about how few of them there are, how few of them there were even before the war. Their population is not even a hundredth of a percent of Alderaan’s population, and Alderaan is only a single planet within the tens of thousands of star systems that make up the Republic—nevermind the entire galaxy. There’s just not enough of them, and hasn’t that always been a problem even while they’re working under the Republic? Too few, spread too thin.

No, if the Jedi became free agents, their ability to affect change would be greatly diminished. Bail is quite certain they’d work on much smaller scales, still trying to do what they can for the galaxy, bit by bit. Working with smaller communities on planets and moons… If they even had the ability to find out about disputes that may need their help in the first place.

Losing the Jedi as peacekeepers isn’t a win for the Republic either, as the budget for the Jedi was already miniscule even before it started being diminished—as Miss Yashi’s discovery shows. It cannot be an attempt at cost saving, or an idea of improvement for the Republic. Needing to train their own diplomats and ensure that they have skilled enough guards… That would be more expensive and it would not be able to guarantee that these diplomats are neutral in conflicts.

The Jedi have no specific allegiances the way diplomats and even Senators have. Even the least corrupt Senator will still place their own planet and star system first. It is part of their role, after all.

So no, it cannot be something like that. Not unless the people slowly enacting this are horribly misguided and foolish. Not to mention, Bail knows most Senators would simply call for making away with the Jedi entirely, rather than this slow plan to undercut them.

No… There must be something else going on here, some other primary goal whoever is pulling these strings is looking out to do.

He’ll need to figure it out, no doubt, Bail concludes.

But beyond that, he also needs to build a base to help him bring this information he’s been given to the Senate’s attention. He is quite sure already who he should be looking towards first: Senator Ach’ki Mandai of Haa’ndu.

Who better to help him bring this to Senate attention than the Senator who ensured a Jedi now sits as the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic?

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

[asturlavi]

oh boy, do i have wonderful beast oda/odazai info for you all since this may just be my favorite chapter in all of beast. it clarified a lot about oda's state in this au, and how sad it truly is, especially with all that dazai has done to ensure that oda's safety is certain

before i start, this was initially intended to be a quirky little twitter thread that’s supposed to be kicked off with a badly drawn doodle of something meme. the thread was supposed to be about how wonderfully dumb odasaku can be and how annoyingly frustrating dazai is in the latest beast chapter... and then it slowly devolved into a crudely written essay about small discoveries i’ve made that most likely haven’t been pointed out before, so i recommend that anyone interested in either oda or odazai to check this out 

so i finally got around to reading the new beast chapter and seeing how odasaku constantly devalues himself and finds that he's lesser than the average person is… sad. its been said that him and ranpo are the stars of the ada, every mission trivial with their cooperation, and yet he doesn't see any of that. thinks he struck luck when it came to his entrance exam, which he specifies that it wasn't as a result of his own skills. his inferiority complex is embedded so deep that despite his achievements, he doesn't at all believe he has any worth as a human.

i'm just a tired, ordinary man like you could find anywhere. a third-rate detective, as unexceptional as a fallen cigarette butt on the road.

and his entrance exam was just like dazai's: the azure messenger case, which we all know wasn't at all a walk in the park. one mistake, and it would spell disaster for the city that the ada was trying to protect. no--not just the city, it would also mean the end of the ada as we know it. despite it all, he resolved it much to his own surprise, and it was all thanks to an "unexpected" gift. and that gift? who would it be other than from dazai himself? 

beast light novel ch. 3

(also, this is a shaky claim at best but I feel as if oda fully holds the capabilities to solve the case alone, but dazai knew that with odasaku's persistent feelings of self-doubt, along with his lack of some of the vivacity that dazai held to weasel his way through to information, the outcome of success wouldn’t be guaranteed. and so, dazai lent him something to ensure his success)

and yet, oda is blind to see truly how much intellect and skill he possesses. he doesn't realize how integral he was to the quest of the azure messenger, doesn't acknowledge that without him these orphans would have either slipped into a life of crime, gone to a downtrodden orphanage, or simply passed away, and he doesn't know that despite it all, he's one of the purest characters in the story, even with the darkness that will forever cling to him, a reminder of the violence that marred his past.

not to mention that oda, in one way or another, effectively analyzed the current situation that they're stuck in. he noted that if things currently go the way they're going, no matter what akutagawa achieves, him and his sister are doomed. so, oda brilliantly decided to go after the port mafia itself to prepare for this possibility, and it's nothing short of genius. and dazai plays along with this… because it is oda, after all. 

and everything dazai did, everything he sacrificed, it was all for oda.

now to the underlying tragedy of this chapter. take a look at this panel: 

ever since then, i've been making a living by solving requests that come to the detective agency.

i provide for the orphans

i drink coffee.

i gamble a bit on days off.

at night, i write a novel in the kitchen. 

that's my life.

nothing unusual, right? you'd think that odasaku was satisfied with life, since he has everything he had ever wished for. but in all actuality, he still lacks one important thing.

and that's friendship.

his words sounded so… empty. achieving ones dreams is but one aspect of life that brings one gratification, but doesn't necessarily mean it would guarantee lasting happiness. (think of famous actors or celebrities that spiral into depression even after they've achieved their dreams).

in that panel, he says he cares for the orphans, gambles, and writes alone in his spare time, but not a word of spending time with friends… something he had in the root universe, something that was lost to him in this one.

and he says this all with his face blacked out, as if he's somewhat implicitly dissatisfied (while the kid's faces are present, not at all concealed).

with dazai, he found peace in a place where peace is rare to find. They both completely put their guard down with each other around, and dazai can relax his overly speculative mind with oda. and they understood each other, a level of understanding rare to come by. dazai with his dark jokes easily flies past oda's ears because that's what they are, harmless jokes. and oda with his blunt honesty, which dazai cherishes and never prods him for it.

dazai also saw things in oda that oda was blind to. dazai saw a world of beauty in oda, the ray of light beneath a cloudy sky. he saw both intelligence and wisdom, kindness and generosity. and most of all, he trusted oda, despite dazai’s natural inclination to distrust.

and what oda saw in dazai was vulnerability. despite the front that dazai puts, he can be kind, even empathetic, when the situation calls for it. dazai once gave akutagawa a decision to turn his back against dazai’s offer to join the port mafia, when logic points to the fact that he didn't have to, but wanted to.

dazai also consistently gives atsushi words of advice and shows understanding when dazai was under no obligation to, such as atsushi facing the loss of his previous caretaker. dazai gave atsushi genuine advice, not laced with any malice or ill intent. dazai had even left atsushi to grieve alone, fully understanding that atsushi needed to pour his emotions out in private. there’s more than enough instances of dazai showing this side of himself in both the light novels and manga, but it seems to sometimes be brushed aside. even though the main cast of characters always dismissed this side of dazai, oda has always known that this side of dazai was his truest self.

oda and dazai also talked endlessly about trivial things, calling each other daily for two hours for no reason other than that they each enjoy one another's company. it's pure, wholesome love. they had a mutual trust and understanding between one another, which ango, another friend of theirs, severely lacked in his friendship with them.

oda's dream was to write, gone unfulfilled in the root universe, but he died happily knowing that the one he cares for is living in the path of light. dazai's was to find a reason to live, which he found in oda, and continues to use this as motivation long after oda passed.

in beast, dazai's dream was cut short, ultimately leading to his demise at the end. after all, his one reason to live is now robbed from him. however, oda's dreams have become a reality, but can one really say he achieved happiness? he has the orphans, his children, but they will never understand him like dazai had. he has peace, but is it the form of peace he wanted? spending time alone, on things like gambling, while endlessly mulling how he has no one to spend this time with?

and writing, his one true wish that dazai made absolutely sure to make a reality. but was it worth it, at the cost of a friend who brought happiness and reprieve when everyone else failed to?

i thought of this tale as a matter of equivalent exchange, you lose one life in exchange for another. the scales do remain somewhat balanced, but not over a matter of lives. it's over a matter of personal sacrifices, ones only known to us readers.

and i say "somewhat" because in the root universe, dazai remembered oda when he was alive, so well that dazai can recall memories to near perfection. but oda had completely forgotten dazai in beast, chasing after absent memories and deluding himself into thinking his life is perfect, while numbing himself from the aching hole of loneliness that consumes him inside.

also, oda is surely happy spending time with the children, but what about his lonesome hours? who is he going to spend that time with, in a world without dazai, the only person who understood him and his oddities?

ah, and remember this moment in the root universe? 

now, take a look at this again. no, look closer 

odasaku wasn’t merely gambling for the sake of it, he was gambling on a horse race. and before dazai was arrested in the root universe, he was seen doing just that. 

now, why would odasaku do this? he surely doesn’t seem the type to gamble away his money on something as silly as horse races, because what does someone gain while they pour their money into something so senseless? 

and the only reason i could arrive to is that dazai must have dragged him along to one. dazai is a port mafia executive, with more money than he knows what to do with and a boatload of depression. money probably disinterests him as much as life does, and he used gambling to kill two birds with one stone: ridding of money he doesn’t need, and distracting him from his boredom (and depression). 

and it doesn’t end there. remember when dazai in dead apple had visited bar lupin to pay his regards to odasaku, while reliving a pleasant memory dazai had with him? and he did this because he was preparing for a quest that may result in with the loss of his life, psyching himself up for what’s to come. this is probably bordering on speculation, but i believe that that’s precisely what he did once again in the horse races. dazai paid a visit to a place that oda and him had frequented, to prepare for another dangerous quest. 

also, note that immediately after exiting bar lupin in dead apple, dazai was confronted by ango, which kicked off the start of dazai’s plans. a similar thing happens in the manga, dazai spending time in a place that he and oda had gone to, this time the horse races, and his plan whirls into motion as jono arrests him. i think these similarities are deliberate, in order to establish their significance to dazai and oda. 

this long winded explanation’s purpose was only for me to go back to this panel once again, and say that everything oda spoke about doing, from spending time with his kids, to brewing coffee, to betting on horse races, and to writing in the kitchen, were all moments he had with dazai. 

and see that he has an extra chair that sits unused in the kitchen? at first, i thought it was there for the sake of being there. then, it slowly dawned on me that odasaku and dazai had noted in the dark era light novel that they made a habit of visiting each other, so it wouldn’t be illogical to conclude that it was a chair meant for dazai. a place where he can spend some private moments together with oda underneath the dimly lit kitchen, drinking in the scent of odasaku’s coffee and talking about things that distracts them from their troubles while odasaku whittles away at his manuscript. 

and one last thing before i end this out of sheer laziness, take a look at this photograph of oda from the final moments of the beast light novel.

as oda stated in the manga and light novel, he worked on his manuscript alone in the kitchen... but in the photograph, he wasn’t alone. he’s posing for a picture. relaxed, poised, as if entertaining the one taking the photo. and besides, wasn’t it dazai who insisted on taking photographs in bar lupin with ango and oda in dark era? he must have done the same in that very moment in the beast universe, but this time in anticipation of oda forgetting him. 

in the end, it seems oda and dazai left each other in similar ways, foolishly believing they've sacrificed their lives for each other to better the other's life, but all they did was create worlds where the feeling of happiness will be lost to both respective parties, while also resigning each other to a life of loneliness.

they've forgotten about their one happiness that stems from just being around one another, listening to the soothing tune of jazz playing softly as they talk into the night, the world lost to them as they're absorbed in one another's presence.

it seems like their story is a tragedy of what happens when you love someone too much, to the point that you delude yourself into thinking you're but a tool for their happiness, and with you gone, nothing will change.

but things did change, didn't they?

[sunmoonandeddie]

oh, captain, my captain

pairing: professor!steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,090

summary: Steve Rogers got bored in his retirement, so he picked up the hobby of teaching art. But he still feels restless until his missing piece comes along.

warnings: swearing, little bit of smutty smut, dub-con, drinking, manipulation, steve is a little dark but reader is into it in the end

a/n: This is... a little darker than what most people expect from me. But I wrote this for a dear friend, so I really, really hope you all enjoy it!! Also, please read the warnings. I'm not responsible for your media consumption <3

Life after the Avengers was mundane.

Not that Steve didn’t like the quiet days, where he knew he wasn’t going to be running off and risking his life at any moment, mind you. In fact, he was finding that retirement rather suited him.

Except for the fact that he was bored.

Bucky and Sam were always busy on some kind of mission together, saving the world and splitting their time between Brooklyn, Washington D.C., and New Orleans. Or NOLA, as Buck liked to call it now.

Perhaps the boredom was why he took up art again. He did go to art school, after all, and had even graduated. It was after his first official professional art show that the university contacted him.

They wanted him to teach young minds how to make art.

It was the perfect solution to his boredom problem.

Of course, he should’ve realized that getting a new job wouldn’t make him feel complete. No, unfortunately, he hasn’t found the missing piece in his hundred years.

At least until you walked into his classroom on the first day.

Steve’s eyes focused on you immediately, enamored by the curve of your legs and the Cupid’s bow of your upper lip. “Hello, you,” he mumbled softly under his breath as he watched you sit down to what appeared to be a friend of yours. He scrolled through his attendance on the school supplied computer in front of him, raising his brows as he found the name next to your university ID picture.

A perfect name for a perfect girl.

Suddenly he felt the need to have a few figure drawing classes. Privately. With you. With your clothes off.

And maybe his clothes would be off, too.

He stood up as the clock finally hit one in the afternoon, holding his laptop. “Alright, please let me know if you’re here as I call your names,” he said, before going through the roster quickly.

When he called your name, and you responded with a soft, “Here!” he almost fucking came in his pants.

“Alright. In this class, as with many art classes, we’re going to get very… personal,” he said as he started to walk through the easels and those sitting in front of them. “So on the first day, rather than reading through the syllabus that’s readily available on your phone, I like to do some ice breakers.” He couldn’t help but grin at the collective groan that rang through the class. “I know, I know. But like I said, this class is going to get very personal. So come on, let’s all get in a little closer.”

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly as you scooted her stool in between two others that he couldn’t remember the names of. You gave them a blinding smile as they made room, perching in your seat like a little angel.

His little angel.

Everything seemed to be a blur as he led them in a series of questions, but he barely retained any information from anyone except you. At least he had his phone secretly recording in his pocket so he could go back and relisten later (even if it was mostly just to hear your voice.)

Favorite color?

“Green.”

Favorite holiday?

“New Year’s Eve.”

Favorite artist?

“Marilyn Minter.”

That was interesting to him. That showed that you had a naughty side.

A side he so desperately wanted to get to know.

The only issue was that he needed to find a way to get you alone, and that was going to take trust built up over time.

He was truthfully, absolutely amazed that it only took a few weeks before you were coming to him with wonder-filled eyes, asking him if you could please schedule some time during his office hours to go over some of your portfolio.

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Hey, you made it,” he said when you walked in after a light knock on the door, your portfolio in hand. Steve stood and immediately pulled out the chair for you like a proper gentleman. Subtly, he took in a deep breath as the cloud of your perfume enveloped him like a warm hug.

It was something classy. Something you had clearly splurged on.

Perhaps Gucci or Valentino or something.

“I’m sorry for being late,” you said as Steve glanced at the clock.

You were maybe three minutes late at the most.

“The subway was delayed, and unfortunately, I can’t control when the subway stops and goes,” you continued, letting out a nervous laugh as you opened up your portfolio. “Did you get my email with my previous pieces?”

“Yes, I did!” He said as he sat back down at his desk. “And honestly, I haven’t been this impressed in a long, long time. I would love to possibly mentor you? Of course, that means a lot more hours spent with an old man like me.” Eyes crinkling, he couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed.

He was sure that he almost had you right where he wanted you. The corner you were backing yourself into was almost too perfect.

You seemed… amazed. Absolutely flabbergasted by his offer. “Really?” You breathed out, leaning closer, elbows resting on your knees. “You’d really do that? That would be… I… Thank you.” Shaking your head, you scooted your chair a little closer. “How much should I pay you? I’ve never had a personal mentor before.”

And there it was. The corner he wanted you in.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about money,” he insisted as he looked deep into your eyes. It would be so easy to just get lost in them… “But, I do need assistance with something.”

“Of course!” You were like a doe-eyed little fawn, chasing him—the magnificent stag—through a field of wildflowers. “Whatever you want!”

Steve put on the most bashful, boy next door look he could muster. “Well… I’ve been trying to get back into figure drawing, but you’d be surprised at how hard it is finding a class to take that won’t freak out that I’m… you know. Steve Rogers.”

The look on you face let him know immediately there was no way you were going to say no. Hell, you were looking at him like he was the last puppy on the side of the road in a box that had ‘FREE’ written on the side.

In the rain.

“When do we start?”

Steve got everything set up in his home studio that night, only to sit until Friday night, when he’d planned for you to come over. Admittedly, he may have gone a little overboard with the mood lighting and the bottle of red wine that he’d left open on the counter to breathe, two crystal wine glasses resting next to it.

The good crystal.

He practically ran to the door when he heard the doorbell. “Hey, I was a little worried you would have trouble finding it,” he said as he guided you inside, a large hand coming to rest on the small of your back.

“Oh, I just Ubered,” you said, ducking your head as you let him lead you into his large home. “I don’t have a car. It’s too expensive and there’s no point when I live in the city. Though, the drive out here was absolutely gorgeous. I can see why you got a place a little bit upstate.”

Steve grinned, fighting the urge to say that it could also be your place. But that was for the future. “Yeah, the views and the quiet is worth the forty-five minutes or so I commute everyday.” He opened up the door to his home studio, all the windows wide open.

You wandered around the room, looking at the various art supplies and canvases scattered haphazardly around the room. In the very center was a chaise lounge with a blanket draped across it. “This is amazing… God, if I had my own art studio at home, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

He poured out two glasses of wine, gently pressing one into your hands. “Well, you can always use this one. I have more space than I could probably ever use.” He sipped at his own wine, watching the way the glass pressed to your lips, watching the way you swallowed down the sweet liquid.

He couldn’t get drunk, but you certainly could.

It was around your third glass that he finally got to the point of why you were there. “So, I really want to paint you lying on this chaise,” he said as he guided you back. “But… Would it be possible for you to pose in the nude? You have just… the most natural beauty. I want to be able to only focus on that.”

“Oh my god, yeah!” You said as you set your glass of wine on the little table. With your inhibitions lowered, there was no hesitation as you stripped out of your clothing, tossing it all to the side. “You just move me how you want me.”

Oh, he would.

His own wine glass was set to the side before he moved closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?” He guided you to lie down on the bed, letting his fingers drift over your soft skin. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous… Could just look at you forever…” His thumb brushed over one of your hard nipples, teasing the little peak as his cock ached inside his sweats. “I could never paint anything else except for you… and I’d die the happiest man in the world.” Carefully, gently, he moved your legs so one of your knees was bent, your legs spread wide for him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your skin feeling flushed from the wine and the excitement of this god-like man touching you. “Mmm… Professor…”

Steve’s eyes were locked in on the prize, that blooming flower between your thighs, glistening with sweet nectar. “I always love a hands on approach,” he cooed as he ran a single finger through your folds, gathering up your slick.

The taste was exquisite.

Pretty moans fell from your lips, your back arching as your legs instinctively spread wider for him. “Please…”

He knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. It was fate, you walking into his class.

“Do you want me to touch you, baby girl?” He asked, loving the purr that rumbled in your chest as he found your swollen clit. “So needy… When’s the last time your pretty little kitty got so much attention, angel? You’ve been neglecting her, haven’t you?”

At your nod, you tried sitting up a bit, lip caught between your teeth. “Y-Yes. Please… Please.”

Steve quickly realized you didn’t even know what you were asking for.

“So innocent. So sweet,” he said as he wrapped his hands around your waist to pull you to the edge of the chaise. He leaned in and took in a deep breath, groaning. “I wanna be able to smell you for days.” At the first lick of his tongue, he knew he had you wrapped around his fingers.

And when you finally orgasmed, soaking his beard with your juices? Fuck. He was even more of a goner than he was before.

Steve loved the way that you laid limbless on the chaise, foot lazily bouncing as you dozed. It was easily a sight that he could get very, very used to very quickly. This was going to be so much easier than he thought it was going to be.

While he knew he was the right one for you, being able to know that you weren’t going to fight him gave him an amazing sense of relief.

The next week, he stood at his desk, making notes on his laptop. At five minutes to one, the door opened as the first student to arrive entered.

Immediately looking up, his heart sank. It wasn’t you.

Did you panic after you left his place the next morning? Nothing more had happened that night. Surely getting an orgasm wouldn’t freak you out, right?

His hands were starting to tremble when the door opened again, and he felt someone standing right next to him.

“Professor Rogers?”

His head snapped up, relief flooding him when he saw you. “H-Hello. How can I help you?”

A mischievous smile spread across your face, even though you were clearly trying to contain it. “Is there any possible way you have some free time during your office hours for me to swing by? I’d love to schedule our next figure painting session.”

[bottomlouisficfest]

Now that the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020 has concluded, we know that a lot of readers will have more time to catch up on some of the amazing fics they may have missed over the past two months. We encourage everyone to check out the full collection and to scroll through this masterpost of the 70 incredible fics that were posted during this year’s fest.

Please be sure to give all of these fics love - offer kudos, leave comments, reblog their fic posts on Tumblr, and retweet the fic posts on Twitter to help spread the word about these fics. The fest ending does not mean that our appreciation and reading of these fics has to end too.

Thank you for following along with this fest! We appreciate every single one of you - and we’ll see you later this year for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2021. 😊💜

Rainbow Bloom

A fic by dandelionfairies on AO3 | @dandelionfairies on Tumblr | dandelionfairi1 on Twitter

22k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis is in denial. Louis has been in denial for far too long. Then Harry enters his life and everything changes.

Breakable Heaven

A fic by amomentoflove on AO3 | @daggerandrose on Tumblr | dagger_rosefics on Twitter

44k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“What do you think?” Louis gets captured by Harry’s green eyes, unable to look away or even take a breath.

“I think you’re the most magnificent creature I’ve ever met.”

“You must not have met many creatures then.”

Harry’s eyes glance downward to Louis’ lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own. “None like you.”

bang bang (my baby shot me down)

A fic by thepolourryexpress on AO3 | @thepolourryexpress on Tumblr | ZOUlSBUSONE on Twitter

16k | Not Rated | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I walked in on them having sex again,” Niall says after a beat of hesitation.

Liam still looks confused. “Why’s this different from every other time we’ve seen them having sex?” Liam asks, and oh, Harry knows Liam really doesn’t want to know the answer to this one.

Niall’s gone silent then, and Harry almost thinks they’re in the clear. Liam is back to scrolling through his phone, and Zayn is whispering something to Louis that makes the older boy giggle. They’re going to get through this car ride without a murder.

But then Niall’s covering his face with his sweatshirt, taking in a breath and on his exhale, Harry hears him mutter, “Louis was wearing knickers.”

Liam’s phone clatters to the floor of the car.

Don't You Know That I'm a Moon in Daylight?

A fic by wildholly on AO3 | @bottomlwt on Tumblr | bottomloulou on Twitter

58k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 79. Louis and Harry fell in love in the 18th century, Louis wanted Harry to convert him into a vampire, but he ended up resenting Harry for it. Fast forward to our modern days, they haven’t seen each other since then, but one day they meet again through a mutual friend. Harry was bitter for a long time, but he accepted that being angry wouldn't erase the fact that Louis was the love of his life. He wanted to court and spoil Louis like in their original time period, but Louis avoided him every time Harry tried to reconnect. Happy ending!

practice in pencil, seal it in pen

A fic by loubellies on AO3 | @loubellies on Tumblr | loubellies on Twitter

16k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 174: AU where drunk Harry lifts Louis up after someone says “bottoms up”. Louis blushes at Harry’s antics, flustered that his best friend knew him more than he thought. Friends to lovers with a happy ending please

or Harry is in love with Louis but he doesn't know.

tastes like summer, smiles like may

A fic by outropeace on AO3 | @outropeace on Tumblr | outropetals on Twitter

47k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Is this true?” Harry grabbed the beta by the shoulders. “Bryce, where did you hear that?”

“There’s rumors going around the castle,” he smirked. “stories about his beauty and his cold attitude. They know he is an omega only because of his scent, but he has never had a heat.”

“Do you know what this means?”

Bryce smirk grew into a big smile. “He can’t give you an heir.”

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

blinded by the sparks

A fic by wallstracktwo on AO3 | @wallstracktwo on Tumblr

22k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"You can’t even keep your lies straight. Mike has the memory of an elephant and can remember every single detail about every single person he’s ever met, so don’t stand there and tell me that he mixed you up with someone else.” He took back Harry’s cigarette. “I saw you exchanging lower chips for higher ones. I saw you counting the cards. There is no fucking way you won seven thousand dollars tonight honestly. And so I will repeat myself — I want in. Fifty-fifty.”

Harry was completely taken aback by the stunningly attractive man standing in front of him. He made several attempts to say something — opening and closing his mouth at least twice before he was finally able to string a few words together. “What? No. No way. No. Sorry, but I work alone.”

That was the truth too — he had never trusted anyone enough to let them get close, especially when it came to his scamming, so having a partner was completely, utterly out of the question.

“Don’t you think you need someone on the…” Louis’ tongue darted out, licking his lips as his eyes flickered to Harry’s mouth, one eyebrow cocking up. “...inside.”

Or - Harry is a scammer who drifts from casino to casino. Louis is the new waiter who wants in on the scam.

somewhere in between

A fic by soldouthaz on AO3 | @soldouthaz on Tumblr | soldouthaz on Twitter

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis wakes up early. He brushes his teeth and can only stomach a piece of toast for breakfast, dressing quickly and heading for the car. He pulls into the parking lot of the Department of Dominance and Submission just as they’re unlocking the doors. It takes him all of an hour in the uncomfortable chairs to fill out the paperwork to the best and most accurate of his ability, handing it over to the receptionist as soon as he’s finished and wiping his sweaty palms on his business trousers.

There’s a high chance that within ten to fifteen business days, Louis will be matched with a dominant.

Shit.

On My Mind All The Time, Say You're Mine

A fic by Safetypinprince on AO3 | @roselouis on Tumblr | femboyIouis on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Dude, we’re inside, and it’s night time. Those don’t look as cool as you think they do.” Louis could kick himself, he sounded so stupid, but it certainly got the guy’s attention.

It was at that unfortunate moment that he noticed several other things about this hot asshole, that he hadn’t noticed just staring from afar. First, when Louis spoke to him, his gaze was kind of unfocused behind his sunglasses, and secondly, that he had a red and white cane folded up under his arm.

“I’m… Blind,” the man chuckled, awkwardly.  

Louis wanted to melt into a puddle out of pure embarrassment.

“I— am so sorry. I have to go.”

“Hey, wait, wait,” the man soothed, grabbing at Louis’ shoulders before he could get away.

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeated, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s alright,” He cackled. “I get it a lot. More than you know.”

Alternatively titled: and they were roommates.

A Silent Whisper (That's Left Unsaid)

A fic by MyEnglishRose on AO3 | @lwtisloved on Tumblr | darlinlou on Twitter

50k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“So… we’re doing this?”

Louis shrugs, suddenly acting disinterested.

“Your call, Curly.”

Instead of a verbal response, Harry suddenly takes Louis’ left hand in his. The black ring seems to nag him as the fire’s light reflects its polished edges. He ignores Louis’ curious gaze as he quickly takes off one of his own rings — the rose one —, sliding it on Louis’ middle finger. It is a little large and when he lets go of his hand, Louis has to curl it into a fist so the ring doesn’t immediately fall off.

“We’ll tell them it’s a promise ring, not an actual engagement,” Harry declares, trying to ignore how warm his cheeks feel. Hopefully, it can’t be seen as he is facing away from the fireplace.

“Right… could have gotten me a fitted ring though, my Harry ten years ago was more thoughtful.”

Louis’ tone is light and teasing again. It creates a small smile on Harry’s lips.

“Someday,” he whispers before he even registers it himself.

They both ignore it.

Or. A Fake Relationship & Exes to Lovers AU ft a failed proposal ten years ago, an oblivious Harry, an overworked Louis, Zayn as the protective best friend, a meddling aunt and a lot of talks about weddings and rings.

sweet like honey

A fic by falsegoodnight on AO3 | @falsegoodnight on Tumblr | falsegoodnight on Twitter

33k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Weeks of flat shopping with their limited budget with Louis as a librarian aid and Harry as a barista and arguments about whether a balcony or extended bathroom suite were more important (Harry wanted to be able to feel the crisp night’s air and watch the sun set and Louis just wanted to take long bubble baths) led to them stumbling across the perfect fit. A small flat only ten minutes from campus with a cramped but lovely balcony and an included bath.

It’s affordable too… well, sort of. But they always manage. Louis picks up more shifts as an aid, adapting a habit of bringing his Psych textbooks and homework with him to finish in between duties, and later his script so he can quietly practice lines with little distraction.

Harry also increases his number of shifts at the cafe and valiantly endures the nasty customers who for some reason flock to their establishment like moths to a flame.

For a while, it’s enough.

-

Or, Harry and Louis need money and they find an unconventional solution in the form of PornHub. It’s not supposed to be a big deal.

Spoonful of Sugar

A fic by zanni_scaramouche on AO3 | @zanniscaramouche on Tumblr

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry Styles.  

A name better suited for a myth than a man. Like the name of the devil, people either whisper it in fear or laugh it off as fable. Cut it open and this city’s heart doesn’t bleed red. It’s snowy white, and it pulses in the tight grip of Lucifer himself.

Louis Tomlinson cares for his family above all else, a fact that’s led him on a twisted path peddling drugs to support them. Just as he’s made the decision to jump ship, Louis gets snared between the two largest crime syndicates in the city. To keep his family safe he’s forced to trust the man that failed to keep his promise two years ago, the resident drug lord he’s unknowingly been working for, Harry Styles.

Let's Break the Internet

A fic by louizsv on AO3 | @ashleyjohnsonfanaccount on Tumblr | piccadillyplum on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/OMC | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I’ll tell you what,” Sam leans forward in his chair and steeples his fingers in front of his face, “If you actually make an account and sell nudie pics and porn for more than three months, I’ll believe you.”

Louis purses his lips, ignoring the returning blush on his cheeks at the thought of having to film himself in compromising positions or taking photos of himself without any clothes on. Raising his chin defiantly, Louis accepts the challenge.

“Fine,” he agrees, “But when I win, you have to make one too.”

Lips quirked, Sam nods and holds out a hand, “Deal.” -- Or, the one where Louis is an Only Fans baby.

in a sea of mist

A fic by tomlinvelvet on AO3 | @tomlinvelvetfics on Tumblr

126k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

A Greek Mythology/Camp Half-Blood AU where Harry is lost, the road to peace is a wretched one, and somehow, through a mist of confusion and regrets, Louis seems to be the only thing that makes sense and everything Harry needs.

Across the Grey, Salty Sea

A fic by thecheshirepussycat on AO3 | @the-cheshire-pussy-cat on Tumblr | Bee_With_Mee on Twitter

19k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 212: Alex from Dunkirk and French escort/prostitute Louis who ends up in Alex’s quarters more nights than not. Alex gives him his dog tag to wear maybe just a lot of smut and dirty talk with Louis being a pretty princess.

When Our Worlds They Fall Apart

A fic by edensrose on AO3 | @holdingthornsandroses on Tumblr | thetrashpigeon on Twitter

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry put his hand over his heart as if Louis had wounded him. “You’re so harsh, my liege! Perhaps you need to relieve some tension…” He let his voice trail off suggestively.

“The day I ask YOU to relieve tension is the day I lose all my wits and join the Imperials,” Louis said. “It will never happen.”

Written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020- Prompt 325: Star Wars AU with Harry as Han Solo and Louis as Leia.

Thank you, five.

A fic by nouies on AO3 | @nouies on Tumblr | _nouies on Twitter

5k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Harry?” He says as soon as he recognises the other man.

“Louis? Wh-what are you doing here?” Harry asks with a frown.

“Well, I’m here for rehearsal,” Louis announces with a proud smile.

There’s a flash of confusion on Harry’s face. “What do you mean rehearsal? I got the part, you didn’t.”

~

Prompt 195: Hamilton AU

Know I Think You're Awesome, Right?

A fic by princesshalo on AO3 | @princesshalo on Tumblr | tpwkorra on Twitter

60k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Well, that’s not very Treat People With Kindness of you.”

“Neither is approaching someone with the sole intent of criticizing a cause they’re clearly passionate about, given the amount of time they’ve dedicated to advocating for it,” Louis snaps.

“Sure, but I’m not the one with the button,” Harry shrugs.

“So, is there actually something I can help you with, or did you just come to push me into pepper spraying you as well?” Louis is quickly growing impatient. Hell, he was impatient the moment that Harry made his grand entrance on campus yesterday.

“I’m just trying to assess the environment here,” Harry says, “Because if this is all you’ve got to offer trans people who just want to be able to use the bathroom in peace like the rest of us, then I’m not sure I fit in.”

“Allow me to save you the trouble, then: you don’t.”

~

Based on the prompt: a college AU where Louis is a hippie, very good vibes activist and Harry is a punk, anarchist that always gets involved in violent protests.

show you the stars in daylight

A fic by bruisedhoney on AO3 | @yvesaintlourent on Tumblr | bruisedhoney on Twitter

13k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis laughed, the sound loud and borderline obnoxious. Harry winced. “Are you kidding, Haz? I wouldn’t even look twice at someone that couldn’t pick me up.”

And, well. That was new information to Harry. It’s not like Louis had ever mentioned to him that he was his type in any way, shape, or form.  Harry shifted closer into the space between Louis’s legs, even more intrigued than before. “Why not?” he asked curiously, all pink lips and big curls. Louis smiled.

“Tiny, innocent, little Harold. Need someone that can pick me up, don’t I? I like being tossed around a little. You know, pinned down and made to take it. Lifted up like I’m nothing,” Louis said it all with a confident smile, his sharp little teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he locked eyes with the jock across the kitchen. “Think he might come over here. Move over. I don’t want him to think we’re together.”

Or, the one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawy, it's definitely not his best friend's little brother Harry...ten years later, he changes his mind.

Freeway of Love (In a Pink Cadillac)

A fic by MsHydeStylinson on AO3 | @mizzhydes on Tumblr | MsHydeStylinson on Twitter

33k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Did you like them?” Louis asked in a seductive tone, propping his elbow against the armrest, chin resting against his fingers.

“I’m not going to answer that,” Harry informed, lips pressed in a hard line.

“I don’t think you have to,” Louis smirked nodding slightly towards his telltale bulge and watched as Harry reddened from his neck to his forehead in a flash.

”Please, I beg you to put that phone away,” Harry pleaded with a suffering expression plastered on his face.

“Please…” Harry whined.

Or,

Louis was on his way to Miami to visit an old friend. Harry was going there for a little R&R and take in the sights and sounds.  A sudden upgrade in seating brought these polar opposites together. The universe works in mysterious ways and they are unknowingly about to embark on an adventure they will surely remember for a lifetime.

Prompt 107: Sugar daddy AU inspired by this tweet: “going to sit next to the richest looking middle aged man on my flight and scroll through my nudes for three hours straight” with rich daddy Harry and bratty baby Louis.

Won't Keep You My (Dirty Little) Secret

A fic by lovelykits on AO3 | @lovelykits on Tumblr

16k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I got asked out today,” Louis comments.

“Okay,” Harry shifts.

“Did you hear me? I said I got asked out.”

"You always get asked out.”

“Yeah well this time they didn’t believe I had a boyfriend!”

Or Louis and Harry have been together since the end of last year and somehow no one knows about it.

A Place With Skeletons

A fic by whoknows on AO3 | @crazyupsetter on Tumblr

50k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I would choose anyone other than you,” Louis says, picking up his train of thought again. He feels a lot more cornered and defensive when they’re in Harry’s house, for some reason. It doesn’t really make sense, considering that this time, Louis was the one who couldn’t hack it any longer. He broke first. There’s something about being in Harry’s space, though, the green and earthy feeling of it. It should feel like open space with all the plants, but Louis has never felt more claustrophobic than he does when he’s here.

Harry’s chest moves against his back, a sharp intake of air. Before he can open his mouth to defend himself, Louis keeps going, “If I had a choice in any of this, I would have been saved by that elderly security guard over you. I wouldn’t mind having to have the occasional cuddle with her.”

Pretty and Pink

A fic by LarryInPanties on AO3 | @larryinpantiess on Tumblr | babielouu on Twitter

12k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis points a finger at the man’s pec, “I’ll have you know Harry, anyone would be lucky to have me as a hitchhiker buddy. I’m nice, I don’t take up too much space, and I’m pretty.”

He’s not lying.

“Let me get this straight,” Harry gives Louis a look when he lets out a tiny laugh. “Ya’ want to take a ride with me but you don’t even know where ya’ wanna go yet?”

-

Harry never lets anyone come on the road with him.

Then, a cute hitchhiker, Louis comes around.

Cold As Ice And Everything Nice

A fic by harriblou on AO3 | @harriblou on Tumblr | harriblou on Twitter

40k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

A young boy about Harry’s age was zoomed into the camera, blushing a bright red and breathing heavily and as he bowed. The crowd was cheering for him loudly and every movement he made was bashful and flustered. He had on a very nice skate dress that was purple. His name, hometown, skate scores, and all sorts of information was in a banner on the bottom half of the screen. He was really young, especially compared to all the other competitors, which was the second thing he noticed.

The first was that the boy was easily the prettiest in the entire world, the prettiest boy Harry’s ever seen. He felt his asthma squeeze his throat and his heart beat faster and his hands get a little more clammy.

or in which Louis is a professional ice-skater and he meets Harry, who offers to clean the ice for him.

You'll wait for me only.

A fic by signofthetmies on AO3 | @tired-eyes-lou on Tumblr

9k | Teen & Up | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry nips at the bondmark on Louis’ neck, Louis’ hands go to his hips, grounding him. He allows himself this, knowing that his Omega needs it too. Harry pulls back, “Go on a date with me.” He rushes out, looking at Louis’ eyes.

Louis laughs and shakes his head. “No, Louis, I’m serious. We’ve bonded for life anyway, might as well try.” Louis looks at him, “You’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Louis points out, Harry nods. “Okay.” Louis says and walks out leaving Harry. “Okay what?!”

_______________________

Prompt 15: Omega Louis is a lawyer that worked on omega rights cases. Alpha Harry is a corporate lawyer. Louis and Harry used to be childhood archenemies, until Louis moved to another school and they never saw each other again. Now, they’re both adults that happen to work in the same place. They behave like children and still share a mutual dislike. Both travel to work together for a case. One night they both bond accidentally. Slowly but surely, they fall in love. Enemies to lovers!

through the wheatfields and the coastlines

A fic by thepolourryexpress on AO3 | @thepolourryexpress on Tumblr | ZOUlSBUSONE on Twitter

53k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through.

“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.”

Or, alternatively, the one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart

A fic by louloubaby92 on AO3 | @louloubabys1992 on Tumblr

18k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with.

Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada.

Yeah...

This Glass House

A fic by BabyPowderLou on AO3 | @compactblue on Tumblr | princessbluelou on Twitter

42k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

singing your praises

A fic by loubellies on AO3 | @loubellies on Tumblr | loubellies on Twitter

6k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 86: Louis rides Harry while wearing his packer’s jersey/sweater and gets his ass ate.

made for lovin' you

A fic by cuddlerlouis on AO3 | @cuddlerlouis on Tumblr | burntromances on Twitter

52k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I’m in,” is all Louis receives. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s reading this right.

“For real?” he asks, just to be a hundred percent sure.

“Yes,” pops up. “How do you wanna pursue?” The alpha adds, like he’s on a special mission or something.

“I’m gonna call us a cab to go to mine. Once I know it’s here, I’ll leave and join you there,” Louis explains. “I’ll text you to go around five minutes before it arrives, so it doesn’t look suspicious, and our friends don’t notice us leaving together.”

“Noted.”

So Louis does, and ten minutes later, he’s sat in the backseat of a cab, next to Harry Styles, the person he hates the most but unfortunately still finds attractive. They’re on their way to fuck in Louis’ flat.

Splendid.

-

Or the one where a quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

Stuck On You

A fic by WritewhatIwant on AO3

34k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

On the Edge

A fic by zanni_scaramouche on AO3 | @zanniscaramouche on Tumblr

47k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

Be a Good Girl For Me

A fic by wannabebestseller on AO3 | @sincetheywere16and18 on Tumblr

9k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Based on this prompt: “AU where Harry is Louis’ older brother’s best friend. He catches Louis dancing around his room in panties and blackmails him, saying that Louis has to do anything he says or else he’ll tell Louis’ family that he wears girly underwear. Secretly soft for him, Harry gives him easy tasks and uses the whole thing to spend more time with Louis. Eventually, the orders begin to escalate and Harry teases Lou about his secret, making Louis shy and embarrassed. Louis loves the attention though, and forms a crush on his brother’s best friend. Lots of feminization, secret relationship, and enemies to lovers. Thank you!”

dripping like spider milk

A fic by raspberryoats on AO3 | @raspberryoatss on Tumblr | raspberryoatss on Twitter

64k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry.”

or prompt 110: Louis is a retired porn star and he gets invited back to test a new line of sex products the company he worked for is releasing (would include photoshoots and videos of Louis sampling certain toys). Harry is there to photograph, film, and intimately help him along the way (preferably in a private setting).

But It's Useless

A fic by thinlines on AO3 | @thinlinez on Tumblr

26k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Hey.”

Louis was even hallucinating now. He closed his eyes.

“Hey, you.”

He chuckled wetly, head still leaning against the door.

“Can you get out of the way? You're blocking the door.”

He exhaled sharply before slowly turning around. His eyes fixed onto muddy Nike trainers before it traveled up to impossibly short jogging shorts. The yellow color was atrocious, simply ghastly.

“What happened to being polite, Harold?”

OR Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

Yours To Lose

A fic by loulicate on AO3 | loulicaterecs on Twitter

26k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I think I know the person that matches your descriptions of your dream alpha.”

“Who? And oh not my dream alpha, god you’re making me sound like a teenage school girl. I’m a mum, H.” They laugh as they watch kids gather in front of the verandah, getting ready to go back to the orphanage.

“Well, you’re gonna have to find out.” Harry winks before standing up to start cleaning their spot.

-

Or Louis always gets distracted with his mummy duty and he eventually catches Harry's attention.

Sweet Scary Creatures

A fic by Specklesock on AO3 | @specklelouis on Tumblr | specklelouiie on Twitter

13k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

They stare into each other's eyes for a while until Louis remembers this is too intimate and looks at Harry’s hands on his thigh. It spans a big portion of his thigh and Louis has always been insecure about how thick he is, so he loves that Harry has huge, dustbin hands that hold him and makes him feel smaller, safer.

We Are But Dust and Shadows

A fic by louisbarnes on AO3 | @tomlinsonbarnes on Tumblr | dreamersdiving on Twitter

51k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Um, okay. I’m going to…” Harry gestured over his shoulder and gave the two of them an awkward smile.

“Wait! You got a letter.” Zayn held out the letter and Harry’s face dropped. He took the letter from Zayn, gaze locked on it like it was a bomb ready to explode. “What is it?”

“Probably just from the New York Institute,” Harry muttered. He hurried away, ripping the envelope open as he went.

“Remember when you said you didn’t want to fuck him?” Zayn broke the silence and Louis scoffed.

“Quite clearly, actually.”

Zayn grinned. “Your eye twitches when you lie.”

“Fuck off.”

Or: Louis is part of a well respected Shadowhunter family, and Harry is the Mundane turned Shadowhunter who just can’t seem to get it right.

it's hard to fight naked

A fic by bluestarwitch on AO3 | @loustarlight on Tumblr | IwtstarIight on Twitter

11k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 6: Louis and Harry are roommates, but they cannot stand each other. When Harry heard Louis moan his name while Louis was riding a dildo in Harry’s room (Louis thought he was alone at home), Harry couldn’t stop himself and so he ended up fucking Louis against the mattress. Happy ending!

or where Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

social cues

A fic by outropeace on AO3 | @outropeace on Tumblr | outropetals on Twitter

56k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

To Harry, Louis was becoming as tangible and essential as music in his life. He still was a mystery but at the same time, he was one of the most real things Harry had. He just hoped he could live up to the image Louis probably had in his mind of him.

He could play the part, after all, what was published of him wasn’t as detached from reality. He didn’t think of himself as a rockstar cliche, although he couldn't deny he did sleep around, partied a lot, and did some drugs. But then again, wasn’t that what the majority of his friends back in his hometown were doing at college?

Harry wanted to impress Louis, he didn’t want to disappoint or leave his expectations unfulfilled, so he’d give him the full rockstar experience.

It was a very simple plan, what could possibly go wrong?

hereafter

A fic by larryent on AO3 | @larryent on Tumblr | oflarryent on Twitter

13k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice."

On the coast of San Franciso in 2024 is when Harry falls in love all over again.

OR

“This thing upon me is not death but it’s as real, .... this thing upon me like a flower a feast, believe me is not death and is not glory.” — Charles Bukowski, old man, dead in a room

smoke between your teeth

A fic by soldouthaz on AO3 | @soldouthaz on Tumblr | soldouthaz on Twitter

37k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Alright, fine. What is it, then?" Louis asks. "Give me the best you’ve got. What’s this big reason why I smoke?"

Harry’s head lolls backward on the back of the sofa, a dopey grin on his face even though his eyes are already halfway closed - that look he gives Louis when he’s about to spout some incoherent bout of psychological bullshit.

“Oral fixation,” Harry mutters as delightfully as he can muster, his tone suggesting that it should be obvious.

--

Louis tries to stop his addiction to cigarettes and discovers he's been addicted to Harry for much, much longer.

calm me down (before i sleep)

A fic by leeanndarling on AO3 | @erodiansunflower on Tumblr | leeann_darling on Twitter

6k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 24: Harry is a sex shop owner that has a crush on Louis, the shy customer who flirts with him while buying cute buttplugs, lace panties, and collars. One day, Louis asked Harry to help him put on a corset (they end up fucking in the dressing room). Things escalate quickly from there, so they start seeing each other seriously while trying other sex stuff.

This World’s Ashes

A fic by sunshineandthemoonlight on AO3 | @sunshineandthemoonlight on Tumblr

34k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The man stares at him, and all Harry can hear is his own heartbeat, racing.

Then the stranger turns away. He walks a few paces and bends down, picking up a large knife from the ground and shoving it into a pouch attached to his belt.

“I won’t hurt you, you know.”

Harry’s eyes snap up to the man’s face. He’s looking at Harry sincerely, palms held up as though in surrender. There’s still a knife in his right hand, though, so Harry is only slightly reassured.

Harry swallows to combat the dryness of his throat, and then says, “I won’t hurt you either.”

A post-apocalypse AU where Harry, battling his past as he survives in the woods, has learnt not to trust anyone except his dog. Then Louis crashes into his life, with his bright spirit and soft lips, pulling Harry from the depths of a loneliness he hadn’t realised he was drowning in. But there is danger lurking, and Harry’s not the only one wrestling with his past.

A Springtime's Wilt, an Autumn's Bloom

A fic by snowcaplou on AO3 | snowcaplou on Twitter

20k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“What about you Harry? Maybe you should apply for the position,” she teases.

“Oi! You better not be trying to get rid of my best driver-- I can’t go looking for a replacement, I’m too busy!” Louis says with a playful slap to Savannah’s shoulder. It's jestful, like the rest of their conversation, but there is a possessive bite to his words-- my best driver-- the words bounce through Harry’s ears until he can just hear the words my and mine. It falls deaf on Savannah’s beta senses, but for a minute Harry thinks he can sense the same words zooming through Louis’ thoughts.

My, mine.

My alpha.

And woah, Harry’s taking it too far. At least, he thinks he’s taking it too far, but when he looks back up from his plate, Louis’ eyes are heavy on his, and for a fleeting second, Harry can pretend he heard Louis say it.

OR

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

Starlight’s Crossing

A fic by smittenwithlouis on AO3 | @smittenwithlouis on Tumblr | smittenwlouis on Twitter

30k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

He can picture it so clearly, as he holds onto Louis’ sleeping body. How they’d go exploring every inch of the galaxy without a care in the world. He builds a fairytale future in his mind, one that includes marriage, kids, and growing old together. Even after such a short time together, Harry knows that he’d say yes to anything and everything this man ever asked for. He’d follow him to the ends of the galaxy if that’s what Louis wanted.

And that thought terrifies Harry.

Or: All it takes is one night for Harry and Louis' life to change forever. Fast-forward four years, and they embark on an adventure of a lifetime across the universe.

Floating

A fic by littleLouve on AO3 | @larents on Tumblr | louvees on Twitter

10k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The one where Louis has control over water in every form but he doesn't know what to do with it. Harry is here to guide him.

don't want no other shade of blue

A fic by padfootyoudog on AO3 | @louisisworthit on Tumblr

43k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

—

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

Loving You's the Antidote

A fic by neverheartbroken on AO3 | @neverheartbroken on Tumblr

5k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 302: Alpha Harry & Omega Louis are divorced but still spend each other’s heat/rut together because they only really trust each other but things get complicated when Louis (or Harry, author’s choice) spend it with someone else. Cue angst with a happy ending. (Prompt Inspiration: Prompt 98 from the 2019 BLFF)

dirty laundry looks good on you

A fic by tomlinvelvet on AO3 | @tomlinvelvetfics on Tumblr

50k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

no good unless it's real

A fic by fackinglouis on AO3 | @fackinglouis on Tumblr

17k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Here,” Harry says, pulling a strap off his shoulder so he can dig his phone out of his bag. “We can get each other’s numbers.”

 Louis shakes his head. “I have the practice’s number already,” he tells him. “And my number is definitely on file somewhere.”

Harry pauses, smile quirking a bit as he stares at Louis. The sun is still in his eyes, though, with his sunglasses pushed up onto his head still, so Louis credits his funny face to that.

“I’m trying to give you my number, Louis,” Harry explains around a breathy laugh.

“Oh,” Louis blinks, processing that. He scratches his temple, moves a piece of longer fringe back behind his ear, and then nods. “Okay.”

Or: Louis is a very busy farmer who’s just trying to make it to his next nap and Harry’s the new hot vet that’s determined to infiltrate every area of his life.

Since the Future

A fic by bluestarwitch on AO3 | @loustarlight on Tumblr | IwtstarIight on Twitter

49k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"It's done."

The words were barely above a whisper when they left Harry's mouth, but they hit Louis with the force of a freight train. It was done. Holy fuck. They had created a time machine. And tomorrow, they were travelling to the future.

To Love without Reason

A fic by MuggleMirror on AO3 | @mugglemirror on Tumblr | mugglemirror on Twitter

8k | Not Rated | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.

Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.

“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”

Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

Sedative Duty.

A fic by daddyharrie on AO3 | @daddyharrie on Tumblr | daddyharrie on Twitter

46k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Pop-star of the moment Louis Tomlinson is on his third-world tour. He decides to hire renowned professional dominant Harry Styles to unwind while on the road. In an effort not to raise suspicion by the crew, fans, and press,  Harry pretends to be his bodyguard. He ends up being far more than that.

You and I 'till the day we die

A fic by Allmylovelarrie on AO3 | flightlesslarri on Twitter

10k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 124: A fic inspired by Groupie Love by Lana Del  Rey, where Harry is a Rockstar and Louis is his cute little boyfriend  who tries to hide himself in the middle of the crowd. (Preferably set in  the 80s)

Give So Much (Not Enough)

A fic by skinsuk on AO3 | @wifeylouis on Tumblr

24k | Mature | Louis/Harry, Louis/Alex, Harry/Tess | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“For my little lion,” Louis slid the smoothie bowl in front of  Oscar, letting him dig in with his little hands. “And for daddy.”  

He didn’t process the bowl in front of him, the  push across the table causing a raspberry to roll off and fall on his  lap, because Louis calling himself mummy may make him feel all sorts of  mushy emotions, but Louis addressing Harry as daddy was suddenly having a  very different effect on him. Since when did Louis saying daddy out  loud render him speechless?

“Daddy’s still  sleepy, but we’re up bright and early right Ossie?” Louis’ cooing shook  him out of his daze. The man coughed, picking the raspberry off his lap  and swallowing it with unintentional, and very unnecessary, eye contact  with Louis. “Well, is it better than your protein smoothies and why?”

Harry chuckled, spooning another heap of the strawberry banana goodness into his mouth, “Way better sweetheart.”

A friends to lovers au with tons of mama Louis and domesticity.

New York's Beauty

A fic by nocontrol_lou on AO3 | @saxophone17 on Tumblr | nocontrol_louis on Twitter

5k | Mature | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 104: AU where Harry is an alpha wolf and  Louis is a hybrid kitten. They were roommates. While they were arguing  about something stupid, Harry wanted to bend Louis over the kitchen  table and knot him right there. He slowly accepted his feelings and  extreme desire for Louis, so he started to tease the hybrid until he  would beg Harry to fuck him. They fall in love. Louis needs to feel comfortable with the camera so Harry fucks him until he is blushing and calm and gentle.

feeling borrowed, always blue

A fic by falsegoodnight on AO3 | @falsegoodnight on Tumblr | falsegoodnight on Twitter

67k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis’ own heartbeat picks up, eyes widening right as  Dr. Zoyansky hits a button and the unsteady pattern of thumps echoes  into the room. His breathing hitches, eyes watering as the rhythm seeps  into his insides and reverberates in his mind. A heartbeat.

He doesn’t register the tears at first, eyes fixed to the screen and vision blurring.

The  situation seems insane. Here he is, twenty-four years old, sitting in  the examination chair and listening to the heartbeat of his future  child, clutching the worn material of his changing gown with pale  fingers, one of which is weighed down by a gaudy engagement ring.

And  most noticeably - he’s entirely alone. It’s just him in the room with  his doctor, experiencing one of the most groundbreaking, life-changing moments of his entire life and he’s all alone.

-

Or, Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected that it was going to happen like this.

Hamartia

A fic by tomlinvelvet on AO3 | @tomlinvelvetfics on Tumblr

66k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Eight years is a long time for Louis to mend his heart  back and erase every lingering, stubborn memory of his ex-lover, Harry  Styles. But when news of the war being over spreads across the world  like wildfire, and he stumbles upon the alpha he vowed himself to never  see ever again, he realises that not even a lifetime will be enough for  him to pick up the scattered, broken parts of his soul. He's far from expecting the alpha he loved to struggle the same way.

All the ointments in the world might never soothe the pain out, but it doesn't  take long for both of them to come to the conclusion that, maybe, the  only medicine to their heartbreaks are what caused them in the first  place.

moonlit sky over gentle waters

A fic by stardustx on AO3 | stardxstlwt on Twitter

11k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"The King of the Pirates! Captain Harry Styles! The one  who conquered the seven seas!" Louis boasts, sarcasm drips from his  tone, mocking him.

The bar is clean, but he still scrubs just as  fervently, his brows furrows and a small pout forms on those pink lips  Harry desperately wants to kiss. He looks down, dubiously, at the  address in his hand.

“Every lass and lad dreams of bedding a  pirate like you.” Louis huffs, gazes up at him with a despondant look  that reminds him of a grumpy kitten.

Silence fills the space as Harry mulls over his words. He finally looks up at Louis, blinking slowly. “Do they really?”

"You're an idiot."

-

OR Harry left his hometown to sail the seven seas and returns seven years later, yearning for something — or rather, someone  — that he isn't sure he can have.

Short and Sweet

A fic by 5ft9 on AO3 | cinnamouroll on Twitter

29k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis is a shy university student in a world scarce of  male omegas.  He's always dreamt of having an alpha despite his sheltered  upbringing,  fantasizing about being loved and cared for. He's  immediately smitten  by the mysterious alpha with curly hair, broad  shoulders, and the  addictive coffee scent.

under thorn and bramble

A fic by thedeathchamber on AO3 | @louehvolution on Tumblr

32k | Explicit | Louis/OMC | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 445: A historical AU where Louis is working as a  servant on a farm. The family that owns the farm is exceedingly cruel  to him and he is often exhausted and in pain from his work. A mysterious  stranger boards at the farm and is very intrigued by Louis, but Louis  doubts his interest in genuine. Any pairing fine.

Late night devil put your hands on me (and never, never, never ever let go)

A fic by summerandsunshine on AO3 | sunshine_Iou on Twitter

12k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry is a demon that feeds off of people’s nightmares. He finds his next meal in Louis’ dreams where he changes and molds them to become scary nightmares. Soon harry learns Louis is a lucid dreamer- he can act on his own in his dreams. They interact in the real world and have sex in the dream world. when Louis catches feelings the devil, Harry promises to come back to earth once and for all.

No Easy Choice, But You’re Mine

A fic by alltheselights on AO3 | @alltheselights on Tumblr | alltheselightts on Twitter

45k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis’ feet pound on the pavement as he runs, and the echo reverberates through the alley behind him. He drops the gun near a trash bin as he passes, his gloved fingers ensuring that it will never be traced back to him.

He’s panting, his thighs ache, and there’s a cramp forming beneath his ribs on the right side, but all of that is nothing compared to the exhaustion clouding his brain.  

I can’t do this anymore, Louis thinks.

Or: Louis is an omega hitman with one last job that goes a little sideways. Harry is the alpha bartender that looks a little too closely and cares a little too much.

Joker Is Wild

A fic by Typosmyown on AO3 | @palosquared on Tumblr

19k | Explicit | Louis/Harry, Louis/Various | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 390: A reality show AU where Louis, Harry, Liam, Zayn and Niall are selected to stay at confined in a luxury mansion for 1 month, where they are required to have explicit, graphic sex at all times, like a porn Big Brother kind of show. Every week there are several different sexual tasks and trials that they must overcome together, which all ends in orgasms for all of them. When the boys all discover Louis is strictly a bottom, and a slutty one at that, they all can’t wait to get their hands on him. Bonus if other hot celebs are there too, like Shawn Mendes, for example. Includes lots of hard gay sex, rimming, blowjobs, gang bangs, ass worshipping (Louis ass, of course) and double penetration.

The Pirate and The Piper

A fic by jacaranda_bloom on AO3 | @jacaranda-bloom on Tumblr | jacaranda_bloom on Twitter

38k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Banished from Neverland by Captain Hook and the evil Siren Minerva, Louis is forced to live in the Other World. He makes a life for himself, resigned to the fact he’s never going to see his beloved home and Lost Boys again. Five years later he’s kidnapped and returned to Neverland, only to discover a far worse fate awaits him. But with an unlikely ally by his side, can he overcome those who seek his demise and restore freedom to his homeland?

Or the one where Harry is Hook, Louis is Pan, and nothing is what it seems.

Coeur de Pirate

A fic by louizsv on AO3 | @ashleyjohnsonfanaccount on Tumblr | piccadillyplum on Twitter

34k | Explicit | Louis/Harry, Louis/OMC, Louis/Harry/OMC | Tumblr post | Twitter post

He tilts his chin up as the Captain strides across the deck, his footfalls falling loudly against the planks. The crew watches them from afar.

Stepping into his space, the Captain wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him in. He lowers his head to breathe his words against Louis’ cheeks. “I won,” he whispers, “I’ve come to claim my prize.”

if you're feeling lonely

A fic by ifthat on AO3 | @lovehl on Tumblr | omegalouis on Twitter

12k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

The guest list is on the desk. Louis runs through it and stops a third of the way down when a familiar name catches his breath.

Harry Styles.

All he has to do is verify whether Harry Styles is the same Alpha whose scent beckoned him closer.

it's a game we play in the sheets

A fic by loubabyworship on AO3 | @strawbabyloucake on Tumblr | pillouprincess on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Louis is… He’s a boy I’ve been talking to.” He bit his lip, grin evident. “After I watched one of his videos during a Harry Reacts a few weeks ago I messaged him and…”

His sentence was cut short by the sound of a timid little “Hi” being whispered into his ears.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, pausing to take in the online presence of the real-life fairy, before he opened them and smiled. “Hey Lou. Ready to play with me?”

Mind Over Matter (You Under Me)

A fic by youreyesonlarry on AO3 | @youreyesonlarry on Tumblr | youreyesonlarry on Twitter

73k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day.

--------

Prompt 21: Harry stopped playing hockey (after 10 years of a professional career) because of a severe injury. The dream he worked so hard for vanished in the blink of an eye. His family insisted that he had to go to physical therapy, even if it only helped his health. Cue to personal assistant Louis, the most efficient and kind PA one could hire.

--

View the 2020 BLFF collection here.

View the 2019 BLFF collection here.

[something-tofightfor]

Christmas in July #3: This Gift

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x female reader, Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Yovanna

Word Count: 4,704

Rating: M? There’s language, it mentions sex and other various sexual acts, Frankie’s hands are involved, Tom is still very much dead (but does anyone really care?)

Request #3 for this event goes out to @the-blind-assassin-12 - and it’s for Frankie ... who I’ve never written before. This isn’t the MAIN Frankie story I mentioned before - I still intend to make that one very long and much more detailed, but this one is still a lot of fun and is based on a VERY SERIOUS opinion I have about this specific song. 

It is in no way connected to anything else I’ve ever written (but I might be convinced to continue it after the Christmas event ends if that’s something people want). 

Enjoy! 

EDIT: 

The song mentioned is “This Gift” by 98*. Lyrics here, video here

“We’re going to be late.” Your arms were crossed over your chest, the fingers of your left hand tapping on your right bicep as you leaned against the railing at the bottom of the steps. “Frankie, I swear if -” “I’m coming.” He began to walk down the stairs, arms hanging by his sides. “We’re not gonna be late, I promise.” He was right, but you’d never admit it. “We’re just meetin’ Pope and his girl, it’s not -” “I’ve never met her before.” You moved backward by two steps, giving him a chance to pass you. “I want to make a good impression.” He said your name at the same time as he reached for you, the man’s fingers finding the curve at the base of your neck and shoulder. Even after more than a year of being with him, when he touched you, you felt it, warmth spreading through your body, a sense of calm that you hadn’t thought possible following it. 

“You know Pope, an’ he likes you. Yovanna will, too.” There was certainty in both his eyes and tone, and you felt yourself nod. “And it’s just a couple hours, maybe less.” He was right again; the four of you were meeting to go ice skating - the two of them back in town for the holiday for the first time in two years. “How about this,” he continued, ducking his head down to speak into your ear. “You wanna leave? Tell me, and we’ll -” With a laugh, you shoved him away, rolling your eyes. “That’s too simple, Fish.” You watched the look in his eyes change as you addressed him by the nickname you were only beginning to get comfortable with using. I know you like it, but it feels weird because I wasn’t… part of the group. “How about, if I want to leave, I’ll make an excuse about your bad back, and -” He groaned at that, but you watched him fighting back a smile. “Might not be too far from the truth.” He sighed. “I bet that Pope won’t even want to stay too long, either. I think he’s just tryin’ to impress her, you know? She grew up in Colombia, moved to Australia… she’s never really seen an American Christmas, and he wants to make sure it’s a good one.” 

It was your turn to reach up, the ends of your fingers carefully combing through the curls at the nape of his neck before they traveled up to the ones that hung over his ears. “He’s proposing, isn’t he.” Frankie blinked, surprise in his eyes. Knew it. “You said she has no family except her brother, but his entire family is here. Why else would -” “You can’t say anything. He’d kill me if he thought I told you.” You watched as he pressed his lips together. “He’s doin’ it Christmas Eve. I told him it’s a bad idea, that it’s distracting, but he’s … they do this big party at his parents’, and -” Tugging on his hair, you waited until he went quiet. “I won’t say a word. And you know what, Frankie? If that’s when he wants to do it, let him. He knows what she wants better than anyone else, so…” It didn’t surprise you at all to know that that was the plan; the times he’d talked about Yovanna, you could feel how in love the man was, even if it was through a screen. “Besides,” you continued as you stepped back, brushing his curls behind one ear. “It’s not like him proposing is gonna change anything for you, right?: “Actually, about that…” He grinned, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes getting much deeper. “He’s positive she’s gonna say yes, so... “ He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, head tilted to one side. “You know anything about bein’ a Best Man?” At that, you laughed, Frankie joining you a few seconds later and then pulling you to his chest in a tight hug. “Give me any fuckin’ mission and I can do it without a problem, but the thought of me havin’ to plan a bachelor party? Tryin’ to make sure all of his friends have a good time? Figurin’ out what we should -” “Frankie.” You held his face between both hands, forcing him to look at you. “After what you guys went through in Colombia and all that time overseas?” He blinked slowly, letting you speak. “Planning a guy’s trip to Miami or Mexico or Vegas  is gonna feel like nothing after getting yourselves out of that bullshit.” You were right about that, but he wasn’t slow to admit it. Good. “Now.” Rising onto your toes, you kissed him briefly, not letting yourself get caught up in it like you so often did. “We need to leave, because I want to go ice skating with you.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” With Frankie, it was better to get straight to the point. That was something that you’d learned quickly after meeting him - Francisco Morales had no time for people that wasted his time. I never would, though. He turned away from you, grabbing the tan jacket and hat from the pegs next to the door. He settled the hat atop his head with the same familiar motion he always did, the coat following, and by the time he’d straightened it over his broad chest, you were zipping your own jacket, adjusting the hood. “C’mon.” Less than two minutes later, you were out the door and in his truck, one of Frankie’s hands on the steering wheel, the other firmly settled against your denim-clad thigh. 

--- 

“I swear I’m not usually this hopeless.” You looked back and over your shoulder, watching as Frankie skated a few feet behind you. “There’s just too many damn - Hey!” You yelped the last word, tucking your arm as close to your side as possible as a group of kids sped by. Little shits. “I can’t get going, and -” “You’re doin’ fine.” He called out to you, and only a few seconds later, the man was next to you, an arm curled around your waist. “It is busy, though.” It is. 

That was one of the problems with living in Florida during the Christmas season. There was plenty to do, but when it came to typical winter activities, options were limited. Indoor ice skating rinks were plentiful, but Pope had wanted Yovanna to get the full experience - outdoors, bright lights, decorated trees. Those factors meant that there were a ton of other people there trying to enjoy the same things as the four of you. “Where’d they go?” The two of you were leaning against the wall, and you scanned the crowd, looking for the woman’s brightly colored hat and Pope’s silver-accented curls. “I can’t find ‘em.”

“Over there.” Frankie lifted an arm, pointing. “She’s good at this shit, look at him trying to keep up with her.” You followed the motion, finally seeing the two of them, and had to smile at the pair. She was skating smoothly, weaving in and out of other couples and people, her long hair flying behind her. To his credit, Pope wasn’t far behind, mouth open as he called out to the woman, face set in a look of determination. “You know, the first time I met her, she didn’t say a damn word to me, except to say thank you.” You looked up, watching his eyes as he followed their movement on the ice. “Talked to Tom, though. Benny, too. I don’t think she trusted any of us except for him.” 

You knew most of what had happened during that trip to Colombia; knew that the only reason Frankie and Pope had been able to go back to claim what they’d lost had been because of Yovanna’s involvement - and the money she’d taken when she and her brother fled. “It’s a good thing she did. Trust him, I mean.” He looked down at you, eyes dark under the curved brim of his hat. “From what you said, the five of you had to make some really tough decisions, so I’m glad you got the chance to make it right.” 

“He didn’t wanna ask her.” Frankie’s arm was around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “And I don’t blame him. That was their money, but Pope’s a good guy, and he felt like he’d fucked us all the first time. Wouldn’t have worked with all four of us the second, so -” “So that’s why it was only you two.” He nodded, his eyes narrowing for a few seconds before they widened again, his lips curving up into a smile that you’d been seeing more often as you got to know him. “That’s all you needed, though. Better that way. Fewer problems.” You reached up as you shifted, the blades of your skates scraping through the ice as you turned to face him. “You came home safe.” Thumb pressed to the patchy area on the side of his face, you met his eyes, holding nothing back. “To me.” 

The two of you were seriously involved, and you’d never had a relationship quite like the one you had with Frankie - but you were still cautious with him, aware of his past and the nightmares he still had about his time enlisted and after. “I did.” He swallowed, the motion of the action one you could feel beneath your hand, and then he said your name. “And you were waiting for me when I got there.” There was double meaning to that, but it wasn’t something that you wanted to get into while standing underneath the multicolored lights and with Jingle Bell Rock blaring in the background. 

“I would have been there even if you’d come back with nothing, and you know it.” You didn’t look away, stroking softly over his skin. “This isn’t the right place or time for that conversation, though. We’re supposed to be having a good time, and I’m not gonna let you get st-” He moved before you could get the sentence out, swiping the hat off of his head with one hand as he ducked down to kiss you, your open mouth giving him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips and against your own. 

Forgetting that you were on ice skates, you shifted again to put your other arm around him as you sighed, the rest of yout thought completely forgotten, the hand against his cheek moving back and into his hair, strands soft against your palm. It didn’t matter how many times he kissed you - or in how many different ways; Frankie Morales was good at it, and even better at making you forget whatever it was that you’d been saying or doing in the moments before. And he knows it, you thought, even as he pulled you closer to him, the kiss growing more intense as he licked into your mouth, the taste of the coffee you’d shared on the ride down lingering. “C’mon, you two. There are kids.” 

It startled you enough that you lost your footing, one skate moving forward and the other back as you jumped, but Frankie didn’t let go of you, and only a few seconds later, the two of you were sprawled out on the ice, limbs tangled together and Frankie letting out a string of words in Spanish that you recognized as him cursing the other man out. But you laughed, and then Yovanna did, one of her arms linked with Pope’s, and finally the two men joined you, Frankie’s laugh stemming from one final grumbled “fuckin’ asshole” as he carefully disentangled himself from you, rising onto one knee before he reached a hand out to take your hand. 

“We’re gonna go and sit for a few minutes, Santiago.” He wasn’t really angry, but he still scowled at his friend, the other man biting back a smile. 

“Then why’d you get up? You were already sitting down there.” He couldn’t help himself and you laughed again, pushing to your feet and gently shoving Pope’s arm as Yovanna’s jaw dropped. These two.  

“Actually I’m going to go use the bathroom.” Frankie stared up at you, eyes wide, the hat from his hand still sitting on the ice next to him. “Get me a hot chocolate before you sit?” 

“I’ll come with you.” The woman easily moved next to you, gesturing with one hand. “Leave them alone for a few minutes.” She winked and you winked back, and only a few moments later you were exiting the rink, carefully making your way over the padded ground to the lockers and then to the benches, where you unlaced your skates. “My brother and I used to do that.” She sighed, slipping her shoes back on and standing, both skates in one hand. “Tease each other?” 

“He’s younger, right?” She nodded in agreement as you used the key again to unlock the locker, sliding both pairs of skates into it. “Frankie told me that he went with you when you left. Is he still -”

“Still in Australia? Yes. Living with me? No.” You made your way into the line for the bathroom, eyes scanning the crowd and finding that the two men had also removed their skates and were waiting in a concession line. “He’s with a woman now. They live together. I’m … thinking of moving here. To be with Santi.” That’ll make Fish happy. “He’d never ask, but I know he misses his friends. His family. And I love him, so I want to -” 

“I met him before I met Frankie, did you know that?” You met her eyes, chewing on the inside corner of your lip. “I think he does miss his family and friends, but I’ve never seen or heard him as happy as he’s been with you. I don’t think it matters where you live, Yovanna. He’d be happy as long as it’s the two of you together.” You’d been friends with the man for a few months before he’d introduced you to the others in the group - Frankie in a serious relationship, Tom’s marriage on the rocks, Will and Benny genuinely nice but nowhere near ready to commit. Pope had also been single, but you could tell he was looking for something good, something lasting, and when he’d gone to Colombia on a long assignment, you’d been sad to see him go, knowing that it was unlikely he’d find what he was looking for there. But I was wrong. 

“He told me that.” She waited until you were washing your hands to answer you, the woman meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I worried that he … that you…” You knew what she was getting at, and you were quick to cut her off with a firm shake of your head. 

“No. Never. We were all friends. I was dating someone at the time, and he joined the group a lot, so it was never …” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, Yovanna. I liked him - like all of them, but it’s not like that. It wasn’t anything, and then it was just … always…”

“Francisco.” Yeah. Always him. She said his name quietly as you turned away from the sinks and headed back outside. “He was married?” “No. They’d been together for a couple years. He met her right before he deployed the last time. I met her once or twice, she came out with him, and …” You shrugged. “It was what it was. We were friendly, but as soon as she got pregnant, when he was finally home for good, she changed. And so did he. It was a bad time, but he got it together… and then they went to Colombia, and …” “Espectáculo de mierda.” She smiled at you, the look in her eyes understanding. “A shit show.” She paused. “Santi taught me that.” You had to laugh because there was no better explanation for it. “She didn’t like that he went?” “She didn’t like that he went and that he came home empty handed.” You shrugged. “I understand where she came from, but the way she went about letting him know wasn’t the right way to do it. He did what he thought was best, and she didn’t agree.” 

“You love him.” She stopped you, the two of you stepping to the side of the crowd and standing still. “Does he know?” Shit. 

“It’s … we’ve never said it. I think it… scares him. He loved her so much, and he’s really afraid to do it again.” 

“Hmm.” She was frowning at you, and as you stared at the women, you saw everything that Pope loved about her - strong and stubborn, thoughtful, beautiful - and smart. “Before or after?” “What?” Confused, you shook your head. “What do you -” “Did you fall in love before or after they went back?” That was a question you were unprepared for, but it took you no time to answer. “Before. He and I went out for the first time a couple months after she left him, just to catch up. I wanted to give him someone to talk to that wasn’t … I don’t know. But it went fast, Yovanna. So damn fast after being nothing at all, and it … I finally … when he told me that he and Pope were going to try and make it right, I knew that it meant she might come back, that she might want to be a family again.”

“You let him go.” 

“Of course I did. That’s his daughter. He deserved to see if they could make it civil at the very least.” “I loved Santi before we fled Colombia. I trusted him. Even without the money.” She gestured with one hand. “He was willing to let me go as long as it meant I was safe. He wanted me and my brother to be happy. I knew he loved me then, even if he never said it.” You and the woman had a lot more in common than you’d realized, and it was more than just loving Pope and Frankie. We both understood what it would be like to lose them. To watch them walk away. “Did she try to come back?” 

You were walking again, heading through the crowd of people and toward the picnic  tables. “She did. It started with her letting him spend more time with their daughter. Then she tried to get him to go out with her again. I didn’t stop it, because I … if it made him happy?” You’d never tell anyone - not even Frankie - how hard it had been to know that he was seeing his ex again, that they were spending time alone together, even though it hadn’t been long-term. “I wanted him to make a real decision. I wanted him to have a chance to figure it out.” 

“You’re here.” The guys were still standing in line - a different one, for food, and so you and the woman found a table close by, sitting on opposite sides. “So it means that she didn’t -” “All she cared about was the money, and it didn’t take him long to figure it out. I never asked how much they brought back, because it doesn’t matter to me, but she did. She wanted to know, told him she was entitled to know it because she was the mother of his child, and that’s all it took for him to see through it. He told her that his daughter would have whatever she needed, but that was it.” That had been a rough time for the two of you, but despite that fact, you’d never felt like you were his second choice. “He cut it off that time, which surprised her.” “Smart.” She wrinkled her nose, pulling her hat off and running her fingers through her hair. “He tried to tell them it was a bad idea, the first time?” She confirmed what you already knew - that Frankie was the voice of reason in the group - and then continued. “He’s a good man. Troubled, but … a good man.” “I know.” You didn’t know what else to say, and luckily, you didn’t have to, since she widened her smile and looked over your shoulder, waving. A few seconds later, you felt Frankie lower himself onto the seat next to you, a cup of hot chocolate set onto the table, followed by a basket of fries, one of onion rings, and his own cup. “Long lines?” “Too many people.” He laughed, reaching for one of the fries and stuffing it into his mouth. “Glad you got a table.” The four of you settled into conversation, Frankie and Pope catching up, the two of them telling the two of you about life in Australia, about how relaxing it had been. Frankie’s arm was pressed against yours, and even though in any other instance, the proximity would have bothered you, with him, you craved it. 

You wanted the man close all the time, wanted to feel his presence in every way, and you realized that he felt the same. I should tell him. Yovanna’s right. I should … take that step. It wasn’t just Frankie that was afraid to say the words out loud; you were, too - even though you knew he wouldn’t push you away, wouldn’t react poorly to hearing your admission. It changes things. “What is this?” Yovanna’s voice cut in, the woman reaching across the table to settle her fingers against your forearm. “I’ve never heard this song before.” What?

Tilting your head to one side, you listened closely, concentrating. Of course she wouldn’t know.  This wasn’t one of the popular ones. “So.” You leaned over the table, eyes on her face, the two men watching intently. “There was a time in the late 1990’s where just about every pop musician released a Christmas album or song.” You pointed up. “This is Britney Spears.” She nodded, waiting. “Fish gives me a hard time about it, and Pope has too, but a lot of the songs are just covers of originals, and they’re … more fun.” 

“Like that goddamn Mariah Carey song?” Pope groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I’m surprised that that one hasn’t been on yet.” “It was.” Frankie took a long drink of his hot chocolate. “You just missed it because we were in line and that kid was screaming.” He looked over at you, winking. “Haven’t heard your favorite one yet, though.” Which one’s my favorite? “She always turns the radio way up when it comes on, and -” You laughed, pushing against his arm and then clicking your tongue. 

“Because Nsync is the superior boy band, and they were the first to -” You stopped, cocking your head to one side and listening intently. “Oh, this song.” This will be fun. “So.” You turned your attention back to Yovanna, pointing up. “This song is also by a boy band. And at first listen, it’s really romantic, right?” You pulled your phone out, quickly typing in the name of the song and the word ‘lyrics’ into your Google search. “But if you listen closely … this is actually a song about the lead singer’s…” You trailed off, raising an eyebrow and mouthing the word “dick”. 

“What?” You heard the bite at the end of the word, Frankie reaching over to take your phone and using one finger to scroll quickly through the page before he slid the device across the table, Yovanna and Pope tilting their heads down to read it. “Are you shittin’ me?” “No.” You scratched the side of your head, turning to stare directly into the man’s eyes. “This song is about Nick Lachey’s dick.” Pope laughed and even Yovanna grinned, a confused look on her face. “I swear to you. All those boy band guys were horny as hell all the damn time, and so they -” “He’s talkin’ about being on his knees and giving the girl something shiny.” Frankie shook his head. “I think you’re wrong.” “Other reasons to be on your knees in front of a woman, Fish. Unless… ” Pope barely held it together to say the words and couldn’t even finish his second sentence. You couldn’t help the look on your face as you realized what he’s said - and what he’d insinuated, your eyes flicking over to Frankie, whose went wide at the implication, too. Definitely no issue there. “Oh, that look, you two.” He cleared his throat. “Wanna tell the class -” Frankie groaned, pulling the bill of his hat down and over his eyes briefly before resituating it on his head. 

“No. And I still think -” You cut Frankie off, tapping on the tabletop and motioning for your the woman to hand your phone back. “You guys, look at the lyrics.” You sighed. “He specifically mentions that it’s not a diamond, or something that you can buy.” You held up a finger. “Then says it’s something that’s going to last as long as she lives - which means if he’s talking about going down on her, he intends to do it until they both die, which is unlikely.” Yovanna laughed at that, even as you held up a second finger. “So, logic tells us that when this woman is in his arms and he’s on his knees, he’s talking about finally giving her his -” 

The three of them laughed loudly, cutting off the end of your explanation and drawing attention to your table, and you joined them, your point made. I know what I’m talking about. “You’re somethin’ else.” Frankie spoke as he pressed his lips against your temple, beard gently scratching the skin of your cheek. “Onea the reasons I love you so much.” What? 

When he pulled away, you saw the fear in his eyes as he waited for your reaction. “Frankie…” His name was all you could manage, and so instead of speaking you leaned in, pulling the hat from his head and staring into his eyes. Here goes nothing. “Love you too.” You murmured  the words, closing the distance until you could kiss him properly, the palm of your hand pressed to the back of his head as your lips moved against each other’s. She was right. I was right. 

The song had changed again by the time the two of you separated - a newer cover of a classic, but you barely heard it, instead still staring at the man in front of  you. “Hey, Pope?” He finally looked away, head turning to face the couple across the table. “We’re leaving.” Your heartbeat increased, but you never looked away from Frankie, even as he sat straight up and groped at your hand, pulling you to your feet. 

“Yeah, we…” You sighed, giving Yovanna a look, the woman returning it with a knowing smile. “Frankie’s back hurts or something.” 

“Or something.” Pope laughed, waving you off with one hand as Frankie settled the hat back on his head. “We’ll see you guys for the party.” You will. 

He pulled you through the crowd and back to where he’d parked the truck, but instead of unlocking it, you found yourself pressed against the passenger door, Frankie’s hips firmly against yours and his hands running over every part of you they found. “We’re in public, Frankie. You’ve gotta -”

“I’ve been waiting months to tell you that, and it just fucking slips out while you’re arguing about some musician’s -” “Does it matter?” Your hands were fisted in the material of his jacket, mouth moving against his throat and jaw. We need to get back to the house. Need to do this right. “It was the truth, wasn’t it?” At that, he stopped, not letting go of you but staring straight into your eyes, the overhead lighting from the parking lot much less bright - and nowhere near as festive - as the multicolored strands around the rink. 

“It was. It is.” He swallowed hard and you knew that his nerves were coming back. “I love you.” You pushed onto your toes, lips parted to take his lower one between your teeth and tug it back as you settled, urging him closer with both hands. 

“Good. Then take me home and show me, Frankie.” 

---

Tag list (Pedro/Frankie): (It’s open, or you can use this link to add yourself to certain things)

@the-blind-assassin-12 @honey-hi @silverwolf319 @raspberrymama @jupiters--moonxx @pretty-brown-eyess @spideysimpossiblegirl @eccentricdreamer45 @cannedsoupsucks​ @iamskyereads​

[inliar]

timing

word count: 5.3k

jinhwan x reader

you have the uncanny knack of running into kim jinhwan exactly when he needs it. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.

a/n: support ikon on kingdom!

-

the first time you meet him, it’s at your friend’s debut stage. once upon a time, you and your friend, yerin, had been trainees together in a decently small company. but while her skills only grew over time, morphing into something fascinating and breathtaking that deserved to be shown to the world, yours had stagnated. it wasn’t for lack of effort – you had put just as many hours into dance and vocal lessons as the others –  but it was, probably, for lack of passion.

at some point, you had stopped emphasizing with your fellow trainee’s heartfelt speeches on their dreams of debuting, and it was around then that you realized you weren’t meant to be an idol in the same way they were. it was alright, though, because if anyone out of the two of you deserved to debut, it was her. you’d never felt any regret after terminating your short trainee agreement with your label.

but your friendship had never ceased, and you’d kept in regular contact with yerin, as well as the other trainees set to debut in the rookie group. you often took to reminding them to eat their meals, or to take breaks in between lessons, because you’d experienced first-hand how thoroughly unchecked passions can blind a person to their obvious needs. 

finally, their efforts had culminated into a debut, and you wouldn’t miss their first stage for the world. their manager, minseo (who, in a different timeline, might have been your manager as well) was kind enough to let you visit them face-to-face in their waiting room for the music program.

“nervous?” you ask, taking in yerin’s brightly-coloured romper and her bleached, curled, strands of hair. it’s such a far departure from the tracksuits and messy ponytail you’d often seen her sporting during early morning dance practices, but it somehow suits her better than anything else you’d ever seen her wear.

“excited.” she responds instead, with a frightening degree of certainty. it must be nice, you think, to have something you want so desperately and unfalteringly. but watching your best friend get to live out her dreams is almost just as nice.

you nod, feeling the corners of your lips quirk up. “have i ever told you how proud i am of you?” you say, lightheartedly, suppressing the urge to ruffle your hand over her well-styled hair.

“no, but since it’s coming from you, i know you mean it.” she says with such sincerity that you feel an unexpected surge of pride lodge itself into your chest. 

you clear your throat. this won’t do. she hasn’t even performed yet and you’re already turning into a sentimental mess. “i’m going to go get myself something to drink,” you say, excusing yourself. “do you want anything?”

her eyes brighten. “ooh, can i have an orange soda?” she asks, before pausing and turning around. “wait, manager-nim, am i allowed to drink soda before a stage?”

minseo tears her eyes away from her phone and straightens up. “as long as it’s not something that will rapidly stain your teeth, it should be fine. are you thirsty? do you need me to get you something?”

you pipe up. “oh, it’s fine, i can get it. you should stay with the group, unni, you’re the manager.” then, you raise your voice and direct it towards the rest of the girls. “hey, guys, i’m getting yerin a drink from the vending machine. does anyone else want anything?”

“oh, can i have a canned coffee?” you hear one of the members – jiyoung’s – voice ask.

“me too!” hyemin’s voice adds.

“vitamin water, please!” mirae’s voice calls.

you tally the drinks up in your head. two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. you hold up an ‘okay’ sign with your hand and nod. jiyoung jokingly salutes in return.

“can i pay you back?” minseo offers, pulling out a credit card that most definitely won’t work on the rickety vending machines you’d seen on your way to the waiting room.

you shake your head dismissively. “it’s just a couple of drinks, and besides, i have a ton of coins i need to get rid of. you can buy me a meal later, yeah?” you offer, and minseo nods. “at this rate, i’ll have to hire you as my assistant.” she jokes, lightheartedly, and you smile. you wouldn’t mind that at all.

you recite the list of drinks to yourself as you make it out of their waiting room and towards the vending machine. two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. two ca—

thud.

the small sound shakes you out of your mantra and, instinctively, you turn towards the noise. judging by the obvious frustration radiating from the person in front of you and his relative position to the vending machine, you figure he just kicked the poor thing.

“are you alright?” you ask, tentatively, and the person in question turns to face you. 

oh. it’s kim jinhwan. from ikon.

you try your hardest to suppress a smile. yerin loves ikon. she’d be so jealous to know that you ran into one of the members today, and in such an innocuous way at that.

“yes, sorry.” jinhwan offers, looking almost sheepish. “the machine stole my money, and-”

almost on cue, you hear a voice call out in the distance. “hurry up, hyung! you said it’d only take a few minutes!”

jinhwan’s expression instantly sours, and you nod in understanding. “what did you try to get, sunbaenim?” you ask politely, turning towards the machine and scanning its contents.

“just an energy drink. but i guess i’ll be fine without it.” he explains, trying a little too hard to sound lighthearted and unbothered. 

you identify the drink in question and punch in its code. after feeding your coins into the machine, you watch as the suddenly functional appliance pushes the energy drink out of its row and into the bottom of the machine.

squatting, you grab the drink and hold it out. “please, take this.” you offer as you stand up, suddenly noticing how heavily the foundation under his eyes is applied. you inwardly frown. he must really need the boost. “it’s the one you wanted, right?”

he doesn’t take it, instead opting to stare at it instead. “i couldn’t, i don’t have any more change on me right now.” he says, despite eyeing the drink longingly.

“hyung! we have to go!” the voice from before calls out again, insistently. he turns towards the voice before turning back to you, conflicted. you put on what you hope is a reassuring smile before pushing the drink with a little more force into his hands. instinctively, he takes it.

“please don’t worry about it, it’s just a drink. good luck with your stage, sunbaenim!” you cheer, gently. 

he looks at the drink, then looks at you, then glances behind him at what you presume to be his waiting room before looking at you again.

“jinhwan hyung!” the voice demands with an intimidating undercurrent of finality, leaving no more room to stall. you tilt your head towards it meaningfully.

“i.. thank you.” he finally says, tightly, before turning around and running away. satisfied, you turn towards the vending machine. what did your friends ask for? right, two canned coffees, an orange soda, and vitamin water. you punch the drink codes in, methodically inserting all of your loose change you had been trying to get rid of for so long, and add an extra coffee in for minseo for good measure. if she’s going to make good on her dinner promise, and you know she will, she should get a little something in return.

(you would have gotten her something even if you didn't coerce her into buying you food. a part of you thrives at the feeling of taking care of others, and you dimly wonder if that means anything.)

-

the next time you meet him is yet another case of being in the right place at the right time, for lack of a better phrase. 

you’d spent a good portion of your school days active as a trainee. so, when you’d eventually exited the entertainment industry, you were strikingly behind all the other students your age in the cruelly competitive system that was korea’s education system. you were planning on taking a gap year to figure out exactly what you wanted to do with the rest of your life (which was generally frowned upon, as students were expected to naturally know these things), but minseo had saved you from that fate. “since the girls have been getting a little bigger recently, i’ve been given the permission and the budget to hire an assistant manager.” she had explained through a spontaneous phone call, her voice crackling over the receiver as you shifted your cellphone to your other ear. “if i can trust anyone to care for them the way that i do, it’s you.”

“will it be okay?” you had asked, not against the proposition but not wanting to get her in trouble. “i have no managerial experience, and i’m in the same age range as the members. i don’t want the company to come off as unprofessional.”

she had reassured you that you wouldn’t be working on anything that she wouldn’t teach you to do first, and that, as long as you didn’t boast about your age, it would be fine. “i was allowed to write the hiring criteria, and if you just happen to be the perfect candidate, then so be it.” she had said, and you could almost imagine the conspiratorial wink she would have shot in your direction if you were talking face to face.

and so your reentrance to the entertainment industry had begun; except this time, you were on the other, more secluded, side of the stage. you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered being a manager before; you’ve always been the type to take care of others, and when minseo had joked about taking you on as an assistant before, a secret part of you had taken it a little too close to heart. but you had never actually expected her words to become a reality.

the job isn’t too hard to pick up. you’re assigned a lot of small yet useful tasks, like calling the salons and confirming hair appointment times, or writing the minutes for meetings about comeback concepts. sometimes, your only role for the day is simply coaxing minseo unni into stopping and taking a lunch break. you’re busy, for sure, but not yet at the juggling-octopus level of the senior manager, who is somehow able to coordinate every other task and responsibility that involves the group simultaneously and all without fail. while you just have to confirm the things she’s already set up, she has to do all the preparation work.  you’ve seen her meticulously arrange and assign each member’s schedules, all the while keeping an eye on album sales and concert venues and security payroll and feedback from their vocal or dance instructors. just by looking at her essay of a to-do list that’s propped up on her desk, you understand why the company gave her the permission to hire an assistant.

the most important responsibility she had given you, however, was to be the first line of contact with the members of the group. “you know them better than i do, so i think you’d do a better job of helping them out. they’re not too fussy, so it shouldn’t be too hard to work with them? just keep an eye on the members, and check on them every now and then. of course, let me know if you need any extra help.” a very harried minseo had told you, while on hold with the videography company who, annoyingly, hadn’t confirmed what time they were coming in tomorrow to film the dance video for the group’s upcoming comeback.

“yes, of course.” you had replied, fully intending to not do just that. you were going to avoid adding any responsibilities to minseo unni’s workload at all costs.

there wasn’t much that you needed to do. occasionally, you needed to get the members drinks or snacks while they were in their waiting rooms before music show performances, or make sure that they checked in with you before they went out anywhere. to help with this, you had gotten into the habit of carrying a backpack with you at all times, fully stocked with the necessities: an assortment of the member’s favourite snacks, an epipen for hyemin’s peanut allergy tucked in a small first aid kit, extra hair elastics, pads and tampons, and various sets of phone chargers. 

“you’re already, like, one of those overprepared asian mothers that carries everything in her massive purse, and you’re barely an adult.” yerin had snickered one day while you reorganized your bag in their dorm.

you had grinned, teasingly pushing her away. “it’s this overprepared asian mother that has your precious pocky at hand, so watch it.” you’d warned, shaking the snack box in the air. 

“don’t shake it!” yerin had yelped, cradling the cookie sticks protectively against her chest. “you’ll break them.”

it was the last week of promotions for the group’s third mini album, and you had just finished supervising the stage hands as they finished setting up the stage. satisfied, you grab your backpack from the chair it was lounging on, thank them for their hard work, and beeline for the exit, wondering if you can run into the girls before they get called down for their pre-stage interview.

“—ust going to have to wait, we don’t have any on hand right now.” you hear a gruff sounding voice say, and subconsciously, you look towards the source of the noise.

just across the hallway from you is what appears to be a very tall manager and a very short idol, judging from the casual apparel the taller is wearing and the shiny, glittery jacket the shorter one has on. the one in the glittery jacket is clutching at his shoulder in obvious discomfort. 

“how long do you think it will take?” the shorter asks, letting go of his shoulder and rolling it back, and you’d recognize that voice anywhere. yerin had recently been studying his stage habits by watching his fancams on repeat, and at this point, his voice was engraved in the back of your mind. it’s jinhwan, again. (“i can’t believe you got to meet jinhwan sunbae before i did,” yerin had pouted when you had told her about your previous encounter. “but why did you call him sunbae? he’s not technically your senior anymore.”

“so i used to be a trainee, and old habits die hard. sue me.” you had defended yourself, protectively, before making a mental note to stop doing that.)

“i’m not sure. i’m not supposed to leave the shooting site, and no one else has answered my calls yet. do you think you’ll be able to do the stage without a patch?” the manager asks.

the idol who you now recognize as jinhwan winces, and you take that as your cue to dig through your bag. after finding what you’re looking for, you take a nervous breath and walk towards the pair.

“hello,” you greet tentatively, bowing. the two of them turn to face you, and politely bow back. you don’t miss the way jinhwan’s face grimaces ever so slightly as he does so.

“i’m really sorry if i’m being invasive, but i happened to hear what was going on.” you start. at that, you offer him the pair of pain-relief patches you were clutching securely with both of your hands. “please, take these.”

the two of them pause, taking a second to read the upside-down text on the packaging. in hindsight, you probably should have held it so the text was facing them. “won’t you need them?” the manager asks, eventually looking back up at you.

you shake your head in denial, eyes wide. “no, no. i always have extras in my bag. besides, the ones my members use most often are the ankle patches, so i won’t miss these.” you explain, taking a short, meaningful glance at jinhwan’s shoulder before pushing the packages into his manager’s hands. 

he takes them. “thank you,” he says, gratefully, and you smile. 

“yes, of course.” you reply, taking another quick glance at jinhwan. he’s staring at you, expression carefully blank, but, upon making eye contact. he bows his head. “thank you,” he says as well, and you pause. there’s something in his tone that sounds off, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. 

you don’t have time to stand there and think about it, though, because your group is going to get called down for their interview any minute now. and while you don’t technically have to be there, minseo said that it would be a good idea for you to monitor them. “just so you can get used to your job,” she had said, and you agreed. it would be entirely selfish to back out on that now, just to stand and meaninglessly analyze a person you had no connections with.

“i … have to go now.” you begin, tentatively, ignoring the pressing feeling in the pit of your stomach thats begging you to stay and figure out what feels so wrong. “good luck on your stage, sunb- i mean! jinhwan-ssi, and i hope your shoulder feels better.”

you bow, reflexively, trying your best not to make a weird face out of embarrassment, and jinhwan bows back. “thank you, again.” he reiterates, and you turn to leave.

it’s only after you’re absolutely sure that you’re out of their line of view before you let yourself cringe. sunbae? you tried to call him sunbae? you really, really, need to get out of that habit. what kind of interaction was that?

‘but is he okay?’ a smaller, more insistent, voice in the back of your head asks, and you frown. you don’t know. 

- 

in between your last memorable encounter and the next one, you see him a few times. your group passes by him in a few music programs, you run into their group at a hair appointment, and a few other miscellaneous encounters as such naturally occur. but you never interact. as a manager, it’s not your job to play buddy-buddy with other idol groups, especially if they’re not even in your company. you’ve always done a very good job of staying out of the spotlight, and, as a manager, most people don’t spare you a glance. jinhwan doesn’t even look in your direction.

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed.

the third time you meet him is not, for once, at a music program. you’re in hapjeong-dong, meaning to visit a friend who’d recently moved into the area. but she’d last-minute changed her housewarming party time to a dinner party instead of a lunch meetup. by the time you’d got the memo, you were already halfway across seoul on the subway. since you hadn’t eaten anything yet, and you no longer had lunch plans, your first stop is at the first ramen shop you see after you exit the terminal.

“i’m afraid we’re a little full at the moment, ma’am, and the only seats available are at the counter. will that be alright?” the hostess asks, smiling warmly.

“yes, that’s great.” you say, and you let her escort you to the counter and hand you a menu. you prop up your purse and your housewarming gift on the chair next to you before taking it, thanking her.

as you’re flipping through the menu, mentally calculating how much more you’ll be able to spend this month, you hear the tinkling of the bell at the front door signalling another customer. a cursory glance around the relatively full counter area lets you know that there’s only one seat left, and you’re hogging it with your bags. you quickly take them off the only available chair and bend down to set them on the ground below your feet.

“... and here you go, sir, i’ll be back with a menu shortly.” the bubbly hostess says, smiling politely at the customer whose face you haven’t seen yet. you straighten up, taking a quick look at the hostess and the customer before turning back to look at your menu. 

“yes, thank you,” the customer says, and you freeze. you must be hearing things. there is no way that you are eating lunch next to kim jinhwan in a random restaurant.

the customer sits down next to you, and you shoot another quick look at the man who is taking off his mask. who is most definitely kim jinhwan. 

do you … do you say anything? idols deserve to eat in peace, so should you pretend not to recognize him? but won’t sitting in a stony, awkward silence as you eat next to each other be even worse? you contemplate burying yourself in your phone for the entire meal, before realizing that you left it in your purse. and there’s no feasible way that you can grab it without having to scoot back your chair, get off the stool to open your bag, and sit back up on it again. 

unfortunately for you, he looks in your direction as you’re gaping at him, panic-struck. the resulting eye contact is unbearably awkward on your end, but he looks at you as if he’s trying to remember who you are.

“pardon me, but are you the one who … with the pain-relief patch?” he asks, gesturing slightly with his hands as he sits dodwn. it’s vague and awkward, and if he did that to anyone else they’d be very confused, but you know exactly what he means.

you blush a little. there’s nothing else you can say now. “yes, uh, i think that was me.” 

“and … the vending machine?” he ventures.

your eyes widen a little at that. that was so many months ago. he still remembers? “the energy drink, right? that was also me. hello, jinhwan-ssi.” you offer, tentatively, bowing your head slightly. at this point, there’s no use pretending you don’t know his name. he bows his head in return.

“may i ask for your name?” jinhwan asks, tentatively.

“oh, ah, i’m ______.” you respond. “it’s nice to meet you, officially.” 

jinhwan nods in agreement, seemingly taking in all the new information for a few seconds. after a short pause, he continues. “do you also work in the entertainment industry?” he asks, slowly. 

“yes, i’m an assistant manager for kyubie, a new girlgroup at AB entertainment,” you introduce yourself. it still feels a little strange to say that title out loud. assistant manager. you’re an assistant manager.

“ah, i see.” jinhwan says, smiling a little as he processes the information, and you politely smile back. a part of you wants to help him carry this conversation out, but the other, more dominant part of you is just as socially awkward as he looks like he feels and is absolutely incapable of doing such a thing.

“you look quite young for a manager,” he offers, as an odd semblance of a compliment, and you take it in stride.

“i get that a lot! i actually used to be a trainee at AB, but i ended up becoming a manager inst!—ead …” you start, mouth running itself as it struggles to fill the awkward silence, before you register what you just said. 

“i, uh, i wasn’t supposed to say that.” you mutter, loudly enough so its audible but quietly enough to express your regret.

jinhwan, for what it’s worth, only looks placidly amused. “don’t worry, i won’t say a word,” he assures you. he doesn’t ask for any more details or for an elaboration on why it would be a secret. you’re grateful for that.

“thank you,” you say, trying not to let the relief show itself too heavily in your tone. if he notices it, he doesn’t say a word.

“i should be thanking you. for the drink and for the pain-relief patches, before. i don’t think i could have done my stage without either.” he assures you, kindly. “i didn’t get to thank you properly before.”

you shake your head in denial. “no, no, don’t worry about it. i get what it’s like to always be running low on time. and you did say thank you! i didn’t feel underappreciated, or ignored, or anything like that.” you explain, letting out your first real smile since the beginning of the conversation. 

(you miss the way his eyes linger on it for a beat too long.)

“i’m glad that you think that, then,” jinhwan says, faintly, as the hostess comes back with his menu that he barely even scans before ordering. you, too, order, ignoring the meaningful glances she’s throwing at the two of you. that’s a misunderstanding that can be resolved in the unlikely chance it becomes an issue.

“so,” jinhwan starts, “tell me about your group.”

and you’re gone.

conversation flows surprisingly easily once the two of you find your common ground. as a manager and as a friend, you have a lot to tell him about your members and how they act. “one of them, my friend, actually, she’s a really big fan of yours.” you mention, offhandedly. you’ve gone long past the point where you’re trying to filter yourself. 

“is that so?” he asks, calmly, and you grin.

“yeah. she was really jealous when i told her that i met you before,” you laugh, “and she’ll probably be a little bit jealous that i met you again today.”

“what about you?” he asks, and then looks a little bit startled. almost as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“i’m sorry?” you ask, despite knowing perfectly well what he’d meant to say. you do your best to not blush.

jinhwan, having seemingly decided to just go with it, smiles. “are you a fan of mine, too?” he asks, and oh, your cheeks are not supposed to feel this hot.

“i, uh—” you flounder, trying to think of a way to answer this professionally, before a strangely brave crevice of your mind tells you to be honest.

“before? i don’t know. but now? probably.” you admit, which is good enough for jinhwan.

he doesn’t push it (probably because you looked like a tomato just then and he wants to save your blood pressure), and instead steers the conversation back to your life as a manager and his funny anecdotes in the entertainment industry. for someone who is so soft spoken and looked so thoroughly awkward when you first met, he tries incredibly hard to keep the conversation flowing and comfortable. you’re half in awe at his easy going nature.

you eat slowly once you get your food, selfishly wanting the conversation to last longer, but eventually there are no more noodles left in your plate and half of the lunchtime rush has already cleared out. jinhwan excuses himself to pay, asking you to watch his jacket, and you grab your purse and your housewarming gift from the floor while you wait. your phone tells you that it’s been nearly two hours since you entered the restaurant, and you must have suddenly forgotten how to read time, because there’s no possible way you had spent that long talking with jinhwan.

he eventually comes back. he puts his mask on and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, and you take that as your cue to head to the payment counter. “i’m here to pay for my order,” you say, pulling out your wallet, and the checkout man shakes his head. 

“you’re already paid for,” he explains, and you frown. “pardon me?” you ask, unsure if you heard him right.

“the gentleman who sat next to you has already paid for your meal,” he clarifies, and you stand there for a moment.

“are— are you sure?” you ask, confusedly. the checkout man nods. “here’s the purchase receipt if you want to be sure.”

the sound of the front door bell tinkling draws your attention, and you turn to see jinhwan’s figure leave the shop. “thank you!” you exclaim hurriedly to the counter, mindlessly stuffing the receipt in your left pocket before booking it out of there.

by the time you get to the outside of the shop, jinhwan is a good ten meters away. “jinh—!” you start, and then stop. yelling an idol’s name in public is most definitely not a good idea. 

you’ve never been the most active, but you run after him anyway. thankfully, he’s not making an effort to run away from you, because you wouldn’t be able to catch up with him then. 

eventually, you catch up with him as he’s waiting for a pedestrian walkway to turn green. “jinhwan-ssi!” you call, furtively, and the man in question turns around to face you.

" ______.” he says, curiously. “what are you doing here?”

“you paid for my meal.” you state, and he looks at you like it’s obvious. 

“yes, i did.” he says, frowning a little. the pedestrian walkway turns green. he doesn’t make any effort to move.

“can i pay you back?” you ask, hand instinctively going towards your wallet in your right pocket.

he laughs a little at that. “why would you pay me back? this is my thank you for the favours you did for me.”

“you don’t have to pay me back! i did those things because i could. besides, a vending machine drink and a pain-relief patch costs much less than a meal.” you argue.

“then, consider it like i’m doing this because i can.” he counters, and its very hard to object to your own logic.

“can i at least buy you coffee or something as thanks?” you ask, as the pedestrian walkway turns red once more. 

at this, jinhwan pauses, before he sighs. “i have vocal practice in half an hour, so i can’t right now. but—” he continues, seeing the look of disappointment you already knew was on your face, “did you get the receipt from the checkout guy?”

“the what?” you ask, confused.

his face pales. “oh no, did you not take it?” he asks, suddenly looking scared, and you remember mindlessly snatching the receipt from the checkout man’s hands. you clumsily pat through your pockets a little before pulling a slip of paper out from your left pocket. “no, i have it,” you say, holding it up, “but why?”

jinhwan sighs. “turn it over,” he says, and you do.

in pen, a phone number is scribbled over the back of the receipt. “jinhwan,” it says in neatly printed letters next to it, and you fight back the urge to smile. you probably do a terrible job of it, too.

“text me when you’re free, and we can do coffee sometime, yeah?” jinhwan offers. you can’t see his face well because of his mask, but the tips of his ears are red. it’s stupidly endearing.

“i will,” you promise, because how could you say no to that?

the walkway light turns green once again. jinhwan waves as he crosses the street, and you wave as you stay behind. its only after you’re absolutely, positively sure that he’s out of sight that you let yourself grin, burying your too-hot face into your hands. 

if you just played your cards right, you have a date with kim jinhwan.

-

(you text him the very same day, and make plans for coffee the next week.

you treat him to crepe cakes and lattes, and he pouts, claiming that the crepes were too much and now he just has to take you out to make up for it.

before you can tell him that no, it’s fine, it’s your treat, he has movie tickets for two booked and emailed to your account.

you agree to go, but only if you get to buy the popcorn.)

[wkemeup]

Double Blind

summary: Set up on what might be the worst blind date you’d ever been on, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious bartender instead  pairing: bucky x reader, bartender!au warnings: a handsy asshole named Brock Rumlow a/n: this was written for @notyetneedcoffee​‘s 2k writing challenge! My prompt was “Touch her again and lose that hand." Congrats on 2k!!

The night hadn’t even started and you already missed your couch. With every step along the sidewalk and the click of a heel, you craved to dive into the soft cushioning of your old, worn down sofa, rid yourself of the makeup on your face, and watch movies all night with your best friend. Though, considering she was the culprit behind your current predicament, you might have to reconsider your friendship status for a while.

Natasha was always on your back about how often you kept yourself holed up in the apartment. You weren’t one for nights at the bar in tight dresses baring more skin than you were comfortable with or mingling with strangers in overcrowded spaces with music so loud you could hardly hear yourself think. You were always content with a bowl of popcorn on your lap and hair thrown haphazardly away from your face watching a fourth episode of the same series in a binge, and perhaps that made you a little lame, but you didn’t much mind.

You were happy in your ways, but Natasha had other plans.

It was how you ended up wearing a dress from her closet, black and short enough for your hands to be gripping and tugging the fabric down every few paces, and on your way to a bar downtown to meet a guy you didn’t even know. Some friend she was.

You crossed your arms as you walked, holding the sleeves of your jean jacket tighter against you to hide the exposure of your chest that Natasha had adamantly suggested you learn to flaunt. She tried to snatch your jacket from you before you could leave, but you swiped it back just as you slid out the door. 

You didn’t mind the heat of sweat that had started to bead at the back of your neck. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make if you were forced to wear a dress that had stranger’s eyes following you down the street with wolf whistles in their wake.

The guy’s name was Brock Rumlow, a security analyst from Natasha’s firm she crossed paths with in the break room on a few occasions. Devil that she was, took it upon herself to set up a blind date between the two of you. 

He was handsome, she told you; tall, dark haired, and with a jaw line so sharp it could cut through glass. He was brooding and mysterious and made the kind of money that could force you to overlook some minor character flaws, though she refused to elaborate until you at least agreed to meet the guy.

You were already so picky, she told you. You had impossibly high standards that no man could possibly meet, but hell, maybe that was the point.

You nearly walked right past the address he had texted you to meet at, surprised to find an entrance to a dive bar located down a series of steps away from the sidewalk and with a sign barely illuminated by a fading light. You glanced at your surroundings, clenching your jaw at the isolated area and the group of men across the street smoking under a street lamp, and reminded yourself to give Nat a piece of your mind when you got home.

Stepping into the bar, it was instantly apparent that you were wildly overdressed, even with the jean jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the faded smell of second-hand smoke soaked into the wood of the barstools and booths, the clicks of the pool table as two rather large men with thick grey beards leaned over the edge to inspect their next moves, and the stick of spilled beer on the floor under your heel.

A man in the corner of the room was watching you, arms folded over his chest like he was eyeing up prey, with a kind of hungry gaze that sent shivers down your spine as it trailed over your body. He licked his lips and you shuttered.

Tugging your jacket as far across your chest as you could manage, until it was wrapped in layers over itself, you quickly made your way to the bar. It seemed like a safe enough place. It was a decent distance away from the hawk staring you down in the corner of the room, anyway. The sticky sound of the floor followed with every step you took.

The bartender’s back was to you as he was cleaning a series of glasses in the sink. Watching him for a moment, he didn’t seem to notice you standing behind him but you could hear the faint sound of him humming along to the rock music playing softly from the jukebox in the far end of the room. He nodded his head along to the beat, shoulders swaying somewhat. It made your lips curve into a faint smile.

You were about to clear your throat, hoping to get his attention, when he turned around suddenly, tossing the rag over his shoulder and the features of his face softened into confusion as he laid eyes on you.

Blue. It was suddenly all you could see. Eyes like deep ocean waves and clear open skies. With long, brunette hair by his shoulders tucked behind his ears and a plain black t-shirt barely able to contain the strain of muscles in his arms and across his chest, he certainly looked tough enough to work in a bar like this, but with eyes like that, you wondered if he really belonged here at all.

He smiled at you, something soft and endearing, and you almost forgot why you were in this place to begin with.

“You sure you’re in the right bar, doll?” he asked sweetly, not skipping a beat and wiping the towel along the countertop of the bar in front of him and gestured for you to take a seat across from him.

Looking around, you winced at the men at a booth in the corner of the room who were about three seconds away from a brawl. One pointing a finger at the others chest, and the other so beet faced that he looked like he was about to explode at any given moment from holding back his tongue. 

You turned back to the bartender with an uneasy grimace, hoping that your directions had led you astray because this certainly couldn’t be the ‘restaurant’ Brock wanted to meet you at.

"Is this The Centurion?”

“The one and only.” Blue-eyes nodded, clearly a little amused by the way your shoulder slumped and the quiet huff that left your lips.

Of course, it was.

“You might want to change the name of this place,” you commented nervously as you finally took a seat, a slight tremor of a laugh in your voice, “because I clearly wasn’t expecting a bar like this when I left my apartment.”

You gestured to the dress and heels you were wearing and the stain of red upon your lips. He laughed a bit at that as you grabbed a napkin from behind the bar and started to wipe the lipstick away, leaving behind smudges of red upon the paper cloth. You licked your lips to restore some of the moisture and already felt a little lighter without it on.

“’Bar like this?’ Whatever could you mean by that?” he teased, all bright eyed, and when you started to realize what you had said and a blush burned in your cheeks, he only winked at you, chuckling softly to himself. “Trust me, I know this place is a shithole. I’m just surprised to see anyone besides our regulars around here, let alone a beautiful woman lookin’ like a deer in the headlights. We usually cater to a rougher sort of people.”

“You know, I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment,” you laughed, letting a brush of your hair fall into your face to shield the burn of red his comment elicited. The touch of your cheek was warm as you tried to hide it with the heel of your palm.

“Only an observation,” he replied quickly, though with a smirk on his lips.

You nodded, struggling to contain your smile.

He started to wipe down parts of the counter beside you, lifting up bowls of pretzels and limes, and swiping underneath, though there didn’t appear to be much of anything needing cleaning.

He was humming to himself again, not bothered at all by the way your eyes watched him as he worked. He started to wipe down his work station and you noticed rather quickly he paid special attention to the space of the bar ahead of you.

You sat in silence for a while, periodically checking your watch and tugging the lapels of your jacket further across your chest at every glance towards the door, only to find that same man in the corner staring you down and sending unpleasant shivers down your spine.

“Are you cold?” the bartender asked softly, looking over at you curiously as he dried a glass by the sink. “I can turn the AC down if you want.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused, seeing as you had sweat dampening the back of your neck, until he nodded at your jacket, which was still wrapped tightly around your chest. “Oh! Oh, no, I’m burning hot actually. This—This is my roommates dress and I never—I don’t usually wear stuff like this -- not that there’s anything wrong with it -- but I just—um—”

“Men are gross,” Blue-eyes concluded, biting on the edge of his lip as you nodded. He sighed, shaking his head as he slumped back to lean against the bar. “Yeah, I noticed Harvey’s been eyeing you since you walked in here.”

You followed his gaze to find the man who had been staring you down like a hawk the moment you stepped inside. He had yet to take his eyes off of you, though when you turned around, you found the bartender glaring at him with a kind of warning in his expression that gave the man enough sense to keep his hands to himself. Harvey threw his arms in the air, retreating back to his table in the corner and to the series of empty bottles beside him.

“Sorry about him,” Blue-eyes said sincerely. “I can’t kick him out for lookin’, but I swear if he comes close enough to make you uncomfortable, I’ll knock him into next week, alright? I double as the bouncer here, too.”

He added the last bit with a wink and it got you smiling.

“Busy man,” you commented and he laughed. It was the kind of sound that made your stomach twist in knots and you wondered if it was possible to preserve something so beautiful, something so light and airy that sat in such contrast to the tall, thick wall of muscle standing before you.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” you added, sincerely. He nodded in return and you got the feeling he wasn’t like the men who frequented this bar or the men who shouted at you as you walked down the street. He was something else entirely.

Glancing up at the clock in the corner of the room, it was past the time Brock was supposed to meet you and while you thought about sending him a text to check in, you decided against it, half hoping he would just stand you up so you could go home, or maybe, if you were brave enough, ask the bartender for his name.

“So, what can I get you? You must be looking for a drink if you're wasting your time sittin’ up here with me,” he asked as he swung the towel over his shoulder he had just used to wipe his hands.

You glanced behind the bar, hoping a drink might calm your nerves and settle the warm blush in your cheeks at his words and eyed up the series of bottles and liquors on the shelves. Bourbons and vodkas, tequilas, and a few select drafts of beer, and nothing you would ever touch. You frowned.

“You don’t happen to have a Pino here, do you?”

He laughed at that. “I’ve got a shitty red blend that might be worse than boxed wine? But if you let me make you something, I promise it'll blow you away.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Alright then, but I’ll warn you, I’m picky when it comes to alcohol.”

“I think I’ve got a good enough read on you,” he shrugged casually and it made your heart skip, “just give me a minute.”

You watched as he pulled out a tall glass from under the bar, placing it on the counter in front of you with a wink. Then, he started to fill it with various bottles he poured too quickly for you to tell what they were. One was certainly carbonated, leaving bubbles in the glass, while others were clear, some rich in color, and he topped it off with a straw, sliding it closer to you.

You eyed him suspiciously, amused by the confident look on his face, and you took a sip. It was better than you expected, with a subtle taste of cranberry and ginger, with the alcohol barely noticeable, and you sat back with a content sigh.

“What is in this?” you gaped, moving to take another sip.

“A secret I’ll take to my grave,” he replied cheekily, arms folded over his chest and leaning back against the wall behind him, watching you as you nearly downed the first half. Then, a man at the end of the bar was waving his hand, and blue-eyes nodded at him before turning back to you. “I have to take care of this guy. Don’t drink that too fast, doll.”

You nodded, lips still wrapped around the edge of the straw as you took another sip, desperately trying to ignore the thumping of your heart when he shot that smile at you again. Watching as he made his way down to the end of the bar to refill the series of beers for the man and his friends, you felt a vibration coming from your purse. You frowned, seeking out your phone to find a text from Natasha.

How's it going??

It’s not. He’s not even here yet, you responded, glancing around the room to double check because you certainly wouldn’t have noticed if he did arrive amidst your conversation with the blue-eyed bartender. It was nearing fifteen past the time Brock was supposed to meet you anyway.

Give him some time! Maybe he’s running late. Don’t back out, Y/n. This will be good for you!

You’re the worst, just so you know.

Love you, too.

“So, you never did say what brought you to a bar like this,” the bartender said, his voice surprising you as you glanced up from your phone.

“Oh, well,” you stuttered, suddenly embarrassed, “my friend is trying to set me up with some guy she knows from work. He said to meet him here.”

He raised an eyebrow and the flash of disappointment on his face didn’t go unnoticed. “The guy said to meet you here? For a date?”

“You see why I’m overdressed then, don’t you?” you replied, nodding with a teasing smile.

“Definitely wouldn’t waste a dress like that in a place like this,” he agreed, the curve of his lips pushing at his cheeks and though his comment was about your dress, his eyes stayed glued to yours. He made no attempt to steal a glance down your body or under the jacket you kept wrapped over your chest.

“Yeah, well, it’s my friend’s,” you grumbled, tugging at the fabric on your thighs in hopes to pull it closer to your knees, though it jumped back up to the mid of your thigh the second you released the material. “I would much rather be in sweats on the couch right about now.”

“I hear you,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes I feel like jeans are too restricting. Can’t imagine how you’re sitting in that dress comfortably.”

“That’s the kicker. I’m not.”

That got him laughing again and the smile that ached in your cheeks was one you wished you could have worn for hours. Blue-eyes was still wiping down the same section of the bar he’d been cleaning since you got here and you wondered if he was really meticulous in his polishing or if he was finding excuses to talk to you. The thought alone made your stomach twist up in knots.

“I don’t know many people who’ve even heard of this place. We mostly cater to regulars,” he said after a few moments, voice fading out a little as he seemed lost in thought. “Maybe I know the guy. What’s his name?”

“His name?” you repeated, suddenly unsure why you were so reluctant to tell the handsome bartender with the big, bold, blue eyes and the sweetest laugh you’d ever heard. “His name is, um--”

“Bucky! A little help!” a voice suddenly called from the back of the room where a small, brunette woman with an apron draped over her waist and a thick eastern European accent was attempting to keep the two burly men who had been arguing earlier from throwing fists. Even as small as she was, she kept a hand on both of the men’s chests, keeping them apart.

“Shit,” Blue-eyes, or Bucky you supposed, cursed, sending you an apologetic grimace. “Hold that thought for me?”

“Y/n,” you blurted out suddenly before you could lose your nerve, stilling him in his movements and a grin spread across his lips. Time seemed to slow down for a moment.

“Y/n,” he repeated, smiling at the way it felt on his tongue. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nodded, watching how he chewed on the edge of his lip before he hopped over the end of the bar, jogging towards the commotion. The men seemed to straighten their backs and settle down the moment he stepped into view. He seemed to have that presence about him. Perhaps it was the reason you’d gone straight to him as you first stepped into the bar.

Caught up in the way Bucky placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the men to help calm him down and ushered the other to take a seat, you didn’t notice the presence of someone hovering over your shoulder; not as you smiled softly to yourself as Bucky began to take a seat himself across from one of the men, nudging the other into the booth as well in favor of exchanges words over fists.

“Y/n?”

You gasped, startled, turning around to be met with deep brown eyes and a charming smile. The man grinned at you, but there was something off in it, like it was a layer of a mask. He was staring at you, raising an eyebrow at the way you glanced over in Bucky’s direction out of instinct, hoping he’d notice, though you weren’t even sure what you would have wanted him to do.

“Brock?” you asked, uncertain and he nodded, his smile fading the longer it took for you to tear your eyes away from Bucky. If he was a regular here as Bucky suspected, it was evident he didn’t get along well with the bartender.

“I see you got started without me,” he commented, gesturing to the half empty drink Bucky had made for you.

“Oh, well, you were late, so,” you muttered awkwardly, reaching to take another sip to ease your anxiety but Brock grabbed the glass from you before you could, placing it down behind the bar.

“I’ll order you something nicer,” he said flatly.

It was then that Bucky returned to the bar, albeit slower as he swung around the barrier to find Brock standing next to you, looming over your shoulder almost possessively. His eyes flickered down to the drink that was now placed out of your reach, causing him to frown.

Bucky looked to you, soft eyes and concerned expression, and you only nodded, answering his silent question that yes, this was the man you were supposed to meet. His whole body seemed to tense up at your response.

“Rumlow,” Bucky gritted his teeth, jaw clenched and strained history more than obvious between the two.

“Barnes,” Brock replied, just as stiff.

In the exchange, Bucky’s eyes turned to you, trying to catch your own though you were staring down at the floor, a heat of embarrassment in your cheeks you couldn't quite place. You felt a sudden hand on your forearm, rough skin under the palm but so incredibly gentle, and you looked up to find Bucky watching you.

“Call for me if you need anything,” he said sternly, like a warning. “I won’t be far.”

“Thanks Barnes, we’ll be sure to do that,” Brock spat, taking another step closer to you so that his chest pressed against your back, his arms curling around your sides. You shuttered out a shaken breath. “Why don’t we go sit over at the booth for some privacy?”

Your eyes met Bucky’s again, panicked for a moment and you swore you might have seen him shake his head subtly.

“O-oh, I actually prefer sitting here. If that’s alright?”

Brock paused, clearly reluctant to your request, but he eventually took a seat next you, dragging the bar stool close enough to you that when he sat facing you, his knees parted wide enough that his legs were practically caging you. You glanced down, observing the territorial nature of his stance and you gritted your teeth.

Meanwhile, Bucky had been called down to the end of the bar to attend to one of the men at the pool table. He was reluctant to move, but as the patron called for him again, blue eyes met yours and gave you a subtle nod; one that told you he’d be close enough to come running if you needed him.

As he retreated, you watched him for a moment, wondering what it was in the few moments you’d known him that he started to carry an aura of safety around him, a sense of protection, one you had no interest in being removed from and yet, Brock was poking at it with the sharp edge of a needle.

Even from the distance, as Bucky listened for the men’s order, his eyes were on you; not territorially, but out of concern, out of care. His hands were gripping the countertop, shoulders tense and hunched. You only looked away from him when you felt Brock’s hand on your leg.

“So, I should tell you I almost didn’t come tonight,” he purred, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush against your neck, leaving an unpleasant shiver in its wake, “but when Natasha showed me a picture of you, I couldn’t stay away. Had to try a bite of that myself.”

Awkwardly shifting yourself away from Brock’s closeness, you reached for a menu behind the bar, clearing your throat and nervously pushing hair behind your ear and desperate to change the conversation.

“Why don’t we, um, why don’t we get some food? I haven’t eaten in a while actually and--”

“What I want isn’t exactly on the menu.” Brock tugged the pamphlet from your hands and tossed it behind the bar. It fell down to the floor and he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest that it nearly took out a tray of glasses on its way down.

You didn’t like the way he was looking at you, feeling incredibly unnerved and exposed under his stare. You swallowed thickly, folding your jacket tighter across your chest. “So, what do you do at the firm? Nat said you were an analyst?”

A pathetic attempt of changing the subject again. He wasn’t interested.

“Why don’t you take off your jacket? It’s a thousand degrees in here,” he urged, fingers already sliding up your back and slipping under the collar of your jacket and attempting to pull it down. You only held on tighter.

“I’m okay,” you tried to respond, but Brock’s grip was tight on your collar and he was working on sliding down the jean over your shoulder despite the hardened clench of your hands to the fabric.

Brock’s hands moved to your own, trying to pry your grip away from the lapels long enough to loosen your hold and remove the jacket himself. There was no kindness in the way his hands touched you.

You could tell he was starting to get frustrated when he grunted at your reluctance.

“There’s no need to cover up, baby,” he pressed, darkness in his tone and you tried to shoulder away from him.

“Everything alright over here?”

You looked up, startled by the familiar voice. You didn’t realize how tense you were under Brock’s touch, your hands aching from how tightly they were clenching around the flaps of your jacket wrapped over your chest, desperate to keep it secure, eyes locked on the wood of the bar to avoid Brock’s unsettling stare.

Bucky was standing just a foot away from you, barrier of the bar between you feeling like a mile long. He was staring daggers into Brock, not moving a muscle until Brock’s hands retreated from your jacket with a defeated groan.

“I was just trying to help the lady out and take her coat. I was being a gentleman,” he said, though his hand quickly made its way to your thigh. It seemed he needed to have some kind of physical contact with you while in Bucky’s presence, just to remind you who you were here with. You tried to ignore it.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were,” Bucky accused, shaking his head in disgust and seeing straight through Brock’s excuse. He turned to you, incredibly softer now. “Can I get you anything, doll? Anything you want, just say the word.”

You knew what he was offering and it was more than a refill on a drink. The discomfort must have been clear as day across your face because the way he was watching you was so incredibly sincere; like he was prepared to jump over the bar to your defense the second you asked him to. Eyes filled with nothing but sparkling pale blue that made your stomach twist and turn in such startling contrast to the Brock’s hands roaming over your thigh. You longed to get lost in him.

“No, no I’m fine. Thank you,” you replied reluctantly, forcing out a smile, but Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave yours, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. A silent conversation between the two of you and you tried to mask the scream in the back of your head wanting him to rescue you.

“The lady said she’s fine, Barnes, so give us some privacy,” Brock spat, his hand creeping along your lower back and you let out a shaky breath at the touch of him.

Bucky noticed, his eyes darting down to Brock’s hand, but he didn’t say anything, not until you gave him the ‘ok’ to do so. It took him a few seconds, lingering behind, before he ultimately returned to his duties at the other end of the bar.

Heart still in your throat, you tried to find a way to get through this hellscape of a date so you could get home and tear into Natasha for setting you up with a man like this. He didn’t seem to care that you leaned away from his hands as they roamed your body, and if anything, it urged him on.

“So,” you started, nervously avoiding his eyes, “what, um, what got you into analyt--”

“Enough with the small talk,” Brock grumbled, grabbing a firm hold of your bar stool and yanking you closer. You gasped at the sudden movement, clinging onto the bar to avoid losing your balance. “We both know why we’re here tonight and it’s not to get to know each other.”

You shook your head, stretching your neck away from his touch as his fingers trailed up along your shoulder, though it didn’t prove of much use. You could still feel the unpleasant tremble of shivers in his wake.

“I don’t know what Nat told you but I’m not looking for--”

“I know exactly what you’re looking for, baby,” he whispered, startlingly close to your ear, and his hand was on the bare of your thigh, creeping dangerously close to the edge of your dress.

“Brock, stop,” you urged, trying to swat his hand away but he held on firm enough to grip into your thigh.

“Don’t be dramatic.” His fingertips slipped under the fabric of your dress and you jumped up from the bar, stepping a few paces away from him but he followed you.

“I think you should go,” you warned, your voice shaking despite the anger in your veins. It was a wild range of fear and embarrassment and fury rushing through you and you couldn’t control even an ounce of it.

“I came all the way out here for this and you're not even going to put out?” Brock spat at you, inching close enough to cage you against the edge of the bar. There was nowhere for you to go.

You were starting to panic, desperately looking down the bar for Bucky but he was suddenly nowhere in sight. Your hands pressed against Brock’s chest to find he was as unmovable as stone.

“Let me go,” you said quietly, desperately, and losing the strength in your tone quickly. Your breaths were coming in too fast, heart rate skyrocketing, and as Brock’s hand slid up your side, you bit down hard enough on your cheek to draw blood.

“Maybe you should learn a little respect,” he sneered, fingers pushing their way into your hair and before you could even part your lips to shout for someone, anyone, to notice Brock was suddenly ripped away from you, his hold vanishing as he was tossed forcefully to the ground.

“Touch her again and lose that hand,” Bucky growled, hovering over Brock and placing himself strategically between you. 

His hand darted out behind him, searching for you to confirm you were alright and you grabbed onto it, squeezing it hard and the tension in his muscles only seemed to relax for a moment.

“What are you gonna do about it, deadbeat?” Brock spat back from the ground, brushing off his hands. “You gonna try and fight me for her? Is that what you want, huh? You want the girl all to yourself?”

Standing behind Bucky, you watched the way his body acted at your shield, his shoulders heaving with every panted breath, free hand curling into a fist as Brock attempted to stand, the other in sharp contrast sitting tenderly wrapped around your own. Brock rose from the ground, gritting his teeth and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Y/n, go with Wanda,” Bucky said over his shoulder, voice low and stern.

“But Bucky,” you whispered, afraid of what would happen if you left him.

He paused for a minute, turning back to you. His jaw was clenched, tense, but his eyes were full of worry; blue shades of concern and urgency.

“Please,” he asked, holding your gaze for longer than he probably should have but there was just a desperation in his tone that took you off guard. His hand squeezed yours and you nodded at him, releasing him though it pained you to do so and jumped into the arms of the petite woman who ushered you safely away from the fight.

With her hand on your forearm, she tried to lead you to the back room where the owner’s office was, but you planted your feet, turning back to Bucky and Brock as they were spewing taunts at one another too low for you to hear, but you could see the tension burning in the air as they circled one another.

“Wait! Will he be okay?” you asked timidly, flinching on impact as Brock suddenly took a swing that Bucky was able to dodge easily before he slammed Brock’s head to the countertop. Eager chants urging them on started to echo in small space of the bar as men cheered and sloshed beer over their glasses. It was chaos in a matter of seconds.

“Bucky can take care of himself, I promise,” Wanda replied urgently, pushing you further into the back room and you let her guide you away when Bucky and Brock were suddenly hidden from view by the patrons gathered around enthusiastically to watch.

Even from inside the office as Wanda closed and locked the door behind her, you could hear the crashing of glasses and the grunts of pain and exertion from beyond the walls. You slumped down into the chair behind the desk, arms wrapped around your waist and tried not to picture what was happening.

“How long have you known Bucky?” she asked, trying to distract you.

You shook your head, finding it impossible to tear your eyes away from the door. “I-- I don’t. I just met him tonight.”

That seemed to surprise her.

“Why?” you asked, flinching at a loud, muffled crash beyond the office followed by a collect eruption of shouts and applause.

She shrugged, a soft smile on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Bucky smile the way he has tonight. He doesn’t usually spend so much time cleaning the bar, especially that one particular spot.”

You shook your head, shaking away her comment because it felt too real. “Yeah, well, I’m sure it’s only because you guys usually have old biker men and handsy assholes frequenting this bar.”

Wanda pursed her lips, a knowing look in her eyes and entirely unconvinced by your excuse, but she didn’t push it and instead agreed, “sure. Maybe that’s it.”

***

Wanda certainly did her best to keep you distracted, but with every echo of a cheer beyond the wall, your attention quickly diverted back to the door, leaving you to ruminate constantly on whether it was Bucky or Brock who had been struck before the reaction of the crowd. You didn’t know who these men would cheer for or if they only cared about the thrill of the fight, eager to watch either side get a decent hit in.

Wanda informed you that Bucky had a history of fighting. He used to be a boxer back in the day and knew his way around a fight better than most. He would take care of himself, she told you, promised you.

You didn’t know why you cared so intensely, why you worried so much. You didn’t even know him, and yet, something about the blue in his eyes, the tenderness of his smile, and the sweet tone in his laugh drew you to him unlike anything else.

There was so much about him you still wanted to know, so much more you longed to talk to him about and ask him just to have a chance at hearing that laugh again. It had been years since you felt anything remotely like this and never so quickly. The fact that after all of the sweet talk and the teasing, he jumped head first into a fight to protect you from a man who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself, only seemed to spur on the twists in your stomach for him.

So, when the crowd began to quiet and the door to the office began to unclick with the turn of a key from the other side, you weren’t quite sure relief was a strong enough word for the release of tension in your chest. Though, when Wanda stepped aside and Bucky’s full figure was in view again, that same panic rushed back tenfold.

“Oh God,” you gasped, hand clamped over your mouth as you stood from the desk.

Bucky slowly made his way inside, evident by the wince on his face that something was bothering him in his leg. Blood dripped down from an open cut on his cheekbone and his lip was busted open in the center. Swelling had already started to take effect around his eye and his skin was marked in pinks and reds sure to turn blue in a few hours.

Your lips were parted in shock and the panic must have read over your features judging by the way Bucky tried to push out a smile for you.

“You should see the other guy,” Bucky joked, though a drip of blood slid past his lip and neither you nor Wanda smiled. He turned to Wanda, observing the tension in the room between you. “He’s already gone. No chance he’ll risk his own ass by calling the cops, but better get a word in to Steve at the station as a warning. I don’t want that piece of shit in this bar again.”

Wanda nodded, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder before she left the room.

Then, you were alone.

“How are you doing?” he asked after a moment of silence, sincere as can be because only this man would be concerned about you after he just took a pretty significant beating.

There wasn’t even a thought to yourself as you looked at him. You were too focused on the blood on his face, the open wounds, and the way he was holding onto his side like it pained him just to breathe. You shook your head at his question, in disbelief.

“How am I--? Jesus, Bucky, look at you!” you stuttered out, pointing at the state of him and you suddenly realized your hands were shaking. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

Bucky must have noticed because he pushed himself further into the room, despite the clear ache as he walked and he sat against the edge of the desk next to you, close enough for you to hear the subtle wheeze in his breaths and feel the heat off of his skin.

“I’ve had worse, doll. I’m fine,” Bucky whispered, blue eyes raking over your face.

“You didn’t-- you didn’t have to do that,” you said, unable to meet his eye, staring at his hands as they gripped at the desk.

“’Course, I did,” he replied quickly. “I wasn’t going to let him touch you like that, not with you so clearly telling him to stop. Guy like that doesn't know when to quit, doesn’t respond to being asked nicely either, but he’ll run off after a few good hits.”

“But why?” you choked out, finally gathering the courage to look at him only to find the crease of his brow stitched together and a layer of surprise on his face. “You don’t even know me. Why put yourself in harm's way if--”

“Well for one,” Bucky started, pulling your hand gently into yours, watching the way you stilled upon his touch, a gasp leaving you in a breathless kind of way, “I wouldn’t let him do that to anyone if they were explicitly saying ‘no,’ but you... I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy and maybe I’m making things up as I go, but there’s just something about you. From the second you walked in I didn’t want you to leave. I hated every time I had to deal with someone else and I lost a few minutes I could have been talking to you. That was all before Rumlow even showed up, and once he did, it felt like my skin was on fire.”

You watched the way he played with your hand, running his palm over it and cupping it between his own, drawing lines in your palms, and distracting himself with something tender despite the broken knuckles on his skin. His words left your heart racing but you bit on your lip, letting him continue.

“I’ve seen him hit on women before,” Bucky sighed. “I’ve seen the way he treats women like he deserves something from them but I’ve never seen him go this far, to—to trap you at the bar like that. I just—I lost it. The thought that you could be next in this line of women he’s hurt and I couldn’t--”

“Okay,” you whispered, pulling his attention from your hands and meeting his eye. You nodded at him, hand squeezing back at his to still his anxious movements. He seemed to relax at that, though your eye was still drifting up to the open wound on his cheek.

“Will you let me fix that up?” you asked softly, and he narrowed his eyes, confused.

“You sure you don’t want to run from this place and never look back?” he whispered, evading your question with an almost certain look as though he was awaiting your escape; maybe because of the confession that he might feel something for you other than the adrenaline in his veins, or maybe because he was bloody and broken and too hardened and violent to be touched by a woman as gentle as you.

You shook your head, following the crease in his brow and tenderly cupping his cheek to closer examine the wound, watching as his facial muscles relaxed instantly under your touch. Blue eyes studied you like you were from another world as you took a mental note of the supplies you’d need.

“I assume you have a first aid kit around here somewhere, tough guy?”

He chuckled at that, a lower, harder sound than the laugh you’d heard out in the bar, but it was still as beautiful. He was trying to hold this one back from the pain in his ribs, but it was too sweet to ignore. He nodded, pointing at the drawer next to your thigh. Sure enough, inside was a kit that was faded in lettering and looked to be years old.

You pulled out alcohol swaps and bandages, gesturing for his right hand. He gave it over to you without hesitation. His hand felt nice sitting in yours; heavy and calloused, and impossibly tender.

“This may sting,” you warned him.

“Do what you need to, doll,” he smiled and even through cracked lips he was stunning.

He still hissed as the alcohol-soaked cloth touch the exposed wounds on his knuckles and he tried to pull away instinctively cause you to grip tighter onto his hand to keep him firmly in place. He didn’t flinch as much as you pressed it to the break in his skin again, dabbing gently and ridding his knuckles of the blood before you tenderly applied the soothing gel and wrapped his hand.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said softly. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Who says I haven’t?” you smirked, gathering new supplies to start working on the cut on his face. You gestured down to his thighs and he parted them for you, letting you step between them as he kept his seat on the top of the desk to give you a better angle to work on the wound on his cheek.

Standing this close to him, you wondered if he could hear the thunderous pounding in your chest.

“Might be a little jealous someone else is getting this kind of attention from you,” Bucky replied casually, as if it didn’t make your stomach twist over on itself.

You bit your lip, taking in a steady breath as you dabbed the alcohol wipe to his cheek. He winced, reflexively trying to dodge the burn of the wipes, so you reached up to the cup the side of his face to hold him still. He relaxed instantly under your touch, almost leaning into it. You ran your thumb along his cheek on his unmarked side to sooth him as you placed the sting of the alcohol to the wound again. He didn’t budge even an inch this time, eyes staring into yours as you worked.

“Well, your supposed jealousy is unwarranted, seeing as it was my brother with the tendency to end up battered and bruised,” you said, focusing on the open wound rather than the blush in your cheeks and the sincerity with which Bucky was watching you. “He always had a hard time walking away from a fight. Didn’t matter he was consistently smaller; he was constantly picking fights under some moral imperative he lives by.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Bucky laughed, and you could feel the vibration of it against your palm. “Mine grew up to be a cop.”

“Better tell him to watch out for a lanky teenager running around Queens with a vigilante complex,” you grinned, grabbing a bandage from the kit and gently applying to the cut on Bucky’s cheekbone, paying careful attention to line it up perfectly despite the crinkles in his smile leading up to his eyes.

You pressed on the bandage, ensuring the adhesive was applied and let out a sigh of relief. You hand slipped away from his cheek and though you were smiling at him, you missed the contact instantly.

You smiled at him. “I think you’re gonna make it.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked, a sudden longing in his voice that brought shivers to your spine as he tilted his head. His eyes were somehow twice as big, twice as blue, when he looked at you like that, like he wanted you to stay.

You made no move to step away from your stance between his legs and while his hands stayed planted on his thighs you could tell he was inching closer to you, though he’d never make the first move, not after what happened with Brock.

“Maybe I should double check,” you said, almost breathless.

Your hand slid up the side of his arm, with more courage than you’d ever had in your veins in a single moment in time, and cupped the side of his face again. You didn’t have the energy to even pretend to look at the bandaged cut because your eyes were flickering to his lips; pink and pillowy and so incredibly perfect.

Your free hand came up to rest on his shoulder, playing absentmindedly with the fabric of his black t-shirt and as you took a step forward, though impossibly small because it was miracle in itself you could get closer than you already were, Bucky’s hands slowly came to your hips. It was timid at first, gently seeking permission and waiting for a soft nod from you before he tugged you closer.

His breath was warm on your cheeks the closer you leaned in. Lips ghosted against yours and a soft chuckle left him as he winced at the touch, the cut on his lip from the fight stinging at the feel of you. He moved to readjust, positioning himself so that it was his upper lip you captured between your own, not that you much minded, because the thought of him alone was enough to keep you sustained, despite the trembling in your legs.

You hardly even noticed the office door swing open.

“Hey Bucky I could use some help with—oh, I’m sorry!”

You jumped away from him instantly, stumbling back from the shock of Wanda’s entrance back into the office and the flush of her cheeks as she turned away. Bucky’s hand reached out to grab yours before you crashed into his bookshelf and he was grinning wildly, almost impossible to contain.

“What’s going on Wan?” Bucky asked sweetly, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Burgess isn’t as keen on letting me close up as the rest of them were,” she said apprehensively, offering him an apologetic grimace.

“Ok, kid, I’ll be right out,” he replied and Wanda quickly exited the room again, muttering another apology under her breath. Bucky laughed breathily as he stood up, hand still tight in yours. “Promise you won’t go far? I’d like to make sure you get home safe, if that’s alright?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your own words from the nervous aching in your bones. As Bucky slipped past you, he pressed a quick kiss to your hairline, winking before he stepped out of the room. You exhaled a breath you were sure was held since the moment his hands touched your hips and slumped down into the chair. The sharp vibrations that came from your phone nearly pulled a yelp out of you.

Glancing down at the caller ID, you saw an image of Natasha with about three dumplings stuffed in her cheeks and tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. You rolled your eyes, picking up the phone.

“How’d it go!” she shouted the second you pulled the phone to your ear.

Not bothering with greetings, it seemed.

“I can’t believe you would set me up with that monster,” you hissed, glancing back at the door. “What is the matter with you!”

“Forget Brock,” she groaned, “I’m talking about Bucky!”

You froze. “Wait, what? How do you know about Bucky?”

“Do you seriously think I would set you up with Brock Rumlow?” she gasped, feigning offense. “He’s a Grade A asshole and will hit on anything with legs.”

You rubbed at your temples. “Nat...”

“Ok, so... I may have set you up on a blind date, but it wasn’t with the guy I told you it was with,” Natasha explained, “and maybe I didn’t tell Bucky either, but I would bet next month’s paycheck that you two hit it off instantly and he got all worked up and jealous with Rumlow around. Did he come to your rescue? Bucky really loves being a hero...”

You shook your head, hand planted into your face and trying to process what she was telling you. Natasha wove people around her fingers in string and let them dance beneath her hands. She was perceptive and intuitive and seemed to know the people in her life better than most of them knew themselves; you included. Still, you couldn’t help but be impressed. She was so much smarter than anyone gave her credit for.

“You’re incredibly manipulative. You know that don’t you?” you said, though there was a teasing tone in your voice, a smile on your face and frankly, relief that she didn’t actually think Brock was someone you’d like.

“I like to think of myself as strategic,” she retorted, laughing.

“Yeah, well, wait until you hear how your ‘strategic’ plan let Brock get far too handsy with me.”

“Did Bucky punch him out? I guarantee he went all White Knight for you.”

“I hate you,” you laughed. “I hate you so much.”

You glanced up to find Bucky standing in the doorway, just watching you contently with a smile on his face. You chewed on your lip, looking away from him nervously as a blush rose in your cheeks, wondering how long he’d been standing there.

“Nat, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you when I get home, alright?”

“He’s in the room now, isn’t he?”

You could practically see the gloating smirk upon her face as she sat curled up on the couch and twirling a pen around her fingers. It was criminal how often she was proven right.

“Goodbye, Natasha,” you pressed, ignoring her protests and tossing your phone back into your purse.

“That the supposed friend that set you up with Rumlow?” Bucky teased, crossing the room to you and leaning against the desk. You settled in next to him and felt your heart skip a beat at how quickly he let his hand slip into yours, nervously biting on his own lip.

“Turns out she wasn’t setting me up with Brock at all,” you shrugged and when Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion you explained, “I think we have a mutual friend. Romanoff.”

Bucky started laughing at that, shaking his head, with a grit of his teeth. “Of course, she’s involved in this. I can’t believe she actually pulled off another double blind.”

“A what?”

“A double blind. Like in research studies when the participant and the researcher both don’t know if they’re in the treatment or control group,” Bucky clarified, unable to shake the smile from his face. “She’s done this before with my buddy, Steve, and his fiancé Peggy. She puts people in these situations she knows will lead to some kind of organic connection they never would have had otherwise. It takes your guard down, opens you up to something you might not otherwise see. I mean, think about it. Would you have ever stepped foot in this bar if you weren’t supposed to meet Rumlow here?”

“I think I could have done without Brock in general,” you laughed. “I was liking you all on your own before he even showed up. Though, I’ve never had someone fight for my honor before.”

“Wish it was under better circumstances, but I won’t say I’m against having an excuse to punch the guy.” Bucky grinned, stepping in closer to you, his hands sliding up your arms tenderly until the rested against your neck, his thumbs running over your jawline in soothing sweeps.

He sighed, his smile softening as he looked down at you, like he was memorizing the intricate details in your completion. “Is it bad to say I’m happy Rumlow isn’t a better guy? You knocked me out from the second you walked in this bar and if he was a decent guy, maybe you wouldn’t have even given me a second look.”

“I would have,” you said adamantly and when Bucky met your eye again, you could see the surprise lingering in his features. There was a trace of uncertainty, an insecurity you didn’t expect from a man so charming, so beautiful, and so incredibly willing to jump to your defense in the very second you needed him.

In a surge of courage, as his gaze flickered down longingly to your lips, you closed the space between you. Your hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, the hardened ripple of muscle beneath evident against your touch, and it took Bucky a moment to pull himself from the shock of it before he kissed you back.

Fingers raking against your scalp, he captured your lips in his, pulling your lower into his mouth and sucking sweetly enough to draw a moan from you before his tongue swept over it. You yanked him closer, tugging on his shirt, only find him pressed up against you with nowhere else to go.

With the lingering scent of alcohol in his clothes, you drank him in. Lips moving against one another, hands roaming and aching for more, and only pulling away when you were breathless and his lips were red and swollen and so impossibly gorgeous.

You met each other’s eyes, a laugh breaking through the both of you as you leaned forward against his chest, just caught up in the rush of everything that happened and the adrenaline in your veins that led you to this moment. Bucky’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you securely to his chest and you felt his lips press gently to the crown of your head; a soft, delicate gesture that expected nothing in return.

“I’m a little annoyed I’ll have to thank Natasha later,” you teased, drawing another laugh out of him.

“I’ll happily do it for you, if you like,” Bucky offered, pulling back just enough to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll throw my pride in the Hudson and thank her a thousand times if you let me kiss you like that again.”

“Yeah?” you giggled, leaning up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips before you pulled away, leaving him wanting. “What about a date?”

“I’ll give you any date you want,” he replied quickly, seeking out your lips again as his arms wrapped around your waist again and pulled your feet from the ground. You broke away laughing and he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Just say yes and I’ll take you anywhere, give you anything your heart desires.”

“That’s a bold offer,” you commented, grinning at him.

“Not when it’s sincere,” he replied, sending you a wink that made you knees feel weak.

As he grabbed your bag for you and led you to the doorway, his gentle hold around your shoulders serving as lingering connection to you in sharp contrast to the way Brock’s touch was an act of possession, you leaned into him with every step. The soft vibrations of his laugh, the low tone of his voice, and the gentle touch of his hands caught up in your senses as he walked you home.

Your regret of leaving your apartment faded in an instant the second you first saw him and even now with his pace in line with yours and your arm wrapped at his waist, you ardently decided you’d deal with a hundred Brock Rumlows if it brought you to Bucky.

If it brought you to blue eyes and kind smiles.

Your knight in a black t-shirt and faded jeans.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[threadofdestiny]

Magnolia (Bakugou x f!reader)

Feudal Japan AU

Shogun!Bakugou x Midoriya’s sister!reader

Summery: Her mother, lady Midoriya Inko, had once told her that the gods had predestined a path for every single person. All she had to do was follow the path and trust that it would lead her to happiness. But how could (Y/N) find happiness in a political formed marriage with her brother’s rival, a man known for being brutal and cold hearted?

Warnings: sexual content in later chapters / period-typical-sexism / strong language / violence / Drama / Angst / Fluff / Slow Burn/ political marriage / Reader is Izuku's sister / period-typical-discriptions like vague mentions of longer hair to form typical hairstyles or specific wardrobe / Bakugou is not good at feelings / Bakugou is a mean, explosive boi / third-person perspektive

Wattpad

AO3

If someone wants to be tagged, just let me know ;)

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The life of a lady

No matter what culture you were born into, the structures of the society of the noble born, were always one and the same in their most fundamental form. A life as a noble was blessed with wealth and influence, but intrigues and scandals enjoyed dominance over those who had enough money and power to be part of the emperor's curt.

Only the most important people were powerful enough to receive the honor to get a tailored role in such a glorious play, while the rest served only as cheap, unappreciated extras. However, it did not matter at all whether the nobility was absorbed in their role's descriptions or if they would have preferred to step off that pretential stage. Every single one of them was obliged to play their part. If they did not, they had to expect that it would not only be their own end, but often for their entire family and subordinates as well. In that case, all that could save them was the favor of the crown itself, which usually was as fickle and impressionable as the rough sea.

In a world like this, you didn't decide for yourself who you were...

No, not really...

It was the tongues of the others that had the power to deform the image of your identity. They decided who you were and what was best for you. They defined what was right and what was wrong and were able to destroy you at the slightest misstep. So, bearing a title was a privilege and a burden all at once.

As a noble it was not only important who you were and how well you fulfilled your own part in society, no, it was important who you knew and what contacts you had cultivated. Your connections were what made you powerful. So it was common that unions were closed around various families to secure better conditions for their offspring's or to form better alliances to gain power over the emperor's curt. In a society like this, everyone looked for their own benefits. Compassion was a rare treasure, which could only be found in the fewest individuals. Sons were raised to rule, while daughters were only used as bargaining chips. They must humbly serve their families by marrying powerful men, to obtain alliances. They had to bind themselves to those who were raised to rule over them, without ever getting a chance to decide for themselves.

So... how can anyone romanticize such a morbid spectacle? Why are there such big differences between the rights of various people? Why are the deeds of the powerful always glossed over, while the weaker were oppressed?

Noble warriors, who fought for glory and honor...

Fine diplomats, whose silver tongues could melt every single heart...

Mighty kings, who hold their hand protectively over their people...

Well-guarded ladies, whose beauty and elegance could made a whole hall shine...

Weren't these colorful descriptions only empty paraphrases, in order to be able to hide the cruel faces of reality?

But...

Who told of the blood of the innocent that dripped from the warrior's blade?

Who mentioned the lies the diplomat had spun to achieve his goals?

Who wrote about the wars the king instigated to expand his empire?

Who acknowledged that a lady's supposed beauty and family status was the only means to even have the prospect of a rosy future? And even this was not an indicator that her destiny would not be her downfall, because the rules were set by those who wielded the power and if she was unlucky, they were the ones who took advantage of it without thinking of her well-being.

Yes, even the carefully planned and detailed balls and parties, looked at first glance like dreamlike picture perfect background's. They blinded onlookers to what was behind the scenes, but those who lived in this world for long enough, knew that even these were literally only bloody battlefields disguised in beautiful shining robes. It's was a spectacle full of lies.

True love?

A spark of equality?

Boundless trust?

What most rare wonders they were in her hypocritical society and yet (Y/N), young and unreserved, hoped to find them in spite of everything. What a blessed life she had led until now. She was lucky to be born into a wonderful family. Despite her status, its members were warm-hearted and free-spirited. But she knew that this was not the norm and was wise enough not to take her privileges for granted.

With a wildly beating heart, she stood next to her mother and waited for her call to finally be presented before the Emperor and his guests as a marriageable debutante. Normally, the Empress would review the new young ladies year after year, but she had passed away in her own childbed some time ago, and so the Emperor, bless his suprisingly kind soul, took over this task, with a nostalgic smile on his fragile face.

In the midst of the whole crowd of young ladies and their mothers, (Y/N) stood and called herself to patience while she tried to fade out her competition as best she could. Some of her fellow competitors she knew personally, but only a few she had a closer, more sympathetic relationship with. Somewhere at the other end of the waiting area she had spotted Miss Uraraka with her mother. But unfortunately they had only been able to give each other a fleeting smile before she was already called. Ochako was one of her few childhood friends, but she too was unfortunately on the hunt for a good match and was now in some ways as much her competitor as all the rest of the unmarried girls. So all (Y/N) could do was to hope that this season wouldn't drive a wedge between them and at least one of them would get hitched safely.

However, no matter how much she would like to think about her friendships at this moment, the young girl had to use what little time she had left to mentally prepare herself for her own appearance. Breathing deeply through her chest, the budding debutante stretched her back while pulling her shoulders taut. The stiff, floral-embroidered obi was cinched very tightly around her waist, making breathing a little more difficult, but not as impossible as it seemed with some of the other ladies. Testing, (Y/N) tried to put on a charming smile as she interlaced her fingers in front of her body in a demure pose before turning her frame with trembling lips to her mother, who was already looking at her with affection. "I hope I can bring honor to our family today!" the young girl spoke softly as she gazed hopefully into the green eyes of her counterpart. Lady Midoriya regarded her daughter with a moved expression, raising her well-groomed hands to fix the blooming magnolia blossoms she had personally placed in the elaborate hairstyle that morning for one last time. Satisfied with her work, she let her fingers glide gently down over (Y/N)'s ears, only to finally cup the young girl's cheeks in a delicate manner. "You already do, my child! And I know you will continue to do so!" the older lady replied confidently, while placing her slightly wrinkled, yet still delicate fingers under (Y/N)'s chin to lift it decisively. "You are beautiful, intelligent and kind-hearted! You have inherited your father's strong will! He would be as proud as I am to see you like this. Just like your brother, you put all your passion into your tasks and diligently learn what is expected of you. You, my child, will be able to go your way and overcome any stumbling block. I am incredibly sure of that!" Lady Midoriya added emotionaly before she cleared her throat softly, hoping to catch herself again. Tears glistened in her eyes like raindrops on an evergreen branch. The words of her mother gave (Y/N) the necessary strength to suppress the slight trembling of her lips. Slowly but surely, the nervous lump that had spread in her throat dissolved and disappeared along with her fear.

Yes, her mother was right! (Y/N) had inherited the will of her father and had prepared herself in the best possible way for exactly this moment. She would face the emperor fearlessly and make her family proud. On this day and on each still coming!

"Lady Midoriya. It is now your and your daughter's turn!" the stiff voice of the herald's assistant rang out, snapping them out of their brief emotional moment. Nodding, (Y/N)'s mother started to move and placed herself with perfectly executed etiquette in front of the closed red and golden double doors that would lead them into the throne room. The remaining debutantes and their mothers, who were waiting for their momentto come, gave them appraising looks, but (Y/N) tried to ignore them as much as possible. Each of them knew how privileged the youngest Midoriya was, her own brother being one of the three former students of the current emperor. But she would shine today because of her own abilities. Today she would not stand in the shadow of her talented, kind-hearted brother. Taking a deep breath, the young girl followed her mother and positioned herself half a step in front of her while she waited with galloping heartbeat for the herald's introduction.

This was it...

This was the moment on which everything depended. All eyes would be on her to determine her own worth. As soon as those doors opened, she would take the first step to be able to grab a good match for herself. It would be one of the most important steps that would determine the rest of her life and she could not help but dare once again to let hope for a good future arise in her. Conscious of her duty, (Y/N) lowered herself onto the pillow and took in a bowing posture. With her head bowed and fingertips touching, which hovered in a rehearsed posture stretched out in front of her just a few millimeters above the ground, she took one last look at her beloved mother. Making the final decision to take Lady Midoriya as her role model, (Y/N) set herself for the very last time the goal not only to achieve an excellent match and honor for her family, but also to fight for the oh-so-rare love that only a few were truly allowed to experience. Even if her future could not be determined by herself, she did not want to leave her entire destiny solely in the hands of the gods, for only those who proved virtuous and courageous would be truly heard by those same deity's. She had prayed and pleaded that she would be able to feel for her future groom as her mother once did for her beloved husband, but to achieve this she would have to fight in her own way.

"Your Majesty, honored guests, we now present Miss Midoriya (Y/N), younger sister of the head of the family and distinguished samurai of Shizuoka Province, Lord Midoriya Izuku, one of the three former disciples of the Symbol of Peace. His Imperial Highness, Toshinori-sama. The young lady is accompanied by her mother, Lady Midoriya Inko," the clear voice of the herald echoed through the hall, while the richly decorated double doors were pushed open as if in slow motion. As she had been taught, the introduced debutante slowly counted to three before elegantly rising from her bowing position, only to just as slowly lift her eyelids to cast an innocent glance around the hall. In a culture like hers, aesthetics and elegance were invaluable. They were taught to one from childhood. Like a graceful mask, she wore the delicate, demure garb of etiquette expected of a young girl of her station.

'Do not speak unless you are addressed personally.'

'It is better to be seen than heard.'

'A young girl's weapon is not her voice, but her manners and countenance.'

'Be a work of art that all the world wants to admire.'

Even though (Y/N) wanted to be independent in her deepest heart. Even if she would have loved to use her own voice not only to be seen but also to be heard, she knew that for that she needed a man who was kind enough to give her that very chance. Her gently, encouraging brother would not always be her guardian. In a society like hers, a woman alone was worth nothing. Her status was measured by that of her husband and only that man would be able to shape her further life. He alone would have the right to decide whether to lock her in a golden cage and let her wither away or to give her the wings she would need to continue to develop freely. So she had no choice but to be exactly what was expected of her if she wanted to attract as much attention as possible. The family name she carried could not be her only trump card. She had to portray the perfect, well-mannered bride. A girl that was worth fighting over. Beautiful and quiet. Attentive and discreet. Talented and elegant. For this reason, she had poured her heart and soul and perfectionism into this very charlatanry. She wanted freedom! She wanted to be able to hope! Hope that the seed her family had planted in her would be able to blossom! Hope to be able to attract the attention of a man who would be her blessing and not her downfall.

Without losing her balance, the young girl stood up, while with purposeful flowing gestures, she placed her hands hovering over each other under her chest. When at last the seat cushion was discreetly moved aside, the debutante stepped into the packed hall with shining, soft eyes, closely followed by her venerable mother. A slight implied smile, meant to exude modesty and delicacy, played around her lips as she resisted the need to look around the room.

Look at me. I am everything you have ever dreamed of.

Her gaze rested on the hem of the emperor's multi-layered robe without once losing her focus as she strode past his wealthy guests, who were spread out on either side of the hall and focused their full attention on (Y/N). The young girl knew that somewhere in that crowd was her big brother, Midoriya Izuku, watching her intently just like all the others. By the gods, she hoped that he felt pure pride for his sister, just like their mother. He was probably even more nervous than she was at that moment. Perhaps he was even quietly whispering push prayers into his non-existent beard to give his sister all the blessings in the world. No matter. This thought alone warmed the debutante's heart as she took one step after another toward the emperor until she finally came to a stop in front of him. Without lifting her eyes, (Y/N) curtsied as deeply as her legs would allow and then waited with bated breath for the crown's reaction.

Silence reigned in the hall, so pervasive that one could have heard a pin drop on the floor. Like a mantra, the words, Look at me, I bring honor to my family, echoed in the mind of the youngest Midoriya. The sudden clap of the emperor, which echoed through the room like lashes of a whip, almost made (Y/N) wince, but she had managed to pull herself together. Calmly, the young girl waited while she made sure to take deep breaths through her chest so as not to fall prey to dizziness. Out of the corner of her eye, she could observe the emperor nodding warmly in the direction of his guests. "As one would expect, my student's little sister is shining brightly!", Toshinori's voice loudly and warmly pierced the silence of the room.

"This my honored guests, I call a truly sparkling diamond."

[in-somnis-veritas]

Characters

(This is for an AU currently in the works! This is one of the only available posts for it right now, but make sure to drop by the page and follow us to stay up to date! More in-depth info will be released soon about the world of Adrestia)

Name | Age | Race | Status Mod Paragraph

Tommy | 16 | Half-elf | Commoner

Tommy was born and raised in the town of Alnwick, living with his mom for the first few years of his life as his father worked in the capital city of Somritas as a knight. He was raised completely unaware of his status of being a half-elf or the fact that his mother was, in fact, an elf. Now, 16 years old with a dead mother, he continues to live his life believing he’s human--not even showing the telltale signs of being a half-elf because of a pendant he’s worn since he was a toddler. Not that he knows that’s what it does. Loud, rambunctious, mischievous--he always finds the time to harass his friends or flirt with pretty girls who happened to be nearby. Best friends with Tubbo and with a brotherly relationship with Dream, he’s out thriving as an extrovert. Though it’s safe to mention he’s completely banned from the capital city,

Tubbo | 16 | Druid | Knight

Tubbo's entire existence is illegal, pretty much. Born to two druids, he himself is also a druid. When he was 6, his camp was attacked. All of his people were killed. The only survivors were him and his baby brother. After fleeing, they survived on their own for a week. They were soon picked up by another camp, which Tubbo lived in for 9 years. When he was 15, his camp sent him to the city. His brother stayed behind, while Tubbo made the three-day long journey to the city. Soon after his arrival, he became a knight. He has served ever since. Despite being magical, he appears fairly human. The only true way to tell he is a druid is the triskelion tattoo he has, which is just below the crook of his elbow on his right forearm. Within the city, his closest friend is Niki. She was the first one to find out about his magic, and he genuinely trusts her with his life. Outside of the city, his best friend is Tommy. Considering he can't go inside the city, Tubbo usually goes outside the walls to visit. Tommy was the second to find out. Saying he trusts Tommy with his life isn't true, mainly because he would be the one endangering it to begin with.

Dream | 19 | Human | Prince/Royalty

Prince Dream von Galatea the 1st, born August 12th, 1599, is the sole male heir to the well known kingdom, Somritas, in the northern Adrestia region. He is a very respected and competent prince to his royal adversaries and renowned across the land as an excellent warrior. Dream trains almost daily and vigorously, so much so that many outsiders try their hand at challenging him but have yet to beat him. The man greatly idolizes the old “fairy tales” of the human hero saving others from the monstrous non-human races. Though, this then causes the prince to have a bit of a Hero Complex. When a situation involves or pertains to someone he cares for and is emotionally invested in, he’s generally a very impulsive and sensitive man that will end up following his feelings in the heat of the moment rather than his rationalized thoughts. Other than that, however, Dream’s quick at adapting to new situations and thinking on the spot, especially when placed under pressure. To add on, he’s fiercely protective and compassionate to those under his kingdom’s rule and is seen often interacting with the townsfolk in the Town Square, thus his subjects adore the kind prince wholeheartedly. In order to rise to his rightful place as King, he must venture outside the castle walls and vanquish countless magical non-human races, thus proving himself capable to his father. Subsequently along the way, Dream’s close minded beliefs will get upturned as he begins to discover not everything in his kingdom is as fair and just as he once thought. 

George | 20 | Changeling | Upperclass Tailor

George Pruitt is a fairly upper-class tailor born and raised in Somritas. Both of his parents are tailors, and he is one of the most skilled tailors in the city. Many members of royalty favor him and ask specifically sew their clothes for important events. He is Prince Dream's favorite tailor as well. His upbringing was regular and nothing strange happened, but around 14 years old, he started getting signs of magic. He withdrew from people and really only socialized with Dream, which is why they're so close. He tries to seem as human as possible, and hates that he's magical.

Niki | 18 | Human | Commoner

Niki lives in the northern Adrestia region in the kingdom of Somritas as a baker. She owns her own shop where she she sells breads, pastries, cookies, and the like. The unofficial hub of all mysterious strangers, Niki seems to know everyone and everything. While raised on the culture of magical non-humans being bad, her encounters throughout the years change her mind to be more open and welcome to everyone. She makes friends very easily and her shop is one of the most visited in the kingdom.

Techno | 19 | Cursed Human | Prince/Royalty

Technoblade is the prince of the kingdom of Strata, a kingdom in the Adrestia region and one that is allied to the kingdom of Somritas. He was cursed the night before his fifteenth birthday by an unknown intruder in the castle and was shunned by the general public in the kingdom because of his now ‘monstrous’ appearance. He left the kingdom even though the king and queen wanted him to stay and is now searching for someone to undo his curse, which brought him to Somritas. He stays out of the actual kingdom because he would be burned if he ever went inside due to his appearance, so he just camps out in the forest close to it and only goes to the very outskirts of the marketplace and the black market to find someone that can break the curse. Techno is extremely blunt and he’s not afraid to call someone out for being an idiot, but only when he’s comfortable with that person. He hates interaction with people that he doesn’t know and pretty much never talks to anyone unless they talk to him first. He kinda bounces around in different groups of people, but stays with Dream mostly.

Wilbur | 25 | Cursed Human | Outlaw

Wilbur was born in a family that practiced magic. One day, they were caught and the royalty put them up to be executed, but Wilbur able to escape. He would steal things on the streets and retreat to the woods at night. He did this for a couple of years, but when he was 21 he got caught and was scheduled for a public execution. He got one of his eyes removed but was able to escape by setting something on fire as a distraction. He retreated to the forest once again where he practiced witchcraft and lived somewhat peacefully. Then he met Tommy.

Fundy | 20 | Silver dragon-touched human | Traveling Healer

Fundy is a mysterious traveler that works as a healer for money, slipping in and out of towns and leaving little more than a healed patient or two and fleeting memories of him behind. He leaves little opportunity for anyone to get close, and he always carries a wooden fox mask.

Philza | Ealy 30s | Aasimar | Commoner

Phil lives outside of the kingdom, on the edge of a forest with his wife. Aside from tending to his animals and small farm he makes furniture for the more wealthy members of society. He’s an all around kind and genuine normal guy, he’s always willing to lend a helping hand. Sometimes though, when the light hits right, an ethereal glow seems to take form in the shape of a ring above his head. Despite being a regular ol' guy, rumors seem to follow him wherever he goes. Many stories spread about a winged figure slaying beasts either in traps or by their own sword, swooping out of the sky to defend people, leaving nothing left of once feared monsters. Sadly, absolutely none of the rumors are talking about him, couldn’t be. Phil’s just ordinary.

Eret | 20 | Cursed Human | Noble (Court member)

Eret is from a small town on the northern coast of Somritas. They was raised there for the first 17 years of their life surrounded by elves and magic users the entire time. It was a hidden safe haven for elves within the kingdom, a vast majority of its population being the magical creatures. The village was full of so much magic that it ended up causing the humans who lived alongside the elves to become magic sensors, hence why Eret is, well, a magic sensor. They ended up doing something, that something never being disclosed as Eret refuses to explain. It ended up with the high council of elves within the town to be LIVID. They became petty. They cursed him. They made the kid appear magical, ruining Eret’s humanity and forcing them to look similar to an elf with glowing eyes. But it backfired and destroyed their retinas, completely blinding them. So, fueled with the want for revenge, Eret turned on their village and ratted out the magical population. It just so happened to be that they ratted the village out to a royal court member. This gave them a pardon and an audience with the king who gave them an offer. They could help the king as a magic sensor and spy and continue to sniff out the magical congregations or they could burn with the village. Eret chose to stay alive, so they helped the royals torch the village.

[justatiredpotato]

Set Me Free | Chapter 1

Chapter List

Pairing: hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, coffee shop AU, hybrid AU

Word Count: Chapter: 6,000~  Total: 40,000~ (I’m sorry xD)

Updates daily at 10pm MST

Warnings: violence, discrimination (against hybrids), mentions of injuries and blood, anxiety, panic attacks

Summary: Yoongi, a cat hybrid, has been hurt time and time again by a world that would have him believe he’s worthless. One day he finds himself in your protective care, and gets a new family to boot. But is it really that easy to escape the past and embrace a new beginning?

Author’s Note: I love writing reader inserts but I just can’t write Y/N. It feels weird to me. So in this fic the reader’s name is Yeoji. I hope this isn’t too confusing for anyone! This is my first time posting my work so I appreciate any support it gets!

You raised the blinds just high enough to let a sliver of pre-dawn light in, but low enough that you wouldn’t be blinded when the sun crested the buildings across the way. You peered through the sheer fabric onto the square outside. The area had seen a lot of development in the last few years. Trendy little shops now lined the street. The coffee shop you owned and operated was tucked between a couple of over-priced restaurants with laughably tiny servings. 

While you weren’t thrilled with the increase in your overhead costs, you couldn’t deny the recent boost in business. There was a steady flow of customers through the whole week, not just in the early morning or on weekends. It had even become necessary to hire a couple of part-timers to keep the place open longer. Not that you minded. You were actually glad for the opportunity to give your friend, Jungkook, a job. 

The rabbit hybrid was nervous by nature despite his imposing appearance; he stood at least a foot taller than you. Your brother, Namjoon was fiercely protective of him. Jungkook came into your lives in your final year of college. The police brought a battered and terrified Jungkook to Remedy shelter, which was run by your friend Jin. They hadn’t seen what happened to him, and he wouldn’t say. As far as you knew, Namjoon and Jin were the only people he ever told.

Your eyes focused on the patio before you, as the very bunny you were thinking of appeared at the door. One of the boys came in on the weekends to work alongside you and help with the rush. The square was usually packed with couples on dates, window-shopping and listening to musicians that busked along the sidewalks.

“Morning, noona!” Jungkook chirped with his wide bunny grin.

“G’morning Koo,” you said, attempting to match his energy level despite the early hour. He laughed sweetly at the nickname. You were the only one he let call him that since he turned seventeen.

“Did you have your coffee yet?” He asked. You shook your head no. “Waiting for your favorite hybrid to make it for you?” 

“Don’t let Jimin hear you say that. You know he’ll take any opportunity to pout,” you said. 

Jungkook chuckled at that. Jimin was the shop's other part-timer. Many hybrids were affectionate, but the ragdoll hybrid took it to another level. He spent every possible second with his arms wrapped around his nearest friend. You were counted among his friends from pretty much your first meeting. When the chance to work at your shop had opened up, he thought it would be a great chance to have some independence. 

Jimin had been rooming with Jin for years. Despite his desire for independence he simply couldn’t stand living alone. So he shared an apartment with Jin and Taehyung, a sweet tiger hybrid. Taehyung had been hard to adopt out because despite his good nature, he was an exotic breed, and a predator no less. Few wanted to risk taking responsibility for him, and those that did had less-than-good intentions for him.

Life was scary as a hybrid. Between the massive industry of underground fighting rings, sex trafficking, and abuse in even seemingly decent homes, any adoption was a gamble. Jin tried his best to vet each family, but he couldn’t catch every red flag. You and Namjoon knew better than most how that haunted him.

Several years ago, the two of you stopped by the shelter. Neither of you could reach him on the phone and you were starting to get worried. You finally found him in his office, passed out over his desk with several empty bottles of soju scattered around. Namjoon tried to rouse him, but all he could mumble was ‘dead, dead, dead’ between hiccuping sobs. The next morning you learned that a hybrid he’d helped earlier that year was found dead in a seedy part of town. The couple that adopted her were being investigated on suspicion of hybrid trafficking. 

He wasn’t the same after that. He got back to his usual smiling self, but he was slower to trust, and slower to laugh. Every time a hybrid left the shelter for their new home there was a flicker of sadness and fear in his eyes.

“Noona? What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked, breaking your train of thought. You turned to look at him, blinking to stop your eyes watering at the memory.

“It’s nothing Kookie, just thinking about this sad movie I watched last night.” You and Namjoon both agreed that it was best to keep the more tragic events from the shelter quiet. Jungkook had been through enough in the past, and you didn’t want to hurt him further by bringing up old memories. Jungkook frowned at the response.

“It must’ve been really sad,” he said, sniffing lightly. His frown deepened and he searched her eyes. He seemed to debate pressing it further. You knew that his hybrid senses were telling him you were lying. But he seemed to decide it was best to let it go, instead holding out a hot cup of your favorite coffee, a soft smile returning and making his eyes scrunch.

You took it, grateful for the coffee and his letting you evade the question. You set about your morning tasks, laying out chairs, brewing coffee for the self-serve station, and checking that there was creamer chilled and ready. Sunlight sparkled in the air, reflecting off the morning frost. 

It was supposed to snow that night. You shuddered. You hated winter for forcing you to pay for heating, if nothing else. Whenever your friends got together at your house—a tiny one-bedroom apartment above the cafe—Jimin whined about the cold temperature. But you refused to pay for anything beyond what would keep your pipes from freezing. It was expensive enough to own a building in your area already. Instead you wore layers and piled blankets on your bed. Jimin wasn’t really upset anyway, he loved any excuse to cuddle. Movie night usually ended with him and Taehyung asleep on either side of you.

“You actually going to turn on the radiator tonight?” Jungkook teased.

“I have my radiator on! It’s just… turned down,” you said.

He chuckled, knowing you were too stubborn to waste money on ‘luxuries.’ He turned away at the jingle of the door bell. The first customer of the day came as no surprise. A familiar, slouching form appeared, dropped a couple of equipment cases off at the side of the door, and shuffled up to the counter. The young man had black hair that hung down and nearly covered his eyes, which flicked up to meet hers. His lips twitched in a hint of a smile.

“Good morning, Yoongi” You said with more than your usual morning cheer. Jungkook scoffed and you threw him a dirty look. The young man in front of the counter didn’t seem to pay attention, his eyes determinedly focused on his beat-up boots.

“Morning,” he mumbled, glancing up to briefly meet your eyes.

“The usual?” you asked, trying to hold his gaze.

“Yeah,” he said. This time offering you a genuine smile before he looked away again. He busied himself looking through a well-worn notebook while you relayed his usual order to Jungkook: cheese toast and a small hot americano. You returned to the counter and accepted his punch card. He practically filled one every other week, since he was in nearly every day. 

“Performing in the square again today?” you asked. He was one of the buskers that was a regular in the area. He nodded. “You should put on a coat. It’s supposed to snow later. You��re going to freeze if you’re out there all day like that.”

You looked over his clothes. The hoodie he wore was ragged at the sleeves. He had the hood up, cinched a bit against the biting wind. His signature beanie was just peeking out from under it. He scuffed his feet, uncomfortable under your appraisal. 

“I’ll be fine,” he answered shortly. He looked up at you, eyes wide as he realized how curt he sounded. “I stay warm when I’m performing.”

You weren’t sure how standing behind a keyboard and laptop could keep you warm, but you didn’t press the issue. You handed back the punch card and gave him his total. He rummaged in his pockets before frowning and looking up at the menu.

“That’s wrong,” he said.

“Hm?” you asked, though you already knew what he meant. He pointed to the menu over your shoulder.

“Your prices went up, but this is what it always costs.” He pulled a jumble of crumpled bills and coins from the pocket of his hoodie, counting through them. A couple of coins fell and clattered across the counter.

“I gave you the regular customer discount,” you said. Jungkook chuckled as he joined you at the register with the completed order.

“That’s not a thing,” Yoongi said as he finished counting out his change and handed you the total with the new prices.

“It’s my shop. I’m making it a thing,” you argued, pushing the money back toward him.

“Please, Yeoji-ssi. I don’t need a hand out.”

“I didn’t mean that you need it, I just wanted to,” you finally stammered after an awkward pause. Now you were embarrassed, and you felt bad for unintentionally insulting him. Yoongi cursed quietly under his breath. Beside you Jungkook’s ears twitched, and he sniffed curiously; no doubt sensing something you couldn’t.

“I know, I’m sorry. That’s very generous of you,” he said as he gently pushed the money back toward you. Tucking his toast into the backpack and taking his coffee he hurried back toward the door. He fumbled for a minute, trying to carry his equipment and the hot beverage. As he finally got his things together and went to push the door open, you called after him.

“Hey, drop by if you get a chance to take a break and warm up.”

“I’ll try,” he said, turning around and flashing another soft smile as he pushed through the door.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You thought about Yoongi a lot through the rest of the day. Jungkook noticed and teased you all day. You couldn’t scold him for it though, you’d teased him plenty about his first crush.

As long as Yoongi had been coming to the cafe you’d been curious about him. He was quiet, handsome, and talented. You’d heard him perform in the square before. He played the keyboard but also produced tracks that he played from his laptop, blending the simplicity of the piano with a full-bodied studio sound.

You often wondered why he wasn’t working at a studio, producing for idols. He could have been an idol himself with the good looks he hid behind a beanie, hoodie, and bangs. The more you learned about the boy, the more you wanted to know. On your break, you googled his name and found a few YouTube videos of performances at clubs and underground rap battles. Apparently he wasn’t just a musician, he was a talented lyricist and rapper as well.

“Doing some research on your boyfriend, I see?” Jungkook said, resting his chin on your shoulder. You jumped, turning to swat at him as he quickly danced away.

“Don’t read over people’s shoulders! That’s rude,” you scolded. You could feel your face turning pink, and it irritated you to know that he could sense your embarrassment. “He’s not my boyfriend. And I was just curious about his music.”

“Mhm, right,” Jungkook said dismissively. “You’re seriously browsing Google? Come on, doesn’t this guy have an Instagram?”

“Not one that I can find.” Your tone made it clear that you had made a thorough search and failed.

“Wow, really? No social media presence at all? Maybe he has Twitter.” You shook your head. “Facebook? LinkedIn? MySpace? AOL?”

“AOL did IM and email, you dork,” you interrupted, cracking a smile. “And no, I can’t find him on any platform besides YouTube. He doesn’t seem to have his own channel…”

“Weird…” Jungkook said. “Are we sure this guy really exists?” You snorted. “I’m serious! For someone to be completely off the grid on the internet is like, unheard of. Maybe he’s hiding from the law! Or in witness protection. Noona, what if your boyfriend is a drug dealer!”

You swung at him again, this time successfully landing a smack on his shoulder. He ran back out front when the door chimed.

“He’s not a drug dealer, stupid!” You called after him. “And he’s not my boyfriend!”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Namjoon picked up Jungkook after closing that evening. They were having a boys night at Jin’s house.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join, noona?” Jungkook asked, pouting a little bit to try and convince you.

“We really don’t mind, noona. Jimin and Tae would love it if you came,” Namjoon added.

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’ll be fine Joon. And Koo, you know Overwatch isn’t my style. You have fun with the boys. Make sure to let them win a few times,” you said, getting on your toes to ruffle Jungkook’s hair affectionately.

“I will,” Jungkook said, leaning into your hand for one last ear scratch.

You waved off the boys and set to cleaning up for the night. After mopping and turning out the lights in the front you went in the back to wash the dishes. Through the door leading out into the alley, you heard shouting. Listening for a minute, you shrugged it off. Probably just college kids from a local frat house. You often heard them as they stumbled home from the local bar. It was Friday night after all.

That explanation left your head quickly when you heard a scream. The sound nearly made you drop the mug you were washing. That wasn’t a scream of young men goofing around, it was a cry of pain and fear. Before you could think better of it you shook the water off your hands, grabbed your  phone, and raced for the door. 

You burst out into the alleyway struggling to stay upright on the thin layer of freshly fallen snow.

What you saw made your stomach turn. A group of four young men were crowded around the dumpster. Something, or more likely someone, was crumpled in the corner between it and the wall. You couldn’t see much, just rumpled fabric and a couple of bags laying around. The bags were opened, the paper and garments they had contained tossed around the alley. 

The men took turns throwing brutal kicks at the person in the corner, who was now curled so that the only thing you could see besides the snow-soaked hoodie was his hands clutching something to his chest. 

“You thought you could fool everyone? Thought you could scam a buck out of us?” One of the men sneered.

“Too bad. We know what you are. Just because no one wants you doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want,” another said

“You’re just a toy that someone threw away. What were you thinking trying to pull something over on real people?” another said, punctuating his point with a kick to the ribs that sent the victim sprawling onto the snow.

“Hey!” you shouted before you could think better of it. You hurriedly lifted your phone to dial the police. It was dead. Panic shot through you as the four guys turned to you. Thinking quickly you put the phone to your ear and started talking. 

“Hello? I need the police. I’m in the alley behind ***********. There are some young men here and I think they’ve hurt someone.” One of the men took a step toward you, further illuminating his face in the dim security light. You took a step back. “Hey, I have all of this on CCTV! Your faces are on it!” you warned before returning to the imaginary phone call. “Yes, the cameras run 24/7. Everything should be on there…”

The guy closest to you stepped back into the shadows, cursing.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning to walk away and nodding for his friends to follow him. One of them turned to spit on the figure in the corner before walking away.

“You’re lucky, freak.”

You kept talking until the group disappeared around the corner. As soon as they were gone you rushed to the person in the alley. The person flinched away as you approached, tucking in on himself. You stopped, listening as he said something. It was muffled by his arms, which were held up in an attempt to protect his head. 

“What did you say?” you asked, moving a little closer.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…” he repeated over and over again. The man’s voice trembled to the point it was hard to understand him, but his voice was undeniably familiar. As you came within arms reach you got a clearer view, and your blood ran cold. There bundled in a thin, soaked hoodie, was Yoongi. The snow that had melted over him from his body heat was quickly refreezing. He shivered so badly you could hear his teeth chattering.

“Yoongi?” you asked in a choked whisper.

He looked up at you then. One of his eyes was blackened, almost entirely swollen shut, with a cut through his eyebrow dripping blood onto his eyelashes. His nose was bleeding, possibly broken. The split in his lip lined up with a quickly darkening bruise on his jaw.

“Oh my god, Yoongi! What happened?” you asked, reaching out for him.

“Please,” he said, more of a whimper than a word. You froze. He was scared you were going to hurt him.

“Yoongi?” you said, more softly this time. “It’s okay. They’re gone. I’m not going to hurt you. Would you please let me help you?” The panic in his eyes seemed to clear a little, and he seemed to really see you when he met your eyes again.

“Yeoji-ssi? I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” he mumbled, wincing as he tried to stand.

“Woah, hold on.” You reached out to steady him. He flinched at the sudden movement, but didn’t pull away this time. “You aren’t going anywhere. Come on, let's get you inside before you freeze.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. It’s really not worth the tro-“ he started.

“Yoongi,” you said in your older-sister voice. He seemed to realize that that was the end of the discussion, because he sagged against you as you slung his arm over your shoulders. His free hand was still clutching something to his chest. You glanced at it and your eyes widened. A tail. You looked up at him with a clearly shocked expression. He let out a kind of tired, resigned sigh.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Like I said, I can just go. You can leave me. You probably don’t want me here.”

“Why would you say that?” you said, immediately regretting your tone. He shrank into himself, curling his shoulders in to make himself smaller, even as he winced at the pain of moving.

“Sorry,” he repeated meekly, pulling his arm off as if he expected you to shove him away. You grabbed his hand and settled it back over your shoulder.

“I’m not mad at you, Yoongi. But why would you think I would leave you here?” you said. As you limped toward the door into the café he couldn’t meet your eyes. He’d embarrassed you, again. Of course you’d want to get rid of him. He hung his head and obediently followed you inside. His heart broke as he saw his bags, open and empty, strewn around the alley. His notes littered the floor, already soaked and probably illegible. He glanced around, seeing the edge of his keyboard where it had been shoved under the dumpster in the scuffle. Turning, he realized his backpack—containing his laptop, important papers and notes, and what little money he had saved—was still lying in the corner where you’d found him. 

He turned to you to say something, but found you were already at the door. As soon as the door closed behind him, what little strength he had left him. You eased him to the ground as best you could. He grunted, muffling a whimper of pain. He already felt pathetic enough.

“Okay, I’m going to call the police and an ambulance,” you said, tossing your dead cell phone on the counter and hurrying to the landline. Thank god you hadn’t hadn’t got around to cancelling it yet. Yoongi’s eyes widened and he lurched forward, trying to stand. He only made it one step before he fell, yelping in pain and landing on his hands and knees on the tile. You rushed back to his side.

“Don’t,” he begged through gritted teeth. You stopped short, thinking he didn’t want you to touch him. “No cops. No ambulance,” he got out before lowering himself to lay on his side. You quickly moved to lay his head on your lap instead of the cold floor.

“Yoongi you’re hurt. And those boys should be arrested! Besides, I’m sure someone is worried about you. Don’t you have a…” you trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Owner?” Yoongi said, disgust clear in his voice.

“I was going to say guardian. That’s what most of my friends call their arrangement.” 

“You have hybrid friends? Or your friends own hybrids?” Yoongi asked.

“I guess both, not that my hybrid friends are anyone’s property-“ you cut yourself off. “Yoongi this isn’t important right now. You need help.”

“No. The hospital will call the police, and the police will put me in a shelter.”

“You’re alone?” you asked cautiously.

“Yeah. I’m better his way. If I can just sleep here, I’ll be gone in the morning. Please,” he said. His voice kept getting quieter, losing its bite the more he spoke.

“No,” you said firmly.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t want me here. I’ll be gone before you wake up. I won’t touch anything. You can just forget all of this.”

“No, Yoongi. I meant I’m not letting you leave like this. I’m getting you help and you’re going to let me.”

You took off your sweater and put it under his head so you could stand and get the phone. Yoongi moved to protest, but you threw him a look and he surrendered. You dialed and watched as Yoongi’s eyes fell closed despite his best attempts to fight it.

“Noona? What’s up?” came the answer on the phone.

“Hoseok, I need your help,” you said, not wasting any time. You could hear the sound of video games and trash talk pause in the background as the other boys asked Hoseok what you called for.

“Shut up a sec and let me ask,” he said to the younger boys who were no doubt hovering around the phone trying to eavesdrop. “Sorry, noona. What do you need? It’s late. Is everything okay?”

“I need a doctor.”

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately, his voice more urgent now. You could hear a whine on the other end already, probably Jungkook, already worried.

“I’m fine, Hobi, but could you take this conversation somewhere more private?” you asked, not wanting to expose the younger boys to any unnecessary trauma. There was shuffling and complaints on the other end of the line, then the sound of a door closing.

“Talk. What’s going on?” Hoseok demanded. The door opened and closed again and you heard Namjoon’s voice.

“What’s happening? Is she okay?” he asked. “Are you okay?” He repeated more clearly, evidently sharing the phone with Hoseok.

“Yes, I’m fine! But I have an injured hybrid here. He doesn’t have a guardian and he’s too scared to let me call an ambulance.”

“What happened to him?” Hoseok asked. He was a doctor specializing in hybrid medicine at the nearby hospital. He often helped out at Jin’s shelter. You felt some relief as you sensed he was in what Taehyung liked to call ‘doctor mode.’

“Some kids beat him up. It’s bad. He’s passed out on my kitchen floor right now. Drenched from the snow too. I can’t carry him into my apartment myself and it’s way too cold in this kitchen.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll have to grab some supplies from the shelter.” 

You heard the door opening again, and a bunch of voices throwing questions at Hoseok and Joon.

“Jin-hyung, shelter keys?” Hoseok requested over the noise.

“I’m going too,” Namjoon chimed in. There was more arguing and shuffling noises as coats were grabbed and shoes were put on and everyone insisted they were coming. You were distracted by a soft murmur from Yoongi, still on the floor behind you. You stretched the phone cord and returned to his side.

“What is it, Yoongi?” you asked, pulling the beanie off to brush some of his fringe off his face. His soft black ears were flattened against his head, and you gently smoothed over them too.

“My bag,” he mumbled, eyebrows creasing even in unconsciousness.

You interrupted the arguing boys on the other end of the phone.

“Bring the boys,” you said.

“Are you sure about that?” Namjoon asked, knowing that you, Jin, and himself all agreed it was best to protect the three maknaes from this kind of situation when it was possible. 

“They can’t come in and see him, but I have a job I need them to help me with. Make sure they dress warm,” you said.

“If you’re sure,” Namjoon said, deciding not to question you. 

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Hoseok said. “Do your best to keep him warm until then.”

“Okay. Please hurry.”

As soon as you hung up, you quickly ran into your apartment in the back. You pulled as many extra blankets as you could carry out of your closet and rushed back to Yoongi. You debated for a minute before pulling off the drenched hoodie, only to find that the black t-shirt he wore underneath was no drier. You weren't confident that you could get the garment off without further hurting him, so instead you piled blankets on top of him. You filled a couple of hot water bottles and tucked them around him; then filled a couple more and tucked them into your bed so that it would be warm when the boys carried him in.

You returned to the kitchen, where Yoongi was barely visible for all the blankets he was packed in. Glancing at the clock, you saw that only 10 minutes had passed. It felt like you’d been waiting for hours. The time crawled as you alternated between watching the seconds tick by and watching Yoongi’s chest rise and fall.

You jumped when the knock finally came at the door. They’d come to the back, the front door to your apartment, and you ran to let them in. Hoseok immediately slipped past you and headed to the kitchen. The others moved to follow, but you stopped them.

“I need you guys to help me with something,” you said. “Those thugs trashed his stuff threw it all over the alley. Joon, can you take the boys and go gather what you can and see if any of it can be salvaged? I know he said his bag is back there. It seemed important to him.”

Namjoon nodded and quickly herded the boys around the building and into the alley. You pulled Jin inside.

“I need you to help Hobi and I get him inside.”

“That bad?” he asked, frowning. You just nodded. He followed you back to where Hoseok was already taking stock of his patient.

“You did good, noona. Seems like you staved off the shock. Move him, and then I’ll dress these wounds.”

You carefully pulled the blankets away.

“Be careful, he was really protective of his tail. I think it’s injured somehow,” you warned before Jin and Hoseok picked him up. They exchanged a glance as they moved toward the apartment door.

“What?” you asked. “Is something else wrong?”

“No,” Jin tried to assure you, though his tone wasn’t comforting. “It’s just… Hobi, I know he isn’t a big guy, but is it normal to be this light?”

“No,” Hoseok answered grimly. “Definitely not.”

Now that your attention was drawn to it, you noticed how slight Yoongi was. His ribs were clearly visible through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. You felt a lump in your throat and looked away, hurrying to open the door.

“You can put him in my room. I put some water bottles to warm the bed.” They nodded and quickly settled him on the bed.

“Do you think we could cut away this stuff?” Hoseok asked, gesturing to his clothes. “It’s all trashed anyway.”

“I don’t know if he has much else…” you said, hesitant to ruin his things.

“I just don’t want to risk further injury trying to get them off intact. And we can’t leave him in these, he’s already nearly hypothermic,” he said.

“We can replace them,” Jin suggested. “I brought a change of clothes. It’s in a bag on your coffee table, noona.”

“Right, great,” you said. “I’ll go get them.”

You hurried out of the room to get the bag Jin mentioned. When you came into the living room you found Jimin, hovering by the door.

“Noona, there was a keyboard by the trash and papers everywhere. Are they his? Should we get them too?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot. His nose twitched, and you realized he could probably smell the anxiety and pain in the air. You sighed.

“Yeah, grab everything you can. We can sort through it in the morning, and see what we can save.” He nodded and turned to leave.

“Chim,” you called and he turned. You wrapped him in a comforting hug. “Thank you.”

A purr echoed in the boy’s chest, even as you heard him sniffle. You knew this whole experience was hard for him. He was one of the volunteers at the shelter the day Jungkook was brought in. That experience still haunted him. It’s why he stopped working at the shelter and took a job at the coffee shop. His tail curled around your waist as he hugged you back tightly.

“He’ll be okay, Chim,” you said, stroking his hair. “We’re going to help him.”

A pained groan came from the room behind you, and you pulled away from Jimin.

“Go back out and help the boys. Once you’re done, leave the stuff in the living room and go to the cafe. Tell Jungkook I said everyone needs a hot chocolate,” you petted his hair one last time and guided him out the door. A shout echoed out of your bedroom, and you couldn’t tell if it sounded pained, angry, or scared. Snatching the bag off the coffee table, you dashed back into the room.

“Get off me!” Yoongi shouted, tail clutched to his now bare chest. Jin stood back, hands up in surrender as Hoseok tried to calm the panicked cat. 

“Look man, your clothes are soaked. We’re risking hypothermia if we don’t get you into something dry.”

Yoongi looked down, seeing what remained of his ratty t-shirt cut open and in the trash. The right leg of his jeans was sliced along the outer seam up to his mid-thigh.

“What the hell did you do to my clothes?” He shouted again. He winced and swayed from the strain of sitting upright.

“Yoongi,” you started softly. Yoongi turned to you, eyes wide with panic. You approached slowly, not stopping when he spat at you to leave him alone, hurling threats and nonsense at you. As you sat on the edge of the bed he shrank back into the bedding around him and refused to meet your eyes.

“Please,” he said, his voice so quiet you hardly heard him. “Please just leave me alone. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Yoongi,” you said again, “I want to help. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” You reached out to gently take his hands. “I swear, I’m going to protect you. Please let me. These are my friends, and they’re trying to help.”

He drew a shallow breath, wincing at the pain in his ribs and nodded. You stood and moved to leave, trying to spare him some privacy.

“Wait!” he said, stopping you. “Please don’t leave me.”

You turned back to him and took in his face, still chapped from the winter wind. You couldn’t leave him. So you stood with your back turned, awkwardly rocking on the balls of your feet as Jin and Hoseok helped him change.

“That’s much better,” Hoseok said, evidently satisfied that his patient was no longer at risk for hypothermia. You turned to find Yoongi with his ribs already wrapped and Hoseok working on dressing the wounds on his brow and lip. The flannel pajama bottoms Jin had brought were much too big for him, you might’ve giggled at how cute he looked if the situation were different. Without the dark hoodie and ripped jeans, Yoongi was undeniably adorable.

“I brought my clothes since I wasn’t sure what size would fit. I guess we should’ve borrowed Jimin’s instead,” Jin said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said, bowing his head in thanks.

“It’s no problem. I’ll bring by something that’ll fit you better tomorrow.”

Yoongi glanced from you to Jin to Hoseok, then back to his hands in his lap. He focused on Hoseok’s hands, which were now busy setting the break in his tail.

“Don’t worry about it, I probably have something in my bag I can wear…” He trailed off, remembering the state his belongings were in the last time he saw them. “I’ll go clean up my stuff as soon as it’s light tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of the way before you know it.”

“Yoongi,” you said, trying her best not to sound frustrated. Yoongi’s ears flattened and you knew you hadn’t succeeded.

“I’m sorry. I can leave now if you want,” he said, tail curling back around him as soon as Hoseok released it.

Your heart, already cracked from all the events of the night so far, finally broke completely. Hoseok stepped aside to make room as you came to sit beside Yoongi again. He was shaking, and you realized that he was terrified. He genuinely believed that you wanted him gone; that you’d throw him out in the snow right then and there.

“Don’t leave,” you said, your own voice trembling now. You reached out and lifted his chin so he’d meet your eyes. He did, and you found they were shining with tears of pain and fear that he was desperately trying to hold back. “Please don’t leave. I want you to stay.”

His shaking hand came up to rest over yours, which still cupped his cheek. He leaned in to the first gentle touch he’d felt in years, and the tears finally fell. You pulled him into your arms, and he let you. He buried his face in your neck and cried as you pulled a blanket over his shoulders. 

Eventually the sobs quieted. His breaths came in little gasps now, as he tried to catch his breath despite the pain in his ribs. You leaned away after a while to look at his face and saw he’d fallen asleep. 

You looked back to find that Jin had gone to check on the boys. Hoseok sat quietly at the end of the bed, not wanting to interrupt. He gave you an approving smile, and you thought his eyes were a bit wet too. It took you a moment to notice Namjoon standing in the doorway. Hoseok helped you ease Yoongi down to lie comfortably, and you carefully disengaged herself from his arms. The two of you exited the room as quietly as you could.

“You were great with him, noona,” Hoseok praised. Namjoon beamed with pride before pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, planting a kiss on top of your head.

“Thank you, Joonie.” Your voice broke and you finally felt all of the emotions hit you. Your shoulders shook and you struggled to stay quiet as you sobbed into Namjoon’s sweater.

A/N: So so so much thanks to my beta reader @sunshineboysbts​ for helping me create and edit this whole fic! She’s been listening to my ramblings for actual months while I worked on this. Love you, girl!

[kendrixtermina]

Appreciating the Range of Type 6, or, one stereotypical example, and three that aren’t.

I want to tell you about some type 6 ppl that I know in my personal life.

Exemplar #1: F. B.

Complete Stats

Wing: 5 p or cp: largely phobic – lots of safety worries, outright authoritarian follower personality Instinct: sp/soc Trifix: 613  - 6w5 1w2 3w2 (“The Taskmaster” or “The Middle Manager”) jungian: ISTJ / SLI-Te oldham: Conscientious & Aggressive Essence Type: Mars Temperament: Pure Choleric

What he’s like:

Not pleasant.

Every “strict conservative middle aged guy” stereotype in the book. Control freak, makes a mountain out of every molehill, sees the world as full of axe murderers, judgemental as fuck, horrible temper and yet completely impersonable, all his opinions are copypasted from right-wing news sites. When they say war is good he’s for war, and when they say war is bad he’ll be like “At least Trump did not start any more wars” without perceiving a contradiction. Despite this, he believes is very hot, principled and funny. He is none of these things. He puts people down nonstop. My knowledge of neurochemistry tells me that he must have emotions somewhere or he couldn’t function, but I ain’t ever seen a single one of those emotions. They’re all for his job and a few trusted mentor figures. And his mom. At least he loved her.

If you say anything he doesn’t like, he “throws the sofa out the window” as his wife once put it.

How he’s a Type 6:

Well, he’s pretty much every negative stereotype in a nutshell… other than distrusting his partner. But that might be cause hes sx blind, or cause the wife is big on monogamy & wouldn’t ever cheat.

The one positive trait of 6 that he has is that he does his research. Before moving anywhere he googles the crime rates and if you need a doctor he might find you the best one. But even that can be overriden by ideology (hydroxychloroquine!). And if you don’t take his exact advice, there goes the sofa out the window again…

And I guess the work ethic from all 3 parts of the trifix really comes through – he hasn’t had a single bad grade in his life and always keeps collecting new certifications, and will make sure you hear about it...

Exemplar #2: I.

Complete Stats

Wing: 5 P or cp: pretty much an even mix of phobic and counterphobic Instinct: sp/soc Trifix: 614 - 6w5 1w2 4w3 (Would prolly call herself “The Big Pain” rather than “The Philosopher” ^^°) jungian: INTJ / ILI-Ni oldham: Serious & Conscientious Essence Type: Saturn Temperament: Chlor-Mel

What she’s like:

I’d describe her as serious, mature, discerning, focused and passionate about her friendships, if perhaps somewhat forceful at times, with a dry, sarcastic sense of humor.

Comes across like someone who knows what she’s talking about, with well-articulated points.

Often the Responsible Sibling, Designated Sanity Checker or Bullshit Detector.

Prefers to plan everything in advance in typical Ni dom fashion, even amusement part trips. Gets somewhat anxious without a future plan or shedule.

Often mistaken for a whole lot more sociable and confident that she really feels inside. (even I kinda bought it and got her whole darn trifix wrong on my first typing attempt, though that was when I was new to typology) She can act the boss act temporarily to get the situation over with, but she actually hates making decisions.

She does however have the occasional cute/pure moment where that lower function block comes out.

How she’s a Type 6:

She has saved our family from many a terrible restaurant by making sure to check the reviews. The preparing for all possible dangers is very 6, the acting tough outwardly when youre inwardly anxious, the intellectual problem solving & some tendency towards organization/responsibility/ “logistic” intelligence.

One online test she took gave her 5w6 instead of 6w5 but that’s probably just the ITxx-ness leaking in. I remember this one time we were discussing this artsy-fartsy theater play to which we’d had fascinatingly different reactions, and at one point I half-jokingly said something like “But does anyone ever really feel connected to others, or is that a myth?” to which she wrote, “[Name], what the fuck? Yes I do.” and then immediately deleted it. That’s more of a 6 reaction innit?

Nonetheless the wing does feature in significantly – for example she got very well informed about a lot of topics because she researched them to assuage a random survival-related fear, like, “How to make sure I have enough retirement money”

Exemplar #3: M.

Complete Stats

Wing: 7 p or cp: largely phobic Instinct: sp/sx Trifix: 692 - 6w7 9w1 2w1 (Fortunately very much a “Good Samaritan” rather than “The Stockholm”) jungian: ISFP / SEI-Fi oldham: Sensitive & Devoted Essence Type: Lunar-Venus Temperament: Pure Supine

What she’s like:

Precious! Sweet, nice, good listener, friendly, gives all the best gifts. But also perceptive and good at understanding people, eg. mediating to the parents when one of the younger sisters is having An Emotion™ or winning the trust of problem children.

Unlike I. Who has some soc that helps her keep track of a larger circle of friends despite her introversion, M. tends to enjoy the closeness with her family and have just a few very close friends. Excellent friend material all around! The sx and Se also come out in enjoying art forms involving the body like theatre or dance.

She can be a bit shy, conflict-avoidant and occasionally a lil bit panicky though.

As a small kid she used to be super duper shy but then a wise english teacher encouraged her to play a big role in a play, and since then she’s a lot more confident and doesn’t let ppl push her around without limit, though she’s still a quiet, helpful person. There you see the difference that a good teacher can make.

How she’s a Type 6:

For one thing she moves and emotes faster than a core 9 would, and she fits the body language – big eyes that move around a lot, stands a bit lopsided, talks in a shrill voice on the rare occasions where we exhaust her patience etc. As a xSFx and a w7 she shows mostly the “warm, friendly, likeable” side of type 6. She also has a very 6-ish tendency to very frequently ask people’s opinions & feedback before making decisions. (the other fixes probably add to this)

Alas, she also has a little bit of of the fear/insecurity.

Also she has a social/care job which might be seen as 6-ish desire to serve the community.

Exemplar #4: J.

Complete Stats

Wing: 7 P or cp: largely counterphobic Instinct: sx/soc ?? definitely not sp first. Trifix: 638 - 6w7 3w4 8w9(?) (Shall she be a “Justice Fighter” or a “Kyle”? Only time will tell.) jungian: ISTP / LSI-Se ?? Oldham: ? some Dramatic & Serious, perhaps ? Essence Type: Definitely Mercury Temperament: San-Mel

What she’s like:

The first adjective that usually comes to my mind is ‘cool’. Sassy, energetic & a little bit tough, but also affectionate when she wants to be. (though in admiring way rather than a mushy one)

She says the coolest things, has a certain sly sort of cleverness, and an astonishly good poker face. Bit of an occasional prankster. Hilarious. Knows all sort of cool science facts. Avid gamer. 

Not especially popular or over the top sociable, but she gets sad if no one pays attention to her a while. Will act visibly moody where ppl can see sad or worried and can catastrophize a bit in such situations.

How she’s a Type 6:

I first though we might be getting an ExxP type 7 since she was a pretty energetic child, but once puberty hit and independent thought manifested, she turned out a whole lot too reactive and ‘edgy’ for this, and more on the ‘moderate introvert’ side of things.

Since then the sisterly dynamic has been like one fluffy golden dog and 3 hissing black cats. Hissing Cats #1 and #2 are very proud of her, but cat #1 was forced to conclude that she’s probably not a positive outlook type.

Out of all the reactive types 6 fits best because she does broadcast group identity (like wearing merchandise of her favorite media and wearing buttons in solidarity with ppl she likes.) & has a big case of Big Sibling worship for M, I, and someone else who isn’t on this list due to being a 9. (a 4 or 8 might like their older siblings but probably wouldn’t constantly stress the admiration.), but she can also show lasting, pouty displeasure with authority figures who have slighted her. (Like that one time I went too far in teasing her...)

I’m just assuming the 8 fix because that tends to make 6s more bold, louder & more shameless.

Basically she is the “punk teen” type of 6. She can be a bit dramatic & over-the top but still come to her family on advice (even advice on pranks!) in ways that xSTPs of other enneagrams prolly wouldn’t.

She also tends to use self-deprecating humor in tough situations and deflects compliments to present herself as ‘ordinary’.

...

This may sound like I’m really getting down on my first example (I won’t pretend that I’m not) but the point in bringing him up is that the reason he’s like this is: He was subject to really bad parenting that put a lot of fear into him, there was no good parenting to teach him broader coping strategies, he lived in a crappy environment that crushed his dreams, in a sense ‘confirming’ those fears and making him double down, resulting in a person who is just always rigidly following the same predictable pattern or jumping from one automatic reaction to the next with very little pausing and thinking. That goes for the other types too: A ‘stereotypical’ person is a desperate person ruled by fear, who cant stop or soften up even for an instant cause they constantly feel this fire of threat under their arse.

A lot of descriptions say that 6s ‘Follow authority’ but most would balk at the notion – ‘I do the research!’ they might argue ‘I don’t just trust anyone’ or ‘I’m actually a rebel’. There is of course such a thing as denial  that’s more like the extreme case.

But with a more average, functional 6 it’s not so much ‘obedience’ as that they just like to bounce their ideas off of others to get feedback, or that they feature in other’s viewpoints. So you might get someone who can naturally use feedback (something other ppl may have to learn first) or who is very considerate of others (which others might have to consciously remind themselves to do.)

Those are sometimes pretty good traits actually.

On the other hand this is probably part of what makes decisions hard cause they consider all these possible scenarios of how things might displease or cause harm to everyone involved.

Being able to naturally snap into Action Mode under stress looks a bit enviable from the outside, but I. assures me that it’s actually super stressful & exhausting, even for someone who doesn’t get to a point of just being unreasonably aggro at you.

Though even an extreme case like F.B. would probably claim that he ‘did the research’ even as he’s 1:1 quoting the Pope at you, and then saying that you ‘have to be respectful’ even if you don’t even believe in Christianity. Hence why you get a lot of authoritarians talking about “disrespect”. You didn’t “fail to obey”, you “disrespected the flag” or  “hurt the feelings of the Chinese people”. Because they’re still trying or inwardly thinking that they’re doing the consideritation & considering other’s PoV thing when they’ve long since crossed from respect and consideration into mindless obedience, all while still thinking that they’re very sceptical and discerning cause after all they really distrust the other political party or whatever.  

In a way you get this obsession with ‘mind control’ cause they’re not unaware of & very much looking to guard the blind spot. They’re adults trying to do adult things.

For example, if I voiced an opinion to F. B. which he didn’t like, his reaction was often to ask “who told you that”

That’s just how he seems to think opinions work, somebody tells them to you.

Makes one wonder how he thinks new opinions start.

Yeah - Nobody told me that. I concocted it myself in some corner of my head. And in the interest of objectivity, I should stress that you can also end talking out of your ass that way, if you’re not basing it on enough outside data. Making up new shit has more of a quadratic than a linear learning curve – at least with copying you get something semi-useful right away. In making up your own you might be really off a long time before you stumble on something useful.

Also, I was young at the time and it’s not wholly unreasobale to think that an inexperienced person might be duped. I reacted really badly in part cause he hit my own ego buttons cause I was of course proud of this epiphany that I had concocted by myself, and now he says (or so I perceived it, being sensitive to accusations of incompetence) that I’m too dumb to form an opinion, so of course I launched into full Obnoxious Reddit Dude Mode.

In I. It manifests more on a reasonable useful level like “Oh wait, should [young cousin] be on TikTok? I don’t want him to get sucked into some cultish BS.” which is at least something the parents should have on the radar/ warn him about even if they do let him use TikTok, because for all that it is vital for him to get his experience with independent socializing & experimentig with sel-presentation, people do sometimes get suckered into cults or goaded into unsafe tests of courage.

And in a sense… maybe they overamphasize it but to some extent they’re also simply consciously aware/ mindful of it. The rest of us are not immune to propaganda after all, solong as it’s presented in a way pleasing to our egos. Any type structure can become a ‘hook’ if you’re not careful.

[razieltwelve]

Employee (Final Rose)

Jim wasn’t sure how his parents had tracked him down to the ranch, but he wasn’t happy about it. He’d left home precisely because they’d never given a damn about him. All they’d wanted was someone they could work to the bone to help fund the lifestyle they wanted. They’d never wanted a son. All they’d ever wanted was a servant.

He’d been fifteen when he’d run off. Some of his friends had managed to cobble enough money together to get him a ticket out of the city, and he’d taken odd jobs, doing whatever needed doing, until he’d somehow found his way to the ranch. He’d been eighteen then with three years of hard living under his belt. 

He could still remember the conversation he’d had with Mr Katzroy when he’d showed up. He’d begged him for work, promised to do anything the ranch needed. Whether it was digging ditches, cleaning out the chocobo stables and pens, or cleaning toilets, he’d get it done. All he wanted was a life of his own, one where his choices mattered and he didn’t have to give away all the money he earned.

Mr Katzroy had looked at him for a long time, not saying a single word, before throwing him a funny-looking shovel.

“Start digging,” Mr Katzroy had told him. “I’m putting up another pen, and I need some holes dug for the posts. I’ll pay you fairly for your work, and if you’re any good, you can stick around for a while.” The words might have been a bit harsh, but the smile on Mr Katzroy’s lips had been gentle. “There’s always plenty of work around here, kid. Do your best, that’s all I ask.”

Jim had done his best, and, honestly, he hadn’t done particularly well, looking back on it. But he must have at least impressed Mr Katzroy with his work ethic because the man had kept him on and given him other things to do. It had started off with simple manual labour, but little by little, bit by bit, Jim had been given more important responsibilities.

By the end of his first year there, he was working with the chocobos. The big birds had been scary at first, but he’d learned how to get along with them, and some of them were just like people, really. Chirpy was a good example of that. The golden chocobo had shown him how to approach other chocobos, and Jim had taken the lessons to heart.

It was a good place, the ranch, and Sazh had cottages for his workers to live in. Even now, Jim still felt a rush of warmth whenever he went to his cottage after a long day’s work. It had been the first time he’d really had a proper place to call his own. Over the months, he filled it with things of his own, from a television to a scroll to some new furniture. Each purchase was a reminder that he was making it work, that he was making a future for himself with his own two hands.

The next year after that was a big one for him. Mr Katzroy started teaching him more about how the ranch worked. A lot of the money came from visitors, but they also made a fine living selling some of the chocobos too. Mr Katzroy was adamant about some things when it came to selling, though.

“A chocobo isn’t just a machine,” Mr Katzroy had told him. “A chocobo is a living thing. It’s our responsibility to make sure they go someplace nice with an owner who’ll love them and take care of them the way we do. I don’t sell to anyone who I’m not certain will care for the chocobos. It doesn’t matter how much they offer. Trust me, Jim. You take care of a chocobo, and it will take care of you.”

Jim went from tending to the chocobo pens and stables to riding them and helping with showing around guests. It was... perfect. That was the only way to describe it. He’d grown up in the city, but getting to ride a chocobo was incredible. And getting to show the guests around the ranch and then take them out for riders was something else. His favourite parts of the job were when he and some of the other workers would take guests out for camping trips. Those could last anywhere from a couple of days to a week, and they went from the ranch to all over the property, which was one big place.

He’d finally found a place he could belong.

And now his parents had come after him. He didn’t know how they’d found him, but as his parents stomped toward him, he could feel that old fear again. They were retired hunters - injuries had done a number on them - but they were still more than strong enough to mess him up if they wanted.

Even so, he’d made a life for himself.

“Get out of here,” he said as they closed in. “I’m not going back.”

His father and mother didn’t say a word. They just stepped forward with something ugly in their eyes.

“I’d back off if I were you.” Mr Katzroy stepped off the porch of a nearby building and ambled toward them. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw a dozen of the chocobos come forward to form a lose arc at his back. They were big birds, all of them, and their eyes were hard as they stared at his parents. “I don’t like people threatening my employees.”

“He’s our son,” his mother growled. “He’s coming back with us.”

“He’s not going anywhere unless he wants to.” Mr Katzroy glanced at him. “You want to go with them?”

Jim shook his head. “No.”

“Then you got your answer.” Mr Katzroy pointed lazily. “Hit the road. There’s nothing for you here.”

His father went for the weapon at his side - a staff - and Jim could only blink as the weapon went flying out of his hands. Mr Katzroy lowered his gun - Jim had never even seen him draw it - and shook his head.

“You don’t want to do that.”

It was then that Jim remembered just how dangerous Mr Katzroy was supposed to be. The older man was such a gentle, nice guy that it was easy to forget that he was supposed to be one of the deadliest men alive. Right now, though, with eyes like granite and a voice like cold iron, it was impossible to miss.

“Now wait just a second -”

Mr Katzroy cut his mother off. “You can either leave yourselves, or I can make you.” His Aura flared, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. “You’re nothing but two-bit former hunters, the both of you. I could be twenty years older and half blind, and I could still beat you without breaking a sweat.” Mr Katzroy pointed again. “Get lost. If I even hear about you coming near this place again or making trouble for Jim here, I’ll make you sorry. And believe me, you don’t want that.”

Silently, his parents backed off. Jim watched them scuttle back into their car and then leave.

“You okay?” Mr Katzroy asked quietly.

Jim nodded. “I think so.” He paused. “Thanks.”

Mr Katzroy smiled. “Don’t mention it.” He chuckled. “I figured you were running from something when I first met you, but I have a feeling you’re not going anywhere, at least for a while, are you?”

“No. No. I don’t think I am.” Jim looked around at the ranch. “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

There are all sorts of people and chocobos at the ranch, and all of them have their stories.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[ssajj]

Daisy

You're a stripper and you meet Dr. Spencer Reid on a case. He's interesting in a way men aren't usually.

2.1k

Warnings for language, kidnapping, non-graphic violence.

(this is my first reader insert. hope it's okay ✌)

The colors alone always feel like enough to get you drunk. You can spin in them in hours, throwing your head back and basking under their heat. You don’t know what it is about them. The others like to laugh and tease you about it, even if they seem to understand that they really mean something to you. You don’t know what, though. Those are always your best shifts; making the most money and with your favorite customers. The nights without them are always the worst, but you try to make it up with bright glitters and higher heels. 

It’s still pretty early. Only a handful of people have wandered in so far and three of them are seated firmly at the bar, refusing to even look at you and the girls. It’s hard for you to not roll your eyes at them. If you’re going to come into a strip club, don’t be so stuck up that you can’t look at the strippers. To you, that seems like an obvious thing. And yet. 

At least the lights are on. 

“Hey,” your best friend whispers, pulling at your shoulder so she can whisper in your ear. Neither of you are on the main stage, since the newbies tend to get stuck with the shitty sunset hours. Less cash. “Fresh meat.”

You look over to where she’s gesturing, a low whistle building in your throat. Two people are hovering at the entrance. You can already tell that they don’t belong. Their posture, their facial expressions. “Think they’re cops?” You ask. “Cops fucking suck at tipping.”

Without waiting for an answer, you start striding over there, thankful that you’re dressed, even if it isn’t close to modestly. 

A man and a woman. The woman has shiny black hair, gently curled around her shoulders. You’re briefly jealous of her bone structure before that feeling turns into something more akin to lust- you don’t look like her, no, but she’s hot. The all black ensamble, frankly, is doing wonders for her. She seems dominant and powerful. Maybe not your type, then. You’re a bit of a control freak. The guy, though. You lick your lips, looking him over as you get closer. He’s about as submissive looking as they come. His shoulders are hunched, hands crossed nervously in front of him. His eyes are darting around the room and you’d think he was looking for an exit if he wasn’t currently standing in front of one. He’s got some of the fluffiest hair you’ve ever seen and it shouldn’t look good on him, but it does. Really good. He’s tall too, towering over the woman, and- huh. Now you know it’s possible to be hot in a sweater vest. 

“Hey there,” you purr as you reach them, leaning against the table closest to them. You see their attention snap over to you, eyeing you up in down the same way you did to them. The man blushes and the woman arches an eyebrow. You just smile. “Anything I can help you two with? We do discounts for couples.”

The man sputters. “We aren’t-”

“SSA Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid.” The woman interrupts him, flashing her badge. He follows suit. “We’re here from the FBI.”

You put your hands in front of you, pretending that they’re bound together at the wrists. “You here to arrest me?” You ask, pouting. 

Emily rolls her eyes. Spencer shakes his head aggressively. 

“We’re here about the recent string of murdered sex workers,” Emily says.

You flinch, some of your tougher exterior slipping away. When you’re working, you try your best not to think about those girls, the ones that ended up in alleys with their stomachs cut open, their contents beside them. Four, so far. No one from your work, even if there were whispers that your luck’s running out. It’s only a matter of time.

“I didn’t think anyone cared about a couple of murdered whores,” you mutter, letting the bitterness seep into your words. You aren’t stupid enough to trust FBI agents anymore than you trust cops. “And I don’t see why that’s brought you here, anyway. None of them worked on this street.”

Spencer takes a step forward. “We care,” he tells you. You’re too smart to believe him, even if the gentle look in his eyes makes you want to try. You blink a couple times, trying to clear your thoughts. 

“Can we ask you a few questions?” Emily looks less gentle, although not unkind. Life’s made her hard, you think. Any kindness she has, she’s probably had to fight for it. It’s not a concept you’re unfamiliar with and under different circumstances, you think you could’ve been friends. 

You glance back at the stage before agreeing. “We can either keep yelling over the music or go to one of the private rooms,” you tell them, “But there’s a lot of velvet and leather in those.”

You take them into one of the rooms, but you aren't there for long. Most of their questions seem generic. Boring.

“Call us if you think of anything else,” Spencer says, handing you a card with his name and phone number on it.

You take it, tucking it into one of your boots. “And if I want to call you so I can hear your cute voice again?”

Emily has to pound him on the back after that one, his face on fire as he goes into a coughing fit. You can’t help but grin wickedly. Maybe you’d feel bad if his partner wasn’t laughing. 

“Oh, I’m so telling Morgan about this,” she says, electing a groan from Spencer. 

Once he’s mostly settled again, he turns back to you. There’s still a blush raging on his cheeks. You like knowing that you’re the one to put it there. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Sure,” you nod, like the other girls hadn’t begged for the safety, like they weren’t all on high alert already. If someone gets you, it won’t be because you were an easy target. “I could probably stab him with my heel or something.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Emily nods like you just said something smart, which is a little concerning. 

--

A week later, you reflect that you probably should have used your heel, considering your current situation. You’re in a dark, unfamiliar room, your vocal cords already torn apart from screaming so much. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter, trying to look at your surroundings. It’s hard to see anything and even harder to focus. Your head is pounding. You don’t touch it. You don’t want to feel the blood gathering and clumping in your hair. That’s a problem for later. If you survive this. “Fucking cute skinny FBI agent didn’t do shit for me. We’ll get him,” you mock, raising the pitch of your voice. “Biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. Should have caught him before he kidnapped me.”

You don’t know how long you’re in the dark before a door opens. A man you don’t recognize enters, making you scramble back to the furthest corner of the room. 

“Scared?” He asks. You can’t make out any facial features, even though there’s a voice inside of you that’s telling you he’s grinning. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, going for false bravado. You told yourself that you wouldn’t go down without a fight, and you were going to keep that promise. 

Then you notice that he has a knife. You have to force the fight back into your body, imagining that you’re back at the club, rainbow lights searing into your skin, making you powerful, making you invincible. You bare your teeth at him, a growl escaping. 

Survival of the fittest. 

--

“Y/N?” A soft voice rouses you from your sleep. It takes a few seconds for it to register in your brain, but Spencer’s the one speaking. 

Your eyes flutter open. “Oh, you’re blurry.”

“An ambulance is on the way,” he tells you. He’s cradling your head and you get a weird urge to cry. His voice is so soft. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, the idea that you can’t fall asleep with a head injury is mostly a myth. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

You believe him enough to drift off back to sleep.

--

The next time you wake up, you’re in a hospital room. The lights are blinding and white, making you miss your colorful ones. “I better get time off,” you groan. 

Someone laughs beside you. You turn to see Spencer again. 

"You're here."

He leans forward. "You sound surprised."

"Keen observation. Don't you have like...official FBI stuff to be doing right now?"

Spencer shrugs. "I wanted to make sure you were okay before I regrouped with the team."

"I don't really remember what happened."

"You killed him."

You frown. "No shit? Seriously?"

"JJ- she's another agent, you haven't met her- and I were the ones to go down to the basement. That's where he was keeping you," he explains, hands starting to wave through the air. "When we got down there, you were both laying on the ground. He was dead. Shot three times. You were shot once in the side. Thankfully, the damage seems to be minimal. You also have a concussion from when he presumably hit your head to capture you."

"I shot him?" You look down on your hands like you're going to see blood on them. They're cracked and dry. You flip them over just in case. Nothing, still. "I don't feel any different. Are you supposed to feel different after you kill someone?"

"There haven't been any studies on people's brain patterns right before and right after they've killed someone," Spencer shrugs, then pauses. "Although you most likely weren't looking for a scientific answer. Sorry."

"No, it's good to know."

Spencer fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, a small smile playing on his lips. He's got that same blush he did the first time you met him, the light one. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Has the offer to call you expired?" You ask, feeling bold. 

The blush deepens. "No."

You grin. "Nothing like getting kidnapped to set the mood, huh?"

You don't think he gets the joke. That's okay. 

--

A week later, you're on the phone with him, propped up on all the pillows your roommates could find in your little apartment. 

"Hey, cutie pie," you grin. 

"Hi, Y/N. How are you feeling?"

This was the third phone call. The same number as how many times you shot the man that tried to kill you. Each time, the first thing Spencer did was ask how you were doing. You keep lying to him. It makes guilt swirl around in your stomach. You tell yourself that it's okay, that he probably doesn't want to hear how you actually are. The feeling still lingers. You want him to care, you realize. It's nonsensical, you barely know him, but you want him to hold you when you wake up screaming, when you remember flashes of that night, and when you have good moments. And in turn, you want to get to know him. You want to see what his face looks like while you're dancing, you want to know what his degrees are in, you want to know what makes him happy, if you could make him happy. You want to make him happy. 

"I'm doing as well as I can be." It's the most honest answer you've given. "How's being a fancy FBI agent? Still on that case in Wyoming?"

"We're wrapping up, actually. We arrested our unsub this morning. She was going after unfaithful men."

You pause. "Good for her."

He sputters. "It's murder, Y/N!"

"I killed someone," you point out quietly. 

"You know that's different."

You do. 

Don't you?

Your hands itch. 

--

After a month of phone calls, you get to see him again in person. You're still healing, still scarring over, but you get to touch him. 

Neither of you ever bring up the conversation of defining what this is between you. When you see him, you race toward him, halting to a stop once you get close. 

"Is touching okay?" You ask. 

He gives you the biggest smile you've ever seen before pulling you against him. You fit snugly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Touch is good. Thank you for asking."

"I'm a stripper," you laugh, pulling back enough to see his face. "We're big consent fans."

He hesitates. You can see his thoughts racing, can see him making a pros and cons list in his head. "Can I kiss you?"

Your lips split from your grin. "I've been waiting for you to ask, hot stuff."

[soulmate-game]

Part 1 … Part 2

“So, How was your first day of school in America?” Lois asked as her small family all sat around the table eating dinner. It was almost painfully ordinary, traditional. A married couple and two kids eating a normal dinner and talking about their day.

All of them appreciated that one piece of normalcy in their worlds of superheroes and villains and PTSD.

Marinette snorted, almost choking on her forkful of food. After managing to somehow swallow without causing herself discomfort, she smiled at her mother figure.

“Honestly? I know Jon could fly and I could teleport to school in practically no time at all, but somehow Damian still manages to seem more impressive.”

“Right?!” Jon agreed emphatically, leaning over the table towards her and almost getting his whole plate of food smashed against his chest. “Probably because helicopters are huge and look awesome, but we’re still just us when we use our powers.”

Marinette nodded sagely at that reasoning as if it was something actually serious. Tikki, who was sitting next to her plate with a half-eaten cookie, giggled.

“That makes sense. But be careful Kaalki doesn’t hear you referring to them as ‘not impressive—‘“ Marinette was cut off before she could even finish her sentence.

“Too late, I already heard that blasphemy,” the other Kwami’s voice carried down from upstairs, making Lois and Clark’s lips twitch up in amusement. “I’m a god, dear, I have even better hearing than Kal-El,” for some reason the little horse god always referred to the boys by their kryptonian names, but they didn’t seem to mind much. “Not as impressive as a helicopter, hah! See if I let you use my fabulous powers anytime soon, Guardian or no Guardian.”

Marinette just rolled her eyes. Technically she could just command Kaalki, but that was against her morals and the horse god would never keep her from responding to an Akuma attack anyway. This was just harmless teasing.

And it was really nice in contrast to everything they were used to dealing with.

“Okay, but besides the helicopter,” Clark pressed gently after everyone’s chuckles quieted down. His face was open with genuine curiosity, and a little bit of worry that Marinette caught onto instantly. “I know Damian isn’t always the easiest person to get along with or understand. Did the rest of the day go by alright?”

Marinette actually set her fork down on her plate, her smile turning a little gentle. “Actually? Yeah. When we first spoke I thought he was a stuck-up jerk like some of my ex-friends and a bully of mine from Paris. But he’s just not good with people,” Marinette’s smile turned even softer as she gazed down at the table, at some memory nobody else could see. “It reminds me of my friend Kagami, from Paris. She acts pretty similar. Really impersonal and prickly on the outside, but once you get to know her she’s the most loyal friend you’ll have. Her mom is really strict though, and Kagami never got to interact with a lot of kids her own age, so she still has issues figuring out how to behave around others sometimes,” Marinette actually ended up laughing a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “We uh, we actually had a crush on the same person back when we first met and it sparked a pretty rough rivalry for a while. Once we got past that though, we ended up being best friends.”

Jon snickered, trading knowing glances with their parents. They had already agreed that, unless Damian or Bruce told her themselves, Marinette would have to figure out the Bat’s identities on her own.

“That sounds very familiar,” Jon stated with a little nod. “Me and Damian fought when we first met, too. Legend has it that Dad and Bruce, Damian’s dad, didn’t get along right away either.”

It was Clark’s turn to snort. “I think it’s just a Wayne thing,” the man agreed, amused. “They don’t like getting close to anyone right off the bat,” Lois kicked his leg under the table for that pun, but Clark cheerfully ignored it. “It is pretty funny that you have a similar experience with someone completely unrelated, though. Maybe we should invite her over sometime? Do you know when her school’s next break is?”

Marinette sat up straight in her chair, her smirk wide and almost blinding at the prospect of seeing one of her closest friends in person again. They video chatted and called often enough, but it wasn’t the same. “Actually! Kagami told me that she’s going to Gotham next month for a fencing competition. She’s an Olympic hopeful, you know. She has to make a good enough impression in different national and international competitions to be selected,” Marinette was almost bouncing in her seat, looking like a female version of Jon for a moment with her vibrant blue eyes shining with rare unhindered excitement and her body unable to stay still from the energy.

“I heard that Gotham was holding the World fencing finals this year,” Lois remarked, but kept eye contact with Clark for a moment as the two communicated silently in a way even telepaths couldn’t copy. Marinette recognized the hesitance in their faces, and her bouncing stopped immediately. She knew why they would be reluctant to let her go.

“I know Gotham is dangerous and I still have attacks pretty often,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, but firm in a way that the rest of their little family hadn’t heard from her much at all. It made Clark and Lois look at her, waiting for her to finish making her point patiently. “But self defense isn’t really an issue. Even without any powers, without transforming, I…” Marinette took a breath to steel herself before continuing. “I learned martial arts from Maman. And I’ve used the Miraculous so long that all the combat experience of the previous Ladybugs is mostly muscle memory by now. And Kagami is more than just a fencer, her mom’s trained her in all sorts of sword fighting her whole life. Trust me, nobody messes with Kagami and gets away with it easily,” Marinette actually looked down at her hands, watching as she essentially had a thumb war with herself to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t think physical attacks are what we’re worried about,” Lois admitted slowly, frowning. “I mean, yes, it’s a concern. But if I remember the dates for the competition correctly, I’ll be out of town for my first long distance job since you came to live with us. Clark will be at work during the day on the weekend, though maybe he can get a day or two off,” Lois gently worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second. “I suppose, if Jon wants to go with you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem if something happens…”

Oh. They weren’t worried about people attacking her. They were worried about her own mind. Which, after the last few months? Was perfectly fair.

“I don’t mind if—“

But, as life usually ended up, they were interrupted from their peace. Everyone jolted in their seats as the door was unceremoniously kicked down, and a man in his early twenties walked in carrying a mountain of boxes in his arms. Marinette blinked, no longer on guard since the rest of her new family immediately relaxed. But still, she was confused. Nobody said anything about having a visitor today.

“I know, I know. I haven’t been in touch for way too long, give us a little forewarning, blah blah blah. I brought presents this time though,” the man said, cheerful and casual and blasé. With the boxes on the center of the dining table, Marinette could finally get a good look at him.

He was probably about twenty four or twenty five, if Marinette’s ever-sharp eyes were correct (they hardly ever weren’t), and his hair was spiked up with a bit of gel, but not too much. Just enough to give it kind of a tousled-rebel look, and it was cropped close to his head on the sides. He had on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and slightly down the arms, with slightly baggy black jeans and a plain, worn red shirt. Dark black sunglasses rested on the top of his head, even though the sun had been down for a while.

He did not meet the usual Kent aesthetic of a charming, traditional nuclear family. He was more of an… oddly joyful punk. It actually gave her slight Luka and Jagged vibes, and made her relax a bit into her chair. Contrary to what most might think, Marinette had a bit of a soft spot for the punk rocker look. Most people, that she had met at least, who wore it on a regular basis were amazing people with great senses of humor and large personalities.

“Old man, I got you socks,” he called out with a lazy smirk, chucking the first small box over at Clark. The man caught it with a fond eye roll.

“You always get me socks.”

“Maybe if you stopped being boring, I’d get you something better,” the stranger mocked with good humor. “Lois, jewelry that you’ll never wear,” he handed the box over to the woman with significantly more care, before sliding over one of the bigger boxes to her as well. “And a new camera that you will actually use.”

“Hey, Wait a second, you know you don’t have to—“

“And for the squirt,” the man interrupted without letting Lois finish saying that there was no need to spend so much money. He tossed the last big boxes over to Jon one at a time carelessly, smirking the whole time that Jon playfully scrambled for them. “Video games, geeky shirts, and inside jokes,” he stated happily.

With the table now clear of boxes, he finally noticed the extra body. He blinked, making silent eye contact with Marinette for a tense moment.

“Okay, she’s too old to be a secret child. Did someone make another clone? Did Jon get a girlfriend that looks freakishly like a long lost Asian family member? What did I miss?” He asked, never taking his eyes off Marinette. Clark grimaced.

“If you didn’t break your phone so often, maybe we would have been able to tell you sooner,” the man said slowly, cautiously, with his eyes never straying from the stranger. “This is Marinette. Marinette, this is Connor. He’s… Jon’s brother,” the pause there was a bit odd, and Marinette frowned at the look on Clark’s face. It was like he didn’t know what to say at all, or how to say it. “Marinette is living with us for the foreseeable future. If we get the chance we might officially adopt her, so she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Woah woah woah, what?” Marinette’s voice came out a lot squeakier than intended, the girl thoroughly whiplashed by this situation. It was hard to think straight. “I— we never talked about adoption.” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, not in as many words,” he conceded slowly. “It would be incredibly hard, and we wanted to give you time to settle in before asking. But… well, you’re officially an American citizen and we all feel like you’re family already. So…”

“You wouldn’t have to change your name,” Lois was quick to interject, watching Marinette’s face worriedly. “And you can say no. You’re already a Kent. We would just like to make it official legally, if and when you’re ready.”

“Okay, stop making the poor girl freak out,” Connor interrupted, eyes also on Marinette and gentle in their concern. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Ignore them. Clark never had great timing that wasn’t related to legitimate danger. So, sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he leaned back casually, thumbs hooked on his jacket pockets lazily. “Didn’t expect I’d have a new sister when I came back to visit.”

Marinette calmed down a little, but emotions still overflowed in her head, her chest still tight and the air feeling too thin. She offered Connor a shaky smile before standing up, looking over to Clark and Lois. “Um, I— can I— I’m tired.”

Clark sighed, nodding even as his face fell at Marinette’s state. “Yeah. We’ll talk about the competition some more in the morning, get some rest.”

The girl only nodded before making a hasty retreat up to her room, even forgetting to take care of her only half-empty plate. Tikki did her best to calm her bolder down from her place hidden in the girl’s hair, but it wasn’t doing much good. She just needed space, and time to try and process everything.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Aren’t you cold?” Connor’s voice made Marinette jolt, looking over at him with wide eyes. Nobody had ever followed her on her post-nightmare trips before. She wasn’t even transformed. She just sat, in her pajamas, on the empty terrace of her old home. It hadn’t been sold yet so she wasn’t worried about scaring anybody.

“I… should have expected you to be the other Superboy, honestly,” Marinette deflected with a weak smile before turning to look over the city again. She licked her lips, trying to calm herself down. “And yeah, I’m a little cold, but it’s no big deal. I’ll just go back home before it gets too bad.”

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out casually. And she was, her whole body was practically vibrating against the terrace railing. Marinette only gave out a pitiful laugh.

“That’s not from the cold.”

Connor only sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind them. Gave the girl a little space.

“What did… What did Clark and Lois tell you? About me?” Marinette decided to ask tentatively. Connor raised one brow, honestly a little surprised that she didn’t also have super hearing to go with her powers. It was slowly becoming more and more obvious that Marinette was not exactly like the other Kents, and Connor only liked the jumpy little girl more for it.

“As much as they could without feeling like they were crossing a line,” Connor admitted. “That they took you in after an accident during a metropolis attack a few months ago, when you had nobody else reliable enough to take care of you. That you’re not Kryptonian, but still special and knew about all of our identities already. But strangely enough they didn’t mention teleportation or the fact that you were a Parisian superhero, not that I’m really all that surprised.”

Marinette smiled, snickering a bit at that last part before sobering again. “Is it… weird?”

Connor silently examined the girl for a moment, she probably expected him to ask what she meant. And maybe if he was anybody else, he would have.

“To suddenly come home to a new person that I’m suddenly supposed to accept as a part of the family? Not really. In fact, you’re probably the most normal surprise I’ve dealt with in years.”

“But,” Marinette looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed and blue eyes swimming with uncertainty. “But I just show up out of nowhere, and you really just accept me? Just like that? I mean, you’ve known me less than a day and you just saw me teleport to Paris in the middle of the night— you aren’t worried at all? Or suspicious, or— you really just accept me just like that?”

Connor couldn’t help but chuckle, pushing himself off the wall to lean over the terrace railing with her. “You know, technically I’m only eight years old.”

Marinette flinched with surprise at the subject change, eyes wide. “Huh?”

Connor laughed at her confusion, rustling her hair a bit. “I’m a clone. I was made with Superman’s DNA, and that of another asshole we won’t mention. Don’t tell Lois I swore. Anyway, I was ‘born’ as a teenager,” he used finger quotations to show that he wasn’t exactly born normally. “With all the mental development and knowledge of a sixteen year old. Pretty much, anyway, but I was still a newborn,” he shrugged. “Clark wasn’t exactly thrilled. Jon was eight at the time, which is why Clark can never decide if I’m the older or younger brother, and he wasn’t exactly planning on another kid back then. Not to mention the whole ‘created in order to kill Superman if he ever went bad,’ and ‘might be a spy because I was made by his arch nemesis’ thing,” Connor waved his hand as if this blasé info dump didn’t actually matter. Marinette just gaped at him, which made it hard for the guy not to smirk. “Point is, Clark was suspicious. Didn’t exactly want anything to do with me. Can’t say I completely forgive him, but it’s mostly water under the bridge nowadays. Especially when we found out that I did have trigger words, and I was unknowingly dangerous. Don’t worry, those trigger words were erased ages ago. Anyway, Clark eventually got his act together. Gave me the Kryptonian name Kon-el, had me live with him for a little bit. We worked it all out,” Connor turned back to Marinette, taking his sunglasses off so he could look her in the eye properly. “I really don’t think a Ladybug is exactly threatening in comparison.”

Marinette was silent for a moment.

“You know I could throw you off this balcony, right?”

“Eh, I can fly.”

Another moment passed before Marinette couldn’t help it, and started giggling. Those giggles turned to laughs, which quickly turned into joyful bellows. Connor joined in, smiling as he laughed alongside her.

“But… you like it with them, right?” Connor suddenly asked, looking over at her. “I know Jon can be a bit overexcitable, and Clark is an annoying boy scout.”

Marinette just shrugged. “Well, it’s not too bad,” she said softly. “I mean, at least neither of them can die by getting crushed by falling debris. So that’s an improvement at least.” Marinette instantly went pale at her own words, slapping a hand over her mouth. Connor snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s the exhaustion talking. C’mon, let’s get you back in bed before Clark accuses me of corrupting you.”

Marinette just nodded, doing the world’s quietest transformation before opening a portal back to her room. She was already detransformed, Connor having one hand on her doorknob, when she spoke up again.

“Uh, Kon?” She fidgeted, not able to look up at him. “Thanks.”

The man just smirked, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. “That’s what family’s for, right?”

Marinette smiled, huffing out a tired laugh. “By the way? I’m glad at least one of you Supers has a sense of fashion.”

“We heard that!”

Connor and Marinette broke back out into guffaws, and the girl couldn’t help but think that she was really grateful for her new family. Maybe she wouldn’t call Clark dad or Lois mom anytime soon, those wounds were still too raw, but maybe eventually. And she’d never had brothers before.

Yeah. This was nice.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 4

I don’t think this ended up as good as the others..? But this is the best way I could write this part. Why is this story turning out longer than expected? Geez I need to learn self control. At least this one was actually kinda fluffy.

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg