#whenever i see a long string of numbers back then my mind would just blank out and anything science just makes my head hurt

[aria0fgold]

Maybe I should start micro-dosing on science and math stuff to get used to it and also to get rid of my fear of seeing anything science and math.

[mooshys]

take-out menus aren’t meant for ordering

genre: fluff

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: a slight character study for miya atsumu between a conversation with his brother and the writing of his vows. the word “slight” being underlined, highlighted, and circled multiple times.

There is a take-out menu laying on the empty counter of Onigiri Miya, spread out completely flat so that it is no longer in its trifold state. The paper has a nice gloss to it, giving an even sheen when underneath the low lights. Its pages are filled with professional pictures of the food offered, appetizing from a single glance and even more-so with the descriptions added underneath them.

But, sitting at the counter and staring at the empty spaces on the page, Atsumu isn’t looking to order. At this point in time, he’s too frustrated to even think about eating. He makes sure his struggle is known, groaning just loud enough so that his brother can hear him.

And, by the fifth prolonged sigh, his brother notices.

Osamu thinks it’s annoying. Really annoying. He wonders why his brother always decides to settle all his baggage into his restaurant instead of actually finding guidance from a trained professional.

(Free therapy, he thinks. He should give himself a raise for having to deal with his brother when he’s working behind the counter.)

“What’s the matter, ‘Tsumu?” Osamu finally asks in an attempt to get his brother to stop making his restaurant feel so gloomy. He’s glad it’s only the two of them during the odd hour because he’s sure Atsumu would have driven people out with his attitude.

Atsumu exhales, so deep and long that one might think he has some sort of pre-existing health condition. His pause before speaking makes Osamu think he’s preparing a soliloquy. 

“I can’t think of anything to write.”

Osamu raises a brow. Then he chuckles. “Can’t do much of that if you don’t have a brain to start with.”

He quickly dodges a pair of wooden chopsticks thrown in his direction and laughs as his brother seethes in his seat. Predictable as always. He didn’t even need to rely on his twin telepathy to know Atsumu’s next move.

“This is serious!” Atsumu yells out. His voice echoes and Osamu puts on his Totally Serious Face to show his brother that he does cares (at least a smidgeon). “The vows. I can’t think of anything to write for ‘em.”

Now, Osamu stares at him with more interest, a twinkle in his eyes that gleams only for a second before he throws his head back to give out a hearty laugh. It’s the kind of laugh Osamu does when he’s really, really happy. Like when the entire Inarizaki crew surprised him for his birthday by buying him out for the night, or when he won two thousand yen from the lottery. While Atsumu sits in disbelief (because was his suffering truly that hilarious?), Osamu shakes his head to compose himself again.

“C’mon, it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with something,” Osamu says. He points to a blank space on the first page. “Start it off right next to the tuna onigiri, that’s real romantic when you say your vows with our number one seller in mind.”

Atsumu groans again. How can he be joking at a time like this? When it feels like his life (his love life, that is) is at stake? He was about to yell out a slew of vulgar words, but his stomach interrupted him, choosing to speak up with a loud grumble. Red in the face, Atsumu shuts up, shrinking in his seat under the gaze of his brother.

“No wonder your brain capacity’s lower than usual,” Osamu teases. “You’re hungry.”

“Whatever.”

“The usual?”

“...Whatever.”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Quit actin’ like a baby.”

“I’m not actin’ like a baby!” Atsumu cries out in a manner that reminds Osamu of a baby. “I can’t keep puttin’ this off! In a week, I’ll have to say this in front of everyone and they’re gonna think I’m an idiot because I can’t come up with anything good!”

“Trust me, nobody’s gonna think you’re an idiot at your wedding because of your vows,” he replies and bites his tongue to suppress the insult following. “If you write it too deep and poetic and pretty, then everyone’s gonna think you hired someone or that you copied it off the internet.”

“But—”

“Trust me,” Osamu repeats. He doesn’t look up as he molds the rice in his hands, creating a triangular shape. Years of practice have allowed him to do it so easily, so perfectly that Atsumu can’t help but stare. “Say the things that come easy for you. The things you’ve said before and the things you’ve been meaning to say. That’s what you should write.”

With the exception of the sound of tuna searing in the back and the occasional drip from the faucet nearby, there is a serene quietness shared between the two. Atsumu mulls over his brother’s words, thinking that it honestly sounds like advice that you would have given him, but he brushes it off and then looks back at the blank spaces in the take-out menu. The empty spots are almost inviting him to scribble all over.

“Alright,” Atsumu says as he clicks the pen in his hand and starts jotting any and all thoughts. “Think she’ll be mad I wrote my vows on a menu?”

Osamu chuckles as he places the plate of onigiri in front of his brother.

“Absolutely not.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

There are two take-out menus stored in a little box hidden in the bottom drawer of your dresser. The paper for both of them are wrinkled and yellowing, a clear testament of the time that has passed since first exchanging them. Scribbles of ink take up the empty spaces, the words uneven and crossed out and misspelled after multiple attempts to write from the heart.

At times, you find them in the midst of cleaning or a sudden remembrance whilst watching a film. The box is dug out from the neatly folded shirts and shorts meant to be worn in the upcoming summer season, and, upon lifting the lid in one gracious motion, the vows are always there, waiting to be read again and again. Each time, something new pops up, strikes you with a “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that!” moment as your fingers gently trace over his words.

Sometimes it’s the slight change in ink color when it comes to your name, an indication of the writing becoming lighter. (A pause in thought? Whenever you asked him, he would scratch the back of his head and shrug his shoulders.) Others, it’s the way entire lines are crossed out because he kept misspelling the same word multiple times.

Very Atsumu-ish, you muse with a silent chuckle. 

Atsumu-ish. Because the words erratic and unorthodox and lively and everything in-between just aren’t enough to describe his entire being, so Atsumu-ish became the one true representative of whatever he had up his sleeve.

(It started as a joke between you and Osamu wanting to tease Atsumu when he was being outlandish, but then it spread to the rest of the circle and was kept as Official Inarizaki Alumni Vocabulary when Kita mumbled “Atsumu-ish” without a hint of jest in his voice, completely serious about its usage.

“Atsumu-ish,” he pondered loud enough so that the rest of the guys could hear him. “I’ve never thought about it like that, but I guess you’re right.”

And it stuck with everyone else, causing Atsumu to sulk about it for five whole minutes as he whined and groaned about “Osamu-ish” and “Suna-ish” not being a thing to which Kita gave a straight answer: they’re not you. His truthfulness made Atsumu slump in his seat until you squeezed his hand from under the table and whispered that his name just rang in a special way.

He liked the sound of that and straightened his back when you teased him about it again.)

Atsumu-ish, Atsumu-ish, Atsumu-ish.

At this point, you had repeated it in your mind so many times that it started to sound a bit weird. His name echoes once more, making you pause as you stare at the old take-out menus. It did start to sound a bit strange now, but you most certainly aren’t sick of it.

(You don’t think his name would ever tire you out. Decades, centuries, millenniums, and through whatever multitude of lifetimes the universe has to offer, you think that you’ll always hold the way his name sounds close for comfort, like a seashell pressed against your ear.)

When you read through his words, you can tell he put a lot of time into writing what really matters to him. He’s always been one to say the first thing that pops in his mind (brash and honest to a fault), but seeing that struggle for the right string of words, for the right day, and for the right moment in time just reminds you that he’s always been the kind of person who says the things he does because he cares. 

His words are a little blunt, almost unrefined, but it’s so easy to see how he wanted his vows to be perfect. Perfect in the Miya Atsumu kind of way. 

And only Miya Atsumu would write his vows on the take-out menu of his brother’s restaurant.

Atsumu-ish, you think again with a chuckle as you admire the two take-out menus—from the same place, a coincidence that makes you laugh at the thought of his brother dealing with you two separately. Both are a little bit worn, but the words are easy to read. 

Easy to love.

Much like himself.

[dirtyhelen]

with you, a girl could get bolder (i just wanna be a little bit closer) - part one

PART ONE: can you feel it? (Series Masterlist) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Featuring: Smut; Angst; Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs; Dubious Consent; Loss of Virginity; First Time; Vaginal Sex; Cunnilingus; Creampie; Dirty Talk Words: 5484 Summary: For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume. “Oh, fuck.” You and Bucky get hit with an extremely powerful aphrodisiac, resulting in some mind-blowing (but dubiously consensual) sex on a quinjet. And if sleeping with a coworker in a drug-fueled haze wasn’t bad enough, you’ve also had an unrequited crush on him for months. A/N: My first multi-chapter fic! My first attempt at something resembling a plot! There will be 3 parts, about 15k total. Titles are from Want You In My Room by Carly Rae Jepsen. Part 2 will be out next week!

________________________________________________________________

“Thanks, Steve,” you say as he sets your bag in one of the quinjet’s storage compartments. Ever the gentleman, he’d insisted on carrying your luggage for you, since he was headed the same way anyway. Just a few minutes ago the jet was bustling with technicians packing away carefully labelled silver briefcases, but now it’s just you, Steve, Bucky, and Bruce. Bucky is headed to Wakanda, summoned by Shuri with the promise of impressive new upgrades for his arm. The briefcases are samples of chemical solutions the Avengers recently confiscated from an enemy base. They’re also headed to Wakanda, to be examined in one of the country’s laboratories even Tony - begrudgingly – has to admit are more advanced than his own. Along the way, Bucky will be dropping you in Zurich to meet up with Pepper. She’s attending a fancy business retreat there and snagged you an invite under the guise of professional development and maintaining the relationship between Stark Industries and the Avengers. As though being married to Iron Man isn’t enough to cement that relationship. Really, she just hates being outnumbered by arrogant, misogynistic billionaires and wants the company. You’re certainly not complaining. A chance to eat ridiculously expensive food and shit talk gross old men in view of the Swiss Alps? Beats running around after the team, keeping track of a thousand conflicting schedules and chasing down late mission reports. You spend another minute or two idly chatting with Steve and Bruce as Bucky makes himself busy at the instrument panel. The jet can basically fly itself, but you suspect Bucky gets a bit of a thrill any time he gets to be in the cockpit, tech nerd that he is. “You sure you have everything?” Steve asks you with a teasing smirk. “It’s a whole two days, you know. Pretty sure that requires at least a dozen books.” “Oh, har-har,” you grumble. “God, you overpack one time and it turns into a whole thing!” “Didn’t you take like four pairs of shoes and two books for a day trip?” Bruce calls as he walks down the ramp, heading back to the lab, you’re sure. “It was three pairs and you can’t always rely on weather forecasts!” you shout after him. Steve jokingly rolls his eyes. “Of course. And the books?” “Two is a perfectly reasonable number of books to bring on a day trip,” you protest primly. “And if I recall correctly, you ended up borrowing one of those books on the way home, so you’re welcome.” “Fair enough,” Steve laughs, holding out his hands in mock concession and turning to say his goodbyes to Bucky, currently bent over the panel, confidently pressing buttons and flicking toggles. It gives you some comfort. You’re a bit of a nervous flier, but Bucky seems to know what he’s doing and the Avengers’ personal jet has to be a lot safer than any commercial plane you’ve ever been on anyway. Though it’s more than just the thought of crashing into the Atlantic ocean that has you on edge. Three hours. That’s approximately how long you’ll be confined with Bucky in a high-tech tin can. Three hours to sit in awkward silence, or worse, awkward conversation if your previous interactions are anything to go by. Chances are you’ll try to make small talk but somehow end up saying something stupid while Bucky just sort of looks at you like he’s wondering how you managed to get this job in the first place. It’s a reasonable question, to be fair, and one you’ve asked yourself at least once every day since you started. Not that you’re a notably skilled conversationalist in general, but around Bucky, you can barely manage to string two coherent sentences together. You can’t help it! You just like him so fucking much and you want him to like you even just a little, so you try to be cool and relaxed and chill. Like Natasha or Sam, the two people who, apart from Steve, he seems to actually be comfortable around. Unfortunately, you are neither cool nor relaxed and you definitely are not chill. No, you are a grab-bag of somewhat less attractive personality traits like excitable and dorky and perpetually-fucking-nervous, all wrapped up in sensible shoes and practical, un-sexy clothing. Basically the anti-Nat, or any person you can imagine Bucky being attracted to. So when you try to converse with him like a normal person you usually end up rambling on like an alien who watched one episode of Gilmore Girls and thought that was how humans really communicated with each other. Not exactly a turn on. Sadly, knowing you have absolutely no chance with him does nothing to stop your feelings. If anything it only makes them stronger somehow. No harm in letting yourself become totally obsessed with the guy since it’s not like you’ll ever tell him how you feel, therefore there’s no chance of rejection! Foolproof! Really though, you don’t know how you could have avoided falling for him anyway, even if you had tried. As a member of the team’s admin staff, you see them basically every day. Relaxing, training, doing press and charity events – everything but actually going on missions. After months of chatting during meetings, discussing schedules and events, and working in the same place they live, you’ve gotten to know them pretty well, you think. And despite Bucky’s taciturn demeanor, the White Wolf seems more like a puppy to you. Sure, his resting expression has a tendency to read as slightly murderous and he's undoubtedly deadly in the field, but there's another side to him too. Bucky is enthralled with all things technological. Whenever there’s a presentation on new tools for the team Bucky is there, bright-eyed and attentive, with thoughtful, clever questions on how it all works, and he’s not shy about making suggestions either. He shamelessly enjoys all things soft and cozy – fuzzy blankets, knit sweaters, his cat. Alpine was a stray Bucky found wandering the grounds of the compound. Now she wanders the residential wing instead, usually wherever Bucky is. He could be bitter and angry and cruel after everything he’s been through – and God knows he’d have every right – but he’s not. He has his bad days, of course. Days at a time where you hardly see him except for mandatory meetings or training, and then with dark shadows under his eyes and a heavy blankness that seems etched into his face. But most of the time it’s clear he wants to be part of the world. With his never-ending curiosity about all the things he missed, or never had the freedom to enjoy. With his dark, wry humor and the fond way he can’t help but look at Steve whenever he says something that must remind him of before the war. With the way he tries so goddamn hard to put some good back into the world, to make up for things that weren’t even his fault. You truly don’t understand how anyone could know him and not love him. You certainly never stood a chance. “See you, pal. Text me when you land.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been staring into nothing for longer than you realized. “Say hi to Pepper for me!” he calls to you as he leaves. And with that, it’s just you and Bucky. For the next three hours. +++ The awkward silence – apart from a quiet, “You ready?” from Bucky just before take-off – lasts all of ten minutes. That’s as long as you can go before the pressure to say something becomes irresistible. Being bad at talking to Bucky has never kept you from trying, unfortunately. “You excited to go back to Wakanda?” you ask. Bucky nods. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to see Shuri again.” He says it with a soft smile and you know he means it. He clearly has a deep affection and respect for her. “I bet. She seems ridiculously cool. Honestly, I wanna be her when I grow up,” you joke, then immediately cringe. I wanna be her when I grow up? Come on! Bucky laughs politely and the jet is once again silent. Bucky seems content to just sit with his thoughts, but the jet’s at cruising altitude now so you take the opportunity to get out of your seat and grab one of the only two books from your bag. Can’t say anything stupid if you’re too busy reading! Check and mate, Rogers. You’re elbow deep in toiletries and underwear, having decided blindly digging around would be preferable to actually taking the bag down and fully unzipping it, when you decide to try speaking again.   “So do you know what upgrades you’re getting? You know, for –” you gesture at your left arm, or try to, except you use the arm currently being eaten by your suitcase at the exact moment the jet hits a patch of turbulence, jostling you and your luggage. Bucky jumps up, darting over to steady you with a hand on your back. As a part of your mind becomes consumed with thoughts of, holy shit he’s touching me, you manage to wrench your arm out of your suitcase, sending it to knock against the silver briefcase next to it. The impact shifts the briefcase slightly. The next bump of the jet a moment later has it falling out of the storage unit entirely. The silver briefcases used by the Avengers to transport dangerous or delicate materials are very cleverly designed so that – properly clasped – they could be used as a football for an NFL game with no ill-effects. Which is how you know this case has very clearly not been properly clasped because as it falls it springs open, and a small vial of clear liquid hits the floor. And shatters. For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the thin, silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume, filling the space around your bodies. “Oh, fuck,” you breathe. Bucky snaps into action, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you toward the sleeping compartments in the back of the jet, calling for FRIDAY along the way. “Get us back to the compound now,” he orders. “And get Stark or Banner on the line.” He shoves you inside the nearest cabin, following and sliding the door shut behind him. Immediately he’s gripping you by the shoulders and turning you to face him. “Did any of it get on you? On your clothes?” he asks urgently, eyes scanning your body. “No! I mean, not the liquid, I don’t think. But what about that mist or vapour or whatever? What if we breathed it in?” You have no idea what was in that vial. “Oh God, we’re gonna die,” you moan, anxiously pacing the tiny room. “Or I am, anyway. You’ll probably be fine. Fuck. Oh my God. What if it’s like, some flesh-eating poison? Am I gonna turn into the Hulk?” Your heart races and you feel hot. You can’t tell if it’s just fear or something worse but whatever it is must show on your face because Bucky gently guides you to sit on the narrow bed as the call finally connects. “Hey, Bucky, what’s up?” It’s Bruce, thank God. You’re not sure you could handle even the briefest and most well-meaning witticism from Tony right now. Bucky very quickly briefs Bruce on the situation, finishing with, “Any idea what the fuck was in that case?” You can hear the anxiety in Bruce’s voice. “Shit, I don’t know. Not unless you have the label. And we didn’t really examine them, just packed them up.” “Fucking great!” you can’t help but interject, throwing your hands in the air and receiving a concerned look from Bucky in return “But listen, guys. You’re on your way back to the compound – FRIDAY says 30 minutes tops. I’ll have medical and biochem ready as soon as you touch down. And it’s already been what? Like five minutes? If nothing’s happened yet, you’re probably fine? Just sit tight and don’t leave the cabin. The doors seal airtight so nothing can get through.” And with that, Bruce hangs up to get everything ready for your return, leaving you and Bucky at opposite ends of an very small space. You’ve never been claustrophobic before but you must be developing the fear because the walls feel like they’re closing in and your heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of your chest. “Okay, wow. Great. ‘Sit tight.’ That’s awesome, just awesome.” You look around the room, empty except for the bunk you’re sitting on. “What are we supposed to do now? Play twenty fucking questions?” Your relaxing weekend abroad has disappeared and apparently taken your brain-to-mouth filter with it. Between that, your racing heart, and the increasing heat spreading through your body you’re not entirely sure that you’re probably fine, but you’re chalking it up to anxiety because it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it anyway. Except sit tight. Looking up at Bucky you can see his cheeks have taken on a pink flush, but again, that’s probably just stress. Or maybe annoyance at having to be trapped in a tiny room with you and your panicked blathering for the next half hour. Sighing, he sinks to the floor, resting his back against the door and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Nothin’ to do but wait, doll.” Your eyes flash to his. Doll. He’s never called you that before. He’s never really called you anything before. Bucky seems to have noticed it too because he furrows his brows, looking like he’s just as surprised as you are. There’s a brief moment of eye contact before you both quickly look away, choosing not to address it. Probably just a habit, you think. A remnant of the Bucky that existed long before you were born, jumping out in a moment of stress. A heavy silence falls, leaving you both to your own thoughts. You try to focus on breathing, on staying calm, but your mind keeps straying and it feels like there’s too much energy in your body. Your skin practically itches with it and you squirm, unable to get comfortable but not sure exactly why. You can hear Bucky tapping his foot on the floor, the sound of him shifting around. You wonder if he feels it too. Bucky… Doll. The way it had fallen out of his mouth so casually, so easily. As though he’d said it to you a hundred times. You feel a spark bubble up inside you picturing Bucky’s flushed cheeks and that word. You imagine him saying it breathlessly, reverently, just before his lips touch yours. Or growling it out as he moves inside you… Fuck, doll, just like that. You nearly let out a whimper and you feel a rush of slick in your panties, shocking you out of your fantasy as you become uncomfortably aware of just how wet you are. That spreading heat flares even more than before and you realize you must have been dripping into your underwear for longer than just the last few seconds. There’s a deep throb of arousal in your core, stronger than anything you’ve felt before, like that unbearable energy under your skin has been pulled to settle deep inside you. It’s confusing – far too powerful to be the result of a vague, half-imagined fantasy. But even as you wonder at what’s happening, it’s like a fog settles over you, the confusion half-hearted, nothing compared to the growing urge to touch, to quell the burning fire inside you. Before you can even consciously register the movement, your hand is making its way to your pussy. Any shock or embarrassment at your wildly inappropriate behaviour is slow to appear and dulled when it does. Snatching your hand back just as it nears the apex of your thighs is like walking through deep water, like you have to convince yourself why you shouldn’t get off in front of a co-worker. Your eyes flash to Bucky, wondering if he’s seen, if he’s affected the same way you are, only to find his gaze already fixed on you, blue eyes blown nearly black. His fists are clenched at his sides and his lips are bitten red and spit-slick. He breathes in deep, nostrils flaring, and you realize he can smell you. It should be humiliating. You should be turning away in humiliation, but instead, you feel yourself get – somehow, impossibly – wetter and this time you can’t contain the helpless whimper when Bucky groans and licks his lips in response. It’s as if with that sound the floodgates have opened because in an instant you’re slipping off the bed and throwing yourself at him, desperate to be closer, as close as physically possible. You scramble on top of him, graceless and frantic, straddling his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you closer and grinding you down on his cock, pressing hard and hot against you even through your clothes. There’s a moment – a tiny fraction of a second – where you catch each other’s eyes. A pause, where you think you see something, some emotion on Bucky's face, but you don't have time to decipher it before he’s surging up to press his lips against yours and a bomb is set off inside you. You have no idea what you’re doing – your experiences up to now have been limited to a handful of lackluster kisses with people not worth remembering – but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He holds your face firmly in his hands, turning your head to suit him as he licks into your mouth and you do your best to mimic his actions, clumsy in your mindless passion. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and you gasp, rocking your hips against his, trying to get some friction on your throbbing clit. He thrusts up against you and you move together but it’s not enough. It’s clear whatever was in that vial has created a thirst in you that won’t be quenched by a heated make-out session and you pull away from Bucky's mouth, moaning as he tilts your head back to kiss your neck, licking and sucking at the tender skin. “More,” you gasp. “I need more.” You feel him nod against your throat and with one last, deep kiss to your lips Bucky grips you by the hips and lifts you off him, shifting to rest his weight on his heels before reaching to push your dress up over your waist. Almost all of your higher brain function is devoted to being as close to Bucky as possible but far in the back of your mind, there’s a small part of you that’s simply shocked at what’s happening, at the sensations coursing through your body. You have never felt this uninhibited in your entire life. You were a shy, anxious child who grew into a somewhat less shy, anxious adult, easily embarrassed and prone to overthinking. But now, with that silvery mist working its way through your system, you’ve never felt so shameless. Bucky is feverishly slipping off your shoes and tugging down your tights and you’re not thinking about how you haven’t shaved your legs in weeks or how you’re wearing an old pair of plain cotton panties or any of the dozens of worries that would be running through your head under normal circumstances. (Not that Bucky would be undressing you at all, under normal circumstances.) No. Instead of overthinking and paralyzing yourself with fear, you’re pulling your dress over your head and reaching back to unclasp your bra so you can get your own hands on your breasts. You could almost just sit and bask in this unfamiliar feeling of freedom if it weren’t for the hot ache in your core that threatens to burn you alive with every moment you go untouched. As soon as your tights have been pulled off and tossed aside, Bucky is shouldering your legs apart and leaning forward to press his nose against the wet patch on your panties, breathing deep. “Fuck, doll. I need to taste you.” You whimper as his tongue darts out to lick a wide stripe up the length of your covered cunt. His hands move to your hips and in an instant, your panties are torn from your body and his mouth is on your bare skin for the first time. You can’t help but gasp as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your folds. His tongue licks up your opening and circles your clit before moving back down and slipping inside you, drinking up your slick. Bucky growls against your pussy. “So fucking good.” His tongue moves back to your clit and he laps at it in short, teasing flicks. You begin to buck helplessly and Bucky’s metal arm brackets your hips, holding you still for his mouth. He switches to deep, firm circles over your clit, alternating with wide laps over the whole of your cunt. You’re losing your mind, flat on your back with your legs thrown over Bucky’s shoulders, heels pressing into his back. You’ve never felt anything like this. You haven’t even come yet but it’s already more intense than any orgasm you’ve ever given yourself. You feel two fingers against your opening and you fight Bucky’s grip over your hipbones, trying to grind yourself down onto him. He chuckles at your efforts and presses just the tips of his fingers inside you. “So needy, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don’t you?” You have no idea how he’s able to tease right now when you're ready to fall to your knees and plead just for the chance at an orgasm. You whine, trying again to slide down onto his fingers but his metal arm keeps you from moving a single inch and you toss your head back with a wail. “Please, Bucky,” you sob. “I need it, I need you. Please.” You feel no embarrassment at your begging. The fire inside you is growing hotter and hotter. You need him. You need to be filled, fucked. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you now. The teasing tone drops out of Bucky’s voice and he presses messy kisses to your inner thighs. “I know, I know. I feel it too. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna fill you up so good. Stuff you full. Gonna make you feel so good, make it better.” His fingers finally slip into you, sliding easily through your wetness. He starts thrusting and his tongue circles your clit again as his fingers curl. He focuses on your g-spot, stroking roughly as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks. You’re coming in seconds with a series of breathy moans, thighs clamped tightly around Bucky’s head. He doesn’t let up, only pulling away when you tug at his hair, the sensations too much. He kisses you, sliding his tongue against yours and you can taste yourself in his mouth. It reignites the fire your orgasm had dulled slightly and you pull away, about to plead for more, but it seems Bucky has finally reached his limit. His hands work at his belt and he shoves his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock. You’ve never really seen one in person before and maybe under different circumstances you’d take a moment to get familiar, but right now all you can do is spread your legs and beg. Bucky quickly positions himself above you, lining his cock up with your entrance. He drags the head along your pussy a couple times, groaning as he slicks himself up and begins to push into you. He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside you hardly notice the sting. It’s nothing compared to the raging chorus inside you chanting more, more, more. In one single, hurried thrust he’s fully inside, your bodies pressed flush together. Bucky moans. “So fucking tight, fuck. You feel so goddamn good, doll,” he pants above you, leaning down for a filthy kiss, wet and open. “Fucking move, please,” you beg, hooking your legs around him and digging in your heels. Bucky growls into your mouth and pulls out almost entirely before thrusting back inside hard, pulling a sound from deep in your throat. He repeats the move a handful of times before settling into a harsh, pounding rhythm with his face buried in your neck. You cling to his back, senseless, unable to focus on anything but how good you feel. Your brain feels fuzzy and empty and every thrust drags his cock along your g-spot and it’s too much, too good. You’re a gasping, panting mess. It’s not long before his hips start to stutter, his rhythm breaking as he moans out above you. Your hand slides down your body to your clit and you rub firm circles around it. A few swipes and you’re coming, harder than you ever have in your life, with a high, keening moan. The tight squeezes of your cunt have Bucky coming too and you feel a warmth release inside you as he collapses against your chest. Neither of you moves for a long moment, your heavy, mingled breaths the only sound in the room. There’s still some lingering fog as you soak in the afterglow of your drug-intensified orgasm, but it seems like the chemical has run its course and clarity is quickly returning to you. The silence is broken by FRIDAY announcing your approach to one of the landing pads, and you feel the jet begin its descent a moment later. Her voice hits you like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what’s really happening here, what you’ve just done. It seems Bucky feels the same, because he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes and a long moment of horrified recognition passes between you. Your breathing picks up again as panic surges through you. You start to squirm under his weight but he’s already moving. You wince as he pulls out of you, suddenly aware of a deep soreness between your legs. In seconds, Bucky has tucked himself back into his jeans, and he storms out of the cabin without a backward glance. So eager to get away from you he doesn’t seem to care that he might be walking directly into a toxic cloud. Like anything would be better than being trapped with you for another moment. You lay there on the floor, naked and shivering, with Bucky’s cum starting to leak out of you as you struggle to take a breath, all the anxiety and uncertainty the drug had masked flooding back to you at once. You force yourself to sit up and pull your clothes back on, cringing as you feel the mess between your legs seep into your tights. You hastily stuff your ruined panties in your pocket. You take a few deep breaths and try to still your shaking hands as you hear footsteps approaching the cabin. You’re given a respirator and guided off the jet into a throng of people awaiting your arrival, Bucky nowhere to be seen. White-coated staff swarm you and lead you inside. +++ You wish you could say the next several hours are a blur, but they are, unfortunately, exceptionally, horrifically clear. You’re taken through a decontamination shower, though you’re really not sure how much good it could do at this point, then poked and prodded with needles and swabs while having the most mortifying conversation of your life. You feel nearly choked with a shocking, burning shame. This morning you woke up nervous and excited for a weekend away, and now you’re telling a handful of strangers how you just had sex for the first time in an uncontrollable, frenzied state of lust with one of the Avengers. And as though it couldn’t be worse, it’s made all the more humiliating by the lingering throb of arousal thrumming through you the entire time. It seems whatever this drug is, the two orgasms you’ve already had weren’t enough to neutralize it, though at least you have enough self-control now to keep from shoving your hand down your pants in front of everyone in the room. Finally, after what seems like hours and unfortunately really is hours, you’re told to go home and rest. You’ve been given an emergency contraceptive, a pamphlet for the Employee Assistance Program, a number to call if you feel any strange symptoms, and told that someone will follow up with you in the next day or so. You feel numb as you enter your apartment, tugging off your med-bay issued scrubs on the way to the bathroom. You get yourself off in the shower, and though it’s the most joyless orgasm of your life, it seems to finally clear any lingering arousal from your system. Wincing at the tenderness between your legs, you scrub yourself clean under the hot spray, half wishing you could dissolve into a puddle and wash away down the drain with the soapy water. You’re getting ready for bed when your thoughts take a sudden turn to Bucky for the first time in hours. You’d been so overwhelmed by all the tests and questions, so cocooned in your own embarrassment you’d practically forgotten about him. Guilt rushes through you at your own selfish thoughtlessness. Feeling so sorry for yourself like you were the only victim. Like you were the victim at all. You’ve had a crush on Bucky for months, have spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining being with him in ways both innocent and obscene. But he’s never looked twice at you, barely speaks to you except for unavoidable work discussions. Not that you expect anything different. Someone like him would never want to be with you anywhere outside your daydreams. Except now he has been with you. Forced against his will to take part in some horrific act, because surely that’s how Bucky must see it, now the fog of uncontrollable lust has cleared. You had sex for the first time in decidedly unwanted conditions, but at least it was with someone you’re genuinely attracted to, someone you have feelings for. Bucky had been forced to have sex with someone he didn’t even like, much less desire. After everything he’s been through, how hard he’s worked to find a place where he can feel safe and in control of his own life – his own body. Only to have that control taken from him again in the most indecent way. Shame, viscous and thick, swells in your throat like sickness and your eyes fill with tears. No wonder Bucky ran out of the cabin the way he had. You feel so much worse because of your feelings for him. Dirty and wrong because you would have enjoyed the sex even without the drug. You know, deep down, it’s not your fault. You didn’t mean to knock the case over and you had no idea what was inside – not to mention you weren’t the one who forgot to latch it – but you can’t help but feel responsible for what happened and you wonder if Bucky feels the same. If he knows about your feelings and thinks you orchestrated the entire thing on purpose. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. And the rest of the team! If they don’t know already, they will soon enough. What if they blame you too? What if they’re disgusted by you? Anxiety spreads through your body from your pounding heart, filling your limbs. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. You feel boiling hot and ice cold all at once. Collapsing to your bedroom floor, you bring your hands to your thighs, digging your fingernails into the skin. The sharp pain distracts you from the heavy panic flooding your body enough to let you focus on breathing in, then out, repeating the words in your head until you feel your heart rate settle, the panic easing a little. You pull yourself up off the floor and push yourself through the motions of getting ready for bed. The intrusive thoughts are still there (everyone hates you. You’re going to lose your job. Are you sure you didn’t do it on purpose?) but you try to ignore them. There’s nothing you can do about anything right now and thinking yourself into a panic attack won’t do any good. You turn on an old episode of your favourite show and get in bed, tugging the covers up to your neck and focusing on the screen, allowing the familiar storylines to dull the intensity of your thoughts until you finally fall asleep. A/N: And that’s the end of Part 1! Thanks for reading and feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog and let me know what you thought! I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out the whole sex pollen aspect and I’m still not totally happy with it hahah but I hope it doesn’t seem too shoe-horned in 😝 Anything else that you’d like to see tagged/warned for, let me know!!

[nikibogwater]

The City Never Sleeps--a Tales of Arcadia fanfiction

“Moving to New York City is no easy task, and Douxie's been burning the candle at both ends for the past month in order to make ends meet. Fortunately, he has a family waiting for him every night when he comes home.”

Special thanks to @poetryinmotion-author for beta reading and providing me with the title!

So yes, this is my coping mechanism after the emotional trauma of Wizards. A little Found Family fluff to ease my screaming soul. Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830517

Or under the cut:

Why the hell was living in New York City so expensive?

Douxie had started this latest venture with at least some optimism. Protect the tiny sorceress and keep an eye out for any suspicious magical activity that could point to the return of the Arcane Order, all while remaining as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t that different from what he’d been doing for the last nine-hundred years. 

Except for the damn cost of living. 

Arcadia Oaks hadn’t exactly been low-rent either, but at least he’d been able to manage by juggling two part-time jobs and occasionally passing himself off as a streetside fortune teller (humiliating as that was) whenever finances got particularly tight. He’d had plenty of time to do his nightly patrols of the streets, chase down any rogue magical creatures, set new stasis traps, and be home in time to microwave dinner and pass out on his sofa-bed for seven hours before the routine began again the next morning. But New York City was a different monster. 

He’d chosen this place for a few very good reasons. First, it was on the other side of the continent from Arcadia. Provided he’d covered their tracks right, the Arcane Order would have to scour any number of miles of the country before they could even begin to narrow down his position here. Second, the presence of magic in New York City was borderline undetectable. The area was so choked with noise, pollution, traffic, and people that picking out a magical signature from the chaos would be practically impossible. Third, (and perhaps this was the weakest reason, if he was being honest with himself) he had never been there before. Douxie had done some traveling in his centuries-long life, but somehow New York City had never ended up on his itinerary. If he was going to be immortal, he wanted to make the most of it and see the big sights. Up until now, he’d been stuck in Arcadia, trying to keep an eye on the magical stirrings there (and fuzzbuckets, there were a lot of them). Once he was free to go where he pleased, of course he was going to pick somewhere he genuinely wanted to be. 

At least two of those reasons had been good ones, but that didn’t change the fact that paying for a studio apartment in New York City and feeding himself, Archie, and occasionally Nari (she only ate on days when she could not simply absorb energy from the sun) with no high-demand career skills to speak of was a herculean task. He’d had to take on three minimum-wage jobs just to make ends meet, and sleep? Well, he counted himself lucky if he got four hours in a single night. 

Which landed him here, stumbling up to the door of their ramshackle apartment, fiddling with an ordinary keyring in order to keep up appearances should anybody walk by while he undid the twelve magical seals he had placed when he left this morning. He let himself in with a groan, slammed the door behind him, and somehow dredged up enough energy to replace the seals before he slid to the floor, utterly spent. What time was it? He’d gotten off work at 1:30, right? Or was he mixing up tonight with last night? Wait, was today Thursday or Friday? Fuzzbuckets, he could barely string two thoughts together in his head. He groaned again and pressed his fists against his bloodshot eyes. It was pitch black inside the apartment, and the only sound came from the small heating unit in the corner. 

But he wasn’t alone. He felt a familiar form brush against his folded legs, and heard Archie’s welcoming purr close to him. Douxie sighed and blindly reached out, groping for a moment before his Familiar pressed his furry head against his waiting fingers. 

“Did anything happen t’day?” Douxie slurred quietly. At this point, Archie no longer needed him to specify “anything magic related that could potentially be dangerous.” 

“Nothing. All clear,” the cat told him, stepping into his lap. “Though I can’t say the same for you. I haven’t seen such a breakout since the fifteenth century.” 

“What?” Douxie raised a hand to his face and felt his cheek, which was peppered with tiny red bumps. “Fuzzbuckets,” he moaned, letting his hand fall. “Think it’s the stress. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night.” There were a few minutes of silence as Douxie stroked his friend’s fur, knowing he should move to his mattress in the corner, but too exhausted to care if he just passed out here. 

“Douxie?” 

His eyes slid open as he heard a small voice at his side (when had his eyes closed?) and saw Nari crouched beside him. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts, which was comically large on her tiny frame, and a part of him suddenly wished he could afford to buy her nicer clothes. He was her guardian now, he should at least be able to provide her with that. Then again, she had spent most of her considerably long life wearing enchanted armor from the Eternal Forest, so maybe she didn’t care about not having brand-name PJs. Right now, her eyes were sweeping over his face critically, her brow pinching with worry. Oh right, she was probably waiting for him to say something. 

“H’llo,” he mumbled, his eyes closing again. 

“Your aura is so weak,” Nari whispered, her hand coming to rest on his chest above his heart, where she could feel his magic give a pitiful, fluttering pulse beneath her fingers. “You are pushing yourself too far.” There was an element of reproach in her soft voice.

“Got no choice,” Douxie replied. “Have to keep you safe.” He heard her take in a sharp breath as though he had struck her. His lids flew open and he saw her fiddling with her hands and looking ashamed. “I....I didn’t mean...” He forced himself to sit up, pausing for a moment when his vision swam and his brain flopped around his skull like a dying Nyarlagroth. “Nari, this isn’t your fault. I just....It’s hard to make ends meet, that’s all.”

“You came here because of me,” she argued quietly, still refusing to look at him. “Because you thought I would be safe here.”

“I....Yeah. But it’s not your fault the rent’s so high. ‘M fine, I just need to sleep.” He shooed Archie off his lap and somehow managed to get to his feet, though the world spun around him and his knees wobbled like jello. Nari reached out to help him, but he ignored her offer (it wasn’t like she could provide much support, seeing as she only came up to his waist), and stumbled over to the mattress on the floor in the corner, falling onto it with a rough sigh. 

“Your shoes are still on,” Archie informed him, coming to sit by his head. Douxie hummed noncommittally and did nothing. A moment later, he felt Nari untangling the laces of his hightops and sliding them off of his feet. Archie curled up in the crook of his shoulder, his purring filling the wizard’s ears and silencing his disjointed thoughts. Nari draped a blanket over him, pausing for a moment to rest her small hand on top of his uncombed hair. He felt her thumb rub a few circles against his scalp before she pulled away and stood up to return to her own bed on the other side of the room. Douxie was asleep before she’d even crossed the floor. 

*****

Douxie found his eyes opening twenty minutes before his phone alarm was set to go off. He felt oddly rejuvenated for someone who had worked himself to the bone yesterday and only fallen into bed at quarter past two. He double checked the time on his phone, wondering if he’d somehow slept through his alarm. 6:13 am. He rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb Archie, who was sprawled out next to him, paws twitching as he dreamed. He glanced over at Nari, who was barely visible within a tightly-wound cocoon of blankets, her antlers the only easily distinguishable part of her. He could sense her aura, but it was dim, and scarcely pulsing, which meant she was quite sound asleep. Satisfied with the knowledge that his family was comfortable and at peace for the moment, he slipped out onto the tiny balcony, shivering as the cold embraced him. He left the door ajar a few inches in case Archie woke up and decided to join him, and zipped up his rumpled hoodie, before casting a glance around him.

The sky was a silvery grey, and he knew that the sun was peeking over the horizon at his back. The balcony faced west, and had a less-than-stunning view of a dank alleyway. It was barely wide enough for three people, and nearly half of it was occupied by Nari’s rapidly growing collection of houseplants and herbs. Douxie sat on the floor, crossing his legs beneath him, and leaned back against the brick wall of the apartment building. He gazed up at the slowly lightening sky, mind curiously blank, though not for want of energy. There was something about the stillness of the early morning that put him in a state of silence. Almost as though he were listening for something. 

Or someone. 

His heart twisted sharply in his chest, and for once, he let himself acknowledge it. He’d spent many early mornings like this in Camelot, perched on a battlement, watching the sunrise, waiting for the sound of his master calling him to his chores. Back then, he had dreaded hearing Merlin’s voice, knowing that it would be the end of the brief momentary peace he had carved for himself from the stillness of the morning. But now....Now he’d give anything to hear his master calling his name again. 

Something pressed up against his knee, and he looked down to find Archie’s bespectacled gaze meeting his own. Without a word, Douxie opened his arms and let his Familiar settle into place on his lap. Douxie wrapped him up in his arms, clinging to his presence, suddenly acutely aware of how much his heart was aching, and Archie purred in understanding. The cat was warm against his chest, a physical reminder that although he had lost a great deal these many years, he wasn’t alone.

The door creaked, and Douxie looked up to find a very sleepy-looking Nari stepping out to join them. 

“You’ll catch a cold out here,” Douxie scolded wearily, taking note of her bare arms and legs. She responded with a disinterested hum and rubbed one of her eyes blearily. Douxie sighed and held out an arm to her. She flopped down next to him and curled up against his side, one hand coming to rest above his heart, feeling his magic swirling and pulsing within. 

“Your aura was twisting. You were sad,” she mumbled as he tucked her closer with his arm. 

“...Maybe a little,” Douxie admitted. “I didn’t think you could feel that in your sleep.” 

“Never try to hide anything from an ancient sorceress,” Archie advised from his place on Douxie’s lap. “Especially one who likes you.” Douxie breathed a quiet chuckle and gave his Familiar a scratch behind the ears. There was a moment of companionable silence between the three of them. 

“...You enchanted my sleep, didn’t you?” Douxie said suddenly, looking down at Nari. She shifted, almost guiltily, and nodded. 

“She does that several times a week, actually,” Archie put in. Nari opened her eyes long enough to send him the most resentful glare she could muster. 

“Tattletale,” she muttered. The cat merely shrugged. 

“...Thank you,” Douxie murmured. “I don’t think I could’ve survived this past month without either of you.” 

“We’re going to be okay, Douxie,” Nari said through a yawn. “I believe in you. You’ll find a better job soon, and the Order will never find us.”

“You think?” Douxie asked lightly. The wood nymph nodded sleepily against his chest. “Well, I suppose there’s no arguing with you, is there?” He squeezed her shoulder fondly. 

“You argue with me all the time,” Archie pointed out, turning a few circles and settling more comfortably on Douxie’s crossed legs. “If I were any less gracious, I might accuse you of playing favorites.” 

“Oh, I do play favorites, Archie. You’re my favorite person to argue with.” Archie huffed and flicked his tail, but Douxie knew he was smiling without having to look. 

The mage held his small family close, staring up at the sky that was turning more blue with every passing minute, no longer feeling the pervading chill. He couldn’t say what the future would bring. He couldn’t promise that everything would work out. But he did know, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that he would fight to save the world a hundred times over, work himself until he was nothing but skin and bone,  if it meant he could have more moments like this. 

[jeongcake]

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 || 𝐓. 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨

► content/warning(s): angst, implied reader death, mentions of abuse, no happy ending

► word count: 1.7k

► summary/prompt: “I see your monsters, I see your pain,” [Monsters] by [Timeflies] 

► a/n: Inspired by the song Monsters by Timeflies. I thought this song fit with someone for Todoroki. I also split it so that it would work better. Please tell me what you think! Hope you enjoy! Copied and pasted from my Wattpad. It's a bit angsty again. 

Positive note | taglist | Super Long Prompt List | Navigation

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I see your monsters I see your pain, Tell me your problems I'll chase them away, I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay, When I see your monsters, I'll stand there so brave, And chase them all away

You stars silently at Todoroki. He was staring at the words in a book, but you could tell he wasn't reading it. He didn't look happy, or sad, he looked in pain. It was obvious he wanted to be strong and in control of his emotions, which often lead to him seeming cold and emotionless.

"Hey Todo, you feelin' alright?" You tapped his shoulder softly, drawing him away from his book. His eyes always looked so shiny, watery as if he always was in the brink of bursting into tears.

Lowering his eyes a bit and focusing them somewhere other thank your own, he nodded, "Oh, yeah I'm fine y/n."

He sounded like he was itching to talk, like he wasn't fine. Placing a hand on his shoulder gently, you tried to get him to confined in you, "Are you sure? You can talk to me about anything, y'know."

"It's nothing y/n," Now it was clear that something was wrong. He was a dense and blunt person, and he wasn't good at lying or hiding things, so him trying to was usually not a good idea.

A cup of coffee still steaming, Staring back at me, it's blacker than the night, Ay, I'm awake but still sleeping, I keep telling myself I'll be alright (I won't)

He stared blankly at his mug on the coffee table, watching the steam as it rose. He felt broken, beaten down by all the bad memories from his childhood. On most days, it was easy to mask it, but today it was just too much for him to take.

And I know it can't get worse than today, Sitting here and she's trying to rehearse what to say, See, she's in the bathroom hoping I'm not in earshot, While she's getting used, To the sound of a teardrop, splash it hits the tile, And I know it's been a while since you seen me, Smile and laugh like I used to, I've been in denial since it happened

He watched subtly as she stood to walk towards his dorm bathroom, pulling out her phone so she could research what to say.

I'm all honesty, he'd never felt like such a wreck. His head hurt and his mouth had been dry, throat clenching each time the salty liquid began to we'll up behind his beautiful heterochromatic orbs. It was like he was a water balloon that just kept getting filled and today, it felt like it was going to pop finally.

Muffled, he could hear you in the mirror murmuring the words of comfort you'd been trying to string together in front of the mirror, practicing like an actress.

"I don't know what to say... I wish I could take the pain away, but I can't. I don't really know what to do, but I'm here... This is really tough!" You struggled, reading different articles with alternative lines that can bring comfort and maybe get him to confide in you.

It quited and the tapping of water leaking from the faucet and hitting the ceramic sink filled your ears, bringing more of a concerned feeling as you wondered about how many times he could've possibly sobbed alone over this sink, before washing the hot tears away.

He grimaced at the thought of how you must feel, knowing he hadn't so much as laughed in a matter of weeks, and wasn't himself. In the back of his head, the memory of what his young life was like haunted him, lingering and surfacing whenever he thought he was over it. And he wasn't just hurting himself anymore.

Just take me to the past, 'Cause I just can't imagine losing you (too), I can't explain this so I'll keep it all inside, Wear my pain, but it's masked by my pride

The thought of pushing you away always scared him. He didn't really want to be alone, but it was so hard for him to truly trust anyone after so much pain. Not to mention he couldn't understand how you could possibly care for him after hearing of his past. He wanted a time machine, to just suck him back into the time when he was happier, before his quirk manifested. He wasn't a prodigy then, and was allowed to play and have fun with his siblings, and see his mother outside of a mental institution.

Worst of all, he couldn't open up if he wanted to, because he knew it would come out a jumbled mess he couldn't coherently say, so he locked the idea out of his mind and bottled up everything. Even if a bottle could only hold so much before it shattered, he would keep shoving the feelings and darkness back in, them seeping out bit by bit and bruising him.

Letting you in was out of the question. He'd give you his vulnerability, the ability to hurt him in the worst way possible. You'd be past his defense, and his shield wouldn't be there to block your stab if you chose to kill him. With everyone, he'd rather be unliked the way Bakugou was, throwing his match and refusing his fire side to spite his father, than to let everyone see the broken boy behind the scar.

She came to hold me and she cried Told me this as she stared into my eyes, said I see your monsters I see your pain Tell me your problems I'll chase them away I'll be your lighthouse I'll make it okay When I see your monsters I'll stand there so brave And chase them all away

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, you knelt in front of him, slowly pulling his book from him and began soothing his aches.

"I-I know I may have no idea what you're going through, but I'm here so you can tell me. Whatever it is, it won't change my view of you, okay?" He nodded, most of his attention on the hand that was caressing his cheek and making his heart flutter. "I won't think any less of you for opening up."

I can't, you won't like what you see, If you were in my head and had to hear my pleas, It's like I can't believe this is happening to me, And could someone please, Shut this fucking answering machine, So I can start leaving these messages, That you will never get, And all these cries for help, You'll never see and never check, But I guess it's easy for you to leave me, But believe me, See this isn't something that Ima just forget, I would trade it all for one more minute, Don't you see I really need you to talk to, I'm still sitting here wondering who did it, While I'm staring out our front door, Knowing you'll never walk through, Said you'd come right back, And now you're gone like that, A blank stare as I stand so alone, And know you're never coming home (damn)

He shuddered, closing his eyes and tearing up, unable to utter a single word back to you. How could he tell you? Those were just words you'd conjured up to it the help of the internet, and he had know way of knowing it was from your heart.

Bringing him into a hug, you allowed him to cry into your chest and soak your clothes with his tears, squeezing him reassuringly.

"Shh, it's not your fault, everything will be okay. "

Even if you didn't know what exactly was going on, it was probably related to his father's abusive lifestyle and thank goodness you were able to piece it together. His arms wrapped around your waist hesitantly, finding comfort in having your plush body against him.

Now, he just whimpered into his cell phone as your pre-recorded voice mail played, the only part of you he had left.

Everyday he prayed you'd answer, pick up the phone and grace him with your perfect voice, wall through the school doors and take your seat next to him, whispering about some gossip he didn't pick up on. He wanted that to happen so badly, even if it was impossible now.

Because now that he was ready to tell you about everything, you were gone.

I see your monsters, I see your pain, Tell me your problems, I'll chase them away, I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay (yeah), When I see your monsters, I'll stand there so brave, And chase them all away

He screamed into his pillow, calling your abandoned number again, "This is y/n. I can't come to the phone right now, but I'll call you back soon!"

Everything that'd ever hurt him before was nothing compared to the pain and anguish he felt knowing he'd never receive that return call, and still he hoped for it with all his heart.

Who was going to keep him safe now? Bring him back from the angry ocean when his sailing was over? How was he supposed to get over everything without you there to guide him each step of the way?

I got a heart made of fool's gold, Got me feeling so cold, You keep chipping away, All the promises that I told, Felt like I was on those, They keep slipping away, I want nobody else, But it's hard to get to know me, When I don't know myself, And it helps 'cause I felt, I was down, I was out, Then you looked at me now, And said I see your monsters, I see your pain, Tell me your problems, I'll chase them away, I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay, When I see your monsters, I'll stand there so brave, I see your monsters, I see your pain, Tell me your problems, I'll chase them away (chase them all away), I'll be your lighthouse, I'll make it okay (make it okay), When I see your monsters, (When I see your monsters), I'll stand there so brave, And chase them all away

"Y/n, please! I'll tell you everything you want to know! I-I'm sorry I t-took s-s-so long! Please..." He sobbed, screaming into the recording phone, uttering out the useless message he oh so wanted you to respond to, "Call me back soon..."

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[musical-in-theory]

Just Relax and Let Go

“Come on, hero! You promised!” the magician whined.

“I really don’t know about this, man. You said it was safe but…” Jackie rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to get rid of the looming dread that always seemed to follow him whenever hypnosis was on the table.

Marvin walked over and pulled on his arm, “It’s fine. I just need a little more practice. My big show is in a week, and this is the only part of it that still needs some work. It’s still too unpredictable.”

Jackie sucked in a deep breath and looked at his little brother. He hadn’t been this excited about a show in such a long time. It was really nice to see him like this again. He let his hand fall from the back of his neck down to his side. “Fine, fine. If it really means that much to you,” Jackie paused and surprised him with a sudden choke hold, “but you owe me, little bro.”

Marvin tried to hold his own, but eventually opted for two taps on the offending arm. Jackie looked down at him as he tried to catch his breath. The magic man was shaking a bit. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but Jackie had been going easy on him. The shaking persisted for longer than it should’ve. The hero placed a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. “Hey, you good?”

Marvin froze for less than a second underneath the touch, but quickly regained his composure and flashed a dazzling smile. “Of course! You just caught me a little off-guard there. Now let’s get started.” He took Jackie by the wrist and started dragging him towards his room.

Once there Jackie got a good look around. Nothing really seemed out of place. It was pretty tidy except for the desk and bed. He’d have to talk to Marvin again about making his bed every morning again, not that it’d actually do anything. Something still felt off about the place, though. A feeling that Jackie hadn’t felt in a long time…

The sudden slam from Marvin’s door brought him out of his thoughts. “Alright. This is actually happening,” Marvin mumbled under his breath. He spun around and faced Jackie with bright eyes and a cheesy grin. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. It’s gonna be a big help. Just, uh, go ahead and sit down on the bed if you want.” He motioned towards the piece of furniture in question nonchalantly. 

Jackie made to go to his assigned seat, but as he did, a slight tremor in Marvin’s left hand caught his eye. Nerves. It had to just be some performance jitters. Although it wasn’t like Marvin was putting on a show for him, it was just a little practice.

Marvin pulled up a chair in front of his older brother and brought out a deck of cards. Before he could begin, however, Jackie grabbed his attention. “You know I trust you, yeah? You’ve got this,” he reassured. He expected the magician to breathe a sigh of relief or maybe relax a bit, but he just stared at the hero. “Marvin?” he waved a hand in front of his brother’s face.

It took a moment before Marvin flinched back. “Huh? O-oh. Right. Thanks. Yeah, guess I’m just a bit nervous about the whole thing. Like I said, unpredictable,” he said, but then his eyes widened, “but totally safe. If I screw up, the most that’ll happen is that it just won’t work. Promise.” He cracked his neck and smirked at Jackie, “Although it only works on those that actually have a brain, and the jury’s still out on that one.”

Jackie playfully smacked Marvin’s leg and laughed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that kept creeping up on him. “Okay just relax and let me take you through this.” Marvin watched his hero take a deep breath and relax his shoulders. “Good. So hypnosis feels a lot like how it feels when you zone out while reading or listening to music. You get lost in it and the rest of the world just fades away. It’s important that when you feel yourself start to slip that you don’t try to fight it. Let everything I say, everything I do wash over you until it’s all that’s left.”

With every word, Jackie felt every bit of tension, every doubt or iota of negativity slowly fade away. “That’s it, Jackie. Now I want you to focus on the cards in my hand.” Jackie’s eyes found their way to the deck that Marvin had started to shuffle. The sound alone was like music to his ears, how serene the clacking that could only come from plastic hitting plastic. “Let each card take away a bit more of your attention. Let it guide you, sway you.” Marvin’s voice danced around Jackie’s head.

“Are you feeling sleepy, hero?” Jackie’s head bobbed slightly, never taking his eyes off of the cards. “Good. That’s good. I’m going to count back from 5, and with each number I want you to let yourself drift deeper and deeper. Each number, twice as deep, twice as deep.” Once again Jackie’s head nodded.

“5” Jackie could feel gravity start to take hold of his body.

“4” It was so relaxing.

“3” Why hadn’t he helped Marvin out before now?

“2” His eyes drifted closed.

“1” Marvin snapped his fingers, and Jackie went limp. The magician wanted to laugh. He’d done it. One of his finest tricks. A hero standing right in front of him, his mind putty waiting to be reshaped by his skillful hands.

 “Jackie? Can you still hear me?” A slow nod was the response. “I want you to envision a clean whiteboard. Nothing is on it. No marks, just a blank white slate. I want you to picture it as clearly as you can. Now I want you to write your name on it. Take your time. Write your name, and then erase it. Write it again and erase it once more. I want you to keep writing and erasing until you feel comfortable. Give me a thumbs up once you’ve done that, okay?”

It was a minute or so before Jackie held up a shaky thumbs up to his brother. “Good. Now-” Marvin felt his throat tighten. It almost felt like a noose had wrapped itself around his neck, or more like a string.

No more tricks Kitten. Give me a real show. Just like we agreed.

The strangulation loosened itself, and Marvin let out a small gasp. He took a moment to collect himself, but he couldn’t get rid of his tremors this time. He looked up at his older brother who appeared so relaxed… and vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry. I hope one day you’ll forgive me for not being as strong as you,” Marvin whispered as a silver tear slipped from its watery dam. “Okay. I want you to keep imagining that whiteboard. With every thought that enters your mind, I would like for you to write and erase it. Every thought, every thought, until it’s all… just… blank. Got that? Let your mind empty, let it all be erased over and over again.” Marvin allowed the silence left in the room envelope the both of them, until Jackie seemed completely and utterly blank.

Marvin stood up and walked over to be beside the hero. He flinched when a clawed hand found its way onto the magician’s shoulder, but he wasn’t surprised to see who it belonged to. Who he belonged to.

“Y͠ou d͞id͞ ͢g̵r̡ea͞t̕,͡ ̛p͜et̸.͜ ̵It͘’̨s͢ ̸ti̧me҉ for the̷ ̢n̛ext ̧ph̕ase.” Anti’s broken voice curdled within Marvin’s ears. “G͝et ̡i̡t ̕dòne͘.”

Marvin sighed in resignation, a deep sadness embedding itself into his very core, “Last thing hero. I need you to write Anti on the whiteboard, but don’t erase it. Keep writing it. Keep writing the name Anti. It’s the only name you’ve ever known, isn’t it? It’s the only name you will ever need to know.” Marvin knew he couldn’t see it, but he signed a quick, “I love you,” towards his lost brother.

“I’m going to count to 5 again, and when I do you’ll find that you are rising up, up, up and out of the deep that you’ve been in. When I count to 5, you’ll find that you are awake. Understand?” He didn’t wait for Jackie’s affirmation. With how much static was swirling around the room, he already knew that the command had buried itself in his head.

“1” He’s such an awful brother.

“2” How could he have been such a coward?

“3” Why couldn’t Anti just leave them alone?

“4” Why did he ever think he could escape?

“5” Why did he ever think he was anything other than a puppet? 

Jackie’s head snapped up at the final number. He gazed around the room before he ended his visual exploration on Marvin. The magician stuttered out, “J-Jackie? How are you feeling?”

“Who?” There wasn’t even a hint of recognition on his face. It looked like he was about to launch into a flurry of questions, but he was stopped by the eruption of laughter that had materialized behind Marvin.

“You promised me a show, Kitten, but this is just too much!” Anti began circling his new puppet, like a predator would his wounded prey. He carded his hands through the hero’s hair, delighted to feel him lean into the touch. “W̢e̵ll ͢h͘e͜l͏lo͡ ̀th̢er̴e͟. I̵’m͢ ̛Ant̨i. Án̴d ̕y̨ou ar̶e?̛” The glitch never got his answer because Jackie practically flung himself at Anti as soon as he had mentioned his name.

Jackie looked up at the demon, brought to near tears. “I know you! I know you! Anti! I know you!” Another laugh ripped itself from Anti’s throat and into the air around them.

His acid green eyes bore into Marvin’s sky blue ones as he said, “Th̶ank͠s ̧f͞or͘ ͠t̡h҉e b͜ir͢t̴hd͠a͝y҉ ̸pr̴e͟s̡e͡nt,͝ ̧p͟up̧pet̛.̕ ̧.̨I̴ ̀can’̧t̸ ͡wa͝it͠ ͟t͘o҉ see ͟ẁh̵at҉ yo̢u do ̵next̡ ̧ti̷m͞e.” With that, he glitched out of the room, whisking Jackie away with him. That last thing Marvin saw was Jackie’s face in complete adoration of his captor. He fell to his knees after the pair were gone, the deafening silence mocking him for his success, for his failure.

(Wow, it’s been forever since I’ve gotten to write anything! I had a lot of fun writing this one. I actually used some of the phrases that were said to me while I was being hypnotized. Don’t worry, though, my experience was a lot better than this one haha. Anyway, Happy Birthday to the glitch bitch!)

[goddessvicky]

Blood Stained Flashback!

Seems like a good day to re-post a little snippet of my current work!

         From “Blood Stained,” a Steve/Darcy/Bucky WinterShieldShock fic!

It was sweltering. The warm summer sun had bathed the Brooklyn streets all day, and even though the sun was setting, the buildings hemorrhaged heat to the point where staying inside was impossible. The rooftops were filled with residents looking for any reprieve from the sticky fever temperature. Despite the heat, there was a flurry of activity at the top of the tenements. Children ran with sparklers in hand, trailing wakes of light as they laughed and played.

Bucky Barnes’ attention was drawn to his right when the boy sharing his sheet let out a frustrated sigh and began erasing what he’d just drawn. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I can’t get his hands right.”

Stretching so he could spy what was on his best friend’s pad of paper, Bucky’s eyebrows raised, a impressed smirk on his face. “They look great.”

“They don’t look real,” Steve Rogers said as he brought the pencil to the page, painstakingly going slow in an attempt to be satisfied. When it continued to vex him, he let out a trumpet of air and pulled the paper from the book before balling it up in his hands. He lifted his arm as if he was going to toss the ball over the edge of the roof, but was stopped at the last minute when Bucky’s fist shot out and caught it. “Let it go, Buck.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Bucky said, carefully un-crinkling the page and smoothing it with his hands, “everything you draw is a masterpiece.”

Feeling his cheeks heat at the compliment, Steve looked down at an empty page. A blank piece of paper had never sat right with him, and though he itched to fill it was something, he had to admit the sun had dipped low enough that the sunlight would be the next to go. He flipped the cover of the pad closed and carefully stowed the new pencil set that had been a birthday present from the Barnes family. He ran his fingers over the wood, feeling like he was an imposter working with something so nice.

He looked over as Bucky ran his hands over the drawing again, grey gaze focused on the half-finished image. Steve had never met anyone as unfailingly charming as James Barnes. Ever since they were children, the dark-haired boy with the charismatic smile had made Steve feel shy, unable to accept the amount of support Bucky seemed to have in spades. While Steve might carry doubt, Bucky answered back with absolute certainty and the perfect words to lift his spirit.

An errant firecracker sounded on one of the rooftops surrounding them, and Steve’s attention was drawn to the flickering lights and laughter. When the first burst of an actual firework squealed into the sky, his blue gaze directed up, watching the explosion of color in the sky.

“They’re for you, you know that, right?” Bucky held his breath when Steve looked over at him, the wrinkle between Steve’s brow taking the entirety of Bucky’s attention. He’d known the man beside him for as long as he could remember, and the feelings in his chest were indescribable. Even with all the flashing lights and screams of children to distract, he only had eyes for his best friend. “The fireworks. They’re for your birthday.”

“They’re for the fourth,” Steve said with a soft roll of his eyes, “not me.”

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky said with a shake of his head, eyes flicking up when another burst lit the sky. “Whenever I see fireworks, it just makes me think of you.”

The conviction in Bucky’s voice made Steve’s heart beat faster, and he looked down at his hands and the dark smudges on his fingers from the art pencils, needing to avert his gaze, not wanting Bucky to see the barely-veiled desire in his eyes. He was still trying to understand his own feelings about the man at his side, and the last thing he wanted to do was irreparably harm the most important relationship in his life.

“When I’m overseas, every firework I see will make me think of you.” Bucky saw Steve look over at him sharply, but he kept his eyes skyward, another burst bathing them in green light. “They won’t celebrate the fourth, obviously, but there’ll be something, I’m sure.”

“Most blasts you’ll see will be artillery fire,” Steve said, unable to keep the worry from his tone. Bucky going into the army was an inevitability, but it was one Steve hadn’t fully accepted. He’d been at Bucky’s side for so long that it felt incredibly wrong to be anywhere else, and the prospect of losing his best friend filled his veins with ice. “You’ll be careful?”

Bucky’s gaze slid to Steve, watching his eyes grow brighter when another burst filled the air with the same cornflower blue of Steve’s eyes. “When am I not careful?”

Lips lifting in response to the smirk on Bucky’s face, Steve fidgeted with his hands, a restless energy that seemed to fill him any time he remember the days of Bucky being right beside him were numbered. “Just keep your head down and you’ll be alright.”

There was a hint of resignation in Steve’s tone, and it furrowed Bucky’s brow. He still had three years before he could enlist, but it’d been his path in life since he was born. His father had fought beside Steve’s in World War I, best friends until the very end, and even though he was following in his father’s footsteps, Bucky could think of nothing but the pain he’d feel when he’d have to leave the man at his side. “I’m coming home, Steve.”

Steve sighed and leaned back against the roof’s railing, letting his eyes fall closed. “I know, Buck.”

“No, Steve,” Bucky said, reaching out to rest his hand over Steve’s, watching the blond look over at him in surprise. “Listen to me very carefully: there is not a single thing in this world that would keep me from coming home to you.” The look on Steve’s face froze Bucky’s heart, and felt his chest tighten in anxiety. There was a weight to his words, a deeper meaning that was telegraphed in his gaze. Bucky watched Steve’s eyes for any sign that he understood what he meant in the words he hadn’t said. “Nothing.”

Blinking at Bucky, feeling the air heavy with importance, Steve felt the weight on his chest, finding it hard to swallow around the emotion in his throat. He turned the hand beneath Bucky’s, carefully twining their fingers together, feeling the heat and warmth of Bucky’s hand in his.

A confession without words.

A promise without strings.

An inevitability.

Steve wasn’t sure how long they’d stayed there like that, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes, but the scream of a child startled him and he pulled his hand back, glancing around to make sure no one had seen what happened, but nobody was giving them a second glance, too concerned with the fireworks and conversation. When he looked back at Bucky, his best friend’s eyes were still on him. “I want to go with you,” he finally said, feeling the first sting of tears. “I should be going with you.”

“You are.” Again, the gravity of what Bucky revealed was in the words not being said. “Wherever I am, you are, too.”

Chest fluttering, Steve wished he could explain the terror and fear that gripped him at the thought of losing his best friend, let alone the love of his life. Because that was Bucky was. Even though it hadn’t been spoken of, and even if it was ‘wrong’, James Barnes was the only person he wanted to have by his side. Forever.

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off when the first volley of real fireworks split the sky. As everyone on the hot and humid rooftops looked up in awe, Bucky and Steve continued to look at each other, their skin painted with reds, and greens, and blues. Stealing a moment while everyone’s attention was pointed up, Bucky leaned against Steve’s side, their bodies touching from knee to shoulder. With a quick glance, verifying that no one was looking in their direction, Bucky dipped his head and pressed his lips against Steve’s. It was only for a fraction of a second, but as he pulled back, all Bucky wanted to do was press in again, to feel the same rush at finally expressing what he’d felt for his best friend since they were children.

Rooted to the spot and feeling surprise ping through his body, Steve tasted the hint of spun sugar that they’d shared earlier in the day, a splurged expense in honor of the day. His cheeks were flaming, not from the heat of the sun but the warmth of desire, and he blinked slowly at Bucky, feeling light headed. He wanted nothing more than to have another kiss, but he knew better than to press their luck since they were surrounded. A shy smile turned his lips, and he watched it mirrored in Bucky’s gaze, too.

“Happy Birthday, Steve,” Bucky said, his smile growing as he turned his face toward the sky, the sparks in the air second-fiddle to the ones in his stomach.

Darcy Lewis laid back on the grass, arms raised and hands pillowed under her head, hazel eyes blinking slowly. Her Fourth of July celebration was the same every year, and she’d been doing it for more than a decade. The ground was soft from the rains the previous day, and as she gazed up at the darkening sky, a memory crystalized in her mind, and she let it pull her backward through time.

”Okay, how about that one?”

“It was red.”

“Mmhmmm.”

“Which means….” A nine-year-old Darcy glanced in Abigail Lewis’ direction. “… calcium?”

“Oh, so close, my little star,” Abigail said with a smile. “Calcium salts make orange fireworks. Red is strontium and lithium.”

Clapping a hand over her forehead, Darcy’s expression was exaggerated in order to earn a laugh from her mother. “Duh, I knew that. It was just stored all the way in the back of my head.”

Abigail laughed, reaching out to poke Darcy in the ribs and earning a squeal of giggles as the girl rolled away from her on the grass then returned to her side. “Okay,” she continued, “we’ll just wait for the next one. So pull all that knowledge to the front of your head.”

“Not all of us are geniuses like you, Mommy,” Darcy groused, though the smile on her face was large.

“Anyone can be a genius about something. Yours might not be science, which is alright by me. You’ll just have to discover where your genius hides.”

Darcy frowned, a bit of the light dimming in her eyes. “What If I never find it?”

Abigail clicked her tongue and turned onto her side so she could see her daughter. “You will, Darcy-love. Even if it takes you forever.”

“Forever?” Darcy said, eyes widening comically. “Forever forever?”

Chuckling, Abigail reached out and ran a finger down Darcy’s forehead, then nose, then ended by gripping the girl’s chin softly. “Maybe not forever, but you’ll find it. I believe in you.”

Darcy grinned, one of her front teeth missing and the one beside it moving enough that it was next. She scooted closer across the blanket, so she could put her head next to her mom’s, both of them looking up at the sky. “I believe in you too, mommy,” she breathed, reaching so she could grab a bit of her mom’s dark hair and twirl it around one of her fingers. “We can believe in each other.”

“Always, Star Dust. Always.”

Back in Virginia, a bright spark of green lit the sky and a smile curled Darcy’s lips. “Barium.”

Blue.

“Copper.”

Purple.

“Stronium and copper.”

Silver.

“Aluminum, titanium, and magnesium.”

When the sky turned yellow, Darcy opened her mouth to speak them paused, looking to her right for help. “I always forget yellow,” she murmured, fingertips absently tracing her mother’s name on the tombstone beside her. “Sorry. It’ll come to me, just give it a moment.”

Closing her eyes, still able to see the pops of colors through her eyelids as they lit the sky around her, Darcy thought back to the fourth of July’s she’d spent at her mother’s side, oohing and aahing at the pretty lights, the smell of sulphur hanging in the air.

“Sodium,” Darcy gasped, her eyes flying open, a smile curling her lips. “Sodium makes them yellow.”

As the grand finale began in the distance, Darcy went quiet, the soft breeze ruffling the grass around her and setting her curls to fly around her head. It was July, but a shiver traveled up her spine, heart and mind traveling back to a time before she’d experienced the bitter taste of loss. Her mother had never dwelt in darkness or sadness, and she’d instilled the same values in her daughter.

“Nothing happens to you,” Abigail was fond of saying, ”it happens for you.”

Watching the colors fade and twinkle, Darcy let out a deep breath, letting her pain sink into the ground beneath her until she felt nothing but happy at the bittersweet memories that flashed in her mind. “Happy birthday, mom.”

[isthisthingeven0n]

party’s over : d.d

okay, so this is angsty and I will let you know now that there isn’t a second part coming.... you’ll see. 

brief summary: it was a simple arrangement until you started to long for it to be more. you saw all of it, all of him but you didn’t know how to say it. that is until you find out you have to leave the country and it’s now or never.

** masterlist  **

Reaching over for my phone I hear him grumble beside me, but I ignore his hands starting to roam across my thighs. “In a minute, Dave,” I mutter as I see a series of messages flooding my phone. 

Scanning the words I push his hands off of me, sitting back upright and staring at my phone with wide eyes as my mind goes blank. “What’s up?” 

I shift on the spot as I open my mouth, but the words struggle to leave. If I say these words aloud, hear them for what it is then it solidifies all of this, that this isn’t some sick prank. “I’m being kicked out.” I mutter, but as I turn to look at him he seems unphased as his hand returns to my thigh, slowly gliding elsewhere. 

“So? You can just find another place easy.” He states, shrugging his shoulders as he lowers his head. 

Pushing him away I stand up by the window, holding my phone close to my chest. “No, David. I’m being kicked out of the fucking country.” I state loud and clear and this time he doesn’t respond. Instead, he sits perfectly still whilst I quickly change and walk out of his room. 

I reach for the front door, but the sound of drastic footsteps interrupts me. Turning he stands behind me in just his boxers, panting lightly. “Okay, what can I do to get you to stay?” He asks and a soft chuckle sounds from me involuntarily. “I’m serious, Y/n. What can I do that means you don’t have to leave.” His eyes pierce into mine, those warm earth tones rising through me like a growing tree as the branches wrap around my heart, tugging it a little bit tighter. 

Shaking my head I lean forward, kissing his lips chastely. “There’s nothing we can do, Dave.” I mutter as I open the door. “Guess you’re going to have to look for a new fuck buddy.” 

Before he has the chance to say anything I close the door behind me, stopping myself from saying anything else I know I’ll regret. 

It was supposed to be an easy arrangement, no strings attached, just friends, a way to relieve stress, a term of agreements whilst we were both single. 

Yet, like every single cliche movie about friends with benefits goes, someone has to catch feelings. And I am hook, line and sinker. 

*

Unable to keep my knee still I feel his hand rest on top of it as I pull down my skirt a bit more. “Is this alright?” I ask and he straightens his tie, smiling over at me. 

“I think you look beautiful.” He mutters, catching me off guard. And based on the blush that crosses his cheeks it was just as unexpected from him too. 

“Miss Y/L?” Standing up I brush my skirt down, heading inside of the office with David and my lawyer, knowing after the next half hour I’ll know whether I’ll continue with the life I’ve established here or have to return home - just like everyone else. 

Opening the door I can’t help but wipe my eyes, that was it. “There’s nothing we can do I’m afraid, Miss Y/L. We have searched for a loophole, but in your case, we’ve found nothing.” She sat there, across the table from me feigning sympathy. 

I can’t say I don’t blame her, this is her job. The number of people she must see every single day, telling them whether or not they can continue living in a country advertised to the world as a place of dreams; and her job is to crush them with a single sentence. 

“Y/n,” David calls out after me but I wave him off as I rush into the nearest toilets and shut the door allowing myself a moment of defeat. 

Burying my head in my hands I sob, I finally allow myself to let it sink in. The fact that this is it. Everyone I’ve met, the memories I’ve made. The place I’ve established here is gone. And he will be nothing but a distant memory. 

I sigh loudly as I blow my nose before a small knock on the door alerts me. “Erm, occupied?” I hesitantly mumble, but a small chuckle eases me. 

“You going to open the door?” He asks sweetly, and by the prolonged silence he sighs. “I can’t see you shaking your head, Y/n. Just, please?” This time it sounds more pleading, desperate to see me with my makeup melting down my face. 

Standing up I shuffle closer to the lock, my hand shaking as I pull it to the side and pull it open as my eyes remain locked with the floor. “Happy now?” I grumble as I lift my head up, seeing the shock in his eyes. 

He reaches his hand out, pulling me closer until I’m resting in his arms and after a moment I hold him back. I wrap my arms tightly around his middle as I bury my head against his chest, not caring that I am stood in the toilets. He sighs as he rests his chin on the top of my head and then I feel it. A light kiss on my head. 

“We’ll get through this, Y/n.” He mutters before pulling away, his eyes locked with mine with such emotion. 

I stare back in confusion. It was the sort of emotion I didn’t know he could portray. Whenever I saw him he was usually needy, wanting attention, wanting to be pleased or bored. But this, this was something else, something deeper than a want, it was more of a need. 

Shaking my head I walk over to the sinks, taking the tissues from my pocket and soaking them before rubbing my face forcefully. I can feel my skin becoming raw as I continue to rub off the evidence that I lost. I don’t want to leave this room weak. I want to leave feeling strong, that despite the fact I am losing everything I don’t want it to show. 

A light touch to my arm stops me. I look up, seeing his expression in the reflection of the mirror. I lower the tissue, letting it fall into the sink. My nose is pink, all red as his eyes focus on me. “I can’t lose you too.” He tells me before I watch him turn me around. 

With my back pressed against the sink, I have nowhere to go. “Dave, I’m not in the mood okay?” I blankly state, avoiding his longing gaze. 

He sighs, shaking his head. “Y/n. I don’t mean it like that,” He says softly, bringing his hand up to cup my cheek as he strokes away the bits of tissue that refused to leave. “I don’t want to be your friend with benefits, the guy who has no strings attached. I want the strings. I want them to be tangled with yours.” 

I let out a small laugh. “Wish you could’ve told me sooner.” I respond with a smile and see his eyes watering. 

“Yeah,” He whispers. “I really should’ve.” 

Moving his hand away I step away from him, heading back towards the door. “I guess this is goodbye, Dave.” I let out a sigh, hovering by the door as I take one last longing look at him. 

But I know this version of him isn’t the one I adore. I love the one who sits in his own merch editing his videos, laughing at his own jokes as they play back on repeat. The version of him that’ll want me to be comfortable when we would try something new in bed. Who would look after me if I got sick. Who would do anything to help me stay, even if there is no answer. 

“Bye, Y/n.” He mutters, lifting his hand as I open the door and walk out. 

No turning back. No defeat. 

This is it now. Leaving with those strings pulling me back towards him, wanting nothing more than to be tied together. But I have no choice except to cut them apart. This is one version that the movies never show, the reality. 

[crossroads-consoul]

Just Go With It

The first part of a Sabriel oneshot 

Sam Winchester was in the middle of getting blatantly stood up, and it was largely his fault.

Why he’d agreed in the first place to meet Jess was a complete mystery. Considering all the shit he'd gone through in his relationship with her, he should've known that she would've done something like this to get back at him one more time. How many times had she humiliated or tried to hurt him out of pettiness when they'd been dating? How many times had she been late to dates back when they had been together?

The Winchester shifted uncomfortably in his seat, acutely aware of the knowing, apologetic eyes of the other patrons on him. He'd been waiting for over a half hour now at a clear table for two, and the seat opposite him was glaringly empty. The waiter had already been by twice to see if he wanted to order and had begun to sound pitying the second time. The third time around would probably involve some embarrassing inquiry, and Sam would probably have to skulk out with his tail between his legs.

He bit his lip before picking up his phone, which he'd set on the table in an attempt to stop fiddling with it. He'd already texted Jess and been left on read, which was a pretty clear indicator that she wasn't showing. The fact that she hadn't even bothered to respond after practically begging him for 'one final chance' said it all, and man did it sting. She was probably laughing it up with her friends now at how seamlessly her clever little plan had played out.

Dean's warning words to him when he'd been getting ready earlier came back to him as he stared at the condensation slowly collecting on his water glass.

"Just let her go already, Sam. This is obviously some ploy to embarrass you, and you're falling for it hook, line, and fucking sinker!"

Sam eyed his older brother through the mirror. Dean was angry, standing with his burly arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against his bedroom door. He had come straight from the shower when he'd heard what Sam was getting ready to do, and despite the visible suds in his dripping hair and skin, he was still intimidating with his glaring green gaze.

"It'll be fine," Sam said dismissively instead of caving to the older Winchester, "Is a tie too much?"

“A tie-Sammy, for the love of God, what are you thinking?” Dean asked incredulously.

“She just wants to talk,” Sam said defensively, holding up his two tie options and eyeing them critically. His brother made a rather high-pitched sound of disbelief behind him.

“Yeah, talk,” he said snidely, clearing his throat as Sam arched an eyebrow, “Sam, you shouldn’t even have her number, let alone be going to talk to her!”

“It’ll be fine.”

Dean scoffed at his proclamation before shaking his head, anger turning to something more along the lines of disappointment.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he responded ominously, tugging his slipping towel a little higher as he pointed a finger at him, "Even I know this-this thing you and Jess have is toxic, and that's coming from me!"

Sam pressed his lips together and stood a little taller, deigning not to respond as he made a show of fiddling with his shirt buttons. His brother had quickly grown disenchanted with Jess soon after their relationship problems had begun, but Sam was convinced most of it just stemmed from Dean being an overprotective jackass.

Behind him, Dean sighed, tsking and shaking his head one more time.

"I'll have some beer waiting when you get back," he said gruffly before turning on his heel and departing, leaving a sizeable puddle and his disappointment in his wake.

Sam sighed before tapping his phone against the table. He'd been played for a fool just like Dean had said, and the worst part was that he had only himself to blame. Dean was right; he shouldn't have even had her number in the first place! He should've just deleted it (and maybe received a new one of his own for good measure) and moved on with his life. Instead, he’d kept it, and Jess had wormed her way back into his mind like a parasite.

He knew the whole thing was bad; really, he did. They had had a fairytale start to their relationship, originally bonding over their shared hometown of Lawrence, Kansas. Differing majors in college hadn’t kept them apart, and she’d been such a sweetheart that Sam couldn’t help but get to know her. Everything had seemed perfect until about six months in when her true colors began to show.

She became demanding and more than a little jealous; always asking him where he was and accusing him of cheating when he was just hanging out with Dean or some friends. Sweet quickly turned sour, and their relationship deteriorated so quickly it still had Sam's head spinning. By what was supposed to have been their one-year anniversary, they had broken up or were supposed to have been at least. Jess liked to string him along over text, or sometimes he’d hear along the grapevine that she wanted him back. She was always there in some way, never really leaving his life.

Sam couldn’t help it though. Whenever he thought of Jess, he couldn’t help but remember the good times they’d had, and how sweet and lovely she’d been in those early months. It was hard for him to mesh that image of her with the ‘manipulative shrew’ (Dean’s words, not his) that kept trying to wreak havoc in his life.

After eyeing the empty seat opposite him and then glancing around at the restaurant (and all the whispering, watchful patrons), Sam decided that enough was enough. He wasn’t going to keep waiting for Jess like an idiot, and he most certainly wasn’t going to let her know how long he had waited for her. The next time the waiter showed up, he'd ask for a check and skedaddle with as much of his dented pride as he could. If he left soon, he might be able to persuade Dean to pull out some stronger liquor tonight and maybe fry up some of his comfort burgers.

And then I’ll finally listen to Dean and change my number tomorrow, so there’s no possible way Jess can reach me.

Just as the waiter began to make his rounds and Sam had scrounged up what remained of his dignity (he was surprised he had any left), a man dressed in what looked like a black silk shirt covered in gold baroque strolled up through the aisle. He was shorter in stature and on the stockier side, with slicked back hair that was either blonde or brown. Sam couldn't tell in the muted, yellow lighting of the restaurant, but if he had to take a guess, it was probably some shade in between.

The shirt was what caught Sam's eye, as it was easily the most striking item in the austere restaurant. In the sea of conservative, normal colors and patterns, the man stood out like a beacon, and as his eyes traveled further, Sam realized his shirt wasn't the only thing that made him stick out.

Maybe it was just the lighting or the gold shimmering on his shirt, but the man's eyes were a captivating shade of amber that, in that instant, looked very bright and yellow.

"I am so, so sorry honey," the golden-eyed stranger said loudly, drawing the attention of the closest patrons as he slid into the seat opposite him. Up close, Sam could spot a very expensive looking gold watch on his wrist and the gleam of a thin, matching chain around his neck, "Traffic was ridiculous today, and you know how panicked the employees get on Saturdays when I leave them. Honestly, they can’t even fend for themselves."

Sam blinked as the man leaned in and grasped his hand, lowering his voice as the waiter approached.

"Whoever stood you up is a fucking cunt kiddo. Just go with it, alright?"

The words were accompanied by a wink and reassuring smile before the man leaned back casually and turned to face the waiter.

“Your best merlot to start us off, if you would. Oh, and there’s no rush; we have some catching up to do anyway.”

With these words, the man intertwined their fingers pointedly, and the alert waiter took the subtle hint as he nodded and backed away without a word.

Sam blinked down at the smaller, tanner hand he was now holding before looking up at the man. His confusion must have been very evident because the man chuckled and patted his hand with his free one before letting go.

“Gabriel Milton, at your service,” he said with a grand sweep of his arms. The mischievous and almost roguish smirk that graced his face seemed to be a trademark of his, as Sam didn’t think he’d ever see someone make a smirk look quite like that, “It seems like I’m your date tonight, Mr.…”

It took Sam an embarrassingly long moment to realize he was supposed to fill in the blank.

“Oh, uh, Sam. Winchester,” he said with a faint flush, “Sam Winchester.”

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows, eyes lighting up as he folded his hands together and tucked them under his chin.

“Sam, huh?” he said, practically purring his name.

Sam shifted under the sudden intensity of his golden stare, suddenly feeling a bit warm as Gabriel smiled a smile that looked very different from his smirk, but no less dangerous.

“I can work with that.”

Those five words definitely had Sam feeling warm, though he wasn’t sure why. Yes, there was a flirty tone to it, but he’d never been attracted to men before. Hell, he could count the amount of one night stands he’d had on one hand, and he hadn’t been on a date since he’d broken up with Jess.

Those gold eyes were pulling him in though, and Sam found that he didn’t really mind. Gabriel had saved him a lot of humiliation, and who was he to deny help given so freely? The man had put himself out on the line in an attempt to help him, so it was only right that Sam went along with their little charade. After all, things could be far worse.

So, with that, Sam decided to make this as enjoyable of an experience as possible and offered his own edged smile as he responded with, “I’m sure you will.”

Gabriel looked taken aback for a second before he beamed.

“I’m liking you more and more, Sam Winchester,” he said, biting his lip for a second before suddenly grabbing his hand, “Waiter’s coming up.”

They sipped on some wine while Gabriel played with his hand. Sam found that he didn’t mind the touch as much as he thought he should’ve. Maybe if it had been coming from someone less charismatic and charming as Gabriel, but it wasn’t, so Sam couldn’t find a reason to say anything against it. Gabriel’s hand was warm and his fingers deft as they traced idle patterns against his skin and sought out his pulse. It was intimate in a strange sort of way, but also remarkably innocent.

"How old are you, exactly?" Sam asked out of the blue when their wine glasses were emptying. He promptly blushed afterward at his abruptness, but Gabriel only laughed.

“Take a guess kiddo.”

Sam squinted slightly at the man, studying his face properly for the first time since Gabriel had sat down.

He was older than him, that was for sure. He had faint crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes; enough to show that he smiled a lot and nothing more. The most predominant physical quality he had was gold: amber eyes, naturally tanned skin, golden hair. All of it made for a striking appearance and gave him a more youthful edge that was only accentuated by the baroque on his shirt. Baroque was flashy though, and while Gabriel pulled it off well, Sam didn’t think it was a fashion staple of older men.

“Late 20s,” Sam mused, trailing his fingers along the stem of his wine glass, “26 or 27?”

Gabriel hummed, a content smile gracing his face, “28. Well done Sam-a-lam.”

Sam arched a questioning eyebrow at the nickname, but the man only smiled wider and sipped his wine.

“You, on the other hand, are probably not a day over 21,” Gabriel remarked, gesturing to the Winchester with his wine glass, “Couldn’t be any younger since we’re drinking, but if I hadn’t known that I would’ve said you were 18 or 19. Are you still in school?”

“I start my last year of law school in the fall,” Sam confirmed, and Gabriel sat up in interest.

“Oh really? How did you choose to be a lawyer of all things?”

Now feeling much more secure with the situation (it helped that he wasn't being given pitying gazes by the patrons and staff anymore), Sam told all over wine and appetizers. However, instead of keeping it to his usual ‘I wanted to help people' explanation, he began with his childhood of all things, telling Gabriel his original desire to prove he could be something more than just a ‘Winchester' when he was younger, and that a lawyer seemed like the best way to go at it.

“A ‘Winchester’?” the golden-eyed man asked curiously with air quotes, and Sam shrugged.

“Winchesters aren’t lawyers, that’s for sure,” he replied wryly, and Gabriel hummed before gesturing for him to continue.

Tracing his original, half-cocked idea of becoming a lawyer to the ambition that eventually led him to Stanford, Sam told all. It wasn't the wine making him; no, he was barely feeling a buzz from the alcohol. He wasn't really sure what it was, but he thought it was maybe the man sitting across from him listening without a single look of judgment or scorn. If anything, Gabriel seemed engaged and interested, almost as if he were treating this like a real date.

“What a story kiddo!” he exclaimed before Sam could continue down that thought path, “Makes me want to get my life together, and I think I have it pretty neat and tidy. Does your story inspire everyone when you tell it?”

“Well, I usually don’t tell it like that,” Sam admitted, tugging at his shirt cuff, “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever told that much detail to.”

Gabriel looked pleasantly surprised, but before he could say anything, the waiter arrived with their menus.

“I’ll cover it, darling,” the older man said as Sam flipped through the menu.

The Winchester looked up sharply, and Gabriel pinned him with a pointed look before smiling sweetly.

“This was my idea to begin with, and I was late to boot,” he remarked before turning to the waiter and loud whispering, “If I don’t cover the check, he’ll make me sleep on the couch.”

The waiter smiled politely as Sam scowled, blushing fiercely as he placed an order for a chicken and pasta dish.

“Not my fault you can’t bother to be on time, dear,” he grumbled, playing on with the charade as Gabriel ordered some medium rare steak.

He could feel Gabriel’s eyes on him but kept his gaze on the menu as he sniffed haughtily. Two could play at this game.

“On second thought, I think you should leave the bottle,” Gabriel quipped with a sigh, “It seems I’m in the doghouse already.”

Someone at a neighboring table snickered, and the waiter refilled their wine glasses before collecting their menus.

“Who really stood you up, Sammy?” Gabriel asked as he leaned in, so they wouldn’t be overheard. With him came the smell of the merlot they were drinking and the subtle scent of spicy cologne, and Sam found himself leaning just a fraction to match instead of protesting the second (or third?) nickname he’d been given.

“It’s…a long story, Gabriel,” he muttered, watching as the man’s amber irises flicked down to his lips. Was the man really interested in him?

Gabriel propped his chin in one hand before reaching out with the other to sweep of strand off his cheek, warm fingers brushing along his skin in a faint caress that ended just as soon as it was started.

“I have plenty of time,” he responded, his breath fanning across his face in a warm and sweet arc, “And call me Gabe.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, debating whether or not he should tell Gabriel-Gabe, about the mess he’d gotten himself into with Jess. The man’s hand drifted down to his shirt collar, smoothing what Sam knew didn’t need to be smoothed out.

What’s the harm in telling him? He hasn’t judged you at all at any point in this little charade of ours, so why would he now?

“All right, Gabe,” Sam said with a bit of a smirk before pulling away (close proximity to Gabe was a very bad idea), “Jess is the ‘fucking cunt’ that stood me up, but this hasn’t been my first rodeo run with her.”

“Why do I get the sense I’m going to hate this Jess character even more than I already do?”

“You probably will. My brother despises her,” Sam remarked before scratching his neck, “I know this is all going to sound really bad and make me look pathetic, but in the beginning, everything was good…”

Telling Gabriel about Jess was…less awkward then he’d expected. There were moments where Sam stumbled over his words because there were points where he really wasn’t sure how to explain to Gabe the tumultuous relationship he’d had with her without making himself look like a dumbass, but the further he progressed and talked things through, he realized two things.

Exhibit A: He had been a dumbass when he came to Jess. Sure, their relationship falling apart wasn’t on him, but everything after what was supposed to be a clean break up was. He'd let himself get caught up in her antics when in reality he should've stayed well away from her. There was no way to sugarcoat it.

Exhibit B: Gabe wasn’t judging him for being a dumbass. There was definitely disappointment at how he handled recent things with Jess (texting her post-breakup had earned him an aggrieved sigh), but Gabe didn’t seem disgusted or frustrated with his relationship idiocy.

“…and that’s how I got here, sitting at this table like a moron.” He finished, sighing as he slumped back in this seat, “You know, putting it out there like that made me really realize how dumb I’ve been.”

“Talking things out tends to do that,” Gabe said sagely before his eyes slid over to some point behind him and he smiled, “But now the lady taking pictures of us from the bar makes a lot more sense.”

Sam stiffened, and the older man tutted before grabbing his hand, his seemingly innocent looking grip masking the real strength he was gripping him with.

“Ah, ah, we can’t let her know she’s been caught out,” he murmured, “I have the beginnings of a plan brewing, but it all depends on if you want revenge against Jess or not.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, and Gabe pinned him with a searching look.

“You’re a good kid, with a big heart,” he said bluntly, a small smile gracing his face, “And there’s nothing wrong with that, but you might not want to get revenge against your ex because of it.”

His face was different; more serious and harder. Gone was the joking, extroverted stranger that had put him at ease with his winks and listening ear. Sam was catching a glimpse of what he thought was a very important facet of Gabe’s personality, and while it was intimidating as hell to see the pint-sized guy look so dead set on dishing out karma, it wasn’t scary. If anything, it just made Sam curious to see what the man was capable of. He was well aware that throughout the course of the evening Gabe had revealed next to nothing about himself, and maybe this was an opportunity to learn something about him.

Why Sam wanted to know so bad, he didn't know, but it wasn't every day that something like this happened to him, and for once Sam just wanted to see where the chips fell. Besides, tonight had been the last straw when it came to Jess, and he wasn’t feeling too charitable towards her anymore. She deserved some comeuppance.

“Don’t let me stop you from having a good time,” Sam replied, and Gabe arched an eyebrow before smirking devilishly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” he said, sounding truly eager, “Now, do you happen to know any leggy redheads?”

Sam bit his lip, frowning momentarily before scoffing in disbelief and pulling out his phone, quickly opening his Instagram and pulling up a picture.

“This her?” he asked, showing him the picture, and Gabe nodded.

“Yup. She’s wearing a LBD with some obnoxiously scuffed up pumps at the bar, and she’s taking pictures with her phone.”

"Then we're dealing with Anna, one of Jess' close friends," Sam said distastefully as he sipped some wine, "She comes off as holier than thou, but she doesn't get her roughed up knees from praying, that's for sure."

Gabe roared with laughter, the hearty sound drawing the attention of several patrons as he just laughed. It startled Sam enough that he nearly dropped his wineglass before he processed what he’d just said and blushed slightly, ducking his head to hide behind his hair as Gabe reached for the wine bottle.

“You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you?” he asked as he poured himself a healthy serving of wine, “God, this evening just keeps getting better and better.”

Sam blushed harder as Gabe grinned and toasted him with his glass.

He’s kind of hot when he grins like that.

Luckily the waiter showed up with their meals before Sam could embarrass himself any further, and the two men tucked into their meals with an appetite reserved for those with an eagerness for the activities to come after the meal.

“So, before you explain your ingenious plan to get back at my ex,” the Winchester began, pointedly using the term ‘ex’ instead of ‘Jess’ (it was a start at least), “Do you mind if I learned a little more about you besides your name and the fact that you like gold?”

Gabe looked up from his steak before shrugging and gesturing with his silverware for him to continue.

“Ask whatever you want. This is a date after all.”

Sam ignored the man’s flirtatious smile in lieu of asking the questions that he’d been meaning to ask ever since Gabe had sat down.

“What’s your career? You’re dressed pretty flamboyantly, but it suits you so don’t take offense,” Sam added hurriedly, “And why are you snickering at me now?”

Gabe was trying to hide his laughter behind his wineglass, but the man quickly gave up pretenses, waving a hand as he took a deep breath.

“Oh, I’m sorry kiddo, it’s just that I don’t think I’ve met someone that hasn’t had an inkling of what I do.”

“Wait-are you famous or something?” Sam hissed furtively as he leaned in, his mind racing with the possibilities. What was Gabe even famous for, and if he was, would they end up in the tabloids or something? This could throw a major wrench in their revenge plans; Sam just wanted to get back at Jess, not end up entangled in some sordid celebrity news!

Me, wining and dining with a celebrity? It’s the end of the world!

Gabe shrugged lackadaisically, “Something like that. Ever heard of a nightclub called the Fallen Angel?”

Sam’s eyes widened, “No way. Do you-“

“I do,” Gabe confirmed, “Say hello to the owner of the most exclusive nightclub in the city.”

If Sam was a less intelligent person, he would’ve let his jaw drop to hit the table. He was incredibly tempted to gape like an idiot but managed to control himself as he scrambled for something to say.

“What-wait, you’re the Trickster?”

“In the flesh,” Gabe said with a winsome smile, and Sam stared before grabbing his water glass and chugging it.

“I’ve had too much wine, and I’m imagining things,” he muttered, feeling himself going into a state of shock just considering the idea that he was sitting across from the infamous Trickster.

The Trickster was a celebrity infamous for putting Lawrence on the map. His nightclub had drawn in so much business that people didn’t really care that it had been a nightclub that had breathed life back into the city. Despite his social media and constant presence in the Fallen Angel, little was actually known about him. There were so many rumors surrounding him that it was hard to separate the grandiose myth from the actual man.

“Nope, I’m very real,” Gabe, no, the Trickster, quipped, “If you want, after we exact revenge, we can go back to the Fallen Angel?”

"No, I can't-wait, for real?" Sam asked in disbelief, "That place is like-like the playground for the gods or something. I’d have to kill someone just to be able to stand in line to get in!”

“Well, tonight’s your lucky night,” Gabe said cheekily, “But enough about boring little me. Let’s delve into how we’re going to get back at your bitch of an ex!”

Sam thought ‘boring’ was the absolute wrong adjective to describe Gabe but continued on reluctantly.

“What are we going to do?” he asked suspiciously.

"Well, take things up a notch if it's ok with you," Gabe responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "There are two things we can do here. Plan A is we can continue to act lovey-dovey before we head back to the Fallen Angel, where I will make a tell-all Instagram post exposing you as my ‘secret lover'. Plan B is that we leave, but confront Anna outside, because I’m pretty sure she’s not taking pictures for just Jess to look at.”

At the second part, Gabe seemed truly sympathetic as he looked at him with soft eyes, and Sam froze as he processed the implications.

“You don’t think…actually no, I wouldn’t put it past her,” he said with a bitter laugh. Gabe probably got hounded by paparazzi and fake people all the time, so who better to speak on the subject than him? “Can you pull up Instagram? I have her blocked.”

Gabe handed over his phone without a word, but Sam could see him glaring over in Anna’s direction as he pulled up Instagram and quickly searched up Jess.

The most recent post was a picture of him posted about half an hour ago of him talking to the waiter. The caption was short and to the point, but it still turned Sam’s stomach as he read it.

Set up my ex for laughs @ The Jewel. Like I’d ever get back with his boring ass rofl.

There was one comment beneath the picture, and Sam pulled it up automatically, dreading what it said.

He recognized the username immediately and chuckled incredulously as he read the comment.

“You ok Sam?” Gabe asked in concern, and the Winchester shook his head, unable to vocalize what he was feeling at the moment.

“It’s just Charlie. One of my brother’s friend isn’t very pleased with Jess,” he said, handing Gabe back his phone to let him read what Charlie had written.

@blondiejess: You just crossed a line. How can you be so cruel? Dean's going to come for your ass, but not before I do!

Gabe chuckled before looking at the post, where his face instantly darkened. It was a jarring shift, and Sam suddenly felt uneasy as the man’s smooth, unreadable face took in the post.

“Who’s Dean?” he asked, his forced attempt at a pleasant tone only adding to the sudden nervousness Sam felt.

“Uh, my older brother. He hates Jess,” he replied, and Gabe hummed noncommittally.

“Then he’s a smart guy,” he said distractedly, “Sam, I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to, but right now I’d really, really like to go with Plan A and give the bitch a taste of her own medicine.”

Jess had genuinely pissed him off; Sam could tell by Gabe’s tone of voice and the tenseness in his jaw, and he didn’t blame him. Sam himself was pretty pissed off (and a little hurt too) over how cruel she’d been, but what he didn’t understand was why Gabe was taking it so personally. They had only met an hour ago for Christ’s sake!

“You really want to help me get back at her?” he asked, and Gabe nodded gravely.

Sam looked into the man’s anger darkened eyes, only seeing genuine anticipation over what decision he’d make, and a strange amount of concern.

He really cares about this. And maybe a little about me too.

“Then we’re going Plan A all the way,” he proclaimed, his anger fueling his determination.

Gabe smiled wolfishly before grasping his hand and planting a cheeky kiss of triumph on the back of it. His lips were warm and soft, eyes alight with mischief and glee at Sam’s choice.

“Plan A it is,” he said as Sam blushed, “Your ex won’t know what hit her.”

Since this oneshot ended up being just shy of 15K, the whole thing won’t be going up here, so here’s the first part! Check out the links in my profile if you want to read the whole story. 

[lordsicheng]

I Choose You: Pt. 3

Jung Jaehyun x OC

g: friends with benefits au

summary: “more than friends, less than lovers.”, Jaehyun would remind himself all the time whenever he was with you. It started as a joke and for fun, always having in each other’s minds that there would definitely be no strings attached. what if one of you suddenly patches up the string and doesn’t want to let go?

requested? nope! pre-written ♥

a/n: suggestive content! you’ve been warned. also I’m so sorry this took a while for me to finish writing chapter three! I really forgot how I wanted to plot to be ugh but now I got the hang of it and Part 4 will be up soon, but not too soon :^)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

He woke up to the sound of birds chirping by his windowsill and the light that shone over the side of his face, groaning lightly as he felt like his slumber was not enough. He sat up and moved to put his feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom, still feeling dazed as he kept blinking to try and wake himself up properly. He let out a sigh and slowly stood up to walk towards his kitchen, rubbing his face as he went before grabbing a glass of water

His phone rang from across the room, not really fazing him as he just continued on drinking his glass. The second time it rang, he just walked over to his side table to see who was calling. He wasn’t at all surprised as to who was calling

“What?” he said after a couple of seconds after answering

“Jaehyun, I’ve been trying to reach you five times!” the other person yelled from the other line

“No need to yell, Doyoung. It’s 8 in the morning and I have to get ready for work. What is it?”

“You’ll never guess who just came back.”

Jaehyun wasn’t expectant on who Doyoung meant, since he really wasn’t feeling like doing the guessing game that morning. He was all groggy from tossing and turning from his sleep the whole night, he even had times where he’d wake up suddenly at 3am in the morning for no particular reason. After blanking out for a few seconds, he gave up on trying to point out who Doyoung was referring to

“Okay, I give up. Who are you even talking about, and why should I be worried?” Jaehyun asked in a whine, scratching the side of his head as he walked over to his bathroom and to his sink

“Y/n came back from America.”

For some reason, Jaehyun was a mix of both being not so surprised and being slightly confused. It had already been two years and yet he still felt indifferent for whenever he could hear, or even remember your name. He took a deep breath and looked at himself at the mirror, grazing his bottom lip lightly with his teeth

“Are you guys planning a reunion?” he asked without hesitation, clearing his throat after

“She wanted to see all of us tomorrow night and I was wondering if-“

“She invited me?” Jaehyun cut Doyoung off, feeling slightly taken aback

“I mean, she told me to tell you and-“

“Only you?” Jaehyun cut him off again, making Doyoung slightly confused

“She hasn’t come back ever since we graduated college. She probably changed numbers and lost a few contacts.” Doyoung gulped as he tried to explain at least a good reason, when he didn’t even know himself why you only contacted Doyoung for the gathering

Jaehyun wanted to speak on why you didn’t even think about contacting him. In his mind, he was feeling irritated. But outside, he wanted to show he was unfazed.

“Alright. I’ll call you later. I gotta shower.” Jaehyun rubbed his face with his other hand as he responded

“Wait.”

“What?”

“1pm. Roadhouse café in Apgujeong.” Doyoung spoke directly without hesitance, confusing Jaehyun

“You know my lunch break is only an hour.” Jaehyun said in monotone

“Just go.” Doyoung immediately hung up the phone, not even saying goodbye to Jaehyun

Jaehyun looked at himself in the mirror one more time, feeling quite irritated. However he realized he didn’t really want to think much of it since he wanted to move on. And yet the more he tried to, the more he could only have recurring thoughts of you.

And he hated it.

-

Jaehyun didn’t really care much if he was going to be working undertime that day, so he decided to go to the café Doyoung had told him. He felt like he knew what was going to happen, what was coming, even who he might even see at the café with. Once he arrived, he just stood outside with his eyes in his pockets as his eyes scanned the whole area inside, to which his sight stopped as soon as he recognized you, with your back facing the entrance.

To him, you hadn’t changed. Maybe a haircut once every few months, but your locks were still the same as the last time he saw you. He felt nervous all of the sudden on whether he should go inside or just ditch the whole scenario, but he wanted to show he had already moved on. Even though nothing had happened beyond what you both had, he just really wanted to get on with it and leave the past behind.

He opened the café door and walked over to you, standing behind you and looking at you in wonder. You were busy checking your phone for messages, not realizing Jaehyun has been behind you for already a minute. He cleared his throat as if he was doing it naturally, making you turn slightly to see if the guest you were expecting had arrived—and yet you were in for a whole new surprise

“Jaehyun.” you gave a small smile, standing up from your seat as his eyes roamed from your eyes, downwards, then back up to you whilst the smile in his face hadn’t left the whole duration of you facing each other

“Been a while.” he spoke as he took a step towards you, making you suddenly take a step back yourself

“Ah, did Doyoung tell you?” you asked, trying to be civil with him

“Yes, he did. I’m not sure if he’s coming right now.” he looked at his watch before looking at you again, trying to show how he wasn’t fazed by the fact that you had met again after having no contact with each other for two years

“Actually, I asked for you to come. Only you.” you admitted, to which Jaehyun was quite surprised with your words as he walked over to the seat across from you

You both were quiet for a while ever since he arrived, him taking a couple of sips of his drink and you not even able to speak. You ended up looking at him the whole time as he tried to not look back, afraid he’d say something wrong. But he wanted to be direct and wanted to know why you left, why you came back,

Why you never told him what your plans actually were after graduation, leaving him all of the sudden without telling him where you were to go right after.

“So, how’s everyone?” you asked, trying to kill the silence

“Fine.” he nodded, crossing his arms

“Jaehyun, I came back because I wanted to say sorry.” you said directly without hesitation, in hopes you could just patch up things together

“Well, for what?” he coldly replied, making you somehow feel disappointed by his response

“I left all of the sudden. After the competition, you know how we only focused on finals so we could graduate. And now…” you paused, trying to get yourself together

“Now, what?”

“I just want us to get back to where it was before.”

Both of you went silent yet again, but Jaehyun couldn’t contain himself from feeling betrayed and pissed

“You know what’s funny? You’re the one who left without a word, and yet you come back out of nowhere without explaining what happened.”

Jaehyun had a point, and you felt nothing but guilty from your mind up to your gut. As much as you didn’t want to admit everything, you really had no choice but to do so

“Okay, listen carefully.” you sighed, leaning back on you seat with your hands fidgeting on the ends of your skirt, Jaehyun’s eyes fixated to you the whole duration without any some sort of movement from his own seat

“I wanted to leave because I was afraid of admitting the fact that I might have, well, fallen in love with you. I was given an opportunity to work abroad thanks to a relative. But as soon as I about to leave, I felt like it was wrong. It was so damn wrong, that I forgot how much you actually meant to me as I took a step inside that airplane. I wanted to run back out and just run back to you, but I knew you would still feel betrayed. It’s been a couple of years and I still think that was the dumbest reason for me to leave. We were just friends, very close friends. Friends that, you know, mess around. And the more we did, the more I actually grew feelings inside that it suddenly felt weird seeing you on a regular basis. Maybe I was scared? Or maybe I was just trying to not let things become harder for you. So I chose to leave in the end so I could answer for you.”

Oh how much Jaehyun wanted to scream as to why, of all times you could leave, was once he had also realized he may had felt the same. He has been feeling tense the whole time you explained and the more he tried to grip on your words, it felt like daggers from every corner trying to pass right through him. As much as he wanted to yell how much you actually meant to him, how much time he had spent trying to figure out where you went, how long he had waited for your return, how much he needed you to be there for him even if you both weren’t to advance into the next level in your so-called “friends with benefits” relationship.

How many pieces he had to put back from that so-called heartbreak he had never gotten before he had met you.

But all of that was shattered by one mistake you had done, and that was leave without a word.

“So why didn’t you tell me beforehand?” Jaehyun looked down, containing himself from the whole time from trying to walk out

“I was embarrassed.” you let out an exasperated sigh, looking at your hands that went shaky all of the sudden

“I just want to ask one more thing.” Jaehyun was again, hesitant on asking what had been on his mind lately, but he just wanted to know the truth after everything

“Did you use Yuta, just to make me jealous, at one point?”

“For the most part… yes.” you didn’t have the guts to look at him as soon as he looked at you whilst raising his head, slightly appalled but he also expected it either way

“Did you both…” Jaehyun paused, taking back his words

“Yes. And it was all because I wanted to get my mind off of you.”  

That sentence itself, had already broken him for the second time. No, he probably thought it was one of the many times he had tried to move on but couldn’t. He had no choice, everything had already happened. The worst thing he could think of had happened. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the fact that you both spent nights together made him feel like he wanted to have you all to himself, and him only.

But again, all of that was gone in just one go. One mistake made it more evident that it was likely over.

“I need to go back to work.” he stood up, grabbing his coffee as he was relieved to have it taken out, holding on to the already-cold beverage

You froze for a while as he stood up and took a few steps away, making you stand up immediately and turn to him even when his back was facing yours while he were to leave

“Are you coming tomorrow?” you asked out of the blue, making him pause for a minute and turn to you with a forced smile

“We’ll see.” he gave a light chuckle, turning again to walk away without even looking back to you

He got back to his workplace, as he only settled for a normal office job that he had been enduring for a year before he could resign. He walked in and took sips off of his coffee as if nothing had happened, not even getting any attention from his workmates, some of them your friends, who had no idea you both had met during lunch and that it made him late for work for almost an hour.

He got back to his cubicle and sat down, leaning back on his chair as he let out a sigh from tiredness, putting his hand over his forehead whilst letting his thumb massage one side of his temple as he closed his eyes. He opened his eyes slowly again after a while, looking at his computer screen to see if he had any work to do that could help him do an hour overtime to make up for his time at work. But in his mind, all the memories suddenly came back and made him pause from holding on to his computer mouse. He suddenly lost focus on what he were to do, as your name kept repeating in his mind. But again, his heart told him that what’s done, was done.

And all you both could do was move on and not look back, or else consequences were to arise.

[daehweeb]

Hi- I haven’t done this in a while, but may I request a ship with nct127? I’m really freaking small, like tiny. I love photography, singing and dancing. I have fairy lights all over my room. I can speak 2 languages fluently, but I know 4 languages in total. I am someone who loves relaxing, star gaze and going on long drives. I love music! (Thank you so much for all your hard work :3 )

___ + WINWIN ♡

How you two met: “Aw darn it!” 

You were sitting on your bed, laptop on your lap and adding music to a playlist when the lights in your room went out.

The only thing that illuminated your room now was the light from your laptop screen and you looked around your dark room in devastation. The sun had just gone down and you figured that since you weren’t doing anything, you would go out to buy a new set of lights to replace the now dead set of lights. 

Sighing, you grabbed your car keys and went out to IKEA. 

Finally arriving, you walked into the store and the brights light in here were a contrast from the dark night. You shuffled your feet around the store, eyes scanning the store and shelves to find what you needed. 

“Are you looking for anything in particular tonight, ma’am?” the sudden sound of a voice made you jump up from your crouched position on the floor. 

“Oh, um, yes please!” you had come into IKEA looking for fairy lights but here you were looking at things that would organize your papers. “I was wondering if you guys had fairy lights?” 

“Yeah right this way!” the employee smiled at you before walking down various aisles and you followed behind for a few short seconds before the male stopped walking and held out his arms in a “ta-da” manner.

“These are our selection of fairy lights here, the small sphere lights are down here and then up there are the simple fairy lights. If you need any more help, I’m Winwin” he said with a small smile and you said thank you before walking down the aisle to fix some of the displays that were disorganized. 

Your eyes looked left and right at the various lights and you stood there for about fifteen minutes, looking at the large selection of bulbs before deciding that you would buy the simple string of fairy lights, nothing too extra.

You stood up on your tippy toes to reach for the box but with your height, your fingers couldn’t even graze the boxes that were a few shelves up. Sighing, you attempted to do it two more times before walking around the store to look for an employee. 

Luckily, you spotted the same one from before and approached him.

“Hi! Winwin?”

“Oh hello again, did you need help with something?” 

“Yeah I picked out a set of lights but I was wondering if you could help me grab them? I’m a bit too short to reach” you said and laughed lightly and he did the same.

“Of course I don’t mind” 

You two made your way back to the lights and you pointed at what you were previously eyeing and he grabbed the boxes with ease. 

“Are you ready to check out? I can ring you up if so” 

“Thank you! And yes, that’s all I was looking for” you said with a smile and you two made your way to the front of the store to finalize your purchase.

Small conversation was exchanged, he asked you what the lights were for and you explained the situation back at your place which made him laugh.

After telling you your total, you gave him the exact amount and he handed you the boxes of lights.

“Hey well I’m sorry the lights went out at your place but you really brightened up my night” a shy smile appeared on his lips before he looked up at you “do you want to hang out sometime? Outside of IKEA of course unless you need something else in here?”

“Well I might need to come back for your number is all” 

Even though he was the one that instigated this, he was caught off guard at your reply and stuttered out “O-oh yeah sorry, here!” 

Winwin scribbled out his number and name on a blank receipt before handing t to you and you wished him a good night as you walked out.

What he likes to call you: “bub” // “sweetie”

Extras: You often brought up how you were small but Winwin really didn’t mind, he found the height difference between you two cute and sometimes would use his height to tease you in cute ways.

Winwin isn’t big on PDA and kissing in public but in private he loved to have his arms wrapped around you so cuddle sessions were a big thing. Winwin finds it most comfortable when he can lay on your chest and take a nap with your fairy lights on cause it seemed almost unreal to him how perfect every thing seemed to be with you.

In regards to pictures, he became shy whenever you pointed the camera at him but you always took such nice photos of anything that you snapped. He would probably ask you one day how to use the camera professionally since his phone wasn’t cutting it for him anymore after he saw your skills. 

Winwin and you are both multilingual and you use this to your advantages! You can both teach each other small phrases that come to be used often.

Dates with him were always simple and for your one year anniversary, he took you out to a beautiful field on a clear night so that you guys could gaze up at the stars. The lights twinkled up in the sky and you didn’t notice it but Winwin’s eyes twinkled just as much when he looked over to see his shimmering star of a girlfriend.

[raefill]

I uploaded a new chapter of my todobaku yesterday~ Please check it out if that’s your thing!

You know where to find me

The disposition of a hero is independent by necessity. Being able to stand on your own, without support, as a pillar for others, is what being a hero is all about. He would never insult Bakugou by coddling him, and Bakugou holds the same respect for Todoroki. They both always have been and always will be self-reliant. Which... leaves them at an impasse.

The air between them holds a different kind of feeling, but other than that, very little has changed. It’s been almost three weeks since Todoroki let Bakugou pin him to his futon and blow his mind. Long enough that Todoroki’s cheeks no longer get hot at the thought of it. The intensity of their scenting and the quiet of the night all mixed into something that lowered their inhibitions. Significantly. He doesn’t regret a second of it, even craves it again, but the thought of initiating it is... nerve-wracking.

He’d woken up in Bakugou’s arms to find the blond watching him, eyes still half lidded and heavy with sleep. It should’ve been unsettling, especially with Bakugou’s face so carefully blank. Instead, he had felt an odd sense of safety.

Bakugou had not hung around for long after that. While Todoroki’s weekend was set to be jammed with studying and a few sparring practices in the afternoons, Bakugou was spending the two days on an internship in the city. A patrol schedule means keeping odd hours, which is why Bakugou had left Todoroki’s bed at just gone five in the morning.

Although not without nosing into the gland underneath Todoroki’s jaw first, giving it a few approving, long, hard, licks. To receive that kind of affection in a non-sexual situation, well, he can only compare it to the feeling of taking the first sip of a warm drink on a cold day. The warmth that emanates from somewhere deep in your core, with a promise of more heat with every sip.

It’d been hard to resist.

But Bakugou had to leave and Todoroki had fallen back asleep, leaving the entire incident feeling like a hazy dream. Bakugou had been so busy that they hadn’t seen each other again until class on Tuesday, because Todoroki took Monday out for his own internship.

Since then they had gone almost entirely back to normal. Although Bakugou would sit closer to him as they ate their breakfast, picking things from Todoroki’s plate with his chopsticks when he thought Todoroki wasn’t looking, eyes glinting with mischief. In class, Bakugou would occasionally drift over to his desk and drop a small snack into Todoroki’s hands. But the biggest change was in their occasional study sessions. Todoroki made his way to Bakugou’s room to go over their calculus homework after an intense shift on his internship with Endeavor. He’d been half asleep after ten minutes and found himself being bundled into Bakugou’s bed.

A half hour nap later he was woken with the promise of a cup of tea and a swift brush of Bakugou’s fingers through his hair. He'd been quieter than usual, eyes locked onto Todoroki instead of their homework. He wasn’t sure what it was that magnetised Bakugou that day but he keeps catching glimpses of it since. Whenever Bakugou is about to get up to bring him a snack, whenever Bakugou is plotting how to get a rise out of Todoroki at breakfast, whenever they’re sparring in class...

Todoroki ponders all of this from underneath Bakugou’s sheets. He’s embarrassed to admit that he snuck in here for a nap surrounded by Bakugou’s scent. But it had been Bakugou who had left the key to his balcony door on Todoroki’s desk. He’s certain he’s welcome.

It feels a little odd, nonetheless, to be surrounded by Bakugou and his life without Bakugou also being present.

Maybe he’d stayed a little longer than necessary and completed an assignment at Bakugou’s desk after he’d woken up... and then gotten back into bed. It’s not like anyone will ever know. Bakugou isn’t due back from his patrol for another couple of hours, so even he won’t find out. Anyway, it's Sunday, he's allowed to take it easy. On that note, Todoroki rolls over in the bright light of the midday sun and shoves his face into the pillow.

His body registers the remnant of pheromones in the same way it does Bakugou’s body. Pleasant tingles run their way down his spine, effectively turning him into goo. It stirs something in his core that, as much as he’s tempted, he thinks might be a step too far. But that doesn’t stop him from stretching out, languid and happy as a cat plopped on top of a heat pad.

The hazy relaxation and his assumption that Bakugou won’t be back for some time are the reason he remains unbothered at the sound of the elevator’s arrival on this floor. Then the door is unlocked, flung open, and slammed shut with a resounding bang in such quick succession he's not fast enough to respond.

He shoots up, shock throwing him for a loop as he sees Bakugou launch his bag across the room.

Only when it’s clattered violently against the wall does Bakugou notice Todoroki is clutching his sheets like a startled damsel. Todoroki sees the realisation of it, the violent rage etched lines in Bakugou's scowl easing into little more than a surprised frown. They stare at each other like that for what feels like a lifetime, but then whatever is bothering Bakugou hits him again.

He drops into a crouch, squeezing his eyes closed and fisting his hands into his hair so tightly that Todoroki involuntarily launches himself out of bed.

He kneels in front of Bakugou, closing his fingers around his wrists and stroking encouragingly at his glands with his thumbs. Bakugou is shaking, violently enough that he can feel it against his palms.

Todoroki isn’t stupid. For Bakugou to be home so early, to be so riled up, means something went wrong on his patrol.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “don’t hurt yourself.”

When Bakugou doesn’t let up his grip, Todoroki sets to work uncurling his fingers one by one. It takes longer than he expects, having to rub and massage Bakugou’s knuckles until he decides to cooperate.

Bakugou’s skin is rough, unsurprising given his quirk. They’re also broad, with thick fingers and sturdy knuckles. Todoroki takes his time to observe them as he brings them into his lap, Bakugou giving in and dropping onto his ass with a thud. He thinks that Bakugou will probably be arthritic when he’s older if all of the stress fractures from creating massive explosions are already starting to show their effect in the slightly crooked nature of his joints.

Although, his nails are neatly trimmed, clean of dirt, and he can tell that his skin has seen some hand cream in the past few days. It warms something in him to think of Bakugou taking meticulous care of his greatest tool and weapon.

“What’re you smiling about?” Bakugou asks, voice low and anger seemingly evaporated. He’s looking at Todoroki with that magnetism again, studying every corner of his expression with the same focus he’s seen Bakugou use on equations.

Todoroki can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, even though he knows he probably should be right now. Not only was he just rolling around in Bakugou’s scent but now he’s mooning over Bakugou’s hands while he has some kind of emotional crisis. He swallows back his apprehension.

“Do you moisturise?”

Bakugou snatches his hands back with a huff.

Todoroki wonders if he’s annoyed him, but Bakugou gets up and picks his bag up off the floor, settling it in its rightful place. When Bakugou starts stripping out of his shirt Todoroki perches on the end of Bakugou’s bed and tries to avert his eyes.

Really, he thinks its key that he made the effort not to look, even if he failed. In his defence, it’s very difficult not to look when your mate has replaced his shirt for a tank top and his pants with- well- nothing. Todoroki fiddles with a string that’s come loose of his long, plaid, pajama pants, combined with a simple white tshirt, thats been stretched out in all the wrong places. He feels a little out of his depth.

Especially when Bakugou is so effortlessly sexy, even in plain clothes. Whether because the clothes are tight or Bakugou just fills them out perfectly. It makes Todoroki feel frumpy, somehow.

Which ticks him off because never once in his life has he cared what he looked like in his clothes before this very moment. Of course, Bakugou manages to break him out of that train of thought as he strides over in his very tight, grey, boxers. Todoroki has never been so mesmerised by the movement of a bulge before and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to clear the haze and wait for the swooping sensation in his stomach to pass.

It’s only when Bakugou throws his sheets back that Todoroki realises he must have been riling up a scent storm in there. Bakugou’s nostrils flare, entire body going so still he could be mistaken for one of those erotic Greek statues.

“What were you-” Bakugou grinds out, although he doesn’t lift his eyes from the bed. Todoroki feels as though he might break out into a cold sweat.

“Sleeping,” he murmurs, feeling his own cheeks warm. Bakugou turns his head to look at him then. There’s a look on his face that asks “you were napping at just gone lunchtime?” He shrugs, sheepish. Bakugou just rolls his eyes, finally relaxing and clambering into bed. He holds the covers up again, raising an eyebrow at Todoroki, who hasn’t moved from his position at the end of the bed.

“Well?” Bakugou snaps. Todoroki makes sure to punch his calf through the covers before he gets up to join Bakugou beneath them. Bakugou only grunts, letting the sheets fall over Todoroki as he lays his head on the pillow, facing Bakugou. “You really did a number on my bed,” Bakugou observes, nose twitching in a way that Todoroki immediately labels as cute.

“Sorry,” Todoroki lies - convincingly.

“It’s okay,” Bakugou’s hand twitches where it rests on the bed between them. Todoroki reaches out, tangling their fingers together. Bakugou’s eyes soften then, watching their joined hands in favour of meeting Todoroki’s gaze. Which Todoroki doesn’t dispute because he thinks it might be easier for Bakugou, like this.

“Are you?” he asks. Bakugou doesn’t flinch, or tense, or otherwise recoil defensively from the question; which has Todoroki riding high at an inconvenient moment again . Instead, he blinks slowly at their joined hands, mouth twisting.

“Yeah,” he says. Todoroki waits. That twist in Bakugou’s mouth signalling he’s got something to say. He can almost see the cogs turning inside Bakugou’s head as he works out how to verbalise his thoughts, and it takes a long time. Long enough that Todoroki has wandered down a completely different train of thought by the time Bakugou speaks. “There was no appropriately equipped hero on scene, the building was about to come down with so much as a nudge,” Bakugou explains, hesitating as though he's tasting the words before he says them. “I couldn’t use my quirk and we ran into a villain while I was evacuating civilians,” Bakugou’s hand goes tight around Todoroki’s. “He had a gun,” Bakugou barely breathes the words.

Todoroki’s blood runs cold.

Guns are so incredibly rare in the area, not just because of gun control, but because most villains have such a massive ego surrounding the power of their quirk that they think they would never need one. “I couldn’t do anything except try to talk him down, which obviously didn’t fucking work,” Bakugou scoffs. Todoroki rubs his thumb into Bakugou’s skin, trying to soothe but hopeless in the face of the magnitude of what Bakugou likely perceived as weakness. “Best Jeanist turned up so- it was fine,” but it almost wasn’t , is what Todoroki hears.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” is what he settles on saying. Bakugou looks up at him then, eyes as alive as the smirk taking over his face.

“Nah, just gotta go pitch some ideas to Hatsume,” he boasts. Bakugou is so clever, Todoroki is sure he really does have some ideas for a last resort defensive device to attach to his hero costume. It fills Todoroki with something like excitement, to know that clever Bakugou has chosen him to be his for the foreseeable future. “What’s got you smiling now?” Bakugou teases, poking Todoroki in the ribs with his free hand. Todoroki delivers a swift kick to Bakugou’s shin. “Oi,” Bakugou splutters, “what is it with you destroying my legs today?”

“You’re clever,” Todoroki voices his thought.

“I know you’re dumb as a brick but my brain is in my head, not my legs,” Bakugou’s sentence wobbles as Todoroki dives on top of him in a mock attack. “If you’re trying to sabotage me-”

“Shut up,” Todoroki laughs, pinning Bakugou to the bed with a forearm across his chest. But Bakugou just looks up at him with that magnetised look, again. “Look who’s the half-ass today,” Todoroki quips and then pinches Bakugou’s inner arm, “fight me, big bad alpha.”

“You asked for it,” Bakugou threatens, attempting to roll them over. But Todoroki puts up a strong resistance. They end up on their sides again, scrabbling at each other like children and letting out short bursts of laughter between fake grunts and growls.

“Okay, truce, truce!” Todoroki yells when Bakugou pulls up the edge of his shirt and blows a raspberry into Todoroki’s hip. Bakugou scoffs but relents, uncurling from where he had to duck down to reach Todoroki’s stomach. They would be facing each other if Bakugou bothered to shuffle back up the bed, but Todoroki has a suspicion they’re both enjoying that Bakugou is at a height where Todoroki can run his fingers through his hair.

That, and he’s got a leg slung over Bakugou’s waist.

Bakugou’s hand is tucked into the back of Todoroki’s knee, holding it there even though their play fight is over. It alights something in Todoroki that’s been simmering in him all morning, that he’s beginning to associate with Bakugou’s presence instead of heated moments alone.

So he welcomes it when Bakugou cups his palm around his thigh, stroking up the length of it right up to the crease where thigh becomes ass. At Bakugou’s pause, Todoroki looks down, finding Bakugou looking back at him with a quirked eyebrow.

He lifts his hand to answer Bakugou’s question, stroking the sharp line of his jaw with his fingers and tracing the seam of Bakugou’s lips with his thumb. It’s intimate, and Bakugou doesn’t take it passively, parting his lips and laving at the pad of Todoroki’s thumb.

Arousal lingers between them, both of them hyper-aware of the scent. Bakugou’s is much more prominent in the air than last time, it has Todoroki’s nose twitching. His brain stutters, body slowing to almost a complete stop as he prioritises working out what those pheromones mean. But Bakugou has a knack for distracting him. With his body already responding just to the scent of him, it’s easy for Bakugou to rile him up just by sucking lewdly on his thumb and letting that hand wander to palm at Todoroki’s ass cheek and squeeze.

Dazed, Todoroki lets out an approving little moan before he can realise how ridiculous it sounds. Bakugou’s scent spikes. Todoroki gets a little dizzier.

It’s then that he realises what is happening. To be so easily affected by pheromones that have made no contact with any of his scent glands means Bakugou is coming on towards his first rut. Something bottoms out in Todoroki’s stomach.

They’re going to spend that rut together, that’s part of what being mates means. He’s so affected by Bakugou just like this nevermind when he’s leaking rut pheromones all over the place and horny as a dog. And he’s going to want to- Todoroki stops himself. He buries his, now tomato red, face in the pillow and tries not to imagine Bakugou being- being- inside him- as his fingers now wander closer to his crotch. Bakugou gives Todoroki’s thumb one last suck before pulling away.

“You okay?” Bakugou asks, voice low. Todoroki nods into the pillow. He breathes deep through his mouth so as not to be knocked out with pheromones again, attempting to regulate himself a little and ease the full body blush he can feel hot on his skin. Bakugou’s hand drifts again, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants and tugging. “Can I take these off?” Todoroki takes his time, emerging from his hiding spot in the pillow when he feels ready.

“Yeah,” he rasps, wondering when his throat closed up. The fabric slips down his thighs between Bakugou’s fingers easily, although it gets a little tangled at his knees. He kicks them off, pushing them away under the covers until they fall out over the edge of the bed. By the time he’s done, Bakugou’s head has appeared on the pillow next to him, eyes studying him again.

Todoroki pushes their bodies together, Bakugou slipping his leg between his and pressing his thigh up against his sex, only the thin cotton of Todoroki’s shorts standing between them. His head swims.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bakugou frowns, “you’re kind of out of it.” Todoroki scoffs at the gall of it.

“You’re the one leaking rutfuck pheromones everywhere,” the words slur a little. He knows he’s beyond dazed. He doesn’t feel like risking standing up with the way the world is spinning while he’s laid down. Bakugou’s frown gets deeper, worry creeping into his expression.

“It’s not coming for another few weeks yet,” he explains. Todoroki is as lost as Bakugou on this one. He’s got no idea why he’s so drunk on Bakugou’s scent, not that he dislikes it. “Maybe I should go see Recovery Girl,” Bakugou thinks aloud. Todoroki agrees but makes no motion to show it. This wouldn’t be the first time someone just so happened to have strong pheromones, or someone just so happened to be more susceptible, but it never hurts to check.

“We both have to go see her,” Todoroki says instead. He’ll need some shots before he can actually go through any rut cycle with Bakugou and they still haven’t registered each other as mates in a medical capacity.

“We can go later this afternoon,” Bakugou says. Todoroki expects Bakugou to go right back to being handsy. But Bakugou takes his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting Todoroki’s head back to study his face better. “Your brain turned mulch, huh?”

“Oi,” Todoroki frowns at him. Despite knowing he’s a mess he can’t seem to snap himself out of it, especially with Bakugou distracting him. Worse, he must look just as out of it as he feels. But Bakugou smiles at him, one of those rare little curves that make Todoroki’s tummy flip. Suddenly he doesn’t care anymore, too busy staring dumbstruck at Bakugou to worry about his own expression.

Bakugou nuzzles at his cheek, leaving fleeting kisses across his jaw. Maybe Bakugou isn’t so good with words, Todoroki notices, but he’s somehow mastered affectionate body language. It’s so ridiculously sweet and un-Bakugou that when he finally brings their lips together Todoroki feels like he could cry, emotion swelling and spilling over in a swift rush. He’s never considered himself overly emotional, he hasn’t truly cried in years, and yet somehow Bakugou manages to drag it out of him. Which seems to be a theme, Bakugou pushing him right to the edge and then barreling both of them through whatever wall they’re facing. For better or worse.

And now, all of Todoroki’s hesitation, the space between them, everything has crumbled in the face of Bakugou’s will.

So he kisses him back with fervour. Todoroki making sure he’s the one to push, for once, even while overwhelmed by the purest form of affection in the book. He slides his tongue across Bakugou’s lower lip, relishing in the little hitch in his breathing before taking the chance to nip the same spot, opening his eyes to see the crease between Bakugou’s brows deepen. He takes the opportunity to roll his hips, grinding himself onto Bakugou’s thigh and groaning when Bakugou grips his hip hard enough to bruise.

Bakugou opens his eyes again, pupils dilated and grinning.

“Filthy little thing, don’t stop now.”

He relives the moment he’d frotted himself to orgasm on Bakugou’s thigh over his juice box at lunch the next day. Everything about Bakugou had been effortless, including the way he’d riled Todoroki up into something undoubtedly slutty without breaking a sweat. Recovery Girl had taken blood and hormone samples from the both of them and cleared them of any abnormalities.

Todoroki just has very sensitive scent receptors, apparently.

Although, he’s convinced it’s something to do with the way Bakugou looked wearing only a tank top and underwear. Which is frustrating. Todoroki has never considered himself sexy, nor ever really tried to be. But for Bakugou to be able to keep such a cool head while Todoroki went so glassy-eyed that he was hauled off to the nurse later that day is embarrassing.

He wants to have that sort of affect on Bakugou too.

Todoroki studies Midoriya, who is scribbling notes in a brand new notebook and muttering to himself. Midoriya, who has been mated to Kirishima for a few months now and seems to have a very positive relationship with him. Todoroki squints.

“Izuku,” he says, trying to pull his attention away from those notes. Today, it seems, Midoriya is easily distracted because he finishes the sentence he’s writing and flips his notebook closed.

“Yes?” Todoroki looks into those earnest eyes and glittering smile, studying him carefully. Yes, Kirishima trips over himself whenever Midoriya blinks those big eyes at him. Not that Bakugou will ever be so obviously smitten by anyone. Ever. But his lack of charm may have something to do with it. Maybe that’s the key difference between Todoroki and Midoriya. Todoroki just isn’t cute. Just not very omegan overall, really. For all he knows, that could be the problem. He’s struck by the irony that all his time spent acting like he’s not an omega is backfiring now.

But he’s not ready to give in that easily. Surely there are things he can do to get around his lack of charm. He looks around them, noticing that, as long as they don’t raise their voices, no one should overhear them from over here at their table.

“Do you ever do anything special for Kirishima?” he asks, careful to keep his voice even. Midoriya blinks at him as though this question isn’t awkward as all hell. He fiddles with his pen a little, obviously mulling it over. Although he’s dreading the answer, Todoroki appreciates he has a friend like Midoriya, who will always do his best to advise.

“Well, sometimes I make dinner for the both of us. It’s nice to just spend time together…” and off he goes, rambling out the rest of his thoughts. Not the kind of answer Todoroki wanted, really. He and Bakugou already have their, now oddly romantic, breakfasts down to a fine art. Todoroki sees the misunderstanding clearly but lets Midoriya talk for a minute anyway, allowing him some room to ramble happily before he destroys this innocent conversation. “... uhm, and sometimes when we go to the park together I bring cut up grapes for the ducks, he likes feeding them-”

“I meant sexually,” Todoroki deadpans. Midoriya’s jaw drops. He can practically hear the crickets chirping. Seeing that he's not getting anywhere with that, he tries again. “For example, do you ever- wear anything different?” At that Midoriya closes his mouth, audibly gulping. Just as Todoroki expected, Midoriya thinks about the question, battling through the embarrassment like a true friend.

Although, he is very pink.

“Well, I- I’ve never worn one of those- uhm- sexy costume things,” Midoriya stutters, “but I try to wear nice clothes and, uh, underwear,” he finishes, still glowing. The embarrassment seemingly killing off his long-winded nature.

“What constitutes nice clothes?” Todoroki questions, leaning in as Midoriya’s voice gets smaller.

“I wear those- uh- omega pyjamas, you know, with the really tiny pink shorts,” he admits. Todoroki knows what he’s referring to, they’re often lacy and floral, sometimes not even opaque. “But that’s really a personal preference, you don’t have to wear those just to look nice,” he continues. Todoroki tries to picture what he would look like in pink lace and draws a blank, but he stashes it away in his memory as a last resort.

“I’m not sure I’d suit it,” he thinks aloud. Midoriya hums his agreement.

“You’d look a lot better in white,” he mumbles. Todoroki’s ears burn. He’d never considered what colours might suit him, even when Fuyumi had told him off for wearing colours that clash with his red hair. That might be useful.

“Anything else?” He asks, that he's beginning to feel hopeless showing through if Midoriya's sympathetic smile is anything to go by.

“I don’t know, Shouto-kun, it’s hard to say when it’s not for a specific situation.” Midoriya shrugs.

“Alright-” Todoroki begins.

“Oh no, you’re actually going to tell me,” Midoriya shoves his face into his hands.

“I have a mate now,” Midoriya’s head springs up, eyes wide. “He’s very- aesthetically pleasing and I feel like, since I’m not very physically appealing as an ome- ah, you know- that I should probably wear something nicer than my winter pyjamas.” When Midoriya doesn’t move, or even blink, for a slightly worrying amount of time, Todoroki waves his hand before Midoriya’s face.

The next thing he knows his wrist is caught in Midoriya’s hand and he’s sniffing at Todoroki’s scent gland.

He drops his wrist like it’s burned him.

Which, for a second, Todoroki thinks he has. Until he realises that’s the wrong side of his quirk. Midoriya leans back in his chair, tipping over the back and rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya breathes. Which only makes Todoroki wonder how close Bakugou and Midoriya really are for Midoriya to be able to recognise Bakugou’s scent on someone else. “You’re asking me what to wear to mate Kacchan,” he elaborates, seemingly to himself. Or at least that’s what Todoroki hopes because he has no appropriate answer.

“If it’s too uncomfortable I could ask Iida what he thinks would be appro-” Midoriya snaps forward again, eyes blazing with new determination.

“You can’t ask an alpha, they’re all tasteless in the end. I won’t let you look like a cheap hooker!” He declares, stabbing a finger in the air at Todoroki’s face. Despite his reaction, and embarrassment, Todoroki finds himself smiling at Midoriya’s determination to elevate Todoroki in all areas of his life. Including his sex life, apparently.

He only hopes he can return the favour. Preferably in some other aspect of Midoriya’s life though.

“What do you suggest?” He prompts, taking another sip of his juice. Midoriya grins, eyes dark, flipping his notebook open again and brandishing his pen like a weapon.

“I’ll write this all down for you and by the time we’re done, you’ll be dynamite.”

Very well aligned with Bakugou's tastes. Todoroki nods his assent.

[by-nina]

A Dance With the Devil

Royai Halloween 2018 | Day 3 – Masquerade Rating: K+/T Genre: Drama/Suspense Word Count: 1,389 @royaihalloween

A/N: Now, for something a little different! I mentioned in my last post that this fic was originally supposed to be for Royai Week. But it all worked out, and I’m glad I’ll finally be able to get this out to you guys. I hope you enjoy!

The ball is not a reprieve—not that she had ever expected it to be. It was just another puppet show, with Riza’s strings wearing thin, and Bradley calling the shots.

Her skin is peppered in goosebumps beneath the evening breeze, and her ears ring unpleasantly with each clicking footstep; Riza’s senses are overwhelmed by how different this night is from routine. She has temporarily swapped her uniform for a slender, deep red number with a high leg slit, and her work boots for two-inch ankle strap heels that pinch at her toes and ankles from extended disuse. Thankfully, she can afford to let her face betray at least a little discomfort. Riza puts on a mask adorned with elegant red, orange, and gold swirls, and she climbs up the steps of Führer Bradley’s mansion.

          The year is drawing to a close. That night’s Amestris Military Anniversary Ball will be the first she attends as Bradley’s adjutant—and, I hope, the last, Riza thinks. With their plans in disarray, the ball was dead last on the list of things she even wanted to have on her mind. But Bradley had invited her in front of his wife and Selim, and between courtesy for the Führer’s kind wife and her trepidation towards the two Homunculi, she could not refuse. It was no doubt a way of keeping an eye on her on such a busy night, with the small comfort that he had allowed her to attend independently rather than as his adjutant.

          It is eight in the evening, and the common area of the mansion is filled with guests and music and the faintly delicious smell of catering. Even beneath their colorful adornments, Riza first finds Mrs. Bradley, who also immediately recognizes her. Mrs. Bradley graciously welcomes her with compliments about her dress and the way her hair is let down tonight, and then gushes in a stage whisper how lucky any man would be to have Riza as his partner.

          “Now, now, darling. You’re embarrassing Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

          Bradley appears behind his wife with a glass of wine, smiling as he always does, his regular eyepatch replaced with a dark mask that covers the entire upper left side of his face. Riza promptly salutes. “Sir!”

          “Please, there’s no need. You must enjoy the ball, Lieutenant, it’s so rare for us in the military to have a night like this. Did you not come with a companion?”

          “I’ve attended the ball with close colleagues in the past, Sir.”

          “Of course, you have.”

          Bradley takes a sip of wine, the calculated, thoughtful look on his face in contrast with the calm rage on Riza’s. He knows, of course, whom she would have had with her if they hadn’t been assigned to the North, South, and West, or paralyzed from the waist down. Riza is smart enough to not sabotage their plans where she is, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t play her own moves in this little game.

          “Is Selim asleep? It would be a shame for him to miss this.”

          The Führer laughs before Mrs. Bradley is even able to answer. “Oh, that boy. He’s always a ball of energy, you know. We’ve sent him to bed early, but I doubt he’s asleep. He may as well be lurking in the shadows.”

          Riza smiles dryly. A threat for a threat. The ball is not a reprieve—not that she had ever expected it to be. It was just another puppet show, with Riza’s strings wearing thin, and Bradley calling the shots.

          “Ah, how good of you to come, Colonel Mustang!”

          It takes some effort not to close her eyes in exasperation. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Riza acknowledges that she had expected the Führer to pull something truly below the belt—maybe he thinks he will catch them making plans, or maybe he has done so simply out of pleasure—it doesn’t change how infuriated she is. Yet still, the ache in her chest grows even greater as she turns to face the colonel.

          Roy’s face is taut beneath his mask for a split second before he approaches Riza and Bradley. Just like her, his first instinct is to salute to his superior; he avoids meeting her eyes as he does so. “I’m honored you consider me a special guest of yours, Führer Bradley. A regular invitation would have sufficed.”

          “It’s no trouble at all. You ought to have expected a special invitation, given your recent transfer to Central. I’m sure your meteoric rise within our ranks will continue.” Bradley raises his glass in a small toast. “Surprising that you aren’t celebrating this night with a lovely lady by your side.”

          “I guess my… priorities are elsewhere, sir.”

          “So it would seem. Then, why don’t you take Lieutenant Hawkeye here for a dance?”

          She hadn’t expected the conversation to shift so quickly, from the meaningful weight in Roy’s words to the dark glint in Bradley’s eye. Riza is sweating a little beneath her mask now, and she is thankful that it obscures her face. By instinct, she glances at Roy to try and read his expression; to her surprise, his expression remains impressively blank. “It would be my pleasure.”

          Roy holds out his hand to her. She slowly takes it, hardly allowing herself time to be surprised by its texture, and by how firmly he grasps her hand as he leads her out to the dance floor, away from Bradley, through a gaggle of military officers they neither recognize nor care about.

          She has never danced in her life, except for the rehearsed cotillion of her graduation ball in the military academy, so she lets him take the lead. He pulls her in with his free hand on her back, still keeping her at a respectful distance prescribed for a waltz, as opposed to the other couples who stand more closely to each other. He must be stepping in time to the music, but Riza is able to keep up with him easily. She simply follows where he goes.

          “I didn’t imagine we’d have our reunion here,” Roy finally says, his voice gentle.

          “Neither did I. The Führer must be pleased with himself.”

          They glance at Bradley at the same time. He is now jovially conversing with a group of other military officers. Riza runs through their names in her head—Lieutenant Generals Raven and Gardner, Major General Halcrow, Brigadier General Fessler, and a number of others whose meetings she had walked in and out of in the past few months. For a moment, Bradley catches them looking in his direction, and he acknowledges them with a nod, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

          “So… how have you been, Lieutenant?”

          Roy is already gazing at her when she looks at him again. She takes note of his mask—blue and black, angular in design, as if to mimic the array for flame alchemy—and thinks that even the intimidating design couldn’t hide the softness of his features, especially when he looks at her. Suddenly, she’s thankful that the palette of her outfit can easily disguise the warmth rising in her cheeks.

          “All right,” she says. “And you, Colonel? I hope you haven’t gotten into too much trouble while I was away.”

          “I’ve done a good job staying out of it. I’d hate to lose the chance of seeing you again.”

          Riza lets out a fake, high-pitched laugh, fitting for the ball and hopefully for whatever Bradley wants to get out of them without playing into his hands too much. “Now that you have, what happens next?”

          They both fall silent, suddenly uncomfortable in the middle of the crowd. Their dance has slowed to something less rhythmic. Innocent as her question might have been, she’s hopeful for something reassuring in response—something that she and Roy can both hold on to until the next time they see each other again, whenever that may be—something that even Bradley can’t twist for his own benefit, for once. But Riza isn’t foolish; she knows that keeping that hope is a dance with the devil himself. To her surprise, Roy smiles.

          “We’ll just have to enjoy this dance.”

          At once, she knows it’s true in every sense of the word, and Riza chooses to settle with his literal invitation for now. What else could they do? There is still some time left to step around and steer things in the proper direction, after all. But this night will only last so long.

[sunyoonandstars]

BTS One Shot: Coffee After Eight || You x Yoongi

So, this one shot is based on a request made by the lovely @thedawnsky 💜Thanks for the inspiration and giving me the opportunity to write about Yoongi yet again. 🙏🏻 I just love him so much and making up these little scenarios is simply the best pastime ever.

I hope you like it! 💜 Enjoy and thanks for reading!

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

Scenario Yoongi has had a crush on you for years now, his feelings, though, by now having outgrown mere infatuation. Your protective older brother Jin, however, strongly disapproves  … But will his deprecation be enough to hold Yoongi back?

„My intentions?“, he echoes, a low chuckle escaping his throat, leading your brows to knit, a distinctive crease forming in between them. „Well, y/n“, Yoongi continues, leaning back in his chair, licking his lips while his eyes stay locked with yours. „My intentions are quite obvious, I believe.“ „I’m not so sure they are, though“, you shrug. „Do you actually want me to spell it out?“

angst, fluff

Word count 2.650

Coffee After Eight

„Yah! Min Yoongi!“

The aforementioned involuntarily flinches at the deafening bang with which the door to his room is now being thrown open, the momentum causing it to hit the wall and leave a visible dent. Sprawled out on his bed, head resting on his folded arms, Yoongi does not even bother to lift his gaze in order to meet the glare of the intruder, though, as Kim Seokjin now plants himself in front of him. 

„What do you think you’re doing, flirting with my sister!? Y/n is so off limits for you, I don’t even know where to start when listing all the reasons you should stay the hell away from her!“ 

„What!?“, a perplexed Yoongi calls out, at the mere mention of you incapable of keeping his cool any longer, even going on to open an eye now, angrily blinking up at Jin. „What the heck is that supposed to mean?“

„Oh, come on, Yoongi. You’re no angel. Stop playing the innocent. You know exactly what I’m talking about.“

Red-eared, brows furrowed, hands on his hips, the elder one stares down at him, impatiently tapping his foot. 

„Why do you even care?“, Yoongi simply replies, eyes tightly shut again, trying hard to keep his tone indifferent and not let on that Jin’s words actually struck a nerve, having decided on going for defense, for now, to exercise his well-tried camouflage tactic and not reveal even so much as a hint of his true emotions. A move that has become a reflexive habit to him by now. 

„First of all, whom I flirt with is none of your goddamn business“, he goes on, demonstratively turning his back at Jin and nestling into his pillow as if he didn’t have a care in the world. What a lie. „And secondly, y/n is a grown woman. Let her make her own choices. Now leave me be for fuck’s sake. I’m tired and really not in the mood for this kind of crap, Seokjin.“ 

Nostrils flaring, Jin remains standing by Yoongi’s bedside for another few seconds, struggling for words, quietly shaking his head at his friend’s apparent indifference. 

„Sometimes I’m not even sure anymore if you actually mean what you say, Min Yoongi“, he commences anew, finally having retrieved his ability to speak. „I believed you to be a caring and considerate individual underneath that tough guy facade. But if you won’t take this seriously, I’m afraid I was mistaken. As a friend and a brother I sincerely ask you, Yoongi, no, even beg you, to spare both of you the trouble and heartache and just leave my little sister alone. Please. Y/n doesn’t deserve to go through something like this again. She’s barely even gotten over her last toxic relationship and you’re already moving in on her. And what’s even worse is that she might actually like you. I’m not sure, but when she told me you asked her to come to your studio and listen to your new mixtape, just the two of you … I think she seemed genuinely excited.“

Yoongi, his back still to Jin, can’t help but smile to himself at the notion of you actually considering to take him up on his offer and even looking forward to it. Although Jin’s words do affect him, he has to unwillingly acknowledge to himself. Intrigued by the mention of your troubling past romances, he now starts listening more attentively, curious as to why you never mentioned anything about them to him all the times you sat together at the dorm over a cup of coffee or a can of beer, talking for hours on end or simply spending them in amicable silence. 

„Yoongi? Are you even listening? Did you seriously fall asleep?“

Frozen, holding his breath, Yoongi remains quiet, afraid to show he, as a matter of fact, indeed does care. About you. About Jin’s concerns. And about the truth behind them. 

„Anyway, her past relationships weren’t healthy and the most recent one ended very badly. The guy was a mess and, quite frankly, an asshole. He didn’t treat her right. Y/n pretends to be tough, and she actually is in a way. I believe she can handle almost anything thrown her way. But nobody can be strong all the time. Her heart is more delicate than she’d care to admit, and it has been broken too many times already. So, please, don’t hurt her. Don’t even think about getting involved with her. I know it wouldn’t end well. The two of you are too similar. She, too, always tries to keep her distance and keep up an air of indifference to try and protect herself. So, agreeing to stop by your studio is like a huge deal for her. She basically just let you in. And it’s not good. Because we both know you couldn't be serious about her right now, even if you wanted to. We’re idols, Yoongi. And we’re big right now. Any dating rumors would only harm you and her alike. And you would barely be able to make time to see her once in a while, let alone get to know her. You know it’s true. So, please, I beg you to respect her and my wish and just put an end to this before it actually becomes a thing.“

By now, Yoongi barely manages to breathe, his chest tightening by the second, jaw and fists clenched, his every muscle tensed and eyes wide open, burning with unshed tears of anger as he stares at the blank wall. Because, yes, he does know Seokjin’s words to be true. Nonetheless, he can’t deny his feelings for you which by now have blossomed into something exceeding a mere crush by far. Yet, his close friend pleading with him in such a manner, pouring out his heart and appealing to his conscience does not leave him cold. Yoongi is torn. And being smothered by the guilt creeping up on him in respect of the decision he already made. 

„Okay, I have no idea if you’re even still listening“, Jin now sighs. „But I said what I needed to say, so I’m gonna leave now. By the way, in case you actually slept through my little talk, I recorded it and sent it to your phone. Because I cannot stress enough how important this is to me. Anyway. I’ll go now. Think about my words, Yoongi.“

Still remaining motionless, Yoongi listens to the sound of Jin’s steps slowly fading out as the older one departs, shutting the door behind him. 

Think about Jin’s words he did. 

But they won’t change a thing. 

Because his mind is already set. 

Yoongi won’t give up on you. 

Not just yet.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

As soon as he is sure Jin has left, Yoongi sits up in his bed, his heart racing, breathing shallow, a lump stuck in his throat, seemingly threatening to suffocate him. 

With trembling hands, he reaches for his phone, not even knowing why exactly it is that, after months have passed without any similar occurrences, an anxiety attack is now suddenly about to get the better of him. 

Deep, calm breaths, he tries to remind himself. 

In and out. In and out.

Almost automatically, his fingers dance across the phone’s bright display, dialing your number. 

Right now, he needs to hear his voice. Desperately. Even though he literally hates the fact that he’d need anything or anybody, really. Yoongi can’t help but long for the sound of your laughter ringing in his ears, missing the way you speak and string out your words to buy time whenever you’re unsure of what to say or how to put it. 

But his call goes unanswered. So does the next one and the following one. 

You won’t pick up. 

He can feel a dangerous mixture of anger and exasperation brew within his heaving chest, making it even harder for him to draw a simple breath. 

Yoongi’s heart then skips a beat when suddenly, unexpectedly, a text message from you pops up onscreen.

Your words leave a bitter taste in Yoongi’s mouth. 

And even more so your tone. He knows that tone. He knows it all too well. It’s almost as if he were talking to himself. A scared, defeated version of himself, glooming about the fact that he’d once again given in to those overwhelming doubts and anxious thoughts terrorizing his mind and body. A state he can picture you in very well right this instant. The thought that he or his actions towards you may have been the cause of your sudden withdrawal pains Yoongi to an extent where he is unable to simply sit idly by for even one further second. 

Already heading for the front door, he whips on the first available jacket he manages to grab from the coat rack on his way out, barely even stopping to tie his shoes before he rushes downstairs, eagerly typing out another message to you.

Yoongi can’t keep his jaw from dropping in light of the sight he’s faced with now that he’s finally standing right before bare-faced, messy-haired, puffy-eyed, sweatpants-wearing you, looking more stunning than ever. 

Reluctantly, you further open your door and indicate him to enter your tiny apartment, eyes cast down, avoiding his gaze.  

„What is so important you had to come all the way over here?“, you ask with ostensible nonchalance. 

Without waiting for Yoongi to lose his shoes and catch up, you lead the way to your poky kitchen where you take a seat at the table by the window, immediately busying your hands with a half-empty cup of a still steaming liquid, coffee judging by the smell of it. 

„You want some?“, you inquire a little too hastily as soon as Yoongi crosses the doorstep, without meeting his eyes, though. „Coffee? I just made some.“

„This time of night?“, he wonders aloud, the corner of his mouth slightly twitching up in amusement about your obvious awkwardness. 

„It’s barely eight“, you scoff, sliding him a guarded look. „I’m a night person, I thought you knew?“

„I do. I do.“

„Okay. So, do you want coffee or not?“

„I do.“

„Great.“

If he isn’t mistaken, Yoongi can make out the hint of a grin tugging at your lips just now as you quickly get up and brush past him towards the kitchen counter to pick up a pot of freshly brewed coffee and pour him a cup. 

„Here“, you thrust it into his hand without even looking, an obvious blush tinting your cheeks. 

„Thank you very much.“

„Are you just gonna stand there all night long?“, you snarl at him, already sitting down again, letting your hair fall in front of your face to shield it from Yoongi’s curious looks. „Take a seat. Or don’t. I actually don’t care. Just … why are you here, Yoongi? I told you not to come.“

„Yeah, I know“, he sighs, taking a seat across from you. „And I’m sorry I didn't respect your wish. But I simply couldn’t. I think there’s been some kind of a misunderstanding.“

„A misunderstanding?“, you finally lift your head and throw him a questioning glance. „And what kind of a misunderstanding would that be?“

„I think your brother got it all wrong.“

„Did he now?“, you raise a brow at him, almost scornfully. 

Warily, Yoongi takes a sip of the still hot coffee, savoring it. 

„You sure know how to brew decent coffee.“

„Thanks, I guess. But that’s not the point right now.“

„Still, I like that in a woman. I basically run on caffeine.“

„I know. But —“ You pause to aggressively chew on your lower lip which already looks sore. Yoongi can’t help but notice your knee nervously rocking up and down beneath the table top. He pities you in your state and wishes nothing more than to relieve you of your anxiety. Yet, everything he did or said tonight seemed to only make it worse. So he decides on remaining quiet and giving you time to collect your thoughts instead. 

Minutes go by in silence until you eventually lift your gaze from your coffee mug to meet Yoongi’s expectant eyes for the very first time this evening. 

„What inspired you to come here tonight, Min Yoongi? I want a direct, honest answer, no bullshit. No evasive sarcasm. The truth and nothing but the truth. What are your intentions?“ 

„My intentions?“, he echoes, a low chuckle escaping his throat, leading your brows to knit, a distinctive crease forming in between them. 

„Well, y/n“, Yoongi continues, leaning back in his chair, licking his lips while his eyes stay locked with yours. „My intentions are quite obvious, I believe.“

„I’m not so sure they are, though“, you shrug. 

„Do you actually want me to spell it out?“, he groans. „Y/n, I think you know me well enough by now to be aware of the fact that I’m not good with all that touchy-feely crap and expressing my emotions.“

„No kidding!“, you laugh, letting your guard down for just the blink of an eye what you immediately seem to regret as your features soon freeze into an enigmatic mask of inexpressiveness again. 

„Well, what do you wanna hear, y/n? That I rushed over here in a panic because I knew you were upset? Because I wanted to make sure you’re all right? And because I was afraid I’d lose my last chance at being with you if I didn’t?“

By all indications sincerely incredulous, you stare at him, brows arched, your eyes getting bigger with each word he says.

„What?“, he scoffs. „Does that sound so incredible to you?“

„Well … No. Not exactly, I guess. It’s just …“

Swallowing hard, you lower your gaze again, avoiding his, putting your hands to your reddening cheeks in a vain effort to cool them. 

„What? You didn’t think I was serious about you, y/n? Is that it?“

You shrug your shoulders in response, hiding your face behind a protective curtain of hair once again. 

„Y/n, seriously!? I’ve known you for, what, seven years now? Your Seokjin’s baby sister. What the hell would make you think I’d fuck around with you?“

„Now that you’re putting it like this …“, you mumble. 

„I would never do such a thing, y/n. I care about you. I like you, all right? There, said it. Happy now?“ 

When you look up at him, a sly smirk is curving Yoongi’s glossy lips, his eyes still fixed on you, his head slightly tilted while he takes in each and every one of your subconscious gestures, analyzing what your body is telling you and your lips are too afraid to speak. 

„Come on, y/n, you can’t be that surprised, really“, he mutters, his voice low now. Grinning, he leans over the table, slowly putting out his hand to reach for yours which had been anxiously rapping on the table for the last minute without any discernible rhythm to the repetitive movement. 

„This is driving me crazy, y/n“, he grins as his hand covers yours entirely now, bringing its rapid motion to a stop. „There’s no cadence to it at all. If you really need to make noise, do it right next time.“ 

„Sorry“, you apologize instinctively, your voice hoarse, cracking even, Yoongi’s touch sending a million tiny electric shocks throughout your entire body, leading your heart rate to accelerate and your throat to close up. 

Yoongi, too, is startled by the impact the mere sensation of your skin on his apparently has on his organism, his fingers starting to move intuitively, almost by themselves, gently stroking the silky-soft back of your hand, drawing circular patterns, invisible yet leaving searing hot traces on your sensitive skin. Both your eyes are fixed on your hands, in awe at their interaction, as your fingers now naturally intertwine. 

Slowly, hesitantly, you look up to meet Yoongi’s eyes, gleaming brightly with excitement and expectation. 

„So, y/n, what do you think? Should we give this a try?“ 

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

I hope you liked it and are having a nice day, wherever you are! Thanks for reading! Take care! 💜

Here you can find my Masterlist if you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction!

All GIFs used are NOT mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

© 2018 @a-r-m-y-g-i-r-l ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[jjkfire]

Try Me pt. 2

Namjoon x Reader // College!AU, Rugby!AU // 6k words

Summary: You wanted nothing more than to leave behind your old self when you moved on to college to play rugby but when you see your high school classmate, resident fuckboy and captain, Kim Namjoon, at the rugby department orientation, you feel like everything might fall apart.

Genre: Fluff

A/N: asadsfhgd finally working my way through my updates and this is a short-ish chapter but!!! i hope y’all like it (: sorry it took me so long hahaha. also, happy thanksgiving!!!

Part 1 //  Part 3

Previously…

“You better visit the ATM before you pick me up,” You smirk. “I’m a big eater.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Namjoon smiles. “I’m pretty sure my wallet can handle it.”

After all, he has been saving up for three years.

Namjoon’s waiting at the entrance of your dorm, kicking up dust and shuffling his feet amongst the dead leaves. His palms are sweaty despite the fact that it’s the coldest day of the fall season so far. He tries to convince himself that it’s just you, that he had no reason to be nervous but the fact that it’s you he’s waiting for is the reason why he can’t seem to keep still. Namjoon laughs at his precarious situation, about how it had taken him 3 years to finally have the balls to ask you out, albeit not in the most romantic way and you also probably think it’s just a normal dinner between 2 friends but really, he’ll take anything he can get.

Friends. Ah, how did that happen? That’s a question he often asks himself considering how the two of you had barely spoken to each other at all throughout high school. To be fair, Namjoon tried, he really did but you always seemed to be in a world of your own, uninterested in socializing with anyone in school. 

He remembers the first day you had arrived at the school, timid you, standing in front of class, introducing yourself as you nervously fidget with the straps of your backpack. You had spoken so softly that he struggled to hear much of what you said, only able to hear you say your name. 

You were all anyone would talk about for weeks, many gossiping about how you had just moved here from a bigger suburb, how your parents had opened up a small grocery store in the corner of town but all the excitement soon died down when they realized that you seemed like you wanted nothing to do with anyone, forever brooding on your own in some far away corner.

Namjoon remembers the exact moment you piqued his interest. He remembers being in absolute awe of you when he was hanging around the field during the rugby tryouts, the men’s team told to take a rest as they watched the women’s team take the field. He didn’t expect much from you, though there had been murmurings of your supposed talent but he’s never seen you participate in anything remotely athletic during gym class and the very fact that you’re here, by your own volition comes as a surprise to him. Everyone’s expecting you to be mediocre at best because it’s well known that the women’s rugby team is the easiest team to get on to in this school. It being underfunded and all meant that it wasn’t filled with talent but rather filled with kids who just wanted a little something to add to their CV, that says, hey look! I study, but I’m athletic too!

You get in line like the rest of the girls, listening intently as the coach explains the drills that were to be performed for the tryouts and though you’re literally beaming on the inside, excited to finally be on the grass again, you maintain a blank expression, nodding at the coach’s words. Nobody pays you any attention as you step up to the line, ready for the 10m sprint but the moment you take off, everyone’s whipping their heads to look and as the drills go on, people start to take notice of you because you manage to crush all the drills, your baseline score for each drill better than what they were hoping for. The coach doesn’t tell anyone but he has your name written down on the team slip before the tryouts are even over. That day is the day Namjoon acknowledges the fact that he thinks he’s maybe, just maybe, beginning to crush on you.

He spends his time in high school admiring you from afar, always trying to work up the courage to approach you whenever you took to the field to practice alone, kicking ball after ball between the two poles but he’s so afraid he’ll mess up, that he’ll say something stupid so he keeps his distance, forever wondering, what if. If anyone else in school could hear Namjoon’s inner monologue, they’d be laughing their ass off because he’s Kim Namjoon, the most popular boy in school so why would he even concern himself with you? With what you’d think of him? They don’t understand, is what he would say to himself because you seemed to have no care in the world for him, for anyone really.

Namjoon remembers exactly the number of times you had spoken to him in high school and it’s a grand total of 3 and with each time, he falls for you even harder than before. The first time you speak to him, it’s a group discussion in class and this is the first time he’s heard you speak with confidence, saying sentences at a time instead of your usual two or three words. You’re simply eloquent, everyone on the table listening closely to what you had to say and he’s not sure if it’s because they’re shocked to hear you speak or just like him, they’re impressed with the way you had just managed to make the cryptic poem they had to read, that much understandable. Somehow, you end up being some sort of a discussion facilitator, making sure everyone in the group got to speak, your voice soft and encouraging.

“Namjoon, what about you?” You question, and his head snaps towards yours, shaking him out of his daze. “I really liked how you interpreted the scene where she looks at the stars as her expressing her longing to fit in but what about the line after that?” You ask, referring to the poem. He’s sure you’re only asking because you’ve noticed how silent he’s been but he jumps at the chance to answer you anyway.

He responds confidently, hoping that whatever he says doesn’t sound like made up garbage to you because god does he want to impress you. You’re doing that thing where you smile and nod as you listen to him and everyone’s practically doing the same but when you do it, his heart flutters because it’s the first time you’ve paid attention to him like that. He wants this discussion to last forever, for you to continually question him about his opinion, the back and forth between the two of you makes him content because despite the jock stereotype that’s tied to him, Namjoon loves literature and he loves that you’re the first person in this class who actually cares about the pieces that you’re all assigned to read. 

“It’s fascinating,” You murmur to him, when he asks you about the poem, everyone in the group already bored with the discussion. “The author strings the words together so well and you can feel the emotion, the strength behind it all. I can’t really explain it but it’s just powerful, moving… you know?” Yeah, he knows, because he feels the exact same way and just like you, he can’t find the right words to describe it all. Namjoon stares at you dreamily for the rest of the class and he really hopes you or his peers don’t take notice. That day was the day you had first spoken to him and it’s the day where Namjoon acknowledges that yeah, he definitely has a crush on you and he wants to get to know you better but you never attempt to carry on the conversation when he says hello so, he simply buries his growing feelings for you deep down where no one but him can see.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” You murmur, removing your phone from your purse. “Did you wait long?”

“No, no, I just got here…” He smiles nervously, taking in the sight of you in a casual red dress.

“Shall we call a cab?” You ask, already swiping at your phone to bring up the app.

“No, I umm… borrowed one of the seniors’ car actually.”

Namjoon leads you to the car parked further down the street, opening the door for you and you let out a small gasp of surprise as if you couldn’t believe that he was being this nice to you. Quickly, you slide into the passenger seat, Namjoon making his way to the driver’s seat himself after shutting your door.

“So, did you visit the ATM like I asked? Because I wasn’t joking… I skipped lunch just so I could pig out tonight.”

Namjoon laughs, boisterously so because only you would do something so ridiculous.

“I already told you babygirl, my wallet can handle whatever the final bill is going to come up to,” He grins smugly and you only smile, your mind wandering to just what items on the menu you’d be ordering.

The car ride is filled with small chit-chat, mostly you groaning about the anatomy class to be honest but Namjoon doesn’t mind, he could listen to you talk all day. Also, considering the fact that he’s beyond nervous at the very moment, he’s glad you’re doing all the talking because lord knows he’d be stuttering half the time if he speaks. He nods occasionally, agreeing to whatever it is that you’re saying because his mind is too busy ticking things off his checklist because he needs tonight to go exactly to plan. Tonight needs to be 101% perfect because this is his first chance at getting to impress you and so far, despite all of his efforts, it’s not going great. Try as he might to calm his beating heart, it’s of no use. His palms are sweatier than before and he’s obviously been too quiet, the occasional side glances you flash him enough to tell him that you’ve noticed. He glances to the back seat, trying to look for the gift he had brought along and damn it… of course he forgot it. Of course he forgot the main point of tonight because that’s what you do to him, reduce him to a nervous forgetful wreck and it takes everything in him to not scream at himself in frustration. It’s okay, he murmurs to himself. There’s still much of the night left and he could definitely make up for his slight blunder.

The restaurant looks a lot fancier in person with the elegant décor, elaborate tableware and the sophisticated looking guests. As you peer around the restaurant while Namjoon talks to the staff at the counter, you suddenly feel like you’re extremely underdressed. You fidget in your spot and Namjoon looks at you quizzically before he grabs you by your wrist, softly tugging you behind him as he followed the waitress to the reserved table. 

Once you’re seated, the waitress brings along leather bound menus for the both of you and before you open it, you already know that you’ve made a mistake… that this restaurant was way out of yours and Namjoon’s price range. 

“Joon, let’s leave,” You mumble, shutting the menu.

“W-why?”

“This is… this is crazy. This is way too expensive and neither of us can afford this on a college budget. Let’s just go to Mcdonald’s or something.”

Namjoon lets out a snort, enjoying the worry etched on your features.

“You were the one who wanted to come here.”

“I know and that’s because I saw an article online about this place but I didn’t know it was going to be this fancy,” You mumble. “I’m not even dressed well enough for a place like this.”

“You’re dressed just fine. You look… beautiful,” He blushes, watching as you quirk your eyebrow at the compliment. “We’re staying. A deal is a deal and I plan to follow through.”

“This isn’t a time for you to let your big ass ego get in the way,” You sigh. “I don’t want to have to end up washing dishes tonight because we can’t foot the bill.”

“Y/N,” He smiles, his signature dimples making an appearance. “I promise you we won’t be washing dishes tonight so just relax and order whatever it is that you want. Did you forget that you had planned on making me broke by the end of the night?”

You let out an annoyed huff, picking up the menu when you realize that he wasn’t going to back down from this one and for what reason, you simply don’t understand. 

“What are you getting?” Namjoon asks after some time.

“Edamame,” You answer and he can’t help but laugh because how were snap peas going to be enough for dinner?

“And?”

“That’s it,” You mumble. “I’m not that hungry.”

“I clearly remember you saying that you had skipped lunch earlier today.”

“Yeah, I did but I don’t know… I’m just not hungry.”

“Sure,” He laughs, indulging you in your lies. “At least pick a main. I’ll help you finish it if you can’t. I’m paying anyway,” He shrugs.

“But I’m not hungr—“

“Please?”

“Fine,” You sigh. “I’ll get the uhh… California roll.”

Of course, of course you had picked the cheapest of all the items on that page.

“But you hate that,” Namjoon chortles.

“N-no, how do you— No I don’t,” You retort, shaking your head vehemently.

“Yes, you do. I clearly remember you mumbling under your breath about how much you dislike that roll when we went out for dinner with the others at that Japanese restaurant near campus.”

You have on the most adorable pout, conceding that Namjoon had caught you in a lie and all he really wants to do right now is grab you by the face and kiss you but of course that isn’t something he could do at this very moment. He wonders how you do it, how you’re so adorable all the damn time as if you didn’t know how much everything you did made his heart palpitate wildly. He finds it funny how you like to talk big, always going all out with your threats but when it really came down to it, you never follow through. This had been something he had expected out of you tonight and luckily, he had prepared way in advance, studying the menu ever since you had agreed to go to dinner with him.

“Well, maybe if I try it this time, I’ll like it?” You offer and Namjoon, shakes his head at you, the sweetest smile on his lips.

“How about I do the ordering?”

“No, please… You’re going to go overboard. I know you will.”

“This is an apology dinner, you know? I’m supposed to go overboard.”

“No you’re not. Look, I forgive you. Happy now?” You sigh. “Please, let’s get out of here before you make a decision you regret.”

“Babygirl,” He smiles lopsidedly. “We’ve already drove out this far. We’re already here so, let me spoil you tonight alright?”

“Fine, spoil me… but just not here, please,” You beg. “Spoil me with nuggets at Mcdonald’s instead. Yeah?”

Namjoon refuses to listen to you already signaling to the waitress that he’s ready to order. So fucking stubborn, you grumble to yourself. You knew agreeing to go to dinner with him was a bad choice.

“So, excited for regionals?” He asks, sipping on the green tea.

“Heck yeah,” You smile. “You?”

“Ah you know, been to so many now that they all start to feel the same,” He smirks, referring to all the times he had reached the regionals in high school while your team failed to even make one. “But it’s your first isn’t it? The newbies are always excited. It’s cute.”

“Whatever,” You grumble. “Keep being cocky and maybe you won’t even make the second round.”

“Are you doubting me?” He questions. “Last I remember it wasn’t me getting absolutely destroyed by coach at practice this week. It was you.”

“I just had a bad day, alright? I stayed up all night working on that stupid anatomy assignment.”

“You should’ve just asked me for help but ah of course, you were giving me the silent treatment.”

“Which you fully deserve.”

“Debatable,” He shrugs. “Anyway, still need help on that assignment?”

“No… Yes… No…” You murmur, unsure if you really want to ask Namjoon for a favour because he sure had a knack for requesting the weirdest things.

“Is that a yes or a no, babygirl?” He asks. “Just so you know, the assignment is worth a good 10% of our grade.”

“Okay, fine, yes,” You frown, knowing that you needed however many points you can salvage at this point just so you don’t end up with a bad overall grade for the class.

“Great,” He smiles and you’re waiting for him to ask for something in return for his help, like a handjob or something just as ridiculous but he stays silent, simply choosing to take a sip out of his cup.

“That’s it?” You ask and he looks at you, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Nothing, never mind,” You quickly huff, waving your arms in the air.

“I mean if you’re willing to offer something in return…”

“No, I’m not.”

“Really? Not even say… a kiss, a blowjob, a handjob, whatever really… I’m not too picky.”

Right, there it is. There’s the Namjoon you know.

“Hmm, let me think about it and huh, guess what? The answer is a big, resounding, fuck no.”

“Babyg—“

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that.”

“You can tell me as many times as you like,” He smiles. “Doesn’t mean I’ll listen.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me all the same.”

“You pronounced hate wrong,” You grumble.

“You know they say the line between hate and love is a thin one.”

“Says who?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” He begins and oh god, here it comes, you groan. You bring up your fingers to plug your ears, refusing to hear him go on another one of his long spiels. “There was a study done by the professors at The University College of L—“

“I’m so sorry for the wait,” The waitress interrupts. “It’s a rather busy night but here are your appetizers!”

“Oh thank god,” You smile. “You just saved this dinner because if I had to listen to him speak for one more second, I think I would’ve stabbed myself with this fork.”

“G-glad to be of service to you miss…” She bows awkwardly, unsure of what to say or make of the very unlikely bickering couple in front of her because truly, all the two of you have been doing so far is argue with each other.

“Nice job,” Namjoon snorts, noticing the light blush tinting your cheeks.

“Shut up and eat,” Is all you manage to grunt out before helping yourself to the plate in front of you.

The dinner comes along rather smoothly and you’re surprised by Namjoon’s good taste in food because you’ve loved every single dish so far. You started out eating the dishes shyly, a bite or two here and there and Namjoon knows it’s because you’re thinking about the price but he basically stuffs everything onto your plate, basically threatening you to eat it and you finally relent, gobbling up everything in front of you. Everything’s delicious, of course it is and you don’t shy away from thanking him for the dinner every 5 seconds just so he knows despite your attitude, you really do appreciate the fact that he’s taken the effort to drive all the way here and have dinner with you. To be honest, you had planned on texting Namjoon that day to apologize for overreacting over some harmless prank but hey, he offered free food and who were you to say no to that. Plus, it was funny to see him so upset, doing anything in his power to get you to forgive him.

The pair of you talk throughout dinner as if it had been months since you last spoken when in fact it’s been just a few days. You’ll never admit it to him but you’ve missed him a fair bit and there had been so many instances throughout the days you disregarded him where you’d pull out your phone to text him about something you had just saw until you remember you’re supposed to be ignoring him. Silent treatment is something you’re great at, a true talent of yours and when you were serious about it, you would honestly ignore the person for as long as you needed to. If Namjoon hadn’t come up to apologize, you’re pretty sure you could go on for weeks because you really hated giving in when you know you had been done wrong.

“Namjoon, at least let me pay for half of the bill,” You mumble, clicking on your seat belt.

“I already told you this one’s on me,” He sighs in return, turning the key in the ignition.

“But Joon… just—“

“If you’re that adamant on paying your half, then fine,” He huffs. “But know that I don’t take payments in cash or credit,” He smirks, lifting his eyebrow playfully to which you reply with a roll of your eyes. There he goes again with his fucking sexual innuendos.

“Yup, that’s what I thought,” He laughs. “Now I don’t want to hear about it anymore okay?”

You let out a groan of defeat, sinking back into your seat, enjoying the soft music that played through the speakers.

The dinner had gone better than Namjoon had expected. There were no spilt drinks or choking mishaps like he had seen in his nightmare but rather the dinner was mostly just you and him having conversations filled with laughter and pure banter, something he’s always enjoyed whenever he hung out with you. He wonders if you can tell that it’s getting harder for him to hide the fact that he’s very much infatuated with you. His roommate, Hoseok tells him he’s too bloody obvious sometimes, that he might as well be shouting out that he loved you just by the way he’d drop everything at a hat whenever you called. Namjoon is utterly and completely whipped for you but nobody seems to take notice, everyone chalking it up to one big joke which really is his fault anyway. He hides behind the little insults and casual jokes because he’s not really sure how to tell you he’s had a 3-year long crush on you. But with banter and the incorrigibly sexually fueled jokes he throws at you, he’s able to slip in everything he’s ever wanted to say to you… Everything is basically a big fat excuse just so he can constantly ask for kisses and tell you he likes you without actually having to deal with the consequence of having to see your face contort into something between pity and disgust in the event that you don’t feel the same way. 

“Namjoon!” You exclaim suddenly, grabbing onto his thigh to gain his attention and the car swerves slightly, his heart rate reaching a maximum at the sudden gesture. “Sorry!” You quickly retract your hand.

“There’s a McDonalds coming up,” You point ahead to the glowing M. “Do you think we can make a quick stop?” You ask patting his thigh lightly and Namjoon’s about to combust into flames with your hand sitting so high up on his leg.

“S-sure,” He mumbles signaling to the left to take the exit. “You’re still hungry?”

“I just want some ice-cream,” You laugh. “It’s been a while since I’ve had some.”

You skip into the fast food joint the moment he parks his car, returning with two ice cream cones as he waited for you outside. The two of you take a seat on the long bench outside the restaurant and he shivers after licking his ice cream a few times. In Namjoon’s opinion, it’s starting to get too cold to even consider having ice cream and for 15 minutes, the two of you debate on whether ice-cream had a season because Namjoon believes ice-cream should be reserved just for summer but you argue that that’s ridiculous for ice-cream was a year-long snack. It’s these nonsensical conversations the two of you always seem to have that have people shaking their heads. Who cares? Is what many would say regarding the things the both of you tend to argue about but the two of you would wave them away telling them they didn’t understand. 

As you sit next to him licking away at your ice cream, Namjoon can’t help but feel like he’s in a dream, like this is some absurd joke because this reminds him of the exact situation he had found himself in just about a year ago when you had talked to him for the second time, except you’re a lot more sober this time.

It must’ve been your first time at a party because you gulped down alcohol like nobody’s business and soon enough you were laying on the lawn chair in one of your classmate’s garden. Your class had planned on leaving you out of the invite list because well, you didn’t seem like you were interested in attending a party anyway but Namjoon insists that out of courtesy, they should send you an invite anyway. So, when the party was long over and it was time for everyone to clear the house, they left you under Namjoon’s care saying that you were his responsibility anyway since he had been the one who insisted on inviting you. Namjoon didn’t mind if he was being honest. If anything, he was more than happy to send you home. At least that way, he’d know you had gotten home safe and sound. He had spent the past hour of the party with you anyway, listening to you drunkenly spew your thoughts (fairly interesting ones at that… but that’s a story for a different time) so, what was another 10-minute detour to drop you home to him?

Except, it wasn’t a 10-minute detour, it was a 20-minute detour where you force him to drive you to a McDonald’s because you wanted some ice-cream. Namjoon, the soft-hearted creature that he is, couldn’t find it in him to refuse your request, even if he was dead tired at that point so he pulls into the parking lot of the fast food joint like you had asked of him.

You return with the ice-cream in hand in mere minutes, handing him his with a mega-watt smile on your face. You’re evidently still drunk, slurring your words and gesturing exaggeratedly as you argue politics with him. He wishes you paid this much attention to him when you’re sober because right now, you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters… which is exactly how he looks at you.

“You have some ice-cream over there,” You point at his lips.

“Where?”

“There,” You point and he darts out his tongue in an attempt to lick it. “No, the other side,” You laugh.

Namjoon’s purposely missing the spot just so he can hear your laugh tumble out of your lips, a sound he has decided is his favourite after hearing it numerous times tonight.

“Help me then,” He whines, handing you a napkin and you giggle taking it from him.

One second you’re bringing up the napkin to his lips and the next Namjoon feels like he’s in some alternate universe because somehow your lips are on his. He drops his ice cream in favour of placing his hands on your face, holding you close to him like he believes this is the only chance he’s ever going to get to kiss you. It feels like time slows down and speeds up altogether and suddenly, you’re pulling away, licking at your lips before you flash him a smile.

“There, all gone,” You grin before returning your attention to your ice cream, biting away at the cone.

That’s it, he sighs. He’s a goner. He knows he’s done for because with just one kiss you had confirmed that yes, he indeed has more than just a crush on you but he also knows you’re not going to remember any of this tomorrow, not even one second so perhaps it was true… that he was in some sort of alternate universe because he’s the only one that’s going to remember what you’ve said to him tonight and how your lips felt like on his. But that’s alright, he exhales. After all, he’s been silently pining for you for two years already and if anything, he could go on for many more.

“Namjoon? Hello?” You question, waving your hand in front of his face.

“Huh?”

“I said you have ice-cream on your lips.”

No way. No way this is happening.

“What?”

“Ice-cream on your lips,” You repeat. “There.”

“Where?” He questions as he makes a show of licking his lips, intentionally missing the spot.

“You’re just doing that on purpose,” You laugh.

“Am not,” He giggles. “Help me then,” He smiles, handing a napkin to you.

Namjoon’s heart is beating so hard in his chest that he’s positive you can hear it. You grab the napkin out of his hand, giggling like you had a year ago and really, this time he feels like he really is in an alternate universe because no way this was happening, no w—

You laugh wildly, hand on your stomach before you’re getting up to run after having smeared your ice cream all over Namjoon’s face and ah, he realizes that yes this is in fact reality. Really, he should’ve expected this.

“You brat!” He screams, chasing after you, yielding the ice cream cone in his hand like a weapon.

“Please,” You beg, laughing as you attempt to side-step him but there’s nowhere to run and you scream in horror as he holds you in a headlock, smearing his ice cream all over your face, not even leaving an empty spot in sight.

“Namjoon! Let go!”

“Nope, not until you clean off the ice–cream on my face.”

“Okay, okay,” You grumble. “Hand me the napkin.”

“There’s no need for napkins, babygirl.”

“What do you mean? Namjoon… n-no! Don’t you da—“

A shriek tears through the quiet night as he licks a long strip up the side of your face and you attempt to wrestle your way out of his hold, elbowing him in the stomach.

“What? Not into tongue play?”

“You’re disgusting!” You exclaim, breaking out of his hold to grab the napkins lying on the table, trying with all your might to wipe away his saliva.

“Thought you’d be a cunnilingus type of girl,” He frowns playfully, evading the balled-up tissue papers that you throw at him.

“It’s a talent you know,” You sigh, walking over to the outdoor sink to wash the ice-cream off your face. “The way you can turn every and any situation into something sexual.”

“I told you, that’s only something you can bring out of me,” He winks, prompting you to roll your eyes at him.

There’s still a layer of stickiness on your skin no matter how many times you’ve washed off the ice-cream on your face but at this point, you don’t really care. You let Namjoon into your room, pointing towards a chair for him to sit as you pull up your assignment on your laptop. You had asked him if he was willing to stop by for awhile to help you finish up your assignment and to your surprise he agrees in a millisecond.

As you stayed seated in your chair, typing at your keyboard, Namjoon stands behind you, placing both hands on either side of you as he rested his chin on your shoulder. It’s relatively normal for him to be this close but for some reason, this time, you feel a slight fluttering in your chest.

He practically does the whole assignment for you, telling you verbatim just what you should write and you thank all your lucky stars that he is the genius that he is. Namjoon starts up the count again, the one where you owe him a kiss for every question and he tells you way in advance that he’s not letting you get away with it this time around, that he’ll collect every single one when he reaches 365. For the 100th time of the night, you roll your eyes at him, refusing to acknowledge the rubbish he spews.

“Oh shit, was I interrupting something?” Umji questions as she steps into the room, hanging her scarve on a hook on the wall. “I can uhh, leave…”

“Hmm? No? It’s just Namjoon,” You laugh and his heart drops at that. What did you mean by just Namjoon?

“Hmm, yeah, just Namjoon,” She parrots and you’re not sure why she just repeated what you said.

“Hey Umji,” He greets, turning around to smile at her.

“Hey,” She smiles in return. “How was the date?”

“It wasn’t a da—“

“The date went great,” He grins. “I think we’re finally ready to come off from that break we’re taking,” He laughs referring to the stupid Facebook post he had put up when you had instructed for him to clear up the situation.

“Umji, don’t listen to him.”

“That’s amazing!” She exclaims, playing along, indulging Namjoon because just like him and apparently everyone else, she enjoyed watching you flounder around whenever he flirts with you. “Y/N, you and Namjoon are going to make the best power couple in this school.”

“Heard that?” He smirks at you and you only bring up a hand to your face, exhaling deeply through your nose.

“That’s it,” You groan, shutting your laptop. “Leave,” You look towards Namjoon before pointing at the door.

“I help you with your assignment and this is how you treat me,” He sighs. “You really break my heart, you know that, babygirl?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Never,” He smiles before pecking you on your cheek and making his way over to your bed to collect his coat. Wait, did he just kiss you on the cheek?

You wipe at your face in disgust, throwing him a mean glare as he stops to wink at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“That makes question no. 15,” He smiles. “I like the progress we’re making. Do you think you’d like to pay me with your kisses on a weekly basis instead?”

“Get out!” You shout throwing your bottle of hand cream at him while laughing and he ducks it easily, closing the door behind him but not before he shouts out, I love you babygirl! loud enough for everyone on the floor to hear.

“So, really,” Umji laughs as the door clicks shut. “How was the date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” You groan. 

“Please, the both of you are dressed to the nines, he borrowed a car, you ate at a fancy restaurant,” She murmurs. “How isn’t it a date?”

“It just isn’t,” You shrug. “It’s just two friends, going out for a fancy dinner.”

“Sure,” She huffs, shaking her head at you. “Come on, show it to me.”

“Show what?”

“Whatever he got you.”

“He didn’t get me anything,” You answer. “I told you, it was just dinner. An apology dinner.”

“He really didn’t get you flowers or chocolates or anything?”

“Yup,” You nod, popping the p at the end.

“Huh, guess it wasn’t a date then.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Namjoon is pacing outside your door because fuck, if he hadn’t forgotten the stupid box of chocolates in his room would you have realized then that the dinner was in fact, a date? That you’d understand that he actually does want you to think that you were on a date with him? Because you know, he’s in fact in love with you?

Goddamn it.

Why was he always so forgetful? He grumbles to himself the whole drive back to his senior’s place, mentally cursing himself for forgetting the only thing that would’ve made the night a stellar 10/10. It’s fine, it’s fine, he mumbles to himself. This dinner was more like a test drive and when he gets another chance, he’s going to go all out with chocolates, flowers, maybe a choir that would sing something along the lines of hey this is a date and I really like you not just as a friend but romantically actually so please for once in your life realize that the reason I call you babygirl is because I want you to actually be my girlfriend… Perhaps they’d be able to sing all of that in a more eloquent way… Maybe in a song that’s similar to Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud because you always come to mind when he hears that song.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a date.”

“That’s funny,” Umji mumbles. “I remember seeing him running haphazardly through campus earlier this afternoon with a fancy box of chocolates in hand.”

“Ah, you know Namjoon,” You sigh. “God knows how many girls he’s chasing at any given time.”

See, it’s like you expected because of course he has someone else and you laugh pushing away the feelings that have seemed to bubble to the surface tonight. Ridiculous, you laugh. For you to have thought that he might feel something for you… Completely and utterly ridiculous.

You love the attention Namjoon gives you, even if your mouth betrays you and you end up cussing at him half of the time whenever he says something remotely romantic but at the same time you hate it because you know it’s all a huge wondrous joke that everyone is in on and you’re the butt of it. He goes around town, claiming his love for you, calling you his babygirl but then on the flip side, he’s chasing another handful of girls while you’re sat alone and confused, your heart unsteady because of all the flirty compliments he throws your way. Truthfully, it hurts… it hurts you to know that the only boy on campus who pays attention to you, only does it as a joke and sometimes you want to tell him to stop, to tell him that despite the way you brush off any form of romantic attention he pays you, sometimes you wish it was genuine. Maybe if he stopped scaring off all the guys that were even remotely interested in you, you could find someone to love.

Ah, if only you knew that you already had someone to love.

Part 3

A/N: As always, thank you so much for reading and feedback is welcome!!! (:

[darkroomdarkroom-deactivated]

[Taylor Swift & Future:]

I wanna be your end game she wants to be with him forever, no matter the obstacles - blunt

I wanna be your first string sports ref: the first string are the regular players who are the first picks - she wants to be this guy’s number 1

I wanna be your A-Team A-Team was an ‘80s tv show that was about a group of people imprisoned for a crime they didn’t commit before escaping and becoming a really tight-knit group, which is how she wants to be with this guy (there’s also a nice ref. to ed’s song ‘A Team’ here - referring to Class A drugs, linking to ‘you’re so dope, don’t overdose’ and don’t blame me ref. ‘my drug is my baby’

I wanna be your end game, end game

Big reputation, big reputation

Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations both of them are famous

Aah, and you heard about me reminiscent of blank space (and I know you heard about me) - she knows that everybody she meets will have a preconception of her

Ooh, I got some big enemies (yeah) because of her big reputation, naturally she has enemies, perhaps for no reason other than the fact that she’s famous and people are jealous; implication here is also that she is warning him

Big reputation, big reputation

Ooh, you and me would be a big conversation people would gossip; another warning

Aah, and I heard about you (yah) she’s heard about him the same we she knows he’s heard about her; mutual awareness of each other’s craft and accompanying media attention

Ooh, you like the bad ones, too is she assuming he likes the bad ones? or does she think he likes bad ones because he likes her, and all he knows of her is her bad reputation? (blank space ref.) [Future:]

You so dope, don't overdose don’t blame me ref. ‘my drug is my baby’, and ed’s ‘A Team’ 

I'm so stoked, I need a toast this is why we can’t have nice things ref and also new year’s day

We do the most, I'm in the ghost like I'm whippin' a boat I got a reputation, girl, that don't precede me (yah) Future is the only one of the three artists who says his rep isn’t upfront - original Gorgeous lyric

I'm a call away whenever you need me (yeah) ready to help her whenever she needs, desperate to be by her side

I'm in a G5 (yeah), come to the A-Side (yeah) reminds this girl that his lifestyle includes a lot of travelling like in a G5 jet, but he wants her to be part of it by inviting her to ‘live on the A-side’, his hometown of Atlanta, GA

I got a bad boy persona, that's what they like (what they like) again with the bad boy/girl idea, and the idea that a bad boy persona is what they think they want

You love it, I love it, too, 'cause you my type (you my type) A bad boy persona does not connote a happy relationship, and yet both he and this girl like the idea of him being a bad boy - interesting that he’s as invested in creating a rep for himself as this girl is

You hold me down and I protect you with my life this seems much sweeter than the rest of the verse, this girl grounds him and he loves her for it

[Taylor Swift & Future:]

I don't wanna touch you, I don't wanna be / Just another ex-love you don't wanna see she doesn’t want to get involved with someone who she will fall for, only to be cast aside when she is no longer interesting

I don't wanna miss you (I don't wanna miss you) she knows she could fall for this guy hard, and so doesn’t want to be in a position where she gets hurt

Like the other girls do she knows this guy had left girls hurting before, and has no wish to join them

I don't wanna hurt you, she also doesn’t want to put him in a position where he will get loads of spite from the media

I just wanna be / Drinking on a beach with you all over me relates to all the island/oasis imagery on this album, because she wants to be by herself with him, away from the media she’d also pretty keen to get off with him

I know what they all say (I know what they all say) she knows what her reputation is, she knows what he’s probably thinking

But I ain't tryna play blank space ref. ‘because i love the players’ - she knows he might mistrust her intentions

[Taylor Swift:] chorus

[Ed Sheeran:]

Now well, when I was young, we connected ed and taylor met when he was ‘young’ in the music industry - she reached out to him to open for the red tour when he was a new artist

When we were little bit older, both sprung now that they’re both a bit more weathered with the ways of the industry

I got issues and chips on both of my shoulders he now understands how the media really shade and defame artists, when they have done nothing wrong

Reputation precedes me and rumours are knee-deep ‘rep precedes’ lyric that’s in all the verses, and he is aware that the rumours are thick and tangled - he hasn’t a hope in hell of getting rid of them

The truth is, it's easier to ignore it, believe me shake it off basically

Even when we'd argue, we'd not do it for long healthy relationship: aware of and know each other unlike the media

And you understand the good and bad end up in a song he’s a songwriter: often the bad is focused on by critics, despite the good being there too

For all your beautiful traits and the way you do it with ease naturally a beautiful person

For all my flaws, paranoia and insecurities he knows he’s flawed and weathered from the media, and he appreciates her tolerance of it

I've made mistakes and made some choices, that's hard to deny he knows he’s made mistakes, but the media use those mistakes against him like he isn’t human

After the storm, something was born on the 4th of July ed invited his old schoolmate to taylor’s 4th of july party 2015, and they reconnected; at her 2016 party, ed and cherry celebrated their year anniversary also the storm imagery links to call it what you want

I've passed days without fun, this end game is the one he wants this future

With four words on the tip of my tongue, I'll never say it could be ‘will you marry me?’ instead he says ‘i’ll never say it’

[Taylor Swift & Ed Sheeran:] pre chorus

[Taylor Swift:] chorus

[Taylor Swift & Future]

[Taylor Swift:]

I hit you like bang reminiscent of ‘we were a shotgun shot in the dark’ from getaway car, and and lwymmd ‘you said the gun was mine’ - she hit him  suddenly when he was least expecting it - or maybe he was shocked at how different she was from her reputation

We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't tried to forget the connection they had; dating other people? - gorgeous (i’ve got a boyfriend, if you’ve got a girlfriend’)

And I bury hatchets, but I keep maps of where I put 'em she does forgive but she never forgets, because she can’t afford to with the nature of the current music industry

Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy more blank space refs, and the ‘rep precedes me’ line

I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me she’s really having fun here (the satire is so funny); she’s saying she doesn’t enjoy the drama, but attracts it anyway - ref to lwymmd ‘and the world goes on another day another drama drama’

And I can't let you go, your hand prints on my soul ref back to ‘we tried to forget it, but we just couldn't’, and  ref to dress - ‘there is an indentation in the shape of you’ - he’s left a mark on her soul, even though she didn’t want to let herself be vulnerable to missing them, she couldn’t help it

It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold all the drinking refs in this album come to mind, as do the drug refs - she;s addicted to this guy, just like she didn’t want to be, and dress ref ‘golden tattoo’

You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks he knows her a whole lot better than she thinks; he knew her rep wasn’t real

So here's a truth from my red lips she references ‘truth’ just like ed; truth versus reputation style ref ‘red lip classic thing that you like’ she’s about to stop playing tricks and tell him honestly that she wants to be his end game

[Taylor Swift, Future & Ed Sheeran:] pre chorus this is the only collaboration on the album, and was hinted at in the ready for it music video with ‘eddy’ and ‘future’ written in graffiti